#the sorting hat is never wrong

[rubbermalletrabbit]

Christmas? Made this to be my pfp but ehh not feeling it.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 45: Heat of the Moment

Summary: There's a nervous energy to the pack as you all deal with the looming threat of your oncoming heat.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 11,479 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, a/b/o, omegaverse, NSFW, 18+, explicit sexual content, smut, heat cycles, mating cycles, p in v sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, rough sex, biting, scratching, spanking (it's like once), squirting, knotting, some violent imagery, blood, slight angst, language, slight fluff

A/N: You're welcome

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“You look nervous.”

He gives Christine a look. She’s put her doctor hat back on, sorting through supplies Johnny and Kyle picked up on their run to town. His eyes track her hands to avoid staring at her face, watching as she tucks gauze pads into the first aid kit. He swallows thickly, nerves blooming in his stomach.

She is right. He is nervous. His thoughts have been racing since he said those words, since he made the decision to man up and help you through your heat. There’s no going back. He can’t change his mind on this.

No, he’s wrong. He’s not nervous.

He’s terrified.

“It’s okay to be nervous.” She says, snapping the lid closed. There’s stacks and stacks of boxes of nutrient bars and a stack of electrolyte drinks next to your door. The things that will keep you both alive during the next week.

“I’m not nervous.” He says unconvincingly.

It’s her turn to give him a look. “This is new for you, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re not.” He says, his fingers twitching where they rest against his knees.

“Well, then there’s some things we should go over that might ease your nerves a bit.” She says, shifting into doctor mode. “There’s a lot that can happen during an omega’s heat, but the likelihood of something bad happening is very slim. Bad things do happen, but it’s a very slim margin data-wise of it happening.”

“But it could still happen.” He says. There is still a chance. Things have happened before, they could happen to you.

She gives him a reassuring look. “You’re not going to hurt her. Omegas aren’t as fragile as you think. Especially not during their heats.”

“But us both being purebreds...the first time we had sex, it was out of control.” He argues.

“And that’s likely the worst it’ll get.” She says. “Being purebred gives you an advantage in a heat. You’re more in tune with your instincts, which in turn will make you more in tune with her during her heat. You’ll be more aware, more conscious of what she needs and what’s happening. No alpha truly loses themselves in a rut. Things get hazy, of course, but there’s still a deep level of awareness there.”

He ponders her words, the nerves starting to ease a bit, but they don’t go away entirely. He’s never done this before. He has no idea what to expect.

“Besides, you won’t be alone for a week. It’s not just a week straight of heat-induced haze. There will be periods of awareness when things die down for a bit. That’s where betas come into play. They come in, check on things, make sure you’re well and eating and staying hydrated.” She gives him a smile. “Johnny will be here for you, and Kyle’s done this twice so he knows what to do. And if nothing else, you have me here in case, on the very rare off-chance, something does happen.”

As much as he hates to admit it, her words to ease the worry just a bit. Still there’s that deep nagging in his stomach, a pit starting to form. He could hurt you. He could do permanent damage. The mental image of him coming out of his rut to a bloody corpse won’t leave his head. Your absent gaze on his face, wearing nothing but the look of betrayal. You trusted him and he shattered it.

“You’re just as bad as she is.”

The words draw him out of his thoughts. He’d floated off into his head, off into the distance where nothing but nightmares lie. He gulps, his eyes flashing to Christine’s face. She’s wearing a small smile, her eyes soft as she stares at him. He drifted off so easily, off into his thoughts just like you do. It unnerves him, but it also speaks volumes of his trust. As much as he doesn’t want to like her, he feels safe enough with Christine to lose his head.

What’s happened to him?

“It’s kind of boring really.” Kyle says, sorting boxes of nutrient bars, putting your favorites on top. “Just a lot of sitting around and listening to two people fuck the next room over.”

“Do ye ever…”

“Sometimes.” He answers. “It’s hard not to at first, but eventually you’ll get so tired of it you’ll pray for the end of the week to come faster.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“You will.” Kyle smirks. “It gets old pretty quick. You’re mostly just listening for any sounds of pain and waiting for a break so you can go in and check on them, make sure they’re eating and drinking.”

“What about that time ye joined them?” Johnny asks.

“That’s entirely different.” Kyle says after a moment. “Focus more on keeping them alive and well this time.”

Johnny goes quiet for a moment. Never a good sign. “Do ye ever get scared for them?”

Kyle is taken aback by the question. He pauses sorting boxes for a moment, thinking over how he’s going to answer that. “I did during her first heat.” He says honestly. “I half expected to walk in there and find a bloodbath or a dead body. I sat there and waited for a sound, ready to rush in there to try and prevent it from happening. It wasn’t needed, though. John took good care of her. It’s rough coming out of it, but they both made it.”

“What do ye do after?”

“First step is make sure it’s actually over. You can tell just by touching her. The fever goes down, she gets sleepy. You get them into a hot bath first, helps with their recovery and temperature regulation. You clean up and change the bedding while they’re in the bath. Then you get them settled in bed again, bundle them up. She cries a lot. Makes you feel bad but it shouldn’t. It’s just a natural response.” Kyle stares at the stack of boxes. “Then it’s just a lot of resting, trying to get them to eat. She’s good at knowing what she needs, and you just let her lead.”

Kyle puts a hand on Johnny’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. The Scot looks downright terrified, more terrified than Kyle’s ever seen him. He understands, though. It’s a lot to take in, a lot to understand, a heavy weight to bear. The weight of making sure two people lost in their instincts don’t die or kill each other on accident.

“Don’t worry too much.” He tries to comfort Johnny. “You’ve got me right here with you.”

The living area is dark. You can just make out the shapes of the couches thanks to the nightlight in the kitchen. It’s late, and there’s a nervous twisting in your stomach. You stand in your doorway, staring out into the darkness towards the black void that is the stairwell. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, the cool metal grounding you as you stand there in contemplation. You’ll wake them, no doubt, and that could be dangerous.

Still…

Your feet lift up onto your toes as you slowly cross the living area, skirting around the dark shapes of the couches. Your body pauses at the base of the stairs, glancing up at the black void above. The bottom of the steps are visible in the darkness up close, and you carefully lift a foot to place it on the wood. You pause there for a moment before lifting yourself, placing the other foot on the same step. The wood creaks softly under your feet and you pause, not even breathing in the stillness.

Nothing moves so you continue, taking it step by step as you tiptoe up the stairs. Every creak and groan has you pausing and for a moment you question if you should have risked it and turned on the light. Creeping around in the darkness with three well-trained soldiers sleeping nearby was probably not the wisest idea.

Still you press onward, pausing at the top of the steps, listening for any movement. You doubt you’d be able to hear them if they were alerted to a presence in their sacred area, but still you hold your breath, ears thrumming in the still silence of the house.

You turn on your toes, going for the door on the right. Your fingers wrap around cold metal, slowly turning. You half expect him to be up and waiting to ambush, but instead you can just make out his form tucked under the covers in the darkness. The door clicks shut behind you as you close it quietly, tiptoeing closer to the bed.

“Kyle?” You whisper, standing there nervously. What if you startle him? What if he stabs you before he realizes it’s you? “Kyle?” You whisper a bit louder.

He lets out a grunt, his head lifting off the pillow. “Huh?”

“Can I join you?” You whisper, relief starting to quiet the nerves. He had been asleep the whole time.

He hums, rolling over and lifting the covers. You quickly slip under the warm blankets, staring up at him in the darkness. You can just make out his tired eyes. You feel bad for waking him when he’s going to need lots of rest later, but you can’t sleep. Nerves untouched by relief still twist in your stomach.

“Kyle?” You whisper his name as he wraps an arm around you.

“Hm?” He hums again, settling under the covers again.

“It’s going to be okay, right?” You ask.

His hand presses against your back, warm through the thin t-shirt you’re wearing. “Everything will be fine.” He murmurs sleepily. “Simon’ll take good care of you.”

“You’ll be there too, right?” You doubt he’d leave, but still part of you needs that reassurance.

“’Course.” He says, pulling you close. “Be right there with Johnny.”

“I’m scared.” You admit quietly, pressing your face into the pillow.

“’S alright.” His breath fans the top of your head.

You lay there in silence for a moment, his breathing slow and even. He’s fallen back asleep, something you need desperately. You could go into head in a manner of hours for all you know. It’s dangerous, leaving your room at such a time, but you need the comfort of your beta right now.

You press your face further into the pillow, inhaling deeply. Something twists in your stomach as you lay there, breathing in the scent on the fabric. The nerves start to settle and you relax further into Kyle’s hold, keeping your face pressed against the pillow.

It smells a bit like John.

“I’m goin’ crazy.”

“You’re going crazy? How do you think I feel?”

“Does it normally take this long?”

“It happens when it’s going to happen.” Dr. Keller says, trying to placate your nervous pack. It’s been six days since you first began to go into pre-heat and everyone is a bit on edge. “There’s no set time between pre-heat and when the actual heat starts.”

“Wish it were like clockwork.” Kyle says.

“You and me both.” You sigh. You’ve been on edge ever since your pre-heat started, something you’ve come to expect. It’s nerve-wracking waiting for the inevitable. You’ll lose your mind, black out and a week will have passed when it’s felt like hours. It’s terrifying, and you’re never quite ready for it. “The anticipation is enough to drive you crazy.”

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says, nervously bouncing his knee so hard it shakes the table.

“You have the easy job.” You snap, squeezing your hands into fists until your nails bite into your palms. The nerves continue to rise the longer the hours drag on. No one is doing anything but sitting and waiting for the inevitable fever that will hit you.

“The boring job is more like it.” Kyle says, trying to diffuse the attention. “Can’t even imagine being on the other side.”

“And you’ve seen it firsthand.” You say, remembering your second heat with John. The vague glimpses of Kyle in the dark haze.

Kyle smirks. “And what a time it was.”

“Fucking christ.” Johnny groans, putting his head in his hand.

“None of that this time.” Simon says, putting an end to the thoughts swirling in the Scot’s head.

“C’mon.” Johnny almost whines.

“No.” Simon puts his foot down. He doesn’t even glance at you. He doesn’t have to. As much as the idea is appealing, you’d rather your first heat with Simon be just with him. You don’t know how this is going to end, and you’d rather not have someone else be involved in the carnage that might remain by the end of the week.

Nerves still prickle under your skin despite your pack’s attempts at calming the tumultuous energy that’s settled over everyone. It’s almost too much now, your palms starting to sweat where your hands are still curled into fists.

“Be right back.” You murmur before pushing away from the table, heading towards your room.

You leave the door open but stand there for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. You stare at the bed, at the sad attempt at a nest of sorts. The big bear is on the floor, as Simon will want it when he gets sealed inside with you. He might see it as a threat and destroy it, even if the thought sounds a bit ridiculous. You have no idea what his mind is going to be like. He’s not like John. He’s rougher, harder, more intense. The thought has something twisting deep in your stomach.

He’s not the only one worried there might be carnage left.

Your first time together had been intense to say the least, and that was while you both had clear heads. Lost in his rut, Simon could easily do damage.

You remember the buckets of plaster, the paintbrushes in the sink, your mother’s long sleeved turtleneck in the dead of summer after coming home from the care center after one of her heats. There were bruises on her face too that she tried to hide with makeup. You were one of the few that got close enough to notice.

Something about it had made you sick, almost as if you knew that would be your future.

You let out a shuddering breath as you climb onto the bed. You sit yourself down in the center, staring at the pillows and stuffed animals arranged haphazardly. It’s not right, but there’s no drive to make it right, no urge to build a nest from what’s sitting in front of you.

“You can’t force it.” A soft voice says behind you.

You turn your head to glance at Dr. Keller. “Isn’t it dangerous, going into heat without the safety of a nest?”

“Not always.” She says, taking a few steps into the room. “You’ve gone through heats before without a nest. It’s riskier, but it’s not impossible.”

“This entire situation is risky.” You murmur.

“What makes you think that?” She asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Simon and I...we lose control around each other. I’m scared...I’m scared that might happen again. And without a nest to feel safe...what if I get violent? What if Simon takes it as a challenge? Will he be able to settle without me having a nest?” The words come pouring out before you can stop them, all of the worries bubbling up like a volcano about to erupt.

“I wouldn’t be too worried.” Dr. Keller says, trying to be reassuring. “There’s a lot that can go right, and the odds of that happening are far higher than the odds of things going wrong.”

“I’ve seen it.” You say quietly, staring down at the comforter. “What happens when it goes wrong.”

“Simon won’t hurt you.” She says, putting a hand on your back. “He’s more in control than you think. There has to be a drive there to cause pain for that to happen in a heat. Heats draw out raw instincts, peel back the layers to bring forth the hidden inner self.”

You think over her words, think of the remnants of violence you had witnessed as a child. It makes your stomach twist. Your father really hid all of that beneath the guise of being a perfect pack, a perfect alpha.

You’d be a fool to think your father ever loved your mother. I’d be even more foolish to think he ever even liked her. She was nothing more than a status symbol, something to give him what he desired and nothing more.

That’s the difference, though. Simon likes you. Love might be too strong of a word, but you know he at least enjoys your company. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt you. Even back when you were fighting just for tolerance of your existence, you knew deep down he’d never go out of his way to hurt you. He nearly fought an alpha for you within weeks of knowing each other. He willingly showed you his face and has gone without his mask since then.

He’d never hurt you. He’s never wanted to hurt you.

“You really think we’ll be okay?” You ask quietly, your voice small and broken as you stare at your lame excuse for a nest.

Dr. Keller rubs your back gently. “I know it.”

He’s not ready.

He has no choice but to be ready.

It happens suddenly, but then again he knew that would happen. There’s no head’s up, no countdown. It comes on suddenly and then it’s go-time.

His hands are shaking.

He already knew before Johnny ascended the stairs two at a time in a frantic race to get to him. He could smell it wafting up the steps before your cry of pain in the kitchen. It made him flinch, his entire body tensing. He knew what it meant, even if he’d never heard such a thing before now.

“Simon, it’s time.” Johnny says, panting slightly. From his run up the steps or the sudden burst of adrenaline he’s not quite sure. They’re all so out of shape compared to what they once were.

“I know.” He rumbles, setting his book on the nightstand. He hadn’t gotten very far in it. He’ll likely have to restart it in a week. He was barely paying attention to the words on the page anyway.

It’s time.

He has to keep telling himself that as he rises from the bed. He debates shoes but thinks better of it. There won’t be any use for them. They’ll just be in the way. Even if something does happen, he’ll be too lost in his head to care much anyway. They’ll be entirely reliant on Johnny and Kyle to watch the house, and them.

Something about that is comforting.

Simon takes the steps slowly, descending with heavy footsteps. He feels as if he’s heading to his funeral. In a way he is. The death of his old self, the death of his boundaries, the death of his fear of vulnerability. Once he passes through that door, there will be nothing left of his old self.

Perhaps that’s a good thing.

He pauses halfway across the living room, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Still no word from Price. Something itches in the back of his mind but he shoves it aside. No time to think on that right now. He almost pockets his phone again, but he thinks better of it. He passes it off to Johnny, the Scot standing there, pale and wide eyed. He’s just as nervous as Simon feels inside, and he can practically hear his beta’s racing thoughts.

“Keep an eye on it.” He says, putting a hand on Johnny’s shoulder. “Any word you tell me as soon as this is over.”

Johnny can’t do anything but nod, his throat bobbing as he gulps.

“You’re a good lad, Johnny.” Simon squeezes his shoulder. “I trust you.”

Something shifts in his beta’s eyes at the words. He needed to hear that, Simon thinks. He’s got a big job to do, even with Kyle here to guide him.

Simon turns towards the other beta, giving him a nod. He can smell you already, your scent heavy in the air, clinging to your beta’s clothes.

It’s making his head start to go fuzzy.

He takes a breath, staring at your closed door. It’s now or never. There’s no going back once he enters. Some deep part of him wants to turn tail and run, escape out the door and never come back. Some deeper part of him wants to take the source of that scent in his teeth and shake it like a dog.

He’s not sure which one is more terrifying.

His fingers tremble as they close around the knob. He takes another breath, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders as he slowly twists.

The scent hits him like a train.

He’s never been hit by a train, but he’d imagine it’s something like this.

It barrels into him, invading his senses and numbing his mind. His thoughts start to seem far away as he breathes in the overly sweet musk spewing into the air like a fountain.

His eyes search out the source, and he finds it on the bed.

He finds you on the bed.

You’re laying there, naked as the day you were born, panting like a bitch in heat. You are, he supposes. You’re on your back, knees bent and thighs pressed together. There’s a hand between them, and he can just see the subtle movement of your fingers.

Needy little thing.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he takes a step forward, closing the door behind him. It seals the two of you in, closing the last barrier between the you and the outside world for the next week.

His scent starts to mingle with yours, thickening in the air as his body responds to the pheromones from your heat. He read about this, he read about all of it in preparation. Yet those facts seem far from his mind as he stands there, breathing you in.

How sweet. How delectable.

He could devour you right now.

“Simon,” You whimper his name, pathetic and quiet. Your fingers tremble as you reach out a hand for him. “Help me.”

Something stirs in him at your begging tone. You need him. You need him to help you. He’s the only one that can.

The thought has his alpha stirring in the back of his mind. Something he hasn’t felt in a long time starts to run through him.

He crosses the room in three long strides, his hand reaching out for yours. It’s warm to the touch as his fingers trace your palm. It’s so soft and feverish, sweat beading on your forehead as you stare up at him with hooded eyes. He didn’t think your whole body would be hot with your heat. He thought it was more metaphorical.

So little he truly knows.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist as his own slide down yours. Your grip is weak, squeezing as tightly as you can.

“I’ve got you.” The words rumble out of his lips, his fingers closing around your own delicate wrist. Your scent invades his brain, continuing to thicken in the air as your fingers squelch in and out of your pussy.

He bends his body down, pressing his nose against your wrist, drinking from the source. It’s so sweet, sweet enough he’d have a mouthful of cavities if one could turn this scent into candy. He wants to bite down, wants to sink his teeth into you and chew until there’s nothing left.

A rumble of approval vibrates in his chest, your body shuddering in response. A quiet whine leaves your lips, pulling him out of his haze.

“Fucking hell…” He groans, standing back up to his full height. He stares down at you, at your pathetic form laying there in the bed. “Look at you.”

Sweat has coated your skin in a shiny sheen as you lay there in the ghastly overhead light. He should turn it off. He knows how much you hate it, but he can’t move. He can’t bring himself to care. His very being is starting to slip away, being replaced by a primal need to bite, to chew, to shake, to devour.

“Alpha,” You whimper, laying there panting under him. Your fingers attempt to squeeze his wrist but the motion is weak and more of a twitch than anything.

The word coming from your mouth has a tingle starting in the base of his spine, shooting up into the deep parts of his brain. His alpha purrs proudly, practically preening at the sound of its status leaving your lips in such a desperate manner.

You need him.

“Say that again.” He almost growls, his head starting to spin. It’s a euphoric feeling and he’s barely touched you.

“Alpha!” You call out, your voice pitched with a whine. Your legs pull up off the bed, curling in on yourself in desperation.

You need him.

His fingers slide down your arm, gliding through the sweat soaking your skin. He wants to lick it, taste you in your most base form. Desperate and needy for what only he can give you. Only he can offer you relief to the plight plaguing you.

The power goes straight to his brain, then down his spine to his cock.

It’s hard already. He’s been hard since he walked into the room and was hit with the barrage of your scent. His cock had twitched to life, standing at attention, ready and waiting. His jeans are uncomfortable and he almost wishes he’d opted for sweatpants.

His hands close around your upper arm, tugging you across the bed. You move without resistance, sliding across the thin sheet. The bed protector crinkles under your body, the small protection for the mattress from the slew of fluids destined to coat it over the next week. He doubts Kyle’s parents would be happy if they destroyed the mattress.

The idea of leaving his mark here forever has his mind reeling, though.

His mouth starts to water as he tugs yo rather harshly, spinning you so your feet rest on the edge of the bed. You’re still panting as you stare up at him, your pupils blown. Goosebumps cover your skin despite the heat flowing through your body as you hold his gaze.

Bold, he thinks. Part of him wants to punish you for staring at him so openly, but another part of him loves it. Your defiant nature, the thing he knows lays deep inside of you, coming out to play.

You can call me alpha now. The words ring through his head. He wanted to punish you then, when you’d uttered those words. How dare you make such a bold claim. Yet at the same time it amused him. Little omega trying to play big alpha leader. He wonders what would have happened had he succeeded to you. Part of him wants to do that now, just to see what you’d do.

Did John ever let you take control? It wouldn’t have lasted long. His instincts would have taken over quickly. What would you do if he laid down in your place and let you take control.

No, he wants to be in control.

He stares down at you, holding your gaze. Your fingers are still moving between your legs, pumping in and out in a desperate attempt to ease the need throbbing deep within you. No matter how much you want to take over, you still need him. You’re nothing without him right now, and that thought makes him shiver.

“Look at you, all needy f’me.” He murmurs, his fingers toying with the bottom of his shirt. His clothes are starting to feel constricting, heat blossoming beneath his own skin but he’s too caught up to care. “Show me.” His voice rumbles deep in his chest. “Show me how much you need me.”

Your teeth sink into your lip, little minx, as you part your thighs. They’re wet with your juices, your fingers still stuffed into your little pussy. Slick dribbles out around them, your entire had soaked from the fluid. A low rumble vibrates in his chest as he stares down at you, his fingers darting down to wrap around your wrist.

He tugs your hand from between your legs, slick dripping off your fingers and onto your stomach as he holds it in the air. Your pussy flutters around nothing, more slick seeping out of the drenched hole. You let out a low keen as he growls, your legs trying to close together in search of friction.

“Fucking hell…” He groans, dragging a hand across the bulge in his jeans.

He releases your hand, his own finding the backs of your thighs. He pushes your legs up to your chest, guiding your hands to hold behind your knees.

“Hold those f’me.” He orders you, his hands sliding down to the curve of your ass. His thumbs pull you wide open, your hips pressing up into his hands.

“Need you, alpha.” You whine breathlessly, the need evident in your voice.

It goes straight to his head, making his mind buzz with excitement and pride.

You need him.

“Need you now!” You whimper, pressing your hips up again.

A yelp leaves your lips as his hand comes down, his fingers stinging from the sharp slap he delivers to your pussy. “Patience.” He snaps, taking a step back.

He stares down at you, laying there spread open for him. He wants to devour you, and his brain is trying to decide which part to taste first. Your skin, your mouth, your pussy. Hell he’d suck on your toes right now if it means he’ll get to taste you.

Impatience tugs at his own mind. He’s wasted enough time dragging this out. He needs to act and fast, not just for his own sanity, but for yours as well. He watches your face, lips parted as you breathe. Your chest is heaving, body trembling from the effort of holding yourself up. He knows you’d lay there the entire week if he wanted you to, but that would be cruel.

Finally he moves, dropping down to his knees in front of you. Kneeling for you already and he hasn’t even gotten you to do that yet. He could have. He could have commanded it as soon as he walked in and fucked you just like that, starting this process off quickly.

No, he wants to savor this as much as he can before he loses himself too much.

Your pussy clenches as he comes face to face with it, inhaling the musk floating off of your body.

“Look at this pretty little pussy.” He growls, goosebumps forming on your skin where his warm breath fans it. “All wet and dripping just for me.”

You taste like heaven.

His vision nearly goes white as he drags his tongue through your folds for the first time. He could cum in his pants just from tasting you, like a needy pup getting his first look at a bare set of tits. A growl rumbles through his chest, his hands lifting to press against the backs of your thighs.

“Sweet as sugar.” He growls, dragging his tongue through your folds again to get a second taste.

Just as heavenly as the first.

He wants to bury his face in your pussy and never come out. He could crawl in there and live happily for the rest of his life.

He dips his tongue into your hole, slick coating his tongue. The muskiness of your slick paired with the sweetness of your pussy is umami on his tongue. He’ll never taste anything as good as this. Now he understands why alphas get so addicted to heats. He’d happily do this for the rest of his life if he could.

You whine at the third pass of his tongue through your folds, your hips pressing against his hands.

“Patience,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. It’s hard under his mouth, slick dribbling out against his chin.

His shirt is going to be stained, but that’s fine. He may never wash it again.

“Please, alpha.” You whine, your hands sinking into the sheet under you. You’re so desperate, so needy for relief, relief only he can bring you.

The power is going to his head, traveling straight downward to his cock.

He shushes you softly, pressing another kiss to your clit before he wraps his lips around it. He sucks hard, slurping at your slick-coated folds. Your legs shake around his head, toes already curling. You’re so close already. You have to be after fingering yourself for so long.

His head is starting to spin, shivers running up and down his spine as his instincts start to come alive. He has a need to have you, possess you, devour you. His teeth scrape your clit, a sharp whine leaving your lips at the sensation. His fingers bite into your skin. He’ll leave bruises but he doesn’t care.

Omegas aren’t as breakable as you think. Christine’s words float through his head.

He’s going to find out one way or another.

He presses harder against your thighs as they attempt to close around his head. He wants you splayed open like a piece of meat set out for him. This bed is the table, and you are the dinner laid out for a starving man.

He sucks messily at your pussy, drinking in your slick and sucking at your clit. Your whines are getting sharper, louder as you get closer and closer to your orgasm. He can feel it, more and more slick seeping out of you and coating his face as your pussy flutters.

“Alpha!” You cry out as your first orgasm washes over you.

You shake under him, slick gushing out of you from the force of your first orgasm of the week. He doesn’t ease up, wrapping his lips around your clit to drag out your orgasm as much as he can. You’re still hot under his touch, sweat coating your skin and his where his hands press your legs into your chest.

“Good girl.” He mumbles around your clit, giving it a soft kiss before dragging his tongue through your folds again to gather your release.

It’s musky on his tongue, tinged with your natural sweetness. He could get addicted to this taste. He could spend the next week with nothing but his tongue buried inside of you. That would be cruel, though.

That’s not what you need.

He doesn’t relent though, his tongue pressing into your heat to drink from the very source. His face is slick from your juices as he fucks you with his tongue, his fingers bruising on the backs of your thighs. It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten a cramp yet, but perhaps you don’t care.

Omegas aren’t as breakable as you think.

He wants to test that.

You’re a whining and shaking mess as he buries himself in your pussy, nose pressing against the hard bud of your clit. Your body jolts, pushing up against his face. He’d drown here happily, but he has more to do. He doesn’t want to die just yet. Not before he’s had the chance to stick his cock in you.

He lifts his head, slick sliding down his throat and onto his chest as he licks his lips. He pushes himself up to stand, looming over you as he presses you down into the mattress. Your eyes are hazy, lips still parted as you stare up at him. The fine strands of hair that refuse to be tamed by your braid are sticking to your forehead, pinned there by the sweat soaking your skin. There will be an imprint of your back on the sheet from your sweaty body, he thinks.

He’d roll around in it if he could.

He finally releases you, your legs slowly dropping downward. You’re unable to hold them up on your own, already weak in your own need. He leans over you, pressing a knee between your thighs as his hands sink into the mattress on either side of your head. His jean-clad thigh presses against the heat between your legs, your hips jerking against the fabric.

His hand slides up your body, dragging through the sweat between your breasts, up your throat to your jaw. He grips it tightly, digging his fingers into your cheeks.

“Look at you.” He rasps, pushing his fingers downward. “Open.”

You do as he says, opening your mouth for him.

He leans down, a glob of spit dropping from his mouth onto your awaiting tongue. He doesn’t even have to tell you to do it as you close your mouth and swallow.

Bloody fucking hell.

He leans down, pinning your body to the mattress as he leans down to kiss you. “Missed this pretty mouth.” He groans, forcing your lips open with his tongue.

Your hips grind against his thigh as he kisses you, smearing your slick across your own face. It’s wet and sloppy, desperate and needy. He’s growing just as needy as you are, his cock throbbing as you wrap your arms around his back. Your hip drags along the bulge in his pants as you grind on his thigh, his own hands gripping the sheet this time.

“Fuck…” he groans, pulling away from your lips. “Gonna make yourself cum just like this? Gonna make yourself cum against my thigh like a needy bitch in heat?”

“Yes, alpha!” You whine as his lips trail down your jaw, licking at the sweat on your skin. Fuck you taste so good.

He drops his head, nudging your jaw with his nose. You tilt your head, submitting to him without protest. His alpha purrs in delight as he closes in on your neck, pressing a soft kiss against the sweaty skin. He scrapes his teeth across the delicate skin, the idea bouncing around in his head to leave bruises, to mark you up.

Omegas aren’t as delicate as you think.

His teeth close around a bit of skin, sinking down until you let out a quiet yelp. He releases the skin, pressing a soft kiss to the spot before moving further down your neck.

Your hands sink under his shirt as you continue to hump his thigh, nails biting into the skin of his lower back. He lets out a growl, biting down on your throat again. You sink your nails in harder, trying to hurt him as much as he’s hurting you.

Feisty thing.

He relents first, giving you the satisfaction as he returns to your lips, giving you a searing kiss.

“Alpha,” You moan against his lips, your nails raking up his back. It makes him shiver. “Touch me.”

“You want me to touch you, omega?” He growls, nipping at your lips.

You whine, your hips jerking against his thigh.“Yes! Please!”

“So polite.” He grins. “How can I say no?”

He pushes himself up, leaning a hand on the bed as his other hand trails back down your body. He pulls his leg away, your hips jerking in protest. He smirks, his fingers ghosting over your clit before cupping your pussy. He can feel the pulse of it against his fingers, slick instantly coating his skin.

He doesn’t hesitate, sinking two fingers into your heat. You whine, hips bucking at the intrusion. His fingers sink in easily, almost as if your body is opening in welcome for him. It is. He can feel the pull of your walls, trying to drag his fingers in as deep as they’ll go.

Fascinating.

He can only imagine how it will feel against his cock.

“Fuck,” He groans, your pussy nearly pulsing around his fingers. It’s almost as if it has a mind of its own. It does, he supposes, in your heat. It’s controlling you, desperate for what it wants, what it needs.

The thing only he can give to you.

It nearly makes him preen, the thought that you’re at his mercy. He can delay your relief as long as he wants.

The power sends a shiver down your spine.

Your pussy flutters around him, tugging at his thick fingers even though they’re as deep as they can go. He grunts, your body pulsing around him as he pulls them back, only for it to pulse again as he sinks them back in. It’s like it’s moving with him, squeezing as he pulls back, tightening as he sinks back in like it’s trying to drag his whole hand into your body.

He might be able to do that right now.

Why he had waited this long to experience this, he doesn’t know. Fear? He doesn’t know fear right now. Doubt? There’s no thoughts in his head, only how much he wants to devour you whole.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his cock throbbing painfully. “I would have said yes to this sooner if I knew it would be like this,” he groans, pushing his fingers in as deep as he can. “Fucking perfect little omega. Just for me.”

“Just for you,” You whine, pushing your hips against his hand.

Shit.

“Needy little thing.” He grunts, curling his fingers inside of you and he slowly pushes them in and out. “Can make you gush around my fingers just from this, huh?”

“Please,” You breathe, clenching around his fingers as the heat continues to burn beneath your skin. You’re so hot around him, not and tight and slick. “Need your knot, alpha.”

“My knot? Oh, love we’re nowhere near that yet.” He grins wickedly at you.

You whimper, the fluttering of your pussy around his fingers intensifying as he begins thrusting them in and out of you faster. He pushes against that spongy spot, angling his thrusts there. Your hips jerk, legs already shaking. He loves this, his little party trick. Even in your heat-induced state it still has your eyes rolling back in your head, pleasure taking over your body.

“Alpha,” You pant, your legs shaking uncontrollably. “Alpha, please!”

“I’ve got you.” He grunts, speeding up his thrusts. “I’ve got you.”

You nearly scream as your entire body shakes, fluid squirting all over his hand. Your hands wrap around his arm, and he’s not sure if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. The wet squelch of his fingers is loud in the air, his hand continuing to push against that spot to drag your orgasm out as long as he can.

“Please, please!” You gasp, body writhing on the bed.

He finally relents, withdrawing his fingers from your pussy. He drags them through your soaked folds, your juices only adding to the slick pouring out of you.

“Fucking hell.” He groans. “Fucking beautiful, that is.”

For a moment it almost looks like you get a bit bashful at his praise. It’s quickly taken over by another shudder of your body, your hands tugging on his arm. He leans over you again, kissing your lips softly. He keeps his fingers stroking through your folds, every pass of his fingers over your clit making your body jolt.

His mouth leaves your lips, his tongue dragging down your jaw to lick at the sweat on your skin. It tastes musky, not unlike the musk between your thighs. You’re delectable, like a gourmet dessert designed specifically to his tastes.

You tilt your head for him again as he drags his tongue down your neck, submitting to him once more.

“Good girl.” He groans, a shiver running down your spine at the praise.

“Need your knot, alpha.” You gasp.

His lips tease the spot right where your shoulder and neck meet. The idea floats through his head but he shoves it back. Not now. Not here. Not like this.

He can’t let go like that. It’s not his place.

“You want my knot?” He growls, distracting himself from the thoughts banging around in his head.

“Yes, please alpha!” You nearly cry, your hips pushing against his hand.

He’ll be kind, this time, he decides.

He pushes himself away from you, a shiver running down his spine. You stare up at him, legs drooped over the side of the bed. You make no move to shift your position, and he’s not sure you can right now.

“You want my knot?” He asks, his voice low and rough around the edges. His alpha is beginning to crawl out of the cage as his head continues to spin. He’s getting close to losing himself, getting close to that darkness that threatens to swallow him whole. A shudder runs through his body. “I’ll fucking give it to you.”

His shirt nearly tears as he rips it over his head. He doesn’t care, letting the fabric drop to the floor. His belt nearly hits you as he rips it free from his pants, tossing it to the floor somewhere. You’re watching him undress, something he once might have felt too vulnerable to do. Now it has him beaming with pride at the pleasure on your face. You like what you see, if your wide eyes and parted lips have anything to do with it.

He drops his jeans, kicking them off before he stalks towards the bed, naked and vulnerable. Yet, it doesn’t feel that way, shut in here with you. You’re just as naked and open, lost in your instincts and fully trusting in him. Something about that makes his cock twitch in pride.

“Present for me.” He growls, uttering the words the once thought he’d never say.

A visible shudder runs through your body at the command, and suddenly you have the strength to turn yourself over. You drag your body up the bed, pushing your knees under you before lifting your ass into the air.

“Fucking hell…” he groans, staring down at your dripping folds on display for him.

He gets it now. He understands. How stupid he was to turn this down the first time.

He cups your pussy, feeling the warm wetness of it against his palm. “You want my cock, little omega?” He growls, his cock twitching in anticipation. “You want me to stuff this little pussy full?”

You whine, arching your back to push your ass into his hand. “Please, alpha!”

You yelp as he brings his hand down on your ass. He watches it jiggle as he fists his cock, squeezing around the base to stop himself from cumming. He hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet and he’s already twitching.

Like a needy little pup.

He steps forward, dragging his head through your folds. You whine, trying to push back on him. He watches, his head catching on your entrance. It’s hypnotic, watching you so desperately try and take what you need.

He’s made you wait long enough. He’s made himself wait long enough.

“Alpha!” You whine indignantly, trying to urge him to hurry up and fuck you.

The power goes straight to his head.

He’s not that cruel, though.

Another whine leaves your lips as he finally relents, pushing his hips forward as he guides his cock into your heat. He nearly cums himself as he finally sinks into your waiting pussy, your walls immediately clamping around him. You’re so tight and warm, fluttering around him to try and drag him deeper.

Who has the power now?

“Shit.” He hisses, resting a hand against your ass as he frantically squeezes the base of his cock.

The thought has his alpha rearing up in protest.

You try and push back against him, try to force his cock in deeper but he stops you, pushing you forward instead. The top half of your body pushes into the mattress, arching your back up higher. He doesn’t even think to check as his hands close around your hips, gripping tight enough to bruise as he slowly presses his cock further into your dripping pussy.

Slick seeps out around him as he forces himself down deeper, spreading you open around his meaty cock. It’s like your body is welcoming him in, squeezing and pulsing as if it’s trying to pull him in deeper. He’s never felt anything like it, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel the same again.

There’s no resistance as he pushes in to the hilt, hips pressed up against your ass. Your moans are muffled, back arching as you push back against him almost like you’re trying to take him even deeper. He’s giving you everything he’s got, and yet it doesn’t seem to be enough.

It’s not.

He knows what you need, but he wants to savor this as long as possible before he loses himself. He wants to remember this. He’s not sure he’ll ever get the chance to do this again.

He wants to do this again.

Your body flutters around him as a shudder runs down your spine. He watches the way you twitch, feet brushing his thighs as you try and squeeze your legs together. You have to be dying with anticipation, waiting for him to make his move, waiting for him to give you what you need.

His hands tighten around your hips, the skin indenting as he slowly draws his hips back. Your body pulses around him, trying to pull him back in. He watches his cock, shiny with your slick, draw back out of your body before he presses back in, being sucked down deep into you. He repeats the motion, groaning at the feeling of your body doing what it’s supposed to do. It’s desperate for his cock, for his knot, and it’s trying to milk that from him.

He won’t give in so easily, no matter how badly he wants to do it.

He drags a hand down your back as he speeds up his thrusts, the wet squelch of your pussy loud in the room, nearly as loud as your needy moans. Slick dribbles down his thighs, coating his skin in your juices. It’s obscene, but it’s delicious.

His hand drops to your pussy, gathering some of the slick forced out of your body by his cock on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, dragging his tongue across his digits to taste you again. Sweet, musky, just a hint of his own taste on his tongue.

Delectable. It makes him want to eat you alive.

“Fucking beautiful pussy.” He groans, thrusting back into you until his hips meet your ass. “All wet and warm just for me.”

“Just for you, alpha.” You say, your voice muffled by the mattress.

A low growl rumbles in his chest, his thrusts speeding up even more, becoming almost brutal as he fucks you. His status falling from your lips in such a vulnerable position has his head reeling, his alpha scratching at its cage to finally be released, to finally get a chance to devour you in all the ways he wants to.

He forces it back, just for a moment longer. He wants to savor this. He wants to make this last as long as he possibly can.

Your body is limp under him, held up only by his hands. You can’t do anything but lay there and take his cock like a good omega. It has his cock throbbing inside of you, pulsing in time with your pussy. You’re going to cum soon. He can tell by the frantic squeezing of your walls around him and the whine pitched in your moans. You’re close, and he’s going to carry you over that edge.

“Alpha!” You whine as he angles his thrusts, his cock pushing against that spot inside of you with every downward movement of his hips.

“Cum for me.” He grunts, pulling your hips back against his with every thrust. “Come on, give it to me.”

Your body shudders, hands sinking into the sheets as you come alive. It’s almost as if he commanded it, your pussy squeezing so tight around him he nearly sees stars. It takes everything in him not to spill into you as you cum, warm slick gushing out around his cock, dribbling down your thighs and the side of the bed.

He doesn’t slow his thrusts, the tugging on his cock from your spasming pussy nearly enough to send him over the edge. He wants this to last as long as he can make it.

Your body sags against his, exhausted from the heat ravaging your body and your orgasm. He pulls out of you, ignoring your whine of protest as he pushes you forward onto the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he climbs up beside you, maneuvering your body so you’re on your back in the middle of the bed.

You stare up at him with hazy eyes, your chest heaving as you pant. From exertion or your heat, he’s not sure. Perhaps both.

He pushes your legs up with his knees, draping them over his thighs as he leans over you. He stares down at your face, sweaty and blissed out. Your pupils are blown, lips kiss bruised and swollen. His thumb drags through your folds before he lifts it to your face, smearing slick across your lips. Your tongue darts out, licking at his thumb as he presses it against your mouth.

Your lips part, allowing his thumb to press into your mouth. Your tongue is warm as it drags over his skin, cleaning your slick from his thumb. He groans at the sight, his fingers sinking into the sheet next to your head.

Your teeth scrape his skin as he pulls his thumb free, sliding it down your chin to your throat. You tilt your head back, exposing the delicate area to him. He longs to sink his teeth into your skin, taste your blood pooling in his mouth. Drool gathers on his tongue, threatening to slip through his lips as he stares at the sweat-slick skin.

His hand closes around your throat, keeping your head tilted back as he sits up. Your throat bobs under his hand as you swallow, fingers digging into the sides of your neck as he holds you there. His cock twitches in excitement, so hard it’s almost painful as he stares at you, laid out before him, completely at his mercy. It’s like an erotic painting, the alpha in control, the omega in her place beneath him.

He could cum just like this, paint his seed all over your stomach.

That would be a waste.

Instead he shifts his hips, lining up his cock again before thrusting into you. Your body opens itself to him once more, inviting him right in. He sinks in to the hilt, hips pressed flush against yours as he leans over you. Your pulse thrums against his fingers, beating fast almost in desperation for what your body needs.

He tilts your head back up as he starts to move his hips, grinding in and out of you slowly. You flutter around him again, legs twitching where they lay draped over his. It’s intense, it’s intimate, it’s a position he never would have allowed himself in had he been in his right mind.

He’s not in his right mind.

He’s so far from his right mind he’s lost sight of himself, of his fear, of his worry. The weightlessness of his brain is euphoric, the last strands of himself left holding onto the cage of his alpha.

He stares down at your face, your gaze holding his. Your eyelids flutter, lips parting as you whine. The sounds vibrates against his hand, your head pushing against his fingers where he holds you still.

“Look at me.” He whispers, still grinding his hips into you. “Look at me.”

You do, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He wonders how much of you is left in there, if you’ve lost yourself completely yet. You’re unable to voice much more than mutterings of his status and pleads for what you need. He wonders just how much of you remains in such a base form of your instincts. Are you even aware of what’s happening?

He squeezes his hand around your throat lightly, constricting just slightly. Your eyes widen, a flash of panic washing through them before it fades as he releases you.

Oh yes, you’re still in there.

He picks up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. Your pussy continues to flutter and pulse around him, pulling him in and sucking him deeper. Your lips are parted, quiet moans leaving your lips, vibrating against his hand. Liquid seeps out of your mouth, sliding across your cheek before hitting his thumb where it rests by your ear.

You’re drooling.

How cute.

A shudder runs through his body as you squeeze around his cock, his balls twitching as he fights an orgasm back desperately. He’s not ready for that yet. Neither are you, he decides. His desire to stretch this out as long as he possibly can winning out against his body’s need for relief.

He releases your throat, his hands sliding up the bed as he lays himself down on top of you, pinning you to the mattress. Your body is hot and slick as it meets his chest, his sweat mingling with yours. It’s hot in the room already, the air damp with sweat and the scent of sex.

He almost misses the cold air in the barracks.

If he had more of a brain, he’d tell them to turn the heat down. Let them freeze if it means things are more comfortable for the two of you.

Your arms wrap around his back, dragging him from his thoughts. You’re moaning in his ear, body arching against his. It’s a beautiful dance, one so in-tune with nature. Humans in their most natural forms, feeding their base instincts.

He wishes he could record this in his mind, keep this memory alive for the rest of time.

“Fucking hell…” He breathes, grunting as you squeeze around him again. You’re close. He can tell by the way your pussy flutters around him.

So much he’s learning about your body.

How little he really knew.

He presses his face against your throat, breathing in your scent. It floods his nose, sinking straight into his brain.

Omega, omega, omega.

His alpha chants it like a mantra over and over. There’s an omega under him. He’s balls deep in an omega right now. He’s got an omega in heat pinned beneath his body, completely at his mercy.

A shiver of power runs down his spine.

He needs you to cum again. He needs to feel you try and milk his cock while he withholds what you need once again.

“Cum for me.” He growls in your ear, your body shuddering against him. His teeth sink into the lobe, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to pull a yelp from your lips. “Cum for me again.”

It’s like he has complete control of your body as you spasm around him, letting out a shrill whine as your nails bite into the skin of his back. He doesn’t care, the pain throbbing at the base of his cock. It’s almost too much. He almost can’t hold it as you flutter around him, trying to milk his cock again. You’re early searching out what you need, but he won’t give it to you.

Not yet.

He lays there for a moment, squishing you into the mattress but you don’t seem to care. You’re still wrapped around him, nails still sunk into his skin. Your pussy continues to flutter around him, oversensitive and desperate, but still eager. Your bodies are both slick with sweat and fluid, and he can feel the wet spot forming on the sheets from where your slick has been forced out by his cock.

Thank goodness for mattress protectors.

He understands their necessity now.

“Please, alpha,” you beg weakly in his ear, finally relinquishing your hold on him to slide your hands down his back.

“Tell me what you want.” He mumbles in your ear.

“Your knot,” You whine, arching up into him. “Please give me your knot.”

So polite, even lost in the daze of your heat.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He groans as your begging goes straight into his brain. He’s held off long enough. He’s tortured you by withholding this for long enough.

He pushes himself up on shaky arms, the exertion starting to wear on him just as much. He can only imagine how you feel. For a moment he considers doing it right here, like this, but it’s not right. No, he wants to see you again.

“Present for me.” he commands, watching in awe as your body immediately moves.

You roll yourself over, popping his cock out of your pussy as you move. It hangs there, red and soaked with cum and slick. You push yourself over onto your knees, front half pressed into the mattress as your hips lift up, presenting yourself to him.

A glob of slick pushes out of your pussy, drooling out onto the mattress below you. He watches it fall, watching where it starts to seep into the fabric.

Bloody fucking hell.

He can’t hold back any longer. He might cum just sitting here if he’s not careful.

Simon pushes himself up onto his knees, his hand fisting the base of his cock. His free hand slides over the globe of your ass, your skin hot to the touch. He leans forward, unable to help himself as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin. You let out a yelp, hips jerking against his mouth. His hands hold your hips still, his teeth biting down until he feels the skin give. A thin trail of blood seeps onto his tongue as he laves it over the mark he’s left. Your legs are shaking, a quiet sob leaving your lips.

How beautiful.

He straightens himself back up, staring at the mark on your ass before he’s shuffling himself forward to your body.

Your pussy invites him in again, still pulsing around him as he sinks into you. There’s no resistance, no fight as he sinks in to the hilt at once. You’d let him do anything to you in this state, and that thought has his head reeling.

He composes himself, hands squeezing around your hips before he starts to move, unable to hold himself back as he snaps his hips into your ass. A muffled whine leaves your lips, muted against the mattress as you lay there, bent in half for him. His hand slides down your spine to your head, fingers slipping into the braid Johnny had done for you this morning.

Was it this morning? An entire day could have passed already and he wouldn’t know.

He’s far too lost in the way your pussy flutters around him, trying to coax his knot from its recesses. He can feel it, the pulsing at the base of his cock, the pressure starting to mount. He won’t be able to stop it this time. You’ve decided it’s time and so has his cock. He’s lost control, and that makes his alpha nearly scream.

His hand grips your hair, tugging you up onto your hands. He holds you there, suspended by his hand, held up only by him as he fucks you hard. His own desperation is clouding his mind, his alpha pushing against the cage. He won’t be able to hold on much longer. There will be no stopping his alpha once he’s free.

His hips slam against your ass, the pressure at the base of his cock intensifying. He stares down at it, at the skin starting to stretch and inflate. He has to pull back, making his thrusts shallow as his knot forms. You whine at the change, pushing your hips back against his cock. No doubt you can feel it, the edge of his knot pressing against your pussy with every thrust.

How is that going to fit in there? He muses.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way, he supposes.

He watches his knot as he continues to fuck you, watching it catch on the rim of your pussy with every thrust forward. You’re a moaning mess, half begging incoherently, half whining in need. He’s so close to giving you what you need. You’re so close to relief. It’s just up to him to give it to you.

Another shudder runs down his spine.

His hand slips from your hair to the back of your neck, gripping you tightly there. He stares at it, the way his hand looks around the back of your neck. Is that what it looked like when he scruffed you? What if he did that now? How brainless could he make you with the simple shift of his fingers?

Your body shudders, your whines slurring together, almost as if you’re drunk. Perhaps you are, your body wearing down after being denied for so long.

“You want it?” He grunts, pushing his knot against your pussy.

You whine in answer, pushing back against him, lifting up off your knees to try and push his knot into you.

He releases the back of your neck, his hands falling to your hips. “Fucking take it.” he grunts, pushing his hips against you as hard as he can on his next thrust.

Your body shudders as his knot starts to push into you, spreading you open even wider. He watches in amazement as your pussy stretches to accommodate him, your walls sucking him in even more. His hips continue to move, thrusting shallowly as his knot is pushed completely into you.

It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

You’re so tight around him, gripping him like a vice. He can’t pull back, locked inside of your hot pussy by his knot. He can’t stop his hips as they try to pull back, tugging on the knot. It’s almost painful, but it’s making his head spin. He’s so close to cumming, so close to finally getting his own relief.

Your body is shuddering, whines leaving your lips with every tug of his hips. He keeps moving, keeps chasing his own high. He’s so very close, the way your pussy is nearly suffocating him enough to send him reeling over the edge.

He sees stars as he cums, his vision going white as he spills into you. He pushes his hips against your ass as hard as he can, his body folding over yours. His cock is throbbing, pulsing in time with your pussy as you milk him for every drop he gives you. You’ve cum again, he can tell by the way you pulse around him.

Your body is shuddering and shaking, getting heavier in his arms. There’s a puddle under your bodies from sweat, slick, and drool.

Drool begins to form in his own mouth as you let out a keening whine, tilting your head to the side, bearing the right side of your neck to him.

“Do it.” You whisper, arms trembling where they attempt to hold you up.

He stares at your neck, at that spot between your shoulder and your neck. It’s calling out to him, singing a siren song to draw him in to his doom. He stares at your sweat-slick skin, indented by his fingers still wrapped around the back of your neck.

It would be so easy.

He’s already sunk his teeth into you twice. What’s one more time?

You let out a whimper, going limp in his arms. He continues to stare at that spot, and he can almost see the pulsing of your desperation, your need, your want in it. How easy it would be, how simple it really is. It’s just a bite and you’re tied together for the rest of your lives. Is it really you in there? Are you asking him this by your own volition, or is it your heat-clouded mind asking something you don’t want.

Or is it something you want being driven forward by your heat?

Could you want it? Would you have asked if you didn’t? What if he makes a mistake?

His knot throbs inside you, his cock finally at ease after getting what he needed. His alpha rears in his head, pushing through the cage of his mind as his vision starts to swim. He still stares at your neck, drool sliding down his chin.

Do it, his alpha goads him. It’s so simple. Just a little bite.

He stares at that spot, the fingers on the back of your neck tightening their grip.

It would be so easy.

His head is spinning, his vision going dark around the edges.

It really is so easy

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[eufezco]

MEETING REMUS LUPIN𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis – after years in hogwarts being rejected by your everyone there for being too much, you meet remus lupin.

a/n – this is really long but please give it a try 😭

c/w – bullying

requested by @boromoony <3

angst. fluff

the morning of september 1st, the sun was barely rising, but you were already dressed and ready to go with your hogwarts letter tightly in your hands. the excitement made it impossible to sleep at all last night. the moment albus dumbledore himself walked through your door months ago, your world changed forever. the words you’re a witch echoed in your mind constantly.

—all those strange things you’ve noticed about her, —dumbledore said, addressing your parents, —the lightbulbs bursting when she’s upset, how she always seems to know when someone’s at the door before they knock... those aren’t accidents. they’re signs of magic.

before dumbledore left that evening, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small stack of books and put them down on the table in front of you. —these, —he said with a twinkle in his eye, —are just a taste of what you’ll be learning at hogwarts.

you reached out hesitantly, your fingers brushing over the covers. magical drafts and potions, one thousand magical herbs and fungi, but it was the third book that completely caught your attention: fantastic beasts and where to find them by newt scamander.

