#then you will throw them away and discard them never to be seen again

[danasku-blog]

(GUNDAM GQUUUX REVIEW SPOILERS AHEAD) I’ll be direct, the show’s not good. When you love something you gotta be direct, and this is the true; It’s bad. It’s a mess. A horrendous, uncreative attempt of a story that is a perfect showcase of everything wrong with modern shows. First of we have the characters; Who are they, what do they want? Well the show does do well to explain some of their things and what they do, however, that’s where it ends. If you came here to see characters grow you’ve come to the wrong place. The show isn’t interested in creating a beautiful story about loss or war, or even a tragedy—it just doesn’t care. It doesn’t care to deepen on Nyaan or Machu or Shuji more than it shallow presentation they gave her, she never grows, she never thinks or deepens on her life, the show even goes as far as to have her say that she doesn’t even know why she’s doing all of this. And no, it’s not some moment where a young girl looks into her heart and genuinely asks herself why she’s doing all of this, why is she even breathing—no. It doesn’t do that, and if that’s why she says that, It doesn’t work either. She’s not once asked anything or considered it—never has such a thing come up. That’s the show in a nutshell, it just does things and expects you to believe it without doing any of the work.

There are no build ups, there’s no care in the characters, they all move forward aimlessly into the void like cows to slaughter—and once again— this is not on purpose, it just does it. It angers me because the series spends so long crafting this alternative universe and it's people and problems and ideas, only to just discard them and throw them away like pieces of paper.

The show is more interested in reminding you of the past and people you seen before and how cool they are instead of working two seconds to develop any of the main characters, almost as if it's telling you to watch Gundam 079 instead. (Which you should, but that's another thing.) It's sad, because in between all the nonsense and good parts we could've have gotten an intersting story about the survivors of a terrible war and the societies that were created and evolved from such event. About the search of freedom in an authoritarian society that does its best to push people into things they dislike, but no, it doesn't care, because what matters to the show is the old stuff, that's what leds the narrative, the past, but no, it doesn't do it in that way. It's not about the haunting reminding of the people we lost and the opportunities that we have lost (with exception of a singular chapter which is arguably the best of the show ---which is quickly forgotten--) The good parts are of course the animation which is without doubt superb, the music is sometimes great, and the best part is Challia Bull and the trio of Zeon which sole purpose is to act as the people explaining stuff. Like I said, Challia is great. A veteran of the OYW, a man haunted by the disappearance of his MAV and decided to find him wherever he is. At the beginning an aura of mystery surrounds him, and as the series advances we are revealed bits of his life and they all land.

Then we have Xavier, he’s alright. Honestly, just watch 079, it'll be a better use of your time, or just read a book or something.

[rxttenfish]

i swear to god nyalls principles and morals crumble the very Second you see like, a meme that's slightly funny

[monamipencil]

— debauched | ft. stepbro! mingyu

⋆ pairings; mingyu x fem! reader ⋆ genre; smut ⋆ w.c; 4.5k+ ⋆ warnings; stepbrother! mingyu, gyu wears glasses (yes this is a warning), debauchery, oral (f.receiving), mate press, raw sex, creampie, dubcon, fucking while parents are in the room, fingering, handjob, pussy slapping, jealousy, mingyu is kinda toxic, panty stealing, somnophilia, spitting kink, exhibitionism, doggy, choking, public indecency, mentions of food ⋆ a/n; im so sorry for this monstrosity. i was possessed and i refuse to do damage control 😌 (thanks to @miabebe for assisting my lunacy and giving me ideas lol.)

“fuck, you can't do this to me.”

“i can't do what to you?” you question your step-brother as he follows you into the bathroom. you don't mind it and grab your toothbrush and the paste.

“this,” he gestures towards you, more specifically the nightwear you're wearing. a cute cropped tank top with a matching pair of underwear. it's patterned with little flower prints and lined with lace.

“i'm not doing anything. not my fault you're a horn dog.”

you don't entertain him any more and brush your teeth. and neither does he, opting to grind himself on you. his hard-on presses on your ass and his hands wander all over you, skating over your skin with experienced expertise.

you give into his wishes and bend over a bit while going on with your night routine. his calloused hands slip under your top, and squeeze your tits. your nipples pebble under his touch, complying to his wishes just the same. he pinches the buds with urgency, just the way his hips grind on yours.

without much reaction, you continue brushing. but your body is growing hot with every second, and the need to have him inside you is insatiable. you wish your dad never married his mom for various reasons, and this is one of them.

