#jesus the angst in this one is intense

[hauntingblue]

So what now....

[taintedcigs]

even if it’s a false god — e.m.

part two; we'd still worship this love

pairing: modern!college!fboy eddie x fem!reader

warnings: smut!!!!!!, 18+, MINORS DNI or ill bite u. p in v, cr*ampie, kinda br*eding kink, unprotected s*x (wrap it up irl angels, this is fiction.), angst angst angst, ASSHOLE FBOY EDDIE!!!, drinking, degrading, swearing, praises, nicknames, vv slight ch*king kink if u squint, some rough stuff.

summary: in which you are friends with benefits with modern!fuckboy!eddie (wc:4.1k)

a/n: i was def thinking of a pt.2 for this while writing it tbh. mr asshole munson needs to repair some hearts!!! also i made the pic in the middle bc i couldn't find a fitting picture w this lyric lmaooo!! did not proof-read!! ignore any mistakes AND PLSS send me ur thoughts ily xo, em

“It was fun babysitting you, sweetheart, but I have to dip,” Steve whispered in your ear with a sympathetic smile, his hand pointing toward the blonde who was impatiently waiting for him. 

“What?” You asked, baffled. “Steve, you fucking promised!” You groaned. 

“Jesus Christ, do you not have any ounce of self-control?” He asked, and you gave him an intense look.

“Obviously not!” You huffed, arms crossing against your chest, causing Steve to chuckle. 

“Robin will come back eventually! And in the mean time, just stay the fuck away from him,” He warned. 

“Now, I gotta get laid.” He winked. You tried to open your mouth, but he interrupted. “I swear to god, Y/N, I don’t wanna hear another word from you, you’ve cockblocked me enough this week.” He said, annoyed.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you stood straight, “Fine! Have fun.” You exclaimed, and Steve grinned, “I will, sweetheart. And you, just... hide from him or something.” He shrugged as he guided the blonde girl out of the door. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were pathetic, asking for Steve and Robin to babysit you, so that you wouldn’t end up under Eddie again, so that you could at least save some of the self-respect that you were sure probably didn’t exist at this point. 

They knew each time you said you were done with him, it was a lie. They knew you’d go back for more, but now it had been two weeks—two whole weeks—where you managed to stay away from him, blocking him for good. 

And you could feel yourself cracking; you wanted—needed—him with every fiber of your being, and it was driving you crazy. 

He drew you in with whatever he did, like a magnet always pulling you toward him, making you need to be around him, at all times.

You missed the way his hands grazed your thighs, the way he fucked you so rough and senselessly, but also so gently. The way his pretty mouth framed compliments so fucking sweetly, but turned dirty the moment he was pounding into you, praising you but degrading you at the same time. 

He was so good at fucking, but was shit at everything else.

Just like you.

So the idea of being friends with benefits sounded like heaven when you first suggested it. No feelings attached, no exclusivity, just fucking each other's brains out while also having someone to chat with afterward.

It was supposed to be simple—so fucking simple. 

But the moment feelings got involved, it turned out for the worst. Jealousy was a bitter monster that gnawed at the insides of the two of you, and it had turned into something so incredibly toxic that you knew you had to end it. Your friendship was long gone now, turning into a bitter competition where you either fucked or argued.

Exclusivity was not something the two of you ever discussed, you knew you were bad at relationships, and Eddie knew he wasn’t good at feelings, so it was a topic you always danced around. Arguments ensued the moment one of you fucked someone else, and bitterness was present in your veins like it had always been there. 

When Eddie decided to fuck another girl two weeks ago, you decided you were done. This wasn’t good for the both of you, and you needed to stop it as fast as you could. 

You knew the emptiness you felt right after you fucked was not worth it, no matter how good Eddie was.  

You were tired of sobbing into Steve’s chest drunkenly, confused about what you even felt for Eddie when he was out there fucking another girl. 

It was starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth, and you didn’t want to hate Eddie—not more than you already did at the moment. 

But there stood Eddie, curly hair laid messily on his forehead as a guitar pick adorned his neck, his infamous leather jacket paired with those black pants were your nightmare—dream—combo, he was sprawled on the couch, thick thighs spread apart, you wished you could part them further with your hands, rub him through his pants as you got down on your knees for him, giving his delicious pink-tip kitten licks as you tasted his salty pre-cum—

What the fuck was wrong with you? You shook your head as you turned around immediately, gazing into your empty cup as you hurried off to the kitchen. 

Your cheeks grew hot from embarrassment, you seriously had no fucking self-control or respect. 

“You need any help?” Eddie’s voice rang in your ear.

“‘M fine,” You muttered, voice barely audible. 

“You know I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“Why? Did you finally run out of girls to fuck on campus?” You said snarkily, a smirk tugging on your lips. 

“Don’t act so fuckin’ innocent now, sweetheart.” He tssked, causing you to throw him a quizzed look.

“Didn’t you go home with Mr. Jock last week?” He was being possessive again, and you hated how it picked up your heart rate, you were stupid.

“So?” You quirked a brow, teasing him, and he gave you a slight chuckle.

That smug asshole, why did he have to always look so good?

“So…how was it?” He asked, and you could feel his jaw tensing as he took a step closer to you, trapping you between the drink stand and his body.

“You’re disgusting.” You groaned as you pushed him away from your face. You were not going to give in.

“That bad, huh?” He mocked, scrunching his nose.

You rolled your eyes. “No.” You lied.

It was bad, really fucking bad; the guy lasted 30 seconds and left you with nothing. That greedy bastard.

But you weren’t going to let Eddie know that.

“He was really good, actually.” You were lying through your teeth, and thankfully, Eddie didn’t seem to notice. An intense rage flashed through his eyes.

“You sayin’ that punk is better than me?” He slurred into your ear, his breath ragged and hot as it fanned against your neck. He smelled so fucking addicting—a mix of sandalwood and nicotine, earthy and making you crave him at the same time. 

You don’t even know how he even came to that conclusion, but it was funny, seeing him like this, nostrils flaring as rage filled his veins, like he was in torture hearing about the guys you fucked, he deserved that.

But your silence at his question meant everything to him; he didn’t need an answer. You knew he was better, and he knew that you were crawling closer to his palm now.

He grew more confident because of the way you stuck to him. “I've seen him in the locker room, sweetheart. He’s not that fuckin’ impressive.” You didn’t mean to gasp, but it slipped past your lips quickly.

“Munson!” You warned, a smile tugged on your lips, and you realized how pathetic you were being again, but it was too late now. 

“Don’t think he can make you smile like I do, either.” He grinned smugly, his calloused hands quick to pull the strand of hair on your face, to see the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, so fucking promising.

“You're a jerk,” You spat, groaning as you turned around, trying to avoid him, but it was no use; the damage was done, and you were putty in his hands again.  

He had a tight hold on your arm, possessive again, and you were sick for enjoying his rough side. He spun you around to meet him, eyes dark, before he held you in place. “A jerk who makes you feel good,” Eddie purred in your ear, fingers tracing toward your exposed skin, one touch from him, and you whimpered, all that anger fading away so quickly.

He chuckled darkly. “Missed those sweet lil’ whimpers,” He whispered in your ear again, fingers quick to find their way toward your panties. 

He drew slow circles with his thumb while you tried to remain tight-lipped, but it was impossible. 

“Jesus—fuck, Eddie som—someone could see...” You didn’t mean to throw your head back against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Eddie shrugged. 

“Don’t care, sweetheart.” 

“Well, I do.” You didn’t; Eddie could fuck you right here, right now, and you’d be fine with it, but you weren’t ready to admit this to yourself, and you didn’t want to take the chance of Robin seeing you like this. 

He groaned as he dragged you into the nearest room. You would’ve cried at the loss of contact if he didn’t have a tight hold on your body, calloused hands gripping at your curves, and your thighs rubbed together at his touch. 

Eddie was quick to pin you against the door, his hand curling around the back of your neck. He smashed his lips against yours without hesitating, kissing you the same way he made you feel; explosive, hard, and dizzying. 

He pulled back to look at you. 

Sweet Jesus.

His gaze was intense, and it made you feel so fucking exposed that it startled a gasp out of your lips. 

You fisted his shirt when you had enough, yanking him closer to you so that you could feel his body pressed into yours. Everything you felt was pure hunger, craving him deeply.  

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you felt his rock hard bulge grinding against you, calloused hands gripped your ass as you whimpered; you were at his mercy now. 

“What were you sayin’ last time? That this would never happen again?” He mocked, whispering against your face, his gaze never leaving you. 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was impossible to keep up your act when his fingers started ghosting over your thighs again. “Fuck. You.” You spat. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.” He grinned, chuckling when you whimpered under his touch.

“God, I love those sweet noises you make for me…” He murmured, you rubbed your thighs again at his words. “I bet if I flipped that little skirt of yours… I’d find you gushing for me.” He groaned. 

And you remained tight-lipped. God, you didn’t want to feed into his huge fucking ego, and you wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. 

But he was so right. Your thighs were dampened by how aroused you were. 

He was quick to slip his fingers past your panties, a grunt escaping his lips once he pushed past your folds, your slick covering his fingers. He chuckled darkly. “You’re soaking my fingers, honey.”

“I—Fuck—I hate you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, and Eddie reveled in it, his fingers pushing inside of you while his thumb stayed on your clit. 

“Always sayin’ shit you don’t mean, baby.” He mocked. “Gonna make you beg for my cock, if you keep’ talkin like that.” 

You were panting and head dizzy as he pushed his fingers in and out of you. You were going to lose it, and he had barely started.

When he finally undressed both of you, you were out of it, while his hands were still on your clit as he groaned at the sight in front of him. 

You were perfect. 

His breath was ragged when he traced your chest, eyes bulging when he realized you had no bra on, pleasure ignited in you more and more when he cupped your breasts, teeth tugging your nipple as his fingers still toyed with your clit.

“Perfect tits, just made for me, huh?” He growled, making you mewl; you were putty in his hands, and with each movement, you were getting closer and closer to beg him for more. 

The more you whimpered, the rougher he got with you, curling his finger inside your cunt as he hit that one spot, eliciting a moan from you as you threw your head back.

“P—please.” You whimpered, and Eddie tutted. 

“I’ve seen you do much better than that.” He hummed. This arrogant asshole was going to be the death of you. 

“P—please, Eds, please.” You begged, and your moans died down your throat, before he slowly dragged his fingers out and shoved them back in. 

Your head cocked to the side in pleasure, and he was quick to take advantage of it, licking a path from your neck to your ear, grinning. 

“Mhmm… not good enough, baby.” He purred in your ear as you whined, “Jesus fucking Christ—” Your cursing was interrupted when he yanked his hands away. 

No. No. No. No!

“Shitshitshit—Please, Fuck, Eds...” You murmured, eyes shooting wide open, “Need your cock inside’a me.” You mewled again. 

His dark chuckle reverberated through you, “See, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” He mocked, causing your eyes to narrow. 

“You assho—” He didn’t let you finish as he wrapped his hands around your throat, just enough to punish you but just enough for pleasure to course through your veins. And it felt so fucking good. 

You shut your mouth quickly, “What were you saying, baby?” He purred. 

God, that egotistic prick was pushing you to your last fucking limit; you could do it, you could hold it off. But on the other hand, you could feel yourself pulsing with need; if he didn’t pound into you soon, you knew you would’ve been a pathetic blabbering mess.

“Please, please, Fuck me,” You grunted. “I need you, Eddie.” He didn’t respond as he tapped your thighs, signaling for you to wrap your legs around his chest, and you were quick to oblige. 

Mind spinning before you got a chance to process what happened, he slammed into you with a vicious thrust, he was so fucking thick that it made you let out a guttural scream, tears welled at your eyes as you tried to adjust to his size. 

It wasn’t long before your loud noises turned into incoherent babbles and squeals as he kept his pace.

“Holy shit, baby,” He groaned, watching his cock sliding into you, “Such a warm fuckin’ pussy, and so fucking tight… Jesus…”

You trembled beneath him, tits bouncing up and down as your mouth hung open each time he slid further into your cunt, and Eddie wanted that image etched into his brain forever. 

He tilted you upward, hitting spots you weren’t even aware of. You were quick to wrap your hands around his frame, your nails digging into his back, roughly.

He was the only one who knew you like that; both emotionally and physically, and the same went for you, that’s why the two of you never could truly let each go, clinging to each other like a child did to their favorite toy.

You know no one else could fuck you like he did, and that smug bastard knew it, too.

The way he was pounding into you while uttering curses at your ear, furiously slapping into your body as if you were nothing but his personal fucktoy, truly his.

And you realized how sick you were for liking it, truly enjoying being this way with him. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock, such a tight fuckin’ pussy and all mine, yea?” He panted causing you to nod, you were barely able hold his gaze, and he groaned before his hands roughly grabbed your cheeks, forcing your head in his direction. 

“Look at me baby…” He purred, “Look, how well your cunt is squeezin’ me. You feel that, peach?” He sheathed himself further into you, and you could feel your walls clench around him, a contented groan leaving both of your lips. 

It was fucking perfect. Everything was rough and messy, there was nothing emotional about the way you fucked. You were both using each other to cum as much as you wanted to, not stopping until you were both sweaty bodies.

He could make you come apart in seconds if he wanted to, knowing your body better than anyone else. And you could make the scary freak Eddie putty in your hands if you wanted to; it was a fucked up game of control that had the two of you going at it for hours. 

Was it fucked up? Yes.

Did it feel good? Absolutely. 

“Would that asshole be able to make you come apart like this?” He asked, fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave a bruise.

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had been possessive; it was a sick, twisted game that you also participated in, almost as if both of you knew that you could never be with anyone else.

You nodded mindlessly, you weren’t going to give into him that easily, again, he grunted at your lack of reaction. 

“Tell me, baby.” He growled, his pounding slowing down to make sure your orgasm was out of reach for you, torturing you until he had you begging under him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to give up this fast. “Beg me, honey.” His movements picked up, and his hands were quick to toy with your clit, a sharp burst of euphoria rang through your body, leaving you speechless. 

You clenched around him—a big fucking mistake—and he grinned smuggly again. “I know, baby, I know you’re close.” He panted. “I can make you cum, angel.” He promised, “Just say the word.” 

“Asshole,” You groaned between his forceful thrusts, and he chuckled darkly. You rolled your hips against his when his movements faltered, seeking the warmth and the friction when he thrusted into you fully, filling you to the brim.

And that prick was thoroughly enjoying your torture. “Tell me it’s all mine, that you’re all mine.” He purred against your ear. 

You couldn’t. You shouldn’t.

But the way his thumb circled around your clit, so agonizingly slow, and the way his cock was prodding into you so slowly was torture. God, if he just picked up his pace.

Don’t. 

You try to convince yourself, but it's to no avail, you are clenching down on nothing, and it hurts. Your hole is pulsing now, and you need him more than ever. 

“P—please,” You mewled, causing Eddie to give you a slight smirk. “Please what, baby? Use your words.” 

“I’m all yours,” You murmured, “He could never fuck me like you could.” You added, humming contently, when Eddie started to pound into you relentlessly again. 

“Please—I need to—Jesus, Eds.” Your words slurred into a moan as he increased his speed, his finger circling your clit roughly. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby. Feels so good.” He panted.  “Please—please make me cum, sir.” You sobbed, unable to hold it back anymore. 

And that was all Eddie needed to hear. “Cum for me, honey.” He pleaded, and you gave him low whimpers as he started fucking you faster again, watching the way his cock disappeared into your gushing cunt.

“Wanna feel you cum on my cock, baby.” He breathed. 

“Shit, feels so good, Eds.” 

“Jesus—Please… I’m going to—” You bit down on your lower lip, unable to stifle the moans leaving your lips as his assault on your clit was enough to bring you over the edge, 

“I’m gonna—I’m…Holy shit, oh god!” You sobbed, whole body convulsing in pleasure as you came around his cock, your vision blurred and mind foggy as you didn’t realize how your orgasm was triggering his. 

Eddie was whimpering for you now, “So fucking good, holy shit.” He panted, movements getting sloppier.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, baby. My perfect fucking girl, yea?” He heaved a breath. 

“I’m gonna fuck this—Gonna fuck my load into you, peach.”

“Gonna fill you with my cum—Fuuuck.” He growled, animalistic noises escaping him as he exploded inside of you, thick ropes of his warm cum painting your walls. 

He groaned when he slipped out, mouth-watering as he enjoyed the sight of you fucked out of your mind, and his load dripping down your thighs. 

The relief you had was short-lived as that sinking feeling came to you again, the emptiness, the loneliness.

Was all of it worth it?

The two of you dressed in silence; the weight of what you did was hitting you all at once. You did it again. You had sex with him again. You let him use you again—it didn’t matter if you used him too, it meant something different for you than it did for him.

All those thoughts you had about feeling good faded out quicker than you thought they would.

You were so fucking pathetic.

Jesus Christ.

You felt sick, what the fuck did you just do?

As soon as Eddie got dressed, he gave your cheek a sloppy kiss. He was going to leave you all alone again.

You should be fine with this, this is what always happens.

Don’t—don’t say anything, just take your last bit of self-respect that is possibly non-existent and leave without another word—

“You’re…leaving?” You exhale, your mind racing with ideas.

Shit. Just shut the fuck up.

“Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart.” He gave you a slight smile, but all you wanted to do was slap it out of him.

“We both know what this was.” He muttered, that conceited dickhead still had that smile on his face.

“And what exactly was ‘this’?” You pointed to the space between the two of you.

“Fucking, no strings attached?” He added, shrugging. The fact that he had no clue about anything was pissing you off.

“Unbelievable.” You gave him a dry chuckle.

“What?” He asked, baffled.

“Is that all I am to you, just a warm body?” You said, face crinkling with disgust.

“I’m confused.” Eddie said. “You—you were the one who fucking suggested this.” He breathed.

“Well, I’m un-suggesting it!” You exclaimed angrily.

“You—you are so fucking confusing!” He spat. “I told you—I told you we could be more... told you we could try... us.” He stuttered. “You were the one who refused!”

“You were drunk! You can barely fucking say it now!” You spat back.

“What... what do you even want, Y/N?” He asked, holding his gaze.

“Do you want a relationship? Do you want something meaningful?” He pondered, a sarcastic chuckle escaping his lips.

“Is it so wrong for me to want that? To want something real?” Your voice carried so much emotion, and that’s what killed him.

He couldn’t have a relationship with you even if he wanted to; he recognized his own turmoil, and he feared he would drag you right down with him. No matter how similar you seemed to be, he was sure he’d ruin you, completely and utterly. And not in a good way.

He swallowed physically; the lump in his throat wasn’t going to go away.

He couldn’t let you have hope; he couldn’t let you down again—he had done that enough.

''A relationship with you is the last thing I see myself doing.'' He almost whispered, but you heard it loud and clear.

Your brows were quick to furrow, and your jaw was was set in a tense manner. The lust in your gaze was long gone by now, containing only rage while you glared at the source of your pain.

“Fuck. You.” You spat, tears threatening to spill but you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction

“You are a sadistic fucking asshole, Munson.” 

“Jesus… I think we should stop—whatever the hell, this is.” He exclaimed.

“Fine by me!” You exclaimed back cheeks heating up from anger.

“I really am done with you, this time.” Despite the intensity of your gaze, he could sense the subtle vulnerability in your eyes. The subtle pain that was fueling your anger

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” He chuckled smugly. This was something you two had joked about before, but it wasn’t funny now.

He saw you in the palm of his hand because you always came back to him, he was right… until now.

The fact that he laughed in your face at the thought of being in a relationship with you was too much, even for your low self-esteem. 

“I don’t care what you think.” You didn’t even hold the rage you held before; only disgust was visible in your tone.

“You’re dead to me.” You replied curtly, your voice distant and chilling.

And Eddie knew how much he fucked up, truly.

There was nothing he could do now.

“I didn’t mean it like—” He regretted what he said immediately, but you dismissed his protests, gathering your jacket in your hand as you slammed the door behind you.

Tears blurred your vision as soon as you left, the lively sound of the party clouded your mind as you silently sobbed, trying to find Robin.

You knew how unattainable he was, and how much he truly hurt you, and as fucked up as it was, that's exactly why you loved him; led by blind faith that it would be different.

[outlawinthisworld1117]

And they were roommates…

☆ pairing: Mingi x (fem)reader

☆ genre: Friends to Lovers. Fluff. A sprinkle of angst. Slow burn? I guess…

☆ summary: KQ was holding the raffle of a lifetime - the opportunity to live with Ateez for an entire year. As someone who isn't particularly a K-pop fan, you were intrigued by the opportunity to travel with free housing. You didn’t think that you would actually end up winning… nor that you’d end up getting close to a certain member.

☆ warnings: toxic bf (not Mingi), some cursing, nsfw? suggestive material, mentions of cheating (again, not Mingi), some poorly written angst, there could be more but I don’t think so??

☆ word count: 14.5k (I went a bit insane for my first fic. I could probably cut it down, but I’m not gonna :P)

☆ authors note: This is heavily based on a scenario I had in my notes app for months. Mingi is my Ult! and I’m a hopeless romantic, which was a huge inspiration for this story. This work is fiction and purely self-indulgent (really as all fanfics should be), it doesn’t reflect any of the members personally. Also, I know that Mingi isn’t afraid of heights and actually enjoys rollercoasters, but for the sake of my 20th Century Girl reference… I had to make him the ultimate scaredy cat. Also, Yn is supposed to be the nickname version of Y/N… Enjoy!

Eight pairs of eyes are locked onto you as you awkwardly smiled back at them, waving ever so slightly. Eight of the most stunning men you’ve ever encountered stood before you, and one of them had particularly captivated your attention. His intense gaze, defined nose, and grown-out bleached hair pulled you in, igniting a spark of excitement within you. His stare burned into your very soul, making you break your gaze and scream internally, overwhelmed by self-consciousness, Jesus H. Christ… how did I end up here???

—Two Weeks Prior—

(translator mode on :3, Hinata is Japanese)

Hinata: -Yn, look at this-

You catch sight of the notification glowing on your phone, and curiously you click the link your friend sent you.

-Win a once-in-a-lifetime chance to live with ATEEZ for an ENTIRE YEAR!!! Simply sign up through email, and you could be our lucky winner! If you’re chosen, you’ll receive free housing, travel expenses covered, an incredible job working alongside ATEEZ, and the opportunity to become friends with the group!-

You scoff, wondering, What is this? It seems like a scam. Your phone pings once more, a new message from your friend lighting up the screen.

Hinata: -I thought it was fake at first, but look!!! The raffle is posted on the official Instagram!! *screenshotted post*-

You: -Hina…you are the K-pop fan, what are you telling me for?-

Hinata: -You have been nonstop talking about wanting to travel somewhere you have never been before. Why not take the chance? Just sign up for the raffle. What harm could it do?-

You: -I don’t know, but it’s not very likely I’ll win anyway.-

Hinata: -So? It’s not likely you’ll get struck by lightning either, but we both know that it is still possible. Just do it!-

You: -Fine. Though you have to promise me that you won’t be mad at me if I win. I know how much you love those guys.-

Hinata: -Trust me, I will not be mad. I applied and if I win I’m giving it to you. I love them, but I will not be able to function if I am around them. Ironically, my biggest fear is meeting Ateez lol :3-

-Plus, you know how to speak Korean pretty well because of school, whereas I can hardly speak the only language I do know…</3-

Smiling at your friend’s text, you opened up the website for the raffle on your phone and signed up, thinking with a hint of sarcasm, I’m probably more likely to get struck by lightning… may the odds forever be in my favor, right? Little did you know that just a week later, you’d receive an ear-piercing call from Hinata, her voice bursting with excitement as she screamed that you won the raffle.

The next week was a complete blur for you. Phone calls with KQ executives, packing bags, and getting on a plane bound for Seoul, South Korea. Your head felt so strange as if you were wearing a large fishbowl; everything you heard echoed, yet at the same time was also muffled. Your knuckles were nearly white from the grip you had on your carry-on’s handle. The rhythmic pounding in your chest was so fast you feared your heart might leap out, prompting you to sit down in your cozy window seat and take deep, calming breaths. You reminded yourself that change was a gift, and this was an opportunity of a lifetime. Hinata was beyond excited for you, so why shouldn’t you feel the same for yourself? Finally, a chance to embark on your long-held dream of traveling abroad, and luckily for you, you already had a very solid grasp on the language… it’s almost like it was fate. You shook your head, Fate? Please, since when do you believe in such silly things. You closed your eyes as the plane took off, willing yourself to sleep for the duration of the flight.

—Present Day/End of Spring—

The eight men in front of you began to speak, starting from left to right, introducing themselves one at a time. The eldest, had long, dark hair framing his face, a comforting smile, and eyes full of curiosity. His name, Park Seonghwa. The way he carried himself instilled an overwhelming sense of safety within you, and in that moment, you just knew you would get along well. 

The next man in line was much shorter. Actually, out of all of them you noted, he was the shortest, only taller than you by an inch. His exterior had a look of calm composure, but you could sense chaos within when you made eye contact with him— Kim Hongjoong, he was the Captain of the ship. Despite the intense energy he gave off though, you didn’t find his chaotic nature intimidating. Instead, you could tell that you were both quite similar but weren’t sure whether or not that was a good thing. 

Moving on to the man with fluffy brown hair that towered above the rest, his smile was radiant and slightly crooked, which you found very endearing. He waved his large hand at you as he said his name, Jeong Yunho. He had a familiar aura, like a home away from home, so you sensed you would be like family. 

Shifting over to the shy man in line, who gave off the energy of a Doberman, but looked like a Maltese. He politely introduced himself— Kang Yeosang. His smile was so warm, it made all your anxieties melt away and suddenly you knew that this raffle was a good change for you. He looked over to the man standing next to him and your gaze followed to the sturdy mountain with dimples. His broad chest and confident posture made him seem scary, but as soon as he spoke his true nature was revealed as the very sweet, Choi San. His upbeat and comic personality had you feeling excited. With a newfound burst of enthusiasm, you looked over to the next man in line and felt your face flush a bit.

Song Mingi was his name. His face had such a look of careful observation, disguised as cold indifference. If you hadn’t known any better you would have felt hurt by the look on his face, but something pulled at your heart and you could just feel that he was the most goofy, caring, and kind soul you would ever meet. Fate? I don’t believe in such things… So you brushed off his current expression and begrudgingly moved on to the others in the line. 

Next was Jung Wooyoung. He seemed like the polar opposite of Hongjoong, presenting a chaotic exterior while harboring a polite and calm soul that shone brightly through the cracks. You sensed he might be a bit of a handful and would take some adjusting to, but deep down, you could also feel that, once you got to know him, he would prove to be one of the most treasured friends to have by your side. You smiled warmly at him before shifting your gaze to the last, but certainly not the least, man in the group. The moment your eyes fell upon him, memories of the big teddy bear in your room back home flooded your mind. He possessed the most fascinating eyes, somehow managing to be both intensely intimidating and incredibly comforting all at once.

With the final introduction behind you, you realized it was now your turn to speak. You swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, striving to recall all the Korean language lessons you had diligently attended in college.

(translator mode on :3)

“Hello, I’m Y/N and I’m very excited and grateful for the opportunity to live here with you guys. It is so nice to meet you all and I can already feel like we will get along well. Thank you for welcoming me into your home, and I hope that this coming year will be one full of great memories!” You bowed your head quickly and straightened out with a nervous, but excited, smile. The group gazed at you with surprise painted on their faces, though Mingi couldn't help but let a sly smirk dance at the corner of his mouth, as his eyes sparkled with amusement. With all formal introductions fully out of the way, the remaining KQ staff slowly departed from the house, leaving just you and the boys in the living room; the atmosphere was thick with newcomer jitters.

“Aigo! Your Korean is quite good,” Hongjoong praised. He motioned toward the couch for you to sit while the other guys situated themselves in various sitting places around the room. You took note of where Mingi chose to sit, which was on the floor, next to your spot on the couch. Leaning back and propping himself up with his arms, he just focused on you. You shifted a bit in your spot and tried to pry your eyes away from him and onto Hongjoong. 

Dismissively you waved your hands, “Ah, it’s not really. I only took a few years of classes during university, but I haven’t gotten to use it much since then, so I am a bit rusty.”

“Nonsense! We understood you perfectly,” Seonghwa smiled.

“Well, either way, I get to practice the language now and I’m very excited to see how much I improve over the next several months,” You buzzed.

“Just talk to Wooyoung, you’ll get plenty of practice in,” San chuckled, casting a playful glance at his best friend.

“Hardy har, I don’t talk that much,” Wooyoung responded, his eyes sending dull daggers toward San.

“Wellll… you kind of do. But we all still love you!” Yeosang chimed in.

“Speak for yourself, Yeo,” Jongho scoffed. Wooyoung lightly pushed the bear of a man, and Jongho pushed back a bit harder. Wooyoung wobbled on his chair trying not to fall over as he regained his balance. You giggled at the comfortable banter amongst the boys.

You looked over at Mingi to see his reaction, but you found that he had been looking at you the whole time. Your breath hitched in your throat as his eyes bore into you, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“So who’s your bias?” He questioned. The other men moved their attention from Wooyoung and Jongho, onto Mingi, and then to you.

“My what?” You asked, brows furrowed.

“Bias? You know, which one of us is your favorite?” He also furrowed his brows, wondering what was with the confusion.

“Who’s my favorite…?” You paused, absorbing the strange requested information from the tall man.

“Yeah… Typically Atiny’s have a favorite member,” he grinned at you, thinking that you were playing a game. Changing his sitting position he rubbed his nose and sniffed, moving to cross his arms smugly adding, “I’m kind of a crowd favorite.” His tongue poked at his cheek mischievously. The others just looked at him with blank stares and shook their heads slightly.

“Are you now?” You teased, looking him up and down. You didn’t doubt for a second that what he said was the truth, he was gorgeous and charismatic, but you and the other guys wouldn’t give him the satisfaction by agreeing with him.

“I’m sure I’ll be your favorite in no time,” He smirked at you and winked. You forced the blush creeping up on your face to go away.

“Well, I’m not really one to play favorites, Mingi,” you teased, feeling comfortable enough with him already to do so, “Plus I don’t know you guys at all, so even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to answer you right now,” you chortled, crossing your arms, shaking your head at the bleach blond man.

Your response had all eight of them looking at you strangely, and you wondered what you said that made them react that way. Yunho decided to speak for the group, “You don’t… know us?”

Oh… right, they were probably expecting a fan to live with them, you thought before answering, “Not really… I mean I know who you guys are. I don’t live under a rock, my best friend is a huge fan of ATEEZ. Personally, though, I don’t really listen to K-pop, so aside from what my friend tells me… I know almost nothing. I didn’t even know your names until you guys said them.”

They all raised their eyebrows as far as they could go, mouths nearly agape. It took a second for them to process what they just heard. Mingi however was just curiously eyeing you, a grin still plastered on his face, as he breathily laughed.

“How ironic that out of the hundreds of thousands of Atiny’s that entered the raffle, the person who won isn’t even a fan of ours,” Wooyoung chuckled, which created a chain reaction amongst the boys, who all started laughing.

Thankfully, they didn’t appear to be upset by your lack of fandom, and there was something about Mingi’s reaction that had you thinking he was actually a bit relieved. You couldn’t help but nervously laugh along with them for a moment, as the sheer absurdity of the whole situation finally hit you, “I guess it’s probably a bit disappointing that I don’t know you guys, huh?”

As the boys calmed down, Mingi took the opportunity to answer, “Disappointing? I wouldn’t say that at all. I don’t know about the other guys, but personally, I much prefer that it turned out like this.” He looked at you with wonder, making you feel like the only person in the room. His eyes are so pretty…you snapped out of it when Hongjoong spoke, “I’m curious though, if you aren’t a fan of us, then why did you apply to the raffle?”

“I wanted to travel to someplace new, and it seemed like a really interesting opportunity. A place to live and a job included? It’s not exactly something I would want to pass up. My friend knows me well I guess, which is why she encouraged me to apply,” You stated simply and the boys nodded in approval at your answer.

“That’s a good friend you have,” San approved.

“Yeah, Hinata, she’s great. Actually, she lives in Japan, so this is the closest I’ve ever been to her, which is kind of nice,” You smiled at the realization, “Maybe I’ll take the chance to visit her next year before I have to go.”

The eight men around you had only known you for a short amount of time, but the mention of you leaving them already had them feeling pangs of sadness in their chests. Mingi just looked at you with a straight face, but his eyes— oh his eyes… he’s like a puppy— tell you everything he was feeling.

“So you speak English, Korean, and Japanese… it’s almost like you’re an idol,” Hongjoong pointed out, trying to shift the mood of his group, laughing weakly at his own joke.

“Ha! I’d make a pretty shabby idol,” You chuckled, a shiver running down your spine at the idea of performing, “I don’t do well when it comes to stages or crowds. If only I didn’t have stage fright though because I do like singing and dancing, and I’m not too bad at rapping either…”

“Plus you’re gorgeous,” Wooyoung added, making you feel bashful.

“Looks like we’ve got an ace in the group,” Mingi smirked in the most sinful way as he continued to stare at you. God, those lips of his…

Hongjoong nearly shouted, preventing your mind from going somewhere it shouldn’t, “Oh! Before I forget, we should go over the rules that have been put in place for the coming year.” He got up and grabbed a piece of paper on the kitchen counter before returning to his spot on the couch.

“Rules? Don’t we have enough already because of Hwa?” Mingi sighed. Seonghwa gave him a poisonous side glare, which made Mingi airily laugh.

“There’s only a couple of them. The managers thought it would be a good idea to have them,” Hongjoong said to prevent any arguments.

“So what are they?” You asked, wondering what could be so important that rules had to be put in place.

Hongjoong cleared his throat before he read off the page, “First rule: no unapproved content of the group or Y/N, whether it be pictures or videos, can be posted online.”

“I don’t even use social media, so that’s the easiest rule I’ve ever had to follow,” You chirped.

“Not even TikTok?!” Wooyoung blurted, shocked at what you admitted.

“Especially not that one,” You shook your head, thinking about the days you wasted away on that app in the past. Sure, you had an Instagram account to keep up with Hinata and your friends from back home, but that was it. You never posted on there anyway.

“Glad I won’t have to worry about you then, Y/N. The rule applies to all of us though… so please-” Hongjoong paused to look sternly at San, Yeosang, and Wooyoung, “-just don’t post anything with her okay? There will be a group picture uploaded to ateez_official to show our winner and that’ll be it for now.”

The three boys just gave sheepish grins and looked at the ground. You giggled, loving more and more the dynamic they all had with each other.

“Okay, final rule, and the managers have it in bold so I assume it’s the most important,” Hongjoong read it inaudibly to himself first, eyes going wide, he coughed a bit before sharing it with the room, “uh- um… it just says You aren’t allowed to date her, so don’t even think about it…”

If you were drinking something you would’ve spit it out. You choked on nothing and started laughing, “Seems like another easy rule… as if that would happen.”

Each of the boys had different reactions though. Hongjoong and Seonghwa kept serious faces, thinking that your response was valid but they knew that the rule was actually very necessary. San, Wooyoung, and Yeosang giggled a bit at it and your subsequent reaction, but they too understood how essential the rule was. Yunho and Jongho just looked at Mingi because they already knew that rule would be needed. Mingi looked like a kicked puppy, and your reaction made him feel even worse.

“Ha yeah… easy rule,” Jongho doubted, feeling that having the rule in place might end up causing more trouble than not having it, “Y/N, you will be living with eight guys around the same age as you. It’s more likely than you think…”

You calm down from your laughter, realizing that you were the only one not taking it seriously, “Oh… um— it’s not that I think it’s unlikely. It’s just that it won’t be a problem. Trust me.”

“The managers didn’t seem to think so,” Seonghwa frowned, giving you a worried look.

“I don’t think you understand, Y/N. Since we will all be living together and spending lots of time around you, one of us may end up developing feelings for you,” Yunho clarified, already glaring at Mingi. You suddenly felt very hot in your seat as eight pairs of eyes stared at you once again.

“Oh…” You addressed calmly, “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news to whoever that could be, but I’m already in a relationship. So when I said to trust me, that it wouldn’t be a problem, I meant it.”

That’s right, you already have a boyfriend, Yn!! Sure… we’ve technically only been dating for a month and it’s not like we love each other. I was going to end things with him before leaving… I mean for crying out loud your love language is quality time! But I do like him though…and he wanted to try long-distance, sooo why not give it a chance. Right???, You internally screamed, kicking yourself ever since you arrived. You were a loyal person above all else and cheating was something you would never ever do. So they really did have nothing to worry about.

The group of boys had a look of relief on their faces, especially Hongjoong, who was glad that there was a solid reason for the rule to be followed. Mingi, however, had a blank expression on his face, trying his best to hide that he felt like he’d been shot by your words.

“Fantastic…” Hongjoong started, “… well then… shall we show you to your room?”

—Beginning of Summer—

The first month of living with them was truly an experience. Hongjoong and San had the best English, so you turned to them whenever the language felt overwhelming, though before you knew it, you were chatting comfortably with each of them. It felt wonderful to form such genuine friendships with them all. Hongjoong loved to share clothes and always showered you with compliments about your unique style. Ever since he discovered your birthday was the day before his, he affectionately started calling you “twin.” When Seonghwa caught you playing Animal Crossing on your Switch, he insisted you add him as a friend, and now you both eagerly trade items and play events together. 

Typically, when you hung out with San and Wooyoung, you found yourself either acting as a moderator or third wheel, but you didn’t mind one bit because they were always so sweet and made you laugh wholeheartedly; And whenever you craved some peace, you’d seek out Yeosang. His calm demeanor always put you at ease, and when he finally opened up, you discovered his hidden sense of humor, leading to a treasure trove of inside jokes between the two of you about the others. 

On the days when you deeply missed your family, spending time with Yunho was a comforting relief. He reminded you so much of your brother and always welcomed you to join him in video games, making everything feel just a little bit more like home. Jongho was happy to have you around since you were the youngest person in the house; only by a year, but to him it meant he could say, “I’m not the maknae, Yn is.”

You once thought that living with a bunch of boys would be a challenge, and while there were moments that tested your patience, they became the most incredible roommates you could have ever hoped for. Thanks to Seonghwa, the house always sparkled with cleanliness, and you never found yourself confronted by those gross odors typical of boys back in the States. To your relief, they weren’t overly rowdy either, which was essential since you cherished the peace and quiet. They would only unleash their loudness on game nights, revealing their fiercely competitive spirits. 

Playing games with them was a unique experience; there were times when you knew winning was a distant dream, and others when you felt a glimmer of hope. As you got to understand each of them better, devising strategies became second nature, leading you to well-earned victories. Jongho shared that same competitive fire, and when the two of you teamed up, you were a force to be reckoned with. However, it wasn’t long before the others grew a bit weary of your winning streak, and soon enough, everyone was reassigned to new game night partners. You pulled his name out of the bowl, which is how you ended up with Mingi. When the boys found out that your MBTI was INTP they called you and him the “two Ts in a pod”, thankfully though it didn’t catch on.

After the first week, your initial infatuation with Mingi wore off. So now you were able to enjoy having him as a friend. He was always around you when he could be. Watching movies with you in the living room, helping out in the kitchen as you made food, sitting on your bed when you folded your laundry, playing video games with you and Yunho, teaching you choreography at the studio, walking around with you whenever you decided to get some fresh air, doing his lives with you in the room— behind the screen though, as to not break the first rule, whatever you were doing he was there with you. You liked having him around; and now that it’d been a month of living with him, you considered him to be your best friend, and you were his— well… except when Yunho was around. He would get pouty and Mingi would have to reassure him, “She’s my best girl friend, Yun. You are my soulmate.”

“You mean it?” Yunho would sulk until Mingi would hug him.

“Soulmates since 9th grade,” Mingi reassured him, putting their foreheads together to do their little spin, giving you a wink as he faced you.

Your relationship with your boyfriend had been doing pretty well too. He was putting in a lot of effort to keep in touch with you, which was not something you were expecting but still appreciated. He would call you several times a week when the time difference allowed for it. You noticed every time you picked up his call Mingi would give you a look before he left the room. It was always the same look, and you could never tell what it meant because he somehow looked sad, annoyed, and unbothered all at the same time. Those brown puppy eyes of his made you feel uneasy as he closed the door behind him. It feels like guilt…why? Your calls with him were usually short, and afterward, you would go find Mingi and sit in a comfortable silence until one of you spoke. It was a strange routine you had and you still hadn’t quite figured out why you two had it in the first place.

“How’s the boyfriend?” Mingi asked, breaking you out of your head before you could go down a thought spiral. He’d never asked this question before.

“He’s good, about to go to sleep…” You looked into his eyes searching for any clues to fulfill your curiosity. You kept eye contact for a few seconds, though it felt like an eternity. His boba eyes searched yours, secretly hoping you could hear his internal struggle; wanting you to understand how he felt while also hoping you’d never find out. He looked away and put on a sly smile.

“Good, I get you to myself then,” he laughed. You rolled your eyes, glad to have your familiar banter back.

“You’ve always got me to yourself,” You shook your head, “I hardly get any time with him so it’s nice to have the phone calls.”

He just nodded and snarkily protested, “Yeah but you love me, not him.”

“I…” unsure of how to react to that you looked at the floor and thought, I should be offended that he said that, but I’m not. Your face actually felt kind of hot because of his words and you took a second to brush the feeling off before responding, “Of course I love you, Min. It’s different with him though. I may not be in love with him, but I really do care for him.”

He turned and smiled at you, reaching out to ruffle your hair up. You playfully swatted his arm away and smoothed your hair back down. He just sighed, “He better know how lucky he is to have you then.”

Yawning, he stretched and rested his hands atop his head, which lifted his shirt up a bit exposing a small area of his naval. It caught your eye and you found yourself staring, your face felt hot again. He looked over at you and smirked, “You hungry?”

“Wha—h-huh?” You looked away quickly, meeting his gaze as he lowered his hands back down, a small tint of blush was visible on your face.

“I’m hungry. Do you want to come eat with me?” He rephrased, giving you a knowing look.

“Sure,” you smiled sheepishly, trying to will away the butterflies you were feeling.

—Middle of Summer—

Your job certainly kept you busy, and you were feeling the rush of it all. It had been a few weeks since you started; KQ had graciously allowed you to settle into the house before handing it over to you.

“What’s your dream job?” Hongjoong queried. You thought about it for a moment. Having a job was never something you dreamed of, but you liked having something to keep you occupied, and of course, having money was always nice. Going to college meant you got to be independent for a while, so you did it for the sake of the experience. You majored in art and design since it had always been a passion of yours, but after graduating you weren’t too sure that you wanted to make it a career. It was always more of a hobby anyway.

“Hmmm, I guess I don’t have one,” Your face looked contemplative, but not sad. You were okay with this aspect of yourself, “My dream has always been to travel, so maybe if my job lets me do that then I’d be happy.”

Hongjoong nodded, thinking over your response and then smiled, “Lucky for you then that your job with us will have plenty of that.”

You perked up, “My job?” That’s right, that was part of the raffle. I almost forgot… wait, “What will I be doing?”

After weeks of traveling to multiple places alongside them on tour, you were finally back home, even if just for a little while. That’s how you found yourself sitting on the floor in the middle of the empty studio late at night, staring at your reflection in the large mirror. Ateez’s newest assistant manager… has a nice ring to it I guess. You’re basically a glorified nanny— picking up food for the boys while they were practicing, running errands, and ensuring they didn’t overwork themselves. But, honestly, you didn’t mind at all; you had already been doing these things for them before anyway. It just meant you got to spend all day with them and get paid for it, which made you happy. The work wasn’t hard, and the salary was generous— far more than you ever earned at any of your jobs in the US. As you laid down on the floor and gazed up at the ceiling, you reflected on the long day you had. Watching the boys pour their hearts into perfecting their art deepened your admiration for them tenfold. You stretched out on the floor and yawned. I probably should head back to the house, I’m sure they’re all wondering where I’ve been. As you sat back up you heard a light knock at the open door. Mingi walked in and sat next to you, nudging your shoulder with his.

“You good?” He smiled warmly, giving you a much-needed energy boost. You smiled back at him and nodded, looking at his eyes— those eyes, gosh I never get tired of looking at them, full of so much emotion. He always looked at you with such care and it made your stomach flutter.

“Aigo, what time is it?” You opened your phone to check and noticed a missed call from your boyfriend, “Shit…”

Mingi’s eyebrows raised, “Where’d you learn to talk like—” He stopped as he saw the notification, taking a sharp inhale, and furrowing his eyebrows. You tried calling him back but it just went to voicemail.

“Shit. He’s probably upset that I didn’t pick up,” You put your phone down and flopped back onto the floor, looking at the ceiling once again.

Mingi had never seen you upset like this before and he hated it. Hated that he was the cause of it. He laid down next to you, your arms brushed up against each other, and he looked over at you, “Maybe he’s just asleep… I’m sure he’s not mad about one missed phone call.”