—ah, that one’s a favorite of many, —he said. —the magical creatures of our world are both fascinating and, sometimes, a bit mischievous. that book should keep you entertained until term begins.

the moment you opened the book, you were hooked. the pages were filled with sketches, notes, and stories about creatures you never imagined could exist—bowtruckles, hippogriffs, nifflers... that night, you stayed up late, devouring every word about the beasts and their habitats. could hogwarts have any of these creatures? you flipped through the book again, your heart racing at the possibilities.

so when you stood on the platform 9 ¾, your heart was pounding so hard you thought it might burst and you balanced yourself on your feet out of excitement. newt scamander's book was under your arm, as a kind of lucky charm, during the summer you had memorized as much as you could about the creatures within and you couldn’t help but look at your future classmates, wondering what kind of magical creatures they might be fascinated by.

FIRST YEAR

when the sorting hat called your name and announced you as a slytherin, you didn’t know exactly what that meant, but you loved green, it reminded you of nature, of the forests and trees, and even the slithering snakes you had read so much about. you were so full of excitement, so eager to make friends, hogwarts felt like a fresh start.

you had always struggled with friendships before, feeling like you never quite fit in.

you laughed loud, shared everything on your mind, and tried your best to connect with the girls in your dormitory. you spent your days with them, following the girls around, chatting and laughing. well, they chatted and laughed, because every time you did, they’d look at each other, exchanging glances you couldn’t quite understand. the air would shift, like you had said something wrong, but you had no idea what it was.

you’d share something you thought was funny or interesting and they’d just stare at you, and then their voices would drop into low murmurs. maybe they were into other things like potions, herbology, or the history of magic, maybe they weren't interested in what you had to say about magical creatures.

during lessons, the girls were always so nice to you, especially when it was time for group projects, and you were so naive to even realize that they were just using you. they’d smile at you, pat your shoulder, and invite you to sit with them. it felt like a relief, like maybe you had misunderstood those looks and laughs but when the class ended, they'd leave without a second glance, their arms linked as if you had never been part of the conversation at all.

your first year at hogwarts ended in a bittersweet way. you loved the subjects, truly. you devoured every lesson, every spell, your grades were unmatched, if only broom flying had gone as smoothly, but even that felt like something you could improve with time. on the other hand, you felt the loneliness through the corridors and back to the slytherin dormitory. on the last day of term, the girls in talked about writing to one another over the summer.

but day after day, you checked and no letter came.

SECOND YEAR

the train ride to school felt heavier than the year before. as you walked through the corridors, searching for a compartment, the familiar laughter of your roommates caught your attention. and you sat with them and suddenly all the laughter stopped. not once did anyone ask what you did over the summer.

the more you tried to fit in, the more it felt like you were out of place. you tried to brush it off at first, thinking maybe when you appeared, you just interrupted them or spoken at the wrong moment. but after a while, it became clear that it wasn’t a coincidence. you realized you didn’t have to limit yourself to them. you could meet other people, even outside of slytherin so, you decided to try.

but things didn't go quite well. you overshared about your special interests, waiting for the other people to do the same, but it seemed that your excitement only pushed people further away. you'd dive into conversations eagerly, sharing everything you knew about magical creatures, but they’d blink at you, nod politely, or look for an excuse to leave.

you tried to blame yourself, maybe you were saying too much or maybe you weren’t asking the right questions. you started holding back, answering their questions in shorter sentences, nodding along but it didn’t change anything.

you discovered why no one wanted to be near you, the rumors that had spread far beyond your dormitory. twisted stories, each more absurd than the last—that you talked to yourself late at night, that you were a secret animagus, that you collected dangerous creatures and were plotting to release them in the castle. they made you sound lunatic, something to be avoided. for a moment, you considered fighting back, telling people the truth, but what was the point? you had learned long ago that the more you tried, the worse it became.

maybe there was something wrong with you. maybe you were too much, too strange, too difficult to be around. maybe you didn’t belong anywhere, no matter how hard you tried.

THIRD YEAR

by the third year you stopped trying. you didn’t hang out with them anymore, didn’t laugh too loudly or share too much about the things you loved.

you made a habit of leaving class last and the library became your refuge. you stayed there as long as you could, around books that didn’t judge you, didn’t whisper about you when your back was turned. you poured yourself into your studies and it gave you an excuse to stay out of your room instead of sitting silently on your bed, listening to your roommates complain about how much they hated sharing a room with you.

some of the teachers noticed something was off, but even the ones who suspected something was wrong assumed it was just teenage drama. girls will be girls, you heard professor mcgonagall say.

other teachers just assumed you liked studying. you volunteered for extra work, you stayed late to help clean up after lessons, your essays were always meticulously detailed. so they began giving you extra tasks—not as a punishment, but because they thought you enjoyed it. they called it encouraging your ambition, and you welcomed the work because it kept your mind occupied.

one day, you were sitting near the edge of the lake, your back pressed against a tree, a book about animagi on your legs. you spotted the book on the floor of your favorite section of the library. it wasn’t normal for books to be left lying about yet there it was, dropped by someone in a hurry or someone really careless. you wondered who might have been reading about animagi, a subject that complex.

you’d spent hours flipping through the pages when something small landed in your book. you blinked and looked down. a small twig had fallen from above, landing right between the pages. you reached out to brush it away, but a soft whine reached your ears and it moved.

the twig shuddered and let out another whine, this time a little louder. you stared at it, it wasn’t a twig, it was a tiny creature with thin body and tiny limbs trembling as it struggled to move. a bowtruckle. you gasped fascinated, recognizing the creature instantly from your books. you had read about them, studied their sketches in newt scamander’s book, but you had never seen one in real life. until now.

the little bowtruckle looked up at you with wide, beady eyes. you could see a faint crack along one of its delicate limbs, it was hurt.

—it’s okay, i’m not going to hurt you, —you whispered. carefully, you set the book aside and cupped your hands around it, creating a little shelter for it. it didn’t flinch or run away. —poor thing, —you murmured. you glanced around, you couldn’t see any other bowtruckles and you wondered how this one had ended up here. you pulled out your wand, thinking back to a section of fantastic beasts that described how to soothe and heal bowtruckles. you improvised, muttering a soft episkey and focusing on the tiny crack along its limb. the crack was gone. the bowtruckle blinked up at you, its expression almost... grateful. it climbed onto your finger, its tiny claws gripping your skin. for a moment, you just stared at it and it let you admired it. it felt like magic in its purest form. you stood carefully, and you gently lifted your hand, guiding the little creature back to its home. —here you go, —you whispered softly, holding your finger close to the tree. but instead of jumping, it clung to your finger and its tiny claws gripped your skin. it let out another faint whine, its small body trembling. you froze, unsure of what to do. its wide, dark eyes looked at you, and you could feel its fear. —you’re safe now. this is your tree, isn’t it? —it let out another tiny whimper, it wasn’t just hurt, you realized. it was scared. —do you not want to go back? —you asked softly, as if it could answer you. the bowtruckle gave a tiny shake of its head or at least, that’s what it looked like. —alright, —you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. —you can stay with me for now.

and it stayed with you, not just for the rest of the day, but in a way that you never expected—forever.

you worried that it wouldn’t adjust to school life but, to your amazement, it adapted quickly. during classes, it would hide in your robe pocket or tucked against your sleeve. sometimes it would peek out to watch whatever you were doing. in herbology, its excitement was hard to contain. but potions was another story. the cauldrons’ fumes made it irritable, and once or twice, it sneezed and made your classmates glance around.

for the first time, you didn’t feel so alone.

FOURTH YEAR

through the glass door, you saw them—your roommates. the girls stood in the corridor, their heads tilted toward one another as they whispered and glanced inside. there weren’t many seats left on the train, and you knew they’d see your compartment as the last resort. the bowtruckle ran into your jacket pocket, and you instinctively placed a hand over the fabric to reassure it.

you heard them talk outside, do we really have to sit there? one of them whispered, i don't want to sit with her. a short, awkward silence followed, then, one of them said, the boys’ compartment isn’t full yet. let’s go there instead. and you let out all the air in your lungs, relieved. the bowtruckle jumped out of your jacket and stared through the window again. but all of a sudden, the door opened and two gryffindor boys stood there.

—hi, —one of them said. the bowtruckle ran scared inside your jacket again. —hi, —you answered back, caught off guard. the boy who spoke looked familiar, not someone you’d ever talked to, but someone you’d heard about. people whispered about him in the corridors, pointing him out as he passed. black, was his last name though you couldn’t recall his first name. beside him stood another boy, quieter, his expression neutral. you didn’t recognize him at all. —was that a bowtruckle? —he asked, his tone with curious. —no, —you replied immediately, your voice sharper than intended. you clutched the front of your jacket where it was hidden, your fingers tightening defensively. the boy raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, as he leaned casually against the compartment door, his posture relaxed as if he had all the time in the world to coax the truth out of you. —i saw it, —he said again, his tone teasing but firm. —i don't know what you're talking about. the quieter boy next to him, with brown messy hair, face decorated with some silvery scars, and a book tucked under his arm, looked at his friend and gave a subtle shake of his head. —sirius, don’t, —he said softly, his voice calm carrying a note of exasperation. sirius shrugged, completely unbothered. —what, remus? i'm just being friendly, or maybe i have a thing for mysterious bowtruckle-less compartments, —he said, then he turned his attention back to you, tilting his head slightly. —don’t worry, i’m not going to tell anyone. i think it’s kind of cool, actually. —there’s nothing to tell, —you muttered. sirius nodded slowly. —okay, but if you happen to see a bowtruckle, let us know. we’re in the compartment over there. and just like that, sirius left. the quieter boy stood there, his gaze flickered to the stack of books next to you. he seemed hesitant, his hand halfway to pointing at them before he stopped and cleared his throat. —good books, —before you could say anything else, remus left, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed yourself, like you'd missed an opportunity to actually have a real conversation.

from that moment on, it seemed like something shifted. you’d catch glimpses of remus during breakfast, his shy gaze drifting over to the slytherin table where you always sat alone. at first, you thought it was just coincidence, but it kept happening. subtle moments where you’d look up, only to find his eyes already on you, before he’d quickly look away and distract himself with his toast or whatever book he was reading that day. it wasn’t mocking, like the looks from the girls in your dormitory. it was... different, quiet and curious.

during classes, you began to notice his presence more and more. sitting a few rows ahead in defense against the dark arts, in potions you’d glance across the room and see him stealing quick looks your way and once, during herbology, you caught him staring and when your eyes met, he quickly looked down at his gloves, pretending to busy himself with adjusting the cuffs.

the bowtruckle noticed too and it'd tug on a strand of your hair or nuzzle against your neck, as if sensing the strange mix of confusion and warmth. you were used to catching people’s attention, not for good reasons, it was usually the kind of attention that came with whispered jokes behind your back and judgmental stares but when he looked at you, it was soft and steady, as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle but didn’t want to rush it.

and that made you uncomfortable. not knowing what he was thinking left you second-guessing everything, was he like everyone else, taking his time before making a joke?

one day, as you walked out of your class, clutching your books to your chest, you heard his footsteps behind you. you stopped and turned to him, catching him off guard. the bowtruckle peeked out of your jacket pocket, but you pressed it lightly to keep him hidden.

—quit it, —you said, your words sharper than you intended. remus blinked, taken aback. —quit what? —the looks, —you said quickly, shifting your books in your arms. —you keep staring at me in class, at breakfast. it’s... —you trailed off, searching for the right word, —weird. —i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, —he said, his voice lowering slightly. you pressed your lips together, not knowing how to respond. he wasn’t defensive, he wasn’t laughing or rolling his eyes like the girls in your dormitory. instead, he seemed... sincere. and for some reason, that sincerity annoyed you more than if he’d just been another person to laugh at you. so you huffed and turned on your heel without another word. the bowtruckle peeked out from your pocket, its tiny head tilting, confused by your reaction. it tugged at your hair with a stubborn little click, his leafy fingers curling like he was scolding you.

even after your sharp words, remus couldn’t just look away. he noticed too much—too many little things that others ignored or pretended not to see. he noticed how those girls whispered behind their hands as you walked by, how they sweet-talked you into doing all the work, only to share smirks once they’d left you behind.

no one knows how, but somehow, remus convinced lily to sneak into your room and pour some of that infamous itchy powder into the girls’ beds. the next morning, the slytherin dorm was filled with chaos and the girls spent a couple of days in the hospital wing. for the first time, your room felt like a peaceful sanctuary. the bowtruckle, took full advantage of the empty space and at night, it curled up next to you on the pillow, chirping softly as if sharing secrets only you could understand. the chirps felt deliberate, like it was scolding you in its own quiet language. its tiny fingers tugged at strands of your hair, like it was trying to pull your thoughts into the right direction.

—i know, —you murmured. —i've been awful to him.

the bowtruckle gave a sharper chirp, almost triumphant, as if it had been waiting for you to admit it. the bowtruckle chattered again, softer this time, before curling up against your neck. it had been with you long enough to sense things—your unease, your fear, the way you flinched away from kindness like it was something dangerous. you weren’t used to people noticing you in a way that wasn’t cruel. but remus did. he saw you and you had been pushing him away

you exhaled slowly, —i'll try to be nicer next time.

and you did, you tried to be nicer. when you caught him looking at you in class, instead of just looking away, you pressed your lips together in a small smile, when he held the door open for you, instead of brushing past, you murmured a quiet thanks, even if your voice was barely above a whisper.

one night, you were alone in the library as the bowtruckle scurried up the bookshelf, its tiny claws clicking softly against the wood as it reached for the book you had pointed out earlier. it reached the spine of the book, tugging it out inch by inch until the book hit the floor, and it chirped triumphantly before coming back down and climbing into your pocket.

you picked up the book as you heard the faint creak of footsteps on the wooden floor. your heart jumped, and you froze. from around the corner of the shelf, remus appeared, his eyes slightly widened as they met yours.

—oh, —he said, clearly startled to see you. —sorry, i didn’t mean to interrupt. —you didn’t, —you said quickly, trying to sound casual even though your pulse was racing. remus chuckled softly, his laughter. he tilted his head toward the book in your hands, the title unmistakable: “the care and keeping of bowtruckles.” —you know, —he said, —if you’re trying to convince me you don’t have a bowtruckle, maybe carrying around that book isn’t your best defense. you noticed the book he was carrying: "the art of becoming an animagus." —that's dangerous, you know? remus glanced at the book in his hand and then back at you, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips. —and having a bowtruckle in your pocket isn’t? you raised an eyebrow. —bowtruckles aren’t illegal. animagi without proper registration, though? pretty sure the ministry has a field day with that. remus chuckled, holding the book up as if in surrender. —it’s just research. i'm not planning on becoming an animagi. you nodded and smirked, looking him up and down. —yeah, i know that. remus frowned. —what's that supposed to mean? —without answering, you simply passed by his side and left him standing there, puzzled.

and from that day on, remus didn’t just glance at you from afar anymore, he started to approach you.

whenever you crossed paths in the corridors, he’d give you a small wave or a warm hi. at first, it caught you off guard because you weren’t used to people greeting you so casually, especially someone like remus, always with his big group of friend who were kind of intimidating. sirius and james would raise an eyebrow at remus or smirk at him when they caught him slowing down in the corridor to greet you. it wasn’t the kind of attention you were used to. one day, you muttered to the little creature, why does he keep doing that?, and it just tilted its tiny head, its bright eyes blinking up at you as if to say, why not?

those waves gradually became more—small, quiet moments where remus would sit across from you at the library, or casually move to your spot during potions to ask you a question about the assignment.

in another occasion, you'd do everything you could to avoid it because you told yourself whatever he was doing, it couldn’t possibly be genuine. but now, you were trying to be different, kinder. so, you’d find yourself replying to his questions during class more often, even offering him advice on the potions he was brewing and when he appeared at the library, you let him sit across from you, even though there were plenty of other empty chairs around.

but doubts remained, people didn’t just decide to spend time with you. it was probably some kind of joke or a challenge his friends had come up with. you could almost hear it now: “bet you can’t get the quiet slytherin to talk to you.” maybe they were all waiting for him to come back with stories about how weird you were, ready to laugh behind your back like everyone else. that thought burned in your chest, making it harder to concentrate.

while everyone else was watching the quidditch match, you sat in the library, flipping through a book on herbology. these were the best moments, when the rest of the school was caught up in something else, and the library was left almost entirely to yourself. just as you turned the next page, you heard footsteps approaching, and remus appeared, carrying a cup of tea. —figured you’d been here, i don’t think you particularly enjoy quidditch, —he said, placing it gently on the table next to you. —thought you could use this. you stared at the cup, your stomach twisting. —why are you doing this? —you blurted out before you could stop yourself. remus looked genuinely confused. —doing what? —this, —you said, gesturing between the two of you. —the tea, the sitting with me, the… the talking. what do you want? his expression softened. —i don’t… want anything, —he said, his voice quiet but firm. —i just thought… well, you seemed like someone worth knowing. your heart clenched at the words, because they didn’t make sense. they couldn’t. you looked down and remus did too. —i think i should leave now. —wait, —the words left your mouth before you could stop them. —do you... want to stay? remus blinked, clearly not expecting that. there was a pause, and for a second, you thought you’d made a mistake, that he’d laugh or make an excuse to leave anyway. —oh, i mean, yeah. if you don’t mind. you swallowed, feeling that unfamiliar warmth in your chest again. —maybe you’d rather watch the match, —you added quickly, as if giving him an out. —that’s fine, really. remus shook his head, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his lips. —i’d rather stay.

after that day, you and remus started hanging out more, you’d catch him waiting for you after class, pretending he just happened to be heading the same way. during lunch, he'd move from the gryffindor table, claiming it was too loud, and sit beside you at the slytherin table, drawing a lot of curious glances.

your conversations grew longer. you’d talk about magical creatures, books you loved, spells you found fascinating and he’d listen, really listen. sometimes, in the middle of an excited rant about a rare magical creature, you’d catch yourself embarrassed by your own enthusiasm but he never seemed annoyed. instead, his expression would soften, confusion flickering in his face as if he couldn’t understand why you’d feel the need to apologize.

the bowtruckle would peek out from your pocket, growing bolder around him. you’d gently nudge it back down with your fingers whenever it got too brave, muttering under your breath, “not now,” or “stay hidden.” it would chirp softly in protest, tugging at the fabric with its tiny claws as if scolding you for keeping it a secret. remus never pushed. he’d occasionally glance at the faint movement in your pocket with a knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but he never asked.

you sat beside remus under the shade of a tree near the black lake, the exact same tree where you found your bowtruckle. —since we’re friends now, —you started, your voice barely above a whisper, the word friend felt strange in your mouth, —there’s… there’s someone i wanted to introduce you to. —someone? you nodded and looked inside your pocket. —it’s okay, —you whispered softly, your voice more tender than you realized. —you can come out. he’s not gonna hurt you. i… i trust him. it slowly poked his little head out of your pocket, eyeing remus cautiously from the safety of your robes. his dark eyes studied remus for a long moment, trying to figure out if the gryffindor boy could be trusted. —hey there, little guy, —remus murmured, his voice low and calm, offering him a finger so it could climb. it hesitated for a moment but after a beat, the little creature stepped onto his finger, its tiny claws gripping softly as it crawled up his hand. remus smiled. he didn’t pull away, his attention completely on the small creature. —it’s so nice meeting you finally, —he said softly, still looking at the small creature with genuine curiosity. his voice held that familiar kindness. you watched the exchange, feeling a strange sense of relief. it was a small thing, really, showing him the creature you’d kept hidden for so long, but it felt significant, like peeling back a layer of yourself. remus’s gentle reaction, the warmth in his smile as he greeted the bowtruckle like it was something precious, made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

each time you met remus and without fail, after greeting you with a casual, hey, he’d lower his voice just a fraction and add, hey there, little one. how’s it going? at first, it caught you off guard, not used to someone remembering small details, let alone treating them with care. the bowtruckle seemed to enjoy the attention. it'd poke its head out slightly, blinking up at remus with those curious eyes, sometimes chirping softly in response as if answering his question.

so after that, it seemed only fair that he’d return the gesture. he wanted you to meet his friends, not just in passing, not just as faces in the crowded hallways of hogwarts, but really meet them.

your bowtruckle was climbing up remus’s arm with ease, using the folds of his sweater like a ladder. it paused at his shoulder and darted into his hair, playing with his messy curls. you were both having a good time, playing with the little creature. remus cleared his throat and said, almost too casually, —i was thinking… maybe you’d like to meet my friends? —why? —you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. remus blinked, caught off guard, but then his face softened with a small smile, as if he’d expected you to respond that way. —i don’t know… i thought you might like to. they’ve been curious about you, and i think you’d get along. they’re… a lot, but they’re good people. you looked at him, meeting his gaze. —curious about me? remus chuckled, shaking his head. —not in a bad way. they just… they’ve noticed i spend time with you, and, well, they’re nosy. the bowtruckle ran from his hair to your shoulder and gave excited little hops on, its enthusiasm was undeniable, chirping softly as if voicing its own opinion on the matter, which, clearly, was a firm yes to meeting remus' friends. traitor, you muttered to it. —look, we’re hanging out tomorrow in the gryffindor common room, —he said, casually leaning back against the tree, like he hadn’t just invited you to meet his friends, which, in its own right, was an enormous step. —we’re gonna play some board games, talk… you’re welcome to come. no pressure. you picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, your thoughts tangled. you nodded slowly, —i'll think about it.

the next day arrived before you knew it and remus greeted you with a big smile, happy that you finally decided to join them. as you stepped into the common room, the atmosphere was warm, cozy, filled with an easy laughter that echoed off the walls. the bowtruckle nestled comfortably in your pocket, feeling more and more like a little cheerleader with each step you took into the room.

all eyes turned to you—three boys sitting around a table and the only girl, standing up eagerly with a wide grin. she had that spark of excitement in her eyes, and before you could fully process what was happening, she was already moving toward you.

her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite your nervousness, you couldn't help but feel a little lighter in her presence. she reached out to give you a hug, and you hugged her back. lily’s reminded you of the person you were when you first entered hogwarts. the way you were before the walls you’d built around yourself became solid. before the loneliness, the whispers and the isolation. seeing lily now, the way she embraced you so openly, without hesitation and any judgment, made you realize how much you'd changed.

sirius smirked as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes moved to you before narrowing with a mischief. the memory of that day on the train, when he'd caught a glimpse of you and your bowtruckle, seemed to still linger in his mind. he couldn't resist a bit of teasing, just to let you know that you were more than welcome in the group.

james shook your hand with that familiar, confident grin, and peter followed him, giving you a more nervous but warm handshake.

remus watched you from across the table and felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw how easily you fit in with the group. the teasing from james and sirius had been lighthearted, playful—nothing malicious—and you handled it effortlessly, laughing along with them instead of retreating into your shell. it was a small victory in his mind.

you found yourself drawn into their orbit more often than you ever expected. it started with small things, lily casually saving you a seat in the library, peter waving you over in the great hall, james sharing his quidditch knowledge with you and sirius tossing playful remarks your way in the corridors. they had their own way of making space for you without demanding anything in return. they didn’t expect you to be louder, funnier, or different. they just… accepted you.

the bowtruckle adjusted too and it grew bold around the group, perching on sirius’s (who was completely fascinated by the creature) head when he wasn’t looking, sneaking sips from james’s pumpkin juice, and even nestling in lily’s hair once.

with remus, everything flowed easily. your hands would brush as you walked side by side through the corridors, he stopped sitting across from you and instead slid into the seat beside you and the space between you grew smaller, yet it never felt suffocating. it felt right, like the closeness had always been meant to happen, you were just catching up to it. when you laughed, he felt like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky, and your conversations deepened, no longer just about magical creatures or classwork but hopes, fears... and that's how he ended up telling you.

you were both curled up on the couch in the gryffindor common room, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow around you. at this point, you spent more time there than in your own common room, and the gryffindors had grown used to the sight of your green robes among them. it was late, the marauders went to bed, leaving just you and remus, sitting in comfortable silence, the crackling of the fire filling the silence between you. but there was something unspoken. you could feel it—an unease in the way remus fidgeted slightly, in the way his lips parted as if to speak only to press together again and though he hadn’t said it yet, you already knew what he was struggling to tell you. —i have something to tell you. now that you're part of the group, i think you should… you should know something about me, why i sometimes disappear... —remus, —you said softly, not looking at him. —i know. he turned to you sharply, his expression freezing mid-thought. —you… you know? how? —his voice was almost a whisper, low and cautious, as if he feared the answer. his heart felt heavy inside his chest. he imagined this moment countless times, played it out in restless dreams and waking nightmares. in those versions, your face twisted in fear, your steps quick as you turned to leave, your voice sharp with rejection. he’d wake up with a cold sweat, heart pounding, the taste of dread bitter on his tongue. —your scars, —you murmured, —i’ve been studying magical creatures for years. i know how werewolf scars look. there was a pause before he spoke again. —aren't you scared of me? you shook your head. —i’ve been afraid of people for most of my life. but not you. not ever you. —i’ve had nightmares about this, you know? —he admitted suddenly, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. —about telling you. i thought… i thought it’d be the end of everything. you shook your head again, a small smile in your lips. slowly, you moved your hand across the couch until your fingers brushed against his, then gently curled around them. his hand was tense, but he didn’t pull away. —it’s not the end of anything, —you whispered. —not even close.

EXTRA - FIRST KISS

christmas came, and the idea of going back home crossed your mind but then remus mentioned that he was staying at hogwarts over the holidays. the other marauders were all going home, and though he had brushed it off with a casual smile, you could see the truth behind it, he would be alone.

before leaving, james and sirius had cornered remus in the gryffindor common room, arms crossed and identical smirks plastered on their faces. —so, —james said, —you and her are staying for christmas? alone? —how scandalous, —sirius added. remus sighed, rubbing his temples. —it’s not like that. —sure it isn’t, —sirius teased. —mate, you can’t tell me this doesn’t mean anything. you’ve been pining for months, and now you get hogwarts all to yourselves? it’s practically a fairy tale. james grinned. —just don’t forget to thank us in your wedding speech.

remus didn’t remember a better christmas. every day, you woke up a little later than usual and you'd go to the gryffindor common room, where you waited for him, your heart light with anticipation. you shared breakfast and then you'd both rush out into the snow, the cold air crisp on your skin. you'd play throwing snowballs, laughing as the flakes danced around you.

you’d walk hand in hand to hogsmeade, enjoying the quiet of the village while the snow continued to fall gently, almost like magic itself. even one day during the holidays, remus followed you into the slytherin common room for the first time and you couldn't help but laugh at his face when he saw that it was nothing like gryffindor's.

one evening, you were searching in the gryffindor common room for your mischievous bowtruckle. it loved the common room and to hide in it, and its love for mischief often drove you crazy. after scanning the room, you finally spotted it, hanging above you and remus’ heads. a tiny red bow was tied to one of its arms. —for merlin's bear! —you called out, exasperated. —what are you doing up there? come down! you're gonna hurt yourself! remus hummed, the bowtruckle with the red bow reminded him of something. it chirped loudly, as if to say, no way, and made no move to obey you. you sighed while remus finally recalled what the bowtruckle looked like. —i think, hmm... it's playing to be a mistletoe. the bowtruckle chirped again, giving remus the right. your eyes opened wide. remus cleared his throat, his voice low and slightly hesitant as he spoke. —well, i suppose... we don’t have much of a choice, do we? your heart skipped a beat as you shook your head to his question and before you could overthink it, you stepped a little closer to him. you stood face to face for a few seconds as remus's hand brushed gently against your cheek and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. he seemed to hesitate for a second, searching your face as though waiting for permission, for you to say something or do something. but you didn’t need to say anything. in that moment, he closed the distance between you both, his lips brushing yours gently. it was soft, hesitant at first, but it was everything you’d been feeling since the first time you met him, all the small, quiet moments, the shared glances, the laughter, it all came to this shy kiss, and as he pulled away, your heart was already racing. you both awkwardly laughed as the bowtruckle let itself fall from its perch, landing softly on your shoulder. it gave a satisfied chirp, as if pleased with its dramatic entrance. the little creature let the strand of hair that remus had tucked behind your ear to fall right back in front of your face again and it chirped, as if telling remus to do it again and kiss you one more time. you laughed, taking the bowtruckle off your shoulder and keeping him in your pocket while remus pushed your hair out of your face again.

[a-s-fischer]

Since it's almost Easter, I want to tell everyone the story of the cafeteria lunch lady at my school who I sort of on purpose, sort of accidentally convinced I was possessed.

So once upon a time, before J. K. Rowling was radicalized, back when the books were first becoming popular, a bunch of Christians got it into their heads that J.K. Rowling was in league with Satan and the books had real spells, and the books would trick the children who had read them into becoming satanists and witches, and selling their souls to the devil to work magic, and they would all become possessed by demons, and die and go to hell. It was all very much the same thing they were saying about Dungeons and Dragons in the eighties. For the most part, this was a Protestant Evangelical phenomenon, but the occasional Catholic bought into it too, and one of those Catholics who bought into this was my school's lunch lady.

She saw me one day at lunch reading a book from the incredibly popular Harry Potter series, and told me in that solemn way that adults sometimes do when talking to a young person they think is going wrong, that I needed to stop reading that book, because otherwise I would open myself up to demons and wind up possessed.

Now I have severe ADHD, and one of the ways this manifests is that I get songs stuck in my head at the drop of a hat, and they stay there for weeks on end and are very, very annoying and distracting. And my mother loves musicals, so we listened to them around the house all the time. And at the time the musical we were listening to was a not-at-all controversial little number by the name of Jesus Christ Superstar. This musical is a pretty standard retelling of the passion, which is to say the last days of Jesus's life from just before his entrance into Jerusalem until his crucifixion, and it was also written by two Christians, but in spite of this, the same kinds of groups who decided Harry Potter was a tool to get children to sell their souls to the devil, decided Jesus Christ Superstar was blasphemous.

But anyway because this is a passion story, Caiaphus, the high priest, is one of the main villains, and he gets an absolute banger of a song, which at that very moment I had stuck in my head, and I had been doing my very best not to sing all day, because it is not appropriate for school. This song is called "Jesus Must Die".

So here we are, and the lunch lady has just told me that I needed to stop reading a book or I would be possessed. So I turned to her and looked her straight in the eye and started singing at the top of my lungs: "FOOLS, YOU HAVE NO PERCEPTION, THE STAKES WE ARE GAMBLING ARE FIGHTENINGLY HIGH! WE MUST CRUSH HIM COMPLETELY, SO LIKE JOHN BEFORE HIM, THIS JESUS MUST DIE!"

She screamed, crossed herself, and never spoke to me again.

[asahicore]

cold hands - psh (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact

pairing. sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis. plot plot plot what is a plot when you can just have vibes and a vague narrative direction... if you MUST know you go to your brother's hockey team back-to-uni party accidentally matching one of the members with your cowgirl barbie costume. hopelessly romantic sunghoon sees this as a sign that the two of you are meant to be together, but you're impossible to read and soon the two of you settle on an ambiguous secret friends with benefits relationship. unfortunately, conflict ensues.

genre. strangers to friends to fwb to lovers..?? its not an asahicore fic if it doesnt have fluff angst AND smut, brothers best friend, jock x nerd type vibe, slight miscommunication put your pitchforks away and hear me out pls it works out i promise, reader has ISSUES 💜 loser loverboy sunghoon, its mostly in his pov, i know nothing about ice hockey

word count. 39.5k 😂

a/n. inspired by @moonlighthoon's request for the 1k trope event! sorry it took ages to write but i hope you like it and that i met ur expectations!!!! hope everyone else enjoys it too, this is the longest fic ive ever written and im quite proud of it, pls pls pls let me know what u thought <333 shoutout to @zreamy .. good luck with your studies, thank u for beta reading and making this fic exponentially better as u always do ⭐️ credit to @/plutism for the dividers :)

Some men never think of it. You did. You’d come along And say you’d nearly brought me flowers But something had gone wrong.

The shop was closed. Or you had doubts - The sort that minds like ours Dream up incessantly. You thought I might not want your flowers.

It made me smile and hug you then. Now I can only smile. But, look, the flowers you nearly brought Have lasted all this while. - Wendy Cope, Flowers

When Sunghoon falls in love, it usually goes as quickly as it came.

Just to name a few:

There had been Ahn Yujin, whose family had moved next to his when he was twelve, and whose dog got on perfectly with his. His crush on the cute girl next door grew with every walk the four of them took but disappeared the second she ditched him to walk home from school with Na Jaemin. 

A few years later, there had been Bae Sumin, who sat in front of him and always had her hair up in a ponytail he found exceedingly pretty. An appointment at the hairdresser was enough for him to stop liking her, as if his interest in her had been laying in the ten centimeters of hair she had cut off. 

In his junior year of high school, there had been Kim Yerim, a college student that tutored him in Math and English. She was three years older, but that didn’t deter him—what did was the fact that she was dating a college graduate. She showed him a picture once, and the guy had biceps probably twice the size of Sunghoon’s. He thought it was safer to give up on her than to fight such a bulky guy five years his senior. 

The first time it stuck was during his first year of college. She was his coach’s daughter and he liked the way she would smile at him when she came to watch their practice. Sunghoon didn’t like to think about her, mainly because even after she broke his heart, for a while there, he continued to love her. 

So, when he first spots you from across the room at the Welcome Back costume party thrown by his hockey team, unintentionally the Cowboy Barbie to his Cowboy Ken, he tries not to read too much into it. Barbie was a hit this summer, it’s an easy and topical costume, of course there’s a pretty girl wearing the same bright pink cowboy hat he is. It doesn’t mean she’s the love of his life.

Right?

He knows you from the pictures that littered the walls of Minjeong, Yunjin and Chaewon’s apartment last year, from Instagram posts, both yours and your friends’, from your video calls with Jake, who dragged him into the camera’s view. Say hi to my sister, he’d insist, like Sunghoon was a child who didn’t want to greet his great-great-aunt. He’d dip in to say hi as requested, ask how you were, and mumble me too like a fool when you said you heard so much about him and were excited to meet him in real life. 

These are the things Sunghoon knows about you: Jake’s older sister by a year, currently on a year abroad in Rome, studies something fancy like Classics, which he hadn’t known people still did in the twenty-first century, deep attachment to Stardew Valley in first year, rarely seen with the same man twice, very pretty. Absurdly so. He’s also weirdly obsessed over the texts you’ve sent to the group chat he was added to at the beginning of last year—scarce, short, elusive. Never more than two sentences, and always long after the conversation was over. But sometimes you’d send photos and videos out of nowhere, of your adventures or of funny things you saw online, and he always hearted them. He even replied to it sometimes (brave hahas or that’s so cool!s), in hopes that it would make you like him, would make you think, he gets me. 

The two of you have never formally met because you left for Italy the year he started university. He’s been nervous about meeting you since the first time the group told him about you. 

Now that he is about to, he can hear his heart thumping so loudly in his ears, it drowns out the bass of the music. He’s glad he gets to see you before having to talk to you—he’s not sure he could take in your presence and form coherent words at the same time. He watches you laugh with your friends, the smile lines that form like dimples around your mouth, the strands of hair you keep tucking behind your ear. Then someone joins your group—except it’s not just someone, it’s Minjeong, her denim jacket so often worn he recognises her from the back, and he realizes the people you’re with have been Chaewon and Yunjin this whole time. The three of them have been banging on about you all year, even more so due to the fact that their replacement flatmate was dreadful, a Spanish girl who only hung out with other Spanish exchange students and looked the girls up and down when they tried to invite her out somewhere.

You turn towards Minjeong, and before he knows it, he’s in your line of sight, and your eyes meet. Confusion, then a flash of recognition goes through your eyes. He had been resting his elbow on a countertop, cider bottle in hand and watching you, he realizes, not unlike a creep, but now he stands up straight and looks around him as if you hadn’t just caught him staring. Before he can find a way out, Jake appears by his side and throws an arm around his shoulders, guiding him into the throng of party-goers and, coincidentally, closer to you.

“Dude, you’ll never guess what.”

“What?” Sunghoon says, tone coming out more irritated than he means it to. He’s just had to give up on making a good first impression on you, and he doesn’t even have the time to think of a way to redeem himself. When he dares to look back at you, your eyes are already on him, a small smile on your lips. You probably hate him already.

“My sister is dressed just like you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys came together or something. Hey, guys!” Jake calls out, and all of a sudden, it’s not just your eyes on him, it’s everyone’s. Well, to be fair, they’re also looking at Jake. But you’re only looking at Sunghoon, and he can’t look away from you either, can’t even manage the politeness to hug everyone in greeting like Jake is doing now. He watches as your eyes rake over his figure, taking him in, assessing him, and he suddenly feels awkward in his costume that matches yours, like he’s somehow overstepped a boundary, like you might think he’s asked around about your costume, found out you were going as Barbie and decided to match you so you’d think the two of you were meant together, like he had two minutes ago, and come to the fairly reasonable decision that he was the weirdest man on Earth. But then you meet his eyes, smile a kind, genuine smile, and his whole body relaxes. 

“Hey, Hoon!” Chaewon calls, arms open wide. He remembers himself and hugs everyone, even you, and he has to pretend like this is completely fine and normal, like his hands aren’t practically shaking as his arms circle your shoulders in a two-second embrace. 

You squeeze one of his shoulders, and keeping his countenance is a Herculean task. He feels like those people centuries ago who passed out at the sight of a lady’s ankle. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, peering at him over the rim of your red cup. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Sunghoon feels the blush growing on his face; he wasn’t expecting so much of your attention so quickly. He takes a swig of his lukewarm cider, hoping if he seems drunk, it might explain his redness. “Good things, I hope,” he says, aware of the unoriginality but unable to come up with anything better.

“Oh, don’t worry, they’ve made you out to be a saint.” You’ve not once broken eye contact or stopped smiling—it should intimidate him, but instead, it makes Sunghoon feel like you’ve known each other for ages and that this isn’t your first conversation at all. He finds himself able to relax into a smile, and manages to meet your eyes for more than three seconds at a time.

“You don’t believe them?”

You pause, gaze zeroing in on him even more intensely than previously, smile turning smirk-like. Sunghoon’s heart skips a beat. Okay, maybe he’s not that relaxed. “I don’t know you well enough to make up my mind yet. But we’ll be seeing plenty of each other from now on, won’t we?”

This is exactly what Sunghoon has been warned about. You at parties, the way you look at guys, the way you talk to them. Sunghoon has been the audience of more than one recreation of such a scene, Yunjin pretending to be you, Chaewon pretending to be your “victim,” as the others liked to call them. Because once you had set your eyes on a man, he had little chance of making it out. Jay prides himself as being the only survivor, although he has to admit it’s only because Jake interrupted your conversation, telling him, “I see you’ve met my sister.” And Jay was not the kind of person that got off with their friends’ siblings, especially since his and Jake’s friendship was only a week long at that point, and he didn’t want to ruin the atmosphere in their dorm for the rest of the year just because his dick had gotten the best of him. His words. Whenever they were all hanging out together and they called you, one of the girls would inevitably ask if you had “turned any Italian boys into men” or if you had been “terrorizing the good men of Rome recently.” You would either roll your eyes or say this was not a conversation to be had in front of your brother.

Sunghoon had been sure they were exaggerating—it takes two to tango, as they say, and it wasn’t like you ensnared innocent men into your trap. They had to be willing, to want something from you just as much as you wanted something from them. He’d also gotten them to admit it wasn’t that frequent, that you weren’t looking for a new prey every party, just once in a while when you found someone you liked. (He’d been very quiet when Jay asked why he was trying so hard to defend you.)

But now that he is on the receiving end of your alluring smiles, he starts to understand how one could fall for you without meaning to. He knows he can’t — Jake probably wouldn’t take to it kindly, and he didn’t want to spoil the dynamic of his best group of friends at uni — but he has a feeling that ten minutes of talking to you would be enough to shake his resolve.

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure we will. Jake said you studied a lot, but I’m sure we’ll get to hang out. All of us, I mean,” he quickly adds, lest you think he’s already asking you to hang out one-on-one. Sunghoon would not be that forward.

“Of course. I have to see if you did a good enough job replacing me for a year.” Sunghoon’s eyes widen, and before he can blurt out something weirdly laudatory like “I could never replace you, I would never even try, I don’t know you but you’re clearly far superior to me in every aspect and I could never even claim to fill your spot,” you giggle and tell him it’s just a joke. “If anything, I’m happy Jake has managed to make a new friend that he didn’t meet through me, that loser,” you say, and together, you laugh at Jake’s loserness, a topic that will never fail to amuse Sunghoon, although he’s not faring much better in that department. 

“Like, look at him right now,” you say, jerking your head in Jake’s general direction, somewhere behind Sunghoon’s shoulder—and that’s when he realizes that it’s just the two of you standing there, the others gone without him even noticing. Sunghoon turns around, finding the girls, Jay, and a bunch of other people he vaguely recognizes huddled around Jake. They all start chanting his name as he gulps down a giant red cup of beer, then raises the empty cup over his head in victory and crumples it, beaming at the people around him. 

“What is he doing?” Sunghoon asks, laughing at his friend.

“Jay called him over for a beer-off,” you explain. After a beat, you ask, “You didn’t notice?”

The implications are clear in your tone and in your eyes. In the smile playing on your lips, just shy of being a smirk. You didn’t notice because of me, is what you’re really telling Sunghoon—at least, that’s the impression he’s getting. And you’d be right. He was too busy talking to you and trying his best not to make a fool of himself to notice his friends leaving, too engrossed with you to register the sudden disappearance of four people. Across the room, where people have shifted their attention to yet another hockey player downing a sizable amount of beer, he catches Chaewon’s eyes, and she winks at him. Of course—leave it to Chaewon, to whom Sunghoon once made the mistake of drunkenly rambling about how pretty you looked in your Instagram posts last year, to give you and Sunghoon some time alone, “to get to know each other properly,” she would probably say. Although he isn’t sure that small talk over 2000s music counts as getting to know someone. According to the others, she and Yunjin started dating a month into their second year, so Chaewon has proclaimed herself as the goddess of dating and is now always trying to set people up. Sunghoon thinks she’s just living vicariously through her friends now that she has a Mrs. at home.

Because the filter usually at work between the part of Sunghoon’s brain where sentences are formed and his mouth is apparently on leave today, he says, “I do have a pretty distracting sight in front of me.” He’s immediately both mortified and impressed by this sudden bout of confidence, but then you look down and giggle, actually giggle, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard, and only pride remains. 

“So, Ken?” you ask, a cute attempt to change the subject, taking the fabric of the pink bandana around his neck between your fingers. Sunghoon wonders if you’re going to yank him down to your level, and he thinks he wouldn’t have much of a problem with that. 

He realizes that even though you should technically know each other’s names, you haven’t actually exchanged them, so in a confused but correcting tone, he says, “Um, Sunghoon.” He only belatedly realizes that you hadn’t gotten his name wrong, you were just making a comment on his costume, which he had completely forgotten he was wearing in the first place. Just as he’s about to backtrack and salvage what he can of the situation, you burst into laughter, hand leaving his bandana to cover your mouth as he hides his face behind his own hands, laughing along with you despite himself. 

“I know your name is Sunghoon!” you exclaim. The gratification of hearing you say his name takes away some of his embarrassment. “I’m Y/N, by the way. Not Barbie.”

Sunghoon nods. “Good to know.”

The laughter gradually dies down, but your smile stays the same; wide, bright, a smile that exposes your teeth and turns your eyes into crescents. Sunghoon can’t look away. He’s awash with nerves, your gaze simultaneously planting his feet to the ground like they’re full of lead and making him light-headed. His heart is beating so fast, he can barely feel it anymore. 

The two of you stand there, looking and smiling at each other, like in a cliché movie scene where everyone else at the party seems to fade into the background. He has no idea how much time has passed when you break the silence. “It really is nice to finally meet you,” you say, repeating your statement from earlier, as though you mean it more now. 

“It is,” Sunghoon simply replies, because he doesn’t know how else to express the relief of seeing you in the flesh after hearing about you and looking at a digital version of you for a year. The relief, but also the anticipation of what is to come now that he knows he likes you even more now that he’s actually seen you. And improbable as it sounds, you might even feel the same.

Sunghoon can already feel it. The beginning of something.

You nod towards his now empty cup. “Want a refill?”

Together, you make your way through the crowd of increasingly drunk students until you reach the kitchen, where the countertops overflow with open bottles of liquor of all sorts and paper plates with half-eaten pizza slices on them. He watches your every move as you find a cold bottle of beer in the fridge, a bottle of strawberry syrup in a random cupboard that you had to know was there, and a half-empty discarded bottle of lemonade on the counter. You ask him to tell you about last year, everything you missed out on, and so he does. He knows you’ve probably heard it all from the others before, but you still laugh and gasp like it’s the first time you’re hearing about any of it, all the hockey games they won, Jay getting food poisoning from the sketchy pizzeria he kept eating at, Yunjin almost getting into a fistfight with a man twice her size who was flirting with Chaewon. 

You assemble two drinks and hand him one of them. When he takes a sip, his eyes widen at the refreshing and sweet taste. “Good, right?” you say. “I discovered it on a trip to France last summer.”

“Thank God for France. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever enjoyed drinking beer,” he says.

“That’s probably because you can’t taste the beer at all.”

Sunghoon smiles. “Probably, yeah.”

You turn around, lower back against the counter, and take in the current kitchen population. “We really weren’t very original with our costumes tonight.” Sunghoon, who had not taken his eyes off of you this entire time, follows your gaze. He counts five partygoers dressed in some version of Barbie or Ken, and that’s just the kitchen. He doesn’t blame them—the fact that so many people came dressed in costumes at all impresses him, especially for a party on the 10th of September and not the 31st of October. The social committee of the hockey team just seems to really love themed and dress-up parties.

He chuckles, then takes a sip of his drink. It’s really nice. “Yeah, but we look the best.”

Your head whips towards him, eyes glinting with something that makes Sunghoon smile, even though he doesn’t know what you’re thinking. “Should we enter the couple’s costume contest?” you ask.

At the mention of couple, his eyes widen, his brain tricking him into thinking you’ve asked him out for a second. But when what you actually meant dawns on him, the first thing to come out of his mouth is, “There’s a couple’s costume contest?!”

“Mh-hm. The sign-up sheet should be around here.” 

For what feels like the millionth time since he’s started talking to you, his face heats up. “Are non-couples allowed to enter?”

“We’re Barbie and Ken. I’d say that’s enough of a couple, don’t you think?” 

Right. Because he had been thinking of Sunghoon and Y/N, while you obviously meant Barbie and Ken. In the contest, it doesn’t actually matter whether the contestants are dating in real life—it matters that their costumes match. Sunghoon knows that. He just needed a second.

He grins, deep dimples punctuating his cheeks. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Armed with your drinks, you walk around the kitchen in search of the sign-up sheet. You find it on a wall next to the dining table, which has been turned into a beer pong table for tonight’s festivities, and the sheet is almost filled with names already. Sunghoon can only hope that by midnight, when the contest is set to take place, most participants will have had too much to drink to remember it. You write your names on the list, and Sunghoon likes seeing his name in your handwriting so much he almost wants to take a picture.

“There you guys are!”

You both turn around to find Jake stumbling towards you, clearly more intoxicated than when he had left you half-an-hour ago. He rests his arms on your shoulders, forcing Sunghoon down to his height and making you stumble forwards from the sudden added weight. “I’ve been looking all over for you- You’re entering the contest?!”

For a split second, Sunghoon is scared he’s going to get scolded by Jake for trying to hit on his sister, but surprisingly, it’s you he narrows his eyes at. “Y/N, what are you roping my little Hoonie into?”

Sunghoon groans, face perpetually red at this point. Leave it to Jake to make him seem like a total loser. 

You frown at your brother. “I’m not roping your little Hoonie into anything.” Sunghoon wants to bury himself alive. “We agreed on doing it together. Right?” you ask, turning towards Sunghoon and batting your eyelashes at him. It makes him feel a bit better.

He turns back to Jake. “Right. We’re just joining forces to crush the competition.”

Jake scoffs. “As if.” He snatches the pen from your hands and underlines his name as well as Kazuha’s, the girl he came with tonight, three thick black lines that almost erases the names underneath them. “You can’t beat the hockey player and cheerleader combo.”

“Those aren’t even costumes, you guys are a hockey player and a cheerleader,” you protest.

“So?” Jake simply retorts, more attitude in his tone than he would have were he sober.

“So, that defeats the whole purpose of a costume contest.”

Jake knocks on your cowboy hat, and you immediately put it back in place, glaring at him. “As if Barbie was the greatest costume ever. Whatever, let’s just play beer pong so I can defeat you guys twice in one night.”

“You’re on, Sim.”

“You’re going down, Sim.”

Sunghoon had just been watching your back-and-forth amusedly when you grab his hand, leading him to the side of the table opposite Jake. His fingers tingle under your touch, but just like that, it’s gone. He’d rather keep on holding your hand than play this stupid game, but he isn’t opposed to taking Jake’s ego down a notch, either. The boy can barely stand straight, anyway, so it probably won’t be a very tough match.

Some guy he doesn’t recognize in a striped black-and-white referee t-shirt fills most cups with beer and a couple on each side with shots of vodka—he’s so earnest, Sunghoon isn’t sure whether he’s just taking his costume-slash-role very seriously or if he has genuinely been hired to look over the beer pong matches of the night. Some order in the brutish world of college parties, Sunghoon guesses.

Minjeong, Yunjin, Chaewon and Jay appear then, exchanging a quick look at the sight of you and Sunghoon together. The two former join your team, while the two latter join Jake’s, as well as other people that Sunghoon vaguely recognizes from other parties. But by the simple action of getting behind him, they become his most trusted allies for at least this part of the night.

You’re a terrible shot, but Sunghoon makes up for it by scoring almost every round. In his defense, he only misses when you come up close to him and whisper in his ear which cup he should go for. Your breath tickles his (oddly sensitive) ears and the combined scents of the strawberry and lemonade on your tongue and your delicate perfume make his head spin. He can barely think straight, so his aim is naturally thrown off—other than that, he makes Jay drink a healthy amount of beer. He almost feels bad for his friend, but he’d arrived late at the party and needed to quickly catch up with everyone’s level of ebriety anyway.

When the opposite team is down to their last cup, a lightning bolt of luck strikes you, and your ball disappears straight into the vodka-filled cup that Jake now has the honor of downing. 

Sunghoon gives you no time to celebrate, to gloatingly pump your fists in the air and point a mocking finger at your brother, because as soon as you make the shot, he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground. When you’re on your feet again, you spin around to find a proud-looking Sunghoon beaming down at you. You burst into giggles and high-five him, your palms perfectly clapping against each other, and he threads your fingers together. A current of electricity rushes through him, and for a second, he swears it’s just the two of you in this packed room.

The moment is cut short by the loud cheers of the others on your team as they shake your shoulders and raise their hands for you to high-five them too. Minjeong flips the other team off and Yunjin has to go hug Chaewon and reassure her it’s nothing personal. It’s really quite easy to make college students happy—or devastated. 

You raise your eyebrows at Jake, who’s busy glaring at you instead of accepting his defeat and taking his shot. With a begrudging sigh, he tips his head back and drinks the vodka in one gulp, the cheers doubling in volume when his face scrunches at the bitter taste of the liquor.

“Don’t act so proud,” he scolds you. “Sunghoon carried your team.”

“Maybe, but she made us win in the end,” Sunghoon retorts, putting an arm around your shoulder. 

Jake scoffs, frowning at Sunghoon’s hand placement before eye-rolling his gaze away. “Whatever.” He slides his phone out of his back pocket and smiles as he shows the two of you his screen. “Would you look at the time? The contest is starting soon.” Then, with an accusatory finger pointed at you, adds, “You may have won this battle, but I’m winning the war.”

He stomps away, presumably to find Kazuha before the contest starts, and it’s your turn to eye-roll at his dramatics. You grab Sunghoon’s hand that hangs off of your shoulders, and together, make your way through the crowd again to the garage, where the contest is taking place. All the alcohol he’s been drinking has definitely started kicking in by now, and he finds himself giggling at nothing with you.

When you reach the threshold, still hand in hand, Sunghoon stops so abruptly behind you that you almost stumble. You look back at him, then follow his gaze towards the garage and the sheer amount of people in there. Worriedly, his eyes take in every single one of the contenders. You let go of his hand and stand in front of him, placing your hands on his shoulders and putting on a determined expression. You’d almost look like a parent reassuring their kid before their first day of kindergarten if you weren’t so much shorter than him. “Don’t even worry about them, Sunghoon. We look better than anyone here.”