“y'smell so good.” he slurs, sniffing your neck like a hound dog. his tongue traces your jugular, tasting your sweet perspiration. one of his hands travel down south, toying with hem of your panty—

knock, knock.

mingyu throws himself off you, startled by whomever was on the outside.

“honey, are you in there?” your dad's voice resonates through the door and you give him a gargled ‘yes.’ he wishes you a good night and walks off.

mingyu takes it as a cue to use the other door, connected to his bedroom and enters it. through the closed door, you hear dad checking upon him before he walks away again.

with a sigh, you rinse your mouth. and an examination of your panty reveals a soaked patch staining it. with annoyance and longing in the mix, you discard the cloth into the laundry hamper.

[ ... ]

the creak of the floorboards stir you awake and your eyes fall on a figure standing in front of you. startled, you turn on the lights and scramble to protect yourself.

only to be met with the sight of mingyu, holding your panty to his nose as he squeezes himself through his grey sweatpants. the outline of his cock is visible through the cloth. your mouth salivates and your eyes snap up to his. his dark eyes look down at you through his glasses, the depravity of his thoughts seen through his gaze.

mingyu doesn't say anything and hooks his hand underneath your knees and pulls you to the edge of the bed. in one swift go, your panties are gone, causing you to yelp in surprise. feeling shy with the sudden exposure, you close your legs.

he moves to your wardrobe, quickly retrieving a tie from there.

“gyu, no.” you warn but he doesn't listen. despite your protests, he ties up your hands behind your back. you sigh in defeat, “but you should stop when i tell you to.”

“i know.” his deep voice sends a frenzy in your stomach and your legs part on their own.

he licks your lips, invading them with ease. his boner prods your thighs as he makes out with you. you cant your hips, chasing some of that delicious friction. mingyu tuts in response and looks down to where you're desperately grinding against him.

he descends down, skating his lips and teeth over the skin of your neck and torso. warm breath greets your sensitive skin that's coated with arousal. he kisses the plump flesh of your thighs, ghosting his canines over them.

he slowly reaches your core and gives it a kitten lick. you whine, and buck your hips up. flame licks your skin and the lewdness of the situation makes you desperate.

when his lips meet your cunt, it's unexpected. a loud gasp tears from your lips at the force of it. he places an open mouth kiss to your heat and his hands force your legs as apart as possible.

his tongue glides over your cunt, licking up your arousal. it's nothing soft or sweet, only rough and desperate. he sucks and slurps on your whole, sending waves of pleasure through your body. he shakes his head side to side, tongue prodding at your folds.

it's impossible to contain your moans but you try your best. the cold plastic of his glasses kiss your skin whenever you try to close your legs. he eats you out like a starved dog.

your hole clenches around nothing and mingyu fills it with his tongue. he pushes his tongue in and out of you, the wet sounds of which fills the room. the sensation causes your hips to buck up into his face.

“ah!” you moan, loudly. you just don't find it in yourself to care anymore when he thumbs your clit. he pulls away, a string of spit connecting his lips to your cunt. you look down to find him staring at you over his fogged up glasses. it slid down, letting you see his eyes uncovered.

he spits on your cunt, the warm glob drips down your folds as he maintains eye contact with you. he licks up a large stripe, savoring your taste on his tongue. his tongue prods at your hole again and he fills you up. but this time, it's slower.

your gummy walls clench around his tongue, overstimulated by his thumb on your clit. your moans echo through the room again and a knot builds in your stomach. mingyu picks up his pace, returning to slurping your cunt.

the knot gets tighter and tighter, till it breaks, leaving you a babbling and trembling mess. you black out from the intensity of the orgasm and your moans cease.

mingyu licks up your climax, not wasting a drop of it. with a final kiss to your clit, he pulls away. as much as he wants to split you open on his cock now, he can't. he respects your wishes but that doesn't stop him from leaving a present for you.

he pumps his twitching cock to the sight of you. it doesn't even take a minute till he's moaning your name and spilling his seed on your thighs and stomach. he wants to finish inside you and see his load spill out of your pretty lips but he decides it for another day.