You could feel your eyes getting misty and you tried to blink away tears before they could form, “It’s not just one missed phone call. He’s been a lot busier lately and with my new job, our schedules just don’t line up anymore… I— I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks. I just don’t know what I’m doing with him anymore, Min. I’ve been with him for over three months… I thought by now that my feelings for him would have grown stronger, but they haven’t. Maybe I should’ve ended things with him like I had planned before coming here…”

Mingi thought hearing you say something like that would’ve made him feel ecstatic but it didn’t. He looked over at you and saw a single tear break free, rolling down your cheek. He thumbed it away and grabbed your hand, rubbing soothing circles on it. You covered your eyes with your other arm trying to hide as you started to softly cry. Mingi could feel tears threatening to bubble up to his eyes, but he forced them away trying to focus on consoling you. He continued to rub circles on your hand, slowly as you calmed down until the tears stopped. Your face felt hot and your eyes puffy. Using his free hand, Mingi slowly caressed the tear stains on your face. It made you understand just how much he cared for you, whether it be as a friend or as more, you didn’t care. What you truly cared about was the realization that you had devoted more time and affection to him, your best friend, than to your own boyfriend— you felt immensely guilty like you had been emotionally cheating. You know what you have to do, Yn. You turned to look at Mingi, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his gaze offering you comfort.

“Thank you,” You whispered to him.

“For what?” He whispered back.

“For always making me feel better, for always being here,” You comfortably sighed.

“I’ll always be there for you, Yn. Always,” A stray tear started to roll down his cheek and you wiped it away, carefully caressing his face with your thumb. He closed his eyes and melted into your touch. You waited a bit to enjoy the moment before you spoke.

“I have to break up with him… don’t I?” You whispered so quietly that he almost didn’t hear you. His eyes opened when your words registered with him, making his heart beat faster.

He cleared his throat before answering, “Is that what your heart is telling you?”

You thought about it and nodded slowly. Your heart wasn’t telling you he was the one, and maybe you always knew it would end up this way. You knew with full certainty though that you’d be fine, as long as you had Mingi by your side.

It took a few days, but you were finally able to call him. You expected that he wouldn’t take the news well, but what you didn’t expect was him yelling that you didn’t even try, nor did you ever care for him. The phone call ended with your face once again tear-stained, shocked at his reaction, left wondering if you really knew who he was in the first place. 

As you opened the door to your room, Mingi was waiting, leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed and his face looked angry, you assumed that he could hear your boyfriend— no, ex-boyfriend— yelling at you. You were tired and didn’t want to deal with trying to talk him down, but as soon as he saw your face, his angry expression dropped, and he pulled you into a deep hug. His chin rested on your head, hot tears finding their way to the corners of his eyes. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, his warm embrace being everything you needed in that moment. The other boys had heard the yelling too and were huddled at the end of the hall, feeling a range of emotions, but most of all aching that they couldn’t do anything to help you right now. They each went back to their rooms, letting Mingi do what he did best. Love. 

After what seemed like hours, he graciously guided you to your room, helped you prepare for bed, and laid down beside you. That night, you found solace in his embrace, holding onto him tightly as tears streamed down your cheeks until you finally drifted off to sleep, comforted by his tender strokes through your hair.

—Last Day of Summer—

It’d been four months since you moved in and three short weeks since the breakup. The morning after, you had woken up to find yourself in bed alone, assuming that Mingi must have gone to his room quietly after you had drifted off to sleep. The events of the night before had been intense, you couldn't shake the memory of how furious he was. Though, strangely enough, you didn’t feel guilty like you'd expected. Instead, an overwhelming wave of relief washed over you. You hadn’t fully grasped the mental toll that relationship was taking on you, and now that you were free from him, you could finally see just how toxic he truly was. You felt silly for not seeing it before. 

So now that it’d been a few weeks, you were getting ready for work and found yourself feeling the happiest you’d ever been—enjoying single life and the moments spent with your eight amazing roommates. Feeling especially grateful for your best friend and the depth of his care for you. You thought back to when he helped you get ready for bed, even when all you wanted was to curl into a ball and sob until you lost consciousness. He chose your favorite pajamas, turned away while you changed, and gently helped you through your skincare routine. He even grabbed his toothbrush from his bathroom so you could brush your teeth together. Then, when it was time to sleep, he laid down beside you, ensuring you fell asleep with a sense of peace. 

Mingi was truly a blessing in your life, and your love for him ran deep. You couldn't help but smile, thinking about how his personality did a one-eighty from when you first met him to now; you laughed as you remembered the little crush you used to have on him. Used to? You stopped laughing, eyes shooting wide at your intrusive thought. You shook your head trying to clear it away like you were an etch-a-sketch, Yes… used to. I don’t anymore. I love him, but I’m not in love with him. Deciding to move past it, you finished getting ready and headed to work with the guys.

————————————-☆-—————————————

Today was a rare day, everyone had a free afternoon in their schedules and the boys had decided it would be fun to do something together.

“How about karaoke?” San suggested. Everyone looked at him with blank expressions and side eyes, deflating him a bit.

“Really? We just got back from the studio, no more singing today,” Yunho groaned, “How about an amusement park?”

Yunho’s suggestion made San perk back up, liking that idea much more than his own. The other guys and you agreed too, and you felt a rush of anticipation—an amusement park sounded like a blast, and luckily there was one not too far away. Memories flooded back; could it really have been so long since your last visit to a theme park? Maybe Disney World when I was ten? The thought sent a thrill through you, especially at the idea of the roller coasters, knowing how much joy they had brought you back then. A harsh reminder brought you down from your excitement though; a famous boy group in a crowded park? Not a good idea. You sulked, which grabbed the attention of Mingi.

“What’s got you down? You seemed so excited just a second ago,” he prodded.

“Did you guys forget who you are for a second? We couldn’t possibly go to such a popular place so close to a comeback, you’d be swarmed,” You looked at each of the boys, some of them already sporting a new haircut or color. Mingi’s grown-out bleach job was replaced with brown dye and blonde streaks. It made him look a bit like a calico cat actually, which you thought was really cute. Yeosang had neon green hair peppered with black stripes, Yunho’s hair was silver, and San’s flaming red hair practically begged for the attention of everyone within a kilometer radius. A few of them furrowed their brows, a flicker of understanding passing over their faces as they realized you were right. They slumped a little, the weight of disappointment settling in as they felt their fun afternoon slipping away. Hongjoong, however, pulled out his phone and smirked.

“Give me a second,” he says, dialing a number.

A couple of phone calls later, you found yourself in an empty, Lotte World, a surreal playground all to yourselves. The entire park had been closed for the rest of the day just for the eight boys standing beside you. Sometimes, you forgot about the immense power they possessed, and you found it extremely intimidating. The only other people around were you and the few park staff members left to keep the rides running. Oh— and a crew of cameras—Hongjoong only managed to convince them to go along with the idea by agreeing to have content filmed. So, while you were technically working, your only real task was to have fun.

This was the very first time you’d be on camera with them since the group picture that was taken when you first met. It sent a wave of unease through you as if a million prying eyes would be scrutinizing your every move. Mingi noticed the change in your demeanor as the cameras were being set up and turned on.

Instinctively, he draped his arm over your shoulders, his hand offering a gentle, reassuring comfort as he slowly rubbed up and down your right shoulder. You eased into his touch and felt your anxiety levels decrease as you searched for his familiar cologne to envelope your senses; he always smelled of wood, citrus, and mint, a combination you’d grown to love. Today though, his cologne smelled a bit more musky, like warm sage and sea salt. To your surprise it made your mouth water a bit; breathing in deeply, you asked him, “New cologne?” 

He looked at you with a smirk, hoping you’d notice. He gave a quiet mhmm in response, as he moved you in front of him and started massaging between your neck and shoulders. The varied pressure made you close your eyes and quietly sigh, melting beneath his ministrations. Pulling you a bit closer to him, he leaned down next to your ear, and just slightly above a whisper asked, “Alrighty then, where should we go first?” 

It made you jump a bit and squirm out of his hold on you, your ears felt hot. What the hell is in the air here? Mingi looked more attractive to you than ever and you swallowed a thick lump in your throat you didn’t realize was there. You coughed a bit to clear it, and the feeling, away before you spoke. Thinking about what you wanted to do most here, your eyes gleamed with excitement, “How about we go on a rollercoaster?”

As if it was now his turn to have his demeanor change, Mingi’s aura shifted. He no longer had that flirty air about him, instead, he froze. He tried hiding it, but his face went pale and eyes wide. The calm breathing he had before was replaced with shallow breaths as his heart rate picked up. He really was a big scaredy cat. You didn’t seem to notice though as you grabbed his hand and dragged him along with you to find the nearest rollercoaster, yelling out to the others, “Who wants to come with us?”

Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Yunho eagerly joined in, and San, wanting to stick close to you all, tagged along as well. However, when you reached the coaster, he suddenly hesitated, backing out and opting to wait at the entrance. “Are you sure?” you asked, disliking the thought of him waiting alone. He nodded quietly, but before you could offer to stay with him, Mingi interjected, “I’ll wait with him, it’s okay.” 

Mentally, he let out a sigh of relief, grateful for this easy escape from having to ride what he considered to be a death trap. You watched as they walked away from the empty line, heading towards the outside of the ride. Turning your attention back to the exciting rollercoaster in front of you, you felt a rush of anticipation as the employee prepared everything. You shared a glance with Yunho, both of you silently agreeing to sit together. Outside, San stood captivated by the sprawling metal structure of the coaster, while Mingi's gaze was fixated on the entrance. 

Once the initial sense of relief passed over him, a different feeling began to settle in—regret. Now that he was away from your side, he couldn’t shake the longing feeling that he wished to have stayed and pushed through his fears. It wasn’t until he was out of breath, one hand resting on Yunho’s shoulder, that he realized he had sprinted back. You were already situated in your seat on the coaster, and Mingi had just reached Yunho in time before he boarded. Yunho, recognizing the urgency in Mingi’s eyes, nodded with understanding, aware of his friend's silent plea, and quickly left to accompany San. You looked over with confusion in your eyes, but a smile on your face when you saw him sitting down in the seat next to yours, pulling the bar above over his shoulders to secure himself in. There was no going back now, but he didn’t care, as long as it meant he got to be beside you.

Despite how he felt on the inside though, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to his fear. As the ride slowly started to go up the incline towards the first drop his eyes screwed shut and his breath began to match his erratic heartbeat. You heard the labored breathing next to you and saw that Mingi was absolutely terrified, worried for him you asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He struggled to speak, hyperventilating by this point, “I’m scared of heights…”

“What!” Your eyes blew wide, full of concern, “Then… why did you get on?”

He grabbed your hand, and squeezed it tightly, hoping that your touch would help ground him, “I… I wanted to be with you.”

The coaster was now only a mere meter away from the drop, but all you could do was look at him. His desire to be with me outweighed his fear… Your eyes remained locked on him, brimming with a mix of love and concern. You gently intertwined your fingers, and he finally opened his eyes to meet yours. In those familiar brown depths, you could read his every emotion. His gaze had always been a window to his soul, revealing his true feelings. While on the surface he looked mortified, his eyes whispered a different truth—that he had never felt more at ease and secure in his life. As the coaster finally dropped he exclaimed, “Y/N-ah!— I love you!” 

The exhilarating rush of adrenaline from the coaster intertwined with his confession left you feeling truly electric. You raised your hands high, savoring every second of the ride, and slowly, he lifted his hands too, a radiant smile blossoming on his face. Seeing his huge smile as his fears melted away tugged at your heartstrings so deeply that whatever had been holding you back from embracing your feelings for him shattered completely. You found yourself swept up on a rollercoaster of emotions, realizing with extreme clarity that you were truly in love with Song Mingi, finally allowing yourself to believe in the magic of fate. Just loud enough for him to hear you gushed, “I love you too, Mingi-ah!”

You couldn’t see his face very clearly, but you could feel his warmth as he shifted your conjoined hands to press a heartfelt kiss against the back of your hand, causing the butterflies in your stomach to flutter uncontrollably. As the coaster finally came to a stop, your hand still remained tightly interlaced with Mingi’s, it just felt so natural; but when an employee approached to assist you both out of your seats and a camera crew waited for you to get off, ready to capture the moment, you found yourself reluctantly having to let go. Holding hands was a sweet, innocent gesture between friends, yet the presence of the camera made you hesitate, it felt too intimate in front of the lens. It took a bit of time to finally pry yourselves away from them, but once you did, you were hit by a sudden desire to get a bag of theme park popcorn.

Making your way back by yourself from a concession stand, you stumbled upon voices speaking in stern, hushed tones. You hadn't intended to eavesdrop, but when you heard your name being mentioned, it froze you in your tracks. Discerning the voices from each other you realized that, Wooyoung, San, Yeosang, and Yunho were talking to Mingi.

“I’m not stupid Mingi, and neither are they, we can clearly see that something is going on between you and Yn,” Wooyoung exasperated.

“Woah, woah, I never said you were stupid,” Mingi rebutted, feeling a little hurt, “Do you really think I would call you that and actually mean it?”

“Woo—” San warned, trying to bring his friend down to a level-headed place, “careful…”

Wooyoung glanced over at San, then to Mingi, and back to San again, taking a deep breath to calm himself because he wished to avoid making things worse, “Right sorry… what I mean is; We heard you on the ride, loudly confessing to her, and then you’re expecting us to pretend like we didn’t?”

Mingi looked at the ground and shuffled his feet, unsure of what to say. You listened intently once he found the words, “I’m not going to ask you to pretend. Feel free to shout it out like I did, but before you do, think about how it affects her. Not me. She’s the one that would face the consequences of my actions. If anyone is stupid here, it’s me. I was selfish instead of being smart. I don’t want to have to regret saying it to her, so please… not for me but for her, could it stay between us?” 

There was a silence as Wooyoung thought over the proposition he was given, and Yunho was the one that commented next, “I can’t say I’m surprised. I figured it was only a matter of time before you told her how you felt.”

“It’s just a shame you can’t do anything about it,” Yeosang added, always being one wanting to see love win.

“Well… not exactly,” San grinned, “We can pretend to not know anything. It’s just a matter of making sure that Joong, Hwa, and the managers don’t find out.”

“And Jongho,” Wooyoung added, finally breaking his silence, finding it hard to stay upset when Mingi’s puppy eyes were present.

“Jongho already knows about Mingi’s feelings, and he would figure it out pretty quickly if we acted like nothing was going on. Getting him in on it is better than keeping him out of it, he’s less trouble that way,” Yunho disagreed, earning concurring nods from the other three.

“Are you guys going to let me in on it too, or am I to be kept in the dark as well?” You chimed in giggling, deciding it was probably a good moment for you to join the conversation.

“How long have you been there?” Mingi asked, his face feeling hot.

“Long enough…” You smirk, giving him a knowing look.

“None of that…” Wooyoung butts in, “It looks hella obvious when you look at each other like that.”

“Like what?” You inquired, tongue in cheek, playing dumb. You felt frustrated by the assumptions being made, especially since you and Mingi hadn't yet had the opportunity to discuss it together.

Wooyoung sighed heavily, and once again Yunho spoke in place of him, “Look… we’ve all been away for a while, and people are going to start noticing. For now, let’s just head back and enjoy the park while we can, we can figure this out later. I’m sure we’re all hungry; where should we eat after?”

————————————-☆-—————————————

You once thought the world to be anti-romantic, but that wasn't always your belief. You grew up filled with hope, longing for the kind of love that danced through the pages of books and lit up the screens of movies, and you were certain that such love would one day find its way to you. It was, without a doubt, your heart's deepest desire. So when you got your first boyfriend, you believed that this was it, your dream was finally going to come true. Except it didn’t— you were only in middle school and two days later he dumped you for the girl you sat next to in class. It was okay though. You were a resilient kid, determined to not let a fleeting moment with a silly boy dim your spirit, so handling it with grace you moved forward. Throughout high school, you experienced crushes that flickered like candle flames, but nothing ever truly ignited, and slowly your hope began to dim. Your standards had become impossibly high molded by the enchanting stories of fictional romance that no ordinary teenage boy could ever hope to match. It wasn’t until college that you entered your first real relationship, the taste of first love felt exhilarating. It lasted for a couple precious years, but it all came crashing down when you discovered your only love had been cheating on you. You were heartbroken, utterly shattered, and this time, your hope didn’t have the strength to bounce back. You couldn’t help but wonder why you even bothered getting into that relationship with your most recent ex-boyfriend, especially when you hadn’t any hope it would work left within you. That is until you met him— the man sitting in front of you who you hadn’t realized took your shattered hope and pieced it back together with his gentle love. So now, as you watched him set a piece of food on your plate, you could say with full certainty that you no longer believed the world to be anti-romantic, and that true love does exist, it just takes its time to find you once you’re ready for it.

You paused in eating, eager to capture Mingi’s attention. He was always so completely immersed in his food when he truly enjoyed it, and you couldn’t help but find that trait of his really adorable. When he finally looked up and caught your gaze, a wide smile appeared across his face, making your heart swell. Looking down at your shared table, you made sure that no one was looking before you turned back to him and mouthed, I love you. 

You didn’t know it was even possible for him to smile bigger, yet somehow he did. A soft giggle slipped from your lips when you noticed the tips of his ears turning a cute shade of pink, and with an adorably flustered expression, he cupped his face in his hands, trying to hide as the color deepened to a vibrant red. Your heart raced at his reaction, and you could feel a warm blush creeping onto your cheeks. Wooyoung, sitting beside you, caught onto what was going on and lightly nudged your shoulder and Mingi’s foot from beneath the table, delivering a silent reminder that you both needed to tone down the obviousness. Eventually, he uncovered his face, scratching at the back of his head as he struggled to redirect his focus back to his plate. Just when you thought the tension might linger, Hongjoong came through with a perfect distraction— a drinking game. He set down on the table a lottery spinner, and the balls inside held rousing questions just waiting to be unleashed. Rules of play were simple; a spun fork chooses who gets to go, when you get a ball from the cage you have to answer its question, and if you don’t, take a shot.

Hongjoong started off the game with the first spin. You watched the fork tantalizingly go round and round before it stopped on… you. A nervous grin was plastered on your face as the spinner was passed down to you; you gave its handle a couple of turns before a ball popped out. Opening up the small plastic container, you pulled out a folded piece of paper, and smoothed it out before reading aloud, “What physical feature do you find the most attractive?”

A small wave of ‘ooo’s and looks of curiosity passed throughout the group. You weren’t expecting the questions to be risqué, yet here you were, staring down at one that made your stomach do a flip. Your throat felt suddenly dry, and everyone staring at you in anticipation made your seat feel hot. Out of all the people there, Mingi was the last person you expected to say, “Oh, this’ll be good…” 

He had his arms propped up on the table, his chin resting on his hands, and a sinful grin playing at the corner of his lips. To you and the guys who knew, it was painfully clear what he was up to, but to those who didn’t, he appeared to be nothing more than a playful, teasing friend. You gave him a warning glare, to which he responded by mischievously poking his tongue slightly between his teeth and scrunching up his nose. He’s cute… so I’ll let it slide.

“Welll? What’s the answer!” Wooyoung poked, wiggling his eyebrows, earning an amused chortle from you. Figuring there’d been enough suspense for the night, you cleared your throat and then quickly answered, “Lips.”

“Any size?” San inquired, joining in on the apparent group taunt fest.

Face getting red, you answered, “No… I like big lips the most,” Looking down you quietly added, “ I-I mean…I really like kissing and it makes it more enjoyable. At least it is for me anyways, I don’t speak for anyone else.”

Not realizing the effects your words had on him, Mingi’s leg was nervously bouncing, and his cheeks had a slight dusting of blush on them. Ending your turn, you spun the fork and silently prayed that it wouldn’t land on you again for the rest of the night. Round and round it went, coming to a stop on… Mingi. He opened the ball that the spinner spit out for him and read it aloud, “Who was your last spicy dream about?”

His head whipped up in shock, his eyes wide with mortification reaching for his glass to take a shot, receiving a few disappointed groans from his curious friends. After downing his drink, he locked eyes with you, giving you a silent answer that secretly you had desired to know. Smirking you decided to take the opportunity to mess with him like he did with you.

“Come on man, not even going to humor us?” You teased. Wooyoung had stifled a cackle at the look on Mingi’s face— a nervous side eye as he shook his head, spinning the fork to end his turn. You just snickered, feeling content with his reaction.

————————————-☆-—————————————

Nighttime had fully settled in by the time everyone left the restaurant and the hot humidity of the day had dissipated from the air. It was a warm, refreshing walk back to the house, and with the bittersweet knowledge that it was the last day of summer, you felt a deep yearning to do one last thing before it slipped away, “I want to get some ice cream, any of you guys want to join?”

The guys paused for a moment, weighing their options, but after a long and exhausting day, they ultimately decided to head home for some much-needed rest. As expected, Mingi chose to stay behind, lingering in the promise of alone time with you. Once the guys had walked out of view, you felt slightly awkward, uncertain about how to move forward now that things had shifted between you. Almost immediately, though, Mingi reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers in a gentle embrace that brought a sense of comfort through his familiar presence. He always had a remarkable ability to put you at ease in those moments of tension, making your world feel just a little bit lighter. As you started your journey towards the nearest convenience store, he cleared his throat, “So… big lips huh?”

You playfully punched his arm with your free hand and then covered your face, embarrassed you admitted to that truth earlier. He moved your hand away gently so that he could look at you. One of the first things you noticed about him was his lips, and every time you looked at them it stirred something within you. Deep down you’d always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, how his plush lips would feel on yours. Would they be firm? Soft? Slow or hungry? You couldn’t help but stare at them now. He smirked as he realized where your gaze was directed and he licked his lips, “What kind of ice cream do you want?”

You looked away to find that you were already in front of a freezer stocked with the sweet treat. When did we get here? He pulled out a banana flavor for himself and waited patiently, thinking quickly you answered, “Uhhhh… strawberry.”

He picked one out just for you, went inside to pay, and then returned to settle beside you on the bench outside. In the warm air and a comfortable silence, you both savored your ice cream; every now and then stealing glances at the other, before returning back to your delicious treat. You both were acting like giddy kids with their first crush. As you took the last bite of your ice cream and discarded the wrapper in a nearby bin, out of the corner of your eye you spotted a playground and booked it for the swings. Mingi, caught off guard by your sudden movement, understood quickly and followed after, tossing his empty wrapper away. 

You loved the swings, always feeling a rush of freedom when you soared through the air like a bird. Slowly, you swung back and forth, tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of the stars, though you could only catch faint glimmers due to the bright city’s relentless light pollution. Mingi mimicked you, but he ended up losing his balance and tumbled right out of the swing seat. He hit the ground with a soft thud. Instantly you rushed over, anxiously checking if he was okay. His small, infectious laughter reassured you that he was fine, and you couldn’t help but join in, finding it hilarious how he always seemed to forget just how tall he was. 

You grabbed his hand to help him sit up and dusted the dirt off his shoulders, not realizing how close you ended up to his face until you felt his warm breath on you. He was biting at his lip as he stared at yours, causing your heart to flutter. Your faces merely a couple of centimeters away from each other, you’d only have to move just a bit to— Mingi pressed his lips upon yours, closing the gap between you. His lips were soft, like a velvety pillow against your own. You could feel the gentle tickle of his breath beneath your nose, as his fingers wove through your hair. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as you both lost yourselves in the intoxicating sensation of each other’s touch. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and you happily parted, granting him access into your mouth. In that moment, you realized you would forever love the combination of strawberry and banana that flooded your senses. After what felt like a blissful eternity, you finally separated, your breaths mingling as you rested your foreheads together. He smiled gently, eyes sparkling, and he gave you a quick, tender peck that held a world of affection, “I love you so much, Yn. Ever since I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one for me.”

His words made you absolutely melt, making you feel like the main character of an early 2000s rom-com movie, “You gave me the hope to believe in love again, Song Mingi.” 

You gave him a deep, heartfelt kiss, pouring into it every emotion you desperately wished to express for him. He grinned against your mouth, glad that he finally had you.

“I’m going to safely assume that this means we're dating now, in secret?” He said looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes that made you feel weak in the knees.

“Oooh, this will be fun. Dating in secret, like we are in some kind of sitcom or something,” You grinned, assuring him he was right in his assumption, “We should head back soon though if we want to keep this a secret.”

—Middle of Fall—

Six months since moving in and over a month of secretly dating Mingi. You two have become quite skilled at creating the illusion of being just friends, though really the only thing that had changed was that now you shared kisses when no one else was watching. For Halloween, you had a couple's "besties" costume;  you dressed up as Fred and Daphne, and somehow you had convinced Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho to be Shaggy, Scooby, and a gender-bent Velma, to keep suspicion at bay. Hongjoong and Seonghwa seemed none the wiser, and you and Mingi were as happy as ever.

—Beginning of Winter—

7 months. You began researching apartments in the area, knowing that you’d much prefer to stay in Korea than return to the States. This was home for you now. During your secret sleepovers, Mingi would eagerly share his thoughts on which neighborhoods offered the best apartments, that somehow were always conveniently within walking distance for him. You weren’t going to complain though.

—Christmas Day—

8 months. Mingi surprised you with a gift you had always hoped for over the years, and you couldn't help but wonder how he knew that you wanted it. He must be able to read minds… oh, Jesus, I hope not. The thoughts I’ve had about him… You gave him a handmade gift, which made him cry; he was such a deeply emotional person, which you loved more than anything. 

Christmas was one of your favorite holidays, and you had always wanted to share a kiss with your boyfriend under the mistletoe, a sweet moment you had never experienced before. When you had spied some dangling over a door frame, you scanned the area for watchful eyes before you pulled him in for a quick kiss. Well, maybe not so quick… he pulled you back in, turning it into a fervent, hasty make-out session that left you both breathless.

—New Year's Eve—

Only a few days later, the guys and the KQ managers had organized a team New Year’s Eve party. As the clock struck midnight, you and Mingi locked eyes from across the room, playfully blowing kisses to each other, not daring to do it for real in front of everyone. Though, once everyone had gone to bed, you finally got to share your New Year’s kiss, “Happy New Year, Yn.”

“Happy New Year, Min.”

—End of Winter—

10 months. It was nearly a year since you moved in, and today was your five-month anniversary with Mingi. You both were fortunate enough to have the day off and at last, you could finally celebrate together. Since Hongjoong and Seonghwa dedicated their entire day to fine-tuning their Matz performance at the studio, you two were free to do as you pleased, without having to worry about getting caught. He surprised you with a wonderful breakfast, that he made himself, and after you finished eating together, he excitedly told you to get ready because he had something special planned for the day. 

As you were getting ready though, outside rain began to pour, heavily; the moment the first crack of thunder rolled in, it became clear that your plans were dashed. You heard a soft knock at your door, and Mingi poked his head in with a warm smile that brightened the gloomy atmosphere, “Change of plans, put your pajamas back on. Let’s make a blanket fort.”

So you did, and it was amazing. It was enormous, full of soft pillows, twinkling string lights, and an array of fluffy blankets to lay on. The fort’s opening was perfectly positioned right in front of the TV in his room, and you had a double feature of each of your favorite movies.

—Beginning of Spring—

Work comeback was happening in a couple of months and the festival performances were starting to pick up, and after the long winter break from the last tour, you were excited to be traveling with them once again. KCON was upon you in just a few days, and you felt like a hamster tirelessly running on a wheel amidst the whirlwind of preparations. Yet, despite the chaos, everything felt just right because you got to spend every day by his side, watching him passionately rehearse until he deemed the routine to be perfect. He always looks so hot when he’s dancing.

“You’re drooling, Yn,” Yunho laughed.

“Ha ha… am not,” You snapped out of the trance Mingi had you in and you wiped your mouth, it was dry, Yunho was just teasing you.

“You practically were,” San jumped in, also noticing how you were staring, “Gotta be more careful, you’re gonna give yourself away.”

You looked over to where the managers, Joong, and Hwa were, talking to each other about KCON details, “Yeah… they’re too busy to notice anything right now. Thank god…”

“You were looking at him like some horny teenager,” Wooyoung chimed in, joining the bandwagon, “Heck if I didn’t know any better I��d think that you two haven’t— nah, you two have had… right?”

You looked at him with big eyes, face red as ever, whispered yelling at him, “Shhhhhut up, Woo.”

“Are you serious? You two really haven’t slept together yet?” He looked shocked. Yunho pushed him a bit, signaling him to cut it out.

“Who cares if they have or haven’t. It’s none of your business,” Yunho defended.

“Thank you, Yun. It really isn’t his business,” you huffed.

“Yeah, Woo, we all live under the same roof. We would hear them if they were,” San theorized, thinking that he was helping, causing you to hide your face in your hands out of embarrassment.

“They could go somewhere else,” Wooyoung rattled on.

You let out a muffled groan, “Why do you want to know so bad…”

“Know what?” Mingi had walked over to take a water break, wondering what had you so flustered.

“Why you two haven’t fucked yet,” Wooyoung said nonchalantly.

Mingi choked on his water, sending him into a coughing fit, he croaked out, “Wh-what? W-why are you talking about that?”

“The way Yn was looking at you earlier… let’s just say it wasn’t very PG,” Yunho attested. You glared daggers at him. So much for defending me earlier, huh?

Mingi looked at you with a smirk, “Oh really?”

“Please not you too. This is four against one now, it’s not fair,” You whined quietly, “It’s also not a very safe topic of conversation, there are people here that aren’t supposed to know about us, remember??”

They all looked over at said people, who were still not aware of what was going on, you continued, “It’s far too public to talk about that.”

“Careful there, Yn. Your words sound borderline suggestive,” Wooyoung jested.

You got up and started to leave, “Yeah no, not doing this anymore. I’ve got things to do, gotta work ya know.”

“Ahh come on, I’m just having fun,” Wooyoung pouted, Mingi pushed him slightly, causing him to fall over. The three boys just laughed at him as you left the room, taking a much-needed calming breath as the studio door closed behind you.

————————————-☆-—————————————

There was a team meeting in fifteen minutes, and you found yourself preparing coffee for everyone, standing in quiet anticipation as you waited for the coffee maker to finish brewing. Suddenly, you felt a pair of arms wrap gently around your waist, drawing you into a warm back hug. Mingi rested his chin in the crook of your neck, “I’m sorry for earlier. Woo has no filter when it comes to that sort of thing.”

You turned around and hooked your arms around his neck, “Oh I know. It’s fine really, no harm done, just extremely flustered is all.”

He nodded, moving his hands so that they settled on your waist and lazily rubbed circles, “Still, he shouldn’t have kept messing with you. So what if we haven’t? Why rush? We have the rest of our lives together.”

“The rest of our lives?” You grinned.

“Of course, you’re not getting rid of me that easy,” he laughed.

You smirked, “Well I hope I won’t have to wait that long…”

He raised his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape, you continued on, “Do you plan on making me wait, Princess?”

His face flushed at the nickname, caught off guard by how it was used. With a spark of newfound confidence, you playfully continued to tease him, letting your hand glide down his chest before using your pointer and middle finger to slowly walk in a line back up. He leaned in closer, his voice taking on a graveled tone, “Of course not, I just never wanted to make you feel pressured, that's all.”

“You could never make me feel pressured, Min. We don’t have to rush, but it’s been pretty long already… don’t you think?” You whispered, faces close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Mmm, was all he could muster in response before crashing his lips against yours. Unlike the first time you kissed, this one was filled with a deeper hunger and a passionate fire that burned for the other. He lifted you effortlessly and set you down on the counter, continuing to kiss you with fervor, moving from your lips to your ear, and then trailing down to your neck. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and you felt him smirk against your skin, a mixture of desire and longing building inside you both. His hands snaked up under your shirt, resting his hands above your waist, and you carded your fingers through his hair, while your other hand pulled him in closer to you. 

“Hey Y/N, the new choreographer is lactose intoler—” Seonghwa entered the room, stopping at the sight before him. You both broke apart immediately. Mingi helped you down from the counter, and you bit at your thumb nervously. Seonghwa just stared at you both, dumbfounded, and then continued as if nothing happened, “—anyways. Just make sure that you don’t put milk in there alright… I saw nothing.”

As quick as he entered, he left, leaving both you and Mingi in shock. You giggled nervously, “Welp! Hwa knows now. Do you think he will say anything to Joong?”

Mingi thought for a moment before he shook his head and laughed, “No, I think we’re good for now, but it’s probably best to save the hot and heavy stuff for when we aren’t at work from now on.”

You flashed him a sheepish grin as the coffee maker chimed, signaling that it had finished brewing. Turning to pour the dark liquid into each cup, you tried your best to recompose yourself after what just happened. Mingi snapped the lids on once you were done, then offered his hand to help carry half of them to the team meeting, a small gesture that made your heart flutter.

—Coachella—

12 months since winning the raffle, and one week until you had to move out. Lord have mercy on my soul, pleaseeeeee, was all you could think when your platinum blond boyfriend walked out of the dressing room. You felt embarrassingly turned on just by what he was wearing; an unbuttoned jacket, and distressed jeans that left little to the imagination, paired with a large faux tattoo scrawled across his chest advertising his signature phrase. It was all too much, you could already feel your face heating up, and the sweltering weather of the valley was not helping; Neither was the fact that you and him still hadn’t found the chance to relieve any of your accumulated tension… since there was always someone around to interrupt your attempts, keeping you from going through with what you both longed for. You had reached a point where sexual frustration was constantly bothering you, with no way to resolve it. Before you and him had talked about the possibility of it, self-satisfaction was enough to ease the longing, but now, not even that could provide the relief you desperately craved. Just seeing him walk around had you involuntary pressing your thighs together. You had never felt more aroused before than you did now and it was becoming distracting to your task at hand. 

Your job today was to lend a hand with quick changes and keep track of props. The guys would soon start their last performance and you still hadn’t double-checked that each prop was in its correct spot backstage. Shaking your head to clear your mind, you got up and headed towards the prop table. Everything was in its rightful place and you didn’t have much to do but wait, so you kept yourself busy by fiddling with the cane that your silly boyfriend held during his part in Arriba.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play with the props before?” Mingi leaned in, whispering sweetly in your ear from behind, startling you and causing your heart to race. You spun around, eyes wide, holding your chest as if it would soothe your erratic heartbeat. With furrowed brows and a lighthearted faux frown, you swatted at him, but he effortlessly dodged your playful attempt.

“Jesus Min! Don’t sneak up on me like that,” You lightly chastised as you crossed your arms, not actually upset just spooked.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist,” He smiled, hands up in the air in surrender, “Anyways, are you excited for the show?”

“Always!” You beamed.

“What do you think of tonight’s outfit,” He did a little twirl, holding out his arms, displaying the large tattoo for you better. Trying to hide the blush on your face you looked away from him, and he grinned, “I’ll take that as a yes then?”

Nodding, you turned your gaze back to him, biting down on your tongue, your eyes lingering on him with a mix of lust and love, “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear…”

“I’ll go put a shirt on right now, I can’t have you dying on me,” He joked.

“No, keep it off. One less thing to take off later,” You teased, feeling proud as you watched his face turn a light shade of red.

“Oh? What’s later?” He flirted back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

“You’ll find out after the show,” You grinned, leaving him hanging, and giving him a reminder, “You’re on in five.”

“Cheer for me?” He said, flashing a cocky smile as he slowly started walking to join the rest of the guys.

“Of course! Knock ‘em dead, Princess,” You winked, blowing him a kiss.

————————————-☆-—————————————

The morning sun poured in through the hotel curtains, gently coaxing you awake. Your eyes fluttered open, landing on tousled, messy platinum locks. As you yawned, you felt the comforting shift of Mingi’s arm around your waist, drawing you in closer as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck. A soft giggle escaped your lips, feeling tickled as his breath brushed against your bare skin, memories flooded in of all that unfolded the night before. Clothes discarded around the room, his strong grip holding you firmly against the wall, his gentle touch igniting waves of unimaginable pleasure as you both came undone together. Wrapped in each other's warm embrace, eventually drifting into blissful sleep.

“Morning, Love,” He smiled softly against your skin, his voice coarse and warm with the lingering embrace of sleep. He started placing soft, lazy kisses along your neck, and you let out a content sigh.

“M’good morning, Min,” You moved your hand so that you could play with his hair. It still felt soft despite all the times it had been bleached. He hummed happily and you wished that you could stay just like that all day, lost in each other’s presence, but there was so much that had to be done. Begrudgingly you said, “We should get up. There’s a music video that needs filming…”

With his morning voice still present he groaned, “No, let’s just stay here. They can get it done without us.”

You airily laughed at his pathetic, and cute, attempt to convince you, “I wish, but alas it’s quite unfortunate that it can’t be done without us.”

He moved above you, propping himself up with his arms, a sinful look in his eyes, “What if I tried persuading you in a different way,” He slid his knee so that it was in between your legs, slowly moving it up, and pressing lightly against you.

“Mmmmm, tempting,” You breathed out, trying your best to prevent yourself from letting him rile you up, “but I would rather not risk getting scolded by Hongjoong.”

He sighed, a smirk on his face as he flopped back down on the bed, “Okayyy… you’re right.”

“There’s always later tonight, though, if you’re still feeling persuasive,” You grinned, planting a quick kiss on his cheek before you hopped up.

He called out to you before you went into the bathroom, “Count on it, Love.”

—End of Spring/Move Out Day—

The year had flown by and your time at the house had come to an end. You cherished every moment spent there, but a thrilling sense of excitement grew within you for the new chapter awaiting in your new place—conveniently just a few minutes away within walking distance, just as Mingi had always hoped. You looked at your empty room in the house one last time, a bittersweet ache settling in as you closed the door behind you. All of the guys awaited you in the living room, ready to help you get settled into your new apartment. As you looked at each of them, you were reminded of all of the great memories you spent with them over the year, and tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. Half of them had already been crying, and the other half seemed on the verge of starting as they pulled you into a warm group hug. As they let you go, Hongjoong spoke, “I guess this means I can finally stop pretending like I don’t know you and Mingi are dating, huh?”

He enjoyed the look of surprise on everyone’s faces; no one knew that he knew, not even Seonghwa who felt betrayed, “How long have you known?”

“I guess I always knew it would happen eventually, ever since her very first day here. I would be quite disappointing as a Captain if I couldn't sense the feelings of my team members,” He explained, “Plus I saw them canoodling on the playground last summer. Way to be subtle guys…”

“Ope! He’s known since day one,” Yeosang cracked up, covering his mouth.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked, confused.

“The primary reason behind the rule was to prevent conflict. I knew that if I had spoken up and kept you two apart, it would have created even more problems than simply allowing you to be together. Deep down, I couldn’t help but secretly wish that you both would finally start dating, the tension had become almost too much to bear,” He reasoned, then smiling sweetly he admitted, “I’m rooting for you both, genuinely.”

You heard the soft sound of sniffling and turned to see Mingi in tears, his arms outstretched, longing to hug Hongjoong, “Captain… I love you, you really are the best.”

“Yeah, yeah… I love you too— “ He dodged the embrace, redirecting the topic back to you, “Let’s get you moved into the new place shall we, Yn?”

—Epilogue—

Life started to feel like each day was unfolding in a beloved book or favorite movie. You were offered a permanent position at KQ, which you eagerly accepted, thrilled at the thought of seeing the guys every day. You found genuine delight in going to work; albeit it was a strange feeling for you to actually be excited about your job for once, but nevertheless you had no reason at all to complain. Eventually, you got the chance to visit Hinata on a trip to Japan, and when you introduced her to your boyfriend she damn near passed out. She was absolutely ecstatic for you, insisting that you had to make her your maid of honor since she was the one who encouraged you to do the raffle in the first place. You couldn’t help but shake your head and laugh, reassuring her that there was truly no one else you would rather have in that special role when the day came. Mingi joked with her, “I haven’t even proposed yet and she’s already assigning her maid of honor…”

Jokes aside though, he couldn’t wait for that day to come, already dreaming up the perfect way to do it; And he always seized every opportunity to tell you that you were the love of his life and he couldn’t wait to spend forever by your side. You were his everything— and Mingi was yours.

“I love you.”

“Forever and always.”

Masterlist

[lupinqs]

FIRSTS ━━ paige bueckers x azzi fudd

☆ ━ summary: paige and azzi’s firsts.

☆ ━ word count: 12.9K (jesus)

☆ ━ warnings: slight smut, angst, fluff.

☆ ━ author’s notes: hiiii!!!! this is my first time posting on tumblr, even though i’ve literally been lurking on here for actual years… yeah! but i write on both wattpad and ao3 and decided that i might as well start publishing my work on here too. i hope you enjoy!!

I. MAY 2017

They're at the USA basketball U16 Trials, the gym buzzing with the energy of teenage girls and their need to prove themselves. The court echoes with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and bouncing basketballs. Two teams have been created—jerseys and no jerseys—for a practice scrimmage. The air is thick with anticipation, the scent of fresh sweat mingling with the sharp tang of floor polish. 

Paige adjusts her jersey, fingers brushing against the cool, breathable fabric. She stretches her arms overhead, feeling the muscles lengthen and relax. Her eyes scan the court, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the game she loves. She's been here before, in this exact position, waiting for the competition to begin, and each time it feels like the most important moment of her life. The adrenaline hums in her veins, a steady current of energy that she channels into focus.

The whistle blows, sharp and clear, slicing through the ambient noise. It's not long before Paige's team is on defense, and she positions herself near the top of the key, ready.  

Paige doesn't think much of anything when she first sets eyes on the girl she's guarding. The blonde made a few fast friends earlier in the morning and this girl surely isn't one of them. She doesn't know her; doesn't care about knowing her; doesn't think about knowing her. She doesn't notice the way her brown eyes are glazed over with focus, the slight crinkle in between her brows as she furrows them, the way her mouth hangs open ever so slightly. In fact, Paige's eyes barely scan the girl before they trail right back to the orange basketball set in her hands. She watches as the girl dribbles the ball with a practiced ease, focus unwavering.

Paige moves into a defensive stance, eyes never leaving the basketball. Knees bent, arms outstretched, the blonde is ready to react to any move the girl before her might make. She can feel the eyes of the coaches on her, the pressure of the moment heavy on her shoulders. But she thrives on this; the intensity sharpens her focus. 

The dribbling of the girl before Paige is rhythmic, almost meditative, the ball bouncing in a steady beat that matches the thumping in the blonde's chest. For a short moment, the pair stay like that, testing the waters. And then the girl starts to move, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, gauging Paige's reaction. She fakes left, then darts right, the ball a blur between her hands. Paige follows, movements fluid and quick, matching the girl step for step.

The girl changes pace, pushing off her back foot and driving toward the basket. Paige is right there, her hand reaching out instinctively. Her fingers brush against the ball, and in a split second, she hooks it cleanly from the other girl's grasp.

Paige takes off down the court, her legs pumping, heart pounding in her chest. She hears the surprised gasps and murmurs from the sidelines, but she blocks it all out. All that matters is the basket ahead of her. She dodges a defender, movements a blur of agility and speed. With a final burst of energy, she leaps toward the hoop, laying the ball gently against the backboard. It falls through the net with a satisfying swish.

It's what she does best: steals, swifts, scores.

☆

The scrimmage ends with the final whistle and the players disperse, heading for their water bottles and towels. The gym slowly empties out as everyone make their way to the locker rooms. Paige follows suit, breathless and sweaty as she walks alongside Celeste and Jordan, two girls she made friends with at the beginning of the day. She takes slow, methodic sips from her water bottle as she does her best to return her heart rate and breathing back to what it was before all the cardio. 

After a moment, Paige excuses herself from her new friends, heading to the bathroom. It's quiet in there, only for the faint hum of the ventilation system. Paige goes to a stall and locks the door behind her. She takes a deep breath, feeling the adrenaline that only basketball can bring her slowly ebbing away. It's not long before she flushes and exits the stall, heading to wash her hands. 

As she approaches, she notices the girl from before standing at the sink, hands under the running water. Paige hesitates for a second, then moves to the sink next to her, the proximity making her suddenly aware of the dull silence between them. The blonde turns on the faucet, letting the cold water rush over her hands. She glances sideways at the girl, who's now drying her hands with a paper towel. 

Despite Paige's initial steal on the girl, it turns out she's a total bucket-getter. She'd surprised Paige and certainly got her revenge on her, scoring four three-pointers right over the blonde's head. Each one had swished so perfectly that all Paige could think was: sharpshooter. 

It takes Paige a moment to summon her courage and confidence—considering it's usually right on the surface and doesn't need to be summoned—but when she does, she speaks. 

"Hey," she says, voice breaking the quiet of the sterile bathroom. "You were great out there. Seriously, like, one of the best shooters I've ever gone against." 

The girl looks up, eyes meeting Paige's. There's a moment of surprise, followed by a small but genuine smile. "Thanks," she replies, voice warm and somehow smooth like butter. "You're really good, too. Surprised me a little bit, actually," she adds, a joking tone curling around her vocals. 

Paige lets an offended yet amused smile overtake her features, putting a hand on her heart as she amusedly says, "Hey!" 

The girl isn't on her own there, though. Paige knows that most people who look like her—skinny as bones and white as paper—can't play basketball like her. She's had people doubt her since she was little, but she manages to prove them wrong every time. Another case in point right here. 

Before the other girl can retort back, Paige asks, curious, "What's your name?"

"I'm Azzi," the girl answers, her smile widening just enough for a dimple to appear. 

Azzi, Paige notes, tucking it in the back of her mind, thinking it may be important one day. Whether that be sooner or later. 

And now, for the first time, Paige lets herself really look at this girl—Azzi, she reminds herself. She's probably about an inch or so shorter than Paige, and she's got tan skin and dark, curly hair that's been pulled back into two braids. Her brows, without the furrow of intensity she held during the game, lay flat, smoothing her forehead and giving her a softer look. Her brown eyes are deep and expressive, framed by long lashes. Her lips are full and her jawline is sharp but soft, with a smooth curve to it. Her two front teeth are slightly longer than the others, a bit like bunny teeth, and the dimples digging into her cheeks are charming in a way Paige has never seen before. 