His eyebrows crease. “There’s like, three other Barbie-Ken couples here. Some of these costumes are so original. And do you see their makeup? Is that even possible?” he asks, staring at a couple in scarily realistic cosplay of Simon and Jeanette from Alvin and the Chipmunks, fur and all. He can’t look at them for too long without getting chills.

You shake your head. “Almost everyone here is either a hockey player or a… hockey-affiliated person. You’re the beloved and talented defenseman of the team and I’m the star player’s sister. They’ll love us,” you say with a smile, watching the worry dissipate from his features.

“We’re like nepo babies,” he whispers. His lips break into a grin when your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I don’t know how nepotism works,” he admits, smiling wider when you burst into laughter. “How do you know if I’m talented, anyway? You haven’t seen me play yet.”

Your eyes rake him up and down appreciatively. “I took a wild guess.”

Not unlike a cartoon character, Sunghoon audibly gulps. As a hockey player since his most tender age, and dare he say, a pretty good-looking guy, he is used to girls flirting with him, and he is even hit sometimes by the occasional lightning strike of confidence that allows him to flirt back (he still can’t believe he managed to call you “a distracting sight” without spontaneously combusting). But there’s something in your eyes, in your smile, in the way you talk—something about you that has his breath hitching and his heart racing. He doesn’t know if he wants to run away and hide in a corner or kiss you right then and there.

Heeseung, the captain of the hockey team, announces into a microphone (which Sunghoon wonders where they got the money for) that the contest will start now, so he can neither kiss you nor run away. Instead, he follows you to the side of the room where all the contestants, including Jake and Kazuha, wait for their names to be called out. There are so many participants, it takes way longer than Sunghoon would like for the two of you to step onto the makeshift stage. Judging by the looks on the audience’s faces, everyone is surprised to see you and Sunghoon together—the hockey community at your university may be big, but everyone knows everyone, and gossip travels fast. No one had seen you and Sunghoon together before, for the obvious reason that you hadn’t even met before tonight. But you could be sure that by tomorrow, as silly as it sounds, word will have gone around that you and Sunghoon had participated in a couple costume contest together. 

At least, you give them something of substance to talk about—as you and Sunghoon pose on stage, wearing your brightest smiles to please the crowd, you stand on your toes and press a kiss to Sunghoon’s cheek. Sunghoon’s eyes burn a hole in the side of your face but you just watch as the audience of drunken 20-somethings goes wild over something as simple as a peck on the cheek. Jake is the only one booing. 

Sunghoon is still in shock when the next couple is called forward and you have to step off. His cheeks are redder than before and he can’t quite meet your eyes. Apparently, he also goes wild over something as simple as a peck on the cheek. You nudge his shoulder. “See, I told you they’d like us.” 

He feels like a fourteen-year-old for it, but Sunghoon can’t stop thinking about your soft lips against his cheek, so much so that he barely says a word as the three judges deliberate. If you notice the sudden change in his behavior, you don’t comment on it, perhaps chalking it up to nerves. He’s glad for it—he doesn’t know if he could handle being teased about it, especially from you. Although he’s not sure he wants you to think he’s the kind to stress over a last-minute Halloween costume contest. 

In the end, you don’t win. He suspects it was a rigged contest all along: the couple in the unimpressive Edward and Bella costume are friends with one of the judges, probably leading to their anticlimactic victory. At least it isn’t Simon and Jeannette who win, or Kazuha and Jake, even less original than the winners. Anyway, Sunghoon couldn’t care any less. With your hand in his as you walk back to the main room in search of your other friends, he feels like the biggest victor of the night. He doesn’t even mind it when his teammates tease him about his costume and how good the two of you look together—the smile you shoot him makes putting up with it worth it. He tries to think straight, but between the alcohol and your proximity, he feels like you’ve cast a spell on him.

Jake stumbles into your group, three drinks drunker than when Sunghoon last saw him, enthusiastically reporting that a game of spin the bottle is about to start in one of the rooms upstairs, because what every college party needs is a middle-school game to shake things up. None of the guys seem particularly interested until Jake reveals that the cheerleaders are playing. 

Sunghoon looks down at you, laughing when he sees your mildly disgusted moue. “Don’t feel like playing?”

“Not really, no.” Your eyes linger on his face. “There’s only one person here I want to kiss, anyway.”

All capacity for thought leaves Sunghoon’s brain. He just stares back at you blankly, lips slightly agape, willing himself to say something but also terrified that whatever leaves his mouth might make him seem like the biggest loser ever. 

You couldn’t possibly mean him—but did you? Was he the person you wanted to kiss?

As these questions resound through his head, your gaze drops to his lips. There’s his answer. 

His heart beating wildly in its cage, Sunghoon decides to do one smart thing tonight and leans in, slowly but surely closing the gap between the two of you. Then a sudden vibration in the back pocket of his jeans zaps through him like lightning and he jumps back, as if startled out of the trance you had put him in. Shame flooding his cheeks, he checks his phone; it’s the stupid alarm he set himself earlier to make sure he doesn’t get home too late. Midnight, Cinderella-style. 

You scratch the back of your neck as your eyes dart around the room. For the first time tonight, you look embarrassed—Sunghoon is in disbelief at how pretty you look even then. “I, um,” he starts, clears his throat. “I have this thing tomorrow morning, so I can’t stay too long…” he says guiltily.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but he swears that what he sees on your face is disappointment. It makes him want to take it all back, to stay here with you for as long as you want and forget about tomorrow morning. 

“Oh, right,” you say, nodding. “That’s fine. What thing?”

“Oh.” Sunghoon turns an impossibly deeper shade of red, further resembling the strawberry syrup the more he gets himself in these embarrassing situations with you. “Just… choir. I go to choir on Saturday mornings.” He looks down at his feet like he’s just revealed a secret, shameful part of himself.

You burst into laughter, and Sunghoon is scared for a second that you’re making fun of him, and his feelings are a lot more hurt than they should be by someone he just met. Although, to be fair, you don’t feel like someone he just met.

“That’s so cool! It must be such a nice change from all the dudes on the hockey team,” you say, a sweet, curious smile on your lips. Like you mean what you say. Like you might want to know more.

Sunghoon thinks he just fell in love.

He chuckles. “Yeah. Definitely a nice change. As much as I love hockey, it’s nice to do something calmer, you know. And I like singing. And the cakes the local grandmas bring.”

“So that’s what it’s all about, really.”

“Yep, you caught me.” Sunghoon still feels the almost-kiss lingering, a tension between the two of you that has him on edge. He feels like he’s just missed his bus because it left a minute earlier than planned. The opportunity is gone, and he would definitely mess everything up, trying to kiss you now. So instead, he decides to leave. Whatever must happen, will happen, even if it’s not tonight. You have the same friends—this is definitely not the last time you will see each other. “Well, I should probably head. I have to be up at eight tomorrow.”

“Oh, wow. The choir grandmas don’t play around.”

“They really don’t.”

“Well, see you around then,” you say, a clumsy laugh falling from your lips as you wrap your arms around Sunghoon’s neck, bringing him into a tight but short hug. You also smell good, he notes to himself. Of course you do.

“See you, Y/N.” Just as he’s about to turn away, you wrap your hand around his wrist.

“Wait. Sunghoon?” He’s only half-surprised at the immense relief he feels to hear his name on your lips. Like you, too, didn’t want to part with him just yet.

“Yeah?” he says, wishing the hope and anticipation aren’t too obvious on his face.

“Where’s that choir of yours?”

--

When Sunghoon arrives at his neighborhood’s community center, ten minutes before nine a.m., you’re already there. Despite the seven hours of sleep under his belt, he feels like he could’ve done with three more, and the singular cup of instant black coffee he had for breakfast was both atrocious and useless. But your smile has the restorative effect of two Red Bulls and a power nap. You look surprisingly bright, like you either managed to get a very good night’s sleep or are just the biggest morning person to ever exist.

He hugs you when he reaches you on the sidewalk, tighter than he probably should, but you return it. You smell like fresh soap and sugar. The two of you exchange quick greetings before he leads you inside the center. 

“I made some cookies as well.” You point to your tote bag and Sunghoon’s jaw slackens.

“You had time to bake?” 

“Kazuha made me take Jägerbombs, so I felt crazy when I got home. I thought it wouldn’t be fair on the old ladies if they did all the work.”

Sunghoon laughs. “They’re going to love you.”

You follow Sunghoon up two flights of stairs and into a spacious room with a wooden stage. There’s a snacks table on one side of the room that is almost fully decked with plates and tupperwares of all sorts, and although their contents remain covered by tin foil or lids, the coffee and hot water pots are free to use. Most of the chairs are stacked on each side of the room but a few have been put in the middle, the grandmas sitting and chatting there waving at Sunghoon as the two of you walk in. There are about fifteen people in the room so far, most of them older ladies, but not only. There’s a dad that came with his daughter, a couple of teenagers, and a few other adults. It’s quite an eclectic mix, and Sunghoon loves it.

Minjeong is here, too, which Sunghoon realizes he forgot to say until he sees the sheer confusion of finding someone you know in an unexpected place on both of your faces. She walks towards you, suspicious eyes darting between you two.

“Hey,” she says only to Sunghoon before turning to you, arms crossed over her chest. “And what are you doing here?”

“Hi, Minjeong, so nice to see you too!”

“I invited Y/N,” Sunghoon says quickly, although you did technically invite yourself. For some reason, he feels the need to defend you, even though he knows you and Minjeong have been friends for years now, and Minjeong is just always this blunt.

“I didn’t know this was the choir you went to,” you say to Minjeong.

“Oh, this?” She looks around the room. “It’s only the choir I’ve been going to since I was a kid. You’d know that if today wasn’t the first day you showed interest in it, ever.”

“I came to your concerts!”

One of the old ladies calls Sunghoon’s name from the snack table, and he is glad for the diversion. “Right. I’ll let you guys talk this out.” A hand on your shoulder, he smiles down at you. “I’m gonna say hi to the ladies over there. Be back in a minute.” He shoots Minjeong a look as if to say, Be normal. 

As he approaches the small group, one of them asks very loudly if you’re his girlfriend. They all burst into giggles, blushing and eager-eyed like they’re sixteen rather than sixty. Sunghoon would be endeared if you didn’t look so alarmed and Minjeong so horrified, both of you looking at him before turning back to each other and getting into a very heated and secretive discussion. He is bombarded with a hundred questions: what your name is, where you’re from, how did the two of you meet, are you together? No? But you’re so pretty! And he’s such a nice boy! He answers all of their queries to the best of his ability while checking that your conversation with Minjeong hasn’t turned physical—your arms are now also crossed over your chest, and you look annoyed while she looks like she’s accusing you of something, but at least, punches aren’t being thrown. 

Thankfully, it’s only a couple more minutes until the conductor calls for everyone to gather on stage, and a weight is lifted off of Sunghoon’s shoulders once the ladies’ collective attention is no longer on him. He isn’t sure where they came from, or why they’ve decided to make the choir rehearsal their hang-out spot, but there is always a group of women who sit there and knit while chatting quietly or listening to the songs, and they are sometimes joined by children whose parents are part of the choir but don’t want to sing themselves and apparently have nowhere else to go. Sunghoon had been so excited at the prospect of having you come see him that he hadn’t thought of how boring this might be for you, sitting with sixty-year-olds for two hours, listening to an amateur choir go through scales and sing corny romance ballads—they’re rehearsing for a wedding they’ve been hired to sing at. But as the minutes go by, his worry dissipates when the delighted smile on your face hardly falters. He can’t imagine that his choir is that good, but you genuinely look like you’re having a nice time, and it makes Sunghoon stand a little taller, sing a little louder. Your eyes are on him for most of the time, and he blushes every time your gazes meet, but he still can’t keep himself from looking away from the conductor to check on you every few seconds.   

Once rehearsal is over, everyone gathers around the refreshments table. When you tell Sunghoon that he looked good out there, he stuffs his mouth with banana bread to stop himself from blurting out something stupid. Your cookies are a hit, and so is everything else—Sunghoon would be more than happy to watch you eat as many baked goods as you possibly can and chat with the grandmas, but he has something to ask you. Without thinking much, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling you away from the table and towards him. The question that was at the tip of his tongue fades as soon as you meet his eyes, looking up at him like a deer caught in headlights, cheeks stuffed with brownie. You’re so cute that words fail him for a second, and when he notices the proximity between the two of you, takes a small, bashful step backwards. You glance at his hand still around your wrist, and he withdraws it like he’s suddenly been burned. 

A playful smile grows on your lips. “Everything alright?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. I just, um, well. There’s a bus that takes us from right across the street directly to the beach, if you’re, um, if you’re interested. In going. With me. If you want.”

Your eyebrows cock in surprise, and Sunghoon thinks he’s messed it all up. You shoot Minjeong a quick, worried glance, then seem to think for a second. But when you look back to him, your smile is soft. “That sounds nice.”

An hour later, you’re running around together on the beach—or rather, Sunghoon is running around, and after five minutes of watching him with a smile on your face, he’s convinced you to run around with him. You’ve both long discarded your shoes and socks, jeans scrunched up to your mid-calves, grins so wide, your cheeks start to hurt. The wet sand is hard under your feet and the water cold against your skin. Sunghoon’s t-shirt sticks everywhere you sprayed water on him, and he knows putting his shoes on later will be a whole ordeal, but it doesn’t bother him. Even the gray September sky feels brighter because you’re standing with him underneath it. 

The water-splashing battle quickly has you both out of breath, and Sunghoon is ready to call a truce when you spot something behind him, gasping and running towards it. He turns around to find you picking up a bunch of sandcastle-building toys that must’ve been left behind by some kids. “I haven’t built a sandcastle in such a long time, this is so exciting,” you say, excitement written all over your face. 

As much as he loves seeing the glint of childish amusement in your eyes, Sunghoon keeps looking around in case the owners of these toys might appear out of thin air. “I feel like there’s something immoral about this,” he says, and you stop stacking sand into one of the toys to look at him with a confused frown. “Aren’t we technically stealing from some kids?”

“Sunghoon. If those kids really cared about these plastic toys, they wouldn’t have left them here.”

“What if they come back for them?”

“Then we’ll give them back. We’re not monsters.” That’s all it takes for Sunghoon to give in. He helps dig trenches around the towers you build, carving out small windows on them and apologizing profusely when he accidentally pokes too hard into one of them, destroying half of it. 

The second he notices you shivering, Sunghoon is on his feet, unwrapping the scarf around his neck and laying it like a blanket over your shoulders. “I’m going to get us something warm to drink. I’ll be back in a minute!” he announces before you can even protest, and practically runs to the nearest café. 

He only leaves you and the slightly pathetic-looking sandcastle alone for a minute, quickly coming back with two take-away cups of milky Earl Grey tea and a brownie that he couldn’t help himself from buying. The moan you let out when you bite into it, gooey, sweet chocolate sticking to your teeth, goes straight down Sunghoon’s spine, but he tries not to let his thoughts get too carried away.

“Good, right?” he asks, laughing when you nod fervently. When you laugh too, it’s a sound so sweet, it rivals the decadence of the brownie. “I sometimes make the trip all the way here just for this.”

“I thought I’d be done with sweets after this morning, but this is so good.”

“Better than Berta’s banana bread?”

“Oh, a hundred percent,” you say, covering your mouth with your hand as you speak. “Sorry, Berta. I’ll be thinking about this for the rest of my life.”

Sunghoon hopes you’ll remember him as the boy who’d introduced you to those brownies, if nothing else.

The two of you are silent for a little bit, but it’s a comfortable silence—something Sunghoon didn’t know was possible with someone he’d just met. This was something he loved about the sea: it allowed for some quiet. The crashing of the waves against the shore, the calls of the seagulls, the dogs barking after them—it all meant he didn’t need to fill the space with needless chatter. He could look out at the peaceful water, you by his side, and just enjoy the moment.

“I’m still so amazed whenever I come to the beach, no matter how many times it’s been.” Sunghoon’s voice is quiet when he speaks, lower than usual. It sounds a lot more intimate than he means it to be. You turn your head to look at him, silently asking him to go on. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, a twinkle in his eyes as he watches the water. “The town I grew up in is right in the middle of the country, so the sea is like, a five-hour drive. There was a lake nearby, but it was nothing compared to this. It might sound silly, but being from somewhere where everyone knows each other, I never realized just how big the world was until I came here and saw the sea for the first time.”

“You’d never been to the sea before coming here?” you ask, surprise clear in your voice. 

He shakes his head. “My hometown isn’t far from the mountains, so it’s a huge tourist spot both in the winter and in the summer, which meant my mom had to work even when my sister and I were out of school and could actually go on holiday. We’d go visit my grandparents and aunts when we found the time, but that was it.” He meets your gaze, a smile playing on his lips at the thought of his hometown and his family. “This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home.” 

The corners of your lips raise into a smile too, matching Sunghoon’s. “And how has that been going?”

He sighs. “It’s okay. I miss my mom and sister like crazy, of course, but they FaceTime me so much that I barely notice it. And anyways, it’s also nice to be on my own. Discover another part of myself, and all that.”

“For sure.” 

There’s a slight shift in your expression that Sunghoon catches onto, a falter in your smile and a hint of sadness in your eyes. He doesn’t want to force a topic that you don’t want to talk about, so he just gently eggs you on, in case all you need is a small push.

“What about you? I think Jake mentioned you guys growing up around here, only an hour or so away.”

At the mention of your brother, the smile returns to your eyes. You take a deep breath and think for a bit, but eventually, you start talking. Although Sunghoon’s eyes are on you, you keep yours trained on the sea. “Yeah, we did. We live just up the coast, so we were always hanging out at the beach. In a way, it’s nice having the sea here as well. It’s like-I don’t know.”

“Like having a piece of home even when you’re away?”

Your gazes meet for just a second, the surprise clear in your eyes, but as quickly as it came, it’s gone, and you turn away from Sunghoon once more. “Basically, yeah.” A sardonic smile appears on your lips. “Although the constant reminder isn’t always appreciated.” 

He tilts his head. When you don’t say anything further, he flicks some sand onto your hand and asks you what you mean by that. He looks at you with curiosity and kindness only, eager to know more about you, to let you know that you can open up to him, that he won’t judge you, but careful not to overstep any boundaries either. It seems to work.

“It might sound stupid, but back home, the beach was a place I could go to when it all was a bit too much, you know? Like an escape from everyday life. Where I could forget about all of the pressure on my shoulders.” Sunghoon hums, and you take another deep breath. “I don’t know if you and Jake talk about this sort of thing, but… our parents are barely nice when we do well, and pretty awful when we don’t reach their expectations. So we were like, constantly having to outdo ourselves just for them to say, ‘Keep it up’, or something like that. And if we did something wrong, well…”

You trail off, but Sunghoon knows what you mean. “Yeah, Jake said they barely spoke to him anymore because he decided to play hockey instead of becoming, like, a doctor or something.”

You smile, but it’s humorless. “Yep. They send him money, and he comes home for a bit over Christmas and summer break, but that’s it. I’ve gone home by myself sometimes and they won’t even mention him, it’s insane.”

“He also doesn’t talk about it a lot.”

“I know. I’m always the one to bring it up. I know it’s a sensitive topic for him, obviously, but I still find it amazing how well he deals with it. But me… despite everything, I still need their approval, you know?” you ask, and Sunghoon nods.

“That makes sense.”

You sigh. “I guess. And I’m obviously not becoming a doctor like them. Not a medical one, at least. It took a year of convincing them that doing the degree I’m doing was okay. ‘Cause at the end of the day, it’s still me filling in my university applications, and they can’t actually force me to go to medical school, but I still wanted them to be proud of me. Even if I study languages.” It’s quiet for a few seconds as you both look out at the waves crashing against the shore. When you start talking again, you look down at the sand, picking it up and letting it filter through your fingers. “So, yeah. Jake got a scholarship here, and I didn’t wanna be too far from home, so here we are. We’re so close to home, the sea I went to when I needed a break in high school and the sea I go to now are one and the same. And now it reminds me of my parents rather than making me forget about them.”

“I’m sorry for bringing you here,” Sunghoon says. “I didn’t think…”

You cut him off with a smile. “It’s okay. Now I’ve created new memories. Nice ones. And you know… wherever I am, it’ll be at the back of my mind. It’s up to me whether I let it affect my life or not.”

“Letting go of these things is never easy,” Sunghoon offers. “You also can’t blame yourself if it does affect you sometimes.”

When you look at Sunghoon, your eyes darting back-and-forth between his like they’re searching for something there, he feels himself tense up slightly. He can’t read you at all, has no idea what you’re thinking even as you smile and say, “You’re right.” Even as you silently link your pinky with his, gazing down at your hands with a small smile. He hadn’t realized how cold his hands were until this small touch, so small yet able to spread warmth throughout his entire body. When he speaks, he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes—he’s still so focused on where your hands touch, too aware of the skin of your finger right against his. Such a small, innocent touch. He can’t even begin to understand why it means so much to him.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you’re doing is super cool,” he says. “I’ve always been so shit at foreign languages, let alone dead languages. And packing your bags and going abroad for a year, not everybody can do that. Becoming a doctor might be hard, but it also takes a specific kind of person to do what you do. And what Jake does. It’s all valuable.”

“Now, if you could say that again while I record you to show my parents, please,” you say, making him laugh.

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“What about you?” you ask him after a small pause. “I can’t be the only one who trauma-dumps on the first date.”

Sunghoon’s breath hitches in his throat. He hadn’t even dared entertain the thought that this might be more than a platonic hang-out in case he was crossing a line—but you’ve just called it a date. With just a few casual words, you’ve changed the entire meaning of the hours you’ve spent together. He hopes you can’t tell how flustered it’s made him.

“Well, there’s not much trauma to dump, really. Sorry.” 

You giggle. “Don’t apologize. That’s a good thing.”

Now that you’ve just opened up about your parents, Sunghoon is scared that telling you about how good of a childhood he had might come off as insensitive—but you smile softly at him, holding his hand face-up in yours, tracing the lines of his palm with the tip of a finger, and he starts talking. “So, it was just me, my older sister and my mom growing up. My dad died when I was 2.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It is a bit sad that I don’t have any memories of him, but everyone who knew him said he was a great guy. And my mom’s had this boyfriend since I was like, 10? He’s the one who got me to start hockey. So it hasn’t been that bad.”

“Your mom must be really strong.”

Sunghoon smiles. “She is. She’s amazing. To raise two kids on your own while grieving and not royally fuck up is… well, amazing. She’s always been so supportive of us, no matter what we wanted to do. My sister did well at school, but I wasn’t so good. I never really enjoyed it, but she’s never made me feel bad about it. She didn’t mind that all I wanted to do was hit a puck around.” 

“And you’re pretty good at hitting that puck around, aren’t you?”

“I’m not so bad,” Sunghoon says, chuckling along with you. He’s about to go on, but he is cut off by a raindrop hitting his hand, then another one; before either of you know it, your clothes are soaked through. Sunghoon takes his denim jacket off, using it as a makeshift umbrella for the both of you as you run towards the nearest awning, shaking with giddy laughter until you forget about the chilly rain and the clothes sticking to your skin. When it doesn’t let up for another few minutes, Sunghoon suggests catching the bus back, and you agree. 

The heating on the bus is set on low, but it’s enough to warm Sunghoon up as soon as he steps onto it. You sit at the back in a corner of your own, multiple rows away from the other people onboard. The two of you are relatively quiet, lost in your own thoughts until Sunghoon, after much internal deliberating, takes one of your hands in his and interlaces your fingers together. You look up at him, but he doesn’t return your gaze, eyes fixed on the window to hide his shy smile and the blush slowly staining his cheeks. To his surprise, you squeeze his hand and rest your head on his shoulder. He freezes for a second, unsure how to react to your reciprocated affection, but he makes himself relax into your touch, and starts brushing his thumb back-and-forth on the back of your hand. The sudden storm has made day turn to night a little earlier today, and with the quiet hum of the bus, he finds himself on the edge of sleep for the whole ride—the only thing keeping him awake is his booming heart.

The bus is nearing his stop when the buzz of his phone in his back pocket jolts him awake. You lift your head from his shoulder, massaging your neck as you fish your phone out of your own pocket. Sunghoon, more intrigued by you than by whoever has texted him, watches as the brightness of your screen makes you wince. Once you’ve read the text, you turn towards him, sleepy eyes and sleepy voice as you ask him whether he’s seen “this,” referring to a text from Chaewon. dinner at our flat tonight!!! come whenever. bring drinks. 

“Oh, I forgot she was doing that tonight,” you say through a yawn.

Sunghoon chuckles. “Do you have enough energy for it?”

“I always have enough energy for Chaewon’s cooking.”

You and Sunghoon make a pit-stop at a grocery store to buy two bottles of white wine and the hummus Chaewon likes, then head to your flat. Naturally, questions are asked when you and Sunghoon arrive at the exact same time, but before Sunghoon can explain that you spent the day together, Minjeong’s head pops out of the kitchen door, and she asks whether you ran into each other downstairs. Chaewon is only looking at the both of you, waiting for an answer, so she doesn’t see the very pointed look Minjeong gives you, as if to say Agree with me or else. You quickly glance at Sunghoon then say, “Yeah, we just arrived at the same time.” When they’ve both turned away, you tell him in a hushed tone that you’ll ask her about it later. 

The girls are busy in the small kitchen and Chaewon insists that they don’t need any more help, so you and Sunghoon bring two chairs by the kitchen door and sit as Yunjin catches the four of you up on the most recent drama in her Law cohort. Jay arrives twenty minutes later, but it isn’t another hour before Jake shows up with the excuse that he was taking a nap.

“Someone would think you don’t sleep at night, with the amount of naps you take,” you say.

“Oh my God, I miss when you weren’t here,” Jake replies, flicking your forehead before promptly plopping himself down on the couch. “I was so hungover when I woke up. I had to sleep it off,” he explains as he grabs four cans of beer from his backpack. 

Chaewon always makes a point to ask how everyone’s spent their day, but today, she unfortunately starts with Sunghoon, so he doesn’t have any time to come up with anything believable other than the truth, which is exactly what he does—and when Jay asks, What, to the beach by yourself? under Minjeong’s heavy gaze, he has no choice but to say yes. He isn’t sure why it’s such a big deal that you spent the day with him, or why it needs to be kept a secret, but there must be a reason. He’ll find out later. When it’s your turn, you look straight into Sunghoon’s eyes as you say you spent the day at the library but didn’t get much work done. Everyone ignores Jake when he exclaims Boring! and Chaewon swiftly moves onto Jay.

But you don’t. 

Your eyes stay on Sunghoon, unflinchingly watching him, expression unreadable, and he finds himself unable to look away, even as he feels his face heat up and his stomach flip. Then you smile, a satisfied smirk like you got what you wanted, and shift your gaze to Jay, who’s going on and on about the first six episodes of Lost he binge-watched earlier and wondering why nobody had told him about this “masterpiece of a show” before. Sunghoon is too busy thinking about the way you’d looked at him and pondering all the reasons for it to listen carefully. He watched Lost when he was fourteen anyway.

All throughout the evening, as the seven of you eat Chaewon’s pasta dish (which she made entirely from scratch, and is probably one of the best things to have ever graced Sunghoon’s taste buds), drink, talk, and afterwards, play card games, every glance between you and Sunghoon feels like a secret conversation that only the two of you are privy to. No one except for Minjeong is aware that you spent the day just the two of you until now—and even she doesn’t know what it is you did. Within a day of knowing each other, you already share memories that are yours and no one else’s. Sunghoon is giddy with the knowledge, heart skipping every time your eyes meet, no matter how fleetingly. When you’re all saying goodbye, it takes everything in him not to hug you for an awkwardly long time and to tear himself away from you. 

He can hardly fall asleep that night.

--

For the entirety of the year you were gone, Sunghoon could only nod and smile while the others bemoaned your absence or commented on how much more fun it’d be if you were here (even Jake, after enough wine spritzers, would admit to missing you). He understood that the group dynamics might feel different to them without you around, but this particular set of people was all he knew, so he never minded it. It reminded him of people telling him how sad it must’ve been growing up without a father, trying to be empathetic, when he didn’t know how he could miss something he never had. 

But now that you’re here, he gets it. You add something to the group that he can’t quite put his finger on. It’s in your affectionate gestures towards Chaewon and Yunjin, in your shared sense of humor with Jay (which no one else seems to find funny, save for Sunghoon, sometimes), in your bickering with Minjeong and downright arguing with Jake. It’s a hackneyed expression, but you do light up a room—at least in Sunghoon’s opinion, you do. In your presence, everything feels not only more lively, but also more cohesive, like you were the missing piece of a puzzle. Like a historic work of art that has been returned to its rightful owner. 

Sunghoon just finds himself drawn to you, at times unable to keep his eyes off of you, and the only things keeping him from making a move are his inherent shyness and the eyes of your friends. He doesn’t want to mess up the friendship he has with anyone from the group, least of all Jake, just because he can’t keep it in his pants. He thought of Yunjin and Chaewon, how their relationship had gone smoothly from the beginning and posed no problem to the dynamic of the group, but he had no idea if this was replicable between you and him at all.

If he had to be honest, a big part of him was also just afraid you’d reject him.

Getting a read on you is hard, which doesn’t help. It’s been three weeks since the gang reunited, since that party where you met. The first semester of his second and your fourth year started a little bit over a week ago; Sunghoon sometimes worries that you think there is some big age gap between you and that you see him as a kid, even though, admittedly, two years is not such a huge difference. In those three weeks, there have been many encounters which could be seen as cases of flirting between the two of you—Sunghoon has noticed every single one of them and replayed each an embarrassing amount of times in his head. A hand carefully posited on his shoulder; prolonged eye contact; jokes whispered in his ear at a crowded house party; knees lightly touching at first, then pressed together during movie night. None of it ever fails to make Sunghoon’s heart flutter. You could breathe in his general direction and it’d make his heart beat fast enough to worry a cardiologist, so when you smile at him, it’s a small death every time.

And so he dares hope that his interest isn’t one-sided—although most of the time, he is so stuck between thinking none of it means anything and thinking every single thing you do is a sign that you like him, that he rarely knows what to think. And whenever you’ve paid him enough attention to make him believe it’s not all in his head, you do something that proves him wrong. Watching you interact with other people, he realizes that you keep good eye contact with everyone and that you’re just as touchy and playful with all of your friends. At parties, you hit it off with new people and catch up with old friends without so much as a hint of awkwardness. He watches as you talk to other guys, the same smile that has been making him weak for the past three weeks, directed towards them and not him. Sunghoon assumes you’re either really nice to everyone and oblivious to the fact that it could be seen as flirting, or you just flirt with everyone. 

In that sense, the two of you are complete opposites. Sunghoon, whose entire friend group hangs on the fact that he befriended Jay, who knew Jake, who knew you, Minjeong, Yunjin and Chaewon. Sunghoon who has spoken to maybe half of his hockey team outside of the locker rooms and the occasional party. Sunghoon who, outside of his usual friend group, has managed to make three other friends on his own in the year he’s been at university, because they had been put in a group project and magically hit it off enough to upgrade from classmates to friends. 

Then there’s you, who has to stop every thirty seconds at a party to say hi to someone you know. You, who still keeps in touch with the friends you made in a foreign country, even those who spoke broken English. You, who didn’t make Sunghoon feel like his crippling shyness was a problem when you first met. 

He doesn’t understand how everyone who meets you doesn’t instantly fall in love. 

Or maybe they do, and he’s just one of many vying for your heart. 

Tonight is one of the nights where all he can do is watch from afar as you interact with another man that he desperately wishes was him. With your lower back against the kitchen counter, drink in hand as you laugh with that other guy, eyes never leaving his face, it almost looks like someone has copied your time with Sunghoon at the costume party and pasted it onto this post-hockey game party. All you’re missing is a bright pink cowgirl hat and boots to match.

And yet, it’s his team jacket over your shoulders, his name and number on your back. Sunghoon shouldn’t feel nearly as jealous as he does.

So he does what any good friend would do, and blames Jay for reasons completely unwarranted—even now, days after receiving his advice, and hours after taking it, Sunghoon still can’t help but regret involving him at all. 

Initially, Sunghoon hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about his growing feelings for you—he’d thought that if he pushed them away and kept them to himself, they’d go away on their own. But clearly, they didn’t, seeing as how his stomach always twisted in nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing you and how he could never get through a conversation with you without blushing. So, quicker than he’d like to admit, he’d given in and told Jay about the day you’d spent at the beach and how felt about you now, thinking it was some big shameful secret that would render his friend flabbergasted. 

That was his first mistake. 

Jay wasn’t impressed. “Yeah, it’s been pretty obvious, dude,” he’d said through a mouthful of cheeseburger. It was after hockey practice, and they were sitting in the burger joint near the ice rink that had some of the best student deals in town. Jake was going on a Hinge date, and Sunghoon had lured Jay in with the promise of free food (Jay wanted to go home and game, but all Sunghoon needed to do to convince him was to say “I’ll pay for it”). 

“Obvious? How obvious? Does everyone know? Does Jake know?” Sunghoon asked, growing more agitated by the second.

“Jake is possibly the worst room-reader that has ever lived, so no, I don’t think he’s caught on. But the rest of us know. I mean, you look at her like a twelve-year-old with a crush on his English teacher,” Jay said, unceremoniously cramming fries into his mouth.

Sunghoon ignored the slightly humiliating remark, still preoccupied by the fact that he hadn’t been as discreet as he thought he had. He leant in towards Jay and dropped his voice to a whisper, even though the restaurant was practically empty, save for them and a group of rowdy middle school boys who were definitely not paying attention to them. “Do you think… does she know?”

Jay dropped his fist on the table in sudden annoyance, causing Sunghoon to jump back in his seat. “Now you’re acting like a twelve-year-old.” Before Sunghoon could defend himself and argue that he’s being completely rational, Jay launches into a surprisingly moving monologue. “It’s fine if you like her, there’s nothing to be embarrassed of. Everybody feels attraction towards other people, everybody gets crushes, it’s no big deal. Just talk to her. Worst case scenario, she doesn’t feel the same way, and you both move on, because you’re adults.”

There’s nothing worse than a friend being right about something you absolutely don’t want to hear. Sunghoon did feel like he had been carrying a horrible secret around, but Jay was spot-on: crushes are a very common, very human experience. And yet Sunghoon managed to feel like he was the only one who had ever had to go through this torture. “You say that like it’s easy,” he said, sulking.

“It is easy. You’re making it hard.”

“So what, your advice is just to confess to her?”

Jay rolled his eyes. “See? You’re saying confess like it’s some sin you have to repent for. Yeah, just tell her.”

“Just tell her,” Sunghoon repeated, looking at his friend like he was crazy. Jay just took another bite of his burger.

“Yeah, dude. It’s not even like you’ve known each other for a long time, so there’s no risk of ruining a friendship, or anything.”

“But do you even know if she feels the same way at all?”

Jay shrugged. “She hasn’t mentioned anything,” he said, and Sunghoon’s heart dropped in disappointment. “But it’s Y/N, she’ll be cool about it. And who knows, she might actually see something in you, for some godforsaken reason.”

Jay laughed at his own joke, and Sunghoon afforded him a chuckle. They moved on to other topics, but later, as they waited for Jay’s bus to come, he couldn’t help himself. “Do you think Jake will mind? If something happens with Y/N and me?”

Jay thought for a second. “I think he’d be more upset with her than with you, what with everything that happened with Heeseung... But knowing him, he probably won’t care as long as you aren’t weird in front of him.” He puts a hand on Sunghoon’s shoulder and shakes it gently. “Don’t let that stop you from making a move, okay? You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.” His bus came then, so Sunghoon couldn't ask for more details about this Heeseung situation—he knew that there had been something between you and him which hadn’t ended particularly well, but no one ever really talked about it so he didn’t dare bring it up. All he knew was that it had been significant enough for Jay to mention it now, and for Jake to seem bothered every time it was mentioned.

He put all of that out of his head for the time being. In a way, he had just received Jay’s blessing; even if it scared him shitless, he could make a move. Perhaps not something as straightforward as Jay was suggesting, but something, at the very least. 

The first major hockey game of the season was that coming Friday. Sunghoon had an idea.

The morning of, he shot you a text. He tried to make it sound as nonchalant as he can, so that you wouldn’t know he spent close to an hour deleting, writing and pouring over a singular sentence. Can you meet me in front of the locker rooms 30 mins before the game? 

That was his second mistake.

You replied twenty minutes later, twenty minutes that Sunghoon spent questioning everything that had led up to this moment.

yn.sim i’ll be there!!

You even got there five minutes early. He was waiting for you, all decked out in his hockey uniform, save for the gloves and protective headgear. He was anxiously chewing on gum, heart doing somersaults inside his ribcage—a grin found his lips as soon as you appeared around the corner, the sight of you alleviating his nerves for a second, then doubling them when you came close. “Hey,” he said, voice soft and slightly trembling.

“Hey,” you simply replied, a smile on your face to match his as he took you in his arms. It was a hug that lasted a second longer than it should, but that also ended too early for his liking.

“Um, I only have a second, Coach will be wanting to give one of his pep talks,” he said when you separated. One quick glance back at the locker room doors behind him, then back at you. The tips of his ears burnt, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from furtively darting between your face and the floor. But he’d come this far, so he couldn’t back out now. He just had to get it over with. “Here,” he blurted out, holding out the letterman jacket he had been hiding behind his back. You grabbed it, eyeing him with amused suspicion at first, but surprise spreaded over your features as you unfurled the jacket.

“Your team jacket?” 

He couldn’t tell whether you were amazed or horrified. You stared wide-eyed at the jacket, at its dark green sleeves, at the four letters of his last name and the huge number 8 embroidered onto the back. Your surprise faded back into what he thought — what he hoped — was excitement as you looked at him. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling his face flush red. “Yeah, I just, you know… It’s the first big game of the year, and I thought it’d bring me good luck if a pretty girl was wearing my name…” he explained, repeating the words he’d practiced over and over, voice turning into more and more of a mumble as he spoke. He had planned on speaking with more confidence, but now, the fact that he could speak at all felt like a miracle.

A light giggle spilled out of your mouth. Sunghoon immediately took it for mockery and regretted every decision that had led him here. “Sorry, it was a silly idea, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it,” he said, reaching for the jacket. But you were quicker than him, hugging the thick bundle of fabric to your chest as you now beamed at him.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” you said, shrugging off your jacket and replacing it with his.

First, relief flooded his body, then pride and excitement — as you spun around and showed the jacket off — at seeing his name on your back, and his attempt at making a move being successful. At least, he thought it was clear what he meant by giving you his jacket to wear at his game—he could only hope you understood. “Well… I’m glad.” Your eyes met, and you both chuckled softly, gazes holding each other’s for a second too long. 

Two weeks ago, Sunghoon still would’ve been able to convince himself this was a fluke; that this was just another one of his crushes that a gentle breeze could blow away. Because after all, when Sunghoon fell in love, it usually went as quickly as it came. But at that moment, in front of the locker rooms, his mind solely on you and not the opening game of the season, he realized this was something else entirely. And whatever it was, he hadn’t felt it in a good long while.

He was terrified—but infinitely excited, too.

“Okay, I should probably head back in now,” he forced himself to say, but made no move to go.

“Okay.”

He paused. “Will you be cheering me on?”

Your smile widened. “Of course.”

He nodded slowly, upper body starting to turn away but feet still firmly planted on the ground. “Okay.” 

Another second passed, and just as he was about to actually walk away, you grabbed his hand. Before he could compute what was happening, you lifted your head and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. His hand was still in yours when you took a step back, and for once, it was you who looked sheepishly at the floor. “For good luck,” you explained. He had no time to reply—you were already walking away, only looking back once to wave and shoo him in the direction of the locker room. He chuckled and nodded, but waited until you were out of sight to head back into the locker room.

Inside the locker room, everyone was too focused on getting their head in the game to notice his giddy smile. Your lips had been warm and soft against his cheeks, a welcome repeat of that time at the costume party, but the quickness of it all had only made him want more. From that very first night he’d met you, the question of how your lips would feel on his had scarcely left his mind. This brought him a step closer to getting an answer, but also made his curiosity grow tenfold.

Thankfully, by the time his coach gathered them around for a last minute pep talk, he’d managed to put the distracting thoughts of you out of his head, at least temporarily—he’d need to play well, for himself and his team mostly, but impressing you was also a priority. 

As the captain, Heeseung said a few words. He reminded the team of how important this match was and went over the main strategy points. For the time being, Sunghoon was able to forget about his arguably unfounded resentment against the older boy and whatever it was he had to do with you. This was not the time for jealousy over someone he had no right to feel jealous over. 

A few minutes later, his members and those of the opposing team poured out onto the rink for warm-up. Sunghoon searched the crowd for your face—when he found it, you were already smiling wide and waving at him. His heart did something funny, but Jay punched his shoulder pad and he remembered what he was there for. He could get lost in the eyes of a pretty girl later, specifically when he’d destroyed the other team and shown her how good of a hockey player he was.

Every now and then as he skirted around the rink and did his stretches, he stole glances at you. They didn't last long, because every single time, you’d already be looking, as if your eyes never strayed from him. Knowing you were watching made him nervous at first, but by the end of warm-up, mainly because he didn’t have much of a choice, he’d turned those nerves into an ever stronger will to do well.

The moment the referee blew the whistle, and for the hour that followed, Sunghoon was locked in on one thing and one thing only: winning. He was only competitive when it came to hockey—he didn’t care about dying in an online battle game or losing to Jake at beer pong, but once he was on the rink, he had to win. Pride surged through him and filled every crevice of his aching limbs whenever he or one of his team members scored, and the feeling that came with a victory, with hugging his teammates in celebration or hearing the crowd cheer for them, was like nothing else he’d ever known. The other side of that coin meant that any loss was a tremendous disappointment. Getting beat at an important game could put him in a week-long funk. His sister had once carefully hinted at his self-esteem relying too much on his hockey performance, and although his first reaction had been to dismiss her, he knew she had poked at some truth there. But what could he do—on particularly lonely nights, he truly thought hockey was all he had going for him. 

To his overthinking nature, becoming so single-minded the second the whistle blows was a relief, a break from the stress of daily life. He didn’t have to worry about his next deadline or about what the guys on the team thought of him or about the inevitable phone call to his mom asking for more money for groceries. It was respite from the thoughts surrounding you that plagued him: how you felt about him, how you might react knowing what he felt for you, how Jake might react. Why Minjeong hadn’t wanted you to say anything that evening, but why Jay had told him to just go for it. Heeseung, whom he had to respect as the captain and an undeniably talented player, but also as someone who had had something to do with you, whether good or bad. All of it had been wildly bustling around Sunghoon’s mind, but once on the rink, all he had to concern himself with was the puck and getting it in the opposing team’s goal. 

And Sunghoon did just that—he scored the first goal of the game, another one in the second period, then a third during the eleventh hour, breaking the tie between the two teams. He smiled right at you after each one, just to make sure you had seen everything. He couldn’t quite describe how it felt to see you clap and cheer for him, jumping up-and-down, forming a megaphone with your hands around your mouth and yelling, “Go Sunghoon!” all while you wore his jacket. It was a separate kind of pride and satisfaction from the sort he’d get seeing anyone else cheer him on, for sure. 

The other team put up a good fight, getting in a few goals of their own and protecting their side well, but in the end, thanks to Sunghoon’s goal, it was his team that won. He took his helmet off and got his hair ruffled by half of his team, then shook hands with the other team, trying to contain his boastful smile—some ice hockey players flew off the handle very quickly, and starting a fight was the last thing he wanted.

Kids and local fans huddled by the barriers on each side of the player’s tunnel to get an autograph or a picture. People around here were weirdly attached to their university sport teams, and the athletes on teams that did particularly well — namely football and rugby — were sort of local celebrities. Their ice hockey team wasn’t quite at that stage yet, but they were placing better nationally with every year, and so the local interest had grown. More kids had started signing up for lessons, and their parents often brought them to home games. As Sunghoon chatted with men twice his age and took selfies with ten-year-olds, he tried to find you in the crowd, to no avail. He’d been hoping for a thumbs-up from you for a game well played, or even a hug, but you were nowhere in sight.

It wasn’t until half-an-hour later, after saying bye to all the fans that had waited after the game for them, listening to Heeseung and their coach congratulate them (but also remind them to not take anything for granted), showering and changing, that he got to check his phone.

chaewon we going k-bbq! u guys played well see u later at da party!!!!

Disappointment only had a second to sink to the bottom of his stomach. He’d barely finished reading the text when he was hoisted up by the shoulders. Two of his senior teammates, Soobin and Beomgyu, marched him towards the exit. “We are getting you wasted tonight, Park,” Beomgyu announced, a wide grin on his lips.

“I have a good feeling about this season,” Soobin added. Sunghoon looked back to find Jay and Jake simply shrugging and laughing at him.

Indeed, the second they got to the dorm where tonight’s party would be taking place, a beer was thrusted in his hand. It was only 7 p.m., still light outside, but that didn’t stop the team nor their friends that had come to the game. They sipped beer like it was water, so much so that two hours later, when the party started to grow, Sunghoon was already quite inebriated. It didn’t help that his cup was never empty for too long, and that he had the reassurance of being in his own dorm—it was the closest student building to the ice rink, and so was one of the prime spots for hockey parties. He could get as drunk as he wanted — or as Beomgyu wanted — and still get home in less than a minute. 

He somehow ended up in the corridor, part of a nonsensical conversation about candle-making with two guys he had recognized from one of his Phys Ed classes but could not for the life of him remember the names of. One had shared that candle-making was a big hobby of his, and it had made Sunghoon and the other unknown man lose their minds—Sunghoon had never realized how curious about candle-making he was, but he couldn’t stop asking questions. It sounded great. Maybe he’d have to pick up candle-making, too. 

Eventually, he headed back to the kitchen for a new drink. For the nth time this evening, he thought of texting you, then immediately thought against it. He wanted to know when you’d get here, but he didn’t want you to know that he wanted to know—although as the night deepened and his intoxication rose, he could remember less and less why that would be such a bad thing. He stepped into the kitchen, and going from the brightly-lit corridor to the dark kitchen with flashing neon lights made him so dizzy that he made a beeline for the couch, needing to sit down for a second.

And that was when he saw you.

Lower back against the counter, talking with a guy he’s never seen in his life. You look like you’re having fun—smiling, laughing, keeping eye contact with that guy. You’re still wearing his jacket. It should probably reassure him—his name is literally on you, what does it matter that you’re speaking to someone else? But instead, all he can think is that wearing his jacket must mean nothing to you. What was basically a confession from him seems to have fallen on deaf ears.

His friends’ words over the past year come back to him—how much you flirt with people, how it wasn’t a rare occurrence for you to go home with a guy after a party and never speak of him ever again. Was this what was happening here?

He knows it’s unreasonable, but in his drunken state, he takes it as a betrayal. Like he can’t believe you haven’t read his mind, figured out how he felt about you, and decided to give special attention to him and him only. He’s only able to take it for so long—two minutes later, he trudges out of the room, walking right past you but not looking your way.

His new mission is to find his friends, but before he’s done much searching, he hears his name being called out. Of course, he recognizes your voice immediately, but he doesn’t quite believe it until he looks over his shoulder, and there you are, face glowing and smiling wide. You’ve clearly had a few drinks, but he likes to think you’d be just as happy to see him if you were sober. He turns around to face you, watching as you narrow the distance between the two of you. He’s not in a much better state—the simple thought that you had come after him makes him forget any sort of resentment he held against you a second ago. When you reach him, he holds on to one of your arms, as much an effort to stabilize his swaying body as an excuse to touch you.

“Hey,” he simply says. He’s always at a loss for words around you, so scared he’ll say the wrong thing that he ends up barely speaking at all. He’s only sober enough to know that with all the cheap beer and vodka running through his blood, his odds of making a fool of himself are even bigger. 

“Hey. I was wondering where you were.” 

“You’re the one who came late.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “I wanted to come right away, but Chaewon was hell-bent on getting her Korean barbecue.”

“She does get cranky when she hasn’t had pork belly in a while.” Sunghoon feels like he’s just won the Nobel Prize when you let out a laugh. “Was the food good at least?”

“It was amazing. So worth getting here late,” you joke.

He rolls his eyes playfully. “I see how it is.” Then, before he can stop himself, he adds, “Then we should go there together next time.” 

Your smile changes, turning from cheerful to surprised, but amused—almost mischievous. You take a step forward. Sunghoon gulps; the gap between the two of you was narrow to begin with. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Usually, this type of straight-forwardness would have him stuttering, but drunk Sunghoon is a man sober Sunghoon barely recognizes in the morning. “Yeah. I am. Is that okay?”

You nod. “Mh-hm.”

“Nice. Okay.” For a second, you just look at each other. Another thing about drunk Sunghoon: he doesn’t feel like prolonged eye contact will make him spontaneously combust. He actually quite enjoys it. He also stumbles, even when all he’s doing is trying to stand straight. “You’re still wearing my jacket,” he eventually says, reaching out to take the end of your sleeve between his fingers.

You stretch out your arms and appraise the team jacket as if you only remembered you had it on. “Yeah. It’s comfy.”

“It looks good. You look good.”

“You’re not quite sober, are you?” you ask suddenly. 

“Is it that obvious?” When you nod, he giggles, lowering his head in defeat. “The guys made me drink so much.”

“You did score three goals after all. And you looked good doing it.”

At the praise, he stands up to his full height and places his palms behind his head in a victorious pose. “I did, didn’t I?” he says, looking off in the distance with a self-assured look that makes you burst into laughter. He drops the confident facade and laughs along with you, until somebody bumps into him and sends him stumbling forwards. If you weren’t standing there to catch him, he’d probably have fallen flat on his face. But even though he doesn’t fall, he feels all the alcohol catching up to him and threatening to come right back out where it came from. You hold him for a second, and just as you ask him if he’s okay, he says, “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

You sigh. “Okay. Where’s your room?” 

Arm under his shoulders, you let Sunghoon lean most of his weight on you as you guide him towards the elevator. It’s just one floor, but you said you didn’t want to risk the stairs with him. “Hey, who was that guy with you in the kitchen? That guy in the striped shirt? You guys seemed real chummy back there…” he mumbles as you help him out of the elevator. Even on the verge of sickness, Sunghoon is preoccupied by more important things.

“Oh, that was Jaemin.”

“Jaemin,” he echoes, more venom in his voice than needed.

You look at him, taking in his disgruntled expression, and chuckle. “Yeah, he’s having some problems with his boyfriend. He asked me for advice.”

Sunghoon almost freezes in his tracks, but you’re there to keep him walking towards his room. “Oh. He has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah…” He can tell you want to tease him about it, but thankfully, you say nothing. He’s made it clear he had gotten jealous of your gay friend—no need to spell it out in so many words. Once you reach his studio (which he’d stupidly left unlocked), he heads straight for the bathroom, locking himself in, half out of embarrassment, half because he really doesn’t want you to see him throw up. Talk about a turn-off. He leans over the toilet bowl, waiting for the vomit to rise, but nothing comes. He waits, and waits, mind completely empty, head spinning even though he’s sitting very still, when suddenly a knock on the door pulls him out of his stupor.

“Sunghoon? It’s been ten minutes. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t say anything, just unlocks the door for you. Without realizing, he fell asleep like a bored teenager in math class. “All right,” he hears you say.

He’s surprised you’re able to carry him out of the bathroom—if he was a deadweight before, by now, rigor mortis has practically set in. Despite his small student room, crossing it takes you an entire minute, and when you reach his bed, you all but let him flop on the mattress. He doesn’t mind. As soon as his body hits the bed, he feels quite snug, curling against his blanket. You start to unbutton his shirt, probably just thinking he’s already fallen asleep and wanting to make him more comfortable, but your fingers freeze when he starts giggling. Shoulders shaking with unbridled laughter, he feels as delighted as a five-year-old who just said a naughty word and made all his drunk relatives laugh at the family dinner. 