squelch.

you shift.

more wet squelches resonate from beneath the blanket you're sharing with your stepbrother. your lips shudder as you release a sharp breath.

a family movie night. it was what it was supposed to be. that is, till your parents fell asleep and mingyu sneaked his hand inside your shorts as you both sit on the couch.

two of his fingers are buried up to the hilt in your cunt, slowly drilling in and out of you. but it isn't enough and you want more, need more. your hands venture to find his cock beneath his pants. he simply spares you a glance before focusing on the movie again.

with a cautious glance to your dad and his mom, you tilt your head, pressing small kisses to his neck. his adam's apple bobs when you lick the column of his throat.

your hand finds his hardness beneath his underwear. wrapping your hand around the base, you pump him slowly. when your hand glides up to his tip, you rub your thumb over it, smearing the pre cum all over. a low hiss fills your ear and you smirk as he bucks into your hand.

you continue to kiss and bite his tan skin. his breathing turns sporadic, abdomen clenching with restraint. you're caught off-guard when he picks up his pace and curls his fingers against your sweet spot. you gasp, and clench around him.

“look at the tv.” he teethes your earlobe, hot breath ghosting over your neck. goosebumps prickle all over your skin when his canines brush against your skin.

“you both still awake?” the voice startles you and you try to remove your hand from beneath his pants but mingyu stops you. he wraps his other hand over yours, and guides in pumping his cock.

“yeah, we're gonna finish it.” he answers his mom who searches for her glasses while mingyu adjusts the blanket. when she puts it on, everything seems fine and well. she smiles at you both and wakes up your father to move him to the bedroom.

all while mingyu's jerking himself off with your hand and curling his fingers against your sweet spot. she wishes a goodnight, and you respond in unison. the moment her bedroom door locks, he pulls the blanket off.

your clothes along with his joins the blanket on the couch. he relaxes on the couch and makes you straddle him. his cock pokes your cunt, twitching with need. his hands perch on your hips as he guides you slowly down his cock.

“fuck,” he groans, seeing his cock disappear into your cunt.

you take purchase on his shoulders while preparing to ride him. broken moans fall from his lips as you start to bounce. his hands slide down to your ass, and he gropes and massages them.

in a hope to tone down his moans, he connects his lips to yours. tongue meets tongue as your moans mix together, creating a lewd symphony. your thighs slap against his and your arousal drips down his cock to his balls.

his cock splits you open deliciously. the swollen tip hits all the right spots with precision. he fits perfectly with you, like two puzzle pieces. the kiss turns sloppy and messy. your tongue glides over his and your spit mixes with his. you taste his lewd noises on your tongue, a fuel to ride him with more energy.

your pulse beats in your cunt, and you're clenching around him in no time. mingyu does his best and meets your hips with urgency. his lips wrap around your pebbled nipple, sucking with a fervor.

soon, only his hips are moving as he holds you still against him. his strong arms wrap around you, hips drilling into yours every millisecond. but his thighs tremble, giving away his approaching orgasm.

his movements turn sloppy and his moans louder. awareness seeps into your mind when you realise you both could be caught easily. somehow, it only arouses you further. you move against him desperately, feeling his cock kiss all the right places.

you grind against him, chasing friction. sensing your neediness, he slips his hand between your bodies. his thumb circles your clit and he takes your nipple into his mouth again. your nerves fire up, overwhelmed by the attention on your body.

your cunt clenches around his twitching cock. he whines your name with more urgency and you do the same. “fuck, mingyu.”

the orgasm washes over you with an intensity that makes you quiver in his hold. with you wildly clenching around him, he meets his climax as well. he doesn't pull out and warm ribbons of cum spill inside you.