And there, Paige realizes—with a slight sense of embarrassment—just how pretty Azzi is. 

It's a realization that catches her off guard, and—humiliatingly—she stumbles over her words as she introduces herself, coughing out, "'m Paige." 

Azzi nods, and Paige does her absolute hardest to try to push down the blush she can feel rising in her cheeks as the girl murmurs, "It's nice to meet you, Paige." 

Azzi's slowly walking towards the bathroom door now, and as she opens it, she adds, calling over her shoulder, "Hopefully next time we can be on the same team."

Paige stands there by the sinks, slightly frozen as she responds, "Yeah." 

Only after Azzi has closed the door behind her, leaving Paige alone there in the bathroom, the blonde adds, voice low in a whisper meant only for herself, "Hopefully."

II. AUGUST 2018

"Az, can you get my back?" Paige's voice echoes from the bathroom, where she's been applying sunscreen to her pale skin for the last few minutes. 

Azzi hums in response, halting her movements of packing her small drawstring up. She glances at her bag, half-full with essentials for their boat outing, before heading towards the bathroom. 

They're at the lake house, the last month of summer in full force. Azzi's grateful to get away from home for a little while, now in a different kind of home that she much prefers to the other.

The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar, and Azzi pushes it open gently. Paige is standing there, clad in her hot pink bikini—the girl sure does love her bright colors, Azzi knows that—with her back exposed, a bottle of sunscreen in hand. The sight of Paige is one Azzi has grown accustomed to over the past year, yet, especially more recently, it never fails to send a jolt through her. Paige's skin is a blank canvas, pale and soft, a stark contrast to Azzi's own tan complexion.

"Gimme," Azzi says, hand reaching for the bottle. Her voice is steady despite the unmistakable flutter of those butterfly wings she feels in her chest, her stomach, her everywhere. They've got the kind of pitter-patter that only Paige can bring her. And it only worsens when the blonde looks back at Azzi, meeting her eyes, baby blue on chocolate brown, hands brushing as Paige gives the younger girl the bottle, a stupid, beautiful grin of gratitude stretching her features. Azzi ignores the feeling, having grown accustomed to that, too, instead taking the bottle and squirting a generous amount of sunscreen into her palm. 

Paige pulls her hair to one side, giving Azzi full access to her back. Azzi's hands hover for a moment—a stupid hesitation considering how much she and Paige touch each other—before she gently places them on the older girl's shoulders, starting at the top and working her way down. The lotion spreads smoothly, a thin layer of protection against the summer sun. 

As her hands move across Paige's back, Azzi doesn't miss the silence. It's odd. Paige is such a chatter box that Azzi really never gets any silence when around her. Azzi remembers being a bit fed up with Paige last year because of it. It was in the earliest stages of their relationship, following them both securing their own roster spots on the FIBA U16 team. Paige was always talking and talking and talking, and Azzi was tired. Maybe it was because Paige was never talking to her. For some odd reason, that whole month of USA basketball, Paige had been such a babbler with anyone and everyone that didn't have the name Azzi Fudd. At first, Azzi thought Paige didn't like her. It made sense: Paige wouldn't speak to her, wouldn't make eye contact with her (on the off chance that their eyes did meet, Paige would immediately flit her own to anything that wasn't the chocolate color of Azzi's irises), and sometimes stared at her like she was something else completely. It made Azzi uncomfortable and even a little disheartened because they played so well together, and yet this girl wouldn't give her the light of day off the court. Of course, Paige was never rude to her. Azzi knows that Paige hardly even has the capacity to fulfill the word, ever the people pleaser. If Azzi spoke to her, Paige would respond kindly. She just never went out of her way to start the conversions on her own. And Azzi guesses she shouldn't have cared that much about it, except that Paige would start conversations with everyone else. In a way, it made her feel alienated.

However, it didn't take too long for Azzi to realize that whatever Paige's shyness around her was caused by, it wasn't that the blonde disliked her. Because whenever their team took group photos, the spot next to Azzi always seemed to be taken by Paige. The weight of the older girl's palm on Azzi's waist, the way their shoulders brushed as the camera would snap the shot, quickly became familiar nature between the two of them. And then, when they won the gold medal, Azzi was the first person Paige went to. Paige had let out a little scream of victory before launching herself into Azzi, arms wrapping around the younger girl's neck. They'd never been that close before, and Azzi recalls it making her head spin slightly. They had been sweaty and full of adrenaline, and Azzi had let herself hold onto Paige tightly, because they'd won. And then, in line while getting their medals, the pair held hands and Azzi got her first taste of what Paige's fingers felt like intertwined with her own. 

Truly though, the turning point was the flight back to Minnesota. Azzi supposes Paige was feeling bold, because as soon as the blonde's eyes set on her, she made a beeline for the seat right next to Azzi. Despite the celebratory affinity they'd shared earlier in the week, it caught Azzi a bit off guard. And yet, as soon as Paige sat down next to her, all that chatter that Azzi had watched the girl bestow upon their teammates was suddenly entirely reserved for her. Throughout the whole flight, Paige talked and talked and talked, and Azzi listened and listened and listened. They shared grins and fought to hide blushes and when the plane finally landed, it sealed the deal for Azzi. 

This chatterbox, bottle blonde, skinny white girl (that also happened to be one of the prettiest people Azzi had ever laid eyes on) was meant to be her best friend. 

So, now that they're standing here, Azzi's hands on Paige's skin, and Paige isn't saying anything, and Azzi—true to her quiet, listening nature—isn't either, things feel strange. The younger girl doesn't know why Paige is silent. She certainly doesn't let herself get so far as to guessing, though, because she knows that her mind will only take her to places she shouldn't go. Places she knows Paige has never let herself go to. 

But it's difficult. The silent air between them is thick, charged with a tension that's always there but never so predominant as now. Each touch sends a spark through Azzi, a reminder of the stupid fucking feelings she's been harboring for months now. It's maddening that Paige, her best friend of all people, has suddenly become the center of Azzi's thoughts, the place her mind always seems to be wandering back to. 

But, really, Azzi thinks, if you knew Paige, how could she not? She's a vibrant hue in a world of grey, so full of life. She's got a laugh that lights up any (and every) room she walks in, and a smile that makes Azzi's heart skip a beat. For Azzi, being around Paige is like basking in the warmth of the sun—comforting, but sometimes too intense to bear. 

Azzi's fingers brush against the nape of Paige's neck, and she feels a shiver run through her body. Her touch is careful, deliberate, but the closeness makes it hard to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. She takes a deep breath, hoping to steady her racing heart.

Azzi finishes spreading the sunscreen, her hands lingering for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. In that brief moment, she's acutely aware of everything—the warmth of Paige's skin under her fingertips, the faint scent of the sunscreen mingling with Paige's own subtle fragrance, the soft rise and fall of Paige's breath.

She pulls her hands away, taking a step back. Paige turns to face her, a grateful smile on her lips. "Thanks, Az."

Az, Az, Az, Az. Azzi's mind replays the way her nickname sounds falling from Paige's lips. 

"Mhm," Azzi hums, her voice more casual than she feels. 

And, before anything else can be said between the two of them, Katie calls out from downstairs, "You girls ready yet? We're waiting on you!"

"Yeah, we're coming!" Azzi calls back, grateful for the interruption. She gives Paige one last smile before heading out of the bathroom, her heart still pounding in her chest.

☆

Azzi's tired, curled up under the quilt laid upon her bed. Her bones ache with exhaustion, her skin burns from the extra exposure to the sun, her eyes are red and sore from rubbing all of the lake water out of them. She scrolls mindlessly on her phone, knowing she won't be able to sleep until Paige is over whatever energy burst she's got right now. 

The blonde girl is sprawled on the floor, digging through her duffle bag vigorously, searching for something she clearly needs. When she began the hunt a few minutes ago, Azzi asked what she was looking for and offered to help, but Paige had only waved her off, saying she'd find it herself. Azzi rolled her eyes and collapsed back onto her bed, trying to ignore the annoying sounds of Paige zipping and unzipping her bag, as well as tossing items along the floor. 

Azzi notices when Paige finally finds what she's been so longingly looking for. The shuffling halts, and Azzi sees Paige stand from the corner of her eye. Azzi begrudgingly sits up in bed, eyes set on her best friend, raising her brows ludicrously as she sees Paige's hands holding something behind her back, almost as if she's hiding it from Azzi. 

"Don't be mad, okay?" the blonde says slowly, smile full of suppressed energy. Azzi catches the spark that glints in Paige's eyes, a hint of mischief that usually means trouble. 

The younger girl rolls her eyes, ignoring the comment. "What do you have, Paige?" she asks, feeling a little bit like a mother that's about to have to reprimand her child. 

Paige, sheepishly, pulls a small object that's tucked in a ziplock baggie from behind her back, holding it up with a hopeful grin. 

Azzi's eyes widen and her jaw drops in surprise. Whatever she thought her best friend was hiding, it wasn't a blunt. But there it is, and Azzi can't help but stumble out, "Where did you even get that?"

"One of my friends from back home gave it to me when I told her I'd never smoked before. Said it was good stuff," Paige replies, grin widening. "I brought it here and, well... thought we should try it?" 

Azzi feels the familiar hand of anxiety wrap it's fingers around her rib cage. She gulps, asking incredulously, "Are you serious? What if we get caught? My parents will kill us!" 

"It was a long day, they're knocked out," Paige reasons, her tone reassuring. "No one's going to catch us. Besides, don't you wanna try it? Just once?"

Azzi bites her lip, torn between the thrill of doing something forbidden and the fear of getting caught. Her mind races with the possible consequences, the weeks of grounding she'd face should her parents find out about this. But then she looks at Paige, who's watching her with those bright blue eyes, full of excitement and trust.

"C'mon, Azzi," Paige coaxes. "It'll be fun. Just you and me. We've never done anything like this before. Don't you wanna know what it feels like?"

The logic is flimsy, but Paige's enthusiasm is infectious, per usual. Azzi feels a thrill of rebellion bubbling up inside her, fueled by the day's excitement and the safety of her parents' sure exhaustion. She takes a deep breath and nods.

"Okay, fine. But we have to be careful," Azzi says seriously, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety.

Paige's face lights up with a triumphant smile. "Deal. Let's sneak out the back."

They move quietly through the dark cabin, careful not to wake anyone. The night air is cool against Azzi's skin as she and Paige slip out the back door, making their way down to the dock. The lake is a mirror, reflecting the starlit sky, and the only sound is the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle splash of water against the wooden posts. It's comforting; no one is out here to catch them. 

The pair sit on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water. Azzi watches, heart pounding in her chest, as Paige fumbles with a lighter, her hands shaking slightly with anticipation.

"Ready?" Paige asks, looking at Azzi with a mix of excitement and nervousness. 

Azzi nods, her stomach a knot of nerves. Slowly, Paige brings the blunt to her lips and flicks the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night. As the blunt is lit, she takes a deep drag, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling slowly. She coughs a bit, but otherwise does pretty well for her first time. If Azzi didn't know better, she'd think her best friend has done this before. 

"Your turn," Paige says, passing the blunt to Azzi.

The younger girl takes it with trembling hands, bringing it to her lips. She mimics Paige, inhaling deeply. The smoke burns her throat, feeling like fire, and as soon as it makes contact with it, she coughs violently, tears springing to her eyes. Beside her, Paige laughs softly, patting her on the back.

"It gets easier, I think," Paige does her best to assure her, taking another drag and passing it back.

They continue like this, passing the blunt back and forth. Paige was right; each drag becomes a little easier than the last. The initial discomfort gives way to a strange, floating sensation. Azzi feels lightheaded, her thoughts fuzzy and her body relaxed.

The tension that Azzi has felt lingering between them all day seems to dissipate, dissolving into the lake air, replaced by a sense of peace and friendship. They giggle at nothing and everything, words flowing freely as the high takes hold.

"You know, I've always thought you were like, the coolest person ever," Paige breaks the silence, her voice dreamy and sincere.

Azzi laughs, feeling a warm glow spread through her chest. "Please," she scoffs lightly, rolling her eyes. That makes her feel a little dizzy; she notes not to do that again. "You're the cool one, Paige. You're so confident and, just, like, fearless. I wish I could be more like you."

Paige shakes her head, eyes bright and unfocused, irises tinted pink. "Nah, you've got this... quiet strength," she murmurs slowly, trying to find her words through the haze of intoxication. "You're always there, you know? Always solid. I really admire that."

The words strike a chord in Azzi, her heart swelling with affection. "Thanks, P," she mumbles, trying to keep her voice steady. "That means a lot."

They fall into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the night filling the gaps between their words. Crickets chirp, leaves rustle, the breeze ruffles the water slightly. Azzi feels a strange sense of peace, a connection to Paige that goes beyond what she can put into words. It's as if the high has stripped away all the pretense, leaving only the raw, unfiltered truth of their friendship.

Azzi's mind drifts to the past year, to all the moments they've shared. Late-night FaceTimes, endless basketball practices and 1v1s, and quiet moments like this one. She thinks about how much Paige means to her, how her presence has become nothing short of a constant source of comfort and joy.

And then, unbidden, comes the realization of just how deep her feelings run. It's not just some crush she's got; it's something more profound, more terrifying. Azzi thinks she feels that certain way about Paige. She can't think it, can't conjure up that certain word, but, deep down, in that corner of her heart that's reserved exactly for the blonde girl and no one else, Azzi knows. And, no matter how terrifying it is, it's real. It makes her heart ache with longing.

"Hey, Azzi?" Paige's voice breaks through the younger girl's thoughts, soft and curious. 

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever thought about... you know, like, what it would be like to be with someone? Like, really be with them?"

Azzi's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing. "Yeah, I guess I have," she murmurs. I imagine being with you, she fights the urge to say. Instead, she adds, "Why do you ask?"

Paige shrugs, looking out at the lake. "I don't know. Just wondering. Sometimes, I think about it, and it's weird, you know?" She pauses, and Azzi guesses it's to gather her thoughts. "Like, how do you know if you really like someone or if it's just... I don't know, a crush?"

Azzi swallows hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "I think you just... know," she murmurs, nearly choking on the words. "It's like, you can't stop thinking about them, and you want to be around them all the time. They make you feel... different."

Paige turns to look at her, her eyes searching Azzi's face. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's just... confusing."

Azzi nods, her heart aching with unspoken words. "Yeah, it is."

Another bout of silence settles around them like a warm embrace, the lake shimmering under the starlit sky as the pair continue passing the blunt back and forth. Azzi's mind fogs thick with cannabis, the effects of the drug heightening her senses. Her anxiety is long gone, replaced by a much gentler buzz. She looks over at Paige, who's watching the ripples on the lake with a dreamy expression. 

It's not long before Paige speaks again, unable to bear silence. Even high, she remains a chatterbox. Azzi would never admit it, but she finds it slightly endearing.

"You know," Paige begins, her voice soft and contemplative, "I've never kissed anyone before."

Azzi turns to her, nearly choking at the admission. She didn't think their conversation would take a turn like this. And... truthfully, she's quite surprised. She knows how sought after Paige is; she's witnessed it. "Really?"

Paige nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "Yeah. What about you?"

Azzi hesitates for a moment. She thinks about lying; she doesn't know why. However, all thoughts of that go out the window when she meets Paige's gaze. It's full of a tenderness that's beckoning her, begging her, to be honest. "No," she mumbles. "I've never kissed anyone either."

The words hang between them, a delicate thread of unspoken desires and uncertainties. Azzi dares a glance at Paige, meeting her eyes briefly before looking away, a blush creeping up her cheeks. She curses herself for it, wishing she were able to hide it better. 

Azzi feels Paige shift closer, their shoulders brushing. Her breath hitches slightly at the contact, the warmth of Paige's presence sending a shiver down her spine. "Azzi," Paige whispers, her voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the lake.

Azzi turns to face Paige fully, her heart pounding in her chest. She feels slightly nauseous as Paige's eyes search hers. She can't tell what exactly is swirling in Paige's pupils. Azzi has an idea, but it's so ludicrous she thinks she should never let the thought enter her own head ever again. 

"Have you ever thought about... what it would be like to kiss a girl?" Paige's words are soft, tentative, testing the waters. 

It's safe to say they nearly make Azzi fall into the lake and drown. 

The younger girl feels her cheeks flush with warmth, the question catching her off guard. She looks down at her hands, picking at a loose thread on her shorts. She knows the answer. It's a simple yes or no question. And yet, it takes so much strength to say the words. Because it's terrifying. It's absolutely mortifying. Maybe if Azzi had thought about kissing literally any other girl, it wouldn't be so bad. But it's the fact that the girl she's thought about kissing, and liking to kiss, is Paige... that's what truly scares Azzi.

"Um," Azzi stumbles, coughing. She doesn't let the tears that she feel behind her eyes spring up. She's braver than that. "Yeah. I have," she finally admits quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige's expression softens, a tender understanding in her eyes. It makes Azzi know what's coming next. "Me too," Paige murmurs, her gaze lingering on her best friend's face. "Sometimes, I think about what it would be like."

(Azzi might actually die.)

There's a pause, a shared moment of vulnerability hanging between them. Azzi feels a knot in her stomach, a mix of fear and anticipation. This conversation feels like a threshold they're tiptoeing towards, a door they're both hesitant to open but curious to explore. Maybe every single little thing she thought was one sided... isn't. 

Paige reaches out, her thumb gently tracing the indent of where Azzi's dimple is. It's a familiar gesture, one that Azzi has grown used to, but tonight, under the influence and with the weight of their words hanging in the air, it feels different. Paige's touch lingers, and it makes Azzi's lungs feel like they're going out. 

Without a word, Paige's hand slides along Azzi's jawline and moves to cup her cheek, her touch warm and tender. Their eyes meet, and in that moment, every single little thing, every single line they've not yet crossed, seems to shift right before their very eyes. Azzi can feel the rhythm of her heart echoing in the silence between them, a steady drumbeat of anticipation.

Azzi closes her eyes, surrendering to the moment, the high helping her do so. It's a soft press of lips that starts it, barely a graze. Azzi feels their breath mingle, feels Paige's hand move from her cheek to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. And then she deepens the kiss. 

Azzi's hand finds Paige's waist, holding her close as she leans into her, their bodies fitting together as if they've always belonged. If Azzi could get any closer to Paige, she would. The world around them seems to fade into the background, leaving only the sensation of Paige's touch, the taste of her lips against Azzi's.

When they finally pull away, Azzi's heart might as well be failing, her mind buzzing with the fact that she just kissed her best friend, who she may also be a little in love with.

She feels Paige lean her head against Azzi's shoulder, grabbing her hand and intertwining their fingers. It's familiar; something they do so often it might as well be second nature at this point. But as Paige's thumb rubs circles on Azzi's hand, the younger girl thinks this might be a little different. She hopes it's a little different.

"I'm glad it was you," Paige whispers, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity.

Azzi smiles softly, feeling something she's never quite encountered before. "Me too, P," she murmurs, heart swelling with affection. "Me too."

III. MAY 2020

It's baking night, they've decided. A little after dinner, Paige's stomach began growling, and she'd complained to Azzi that she was hungry once more. Azzi wouldn't hear it, considering this was an everyday occurrence. So, Paige had begrudgingly rolled her eyes and gone to the kitchen, searching for a snack. The cupboards were mostly bare if not for ingredients; the Fudds needed to make another grocery trip. But Paige was hungry now, so she began searching into cabinets she'd previously left untouched. Eventually, she reached the smaller ones above the microwave and stove. What she found there made her face light up in an excitement that's been dull for a few days now (what with her and Azzi's family having exhausted most of their quarantine activity ideas). In the cabinet was a litany of baking mixes, frosting, piping bags, and sprinkles. 

And, of course, when Paige begged to make cupcakes, Katie and the others were all ears. (What else can they do?)

Paige isn't very good at baking, she's found. They'd had to throw the first batch away after the girl had accidentally spilled far too much milk in, effectively ruining it. It's not her fault; she swears she's out of practice. And she is. The last time she baked was when it was just her and her mom in that apartment, when Paige was still living half-and-half with her parents following their divorce. It was before her mom moved over to Montana, met Paige's step-father, and had two more kids. They'd been cramped in a tiny kitchen, in what Paige's mom called her "temporary apartment" (it was), and it would be too cold outside to take Paige to the playground or let her shoot hoops on the concrete. So, they'd decided to try baking. It was something they loved doing together, but Paige has watched it slowly fade away because now whenever she's in Montana, Ryan and Lauren get their way and they decidedly don't like baking. So, Paige thinks it's okay that she's a little terrible at it considering she hasn't done it since she was practically still in pull-ups. 

But here, with Azzi's family, Paige also thinks she can learn to be better at it. Because it's just so easy with them. It's not as if being at home in Minnesota, or being with her mom in Montana, is difficult necessarily. She loves her dad's little house in Hopkins, where the basketball courts freeze over and there's snow more often than not. She loves her dad, who's always pushing her to be better, coaching her even though it's not his job anymore. She loves Drew and his wild need to be just like her, her own personal mini-me. She loves her step-mother and step-brother, who have raised her in more ways than one. And she loves her mom's house in Billings, with its family-fun pool and sprawling backyard. She loves her mom, who will always be her biggest supporter, no matter what. She loves Ryan and Lauren and the endless stories they always have to tell her when she's visiting. But it never quite feels whole, on either side. Almost like there's a little cavity that won't fill, no matter how much amalgam is used to try and whisk it away. 

Paige doesn't feel that here with the Fudds. There's no missing puzzle piece, no hole to fill. And she's somehow managed to worm her way right into their welcoming arms. There's this sense of utter belonging she feels here, with them, with the rhythm they've created, and she's grateful. She's grateful for Katie and Tim, who treat her nothing short of another daughter. She's grateful for Jon and Jose, who are a constant source of entertainment and chaos, poking fun and making Paige laugh until her sides ache. She's grateful for Azzi, who's her best friend, her anchor, her constant. 

Paige is just grateful to be apart of something so loving and warm, especially now when the world outside is so uncertain. 

"Paige, can you pass me the vanilla extract?" Katie's voice echoes from behind the blonde girl's back, pulling her from her thoughts. 

Paige's ears perk up at the sound of her name, and she reaches for the small bottle. "Here," she calls, tossing it to her best friend's mother. Katie catches it easily, sending the girl a grateful smile.

Paige then returns her focus back to Azzi, who's focused on mixing the batter, brows furrowed in concentration. It's the same crease she gets when she's playing, Paige realizes easily, having committed every corner of Azzi's features to memory. The blonde feels a rush of warmth when her best friend's arm lightly brushes hers, as if they haven't been practically living in each others skin for weeks now. Paige, entranced and unblinking, watches as Azzi continues mixing, taking note of the way the reflecting sunset highlights her best friend's features through the kitchen window. 

Apparently she's been staring for too long, though, because Azzi, exasperated, asks, waving a hand in front of the blonde's face, "Hello, earth to Paige? You good?"

Paige snaps back to reality, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Yeah, just thinkin'," she mutters absentmindedly, shrugging as she tries to play it off. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to lick the spoon," Azzi teases, holding out the batter-covered utensil. 

Paige smirks, responding, "Nah, I'll let you do the honors."

The blonde watches as her best friend raises her brows at the rejection, surprised. Paige just shrugs, still smirking. Azzi repeats the action, and then slowly, maybe a little too slowly, brings the spoon up to her lips. She makes eye contact with Paige, keeping the same pace as she licks the utensil, tongue flicking against it before putting the whole thing in her mouth, sucking it clean. Paige feels herself freeze as she watches, breath hitching at Azzi's actions and the look on her face as she does it. 

Jesus Christ, Paige curses in her head. It's an anomaly; she's not one to usually think or say the Lord's name in vain. But, seriously, Jesus. 

Azzi's smirk is wide as she drops the spoon in the sink. As Paige's eyes scan the younger girl's face, she decides she wants to get her back. She's about to stick her finger in the batter, ready to make a show of licking it clean just as Azzi did to her. But as her finger hovers over the bowl, she feels Katie smack her hand away, effectively ending Paige's plan and the moment she was sharing with Azzi.

"Enough of that," Azzi's mother scolds Paige, but the girl can see the hint of a smile on Katie's lips. "The cupcakes are ready for the oven."

The next half hour is spent cleaning up the mess they've made, with plenty of giggles and a few playful splashes from the sink shared between the two teenage girls. It doesn't take too long for the cupcakes to finish, and the whole family relocates to the back deck to start the decorating process. 

"These look amazing," Jose says, eyeing the cupcakes hungrily. 

"Wait until we decorate them, fatty," Jon replies, elbowing his brother in the ribs as he picks up a tube of icing. 

Paige begins decorating her own cupcake, picking blue and red colors. She hopes she has room for a husky and the word UCONN. She begins to squeeze a swirl of blue icing onto her cupcake, the air filled with the scent of vanilla and laughter as they all concentrate on their own cupcakes. 

"I think you missed a spot, P," the blonde hears Jon say from across from her, his voice too innocent to be sincere. 

Before she can even look up at him, she feels the cold spelt of frosting hitting her grey sweatshirt. Outraged, she turns to see Jon grinning at her, piping tube filled with hot pink icing still in hand. 

"Oh, you are so dead," she says, scooping up a handful of icing and launching it at the younger boy. It hits him square in the chest, and Paige thinks the look of shock on his face is utterly priceless. 

Chaos erupts. 

Jon retaliates, and it's not long before icing is flying in every direction. Paige dodges a glob of frosting thrown by Jose and responds by smearing a streak of bright red icing across his cheek. 

"Hey, stop! You guys are gonna make a mess!" Katie's voice rings out by the door, having backed away from the rambunctious food fight. Beside her, Tim is doubled over on his knees, lungs aching with his wheezing laughter. 

The four teenagers pay neither adult a piece of mind. Instead, the deck becomes a war zone. Paige soon finds herself caught in a fierce battle with Azzi. They're both laughing uncontrollably, slipping and sliding on the icing-covered deck. Azzi manages to smear a handful of frosting onto Paige's face, and the blonde retaliates by tackling the younger girl, sending them both crashing to the ground.

They lay there for a moment, breathless and laughing, before Azzi attempts to crawl away. But Paige is determined. She scrambles after Azzi, finally managing to pin her down. As the younger girl squirms beneath the blonde, Paige nuzzles her face into Azzi's neck, smearing icing everywhere. 

"Paige! Stop!" Azzi manages to squeal out between laughs; Paige knows her neck is where she's most ticklish. Azzi continues trying to wiggle free, but she's laughing much too hard to put up a real fight. 

Paige grins and pulls back slightly, only to realize their faces are inches apart. As Azzi fights to catch her breath, her eyes sparkle with mischief and something else, something deeper. Paige's heart skips a beat at it. She knows they both look ridiculous, covered in icing and laying on the dirty deck, but there's something there, between them. And it makes her heart race and stop all at once. 

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. Paige feels a rush of emotions—affection, longing, confusion. The three that always seem to be associated with Azzi. She's acutely aware of the younger girl's breath against her skin, the way their bodies are pressed together. It would be so easy to lean in, to close the gap between them. They've done it a couple times before. 

Katie's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. "Alright, enough! Go clean up, all of you. This is a disaster."

Paige, coming back to her senses, quickly breaks her stare and rolls off of Azzi, standing up and offering her best friend a hand. She helps Azzi to her feet, and they both glance around, seeing the mess they've made. A few feet away, Jon and Jose do the same. 

"We outdid ourselves this time," Paige says, a hint of amusement in her voice. 

"No kidding," the three Fudd siblings say in unison. 

☆

Paige stands under the hot spray of the shower, letting the water wash away the remnants of icing and the chaos from earlier. She closes her eyes, tilting her head back in the water, trying to relax. But all her mind can think about is her best friend, the feeling of her breath on Paige's face, her lips... 

Paige is confused. 

If only things with Azzi could be a straight path, one without all the twists and turns. She presses her hands against the cool tile wall of the shower, trying to ground herself. The water pours down her back, soothing her muscles but not her mind. Every thought leads back to Azzi, to the way her touch lingers, the way her smile lights up the room. Paige wants to scream, to cry, to laugh—all at once. She hates and loves and loathes and adores the way Azzi makes her feel. 

When she and Azzi first kissed—out on that dock nearly two years ago—it had been spontaneous, a sudden burst of emotion that Paige attributed to the weed. It had felt right in the moment, but they had never talked about it, never addressed it. They had just continued as if nothing had changed, even though everything had. And then, each subsequent kiss after only deepened Paige's confusion. Trust her, she's tried to convince herself that they're just best friends who occasionally cross a line that most don't, but deep down, she knows it's more than that. Her feelings for Azzi... they're too much, too saturated, too bright of a burst that Paige can't label them as merely friendly. 

It makes her heart and her lungs and her head ache, the uncertainty of it all. She's gone out with other girls, kissed other lips, but none of them compare to Azzi. None of them make her feel like she might implode from one look, one touch. None of them make her heart soar and plummet at the same time. For a while, Paige tried to chase that feeling, kissing all different people, searching for that high. She never found it. Because it always comes back to Azzi, to the way she makes Paige feel alive and terrified at once. It's almost like the younger girl has carved a piece of her heart and kept it, leaving Paige feeling incomplete without her. For Paige, the realization that she likes girls has been a difficult journey, fraught with self-doubt and fear. But coming to terms with her feelings for Azzi is an even greater challenge. It's one thing to accept her own sexuality; it's another to confront the possibility of loving her best friend.

And, of course the knowledge that—other than Paige—Azzi has only gone out with boys adds another layer to the blonde's confusion. It makes her feel like an outsider in Azzi's world, like she's asking for something Azzi can't give. Paige hates that thought, hates the idea of being a complication in Azzi's life. She wants to be everything to Azzi, but she's scared that she'll only end up being a burden. She tries to push those thoughts away, to focus on the present, but it's hard. The fear and longing are too strong, too deeply rooted.

When Paige finishes showering, she towels off and dresses into a Hopkins t-shirt and basketball shorts quickly, not bothering to dry her hair, letting it drip onto the floor as she walks back into Azzi's bedroom. There, she finds Azzi already settled in her bed, searching for something to watch on the TV. It's become basic tradition ever since Paige got here: watching a new movie every night (even though more often than not, they fall asleep during it). Azzi looks up and smiles warmly as Paige enters. It's a smile that makes Paige's heart flutter.

"Find somethin' yet?" Paige asks, trying to keep her voice steady. 

Azzi shakes her head. "Not yet. Come help me look."

Paige smiles and climbs into bed beside her. It's almost automatic how they cuddle up together, Azzi's head resting on Paige's shoulder, Paige's arm wrapped around Azzi's waist. This closeness is familiar, comforting, and Paige finds herself shifting her weight into her best friend further, craving the feeling. She thinks she belongs right here, holding Azzi, Azzi holding her. 

Eventually, they settle on Love, Rosie. Apparently, Azzi heard it was good on TikTok and decided they should try it. 

As the movie starts, Paige's hand begins to move almost unconsciously, tracing small circles and patterns along Azzi's inner thigh. It's something she's done countless times, just another way she expresses physical touch. As she does it, she can feel the warmth of Azzi's skin through the thin fabric of her shorts. It sends shivers down Paige's spine, and she does her best to pay attention to the TV, to ignore the way her chest feels like it's on fire. 

However, it's hard to do that when she feels Azzi shift slightly, spreading her legs just a little more. It could be a natural movement, unintentional. But Paige's heart skips a beat anyways, and she glances at Azzi, whose eyes remain fixed on the screen. Paige hesitates for a moment, unsure. And then, very slowly, she inches her hand higher on Azzi's thigh, testing the waters. When Azzi spreads her legs a bit more, Paige knows she's reading the signals right. It makes her heart stop and speed up in one go. 

Paige's fingers move with the pace of a snail but ultimately continue their journey upwards until they reach the edge of Azzi's shorts. She leans closer, her breath catching in her throat. "Can I?" she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Azzi nods slowly, her eyes still locked on the TV. Paige slips her fingers under Azzi's shorts and underwear, her touch gentle but deliberate. She's done this with other girls, but it's never felt like this. The anticipation, the excitement, the sheer intensity of the moment is almost overwhelming. She's wanted this for so long, quite literally dreamed of it, and now that it's happening, it feels surreal.

Paige begins to slowly work her fingers on Azzi's clit, movements careful and measured. Her eyes scan the younger girl's face for any sign of discomfort, but all she sees is pleasure. Azzi's breathing slowly grows more ragged, her body responding to Paige's touch in a way that makes Paige's own lungs feel heavy. As she watches Azzi, irises locked on her features, the only word that comes to mind is beautiful. 

Unable to resist any longer, Paige leans in and captures Azzi's lips in a kiss. It's only the fourth time they've ever kissed (yes, Paige may have been counting), but it feels like coming home. Azzi's lips are soft and warm, and the way she kisses back is so perfect, so desperate, that it makes Paige dizzy. The little noises Azzi makes underneath her only heighten the intensity, and Paige finds herself smirking against her best friend's lips. 

The kiss deepens, becoming more heated, more urgent. Paige's hand moves with more confidence now, her fingers working Azzi's clit with increasing intensity. Azzi moans into the kiss, her body arching against Paige's touch. It's all Paige can do to keep herself grounded, to focus on Azzi and the present. 

Paige breaks the kiss just long enough to tear Azzi's shorts and underwear off completely, her hands shaking with a mix of nerves and excitement. She positions herself between Azzi's legs, her fingers slipping inside with a confidence she's never felt before. The feeling of Azzi's warmth, her wetness, is almost too much to bear. Paige moves her fingers in and out, slow at first, then faster as Azzi's moans grow louder.

Azzi's hands grip her sheets, her eyes squeezed shut. Paige watches her, mesmerized by the sight. This is everything she's ever wanted, everything she's ever dreamed of. She leans down, capturing Azzi's lips in another kiss, her free hand tangling in Azzi's hair. The kiss is fierce, almost desperate, their tongues tangling as their bodies move together.

"Paige," Azzi whimpers. Hearing her name on Azzi's lips like that sends a jolt of desire—of absolute need—through Paige. She moves her fingers faster, pressing deeper. 

And, fuck, as Azzi repeats her name again, Paige can't help herself. She has to taste her best friend.

Paige moves down, her fingers still pumping in and out as she lowers her mouth to Azzi's core. The first taste is intoxicating, and Paige's mind goes blank with desire. She licks and sucks with a hunger she's never felt before, almost primal in a way, her fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony. All she knows is she wants Azzi to feel good, to feel perfect. 

Azzi's hips buck against Paige's mouth, her moans growing louder with each passing second. Paige feels like she's drowning in Azzi, in the taste and the smell and the feel of her. It's everything she's ever wanted and more, a dream come true. She can feel Azzi's orgasm building, the way her body tenses and her breathing quickens. Paige redoubles her efforts, determined to make it good.

"Fuck—" Azzi gasps, her voice barely more than a whisper. "'M so close, don't stop." 

Paige hums in response, the vibrations sending Azzi over the edge. She comes with a cry, her body shuddering with the force of it. Paige keeps going, prolonging Azzi's pleasure as long as she can.

Finally, Azzi collapses back on the bed, spent. Paige pulls back, her face flushed and her heart racing. She looks down at her best friend, who's gazing up at her with an expression that makes Paige's legs feel like jelly.

"Paige," Azzi whispers the girl's name again, the only word her mind can conjure. Her hands reach for her, and Paige lets herself be pulled in for a kiss. Their lips meet, softer this time. Paige sighs into it—she could kiss Azzi for hours on end and never get sick of it. 

The blonde lays down next to Azzi, ready to sleep, ignoring the ongoing movie. However, before Paige can barely close her eyes, she feels them fly open as Azzi shifts so that she's on top of Paige now, straddling her. 

Paige flushes pink, mumbling, "Az, you don't have to—"

"Shut up," the younger girl interrupts, effectively halting Paige's words. Azzi leans down, lips finding purchase on the blonde's neck. Immediately, Paige's hands fly up to Azzi's hips, gripping the skin. 

However, Azzi stops far too soon for Paige's liking, pulling away. Paige tries to mask her disappointment at the lack of feeling, eyes feeling wide as she watches her best friend's every move. 

Azzi leans closer to Paige, lips nearly brushing the older girl's as she toys with the strings of Paige's basketball shorts. Paige feels her breathing stop. 

"Do you want this?" Azzi asks, fingers slowly undoing the tie. 

Paige nods, probably a little too quick and a little too enthusiastically. "Yes."

Azzi smirks. "Good."

IV. MARCH 2022

Azzi stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection looking back with a set determination. It's been weeks since she's gone out with the team, weeks since she's allowed herself to think about anything other than basketball. Tonight, she's determined to let loose, to have fun, and to forget about everything that's happened with Paige, if only for a few hours.

"Az, you look great," Caroline says, standing beside her and applying the final touches to her own makeup. 

"She's right," Amari pitches in from where she sits on the closed toilet seat. "If Paige doesn't take you home tonight, I will."

Caroline gives Amari a little slap on the arm for bringing up the "P word," as she's dubbed it. Since the fight and the ultimate end, or break, or whatever it is, of Paige and Azzi, Azzi has made it clear that she doesn't want to talk about the Bueckers girl if not necessary. And Caroline has respected that, doing everything she can to distract her friend from anything Paige-related (unless it came to basketball, of course).

Azzi lets herself smile a little, interjecting, "Carol, it's okay." But then she does give Amari a pointed look, saying firmly, "But I will not be going home with Paige tonight. That would only make things even more fucked than they already are."

Amari nods in understanding as Caroline glances at Azzi whilst putting her lip gloss on. "So, if not Paige..." she starts in a questioning tone, "will you be going home with someone else?"

Azzi sighs, shrugging. "Depends on what happens, who I run into," she responds. "Could be a good distraction, though."

She doesn't miss the worry that flashes in Caroline's eyes at that, but she also doesn't have it in herself to care about why. She's in college, fucking someone to get her mind off something isn't exactly uncommon. 

Nonetheless, Azzi appreciates Caroline's support in more ways than she can express. She knows her friend has noticed the change in her over the past few weeks, the way she's thrown herself into training with an almost obsessive fervor. Basketball has always been her refuge, but, lately, it's become her lifeline, a way to drown out the pain of seeing Paige with other girls, of knowing she isn't enough for the person she loves most. 

Azzi takes a deep breath and adjusts the strap of her top. It's a lilac number which truthfully could pass more as a bra than the cropped tank it's labeled as. She wears it with her new, perfect jeans which she knows hug her in all the right places. She hasn't worn anything like this in ages, preferring the comfort of sweatpants and oversized hoodies. But tonight is different. Tonight, she wants to look and feel her best (and maybe get someone to help her with that last part).

"Let's go," Azzi says, squaring her shoulders. She grabs her wallet and follows Caroline and Amari out of the bathroom and into the living room where the rest of their teammates have been waiting, Paige excluded. Azzi doesn't know where the blonde is. She tells herself that she doesn't care either. 

As they walk to the bar, the chilly Storrs air nipping at their skin, Azzi can't help but think about the last time she went out with the team. She remembers the way Paige had laughed and flirted with other girls, the way she'd entertained their advances while Azzi stood by, pretending it didn't bother her. But it had. It had hurt more than she'd ever let on, and it was that night—where she watched Paige willingly leave the bar with another girl that wasn't Azzi, not even bothering to say goodbye to her best friend—that had solidified her decision to end whatever undefined thing they had between them.

Ted's is buzzing with energy and life when they arrive, music thumping and people crowding. Almost immediately, Aubrey and Aaliyah are pulling Azzi to the dance floor, getting swept up into the excitement. Azzi goes with it, swaying her hips to the music and laughing with her teammates. 

Of course, it isn't long before Azzi sets eyes on her best friend, bright blonde hair sticking out in the sea of people. Quick after, Nika, from beside Azzi, catches sight of the girl, too, eagerly calling her name and waving her over. 

When she approaches, Azzi doesn't even give her the satisfaction of looking at her. She is not letting Paige Bueckers ruin her night. 

☆

And yet, despite her proclamation, Azzi thinks she may indeed be letting Paige Bueckers ruin her night. 

The brunette girl leans against the bar, vision blurry as she tries to focus on the bartender, on the who-knows-what-number drink of the night in her hand, on anything that is not the corner of the bar on her left side. It doesn't work. Curiosity manages to get the best of her, and she finds her eyes sliding over. She watches as Paige flirts with some girl, smirking as she leans down and says something into the girl's ear. Azzi's stomach twists with jealousy and longing. She's been in that position before, knowing exactly how it feels to have Paige's breath warm against her skin, her words sending shivers down her spine. Now, all she can do is watch. It makes her want to die that she isn't the one with Paige, and that she's the reason she isn't.

You did this, she tells herself as she takes a sip from the glass in her hand, letting the alcohol burn down her throat, hoping it'll numb the ache in her chest. (It doesn't.)

"Hey, you're Azzi Fudd, right?" a voice sounds on Azzi's left side. 

At the sound of her name, Azzi glances over, eyes landing on some guy probably a year or two older than herself. He's tall—taller than Azzi—with blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes that twinkle in the light. He's cute, she thinks half-heartedly. 

"That's me," Azzi responds, managing a smile. 

"I'm Sam," the guy introduces himself, sending her a grin of his own. It's charming, the kind that most girls would swoon over. Azzi hardly even blinks at it. 

They chat for a bit, Azzi allowing herself to enjoy the attention, though admittedly pretending to be more interested than she is. He's funny, though, and she laughs at his jokes, letting herself put a hand on his arm flirtatiously. But even as she entertains him, a part of her can't stop thinking about Paige, especially because she's right behind Sam, talking to someone who isn't Azzi. 

Azzi tries not to sigh, thinking about how many times they've done this. Gone out, had fun, flirted with other people, only to end up in each other's arms by the end of the night. Still, she knows she can't do that. She refuses to let herself get sucked back into that cycle.

However, as Azzi continues harmlessly flirting with Sam, she manages to catch Paige's gaze from across the bar. She watches as Paige takes in the sight of her and the Sam, eyes narrowing slightly, a challenge in them. Azzi feels a spark of defiance ignite in her chest. If Paige can flirt with other people, so can she.

Quickly, the conversation with Sam becomes a sort of competition. Azzi flirts more boldly, leaning closer, laughing louder, all while keeping an eye on Paige. Paige, in turn, seems to double down on her own flirting, making sure Azzi sees every touch, every smirk. It's maddening, and yet, it only fuels Azzi's resolve.

"Wanna get outta here?" Sam asks lowly, eyes trailing to the door. 

Azzi smirks and nods, letting him take her hand. As they make a beeline for the exit, Azzi feels a rush of triumph in her chest. She's won this twisted game, if only for a moment.

But before they can leave, Azzi feels a more familiar hand encircle her wrist, pulling her away from Sam. It's Paige, of course. Azzi wants nothing more than to scream at the blonde as she gives Sam a short, apologetic smile, saying, "I'm so sorry, I really need to talk to Azzi for a second."

Anyone that knows anything about UCONN basketball knows that Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd are a package deal, so Sam, looking a bit disappointed but understanding, nods and lets go of Azzi's hand. Azzi mutters protests to Paige as she's practically dragged to the bathroom by the older girl. 

Once inside, Azzi barely has time to process everything before Paige has her pushed against the wall, kissing her fiercely. The suddenness and intensity of it makes Azzi's head spin. Her body responds instinctively, hands reaching for Paige, gripping the skin of the blonde's waist. And then she remembers herself. Azzi's eyes fly open and she pushes Paige off, her anger flaring.

"Stop, Paige! What the fuck?" Azzi practically shouts, voice echoing in the small space.

Paige stares at her breathlessly, baby blue eyes looking foolishly innocent as they contort with confusion. "Why? We both want this."

Azzi shakes her head, trying to settle the fuzziness of the alcohol. "No, Paige, we can't. I can't."

"Why not?" Paige demands, stepping closer again. Azzi puts a hand on her bare stomach to stop her. It sends a jolt through her, and she's quick to remove it. 

As they stand there, face to face, Azzi can't help but let her mind wander to their last real conversation that wasn't just a murmur here and there on the court or on the bench. It was a few weeks ago, the morning after Paige had left the bar with that girl. It was early, Azzi still half-asleep as she felt her best friend crawl into her bed, maneuvering herself into Azzi's arms. Azzi had welcomed the embrace sleepily, before her mind traced back to the events of the night before. How lonely Azzi had been at the bar while Paige outright ignored her, how she'd gone home early feeling nothing short of miserable. And it only got worse when Azzi's eyes flew open to see Paige sporting a UCONN volleyball shirt, no doubt from the girl she'd fucked last night over Azzi. 

And then they'd fought. Azzi was uncharacteristically mean, words biting at Paige's every movement. She could tell Paige was confused, but when Azzi pointed out what she was wearing, everything seemed to click into place. Paige apologized, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, because—very clearly—Azzi wasn't enough for her. 

Azzi didn't tell her that, of course. Instead, she'd ended it. Just like that. 

And they haven't spoken since.

Until now. 

"Why not, Azzi?" Paige demands again, voice raising slightly as her breath fans against Azzi's face. 

Azzi takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of the alcohol and her words pressing hard against her chest. "Because I can't keep doing this, Paige! I can't keep pretending that it doesn't hurt every time I see you with someone else! I can't keep acting like it's okay to be your best friend who you casually fuck when I'm in love with you!"