“I know I looked really hot tonight, but can we wait until I’m sober?” he asks, slurring his words slightly and keeping his eyes shut, despite the shit-eating smirk on his lips. You hit him on the chest but it just makes him laugh more.

“Bold of you to assume I’d still hit when I’ve just had to peel you off your toilet seat.” He lets you finish helping him out of his button-down. 

“Wouldn’t you?” he asks. He tries to look at you, but his eyes don’t quite open all the way, and they don’t focus properly, due to a strong mix of alcohol and inappropriate thoughts. Of you, specifically. His body feels suddenly very heavy, his want for you weighing him down into the mattress. The room is dark, your face illuminated only by the light in the bathroom and the glow of the street lights outside. You always look pretty, but your beauty is especially breath-taking right now, Sunghoon thinks. He wants to reach out and touch your face, wants to trace your jawline and know what your skin would feel like against his fingers. He doesn’t realize he’s actually doing it until he hears you inhale shakily.

The expression in your eyes is unreadable, and quickly gone, replaced by an annoyed squint. You grab his wrist gently, setting it back down next to him. “I’m gonna make you some ramen. You need to sober up, and you haven’t had dinner, have you?”

Sunghoon shakes his head. He feels rejected, and it makes him inordinately sad.

For five minutes, he watches as you rummage around his cupboards for a pack of ramen, fill a pot with water and bring it to a boil. His thoughts float back to your day at the beach, memories that he’s preciously held onto for the past few weeks. You running around on the sand, opening yourself up to him and letting him open himself up to you, holding his hand on the bus. That day, he’d really thought it would be the beginning of something new; but as time passed, he became less and less sure of himself. He’s scared it might’ve just been a fluke, and that he’d have to destroy the castle he’d built in his head. He’s seen you almost every day since, but it’s never been the same. And even if your eyes met unexpectedly sometimes, or if you went out of your way to sit next to him during movie nights, he can’t let himself go on with so few signs. Jay was right—he had to be clear about his feelings, otherwise this would go on forever. Even if it didn’t feel like it, the Earth would continue spinning on its axis if you didn’t reciprocate.

“I’ve missed you.”

You pause in your movements. “Missed me? But we’ve seen each other every day,” you say after a few seconds, still facing away from him. Your voice is softer than he’s heard it before, almost unsure of itself.

“No,” Sunghoon whines, frowning. He can barely keep his eyes open—he wishes you could read his mind so he wouldn’t have to explain, but alas. “I miss you—the you from the beach. When it was just me and you. It’s not the same with the others around.”

Silence falls over the room again. Sunghoon wonders if you’re just going to ignore what he said, until you take a deep breath, and walk back to his bed. You crouch in front of him and take both of his hands in yours. Electricity flows from where your hands touch to the rest of his body. He suddenly feels a lot more awake.

“It’s just the two of us now,” you whisper. 

Sunghoon nods. “I know. It’s nice.”

You smile. It might be the alcohol playing tricks on him, but Sunghoon swears there’s a hint of sadness in your eyes. One of your hands comes up to his hair. You thread your fingers gently through it, pushing it away from his forehead, then bring your hand down to the side of his face, your palm cupping it tenderly. Sunghoon lets himself lean into your warm touch. With his eyes closed, the darkness surrounding him makes this feel like a dream—he basks in the moment so as not to let a second of it go to waste.

“Do you wanna do something just us two this week?” you ask softly. His eyes shoot open—he needs to be sure this is really happening. He nods again, fervently this time, and it makes you chuckle. “Okay.”

“Just us two?” 

“Just us two.”

He relaxes once more. He guides your hand towards his mouth and presses his lips against your palm. Something shifts in your eyes—Sunghoon thinks the opportunity to finally kiss you has arisen, but as soon as his gaze drops to your lips, you’re back on your feet. “Let’s eat some ramen, shall we?” you ask as you head back towards the kitchen. Sunghoon tries his best (and probably fails) to not let his disappointment show.

There’s no dining table to speak of, only a low table near Sunghoon’s bed, on which you set down a wooden board and the steaming pot of spicy noodles. You hand him a pair of chopsticks and a spoon, and tell him to eat. Neither of you say much for a while, and Sunghoon grows redder and redder under your watchful gaze. He asks if you want any a few times, but you always turn him down. The silence quickly gets a little too unbearable for him, and he’s got a question burning the tip of his tongue anyway. Now’s as good a time as ever to ask it.

“Something’s been bugging me recently, actually…” You wait for him to go on. “So, at the costume party, right?” You nod. “You said there was only one person you wanted to kiss… Did you mean me?”

You tilt your head, looking at him like you’re trying to figure out whether he’s joking or not. “Yeah, Sunghoon… I meant you. Who else?”

He’s only half-relieved. “So why won’t you kiss me now?”

To his surprise, you smile. “Because you’re drunk.”

Confusion fogs Sunghoon’s brain. Is that all you’re worried about? Is his blood alcohol level the only thing stopping you from kissing him? “But I-I’m fine. I give you consent to kiss me, Y/N.” He’s dead serious, so when you laugh, it only frustrates him further.

“Finish your food, Sunghoon. We’ll see about kissing later.”

He sighs. Later he could deal with. “Fine. But I’ll hold you to it, okay?” he says, pointing a menacing chopstick at you.

“Okay.”

But Sunghoon can’t keep quiet for long—ten seconds later, he’s remembered another question he’s been dying to ask. He continues drinking his soup in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “So what happened between you and Heeseung?”

The question takes you so off-guard, you look like you would’ve done a spit-take had you been drinking water. “That’s-you know about that?”

“Well, not much, that’s why I’m asking.”

You scoff. “Why do you want to know? It’s boring.”

At those words, Sunghoon whips his head up to look at you. “It’s not boring!” he exclaims, perhaps a tad too vigorously. “Anything that has to do with you is interesting to me.”

Finally, the corners of your lips rise. Sunghoon hated the ten seconds in which you weren’t smiling. “Well, there isn’t much to say, anyway. We had a thing when we were in second year, I caught feelings and wanted more, and he didn’t. The end.”

Sunghoon freezes, staring at you with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth agape. He then sets his cutlery down neatly next to the pot of ramen and clasps his hands together like he’s in a business meeting. “So you’re telling me that he had the opportunity to make you his girlfriend and he just… didn’t?”

You shrug. “Basically, yeah.”

He hits the bedsheets next to him, huffing out in annoyance. “What an idiot.”

“He sure is,” you say. You smile to yourself as you grab Sunghoon’s spoon and try some of the broth. He wonders whether anything lies behind that smile. “But it happened a while ago. Don’t be weird with him on my account. He’s still your captain.”

Sunghoon thinks for a second. “Can I side-eye him once in a while? Or not pass him the puck during practice?”

“Sure,” you reply, laughing. You swiftly move on to other topics as Sunghoon slurps the last of his noodles, asking him about the beginning of the party and just how much his teammates made him drink. He’s recounting the shot contest they held, which Mark won with an impressive seven shots of tequila in a row — Sunghoon hopes the boy is okay now — when your phones buzz at the same time. Minjeong’s name appears on your screen, Jay’s on his, both asking where you are.

“Should we head back now?” you offer, although Sunghoon, wishfully perhaps, detects a trace of reluctance in your voice. “You look like you’ve sobered up a bit, seeing as you’re able to string more than two sentences together.”

“I wasn’t that bad!”

“I should’ve filmed you.”

It’s one a.m. when you head back down, and the party is in full swing. Pop music blasts through someone’s JBL speaker in the shared kitchen, the hallways are more crowded than the subway at rush hour, just as full of hockey fans celebrating their team’s win as students who just wanted an excuse to party, and every window is open to alleviate some of the stuffiness. They probably have another hour left before the dorm residents who decided not to join in the festivities call campus police on them.

Sunghoon is relieved to find that Jake is off with other team members, reaching levels of drunkenness that will most definitely be regretted in the morning. Technically, he hasn’t done anything wrong—he simply let you nurse him back to sobriety after he almost regurgitated his pre-game protein bar and three beers all over your nice shirt. Chaewon and Yunjin are busy making out in a corner, their lack of decorum only increasing when they’ve been drinking, but Jay and Minjeong eye you suspiciously upon seeing the two of you arrive together. You explain what happened so casually that they don’t question it any further.

Chaewon and Yunjin only tear themselves off of each other when a Beyoncé song starts playing, and they drag all four of you to the makeshift dancefloor, which is really just three meters away in the middle of the kitchen. Sunghoon is practically all sobered up by now, but he’s loosened up enough not to feel self-conscious with every step he takes; the fact that you look so happy, dancing with him and laughing at his silly moves, is a considerable bonus. He won’t drink any more, not wanting to risk embarrassing himself further in front of you, and Jay, as the group’s self-proclaimed health guru, probably had his last beer around nine p.m., but the girls, each of them with a cup of suspicious transparent liquid in hand, are getting drunker by the minute—and so is Jake, who has now joined you all on the dancefloor, if his inability to stand straight is anything to go by. Sunghoon assumes you’re also done with alcohol for the night, until you turn to him in the middle of a song no one has heard since 2015 and tell him you’re going to get a drink.

“Okay!” he simply answers, and for a good thirty seconds, basks in the blissful satisfaction of knowing he was the one you informed of your whereabouts. That is, until he realizes a minute later that it was probably a covert invitation for him to come along, which he totally missed. But when he looks over at the counter where all the drinks are, his heart drops—Heeseung is standing in front of you, pouring gin and lemonade into your cup. A flurry of emotions course through Sunghoon, emotions he has no idea what to do with, because he’s not sure they’re entirely warranted. He’s angry that Heeseung is talking to you, after what he did, confused that you’d let him; but mostly, he’s jealous. But he knows it’s only because he has no guarantee that you like him, and that you won’t go off with Heeseung, despite having just talked about how you were over him.

Wait—is that really what you said? You told Sunghoon that what happened with Heeseung didn’t bother you anymore, which doesn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t go back to him, given the chance. 

Before he can think it over a second time, Sunghoon heads over to where you and Heeseung stand. He places himself right behind you, reaching for a bottle of Coke on your side and pouring himself a drink.

“Oh, hey, Hoon,” his team captain says, clearly surprised to see him there and looking so discontented. Sunghoon can’t remember whether they’ve ever been close enough for Heeseung to call him by his nickname. “Having fun?”

“Yep,” he curtly replies, avoiding eye contact with either of you and looking out at the crowd of party-goers instead. He can feel your gaze, heavy on his face, can see the knowing smirk slowly rising on your lips. How was it that you could see right through him so easily?

“Too much dancing made you thirsty?” you ask, taking a drink from your cup and hiding your smile behind it.

He glares at you, more annoyed that his attempt at subtly sussing out what you and Heeseung were doing together was shut down so quickly than anything else. “Yep,” he repeats.

“You guys know each other?” the older boy asks, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Jake introduced us,” Sunghoon quickly answers. To his surprise, this makes Heeseung chuckle.

“Jay, Sunghoon, me… Wow, do you meet all your friends through your brother, Y/N?” he asks jokingly. Immediately, so many alarm bells ring in Sunghoon’s head—the implication that you and Heeseung are friends, the fact that he put himself and Sunghoon in the same bag, and above all, that teasing, almost flirtatious tone of his. 

He’s horrified to find you rolling your eyes playfully and saying, “I have other friends, thanks,” in a tone far too similar. At that moment, Minjeong starts yelling about how much she loves everyone in this room but particularly “you guys,” pointing to Jake, Jay, Minjeong and Chaewon, and “you guys, too!” screaming over the music as she points to you and Sunghoon.

“There’s one of them,” you say, half-amused, half-exasperated. “We should probably go check on her. See you around, Heeseung.”

“Right. See you, Y/N. Sunghoon.” 

Back to no-nickname basis, apparently.

Your group’s indicator of when it’s time to go home is when Minjeong starts one of her “I-love-my-friends-so-much” rants—if she’s that drunk, everyone else must be wasted. Indeed, Chaewon and Yunjin are holding onto each other to keep themselves from falling down, and Jake is unable to keep his head up. You, Sunghoon and Jay herd your friends outside and wait for Jake’s Uber, making sure to get him safely inside and to tip the driver generously for his pains. Jay lives nearby yours and the girls’ flat, and Sunghoon, ever the gentleman, walks you all home.

“Just ‘cause you and Jay might need a hand getting these three home,” he tells you. Yunjin, Chaewon and Minjeong are currently running around on the road, pointing and laughing at random shop names, and Jay is yelling at them to get back on the sidewalk.

“Mh-hm.”

“And it’ll be good to completely sober up before going to bed.”

“Right.”

There’s no use putting up a front with you—he’s an open book and you’re an avid reader. You don’t need to say anything to make it clear that you know it’s just an excuse to spend more time with you.

“You know, I told you not to be weird with Heeseung,” you say, gently punching him in the arm.

“Was I weird?” he asks, knowing fully well he hadn’t acted at all like he usually did around his captain. 

“You basically only spoke to let Heeseung know we’re friends. You were making yourself all tall and looking mysteriously out into the distance instead of at us.”

“But I am tall and mysterious,” he says, pride coursing through him as it always does when you laugh at one of his jokes.

“You’re probably the least mysterious person I know, Hoon.”

Hoon. How much sweeter that name sounds coming from you over anyone else.

“So you agree that I’m tall?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin on your face. A win is a win. “That’s just a fact.”

Sunghoon smiles victoriously. “I’ll take a fact. But I’m sorry if I was acting weird… I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t bothering you.”

“Heeseung is always bothering me,” you say with a sigh. “He comes up to me like this at every party. He’s just asking how I’ve been, but it’s like he’s sussing out whether or not he’s still got a chance.”

“Do you need me to beat him up? Threaten him? Dox him?”

Even though Sunghoon was only half-joking, you burst out laughing, hard enough for Minjeong to whip around and shout, “What are you laughing about?” as if you had offended her personally. At least Jay is there to make her turn around and focus on walking straight.

“I appreciate the offer, but that won’t be needed. I just don’t like talking about it, ‘cause it’s really not that big a deal anymore. It feels like digging up old bones, you know?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “I’d commit grave robbery with you.”

“You-what?”

“Nevermind. We obviously don’t have to talk about it, but I’m curious.”

You sigh. “I guess it’d make sense for you to know about this.” Sunghoon thinks he sees something like panic flash across your features, but it’s so quick and such a rare expression on you that he’s not sure whether he just imagined it. “You know-just ‘cause everyone else is aware of it, and everything,” you quickly explain.

“Sure.”

“I just… I’m sure Heeseung is a nice guy when it comes to other things, but what the girls and I have concluded is that he’s a bit of an attention whore, you know. When it comes to girls. We fooled around for a while, and he never made it official, even when I made it pretty clear that that was what I wanted. But every time we saw each other after that, he’d flirt with me like nothing had happened. I fell for it at first and flirted back, thinking he had changed his mind… but he really just wanted to make sure I was still into him.”

“Looking for validation,” Sunghoon says.

“Exactly. And when I realized that, I stopped giving it to him. I was getting tired of him anyway, saying the same thing every time. But now, I entertain him for a couple of minutes before I walk away. I shut him down before he gets a chance to do it to me.”

“That’s smart.”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “I understand the need for validation, but he won’t be getting any from me.”

Jay bravely handles the three drunkards the whole way home, letting you and Sunghoon hang behind and carry on talking. You reach the boy’s apartment first, and yours five minutes later. But when you reach your front door, Minjeong announces she needs to talk to Sunghoon. “Privately,” she emphasizes.

You give Sunghoon an amused look and shrug as if to say “She’s your problem now.” He doesn’t have time to protest before you’ve bid him goodnight and disappeared behind the door, Yunjin and Chaewon in tow, yelling good night at Sunghoon like they’re not going to see him for months. 

Minjeong places her palms flat onto Sunghoon’s torso and looks right at him—to the best of her ability, at least, considering she’s having a hard time focusing her eyes. “Sunghoon,” she says gravely.

“Minjeong?”

“Listen, there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you,” she says, slurring her words. “You know I love Y/N, she’s amazing…”

“Yeah, she is,” Sunghoon says firmly—already, he can tell where this is going, and he doesn’t like it.

“But she’s not the best with relationships.”

“What do you mean?”

Minjeong’s hands drop by her sides and she exhales deeply. “I’ve just never seen her in a committed relationship in the-in the almost four years I’ve known her. She never lets things get serious. She’s just so afraid of being hurt, Hoon, and I-” 

A hiccup escapes Minjeong’s lips as tears start pooling in her eyes. Sunghoon has only ever seen Minjeong cry when drunk—even movies that had him sobbing barely made her eyes water. Even if she isn’t in her right state of mind, he knows it means this must be important to her. He holds her arms and tries to put on the most reassuring tone he can. “But I wouldn’t hurt her.”

“No, I know that. I’m scared you’d get hurt. I don’t want things to become weird between all of us.”

Sunghoon shakes his head. “Minjeong, what-that wouldn’t happen.”

“But it will!” she exclaimed. “If something happens with you and her, and it doesn’t work out the way you want it to, it’ll make things awkward-”

“If that happens,” he interrupts, “I’ll deal with it. I won’t make it your guys’ problem. Y/N and I are adults, okay?”

“You’re like, nineteen…”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll be fine.” He takes a step back and opens the door for her to get in. 

She’s only on the first stair when she turns back around. “But, Hoon-” she tries, though he cuts her off.

“Minjeong, I promise-”

“Just don’t rush into anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Go inside.” 

She complies, giving him one last look before climbing the stairs to her apartment. Sunghoon closes the door behind her, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

--

Sunghoon is on his way home from hockey practice when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

yn are you still up for doing something this week?

He almost throws his phone in the air in celebration, as if it was a graduation cap. His Sunday was spent going back-and-forth between lapidating himself for his drunken stupidity, memories, rough as stones, hitting him in the face every time he thought of what he said and how he acted, and congratulating himself for having finally made his feelings for you somewhat clearer. Hopefully, you now know he isn’t just awkward and silent around new people—well, he is, but it’s worse with you.

She never lets things get serious.

Minjeong’s warnings echo in his head as he types a positive — although not over-enthusiastic, ‘cause that’d be uncool — answer, but he dismisses them easily. Perhaps he shouldn’t; Sunghoon is, after all, incredibly serious about any and all romantic encounters. The girl at the grocery store who reached for the same red bell pepper as him was the most serious thing to him in the world for a good ten minutes; all of his school crushes were of utmost importance to him, however long they had lasted.

So this? This is capital-s Serious. But therein lies the problem; he’s so serious about you that he’d let you not make it serious. If Minjeong is right, and you’re not planning on taking this nearly as far as he wishes for it to go, he can already tell he’ll just let you. He’ll probably be happy you wanted anything to do with him at all. 

He has ways of reassuring himself, of convincing himself he isn’t a totally lost cause. Because when Sunghoon falls in love — and he had an inkling this was what this was — it usually goes as quickly as it came. Who’s to say this time next week he won’t have completely moved on? Maybe this date that he’s agreed to will go horribly wrong, you’ll be rude to the waiter, you’ll spill tomato sauce all over your shirt, and the flame in his heart will be put out. Easy as that.

You decide to meet on Wednesday evening, two days from now. Sunghoon suggests a Japanese restaurant he likes, a place he had gone to with his mom and sister when they had dropped him off at university before his first year, and that he knows is nice enough for a date but won’t burn a hole through his wallet.

Seeing you at the library the day before is a real thrill. Nobody but you knows of your plans—at least not until he caves in and tells Jay about it, who congratulates him with a roll of his eyes and a pat on the head. All of your eye contact feels loaded with the kind of complicity that comes with sharing a secret. As much as he would love boasting about it to every soul who���d listen, this secrecy electrifies him—it binds the two of you with something much more real than before. At least, more real than Sunghoon’s imagination and one-sided feelings. He knows that your text wasn’t in any way a confession of your own feelings for him, but it’s a step in the right direction.

In the few hours before your reservation at seven p.m., Sunghoon spends so much time thinking about the date that he’s almost late for it. He thinks about his expectations, then tries to get rid of them; he comes up with ideas of what your expectations might be, remembers Minjeong’s words, dismisses them, remembers them again; he goes through scenarios upon scenarios of everything that might go wrong and everything that might go spectacularly well. He ends up with less than twenty minutes to get ready, but manages to arrive at the restaurant a minute before you.

When he sees you approaching, Sunghoon feels like one of those boys in Disney movies as they watch their girlfriend coming down the stairs in her prom dress. You’re not wearing an over-the-top poofy purple dress, but the effect is the same—his eyes are glued on you with every step you take towards him.

You grab him by the arm and lead him into the restaurant as soon as you reach him. He’s too busy taking in your appearance to be bothered by it. “Don’t look at me like that,” you chide as you wait for waiting staff to seat you. He’d actually think you were mad at him if it wasn’t for the small smile playing on your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like what you’re doing right now! You’re staring.”

Realization slowly dawns on him; your gazes have made him lose his composure too many times for him not to know what being flustered looks like. He’d be lying if the fact that it was you in this tight spot and not him didn’t heavily stroke his ego. 

“Why wouldn’t I? You look beautiful,” he says, dropping his voice to a whisper so that the approaching waitress can’t hear. Her presence saves you from responding verbally, but as she brings you to your table, you pinch his arm lightly as if to say Be on your best behavior—although Sunghoon would argue this was his best behavior.

You have trouble making up your mind about the food—you want to try everything on the menu. Sunghoon tentatively offers to order a bunch of dishes and share them. “It’s what my family always does at the restaurant, just try as much as you want and take the leftovers to go. We never ate out very often because my mom would spend so much money every time,” he recollects, smiling fondly.

“That actually sounds like a dream. My parents would never do that. It was always just eat what you got, but I’m unable to look at someone else’s food and not want to try it. It honestly should just be common practice to share dishes at the restaurant.”

Sunghoon thinks he could get down on one knee right then and there. Whenever they went out to eat, the boys would roll his eyes at him when he stole bites of their food. But you—you’re like him. He knows he’s prone to over-exaggeration, but he can’t help but feel like if you understand each other on this, you must understand each other at a molecular level.

He had expected a level of awkwardness to your date, at least at the beginning — God knows the moments in which he doesn’t feel like a mumbling fool in front of you are few and far between — but to his surprise, everything goes smoothly. There is no uncomfortable silence, all his jokes miraculously land, even the lousy ones, and you both laugh and talk and share sushi and pork cutlets like it’s the most natural thing in the world, which perhaps it is. His attempts at flirting are well-received and he only turns violently red twice when you compliment him and smile at him in a particularly pretty way.

It’s that day at the beach all over again. Always on the same page, you dip in and out of topics with a synergy he has rarely felt before. Sunghoon realizes it must be the presence of others, rather than you yourself, that makes him feel like he can’t act the way he wants to around you, makes him so nervous. Save for the moments where you make his heart flutter like a thousand butterflies’ wings, he actually feels quite at ease with you, all things considered. Of course, he still tries — and fails — to look cool for you, but he knows it comes from a place within himself rather than because you make him feel as though he has to meet a certain standard. Surprisingly, he can be totally himself, and it seems to be enough for you.

He loves his friends. He wouldn’t trade them for the world. But he’s not sure he won’t have moments where he’ll wish nothing more than for them all to go away and leave the two of you be.

You eat until you can’t anymore and are still left with enough food for another full meal. You only let him get the bill once he’s promised that next time will be on you. If it means there’ll be a next time, he’s more than happy with making that promise. The sun has set when you exit the restaurant. Sunghoon shivers as he steps outside, the temperature having gone down by at least four degrees in the last two hours.

You grab his hand; it warms him right up.

Your apartment is a thirty-minute bus ride away, but Sunghoon offers to walk you home. Anything to spend more time with you.

He spends the first few minutes of the walk worrying about his hand, whether it’s too clammy, whether it’s holding yours right, but he eventually relaxes into the touch. When a particularly chilly gust of wind blows, you drop his hand and hold onto his arm instead, inching closer to him for more warmth.  He only drank lemonade with his meal, but he feels blissfully light-headed.

Silence only arrives when you reach your doorstep. You stand in front of each other, Sunghoon looking down at his feet, you gazing out at the empty street. He knows this is the moment where he is supposed to kiss you. If there was a step-by-step guide on how to date — there probably is, but Sunghoon hasn’t resorted to such loser-like measures yet — this would probably be the moment where it would be written to just kiss her, you idiot. But nerves get the best of him.

At least, you’re there to save the day. You direct your gaze towards him, a bashful smile playing on your lips. “So… are you gonna kiss me now?” you ask, essentially reading his mind. 

He reacts immediately. “Y-yep. Yes. I am.” Heart racing, he takes a step towards you as he rests his hands on your waist. Then he changes his mind, and brings one hand up to your cheek. There’s an eyelash that has fallen below your eye; he brushes it out of the way with his thumb before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours.

In all of his late-night scenarios and daydreams of kissing you, he had never imagined something as good as this. You find your rhythm within seconds. It’s slow, almost hesitant, yet so tender, it makes Sunghoon’s heart ache. As your lips move against each other in perfect sync, as your hands find their way around Sunghoon’s neck, he realizes he should have known — this will not go away as quickly as it came.

Only when you grab a fistful of his hair, making him react viscerally and wrap his arm around your waist to bring you closer to him, does he remember where the two of you are. He leans back, then almost passes out when you chase his lips and press a shorter but just as sweet kiss there. He commits this view to memory—the smile on your lips, the glow on your face, the haziness in your eyes.

“Do you wanna come up?”

“Yes,” he replies immediately, and it makes you laugh. You grab his hand and lead him up the stairs and into your apartment.

“Are the girls in?” he asks as you lock the front door.

“Minjeong is at karaoke with her school friends, and Yunjin and Chaewon are at a dinner party somewhere.”

“Minjeong karaokes?”

“Get enough G&Ts in her and she’ll do anything.”

You turn on a small lamp in your room and take off your jacket. Sunghoon has been in your apartment before, but never in your room—at some point, he’ll spend an hour observing every photograph and trinket in detail, asking you about every backstory, but right now, he’s got more important things to tend to. His heart beats uncontrollably as you shut the door to your room and walk towards him, eyes gazing deeply into his. The corners of your lips rise when you tug at the bottom of his sweatshirt, a clear indicator that you want it off. He wastes no time in obliging.

The air is buzzing with electricity when your lips find each other again. You’re both more confident this time around, and so the kiss is deeper, your touches bolder. Everything happens quickly—one second, you’re standing in the middle of your room; the next, you’re laying on your bed, Sunghoon underneath you. 

“You know,” he says between kisses, “I’d really planned on being a gentleman and not going up to your room after the first date…”

Your lips move from his lips to his jawline, warm and soft against his skin. Sunghoon closes his eyes and lets out a low hum of approval. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” you whisper, lips brushing against his neck as you speak. “And since we’re onto confessions, I can finally say I’ve been wanting to do this since we met.”

This information sends his mind reeling. Not once had he been sure of how you felt about him — he even remembers you saying no to a kiss — and here you are, saying you’ve been wanting to kiss him since the beginning, just like he had. 

“You’re me,” he replies breathlessly.

“Hm?”

“I mean, me too.”

You pause your kisses to giggle, a sound so soft and intimate it has Sunghoon melting impossibly more. “You’re me?”

Unfortunately, he is too preoccupied by you to put a filter between the weird, half-formed thoughts in his brain and the words that leave his mouth. “Don’t question it,” he says, a smile audible in his voice, before moving his head and catching your lips. If he couldn’t stop himself from saying odd things, he could at least distract you from them.

Sunghoon thinks he’s doing a good job keeping himself together, until you roll your hips against his. It’s barely anything, but it sends waves of pleasure and anticipation through his body. His grip on your waist tightens, and when you repeat the motion, his hands sneakily find their way down your back and under your dress. Palms splayed against your ass, he brings you down closer to him. The second you moan into the kiss, he’s a goner. 

After that, it doesn’t take long for clothes to be discarded or for curious fingers to find the other’s waistbands. Your movements are hasty, messy—the tension that had built up over weeks of pining for you, after getting close to kissing you twice and thinking about it a hundred times more, it all comes crashing down in this moment, as his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck, as your hands pull at strands of his hair, as your bodies gently bump into each other. If someone asked Sunghoon right now how long he’d known you, he’d say years, not mere weeks. It couldn’t possibly be real that this much desire had accumulated inside of him — and inside of you, if your broken moans and rapid breathing are anything to go by — in just over a month. 

He only slows down when he has you naked and heaving underneath him, reminding himself to savor the moment instead of rushing it. His fingertips graze down your sides until they reach between your thighs, and he marvels at the way his touch makes you shiver. His eyes are so wide with amazement at the sight of you that he probably looks like he’s never seen a woman before, but he can’t help himself—he always thought you were beautiful, but this is something else entirely. 

His first touch is hesitant, a slow upward motion of his thumb between your folds as if quite literally testing the waters. But it has you arching your back and gripping his bicep, meeting his eyes to silently plead for more. Sunghoon takes that as his green light, thumb circling your clit as his lips continue their work on your neck, on your face, everywhere they can reach. He slips a finger inside of you, then a second one, and when he is satisfied with the state he’s gotten you in, all disheveled and gasping for air, he replaces his fingers with his dick, rock-hard just from seeing and hearing you.

He slowly inches forward until he’s bottomed out, letting you adjust around him. “All good?” he whispers, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Never better,” you whisper back, smiling. You kiss him, and the tenderness of your lips on his, mixed with the feeling of being inside you, has Sunghoon’s heart constricting inside his chest. He starts rocking his hips back-and-forth into you, the side of his face is pressed up against yours, head light from the little oxygen the two of you share. It all feels oddly intimate for a first time, feels more like the kind of sex two people would have after years of knowing each other’s bodies. He moves like it’s second nature, thrusts deep and slow, trying to reach those spots that have your hands clawing at his back. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, using his free hand to push the hair that sticks to your face with sweat.

You wrap your legs higher around his hips, the shift in angle letting him go deeper. “Fuck, right there,” you say, voice strangled. Sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice—he picks up his pace, and already within a minute, starts to feel himself reaching his limit. He tries to muffle his groans against your skin, but with the way your hold on him tightens and your moans go higher in pitch, you seem to be just as close as he is. When you do come undone around him, breath hitching in your throat before you release a heavy sigh, he has mere seconds left in him. A few thrusts later, his orgasm finally releases him from the tension that had been twisting his stomach into a knot for the past half-hour. You’re both spent, but he continues lazily rocking his hips against yours chasing the last remnants of pleasure, wanting to bask in it just a bit longer. He rolls onto his back after sliding out, wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck.

His chest rises and falls as his breathing takes its time returning to normal. In a way, he’s almost relieved it’s over, like any longer would’ve actually taken too much of a toll on him. He likes the comfort he gets from having you in his arms as much as the sex itself. “I didn’t know it could feel this good,” he says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He needs more than a few minutes to get his head back on straight and start thinking before he speaks again. You chuckle airily, he chuckles too, and within seconds, you’re both laughing for seemingly no reason. The bliss of such an intense orgasm and the lack of oxygen must have gone to your brain, too.

“Me either,” you say once the laughter dies down. When your lips find his once more, Sunghoon forgets entirely about his exhaustion and feels like he could go for a second round. “Shower?” you ask right when he realizes how sticky and smelly he is.

“Yes, please.”

He can’t keep his hands off of you in the shower, rubbing soap on every square inch of your skin when you could do it perfectly fine yourself, kissing you even when you’ve both got foaming cleanser on your faces. The taste of soap in his mouth is worth the giggles he gets out of you.

Sunghoon reaches heaven when you drop to your knees in front of him, water rushing down his back as you take him in your mouth. He’s eager to return the favor, of course, thumb flicking your clit with a speed and dexterity even he didn’t know he was capable of. If you weren’t already in the shower, you’d have needed another one.

As soon as your bodies hit the mattress, you both drift off to sleep, limbs wrapping around each other as though they had been separated for too long and finally found each other again—not to let go again.

--

When Sunghoon wakes up, it takes him a few seconds to realize that he hadn’t dreamt up last night’s events. He reaches a hand out hesitantly, still half-asleep and scared that you’ll disappear into thin air at the touch of his fingertips. But no—he feels your skin, warm and soft, and he knows this is real.

You’re laying on your side, facing away from him, so he has to strain his neck to peek at your face. You look so peaceful as you sleep—he doesn’t want to wake you up, but he can’t stop himself from wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing his torso against your back, humming contentedly to himself. He presses a soft, quiet kiss to the top of your head, just because he can.

Outside, clouds part, and a bright ray of sun shines through the window, landing right on your face. Sunghoon watches as you grumble and turn around, burying your face in his chest to avoid the blinding light, but the damage is done—you’re awake. He can tell from the drawled-out whine you let out and the way you grab tightly onto his waist, as if it was his fault the sun had decided to shine right on you. 

He lets you settle in a comfortable position. Stays still as you hike your leg over his legs, then slip it between them instead; as you press your cheek against his chest, then bury your nose in his neck; as you wrap your arm around his waist, then move it to thread your fingers through his hair, until you give up on falling back asleep altogether. “It’s so bright in here,” you mumble in lieu of a good-morning greeting.

You can’t see him, so Sunghoon smiles and tightens his grip around you—one arm circling your shoulders, the other, your waist. Skin to skin. “We forgot to close the blinds yesterday.”

“It’s okay,” you say, sighing. You press a kiss to the base of his neck, right between his collarbones, then lift your face to look at him. “How are you feeling?”

This is what it feels like to wake up next to her, Sunghoon thinks. He’d thought about it so many times: what you would look like first thing in the morning, what you’d say to him, what it’d feel like when your eyes met. If you’d be a slow sort of morning person, cuddling in bed with him until the very last possible second, or if you’d be up and about as soon as you woke up. If you’d be grumpy. If you’d want coffee. If you liked morning sex. 

It seems to be a recurring theme that Sunghoon’s imagination never quite lives up to reality. Your sleepy eyes boring into his, struggling to stay open, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck; your skin, so warm and so soft, your scent, so intoxicating he can barely think straight.

You’re better than a dream.

“I feel great. Do you feel great?”

“I feel amazing, thank you so much for asking,” you say, burrowing yourself impossibly closer to him.

The two of you stay like this for a while, talking about your plans for the day and begrudging how little you want to go about them. Sunghoon wishes this could go on forever, but then his stomach growls so loudly, his face turns red from embarrassment. He hadn’t even noticed how hungry he was. 

“You’re me,” you say, laughing, and Sunghoon can’t help but join in. “Is it crazy to have last night’s leftovers for breakfast?”

What Sunghoon hears is that you want him to stay; that you don’t want to part ways just yet.

“If by crazy you mean the best idea ever, then yes.”

“Amazing, because I’ve been thinking about that curry all night.”

“Really? I was thinking about something else,” he says, burrowing his face in your neck and leaving warm kisses there. 

You hum and lean into his touches, leaning into his touches. Chills run down his spine as your nails graze his sides. “There might’ve been other things occupying my mind, too.”

And just like that, breakfast is postponed to thirty minutes later.

--

After that night, Sunghoon forgets how to act right.

His mind has never been so singularly taken up by sex in all of his life. It was already preoccupied with you most of the time, but now that it has more material to gnaw on, it’s practically started to eat away at him. It doesn’t help that you’ve seen each other every day since, or that at every chance you get, you smile knowingly at him or try to get him to play footsies with you. Of course, he loves every bit of attention that he gets from you, but whenever he feels his heart get carried away, Minjeong’s words come back to him in a panic, and he remembers that he has no idea what it is that’s happening between you and him. You could be stringing him along, for all he knows, or you could be as into him as he is into you and just letting things happen. Unfortunately, just letting things happen was not something Sunghoon was good at—if things weren’t written black and white, he’d find a way to overthink even the littlest of details. Like how you’d kissed him for a good five minutes before letting him leave your apartment, otherwise known as the least platonic parting to exist, or conversely, like how you’d sometimes take hours to reply to texts.

If he was already a mumbling fool in front of you before, his condition has only worsened now. He tries his best to be normal and not make you or anyone in the group feel weird, but the fact is that you rocked his world and now he can’t look you in the eyes and not remember how it felt when you touched him or the sounds you made or the way you looked. It’s all playing in a loop in his mind and the only way he knows how to control it is by limiting his interactions with you, which doesn’t even work that well. 

The first couple days, you seem amused by his shyer-than-usual demeanor, but you quickly grow confused more than anything. Sunghoon won’t sit next to you, only speaks to you when necessary, doesn’t seek you out outside of a group setting. He tells himself he just needs some more time to be able to be around you casually again, but before that happens, one day at the library, you make a point to ask him if he’ll come help you get drinks for everyone from the dispenser machine. He knows it’d be too odd to say no, so he follows you.

He presses the buttons for everyone’s order (a Sprite for him, Diet Cokes for the girls, a Red Bull for Jake who has a midterm tomorrow and nothing for Jay who only swears by his disgusting herbal infusion) as you lean against the machine, arms crossed over your chest as you stare at him.

He has never felt so awkward in his life.

“So…” he starts although he has no idea what to say—he hopes something will just appear in his mind and that it’ll alleviate the tension. However, you seem to have other plans.

“What the hell, Sunghoon?” you say, taking him aback. When he glances at you, you don’t seem angry—just genuinely confused. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“I haven’t!”

“Sunghoon,” you say sternly. He gives in right away.

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just-I didn’t know what to do. After we, you know…”

“After we had sex?” you say, then burst into laughter when he looks around the room to make sure no one’s heard. His cheeks heat up.

“Yes, after we had sex,” he whispers.

He pays for the drinks and picks them up. When he looks at you again, your smile has completely died down, and worry has settled into your features. “Do you regret it?” you ask, voice now as low as his. As if it hurts to say the words too loud.

Panic overcomes him, and he almost drops half of the drinks as he shakes his head. “No, of course not! I’m really sorry, Y/N, I never meant to be weird about it, I was just trying to wrap my head around everything, and I just… Well, I just didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

You nod, taking his words in. “That’s fine. I get it. I just wanted to say, you know, it doesn’t have to change anything. We can still be friends and all. Like you said, it shouldn’t make things weird.”

Sunghoon’s stomach drops. He knows you’re trying to make him feel better, but you’ve inadvertently said the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. He doesn’t want things to stay the same, or for you to stay friends. For him, things can’t go back to normal after that night — whatever normal means for the two of you — and he was foolishly hoping that you felt the same.

But clearly, you want to let the whole thing die and pretend like it never happened. And whether it’s a good thing or not, his feelings for you have grown so much, he’ll just let you lead him anywhere. Even if that turns out to be nowhere. 

So he conjures up the most convincing smile he can, hands you half of the drinks to carry, and says, “Yeah, sounds good.”

--

After that conversation, Sunghoon doesn’t think anything else will happen between the two of you. You had sex, you talked it out, and that’s the end of it. But then, it turns out that both of your last midterms are at the same time, in the same building, so you invite him to celebrate with pork belly and some drinks. Sunghoon is finishing his second beer when he starts to feel like he’s on that date again, laughing for no reason, butterflies in his stomach every time his gaze catches yours. You lean on your hand as you listen to him talk about a stupid memory from his childhood and he thinks he’s never seen anyone as pretty as you. 

The sun has long set when you say, “You know, it’s Wednesday today.”

He’s not sure what you’re trying to get at. “Yeah?”

“Minjeong’s out at karaoke tonight.”

With these simple words, all the images of you that Sunghoon had finally managed to banish from his mind come flooding back, and he is not even surprised to find himself half-naked in your bed thirty minutes later. So much for staying friends—one time is one thing, but Sunghoon knows he’ll never be normal again after a second time with you.

It’s not a long time before he finds himself in your room again. Every item of clothing between the two of you is gradually discarded while you kiss, lips growing more impatient with every inch of bare skin uncovered. He reluctantly lets you go when you suddenly giggle and say that you really need to pee, watching as you grab his t-shirt off the floor and put it on, just in case Minjeong comes home. You wear it like it’s yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world that you’d be wearing his clothes. An indescribable feeling washes over Sunghoon at the sight, so intense he feels tears welling behind his eyes. Like something he’s been yearning for is finally at the grasp of his fingers; like it might slip away at any moment. 

His feelings must’ve transpired in the way he was looking at you—when you meet his eyes, your expression shifts slightly, and you quickly slip out of your room. He tells himself to reel it in. Get it together, he thinks. Or you’ll drive her away. 

A wave of tiredness hits him in the minute that you’re gone, probably due to all that soju and beer. “I’m back,” you whisper, but he doesn’t move, only opens his arms wide for you to get back into bed with him. It’s like a weight is lifted off his heart when he feels you against him again. You’re back. Your face is fresh, as if you’d splashed it with cold water, but when he slips one of his hands underneath your (his) t-shirt, your skin is still just as warm as before. Far from the fuzzy, tingly feeling he had gotten when you’d woken up together the other morning, now, he feels his desire for you deep in the pit of his stomach. The kind of hunger food couldn’t satisfy. “I missed you,” he whispers, voice low and gravelly. He reacts immediately when you squirm against him, tightening his grip around your waist and pulling you to him.

“I was gone two minutes.”

“I mean these past few days. I was starting to think I’d dreamt you up.” His hand on your lower back sneaks its way up between your bodies until it finds your breasts, cupping one of them with his palm before taking your nipple between his thumb and index, gently twisting. It pulls a half-gasp, half-moan from your throat, and the sound goes straight to his dick. “But you’re real, aren’t you?” 

“Very real,” you reply, a tremor in your voice. He’s barely touching you, and you’re already having trouble breathing. Sunghoon smiles at the idea of him having as much of a hold on you as you do on him.

“Good,” he says, voice so low it’s almost a growl. In one quick sweep, he pushes you down so your back is against the mattress, resting his palms on each side of your head.

He’s inside you within mere minutes. He’d wanted to hold back a bit, but you whispering Just put it in after thirty seconds of his fingers loosening you up was enough to convince him. His mind is already fuzzy with remnants of alcohol, and his overwhelming desire for you only makes matters worse. He barely has any control over his movements, rushed and sloppy, but as he drives himself deeper into you, your moans increase in volume. He only later realizes how tight his grip on your hips is when he sees two small bruises forming on the skin there. 

He comes quickly, probably embarrassingly so, but he can’t bring himself to care—he’s got other things on his mind. He’s not even bothered to discard the condom as he makes his way down your body, lips around your clit before you’ve even had the time to register what was happening. You cry out, a sound that Sunghoon works to pry out of you over and over again. Even when your thighs start shaking and you squirm away from him, he doesn’t relent. He’s just as desperate to make you feel good as he was desperate chasing his own pleasure earlier. He hooks his arms around your thighs, bringing you down to him and ensuring that you can’t get away. One hand still in his hair, the other clutching the bed sheets, you’ve turned your face sideways into the pillow so that your moans come out muffled. He is only satisfied when you’ve reached your second orgasm. 

As your breath slowly returns to normal, Sunghoon makes his way back up your body, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. You clear your throat of its dryness and burst into soft, quiet laughter. “What’s funny?” Sunghoon murmurs, lips against your neck. 

“Nothing,” you say, still laughing. “That was just really, really nice.”

Sunghoon smiles. “I’m glad,” he says before kissing you, lips moving slowly against yours.

As he lays against you, the top of his head under your chin and your fingernails grazing along his back, a weird feeling overcomes him. Sunghoon is usually a pine-from-afar sort of guy, with at least five instances of hanging out that could or could not be a date before making things any sort of official. The pining has been a constant with all of his crushes. He’s gotten to the hanging out stage a couple of times, but the officialising has only happened once. Despite its low success rate, it’s a cycle Sunghoon feels comfortable with, and he’d imagined the rest of his romantic encounters would follow that pattern. 

But this is completely different. Of the three times you guys have met separately from your friend group, already two times have included sex. This isn’t a stage Sunghoon usually reaches before at least a few months and it disorientates him. What does it mean? That you like him so much, you decided to skip all of the steps and jump straight into the thick of it? He is reasonable enough not to delude himself into such a thought. He likes you a lot—that much he can be sure of. He’s liked you since the moment he laid eyes on you, even if the reason eludes him. Something in the way you smiled at him, the way you took him in stride as if you’d known him forever. When he thinks back to that party, he can’t believe it started out as the two of you being strangers. Even now, feeling your warm skin against his, it feels like a lie that just two months ago he hadn’t even met you. 

What he can’t say with total certainty is that you like him the same amount. Or that you like him any amount, really, although in his naivety he doesn’t understand how anyone could be this intimate with another person without liking them at least a little bit. And he doesn’t just mean the sex. He means this. The silently laying in each other’s arms, the soft kisses, the caresses wherever hands can reach. Eating post-sex snacks together, laughing as you watch the first episode of each other’s favorite sitcoms (Brooklyn Nine-Nine for him, Pen15, oddly enough, for you). Falling asleep together, cuddling the entire night then waking up and diving right back into each other’s embrace. 

After an entire day spent in rumination, Sunghoon’s still not sure what to make of it all.

All he knows is that when he DMs you that night, asking you how your day went, he goes through every emotion between anxiety, self-hatred and indifference in the five minutes that separate his text from your reply. He’s never been so happy to hear that someone couldn’t concentrate in class because of him.

--

Sunghoon has always been obsessed with the way couples stand together in public. 

Every time, it takes everything in him not to stare, because he wants to take in every little thing they do. He has that practically everywhere he goes, wanting to stare at people just to see what their deal is, but he is never quite as simultaneously fascinated and envious as when he spots a couple. But he knows staring isn’t the socially appropriate thing to do, so he either steals glances or watches for a little bit then pretends they aren’t there. He can’t help himself—even if they aren’t holding hands or obnoxiously making out in public, it’s still visible to anyone with eyes that there is something tying these people together. It’s in the way they stand near each other, their bodies turned inwardly, as though enveloped by a bubble containing just the two of them and no one else; in the way they look at each other, their eyes never straying from the other’s face as they talk, intimacy showing itself even in a loud, crowded room. Sunghoon craves to find that proximity, to be able to touch and be touched so softly, every graze of a hand purposeful and unconscious at the same time.

It’s the first of November already. The Weather app, as it tends to do, has deceived you; so instead of a walk on what was supposed to be a sunny day, you find yourselves in a busy café near the University, the air outside too chilly even with your scarves and gloves. You’re waiting for your order at the end of the counter — a mocha for him, an oat flat white for you — when he notices it. Your body is fully facing him, you’re distractedly playing with the hem of his sweatshirt, and you’re not looking at anything but him as you rant about that annoying classmate of yours that goes by a self-made nickname and always talks over the tutor. In this light, the two of you are like the couples he’s always longed to be—the simple thought makes him want to cry. As more and more often is the case these days, you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

It’s been around two months since you first met and in that time, although Sunghoon is lucky not to have enough fingers to count the number of times you have seen each other one-on-one, not much has happened. Minjeong, who had understood what was going on the first time she saw the two of you eating leftovers from the Japanese restaurant on the couch at 10 a.m., has grown accustomed to his presence in the apartment and even sometimes sits down to watch a movie with the two of you—a movie that Chaewon would usually have forced you to watch in the living room instead of the privacy of your bedroom, so that everyone could join. Sunghoon is just glad Minjeong has stopped silently scolding him with her eyes every time he comes out of your room. She never mentions that night when she essentially warned him against you after the party. 

Jake seems to be the only oblivious one in your group. Yunjin and Chaewon have eyes like hawks and horrifyingly vivid imaginations when they put their heads together, so they were probably already making plans for your wedding and fighting for the title of godmother when you and Sunghoon met at the beginning-of-semester party. They cornered him once at a party and forced him to spill the beans and spare no detail, because you apparently were “denying everything, but we know there’s something going on.” Jay is still Sunghoon’s go-to person when he needs advice concerning you, although the older boy doesn’t understand why it has to be so complicated and always tells him to “just tell her how you feel,” which Sunghoon will not do unless there is a gun to his head. But Jake just seems happy to see his friend and his sister get along this well—no matter how many times you wear his jacket at their games or disappear at the same time at the end of parties, he doesn’t grow suspicious. If he does, he doesn’t mention it to Sunghoon, at least.

Between the two of you, not a word is spoken about the nature of your relationship, which remains unbearingly undefined. For a while, he weakly convinces himself that he doesn’t need to have that conversation with you. He’s young, he’s free, he should be able to enjoy casual sex without putting a label on it. The main problem, though, was that the sex could not be further from casual, at the very least not to Sunghoon.

He has never known anything quite like it. In mere weeks, you’ve both mastered the art of pleasuring each other. He understands your body like it’s his, knows what each of the sounds and expressions you make means. He knows where to touch you to have a kiss go from light-hearted to dizzyingly intense, how to move his mouth to have you arching your back and holding onto him for dear life. And you—he thinks your skin must be laced with cocaine, the way he can never get enough of it. 

But it’s always the moments afterwards that get him in his head. To him, casual sex means getting dressed the minute it’s over and going off to do other things, which is the absolute opposite of what you do. Whether it’s falling asleep together or spending Sundays in bed, you always stay together afterwards, curled up in each other’s arms as you talk away the hours, conversations interspersed with slow, lazy kisses. He’ll say things like, “You’re so pretty,” or “Why do you smell so good?” because he’s so smitten with you that he can never stop himself from uttering every compliment that flashes through his brain, but the things he really wants to say are harder to speak out loud. Even just a What are we?—three simple words that he can’t bring himself to ask, too scared it’ll ruin everything. 

Arguably worse is that sex isn’t even a requirement for when you and Sunghoon see each other. He goes on walks with you whenever you’ve spent too much time in the library and need some fresh air. You go shopping with him when his department throws a fundraiser and he needs a formal outfit. He cooks you your favorite meal when your period is particularly nasty. You sneak into the ice rink after his practice and let him ‘teach’ you how to skate, even though you already learned how with Jake when you were kids. Even mundane moments become fun when spent with you, and you share so many hobbies and interests that you never run out of things to do or talk about.

And yet, it feels like one step forward, two steps back with you—if you let him close one night, you’ll run away the next. A week will pass without you seeing each other outside of the library or group hang-outs, and if Sunghoon asks you out, you’ll say no, usually blaming the amount of work you have. He gets it—due to the nature of your degree and your being a fourth-year student, your workload is much heavier than his, with essays, translations and oral presentations due every other week. And that’s not even including midterms and finals. But still, he doesn’t see why you would need to stay at the library for ten hours straight for days on end. He’d start worrying about your health if you didn’t at least relax on weekends. 

So while Sunghoon wants nothing more than to go all in with you, he senses you holding back. He notices you avoiding eye contact during particularly intimate moments, and when you look at him perhaps too fondly for your liking, you quickly catch yourself and resume your neutral, sometimes almost cold expression. When he tries to broach more personal, sensitive topics, you always find a way to change the subject or turn the conversation towards him before you get too deep. 

As time passes, and especially as exam season nears, he can tell there’s something that you’re not telling him about. His suspicions are confirmed when you come back from a weekend at your parents’ house. He’s also been away for an out-of-town hockey game, and because he hasn’t had much time to text you (and because their team won, so he wants to show off a little), he’s particularly looking forward to seeing you again that Monday. It’s only been three days since you’ve last seen each other, but he misses you like crazy. 

But the minute you’re back, you bury yourself in work like never before, often waking up at ungodly hours and staying at the library until midnight. More than once, he stays behind with you, long after the others have gone, reminding you gently every hour that it might be time to go home and get some rest. The moments you actually agree are few and far between, and although he sticks it out at first, sleeping with his head on the table until you tell him you’re ready to go, your stubbornness soon starts frustrating him, and he ends up leaving when he gets too tired. He knows this is important to you, but he doesn’t understand why you have to go to these lengths—you’d still easily be one of the best students in your class without all this exertion. And despite his many attempts, you won’t tell him what’s wrong, won’t even admit that something is wrong—you keep repeating that “it’s just what exam season is like.”

When he asks your friends about it, they seem just as confused as he is. One evening when you have plans to order some food and watch a movie at your apartment, he shows up at the agreed time, but you’re nowhere to be found. Thankfully, the girls are there to let him up and not leave him standing outside in the rain. You don’t pick up when he calls you and call him back a minute later, apologizing profusely but still saying that there’s something you really need to finish first. If it was only a one-time thing, it wouldn’t make him as angry as it does—but this has been going on for almost two weeks now, and Sunghoon is close to boiling point. 

The fact that it’s been months since your date at the Japanese restaurant, and the only thing that you’ve said about what was happening between you and Sunghoon “didn’t have to change anything.” The fact that you’re essentially each other’s boyfriend and girlfriend without the label or the reassurance that comes with it. The fact that there’s something clearly bothering you but that you won’t tell him about it. The fact that this something is effectively coming between the two of you. Sunghoon was originally more worried about you than anything—now that studying has taken obvious precedence over him in your list of priorities, he’d be lying if he said his ego wasn’t wounded. He isn’t asking to be the number one most important thing in your life, and he knew before even meeting you that high academic performance meant a lot to you, but he likes to think he deserves at least a little bit of your time and attention. 

Except, does he really? It’s not like you’re actually dating.

There’s a pang in his heart as he remembers this fact that he should never have forgotten in the first place. It hurts—and so perhaps, he’s less patient than he ought to be.

“Whatever, Y/N. Don’t worry about it, just let me know when you have time for something other than getting As.”

He hangs up and meets your flatmates’ worried eyes. 

“She still at the library?” Chaewon asks, tone delicate as if trying not to scare off a wounded animal. Sunghoon nods, a deep sigh escaping his mouth. 

“She always studies a lot,” Minjeong starts, “but this is something else.”

“Have you guys tried saying something?”

The girls nod. “Even Jake has talked to her, but she won’t listen. And he usually always gets to her,” Minjeong says. 

He goes home soon afterwards and spends the rest of his evening in rumination, torn between his worry and his anger towards you—emotions which only increase as more days pass, and he sees less and less of you. Your behavior was already concerning while preparing for your exams and final assignments, it gets even worse when exams actually do start. He doesn’t hear from you for an entire week, and the one time you miraculously agree to a short group hang-out in the form of getting coffee, you’re only half there, physically present but mind far, far away. You barely react when the guys tell you about their victory at the latest hockey game—which you didn’t attend, as well as any other game recently. 

No matter how much he tries to put it out of his mind, to focus on his own exams and hockey games, you stay at the forefront of his thoughts. The hockey team is away for another out-of-town game when he decides to broach the subject with Jake, with whom he’s sharing a room. The entire semester, he’s been careful not to raise Jake’s suspicions about the two of you, both out of consideration for you, who’d mentioned you didn’t want your brother to know what was going on, and for himself, who would also rather Jake not know, at least not until your relationship became official. Which it never did. But now that all he gets from you is radio silence at a time when you’d usually be an hour into a FaceTime call, he can’t help himself.

Jake is just coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, when Sunghoon takes his shot in the dark. “Have you heard from Y/N recently?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can, pretending to not be avidly waiting for his friend’s reaction by keeping his eyes on his phone.

“Y/N?” Jake echoes. “No, not really. Why?”

“Just ‘cause I haven’t seen her around much. I’m wondering if everything’s okay.”

“You mean her staying at the library all day?” Sunghoon nods; Jake sighs. “Yeah, she’ll snap out of it soon enough. She gets somewhat like this every time exams come around, but even I have to admit it’s pretty tough this time around. The last time I saw her like this was way back in high school, and that’s because our parents were watching right over her shoulder. It’s been better in university thanks to the distance.”

“So this has to do with your parents?”

“Oh, one hundred percent. She’s always wanted to do well at school, but she only gets this obsessive when our parents are involved.”

“I guess this did start after that weekend when she went home…” Sunghoon muses absent-mindedly. It could’ve passed off as an off-hand remark, but Jake pauses in his movements and looks at him warily.

“Yeah, she did… You noticed that, huh?”

Sunghoon pauses. This whole time, he was sure Jake was oblivious to anything happening between you and him—but he might have underestimated his friend. Like brother, like sister; he can hardly read either of you when he really needs to. Jake might genuinely be surprised that Sunghoon remembered your whereabouts that weekend, or he’s onto him. “I guess I did,” he finally says, going for as noncommittal an answer as he can.

Jake says nothing for a bit, and Sunghoon thinks he’s managed to get through the conversation without raising too much suspicion—until a minute later, when Jake speaks again. “Do you… like Y/N?”

Sunghoon freezes, snapping his head towards Jake, who’s lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. His first instinct is to deny, but there’s no point pretending anymore. It’s one thing keeping it from Jake—lying to him about it is something else entirely. It’s an uncomfortable conversation, but it must be had. “Yeah, I do,” Sunghoon replies, guilt clear in his voice, more because he’s only now admitting it to Jake than because of his feelings themselves.

A shaky breath comes out of Jake’s mouth, as if this was the exact answer he had dreaded. “Right, okay. Since when?”

“Since I met her, basically.”

Jake’s head whips towards Sunghoon, and their gazes meet awkwardly. “Since that party in September?” he asks, shock written all over his face. Sunghoon nods, and to his surprise, Jake bursts out laughing. “Don’t tell me it’s because you accidentally matched costumes?”

Sunghoon looks away, frowning. “That might’ve helped things along,” he mumbles, embarrassment washing over him as Jake’s laughter intensifies. At least he was taking it well—a bit too well, perhaps.

“You’re so predictable, man,” Jake says when he’s calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye. 

“How did you know, anyway?”

“You’ve been pretty obvious with it recently,” Jake replies after a few seconds. “I could tell you were a bit shy around her at first, and when it got better I just thought you’d become friends or something. But when she showed up with your jacket at every game and you never left her side at parties, I assumed something else was going on. You’ve always been staying behind at the library these days, and I know you don’t have that much work.”

Sunghoon chuckles. “I guess I haven’t been trying hard to hide it lately.”

“Yeah, why would you hide it in the first place? You could’ve just told me.”

“I didn’t want to make things weird.”

Jake frowns. “It wouldn’t have been weird. If anything, hiding it makes it weirder.”

“I just thought, if one of my friends had a crush on my sister, I’d probably rather they hid it. Like, I don’t need to know about that,” Sunghoon says, and it makes Jake laugh.

“Dude, Y/N and I are only a year apart. Do you know how many guys have come up to me asking me for her number or advice on how to ask her out? It’s been, like, one every few months since middle school. Guys here especially have no shame telling me how hot they find her.”

Sunghoon makes a face. He doesn’t disagree, but he’d never go out of his way to tell your brother how exquisite you looked in certain outfits. “That’s gross.”

“Yeah, it is. But you’re my friend, not some greasy rando, so I trust you. If anything, I’d probably have to tell her to be nice to you, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah, you could say that again,” Sunghoon grumbles, then realizes his mistake immediately, eyes widening.

“What do you mean?” Jake asks, sounding genuine at first, but when Sunghoon stays quiet for a couple seconds, debating whether he should just lay the truth bare, Jake sits up on the bed and repeats his question, his tone much warier this time around. Sunghoon glances at him then looks away guiltily.

“Well, to be completely honest… We’ve sort of been seeing each other, kind of. But it’s complicated.”

Jake flops back down on his mattress with a grunt. “Who else knows?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with his hands as if suddenly very exhausted.

“Everyone…”

“Everyone?!”

“Well, Jay, Minjeong, Yunjin and Chaewon.”

“So everyone.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Great.” Jake sighs. “Since when?”

“Since October,” Sunghoon mumbles, feeling guiltier than ever. He’s belatedly realizing that it would’ve been much easier to have everything out in the open from the get-go, both with you and with Jake; now he’s both stuck in situationship limbo and has to face the consequences of keeping something this important from one of his closest friends. “Are you upset?” Sunghoon asks, feeling a bit like a ten-year-old.

“Kinda, yeah, but more at her than at you. I’ve told her not to go after anyone from the hockey team.”

“‘Cause of Heeseung?”

“Yeah. God, that was messy. He gave her mixed signals for so long, I could barely talk to him without thinking of her crying for so long. And now he’s the one who can’t quite look me in the eye,” Jake says, shaking his head at the mere thought of his captain.

“Was it that bad? She made it seem like it wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Jake raises his eyebrows. “Really? It upset her for a while though,” he says, then turns his head to look at the ceiling again. “I guess that’s not so surprising of her. She sometimes likes pretending she doesn’t have any emotions, even though I’m pretty sure she has more than most people.”

“Huh.” That would explain some things, Sunghoon muses. Emotions are not a topic that comes up very often with you, and every time he’s gotten an inkling of them, you seem to shut it all down immediately.

“But you know, I’m more surprised than anything. About… about it all, really. Not just that you’re only telling me now, but that it’s lasted this long. She must really like you.”

“You think?” Sunghoon says, his face brightening with hope, the words slipping from him before he can stop them once again. He shrinks when Jake laughs at him.

“Look at you. Down bad, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“But yeah, dude. I’ve told you about this. I’ve never seen her in a relationship, ever. Says she doesn’t have the time,” Jake says, air-quoting you. “I’ve only had the displeasure of seeing her go home with one-night-stands. You know that since she started college, she’s had a rule that she’d only see someone three times and that was it?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, so she wouldn’t catch feelings. I’m telling you, she’s crazy. So you must be special.”

Sunghoon can’t stop the smile from spreading on his lips—special. But it doesn’t make him feel that much better, either. “It’s not like we’re actually dating, so I’m not sure how special I can be…”

Jake’s head turns to look at Sunghoon again, but the younger boy keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling fan above him. “What’s happening between you guys?”

A blush creeps on Sunghoon’s cheeks. “Is this something you really want to talk about?”

“Well, spare me the gruesome details, please,” Jake says, chuckling, “but yeah, I would like to know what’s going on with my best friend and my sister.”

“I’m your best friend?” Sunghoon says, grinning as he meets Jake’s gaze, who rolls his eyes.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “Well, I didn’t think it would happen more than once-”

“What would happen more than once?”

Sunghoon pauses. “Well, you know…” Jake gives him a look as if to say, Well, no, I don’t know, so Sunghoon is forced to go on: “Sleeping together.”

“You guys slept together?!” Jake exclaims, sitting up on his bed once again.

“Yeah, what did you think?”

“I don’t know, just that you were going on dates, hanging out one-on-one, or whatever…”

“Well, we were.”

“Ugh, whatever,” Jake says, waving his hand in front of his face like swatting a fly away. “So, not just once, then?”

“No. And I thought it’d be a one-time thing, ‘cause a few days afterwards she said something about it not having to change our friendship…”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. But then it did. Happen again, I mean. And it’s been happening frequently since. But we’re not… dating dating. We haven’t had that conversation.”

Jake frowns. “Why not?”

Sunghoon releases a shaky breath. Why not, indeed. “‘Cause she hasn’t mentioned it. And I’m too scared to do it.”

“What are you scared of?”

“The typical stuff. What we have now… it’s not what I want, but it’s managed to not disrupt the group, you know. I’m scared that if I tell her how I feel, it’ll make things awkward between the two of us, and between all of us by extension.”

“Well, it might,” Jake says after thinking for a few seconds. “I wish I could tell you with certainty that she’ll like you back, but I honestly can’t. As obvious as you were towards her, she was not giving anything away.” Sunghoon chuckles, more out of self-deprecation than anything. This was not the pep talk he had hoped for. “But, I can tell you that she won’t be the type to make things awkward. You have nothing to risk by telling her, because in the long run, you’ll be better off that way. I know you, Sunghoon. You’ll be miserable if you can’t be fully yourself with someone.”

Decidedly, Sunghoon’s friends had a way of telling him the exact opposite of the things he wanted to hear while being completely right. He wishes things with you could stay the same — minus the overworking yourself and ignoring him in the process — and that he wouldn’t have to do anything that might make them change. But just as Jake said, he’d also reach a point where he couldn’t take it anymore—a point he was already inching closer and closer to with every passing day. He likes you enough to let you not define the relationship, but he likes you too much to let it go on. He likes you too much to not be able to tell you, and show you, and remind you of it every day. He hated having to hold back, and he hated feeling you holding back. He wanted to give you his all and he wanted all of you, too, not just bite-sized portions of you.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I haven’t been able to talk to her lately, but I’ll have to tell her soon enough. When her exams are over, I guess.”

Jake sighs. “Yeah. I don’t know if there’s any getting through to her right now.”

“She’s blown me off so many times! I don’t know what she’s doing, spending so many hours in that library. I’d go insane.”

“She’s a perfectionist,” Jake says, shaking his head. “I’ve talked to her about it. When it comes to school, she needs everything to be as flawless as can be. She spends hours re-reading and editing her work. It’s not good.”

“Not really, no.”

“But she’s only got a week left. I’ll try to convince her not to go home for too long, and it’ll be better after the holidays. Then we’ll make sure there’s not a repeat of this next exam season.”

He thinks of Christmas break and of not seeing you for two weeks; of next semester and going through all of this with you a second time. The uncertainty, the fooling around behind your friends’ backs — although that might not be needed now that Jake is in on it too — Sunghoon’s not sure if he can go through it all again. “Yeah, we will.”

--

They lose their game the following day. They had an amazing run, either winning or tying every game so far; this loss is not enough to make them drop significantly in the rankings, but it’s enough to demoralize Sunghoon. It couldn’t have come at a worse time—between you and this failed game, his self-esteem is taking a real hit.

He dared hope for some comfort from you once he was back, but in vain. He doesn’t know why he imagined your attitude might’ve changed overnight, and when he texts you asking to hang out, the same old sorry I can’t atm fills his phone screen. And just like that, as strong as his feelings for you have been all this time, so is his resentment—unwarranted, perhaps, but he thinks he deserves better than this, and he’s both angry at you for not giving him anything and at himself for letting it happen.

Now, he’s the one who spends hours working himself to the bone in the ice rink, who’s clearly preoccupied with other things when everyone gets together, and who doesn’t even show up to the party the whole group goes to when you’re all done with exams. The last game before winter break is in two days, and he doesn’t want to waste a day nursing a hangover when he could be practicing.

That night, he thinks everyone is out at some random club downtown, so he does a double-take when it’s past eleven p.m. and you show up at the rink. He’s skating laps, practicing his speed and his goal-shooting, only noticing you when you’re standing in the middle of the rink. He almost skates right into you.

“Y/N?” he asks, not completely sure you’re not just a figment of his imagination. He’s so exhausted, he wouldn’t be surprised if he were dreaming you up.

“Jay texted me.”

“Oh. Why?” He’s out of breath, and the words come out blunter than he intends them to.

“Because it’s almost midnight and you’re still here,” you reply, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s a hint of a smile on your lips, but your eyebrows are furrowed in what looks like worry. It’s the first time Sunghoon’s seeing you concerned over something other than an assignment. 

He shrugs and resumes his laps, slower this time, forcing you to keep turning on your feet. “I’m practicing. There’s a big game coming up.”

“Which is exactly why you should be resting, like everyone else on your team right now.”

He resists rolling his eyes. “Why would I rest when I could be getting better?”

“Because you need rest as much as you need practice. You won’t be any use on the rink if you’re too tired to play properly.”

“And I won’t be any use if I can’t shoot properly, either.”

“Sunghoon, you need a break. You’re clearly exhausted-Will you stop it?” you suddenly snap. “I’m trying to talk to you, and I’m getting dizzy.” 

Your small outburst only has him growing more agitated, and even though he does stop, it’s more so you can see the annoyance on his face than anything. “You know, this is a bit rich coming from you, Y/N.” He knows this is not the right time to bring this up—if he has grievances against you, he shouldn’t be bringing them up when he’s already frustrated. He’s well aware of this, but he can’t help himself.

You scoff. “Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who spends twelve hours a day in the library during exams and does not budge even if I tell you you should go home.”

“That’s different-”

“How is it any different?” he interrupts, voice rising. “You don’t listen to me when you overwork yourself. I don’t see why I should.”

“So you realize that you’re overworking yourself?”

“Of course I do! But I have to.”

“No, you don’t-”

“Y/N, please. I have to win as much as you have to get the top grades. Is it actually necessary? No, but you know how shit it feels not to.”

“And it’s exactly because I know that feeling that I’m telling you to stop. You’re just feeding into it.”

“So are you, staying until 2 a.m. in the library. You’ve never once gone home when I asked you to.”

“Again, that’s different-”

“How?! How is it different? Please enlighten me, ‘cause they’re the exact same thing to me.”

You sigh. A sudden sadness appears on your face. Sunghoon is torn between wanting to see this to its end and taking everything he’s said back. But he keeps quiet, and your eyes, when they meet his again, harden. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

As if you couldn’t say your next words while looking at him, you tear your gaze away from his face. “Because I’m actually concerned about you, here. The only reason you want me to stop and go home is so we can fuck.”

Sunghoon is so astounded that all words fail him—he stares at you, mouth wide open like you just shot him. After a few seconds, all he’s able to come up with is an incredulous, “What?” His voice is a mere whisper. 

“You heard me,” you say coldly.

He closes his mouth and swallows. “So… you’re the one who’s worried, and I’m only after sex?”

You glance at him. “Yeah.”

A chuckle escapes Sunghoon’s throat, then another, until laughter spills out of him uncontrollably. He feels like the world is upside down. How could you have lived the same thing and come out of it with such different perspectives? Your account of his intentions with you is so ridiculous and unfathomable to him that he can’t do anything but laugh.

You seem taken aback at first, but your surprise quickly turns into annoyance. “Something funny?”

“Hilarious, actually,” he says, holding his stomach. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. All he finds at the end of his amusement is anger, bright red and hot. It’s not an emotion he feels often, its rarity only serving as an intensifier—he starts making his way out of the rink before it can explode and hit you in its wake. “Well, that’s convinced me to call it a day. So you got what you came for, I guess.”

His fingers tremble as he undoes the laces on his skates and puts his sneakers on again. You stand by the door of the rink, holding onto the frame as you look at him, that same sad look still on your face. “Hoon,” you say, voice weak. What would usually have him melting only has his anger flare harder.

“Don’t. For the first time ever, I actually really don’t want to talk to you right now.” He stands up, gives you one last harsh look, and turns away. He only halts right before exiting the bleacher area, and after a couple seconds of thinking, turns back around. “Oh, but don’t worry, I’ll let you know when I want to fuck again. Since that’s all this is, clearly.”

--

It seemed to you no one thought you were good enough for Sunghoon.

Only Yunjin and Chaewon seemed excited at the prospect of the two of you getting together, or at least getting to know each other, but they were also the type to coo at dogs in the street and tear up at the sight of old people holding hands; Minjeong was apprehensive from the start, and made it clear; Jay was indifferent; Jake was oblivious for a while. Sunghoon was…

What was Sunghoon?

Someone who had come out of nowhere, shaken up your routine and messed with your head. That’s what Sunghoon was. He didn’t seem apologetic in the slightest.

Maybe it was your fault for not opening up to the people closest to you and letting them think you were some kind of no-strings-attached one-night-stands-only emotionless maneater who had been single for as long as they had known her, who would be seen with someone new every few months, and never for long, who, as far as the eye could tell, only used men for sex. Maybe it was their fault for never trying to dig deeper.

No, okay, it was definitely your fault.

Based on your conversations with your friends, they thought Heeseung had broken your heart, and you had never bounced back properly. He’d hurt you so much, you couldn’t fathom a real relationship anymore—you could only be with someone casually. Which wasn’t so far from the truth, but what Heeseung had done was much worse than just breaking your heart. He’d confirmed what you already knew of yourself: you want too much. You want what you can’t have, what you don’t deserve.

From the moment you met Park Sunghoon, you knew you didn’t deserve someone like him. Minjeong seemed to agree, and when she saw you and him together at choir that Saturday in September, three months ago already, she made sure you knew her thoughts on the matter.

“This is so… unlike you,” was the first thing she’d said after she pulled you aside. 

“What is?”

“This,” she repeated, waving her arms around. “Being here. Coming with him.” She pointed at Sunghoon, whose hair was being ruffled by one grandma and his cheek pulled by another. He kept glancing back worriedly at you—you liked him so much already. “See? You’re smiling at him,” she said, making you realize a sappy smile had started growing on your lips at the sight of him. Your face dropped and you scoffed at the disgust in her voice.

“Yeah, some of us like to smile. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Y/N, you know what I’m trying to say.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.”

She sighed. “You don’t do this. You don’t meet a guy and show up to his choir practice the next morning. What’s happening?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. Had you known your presence would be questioned like that, you might’ve thought twice about coming. “Can’t a girl enjoy a choir without getting interrogated these days?”

“You’re avoiding my question! Listen, Y/N. Sunghoon is not the kind of guy you usually go for. He’s-Stop. Don’t smile at me like that.”

“If you like Sunghoon, you can just tell me. You know I wouldn’t stoop so low as to go after a guy my best friend likes.”

“So you are going after him?”

“So you do like him?”

Minjeong shook her head violently and put her hands on your shoulders, staring into your brain as if trying to make you see some sense. Calmly, she said, “No, I don’t. Sunghoon’s nice, but he is so far from my type. He’s too… nice.”

“You mean he doesn’t wear leather jackets or ride a motorcycle?”

“That was once. But no, he doesn’t do that. And what I’m trying to tell you is that he’s not your type either.”

“And how have you gathered that?”

“Because so far, you’ve only wisely chosen guys who are as detached and emotionally stunted as you.”

“I’m not-”

“But he’s not like that, Y/N. He’s the bring-home-to-your-parents-for-Christmas type. Not the hump-and-dump type.”

“I’m starting to get offended by this conversation.”

“All I’m saying is, don’t go breaking his heart. Or yours, for that matter. It pains me to say but I care about both of you very much and I don’t see this going anywhere good.”

You shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Was her opinion of your romantic tendencies — or lack thereof — that bad that she couldn’t even recommend you to her friend? You felt like a chastised child whose mom told you you couldn’t get the toy you wanted. Despite being well aware that you weren’t the most committed when it came to relationships, you still felt like she was going overboard. Just because nothing had stuck so far didn’t mean it wouldn’t now—she was acting like you went around playing with people’s feelings for fun.

“Jesus, this is my second time seeing him. I just wanna see what his deal is. I’m not breaking anyone’s heart, okay?” 

The choir conductor had called out for everyone to gather on stage then, and that was the end of that conversation. You still remember how funny of a thing it was, seeing Sunghoon in his nice shirt and trousers, his hair falling into his eyes, singing diligently with the choir, when just the night before he had been playing beer pong dressed as Cowboy Ken. In this new light, you understood why Minjeong was so adamant about him not being your usual type, and why the grandmas were fussing over him. You hadn’t known what had pushed you to invite yourself to this rehearsal, and even then as you sat there, you weren’t sure what you were doing or why you couldn’t stop smiling as you watched Sunghoon sing. 

Time made things clearer, starting with that afternoon at the beach. The salt in the air that day had clouded your thoughts, covered them with a thin layer so that your usual reluctance to share anything remotely personal had dimmed. Or maybe it had had nothing to do with the air and everything to do with the boy sitting next to you on the sand, the way words came tumbling out of your mouth before you could think about them and were only met with understanding and empathy on his part. For once, you didn’t feel the need to guard yourself, to adapt your words and actions to the person in front of you. It was something you didn’t know was possible with a near stranger—perhaps because Sunghoon felt nothing like one.

He made you feel things you hadn’t felt in a long time; things you had been craving to feel, needed almost as much as oxygen. Being with him felt like breathing again. But you had been underwater so long, being on land again felt foreign, scary, and you couldn’t help but dive back into safe waters, coming up for air once in a while.

Whether he had intended to or not, Sunghoon had started to scratch at your surface, until he’d burrowed a small hole—shallow, but enough for cracks to appear, cracks you were quick to put back together as best as you could.

So when his gaze was too tender, his touches too gentle, you bristled. You went away, because you were afraid of what might happen if you stayed. The more you wanted to give him, the less you gave him anything at all. Your own desire overwhelmed you. His letterman jacket was warm around your shoulders, you proudly walked around with the four letters of his last name on your back, but you couldn’t get out of your mind how cold it would be if it was one day ripped away from you. 

You thought of Heeseung, how disillusioned you had been when you thought you had finally met someone who would love you the way you had always yearned to be, only for him to toss you away when you started asking for too much. You thought of your friends in middle school, how it seemed that no friendship could be more wonderful until you overheard them talking about you at a sleepover, about how clingy you were. You thought of your parents, how they had only bestowed kind words upon you when you performed well in your role of perfect daughter, of academically gifted child. How they hadn’t even glanced at any of the drawings you’d done of the four of you, mother, father, son and daughter holding hands with a bright yellow sun in the corner of the sky. How they had pushed you away from their bed when you seeked some comfort after a terrible nightmare. How they had never bothered to hide their disappointment when you came home from school with anything less than an A. How they had shunned your brother for not going down the path they had envisioned for him, how hard you had to fight to make them accept yours was not a worthless one.

Even your best friend seemed to think you were unable to receive affection of the likes of Sunghoon’s—but what you were afraid of was that he wouldn’t handle the amount of affection you knew you were able to give. In a way, that was what had drawn you to Sunghoon in the first place—from the moment you’d met him, you had been able to tell there was something of you in him. It seemed to you he had a heart that was overflowing with love, love to give, love to spare on whoever would have it. In his words, you were him. Nevertheless, your fear of getting hurt overrode your desire to feel Sunghoon’s love, and you didn’t know whether you would be able to revert to your nature after having spent so much time perfecting your new facade.

You knew what it was like to be cold. And so you prematurely braced yourself for it by pushing away Sunghoon’s warmth. If it was going to happen at some point, like Minjeong had hinted it would, might as well get used to it, right?

Except the cold never came. Sunghoon kept on burning relentlessly, no matter how much wood you fed his fire with—you could cling to him for nights on end or ignore his texts for days, without fail, he’d welcome you with his usual, unwavering warmth. He allowed you to bask in it, to momentarily let down your defenses. But something always happened to make you raise them back up—Minjeong would eye the two of you suspiciously, Heeseung would post on Instagram (Is one of the girls on slide five his new fling? Are they serious and it wasn’t that he wasn’t ready for a relationship, it’s that he didn’t want one with me?), or your mom would text you to ask you whether everything was okay.

Yet increasingly, you suspected there was something behind Sunghoon’s warmth, something you had missed, something that was tricking you. He looked at you like you had hung the stars in the night sky, yes; in public, a knowing look from you was enough to have his face turn bright red, and in private, one simple touch had his chest heaving, yes; he expressed disappointment every time you turned him down for a hang-out. Your attachment to him grew, and it became harder to put what the two of you had into words.

It wasn’t just sex—it couldn’t be. It ran deeper than that. You knew what relationships that consisted of just sex were like, and this wasn’t that, it was too good, too intimate to be just that. But you weren’t a couple, that much was clear. Only four other people were aware something was even going on, your brother not included, and you acted as regular friends in front of everyone. Jake had insisted you didn’t fool around with another member of his hockey team because his relationship with Heeseung had already deteriorated enough, he didn’t need to be on weird terms with anyone else on your behalf, so you were not keen on letting him know about what you got up to with Sunghoon. Anyway, even if everyone on earth was in on your shenanigans, you and Sunghoon hadn’t convened on what it all meant. Who knew what was going on in his head? You were no stranger to how deceitful men could be when they were after certain bodily pleasures. Unless Sunghoon said it in so many words, multiple times, you would not be a hundred percent sure he wasn’t only looking to get laid, or wanted someone to act like his girlfriend without the label and the obligations that came with it.

Because you basically were acting like his girlfriend, and he like your boyfriend. You always went to each other. Always, only each other. Whether he needed a second opinion on an outfit, you needed a rant session about your dissertation, either of you a really good orgasm, it was each other you went to.

You waited for him to initiate a conversation about the status of your relationship like one waits for church bells to ring at the turn of the hour—you knew it was coming, but the sound might be too much to bear. And the longer you had to wait, the more you dreaded it. Because how would you react when the time came? You didn’t trust yourself not to run away; neither did Minjeong.

The cold hadn’t come yet. You couldn’t let yourself feel the warmth unreservedly. It was all unpleasantly lukewarm.

Then you went home for a weekend.

It was a good friend from school’s birthday, and despite having spent a lot of time with Sunghoon at the expense of studying, you had done well this semester and thought you deserved a break. After having been away for so long, you had started to underestimate the power of your need for your parents’ approval over you. One small instance that your brother and many other people would’ve brushed off easily was enough to set you off—that same cold look of disappointment when you decided to be honest and told them one of your courses was deadly boring all while being unnecessarily complicated and you had received a low B-grade in it. They barely spoke to you for the rest of the evening.

Exams were a mere few weeks away when you got back. You buried yourself in work, forgot everything and everyone else, even Sunghoon, even yourself.

The cold hadn’t come yet, so you sought it out for yourself.

At the same time, you hadn’t indulged in enough introspection to realize how frustrated you had been at Sunghoon for not trying to create defined boundaries around your relationship. You were unable to do it yourself, you unrealistically wanted him to do the work for the both of you, you got upset when he didn’t. What you were able to do was make up reasons why he wasn’t giving you the what are we talk—he doesn’t like you that much, he just wants sex, he’s settling for you until he finds the next best thing, the real thing. This wasn’t leading anywhere, so you cut it off before he could.

You set foot in the library at seven thirty a.m. on a Monday and every following day of that week, then the next, then the next. He managed to pull you out every now and then—you weren’t that strong against his big pleading eyes, his soft messy hair, his warm hands that entirely covered yours. 

Oftentimes, you were too tired at the end of a long library day to have sex. Sunghoon never held it against you—he seemed more than happy to cook you dinner, let you fall asleep halfway during a movie you had chosen, and cuddle all night long. But your body burned with resentment at his mere presence in your bed, in your home, in your text messages. Who was he to stop you from studying, from achieving your goals, to distract you from that top grade just so he could get off? Even your friends and brother weren’t trying so hard to make you take breaks. The worry that furrowed his eyebrows, which you used to want to see fade away with a caress of your thumb, now infuriated you to no end, it seemed — to you — put-on. He kissed your neck and you wanted to push him away instead of melt into him like you had before.

It was his turn to leave for a weekend for an out-of-town hockey game, and you convinced yourself his absence came as a relief. But on the Sunday evening they got back, as you came out of the library, you spotted your brother waiting right outside of the building.

“Why is it so hard to reach you?” he said when he saw you in lieu of a greeting. “What’s the point of having a phone if you don’t even use it? I called you, like, five times.” “It was on airplane mode.” He rolled his eyes so hard, you could almost hear them moving beneath their lids. “What have you done to Sunghoon?” You stopped dead in your tracks. “Sunghoon? What about him?” you asked, chest constricting at the mere thought of him and at the implication that something had happened to him, even if you were the cause. He hadn’t said it in so many words, but it was clear the truth had been revealed to Jake, and for some reason, it didn’t surprise you. You knew they roomed together and assumed Sunghoon must’ve told him. You tried your best to take it in stride. “I thought we said the hockey team was off-limits after Heeseung,” he said sternly. “Also, Sunghoon, of all people?” he adds before you can say anything. “That’s like, my bro. And he’s the nicest guy ever. Not the perfect pick for one of your victims, I must say-” “Oh, please, he’s not a victim. He’s a consenting adult.” “Then why is he so upset over you spending more time studying than with him?” “That’s the male ego for you, Jakey.” Your brother sighed deeply. “He’s really hurt, Y/N. If you were going to reject him, you could’ve done it nicely.”

You frowned. “Who said anything about rejecting him?”

“You’ve shut him out. You’ve shut all of us out.” Jake was staring at you, trying to get you to look at him, but you kept your gaze on the ground and kicked non-existent pebbles around, hands hiding in your coat pockets. “You might not have meant it as one, but he took it as a rejection.”

You scoff. “There was nothing to reject. It’s not like we’re actually together.”

“Yeah, thanks for telling me anything was going on, by the way.”

“It wasn’t any of your business.”

“It is, ‘cause it concerns my sister and my best friend.”

“He’s your best friend?” you echo, a teasing smile on your lips. He rolls his eyes again.

“God, maybe you guys aren’t so bad together after all. But Y/N—I’m serious. You need to do something.”

“Why can’t he?”

“Because you’re the one who’s been fucking around.”

Ouch. “You’ve known about this whole thing for what, two days, and you’re already blaming me for the fact that it’s not going perfectly? How little do you think of me?”

“I don’t think little of you, Y/N, I just know you have a track record of not being serious about relationships.”

Your body tensed up. Maybe it had been a particularly long day. Maybe it had been a long time coming. Tears well up in your eyes—a sight you’ve not let your brother see in many, many years.

“You know what, fuck this, Jake. I’m stressed enough as it is. I’ve done my best with what I have, and you don’t get to pin this on me. As if I was the only person in that relationship. If Sunghoon has a problem, he can take it up with me directly.”

You walked away. Jake called after you once, and when you didn’t come back, caught up with you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I don’t wanna upset you. I just-I hate seeing him hurt, you know? And you too.”

“I’m glad my feelings are of some importance to you.”

“Of course they are,” Jake said, too concerned to detect the sarcasm in your words. “And you’re right, I’ve only heard Sunghoon’s side of the story. But it really sounded like-”

“Listen, Jakey, I really don’t wanna do this right now. Let’s talk about it when exams are over. I can’t have anything else taking up mental space. I mixed up my Greek third declension endings earlier.”

“God forbid.”

After some arguing, Jake let you off the hook—“Just for now,” he said. You’d get him to recount his and Sunghoon’s conversation in excruciating detail later.

You come out of an evening of contemplation resenting Sunghoon for bitching about you to your brother, of all people. As if he had been begging on his hands and knees for your devotion, as if you had been cool-headed and detached and not thinking he’ll ask me to be his girlfriend any second now every time you spent time together. You told yourself you were well and truly done with him for the time being. If there was anything to salvage, that was future you’s problem.

But late on Thursday evening, Jay sent you a voice message, something he only did when he was gravely drunk, shouting over loud chatter and rap music that Sunghoon hadn’t shown up to a party and was apparently still practicing. You’d caught wind of their loss at the game, and even though your heart had swollen with concern for Sunghoon, very well aware of how important winning was to him, you’d managed to squash it down. You had bigger fish to fry, namely, an Italian written exam that made up 75% of your overall grade for that course. But after ten minutes of re-reading the same three lines of an article from Republicca, you couldn’t get the image of Sunghoon skirting endlessly around the ice rink and potentially hurting himself out of your head. You told yourself you only had this one exam left and plenty of time to revise for it, packed up your things and headed for the rink.

It was past eleven p.m. when you got there. The rest is history. 

Your grievances came out in an ugly way, but Sunghoon’s refusal to listen to you got the best of your nerves, and although you really did feel that your worry was more genuine than his, you didn’t truly believe that all he wanted from you was sex—at least, you hoped it wasn’t. It was the first time you ever saw any sort of negative emotion on Sunghoon’s handsome features, be it anger, sadness or pain. It tugged at your heartstrings, made you want to wrap him in your arms and get him away from whatever it was that tugged his eyebrows into a frown—even if that was you.

Now, as if the water has inched up your ankles and frozen over, your feet stay planted on the ice for a while after he’s stormed off. You don’t even realize you’re crying until a hot, salty teardrop falls on your lips.

Your feet regain control of themselves, and they seem to move of their own accord as they guide you right in front of Sunghoon’s dorm room. You’re barely conscious as your knuckles rasp against the door, and the tears that had fallen back behind your eyes spill out once more as soon as your eyes meet his. He’s just come out of the shower, a white towel wrapped around his hips, another one that he uses to dry his hair. His movements stop when he realizes who’s standing at his door, mouth falling slightly agape, chest visibly rising and falling. He’s so beautiful, you feel your heart breaking all over again.

Sobs pour uncharacteristically out of you, so much so that you have to hide your face behind your eyes. He ushers you in, holds you tight as everything flows out, the stress, the resentment, the loneliness, the longing. How could he be so close yet so far away this whole time? Did he want those miles of distance between you, or had you forced them upon him?

Sunghoon smoothes your hair down and shushes you, telling you it’s okay and that he’s here, voice strangled as if he’s on the verge of crying, too. A part of you still feels angry towards him, but the bigger part of you knows only he can give you the comfort you need.

“I missed you,” you say when you’ve calmed down partly. You only realize how true those words are once you’ve spoken them. You’ve missed waking up next to him, watching trashy reality TV together, taking coffee breaks that lasted too long in-between study sessions. You’ve missed the scent of his hair, the scent of his skin, you’ve missed watching the way his back muscles shift at the slightest of movements, feeling the weight of his head as he lay on your chest. All for a bunch of As you would’ve gotten without exerting yourself so much anyway.

“I missed you too, baby. Where did you go?” Just like that, you break down again, and he dissolves into apologies. “You’re here now, it’s all that matters,” he whispers against your hair.

“You didn’t see them, Hoon. You didn’t see the way they looked at me,” you say, struggling to speak, unsure you’re even making any sense but unable to stop. “I got As in everything, I worked so hard. Just one B, one week where I had four things due at the same time. Their faces, Hoon, like they were thinking, what was the point of letting me do this degree if I wasn’t even going to excel in it?”

“But you do excel in it, Y/N. You’re amazing at what you do. And even if you weren’t, you love it, and that’s what matters the most.”

“Not to them, it doesn’t.”

“Then forget them.”

“I can’t, Hoon,” you say, voice trembling. “I just can’t. I need them to be proud of me.”

“Isn’t it enough to be proud of yourself?”

“I wish it was.”

“Does it help if I tell you how proud I am of you and of how hard you’ve worked?”

He doesn’t see it, your face is still hidden in the crook of his shoulder, but a small smile makes its way to your lips. “A bit.”

“Then I’ll tell you everyday until you don’t need their approval anymore. They don’t deserve you, Y/N. They don’t even see what an amazing, beautiful, smart daughter they have. Or her sort-of-okay brother.” You laugh, and so does he. Sunghoon’s words and soothing touch against your back already alleviate the weight on your heart. “But I see it.”

You lift your head to look at Sunghoon. His eyes are glassy. “You see how amazing, beautiful and smart Jake is?”

He laughs again as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, exactly.” The way he looks at you makes you wish you could go back to the day you met him and right all of your wrongs. No more hiding or running away. You only want to stay under that gaze of his. But sadness soon replaces the joy in his eyes. “You mean so much more to me than you give yourself credit for, Y/N. This has never been just about sex for me. Not even for a second.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what has it been about?” 

He frowns like a student in an advanced math class who’s just been asked what three plus three is—isn’t it obvious?

“I love you.”

Your eyes dart between his as if searching for any trace of deceit there. Of course, you don’t find any—because there hasn’t been any since the start. You’d let your own fears invent things that weren’t there. Your lips tremble and you find yourself bawling on his shoulder once more, your tears like a well that digs deeper and deeper so as to never run out of water.

“I hope these are good tears,” Sunghoon says light-heartedly, but you can detect the nervousness behind his words. You nod your head vigorously, willing yourself to say something back, but your tears overflow, make your breath hitch.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” you manage in between sobs.

“I didn’t think it was the kind of thing you wanted to hear,” he explains.

“I was waiting for you to say something.”

“I didn’t know. I thought I was being obvious enough.”

“You probably were. I was the one who couldn’t see it,” you admit.

“I thought you didn’t want me like that.”

“I thought you didn’t want me like that.”

Sunghoon chuckles, a sound of relief. “I’ve wanted you like that since the start.”

“I think I have too.”

“You think?”

You lift your head again and when your eyes meet Sunghoon’s, it feels like coming out of your hiding place hours after the round of hide-and-seek was over. He hadn’t forgotten to come and find you. He was waiting for you to reveal yourself.

Which goes against the rules of hide-and-seek, but you don’t blame him.

You smile; he smiles, deep dimples carving crescents into his cheeks. “I love you, too.”

You hadn’t realized how cold your hands were until Sunghoon found them.

--

Everything after that was a blurry mess of tangled limbs, warm kisses, happy tears and relieved laughter.

Your touch had always been intoxicating, but Sunghoon was particularly sensitive to it that night. The mix of not having felt you close in weeks and the heightened emotions driven by your confessions made his skin tingle everywhere it came in contact with yours. He’d never slept so little without regretting it in the morning.

It goes without saying that most of the night was not spent talking, but you still had things you needed to discuss. The two of you laid out all of your fears, and Sunghoon was immensely relieved to finally get a glimpse into that mind of yours. He made you promise to always tell him what was going on, and he promised you you’d never be too much for him. Always just right.

Now, he gets to wait outside of your exam hall with your favorite flowers in hand, to put his arm around your shoulders during movie nights instead of holding your hand beneath the blanket, to kiss you over the barrier at the end of a hockey game he won. Heeseung’s narrowed eyes at the sight of the two of you is an added bonus.

You text him that you’ll hang around the locker rooms after the game so that you can head to the party together. The end of December is nearing and you can’t wait for the new year, for twelve whole months of not hiding your feelings for Sunghoon from anyone, not even from yourself, least of all from him. At least, that’s what you told him in a sappy, drunken voice message at two a.m. the previous night when the girls made you drink a bottle of prosecco to yourself—their way of congratulating you for an arduous but successful exam period.

He steps out of the locker rooms with Jake and Jay. You’ve never looked quite as pretty, face lighting up as you spot the three of them, his jersey on your shoulders. You’d worn it during your last exam—“I thought it might bring me luck to wear a pretty boy’s name on my back,” you’d told him, to which he’d replied that it was good practice for when you actually took his last name. You’d looked away, fighting a smile.

Now your smile is full-blown as you look at him, but the downside of being an official couple is that Jake has now more material to tease the both of you with.

“Oh my God, you waited for me, what a sweet sister I have been blessed with!” he exclaims, arms outstretched as he barrels towards you.

“Fuck off, Sim,” you say but accept his hug nonetheless. “Nice game.”

“I know.” He pulls away and ruffles your hair. Jay nods at you like you’re someone he shared a class with back in second year and not his friend of almost three years.

As if on cue, just as Sunghoon reaches you and envelops you in a hug, Jake turns around and yells loud enough for all the players spilling out of the locker rooms, “And don’t forget to wear protection! I’m not ready to be an uncle yet.”

“That’s disgusting, Jakey,” you yell back, and he smiles proudly. Sunghoon had never thought the day would come where you’d initiate a kiss in a room full of people—he’s on cloud nine when you take his head in your hands and press your lips to his, murmuring praises about how well he played.

“It was all for you, baby,” he says, trying to appear cool even though a blush is creeping up his ears. 

“Not for the recruiter of the national team?” you asked with a smirk.

He smiles, shrugging. “Maybe a bit for him too. You’re the one I want to impress.”

“Consider me impressed.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him a second time.

You head towards your friends, hands warm against each other.

--

In classic mysterious Jay fashion, he organizes a New Year’s Eve party that he can’t attend himself.

He’s on holiday in some exotic country halfway across the world with his family, but he’s offered up their house for a celebration and tasked Jake with making sure no one trashes anything.

The party started three hours ago, and you’re sure it’s in full swing by now—you’re sure everyone is having a jolly old time, getting drunk enough to welcome the new year with a hangover, searching the crowds of people for the person they’ll want to kiss at midnight. You’re sure that people are having so much fun that whoever notices your and Sunghoon’s absence might think you’re missing out.

And maybe you are—but there’s nowhere you’d rather be than where you are now, straddling your boyfriend’s lap in the backseat of his car. He’s a little bit tipsy, you’re a little bit tipsy, it’s obvious in the way you kiss each other, messy, impatient, interspersed with giggles and with perhaps too much tongue. Your hands are not much more polite, harshly grabbing at his hair just the way you know he likes it, and neither are his, having snuck their way underneath your black satin dress long ago already.

When Sunghoon pulled you away from the party, you’d appropriately exclaimed, “But the party?”, to which he replied, “Fuck the party.” It wasn’t like him to curse, or to have anything but a bashful smile on his lips, like a guilty dog who’d been caught doing something it knew it shouldn’t, even though he was just standing there, so when you see his stoney expression, you think something serious must’ve happened.

The something serious turned out to be “that guy who was touching your shoulder.”

Clearly, it’d take Sunghoon a little bit more time to be entirely secure in your relationship. In the meantime, you didn’t mind letting him fuck his jealousy away.

Although he’d been the one to whisk you away, you’re the one who finds yourself begging for him to speed things up. Your flimsy thong does absolutely nothing, so you’re basically grinding yourself bare against his clothed erection—and it’s not like the fabric of his suit trousers is very thick, either. A girl can only put up with so much dry humping before having her boyfriend’s dick inside of her goes from being a want to a need.

“Need you, Hoon,” you coo against the shell of his ear. A few words usually do the trick, but Sunghoon has other plans tonight.

“What do you need, baby?”

“You.”

“I’m right here,” he says, punctuating his words with a squeeze of your ass.

“You know what I mean,” you say, practically whining.

“I’m not sure I do, actually.”

You pull away and, looking at him directly, say, “God, Sunghoon. I want you to fuck me.” His shit-eating grin simultaneously makes you roll your eyes and goes straight to your core.

“That I can do.”

He keeps one hand on your ass as he loosens his tie first, then undoes his belt and trouser buttons. His slacks and underwear pool around his ankles, and all he needs to do is hike your dress up around your hips and push your thong to the side. You wrap a hand around his dick, but your mind is too hazy to do much with it—he’s started rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb, the pressure and speed as perfect as it always is. You let your forehead fall against his shoulders and moan unabashedly, thankful he decided to park the car far enough away from the house.

“You like it when I touch you like this, baby?”

“I love it, Hoon.”

He hums his approval. “You’re so perfect. So perfect and so wet for me, isn’t that right?”

You start to say “yes,” but you interrupt yourself with a gasp. You hold onto Sunghoon’s arm, feel his muscles move under your palm as he slips two fingers inside of you without warning. “Please,” you choke out, a tight knot already forming in your stomach.

“Please what?”

“Need you. Need your dick, baby.”

He smiles as if endeared, but his words couldn’t be more different. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before going off with some random guy the one minute I was somewhere else.”

“He’s just-fuck, Hoon, he’s just a mutual friend of Jay and I. Fuck, right there, baby.” Forming coherent sentences when Sunghoon’s fingers flick against that perfect spot deep inside you again and again is no easy task, but you need to defend yourself.

“Right there?” he echoes, voice a whisper against your ear. When you nod, eyes shut tight, he slips his fingers out. You look at him, betrayed. “That’s too bad. Why don’t you ask him to touch you right there, hm?”

You don’t know how much of his jealousy is put-on to get you to beg and how much of it is real. You make a mental note to have a conversation with him about this later—right now, you don’t mind playing along if it means your boyfriend will deign to fuck you. You know he wants to, he’s just making you work harder.

You move your hand up and down along his dick, brush his reddening tip with your palm every now and then. “He couldn’t touch me like you, Hoon.” You lean in and trail kisses along his neck, his jawline, his ears. “Can’t fuck me like you, either.”

With exams, hockey matches and any other responsibilities out of the way for winter break, the two of you had had an obscene amount of sex in the past couple of weeks. You’d done other things, of course, namely having much-needed conversations with each other, your friends, your families. Sunghoon’s mother was overjoyed at the news, glad her “duckling had finally met someone” — her words — and his sister kept stealing his phone from him to talk to you when you were on FaceTime. You and Jake had gone home for two days for Christmas, and although Jake had needed to pep talk you into it for over an hour, you managed to tell them that you wouldn’t stand for being belittled for your life choices anymore.

But in-between these conversations, you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. You’ve grown more comfortable with each passing day, both of you bolder in vocalizing what you want and how you feel. And so, you quickly found out that your Sunghoon, your shy, sweet Sunghoon, got off like nothing else on salacious words. In line with his possessiveness, he loved hearing about how he and only he could do these things to you; in line with your need for validation, you could practically come from hearing his praises alone.

“That’s right, baby.” Like the gentleman he is, he fishes out the condom wrapper he had gotten ready from his trouser pocket, tears it open with his mouth and rolls the condom on with one hand, his other one still preoccupied with you. “Come here, my love,” he whispers, his sweet tone worlds away from his previous teasing, almost cocky one. He grabs your hips, guides you closer to him and lines your entrance with the tip of his dick. He lets you go at your own pace, rubs your thighs soothingly as you sink down onto him slowly and adjust to his size. You throw your head back, mind hazy with pleasure as you move your hips back-and-forth against him.

“You feel so good, baby. You’re doing so well for me.” His words make you pick up your pace, and you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers grabbing at his hair and sides of your faces pressed against each other as you start lifting your hips and sinking back down. Sunghoon’s hands hold your ass tightly, guiding you up and down. It’s hot in the car; sweat runs down your hairline and your back, air is running low, the windows are fogging up, but it only adds to the dizzying bliss growing in you. Even the seatbelt receiver digging into your knee doesn’t bother you.

“Feels so good, Hoon,” you moan.

“I know, baby.”

Your hours of studying everyday means your thighs aren’t the strongest—good thing for you that your boyfriend has enough stamina and strength for the both of you. As soon as he feels you tiring, your rhythm becoming slower and more irregular, he picks up your slack. One hand on your back, one arm around your waist, he presses you close to him, his hold on you so tight you can barely move. He bucks his hips harshly into yours, faster and faster, making you cry out with every brush of his tip against that spot deep inside of you. Your whole body shakes with pleasure as your moans grow higher and louder, until the tension in your stomach hits its apex and unravels. A gasp leaves your throat as you come around him, but he’s unrelenting, the overstimulation quickly making tears form in your eyes. Strings of curses and praises of how perfect you are spill out of Sunghoon’s mouth disorderly as he reaches his own end.

Together, you take your time catching your breath, his fingers roaming your back while you trail soft kisses all over his face and neck. “My pretty baby,” he whispers, and it makes your heart swell with so much affection for him that you press your lips to his, shutting him up in case he says something that actually has you exploding.

You wish you could spend some more time just the two of you before returning to the party, but when you check your phone, it’s already five minutes to midnight—he puts his clothes back on as you fix your hair in a rush, Sunghoon helping you wipe away traces of mascara under your eyes, and together, run back to the living room where everyone has gathered. You find Minjeong, Yunjin, Chaewon and Jake, who has Jay on FaceTime. It’s only five p.m. where he is.

Everyone counts down from ten together. The first thing you do in the new year is kiss Park Sunghoon—and you’ll make sure it’s the last thing you do, too.

© asahicore on Tumblr, 2024. please do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works. support your creators by reblogging and leaving feedback!

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekhyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz @jakeflvrz (ask to be removed/added!)

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

𝑇𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑀𝑒

pairing: wanda maximoff x transfem!reader

summary: Emo Wanda loses her virginity, and you're the best partner ever.

content warnings: reader has a penis, handjob, sex, finger sucking, light choking, condoms, power dynamics if you squint

word count: 4k+

masterlist

“I want to touch you.”

You look up at the words, blinking slightly as you set your book aside. Your head is in Wanda’s lap, the fingers running through your hair stopping as you give her your full attention.

“What brought this on?” You ask, sitting up and facing her. “I’m flattered, don’t get me wrong, but I know you wanted to take things slow since it would be your first time and everything.”

Wanda’s green eyes look down at her lap for a moment before she casually throws her hair over her shoulder, shrugging. You see her feigned nonchalance for the vulnerability that it is but decide not to comment on it, instead taking her ring-clad fingers in your own and intertwining your hands. 

“Do you want me to touch you while you’re touching me?” 

“No.” Wanda’s eyes cut toward you, her thick eyeliner somehow still in place even after an entire day of classes. “I’ll get distracted if you touch me, and besides, I want to touch you without there being an expectation of receiving anything in return.”

You nod, shifting your weight on the couch. “I’ll sit on your lap then?”

Wanda takes a deep breath, her hands already reaching for your waist. She helps you onto her lap, moving her hips until she’s comfortable with your eight sitting on top of her. She can feel the warmth from your crotch, your slight bulge making her mouth water. 

Fuck, she’s already wet. 

Clearing her throat, Wanda tries to force her blush down, her face feeling hot. Her hands move your arms to your sides, squeezing your wrists gently before releasing. You don’t move them, so she takes it as a sign to continue. 

She doesn’t know what to do. 

“Here,” you murmur. “Let me help get you started.”