Paige's eyes widens, but Azzi presses on, the words tumbling out of her in a rush. "Yes, I've been in love with you for years, Paige. And every time you're with someone else, it hurts. I thought I could handle it, but I can't. I thought that maybe, when I came here, things would change. That we'd stop seeing other people, that we could be together for real. But I was wrong. Clearly, I'm not enough for you. And it fucking kills me. I can't keep watching you with other girls and pretending it doesn't hurt. I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with just being your friend. Because I'm not. I want to be everything to you, and it hurts that I'm not. And it hurts even more that I know you don't want me to."

Paige stands there, speechless, her eyes wide with shock. As she stares, Azzi realizes exactly what she's done. She's just spilled all of her well-kept secrets and feelings, and it makes her feel sick. She is going to be sick. 

"You're in love with me?" Paige asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Before Azzi can answer, she feels the familiar bout of nausea rise up. She rushes into one of the stalls, puking into the toilet, all the drinks from the night spilling from her guts. Almost immediately, Paige is right behind her, holding her hair back, ever the best friend. 

When Azzi is done, there's a long, quiet moment. The reality of what she's just confessed hangs heavily in the air. She doesn't know whether to cry or scream or run away. Maybe all three. 

Maybe none.

"You need water, and some carbs, too," Paige murmurs softly, voice gentle as she swipes a hand through Azzi's hair in an attempt to comfort her. 

Azzi doesn't say a word, too drained and emotionally spent to respond. She lets Paige help her up, and together, they leave Ted's, Paige's steady hand on her back as they exit the bar. Azzi's body trembles with the aftereffects of alcohol and the intense outpouring of emotions. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling utterly drained. Paige tries to guide her, but Azzi steps away, keeping her distance, needing space.

Azzi follows Paige's lead in the night air, walking alongside her. It's cool outside, helping to clear her head a little. They walk in silence, the only sounds the occasional car passing by and their footsteps on the pavement. Paige stays close, but Azzi can feel the tension between them, an invisible barrier that she can't bring herself to cross.

Eventually, they arrive at a small diner. The neon sign buzzes softly, casting a warm glow over the entrance. Paige holds the door open, and Azzi steps inside, the smell of greasy food and coffee hitting her immediately. It's oddly comforting.

They find a booth near the back, away from the few other patrons scattered around. Azzi slides into the seat, her body feeling heavy and sluggish. Paige sits across from her, and for a moment, they just look at each other, the weight of the night hanging between them.

When the waitress comes over, Paige orders for both of them, getting burgers and waters. Azzi doesn't have the energy to object. She just needs something to settle her stomach and clear her head.

As they wait, Azzi stares at the table, tracing patterns in the worn Formica surface. Her mind is a hurricane of thoughts and emotions, the confession she made to Paige replaying over and over again. She feels raw, exposed, and utterly vulnerable. She hates it. 

At one point, she glances up and catches Paige staring at her, her expression a mix of concern and something softer, something that makes Azzi's heart ache. Paige's lips part, and she murmurs, her voice barely audible, "Azzi—"

"Don't," Azzi interrupts firmly, her voice trembling slightly. "Please, just don't."

Paige's face falls, but she nods, looking down at her hands. The silence between them stretches out, heavy and oppressive. All Azzi knows is that she can't bear to hear whatever Paige has to say. She doesn't want to know if it's pity, regret, or something else. She isn't ready for any of it.

The waitress brings their food, and Azzi takes a bite of her burger, the familiar taste grounding her somewhat. She sips her water, feeling the cool liquid soothe her throat. Paige eats in silence as well, and Azzi occasionally catches her glancing up to watch her, though never saying a word. 

As they eat, Azzi's mind trails back to their time together, the stolen moments and secret kisses. She thinks about the mornings spent tangled in each other's arms, the way Paige's touch made her feel alive and cherished. But those moments were always fleeting, overshadowed by the reality of their situation. They were never truly together, just best friends who blurred the lines and hurt each other in the process.

Azzi's chest tightens as she reminds herself about all the girls Paige has been with, the countless nights spent in other beds. It hurts to think about, to know that she isn't enough for Paige, that she can't be the one to make her stay. The jealousy and pain are like a constant thorn in her side, a reminder of everything she wants but can't have.

She sneaks a glance at the blonde, who picks at her food, lost in thought. Azzi wonders if Paige feels the same, if there's any part of her that wants more, that feels the same ache and longing. She thinks there has to be. There have been too many moments that seem so domestic, so intimate that some corner of Paige's heart has to feel something other than friendship with Azzi. But she can't bring herself to ask. Not now, not when everything feels so raw, like a fresh wound.

The rest of the meal passes in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. When they finish, it's Paige that pays the bill. And then they leave the diner, stepping back into the cool night air. Azzi still keeps her distance, heart heavy.

When they reach Azzi's apartment, she fumbles with her keys, the silence stretching unbearably. She opens the door and steps inside, ready to close it behind her. But then Paige's small voice halts her movements and she pauses. 

"Azzi?"

Azzi turns, and she feels her heart clench at the sight of Paige, eyes filled with unshed tears. Azzi stands there, unable to speak, her breath catching in her throat.

Paige takes a hesitant step forward, her voice trembling. It's very un-Paige-like. "Can I say something? Please?"

Azzi nods, throat tight. She can't refuse Paige anything, not when she looks so vulnerable.

She watches as Paige takes a deep breath, before her words begin spilling out in a rush. "I'm so sorry, Azzi. For all the other girls, for everything. If I'd known how you felt, I never would have done any of it. I was scared. Scared of how strong my feelings are for you, scared of what it would mean for us. We're so young, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship and everything we have. And even if it didn't ruin things, I was scared that one day it would all fall apart. My parents divorced, my mom and dad both divorced from my step-parents... I don't know how to believe in something lasting."

Paige's voice breaks, and she wipes at her eyes. "But, Azzi, even though I'm scared, I want to try. If you still want to, I want to try. Because I'm in love with you, too. So fucking in love with you. And I have been since I met you at those basketball trials. You were so perfect and beautiful and it's like as soon as you told me your name, I knew I was a goner."

Azzi's breath hitches, and she feels wetness on her cheeks from tears she doesn't register shedding. Paige's words cut through her defenses, melting the walls she's built around her heart. This is Paige, her Paige, standing there with her heart in her hands.

Without thinking, Azzi reaches out, pulling Paige inside and kissing her hard. Paige responds immediately, her arms wrapping around Azzi's waist, pulling her closer. The kiss is fierce, desperate, and full of all the emotions they've kept bottled up for so long.

In between kisses, Paige murmurs against Azzi's lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Azzi giggles and her heart feels like bursting. Finally.

V. APRIL 2022

Considering everything they’ve gone through after all this time, it’s a little odd that this is their first real date.

Paige can’t help but smile as she watches Azzi get ready in their hotel room. The sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over Azzi’s face. It’s nice to have a moment together without all the stress of the past month. No basketball, no fans, no pressure—just them.

Paige has been planning this date for weeks, determined to make it perfect. She wants nothing more than to create a memory that’ll belong to just the two of them, something that’ll mark the beginning of their new chapter. Sure, it’s a little bittersweet that it came the day after losing the national championship, but maybe that’s fitting. Paige knows they can both use a little joy after the disappointment.

“Ready?” she asks, grabbing her keys and their jackets.

Azzi nods, excitement and curiosity shining in her eyes. “Definitely. What’s the plan?”

Paige grins, her heart pounding. “It’s a surprise, but I promise you’ll love it.”

They leave the hotel together, walking through the crisp air of Minneapolis. It’s a city that both of them are rather familiar with. However, Paige can tell as they continue walking that Azzi doesn’t know this particularly part that they’re in. It makes her glad; more of a surprise. 

Finally, they reach it. Paige stops walking, letting Azzi take in what they’re doing. They’re in front of a small, charming theater. The marquee reads: “Private Screening — Welcome, Paige and Azzi.”

“You rented out a theater?” Azzi asks, eyes widening in surprise. 

Paige nods, now a bit nervous that the moment is finally here. “Yeah. I thought it would be better to go somewhere where it could be just the two of us, no interruptions. No distractions.”

Azzi smiles, that smile that Paige will never be able to get enough of, and murmurs, “It’s perfect, P.” And then, she adds, as they enter the building, “What movie are we watching?”

Paige just shakes her head, letting that be a surprise, too. Besides, it shouldn’t be hard for Azzi to guess: they share the same favorite movie, after all. 

The staff greets the pair, leaving them to the theater they’re watching in. Paige anxiously watches Azzi’s face as they enter, wanting everything to be perfect. Inside, there’s blankets and snacks—and, on the screen, the opening credits of “Love & Basketball” begins to play. 

Azzi lets out a little laugh at that, muttering into the skin of Paige’s shoulder, “I should’ve known.” 

Paige grins down at the younger girl, glad she’s happy with what they’re doing. And, as they watch the movie that both of them can probably quote word-for-word, she continues stealing glances at the girl, her heart swelling with affection. Azzi looks completely at ease, her eyes glued to the screen, a soft smile playing on her lips. This movie had always been special to them, their favorite—and, after all, the first movie they ever watched together. 

As the movie continues, Paige’s thoughts drift. She lets herself think about the journey that had brought them here, the highs and lows, the moments of doubt and certainty. She thinks about the first time she realized she was in love with Azzi, the fear of ruining their friendship, the countless nights spent wondering what could be. She thinks about how she had been terrified at first, afraid of the intensity of her own feelings. But, eventually, she couldn’t deny the truth any longer. She was—she is—in love with Azzi, deeply and irrevocably. And, after Azzi had confessed her feelings that night in the bar, everything had changed.  

Paige reaches over, intertwining her fingers with Azzi’s. Azzi turns to her, eyes locking with Paige’s, nothing but deep, true love in them. Paige feels a rush of emotion at it, overwhelmed by the depth of her feelings. It’s nothing new; Azzi manages to make Paige feel like this every single day. 

“I love you,” Paige whispers, her voice barely audible over the movie’s dialogue.

Azzi’s eyes soften, and she leans in to kiss Paige gently. “I love you, too.”

Eventually, the movie ends and they leave the theater, going to get dinner. And, as the sky begins to darken and their date begins to end, Paige can’t help but think that she wants every first to be with Azzi, as well as every last. There’s no one else, and there will never be anyone else ever again. And, even if she’s getting ahead of herself, even if this is their first “real” date, Paige knows she wants to spend the rest of her life with Azzi. 

And she fucking plans to.

[sprytesukii]

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

[reallyromealone]

Title: fated

Chapter: two

Fandom: JJK

Characters: Gojo, Geto, unimportant ocs

Fic type: series

Pairings: Gojo x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, Omega male reader, angst

Notes:

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Gojo had been staying with (name) for a week at this point, (name) going about his day of without any care and honestly ignoring him half the time.

Gojo was still his... Gojo self.

(Name) Was watching his dramas on the couch as he made little plush toys for the neighborhood children, Gojo had gone out to do whatever... Frankly (name) didn't care and if Gojo didn't have the power to blast off the hinges of his door, he would have changed the locks.

Gojo had Geto send him a copy of (name)s information, everything about the Omega, hobbies and interests though Gojo ignored those as they seemed to be generic Omega things to make the thorn bush that was (name) seem more delicate.

(Name) Was interesting though from the other things Geto gathered for him, and something deeply interesting.

He wasnt blood related to the (lastname) clan...

He was a descendant of a notable figure.

Sakuna.

That would explain his defiant nature.

And then came his abilities...

Jesus fuck.

At that moment, Gojo knew why they were destined to be together.

If given proper training, (name) would be an unstoppable force and it made sense on why he was the diamond of his clan as Gojo was the gift of the heavens of his clan.

Their offspring would be a monster of power.

(Name) Was asleep when Gojo came back, the tv playing a drama as the Omega slept on the couch, curled up and cozy as a few crochet plushies scattered around him. Gojo felt the urge to protect but... He didn't feel love, he was always told that when you met your soulmate you would feel endless love but he just felt... Calm.

Like he did with Geto.

Carefully he lifted (name) and brought him to his bed, tucking him in.

He would learn to love (name) as his omega and (name) as his alpha...

"Work?" Gojo asked confused and (name) nodded with a yawn "of course, what do you think I sit on my ass all day?" Yup he could definitely see how he was descendants to Sakuna now, the white haired man chuckling at his omegas attitude, he definitely wasn't some weak Omega.

Gojo knew he would have to leave soon, he had work to do after all.

But he would be back, he had to come back for his mate after all.

They both had roles to play.

Gojo noticed that (name) always read slower, more intensely "oh.... They didn't see a purpose of having me learn too much, better a pretty Omega than one who could make their alpha look inferior" Gojo with his new knowledge of (name) knew that wasn't the full truth, they kept (name) dumb so that he couldn't be a threat like Gojo was.

"I have to go back to Tokyo tomorrow..." Gojo started and (name) looked up from his dinner "hm? Finally gave up?" He asked calmly and Gojo snorted "I don't give up, I just have to take care of stuff" he said simply and (name) rolled his eyes "it would be easier if you came with"

"Absolutely not" (name) didn't even hesitate to shoot that down, as he glared at Gojo "don't feel like you need to rush back" (name) said with a bland tone as he sipped his drink "ill be sure to come back as soon as possible " Gojo fired back as blue locked with (color) and the two glared at one another.

It took a month and a half till Gojo returned "what is this? You moving into the village or something?" (Name) Asked at all the bags and boxes that sat on his engawa "nah, Geto told me courting gifts are important" Gojo said and (name) looked a mix of annoyed and disgusted "you don't need to do that"

"But I want to"

(Name) Wanted to slap him, the audacity of this man.

Alphas were really shameless.

(Name) Barely glanced at the pile of gifts in his livingroom as Gojo made himself comfortable "so ya miss me while I was gone?"

"No" (name) said simply as he sipped his drink, already feeling a headache form in the front of his skull at the other "the house smells sweeter, you get a new air freshener or something " Gojo tried making small talk and (name) wasn't too interested "no that's just post heat smell, sticks on the walls for a while" this made Gojo freeze "your heat?" When was this?!

"Yeah, it ended the other day" (name) said like it was just talk about the weather, deciding to work on his crossword puzzle that was sitting on the corner of the table "why didn't you call me?" Gojo asked incredulously and (name) glanced up and glared "why would I call you?"

"Because I'm your alpha!"

"But you aren't" (name) argued and Gojo seethed, his Infinity getting a bit stronger and (name) was pushed back a bit, a slight look of fear on his face was enough to snap him out of it and a guilty look on his face "shit, I'm sorry" he was already fucking up even more and it hadn't even been an hour! (Name) Letting distressed pharamones slip out as he whispered "you make no attempts to be my alpha, ignore me for years and then you come into my life and make demands and claims... Then you use your strength the intimidate me... You are no different than the ones I grew up around" (name)a words were like a hot knife as he curled into himself.

(Name) Went about his day as if Gojo didn't exist, the Alpha having the decency of getting a room at the local inn though it was obvious Gojo didn't exactly want to do so but after the stunt he just pulled it was the smartest choice.

Though that didn't stop him from being excessive and clingy.

"Maybe we could go on a date tonight, what is there in this town anyways?" Gojo followed (name) around at work and the Omega was deeply embarrassed as people stared and whispered "can you not bother me while I'm at work?"

"I just wanna see what my omega is up to"

"Not your omega"

"Not yet"

"(Name)?" A voice called as Gojo was a bit annoyed that (name)s attention left him to some beta man who was the embodiment of the annoying boy next door trope "oh kei, is school out already?" (Name) Checked his watch and it was already 5pm, the store would be closed soon "yeah, gave the kids some fun in the sun before school let out... It's a nice day and all" he joked as Gojo dead stared him from behind (name) who paid no mind "that's great! It's too good of day to waste truly"

"Whose this?" Kei asked and looked at Gojo with a stupid smile that made the white haired man feel the urge to turn him into a fine mist.

There was barely any cursed energy in him, both Gojo and (name) combined had enough cursed energy to keep japan lit for a generation! He was weak, the lowest level scum cursed spirit could take him down!

"He's a creep who won't leave me alone" (name) said blandly and Gojo scoffed "Gojo Satoru, his fiance"

"Not my fiance"

"Not with that attitude" Gojo fired back and the school teacher looked between them confused before smiling "well it's nice to meet you Gojo! I'm Sato Kei!" He was inconsequential to Gojo, offering his hand to him but if he was to get closer to (name) he would need to get close to his friends.

"Pleasure to meet you" (name) huffed as they interacted but decided to take the time to return to his shift and shake the tick that was Gojo off him.

Gojo should had known it wouldn't be complete smooth sailing while he was here...

"It's always schools.." he whispered as he adjusted his eye cover and walked to the building where a cursed spirit resided, he just hoped he could finish the job fast.

Gojo didn't have a lot of empathy to those weaker to him, he didn't care about them.

But he did care about his omega, even if he didn't get why he did.

And telling (name) that his beta friend was dead... He never wanted to see (name) cry like that again.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Ranger (Part 1)

Summary: The reader is trying to enjoy her vacation in the rainy forest in her cozy cabin when an unexpected heat comes on. But things turn dangerous fast and she needs the help of a local forest ranger to get out of it. But she wasn't expecting his help to include claiming her and being her true mate. Because something isn't right and her Alpha is keeping something from her...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 5,300ish

Warnings: language, life threatening medical situation, angst

A/N: Please enjoy this first part!

_______

This was not an ideal situation. You’d finally done it and taken that solo vacation in the mountains. A cozy cabin in a retreat from the world. The trees had turned already and were bare but the damp, cloudy rainy day would have been perfect to curl up by the wood fireplace and get through that stack of books you’d been meaning to.

Except your heat, your heat that’d always been on schedule since you’d started having them, was three fucking weeks early. You didn’t have any medicine besides a few pain killers meant for headaches, not dangerous cramps, and the cabin only had basics meant for allergies or a cold. You needed heat suppressants soon if you didn’t want to go into a full heat. 

Which again, wasn’t an ideal situation since you didn’t have a flippin’ mate.

You could have tried to trek back to civilization through the winding dirt road but it’d taken two hours on the way in. Two hours of intense cramps? No way were you making that drive.

“Shit,” you said, walking slowly to the service room on the lower floor of the cabin where a radio at a table sat. Because of course you wanted to vacation somewhere without people, that meant no cell service either.

A rumble of cramps passed through you, warmth flaring your insides. You gritted your teeth and grabbed the radio, turning the frequency to the ranger station listed on the sheet on the table for emergencies.

“Hello, uh, forest service? I need help,” you said, closing your eyes as pain radiated up your spine. You frowned for a moment, the radio crackling. “Hello? I-”

“This is station 327, Ranger Winchester. What’s the emergency?” asked a strong, serious voice. You bit your bottom lip as you imagined he was an Alpha, your core quivering at the idea of getting a knot. “Mam? Please respond.”

“M-My heat’s early. It’s real bad and I have no medication. I-I’m in the Vrbo cabin off route 37, Mount Dusk I think it was called. I-”

“This line is for true emergencies. Your heat being a few days early and you being an unprepared Omega is not-”

“Listen asshole,” you snarled, gasping when your stomach threatened to curl in on itself. “It’s three fucking weeks early which everyone knows isn’t normal. I need a fucking heat kit, a strong one, or a fucking knot now and since I’m out here alone, all I got is your ass. So get me my shit and-FUCK!”

You dropped the radio as you bent over, falling to your knees. Something was wrong. Heat’s didn’t come on this fast, not even when you scented your true mate.

You could hear noise through the radio but your head was thrumming, your body grateful for the cold wood floor below you. It wasn’t possible to die from a heat, was it? If you let the fever go you supposed but it took days and days for that to happen and you’d only felt crappy for an hour. Yeah, you’d be just fine. This guy would bring you medicine and you’d be fine.

Right?

You blinked open your eyes when you heard glass break. Crap, you’d passed out for who knew how long. The overwhelming scent of Alpha hit you and despite the pain, you shot upright, staring at the man in the wet raincoat as he reached his hand through the broken pane and undid the lock. He froze when he saw you, his own scent shifting subtly. A hint of fear under the surface.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, raking his eyes over your sweat drenched body. He took off his backpack, pulling out a white box and a bottle of water, cautiously setting them on the ground and sliding them over to you.

“I look that bad, huh?” you said, ripping open the box and finding the medicine you needed, knocking it back with a swig of water. 

“You’re in heat and I don’t want to be accused of doing shit I didn’t,” he said. You narrowed your eyes, hand fisting in your own shirt over your stomach. That shouldn’t have been happening still. Heat medication worked instantly. “What’s-”

You fell over again, clutching your abdomen, head spinning, body going haywire at his scent.

“Please,” you whispered, finding his hard eyes. “I’ll give you whatever you want. I-I need you to-”

“I can’t.” A wracked sob slipped past your lips as something in your broke, pain flooding every single cell. You just needed a knot and it would be bearable. He muttered to himself and quickly you were in strong arms, your own wrapping around him shakily. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“I’ll pay you,” you whispered, hating how that sounded but he simply carried you out in the pouring rain, the cold air helping your skin not feel so hot.

“I’m on Novi-Alpha. If I knotted you,, you’d fucking die so I’m sorry but I can’t help you like that even if I wanted to.”

“I’m gonna die from this fucking fever anyways!” you shouted as he opened the backdoor of a rugged looking jeep. 

“One’s a chance, one’s a guarantee,” he said, setting you down, your arms still clinging to him. He eyed you, forcibly grabbing your wrists and pulling them away. “You will not die, understand me? Now let me get you to a hospital.”

You reached for him but he moved away too quickly, closing the door. He ducked into the cabin to retrieve his bag before he was behind the wheel.

“Honey Dusk Hospital is aware you’re in a dangerous heat,” he said, turning the jeep around and driving down the dirt road, way faster than you had.

“Don’t kill me in a fucking car accident on the way,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut.

“This vehicle is meant for these roads, unlike your car. We’ll be on route 37 in thirty minutes, at the hospital in forty five.” You threw your head back, his musky scent filling the small space. 

“Distract me,” you breathed out. “Fuck you smell so good. If you weren’t on Novi-Alpha, I’d climb you like a fucking tree.”

“Whoa lady. Calm down-”

“Don’t lady me. We’re like the same fucking age.”

“You say fucking a lot, you realize.”

“You have your insides tearing apart and tell me you wouldn’t be cursing-” You shouted, bracing yourself against the door panel, feeling him step on the gas harder. “What the fuck is happening to me?”

“...I have an idea,” he said quietly. You flashed open your eyes, looking at his incredible scruff covered jawline, his gaze focused on the bumpy, wet road ahead. 

“What? Are you a doctor? Are-”

“No. I only know my basic medical training.” He frowned, rounding a tight corner. “It’s probably not a heat and you’re just sick.”

“I know what a heat feels like thank you very much.” You shivered violently, the ranger sighing. “What’s your name?”

“Dean Winchester. Try to rest. We’ll be there soon.”

The ranger’s suggestion to rest had, shockingly, not worked. By the time you were speeding down this small town’s streets, you were shaking so hard you literally couldn’t stop. Dean had reached back more than once as he drove with a handheld thermometer, muttering a few f-bombs to himself.

At least he wasn’t the one with a hundred and five temperature. A hundred and five and a half to be exact. You were pretty sure your heat was about to boil the fuck out of you and kill you within the next hour.

Dean said something but you didn’t hear him over your screaming. The next thing you knew he was ripping open the door and running inside a hospital with you in his arms, nearly tripping into a stretcher where a team was waiting.

“She’s fucking dying,” he said as he set you down, the team of doctors and nurses rushing you into a side room.

“You said this heat came on suddenly?” he asked Dean, someone sticking a thermometer in your ear.

“106. She’s too hot,” called out the nurse, the doctor near Dean rushing over, the team suddenly pushing you out of the room and down the hall. You were shoved through a pair of double doors into a bathroom, a silver high walled tub in the corner. 

“I got her,” said Dean, lifting you up and plunging you into an icy cold bath. You screamed as it burned your fiery skin, his hands on your shoulders forcing you to stay inside. “Look at me. Look at me.”

You couldn’t get the words out, taking in his green emerald eyes for the first time. His scent was still all around you, pine trees and vanilla beans, a cozy campfire and aged whiskey, fresh tobacco and soft linen. Your brain went fuzzy, blood pumping in your ears, thrumming in time with your heart. Was it getting slower? Your eyes were getting heavier, that was for sure. 

But he smelled so pretty, so…homey. Rugged. Yours.

“We’re losing her!” someone shouted, just as one last image of his concerned face crossed your mind.

You felt strangely…blissed out when you woke. Satisfied, like you were after being on the receiving end of a knot but also relaxed and floaty, like when you finished a heat. It wasn’t exactly a problem your heat had passed but you remembered a whole lot of pain and a high fever which wasn’t normal. 

So what the fuck had happened?

You stretched in bed and sat up, a doctor in a white coat stepping into the room with a smile.

“Y/N! Glad to see you awake. It’s been a few hours. How are you feeling?” he asked, gently taking your wrist and checking your pulse. 

“Uh, pretty good actually. I take it my heat’s gone?” He hummed, raising your arm up, feeling under your armpit.

“Yes. There’s not many cases a year but some Omegas do unfortunately have a negative reaction.” The doctor put two fingers to your bonding gland on your neck, your eyes narrowing. Why would he be feeling that? 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he pulled them back, glancing at a monitor. 

“Just checking your bond is healing.” You stared at him, the doctor glancing down with a sigh. “You don’t remember, do you? What happened before you passed out in the tub?”

“I remember being dumped in ice cold water and a whole lot of people shouting but that’s it.” 

“You didn’t pass out immediately. We determined while you were on the way here that your heat was triggered by the fact you came into contact with your true mate. Ordinarily, you would have picked up on this yourselves but your Alpha is on medication that has strong side effects. Namely, he was only vaguely aware of who you were through scent but there was no desire to mate as would be the norm. For you, unfortunately there is no recognition on a level that you’re aware of. You understandably would not know you went into heat early because of your true mate.”

You reached a hand up to your bonding gland, wide eyed when you felt…something. You flew out of bed, the doctor trying to stop you but you were quickly in the small bathroom, staring in the mirror.

“What the fuck is that!” you shouted. On your neck was a fresh, pink, bite mark. Someone had fucking claimed you. You angrily spun around, the doctor holding up his hands. “What kind of hospital is this! I’m suing the fuck out of you and this whole place!”

You caught a whiff of something…delectable, an Alpha’s scent somewhere close by. It calmed you, ever so briefly, the doctor sighing. 

“The man that brought you in-”

“The ranger guy.”

“Yes he…well he…there’s no easy way to say this. He is your true mate. Ordinarily we would have used medication to mimic your true mate’s scent but seeing as he was there…when he was told he would be able to claim…” he said as you stalked out, eye twitching. “We were losing you and receiving a claim bite from your true mate was the fastest way to bring your fever down. In emergency situations, true mates are allowed to make medical choice for you if you’re unable-”

“He wasn’t my mate then,” you growled.

“Physically, no but on a metaphysical level, yes. Frankly, the health of my patient, you, is all I care about. We’d like to observe you a few more hours before discharging.” You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes.

“So my heat is magically gone and some random dude hanging out in the hall is now my Alpha?” 

“That’s the more blunt way of putting it. We’ll send home medication to suppress your urges to mate physically. Your Alpha will be unable to knot you until he has completed his Novi-Alpha prescription.” 

“And when will that be?” you asked, tilting your head. The doctor frowned. “When?”

“...You don’t know what Novi-Alpha is prescribed for, do you. That is a discussion for you and your Alpha.” You wanted to argue but he lifted his chin. “Please let me finish my examination and determine if your heat had any consequences.”

Three hours later they finally let you leave, a white baggie in hand that held a bottle of pills you were to take once a week for the foreseeable future. There were well over a hundred inside which made you more than queasy.

What the fuck was Novi-Alpha and why did a guy that looked more than healthy need to be on it?

You frowned when you stepped outside under the covered front entrance, the ranger standing from where he sat on a bench. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “How are you feeling?” 

“I didn’t give you permission to claim me.” His scent shifted, an edge to it you didn’t like. He narrowed his eyes, a frown growing on his otherwise handsome face. “Oh, don’t you start on that we’re true mates shit. You didn’t ask for my consent.”

“Excuse me but you were the one begging for it,” he quipped back. He took a few steps away like he was heading for the sidewalk, suddenly turning on a dime and getting in your face. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw. “You don’t feel…this and I get that it’s my fault. I barely feel it myself. And I frankly don’t care about your consent. My mate was five minutes away from death.”

“Oh, I did not sign up for some toxic asshole,” you said, shaking your head. You took a step, Dean grabbing your wrist. He looked ready to snarl, lip curling up. 

“True mates are never, ever bad mates. Stop hating me for saving you.”

“I don’t even fucking know you. This whole situation is your damn fault in the first place.” He twitched his eye, yanking on your arm so you stepped forward. “Get off, ass-”

“I am your Alpha and I’m taking you home,” he said, tugging you along after him, your feet cold on the wet ground, socks already soaked through. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you growled. Dean whipped around and in a second, you were tossed over his shoulder. “Dean! Put me down!”

“You’ll wear yourself out if you don’t calm down.” You growled, punching his back twice. You raised your fist again but felt dizzy, your hands instead gripping him tightly. “Did you listen to the doctors at all? You need to take it easy.”

“Just take me to my cabin,” you grumbled. He didn’t speak again, only grunted once when he opened the passenger door of his truck to slide you inside. You were too tired to deal with this crap. You’d go back to the cabin, sleep for a solid twelve hours and figure out this mate crap tomorrow. 

The roads were unfamiliar as Dean drove in silence, winding and twisting as he drove away from town and off a small road. It was a gravel road unlike the one to your cabin but you perked up when you saw a cabin in a small clearing after only a few minutes. 

“Uh, that’s not my cabin,” you said. Dean put the truck in park, turning it off. “I was out on Mount-”

“This is my house…our house,” he mumbled the last part. You shook your head at him, Dean rolling his eyes. “You need rest, not to sit in a car for hours. I’ll get your shit from that rental and bring it here. We’ll figure out the rest of your crap from wherever you’re from later.”

“Excuse me? We’re mates, as much as that appalls me. We make decisions like where to live together. I have a job, a life-”

“We live here. End of discussion,” he growled. His scent was raw, twitchy. There was no room for arguing. You were ready to fight back but you forced yourself to calm down. He was your true mate and as much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. True mates were never bad to one another. He wouldn’t harm you but good god was this guy protective. 

You frowned when he held up a finger to you and got out. He threw up his hood, rain coming down harder. In a flash he was at your door, picking you up bridal style and rushing you over to a covered porch. He set you down to unlock the door, flipping a light switch before he stepped back. You walked past him, surprised to find the cabin quite spacious and modern.

He disappeared behind you, returning with your white paper bag, now wet. His boots were removed and you peeled off your soaked through socks, following him slowly as he went to the open kitchen area on the right. The bag was set down, Dean moving to his fridge and taking a few things out.

It was open concept, kitchen on the right, living room on the left, a dining table in the front by the windows. There was a hallway in the back and one off the kitchen, probably leading to bedrooms and a garage. A large fireplace was nestled in the corner of the living room and you saw Dean cross into your vision, going to it to toss in a few logs. 

Honestly, it was nicer than your rental had been.

Once he had a fire going, he turned back to where you stood on the front rug, water dripping off of you. His lips pressed into a thin line, looking you up and down not like an Alpha would his Omega. No, he was being very clear. 

You were the stray that’d followed him home he hadn’t wanted. 

“I don’t have to be here,” you said when he approached, staring up at his dark eyes. “This isn’t normal. We’re supposed to be all over each other and clearly we’re not. We-”

“There’s a stew going on the stove. It’ll be ready in an hour. Just leave it alone.” He put a hand on the small of your back, walking you down to the back hall, motioning you to the last door on the left. He flipped on a light, cascading you into a cozy bedroom with soft white bedding and a dark green flannel blanket on top. 

He cleared his throat and went to a closet, pulling out a few pieces including a t shirt, hoodie, sweatpants and pair of boxer briefs. 

“You should warm up in the shower. Bathroom is right there. The laundry room is on the other side of the house, near the kitchen and garage. It’s coming down harder so it’ll take me a few hours to get to the rental and back here. You should-”

“Take it easy. Yeah, I got that.” He nodded, pausing at the bedroom door with his back to you. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry this happened to you. You don’t deserve it.” You quirked your eyebrow up.

“You’re my Alpha. We’re soulmates. I guess this is supposed to happen.” He was still, the air thick. “I…listen I know I was…I wish I’d been aware of what I’d been saying but…”

He smelled tense, his hand in a tight fist by his side. What the fuck was up with this guy?

“Whether we like it or not, we’re mates,” you said gently. “When you get off that medicine, it’ll feel different-”

“I can never get off it and I can never knot you. You’ll never feel a damn thing for me.” Then he was gone, tearing down the hall and out the front door before you could even move. 

An unpleasant shiver ran down your spine that he was right. 

Your feet moved on autopilot to the bathroom, stripping out of the wet clothes and standing in front of the nicely tiled shower. In seconds you were under hot water, cascading down your back, through your hair. Fingers reached up to your neck, rubbing over your bond.

There were no sparks or flurry in your veins. You were supposed to be able to feel Dean, feel your connection, feel his soul.

But there was nothing. All you felt was empty.

You couldn’t feel the other part of your soul and he blamed himself.

“Fuck that,” you said, quickly finishing and getting dressed in the clothes aside from the sweatpants that were too long.

You found his computer in one of the spare bedrooms, stealing it along with a notepad and pen. Out in the kitchen, you settled into a seat at the island and drew a line down the middle of the pad. One side for information about Dean, the other Novi-Alpha.

With a quick stretch, you cracked open the laptop and got to work.

Three Hours Later

It was dark by the time headlights flashed through the front windows. The computer said it was just after six thirty and you knew you were about thirty seconds away from an argument. Ah, what a wonderful way to spend your first night with your Alpha.

Out of view you heard the door leading from the garage to the house crack open, wet boots against the tile in the mudroom. 

“I’m back!” he called from around the corner. “We’ll unpack your stuff tomorrow. How was…”

Your eyes darted over to the hallway he exited from, his socked feet padding his footfalls on the woode floors that covered the rest of the house. He stared at where you had his laptop, a charger plugged into the side of the island, a stack of papers next to you, your notepad, pen, three different highlighters and a cup of coffee.

“Are…are you working?” He asked, face souring. “You should be resting. I thought you were here on vacation anyways.”

“I am and this isn’t work related.” He narrowed his eyes, not saying anything as he went to the sink on the other side of the island to wash up. 

“Did you eat yet?” You shook your head, typing some more. A heavy sigh left him. He went to a cabinet, pulling out two large bowls. “You really should have eaten something. You nearly died this morning. Your school project can wait.”

“I’m not in college,” you said, jotting down a few more notes before you saved what you’d been working on and signed out of your account. You closed the screen, watching water trail down from his wet hair and soaking his shirt collar. “Why are you wet?”

“Because there’s a thunderstorm outside. It rains here most days,” he said dryly, giving you a side glare as he walked the two bowls of stew over to the kitchen table. You cocked your head at him as you got up, Dean quickly retrieving utensils. “What?”

“You parked in the garage just now and my cabin was far enough away that you’d be dry. Where’d you stop on the way back?” He slammed the drawer shut, eye twitching. “Strike a nerve?”

“I asked you to do one thing. One thing. Rest. And y-you’re writing a research paper or some crap? Sit down and eat your damn dinner.” You would have told him off but truth be told, you were starving a bit. You took your bowl and moved it to the seat across from his, Dean angrily setting down a spoon. A few moments later, a large glass of water was in front of you and he had a bottle of beer on his placemat. Dean sat with a loud thud, shoveling a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Why are you wet?” you asked again, crossing your arms. 

“Why does it matter? Fucking eat.” You leaned back, Dean dropping his spoon in the bowl. “Really? This is how it’s gonna be? I’ve been nothing but nice-”

“If this is you nice then I’d hate to see you mean.” You raised your chin, picking up the spoon. “I’ve always heard alpha’s protective instincts are unmatched. You can barely feel whatever this bond is and you’re so worked up-”

“I almost watched you die today.” You closed your eyes and sighed. A small noise made you open your eyes, Dean sliding a small white box over to you. You frowned, lips parting when you saw the newest iPhone inside. “I got you a phone on the account your other one was in your pocket when you took your artic dip. I rushed to the store before they closed. That is why I’m wet. I’d never want you to feel like you’re trapped here, especially when you can’t feel our ‘whatever bond.’”

“Thank you,” you said quietly. You ate in silence, the only sounds coming from the rain on the roof, the clanking of spoons and the quiet thrum of a soft rock station in the living room.

He seemed…stressed. Maybe you should wait for the morning to bring up what you’d found.

But you didn’t get the chance when he picked up and glanced at your notepad. Green eyes scanned over the pages before he gathered up everything you’d been working on.

And tossed it straight into the fireplace.

“Hey!” you shouted, rushing over as he stopped you in your tracks. He leered down, eyes dark. “That was-”

“You will delete everything you saved on that computer. Now.”

“You can’t-” He gripped your arm tight, so hard he was shaking it.

“Do it or I will make your life hell.” He released you, spinning you around towards the computer. You didn’t believe he’d hurt you. True mates were incapable of it. But you didn’t want to tempt him anymore than you already had.

Ten minutes later, your backup was gone and after a through examination by Dean, he took the computer and tossed it into the fireplace as well.

“I know you have questions,” he said quietly, back to you as the flames danced around the melting device. “I never should have gone hiking this morning. You caught my scent in the wind and-”

“Why would you go hiking in the pouring rain? It was raining this morning too. I had my coffee under the covered porch but it was coming down like bullets. No one would be out there willingly.” He turned and faced you, eyes roaming over your body, stuck on how his boxer briefs molded to your legs.

“In another life, we could have been happy. I would have given you everything you asked for. But not this one. I will keep you safe but that is all we are. We don’t get our happy ever after until we’re both dead.”

You swallowed, stepping into the living room, stopping a few feet away. “You hurt my arm just now.”

“I know,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again as long as you don’t do stupid things.”

You were getting angry again, Dean holding up his hands. “Stupid shit like try to know my new Alpha who just left me all alone? Sorry for trying to look up your damn social media. Asshole.”

Dean dropped his hands and went back to the fireplace, poking the computer with a poker, shaking his head.

“The more in the dark you are-”

“I’m a corporate forensic analyst, Dean,” you said, Dean’s shoulders stiffening. “Those notes on the computer? In that pad? Those articles? You can burn them all but it’s in my head. I don’t need the internet anymore to figure out what’s going on.”

“And what does your analysis tell you?” he grit out.

“Novi-Alpha is a cancer medication specifically for Alphas. But you don’t have it and never have. So why would an otherwise healthy Alpha take it? Well, it apparently has other uses that the public doesn’t know about…if you’re willing to live with the side effects. Side effects like knotting becoming a deadly activity to the person on the receiving end. The inability to feel your mate. Scent changes. And my personal favorite, if taken without the binding agent that’s given for cancer treatment, it changes your DNA coding without changing your DNA. Apparently law enforcement doesn’t want that news to get out there because it’s a bitch to catch people if they find out they can change their DNA on tests.”

You grabbed his arm and made him face you, a loud crack of thunder echoing in the room. Dean breathed calmly, eyes finding yours.

“Why are you taking medicine to change your DNA?”

“Because I did something bad, Y/N.” He got closer, pressing his chest to yours, forcing you to tilt your head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Fingers brushed over your cheek, thumb swiping over the curve of it slowly. “Because your true mate is a monster. And once you know the truth, you’ll want to run away…and I don’t think I’m strong enough to let you go.”

The air was thick with his scent, dark yet pleasant. Painful even. You leaned into his touch, Dean’s green eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Novi-Alpha prevents Omegas from feeling their true mate. But I know you feel me.” You closed your eyes, breathing him in. “You have to tell me the truth eventually.”

“No I don’t,” he whispered. 

“You’ll tell me,” you said, opening your eyes, Dean’s hand sliding down to your mark. “Because I’m in danger if you don’t.”

He shook his head, pulling away from you. “Don’t pull that crap, Y/N. You’re safer not knowing.”

“Right. That’s why you burned everything just now.” He looked up, like someone else would magically tell him what to do. “You need to protect me. It’s your job. So you have to tell me the truth, Alpha. You have to.”

He laughed quietly, running a hand through his damp hair. “Using my title to get what you want. Manipulative. Maybe you were meant for me.”

“Dean-”

“The Ranger.” You raised your eyebrows at him, Dean wandering to the dark window.

“Uh, what? This is because you’re a forest ranger?” He laughed again, crossing his arms.

“No. I do that because…it’s a pretty isolated job. Small town work.” He looked to his right, a sad smile on his face. “The Ranger. That was my name when I had a different job.”

“That’s not a name…” you said, Dean shrugging. “What’d you do when you were The Ranger?”

He smirked, meeting your curious gaze. “Have you ever killed anyone?” 

He slowly stalked back to you, tilting his head. He leaned in close, glancing at your lips. “N-No, can’t say I have.”

“Ever kill an animal?”

“I hit a squirrel with my car once. I cried all night for that.” Dean rested his forehead against yours, his scent rolling off of him in powerful waves. “D-Do you hunt animals?”

“No.” He brushed his lips to the shell of your ear, his pulse strangely calm. “Now people, that’s a different story.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[slut4thebroken]

Urges

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Jason Todd x reader

Summary | The Lazarus Pit had some unexpected side effects.

Warnings | 18+, sexual content, smut, grinding, in public, humiliation, light dubcon, multiple orgasms, no female orgasms, so much come, like genuinely so much, angst?, fluff, Jay is secretly a sweetheart and a simp, obviously.

Words | 2.8k

Notes | Based on this. (Lol imagine that’s you know what all over him in the pic🫣🤭)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

The pit didn’t just give him trauma— it affected his body too, giving him enhanced strength, speed, durability, and healing. But there was another, lesser known side effect. 

Honestly he hasn’t even thought about it for the past few years- always too focused on recovering from fucking dying, then on revenge and helping Gotham the way Batman couldn’t. But once it hit him… it hit him like a ton of bricks.

He doesn’t know where Batman or Nightwing were and why they weren’t with you, but there you were, the Batgirl suit even more flattering on your now mature body, making his cock strain in his pants. And you— you stupid little girl— decided to go after him alone. 

He tried to fight it, really he did, but when he had you pinned under him in a matter of seconds, he couldn’t help the way he pushed his crotch against you, trying to get a little bit of relief. 

“W- Get off me, you fucking creep!” You yelled once you noticed. He didn’t give you an answer because he knew exactly what would shut you up. So he took off the helmet and tossed it to the ground as your eyes widened. “Jason?” You said through a breath, making him growl at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He parted your legs, then settled between them and leaned over you as he rutted against your clothed heat. He only lasted a few seconds before the tightness of his pants became painful, so he leaned up to open them and pull his cock out. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You gasped, but there was no malice in your tone. Just pure shock and arousal. He leaned back down, shoving his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply, not able to control the way his hips started rutting against you  just from your scent. You still wear the same fucking perfume that always used to make his cock fatten up in his pants whenever he got too close to you. 

He was panting against your neck now, his cock, trapped between your bodies, growing so incredibly sensitive that it almost fucking hurt. And his balls— god, he doesn’t ever remember a time in his life where they were this fucking heavy and full and aching. 

It wasn’t long before he was nearing his orgasm, especially when he focused on your breath on his neck and the way the swell of your tits felt against his chest. He choked out a moan, not able to control the way he started whimpering- so fucking desperate for relief. His brows furrowed, mouth open in a silent moan as his cock started twitching, then shot out rope after rope of come. He’s had enough orgasms to know that the way this one felt was definitely not normal. Even after a few years without it, it shouldn’t be this fucking intense and long. 

“God- what the fuck?” He whined, hips still desperately rutting against you as he rode out the endless orgasm. He could feel the mess through his own layers of clothing and he knew that your suit would be fucking wrecked when he was done. But it didn’t stop. He came for what felt like hours, listening to the pulse in your neck, smelling your perfume, feeling the delicate skin on his lips. 

“Fuck,” He whimpered, still rutting against you, but the friction was starting to lessen because of his cock being completely soaked with come. His balls just barely lightened, still feeling incredibly full and sore. When he finally, finally felt his orgasm fading, his hips slowed to a stop as he panted, trying to catch his breath. 

“Jesus fucking christ-“ You moaned through a breath. His cock twitched at the sound of your voice, never even having a chance to start softening before his whole body burned with need again. He leaned up to examine the mess, finding the entire crotch area of both of your suits completely soaked, as well as most of your mid sections too. He looked down further, finding come still dripping down the flushed tip all the way to his balls. His cock was so hard, it was almost visibly throbbing and his balls looked almost as full as they felt. 

“Jason?” You asked quietly, making his eyes snap up to yours with a growl. Your cheeks were pink, lips red and swollen as if you were biting them and he wanted nothing more than to shove his cock between them and make you drink his come, but even with the primal urges overtaking his brain, he couldn’t do that. Not to you. So with another growl he flipped you over, his come making a slapping sound as you landed. This time he kneeled over your legs instead of between them and he laid over you again to hold you still as started rutting against your covered ass. 

If he thought the smell of your perfume was intoxicating, it was nothing compared to your hair. He took a deep breath and let out a quiet groan, remembering how he used to be able to smell it when you hugged him. But back then it didn’t make him feel like this— it didn’t make his cock throb and it didn’t make him start whining. 

“Jason,” You suddenly said, trying to push yourself up, but his entire body weight was holding you down. He didn’t want to listen to your protests— to your rejection, so he placed a hand over your mouth, making you release a startled moan. 

“Shh, I’m sorry. It’s okay, I just- I need this, baby— need you.” You whined against his palm, the sound sending a jolt to his cock. 

It took every fiber of his being to not tear your suit and fuck your cunt- fill you up with load after load of his come until you milked him dry. But through those thoughts, he could hear a quiet voice reasoning that he wouldn’t be able to come back from that and he would lose you forever. And even though his cock was begging to be buried in a tight, warm cunt— in your tight, warm cunt— he knew it was true. So this would have to do for now. Just thinking about fucking you had him barreling toward his second orgasm. 

“Oh fuck- oh my god.” He whined, resting his forehead on your shoulder. His free hand was clenched so hard to keep from touching your tits, or anywhere else, that his fingers were starting to hurt.  

Despite him pinning you down completely, you managed to push your hips up a little, pressing your ass even harder against his cock. The action had him gasping out as he fell over the edge again. He couldn’t hold in the whimpers and moans as his cock twitched between your ass and his pelvis, spurting ropes of come into the tight space. His balls were practically throbbing— pulsing with each shot of come that left his cock. 

He continued rutting against you desperately, trying to get the most out of this agonizingly long orgasm. While he could feel some of his come coating his cock, it seemed like most of it landed on the small of your back that was arched as you held your hips up. The ache in his balls was already starting to alleviate, but they weren’t empty yet, so he sat up on his knees to continue, groaning at the sight of the entire lower section of your midriff covered in his come.

“Jason?” You asked quietly, but he ignored you as he lifted you onto your knees, pushing you down by your upper back when you tried to rise on your hands. 

“I’m sorry- Just one more, I promise, baby, one more.” He whined, positioning you how he wanted, with your legs squeezed together. The sight of his come rolling up your back into your cape had his cock twitching in need, so he slipped between your thighs and immediately started fucking you. There was enough come covering his length that the friction didn’t hurt, but honestly he could’ve used a little more friction, especially because the material of your suit had him sliding in and out easily. 

His hands moved to your hips, gripping tight enough to make you whimper so that they didn’t drift to your ass. Bucking into you as he desperately chased relief again, his eyes trailed all over your body, mostly focusing on your ass through the skin tight suit, but moving up your come covered back too. His balls slapping against your thighs with each thrust was almost starting to hurt, but he couldn’t stop— not even if he wanted to. 

“Oh god- I’m so close. Almost there, baby. Just one more I think— Just one more and I’ll feel better.” He choked out, bucking into you wildly. The sound of his wet pants hitting your wet suit was deafening on the otherwise quiet rooftop. When you squeezed your thighs together even harder, he let out a broken moan, cock throbbing, anxiously awaiting the pleasure. 

“Oh fuck-“ He groaned, cock twitching between your legs as his come shot out, painting your stomach. Quickly pulling back, he fucked his fist, watching as his come covered your ass and dripped down your thighs. “Shit,” He whimpered, when it just didn’t stop. It was less than his previous orgasms, but still enough that you were practically kneeling in a pool of his come. The last few spurts landed on his fist, dripping down his hand to the puddle on the ground as he panted, trying to catch his breath. 

Releasing his cock, he watched the way it still twitched pathetically, but despite that, he knew he was done. What he didn’t know however, was how he was going to clean all of this shit up. His cock was slick with his arousal, dripping down to his balls, adding to the mess on his pants. His hand and clothes were in a similar state. 

“Jay?” You asked quietly, making his eyes snap up to you. 

“Shit-“ He helped you up so you were sitting in front of him. The come that was on your stomach had rolled up to your chest, coating your tits, making him hiss as his cock twitched at the sight. You were practically covered head to toe in it. “I- Are you…” You flung yourself at his body, wrapping your arms tight around his torso in a hug. He tried not to focus on the way that his come would now be on his chest too. When you pulled back— way too soon, he thought with a frown— you slapped his arm, making him grab the slightly aching spot. 

“Ow- What the hell?” 

“You have a lot of fucking nerve to be asking me that when you’re the one who needs to start explaining.” You growled, crossing your arms over your chest with a scowl. 

“…You’re mad?” He asked sheepishly, watching your expression start to shift into one of amusement before you hardened it again. 

“You’re dead. What the fuck, Jason?” 

“I’m sorry. Can we just- go somewhere other than here and get cleaned up, then I’ll explain?” He asked, gesturing to the pool of come you were both in. A light blush painted your cheeks when you glanced at the mess. 

“Fine.” 

He took you to his safe house and apologized profusely, promising to clean your suit for you. Only once you were both dressed in his clothes and sat on the couch did you suddenly realize that Jason is in front of you. Jason who you haven’t seen in years, Jason who’s older now, but still just as pretty as the day you met him. Jason who you couldn’t save.

“How long have you been back?” You asked, trying to hide your emotions as you crossed your arms over your chest and cleared your throat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I had to… work through some things.” You tried to wait patiently for him to explain, but it didn’t seem like he was going to do that anytime soon, so you continued.

“Tell me what happened. I don’t understand how you’re here right now.” He sighed, glancing away from you. 

“Do you know what the Lazarus Pit is?”

“The thing Ra’s Al Ghul uses, right?”

“Yeah… He- put me in it. That’s how I’m back.” He muttered. 

“Shit- are you okay?” You’ve heard the stories of what it can do to a person and your chest ached knowing that he went through something like that. 

“I’m alive.” He shrugged with a dry chuckle. 

“I’m sorry.” You moved to wrap your arms around him in a hug, but stopped when he leaned back. When he saw your hurt expression, he rushed to explain himself. 

“It’s not you! I just- I can already smell you from here and it’s taking everything in me to not do something I’ll regret. Again.” Your brows furrowed in confusion but when you glanced at his crotch, your eyes widened in understanding. 

“I don’t understand how you can still be hard after that. Actually- I don’t even understand how that was possible in the first place.” 

“I didn’t know it was possible either… When I came back, I was different— stronger, faster. I guess that changed too.” He explained and you nodded in understanding even though it still barely made sense to you. “Plus the last time I came was like a week before I died so it’s been a while.” 

“Jesus- Jason, tmi.” 

“That’s tmi?” He scoffed in disbelief. “I just fucking came on you three times and that’s too much?” 

“Oh my god- stop.” You muttered, burying your burning face in your hands. “Why did you wait so long though? I mean, I’m assuming you had at least a little bit of time after you came back.” 

“The thought never even crossed my mind. Not until— until I… saw you.” He mumbled the last part so you could barely hear it, but you did. “Look, I’m really fucking sorry. I know it’s not an excuse to say I couldn’t control myself, but even then, I still shouldn’t have done it.” 

“You don’t have to apologize.” 

“Are you kidding? I assaulted you!” He exclaimed, making you roll your eyes. 

“Okay well maybe my mess wasn’t nearly as bad as yours, but if you’d bothered to check, you would’ve found evidence to the contrary.” His eyes widened slightly, lips parted in shock. 

“You-“ His eyes moved down to your pants as if he’d be able to see what you were talking about.  “I don’t… What?” 

“You’re so clueless sometimes, you know that?” You chuckled, giving him a small smile. 

“I’m not.. clueless. I was just distracted.” He muttered, a blush painting his cheeks. 

“Uh huh. I have a question.” You said, changing the subject. 

“Shoot.”

“Why me? I’m sure you saw plenty of other girls throughout the years so why did I make you break?” His lips curled up into a small smile and you couldn’t help but feel like there was an inside joke you weren’t a part of. 

“You’re so clueless sometimes.” 

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

“Jesus- I don’t know what job you have, but I really fucking hope you’re not a detective.” He chuckled and you hit his arm again. 

“Shut up. Just tell me.” His expression suddenly dropped into a more serious one and you felt anxiety start to twist in your stomach. 

“Because I’ve had a crush on you since we were like 14.” He muttered. You stared at him in shock and when he turned to finally look at you, you could see the moment where he realized he wanted to backtrack. “Which is really fucking awkward if you have a boyfriend or don’t feel the same way because I did not think this through nearly enough,” 

“Me too.” You said, putting an end to his rambling. 

“What?” He choked out. 

“I’ve had a crush on you too. But since we met, not since we were 14.” 

“You did?” 

“Yeah… Why did you think I was so fucking awkward around you?” You chuckled, making him smile. 

“I don’t know, I just thought you were awkward.” He shrugged. “Do you… still have a crush on me?” He asked coyly, as if he was giving himself the opportunity to pass it off as a joke. 

“I wouldn’t have let you come on me three times if I didn’t.” You said teasingly, your smile widening from his reaction. You liked turning the tables, making him blush for once. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

“I wouldn’t have come on you three times if I didn’t.” 

[ivvyela]

imagine with me, if you will, a nwh potential fix-it involving none other than the multiverse saving duo deadpool and wolverine.

i know, i know - but please, let me cook.

wade and logan now jump across timelines to "fix" things aka travel the multiverse for funsies and deal with the consequences later and somehow end up in a universe where peter parker doesn't exist, but spider-man does. and wade, blessed with the power of "i know this for the plot", immediately knows that is bull. shit. and sure enough, they find one very depressed, very lonely, and very jaded peter parker.

after much annoyance, light stalking, and following spider-man while he's on patrol, they get peter to spill how he ended up in this situation. and after hearing everything, logan breaks the silence with a simple, yet effective: "shit, kid. that... shit."

"yeah, well... now you know, so you can, like, leave me alone."

"nope, not gonna happen." wade shakes his head and tactfully ignores logan's imploring look of what-the-fuck-are-you-getting-us-into-now "i take my job as marvel jesus very, very seriously, so frankly, this is my job to fix your sorry little life, buddy. and if flat-out telling them you exist didn't work, then - "

"oh, i actually... i never told them."

"...come again?"

"i tried to tell them, but i couldn't. so..."

"i'm sorry... your best friend and girlfriend were crying, telling you to come find them and remind them of you, and you chose not to?"

"they're happy and safe without me! i wasn't going to ruin - "

"oh my god. you sweet, self sacrificial, idiot spider-baby. okay! we can fix this! we're no tony stark, but consider us your pseudo daddies for the time being, kid. let's get you your life back."

which is how one very emotional and determined deadpool, followed by a stoic, nonchalant wolverine (who, in all honesty, probably should be completely against this, but once wade commits to something, he can't be talked out of it, and the sooner he gets his fix from this the sooner he can go home, so fuck it we ball), end up in a certain cafe, all up in a poor barista and her friend's face with a cut-out yearbook photo of some kid, yelling "LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT THIS BOY! HE'S SO LONELY! LIKE A SMALL, FORLORN, VICTORIAN CHILD! REMEMBER HIM, GODDAMMIT!"

(their efforts result in two confused and scared teens, and getting kicked out of said cafe.)

peter practically begs them to just leave him alone, that this was his choice, and he's fine with it, but both wade and logan know a lie when they hear one. they both know what being alone can do to a person, and peter is just a kid who got dealt the shittiest cards in life and at this point, it just feels wrong to leave him here without trying to do something. and maybe they both have a small soft spot for the teen, so what?

and peter knows both men can see through his broody, teenage angst front he's been putting up since the spell, and he's tried so hard to hate the two of them, get them to hate him so they would leave, but they're not budging, so really, there's no point in trying to push them away, right?

and so, he lets them in. he learns that while logan is stoic and intense and kinda terrifying, he's also someone who just wants to do the right thing for the people he cares about. he's also lost people, and he blames himself, but he's come out on the other side. he would tell peter about his daughter, laura, who wouldn't let him wallow in self pity because she is good, better than he has ever been. he never saw himself as a father, but she's still around, so he must be doing alright.

and at first hearing it would result in a pang in his chest, memories of thai food after walking into a smoke-filled kitchen, assurances that things will work out when everything feels hopeless, a tombstone that can never convey everything she was, but now... it's nice to hear that logan still had someone after losing everyone.

so, peter listens to logan's stories. in return, peter tells logan all about his mom.

and wade was brash and loud and conceded and really, really annoying, but he's... no, that's it. he's all of those things, but in a weird way, it's like all those bad qualities merge together to make him a good guy. and yeah, he can walk away at any point, he has absolutely no obligation to help peter, but he does it anyway.

("nonono, don't you dare make me some selfless hero type, kid. i know for a fact that every deadpool has a peter. i'm doing this for the me in your world."

"you're... huh?"

"bottom line, i'm a selfish bastard. i'm doing this for me, 'kay?")

peter didn't fight it. he's had experience with seemingly self-absorbed, deflecting type heroes.

wade doesn't replace him, not even close, but... still.

maybe peter will never get back what he lost. but, for the first time, peter sees a light at the end of the tunnel. that, maybe, he can stop being just spider-man, and he can start being peter parker again, too.

(and if there's a barista talking to her friend about how it's weird that two guys would show up holding a photo of an odd customer from weeks ago, demanding they remember him, and despite not knowing him she felt something, and her friend couldn't help but agree, well... that's neither here nor there.)

[wraithlafitte]

nightmares - dean winchester

Summary: Dean wakes you up from a nightmare.

CONTENT: feminine descriptors, mixed POV, demonic possession, angst, hurt/comfort, post hell!dean, cuddling

word count: 935 (est reading time 4 mins.)

You toss and turn in bed, limbs tangling in the worn motel duvet. Images flash through your head, reminding you of pain and torture and being trapped in your own mind. It had been months since Sam drove the demon out of your body, but its fingerprints lingered in the corners of your mind, ready to creep out as soon as you closed your eyes to fall asleep.

The worst part of the nightmares is the intense feeling of anxiety and fear it induces in you. You feel like you're really back in that time, watching yourself commit atrocities you could never have dreamed of on your own.

You try to scream at the images to stop, but as in most dreams, your voice is gone. That's how it was during the possession. Your consciousness screamed for control, for mercy, but the demon's unrelenting cruelty pushed you deep into the recesses of your own mind.

You scream again, mouth hanging wide as you voicelessly plead for the horror to end.

Dean sat up slowly, groggily trying to make out the neon red numbers on the digital clock on the nightstand above him. He was sleeping on the floor, as per usual when they could only afford a room with two beds. His self-sacrificing nature wouldn't let you sleep on the floor, and Sam had gotten injured on the last hunt, so it wasn't a question.

He heard a low groan from your bed, followed by a fabric-laden thrashing of limbs. In the dark, he could barely make out your body shuddering beneath the blankets, head tossing and chest rising and falling quickly with each belabored breath you took.

He knew the feeling. Hell, nightmares from his time downstairs still plagued him from time to time.

Dean stood and went to your side, bending over you to touch your shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, giving you a gentle shake. "Y/N. Wake up."

You didn't respond, so he shook you again, a little harder. "Y/N!" he hissed.

You wake with a gasp, flying upright, heart hammering in your chest. Hands shoot out to hold you and you struggle against their grip.

"Hey, hey," you hear a familiar voice whisper. "It's me. You're okay."

You blink rapidly as a pair of eyes slowly becomes clear to you in the dark, meeting your terrified gaze. Dean.

You heave a relieved sigh and lean forward, dropping your head on his shoulder. He takes you into his arms easily, all pretense of not caring about you forgotten.

"Jesus Christ," you whisper into his shoulder.

Dean rubs your back comfortingly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Better than what I was seeing."

He doesn't press, but lets you relax into his body as your heart rate slowly returns to normal.

"God, Dean," you say quietly after a while. "Does it ever stop?"

"No," he replies ruefully, one hand now stroking your hair. "I wish I could say it did."

Tears prick at your eyes as memories come flooding into your mind again. "I can't forget the things I did," you manage. "I can't ever unsee-"

Dean takes you by the shoulders and holds you away from him. "That wasn't you, ya hear me? How many times do I have to tell you it wasn't your fault?"

"I know, but it was still me, Dean." The tears are threatening to escape now, but you hold them back. You will not cry in front of this man, who has gone through so much worse. "These hands killed people."

Dean sighs, pulling you back into him. "I know. It's hard to deal, but you gotta try."

You shudder, tears finally rolling down your face and dampening his shirt. "I'm not... strong like you."

"I know you can do it," he whispers, hand finding your hair again, tangling in the strands. "You're stronger than you think. I don't know a lot of people who were conscious for that long during a possession and can still form a coherent thought, much less continue to hunt down these sons of bitches like you do."

You sniffle, turning your head into his neck. Deep in your heart of hearts, you know he's right.

"I know it's hard," Dean continues. "But if anyone can beat this, it's you. You're one badass lady." He chuckles, trying to lighten your mood.

Your heart melts at this. "Thanks," you whisper, tears subsiding.

"Think you can go back to sleep?" he asks gently.

"Not really," you say glumly. You pull away and hesitate deeply before asking in a small voice, "Can you... stay? With me?" Your eyes refuse to meet his. He's going to tell you to suck it up, you know it.

"Yes."

Your eyes flit up to his, surprised and relieved. Dean looks at you warmly, gently, before getting up and raising the covers, nudging you to the side as he lays down next to you.

You face him, feeling his hand travel up your hip and stop on your waist. A surge of bravery and emotion hits you, and you lean forward, leaving a gentle kiss on his lips. When you back away, he looks surprised, and for a moment you fear you've just done something that will make your friendship irrevocably damaged.

But he just pulls you into him, kissing your forehead and resting his chin atop your head, pressing you into his large body comfortingly.

You feel relieved for the millionth time that night. No more words need to be said. You fall asleep like that, nestled in his arms, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent.

[chocosvt]

HER | part three (m).

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 24.8k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

THE MIDWAY POINT 🎉 now i've just gotta prepare the last 3 parts! this is a chunkier chapter. it contains one of the longest scenes i've ever written (not even the full thing lol, it had to be split). but you'll see why, a lot had to "occur" :p

happy reading!! 💕

⇢ part one | part two | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

“Holy fuck—you really did lose your shoe.”

He hadn’t actually noticed until you were both inside his dim apartment, puddles of water now forming on the floorboards.

“I told you!”

Looking down, you had on just a black, sodden sock. With a suctioning and uncomfortably wet squelch, you managed to toe off your remaining sneaker, flinging it carefully onto the shoe mat.

Wonwoo did the same.

Thunder continued rumbling outside, with lightning hitting no more than a few seconds after. The strikes were like white knives in the sky, ripping and shearing apart the storm clouds of summer humidity.

“Jesus,” you huffed, hands moulding down your face to wipe away all the droplets, “I can’t believe you got me to run, first of all. Second of all, I can’t tell if I absolutely hated or thoroughly enjoyed that.”

“I liked it,” Wonwoo said.

“Of course you did.”

He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a dish towel to begin cleaning off his glasses and phone, not caring about all the water he was dragging so liberally everywhere. Once Wonwoo fit the frames back to his face, he was able to clearly see you still standing by the door, and he appreciated that you didn’t want to make a mess of his living room even though it wouldn’t matter to him one teensy tiny bit.

Your fingers picked in a distracted manner at the clusters of your dripping hair, meanwhile soft, watery mascara dappled down your arched cheeks, framing you akin to a detailed and evocative painting. That hemmed, white t-shirt was clinging in soaked wrinkles to your heaving torso and chest, revealing subtle imprints of all the bare skin underneath. And Wonwoo found himself looking. Not in a lecherous, tainted way, but in the simple fact that you were…

He suddenly bit down on his inner cheek, curled his hand into a fist where he could easily dig at the scars on his thumb.

To Wonwoo, you were so indescribably beautiful, standing near his doorway, soaked to the bone in the rebirth of rainfall.

He had always thought you were pretty, but in that moment, he knew it was more than just that—it was a realization that stopped the breath in his lungs and the heavy beats his heart was just barely making. At least, that was how it felt. Wonwoo sensed his panic flare up for a split second, and then it simmered away into casual nervousness. Before his eyes could linger long enough to get caught, he remembered to take a deep inhale and reground his thoughts. You stopped fiddling with your hair and sniffled.

“Um, is it okay if I jump in your shower? I mean—well, it’s your place, so if you want to get yourself sorted first, that’s fine.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all.”

You smiled back at him, adjusting the small leather bag strewn over your shoulder. He hoped your journal wasn’t soaked.

“Are you sure?”

“Well—okay, let me just run into my room and grab some clothes. I’ll dry off real quick in the washroom and change. I promise it’ll take me less than like, five minutes.”

“That’s probably best. I’ll just keep standing here.”

Hopping his way across the apartment, Wonwoo made it into his bedroom where he began ripping open the dresser drawers, pulling out some basic clothes like sweatpants and a hoodie. Then, he slipped into the washroom, peeling all the sopping, disgustingly sticky articles from his body and throwing them into the sink. Once he rubbed off with a towel, Wonwoo quickly got dressed—probably the fastest he’d ever put on clothes in his entire life. You were still standing patiently by the door when Wonwoo returned to the living room, having dumped his wet outfit into the laundry hamper.

“I’m making a colossal sized puddle right now.” You laughed.

“Ha—that’s okay,” Wonwoo answered, handing you a clean towel he’d pulled from his toiletries closet. “I’ll take care of it.”

You started walking toward the corridor, and then stopped.

“Do you think you have any clothes that might fit me? It’s just—I obviously don’t want to wear this again," you said, gesturing to the t-shirt and long skirt damply flush to your figure.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll look through my dresser and closet and pick out some stuff—you can see which fits best. I’ll throw your clothes and mine into the laundry as well—get it all clean and warmed up.”

“I’d love that, thank you.”

While you started undressing in his washroom, Wonwoo began sorting through all the clothes he had, pulling out older t-shirts and even some shorts, though he knew they most likely wouldn’t fit you. He heard you turn on the shower and wait for it to start heating.

Once Wonwoo was satisfied with all the options he’d picked, he knocked a few times on the washroom door. It was pulled open rather quickly, and he saw you standing in the threshold of thickening, hot steam, holding the spare towel closed at your chest.

“For you. There’s a whole bunch of sizes.”

“Okay, thank you so much. Do you want my clothes?”

“Yeah—that’s all of it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Okay. Take your time. I’m gonna run to the basement and get these in the laundry. I’ll probably be back up in like, five minutes. If you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be able to hear it.”

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how long it took you to shower, mostly because he was too occupied with looking out the windowpanes from his seat at the couch, watching the downpour continue, the evening dimness that flooded the room, and the liquified twinkling of city lights flickering behind all the rain. However, once you emerged from his bedroom and padded into the living area, dressed in a dark blue, logoed shirt from the neatly folded pile he’d handed you, Wonwoo had snapped back to the present. You smiled at him, and he saw that your face was now cleaned of the runny mascara and makeup.

“Oh—uh, our clothes are still in the laundry.”

“That’s okay,” you answered while walking around the coffee table. “I knew they wouldn’t be done right away. I’m fine to wait.”

Wonwoo proceeded to sit up straighter against the couch, rather than his slouched, wide spread position that he’d unconsciously sunk into before when staring vacantly into the rain.

“And, uh—just so you know, I’m wearing an embarrassing lack of clothes right now,” you admitted through your teeth, taking a ginger seat beside him. “So, like, not that I’m saying you’re going to be weird about it ‘cause I know you won’t be, but, do you have a blanket or something that I can toss over my lap?”

Immediately, Wonwoo got up from the couch.

“Yeah, there’s one in my room. I’ll grab it.”

He saw that your bag was also left in his bedroom, so he took it out with him, a few remaining droplets still bulbed on the surface.

“It’s probably not as soft as the one at your place.”

“Doesn’t matter.” You flapped the blanket out and settled it primly over your legs. “And thanks for grabbing my bag, too.”

Wonwoo collapsed back onto the sofa.

“I hope your journal’s not ruined.”

After fishing around inside the pouch, you pulled out your phone, and then the leather notebook, which was completely dry.

“Oh, thank God. I’d actually be so pissed if it was wet, probably more so than my phone.” You flipped through the pages, feeling for any splotches or tears. “I prevail, after all.”

Wonwoo smiled, and fluffed a hand through his hair.

“If you decide to stay longer because the rain won’t let up, I can always try to make you supper, or something. I can’t promise that it will be the best meal of your life, but I’m not that incompetent.”

“Oh—but what if I want something extravagant?” You smirked while flitting through your text messages. “Like buttery lobster with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables?”

He scratched under the pad of his glasses.

“Is that what you usually eat?”

“No. Only when I’m feeling super fancy. I force Mingyu to cook it for me because he’s good at that stuff. Really, I shouldn’t have to ask him—” you glanced at Wonwoo, smiling, “—he should just do it.”

“Well, if you decide to stay, I can make the next best thing.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Looking into his kitchen, Wonwoo laughed at himself.

“Ramen.”

“Oh! I actually love ramen,” you exclaimed, shuffling up your legs under the blanket. “And I would totally stay, but I promised Princess that I’d come to her new place at six o’clock-ish to help do some unpacking. Once my clothes are all done, I’ll probably get her to come pick me up. I don't know when the rain's gonna stop."

“That’s fine,” Wonwoo replied with an accepting, warm expression, even though on the inside, he was rotting in disappointment because he would have given anything for you to stay and eat supper, maybe watch a movie afterward, order ice cream.

He hated when you would leave. It left him to swim alone with his own thoughts—mostly consumed by you—and dreadfully wait until he could see or hear from you again. As Wonwoo stared off into space, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz.

It was a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]: hey sir-dork-a-lot

[ Vernon | 5:05 pm ]:  you asked her about the party yet?!

Fuck. The stupid party. The Solar Pop incident with Mingyu.

Wonwoo had completely forgot that was somehow supposed to wedge his way into receiving an invite, when he didn’t even want to go in the first place. Parties genuinely weren’t his scene.

Especially the kind that Mingyu and his friend, Seungcheol, would throw. But, at the same time, there was this very small seed of curiosity planted in his stomach—that, maybe, Wonwoo should just shoulder off his hatred of loud, cramped spaces and obnoxious university students chugging all their drinks straight from the bottle. If he just tried his best to stay calm, stay level-headed, breathe, then perhaps Wonwoo could survive a night partying with Vernon, as fucking ridiculous and deluded as it sounded.

He glanced over at you, who was texting someone.

God. Did he really want to ruin this calm, comfortable moment right now to ask about your boyfriend’s big slosh-fest?

“So, I noticed in your schedule, like, two weeks into June, you’re gonna be off the call for three days, I think.”

You scratched your cheek, continuing to text.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I already brought that up, but maybe I’m thinking of a conversation with someone else.” Shutting off your phone, you started sliding it around the blanket while talking. “It’s this big party that Mingyu’s helping to host with his friend from basketball, Seungcheol. I don't know if you're familiar with him. They do it every summer. It’s always so much fun, but I get so fucked up that I need at least two days recovery.”

Wonwoo swallowed, feeling how dry his throat was.

“Yeah. I know Mingyu’s trying to get coke from Vernon.”

You stopped playing with the phone, instead looking immediately to Wonwoo through the rays of gradual light that began easing past the gentler rain. He held his breath.

“Right, Vernon.” You almost shuddered.

“Yeah…”

“If he can get his hands on it, then, fuck, I’m fine with that. Whatever. Mingyu invited him, of course. As long as he doesn’t slink up to me and try to convince me the ten different ways he can give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I guess I shouldn’t whine.”

Wonwoo was embarrassed for his friend—it was a pretty rough situation, he would imagine. Not his most shining moment.

“I know he’s your bestie,” you said, stretching your legs out onto the coffee table, “and I’m not going to judge you to your face, but I will be judging you, silently, in the recesses of my own mind.”

Snickering, Wonwoo rubbed a hand down his neck.

“The transparency’s nice, I suppose. But, yeah. I understand why you’d have a gripe with him. To be fair, he’s not that bad. He’s a good guy that’s wrapped up in some shitty habits. I’m sure you taught him a lesson that night. It gave him a serious degree of humbling.”

“Pfft. Did it, now?”

Wonwoo opened his mouth, but he didn’t speak, and it was then you doubled over in laughter at him, patting a hand on his knee.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just deal.”

“I know you will… and, like, be safe and stuff.”

You grinned, shaking your head.

“Oh, yeah. No need to worry. I know my limits… okay—well, actually, I shouldn’t say that—I have a vaguely good idea of where my limits are, and sometimes I happen to surpass them. Not by ignorance, though. My mind is just too mushy at that point to care.”

“How incredibly rambunctious,” Wonwoo replied. “You’re probably blacklisted everywhere; a walking threat, actually.

“Oh, shut up,” you chuckled, folding your arms. “If you were trying to wiggle your way into being invited, I’m revoking it now.”

“Well, that soils my next question.”

You raised your eyebrows, “… which is?”

For a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t process that he was about to ask such a pathetic question. He tried thinking about it more as an out-of-body experience, where it wasn’t really his true conscience taking the sails. You kept watching him, waiting for his response.

Thankfully, you didn’t grant him the breadth to speak, and he was certain a lively hue of colour had just flushed back to his face.

“Oh, you’re being serious. You want to go?”

“Not really,” Wonwoo admitted, pushing up his glasses. “But, uh, I don’t know. It helps that Vernon will be there. I’m sure you can tell, I’m not a party person—not at all. Just, it could be a good opportunity for… um… well, I really can’t explain why, actually.”

“Hm.” Your eyes narrowed. “I assume it’s Vernon pushing you into it for some stupid reason… I mean, I have no issues with you going, of course!” He watched you adjust your legs under the blanket, tucking them back beneath you. “But just so you know, these parties are kinda intense and can be a major sensory overload—even for me! And I know that you don’t like talking about it but I’m not sure how well it bodes to put you in a position where you might have… uh, never mind, actually. I shouldn’t speak on stuff that doesn’t concern me. I just care about your wellbeing.”

Wonwoo pushed his lips together. A slight rush of something warm and tingly flowered at his core and he couldn’t tell if he absolutely loved it or wanted the feeling to wither up and die. More light streamed through his windows as the rain weaned off and the sky morphed from grey back to a softer, evening powder blue.

“I appreciate your concern,” he answered after an almost questionable silence, “I’m sure it will be fine.”

“Oh, sorry—I just wanted to be sure.”

“It’s okay.”

Neither of you spoke for a moment. Wonwoo twiddled his thumbs while you stared down at the blanket, presumably thinking.

“I would love for you to come, then.”

He caught you smiling at him after extending the offer in a quiet voice. The outside light filled up your eyes like a glass of swirling gold and Wonwoo believed your earnesty. And while he knew Vernon would be elated that he was able to come, Wonwoo was fighting to understand if he felt more relieved or terrified.

—JUNE 15TH.

Coming home from his long shift at the pharmacy, it was some time past eleven at night. The day hadn’t been extremely busy, but Wonwoo found it always slowed down the most dramatically when he was absolutely itching to leave. He tried his best to get relaxed, jumping into a warm but short shower, making himself a cup of chamomile tea, looking back on some favourite excerpts from the journal he kept buried away in the first drawer on his nightstand.

Wonwoo willed himself not to look at any screens. And, yet, as he sat in his bed, drinking the last few sips of tea from his hot, porcelain cup, Wonwoo’s eyes flickered across the room to his desk where his laptop was placed, and he felt this ticking urge to write.

At first, he wasn’t sure what to do.

After all, he’d been putting in a significant effort to fix that godawful, nightmarish sleep schedule of his, and while his ventures weren’t always the most successful, Wonwoo was making notable strides. To throw that all away—just to pick open his laptop and most likely end up staring straight into a lurid, white screen, while nothing of actual substance came to his fingertips—it was fruitless, and perhaps a bit stupid. He knew he needed to let that story die.

The longer it sat, collecting pixelated dust on his desktop, the more it made sense to simply delete it. Move on. Acknowledge the fact that this relationship he once perceived as so perfect and glimmering had ended, and trying to find some wisps of closure in forcing himself to complete a fizzled romance was pointless. It made so much sense. Besides, Wonwoo was happier now than he had been back in March, April, May. And, he could attribute much of that to someone he once feared and poorly understood—you.

It was hard to describe, but you had been this flare—a comet more like—that kind of blazed with an uncontrolled fire into his very bleak life. And while he’d definitely felt your scorching, uncomfortable sting more than once, he was able to realize there was something so unique and enriching about you. Because you weren’t just an uncontrollable fire, you were a full body laugh that made it hard to breath, but in the best, most treasured way. You were the quiet stillness of a pond, deep in the woods, listening to all the sounds that thrived around you, even though it didn’t always seem like it.

And you were this very soft, caressing breeze that always found Wonwoo, even when he was at his lowest valleys, giving him that sensation of a shiver to let him know that he was still alive and breathing and not so horribly numb as he thought himself to be.

That was something he’d never experienced before.

It scared him somewhat, but there was comfort in the thought, nonetheless. True, warm, and pure comfort.

Wonwoo sighed, blinking away from his laptop.

He should probably just go to bed.

Once he washed his teacup out in the kitchen, Wonwoo started brushing his teeth. That big summer party he was supposed to attend with Vernon was tomorrow night, and to call him nervous was a complete understatement. Wonwoo wouldn’t be surprised if he threw up. He would probably have to smoke a bit before leaving, just to mellow out. Of course, Vernon was overflowing with excitation, and maybe that was a good thing—he could be Wonwoo’s buffer.

Since your day together at the museum, Wonwoo had revisited your apartment twice to help with further proofreading and editing. He would be downright lying if he claimed that having to read through a memoire of your fulgurant love for Mingyu wasn’t disheartening or turning him occasionally bitter. Wonwoo wanted to be happy that you were so devoted to him, you could write an entire book detailing all your sweetest moments and fondest memories and the overall history of your love. But he wasn’t happy in the slightest.

You made him happy—not you, plus Mingyu

Continuing to brush his teeth, Wonwoo heard his phone ding once, and then again from his bedroom. And while he hadn’t wanted to look at any screens tonight, he figured that responding to a couple texts wouldn’t thwart all his progress. With the toothbrush still hanging from the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo flopped backward onto the bed and yanked his phone off the charger. While he was expecting the messages to be from Vernon due to their late sending, he was quite surprised to see they were actually from you.

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: IMG.2102

[ Her | 11:50 pm ]: do I look pretty?

Immediately, Wonwoo shuffled up onto his elbows, tapping at the picture you had sent him. When he nearly choked on the excess of minty foam stuck in his mouth, Wonwoo quickly ran into the washroom to spit it all out. He recognized the outfit you were wearing in the photo—it was that white two-piece from the boutique in the mall that you had tried on, with the high-waisted, short, tight skirt and the strapped top that wrapped around the back of your neck and criss-crossed over your chest. Coming back to his bed to sit down, Wonwoo leaned over with an elbow digging into his knee.

Did you mean to send that to him?

For a moment, his thumbs just hovered above the keyboard, attempting to concoct a coherent thought in his mind. He recognized the large, silver-bordered mirror from your bedroom. And while the phone was slightly covering your face, you had this leg crooked up in a sweet, almost delicate pose despite the open and revealing nature of the outfit. Wonwoo rubbed under his glasses, huffing out deeply.

[ Wonwoo | 11:55 pm ]: Did you mean to send this?

He prayed you didn’t take his text the wrong way.

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: um yes

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: ur wonwoo, aren’t u?

[ Her | 11:55 pm ]: I just wanted to know what u thought of the outfit I’m gonna wear. I know u have already seen it. but just in case u forgot I wanted to send another pic lol

[ Her | 11:56 pm ]: u think it’s bad? :(

Sitting back against his pillows, Wonwoo completely forgot all about his ‘no screens’ rule, texting you as quickly as possible.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: No, it doesn’t look bad at all.

[ Wonwoo | 11:56 pm ]: You look gorgeous.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: and ur not just saying that?

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: No, of course not.

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: You’ll be the prettiest there.

[ Her | 11:57 pm ]: omgg thxx <3 okay I feel better now

[ Wonwoo | 11:57 pm ]: Why? What happened?

At that moment, Wonwoo actually received a text from Seokmin, but he rapidly flicked it away. Another text followed, and Wonwoo swore he flicked it away even faster, as though Seokmin was actually talking into his ear despite the quietness of his bedroom.

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: Mingyu told me he doesn’t really like it bc the skirt part is too short and he doesn’t like the top. he says it’s too revealing and that everyone will just be looking at my boobs lol. but I don’t want to change it :/ I like how it fits and it’s not like i’m going to be doing cartwheels or gymnastics

[ Her | 11:59 pm ]: idk he just made me feel bad about it

Wonwoo proceeded to rub a hand through his locks of clean, black hair, pulling them messily all over his head as he thought.

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: Hm. Well I do agree that it’s revealing and you probably will have people staring at you. I mean, if you’re not uncomfortable by that it’s fine. You’ll just have to be careful if you bend over or dance around, that’s all :) But I’m sure you already know that. You look beautiful. Don’t worry too much.

[ Her | 12:00 am ]: okayy thank you so much! :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:00 am ]: No problem.

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: I’m so glad that ur coming

[ Her | 12:01 am ]: it makes me feel better

[ Wonwoo | 12:01 am ]: Hopefully I can find you.

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: I’ll text you, no worries

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: mkay well I should go to bed now!

[ Her | 12:02 am ]: goodnight <3

[ Wonwoo | 12:02 am ]: Goodnight.

At last, Wonwoo clicked off the bright glare from his phone, setting it down against his chest. For at least five minutes, he did nothing but lay remarkably still in his bed and stare up at the ceiling, thinking—as he usually did—about why he was feeling that way.

That very certain, specific way that was so demanding in his heartbeat to be acknowledged, except for the fact Wonwoo wouldn’t acknowledge it because then he’d throw up and probably lose himself entirely as he panicked.

Eventually, his thoughts were becoming too loud for his liking, and Wonwoo promptly tossed his phone aside and crawled underneath the covers before turning off the bedside lamp.

Even then, Wonwoo was restless. When he tried rolling onto his side, the uncomfortable poking against his nose reminded him he hadn’t even removed his glasses. At first it was too hot, and Wonwoo pointed his leg out from beneath the blankets, pushing all the sheets down to rumple at his waist. But then it was notably cold after a few more minutes, and Wonwoo angrily stirred all his blankets back up to mask over his face. No matter what he did or how he positioned himself or what limb he decided to sacrifice to the hot-cold air, he wasn’t going to fall asleep. Wonwoo’s eyes popped open again.

Patting around the surface of the bed, his fingers eventually brushing the phone and glasses he’d discarded, Wonwoo decided he didn’t care about going to sleep anymore if that was how his body was going to so painfully treat him. He shuffled up more against the pillows splayed at his back and checked the messages sent by Seokmin about half an hour ago—the two boys hadn’t spoken in a while, almost since their exams ended in May, and while Wonwoo would have ideally liked to keep in touch with his friend, he was laughably horrible at it. At least Seokmin seemed chipper.

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: Hey Wonwoo!

[ Seokmin | 11:57 pm ]: I heard you were going to Mingyu and Seungcheol’s party! I didn’t think that would be something you’re into but I’ll also be there, probably for a couple hours

Wonwoo swiped out from the texts, not really feeling anything or thinking much about their content, and opened some messages from Vernon that he’d received at work but forgot to read.

[ Vernon |  9:55 pm ]: need a drive 4 the party?

[ Vernon | 9:55 pm ]: let me know beautiful xo

He couldn’t help but muster a chuckle at the teasing nature of his friend’s texts, though Wonwoo didn’t respond, making a mental note to answer the next day, instead. For another moment or two, he continued sitting in the dark shadows of his room, staring down at the only light which caught the reflection in his glasses. Wonwoo’s thumb at first hesitated, but then he was reopening his earlier conversation with you, and with a few upward flicks, he was back on that cute photo you’d sent him. It hadn’t left his mind at all.

This huge lump of guilt had come to sit in his gut like an anchor for a reason that Wonwoo didn’t begin recognizing, that is until he finally felt the pull from somewhere deep inside him—the thought had entered his mind and he knew if he just ignored it for even a second it would dissipate. But then, Wonwoo didn’t ignore it, because he didn’t truly want that. He was going to be selfish in that instance and sink into the pull, the heat—not dismissing the thought but the guilt he would later drown in—the shame of it all.

Wonwoo kicked off his mask of bedsheets, letting them settle in a slow puff around his ankles.

In the beginning, all of it felt so bizarre. The hand that twisted underneath his sweatpants, and then his boxers, coming to softly graze fingertips along his hardening shaft—he hadn’t done this in weeks. Wonwoo rarely experienced sexual frustration. It just wasn’t something that bothered him. But the absent tendency would always build up and inevitably break at some point and he hated that you were the cool, breathtaking breeze to push him over that cliff.

With the edges of his fingers, Wonwoo continued to stroke along himself, up and down, just barely touching. It would make his knee jolt or his thigh twitch, but the longer he teased, the more each touch transformed. The pleasure was soaking through and leading him in deeper until Wonwoo tilted up his hips in order to shove down the elastic waist of his sweatpants and underwear. The air was so cold but dually welcomed against his erection that he began pumping to full length in his hand, feeling it throb and grow and stiffen.

Wonwoo let his eyes flutter toward the phone he was holding at his stomach, examining your figure from head to toe. It was wrong and he fucking knew it, but as he rubbed a palm at his most sensitive head and felt the cum start to leak down his cock, Wonwoo couldn’t bring himself to scale the acceptableness of his actions.

In that moment, Wonwoo looked at you in all the ways he shouldn’t. He pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes falling shut while he lubricated himself in squeezing, slow strokes with his own arousal. His fingers gripped the phone tighter, refusing to drop it.

You were bright and flashing in his mind and Wonwoo wanted to know all of it—he wanted to know the feeling of your silk, swollen lips leaving warm kisses up his shaft. He wanted to know the sensation of your tongue laving messy circles around his tip, teasing him, purring at him, staring up at him with those intimidating, sharp eyes that had always seemed beyond frightening. He wanted to know the sounds you would make if you ever so kindly allowed him to settle between your thighs. He knew how fucking beautiful your cunt would be and he could only imagine your taste would utterly melt him.

His fist wrapped tighter, pumped faster, and despite his usual quiet temperament in bed, a throaty, deep whine caught in Wonwoo’s throat. He took another look at your picture, and somewhere amongst the smog of pleasure that thickly hazed his logic, Wonwoo felt this transient, selfish anger, because in that moment, he wanted you. He needed you. He would do fucking anything you asked him and more because there was so much weight you held in his life. Wonwoo just wanted to make you happy and he couldn’t help but burn with the desperation to treat you better than anyone else ever had.

Knowing he was going to shatter soon, Wonwoo braced himself through the torture that was removing his hand and letting the intense, throbbing accumulation of pleasure ebb from his cock.

He gritted his teeth at the frustrating feeling.

But there was a reason for his decision. Looking back to the phone still aglow, Wonwoo swiped out from your picture and began scrolling higher up in the conversation, seeking out something particular that had jumped into his memory. And once he found it, there was an even denser feeling of guilt he had to ignore.

Last week, you ended up sending him a voice note because you were too exhausted to even bother typing. It wasn’t that the audio contained anything even relatively lascivious, since you were mostly just rambling about your day and never quite finishing a thought.

However, Wonwoo loved your voice. He loved hearing it in person and through his phone’s crappy speakers, especially when you sounded so sleepy, and your tone would soften, the occasional sigh or gentle breath hitting his ear just perfectly. Placing his hand back around his erection, Wonwoo hit play on your voice note and laid the phone beside his head on the pillow. He managed to smile through the pleasure that was rebuilding inside him as he intently listened.

“Um, hi, so—ah! Sorry, my phone just fucking slid under the covers, oh my God. But, yeah, I’m sending a voice note ‘cause I’m drop dead exhausted from today. It was the worst. My legs hurt so bad that I could hardly carry myself to bed. Ugh. Anyway… okay, sorry, I forgot what I was gonna say… oh yeah! So—”

It all felt too euphoric—too warm and overwhelming and the more Wonwoo listened to your sweet voice the more he felt himself pulsate with how badly he needed you. He planted one foot to his mattress, using it for stability and leverage as his hips thrust upward and he began unbridled fucking into his own hand. More than anything in the universe he wanted it to be your cunt—your pretty, wet, soft cunt cushioning him in and gushing all over him. He was going to drive himself fucking crazy at the thought, so much that Wonwoo began begging for you in his husky, deep, quivering voice.

Most was complete incoherency, dipping into confusing, jumbled whimpers of his English and native Korean tongue. Your voice was right there by his ear, though he was hardly processing a word. His orgasm was going to collapse over him like a tidal wave and all Wonwoo could do was succumb as he continued pumping his strained cock. His breathing was laboured, heavy. He kept stuttering and pleading for you into the sheer darkness of his bedroom.

Lots of “pl-please” and “f-ffuck, fuck, fuck!” and “m’gonna cc-cum for you, I want t’cum for you, I need it all inside of you, put it all so deep in your p-perfect cunt”—and plenty more tainted things he would take to his grave before he would ever confess to uttering.

As the voice note came to its end, Wonwoo had slammed his fist down for the last time. He immediately turned his cheek to the pillow, ignoring how the rounded glasses dug into his face, simply because his moan was too broken and shamefully loud. His cock started throbbing with the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt against his palm. The cum dribbled down his ghost-white knuckles. Wonwoo refused to even glance at the mess he was making. With a few more shaky pumps of his fist, he’d milked out all he possibly could, some spurts landing on his rumpled t-shirt. At last, he could exhale.