Wanda’s hands barely graze your skin, her fingers hesitant as you pull your shirt off. Wrapping her hands around your waist, she watches you pull the fabric over your head. She can’t help but let out a small gasp as your red lacy bra is revealed. 

“It’s your favorite color,” you murmur, a small smile on your lips as you watch her. Your thighs straddle hers, your arms loose at your sides as you sit on her lap. 

“It is,” Wanda says, her fingers tightening around your waist for a moment before she waves them, red wisps shooting toward the light switch. The room is plunged into darkness before a single lamp clicks on and washes your body with soft, warm light. 

Wanda’s fingers are slightly hesitant as she bites her lip, her eyes roaming your body. You wonder where she’s going to begin touching you, your waist perhaps? Or maybe your chest, where she can already see your nipples hardening under your bra. 

Gentle fingers stroke your cheeks, her hands cupping your face. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingertips roaming your features. She traces a line down your cheeks and under your jaw, over your nose and eyebrows. Softly, she traces your lips, pausing on the corners when you smile slightly. Her hands resume moving up your face and across your temples before carding through your hair and tucking it slightly behind your ears. 

Sometimes, Wanda wonders how she got so lucky with you. She’s never been the relationship type or the type for any sort of affection in general. But then you showed up, tipsy at a frat party with your backward hat and warm eyes, and that stupid, blinding smile of yours. Wanda had pushed you away at first, keeping you at a distance even as she found herself hanging out with you more than her own brother. But somehow, you managed to always wiggle your way back into her life and over her walls. 

Occasionally, Wanda will glance over at you when she thinks you aren’t looking. She’ll think about all the ways her hard, jagged edges should hurt you and your soft heart. But that hadn’t stopped you from mockingly getting down on one knee and presenting her with a cherry ring pop (her favorite kind, you always paid attention to every small detail about her) and asking her to be your girlfriend. 

“Hey,” you whisper, leaning in slightly. “Where did your head go?”

Wanda blinks, her hands still buried in your hair. She moves them back to your face, stroking your cheeks as she lets out a rare smile. It’s soft, and not at all jagged. “Just thinking about you.”

“Aww, you have a crush on me so bad,” you tease, your eyes crinkling in the corners in that way Wanda loves. 

“Shut up,” she says, but there isn’t any heat behind her words, her fingers trailing down your jaw. “Is this okay?”

You know what she means, even if she’ll never say it out loud. Wanda will never admit just how scared she is of disappointing you. Not that she ever could. “It’s more than okay, baby. Take your time. I’m enjoying your hands on me.”

“I bet you are.”

Wanda doesn’t say anything else, something in her eyes shifting as she runs her fingers down your neck. She pauses when she feels your heartbeat, the blood racing through your veins. It rushes beneath her fingertips, under your warm skin as it keeps you alive. She suddenly felt her own chest ache for a moment, knowing that she could feel the very essence of you under her fingers. 

“Can I use my mouth?”

Your chest heaves at the question, and Wanda can’t help but glance down. “Fuck yes, you can, Wanda.”

Wanda’s hands resume their movements, slowly running down your neck as her eyes lock on the way you tilt your head back. Your collarbones are sharp, and Wanda runs her fingers over them before gently pressing her thumbs into the dip in your skin where they meet your neck.

A low moan grumbles in your throat, your bottom lip snagged on your teeth. Your eyes are closed, and Wanda feels something relax inside her. She loves your eyes, and how piercing they are, but right now it’s nice to not be observed. She also loves that you’re relaxed enough to trust her like this, to close your eyes and let her do whatever she wants. It should be daunting, but instead, it’s fucking exhilarating. Wanda surges forward. 

Pressing her lips against your neck, she drags her tongue across the spot where she can feel your blood pumping wildly. You smell good, like warm bread and honey. Wanda loves it. Sometimes, she steals your clothes just so she can bury her nose in them and feel you while you’re away. Not that she’ll ever admit that. You never seem to run out of sweaters, though. 

Dragging her nose up your neck, Wanda explores the side of your throat with her lips and tongue, relishing in the small sounds and gasps escaping your lips. Her other hand dances around the base of your neck, not applying any pressure, just touching your soft skin and memorizing every curve and bump. 

Her kisses turn heated, her breaths picking up as she marks your skin. She loves the way you squirm on her lap, the tent in your pants obvious as she works your body up. Your hands are still at your sides, your fingers fisting the fabric of Wanda’s ripped jeans. 

“Fuck, Wanda,” you breathe. 

“I know,” she murmurs into your neck, inhaling your scent before moving to the other side and marking that up too. 

You’re grinding in her lap now, soft whimpers sounding out as you try to maintain some composure. It’s not working very well. The sensation of Wanda’s lips against your neck feels like liquid pleasure running through your veins. 

She pulls away, but before you can really complain about it, her lips are crashing down on yours like it's the only thing she’s ever wanted to do. Her hands cradle the back of your head, her tongue licking against your lips until you finally part yours. Her lips refuse to part from yours, her body leaning into yours as she kisses you. It leaves you breathless in a perfect sort of way.

Your chests heave in tandem, the need for air winning as your lips part. Wanda rests her forehead against yours, her hands tracing down your neck to rest on your shoulders. 

Meeting your gaze, Wanda smiles at the heat in your eyes. “I’ve still got more of you to touch,” she reminds you, gently running her hands down your arms until she reaches your hands. She lets her gaze drop, pulling one of your hands into the space between your bodies, her fingers gently tracing yours. 

Wanda loves your fingers. They’re dainty and long, with your fingernails cut short but polished beautifully. She loves the contrast of her silver rings and chipped black nail polish to your thin gold rings and well-maintained cuticles. 

Slowly, she brings your hand up, tracing her lips with the fingertip of your forefinger. Your breath hitches, your gaze locked on your hand. Wanda parts her lips and gently sucks two of your fingers into her mouth, her tongue warm and strong as she watches your eyes darken. Your hips are moving slightly, soft breaths hitting her face as you pant. 

“You like sucking my fingers, baby?” you ask, your voice low. 

Wanda nods. 

“You’re very good at it,” you murmur, licking your lips as your eyes glance between the fingers in her mouth and her piercing gaze. 

Smirking, Wanda gives your fingers one last suck before slowly pulling them from her mouth. They glisten slightly, as you feel yourself throb at the sight, your breath slightly shaky. Wanda gently guides your hand back to your side, her palms running up your arms. 

Now she’s moving quicker, her bottom lip snagged on her teeth as she looks down at your chest. Her fingers trace the straps of your bra, rubbing over the fabric until she cups your breasts in her hands. Lightly, she runs her thumbs over your hardened nipples poking through the fabric. 

You gasp and arch your back slightly, pushing your chest further into her hands. 

Smirking, Wanda runs her thumbs over your nipples again, loving the small sounds she’s pulling from you. Her hands move slightly until she’s able to pinch your nipples between her thumb and forefinger, your small whines turning into low moans. 

“Take it off,” you plead. “Baby, please take it off. I need to feel you.”

Well, Wanda can’t say no to that. She’s never been good at denying pretty women anything. And you’re the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, so she reaches around your back and quickly unsnaps your bra, sliding it down your arms and placing it on the couch. 

Your nipples are achingly hard, your breasts soft and perfect underneath her palms. Taking a few steadying breaths, you watch Wanda’s face as she gently rolls your nipples between her fingers, her eyes glancing up at yours for a reaction.

God, you already look ruined. Your eyes are slightly glassy, your lips swollen from the kiss and parted as you pant. Your cheeks are flushed and your pupils are so dilated that Wanda can barely see the color of your irises. It’s a picture of beauty.

“You look so pretty like this,” Wanda whispers, tugging on your nipples and feeling arousal shoot through her at your responding moan. 

“I should have known you’d like your girls all desperate and needy,” you manage to say, Wanda’s hands kneading your breasts as her thumbs swipe over your nipples. 

“No.” Wanda smiles, “I only like you all desperate and needy. It’s a good look on you, I’ll have to make it happen more often.”

You nod, agreeing with her. You typically were the more dominant person in your relationships, but something about Wanda made you want to cave to her every word. Sure, there were times when all you wanted to do was pin her down and fuck her until she couldn’t think straight, but now that the tables were turned, you didn’t mind. 

This was Wanda’s night. She got to do whatever she wanted to you, and you were more than happy with that. Her comfort was always your first priority, and you wanted her to lose her virginity the way she wanted to. 

“Stand up.” Wanda breathes, her hands slithering down to your waist. Her fingers break the waistband of your sweatpants, and she looks you dead in the eye. “I want these off.”

You’re quick to comply, your erection throbbing and begging to be set free. It’s a bit awkward, but Wanda doesn’t seem to mind your clumsy actions as you stand and pull your pants and underwear down. The fabric tangles around your ankles, and you hold her shoulder for balance as you pull them all the way off. 

It would feel weird to be completely nude while Wanda was clothed, but you don’t feel awkward once you see her hungry eyes locked on your cock. 

“Can I touch it?” she asks, glancing up at you. 

“Of course, baby,” you murmur, sitting back down on her lap and straddling her. Your hands go back down to your sides, your cock standing up proudly between you two. “Take your time.”

Wanda smiles softly at you. She knows this is a vulnerable moment, and she thanks you for trusting her with a small, passionate kiss. 

Pulling back, Wanda brings her fingers up to the tip of your cock. She gently rubs her thumb through the precum gathering, loving the way your breathing changes at each touch. She finds a sensitive spot just underneath the tip that has you gasping, your cock jumping slightly. She wants to find more spots just like that and she wants to drive you mad with need. 

With confidence from your small gasps and moans, Wanda wraps her hand fully around you, feeling how hard you are. You moan at the action, your hips jerking before you force yourself to remain still. It’s hard to not fuck yourself against Wanda’s hand, but somehow you resist the urge. 

“Start moving your hand, baby,” you whisper, your eyes dark as you look at her. She smiles at you, maintaining eye contact as she slowly pumps your length in her hand. 

It’s agonizing and so fucking perfect. 

You throw your head back, moaning as she jerks you off. Her rings against you feel amazing, providing a rough sensation that has you leaking down your shaft. Your precum coats your length as she continues to slowly move her hand up and down, watching your reactions closely. She can feel you throb under her palm when her rings graze your tip, so she does it a few more times just to hear you moan.

Wanda moves her free hand to your chest. Her movements become slightly rough, her fingers digging into your skin as she squeezes your breast. You moan and arch your back again, your hands gripping her knees behind you tightly. She pumps her hand quicker, enjoying the broken gasps and whines as you subconsciously thrust your hips. 

“Do you have condoms?” Wanda asks urgently. Her hands are suddenly everywhere, pushing you down onto the couch until your back hits the cushion. She keeps pumping your shaft even as she begins to stand, your hands flying to her waist as you make a noise of protest. 

“Yeah, they’re in the drawer next to my bed,” you say, watching her lean down toward you. Her lips press quickly against yours before she pulls back. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promises, before she’s dashing up the stairs and out of sight. 

You would laugh at her eagerness, but you’re still rock hard and throbbing at the thought of feeling her around you. Gently, you lazily stroke yourself as you wait for her, your other hand rolling and twisting a nipple between your fingers. 

“Okay, I got one,” Wanda’s voice sounds out, and you smile as she enters the room again. Her cheeks are slightly flushed and she’s holding a condom in one hand, and a bottle of lube in the other. 

“I don’t think I’ll need this,” she says, setting the lube on the floor and tossing the condom onto your stomach. You throb at the implication, taking a steadying breath. “But, it never hurts to be safe, right?”

Her green eyes peer at you for confirmation, and you nod quickly. “That’s perfect, baby.”

Wanda smiles widely at you, tucking her hair behind her ears slightly as she stands next to the couch, her eyes nervously roaming your body. You can tell that she needs some guidance, so you reach out a hand and pull her in by her studded belt. 

“Take your clothes off, Wanda,” you murmur. “I want you to strip for me.”

Nodding, Wanda slowly pulls her shirt off, smirking at the way your eyes lock on her chest. She unclips her bra impatiently, throwing it on the ground before cupping her chest and tilting her head. “Like what you see?”

“Fuck yes,” you breathe, stroking yourself a little faster at the sight. “Keep going, baby.”

Wanda smirks. “Hands off.”

Your eyes snap to hers, and you slowly let go of your length. Your cock rests on your stomach, throbbing with arousal as Wanda bites her lip at the needy look in your eyes. 

Slowly, she hooks her thumbs into her ripped jeans, pulling everything off in one motion. You see that she shaved, her inner thighs glistening with her arousal as she takes a deep breath and steps closer to you. 

“You look beautiful, Wanda.” You say earnestly. “I mean it. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my whole life. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Oh, shush,” Wanda says, but you can tell that she’s pleased. 

You pat your thighs, purposefully not touching your cock like she asked -commanded, more like- you not to. “Sit here, baby. I’ll show you how to put a condom on.”

“What is this, health class?” Wanda teases, but she straddles your thighs all the same. You can feel the warmth from her core right next to your cock, but you ignore your arousal as she takes you in her hands. 

Ripping the packaging, you open the condom and show her the little nub that’s sticking out. “It goes on like this,” you say, putting it over your tip and pinching the nub. “Then you just kind of roll it down until it’s fully covering everything.”

Wanda watches with rapt attention as you gently use your thumb and forefinger to pull the condom down around your length. Once it’s fully on, you release the nub and smile up at her, making some last adjustments to the condom. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Cool,” Wanda nods, biting her lip. There’s a beat of silence before she locks her gaze with yours. Her eyes are dark again. “I’m going to ride you until you cum in this condom, and then I’m going to keep going until I cum.”

She leans down, smirking. “And you’re not allowed to touch.” 

“Fuck,” you manage, before she’s lifting herself up slightly and lining your tip up with her soaked entrance. “Take your time, baby. Focus on what feels good for you, I’ll be enjoying it any way you want it.” 

Wanda smiles at you briefly before she’s bracing herself with her hands squeezing your breasts and slowly lowering herself onto your cock. 

She only takes your tip in, but it’s absolute heaven. Her soft moans reach your ears, her hands squeezing your breasts tightly as she gets used to the feeling. She feels amazing, your tip surrounded by her wet heat. You resist the urge to thrust up, keeping yourself still as you put your arms up and grip the couch arm behind you.

“Good job,” you pant, your eyes warm as you look up at her. “You’re doing just a good job, Wanda. You feel amazing, baby.”

Wanda’s eyes glaze over slightly at your words, and she lets out a whimper of pleasure as she lowers herself further onto your length. This time, she keeps going until she’s fully seated on your cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” she says, her voice high and breathy. Her cheeks are flushed, her hands gripping you tightly. “You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to say something, but Wanda is quicker. She shoves two of her fingers in your mouth, smirking at your muffled gasp of surprise. “Suck.”

Obeying, you suck her fingers as she begins to lift her hips up, your tip dragging along her walls in the best way possible. She fucks herself with your cock, starting slow before she finds a rhythm. Once she finds it, you’re a moaning mess. 

The wet sounds of her pussy sound out, her ass meeting your hips as she fucks herself. Your eyes are closed, your fingers cramping from how hard you’re gripping the couch arm. Wanda stops occasionally, fully seated on your cock, grinding her clit into your pelvis as she moans. 

“You feel so fucking good,” she gasps out, pulling her fingers from your mouth and gently wrapping them around your throat. You cum right then, your strangled moans sounding out as you feel yourself cumming into the condom. You squeeze your thighs tight as your eyes shoot open, Wanda’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes staring at you. “Does it feel good to fuck me, baby?”

“Yes,” you moan out, her hips moving faster as she nears her orgasm. “Fuck baby, you feel so good around my cock. It’s perfect… you’re perfect. Holy shit, I feel so good right now, Wanda. You’re making me feel so fucking good.”

Wanda’s hips stutter, and she keeps milking your cock, the pleasure overwhelming as she fully seats herself on your length. She grinds roughly, her other hand moving from your chest to her clit as she rubs fast circles. Her pussy walls spasm, then tighten in the most pleasurable way possible as her orgasm washes over her. 

Your cock is overstimulated, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Wanda is writhing slightly on top of you, her fingers squeezing every drop of pleasure from her clit as she rubs it gently. Her other hand releases your throat and gently trails down your sternum as she steadies herself. 

“That was…” Wanda opens her eyes, looking down at you with a lazy smile. “That was fucking amazing.”

She bites her lip, suddenly shy. You take that as permission to move your hands, and you sit up slightly as you cup her cheeks. 

“You were amazing, Wanda,” you say, kissing her softly. “I loved every second of that.”

“You were pretty amazing too,” Wanda murmurs, rolling her hips. Your cock throbs slightly, semi-hard and still buried inside her. “You followed my orders like the good girl you are.”

You smirk, your length hardening again. “Keep talking like that, and we’ll never make it to the shower.” 

Wanda giggles, kissing you again. Her lips are soft and insistent, her tongue grazing your bottom lip before she sucks it between her teeth. Pulling away, she releases your lip as you groan, your cock almost fully hard again.

“Next,” she murmurs, shyly running her hands over your shoulders. “I want to try sucking you off.”

You groan dramatically, throwing your head back as Wanda erupts into chuckles. “You’re going to kill me, woman,” you gasp out, theatrically clutching your chest. 

“Yeah,” Wanda shrugs, her eyes glinting. “But you’d probably find that hot too.”

Smiling, you lean in and kiss her again. This time it’s lingering. You pour your emotions into the kiss, hoping Wanda understands just how happy you are that she trusted you with her first time. 

“I love you.” You lean in and kiss her one last time, just for good measure. 

“Sap,” Wanda teases, biting her lip and wrapping her arms around your neck. 

“You love it.”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I do.”

---

Dm or comment to be added/removed!

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch @dorabledewdroop @justarandomreaderxoxo @godhatesgoodgirls @snowdrop1026 @maximoffmorale @noturlondonboy @xenaizogie @imjustvibingsworld @tobiaslut @xenaizogie @sxlfishbrokenheart @huggingkoalas @deliriosinrose @godhatesgoodgirls @yeetus-thyself @wizardofstories @wandastan-2 @the-ox-fan20 @danveration @jazzyxqzl @jolyssereed @ahintofchaos @secrettoallofyou

[retiredteabag]

Sukuna culinary school au

masterlist

The band of misfits that you would find in the Culinary Arts department consists of high school dropouts, older returning students, and raging alcoholics. It was not difficult to be at the top of the class when the majority of your peers were unable to assist their children with math homework, but there was one person who was in nearly every one of your classes who always received higher ranks than you did on practical exams.

He looked just about as raggedy as everyone else, if he wasn't such a star in the kitchen, you would guess that culinary was a last resort for him just like it was for the majority of your peers.

He had a long frame pressed tight to his chefs' jacket, his sleeves were always rolled up, tattoos covered his forearms and just above the collar of his jacket, black lines peeked out. Tufts of spiky hair poked below his white pillbox chef hat.

"Ryomen, dammit, I told you to quit wearing t-shirts under your uniform!" The chef yelled from the corner of the kitchen, everyone looked up from their stations to laugh at the man.

"Chef..." Sukuna pulled a scandalized look and set his santoku on a cutting board. "Respectfully, I don't need you checking me out through my white coat." He brought his gloved palms to cover his pecs.

Guffaws.

The Chef circled around behind the tables and smacked the man on the back of the head. "And we're all grateful you cover up," The older professor rolls his eyes, "but no patterns under the uniform, hear me?" He looked around the kitchen.

A chorus of 'Yes, chef' came from every station.

"Plain undershirts, yes?"

The chorus of responses echoed back.

"Good." Before he heads to his office to look at photos of students shitty knife cuts, he faces Sukuna. "I'm taking points off your daily grade."

Sukuna tugs at the collar of his jacket.

You mix your crème anglaise on the stovetop.

--

Daily grades account for 60% of the final grade, which means that homework, tests, and presentations made up for very little.

You lost points from your daily grade for all sorts of witless, subjective reasons. Your participation was lacking? Subtraction. Your attitude wasn't respectable? Subtraction. Part of your uniform or knife kit was missing? A point for every item. You had a piece of jewelry in a piercing? Huge subtraction. Worst of all? If you were late, you were in for some serious public humiliation.

The tank your grade would take, even if you missed so much as one class, could only be made up by coming to the kitchens to help out in other classes. And with everyone working full time, a bunch of students being parents, and the commute to take into account-who had the time?

Here's the truth: you love food, you love to eat, and you love cooking. It was a huge passion of yours. Even considering this, when you weigh your skills to your classmates, you weren't all that great.

You did everything right, you followed the Chefs to a t, memorized every recipe, and read every textbook handed to you. But for some reason, your food just wasn't as good as you thought it should be. It wasn't as good as the stuff that was fed to you.

Baking was more your speed. Instead of recipes, you had formulas, very specific and hard to mess up. You thrived there! But when it came to cooking, no matter how much effort you put in, the Chef would simply hum and set your dish aside.

You never scored below a 90 on any assignment. Servsafe? No problem. But for some reason, your kitchen work was just never praiseworthy.

Don't get me wrong. You were a great cook, all your friends said so. But when compared to your classmates, your dishes were just...decent.

Ryomen Sukuna had the opposite issue. He never even looked at the recipe, he hadn't cracked open a single book, cooking or otherwise, since god knows when, and he hardly paid attention in lectures. He flunked his ServSafe the first time he took it and had trouble with even the most basic of assignments handed to him.

And this was culinary school, all the assignments were painfully simple.

But something about his food...It was undeniable, he had a gift that couldn't be taught.

--

Your parents had practically disowned you when they heard the words, "Culinary Arts" escape your lips. First, though, they laughed.

Surely you were joking. You? With the perfect test scores and college credits? You? With an acceptance to any and every school you could dream of attending. You? With "too bright a future" to waste yourself in that slag heap of a school.

Sukuna, ever your foil, had a family that was just proud he decided to further his education at all. It didn't matter what he did, as long as he was taking care of himself, they were happy.

You weren't jealous of the guy, please, he couldn't figure out a baker's scale, but when he routinely got top marks for his practicals with no practice, when guests at the school's restaurant praised him like a god, when he could whip up something just about anyone would fight for in just twenty minutes? You could say you were a bit...bitter.

It didn't help that he never seemed to care. The guy worried about nothing, how he was perceived, how his actions might affect him, or how his words might get him in trouble. One would imagine him a mess, and maybe there was something uncouth about the way he would slink into the classroom with his chefs' coat unbuttoned, the way he would brush his hair back before hiding it under his hat, the way he would spread himself out at a desk while taking a written exam. Glasses on with a palm to his forehead.

He never seemed fully prepared. But he wasn't unclean. You guess that's to be expected from the Chef De Partie of a locally famous dinner spot. His station was organized, he had his mise en place in order, and he never left dishes in the sink.

So what bothered you so much about him?

He didn't have to try. It came so easily to him. He wasn't just a natural talent; he had passion, and even if he turned assignments in late or got information wrong in the classroom, his food spoke for itself. He was respected for it.

He was content to be the best. Even if he couldn't answer a single question asked of him, even if he forgot basic conversions everyone else knew, and even if he struggled to retain exam prep. He knew food like no other. So nobody could look down on him.

--

You were sat in the break room between classes, laptop open, filing through the Google Slides nobody in your group had even touched. This was the same situation you had found yourself in all this week; nobody in your nutrition group could be trusted to pull their weight for an assignment, even if the importance of the presentation was rehashed every other day.

You know what that means: you were pulling the weight for them.

It wasn't fun eating a pack of spearmint gum for lunch three days in a row, but since you didn't have a class that ran through mid-meal this semester, you found yourself working on assignments before your afternoon lecture.

One of your classmates had joined you briefly to "look for ingredients in the dry storage." All while you ranted to her about the ratio of emails to responses you had from your nutrition group.

"Eh, fuck 'em." She shrugged, checking the clock above you, "Chef will be able to tell who put the work in and grade accordingly."

You knew she was right... it was just the principal.

"Hey, have you eaten?" She seems concerned for a moment, as if she's realized you hadn't anything with you. Waggling the sticks of gum you have left at her, she scoffs.

"There's something deeply ascetic about living off sorbitol in culinary school." You chain-smoke the last piece, using the wrapper to trash the one you were just chewing. She makes a disturbed face at you.

"You need serious help." She checks the clock one more time before waving you off, heading back to the garde manger kitchen.

You're looking over your notes again, trying to prepare yourself for this stupid presentation. You've got a headache, maybe it's the artificial sweetener, maybe it's the fact that you've missed a few too many lunches, but you almost miss him when he enters the break room.

You can't exactly miss the plate of hors d'oeuvres and canapés that are slid across the table where your gum wrappers lie.

"How are you planning to become a chef if you don't make time to feed yourself."

Sukuna is unusually tall in that moment; he's never been in such a state so close within your reach. You shift your eyes between him and the plate he's brought in.

You're quiet for a moment. "Are these for me?"

"No, they're for the other person here." He rolls his eyes, and you don't need to check that the two of you are alone.

Classic mom, your friend had gone and told everyone in her class that you hadn't eaten lunch. Looking at the food before you, you're not going to pretend you mind when you have all these little goodies.

"Just come down if you're hungry, we've got plenty of food." Sukuna is just about to round out of the room, his tufts of hair sticking out under his hat, his sharp tattoos licking up the back of his neck just thereunder.

The door has almost shut by the time you speak your thanks.

It only takes a couple of bites of the delicacies for you to be able to tell that the food was not prepared by some novice student. They were Sukunas. And he had brought them for you.

Your headache is gone, but now your brain is wrestling with the idea of the effortless talent himself being thoughtful.

[aureatelys]

can't lose when i'm with you

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 7k a/n: happy valentines day! this idea came to me as a joke but then i couldnt stop thinking about it. also i know nothing about golf or country clubs so sorry in advance if i got anything wrong.

summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

content warnings: 18+ MDNI PLEASE, dbf!hotch so age gap, kinda flirty!reader, porn with no plot, dry humping on a golf cart yessir, semi public sex, m masturbation, some dirty talk, men (not hotch) being gross and touchy

read below or here on ao3 here <3

You’ve been working as a beverage cart girl at your dad’s country club for the past several months to save money for school. At first, the bluntness of some of these older men flirting with you caught you off guard, but after you got your first $100 tip just from serving a group of three men a couple of beers and flashed them a smile, you were hooked. Flirting was part of the job, which became easier and easier for you the more shifts you took.

After all, it was easy money—refilling the drinks in the coolers, driving around a well-kept golf course while underneath the shade of the cart, and handing out drinks with a little smile and a hair flip. Sometimes, you even sat nearby and cheered Ted on as he hobbled over to take his shot.

You even got to add some personal touches to your beloved cart—a pink fuzzy steering wheel cover, a blush pink sheet covering the leather seats so your thighs would stop sticking to them, a pillow in the shape of a heart for your back, and a cute miniature disco ball hanging from the roof because old people love to pretend like they can party again.

And the men weren’t too bad. You’ve had a few run ins with some on the handsier side, or ones that straight up asked to have sex with you, but luckily your manager dealt a swift and heavy hand and you never saw them again. Otherwise, the customers were mostly decent, as long as you were okay with some heavy flirting and generous eye-fucking.

It’s a typical busy Saturday when you meet Aaron.

You knew your dad was having some sort of “business meeting” with the highly decorated FBI agent he’s been recently obsessed and hanging out with, and he knew that you were mentioned the most in the country club’s Google reviews. He wanted you to put him in a good mood, which was basically in your job description. You didn’t mind since your father promised a hefty tip for you at the end.

You spot them a few yards away—your father’s lucky red hat, muted in color due to wear and tear, and another man nearly a foot taller standing near him. You call out for them and speed your way there in your rickety little cart when your dad waves to you.

When you pull up next to them, it looks like they’ve just finished Hole 2, which means this would be absolute prime time for you if they were typical customers.

“Hey boys,” you call out. You’re about to ask them if they’re thirsty when you get a good look at your dad’s friend.

He’s tall, almost outrageously so with how far you have to crane your neck to look at him. He’s also ridiculously handsome; strong brows, intense eyes, and floppy hair that looked so soft you craved running your hands through them. Wide shoulders, thick arms, and a little soft around the middle in a way that made something flutter in your stomach.

He was definitely not your typical customer.

“Hey sweetie!” Your dad comes to give you a kiss on the top of your head. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

He’s such a good actor, you think as you beam up at him. “And I didn’t know you were going golfing today. You guys thirsty?”

“Absolutely! I’ll take a beer, how about you, Aaron?”

“A water is fine.” Christ, even his voice is hot—low and smooth, sending a shiver down your spine despite the summer heat.

You make your way to the cooler in the back, squinting as soon as you’re out from the shade and into the blazing sun. “A beer and a water for my two most handsome guys coming right up!”

As always, your dad laughs, but when you peek a glance out of the corner of your eye from where you’re bent over, half of your body basically in the cooler as you fish out a water bottle, Aaron was wearing an obviously practiced neutral expression.

You finally find the bottle, your hand nearly going numb from how much ice you had to dig through, and hand it to Aaron with a grin. “Here you go.”

He meets your gaze and you’re drawn to the pretty brown sugar shade of his eyes. “Thank you.” He’s polite, not even a smile gracing his lips before he’s twisting the cap off and tipping his head back to take a long swig.

You swear your throat goes dry at the tantalizingly long line of his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You’re able to get a closer look at him this way— the sharp cut of his jaw, the way the tight red polo was stretching over his broad shoulders, and the way his hands were so large it made the water bottle look almost comically small.

Your father’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “Aaron, this is my daughter. Sweetie, this is Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the BAU I told you about?”

Boy, have you heard about him—your dad hasn’t shut up about him over the past month, talking about how he’s such a great guy, how he’s been at the Bureau for over a decade, and how he’s been bragging about his golfing skills and that the two of them just had to play some time.

You don’t exactly remember what today’s meeting was about, something about implementing a new training program to his agents? Either way, he had hoped you would use your spectacular customer service to help his odds, but you’re sure he wasn’t hoping for you to have the thoughts you were currently having that involved his hands on your hips and your mouth pressed against his throat.

A ringtone blares, nearly making you jump, and you watch as your father steps away to take a call.

You put on your best customer service smile and put your hand out, pink nails glinting underneath the sun. “Nice to meet you, Aaron. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Something quirks at the corner of Aaron’s mouth as he puts his hand in yours. You try not to pay attention to how his hand nearly dwarfs yours or how you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers. “You as well.”

“Unit chief, huh?” you ask, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the sun. “I bet that’s a really stressful job. You should come visit me more. To de-stress.”

And it’s like Aaron’s face transforms into something softer, younger. You watch in delight as his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, mouth twisting in an effort to hide an amused smile. “Should I now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, leaning your hip against your cart. You’re suddenly glad you wore your shortest tennis skirt and sleeveless top that emphasized your cleavage quite well today. “I’m here almost every day and we close at 6.”

His body turns towards you, stepping in closer. You think you catch the faintest whiff of his woodsy cologne, breaking through the freshly cut grass smell. “Is that why your dad was so adamant about going golfing today? So his daughter could flirt his way into me approving his training curriculum?”

An incredulous laugh nearly bubbles out of you at his instant ability to read through you despite only knowing each other less than 5 minutes. You assume he’s the unit chief for a reason.

“Is it working?”

He says nothing for a moment, just looking you up and down in a way that made you want to shift, though not uncomfortably. He studies you and your pristine white sneakers, the hem of your tennis skirt brushing against the warm expanse of your thighs, and your hair in a high ponytail. He glances at the cannisters of edible glitter and mini umbrellas on your bev cart. You see his eyes dance with amusement when he notices the mini disco ball swinging from your roof.

When he looks back at you, eyebrows relaxed, the professional flat line of his mouth was gone and instead replaced with something more private. “Yes.”

Excitement settles in your chest, light and golden. You feel your face flush out of your own accord and hope you can blame the summer sun beating down on you and not your father’s coworker, no more than 20 years older than you, flirting with you.

Your father suddenly appears right around Aaron’s shoulder, always with impeccable timing. He looks just as flushed as you feel, sweat building at his hairline while Aaron looks impossibly dry despite the humidity. “Ready to move onto the next hole, Hotch?”

And just like that, Aaron’s face smoothly changes to polite professionalism and not like you were seconds away from throwing your arms around his neck. He nods and gives you a courteous smile, something playful tugging at his lips. “It was nice to meet you.”

When your father fishes through his wallet to pay for the drinks, and hopefully your tip as well, Aaron lays a hand over his before he’s pulling out his own from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, before handing you two crisp $100 bills.

“Oh,” you say before you could help yourself. And because it’s Aaron, whom you’ve never met before and not like your other customers, you didn’t feel quite comfortable in taking his money. Yet. “This more than pays for the drinks…”

He shakes his head and pushes the money towards you. “I know.”

You take his money, solely because you don’t want to cause a scene when your father was already stuttering over himself in an attempt to still cover the bill himself. You notice how thick his fingers are over the folded bills and ignore the warmth tingling up your spine when your fingers brush against his.

“Thank you, Aaron.” You don’t miss the way his eyes barely narrow at the sound of his name from your lips or the imperceptible clench of his hand at his side.

You try to hide the smirk threatening to show on your face when you get back into your cart, your silly keychains hanging from the ignition clinking with the action. You put your cart in drive and look over your shoulder at Aaron, your father’s attention already enraptured by the phone in his hand.

“See you around, handsome.”

You think you see a faint hint of pink at the tips of Aaron’s ears before you drive away.

-

You don’t see Aaron for several weeks.

You try not to let it bother you, starting to come to terms with the possibility that he just wasn’t interested in you or that you were too young and juvenile for him. So what if you’ve been picking up more shifts lately, just in case he decided to show up? Or spending your entire paycheck on cute outfits that hug you in all the right places? That isn’t anyone else’s business except yours.

So it’s totally because you’ve been bored all day when you let out a squeak of excitement at the text you get from your dad letting you know that him and Aaron were on their way to the country club.

It’s a slow Thursday afternoon, which means the men that do show up to play, clearly avoiding their wives, believe they can keep you around at their beck and call. A group of 3 older gentlemen who were somewhat regulars had asked you to drive them around in your golf cart despite regulations not allowing customers to catch a ride, but they’ve already racked up hundreds of dollars in drinks, so you’re sure your boss wouldn’t mind.

They’re also a little touchy, wanting to teach you how to play so they have an excuse to put their hands on your hips and not so subtly cop a feel, but their usual tips at the end of the day easily pays for half of your rent. So, you play along by flipping your hair over your shoulder a bit, maybe even acting a little ditsy when they talk about golf as if your dad hadn’t thrown you in lessons as soon as you were able to hold a club.

That’s why you’ve been sitting behind your wheel entertaining grandpa for the past 30 minutes, his friends actually focused on the game, as he rattles on about his ex-wife, how he’s currently looking for a younger girl to take out, and the best way to move your hips when you shoot.

“If you stand up, I can show you how,” he says hoarsely, standing so closely you can smell not only the acrid scent of beer that he’s been sipping on but also the general musty smell of old people you’ve unfortunately become familiar with.

You fake a laugh, even playing it up by leaning forward and patting his wrinkled hand from where it’s inching closer and closer to you on the headrest. “Oh, Jerry, I don’t think we have time for that. I have to make my rounds.”

When you spot Aaron and your father driving over the hill, the rattle of the shitty golf carts a familiar tune, you immediately lock gazes with him. It’s like watching a movie in slow motion the way you’re able to discern when Aaron notices the older man’s close proximity and your clear uncomfortable posture— his eyebrows drawing up in barely concealed shock before knitting in concern, eyes narrowing.

You let out a breathless laugh at the silent rage, plain as day, before scooting out through the other side of the cart and away from Jerry and his beady eyes.

“Where you going, hot stuff?” Ew.

You put on your sweet customer service smile, often used to placate the rowdier men, before you brush away imaginary dust and start throwing away the trash left on your cart. “Jerry! I still have to do my job!”

You’re relieved when Jerry finally takes the hint and shuffles away towards his golf bag that he left near the teeing area just as Aaron and your father pull up next to you with a screech, giving you a slight breeze. When Aaron steps out of the cart, the most mundane action in the world, he looks unfairly attractive. You stare at the slight flex of his biceps when he holds onto the roof of the cart before tearing yourself away and turning towards your dad.

“How are my two favorite guys?” you tease, giving your dad a hug when he opens his arms out.

“I don’t know about Hotch but I’m ready to kick his ass,” your dad laughs, patting Aaron’s back like they’re suddenly best friends. Which is almost true, seeing as how your dad has somehow become even more obsessed with him, having not stopped talking about losing to him several weeks ago and has evidently somehow roped him into another day on the course.

“Well, I don’t think I should choose sides,” you giggle and glance at Aaron. He’s squinting at you, as if you’re speaking a completely different language, his expression still strained and posture tense.  

You smile at him and give him a cheery little wave. “Hi Aaron.”

“Hi,” he says slowly, shoulders slowly relaxing, and hearing his voice makes you breathless all over again. “Are you okay?”

And it’s sweet, the obvious way Aaron is checking in on you as if you don’t do this every day. Truthfully, you’re used to it and it’s not like the men take it too far. You’re more focused on the fact that this is your second time meeting Aaron and he’s already concerned about your wellbeing and personal space like the true gentleman he is.  

You almost want to tease, poke fun at him, but then you remember your father standing mere inches away who probably wouldn’t like you flirting so unabashedly with his friend/coworker.

Instead, you roll your eyes and head towards your cart. “I’m fine. So, what can I get for you, handsome?”

You’re pulling up the POS on your iPad when you notice Aaron hasn’t answered yet. You turn to lean your hip against your cart, meeting his gaze steadily from where he’s studying you.

You decide to blatantly look him up and down— drinking in the fitted dark green polo, showing off the veins decorating his forearms, and black slacks, making him appear taller and hanging enticingly low on his hips. His hair is tousled from the wind and you notice some gray dusting at his sideburns. And then there’s something about the Rolex on his wrist, God, he’s so hot.

Aaron notices you checking him out, because of course he does. His eyes barely flicker down your body, not quite taking the same liberty as you, but you feel want curling in your stomach when he licks his lips.

“A gin and tonic sounds great, sweetie,” your father says, once again interrupting your thoughts, before he’s immediately launching into a ramble regarding what you assume is some office gossip.

“A water is fine,” Aaron says in between your dad’s breaths. He gives you a sheepish little twitch of the mouth that you shouldn’t find so endearing before he turns to give your dad his full attention.

You make your dad’s drink, the motions automatic and familiar, before you’re opening the cooler and bending over to reach a water bottle at the very bottom. You weren’t really doing it on purpose this time, too focused on getting the coldest bottle at the bottom of the cooler for him, but you still feel a thrill run up your spine when you hear a choked cough behind you.

At least you chose a skort today and not a skirt, though you’re sure it still doesn’t leave much room for the imagination with its flimsy white fabric.

A smirk tugs at your lips, hidden by the cooler, before you turn around with a polite smile and drinks in your hands. Maybe you weren’t wrong about being too juvenile for Aaron after all. “Here you guys are.”

When Aaron’s fingers brush against yours, something hot twists itself into your stomach and settles in between your thighs. You meet his gaze and notice his eyes, dark and almost predatory, pupils nearly completely blown.

You distantly hear your name being called through the blood rushing in your ears. When you break from the hold Aaron’s stare has on you and turn to where the sound came from, you spot Jerry still standing near his golf bag. He and his friends evidently still haven’t taken their shots and moved on yet, instead beckoning you over with a wave as if you were some bumbling waitress.

“Well, duty calls,” you feign a sigh. When you turn back around, Aaron’s wearing an almost petulant frown as he watches Jerry continue calling for you.

“We’ll see you around, pumpkin,” your dad says before slapping a $50 dollar bill in your hand, tutting at Aaron when he starts to pull out his wallet. “Let’s get a move on.”

And then he’s walking away, once again leaving you and Aaron alone.

You move to clean up your cart from where you made your drink, expecting Aaron to silently follow your father and not seeing him for several weeks again. You’re pleasantly surprised, maybe even a little smug, when you hear Aaron clear his throat, as if unsure what to say. And wouldn’t that be something—causing a unit chief of the FBI to hesitate.

“You get off at 6, right?”

A lazy grin blooms across your face as you meet Aaron’s eyes. He appears composed, stoic, but you can see the uncertainty swimming in his eyes, the frown still tugging at his lips as if he can’t get the thought of you with Jerry off his mind. He’s rubbing his thumb across his fingers and you wonder how it would feel on the bare skin of your hips.

“I sure do,” you chirp. “I’ll see you then?”

You can tell that Aaron wasn’t expecting you to give him another chance at backing out. His eyebrows raise in surprise, similarly to how they did when he first met you, like he thought he had you all figured out.

“See you then.”

-

Although you’re stuck with Jerry and his friends for the next 3 hours, you can feel the heavy weight of Aaron’s watchful eyes on your back the entire time. There were even several moments where you thought he was going to burn a hole in the back of your head, or especially Jerry’s, every time he put his clammy hands on yours to help you with a swing or at the small of your back.

And so what if you played it up a little, knowing that you barely knew Aaron but you were already digging your way under his skin?

Knowing Aaron was only several yards away, you laughed extra hard at Jerry’s jokes and bent over a little more every time you set the ball on the tee. It was exhilarating, playful in a way you’ve never felt before. You couldn’t deny that noticing the carnal way Aaron reacted to you, how he stared at you like he wanted to eat you alive, didn’t get you all hot and bothered. You’re sure the wetness between your legs was proof enough.

By the time 6 o’clock finally rolls around and you’re pulling up to the extra storage shed at the back of the country club, your wallet has grown a couple hundred dollars more and your cart’s glove box has gained a couple more slips of paper with phone numbers to gather dust in.

You’ve just finished unloading your cart and cleaning out your shelves when you hear another cart pulling up behind you. When you turn and realize that it’s Aaron, that he actually showed up, you feel giddy in a way you haven’t felt since you were a teenager.

“Hey you,” you say over the stack of crates you’re trying to organize. “Let me finish up real quick and then we can go.” Go where, you have no idea, but you’re sure the two of you will figure it out.

“Do you need any help?” he asks, standing so close to you now you can get a full whiff of his cologne. It’s something woodsy and warm that settles comfortably in your chest.

Any other day, you would’ve taken up his offer if only as an excuse to see him lifting crates of drinks and drooling over the way his arms would surely nearly burst out of his sleeves, but you’re honestly almost done and ready to get the hell out of here. “I’m almost done, I promise. But next time you can help so you can show off.”

Aaron immediately rolls his eyes, but you watch with glee as something quirks at the corner of his lips. “Yes, I sat in my car in the parking lot and waited for you just to show off.”

Damn, he is so cute when he’s actually making jokes with you.

You put away all of the cleaning products and lock the door before you’re stepping out to stand in front of Aaron where he’s hovering near your cart.

When you crane your neck to look up at him, you’re suddenly aware of how alone the two of you are, tucked away in a secluded area at the back of the country club where only employees have access to. The two of you are surrounded by trees, thankfully shielding you from the sun, and there’s only one path in and out of the area. The near constant drone of cicadas would be almost annoying if your attention wasn’t all focused on Aaron.

“So, why did you wait for me then?”

And just like that, Aaron’s eyes darken and he clenches his jaw. Now that there was nobody else around, teasing him almost felt like you were poking at a grumpy bear. A cute and very hot bear, but a bear, nonetheless.

“So I can do this.”

And then he’s placing a gentle hand on your waist, hot despite your already sun-kissed skin, and leaning in slowly, as if giving you the chance to back out in case he was reading your signals wrong.

You don’t think you could’ve laid it on thicker, so you meet him halfway to finally press your mouths together.

His lips are soft and he smells like sunscreen, and the way he kisses you is so tender it makes your chest tighten just a little. But it’s not enough.

You step closer into him, throwing your arms around his neck, and deepen the kiss. You catch him by surprise, detecting the exasperated smile against your mouth, but then his hand tightens its grip on your hip and he’s pulling you until you’re pressed flushed up against him.

You can feel the muscles in his chest and the softness of his stomach this way, and it’s so fucking delicious you can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth and into his.

It’s like a dam breaks loose because Aaron groans into your mouth, now causing you to smile, and then he’s spinning you around until he’s sitting in your golf cart and you’re planted right on his lap, straddling him with your knees on either side of his hips and the steering wheel digging into the small of your back.

You gasp in surprise, nearly dizzy with the action, but it melts into a breathy moan when Aaron’s hands run all over you—down your back, your hips, the flesh of your thighs, and then grabbing onto your ass so hard it just pushes you further into his lap. The barely there friction of his belt buckle against your pussy from the movement has you rolling your eyes back into your head, causing you to cant your hips forward again to chase the sharp pleasure twisting in your stomach.

“You’re so,” he mutters under his breath, face tucked between your breasts as he attempts to press open-mouthed kisses against the skin exposed by your black work polo. “Pretty.”

Then he’s lifting up your shirt until it gathers underneath your arms, just enough so he can move the band of your sports bra up so he could put his warm, wet mouth on the underside of your breasts. You know you must smell like sweat and sunscreen, your clothes still sticking to you, but that seems to just spur Aaron on as he moves up to suck a nipple into his mouth, flicking it repeatedly with his tongue.

“Aaron…” you exhale, pushing your chest into him to chase the wet heat of his mouth as he continues alternating sucking and licking at your nipples, hardening nearly immediately under him. It feels so fucking divine, you don’t think having your nipples played with has ever felt this good. You don’t even want to think about where else he can use his mouth. “Not here…”

He pulls back from your breasts and you’re mesmerized by the spit-slick shine of his lips as he meets your gaze from below you. His hands immediately come to replace his mouth, initially groping at you until thick fingers are grazing over your nipples before gently pinching. “There’s a banquet going on at the front of the club so no one’s coming back here.”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a whimper at the hot pleasure-pain from your breasts, your own hands coming up to tug at the damp hair on the back of his neck. Aaron groans at that, a sound coming deep from within his chest, and he jerkily thrusts his hips up as if they moved of their own accord.

You can feel the line of his hard cock against your inner thigh, so close to where you desperately want him, and your patience wanes thin for just a moment. Of course Aaron checked out the club first before coming back to meet you, as if he was planning on ambushing you behind the country club the entire time.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Aaron says, voice tight as if he was holding himself back from taking you right there on your golf cart with the fuzzy pink blanket on the seat and fairy lights hanging from the dashboard.

You’re tempted take him up on his offer and stop; climbing off his lap and inviting him back to your apartment so you can moan and scream all you want in your very comfortable bed, because Aaron seems like the type of man to want to hear every single noise.

But the thought of both of you being so desperate that you can’t help but rut against each other behind a fancy country club, where you’re at risk of anyone walking around the building and finding you? With your shirt rolled up and Aaron’s fingers nearly pressing bruises against your hips? You really should not find that as intoxicating and hot as you do.

It’s going to be uncomfortable, with the summer sun just barely moving to set over the horizon and your golf cart sometimes being too small even for you. You feel sweat already forming on your upper lip and hair sticking to your neck, internally hitting yourself for not buying that $5 fan that mounts on your dash.

Yet, as you look down at Aaron from where he’s propped his chin on your chest to meet your gaze, somehow looking both cute and ridiculously hot, you knew you couldn’t back out.

“Okay,” you whisper, grinning down at him before your fingers intertwine with his hair again to lean his head back and kiss him.

You think Aaron chuckles but you’re already swallowing it, shuffling somehow closer until the entire line of your body is against his. The top of your head keeps bumping into the roof of the cart and your thighs are already burning from the uncomfortable position of sitting up, but just then you angle your hips differently when you drop down and his bulge rubs against your clit in a way that has you sucking in a sharp breath.

“Fuck, you’d look so pretty riding on my cock,” Aaron breathes against your lips, the grip he has on your waist tightening as he starts to move you up and down on his lap. “I bet you’re so wet for me.”

His left hand trails down your thigh, moving inward, and you squirm when you feel his thick fingers pressing against your cunt, wetness already seeping through your panties and the shorts of your tennis skirt. He briefly rubs through down your slit, spreading the wetness around and causing the fabric to cling to you.

“Is this all for me, pretty girl?” he murmurs, not even giving you the chance to answer before he’s moving the fabric aside to press his hot fingers against your soaked cunt.

You let out a long moan at finally being touched, the ache between your thighs becoming unbearable. You try to angle your hips in an effort to get more of his fingers on you, maybe even inside of you, but Aaron annoyingly avoids your hole and instead intently traces them gently through your folds before moving up to rub circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, eyes nearly fluttering shut and your thighs trembling as the tight coil in the pit of your stomach builds so fast it knocks the breath out of you.

Aaron hums. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

You nod, at a loss for words as you chase the building pressure. He rubs your clit agonizingly slow, like he wants to prolong this as he intently studies your reactions.

You’re about to beg him to hurry up when he stops and removes his fingers from underneath your skirt. Your breath stutters at the loss of sensation until you notice Aaron holding his hand up to eye-level.

His thick fingers are obscenely drenched in your wetness, nearly glistening. You should feel embarrassed, that you’re so horny for him that you’re getting off at the possibility of being caught, but you don’t. In fact, noticing just how much Aaron is enjoying you enjoying yourself makes you feel even more flushed, more needy.

You lean in to bring his two fingers into your open mouth, swirling your tongue around the rough callouses as your own musky taste infiltrates your senses.

When you look down to meet his eyes, yours no doubt glossed over, he nearly growls as he yanks his fingers out of your mouth and kisses you, tongue prodding against yours. You feel a rumble from his chest as he chases the taste of your pussy in your mouth.

When he pulls back, he has a wild look in his eyes that does nothing to quell the fire in your stomach and the growing ache in your pussy. He runs his hands up and down your sides, nearly reverent, before thrusting his hips up so his cock presses against you. “Do you think you can come like this?”

Honestly, you think you could come in 30 seconds, with the way he grabs and moves your hips so deliciously you swear you could feel every inch of him, staring at you as if he couldn’t believe you were giving him the time of day.

“Yes,” you breath, and then Aaron is giving you a wicked grin, something dangerous in his eyes.

He moves you until you’re fully seated on his lap, giving your knees a break, and then moving you back and forth against his cock, the drag of his slacks against the fabric of your shorts rubbing deliciously against your clit, causing you to nearly choke on your own saliva.

You rest your forehead against his, both of you panting, as you start grinding against him. Even through the several layers of fabric, you can feel the hard ridge of his cock pressing in between your cunt and against your clit. You nearly feel dizzy, like the heat was getting to you, as your hands scramble to find purchase on his broad shoulders.

“Just like that, honey,” Aaron pants as you watch a droplet of sweat run down the side of his face through half-lidded eyes. “Make yourself come just like that.”

You’re shamelessly whimpering in between your moans now as you grind against him faster, the tightness in your core growing at the lewdness of his words. Aaron just lets you rut against him, essentially sitting still besides his hands on your hips helping you move back and forth. You feel the stickiness on your inner thighs, a mixture of sweat and your arousal, and you bet if you glanced down, there’d be a wet spot on his slacks. That image in your head sends you reeling and nearly over the edge, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

“Come on, sweetie.” Fuck, even the low tone of his voice adds to it, the raspiness giving away how just as equally turned on he was. Your chest is heaving, thighs trembling, and you’re so fucking close. “I can’t wait to fuck your pretty pussy later, make you come, over and over on my cock.”

Aaron rolls his hips then, and the new angle has the head of his cock pressing against your clit just so that has you gasping, back arching, and you finally fall over the edge as your orgasm hits you like a fucking train.

Your breath is knocked out of your chest, your eyes squeezing shut as you desperately chase the feeling of his cock against your clit as your clench around nothing. You distantly feel Aaron still grinding your hips back and forth as you ride it out, the tight hold he has on your hips just adding to your bliss. The repeated motions eventually become overstimulating, almost too much, but it deliciously adds to your aftershocks and causes you to release a choked whimper.

When you blearily blink your eyes open, Aaron is staring at you like he’s drinking you up, memorizing every little detail about you. The hair at his forehead is curling from the sweat and his face is tinged pink, but his eyes are a pretty molten brown and there’s something soft tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey handsome,” you say breathlessly, giving him a weary smile as you bring your hand up to wipe away the sweat on your own forehead. When you purse your lips, Aaron huffs a laugh and immediately leans in to give you a chaste kiss that does nothing to calm your racing heart.

You feel Aaron languidly move his hips up against you, making you hum against his mouth. When you look down, not only do you see the line of his cock where he’s still impossibly hard, but also a barely visible wet spot on his black slacks. From you.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, embarrassment burning hot on your ears.

“I’m not,” Aaron says before his hands come down to swiftly unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants and briefs until his cock springs free.

Your mouth instantly waters because fuck, is he big. He’s thick, a drop of precum beading at the slit with a delicious-looking prominent vein that runs on the underside that you can see when he wraps his left hand around his cock and starts jerking himself off.

“Do you want me to…” you trail off, your hands twitching from where they’re still on top of his shoulders and eyes zeroing in on his large hand on his cock.

“That’s okay, sweetheart,” he huffs. “I’m close, just sit there and look pretty.”

You think your brain short circuits, because no way is this man not only okay with you rutting up on him, but also got close enough to coming from watching you come? And now he doesn’t even want you to touch him, he’s okay with just looking at you as he gets himself off?

Your heart thumps erratically because Aaron looks like the absolute definition of sin; hair slightly damp and tousled, his bicep flexing from where he’s erratically jerking himself off, and his chest heaving deliciously. His lips are parted and he’s watching you with half-lidded eyes, your shirt still bunched under your arms and exposing your breasts and your aching thighs wrapped around him.

You lean back against the steering wheel, ignoring how it digs harder into your back, as you decide to flip up your skirt until your clothed cunt is exposed. The piece of fabric is nearly see-through with how wet you are, and you bite your lip when you bring a hand down to move the fabric aside and angle your hips up until your bare pussy was exposed.

Aaron lets out a strangled noise, and you watch in awe as his hand around his cock pumps faster until it’s nearly a blur. You look up to see his eyes trained on your pussy, wet and puffy. The squelching of him fucking into his own hand, so turned on that he was steadily leaking precum from the slit of his cock was so fucking filthy that you felt the beginning sparks of arousal tugging in your abdomen again.

“Are you going to come all over my pussy?” you whisper.

Aaron suddenly lets out a deep and guttural groan, his breath stuttering and hand stilling, before he comes with his head thrown back. You watch, mesmerized, as hot spurts of his come land on your bare pussy, some even catching on your folds as you clench around nothing.

It’s so fucking hot, he’s so fucking hot.

It’s silent while you both catch your breath, the mindless chirping of birds dwindling down as the sun finally starts to set and the air begins to slightly cool.

You pull your shirt down before you lean over to reach for the tissues you usually keep in your purse on the floor. The way you have to twist your body while still on Aaron’s lap is uncomfortable, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he helps you sit back up with hands on your sides.

He wordlessly takes the pack of tissues from your hand to clean you up. He’s meticulous, eyebrows almost comically furrowed in concentration as he makes sure you’re presentable again. When he’s done, he looks around for a trash can and, upon not finding one, he stuffs the tissues in his pocket. You give him a teasing disgusted look, to which Aaron responds by rolling his eyes.

When you climb off his lap with a groan, your hips and knees pop. You stretch your back out a bit by twisting your body back and forth and notice Aaron getting up as well, watching you with a confused, yet fond, expression.

“You’re too young for your body to crack like that.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say, grandpa.”

You’re suddenly being pulled into Aaron’s embrace with a squeal, an arm snaking around your waist, instinctively putting your hands up on his chest as you steady yourself.

“I think I’ve more than shown you that I’m not a grandpa,” he mutters, lowly and directly in your ear, making you nearly swoon against him.

You clear your throat, using him as leverage to push back at him until you’re able to meet his eyes. “Well, not-grandpa, would you be able to wash my cart blanket? Since it was your idea to dirty it up.”

You can tell Aaron is holding himself back from rolling his eyes again. Instead, he chuckles, letting you go so he could grab the fuzzy pink blanket that is actually most likely devoid of any suspicious stains.

“Can I ride in your car?” you ask, giving him a shy smile. “So I can… see how efficient your washer and dryer is? The material for that blanket is very expensive, you know.” Never mind the fact that you got it from Target nor the fact that you drove yourself to the country club.

Aaron obviously sees right through you, not bothering to hold back a soft laugh. Witnessing him joking with you, his guard down, has your heart thumping just a little bit harder.

He stretches his hand out to you, palm up. “Come on, let’s go inspect my house appliances then.”

You place your hand in his, silently giggling to yourself when you notice how large his hand looks compared to yours, and sidle up next to him despite both of you still damp with sweat.

“Let’s go, hot grandpa.”

The laugh that Aaron lets out, soft and sweet, makes you so grateful to your dad for getting you this job.

taglist <3 @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover lmk if you would like to be added!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

In Uniform

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, smut (thigh riding, handjobs, oral f!receiving, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, no use of y/n, pre-established relationship

Summary: Bucky brings you a surprise, and fulfills a fantasy.

Author's Note: Request from @brtodd! Do I like the American Military. No. But sometimes you gotta literally fuck them, am I right.

Word Count: 3k

He’s home early. Really early. 

Worryingly early.

The door closes in the hallway and Bucky calls your name, but the sun hasn’t even set yet. And he said this mission would take three days, but it’s only been two. 

Bucky only gets home this early when something’s wrong. When he or Sam got injured, or the mission went south, or they’re on the run from the government again, or-

“You there?” He calls your name again, and you shoot up to your feet. If something wrong, he’ll need you. “Cause if you’re not, you forgot your fucking phone again-“

“I’m in the kitchen, Buck.” He sounds fine. Not bleeding out. Not torn apart with guilt.  “And I didn’t forget my phone.”

You can hear his laugh. He’s getting closer. “You’ve done it before, doll-“

“Well, you didn’t call.” 

You should hide the second mug that you always keep out when he’s not home. Right next to your mug, empty, but serving as a placeholder. A reminder that Bucky will get home, because you left out his mug, and that’s a binding contract that he’ll need to return for.

It’s a little pathetic.

It still soothes you, and if Bucky’s ever noticed it one of the times you’d forgotten to put it away, he hasn’t said a single thing. 

“Wasn’t looking to call.” He hums, and you pretend to do the dishes. They’re clean, but it keeps your hands busy, and from grabbing him for examination at every angle. “And you have done it before.”

“Once.” You mutter. “And if you’re trying to tell me you’ve been tracking my location again, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

He laughs, his arms wrapping around your stomach, and he smells good. Like spice and old books. 

That’s a good sign. Means whatever’s wrong isn’t wrong enough for him to smell like blood and oil. 

“You said I could when I was away.” He murmurs in your ear. “Gotta make sure you’re safe.”

“I am safe. You’re here.”

“Alright, smartass-“

“And you were tracking my location, weren’t you.”

Bucky sighs in your ear, his grip tightening over your stomach. “Wanted to check you’d be home when I got back.”

He sounds okay. A little tired, but without any heavy pain dripping between his words or any guilt rolling off his words. He’s holding you in the safe, careful way as always—tight, but still careful, as if he’ll flinch and you’ll vanish right before his eyes—and when you lean back with a soft breath, he’s kissing your neck so gently. He’s probably fine. Maybe Sam just let him go early.

But something is different. Bucky kisses down your neck, and his lips feel the same as usual, but-

The stubble. It’s gone.

You whirl around—he’s never fully shaved, ever, not since you’ve met him—and your mouth falls into a gape. 

It’s not just the beard. 

He’s wearing a uniform. A military uniform, from the 40s, that you’ve seen him wear in old Captain America documentaries and faded photographs, and it fits him perfectly, and he’s even got the stupid hat on-

You feel sort of dizzy, your hands shoot up to grab him by the lapels of the jacket, Bucky catches you right before your knees give out. His eyes are wide on yours, and his arm hooked around your waist, and that’s dangerous.

“What-“ You swallow, unable to break your gaze from his face. Clean-shaven. Not quite bright-eyed—you’ve never really seen Bucky look bright eyed—but hopeful, and nervous, and looking maybe eighty years younger. “Buck-“

“You said this is a fantasy for you,” he mutters, his thumb drawing slow circles on your waist. “I, uh- I had Sam pull some strings. It’s not the original, but I think that one’s all mothballs now.”

You’re just staring at him—this is certainly dizzy, and it’s made of a lot of need that’s pooling in your gut—and Bucky clears his throat, pushing on.

“I probably shoulda warned you, if you’re not in the mood-“

“I’m in the mood.” You whisper, and Bucky blinks.

“Yeah?”

You nod, a little frantically, and Bucky’s mouth curls into a small, teasing smirk.

“You like it, doll?” His fingers reach up to hold your face, his thumb trailing over your lips.” Just how you pictured it?”

“Better,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brows raise.

“How’s that-“

“’S you.” You’re already sort of cockdrunk, and it doesn’t bode well for later, but he’s here and yours and you want to climb him. “And I- Bucky-“

You roll your hips against him in a silent plea, and he chuckles. “You need it, baby?”

You hum, and Bucky lowers down so his lips are just brushing yours.

“Think I can steal a kiss from my best girl?” He says your name, backing you up into the counter, and this is mean. You’d probably be on your knees if he wasn’t keeping you tight against his chest.

A kiss is far from all you’re going to give him. 

“C’mon, doll, tell me what you-“

Bucky grunts as your lips slam up into his, and this kiss is all hunger. You’ve kissed him soft and teasing and gentle a million times before, and you’ll do it a million times again, but right now you just need to feel him. Touch him. Taste all the coffee and mint on his lips and feel his tongue push into your mouth as he groans your name.

You move down to kiss and bite at his jaw, his head thrown back as a hand kneads at your ass, and your hand just manages to drift down to his bulge before-

“Nope.” Bucky swats you away with a hiss, the metal hand moving to grab your jaw. “What do you think you’re doin’, doll.”

“Handjob?”

His lips twitch, but his voice remains firm. Low. 

Commanding.

That’s the Sargent voice. 

Fuck.

“This isn’t about me,” he drawls your name, angling your head back a little further. “I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good babydoll. But I can’t do that if I finish in your hand after five seconds, can I.”

“I think you could.” You mumble, still grinding into him. “You’ve got good recovery.”

He raises his brows, unable to fight his smile this time. “You’re mouthy tonight.”

“You left alone for too long, Barnes, that’s not my fault-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak when Bucky’s knee shoves between your thighs, right as he crashes back down into another rough, bruising kiss. He’s letting you fuck yourself on pants, groaning when your nails dig into the skin of his neck and guiding your movements when the hand on your waist.

“There you go,” Bucky mutters, nipping at your lower lip. “Makin’ such a mess, baby, and we’ve barely even started-“

“Buck- Fuck.” You throw your head back with a moan, your grinding growing frantic and uneven. “I- More-“

“I know,” Bucky chuckles, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, and you let out a high gasp. “Never gonna leave you alone again, doll. To fuckin’ pretty to ever be here, just worrying about me-“

He rips off your shirt, and you’re already too lost to care. Especially when his mouth dips to take one of your nipples in his mouth, groaning and flicking his tongue when you scratch at his back. 

“So fucking perfect.” He mutters, his hat starting to fall a little off his head, and your eyes widen.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You grab for the hat, trying to readjust it, and he draws back with a frown.

“What’s-“

“Your hat.” You mumble, and he blinks at you for only a second before his face is splitting into a wide grin, and you’re being pulled back into a deep, rough kiss.

“Bucky-“

“Don’t care about the hat.” He says against your lips. “But you’re a fuckin’ prize, doll. Still can’t believe you get to be mine.”

“Wouldn’t wanna be anyone else’s,” You sigh, and Bucky grunts.

“That’s not makin’ me any less lucky. Here.” He draws back, taking the hat off and dropping it onto your head with a wide, boyish grin. “Suits you better.”

You blink up at him, trying to adjust it so you can see, and his grin grows. 

“Can you keep the rest of the uniform on?” You ask, trying to give him your best, sweetest pout, and there’s really no need for it. 

The way Bucky’s looking at you—like you stitched the whole world together with your own two hands, just to give it to him—you’re pretty sure he’d try and grab the moon right out of the sky if you asked him to.

“I’ll keep the uniform,” he moves you back onto your own feet, leaning down until your noses are bumping. “If you wear nothing but the hat.”

Your fingers curl in his hair, your voice barely moves than a breath. “Deal.”

Bucky nods, and this kiss is barely more than a heated press of his lips to yours before he’s pulling away.

You don’t get a lot of time to be mad about it, though. Barely a whine leaves your lips before Bucky’s dropping right to his knees, ripping off your shorts, and shoving your legs apart.

The only warning you get is two fingers dragging over your pussy, pushing just slightly inside as Bucky thumbs at your clit, and raises his brows. 

“Please,” You whisper, your hand shooting to his hair, and it’s all he needs.

Bucky dives into your cunt like a man starved. His tongue circles around your clit in slow strokes before falling back down to your aching entrance, tongue fucking you as his nose keeps bumping that sensitive spot, and his groans vibrate against your pussy. His hand keeps a tight, firm grip on your hips—pinning you to the counter and keeping you from collapsing over him as your knees turn to jelly—and rub soothing circles against your skin as you moan his name, grinding down onto his face.

You try to stop yourself a few times, squirming back whenever you jerk against him, but Bucky doesn’t seem to be having it. His hands just tighten, and he shoves your right back down, leaving a light slap on your ass that makes you squeak and your thighs start to squeeze around his head. The sight alone is enough to drive your right up to the edge, but then lips shift up to press a harsh, taunting kiss to your clit, and you can see the stars building behind your eyes.

“Bucky-“ You pull at his hair, a rush of pleasure moving through you when he moans openly into your cunt. “Fuck, I- I’m so close-“

He’s gone. The words have barely left your mouth, but Bucky is moving away, wiping his mouth with a grin and running those two fingers back between your folds.

“Always so wet.” He mutters, and it sounds like it’s mostly to himself. “Taste like a fuckin’ dream, doll, you got no idea-“

“Bucky.” You moan, not quite sure what you’re begging for, and he just shakes his head. 

“Soon, babydoll. Just, here.” He rises to his feet, his fingers pressing on your lower lip. “Taste.”

You obey without a thought, and Bucky’s jaw clenches as you take him into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around him, all while holding his gaze.

“Hold on.” He grunts, pulling his fingers away with a pop. “Gotta get you to a bed.” 

You nod, your arms wrapping around his neck, and the hat flops a little over your eyes when he picks you up, marching you to the bedroom like a man on a mission. 

He is a man on a mission. 

One to make you go fucking insane.

Bucky drops down one the edge of the mattress, keeping you steady in his lap, and kissing you until you’re dizzy and yanking at his hair for more. He can’t just do that in the kitchen then only kiss you, you’re dripping down your own thighs, and you need him so bad it hurts, and-

Your mouth falls open with a loud moan as Bucky grabs your hips, yanks you up, then guides you down onto his cock. You’ve taken him a million times before, but it’s never not perfect, how he splits you open and makes you feel so full. Hitting deeper in you than anyone else has ever been able to, all while looking so handsome and groaning your name like it’s a prayer.

“Fuck,” he moans as you clench around him. “Feel so good, look so fuckin’ pretty-“

You start to grind down onto him, and he yanks you forward into a bruising, harsh kiss, the whole world spinning as it all just narrows down to Bucky. 

“That’s it, babydoll.” He grunts, his grip tightening to keep you pinned against him. “Fuck yourself on my cock, take what you want-“

“Bucky-“ You moan into his mouth, your release already starting to build back up. “Please-“

He lands another soft slap on your ass, and you squeak. “Wrong name, sweetheart, try again-“

“James.” 

“Good girl.” He grunts, moving his thumb to circle around your clit, and your movements speed up. “Shit, doll-“

You only whine, entirely lost in the feeling of him everywhere—his mouth sucking over your tits, his cock deep in your pussy, his thumb starting to tap at your clit until you’re worked into a borderline frenzy—and you shove ay Bucky’s chest pushing him down until he’s flat on his back. The new angle presses him deeper, and you can look down at him under the rim of the hat and see him staring up at you like you’re a work of art. Riding his cock with your hands flat on his chest, letting the lewd sounds fill the room and mixing them with more moans of his name-

“Jesus,” He moans, his head throwing back. “Wish you could see yourself, doll, you’re- Fuck-“

“So good, James.” Your voice is almost a slur. You don’t really care. “You’re so big, feels so good-“

“I know, baby, but you gotta slow down or, goddammit-“

You clench around him, his hips rut up and slam into your cervix, and it flips a switch. Bucky grabs you, flipping you over like you’re made of nothing, and you blink up at him with cockdrunk, dazed eyes. 

“Greedy, doll.” He grunts, pulling almost entirely out before slamming back in. “You’re gonna take what I give you, right?”

You nod, grabbing weakly at his uniform. “James, move- I- Please-“

“Always beg so sweet.” He mutters, his pace picking up slightly. “Could die a happy man in you, baby. Never- Fuck-“

Bucky ruts into you, and he falls back down for a rough, hot and messy kiss, and then he’s fucking you. Deeply, properly fucking you, groaning down your throat and keeping you trapped between his arms and the mattress. The room fills with only the sound of him hissing your name when you flutter around him and scratch at his neck, the sight of him—still fully clothed and looking a little like a feral animal—making you lose your fucking mind, and you can’t remember any word that’s not James, but he still understands.

You’re falling over the edge. And you want him to go with you.

His movement grow sloppy, your hand drifting between your bodies to rub at your clit, and he yanks it away. Pins it over your head and replaces it with his metal hand, the cool vibranium sending a little bolt of electrically through your body, and then he starts to rub-

Your eyes roll back in your head as you scream his name, your back arching off the bed as Bucky doesn’t stop, but rather picks up the pace until you’re squeezing around him and wiggling below him, and he slams home with a deep, growling noise that rushes through your body. 

You cum one more time as Bucky twitches inside you, his brow dropping to press to yours.

“Did so good, babydoll,” he mutters, and you only hum in a happy, fucked out noise. “Wanna stay here, feel you a little more-“

You cut him off with a deep, gentle kiss, and he gets it. You always want him to stay with you. These sheets needed to be changed later anyway. 

You’re not sure how long you just lay there, Bucky’s warmth folded over you better than any blanket, his cock still pressing against your thigh even after he pulls out with a grunt. You play with his hair, and he leaves the occasional kiss on your shoulder, the silence soft, and perfect, and the easiest thing in the world. 

“What would have done after this?” You break the silence with a soft voice, and Bucky twists his head to meet your gaze. “If this was the 40s, and this,” you trace your fingers over the collar of his uniform. “Was real.”

He shrugs, his face moving back into that real, bright grin that only you ever really get to see. “I think I woulda needed to marry you.”

You give him a flat look. “Because you fucked me raw.”

“Nah,” he squeezes your ribs, and you squeak, wiggling below him. “Cause I love you, and you’re the best thing I’ve ever damn seen.”

You flush, but still roll your eyes. “Kiss ass.”

“Need to be, if I wanna keep a girl like you.” Bucky leans up, ghost a soft kiss over your lips. “And I’m serious, doll. You’re it. I don’t just wear this thing for anyone.”

You grab his collar, dragging him back into a longer, slower kiss. “Glad I’m special,” you hum, and he chuckles.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“What would you call it-“

“Perfect.”

You giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. “All right, Buck.”

“I mean it,” He mutters, leaning back enough to meet your eyes. “You’re never gettin’ rid of me.”

“Good.” You smile up at him. “I wouldn't ever want to."

End Note: My personal mission, bring the light back into my man's eyes. Sometimes that's via fluff. Also via just the nastiest smut.

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[houseofmarcella]

dear god Albus Potter do you utterly haunt my thoughts

Just… Albus in the cursed child, for as mixed as people seem to be on it… Albus as the certified middle child who doesn’t have the cloak, doesn’t have the map, who doesn’t even have a family name?

Can you imagine little Al (not yet Albus because that’s a name he truly goes by once he has Scorpius) tucking himself into the cracks of the door as he hears his parents talking, hears his dad say it would have been better to know they were having two boys so they could have just called him Sirius

Al, getting teased by his invisible brother, yet seeing so distinctly that his father chose James over him for their family legacy

Al, who grew up on the filtered advice of a distant, out of reach mentor who he could never live up to. Not like James with his fun, his humor, or Lily with her love and her girlhood.

(Albus, who will hear Cedric called the spare and understand far too well what it’s like to be of secondary importance)

Al, who out of all his siblings looks the most like his father, a reflection to every family friend of what harry went through and an eternal reminder to himself and the world that he will always be his father’s legacy (he will look in the mirror for most of his adult life and see his father before he sees himself)

Al, age 11, seeking comfort on the train platform as everything changes around him and getting another lecture about bravery that he doesn’t feel he has

Al becoming Albus on that train, when the boy who would become the most important person in his life actually asks him, asks him what he wants to be called

Albus, under the sorting hat, struggling but thinking about who he wants to be outside of his family’s legacy and getting put in Slytherin for it

Albus, who grew up on war stories and hogwarts hyjinks staying up half his first night because he’s afraid of his peers, but doesn’t want them to know that because he so desperately and conflictingly wants to both fit in and stand out

Albus, who is bad at flying, humiliating himself in front of his peers, because he isn’t harry but isn’t Quidditch player Ginny either… Albus, who all the adults see as Harry’s extension; Albus, who struggles with charms like Lily never will, who can barely make his matchstick silver under the blue eyed portrait in the room, who struggles to parse through the moving and unequal words of wizarding textbooks, who attracts bullies like flies and doesn’t yet have his mother’s hexes to fight back

Albus, struggling to write that first letter home, to tell his parents and little sister that he’s different from them; Albus who doesn’t even get to tell them because James tells them first

Albus, who doesn’t get a green scarf and hat until after the first snow, unable to parse if it’s the color, the fact that he’s the second born, or maybe just that it’s him that made it come later than James’ had

Albus, who goes back home for Christmas and faces his father’s disapproval for befriending a Malfoy, his father’s distrust and attempts to assure his morality for befriending someone harry assumes cruel and antagonistic

Albus, having to hold awkward conversation with Rose and Ron and Hermione, because neither of the kids want their parents to know they’re not talking (they find out eventually, and though they’re nice about it, Albus knows they’ll always put Rose’s feelings first)

Albus, who is suddenly assumed more malicious and problem causing than he ever was before, who suddenly is seen as a prime person to scot the blame off to when things go wrong

Albus, who gets chosen after his sister (“just like her mother!”) during the family quidditch match; who gets meaningful looks from his Uncle Percy; whose Christmas sweaters are no longer red but never green; who suddenly cant seem to talk to his uncle ron anymore, someone who used to understand what it was like to be James’ brother

Albus potter who stradles the line of too Potter for Slytherin and too Slytherin for his family.

Albus Potter, who’s ambition has been squashed out by bullies and disregard and distrust, struggling to find his identity in a house and world that is still in the midst of undoing decades as an indoctrination machine…

[vxnuslogy]

— retail therapy. ft sunday

— warnings: slight angst if you squint hard enough

— author's note: self-indulgent stellaron hunter sunday after playing the new tb quest. ~2.4k words.

“is this…” sunday gestures with his hands, “also part of our script?”

you let out a laugh. balancing firefly and kafka’s shopping bags in your hands, you only shook your head at the angel-like man with an amused smile on your lips. 

“no, it is not.” kafka was browsing the dress sections with keen interest, blade was peering over silver wolf’s shoulder watching her as she played yet another video game, and firefly was looking over the rack of new hats. “but it’s a good change of pace. you all deserve to relax after such a hard mission.”

“i don’t think this really fits my criteria of relaxation, [name].” you only laugh at sunday’s sigh. offering him a small pat on the back and dragging him by his sleeve to where kafka was beckoning you over. “you’ll get used to it eventually. next time, we’ll do something that fits your criteria of relaxation.”

the silver haired man only shook his head. but deep down you knew he was enjoying himself – the wings behind his ears often betrayed him by openly showing what he actually felt. every now and then, they would flutter and puff up whenever silver wolf drags him to another section with new games or when he tries to deny kafka’s attempt at getting him a new shirt or coat (after his wings fluttered a bit too hard at this one coat kafka bought it immediately).

“what do you think?” you ask as you put down the bags that've been weighing down on your arms. “about us, i mean, are you adjusting well?”

you notice sunday’s hesitation, you always have when it comes to him – he often wonders how wise and knowledgeable you are to know how he felt. a hum left your lips as you sat down on one of the offered chairs at the shoe section while blade reached to the top shelf to get what firefly was pointing at. 

“i…” he starts, voice just above whisper. “don’t know.”

another hum escapes your lips. scooting over to make space for him and patting the space, urging him to sit besides you. sunday does, though reluctantly, sit beside you as you watch silver wolf giggle at firefly’s struggle to walk in heels. blade’s hands hover over her figure as she stomps her way over to the shorter girl to pinch her cheeks to which she protested.

“they’re nice people.” you say, gaze never leaving them. “the galaxies may say otherwise, but they're truly the kindest people i have ever met.”

“i… apologize.”

you raise a brow at him. “what’s with the apology?” 

“i have only ever thought of the five of you as bad people.” sunday admits with a heavy heart. eyes finding much entertainment on his gloves that you had gifted. “i… do not know how to act around you all, when i’ve only ever heard bad things about you. it feels wrong to suddenly be thrusted into your already tight knit group.”

you only hum in understanding. hand coming to caress the top of his head when you stood up when blade called you over.

“we understand, mr. sunday.” you gave him a small smile as you picked up the many shopping bags you had. “these sorts of things take time, just take it one step at a time.”

he only nods. and like the gentleman that he is, steals away the heavier bags in your hands with an awkward smile.

—

“do you miss the person you were before you joined?”

you wonder if blade has ever mentioned to sunday how you loved thought evoking questions like the one he had just asked. recently, the two have been paired up a lot for missions - you’re still on the fence on whether it's a good or bad thing, but you’re leaning more towards the former. you only gave a thoughtful hum as you spooned another scoop of ice cream into your mouth.

kafka had grown bored of the dresses and shoes and wanted to get something to eat. now here you were, outside a quaint little ice cream shop as blade orders for everyone - silver wolf and firefly hiding behind the man like two kids. 

sunday was sitting in front of you, laughing silently after catching a glimpse of the two tables across from you being filled with your shopping bags. you laughed as well and when your eyes met his, sunday quickly averted his gaze towards his own cold treat.

“do i ever miss the person i was before i joined…” you echo his question. “sometimes, in the middle of the night whenever i’m feeling a bit too sentimental, i do.” a fond expression was probably present on your face as sunday hummed in acknowledgement. “i miss the comfort of my bed as i scrolled endlessly on my phone. or how a certain little creature in red would bring me tea and biscuits when i let time pass in my little workshop. i miss them every chance i get.”

yes, every chance you get, you reminisce over your past life. missing your father’s quick temper, your brother’s indifference, your mother’s absence; you missed them all, despite all their flaws and the bitterness that swam in your heart. and of course, how could you ever forget your little escapades in different planets with a seasoned adventurer and his vast knowledge of animation and travel or the little waddling of a conductor as they scold you nearly not making it back. you missed them all very dearly.

“what about you, mr. sunday? do you miss penacony?”

“would it be wrong of me… if i said no…?”

admittedly, that was the exact opposite of what you thought his answer would be.

the six of you were now in the car with you and blade driving (firefly suggested you all take two cars so you won’t have to be squeezed together in one). silver wolf was fast asleep at the back seat, using the many shopping bags as her makeshift pillows. you and sunday sat at the front, keeping a close eye on blade’s red car in front of you as you pondered what you would say next.

“i don’t think that’s the whole truth, but it’s not an entire lie either.” was your only response. from the corner of your eye, you see sunday take off his gloves and lay them on his lap. “would you like to talk about it, mr. sunday? i’m quite the exceptional listener you know.”

sunday laughed at your jesting and that made the breath you were unconsciously holding escape you. 

“penacony, as beautiful as it was,” he fiddles with his fingers as his wings came to cover half his face - a habit you picked up on whenever he started to open up. “it was simply too much for me.”

staying silent and when sunday looked at you, you simply nod. urging him to continue.

“the flashy city lights, the ever echoing of upbeat music, to many, penacony is a paradise where nothing could go wrong,” sunday sags in his seat, “but i often wonder if it ever gets too much for them. even though i have lived my entire life in the land of festivities, i could not bring myself to enjoy the thrill and joy it offered.”

“no matter how many times i bury these feelings of guilt, they always resurface whenever…”

“whenever?” you slowly try to coax it out of him. like how a parent would to their child.

“they always resurface whenever… i find myself enjoying your company too much.” you try to hide your shock when you take a right turn. “is it truly alright for me to just leave all of penacony behind? as overwhelming it was, it offered a roof over my head. food on my table. a family.”

soft patters of rain as small droplets of water cascaded down the now slightly fogged up windows of your car. “would you like my personal opinion on this matter, mr. sunday?” the car skids to a stop as the traffic light glows red. sunday only nodded solemnly. “you have every right to not miss penacony.”

his gold eyes were furrowed in distraught. gaze boring into the side of your head as the car started moving again. “yes, penacony offered a roof over your head and food on your table, but everyone has that right. even us, stellaron hunters, the most wanted criminals across star systems, have the right to have a home. did penacony ever feel like home to you, mr. sunday?”

“no. not it has not.” sunday replies after a few moments of silence.

“just because a roof is over your head and food is served on your table doesn’t automatically make it a home.” your eyes hardened, grip on the steering wheel tightening ever so slightly. “a home is supposed to make you feel safe, not obligated to repay their so-called “kindness”. you don’t have to feel guilty for not wanting to come back to the place that had caused you pain.”

“and what of my sister, robin?” he suddenly counters. you knew from little snippets from kafka that robin was a bit of a sensitive topic with him. “am i really allowed to enjoy this new life of mine knowing that she’s still in the family’s clutches?” his voice hardened, but at the same time it quivered and broke. “what right do i have to this newfound happiness when she could be struggling? for aeon’s sake,” he messily pushes his hair away from his face. you try not to focus on the stray tears that fell from his eyes, “i’m her older brother, her protector. she should be the one here, spending time with you and enjoying the life she’s always wanted.”

“miss robin is destined for greatness and a happy life,” stopping at another traffic light, you look over to sunday, “but so are you. i do not know the pain and turmoil your adoptive father has made you go through, but you will never be free if you keep holding on to the past.”

“i don’t think being a stellaron hunter and a wanted criminal is what you call greatness.” sunday jokes with a low chuckle making you roll your eyes.

you trained your sight on the road again. “it’s not easy to break out of whatever gopher wood has taught you,” the way you spat his adoptive father’s name with such venom made sunday wonder if you had personally met him. “but if, theoretically, we had offered you to join us earlier and to sneak you out of penacony, miss robin would be the first person to urge you to take that chance. you are her older brother yes, and it's often the oldest’s job to protect the younger,” you pull up your car in the parking lot as blade, kafka, and firefly started taking the shopping bags out of the car. “but she is still your sister that wants what’s best for you, even if it means leaving penacony behind.”

the sight of blade, a man with a harsh exterior and few words, silently carry silver wolf with such care will always stir something inside of sunday. or how kafka would happily chat with firefly over the new clothes they got on today’s shopping list, promising to do a haul tomorrow morning after the older woman cooks everyone breakfast. but if there was something that pulled at his heart the most, it would be you. 

you who kindly respected his space and unwillingness to talk or socialize with the other hunters when he had been first recruited. the same you who had made him the metal wings that was now attached to his lower back - created with so much care and attentiveness sunday felt unworthy of it. you who would always be the first one to look for him whenever you were going out and extending a hand for him to take.

“everyone deserves to be happy,” you say beside him as you drop him off at the door to his room. “and that includes you, mr. sunday.”

sunday had always been treated as someone who was above everything else, that was the first thing he was taught after all. he was destined for greatness, the key to the revival of his dead aeon. so he never truly knew how to act when someone treated him as an equal. someone neither above or below anyone.

“i’m not very good with words,” sunday scoffs, thinking otherwise. “so i often convey my sincerity and comfort through actions.”

sunday feels your hand slither to the back of his neck as you slowly pull him down to your height. forcing his beating heart to still when he looks into your eyes that swam with understanding and fondness when you press both of your foreheads together.

“you can enjoy your time here, with us. you’re allowed to let go of the past and miss your sister.” your thumb rubs soothing circles on his nape, sunday feels the hairs on his arms rise. “and if you still think otherwise, then that’s also fine. breaking free from the shackles of your past isn’t easy, but you shouldn’t give up.” sunday feels the way your words leave a warm ticklish feeling on his lips, he had to fight the urge to lean into your space even more. “we want you to be happy, we want you to be here with us. so we’ll teach you how to let go. until you can do it yourself.”

sunday has seen you do this to others; after you patch up blade after a nasty fight, when you welcome kafka home, when silver wolf comes to you after a nightmare and when firefly bares her heart out to you. he finally understands why the others stuck to you closely, they showed their appreciation for you in forms of physical affections. 

involuntarily, his arms snakes around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer he feels you may decipher the way his heart beats your name. “may we stay like this for a while?” you only hum slowly when he lays his head on your shoulder. letting your comfort wash away all the guilt and frustration, even if it was just for a moment.

you catch a glimpse of kafka leaning at one of the dark walls with a knowing smile on her lips. rolling your eyes at the older woman, you bid sunday a good night with a small smile. knuckles brushing right under his eyes where phantom tears had fallen. in your mind, you can’t help but feel that your little idea of taking him shopping to brighten up his mood was a success.

© vxnuslogy 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.

[clare-875]

He Loves Me (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Zoro x Female Reader Summary: The different ways Zoro shows that he loves you. Warnings: Fluff, slightly suggestive in some parts? [One Piece Masterlist] _____

People often think that because Zoro seemed so frequently serious or emotionally distanced, he was incapable of offering love. So, when you and he started to date, it was a surprise to almost everyone who knew of the two of you. Even those around you who knew him best, namely your beloved crew, would tease even the faintest flush of his cheeks when he was caught looking at you, as though it were some sort of miracle. Some members would even ask if he truly reciprocated the love you so blatantly showed for the green-haired swordsman because the concept of Zoro and the notion of 'love' didn't really click. They knew he loved his swords and was dedicated to the crew and his dreams but that type of devotion seemed foreign and unlikely. You knew that their words came from a place of concern; concern that you were in a one-sided relationship. However, what your crew failed to notice is how Zoro loved. Sure, maybe he wouldn't blabber sweet words or openly display physical affection beyond your rooms, but within the confines of you and him you see it; he loves you.

Zoro loves through thoughts of you.

Before you, Zoro thought his only ambitions in life were to stay devoted to his Captain and to become the world's greatest swordsman. Love was a concept that hadn't even crossed his mind, he had never been tempted with it nor had he ever been driven to consider it. But then he met you. He saw your sweet smile, your doe eyes, your kindness, your beautiful demeanour. Suddenly, he could only mock the love-drunk cook half-heartedly, because though he would never show it, you were all that clouded his mind. Through workouts that he was so usually lost in, he found himself losing count of the amount of times he swung his weights forward; his thoughts drifting to you. The naps that usually brought nothing but peace from the rowdy crew suddenly became overwhelmed by images of you in his arms, or in his bed. So, when the months had passed and he learned from Robin's constant but subtle teasing that maybe he was in love, imagine his surprise when you confessed that you were too. Even now, when the two of you had been together for more than a year, his thoughts were littered and lingered with you; every movement and action with you at the forefront of his mind.

Zoro loves through his attentive stare, always watching for you.

It could be on days when countless enemies threatened your lives. It could be on days so serene you could not envision anything going wrong. Either way, it didn't matter. Zoro's senses were always perceptive and ready to protect, even when danger was not imminent. During quiet days when the crew set sail over the open seas, Zoro always kept one eye open. He always searched through the muddled voices of the crew for yours. One yelp or one surprised gasp had his heart pounding. It was his sixth sense. He would get up to search for you instantly, even if you had only gotten caught up in a harmless prank or got a papercut paging through books; even if all he had to offer was a roll of his eyes or muttered words, "be more careful woman," when he found you. You didn't know of the crew's shock as he seemingly vanished from the place where he lay to come in search of you. You didn't hear the rapid spike of his heart. Zoro knew you were strong, but he also knew how easily he could lose someone close to him. He had experienced it with Kuina; he would die before he experienced it with you.

Zoro loves through the trust he so willingly gives to you.

Zoro wouldn't love anyone who was not as devoted to the crew, to improving themselves or who didn't have the will and evidence to call themselves worthy of the Straw Hat Crew. You were capable and loyal, thus you were worth his trust both on the battlefield and in his heart. It was shown through countless battles where you fought off powerful enemies, protected less combat-focused crew members and provided emotional consolation atop burdens you held yourself. He trusted you to handle your battles and knew of the pride that came with it; you were his respected partner. His trust would even extend off the battlefield. He would trust you to look after his prized swords and he would trust your word; he doesn't even know the meaning of jealousy. He would watch in rowdy bars as you get two drinks and the fifth man that night approaches. Zoro sees it as a compliment, you were beautiful. But he watches with pride as you turn another man away from you and walk back to his side. The only movements he would make were when men go too touchy, too confident in their drunkenness. Zoro would have them bleeding to the floor before they uttered another filthy word as they tried and failed to pry away the trust that was so concrete in his mind, so obvious in the kiss you would grant him afterwards.

Zoro loves through quiet and hidden intimacy.

Zoro was not one to show open physical affection with the likes of the crew or strangers he could care less for. Only in quiet and drunken evenings would he maybe let slip, wrapping an arm around your waist tightly and placing sloppy kisses along your neck. Well, only for Sanji to then start screaming incoherently at the sight of him, to which a drunken argument would soon take place. Normally, behind closed doors, you saw Zoro's love for you more blatantly. You didn't have to have perceptive eyes when you could feel his lips on yours, hungrily mingling with your tongue and your skin. People would never question his devotion in countless nights spent with his tight grip against your wrists, his swift movement against you, uttered words of praise whispered in your ear. His love was shown in the marks that he gifts you and the ones you would try to cover under the light of day. His love was obvious in his wide smirk as you trace the scratches upon his back, your love etched within them. You see the shock around you when he walks shirtless and proud, displaying your work as though it were a given. You hear more screaming from Sanji, see a frozen Nami as she observes the sight, and a teasing smile from Robin as she turns to you, "Oh my..."

Zoro loves through the dream of you.

In return for the trust he so easily receives from you, he returns it with his devotion. Everyone knows of Zoro's loyalty to Luffy and his goal, but they were the only things that could best his loyalty to you. All else didn't matter to him; you were his end game. People could try to take his eyes away from you, but it would be for naught because his gaze was stubborn. How could it not be? You were beautiful, strong, kind, loving. Zoro never thought that he would even consider a life outside of the straw hat crew, but he created the dream just for you. Images of you and him together through every age and every trial. You and him after he achieved his goal and witnessed his Captain do the same. After that, you would be all that mattered to him, the only dream that he had left. He even considered smaller versions of you and him running about, you swelled with his child, your motherly form. He dreamed of owning a dojo and waking to you each day, he dreamed of you and him and two rings on your fingers, a quiet ceremony held to seal your love and his. He dreams of him old in his age watching the sun fall to the depths of the horizon with you by his side, years of life upon your form but still beautiful nonetheless. It was his most private dream, but one he found desiring the most.

It was an impossible dream to him before he knew of you. Now, he has you in his arms and you are distracted by exhaustion, not seeing but feeling Zoro's gaze on you. You had murmured words about your day to him but as the night dragged on you found your words become more slurred, ready for sleep to take you. He simply watched as your excited blabbering seeped into slow utterances, but he didn't mind. He loved the sight of you in his arms. He loved the sound of your voice. You look up to glimpse at him and he meets your gaze easily. You see flickers of adoration and a glimmer of emotion in his eyes as he breathes in the existence of you. And you could never question it, you could never wander of his love as others would. But you supposed it was an honour, to love the swordsman and have his love for you returned. "You love me." Your words are tainted with fatigue as you push your face into his chest, relishing the warmth that he so easily provides. Zoro rolls his eyes as though dismissing your words but pulls you closer to him anyway, and that is enough for you to know and for him to show that he does; he loves you. You would rarely hear it. However, as the moments pass in peaceful silence, and when Zoro thinks that time would have surely taken you from your consciousness and into the depths of sleep he murmurs it within your hair.

"I love you."

[flieslikeamoron]

I wish you would write a fic where Steve hangs out with Uncle Wayne.

Sorry, anon. This is so late you probably forgot you asked for it. I hope you see it and it’s sort of what you wanted. Around 2.5K. Rated M (for the steddie bits not the Wayne bits.)

--*--

Steve has always been good at meeting the parents. He’s polite. He wears the right clothes. He never forgets to say “sir.” He notices what needs complimenting. Did a mom spend a lot of time on her hair? Is the food homemade? Is the yard especially well kept? Are they proud of their car, their dog, their daughter? You can tell a lot about what’s important to people if you pay attention, so Steve pays attention. And he gives a compliment where it’s wanted. Nancy used to call him a suck up, but it works. Parents like it. They like him. 

Wayne’s different though. Steve tries all his old moves. Calls Wayne sir, and Wayne waves it off. Brings food that Wayne says he can’t stay to eat. He compliments the hat collection on Wayne’s walls, but Wayne seems so unimpressed it kind of puts him off from trying again. Maybe he’s doing something wrong. Or maybe Wayne just hates him. 

“Why does your uncle hate me?” Steve asks Eddie when Wayne’s out fishing one Saturday. Ever since Wayne got switched to days for the summer, Steve doesn’t get to spend as much time in Eddie’s bed. He snuggles deeper into the sheets, moving his legs against the worn cotton, his cheek against the pillow. Twisting a bit of Eddie’s hair around his finger. 

Eddie looks over, offering Steve the joint in his hand. “He doesn’t hate you.”

“You give it to me.” Steve realizes too late that doesn’t make sense because Eddie’s already holding it out to him. But he gets what Steve means. There’s a lazy smile on his face as he takes a long drag and holds it, leans past Steve to set the joint in the ashtray beside the bed. Steve’s fingers slide along his arm as he reaches, touch down on his ribs, the heat of his skin perfect under Steve’s hands. He cups Steve’s neck, lips almost touching while he breathes the smoke into Steve’s mouth. He seals their lips together at the end. Steve holds the smoke until his lungs burn, and then lets it slowly out through his nose. Eddie deepens the kiss, chases the last of the smoke with his tongue. He kisses Steve again, slow and thorough. His hand warm on Steve’s throat, his thumb against Steve’s jaw. 

When he lies back down beside Steve, Steve runs his fingers across Eddie’s chest. Stopping to feel the slightly pebbled top of his nipple. He runs his thumb over it, back and forth, pressing. Fascinated by the abrupt solid texture of the little nub, the way it interupts the smooth stretch of Eddie’s chest. He runs his fingers over the sparse wiriness of the hairs around it. Eddie is his favorite thing to touch. He’s touched him so much. Must have touched every inch of him by now. But it still feels like he’s always finding the new edge of a scar here or a mole he hadn’t noticed there. Eddie makes a small noise in the back of his throat as Steve scrapes his fingernail over his nipple. Steve looks up. Sees Eddie looking back at him. That soft I love you look on his face. It makes Steve’s chest ache. Makes him feel so swollen up inside he has to fill his mouth with Eddie’s skin, bite down on his chest.

Eddie ruffles fingers through Steve’s hair, arching a bit into Steve’s teeth. When Steve lets go, he runs his fingers over his own toothmarks. The indents in Eddie’s skin drawing up something smug from deep inside him. Like looking at the tattoo Eddie got for him. He likes leaving marks. He likes having proof. That Eddie loves him. Not like Wayne. “He acts like he hates me.”

“Who does?” Eddie says vaguely. 

“Wayne.”

Eddie shakes his head, his fingers running through Steve’s hair, dragging along his scalp. “That’s just his way. He takes a while to warm up.” He grins and gives Steve’s hair a tug. “It runs in the family.” 

“Well, I can’t exactly win him over the same way I did with you.”

“I would rather he not know how good you are at fucking,” Eddie agrees.

“Gross. I meant I can’t buy weed from him.”

Eddie laughs and lays a kiss on the tip of Steve’s wrinkled nose. “Just give it some time.” A kiss to the edge of Steve’s eyebrow. “I’m telling you, no one can resist this face.” He’s still giving Steve that look. So so soft. “And he’s so good with his hands.” He presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s chin. “Such a hard worker.” A kiss to Steve’s mouth. “Such a sweet boy.” Steve circles his arms around Eddie’s waist and lets himself be kissed. A compliment breathed into his skin, his mouth with every one. 

-*-

Whatever Eddie says, winning Wayne over seems like a lost cause, so Steve keeps his head down. Tries his best not to look at Eddie too much when Wayne’s around, look at him like more than a friend. Tries not to say too much. Tries not to do anything that’ll make Wayne want to kick him out of the trailer.

He almost passes by when he pulls up on a Sunday and finds Wayne jacking up his truck. But Steve’s noticed the way he winces, slow to get up from his easy chair sometimes. That fold up bed can’t be good for his back. Or the long hours at the plant.

“Need any help?” Steve asks, coming over.

Wayne gives him a sideways glance as he stands up. “You know anything about cars?” He says it like he thinks Steve doesn’t know much about anything.

“I took autoshop,” Steve says, a little defensively. “I do all the maintenance on the Beemer.” He can see the flicker of something in Wayne’s eyes when he says Beemer, but hell, it’s not his fault he has a nice car. He’s not going to apologize for that. He makes the payments himself. 

“It’s nothing major,” Wayne says. “Just going to change the transmission fluid. Go on. Eddie’s inside.”

Steve could take the out. But Wayne’s going to have to get under the truck to drain the fluid. And he has a bad back. “I can help,” Steve says. He doesn’t mention the back thing in case Wayne is sensitive about it. 

Wayne gets a stubborn look on his face. Looks a lot like Eddie, actually. Steve thinks he’s going to tell him to get lost. But he cocks his head, and lets out a breath. He hands Steve a wrench and a pan, and gives him a nod.

Wayne’s not a big talker. He stops giving Steve instructions when he figures out Steve does know what he’s doing. Has actually done this before. He doesn’t bother to fill the silence with anything else. When Steve wiggles back out from under the truck, they pop the hood together. Steve watches Wayne put the new fluid in.

“Belt could use replacing,” Steve says tentatively, hoping Wayne won’t take it the wrong way.

“It’ll hold a while,” Wayne says. He doesn’t sound offended though.

“Well,” Steve says awkwardly. “Looks like you’ve got it from here.”

“Thanks for your help, son.” 

“Anytime,” Steve says, and means it.

It’s easier after that. It’s not like they talk a lot more or anything, but the silence feels different. 

Wayne gets home from work one evening just as Steve’s driving up after a shift at the mall. Eddie’s van isn’t outside, and Steve’s never really been around Wayne without a buffer. He can’t just leave now though. They come up the stairs together. The screen door doesn’t squeak when Wayne pulls it open. 

“That was you,” he says, looking down at the freshly oiled hinge.

“Could have been Eddie.”

Wayne scoffs. “Eddie’s a great kid, but he’s too busy thinking about those elves or hearing music in his head to notice if the laundry needs doing or the door squeaks.”

That’s about right. Steve waves it away with his hand. “Details. He’s good at the important stuff.” Steve smiles, trying not to look like he thinks about Eddie or what he’s good at more than a normal friend would. 

“Been meaning to get around to it myself,” Wayne says. 

“It was just WD-40.” 

Wayne tilts his head noncommitally. “You want some dinner?”

Steve hopes he’s not smiling more than a person who knows dinner isn’t that big a deal would. It’s kind of a big deal though.

“My nephew thinks a lot of you,” Wayne says, while Steve hovers in the kitchen, trying not to get in the way.

“I think a lot of him too.” 

Wayne sort of hums to himself, and looks at Steve like he finally complimented the right thing. 

-*-

Eddie hates baseball just like he hates basketball and football and anything else involving balls unless they’re Steve’s balls and they’re in Eddie’s mouth. Which is something he actually said to Steve once. But he’s still sitting through this Reds game with Steve and Wayne. Steve brought the fried chicken. Wayne brought the beer. Eddie brought half a pie from the diner and a few new stories from his job bartending over at the Hideout. He’s telling them in snippets during the commercial breaks, acting them out like he’s the show the baseball game is interrupting. He makes them funnier than they probably were at the time, rubber faces and fake voices like when he’s playing D&D. Steve hopes he doesn’t look more fond than a regular friend would be. Wayne looks pretty fond too though, that smile basically the equivalent of a laugh for him.

He finally does laugh out loud, waving Eddie away from his spot in front of the TV. “All right, all right, fucking sit down. We just missed a double. And I know you made that shit about the raccoon up.”

“Hand to God that happened.” Eddie flops down on the couch next to Steve. “He had it on his shoulder. He ordered it a beer in a shot glass.” He nudges Steve in the side. “You believe me, right?”

Steve isn’t sure if he does, but- “I’ve seen weirder.”

“Pray tell,” Eddie says. 

Steve can’t exactly talk about Dustin feeding a demodog candy. He changes the subject. “They look better this season.”

“Not that much better,” Wayne says skeptically.

“Why do you guys even bother watching a bad team play a boring game?” Eddie asks.

Wayne just shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve always had a soft spot for an underdog.”

_*_

Steve’s in Eddie’s bed a couple weeks later. Eddie overlapping him, with his face nuzzled into Steve’s neck, his spent cock nestled against Steve’s thigh. He’s mouthing idly at Steve’s moles, letting Steve drag fingers through his hair, untangle the tangles. It still feels like a gift to be able to touch Eddie like this. Hold him against Steve’s chest. Play with his hair or the rings on his fingers. See him soft and unguarded and looking at Steve like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. But Steve’s learning not to be surprised that he gets to have this. That Eddie wants him to have it. That Eddie wants it too.

“I missed you,” Eddie says. His fingers stroke over Steve’s hole, pressing against the sore heat of his rim.

Steve’s cheeks go warm. “You see me almost every day.”

“I know, but I don’t get to fuck you every time I see you.” Steve rolls his eyes. Eddie tucks two fingers inside him, making Steve’s mouth fall open on a gasp. He sets his chin on Steve’s chest, looking up innocently through his bangs. “Can you come over Friday? Wayne has his bowling league, and I want to make you come until you cry.”

Steve still doesn’t really know why Eddie talking about him like that makes a spike of heat go straight to his dick, but he’s learning not to be surprised by that either. Eddie presses his fingers deeper inside. Steve clenches, a sharp “Ah” knocked out of him as Eddie nudges against his prostate. “I actually-” Eddie does it against, presses in right where it makes Steve ache. He trembles a little, forcing himself to keep talking. “I actually told Wayne I would go with him. To his league.” 

“What?” Eddie’s brow furrows. “Can’t you cancel?”

Steve looks at him disapprovingly. “I’m not gonna cancel on him.” Eddie gives one more push against Steve’s prostate, almost vindictive, before he pulls his fingers out. “And don’t you have Hellfire?” 

“Gareth and Jeff are both out of town. Vacation.” Eddie’s pouting in a way Steve would find hilarious if he wasn’t trying to sabotage all Steve’s hard earned progress with Wayne.

“Come on. He’s barely started liking me.”

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “I’ve liked you so much longer. I should get first dibs.”

Steve laughs. Eddie scowls at him. 

“You’re being an asshole,” Steve points out. 

“I just think it’s a little weird how much you’re hanging out with him now,” Eddie says. “And why did he ask you to join his bowling league?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it hanging out,” Steve says. “Mostly I’ve been helping him patch the roof. You’re welcome by the way. The leak was in your room. And he asked me because I’m really fucking good at bowling.”

“Of course you are,” Eddie says. “Fucking perfect son. I bet dads try to pick you up at the grocery store to take you fishing or play catch.” Steve thinks about his own dad. How Steve’s started changing into his Scoops uniform after he gets to the mall so he doesn’t have to see his dad trying not to look at him. Not really trying to hide the disdain. “Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie says, all the sharp edges falling from his voice. 