Lifting himself up with his clean hand, Wonwoo took a few moments to simply breathe. His entire body was still racing with adrenaline and hormones and the pure rush of his self-orchestrated ecstasy. But, pushing between all the energy was his guilt—the fact of what he’d just done and how he’d so blatantly used you to make himself feel good. Wonwoo glanced back at his phone and the voice note in the conversation. Immediately, he clicked the device off, and there was strictly still, shapeless blackness that surrounded him.

What the fuck had he just done?

How was he supposed to text you, look at you, talk to you, knowing he’d officially jerked off to your picture and your voice. Even worse—it was probably the best his masturbation had ever felt. It was all so fucking heavenly in the moment that he thought he might die.

Wonwoo had no idea what to make of his actions.

His feelings for you.

But he thought he should at least tidy himself up.

—JUNE 16TH

Before Vernon had come by in his car, Wonwoo was caught in an exhausting and sickening guessing game of whether or not he needed to throw up. His lower stomach was in complete knots, prompting him to pace back and forth outside the washroom door, because sitting down was going to make him ruminate even more over how terribly nervous he was. Thankfully, however, Wonwoo never threw up, and he was able to calm himself a bit by rolling a blunt, sparking it while sat at the open windowsill in his bedroom.

There was also help from the nighttime breeze that touched against his warm face, a sensation he had always found so soothing.

Just before ten at night, Wonwoo received the critical text from Vernon—he was parked outside on the street. He’d fully smoked his blunt at the time of the message, and he pathetically prayed to himself that his nerves wouldn’t sizzle back up at the worst possible time as he locked his apartment door. Once Wonwoo had stepped outside, he spotted Vernon’s old vanilla Camry stalled beside the postal box across the street. He was kind enough to reach over and push the door open for Wonwoo, who quickly shuffled into his seat.

Immediately, Wonwoo received his usual greeting.

“Hey, Glasses.”

He gave a nod back in response, buckling on the seatbelt.

“So, you smell like confusin’ mix of straight cannabis and a fuckin’ breezy Caribbean Ocean tide. How the fuck does that work?”

“Uh, I put on cologne. And then I smoked?”

“You nervous, then?” Vernon asked through his trademark conniving smirk, meanwhile he began steering out onto the street.

“Of course I’m fucking nervous,” Wonwoo almost laughed back at the obvious nature of the question and habitually checked his friend’s blind spot. “I don’t even go to like, dinner parties.”

“Pfft, I’m sure you’ll be fine. The good thing about parties like these—everyone gets so fucked it’s unlikely they’ll remember some nervous dweeb like yourself. Amongst all that chaos, you’ll blend straight in. There’s nothin’ to be shaked up about. I promise ‘ya.”

Wonwoo merely huffed in response, opting to let Vernon focus on driving and working the car’s outdated stereo while he checked his phone. Actually, Wonwoo had wanted to text you before he left the apartment, but he was still stomaching all the rigid guilt that came with jerking himself off to your pretty picture and voice note the night before. It was a stupid, stupid choice.

All those thoughts that had been stampeding through his head—wanting you and needing you and craving to belong with you in a way that could never reach true fruition—Wonwoo had to convince himself it was all meaningless. His mind had conjured those ridiculous sentiments when his logic was razor thin and overcome by the deception of his lust, and, therefore, he refused to accept those urges were even close to his actual feelings for you. He clicked his phone back off, not meaning to sigh aloud but doing so anyway.

Vernon then shot him a speculative glance through the rear-view mirror, though Wonwoo barely caught it. He looked out the window instead, at all the passing lights and people who were eager to spend their Friday night doing something stimulating.

“So, I know you’re probably just thinkin’ to yourself over there, as you usually do,” his friend said, fiddling with the radio until the static noise died back into music, “but I think it’s all too funny.”

Wonwoo scrunched his nose, continuing to watch the nightlife slip by his tracing eyes outside the window.

“Hm? What’s funny?”

Vernon chuckled. “All that shit you said to me, like, over a month ago. We’re not friends. And now, you n’Her hang out all the time. I think she’s pumpin’ some actual life back into you. You’re not like you were before, y’know? Which is good to see. So, what I wanna know now is—would you say the same? Or is she your friend?”

Right, Wonwoo remembered the conversation Vernon was referring to—the night his friend drove him home after a tiresome shift at the pharmacy. With his entire chest, Wonwoo had claimed you two weren’t friends. There had been a lot of truth to it, at least from his perspective. Or, maybe, he’d crushed down the prospect of it so vehemently because Wonwoo had just assumed someone like you would have no interest in honestly befriending him.

He could offer you something, and that was it.

But, now…

“You’d have to ask her,” Wonwoo answered, shrugging.

Instantly, Vernon groaned.

“God, that’s such a fuckin’ cop-out answer, Glasses.”

“Well, what the fuck should I say? Yes, we’re friends, but then you might go and ask her, and she’ll say otherwise.”

“So what?” Vernon engaged, raising his hand partially off the steering wheel in a half-gesture. “So fuckin’ what if she says that? If you think of her as a friend then commit to that. There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” His voice became firmer, more convictional.

Wonwoo tilted his head back against the seat. It’s not that he didn’t think you were friends—it was more so that he might to admit it, and then the relationship could all fall apart, crash like a burning, charred asteroid at his feet. And then Wonwoo would be back in the same self-inflicted crater he was before, thinking he had a genuine connection in his life only to have the rug pulled out from under him.

“… I don’t know.”

“No, you do know. But I see you wanna be all secretive about it and keep your cards close to the chest. So, whatever.”

Rubbing at the edge of his nose, Wonwoo took a quiet moment for himself to muse. He wanted another blunt.

“I don’t think she’ll be that excited to see me.” Vernon said.

Turning his head, Wonwoo looked to his friend and laughed.

“Yeah, can’t imagine why.”

“Think she’ll rip my head off?” Vernon joked with a big, gummy grin, relaxing back into his seat. “That might be kinda hot.”

“No—it would be traumatizing, actually.”

“She better not,” his friend answered, slapping his glove compartment and smirking pridefully. “I’ve got her goddamn coke.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ… I’ve never seen a street this packed…”

Vernon couldn’t help his awe from spilling out as he navigated at a snail’s pace down the road, each and every available spot that lined the curb being occupied by a vehicle. Wonwoo spotted a few groups making their way up the sidewalks, toward the colossal sized house to the distant right of the street. Seungcheol lived in Hill Crest, just like your parents, but he seemed poised at the neighbourhood’s opposite end—probably ideal for throwing an outrageous party that would otherwise magnetize the entire police task force to the door.

Wonwoo glanced down at his phone.

Seokmin had sent him a text a few minutes ago, inquiring if him and Vernon were close by or at the house. He sent a message back about the worrying lack of parking spaces, and then continued to help Vernon search through the overcrowd for a hopeful pocket.

“Fuck… this isn’t lookin’ good…” Vernon lamented.

“I doubt there will be anything close to the house,” Wonwoo sighed, folding his arms in doubt. “It could be best to make a turn or go around the block? We might just have to take a hike.”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe doesn’t take fuckin’ hikes,” his friend jabbed, antsy fingers sculpting into his bitten lip while the other hand catered to steering the wheel. “I have this dude’s blow. Doesn’t that earn me a VIP-guest-list-skip-the-line type plot?”

Wonwoo scoffed. “Should’ve sorted that out earlier, man.”

“Shut your dorky ass up. I’ll figure somethin’ out.”

At that moment, the phone slid between his thighs vibrated with another text from Seokmin. His eyes widened at the invite.

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Oh dw about street parking!

[ Seokmin | 10:40 pm ]: Use the gate at the house

“I think you’re right. I might have to turn,” Vernon announced in a defeated breath, brushing a hand through his dust black hair. “Get ready to see the best three-point turn that’s ever been turnt.”

“Just wait one minute,” Wonwoo then answered, leaning forward in his seat as he began to text Seokmin for more details.

[ Wonwoo | 10:41 pm ]: Gate?

[ Seokmin | 10:41 pm ]: Seungcheol’s got a gate that leads to this little underground parking thing. Some of his and Mingyu’s close friends are using it. Her’s friends, too

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: Uh… I don’t know haha.

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: I asked Seungcheol, it’s fine!

[ Wonwoo | 10:42 pm ]: You sure?

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Yup

[ Seokmin | 10:42 pm ]: Gate code is #1142!

“Don’t turn around, go up to the driveway and look for a gate,” Wonwoo instructed. “Apparently, this dude’s got an underground parking space. Seokmin gave me the code for it.”

“Jesus Christ,” disbelieving laughter swelled up from Vernon’s chest as he proceeded along the street. “This guy’s like, rich-rich. I wanna see all that fuckin’ cash up front. Bills in every colour.”

Wonwoo was just relieved that Seokmin was telling the truth, though he was nonetheless extremely anxious about using the parking space, and something sharp in his abdomen tightened upon reaching that bronze gate. Vernon had to roll down his window and partially lean outside to press in the code read from Wonwoo’s phone.

They both cast each other a bewildered glance when the gate separated automatically, allowing them access down the slant.

“Rich people can just do whatever they fuck they want, can’t they?” Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me not to steal anything while we’re wanderin’ around in there.”

But Wonwoo couldn’t say anything even half-conscious in response to his friend’s lazy joke. He was too busy focusing his breathing.

“Jeez, it's about time, huh?” Vernon’s words sounded rife with electricity as they approached the main entryway to the house, the brisk, nighttime air blowing back against their heated faces.

They had already witnessed several people slipping inside and out, to which the shuddering, clear blurt of the music would escape the doorway—not that they couldn’t hear it already. The deep and rhythmic bass was emanating from within Seungcheol’s house like a growl caught in a beast’s belly, and Wonwoo could only fathom what kind of damage his eardrums might sustain after the night was over.

Right before Vernon could touch the handle, the doors abruptly burst open with an aggressive swing, revealing two girls who were latched hand in hand, giggling to each other. The distinct stench of marijuana clouded after them down the steps.

Vernon opted to catch the left door before it could close.

“After you, Glasses,” he invited with an almost glimmering smirk, then gesturing inward at the practical void that awaited him—auroras of flashing light, loud conversation, and pounding music.

It seemed like stepping into another universe.

“Thanks for the chivalry,” Wonwoo answered.

He then forced himself into the mansion, not allowing the empty space in his mind to concoct ample regret or doubt. Vernon followed suit, the large door slamming shut in a forbidding manner behind the two boys, akin to a shoving a cork on a glass bottle and capturing all the sand grains inside. Wonwoo knew he could leave, though it didn’t feel like it. However, he didn’t want to act defeated before even starting the night. Maybe some of Seokmin’s miraculous optimism gloss would rub off on him before it was too late.

The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea what to think or do nor could he develop one sensible, sound thought that he might express to Vernon—the house was alive with what seemed to be a mighty sea of people. Some were mingling with their drinks loosely held in an attempt to feign casualness, pitching conversation despite the unrelenting music. Others were clashed together, dirty dancing, hands carnally wandering, probably thinking nothing other than how good it felt to be a part of the moment. Everything was so dim and dark. Lights blotched around the room in deep purples and blues.

Wonwoo had suddenly forgotten how to even move.

Until Vernon’s hand slapped his shoulder.

“Hey, what should we start with?!” His friend had practically shouted over the music and its hypnotizing synths. “Do you wanna get a drink? Smoke one out? Or should we find Seokmin?”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stared at him, trying hard through the murkiness and heat to match the words he was hearing with Vernon’s lips. The environment would take a bit getting used to.

“Also—,” he then grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder, “—let’s move away from the door before we get fuckin’ trampled, yeah?”

Vernon helped guide Wonwoo further into the main living area, down a few stairs and toward the large square of couches. There was hardly any room to sit without being uncomfortably close to someone else—they were either in another person’s lap, swapping a disgusting amount of liquored spit, or completely faded and about as coherent as a rock. Wonwoo didn’t want to sit, anyway. He looked down at his phone, noticing that Seokmin had texted him again.

“Um, what do you want to do?” He decided to flip the question on Vernon, not wanting to be tasked with the decision.

Besides, he assumed his friend would know better.

“Me? I want a fuckin’ drink!” Vernon began to look around, though the air was notably veiled with a thin smoke and all the bodies were obstructing much view of anything. “Oh—I told you already, didn’t I?! That I’m definitely intendin’ to get shitfaced?! Did you figure out a ride in case you wanted t’go home later on?”

As Vernon began his quest to find a drink, Wonwoo was right behind him, remembering that Vernon had mentioned it already.

“I know!” He called out while reading Seokmin’s text.

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: There’s like two big living spaces

[ Seokmin | 11:00 pm ]: We’re not in the main one tho, easiest way is to go through the kitchen and out the other side!

Wonwoo had thought you would text him, and he couldn’t evade his disappointment at the expectation. He decided to assume that maybe you just didn’t know he was there yet. At most, he hoped you weren’t too blasted and at least cognizant enough to hold a conversation with him. Though, Wonwoo had not one inkling as to what you were like at parties. He could only imagine from the scattered bits and pieces he’d heard from yourself and Vernon. 

As Wonwoo followed Vernon down a foggy corridor, he suddenly bumped into the boy’s hard back with a bothered grunt. A girl had stepped out from a threshold that led into the kitchen and he realized that Vernon was only letting her leave before they entered.

She leaned in rather close to Vernon’s face, stroking a quick, flirtatious hand along the divots in his defined chest as she lilted aloud, “thanks, gorgeous.”

Her gaze switched to linger on Wonwoo for what felt like a long, excruciating eternity before proceeding past them in a confident stride down the dark and narrow hallway. Vernon kissed his teeth, staring back at Wonwoo with that hedonistic twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay—she was fine, not gonna lie.”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, adjusting his glasses, “can we at least get a drink first before you decide to start fucking people?”

“Why do you think we’re at the kitchen, smart ass?”

Shaking his head in dismissal at Vernon’s snarky comment, he urged the boy impatiently into the kitchen area (which was admittedly larger than Wonwoo’s entire living space).

One side of the room was lined with arrays of salty snacks, while the opposite contained big, rounded punch bowls of pre-mixed alcohol that people were dipping into with ladles. Vernon had noticed the option to mix your own drink, and thus Wonwoo was dragged toward the kitchen island where the boys waited to pick from the various bottles of alcohol and soft drinks left scattered about.

Wonwoo peeped down at his phone again while Vernon got easily caught up in conversation with a girl preparing a lemon shot.

He finally answered Seokmin’s texts.

“Hey, Glasses!” Vernon’s hand latched onto his shoulder, giving it a shake. “This is Sierra! She’s gonna make us our drinks!”

It took him a moment to properly decipher the girl Vernon had been speaking to, though, the longer he squinted through the shifty kitchen lighting, the more he could separate her silhouette and features from the dimness. She had a comfortable smile, full and warm, trustworthy, and so Wonwoo merely shrugged his agreement.

“Don’t worry,” the girl shouted, pulling aside two solo cups and then twizzling off the bottlecap to the rum, “I’m a bartender, actually. I used to work Room 319. Now I’m at Honeymoon.”

Vernon leaned his elbows on the granite, watching with intrigue as she sloshed a decent amount of alcohol into each cup.

“Room 319? You’ve definitely seen some shit,” he cackled.

“Oh, yeah. One-hundred percent.”

“Y’know, I tried getting this cunt to go—” Vernon jabbed an accusing thumb back at Wonwoo, “—but he’s such a flake!”

Sierra proceeded to grin quite demurely, flashing a quick, barely detectable glance toward Wonwoo, who had just managed to catch it while shoving the phone back into his pocket. She then grabbed a sweetener from amongst the clutter, tucking a short tuft of hair behind her ear before adding a small drizzle to each solo cup.

“Hey, it’s not for everybody!” Her cheeks flushed in the galactic, purplish light that flickered around the kitchen. “And, uh, this may sound weird, actually. But I recognize you, I think.”

“Oh, me?” Wonwoo was finally forced to speak.

“Yeah, uh—” she stumbled over her words a bit as she swirled the sweetener around inside the cups, “—from Bradbrook’s calculus. I think you sat a few rows ahead of me, or something. I just know because I, um—I was really close to failing the class. When I went to her for help, she gave me a ton of resources, even said I could try asking you about tutoring. She said you’re like, her best student.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, cracking his neck, “I’ve never tutored anyone—don’t know why she’d think to recommend me.”

“It’s okay! I never asked because you seemed like the type who didn’t want to be bothered,” Sierra responded, beginning to top off the drinks with some bubbling soda. “I figured it out, anyway.”

“Good for you,” Wonwoo commended.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure if it was you, ‘cause your hair would always be down over your forehead in class. But you’ve got it all brushed and styled and stuff. It looks super nice!”

He smiled at her and mumbled, “thanks.”

“Well, I’m gonna get running! No matter where I end up, I always seem to be everyone’s mixologist at some point.”

Vernon dragged the alcohol over, maintaining his slouched position onto the island granite. Upon taking an experimental sip to taste the flavours and potency, his face momentarily soured, and then all his features relaxed. He was glowing like an ember, almost.

“No, that’s good. Tastes a bit like a… gummy bear?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s so delicious,” she agreed, shoving hands into her back pockets. “Tastes even better kissing it off someone.”

As Wonwoo stared down at his fizzling drink, debating his first sip, he again felt the transient flittering of her eyes ghost him.

“Go figure,” Vernon rasped, smiling, “appreciate it, player.”

“M’kay,” Sierra chirped and waved, ”bye!”

Not even a few seconds after she left, and someone else swooped in like an eagle to clasp the bottle of rum she’d once been handling, Vernon turned his head to Wonwoo with a raised brow.

“She was DTF for you, holy shit.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo sounded muffled with the solo cup now perched at his lips, allowing the drink to seep into his mouth, tasting the smoothness of the rum, and then the sweet. “What’s that mean?”

“DTF?” Vernon echoed. “Down to fuck!” He smacked his arm.

“That’s stupid and absurd.”

“Well, Glasses, you’re fuckin’ stupid and absurd if you didn’t see it. I mean, if you’re not gonna get a chance with Her, mine as well start seekin’ out what you can. Might make you less uptight.”

“No—that’s what makes you less uptight, not me.”

“I’m just sayin’, man—you’re hot and you don’t even take advantage of it. In no shapes or figures… forms? Whatever the stupid sayin’ is. You’ve got to live a little. But, whatever. Where’s Seokmin?”

“Through there, I think?” Wonwoo nodded toward a high-arched exit opposite to the side they entered the kitchen from. “That’s what he texted me. But I’ll double check anyway, to be sure.”

Flashing on his phone, Wonwoo finally saw your messages.

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: wonwooooooo

[ Her | 11:11 pm ]: LIVING ROOM! I'm waiting!!!!

And just like that—like a splitting snap of the fingers—he felt everything all over again, and those nerves steamrolled him in the most pathetic way possible.

He stared down at his phone, moonfaced.

Wonwoo was happy you had remembered to message him, embarrassingly giddy at the thought, even. But he was also downright nauseous to reunite with your inquisitive friends, to meet Seungcheol, to again push through the intangible, brooding weight of seeing Mingyu. He took a gulp from the red cup, swishing the tart but sugared concoction between his cheeks before swallowing, hoping the rum burned down all his nerves in the throaty sting it left behind.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo rediscovered his voice, “through there.”

At first, he couldn’t identify you anywhere. The room was even bigger than the kitchen, just as poorly lit, with a high, pointed ceiling that somehow reminded him of the church he attended when he was too little to even properly grasp religion. But Wonwoo continued squinting through the jumbled crowd, making slow steps and surveiling the room each time alongside Vernon.

“I don’t see ‘em!” He shouted overtop the music, grabbing Wonwoo’s elbow to stop him from moulding into all the warm bodies.

“He said they’re in here!” Wonwoo raised his voice, checking his phone for another text, but seeing nothing. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

Sensing that fluttering, unsteady wind in his chest, Wonwoo was eager to indulge in another sip from his cup, desperately yearning for the alcohol to fucking hurry up and take its floating effect. Yet, as the taste subdued on his tongue, Wonwoo was able to notice a slight fissure that formed in between the congregation of people—a rather perfect alignment that revealed a home bar across the room, with familiar faces seated at the stools and more laughing behind the counter. That was when Wonwoo saw you, captured in a brush stroke of sweeping, amethyst light that dappled down your body.

You were leaned leisurely against Mingyu’s chest, holding onto his arm that draped like a protective sling over your shoulder, and Wonwoo supposed it was laid there with a not-so-subtle purpose.

Mingyu was speaking to his friend and co-host, Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the home bar, his lower back digging against the counter while he had quirked his head to still see Mingyu.

One face that Wonwoo had yet to discern was Seokmin, though, in all his honestly, Wonwoo wasn’t that fixated on further searching the low dusk and marijuana plumes hanging tacky in the air. He’d found you. All those nerves dissolved into comfort.

Maybe it was shallow, but that’s what he cared about most.

“Oh!’ Vernon piped up. “Damn. They’re right down there.”

And, before the crowd could readjust themselves to drown the slivered space between yourself and Wonwoo, your head turned.

In the nick of time, you seemed to recognize him, because that hazy, unfocused nature about your countenance shifted in a mere second, and he saw a smile pick its way along your mouth, like a springtime garden at last twirling abloom. You proceeded to nudge Mingyu’s arm aside, whispering something into his ear that he didn’t quite seem to hear correctly as he maintained his lengthy talk with Seungcheol.

Wonwoo knew he was smiling, too, bigger and bigger.

You wove your way through the crowd, to which Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from the short chuckle he spat out as you impatiently shoved aside the guy that had stepped into your way.

“Move! Oh my fucking God—”

But your flash of contempt didn’t last long.

A second later, you were buckling into Wonwoo.

Your arms reached up to curl tightly around his neck, and he felt the grooves of your warm, soft body press firm against him for the first time. Wonwoo was scared at the proximity, though his pounding heart ever so gradually calmed as he took in a deep breath and smelled that faint, fresh scent—strawberries. While it was undoubtedly integrated with some sort of spicy liquor, Wonwoo didn’t care. He pulled himself into the moment—realized how fucking badly he wanted to drop the solo cup and splay his hands at the open, revealing back of your outfit and feel your bare, supple skin.

But he couldn’t. Because Wonwoo wasn’t your boyfriend.

And you weren’t his to so unabashedly touch.

“I’m so fucking happy you made it!” He heard you squeal into his ear, his smile somehow widening at your animated voice.

“Yeah? Bit of a hassle, not gonna lie," Wonwoo answered.

“Parking? I’m sorry! I should have texted you about the gate!”

“No, no,” he laughed, trying his best and gentlest way to somehow ease some space in between you, “it’s okay. Everything worked out perfectly fine in the end. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“You sure?”

Wonwoo looked into your eyes, so enchantingly bright and glistering as you blinked at him sympathetically, wearing a tiny pout.

Fuck—he wanted to kiss you.

It was such a blatant, jarring thought that Wonwoo couldn’t respond to your worry straight away, instead pushing down his urges.

“… I’m sure.”

“Well,” you then hummed, at last relaxing your hold around his neck and making some very unwanted but necessary space between your bodies, “is it still true?” You bit your lip afterward.

“Hm? Is what still true?”

Upon Wonwoo furrowing his brow, you pressed into him again, reaching up to his ear where you could comfortably talk and not worry about whether the music would muffle every syllable.

He felt the warmth of your breath tickle at his skin. And then—shivers, everywhere. Trickling down his spine. His nape. Not the kind from chilly, cold weather, or a scary movie, but a different kind that prompted his sense to disintegrate in a simple second.

“Do you still think I’m the prettiest here?”

Wonwoo sensed the grin paint his face, as easy as melting butter, though he hid it well in your sweet-scented hair.

“Mmhm, ‘course you are,” he answered, purposefully deepening his already deep voice. “You’re always the prettiest.”

One of your charming, seraphic giggles feathered at his ear and Wonwoo had never been so convinced that he would exchange just about anything in his life to call you his for the entire night.

“Um, hey, so… I don’t want to fuckin’ ruin your guys’ little reunion or nothin’, but I am still here, unfortunately!”

Damn—Wonwoo had kind of forgotten that Vernon was even there, and hearing his gruff voice break through the room’s drumming bass had quickly removed him from his fantasy. In a way, he was relieved, because Wonwoo knew he’d been thinking with unprecedented delusion and he needed something to draw a ripple through his thoughts before he became too meek to ignore them.

You then slotted yourself against Wonwoo’s side, adjusting the white strap grooving around the back of your neck. One arm remained around his wideset shoulders, latching him into place.

“Well, that’s an immaculate face I haven’t seen in a while,” you deadpanned at poor Vernon, sculpting him up and down with shameless judgement. “And what have you been up to? Selling MDMA from behind porta-potties to dumb, gullible first years?”

But Vernon took it well, as he was most likely expecting it.

“So, I won’t say no or yes to that.”

“Hm. Figures.”

Vernon shook his head, mustering up a husky laugh. “Should I assume you haven’t gotten over our incident, yet?”

Wonwoo felt your ovaled, sharp fingernails dig into his shoulder, and he settled his hand on your upper back to relax you.

“I’ll get over it when I want to get over it.”

“Okay, okay." A smile bled across Vernon’s face. “And I respect that, yeah? How ‘bout we both agree to keep it lax? That work at all?”

Despite your narrowed, seething eyes, you agreed.

“It works, for now.” You were in the midst of turning around, as though to begin pulling Wonwoo toward the bar, but you suddenly stopped on a dime, returning your glared focus back toward an unsuspecting, more lenient Vernon. “By the way, Princess is in a relationship with Seungcheol, so paws off. And don’t even think about trying to fuck Clara or Bells again or else you’ll need to take every single pill you fucking own in order to feel even a fraction of anything after I’m done beating your breaks off. Understand?”

“Uh, yes. I do. I understand.”

And then you grinned, though it was colder than outer space, and Wonwoo was more than pleased he wasn’t on the receiving end.

“Perfect! Now, let’s get everyone all introduced. I promise, though, there’s not many strangers. I guess just Seungcheol? Some of his friends are around here somewhere, I don’t know where.”

You curled an arm around Wonwoo’s elbow and began tugging him into the barricade of people, most stepping aside for you without request, like you were a princess or some other type of respected royalty. Wonwoo glanced back at Vernon who was already giving him a wide-eyed, skeptical expression, and so he made sure to dip his head close to Vernon’s ear to murmur some encouragement.

“At least your head isn’t ripped off.”

However, it might have not been the most thoughtful.

“Yeah, meta-fuckin’-phorically it is,” Vernon laughed back. “I forgot how scary the chick is. How have you not pissed your pants yet?”

“You get used to it after a while. N’hey—when the hell did you have sex with Clara and Bells?" Wonwoo couldn’t help himself from asking over his shoulder as he was further pulled along by your persistent guide.

“It was before you got to know Her, alright? But—” Vernon had suddenly leaned closer, his breath at Wonwoo’s ear, “—Bells is a fuckin’ homie hopper. Guaranteed she’ll try to get into your pants. I know she’s tried it with Seungcheol, Seokmin, probably you, tonight.”

“Well, you two sound like a match made in heaven.”

“Ha! Funny, man,” Vernon cackled, shoving his friend’s back in a teasing way. “No—she’s actually crazy. Gives good head, though.”

Wonwoo opted to ignore the last comment. He was soon at the bar alongside you, Vernon, and all the others, to which he noted your arm was still clasped around his elbow, a gesture that Wonwoo found himself greatly appreciating as everyone began pausing their own conversations to acknowledge the two newcomers. He didn’t know who to look at or greet first as his heartbeat thundered, though he recognized Clara and Bells seated together on two leather stools, a few emptied shot glasses aligned before them like dominos.

Princess, the friend Wonwoo always thought you were closest to, was behind the counter with Seungcheol, staring Wonwoo down through her hooded and smooth brown eyes. He felt Mingyu watching him too, though it discomforted him much more than Princess.

“Hey, nice to meet you guys, finally.” Seungcheol was leaning over the luminated countertop, bumping his fist against Wonwoo’s, and then Vernon’s. “Hope you’re finding it alright.”

Wonwoo had never met Seungcheol despite hearing his name frequently throughout campus, especially during the prime months for partying. The consensus was that everyone seemed to like and respect him for his cordial, easygoing attitude and sportsmanship, since he played a lot of basketball for the university’s principal varsity team. Wonwoo had never once heard anything concerning or relatively malicious about the guy. He was almost akin to a celebrity.

“We got in not too long ago,” Vernon explained, and Wonwoo was grateful he took the conversating initiative, “seems crazy. And thanks for lettin’ us use your garage! Street parkin’ was ass.”

“Shit, yeah. I get it.” Seungcheol shrugged in agreement, meanwhile drawing a shallow glass over to himself. “It’s no problem, man. You did us a favour with the blow. I’ll pay upstairs, yeah?”

“Hey, it’s all good. What’re you pourin’ up?’

Princess suddenly reached around Seungcheol’s shoulder, removing the large, maple bottle he was about to twist open.

“He’s not pouring up anything,” she smiled, placing the alcohol on a shelf behind her, “because whiskey gets him beyond hammered, and I need him coherent for at least another hour.”

Seungcheol turned around, his mouth hung open.

“Okay—I was gonna pour out a splash.”

The girl grabbed his sharp jaw, giving Seungcheol’s face a tender shake before pushing her lips against his. His previous objection suddenly disappeared like morning dew. For a couple that had recently started dating according to your allegory, they seemed remarkably comfortable with each other.

“Okay—shot, shot!” Bells yelped excitedly, slapping her hand against the polished countertop as Clara grabbed a tequila bottle.

“Oh, god.” Your eyes rolled, and Wonwoo heard the exhaustion in your tone. “Have fun getting alcohol poisoning.”

Mingyu scoffed, crossing his broad, buff arms. “They’ll be blackout in less than an hour.”

“What for?” Vernon asked.

You finally let go of Wonwoo, grabbing your own solo cup off the countertop and taking a fast swig before answering.

“Whenever Seungcheol and Princess kiss, they take a shot.”

“And they kiss a lot—" Clara hiccupped, a very inebriated fog cast across her gaze, “— even more than Her n’ Mingyu!”

“Oh, don’t bring us into this,” you snapped from behind your drink, leaning an elbow onto the bar, “take your shot and can it.”

“I’m starting to not even taste it!”

The giggling spilled from Bells’ mouth like a waterspout, to which both her and Clara leaned in close to each other’s faces, their expressions warping with breathless, dry gulps of laughter.

“Excuse them,” Princess then muttered, resting an arm along Seungcheol’s firm back, waves of moonlit blue dancing across her dark skin while she eyed her cackling friends with bits of judgement and concern. “I’m starting to believe they have an alcohol problem.”

“So, if I lose you later, should I assume you’re in the washroom holding back their hair?” Seungcheol then huffed into his clasped hands, flicking soft eyes up toward his sighing girlfriend.

She pulled at a long braid of her hair, nodding.

“If I’m not, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Fuck, I like those odds, baby," he rasped, leaning back.

Princess smiled, squeezing his shoulder.

“No, you absolutely don’t, sweetheart.”

Wonwoo smiled at them, exercising his best effort to follow all the conversation even though his brain was whirring on overdrive. He was in the midst of sipping from the sweetened rum when Clara’s eyes snapped akin to a locket with his own, and she immediately squealed.

“Oh! You! From Spring Street! Mr. Deep Voice!”

Lowering the cup from his face, Wonwoo’s heart dropped.

He was more than perfectly okay with sitting on the sidelines and contributing nothing to the flow of conversation other than trivial nods and agreeable half-smiles. But Clara had singled him out, and now Bells was at last squirming around in her seat, her eyes patted with a popping, brilliant lime green as opposed to shimmery blue.

You tilted your head in questioning at Clara. “Yes, yes, we’ve been over this, girl. He’s been standing here the past five minutes.”

“Wonwoo!” Bells shrieked. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“He doesn’t need to say anything.” Wonwoo heard the irritable grit rub through your voice as you straightened your posture and propped a hand to your hip, glaring at your friends. “Why don’t you let him enjoy his drink instead of shouting at him?”

From behind, Mingyu’s large hand slid around your waist and stopped at your lower stomach, pulling you a step back into his chest.

“Relax. She’s drunk as fuck, alright?” He murmured by your temple, planting a reassuring kiss.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Princess was quick to diffuse any degree of tension before it could morph into a terrifying flame. “He’s just quiet, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it. I like your hair, Wonwoo.”

He clenched his fist tight, nodding at her.

“Thanks.”

It was only one goddamn word, but he’d choked it out with all the strength harboured in his chest and lungs. Princess smiled at him.

“Glasses is cool. All his jokes will come out later.” Vernon teased despite the instant, needling stare Wonwoo shot his way.

“Hey, no pressure,” Seungcheol laughed, swiping his phone off the bar countertop. “Should we all head upstairs? I’ve got a nice little room set up for us—can smoke and mellow out a bit, play some cards, finally get to that blow—whatever you guys think is best.”

“Fuck, I’m down.” Sliding off the leather stool, Mingyu came to his feet and agreed, his hand still settled at your stomach.

His utterance was met with a chorus of likewise answers.

Wonwoo suddenly felt your fingertips graze his hand.

“Are you okay with that?” You asked him personally, smiling in a reassuring, nonchalant manner that helped ease his stiltedness.

“Yeah,” he answered, delighted to see the sparks that jumped into your eyes through the shadows and nebulas of lavender light.

The room Seungcheol had referred to was quite separated from the party booming onward downstairs, though he claimed not to be worried about it much since his other friends were keeping tabs on all the action. Wonwoo appreciated the quieter, more laidback atmosphere that allowed him to actually think and analyze his situation, which he unfortunately could not help himself from doing.

It was a cozy and personally developed space—probably the room Seungcheol spent most of his time in. Large, pristine movie posters were perfectly tapered to covering an entire wall, with stringed, dull-glowing lights swooped around the wooden infrastructure of the ceiling. A billiard ball table was toward the left, and then a circular table to the right, stacked with miscellaneous things such as playing cards, textbooks, and poker chips.

There were some shelves by the windows, mostly to hold decorative items, though Wonwoo saw a number of trophies from what he assumed to be Seungcheol’s past sports competitions. 

Everyone began to settle.

As Vernon waltzed over to the couch by the cluttered table, he’d suddenly looked down at the cushions with a gruff shout.

“Fuck! Jesus Christ, Seokmin! What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Oh, yeah—the poor baby got a headache,” you crooned, walking toward the couch with a teasing smirk. “He thought he’d try and avoid all of us by coming up here and taking a nap.”

“I wasn’t napping,” Seokmin grumbled while pushing himself to sit up, swatting back your hand that rifled through his dark brown tresses disarrayed in every direction, “I was relaxing, that’s all.”

“Dude, you looked like you were dead,” Vernon laughed, stepping around from behind the couch to sit on the arm.

Leaning against a desk with two large speakers on it, Mingyu folded his arms, smiling at Seokmin whose face was beginning to tint red from all the attention. “That’s just how he looks when he sleeps.”

“Thanks…” Seokmin answered, standing up and dusting himself off. “Guess I’m never staying the night at your place again.”

“Well, if you’re not going to take the couch, I think these two should simmer down for a hot minute,” Princess said, shuffling the stumbling, giggling duo, Bells and Clara, to take a much needed seat.

“Okay, yeah. Mingyu, throw on some music. Give everyone a chance to get nice n’ comfy.” Seungcheol then beckoned toward Vernon. “Over here, man. Let’s get this shit sorted out.”

“Ah, right, right.”

His friend was quick to rise from the couch and meet Seungcheol in the corner of the room, by the billiard table as well as a small black safe. Mingyu pulled out his phone, linking up his Bluetooth with Seungcheol’s expensive sound system, and music soon replaced the empty air in the room. He then joined Seungcheol and Vernon in the corner. Wonwoo opted not to sleuth and glanced elsewhere.

He saw that you were already talking to Princess, the two of you pulling out some beers and other drinks from a fridge he hadn’t noticed before, and while he positively wanted to make time for a conversation with you, Wonwoo thought he should bother Seokmin first. The boy was shoving open a windowpane across the room.

“Hey, liar,” he announced in a dragging but not overly serious tone. “Not downstairs like you said you were, huh?”

Seokmin turned around, rubbing his face.

“I know, I know. I got a headache at the last minute. But I knew everyone would come upstairs. Glad you could make it!”

“Well then, how much of a headache should I be expecting?”

“Eh, depends,” his friend answered.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Depends on what?”

“I can’t imagine you jumping around on a countertop with your shirt off and a whippet in your hand.”

He snorted. “Is that what you were doing?”

“No—I was the one trying to get them off the counter.”

“Fair.”

 “I think you’ll be fine. At most, you’ll step outside for some air and get a nice breeze in your hair. No biggie… what’s that?”

“Uh, just a drink this girl whipped up. Sierra.”

“Oh.” Seokmin’s eyes brightened. “You mean Sierra Gomez?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Dunno.”

“Did she have like, chin length, sort of coarse and frizzy brown hair? Freckles all over her cheeks? ‘Cause that’s Sierra Gomez. She works at the… the, um… Honeymoon! Yeah. The Honeymoon. She’s nice—used to stare at the back of your head all the time in calculus.”

“Hm.”

“Anyway—whatever—random thought.”

“Who used to stare at the back of your head in calculus?”

Turning around, Wonwoo noticed that you had approached their conversation at the open window, an abrupt flourish of wind sweeping back unto your inquisitive yet slightly firm expression. A bottle was in your hand, and you took a quick, easy sip from it.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Seokmin dismissed.

“No, tell me.”

Your eyes then flitted between himself and Seokmin. There was an innocent smile on your face that nursed the beer bottle.

“A girl who used to look at Wonwoo all the time during calculus with Bradbrook. She made him his drink, that’s all.”

“Really? Is that so?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Apparently.”

“Who?” You asked, still maintaining that polished smile.

Seokmin chuckled, “nah, you wouldn’t know her.”

“Maybe I do.”

“No,” he was persistent on convincing you, pulling at the flushed cusp of his ear, “I know you don’t. It’s not a big deal.”

Your focused gaze then lasered into Seokmin, and much of the airy politeness to your voice had gradually sharpened out.

“If it’s not a big deal then tell me.”

Music from the speaker system atop the nearby desk drowned the momentary silence that lasted between the three. Wonwoo concentrated on the lyrics and the depth of the sensual beat, trying his hardest to mentally escape the odd tension smouldering up.

Seokmin was biting his lip, hard.

“Tell me.” You now were demanding rather than asking.

“It’s not—”

“Seokmin!”

“Okay, okay! Sierra Gomez. That’s the girl.”

Wonwoo shifted his eyes to you, observing the manner in which you quirked your head, pursed your bottom lip, and began staring around the room in an honest attempt to place the name that Seokmin had so frighteningly blurted, almost like a suspect under interrogation. And then you were shrugging, sipping from your cold drink.

“Hm, don’t know her.”

“Like I said...” his friend sighed, leaning backward into the cool breeze and settling his hands against the windowsill.

“She’s here? And she made you that?” You asked.

Wonwoo looked down at his cup, almost completely emptied.

“… Um, yeah.”

There was a nearly imperceptible falter that spilt across your face, though it travelled so quickly, like a blink of light, and Wonwoo was starting to think that maybe he hadn’t even seen it at all.

“Well, that was really nice of her.” A strange breathiness lingered in your tone. “I mean, I don’t know her but she sounds really… nice. I’ll have to chat with her someday. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… something nice, probably. Yeah. We’ll do that.”

Upon sensing your very unusual discomfort, Wonwoo thought he might try to quell whatever series of emotions must be taking shape behind those glassy eyes. But almost from thin air, Mingyu was at your side, sliding an arm around your waist and his head poking down to kiss your cheek. Wonwoo ate his words right back up.

“Sorry to bite the conversation,” Mingyu excused himself, removing the arm from your waist to hang off your shoulder instead, where it covered the same revealing patch of your cleavage. “But I like keeping an eye on this one—” he pecked your temple, “—one sip she’s normal, the next she’s on top of the damn table giving everyone a fuckin’ show they don’t deserve. Hard to tell what she’s gonna do.”

Your uptight posture melted habitually against Mingyu’s chest, meanwhile a slight snarl forged across your lips.

Wonwoo knew that his drink was getting empty, and he didn’t want to waste the remainder on trying to survive the unfortunate conversation he’d been whisked into. He realized how much he hated talking to Mingyu, especially now that Wonwoo was closer to you.

“Alright, you don’t need to overembellish.”

“Ha! Overembellish?” A heavy laugh flew off Mingyu’s tongue as he gave your shoulder a soft shake, staring down at you with his curious, twinkling eyes. “What am I overembellishing, pretty girl? Huh? You don’t remember that dance with Clara? Kicking that dude’s drink off the table? High out of your fuckin’ mind, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I remember. My problem is that you’re painting me out to be a mindless slut just waiting to show off. It’s not like I go into these situations, intending to get on a table and kick people’s drinks and shit. I’m just going with what I feel in the moment. I mean, I’m sure it gets a bit slutty. But that’s part of the fun. At least, I think.”

Okay—Wonwoo didn’t give a fuck about preserving his drink any more. He immediately dove in to take a generous sip, staring down the cup like there was something profoundly captivating scribbled on the bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, Wonwoo realized this is his first time witnessing your dynamic with Mingyu.

Mingyu sighed, tongue prodding against his inner cheek.

“Can’t make it easy, can you?”

At that, you cackled, tipping your head against his neck.

“Never. You should know that by now.”

“The important thing is, everyone has a good time.” Seokmin decided to add his two cents, not seeming as stiffened by the conversation as Wonwoo, probably since he was accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it prompted your signature eye roll.

“Hey everyone! Seokmin thinks the most important part of a party is that everyone has a good time!” You mockingly chided, proceeding to raise the bottle to your mouth for another sip while Mingyu rubbed his nose, laughing. “Did that really need to be said?”

Partially closing the window, Seokmin chuckled. “I’m just saying it ‘cause you guys always bicker and bring the mood down.”

Your grip around the beer bottle visibly tightened.

“Bicker?! We don’t bicker!”

“Are you serious?” Seokmin folded his arms, a disbelieving smile mixed with puzzlement carving his mouth. “You just did!”

“No, that wasn’t bickering," you stated. “That was Mingyu saying something stupid and me correcting it. Purely factual.”

Shaking his head, Mingyu merely smirked. “Mmhm. Let’s go with that.” Though, it was quite obvious he was holding back what he actually wanted to say, but didn’t want to prove Seokmin’s point.

“Anyways, I’m not trying to make you look bad,” Seokmin mumbled, brushing a hand along an itch on his arm. “So, whatever you see here, Wonwoo, take it with a grain of salt, I guess.”

God, no.

He’d wanted so desperately to remain invisible—to not be summoned into the conversation in any way, shape, or form.

“Please,” you sounded exasperated, messing about with your hair, “I’m sure Wonwoo’d be the last person to care, anyway.”

At the worst possible time, he’d completely exhausted his soda and rum, and there was not even a single drop for him to make a lame show of sipping up. Wonwoo didn’t know whether or not to say anything. Maybe, if he just smiled genuinely, nodded his head, then everything would keep moving and he could somehow escape the burdensome pressure. However, what he failed to realize was that his overthinking gave him a very dazed expression that made it seem as though he wasn’t listening at all. Seokmin suddenly slapped his arm.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Dude’s not even paying attention. Mentally checked out ‘cause of your arguing.”

“No. I’m listening,” Wonwoo answered, knowing the longer he stayed quiet the more guilty and strange he’d appear. “I just figure it’s better to let you guys hash it out. I’d rather not get involved.”

“Smart,” Mingyu huffed, to which Wonwoo found himself in the crosshairs of his intimidating gaze. “Best not to pick sides, right?”

“Oh my gosh, there are no sides.” Elbowing the tall, dark-haired boy gently in his rib, you shook your head. “And even if there were, I’m forcing him to take my side. You obviously have Seokmin.”

“When you are going to stop saying that?” Mingyu sounded notably annoyed at your comment, though you merely shrugged it off, instead wrapping a small hand with his in a successful attempt to pull him away from the conversation at the breezy window.

“Don’t whine, Gyu. Let’s go talk to Princess.”

Once you were gone, Wonwoo looked to Seokmin with some vague hope that he would share his astonishment at the situation. He couldn’t tell if you and Mingyu just clashed so naturally because your relationship was the long lasting, weathered kind where there were lots of little quips due to your shared comfortability. Or, maybe there was something else he was missing. But Seokmin didn’t seem even relatively phased, which lead Wonwoo into thinking that it was his overanalyzing brain picking things apart unnecessarily.

“Oh, I’ve gotta talk with Vernon for a sec.” His friend remembered, pointing out the tattooed boy who was closely admiring all the expensively framed film posters. “Nice to see you, though!”

The second Seokmin had slipped away, Wonwoo occupied his old position against the windowsill, letting his head tilt back until it bumped with the glass. A timidly building sickness ached in his stomach at the worry of all his conversations feeling like that—so agonizing, uncomfortable, with his mind racing a mile a minute.

He sighed aloud, attempting to steady his breathing.

Things would get better. They had to.

“Hey, Wonwoo! You wanna sit?”

Following the abrupt voice over to the now organized, tidied table, Wonwoo saw that it was Seungcheol who called his name. He tilted his head at an empty seat and Wonwoo decided to take the boy up on the offer rather than stumble into the undertow of his self-inflicted panic. Besides, Seungcheol was fairly relaxed and seemed easy to converse with—a much needed repose from Mingyu. As he sat down, setting his empty cup aside, Seungcheol leaned forward with his chin pressing down between his thumb and index finger.