Steve tries to wipe whatever Eddie’s seeing on his face away. 

“You were right. I’m an asshole.”  Eddie cups his cheek, runs his thumb across Steve’s lips. He lays a quick kiss on Steve’s mouth. “Will you forgive me if I share Wayne with you?” He offers his hand like they’re going to shake on it, then takes it back. “You just have to promise not to start liking him better than me.” He points mock threateningly at Steve to make it a joke, but Steve can tell there’s a little bit of something true underneath. “And promise not to make him start liking you more than he likes me either.” 

“That would never happen."

“I don’t know. You guys have a lot in common.”

“Mostly the thing we have in common is we’re both pretty big fans of you.” Steve shakes Eddie’s hand. And kisses him right in the middle of his wide grin. Catching more teeth than anything until Eddie scoots up, tilts his head to give Steve a better angle. Steve makes it a real kiss, lingering in the familiar curve of Eddie's lips. When he pulls back far enough to breath, he tilts his forehead against Eddie’s. “I love you the most of any Munson.”

“You only know two Munsons,” Eddie says. “But I’ll take it.”

“I love you the most,” Steve says, smiling.

“Good,” Eddie says. “That makes us even.” And kisses him again.

[girlgenius1111]

study buddy

solstråle engen ft. @wileys-russo 's fresa! sol struggles with school, and facing the threat of having to repeat the year, ingrid and mapi try to get her some study help. it doesn't go... exceptionally well.

—

It was more frustrating than anything. For years, you hadn’t really given school much thought, or put in very much effort. And then, suddenly, you’d been shipped off to Spain and everything was different. Everything changed again six months later, and suddenly, school felt like something that held a lot more weight.

You didn’t have many opportunities to make Ingrid and Mapi proud of you. Sure, they’d say they were proud of you when you asked for help while having a panic attack, or for setting some sort of boundary. That just didn’t feel… right. It didn’t feel like it was enough. They were bending over backwards, every day, to make you feel known and seen and loved, and the least you could do was show that they were helping you, right?

So, very suddenly, school was important. Grades were important. It seemed, though, that the years of not caring and not paying attention had taken their toll. Because you studied, and you actually tried but it wasn’t enough. Your grades were still… mediocre. Nothing to brag about. 

You worked harder, to no avail. You tried different methods of studying, you devoted hours and hours to your schoolwork, and… no improvement. So much of your work felt like it went way over your head. 

You had promised yourself you wouldn’t be upset when you handed Ingrid the test you’d gotten back. She had a busy week and she really didn’t need you breaking down over a stupid test, like you had earlier in the school bathroom. Your plan was to bypass your sister and her girlfriend, head straight to your room, and maybe slam the door. If you acted angry, they were more likely to give you space to calm down, which meant there was much less of a chance you’d get all pathetic and upset.  

Only, you’d forgotten that Ingrid had known you were getting the test back today, having seen you study and study and study for it. Your sister was sure that since you studied so much, it must be a good grade, and she had a magnet all ready to attach your exam to the fridge. 

The minute you walked into the house and saw her waiting in the kitchen, freshly showered from training, an expectant and excited look on her face, you shrunk in on yourself, very suddenly wanting a hug more than you wanted to cry silently into your pillow all alone.

“How’d you do?!” Ingrid asked excitedly, her smile only faltering when your lip began to wobble. “Solstråle?”

“I’m sorry.” You choked out tugging the collar of your shirt up over your eyes before she could see you begin to cry. Ingrid’s arms were wrapping around you only a moment later, holding you tight against her as she floundered, confused as to what had upset you.

“Hey, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s alright. I’ve got you.” Ingrid promised, making eye contact over your head with Mapi, who had wandered into the kitchen and caught sight of you trembling against your sister. 

Ingrid thought something must have happened at school, and Mapi quickly came to the same conclusion. The thought that you’d done poorly on your test, and this was the reason behind your distress, never even crossed her mind. Ingrid had never known you to care much about your grades, and while you were trying harder now, she didn’t think something like a bad result could get you this upset. 

“I’m really sorry. I tried my best.” You whimpered, briefly wondering when you’d turned into this person who cried at the drop of a hat and allowed her sister to hug you whenever you were upset. It was so different. Everything was so different. 

“What are you sorry for?” She asked, heart melting a bit as Mapi walked closer and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before perching on the counter. “Tell me, Sol, tell me what’s wrong.” 

Wordlessly, you withdrew from the comforting embrace of your sister and swung your bag off your shoulder. You unzipped it, pulling out the exam from the red folder Ingrid had neatly labeled for you. You handed it to her, eyes brimming with tears again at the sight of all the red marks all over the first page. 

Ingrid’s first instinct was to sigh, but you’d been with her long enough for her to know you’d just shut down. Not to mention that she knew how much work you’d been putting into this specific exam. Prepared to ask you what had gone wrong, she looked up to see that the tears had stopped. There wasn’t a hint of emotion on your face, like you were preparing yourself to be yelled at. Ingrid had no such plans.

“Oh, Sol. Kjære, come here.” She said instead, pulling you back into her. There was some hesitation on your part, but after a second you melted into the hug, knowing that if Ingrid was upset, she would have told you so by now. “You studied so hard, I’m sorry it didn’t go well.” 

“I’m sorry.” You said again, frowning when Ingrid pulled back and placed both her hands on your face, tilting your head up to look at her. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You tried your best, that’s all I want from you.”

You shook your head, but didn’t say anything, instead opting to stare at your shoes. You hadn’t taken them off at the door, breaking one of Ingrid and Mapi’s rules. This additional mistake, regardless of how small it was, made you feel even worse. You couldn’t do anything right. 

A tattooed hand grabbed yours, and you looked up at Mapi. She had moved closer, holding the exam in one hand, her other gripping yours. 

“This is a passing grade, mi sol. Why are you so upset? It’s not like you to get so worked up over school.” Your face flushed, but before you could step away, Mapi’s grip tightened, as if she’d sensed you were about to run. “Come on, it’s us. You can tell us.” 

“I.. It’s not good enough.” You stammered, looking between your sister and her girlfriend with genuine despair written all across your face. “I wanted to do well. For both of you., I wanted you to be proud of me.” 

“Oh, Sol,” Ingrid sighed, exchanging a look with Mapi that only served to make you feel even more foolish. It had taken so much for you to admit why you were working so hard, and though you knew, logically, that Ingrid wasn’t trying to make you feel dumb, she had. 

You wrenched away from her, suddenly deciding that you didn't need her pity. Backing up until you hit the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen, you began to ramble. Unable to look either Ingrid or Mapi in the eye, you missed the sadness on their faces. “No, forget it. It’s fine. It’s really fine. It’s not a big deal, It’s my own fault, I’m too stupid to learn stuff my classmates already know-”

“Hey!” Mapi cut in, sounding uncharacteristically stern. “You are not stupid. Don’t ever say that again.” 

You froze, staring at her with your mouth agape. Ingrid took a cautious step closer, aware she was toeing a thin line between you breaking down again, and pushing you into anger. 

“You aren’t stupid.” Ingrid echoed. “You’re not stupid, and you know you aren’t. It’s just one exam, Sol, it doesn’t make or break anything.” 

At this, you averted your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck. This exam could be a determining factor in your educational career. Ingrid just didn’t really know that information yet. Like a bloodhound, though, Ingrid caught the scent of your secret, her eyebrows raising as she stared at you. 

“It doesn’t make or break anything, right?” 

It was a staring contest for a few moments, one you and Ingrid both knew she would win, yet you kept it going all the same. The silence became too intense, the gazes of your sister and her girlfriend breaking your resolve rather quickly. With a heavy sigh, you reached for your bag yet again and pulled out a slightly wrinkled envelope. 

Ingrid held her hand out expectantly, apprehension clear on her face. You handed her the envelope, eyes still training on the floor. 

“Solstråle. This is addressed to me.” Ingrid huffed, removing the letter from inside and beginning to read it. Mapi moved forward, peeking over her girlfriend’s shoulder, eyes quickly scanning over the letter. You braced yourself, prepared for the worst. 

The last time you’d brought home something like this… you’d ended up living in Spain. Which was potentially the best thing that could have happened, but you had a feeling the consequences of this letter wouldn’t work out as well. 

Your sister placed the paper down on the counter, raking her fingers through her hair as she thought for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure what to say. Part of her wanted to yell, but when was that ever the right choice? Before she could decide, María’s shoulder bumped into hers. Her girlfriend nodded in your direction, clearly trying to get Ingrid to see how terrified you were. 

And Ingrid couldn’t yell at you when you were like this, all sad and scared with your head bowed and your arms folded across your chest protectively. 

“Sol?” She said, her tone much quieter and kinder than you were expecting it to be. You looked up at her, shocked further to see that she didn’t look very angry. “Why didn’t you give this to me last week when they sent it?” 

Ingrid nodded towards the date on the letter, and you exhaled shakily. “I… I was hoping I could just try really hard for the rest of the year and do really well in all my classes and it would be fine.” 

Your sister nodded slowly, reading the letter over again. 

Mapi took the opportunity to chime in, her hand absentmindedly resting on your sister’s back, even as she fixed her warm gaze on you. “Nena, that is a lot for you to carry all by yourself. Having the threat of maybe needing to repeat the year hanging over your head… you should have told us.” 

You shrugged, blinking away the moisture pooling in your eyes at Mapi’s tone. “I didn’t want to disappoint you guys.” You mumbled. 

“You haven’t disappointed anyone!” Mapi exclaimed, frowning when you just scoffed in response. “I’m serious, Sol. We saw you study and study for this exam. You did your best, you’re doing your best. That’s all we can ask from you.” 

“My best isn’t good enough! I’m going to fail and have to repeat the year.” You cried, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. The mere thought of another year of school was horrifying. 

Ingrid finally put the letter down, a blazingly determined expression on her face. “No. You’re not going to fail anything. We’ll help you, we’ll reach out to your teachers, we’ll get you extra help. We’ll figure it out, Sol, but you’re not going to fail. Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

For anyone else, that may have sounded overbearing. For you, though, it just felt supportive. It felt like you weren’t dealing with this yourself anymore, and that was a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Okay.” You said quietly. “Thanks.” 

Luckily, your sister knew you well enough to understand that after such an intense conversation, you’d need some time to yourself to process. 

“Hey,” Ingrid said, catching your wrist and turning you around slightly before you could leave the room. “I’m already proud of you, and the person you are. You could fail every test for the rest of your life, and I’d still be proud of you. Okay?”

You blinked at her for a prolonged second, before you nodded jerkily. Turning to head up the stairs to your room, you changed your mind, spinning back around and falling into your sister. She hugged you tight, as she always did, and you wondered briefly how you got so lucky. 

—

It was the following day that Mapi and Ingrid proposed their plan. Before they’d even said anything, you knew a few things. 

One, that they were excited about whatever plan they’d cooked up that day at training. 

And two, that you weren’t really going to have a choice in the matter. 

As a general rule, Ingrid and Mapi didn’t make you do many things. If they thought something was important, they’d encourage you to try it a few times, and then they’d let you stop if you still didn’t like it. That was how it had been for the school’s climbing club, the school’s hiking club, and the school’s baking club. All those were activities you enjoyed, but… activities you enjoyed doing yourself.

Well, not always.You loved to climb and hike with Ingrid. Frido, too, sometimes. And you could bake for hours with Mapi helping, measuring out ingredients and getting baking flour everywhere. But doing any of the above with strangers who spoke in rapid, fluent Spanish or catalan, was not fun. It was anxiety inducing. 

You knew this was about to be another one of those ideas, the ones you had to give a fair shot. 

It was at dinner, and you were trying to hide the wince everytime you picked up your water glass with your right hand, your wrist intensely aching after the time you spent in the climbing gym after school. It always hurt when you climbed for too long, though it was getting worse with every passing day. Another problem for another day, you decided, seeing the barely contained glee on Mapi’s face as she cleared her throat. 

“What?” You said suspiciously, putting your fork down and narrowing your eyes at the Spaniard. 

Mapi opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, Ingrid chimed in. 

“Mapi’s made you a playdate!” She said, smirking when her girlfriend wacked her in the arm. 

“Ingrid, that is not going to help me convince her.” Mapi huffed, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. 

Still unamused, you continued to frown at Mapi. “I’d love it if you didn’t keep proposing ideas that you’d need to convince me of. Teaching you how to rock climb, trying to get that stain out of my favorite sweatshirt yourself, being the keeper while you practiced your free kicks, helping you build that bonfire–”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mapi dismissed. 

“You got stuck on the rock wall, my sweatshirt has a hole in it, the ball hit me so hard in the stomach I threw up, and both of us lost part of our eyebrows!” 

Mapi glared at you, while Ingrid hid her face behind her hand as her body shook with silent laughter. 

“Well this plan,” Mapi sighed, “is Ingrid AND Alexia approved.” 

That wiped the smile off your face. 

“Alexia? What does she have to do with this?” 

There were a few things you knew for certain about Mapi. One, she didn’t give up easily. Another, that she wanted more than anything for you to be friends with Alexia’s little sister. And from the sly smile on her face, you were almost sure you knew where this was headed. 

“I asked her to ask Fresa to tutor you!”

“No.” You said immediately. 

Mapi continued like you hadn’t spoken. “Fresa is a bit younger than you, but already finished your year! She’s studying to be a nurse, she’s very smart. Fres speaks English and she can help you with your Spanish and any other school things you need help with.” 

“No.” You repeated, looking helplessly at your sister. Ingrid looked to finally be taking the situation seriously, a familiar look on her face; one you knew meant that no matter how much you argued, she was going to get her way. Meanwhile, Mapi was still droning on. 

“–get along great with her! I think you guys have a lot in common, and it could be fun and educational!” 

“And you know all the best things are fun and educational.” Ingrid chimed in cheerily, this time her face telling you to go along with Mapi’s idea because she was excited about it, or else. 

“Educational.” You said sarcastically. “Super!” 

Still, you agreed, Mapi grinned at you, and Ingrid patted your back reassuringly. Mapi had a lot of bad ideas. You were pretty sure this would turn out to be the worst. 

—

You always spent more time at the climbing gym when things were rough. Back in Norway, you’d spend multiple hours a day, everyday, there. It was one of your tells; Ingrid always knew something was bothering you if you went to climb right after school. It was your way of shoving your emotions down before you could feel them, before your sister could read the hurt on your face and give you one of those tight hugs that brought tears to your eyes. 

Only, sometimes climbing didn’t do it. Sometimes, it felt like the walls were closing in, like you were about to suffocate, if you didn’t have some time completely by yourself to think. On those days, you really preferred to hike. You hadn’t felt that urge in a while; the urge to just disappear for hours, walk until your legs felt like they were going to fall up, and sit at the top of the trail until the world felt like a place you wanted to be in again. The last time had been back in Norway, after a day you didn’t even want to think about. 

Yet you found yourself in that same familiar mindset after your first study session with Fresa. 

It hadn’t gone well. You tried to go into it confident, sure that if you acted chill enough, she’d maybe miss that you had no idea what you were doing with your schoolwork. 

Confident, even as you arrived 15 minutes late. Scout had gotten his favorite toy, a small tiger that squeaked, stuck under the sofa, and it had taken you time you didn’t have to get it out for him. You could have left it, but Ingrid and Mapi weren’t home and you knew Scout would just sit by the couch and cry the whole time you were gone if you didn’t get his tiger out for him, and you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him to be so upset. And then you’d had a hard time finding a parking space at the library, and the directions inside were all in Spanish and Fresa had texted you to follow the signs to the study rooms but you misread the sign and went to the opposite end of the library before figuring out your mistake. And you would have texted you were going to be late, because you hated being late, but your phone was dead and the cord from your car had gone missing. 

When you entered the room, Fresa already looked annoyed. 

Annoyed, with her hair pulled back into a ponytail, twirling a pen repeatedly in an almost unconscious manner. She looked very… put together. 

“Llegas tarde.” She commented, rolling her eyes when you didn’t reply. Your face flushed a bit as she must have picked up on your confusion, repeating herself in english. “You are late.” 

Any other time, you would have known what she said. Your issue wasn’t really understanding Spanish, it was more speaking and reading it. You felt weirdly flustered though today, like your brain was distracted and not quite able to follow what the other girl was saying. Anxious, too, at this social situation you’d been forced into. 

Briefly, you thought about explaining about Scout and the tiger and the parking space and the signs being in Spanish, but then you realized Fresa wouldn’t care about any of that. So instead, you just nodded and apologized, feeling your heart start to pound from the anxiety of the situation. 

You didn’t like talking to new people. Especially pretty new people who spoke a different language and were looking at you like you weren’t very smart. Even if you thought that yourself… you didn’t want anyone else to think so. Any intention of actually asking Fresa for help with the mountains of stuff you were confused with went out the window, then, and you almost subconsciously decided to just… try to get through without letting her know quite how lost you were. 

Fresa was alarmingly smart. She kept asking you questions about your work, about what you needed help with. Everything didn’t feel like an answer you wanted to give. Fresa seemed organized, though, and you assumed letting her take the lead and decide what to work on would placate her. Instead, she just looked more and more annoyed with every passing second.

 She kept asking questions about this paper and that paper and you didn’t know what papers she was talking about. You felt so stupid. More stupid than when you’d failed your test last week. 

“How do you even find the right paper in there?” Fresa asked, pulling a judgemental look as you rifled through your bag, searching for the article she was asking for.

Your bag was a mess, you knew it was a mess. You’d knocked your coffee over all your folders a few days ago, sitting at the counter when Scout barked and startled you. That was oddly upsetting in and of itself because Ingrid had gotten you the folders and labeled them for you and you felt like you’d destroyed something nice she’d done for you. You hadn’t told her, not wanting to hurt her feelings or anything, so now your school papers were living crinkled and disorganized in your bag.

And you were pretty sure the article Fresa was asking for had been a casualty of the coffee incident, because you’d scanned the paper and thought it wasn’t important before throwing it out. The Spanish had confused you, and you hadn’t realized you’d need the article for an assignment. Stupid. 

 You were feeling more and more embarrassed as the minutes passed. And, maybe, your reaction to feeling embarrassed was always anger. You pulled out a random piece of paper, slamming it down onto the table with more force than necessary in your haste to give the Spaniard something. 

Fresa instantly knew that what you’d given her wasn’t the right article, asking again if you had it as you shoved the other paper back into your bag. 

Logically, you knew you should just… admit you threw it away because you didn’t realize you needed it. For some reason, you just couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. You couldn’t get any words out of your mouth, feeling shockingly like crying. Nothing was going right and you were making yourself look like an idiot and all you could do was shrug as Fresa looked at you and took a deep breath. 

Then, she seemed to come to some kind of realization, her expression softening slightly. 

“Can you not read this? The spanish?” 

You flinched, feeling your face flush. Again, the reply of ‘no I can’t, would you please help me?’ seemed to evade you. Instead, you spewed some lie about being able to read the article, calling Fresa’s questions stupid and telling her she was wasting your time. 

Fresa seemed to have reached her breaking point, her voice rising as yours had. You didn’t really hear what she said, much too distracted by the way her eyebrows knitted together when she was frustrated, and the way her hand tightly gripped the pen she was holding. 

Then, she made an offensive impression of your shrugging. And if you hadn’t been angry before, you were absolutely fuming now. 

So what if you were quiet? It wasn’t like you really needed to talk much, considering how many questions she’d asked. You were furious at being called out for all your bullshit, feeling like a mess compared to the perfect girl next to you. A very angry mess who’d had a long day and was cursing one María León for making her do this and cursing the beautiful girl next to her for being so infuriating.  

“Alexia’s super little sister. Everyone says you are so smart. Can you not see I do not want your help? You want to be a doctor, no? So go find someone who does.” 

Fresa’s nostrils flared as she shoved her chair away from the table and got to her feet. She began angrily putting her stuff into her bag, and you remained completely still, unable to stop this whole meeting from going up in flames. 

“Eres un maldita idiota!” Fresa snapped, her face red with anger. 

There wasn’t really anything worse she could have said to you at that moment. 

“Snobbete kjerring.” You threw back, feeling a sharp spike of satisfaction when she zipped her bag angrily, completely incapable of understanding what you’d called her. 

“You know, I did this as a favor, tonta. I have worked all day, I came right here after my shift, on time. I have my own studies to do because yes, I want to be a nurse. I am smart, and I know what I want to do with my life. Maybe if you get your head out of your own ass, Engen, you might too! And you are right, this is a waste of time. My time!”

Fresa stomped out of the room, then, and you waited until she was out of sight before dropping your head into your hands with a deep sigh. 

That couldn’t have gone… any worse. And though it was probably all mostly your fault, you couldn’t help the resentment building for the intelligent, stuck up girl that had thrown insult after insult at you, hitting you in all the places it hurt. You packed your own stuff up once you were sure you wouldn’t run into Fresa again in the parking lot or something, shuffling dejectedly to your car.

The overthinking had begun. Was it really overthinking, you wondered, if you’d actually completely fucked up and the reasons for your anxiety were entirely reasonable? You weren’t sure, and you supposed it didn’t matter, your thoughts quickly spiraling as you rewinded the short meeting in your head. 

The shrugging had really gotten to her, but you weren’t sure what else to do. When in doubt, you had learned silence got you the best results. Often, no one really cared what you had to say anyway. Fresa was different, though, looking at you with her wide eyes, expecting an answer. It was intimidating. It scared you, honestly, how well the other girl seemed to see right through you. 

And maybe… maybe there were some other feelings brewing. Ones you didn’t want to consider. Feeling that didn’t even matter given the way Fresa had stormed out. It didn’t seem like there would be another study session.

This led you to your other problem. You’d fucked this up. Something your sister and Mapi had gone out of their way to set up for you, because they didn’t want you to have to repeat the year. 

You didn’t like to make mistakes. Every single one you made carried the risk that Ingrid would lose her patience with you, and give up. She hadn’t yet, and you’d messed up a fair amount in the past several months, but you couldn’t let yourself believe that no mistake could push her away. That just wasn’t a possibility. So, rather than face your failure, tell Ingrid and Mapi how awkward and weird you’d been, you ran. 

Or walked, you supposed. Your study session with Fresa had ended at 4:00, and it was almost 8 when you found yourself at the top of your favorite trail, legs scratched and aching, as the sun slipped below the horizon. Your phone was still dead and now Ingrid was absolutely going to kill you for going off the grid. 

You broke traffic laws on the way home, any peace you’d found at the top of the hiking trail entirely gone as anxiety began to build up inside of you again. 

Stepping into the house, you slipped off your muddy shoes, wincing at the blood trickling down the few cuts on your legs. Before you could even set your car keys down, though, footsteps were pounding down the hallway towards you. 

“Oh, thank god.” Ingrid gasped, sounding alarmingly emotional as she rushed forward and crushed you into a hug. “She’s here!” 

“Dios  mio.” Mapi muttered, appearing over your sister’s shoulder a moment later. Ingrid pulled away from you, her hands on your shoulders keeping you at arm's length. Her face quickly transformed from relieved to furious. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She hissed. 

“I–”

“Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been? You didn’t call, you didn’t text. You were supposed to be home hours ago, Sol. Your location wouldn’t show up on my phone, Fresa even said you ended your meeting early,” Ingrid ranted, though you began to tune her out at the sound of her name. 

“You talked to Fresa?” You interrupted, ignoring the incredulous look on Ingrid’s face, turning your attention towards Mapi who was staring stonily at you. 

“That doesn’t fucking matter right now. Where were you? Are you drunk? High? Were you fighting?” Ingrid demanded.

Each accusation felt like a bullet to the heart as Ingrid grabbed your chin and yanked it towards her, looking intently at your eyes. You shoved her away angrily; Ingrid wasn’t supposed to see you as that person anymore. She had promised that she didn’t, that she knew you weren’t a bad kid, that you had just been having a hard time. Now, though. She was looking at you like she didn’t trust a word that was about to come out of your mouth. 

“No.” You spat at her, grabbing your phone from your pocket and slamming it on the front hall table. “I went on a hike after I met Fresa and my phone died. I lost track of time. I wasn’t getting drunk or high and I wasn’t fighting anybody, but thanks for having some faith in me.” Your voice dripped with sarcasm, and even though you expected Ingrid to soften with a bit of guilt, she only seemed emboldened with anger. 

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me. You were supposed to be back four hours ago Solstråle. Four! This was so irresponsible. Do you not care that we were worried? Do you not care that we were here waiting for you? That Mapi made dinner, and you were going to work on her bike? Or that we were supposed to make cookies? After everything we’ve done for you, Solstråle, I expect more.” She was shouting at this point, pacing back and forth in front of you. 

You looked to Mapi, hoping for her to step in and talk her girlfriend down, but she looked almost as mad as Ingrid was, and you shrunk in on yourself.

“You are…. you are grounded. This is unacceptable, and you better never let it happen again. That is not how family behaves Solstråle. Did you think about how worried we would be? I am so upset with you, so disappointed that you didn’t think about anyone but yourself, that you were so selfish–”

“Alright, Ingrid. Enough.” Mapi cut in finally, stepping forward to grab her girlfriend's hand and squeeze it. You were frozen in front of your sister, fighting the sob that was building in your throat. 

Ingrid stepped back, her face still red with anger. A hint of regret flickered across her face at the sight of your lip trembling and the tears in your eyes. Still, you looked confused, and Ingrid couldn’t shove her anger down at your lack of understanding. She turned, stomping off towards the kitchen, leaving you and Mapi behind. 

“Sol-”

“I’m going to shower. Sorry, Mapi. I’m sorry.” You mumbled, pushing past her and heading up the stairs before the Spaniard could get out another word.  

Mapi sighed tiredly, rubbing her hand over her face. Her Engens were going to make her go grey. 

—

You had only just pulled some pajamas on after your shower when Mapi knocked, her gentle voice calling to you from the hall. 

“Yeah?” You called back, voice gravelly from all the sobbing you had done in the shower. 

Mapi entered, the first aid kit in her hands and a much calmer expression on her face. She was in her pajamas, too, clearly having been waiting up for you to get out of the shower. It had been a long one. Another thing to be sorry for, keeping Mapi awake. 

“Can I help with your legs?” She wondered, gesturing to the many cuts that littered them.

Shrugging noncommittally, you sunk down onto the edge of the bed, Mapi soon taking a seat opposite you. She pulled your calf up to rest across her lap, getting out the antiseptic spray and a few bandages. You purposefully looked away, barely having been able to get the blood off in the shower without getting light headed. 

“Are you okay, mi sol?” Mapi murmured, fanning her hands over the cuts so the spray would dry faster. Mapi had a way of looking at you, eyes crinkled with concern and kindness, that made you want to burst into tears. You fought that instinct. 

“I am fine.” 

Mapi sighed, unwrapping a few of the bandages and beginning to carefully put them on you. 

“Then someone else was crying in the shower while you were in there?” 

No reply came, and Mapi sighed again, tapping your leg to tell you she was done with that one. 

“Look, I know Ingrid was harsh, but you have to understand how worried she was. How worried we both were. I know you still remember the things you wrote in that letter all those months ago. Things like that don’t just go away, Sol, and when you disappear for hours without a word, we worry.” 

This time, Mapi got a shrug in reply, and a small sniffle. She finished up with your other leg, gently pushing it off her lap and pulling you into a soft hug. “It’s okay, Solstråle. Everything is fine now.” 

You scoffed through your tears. “Nothing is fine, Mapi. I screwed up with Fresa, I screwed up with Ingrid. They both probably hate me. Please, just go. I’m tired.” 

Mapi shook her head. “You’re upset, I just want to–”

“No Mapi, just leave me be.” You tried to sound firm, but your voice was shaking almost as much as your hands were, and you were sure you just came off as pathetic. 

“Alright, nena. I love you, hmm? Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

You remained silent, flopping back onto your bed as Mapi walked out of the room. Scout hopped up on the bed in her absence, licking your cheek twice before curling into your side. 

It wasn’t being too hard on yourself; the self hatred you felt in that moment was completely justified. You were very sure of that. 

—

You were tucked into bed when the door creaked open again, Scout not even bothering to lift his head from where it was tucked into the comforter draped over your leg. You blinked your eyes open and they widened in surprise at the sight of Ingrid walking into the room, hair messy as though she’d been tossing and turning. She neared the edge of your bed, leaning down and kissing your forehead gently. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart. I don’t hate you, okay? I love you very much. Everything is going to be okay, so just try to get some rest.” 

You nodded weakly, impatiently pushing a tear off your cheek with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. Really sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re safe, yes? And that’s all that really matters.” Ingrid promised, and you nodded, sniffling pathetically. “We can talk more tomorrow, but just go to sleep, okay? Everything is fine.” 

“Love you.” You mumbled, Ingrid smiling softly down at her. You didn’t often say that first, something Ingrid attributed to having said it to your Mamma and not heard it back so many times. 

“I love you.” Ingrid replied, patting your cheek twice before tucking the covers up tighter around you, and heading out of the room. 

—

You woke up to a few unexpected things the next morning. One, it was almost 11 and Scout hadn’t woken you up demanding a walk. In fact, Scout was nowhere to be found. Two, the sounds of Mapi’s Spanish soap and Ingrid’s clanging around the kitchen echoed through the house. You’d forgotten they had the day off today. Ingrid must have taken Scout out to let you sleep in. 

The first two unexpected things, then, were explainable. The third… was not. 

A text from Fresa. 

Tuesday at the library. If you want to give it another shot. I think I can help. 

You thought about the way you’d behaved, and the way Fresa had spoken to you. Before you could delete the thread with her and close your phone, though, you thought about the letter you’d hidden from your sister. The excited smile on Mapi’s face when you’d agreed to let Fresa tutor you. 

Before you quite knew what you were doing, you pulled the message back up, your fingers typing away without you telling them to.

Yeah. I’d appreciate that. What time? 

There was something that drew you to Fresa, even as she infuriated you. Maybe it was how her voice had softened when she’d asked if you couldn’t read the Spanish on the paper, or maybe it was how she’d smiled unconsciously, watching Alexia score a goal the past weekend. It was a nice smile. And she had a nice voice. 

None of it really made any sense to you, but you’d already sent the text. 

—

For some reason, you felt a bit awkward. There was something very odd about knowing Mapi had been upset with you, because normally that was just Ingrid. But you knew Mapi had been just as worried last night as Ingrid, and just as upset. She’d been in the garage all morning, too, and you wondered if she was avoiding you or allowing you to decide to come to her if you wanted to talk.

After the 5th time you glanced at the door to the garage, though, Ingrid rolled her eyes from where she was sitting at the other end of the couch, typing away on her computer. 

“Go talk to her. She’s not angry, I promise.” 

Ingrid wasn’t angry anymore, either. You’d spoken with her practically first thing when you’d woken up, apologizing again and again and emphasizing that you hadn’t really realized how your actions would have affected Ingrid until it was too late. 

You’d told her about a time back in Norway when you’d stayed out all night after a fight with your Mamma, and when you’d come home the next morning, she hadn’t even noticed that you’d been gone. Ingrid understood a bit more, then, and was quick to hug you tight and whisper that she forgave you.

And even though Mapi had come in last night and tried to make you feel better, you knew she might have been waiting to be upset until she knew for sure you were okay. That made you even more nervous. 

Ingrid snorted from behind you when you knocked on the door to the garage, as normally you just walked right in. You shot her a glare, stepping inside the garage at the sound of Mapi’s quiet come in. 

The defender didn’t glance up as you walked in, but you took a seat in the chair next to her. Your chair. 

It was quiet for a moment, the sounds of Mapi’s metal tool gently clanging against the bike. 

“What did Fresa say to you last night?” You blurted out, face flushing red because why was that the first thing out of your mouth. 

Mapi fixed you with a half amused look, shaking her head. “That is what you’re asking?” 

“No.” You sighed. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” Mapi echoed, going quiet for a moment as she thought. “Not mad. It’s just hard for me, Sol. Last night, you didn’t even think that we’d be worried about you and where you were. It just makes me a bit sad.”

“Oh.” 

“And it’s not your fault, nena. I just worry for you.” 

You nodded slowly. “I’m really sorry. I should have thought about how worried you guys would have been.”

Mapi gave you a half smile. “I know you are. And you won’t do it again sí?” 

Your head bobbed up and down rapidly as you agreed, more sure than you’d ever been that you’d not be doing something that stupid again. 

“Now. Why are you so concerned with what Fresa said to me, hmm? What did you do?"

—

[soggyriceee]

Cow boy ellie and bimbo fem reader plssss

please | E. W 18+

< age gap(r!20, E!30), experienced Ellie, her strap will be referred to as cock, soft dom!ellie, sub!reader,, praise, cheating public sex>

the first time she saw you, you were wearing a tight white tank, with jean shorts and a cute boot to go with it. your hair was in a ponytail, as she realized you were running some sort of fundraiser for homeless children. your innocence, your compassion. it drew her to you in a way she knew was wrong.

the first time she speak to you, she’d gone up to the stand personally. she’d made a note to come at 8:30 am sharp over the next few visits, as you’d be alone at the stand until your partner came a few hours later. “ma’am..” she’d say softly, tilting her hat slightly.

she’d come every day since then, never forgetting to slip that 20 into the jar. it was pathetic, using your fundraiser to get your attention. but you didn’t seem to mind, in fact it was almost like you were encouraging her to show up more.

the night you both got some alone time, was the night Ellie had to make a late night grocery run. she wasn’t at all expecting you to be there, so seeing you alone she took the chance to go up to you, speak to you for longer.

youd accompany in her shopping, accepting the free ride home. it was a friendly, innocent gesture by Ellie. nothing wrong with taking a friend home. plus it was late, lot of creeps out at this time.

“you uh.. you stay with parents or..” she’d awkwardly bring up, pulling slowly up to your house. you’d giggle softly, nodding your head. “yea.. i’m in college. just here for the summer.”

a summer fling wouldn’t be bad. only two months of secrets and.. guilt. no, what was she thinking? she loved her wife and she wasn’t gonna throw her relationship away for some college girl.

but overtime it got more and more difficult. as the weather warmed up, more of your clothes disappeared. nights driving you home became harder to control her self, her clit throbbing in her pants as she watched your tits bounce slightly on your shirt.

one night, ellie had actually ended up getting you from someplace not the store. a late night call from you woke her up quickly, your slurred words on the other end barely understandable. nonetheless, she got up and made her way to you, understanding the name of the bar you mentioned. what was going to be another painful, friendly ride, quickly took a turn.

“i know i know.. g’nna make it feel better pretty girl.” she whispered in response to your pathetic whine and buck of the hips, sliding her middle and ring finger inside you. “oh your so wet..”

her fingers pumped in and out of you slowly, her eyes watching as her fingers got more and more shiny. her hat hung low, covering her eyes so that only her nose and lips were visible, a small smirk painted on them. “bet you can take more.. cant you?” she asked, poking a third finger at your hole.

your fingers clutched onto her plaid shirt, your thighs burning from holding them against your chest. ellie would hover above you, the back seat of her truck just big enough for the both of you.

she faintly smelled of wood, touch of cologne. her boxers peaked out, making you clench around her. “c-cant..” you finally stuttered out, looking up at her with pleading eyes.

she hummed, listening to the squelch of your pussy on her fingers. “yes you can.. g’nna take it f’me..” she’d lean back, just enough to watch a third finger push itself.

she’s curse watching your hole expand arouns her slim fingers, your pathetic cry only making her clit pound harder. your toes would curl, your big toe threatening to snap in half as her digits pushed in and out. “see you got it.. feels good doesn’t it?” she smiled.

but she wouldn’t stop there. no, she was in this deep might as well go for more. she was greedy, desperate even.

her hands would run up and down your thighs, watching you fidget with the hem of her shirt. she knew it was late, and her wife was probably up waiting for her right now. but she was infatuated with you, and didn’t mind being late home if it meant fucking you at your own pace.

“it’s big i know.. but you can hold my hand the whole time.” she’d affirm, sliding her digits in between yours. she’d pull your hand up for a kiss, the end of her hat coming in contact with said hand. a blush would spread across your cheeks, as you gave her a small but firm nod.

she’s shift you in her lap slightly, grabbing your hips as she began to lift you. “gonna look at me the whole time baby.. not g’nna hurt ya..”

her eyes would shift to your nipples then back to your eyes quickly. her tip would start to make its way inside you, a small whine leaving your lips. “s’okay baby..” she’d say softly, shifting her attention to where your sex’s connected.

she’d watch as your cunt swallowed her cock slowly, your nails digging into her shoulders. you’d never taken cock before, seriously! but you didn’t wanna tell the woman she was your first time, what if she’s stopped? what if she actually was a good person , simply blinded by lust? what if she had limits?

so you took the rest of her like a champ, blinking the tears away from you eyes. “s..so full..” you stuttered, your hazy eyes locked onto her face.her bottom lip was pulled between her teeth, eyes shut. “are you okay?”

her eyes shot open, giving you a small smile. “course i am.. just giving you a second to adjust.” her hands would guide your hips upward, taking note of how you clenched around her. her eyes would look up at yours, as she watched your face shift as she brought you back down.

“e-ellie-..” you choked out, feeling how she stretched you out. it was such a foreign feeling, it hurt but it almost felt good too. “s’okay .. haven’t taken cock in a long time hm?” she smirked.

you didn’t respond, just sucked you bottom lip in as your hips still moved up and down on her slowly. her smirk would slowly fade, as something told her to look down. “oh fuck..”

the small trail of blood was a surprise to Ellie. she didn’t think you’d be untouched like this. her eyes couldn’t leave it, but she also didn’t make you stop bouncing. she was feeling conflicted. on one hand, she felt bad that you’d lost your first time with someone who, couldn’t really take you seriously. she was married for Christ sake. but on the other, it made her clit pound as the silicone cock continued to rub against her as you bounced.

all of this thinking, about how innocent you were, how almost cruel it was for her to be doing this to you, it made her cum before she could even stop herself!

her body jerked into yours as she held your hips still, panting against your chest as her legs pushed you close to yours, almost as if she was in a upright fetal position. she’d chant fuck into your chest as her orgasm came down.

you weren’t stupid, but of course you’d play the part. especially if it made her cum this fast. “are you okay?” you’d ask oh so innocently as her breathing evened out. she didn’t really respond at first, just remained holding you.

she felt so embarrassed, she at least wanted to make sure you came first. “s-sorry..” she muttered, leaning back on the seat. her eyes were hazy, legs resting and hands on your hips. she just stared at you. “such a pretty thing.. never came so fast before..”

you’d bat your lashes at the woman, shrugging. “didn’t do much..” it would remain silent for a bit, Ellie’s chest slowly coming back to normalcy. “we’ll go on.. make yourself cum on me.” she nodded.

and oh you did. your hands would press flat on her chest, eyes locked onto hers as your pussy swallowed her cock full. her thumb would make itself useful on your clit, her eyes glistening with lust. “that’s it baby.. y’ride it so good..”

your eyes would trail to her hat, wanting it on you. it would be so hot, no? you’d place it on top your head, still bouncing on the woman. her smirk would only grow, hitting her lip as she fixed it for you.

“you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” she’d smile, taking note of the sloppy bounces. “i-i’m a good girl..” you’d nod, grabbing her thumb and pulling it back to your clit. “i’m good i’m good” you’d chant, almost trying to convince yourself.

your bounces got desperate, uncoordinated. this new feeling was rushing throufh your body and you didnt plan on stopping. “gonna cum?” she would ask, shifting beneath you. she’d sit upright, lips a mere inches from yours.

“y-yes!” you cried, gripping onto her plaid shirt as your clit pulsed relentlessly. her eyes darted across your face, as her chest rose and fell with quickness again. she didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt so overwhelmed. like it felt right.

watching you come undone on her, how your jaw fell slack and the hat would tip down over your eyes. hoe ypu clung onto her for dear life, thanking her over and over. she didn’t want this moment to stop, and for some odd reason she didn’t even feel all that guilty.

she’s hold you against her still, staring blankly arouns the truck. “ellie..” your muttered, slowly rising. she’d fix her face to a soft smile for you, as you took the hat off. “keep it..” she said, placing it back onto your head.

the drive to your home she held your hand, even walked you to your door. and she didn’t even know why. she felt so confused inside, so conflicted. you were young, a college student. and she was married. but she wasn’t even thinking about that. she wasn’t thinking about her wife back home and the life they built. she was thinking about you and when she’d see you again.

“thanks ellie. for.. this whole night.” you chuckled, pushing the hat up a bit. she giggled at that cute act, nodding. “will you uh.. will you be around? tomorrow?” she asked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

when you gave her a nod, she released this breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. it was wrong, how she felt. but she couldn’t help but leave you wish another kiss, a passionate one at that. her habds would cup your cheeks as her tongue explored your mouth for what felt like eternity. she would’ve kept going is you didn’t pull away, a big smile on your face. “your passionate Ellie.. hope you don’t become obsessed.” you’d wink, before pushing your door open and closing it softly, giving her one last look. but she was, she was wrapped around your finger. and she felt not near as much guilt as she should.

aghhh so sorry for this late post my beauties. lowkeyyyyyyyyy tho like older/younger ellie dynamic LIKE WHY ARE MY CLOTHES OFF RN

[dollyzdaydreamz]

Arthur Morgan x Reader fluff

Flowers for a Gunslinger

Description: You always figured love wasn't meant for you, that you weren't the kind of woman a man would bring flowers to. One day, Mickey, the homeless "ex-veteran" in Valentine who has a little crush one you, gifts you with a little flower. Upon seeing your reaction, Arthur decides to one up the poor bastard by gifting you a flower of his own. Warnings: a teensy bit of angst, gunslinger reader (was orphaned), age gap, unrequited love, but not really bc Arthur actually *does* love the reader (✿◡‿◡)

pls forgive any grammatical or spelling errors lol, wrote this at 3 AM

Valentine was as noisy and foul-smelling as ever. The scent of manure and whiskey blended in the streets, and the voices of townsfolk rose and fell like the hum of cicadas in the summer. You and Arthur had been riding in from camp, the two of you sent by Dutch to meet the others at the saloon. It was a routine trip, the kind that felt almost mundane compared to the chaos that life in the gang usually entailed.

Arthur rode beside you, as he often did, his hat pulled over his face to block out the midday sun. He didn’t talk much unless there was something worth saying, but his presence was always comfortable.

You had known Arthur all your life. Dutch and Hosea had raised you, much like they had him, taking you in as an orphan. After hearing about some robbery gone wrong, they decided to investigate the cottage for extra supplies. That’s when they had found you fussing in a cradle, looking like you’d gone days without eating.

You grew up amongst the outlaws, shooting, fighting, moving, and surviving, but you had never been a killer unless absolutely necessary. You preferred shooting a pistol out of a man’s hand and giving him a good verbal beating rather than blowing his brains out altogether, you left that to Arthur and John.

Love had never been something you spent much time thinking about. It wasn’t meant for people like you, people who knew how quickly things could be taken away. And besides, men never seemed all that impressive anyway. After years of being around them, you’d deduced that most were either crude, greedy, or plain dumb. 

But as the years passed, you began to notice how everyone seemed to have somebody. Dutch had Molly, John had Abigail, Karen and Sean had their drunken courtship, and even poor Kieran was head over heels for Mary-Beth. And then there was Arthur. Arthur had Mary, well at least he used to.

You’d always liked Mary. She was kind to you when you were a child, always greeting you with a warm smile when she visited camp. She was the sort of woman you could never be, graceful, belonging to the world that had no place for outlaws like you.

And yet, no matter how much you admired her, you're little self couldn’t help the quiet, simmering jealousy that settled deep in your chest every time Arthur brought her around. She had his heart, his attention. The same Arthur who used to draw you rabbits and flowers without complaint. The same Arthur who always had a piece of candy tucked away for you when he knew you were feeling down. The same Arthur you had once childishly and foolishly pictured marrying when you grew up.

But that was a long time ago.

Arthur Morgan wasn’t meant for someone like you. And love wasn’t meant for a gunslinger, so you pushed those feelings down, opting to be grateful to have him as a friend. 

 As the two of you neared the saloon, a familiar voice called out.

"Miss, Miss, wait a moment!"

Arthur slowed his horse, glancing over as Mickey, the homeless war veteran who often loitered around Valentine, came hurrying up with nervous energy. His ragged coat flapped as he limped toward you.

Your expression, which had been quiet and pensive, softened as you dismounted your horse and walked over to the man.

“If it ain’t Mister Mickey!” you hollered with a small chuckle, tilting your head. “What’s got you in such a rush?”

Mickey looked a little sheepish. "I, uh… I got you something."

“Well then,” you couldn’t help but grin, “show me, I want to see!”

Mickey fumbled with his satchel, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a small flower, its pink petals slightly crumpled but still intact. He held it out with a stiff posture, like it was something precious which made your heart melt.

You blinked in surprise, your mouth parting slightly. Yes it was just a flower, but the gesture was so sweet. You weren’t used to people giving you things. Not unless it was a gun, a saddle, or some tool for survival. Gifts, real, thoughtful ones, were a rare thing.

"I found it in a field!" he explained with childlike excitement. "Wanted to bring more, but the ranchers, well… they didn't take too kindly to me pokin’ ‘round their property"

You frowned, “they kicked you out over some flowers?”

Mickey shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “Guess they thought I was up to no good.” 

You reached out, gingerly taking the flower from his rough hand. Without hesitation, you tucked it into the brim of your hat, adjusting it so it wouldn’t fall out.

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you, Mister” you nodded, and you meant it.

Mickey beamed, his shoulders straightening as if he’d just been given a medal of honor, 

“Well, do you like it Arthur?” Mickey asked hesitantly, as if asking for his approval as well, 

Arthur, standing a few feet back with his arms crossed, rolled his eyes playfully before coming forward to give him a pat on the back, 

“It sure is beautiful,” he drawled, before chuckling as Mickey smiled and waddled away aimlessly. He’d always liked that old fool. 

As the two of you made your way toward the saloon, Arthur couldn’t help but notice that the previous grimness in your face had faded into something gentler, something more open.

“Well, well,” he mused, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “didn’t know you had a thing for older men!”

Well, yes, I do. You thought for a split second.

You rolled your eyes as you felt your face heat up, “Shut up.”

“No, really!” He nudged your arm with his elbow, feigning innocence, “...Should I be expectin’ wedding bells anytime soon?”

“He’s just kind, that’s all. Something I reckon you should try out someday.” You scoffed, though there was no real bite to your words.

“Yeah, yeah” Arthur muttered. 

“Today was the first time I was gifted flowers by a man.” You chuckled after a beat of silence, just thinking out loud really, finding the situation a bit funny.

Arthur’s smirk faltered slightly. It was a small thing, just a flicker in his expression, but you caught it.

Sympathy, maybe. He knew you hadn’t had the same experiences as other young women. There was no courtship, no love letters, no dances in fancy dresses. Romance was a foreign concept in a life where survival came first. It made sense that something as small as a flower and a little crush made you feel nice, regardless of who it was from.

But there was also something else in Arthur’s chest, something unexpected. A small, irrational twinge of jealousy. He scolded himself internally, now you’ve reached a new level of pathetic you old fool, jealous of the town nutcase. But it was there all the same.

He scoffed, masking whatever he was feeling with humor. “Then what am I? Chopped liver?”

“Well, when’s the last time you risked getting shot to pick me a flower, Arthur?” You chuckled, as you walked up the ragged steps of the saloon, already hearing the faint piano and sounds of men drunkenly conversing. 

Arthur tutted, shaking his head. “Hell, I guess you’re right.”

“Mhm” you hummed pointedly, before your eyes met Dutch, Charles, and Javier waiting for you two at the bar. 

------------------------------------------------------

A few days later, Arthur’s found himself crouched in the tall grass as he muttered under his breath,

“This is…ridiculous.”

He’d spotted a flower tucked against the base of a tree, a shade of pink that stood out against the greenery. 

“A lot of effort you're putting into your little gift,” Hosea called out from behind him.

“Shut up,” Arthur groaned.

He wasn’t doin’ this for any particular reason, of course. Just happened to see it after him and Hosea had finished robbing some poor bastard, and-

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he grumbled as he finally shooed off the last grazing deer and plucked the damn thing out of it's mouth, shaking it off.

“You are a terrible liar, son.”

Arthur shot him a look, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Pink,” Hosea observed as he stepped forward, examining the flower with a grin, “she’ll like that.”

Arthur grumbled something under his breath before mounting his horse, doing his best to ignore the warmth creeping up his neck.

He hated that Hosea could see right through him. Arthur knew he wasn’t the best at saying what he felt, so doing things was the easiest way to show it. Plus it made him feel…good about himself. It reminded him of this one ordeal many years ago. Arthur tutted at the memory, he was probably around 18? 19?

Arthur had been reluctant about drawing for you. Not because he didn’t want to, but because the second he did, you’d start asking for more. And seeing you frown? Well, he hated to admit it, but that damn near killed him.

One evening, you had tugged on his sleeve after camp had settled down.

“Arthur,” you asked, bright-eyed, “Can you draw me an elk? Hosea said he saw one the other day!”

He was exhausted. Dutch had been on him about somethin’, and he was already in a sour mood, just wanting to reach his cot and forget about the day as soon as possible. So, for the first time, he snapped,

“Just-draw it yourself.”

You faltered. Just for a second. But it was enough to make his gut twist.

Hosea, who had been watching nearby, frowned at him before following you as you scurried off.

Later that night, Arthur spotted you in Hosea’s tent, crouched over a piece of paper, brows furrowed in concentration. You were trying so hard, but eventually, you threw the pencil down, frustrated, before curling up and hiding your face under the covers. 

“You moron Morgan,” Arthur groaned as he rubbed his face, before bringing his journal out from his satchel and getting to work.

The next morning, you woke up to a neatly folded piece of paper by your head.

“Well, what do we have here?” you heard Hosea’s warm voice ask as he leaned down, unfolding it for you even though he already knew.

It was the most intricate and beautiful drawing of an elk you had ever seen.

You had gasped, grinned so wide your face hurt as you and Hosea pointed out little details in the sketch. Arthur didn’t say anything about it, but he saw that smile again. That was enough. 

Sure enough, a few days later, you had forgotten about the whole thing.

A faint smile adorned Arthurs face as he reminisced, before quickly clearing his throat and spurring his horse onward after he saw Hosea eyeing him.

------------------------------------------------------

You had just returned to camp, seeing Mary-beth’s face buried in a book before it lifted and met yous, 

“Evening” she greeted you with a suspiciously playful glint in her eye. 

“Hi Mary-beth” you chuckled hesitantly, “what’s with that look?”

“Nothin’” she shrugged looking back down at her book as the corners of her lips twitched up, “just couldn’t help but notice the gift Mister Morgan left ya”

“Gift?” 

“Go and see for yourself,” she said. 

You scoffed a little at her sudden mysterious demeanor, before you spotted something sitting on the small table near your tent. A small, glass-encased flower. Not just any flower, a soft pink, delicate and rare.

You furrowed your brows, stepping closer. There was a small note beside it.

"Didn’t get shot at, but I did have to fight off a feisty deer."

-Arthur

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as warmth bloomed in your chest.

“Oh, how romantic,” a voice from behind you drawled, “a blossoming love between two gunslingers” Mary-beth sighed, book clutched to her chest with a dreamy look in her eyes. 

You rolled your eyes, “You gotta stop readin’ all those god-awful romance novels” you muttered, although you had to turn away to hide the heat radiating from your cheeks.

“Alright, fine I’m just teasin’ ya…” 

You scoffed, as she looked back at you pointedly while walking back to her tent, before your lifted the glass carefully, admiring the flower inside. 

It was beautiful, untouched by the roughness of the world. You ran a finger over the edge of the case, 

Arthur Morgan.

That fool.

You took the flower and carefully placed it on your table, somewhere safe.

Arthur leaned against a tree near camp, watching from afar as you carefully positioned the flower on your desk, adjusting it just right before admiring it.

He felt something stir in his chest at that rare smile.

He should’ve just let the moment pass. Should’ve walked off, but he let himself savor this moment for just a moment longer.

dividers by @fairytopea and @kodaswrld

images found on Pinterest but collaged by me:)