“You okay?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Wonwoo nodded. “I’m good.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Seungcheol smiled.

“Just making sure. I know it’s not always the easiest trying to make it through a Her-Mingyu-Seokmin three-way—pause—ignore how weirdly I phrased that,” he laughed, rubbing along his jaw.

The air around Wonwoo tinged with an immediate sense of relief, and he found himself relaxing, too, stretching out his legs.

“Yeah,” he then breathed out deeply, the tension in his chest loosening up. “I assume it’s best to just shut the fuck up.”

“Mmhm.” Seungcheol was eager to nod in agreement. “Yeah, exactly. Shut the fuck up, and give the most neutral answers if needed. It’s honestly a skill. You’ve gotta be a world class fence sitter.”

“So it seems.”

“Anyway, I’m curious—what’re you studying?”

“Nothing exciting. Mathematics, specifically calculus. I like a bit of data and statistics, too. I don’t know. Just, analyzing stuff.”

“Hm,” Seungcheol crossed his arms, grinning, “can’t say I’d be very good at all that. You want to be a data analyst or something?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Maybe. I’ve thought about teaching, too.”

“University?”

“Yeah… I heard you’re in biomedical now.”

“Mmhm—switched my whole degree—can thank Junhui for that. He’s around here, somewhere. I like it, though. No regrets about it or anything. Besides—” Seungcheol turned his head toward the billiard ball table where Princess was chatting with you and Mingyu, a fond, amorous expression softening his face, “—that’s how I met Princess. I mean, she’s so intelligent, level-headed, thoughtful. Finally worked up the courage to ask her out, like… two months ago, now? Things have been smooth sailing since.”

“I can see that. You guys mesh together well,” Wonwoo answered, at first staring at Princess, but sensing his eyes naturally drift toward you and that tight hold Mingyu had at your bare waist.

“Thanks, man. Hey—I should say congrats, by the way.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled, spreading his legs. “What for?”

“Frontiers. You got a super good score.”

“Oh, that… uh, thanks. I mean, it was last year.”

Seungcheol’s face immediately scrunched with laughter.

“What?”

“Shit. It’s nothing.” Seungcheol was still chuckling a bit between his breathy words. “I love how you shrug it off. Like, whenever your name comes up, it’s always next to how smart you are, man. I love that you don’t even fucking care. If that were me, I’d be the most pretentious piece of shit—it’s actually insane.”

Wonwoo paused for a second to think, looking at his sneakers, and then back at Seungcheol, the cogs in his mind beginning to whirr.

“I didn’t think my name would come up much. If at all.”

“No, no, it does,” he answered, bouncing his fist off the table with another chuckle. “Hey—you get around more than you think.”

Maybe Seungcheol’s words were supposed to be uplifting, or rewarding to hear, but Wonwoo felt his stomach drop and a horrible, papery dryness spread throughout his mouth. He absolutely hated the thought of people talking about him, discussing him, perceiving him.

“Oh, yeah! Shit, I’ve been meaning to ask—” Seungcheol brightened and shuffled further up in his seat, “—Mingyu says you speak Korean? Were you born there, or from your parents, maybe?”

Wonwoo picked at his thumb slightly.

“Uh, yeah, I do. I was born there.”

“Same. Daegu.”

“Changwon.”

Seungcheol smiled, and when he switched so fluidly from his English to Korean, Wonwoo needed a moment to comprehend the different syllables and speech patterns hitting his ear. It was almost like a glitch, but it was infinitesimal, and Wonwoo processed it quick.

“Mingyu didn’t know where you were born. He just said he’d spoken Korean with you. It’s nice to hear, right?”

“It is. My parents still live in Changwon. Though their English is limited so I hardly ever use it with them.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Seungcheol then propped a leg onto his knee and began to grin. “It’s the same for me. I don’t know if Mingyu’s told you—he wasn’t born there but his parents spoke it around him growing up.”

“I’ve heard…”

“So Seokmin says you like to write?”

“Yes. Reading and writing.”

“I’m not much of a writer. I used to love reading. I still do, actually. But it’s difficult to make time for it.”

Wonwoo agreed. He would have never pegged Seungcheol as someone who enjoyed reading, mostly due to his reputation and his plethora of outlandish, jock friends, though he was pleasantly surprised to hear it.

“I haven’t been reading much myself. Or writing. I’m in a burnout, I suppose.” A sigh fell defeatedly from Wonwoo’s mouth. “It’s frustrating. What kind of books did you read?”

“Nothing unique. Lord of the Rings. I went through a period of really liking Goosebumps, too.” He  then bit his inner cheek in contemplation as he thought harder about his catalogue. “The weirdest book I remember reading was Walking Practice by Dolki Min. It gave me nightmares.”

“I’ve heard lots of mixed opinions about it.”

“It’s a book you read once, somehow manage to enjoy, but know you’ll never revisit… hm, it’s got me thinking…” Seungcheol was suddenly leaning forward, an arm dangling off the table as his forehead wrinkled with effort at placing a certain memory. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you used to date that girl who worked at the university library? I think her name was… shit—” he snapped his fingers a few times, bit down hard on his rosy lip while his dark brow furrowed, “—Jeanie? I believe that’s it. She always wore a little pin on her pullovers. Didn’t really talk much. At least not to me. She was shy but seemed sweet.”

For a second, Wonwoo thought he misheard Seungcheol—that the music from the speaker system was blaring much too loud and he somehow misinterpreted a word or sentence. He even dug into his ear for a second, sat up in his chair instead of casually leaning backward.

“What?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even realized he’d dropped his Korean.

“Oh, I was asking about that girl you used to date. It was Jeanie, right? She worked at the university library.” When Wonwoo kept staring at him without so much as a sound, blink, or even a tiny twitch, Seungcheol waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Fuck, my bad. I’m probably confusing you with someone else.”

“No... you’re not.”

It had felt like a gunshot—realizing the specific pronunciation and shaping of Seungcheol’s lips hadn’t been misinterpreted at all. He was in fact saying what Wonwoo dreaded, feared, like the ghost stories from his childhood that his brother would utter through a white, dying flashlight until Wonwoo uncontrollably wept. Like the last step at his parents’ house he used to constantly miss, his heart practically jamming into his throat each and every time. It was that slow, nauseating accumulation of anxiety in his stomach, coming to buzz and rumble akin to a beehive. It was all those stupid mistakes.

Jeanie. To hear her name in another person’s mouth was almost sickening. To think about her again was pure heartache.

“That’s what I figured,” Seungcheol said. “She was nice, but I don’t think she came back in the fall… I don’t want to assume anything. Just a memory.” He reeled back on the topic as Wonwoo sat adjacent to him, paler than an alabaster pearl.

“Yeah…” he managed to croak out, feeling a rasp develop somewhere deep in his throat, “we’re not together anymore.”

“Hey, it is what it is,” Seungcheol affirmed, putting on a sincere smile that Wonwoo found a pinch of solace in. “We don’t have to fuckin’ mull over it or anything. All that shit’s in the past, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right. You’re here now, amongst friends, I hope.”

Wonwoo swallowed, thinking about what Seungcheol said.

He then shifted his head toward the billiard ball table. Vernon was now involved in a very passionate conversation with Mingyu that Wonwoo was unable to hear from his distance. The two boys were bouncing back and forth, animated in their hand motions and expressions, meanwhile you and Princess were passing the most subtly judgmental looks between each other. For a moment, Wonwoo’s gaze caught your own, to which you shot him an innocuous eye roll paired with a small but tenderly growing smile. That thick uneasiness in his chest pulled back like a receding ocean tide and Wonwoo knew he was okay again.

Seungcheol took note of the glance, and he grinned.

“It seems you’re pretty close with Her.”

Turning his attention back to Seungcheol, Wonwoo nodded.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. She’s… um…”

“Hard to describe, isn’t she?” Seungcheol answered for him, now observing the scene at the billiard ball table as well.

Wonwoo almost hesitated asking his next question, but before his brain could make much sense of it, he was already speaking.

“Does Mingyu always do that?”

Seungcheol chuckled, “do what?”

“He’s on her like a fucking sticker.”

Undoubtedly, his heart sank in at the predictable answer.

“Yeah, Gyu’s always got his eye on her. I understand where he’s coming from. She attracts a lot of attention. He straight up socked this dude in the face last year for hitting on her. I mean, to be fair, he was drunk and Her can tend to be a little… well, she likes to push his buttons. It was high tension all night. Bound to explode.”

Remembering his meal at Solar Pop with Vernon a few weeks ago, Wonwoo knew how anxious his friend had been at the thought of getting ungracefully decked in the face by Mingyu’s knuckles. While it never happened—and Wonwoo was certain then that it wouldn’t—he would hate to be on the receiving end of whatever power Mingyu did pack behind a serious punch. Wonwoo despised fighting and conflict. There was often a cutting, wolfish nature wading about Mingyu’s dark gold eyes that quite frankly petrified him enough.

Considering how fearful Vernon had seemed, Wonwoo was surprised the boy was even talking with Mingyu so freely. But that forgiving, never-take-anything-too-seriously gene was just embedded straight into Vernon’s core. He could get along with anybody.

“Hm,” was all Wonwoo hummed in response.

Since he had been laser-focused analyzing the cordial, humorous conversation between Vernon and Mingyu, he failed to note that Princess had joined her boyfriend at the table. Upon turning his head out of worry he might be caught staring, Wonwoo finally saw the beautiful girl leaning against Seungcheol’s back from behind; her arms draped comfortably around his neck and her cheek pressed to his midnight black hair. Wonwoo flashed an awkward half-smile.

“You guys getting to know each other?” She asked.

Seungcheol exchanged an agreeing glance with Wonwoo.

“Mmhm. We’re basically two peas in a pod now,” the boy proceeded to joke while Princess grinned down at him, her eyes gleaming. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool. One smart cookie, y’know?”

“Wow. Smarter than you, yeah?” She laughed, now straightening up and resting just a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, can’t be a winner in everything.”

“Oh. Maybe you can’t.”

“Shit—watch yourself, missy.”

Seungcheol quickly twisted around in his chair, managing to catch Princess by the waist and playfully wrestle her onto his lap. She hardly fought in retaliation against him, a huge, warm smile glowing from her face as she let herself get wrapped in his squeezing arms.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw up. It’s not that he was some spiteful, self-loathing recluse who couldn’t stand seeing others in healthy relationships—it wasn’t that at all. What he despised was the loneliness it reflected unto himself, and the deeply unsettling thought that he was just too damaged, insecure, and unlovable to ever truly warrant the pure trust of another. He feared he could never bring his inner self to fruitfully open in such vulnerable ways.

“Hey, Wonwoo. I just noticed your cup’s empty.”

When he connected with the earnest gaze of Princess, he realized she was pointing at the red cup left untouched by his elbow.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Do you want a beer? Or a chaser?” She offered in a polite tone as Seungcheol gently moved her long braids aside to drape over her far shoulder. “We have lots of stuff in the fridge over there.”

He bit into his lip, thinking.

“Doesn’t have to be a drink,” Seungcheol said, shrugging. “If you smoke, I’ve got some stuff already crushed up. Uh, I’ve got a bong around here somewhere. I think it’s on the shelf. Rolling papers, too. Don’t know how you prefer to smoke it.”

“Papers, usually,” Wonwoo answered.

“Cool. I’ve got that.”

With two soft, careful hands gliding up her waist, Seungcheol sweetly urged Princess to her feet and then pitched an announcement that anyone interested in smoking could come to the table.

Princess swiped the blue bong from Seungcheol’s shelf.

“I’m going for a bowl,” she said, clicking her tongue.

“Ou, me too!” Clara chirped, using Bells’ arm to help shove herself off the sofa, ignoring the way her friend whined.

“I’ll come sit with you guys,” Princess added, “just make a little room. And try not to throw up on me if you can help it.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of being accompanied at the table, with Vernon dragging out the chair to his left while Mingyu occupied the seat across from him. He watched the boy’s arm stretch out to accommodate you onto his lap, and Wonwoo assumed the hand he couldn’t see was groping your thigh underneath the table. In the pit of his stomach, Wonwoo knew what that slimy, bitter feeling was, though he refused to acknowledge it—he wouldn’t even look at you.

Seungcheol tossed a ziplock bag filled with weed onto the table and spread out an array of thin, dull, white rectangular papers.

Immediately, Vernon was tugging on Wonwoo’s sleeve.

“Can you roll mine, dude?”

“Hm?” Mingyu grunted, seeming amused. “You’re asking Wonwoo to roll your joint? You're a fucking drug dealer.”

“I’ve never met anyone who can roll as good as him,” his friend complimented, leaning back in the wooden chair and firmly shaking Wonwoo’s shoulder. “If he’s in the room, I’m gettin’ him to roll. He’s got nice, talented, dexterous fingers. Isn’t that right?”

Reaching for a translucent paper and smoothing out the crinkles, a suspect arch made its way to Wonwoo’s brow, meanwhile the tips of his ears burned with all the eyeballs examining his every fucking move. Wonwoo opened the baggie, beginning to shake out the pre-grinded bud as he held the paper in a curled shape.

“Please don’t talk about my fingers like that,” he muttered, pushing up his glasses. “Check that. You want a little more or less?”

“Nah, leave it at that,” Vernon answered.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Seungcheol then crossed his arms, smirking. “I wanna see it when you’re done rolling.”

“Me too,” Mingyu agreed, staring Wonwoo down like a hawk.

“Great. Why don’t we pass the joint around the table when he’s done with it, and we can all grade it. How fun,” you mumbled sarcastically, slumping forward and resting your chin against a palm.

“You gonna smoke or not, sweetheart?” Mingyu asked.

“I don’t know yet…”

Wonwoo knew you were staring at him while he fiddled with removing a crease in the partially rolled paper, because there was an itch crawling along him, like a sunburn, but not quite. Though, he opted to continue focusing on the joint, even with your eyes breathing him in from across the table, craving his acknowledgement.

“Lick there,” he instructed, holding the paper for Vernon.

From the couch, Wonwoo heard a bubbly laugh. It was Bells, her legs kicked up onto Princess’ lap without a care in the world while Princess sparked a lighter to help Clara ignite the sapphire bowl.

“Wonwoo, if you make one for me, can you lick it?”

He simply ignored her while carefully tucking at the joint.

Wonwoo turned to Vernon again. “Lick.”

After some finely tuned adjustments that required his utmost focus, Wonwoo was at last satisfied with the roll, then handing the joint off to Vernon for him to further pack and twist up. Once his friend finished the job, he passed the joint back to Wonwoo, who further gave it down to Seungcheol. The boy glanced over it closely.

“Damn… that’s pretty fuckin’ good, can’t lie.”

“Let me see," Mingyu practically demanded, granting Seungcheol the slimmest opportunity to even pass the joint along.

He’d snatched it up and settled back in his seat—nearly sliding you straight off his lap in the process—squinting to find some stupid imperfection or mistake he could point out, though, there was nothing. Without a word, he passed the smoke to Vernon.

“See? Told ‘ya. Glasses never fails me.”

“If you don’t mind—” Seungcheol rubbed at his bottom lip, staring at Wonwoo with a quirked eyebrow, “—could I get one?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Mingyu won’t say it but you should roll one for him, too.”

As Wonwoo pulled another paper toward him, he managed to look at you, and the little spark that jumped into your pretty eye. He smiled because you were smiling, and that always made him feel so inexplicably warm inside, like the soft melting of browned caramel.

“I can do that,” he said, to which Mingyu nodded his head.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll roll one for you, too, Her. I mean, if you want it.”

“Okay. That’s sweet. Maybe later.”

You smiled at him again.

He smiled back.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure how it happened or who initially decided the idea, but someone had suggested poker, and now the entire table was cleared off with the exception of Seungcheol’s playing cards and the multi-coloured chip stacks. They decided on classic Texas Hold’em because everyone who’d decided to join was most familiar with the style, though Wonwoo cared to dabble more in Blackjack as there was a mathematical basis to it that scratched a satisfying itch in his brain. Nonetheless, he was fairly good at Texas Hold’em, too.

Vernon hated playing with him, and he made that extremely apparent through his moaning while Princess shuffled the card deck. There was a decent number of people playing—only you, Clara, and Bells chose to sit on the sidelines and observe. Wonwoo had wanted you to play, but you kept declining, even without a concrete reason.

“Okay, everyone’s familiar with the rules, right?” Princess asked for clarification, at first burning the top card off the deck. “I’ll play dealer first round. That makes Seungcheol the small blind and Wonwoo the big blind. N'remember, you guys signed up for this, so if you can't afford to blow some money then you better be good.”

Everyone collectively agreed, and Princess began dealing the cards to all contenders until there was two before each person. Wonwoo wasn't exactly in the best position to be owing people cash, but he was a pretty solid player in his experience, though he was most comfortable going against Vernon and Seokmin. They had done a few poker nights at the random houses Vernon always claimed he was looking after for a friend. He had no idea what Seungcheol or Mingyu would be like as players. It did scare him a little.

Seungcheol made his move first—just a dollar, the equivalent of a single white-coloured chip. Wonwoo had to double the bet, so he moved out two white chips instead. Vernon decided to raise the amount to four chips, and Seokmin called the bet, matching it. Mingyu went next, his figure appearing foggy from across the table as the air became increasingly tinged with ruffles of smoke.

He called.

Seungcheol and Wonwoo both called at their turns, and thus, the first round of betting had ended. Everyone pushed forward their chips for Princess to collect, creating their small, measly looking pot.

Wonwoo kept the joint poised between his pointer and middle finger as he slyly gleaned the suit and ranks of his hand, keeping both cards flush against the table, just lifting their corners.

It didn’t seem like much and would probably result in little reward—an eight of clovers and a three of spades—but Wonwoo wasn’t looking to show out in the very first game, anyway.

He glanced toward the couch, where you were squished almost shoulder to shoulder against Clara and Bells. The bong was sat in your lap as you leaned down over the mouthpiece and sparked at the cannabis packed into the bowl. Bells curled at her long, black hair, heels dug into the edge of the coffee table, eyes glazed as pastries.

“I didn’t get anything from that,” she mumbled.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t know how to play,” Princess chuckled, again burning another card off the deck before setting down three more at the centre of the table, creating the flop.

Nine of diamonds, seven of hearts, and six of clovers.

Everyone took a minute to examine the flop, comparing it with the cards they had stowed close to their chests. Wonwoo, however, didn’t even bother comparing, as he already knew his move.

“Hm…” Seungcheol paused, rubbing at his chin and sucking in his bottom lip. “I think I’ll check.” He then leaned back, placing forth no bet at all, and instead looked to Wonwoo for his decision.

“Fold.”

“Ha!” Vernon practically choked beside him, the joint almost spat from his mouth, and Wonwoo felt the boy’s hand push in a teasing pressure at his shoulder. “You’re such a piece of shit, man.”

“Why is he a piece of shit?” Bells wondered.

“Just, uh—ah, never mind,” Vernon capitulated, still somewhat chuckling under his breath as Wonwoo smiled at him. “I’m gonna bet. I’ll put out some of these.” He slid out the required chips, forest-green in colour, each valued at twenty-five dollars.

Nibbling on his fingertip, Seokmin shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m folding.”

Princess smiled. “No, it’s okay! Mingyu next.”

“Hm, call,” he responded, matching Vernon's dare.

The attention returned to Seungcheol, who was rooted in his indecisiveness, pressed fingers masking half his face as he stared down at the three community cards, brow furrowed with thought.

Eventually, he shrugged. “Fuck it. I’m folding too.”

“Not feeling lucky, babe?” Princess grinned, collecting the bets placed by Vernon and Mingyu to the growing pot.

“I’m treading cautiously, let’s just say that.” He smirked.

After revealing the fourth community card, another round ensued between Vernon and Mingyu. Wonwoo relaxed back into his seat, an analyzing eye shifting from his tattooed, face-pierced friend to the stoic and collected Mingyu who was awaiting Vernon’s turn.

Wonwoo held his bottom lip between sharp teeth, then staring down at his lap in an attempt to smother that prying, wide smile, knowing the exact move his friend would make. It was Vernon, after all. And he always played big, even when he shouldn’t.

“Bet. Here you go.”

More of those green chips were moved out.

Mingyu huffed, tongue curling against his pronounced canine. “I don’t believe you, dude.”

Vernon cackled, propping up his knee and setting the heel of his sneaker onto the chair. He exhaled a smooth hit from his joint.

“Okay. Raise, then.”

Seungcheol chuckled, sharing a laugh with Seokmin who was sipping at a beer bottle from across the table.

“Fine—have it your way.”

"I’ll call.”

“Not feeling so confident, yeah?” Mingyu proceeded to laugh, eyeing Vernon closely with a testing, intrigued expression.

“I’ll let the showdown speak for itself,” Vernon pitted back.

Again, Princess collected their chips and rid the deck of its top card, and then placed down the fifth and final community card, establishing the river and the arrangement from which Vernon and Mingyu would need to create the most powerful hand. Each boy at last turned over their deck, and it was clear cut who was the winner.

“Mingyu’s got a full house,” Princess explained, standing up and leaning forward to swivel the card combination into place. “Take these three from the river, plus his nine of hearts and seven of clovers—that’s a three of a kind and a pair. Vernon can at most make a straight.” She then sat back down, pushing the entire pot to Mingyu.

“Did you win, baby?” After remaining silent for the entire game, you had finally perked up from the couch, admittedly buzzed.

Brushing back his hair, he smirked. “I won. Mr. Drug Dealer owes me about three-hundred dollars. But I guess you've just got that laying around somewhere? Stuffed up your pillow case?”

Vernon laughed, then took a deep, long drag from his joint. "If you're not sleepin' against a pillow case full of cash, I'm happy to officially give you the opportunity. Takes away all your stress."

“Congratulations,” you flashed a hazy smile at your boyfriend, courtesy of the smoke wafting through the air, like you were caught in a reverie, “I'm glad all those Sundays were well spent.”

“Okay, we’ll move down now,” Princess announced, reorganizing the cards into a deck. “Seungcheol’s the dealer, Wonwoo is the small blind, and Vernon’s the big blind this time.”

They continued to play until everyone at the table had a chance at being the blinds and the dealer. Wonwoo folded every round. He knew it might've been ignorant and distrustful, but to him, it was the perfect opportunity to see inside everyone's bag of tricks.

He’d developed a fairly foolproof inkling toward their tactics and gives. Seokmin was by far the easiest player to make fold, though Wonwoo was already well aware—he would only hold his ground if there was confidence in his hand, but even then, anyone else calling Seokmin’s bet always engendered him to squirm. And while Vernon was still a more seasoned player by comparison, his brashness and tentative nature toward folding was often his downfall.

Seungcheol and Princess were a bit harder to read.

They were alike in their more cautious, calculating style of play, and Princess clearly had experience with orchestrating poker matches. Seungcheol, however, would routinely make the same mistake that Wonwoo had noticed straight away—touching or covering his face. When he was most confident, his fingers would sit more around his chin, or jaw, and when he was dealt a shitty hand with little to no promise of creating something notable from the community cards, those fingers etched further toward his lips.

You had still refused to join the match when offered by Princess, though you were paying greater attention to the game—even stopping by to hover with interest at Mingyu’s shoulder.

Princess was back to being the dealer.

Seungcheol was again the small blind. “I’ll put up twenty.”

Wonwoo grabbed two stacks of his chips and slid them outward to double the boy’s forced bet. “Forty.”

Everyone called.

Since the pot had gone unraised, Wonwoo decided to push forth more of his chips, adding on another twenty in small stacks. “Raise.”

The eagerness to increase the bet had drained. Again, all parties at the table simply called, and Wonwoo was feeling quite confident.

“Flop time,” Princess said with a smile, neatly setting out three cards at the table’s centre for everyone to glean.

Seungcheol checked. So did Wonwoo.

“Raise.” Vernon was persistent in his choice.

Everyone matched the increased bet, now sitting at eighty chips, until it fell upon Wonwoo’s turn. Expectant eyes were drilling holes into him like he was plywood at a construction site. Under normal circumstances, Wonwoo would abhor it more than anything else, but he was otherwise relaxed and in tune with his decisions as the joint smoke warmly fluttered around him. Coughing out a tickle from his throat, he grabbed another stack of his chips.

“It’s at eighty, so I’ll push to a hundred.”

“Cunt,” Vernon coughed, though he matched the raise without so much as a leg shake or a bite at his glinting lip ring.

“Fold,” Seokmin sighed, forfeiting his hand to Princess.

Wonwoo looked across the table, watching your fingertips squeeze into Mingyu’s thick shoulders as he pondered his choice.

“Call.” He eventually decided with a shrug.

Seungcheol agreed.

By the fifth community card, Wonwoo, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Vernon were still engaged in the match. From his analysis, Wonwoo was sure he would take the pot. Seungcheol was rubbing just below his lip using a slow thumb—there was uncertainty and doubt in the gesture. Vernon’s willingness to raise was merely intended to pressure out the others, but it hadn’t worked, and his quietness suggested there might be regret, and still, confidence, that he could somehow get away with it. Finally, Wonwoo saw Mingyu.

He'd played a handful of poker—specifically Texas Hold’em—with Mingyu when they had taken that probability elective last year.

The thing was, Mingyu had this gold-plated guise of believing his casual, unbothered demeanour couldn’t be disrupted under any circumstance—that no one would catch that transient slip of credence in those molten brown eyes or note the way he cracked the wood in the chair from fidgeting when the silence was too heavy and all-encompassing. But Wonwoo would notice. He could see it clearer than glass. The more Mingyu disguised it, the easier it poured out.

“Alright, showdown. Let’s see your hands.”

Everyone flipped their cards.

A moment of silence ensued, and then—

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Vernon grunted, jabbing his side.

Both him and Seungcheol could make a straight flush, but since the rank of Wonwoo’s cards were higher, he took the win.

Not to mention the rather large, admirable pot. He was pretty pleased to see those colourful bills being forked out from the losers' wallets. It truly did pay off to play with rich people, and Mingyu and Seungcheol's pockets seemed endless.

By Wonwoo's third joint of the night, he’d won more rounds than anyone sitting at the table. Vernon had cursed at him a fair amount, Seokmin hardly wanted to play anymore amongst the serious tycoons that surrounded him, and wallets were running drier than any desert. The effects of all that smoke wafting through the air and meddling with his senses was starting to take effect.

He could potentially last another round before his most concrete thinking would get whittled down to thoughtless guesses.

Before the final round had started, Wonwoo glanced down at his phone to check the time. Holy shit—one in the morning. He’d been at the party for almost three fucking hours and he was miraculously still functioning and somehow not crawling with the desperation to leave. You were seated back at the couch, head leaning on Clara’s shoulder as you waited, misty-eyed, for the final game to start. Wonwoo decided to text you even though you were sitting no less than five feet away.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Play the final round.

He watched as you picked up the phone from your lap to read the text message, and then, you were squinting at him in judgement.

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: um no

His thumbs fired back a response.

[ Wonwoo | 1:02 am ]: Why?

[ Her | 1:02 am ]: bc I don’t want to

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: You don’t know how to play?

[ Her | 1:03 am ]: ik how to play

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: So play.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Take Seokmin’s place.

[ Wonwoo | 1:03 am ]: Please? Should I beg for it?

Your scoff could be heard from the couch, and Wonwoo had to remind himself to steam out the smile twitching on his lips.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: is it really that important to u?

[ Wonwoo | 1:04 am ]: Yes.

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: fine

[ Her | 1:04 am ]: just don’t come crying to me when u lose

Feeling especially triumphant that he was able to convince you, Wonwoo observed with a pleased smirk your quest to Seokmin’s place at the table, where you tapped his shoulder and told him to take five. The boy didn’t need to be told twice, allowing you his seat almost gratefully.

“Awe, you’re not gonna stay for the finale?” Princess asked in a crooning voice while shuffling the card deck between her hands.

Seokmin grabbed his skinny bottle of beer off the table and shook his head, his face glowing and his eyes beginning to hood.

“I’ve learned my lesson about this game: I’m not good at it, I don’t have the money, and that I should never play with Wonwoo.”

“Or me?” Vernon gestured, turning out a palm expectantly.

“Uh, right. And Vernon.”

Picking a fluff from Seokmin’s shirt and flicking it into the air, you merely shrugged, flashing him a comforting smile.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing you suck,” you said, then leaning back in the chair and folding your arms. “It means you’re a bad liar.”

“Nice to play with you, alright?” Seungcheol added, grabbing onto the boy’s hand and giving it a firm clasp as he walked by.

“Thanks. I think I’ll go back downstairs and see if I can find more people I know. Enjoy the game, guys! Tell me who wins!”

“Probably me,” you answered, waving him goodbye.

“Hm, I didn’t think you’d play at all,” Mingyu remarked while Princess began sorting out cards to everyone, and Wonwoo noted the boy's leg jostling underneath the table. “Feeling confident, are you?”

Poking out your tongue playfully at Mingyu, you smiled. “Yes. Don’t even think about trying to riddle me. I’ll see right through it.”

The game started out as usual. Seungcheol and Wonwoo offered the blind bets, and everyone at the table called. No one seemed keen to fold, even when Princess revealed the flop and his heart smacked in another resounding thump. An eight of spades, a king of spades, and an eight of clovers. Wonwoo then slipped his gaze around the table, particularly studying you, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the game started. Of course you would be grinning. There was nothing very coy or subtle about you upon any first glance.

Wonwoo discreetly lifted the corners to his playing cards. He caught the wind in his chest. There was an ace of spades, his very first all night, paired with a nine of spades. It took all his self-control to remain muted on the outside and let his joint continue burning.

At the fourth community card, the pressure was starting to seep through, and the intimidating, stacked size of the pot collected before Princess was only making the fold especially tempting.

Every time it seemed like a call was in order, someone would raise, and the bets kept climbing until the glass ceiling was at last hit.

Seungcheol brushed antsy hands down the back of his head, scattering his hair and puffing out his chest in a large, accepting sigh.

“I’ve gotta fold. There’s no way.”

Balancing a joint at the corner of his mouth, Wonwoo grabbed another stack from his chips and slid it outward, knowing there was little to no chance he would lose the round.

“Raise,” he announced, exhaling a deep breath.

“Oh my God,” Vernon mumbled into his palm, taking a moment to tap his fingers against the wood, “… I have to fold. Yeah, I’ve gotta. A smart man like myself knows when to quit. You got me. Fucker.”

Unphased by the hopeless, daunting feeling that swelled around the table, you merely crossed a leg and dared to not only match, but raise the amount of chips that Wonwoo had audaciously put forth. Mingyu was slumped in his chair with a musing expression, eyes stung red and the thick fronds of his hair messily strewn about from how often his fingers dug through them. He eventually cleared his throat from the hot prickle and shook his head in conviction.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t believe it.”

But you just smirked and fluttered your lashes.

“What’s your move then, babe?”

“I’ll check.” Mingyu shrugged, agitated by his own response.

And to that, Wonwoo poured more gasoline on the fire.

“Raise.”

“There is no fuckin’ way your cards are that good,” Vernon grumbled between half-sealed lips, attempting to hold the joint still with his mouth while he sparked the end using his lighter.

“I’m raising your raise,” you challenged, “one-hundred.”

As his hand fell onto the table with a loud rattle, Vernon started to cackle. “There’s no way your cards are that good, either.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You lilted.

“Mingyu?” Seungcheol hummed to get the boy’s attention. “It’s your move, man. What’re you gonna do?”

Wonwoo could see it scribbled all over Mingyu’s face. He didn’t want to get caught in the intense bidding flare between you, because he obviously knew his cards weren’t high enough rank to claim the pot at showdown. Wonwoo wasn’t planning to fold because the community cards were aligned in his favour. That steely, brash façade of the golden boy across from him was wearing increasingly thinner and Mingyu had seemed to realize it himself. After an almost agonizing silence, he pushed his cards away from him, forfeiting.

“Yeah, I can’t do it. Fuck you guys.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweetheart. That’s too bad, ” you giggled, leaning over to sling an arm around his shoulders and stipple his cheek in small kisses that Mingyu wriggled from.

“Alright, just fuckin’ get to the showdown already,” he tutted.

Wonwoo couldn’t have been happier that Mingyu removed himself from the game. It was solely between him and you, now.

“You raised to one-hundred?” He asked for clarification.

Nodding your head, you agreed. “Yes. One-hundred.”

The thing was, Wonwoo knew he was going to win. Even without Princess revealing the final community card, there was an opportunity for him to make a straight flush. Unless an unprecedented stroke of luck had fallen into your own hand and you could somehow make a royal flush, the game was already decided.

Unless Wonwoo folded.

“I’ll raise,” he answered, wanting to test your limits.

“Jesus, this is gonna take all fuckin’ night, isn’t it?” Vernon proceeded to groan while exercising his stiff shoulder.

You smiled, and a glint illuminated in your eyes like a fallen star the size of a perfect sand grain.

 “Should I make it more interesting?”

Uncrossing your leg, you sat up straight, pressing tight against the table as you braced an arm behind your remaining chips and shoved them forward slowly, right into the table’s centre. Everyone began to mumble excitedly at the brazen act, though Wonwoo could only focus on you and that mischievous but beautiful curve to your lips, ignoring everything else in the room.

“All in.”

He felt a fist lightly strike his chest.

“Glasses! You’ve gotta match that!”

Seungcheol was rubbing along his chin, grinning.

“That’s gonna make a huge pot… lotta money…”

“He’s been making moves all game,” Princess laughed. “Not that I’m pressuring you, Wonwoo. I mean, it’s your call.”

Mingyu shook his head. “She’s so bluffing.”

“Hush up so he can think!” Vernon cackled.

There was so much sound and noise and voices. But, through the cacophony and haze of all those distractions, Wonwoo could see into you so clearly it was like you had become magically transparent. In turn, you were staring at him, awaiting his response, and he felt those sharp eyes shearing at his fabricated thoughts, picking them all apart into little corners and strips and threads. It was impossibly subtle, and only Wonwoo caught it—your head just beginning to shake in disagreement.

However, Wonwoo had already made his decision.

“I’m folding.”

Vernon’s fists struck down on the table like a thunderous clap, and the tension nailed into the atmosphere suddenly burst.

Before Wonwoo could even make sense of the exploding conversation, his cards were pulled away from him by Princess. She flipped over both yours and his hand.

“Wonwoo, you stupid fuck!” Vernon practically leapt from his chair, wriggling at the boy’s shoulder. “That’s a straight fl—oh my god! I’m actually so—you could have easily won that!”

“Okay, okay. She’s got a straight flush, too!” Princess called, pointing down at your cards. “But Wonwoo’s rank is higher.”

“Doesn’t matter, anyway,” Mingyu said, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his muscular arms. “He folded. Her wins.”

Seungcheol sifted through the colourful chips.

“Looks like he owes you about five-hundred bucks.”

Continuing to smile at you, Wonwoo picked the joint back between his lips, borrowing Vernon’s lighter to fizzle the end and keep the paper burning. Your arms were crossed, hardly pleased.

“Looks like I do.” Wonwoo accepted through a wispy exhale of smoke, rolling out his shoulders and further quirking his lips.

After the final poker match, everyone decided to disseminate and take about half an hour to excuse themselves. Mingyu went back downstairs with Seungcheol so they could keep an eye on the general rowdiness, making sure people hadn’t started rioting or smashing vases, swinging from chandeliers and drinking questionable concoctions out of high-heeled boots.

Vernon wandered off in search for a washroom since Princess had occupied the nearest one down the staircase, at first helping nurse Clara through her incoming bout of alcohol sickness, with Bells joining them a few minutes afterward when that last sip decided to lurch back up her throat.

Only you and Wonwoo remained in the attic.

He was sat widespread at the sofa, slumped down, eyes closed, attempting to appreciate the high that could be attributed to the third joint he was now halfway through smoking. But then he felt the cushion beside him dip, and there was a pinch sinking rather harshly into the flesh on his hand that made his eyes fling back open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Wonwoo moaned, rubbing over the small, crescent shaped branding dug by your fingernail.

Settling down notably close to Wonwoo, your knee prodded into his thigh while your one leg folded over the other. That scowl had yet to be ironed out from your countenance, and he could only suspect you were about to come down hard in regards to his stunt.

“Boo hoo. You’re such a lying liar who lies.”

Wonwoo stretched out a hand to his face, massaging slow against his temples while he sighed, “lying’s part of the game...”

“No—” the retort shot out with an electrifying quickness, “—not your type of lying. Your double-crossed lying. You’re a fraud.”

“A fraud?” He echoed, letting the hand fall into his lap. “Okay, that’s a bit accusatory. I wouldn’t call what I did fraudulent.”

Shifting his elbow off the arm of the couch, the joint was poised back at his lips, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but chuckle at your glaring, stiff face. He swiftly blew out his hit, smirking hard.

“I hate you for what you did. I mean, you should have gone all in and matched me. But, no! You took the wuss route and made me look stupid! It taints everything. And you better wipe away that jovial curl in your lip before I sock it off your face and steal your cig.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you, perking an eyebrow.

“How’d you know my cards were better?”

At first, the question visibly stumped you. There was a lag in your response—an open mouth but not a single word to follow.

Then, it seemed as though you breathed out all your rage.

“Don’t ask such a dumb question,” sounded your calm sigh, with a leg bobbing up and down, “you made it so obvious.”

“I did? Hm.”

“Yeah…I know your tactic. You make everyone feel and nice and comfortable playing with you. Then, you totally flip the script and pull out the rug.” Your shoulder was digging into his and you two were now squished together so closely that he could feel your radiating warmth and smell the fragrance in your hair. “For someone who’s so damn quiet, your eyes are like a book. They just swim and trash with everything you’re thinking. So, don’t think you’re all that.”

Wonwoo switched the joint to his other hand, instead leaning against his fist and peering aside at you who seemed so certain of everything. Admittedly, he’d never heard that before, and if he weren’t beyond drowned in the watery red glowing behind his hooded gaze, your spiel would have downright terrified him.

It wasn’t that you just knew Wonwoo, it was that you were beginning to understand him and the way his mind operated.

No—if he were sober, that thought would obliterate him.

He shrugged. “I don’t think I’m all that.”

“Blah, blah. Y’know, the one thing about you that bothers me—you’re actually not a loser. People like you Wonwoo. People are impressed by you. They want to know you. And you just keep them at bay with your stinging hot fireplace poker, jabbing at them in case they get too close. I see it. And—I don’t know, maybe you’re right to keep all those people out. Maybe it gives you more control.”

Wonwoo dragged a hand along his face, laughing. “I think I’m a little too high to be having that conversation with you.”

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to talk about it as usual. I don't suppose you've got five-hundred big ones in your wallet, do you?”

He shot you an obvious glance while chuckling, "absolutely fucking not. But sit tight, though. I can get it to you somehow."

Your head shook. "I don't care about the money."

He stared down at the joint aglow in his hand.

And then he was holding it out in front of you.

“Hit?”

You hesitated, but ultimately grabbed it, positioning the joint between your index and middle finger akin to a cigarette. Wonwoo watched intently at the soft inhale you breathed in, and the gradual relaxing of your chest as the smoke was gently puffed outward.

“Not so tough, is it?” He hummed in his deep, velvet-smooth voice, to which you squinted at him and scrunched your nose.

“I just studied how you did it, that’s all.”

Your knee was now pressed atop his lap. Wonwoo felt that momentary, passionate itch to settle his palm flat against your warm skin—ignore all boundaries that existed between you as well as their scalding consequences just for the sake of sweetly touching you, the one visible hope in his life. Still, Wonwoo was too afraid. As much as he wanted all your light and love to himself, it could never be true.

“We’re doing lines next,” you said, “… are you gonna do it?”

“Oh, no.” Wonwoo shook his head. “I tried it once and it went fucking terribly. I’m not gonna bother messing with it again.”

You looked relieved.

“That’s good. It’s so weird for me. Like, when it first enters my system, everything feels strange and I get this spinning, nauseating sensation. But it always passes. And then I let everything go.”

Wonwoo quirked at you a barely-there smile.

“I know it’s obvious—just be careful, alright?”

You puffed out another hit.

“I will.”

It was a bit strange—to just stand there, off to the side, as an observer of someone who was lining up a perfect streak of white powder using their credit card. And yet, that’s what Wonwoo had found himself doing, staring without much shame as you, Mingyu, Vernon, and Seungcheol began pressing shut one nostril and inhaling the cocaine through the other. Wonwoo never bothered to ask Vernon how he acquired the coke, or what he paid for it, or how he even knew someone that could baggie it up for him so nicely—Wonwoo didn’t ask anything of the sort because he’d rather avoid prison.

Though, that might be inevitable in the bigger picture. His closest friend was a drug dealer. By nature, he was already associated.

Princess had walked over to him, dropping off some bottled water from the fridge that he immediately uncapped and gulped down. It seemed his efforts to mend that broken circadian rhythm of his had done some actual good, because Wonwoo was feeling the tire spread over his eyes and the energy deplete from his body like an inflatable with an air leak. You had snorted the coke almost a little too naturally. He remembered an old conversation with Vernon—she takes that shit like it’s pixie dust—and he supposed it made sense.

He helped Princess shove the window open again to let some freshness back into the warm attic space. She spent a moment or so staring down at the driveway, watching the people come and go.

“How are Bells and Clara?” Wonwoo asked.

She glanced at him, though her brown eyes eventually wandered back to the ongoing buzz outside and below.

“Clara is totalled,” Princess sighed. “She’s lying down in one of the spare bedrooms. A friend is looking after her. Bells on the other hand...” she glimpsed over her shoulder, scanning the room, “I’m not sure where she went. I thought she came back upstairs, but it’s likely she wandered down to the living room. That girl is all gas, no breaks. Throws up one second, back to sloshing the next.”

Wonwoo swallowed more of his cold water.

“I take it Seungcheol owes you a dinner?”

“Ha—yeah, he owes it to me big time,” she muttered, at last turning her back to the breeze. “Good thing I didn’t let him drink that fucking whiskey. Holy shit. It would be worse than Clara.”

“Hm…” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly wondering aloud as he watched you cough into your fist at the table while Mingyu rubbed his nose and patted your cheek. “He doesn’t do it all the time, though?”

Princess folded her arms and smiled.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“She?”

“Her.”

“Oh. I was asking—”

“I know what you were asking. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo thought about further countering Princess’ assumption, but the way she was watching him—head knowingly tilted with that smitten crook so rightfully framed on her glossed, shiny lips—he knew it would be futile to even try. He felt relief at the confirmation, too. As long as you were careful. Really fucking careful.

“Sorry,” he answered, shrugging.

“Nah, apology not needed.” Princess shook her head.

The girl proceeded to look down at her feet, remaining silent and pensive—toying with the idea of saying something important but ultimately weighing its consequence before involving Wonwoo.

He was sipping from his water again when Princess at last cleared her throat, then holding the swig between his cheeks.

“Um, I don’t know, exactly, what it is you and Her talk about, or what you write about, or what you two do, ever. Just, uh, whatever it is—and maybe it’s best I don’t know—she’s really… happy. Not that she wasn’t happy before. But… it’s different, y’know? The energy is different. And I see this really, really beautiful light in her that I’ve never seen before. So, yeah. I’m glad you two are friends. And that you listen to her and stick by her and help her with this new craft even when she’s not the most cooperative, or… well… y’know… it’s Her after all. You don’t really know which version you’ll get.”

Wonwoo still hadn’t swallowed. The water was becoming uncomfortably lukewarm in his mouth but he held it there.

Princess dusted off her shirt, smiling again. “Anyway, I’ll go check on Seungcheol. Probably try to find Bells. Ah, later.”

Only when the girl had left him alone at the windowsill did he finally choke down that large sip, bracing through it as though he’d just downed some especially bitter cough syrup. His mind was replaying pieces of Princess’ speech in addition to that appreciative, even admirable look she had been giving him. He didn’t know what to take from it. He didn’t even know what he was feeling. All his emotions were cooking in one big heap at the pit of his gut like a disproportioned stew. Wonwoo rubbed a hand along his face in partial confusion and agony, hearing a giggle from you somewhere across the room, as he attempted to sort everything out.

Wanting to move somewhere a bit quieter, Wonwoo thought he might try his luck with the rooms down the staircase, and hopefully not waltz into anything he so clearly shouldn’t have. Yet, just as his hand ghosted along the wood railing, Wonwoo was suddenly colliding with someone and the rapidly permeating, muddled scent of daisies, cannabis, and fireball was filling his nose.

His water bottle dropped to the floor and rolled to the base of the stairs. Fingers scraped deep into his shirt. He grabbed onto the person’s waist with instinct, helping to steady them.

“Fuck—holy shit. Thanks, Wonwoo.”

But then the realization had metaphorically slapped him.

“My bad. Sorry.”

It was Bells who’d been stumbling up the stairs and plowed straight into his chest. She didn’t seem the most present, either.

“No, no, no. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The last thing he wanted on planet Earth was to get sucked into a conversation with her—not that he had any sort of grudge or concrete reason to dislike the girl—but his head was starting to ache and he craved peace and quiet for just five fucking minutes.

Her fingers were still wound into his shirt, almost holding him there, against the banister of the stairs, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but stare straight into her intensely dilated eyes that studied him like a shark.

“Uh, all good...”

Wonwoo honestly wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and physically set her aside. At the same time, he didn’t think it was the best protocol to act so uncouth with one of your close friends.

“Oh, sorry!” It seemed to dawn on her that she was pinning him against the handrailing. “I just didn’t want to fall.”

She at last loosened her fingers, though Wonwoo noted how she somewhat dragged her hands along his chest in the process of doing so, like that girl had done earlier to Vernon. It was unnecessary, but she was drunk, and Wonwoo thought he could end the conversation quicker if he remained pleasant. Stood at the top of the stairs, Wonwoo smiled at her, knowing how exhausted he was inside.

“I hope you’re feeling okay.”

Bells smiled, swaying her shoulders, “I’ve never felt better.”

“… Are you… sure about that?”

“Mmhm.”

“Do you need water or anything?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh, alright, cool. Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Wonwoo, wait.” She latched onto his arm, fast and sharp.

He paused, not so much because of her grip but mostly from shock, as she had suddenly moved in closer and he could now feel her strength squeezing against his bicep. She batted her eyelashes up at him demurely, and there was nothing he stomached but discomfort.

“What are you doing after this?” The girl hummed, lowering her voice and intentionally smoothing it to add a sultry effect.

Dry swallowing, he debated whether or not he should even respond and instead simply peel her unwanted hand off his arm.

“… Going to bed?” He croaked, shifting in his place.

“Would you want to do something with me?” She bit her lip. “My apartment’s in South Elm. Have you ever been there?”

“It’s not a good idea.” Wonwoo was losing his patience.

“Awe, not a good idea? Why’s that?” She giggled, slowly massaging her hand down the length of his bicep and nibbling on her inner cheek. “We can do anything you want at my place… I live alone… so, I’m up for it. Anything at all.”

“Okay, uh, look. I don’t want to be—”

All of a sudden, Bells was ripped from Wonwoo like a sticky bandage, and while he was more than confused at the situation, he was nonetheless relieved. He assumed it was Princess who’d done the deed, and thus Wonwoo was very surprised to learn that it had been you—you, who did not appear happy in the slightest, and his relief was starting to transform into thick concern because it seemed as though you were going to ricochet Bells head off the banister.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You shouted, shoving a belittling hand against Bells' shoulder and tugging her away. “Why are you fucking cornering him like that?!”

“Uh—what? Cornering him? Her, I’m so confused.”

“Confused? About what, Bells? You’re fucking harassing him! Like, why are you in his face and putting your hands on him?!”

“Woah, woah, woah. What’s your fucking problem? I wasn’t in his face; I’m talking to him. Just talking. You’re jumped up again.”

“Jumped up?! You're one to talk!”

Wonwoo at first tried to intervene, mostly out of serious worry for Bells safety, because you were steaming. However, every time he attempted to speak up, his words would drown out in the echo of your squabbling. It didn’t help that you two were both mentally degraded in your own right—all that anger was shooting straight from your chest to your mouth with no thought involved.

“Just leave him alone!” You jabbed a finger at her chest.

Bells slapped your hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Oh, why? Does it make you uncomfortable, having someone in your fucking face, touching you without permission? Does that make you upset, Bells? Hm, wow. So funny you would say that.”

Wonwoo settled a hand at your shoulder, tugging at you once, then twice, wanting to pull you back without being too forceful.

“It’s okay,” he assured, though his heart was pounding and he wished someone else would help or even take note of what was happening, “it’s not a big deal, alright? Nothing worth all this.”

Again, he was completely ignored.

“So, that’s it?” Bells laughed, throwing up her arms. “Only you can talk to him, and look at him, and breathe around him? That’s all you? No one else is allowed to like, have a conversation with him?!”

“You don’t want to have a conversation with him!” Your fists balled up tight as you screamed at her. “You want him to fuck you!”

“Okay, okay—!” Wonwoo jolted with panic when you pushed the drunken girl, immediately coiling his arms around your waist and lurching you backward before a flailing hand could strike Bells’ face.

Bells stumbled for no less than second until she regained her balance and looked to you with the most seething, nettled eyes.

The situation seemed on the precipice of exploding beyond control, with you wriggling and thrashing against his arms, employing a strength he couldn’t have expected amidst your sluggish state. You were shouting at him to stop intervening, though, he knew letting go meant you would most likely beat the girl’s breaks off.

Thankfully, at the nick of time, Mingyu had sprinted across the room, catching Bells' arm just before it lashed out in a strike.

“What the fuck is going on?!” Mingyu grunted while wrestling the smaller, feisty girl away despite all her manic squirming.

Wonwoo almost got nipped by the unbridled swinging of your elbow as he gritted through his teeth, “I wish I knew.”

He did know. However, it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

“Fuck! Just take Her downstairs!” The boy shouted.

Jesus Christ—that was easier said than done. Trying to haul you backward down a staircase as you twisted, kicked, and screamed a very colourful litany of profanities at your friend was the exact nightmare it sounded like. Vernon’s head had suddenly popped over the banister, staring down at you and Wonwoo, his eyes blown wide with pure befuddlement, as though he wasn’t sure if it was real life or a narcotic delusion. Princess had gone to help Mingyu calm down Bells. Seungcheol had joined the commotion, too, though he didn’t come across the most intelligible. His mind was all fog.  

And yet, somehow, Wonwoo managed to ply you away from the stairs and into the corridor with hardly a breath to spare.

—END OF PART III.

[mariespen]

hihiii can u write a very argumenty angsty story with rafe anything honestly i just need to read some good ass angst and ur angst is sooo good but yeah that’s if you write this or not that’s okay

rafe Cameron x fem!reader a/n: Hi!! Thank you so much for the request, seeing them makes me so happy :(( So sorry that this took me forever to write, I tried to write it a few times but couldn't embody what I was trying to say. This plot line helped me out honestly! I hope this was what you were hoping for. ILY!! content warnings: description of injury, mention of drugs, angst, arguing and yelling, swearing, happy ending bc I can't do angst without one

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Your face was pale with worry as you stood in the kitchen, trying to distract yourself from your growing anxiety. Your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, was known to get himself in trouble very often. Usually you would be there to pull him out of it, but Rafe had stormed out of the house in a rage around 5 hours ago, shouting something about his new dealer and you knew there wasn’t a word you could’ve said to stop him. You knew that for a fact because you’d been thinking about it since he slammed the door.

The music you were listening to was turned up almost all the way as you attempted to drown out any thought that you could have by using the loudest music you could. However, you had to turn it down because the intense feeling just added to your stress. 

Sitting on the kitchen counter, you scrolled through the many texts that you had sent Rafe over the hours. There wasn’t any sign that he had even seen them and eventually they just stopped going through, a very blatant sign that his phone had died. Eventually you gave up, giving into your anxious tendencies and pacing around the house, your breathing panicked as you checked your phone constantly.

The front door slammed and you flinched at the sound, running out of the living and praying it was Rafe. When you looked at him for the first time that night, his face was bloody and sweat-ridden. His eyes were wide and each of his fists were red with blood that you could bet wasn’t his. Rafe’s hair was scattered and his clothes were torn in a few places, red staining the fabric.

“Rafe..” You said, watching as his dangerous gaze fell onto you.

“Don’t wanna talk about it..” He said, wiping blood from his nose and pushing past you with a grunt, “out of my way.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“What happened?” You asked, following after him. Your heart was pounding with anxiety and anticipation. Your breathing was still quick and panicked as you looked up at him again, wincing at the sight of his face.

“Told you I didn’t want to talk about it.” Rafe spat, putting out his arm to force distance between the two of you. 

“No, you don’t get to do this!” You protested as he stormed away. The worry and concern turned into anger and resentment in your little heart as he gave you another cold shoulder.

“Fuck off, will ya?” He said, not flicking his eyes to you once as he spoke.

“Rafe..” You said softly again, trying to get a better look at his current state. “Jesus! Will you just-“ He said, swatting your hand away, “Just leave me alone!” He stared you down, his voice rising with his anger.

“Please, just tell me you’re okay.” You said breathlessly, starting to pace backwards.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” He said, turning to look at you full on, watching you wince at the sight of his injuries.

You stood back, the feeling of anger burning a hole in your gut.

“God, what is your problem?” You said, muttering your words so that he could barely hear them,

“What was that? What did you say?” He asked, almost like he was challenging you. Instinctively, you look a step back again.

“What is your problem?” You repeated, raising your voice, hesitantly accepting his challenge.

He laughed, a dry and mocking tone as he stared you down. 

“What am I doing wrong?” You took a brave step forward, raising your voice, “I just want to help you!” “Stop! I don’t need you or your help.” Rafe shouted, taking an equal step and shoving a finger into your face.

“Fine.” You whispered, throwing your hands up in surrender and turning your back to him, walking out of the kitchen hesitantly.

You didn’t have a plan when you started to open the front door. Maybe you’d go to Kiara’s house and cry in her bed until the sun came up. Or maybe you’d go to JJ’s just to get Rafe back. God, he’d go crazy knowing that you went to JJ for comfort. You didn’t have to think about it for long, though, because you heard Rafe’s steps behind you.

“That’s not what I meant.” He said, closing the front door before you could leave as he started again, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” You turned to look at him, his face still stern and threatening. In that moment, he had nearly lost his soft spot for you. “Why did you leave me?” You asked, your voice cracking as you reduced it to a pathetic whisper.

Rafe’s gaze softened as you watched his emotions flip around in his head. His tight knit eyebrows sunk down as he looked at your tearful eyes and his bloody lips pursed together with regret.

“Baby..” He whispered, slumping down to be closer to your shaking body.

“Don’t..” You whispered, your voice trailing off as you tried to back away, but you just couldn’t. Not when Rafe was looking at you like you were the only woman in the world. Instead, you took a step forward.

“I don’t want to do this, you know that, yeah?” He asked breathlessly, waiting for you to nod hesitantly before he continued, “Don’t want to hurt my baby girl.” Your heart broke he stared down at the ground, trying not to rest himself into your arms.

“Tell me what happened.” You said sternly with a gentle undertone, like a mother lecturing her child.

“I got caught up when I was with Barry and-“ You could tell he was lying by the way his ears turned a hot shade of red.

“Don’t lie.” You interrupted him, reaching up to touch his bloody cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, relaxing into your touch.

“C’mon.” You said with a sigh, watching his face ease up as you spoke again, “M’gonna take care of you and you’re going to tell me what happened, yeah?” He rolled his eyes in a silent protest as he towered over you, eventually pulling back and letting you walk to the kitchen, following you closely.

You sat him at the kitchen island, wiping the blood from his cuts as you waited for him to talk.

“My new dealer gave me the wrong shit.” He grunted, trying to stifle a wince at the wound disinfectant that you were cleaning him up with. His voice was shaky when he continued, “Went to give him a talk and.. y’know.” You didn’t want to push him, so you nodded along with his words. After Rafe’s short truth, you sat in silence and finished bandaging what you could, wrapping his knuckles with different band-aids.

“I’m sorry.” Rafe said when you finished, looking up at you from his seat, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” You offered, kissing the bandage on his cheek before helping him up, walking upstairs to your shared bedroom.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, m’kay?” 

He groaned, eventually giving in and reluctantly agreeing.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

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[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: Just something that came to me and wouldn’t leave me alone. I promise I’m still working on inbox requests & other things! ❤️❤️

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, insecure reader, insecure Steve, mentions virginity/ loss, best-friends to lovers, self-esteem issues on both sides, and fluff!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Female Reader

Wordcount: 1,988

“No, no. It’s okay, Steve. I promise. I understand.” You force a smile so wide that you internally cringe.

You hope he won’t notice, but he does - of course he does. It’s you. And as Steve watches you busy yourself with organizing the countertop snacks you had just unpacked together, slowly turning your back on him - he’s wishing someone taught him better communication skills.

It was a shocking conversation to have. Well, the ending anyways. You’d start off asking about dates and if he had any, he would ask you about that one guy who keeps coming in to rent Risky Business, all because you’d mentioned liking it his first time here. Whatever, that was yours and Steve’s movie, this guy could get lost. But then, you surprised Steve.

To the point, short and sweet… or crude? Steve nearly felt his teeth go through his tongue at your shyness entangled tone, as it wrapped around such a heavily sensual request.

“Do you wanna have sex tonight?”

At first Steve just shook his head, clearing all those fogs from previous head injuries, sure he hadn’t heard you correctly. You were probably asking him if he wanted to find someone to do it with. But you continued, “I do.”

That’s when it became a little alarming for him. Were you going somewhere else with this? To someone else? Or the other option that had his heart rate kicking him the ribs, dusting his bones to ash, making everything tighten, flood his body with heated flush. He’d managed to speak, voice trying to remain impassive.

“You’re a virgin though.” He deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. But I can still be horny. Probably hornier than you get.”

Jesus. That glaring stare you fixed him with as your manicured nails wrapped around a box of M and M’s. His jugular constricted around a painful vice. The images, ones he can’t deny picturing when he shouldn’t. Why would you want to be with him?

Your sigh at his lack of conversational participation, got him to snap out of it, following you to the candy rack and pressing his knuckles into the countertop to rest upon. He knocked them a few times, opening his line into the topic. “So, you’re sayin’ you really wanna do it tonight with this guy?”

It was causing anxiety to fester in both of you. He wasn’t getting it. You know him like the back of your hand, of course he thinks you want to be with the video renter dude. But that guy is the last person you would ever think about. You’ve learned to be the one with confidence when it comes to Steve in the last two years.

That was different before you’d gone through things together, became best-friends. King Steve and shy girl you. Cliche, only to evolve. You had jutted your hip, forcing a bravado to shield you as you looked into those sparkling amber eyes. His highlights reflect under the cheap lighting in here, making you nearly lose yourself - but you catch it.

“I’m asking if you’d like to come over tonight, have a meal with me, share a piece of cake, and then I want to know if you’ll…” Okay, you lost your train, fumbling into the winds.

Steve was too close, smelling of laundry detergent and cigarettes, his cinnamon gum lingering on his breath, his aftershave and cologne combo. When you had faced his intense gaze, you knew that he was awaiting your words with a reserved patience. As for Steve? He could barely catch his breath, fingertips down to his toes prickling with a nervous energy.

And then you say it… you ask him.

“Will you be with me tonight, Steve?”

You were asking him to be the first person inside of your body, like you didn’t just change his entire world. It’s not that he’d never been with virgins, especially Nancy. Her, even the others entrusting him in his King era - he always felt honored, wanted to make it good for them. But she was special, and you - you’re a different kind of important to him at this stage in his life. Someone he sees, the only person he sees with full certainty in his future.

His heart caved in the moment that his negative thoughts took center stage. You had never asked him out, never made a move. Sex. That’s what you want him for. He loves you and you expected him to have actual sex with you, guide you through painful, pleasurable, unfamiliar, intense sensations, knowing he’s the first and only to do so, and then carry on normally. It’s out of his mouth before he even has a chance to think through other options.

“I can’t, honey.” And once it starts, it just keeps coming. “We’re friends, and sex… the first time should be with someone you love, trust me.”

He was so caught up that he missed your crestfallen features, the way your bottom lip wobbled, and you began to fill in invisible blanks of your own trick-filled mind. Your body was light, feet heavy. You couldn’t do anything, say another word, so you made up something to do while you collected yourself. Boxes that were already unpacked and placed.

Steve kept going, “You understand, right? I’m sorry if I —“

You had cut him off.

Humiliation washes over you, your voice is unsteady. “No, no. It’s okay, Steve. I promise. I understand.”

Sounds stupid to you. You both know you’re lying. And you’re about three seconds away from crying, so you bend down and scoop some spare boxes into your arms. “M’ gonna toss these so Keith doesn’t have a lot to bitch about tonight.”

There’s a lot of things that Steve can do. He can deal with his miscommunication regrets, or he can try to explain things to you in the best way he knows how. Because if there’s anything he’s learned living in Hawkins - every single day is a damn miracle here, considering what people don’t know the truth about. And when he thinks about those vines being wrapped around your throat, he finds his own air supply cutting itself off. He’s out the back door and catching you around the elbow, just as you finish tossing in the last of the boxes.

You won’t look at him, a tell-tale sign that you’re crying and ashamed about it. His stomach feels sucker punched, his fingers reaching out to gently brush beneath your chin, bringing your head into a tilt. Yup. Your eyes are flooded over, soaking your cheeks. You go into immediate overtime, doing exactly what Steve is constantly doing - apologizing.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that position. I was being creepy and unfair. I know we’re friends, I know you aren’t attracted to me, I know that —“

He halts your hyperactive breathing, pressing his forehead to yours as a grounding technique. “Hey, hey. You always tell me to stop apologizing, and I need you to do it too.”

You’re breathless at this action, but it helps soothe your rising panic.

You find yourself incapable of anything more, leaving Steve room to tell his truth. There’s a shaking in his voice, a vulnerability he’s not felt since he falsely thought he loved Nancy still and told her (Nostalgia, it faded fast. He's pretty sure he realized he clung to that to save him from his fears of falling in love… with you. It didn’t work). Your breathing slows and he presses a kiss to your forehead, nose bumping yours as he breaks away. Here goes nothing… but everything.

“I said I can’t because I want you to be in love with the person you’re having sex with. That’s… “ he taps his fingers against his sides, nose wrinkling, and then he finishes. “That’s the most important thing. That he is someone you won’t regret. It’s a lot to handle when it’s your first time. It’s intense when there’s feelings involved, sometimes, even when there’s not.” He’s rambling, all the while you’re watching him practically pace, folding into himself, looking frustrated to put words together. “And I, honey… I just want you to have that. I want you to love the person that gets to experience being your first, because… I think that he would want you to love him, too.”

It hits you like a fucking freight train. Your heart explodes into your chest cavity, a painful ache lashing across your entire torso and sending off alarms into your brain. He said no because he’s scared… He is terrified that you’ll hurt him. So he doesn’t know? All this time and he still can’t tell the looks you give him are your forevers? That the babies he told Nancy he wants - you dream about carrying them someday?

You smile through your tears, wiping them away with the back of your hand, and it’s you that reaches for his massive palm. He squeezes back, wet lashes darting back and forth, trying to gauge what you’re going to say. Your spare hand finds his cheek, brushing along those marks, marveling at how wonderful he is and how he doesn’t know it. He’s so perfect, so beautiful. He’s your Steve.

This next part comes as natural to you as breathing.

Your voice is damp, words gliding right off, eyes wide to receive his reaction. “Why do you think I asked you, Steve?”

You can’t help the sob that escapes you at his free flowing tears. He isn’t hiding it, he’s shocked. He looks like he thinks you’re lying, that this is a dream. His irises dart back and forth at rapid paces, his hands holding onto you as if you’ll float away. “Are you sure that you want me? Because that means that you… It means you’re saying how you… feel a certain way.” He looks as if he can barely swallow.

You’re smiling softly, lifting onto your toes to nearly meet his mouth. Your statement tickles his lips, making his tongue glide across them, grazing you. It sets you both ablaze.

“It means that I’m feeling exactly what you said I should feel, Steve. And it means that I want you. I want to give this to you, if you want it?”

Steve answers without pause given.

“I want it,” His mouth is open, his breaths choppy, words trying to accumulate. His fingers trace behind your ear, resting there, his remaining hand cradling your jaw bone. “You don’t know how much I need it, how much I need… just you.” He says with certainty.

There’s a notion that’s settled within your chest cavity, a build-up fire starting between your legs, stirring flutters in your belly. You edge in closer, lips on his Cupid’s bow. “Show me tonight. What you’re like, what you feel like.”

Never in a million years could you have predicted that your first kiss with Steve Harrington would be by the dumpsters, in the back of Family Video. But as he leans down to dip his nose into your cheek, his lips capture your top lip — it’s all over for you both. That breathless, engulfing inferno drowns you, carries you into a place you won’t go back to, can’t come back from. He pulls you into his arms with a passionate embrace, just as your lips separate with a slick smack, your mouth trailing down his chin to his throat, before you bury your face into the surface of his chest, declaration mumbled right against where his heart races for you.

“Everything that comes with me, it’s always been yours, Steve. I promise.” He’s panting with pure, raw, need. A tightness in his chest and in his damn jeans.

His voice vibrates across your ears, rumbles through his chest when he speaks. “Everything I’ve got to give, you can have it, honey. M’ yours.”

[viking-raider]

Moon Crazed *Mature*

Summary: Henry seems especially crazed on his birthday, and you don't understand why, until you check the calendar again.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warning: M - Fluff, Angst, Banter, Pet Names, Language, Gray Hair Appreciation, Cuddles, Supportive Spouse SMUT - Birthday Sex, Oral (F receiving), Fingering (F Receiving), Unprotected Sex (Wrap it!), Possible Voyeurism, Sneak Attacks, Doggy Style, Hickeys, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Super light Anal, Rutting, Hinted Breeding Kink, Light Spanking, Body Fluids, Biting

Inspiration: Henry's 40th Birthday being on a literal Full Moon!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

You hummed softly, standing at the refrigerator as you filled your water bottle with ice from the dispenser. Unaware of the predator stalking up behind you. Until strong hands grabbed a hold of your hips, causing you to let out a startled scream and drop your bottle, the ice chips rattling in the black plastic as it struck the hardwood floor.

“Henry!” You yelped as he spun you around to face him, but smiled, nonetheless. “What are-” You started, but he captured your lips in a hungry, heated kiss, that had you breathless before you could finish your question.

There were black spots in your eyes, when the kiss finally broke and you were dizzy, only vaguely aware of a coolness from your waist down, then Henry's hands were back on your hips and he was lifting you onto the island in the middle of the kitchen. You hissed, feeling the cold butcher block on your bare skin, Henry having stripped you of your pants and underwear.

“Whoa, Cavill!” You huffed, pressing your knees together and planting your palms to his collarbone. “The fuck has you so crazed?” You asked, seeing how bright, clear and wild his blue eyes were, his pupils blown out from his mounting arousal.

“This.” He purred, his voice rumbling, as his fingers swiped at your exposed folds.

“Oh, holy Jesus!” You gasped, off guard, wiggling on the counter. “Right, Okay.” You panted, softly. “Birthday boy is in a mood.”

“Birthday boy is hungry.” He growled, dropping to his knees and yanking you to the edge of the island, your legs draped over his broad shoulders, while his mouth showed no mercy at attacking your womanhood.

Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his curls. “What is it? A full moon!” You cried out, eyes crossing and rolling back, feeling Henry's tongue swirl against your swelling clit. “Hen-Ry.” You moaned, hands slipping from his hair as you fell back across the counter, the muscles of your thighs twitching under his onslaught.

“Such nice red velvet.” He cooed, his breath hot against your wet folds, as he licked your icing off his lips.

“You're crazy.” You wheezed back, your head lulling side to side, while you gazed up at the vaulted ceiling.

Smirking, Henry pressed his lips to your humming pearl, drawing a breathy moan from deep in your throat, with the gentle suckles that only grew with intensity. His tongue flicking out to tease, torture and collect your sweet nectar, but never yet permitting the mounting rapture that balanced on a knife's edge. You tried rolling your hips against his mouth, antsy to feel that sweet relief at the mercy of his skilled mouth. But Henry's hands gripped them, pinning you to the counter with a near bruising strength.

“It's my birthday.” Henry huffed between your thighs, glaring up the length of your heaving body, feeling the throb of his clothed girth at the sight of the mounds of your breasts, nipples hard through the fabric of your shirt. “Behave.” He growled, slipping a hand into your shirt to pinch and tease one of your peaks, while his mouth left a dark purple mark on the inside of your trembling thigh.

You shivered at the contact, whimpering, but laid as still as you could. Henry chuckled, loving the madness he was driving you into. He laid an open mouth kiss to your pearl and took a deep breath, filling his senses with your heady scent, that only seemed to drag him deeper into his own psychosis. You hiccuped at the feel of his teeth nipping at your dripping petals, lifting your head and letting out a shocked huff at Henry, whose eyes only regarded you mischievously, not willing to stop and lift his head.

His tongue finally split you open, licking and snaking down your tunnel, chuckling at the hums and pants you were making at the attention. He removed his hand from your hip, his thumb easily finding your clit and applied just the right amount of pressure as his tongue found your spot.

Starting to hiccup, with surprise at the rushing of the orgasm that hit you, your back curving off the counter, before it caught in your throat, face twisting in ecstasy. “Henry!” You cried out, breaking through the surprise, “Oh god, Hen!” You mewled, falling limp as it wore off.

Henry stood up, a heavenly and satisfied look on his face. “Mmm.” He moaned, smirking at you. “You taste so damn good, baby girl.” He chuckled, wiping at the droplets on his lips and chin, before tugging down his sweatpants.

“Shit!” You cried out, nails clawing at the butcher block underneath you as Henry eased his weeping cock into you. “Warn a girl!” You barked, hooking your shaking legs around his thighs.

“That was your warning, babe.” Henry laughed, gripping one of your hips and planting his other hand on the counter, as leverage.

You looked up at Henry and saw a familiar glint in his blue eyes, but it seemed a bit more than usual. “Christ alive.” You sighed, gripping the wrist he had at your hip.

“You're all strapped in, honey?” He chuckled, rubbing your hip with his thumb.

“I know you, Cavill!” You answered, clenching around him.

Moaning, Henry bit his bottom lip and pushed his hips forward into you with as much strength as he could, rocking you further up the counter. With his pace set, Henry didn't relent, not even when your nails broke the skin of his wrist.

“Filling you up never gets old, babe.” Henry panted, recovering from his climax. “Unlike somethings.”

“The hell does that mean?” You wheezed, gulping thickly.

“Nothing.” He sighed, pulling you up and kissing you sweetly on the lips. “Just rambling. Come take a shower with me?” He asked, smiling at you.

“Of course.” You nodded, sliding off the island and following upstairs to the master bathroom.

Later that afternoon, you stood in the laundry room tossing things from a hamper into the washing machine, when you looked up and saw Henry's reflection in the window that was behind the machine.

“Hey there, handsome.” You cooed at him, leaning into the hamper to grab the last handful of dirty clothes. “Did you have a good workout?” You asked, tossing them in and closing the lid.

“Mmhm.” He replied, resting his shoulder against the door frame to watch you.

“Good.” You smiled, pushing up on your toes to reach the controls and started the machine, just as Henry pushed off the door towards you, trapping you against the vibrating appliance. “What—Oh, this again?” You purred, feeling his hand slip around you and into the band of your leggings and panties. “You are in a randy mood today, Puppy.” You said, in a sultry voice.

“Just today?” He husked back, gently rubbing your still, slightly, sore delicates.

You chuckled softly, unsure how to answer that or if it was rhetorical. “You always make me feel good, Henry.” You moaned, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “Above other things.” You smirked, kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Mmm.” Henry moaned back at you, working his fingers a little more vigorously against your privates. “What other things?” He asked, pushing your shirt up and cupping one of your breasts in his paw.

“I think you're currently do-doing a goo-good job.” You gulped, pressing your back harder against his chiseled chest.

“Oh yeah?” He smirked, pressing his lips to the top of your head, as a finger crooked into your entrance, teasing. “You like when I finger you?”

“Like is an inadequate word.” You whimpered, toes curling against the tiles of the laundry room floor. “Love it. Get off on the mere thought of. Have a yearning for most hours of the day.” You confessed, bracing a hand on the edge of the washer to help keep yourself up.

Henry smiled into your hair and allowed you to give in, feeling your wet warmth wash over his hand. “I love pleasuring you, more than almost everything else.” He cooed, turning you around to cup your face in his sticky hand, kissing you deeply.

“More laundry.” You giggled, after breaking the kiss, taking off your leggings and soiled panties, opening the washer machine to toss them in, yelping as Henry's hand connected to your bum.

“If I had it my way, you'd only be naked at home.” He grinned, biting the corner of his lip at the mere thought of getting to see your naked body at all hours in the privacy of your home.

“Oh, of that I am sure, my love.” You snorted, nodding your head. “And the feeling is mutual.” You added, tugging on the front of his shirt.

“I can fix that.” Henry laughed, blue eyes glittering.

Laying on your bed, arms folded beneath you, exhausted from the events of the day, you were again unaware of Henry coming for you, until you heard the floor creak.

“Christ alive!” You spooked, looking at him, before busting out into a smile, finding he was stark naked. “What has gotten into you, Henry?” You asked, rolling onto your back to look at him. “Twice already today we've had shenanigans throughout the house.” You said, running your eyes along his godly body. “Not counting our regular morning meeting.”

“Is it so hard to believe I can't get enough of you.” Henry asked, cocking a brow in your direction.

“No, not in the slightest, husband.” You purred at him, feeling his waves of need coming off of him, even from the gap between you. “It's just strange. You haven't been this needy in quite a while.”

“I've been on a mission to correct that.” He confessed, closing that gap. “Get undressed.” He ordered you, standing at the edge of the bed.

Smirking at him, you pulled your shirt off over your head, breasts bouncing as you did, much to Henry's delight and increased arousal. But when it came to your shorts, thumbs hooking in the waistband of them and your panties, you pushed them down painfully slow, your eyes dead on Henry's. You watched his throat bob and his fingers flex, as he pulled out every ounce of willpower not to launch forwards and rip the article of clothing off of you, himself.

His willpower finally broke and he snatched your pants off the rest of the way, tossing them carelessly aside, then climbing into bed with you, rolling you back onto your belly.

“Oh, we're just being a ball of fun today!” You giggled, as he used his knees to push your legs apart, one thick arm wrapping around your waist and hoisted your hips and bum up, while rutting his hard cock against the valley of your cheeks, grunting in your ear.

“I'll show you fun.” He growled, biting the side of your neck, while grasping himself at the base.

You let out a breath, feeling his tip run down between your cheeks, making the space slick with glossy droplets. He paused to tease your special hole, causing you to gasp and clench in surprise, a rumble of a chuckle bubbling out of Henry as he carried on, rubbing your pleasantly weeping entrance.

“Do you like it when I play with you?” He rasped, pressing his forehead against your temple, his eyes dark, like a storm over an ocean. “When I fill you up.”

“Hm.” You hummed, pushing back against him, eager and impatient to feel him fill you again. “I love it.” You whispered, breathily. “It makes me feel good, Henry.”

Smirking, Henry slowly eased himself inside of you, wanting to feel every little bit as he did. A shiver ran down both your backs as the last inch of his manhood came to rest in your sensitive canal, flexing and molding around him. With quick snaps of his hips, Henry drove himself into you without giving away any ground.

You moaned, hands twisting up in the duvet beneath you as Henry rocked harder into you. Arching your back more, adjusting him and causing you to let out a sweet, almost deafening, cry. Henry grasped the underside of your jaw, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder and closing his mouth against your throat, timing his sucks and bites with his thrusts.

Leaving behind yet another mark of his passion for you.

“Henry, please.” You moaned, brows creasing. “Touch me.” You gulped, licking your lips.

He moaned against your neck, removing his hand from your face to slip it beneath you, finding your swollen bud, drenched in your combined fluids. Henry was torturous at rubbing clit, but did nothing to rush the pace of his hips. You whined, kicking your feet a little bit and shifting your knees to try and get more leverage, but Henry used his own body to keep you in place.

“You devil.” You sighed at him, yanking your neck away from his mouth.

“Mmhm.” Henry hummed back, not missing a beat, but smirked at you devilishly, before pulling away from you, standing up on his knees to watch himself slide in and out of you. “What a beautiful sight this is.” He purred, rubbing his palm up and down your glistening back, squeezing your neck for a moment.

“Pity you can't see it yourself.”

“Feels amazing as is, big boy.” You answered, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Henry popped you on the ass, applying more pressure to your clit and increased his thrusts, rocking the headboard against the wall. You gripped the duvet for leverage and rocked in tune with him, feeling the hot build of your climax, soft whimpers leaving your parted lips and tears blurring your vision as it finally boiled over, surging around Henry's shaft, the hot pulse intensifying as his own orgasm mounted.

“Henry!” You cried, the sensation of him pumping searing ribbons of his seed into you just as maddening compared to your own.

Pulling out of you, Henry dropped to his side beside you, flushed, sweaty and panting. You rolled onto your side, unfazed by the massive wet spot on the blanket the two of you made, and looked at your husband, smirking. Reaching out for him and gently brushing the damp curls off his forehead, your eyes softening at the sight of the grays you saw in them. Especially at his temple. They drew a smile across your lips.

“What are you smiling about?” Henry asked lazily, cracking an eye at you.

You giggled at him, wiggling in closer. “Just noticing all the new grays you have.” You cooed, resting your head on his bicep and twisting the graying curl around the tip of your index finger, fondly, only to have Henry turn his head out of your grasp.

“Old man.” He huffed, a frustrated crease between his brows.

“Hardly!” You laughed, amused, pressing a kiss on his sternum. “Just because you turned forty today, doesn't make you an old man, Cavill.”

“I damn well feel like one.” Henry growled, fixing his blue eyes on you. “Never this winded after making love to you.”

You sucked your bottom lip in, biting down on it, as you regarded him with understanding and loving eyes. “Is this what everything's been about today?” You finally asked, cupping his bearded cheek. “You sneak attacking me everywhere in the house.” You smirked, your body tingling at just recalling them, but your smile faded seeing the look in his eyes and face.

“Do you think you can't--” You struggled for a moment, a lump in your throat.

“Satisfy you.” He finished for you. “Yes. I've been worried that hitting forty meant that I would lose the ability to keep satisfying you. Seeing the gray hairs in the morning, when I get up to shower, has only increased that anxiety.” He confessed, looking away from you.

“Henry.” You mewled, heartbroken at your husband's words. “You have never lacked there, or anywhere. Today is a fine example of that.” You tried to get him to understand. “We were intimate four times throughout the day, on top of the festivities for your birthday. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

Henry looked back up at you, a look of relief in his cerulean orbs. “You don't think I look silly with them?”

You huffed and clicked your tongue at him, rolling your eyes. “Henry Cavill, I've known and seen you with a great many looks over the last eight years, because of your occupation, and I've never known you to look silly.” You told him, honestly. “Even when you thought you would with the Kingstache.” You giggled, grinning at that memory.

“Lord, that was an identity crisis.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“But,” You looked him squarely in the eyes. “You with gray hair is rather dashing, in my opinion, and I can't wait to see a few more.”

“Oh, that's how it is!” He said, wrapping his arms around you and rolling onto his back, so you straddled his waist. “You like being married to this gray fox!” He laughed, pawing at your butt.

“What is this! A full moon!” You whooped, wiggling out of his grasp to grab your phone and pulled up what phase it was. “Sure as hell!” You laughed, looking over at him. “Your birthday is a full moon!” You smirked, setting your phone back on the nightstand and crawled back into bed with him.

“So, my gray fox is Moon Crazed!”

“Crazed by something.” Henry purred, pulling you in for a kiss.

[fan-therapy]

General NSFW- Simon "Ghost" Riley and Konig

i hope all of you are surprised by me every time i post. one minute i'm writing for death note and danganronpa and then this happens. i don't plan any of this i literally do i what i want. no rules ever.

WARNINGS- NSFW NSFW NSFW. SMUT. i swear these are the horniest thoughts i could put in here, throat fucking, size kink, a tiny bit of angst with them being sad about hurting you, and yeah slight mentions of ACCIDENTALLY hurting you, mentions of handcuffs, oral (givind and receiving)

!!NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

Simon "Ghost" Riley

-hmm...

-throat fucker. but in the best way possible

-istg he can (and will) call you the sweetest names while he just destroys your throat

-size kink? yeah

-no matter how big or small you really are, he can STILL always make you feel tiny pretty much because he's strong enough to throw you if he wants to (he won't though)

-he absolutely will not bring pain or sadism/masochism into the bedroom. it is a hard no from him. he already feels like a bad person for what he sometimes has to do for his job but he cannot hurt you. he's not doing it.

-anyways

-he's big and he knows it. he knows EXACTLY how to use it.

-he's not big on quickies? he lasts kind of a while between rounds and will go multiple times if you want

-he's not big into risky stuff or experimenting? like i just don't think he'd be super into toys or anything

-i also think he isn't super loud. besides some groaning and panting, its not a lot of sound

Konig

-i think he's a little less confident (obviously)

-but he doesn't really recognize that he's really... big

-he might end up unintentionally hurting you but he doesn't mean to! he just gets a little excited and can't control himself very well

-but he feels really bad about it :( he needs a lot of reassurance so he really really never lets go of the incidents where he accidentally hurts you </3

-not super big into too many intense kinks

-he doesn't want to restrain you tbh, but if you want to, you can handcuff him if you feel like it

-i think he's a little louder than ghost, but not by much? he keeps it quiet cause he's embarrassed about people hearing him. but a lot of panting and probably some whimpers (oh jesus christ)

-he's big on giving and receiving oral

-he likes giving because it's fun to watch you squirm, and he just finds it enjoyable?

-but he likes receiving because it feels good...

-also isn't very confident in his skills, but he damn sure should be cause goddamn is he great at what he does

[guiltyasdave]

say you'll remember me

chapter 5 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: The aftermath. (Because I am dramatic)

word count: 1.9k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, somewhat unhealthy relationship dynamics, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks big time), able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, slut shaming, pure angst I'M SORRY

a/n: co-written with my angel @joelscurls, i love you <3

i'm sorry that this took so long and also about the... contents of this. it's the last official chapter, but there will be an epilogue. if this is stressing you out and you'd feel more comfortable knowing if there will be a happy ending, please feel free to shoot me a dm <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’ masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

“Where’s my what?”

David steps through the open bedroom door, pulling a washed out t-shirt over his head, tousling his hair even further than it was before. He’s not wearing pants, only the briefs that he so eagerly got out of less than an hour ago. He freezes at the scene in front of him. 

You’re painfully aware of your own appearance, painfully aware of how obvious it is what you’re doing here. There’s zero chance of talking your way out of this one. 

Your father is still standing in the doorway, jaw clenched impossibly tight, his gaze flickering between the two of you. You steal a glance at David, finding his eyes already on you. Regret is swimming in them, threatening to drown you both, and you know that he’s come to the same conclusion. You’re done for. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

It’s clipped, the quiet and cold tone that you’ve had a lifetime to get used to, but it’s tinged in anger, with an intensity that you’ve never heard before. The step you take back comes instinctively, following the desperate urge to get closer to the man behind you, the man who makes you feel safe, even now. A scowl forms on your father’s face as he clocks the movement. 

“Jim–” David tries, arm halfway raised like he’s reaching out. To you or to your father, you’re not sure. 

“I was in the area, thought I’d drop by, even though you weren’t answering your phone.” His chuckle is devoid of humor, his eyes flashing darkly. “Guess you were busy.” 

“Dad, please…” You’re not sure what you even want to ask for. For him to hear you out, to understand? 

He shakes his head, looking you up and down, disdain written clear over his face. 

“Put some clothes on, Jesus Christ. I’m taking you home.” 

You look at David again, desperate for just a hint of comfort, no matter how small. The promise that, somehow, everything will be fine. He gives you a curt nod towards the bedroom, no discernible emotion in his expression. 

You’re uncomfortably aware of the expanse of your bare legs under his shirt as you walk back into the room, the place that has become your sanctuary over the past weeks. 

“Jim, listen,” you hear David’s voice through the open door. “We just– we were talking if maybe I could get her an internship at the DIA, and it– it just happened. It was a one time thing, I swear. And a mistake. I–I’m so sorry.”

Lies. They seem to fall from his lips so easily, like a story that he had prepared for a long time. Maybe he did. 

“I really don’t give a shit, Dave.” 

You hear David sigh, can see his accompanying expression in your mind. The pursed lips, the firm jaw. 

“I guess that’s fair.” 

You don’t want to leave, don’t want the tense car ride, don’t want to be alone in your room and replay this over and over. You’re already circling through scenarios how this could have gone differently. 

Why did you have to go open the door? Why didn’t you let David get it? Why did none of you notice his phone ringing? Why hadn’t you been more careful? 

When you re-emerge from the room, neither of them has moved. Your father’s expression is unreadable, a stoic kind of coldness that doesn’t betray any feelings he might have. 

You can’t help looking at David’s face when you pass him, searching for comfort, reassurance, anything. Some sign that he didn’t mean it when he said you and him had been a mistake. But he’s staring at the floor, his face like a mask. 

You bite your lip, avoiding your father’s gaze when you step past him and down the stairwell. He’s gonna have more to say about this, you know it. 

He’s fulfilling your expectation after a few minutes of silence, the tension in the car so thick that it feels like you’re getting crushed by the sheer weight of it.

“Always taking the easy route, aren’t you?! Rather just spread your legs than to put in some actual work, fucking hell…” 

Your lips fall open at his words, a disbelieving huff escaping you. 

“Dad, that’s not–” 

“That’s exactly what it is,” he cuts you off, his grip tight on the steering wheel, venom spitting from his mouth. “I didn’t think I raised you to be a whore.” 

You snap your mouth shut, staring straight ahead, tears brimming in your eyes. It had never even crossed your mind, the thought that you’d get anything like a job out of your… situation with David. It was never your motivation. You just– wanted him. Wanted him to like you. 

It hurts, hurts more than you want to admit to yourself, to have your own father jump to that conclusion so quickly. To know that he has no issues seeing you like that, thinking of you like that. 

“You embarrassed me,” he continues, even angrier than before. “Throwing yourself at the first man you see.”

Heat is rising in your cheeks. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a whispered sound, shame ringing with the words. You don’t want to apologize, but it comes like an instinct, the only acceptable option that you have. 

“You’re gonna stay home for the next two weeks, until your break is over. You’re gonna study and maybe, if you show me that it’s not a complete waste of money, I’ll keep paying for that goddamn school.”

Your head whips around to stare at his stony profile beside you. He’s grounding you?!

“Dad, I’m not a child!” 

He shrugs, pulling up to the house. 

“Well, since you’re acting as irresponsible as a child, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

He doesn’t stop you when you throw open the car door, fumbling with the house keys before you get the door open and stomp up to your room. Angry tears are blurring your vision, blood pounding loudly in your ears. 

You’re not thinking straight, thumbs flying over your phone screen, a message about how this doesn’t mean anything, how you’ll figure this out, how much you still want him, flowing from your fingertips. David doesn’t respond. 

You cry yourself to sleep that night, tossing and turning in your sheets, your dreams full of vague shapes and scenarios, replaying the day’s events over and over. 

Your father checks on you the next morning, pointedly asking about your plans for the day, seemingly content with your mumbled, spiritless responses about revising coursework and working on applications for an internship. 

“You can do better than the DIA, you realize that, right? Hardly any money to make there.” 

You nod silently, forcing down the ragefit about how you don’t give a shit about the DIA, or about any job for that matter, that it never fucking was about that. 

You’ve never had a particularly strong intention to actually follow your father’s orders and not leave the house, but it’s out of the window when your phone finally vibrates with a message from David, asking if it’s possible for you to meet him. 

You’re out the door in a heartbeat, paying no mind to the security cameras recording you, to the consequences of this. It’s like you’re on autopilot, the stress of the past 24 hours erasing all rational thoughts from your mind. 

David meets you at the door, a sight so painfully familiar and yet entirely new, because of the look on his face. Devoid of emotion, a mask of the man that you know, but not this version of him. He pulls you into an embrace, one that you desperately want to melt into, but his arms are stiff around you, coldness seeping into your bones despite the warmth of his body. You suppress a shiver when he doesn’t even lead you further into the apartment. You’re standing in the hallway, the short distance between you suddenly unbridgeable. From the corner of your eye, you notice his bedroom door. Firmly closed, once more. 

“Sweetheart–” he begins, rubbing his neck with one hand. A nervous gesture, so vastly different from the self-assured, always in control David that you’re so intimately familiar with. 

The rational part of you knows what this means, can almost predict the words that he’s gonna say next. It gives you a strange sense of déjà vu, reminds you of another time when you were in this apartment, so sure that he didn’t want you, that he was going to end this thing with you. 

You were mistaken back then. You know that you’re not mistaken now, because the David in front of you is nothing like the one from back then. It’s glaringly obvious, the difference between them, the cold determination that you see in his eyes only right now. 

“You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you? F–for real this time?” 

Your voice barely wavers, your eyes don’t stray from his face. It’s like you’re walking through a dream, through a living nightmare, eerily aware of what’s gonna happen next but with no way to do anything about it. 

Hurt flashes in his eyes, gritting his teeth, swallowing down a lump in his throat. He only manages a silent nod.

You feel your face crumbling, hot tears finally springing to your eyes. Your throat grows tight. 

“Please… please don’t. Please.” You have to beg, have to at least try.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, running a hand over his face. “I never should have– it was a mistake. You know that, right?” 

You shake your head, eyes wide and silently pleading with him, unable to form words. He sighs, pain clear on his features as he cups your cheek. 

“Baby, I– I wish things were different, but– you’re so young. You’ve still got your whole life– you don’t need me. I never should have allowed this. I’m sorry that I did.” 

You choke out his name, the one that, unbeknownst to you, no one else uses. That he’ll never let anyone else use again. 

“But I want you,” you whisper, stepping closer, pressing your face into the familiar crook of his neck, breathing in the comfort that the scent of him brings. He chuckles weakly, a humorless sound, gently moving out of your embrace, his large hands finding your shoulders instead, prompting you to look at him.

“You shouldn’t. I’m not– I’m not worth it. I won’t let you fuck up your life over this.” 

Acceptance and denial are battling in your heart, the knowledge that you kind of always had but buried away deep down finally resurfacing. He isn’t yours to lose and he never was. 

“I’ll miss you,” you whisper, tears silently streaming down your face. You need to ask, need to know if this ever meant as much to him as it did to you. “Will you miss me at all?” Will you even remember me?

His lips tilt up in a sad smile, and you could swear that his eyes are glassy as he gently presses his mouth against your forehead one last time. 

“Always, sweetheart.”

.........................................please remember that i love you