“mingyu!” you gasp in shock but he shushes you with a kiss. his tongue slips past your lips, eager to suck on yours. he holds you still and empties his load inside you. your initial protest melts away as lust seeps into your skin again.

you feel so dirty but so, so good.

mingyu shuts the tv off and picks up the clothes, all while staying inside you. a surprised gasp falls from your lips when he picks you up and walks to his room. there, you fall asleep in his arms with his cock still buried deep inside you.

mingyu's vision turns green when he sees you laughing and chatting with your guy ‘friend.’ since when did you invite your guy friends to dinners at home?

he makes sure that he does not like that guy. didn't even bother learning his name. a seat draws abruptly and four pairs of eyes settle on mingyu. “dessert anyone?”

all except your dad agrees. “wait, take your sister with you. i don't want any broken dishes tonight.”

he doesn't spare you a glance and walks to the pantry. you follow him to choose whatever fits your appetite. maybe, you should've known better than to stay in a room alone with mingyu.

the moment the pantry door is shut, he's all over you.

“mingyu—stop, others are out there.” you gasp, feeling him shift his entire weight on you.

a low scoff resonates from his chest, “you didn't care about others during our parent's wedding.”

the recall of the memory sets your nerves on fire. fuck. of course, he pulled that card.

there's no use in resisting him. especially when your body is screaming at you to submit to him. his hands itch to tear off the pretty dress you're wearing, but he decided against it.

instead, he lifts up your dress and yanks down your pretty matching underwear. a condescending chuckle resonates from his throat, “you sure you just brought him over for dinner?”

his eyes turn a shade deeper when a thought strikes him.

“or, did you already fuck him?”

his tone sends a wave of arousal through your body. you felt like a prey being cornered by a predator. his gaze is animalistic as he looks down at you, his glasses slipping off his nose once again.

“no, no! we didn't-i didn'—”

you're cut off when he slots his lips on yours. that alone is enough to elicit a moan from you. “good girl,”

he backs away from you but keeps his hand under your dress, slowly hiking it up further till your glistening pussy greets his eyes. a sadistic grin stretches on his lips as he watches arousal drip from your cunt.

he collects the fluid and smears them on your cheeks and lips, earning a whine from you.

“mingyu, they'll be suspicious if we're gone for too long.”

“and?”

a sharp sting shoots through your core. it takes some seconds for you to realise that he slapped your cunt. your jaw falls slack in shock but mingyu isn't deterred. he looks at you with hooded eyes as he delivers another slap to your cunt.

you're embarrassingly wet now and it drips down your thighs. mingyu licks his fingers before slapping your core again. a few more slaps has you whining and trembling. your cunt only gets more and more wet with each slap.

“you,” slap,

“are,” slap,

“mine.” slap.

he pokes his cheek with his tongue when you don't respond. a tut from his lips brings you back from euphoria and you stare at him with wide eyes. he roughly yanks you closer, one hand on the small of your back while another squeezes your cheek together.

you whine, more needy than ever. he shushes you, brushing his thumb over your lip. “it's ok, i can forgi—”

“spit in my mouth.”

he takes a few seconds to decipher what you said, so you repeat it. with more desperation. “mingyuu, spit in my mouth. please!”

smugness fills his veins, and he's more than happy to oblige. he collects his saliva and spits it in your mouth when you push your tongue out with your eyes rolled back.

but your bliss is cut short when he places some dessert in your hand, nodding at you to go back. “and, i'm keeping this.” he pockets your panty and follows behind you.

your hand clasps the knob when he delivers a sharp slap to your ass. “fast. you wanna get caught or somethin’?”

you were more than confused when mingyu sent a text that your ‘guy friend’ was waiting at home for you. given that, it's been a week since that dinner incident and you haven't even spoken to your friend since then.

but, you're not confused anymore. not when mingyu has you on all fours, pounding your cunt as your ‘friend’ watches.

your wanton moans sync with the lewd skin slaps. his hands perch on your hips, maneuvering your body to his needs. heavy balls slap against your clit, providing you the utmost pleasure.

the fact that someone else is witnessing this debauchery doesn't bother you. in fact, it arouses you and floods your cunt with wetness. and because your parents are out of town, it gives you the freedom to be as loud as you can.

you arch your back, leaning into all of his touches. his hand ascends to your neck, fingers hooking into your hair. you yelp when he tugs on it, the sharp sting is delicious through your lust haze and you moan louder.

he releases his grip, opting for a painless grip—his fingers wrap around your nape. the other still perches on your hips as he continues to pound you into the next dimension.

much to mingyu's amusement and annoyance, that guy's pumping his cock to the scene in front of him. with a roll of his eyes, he fucks your harder, with more force in his thrusts.

his movements are fluid. anyone can tell that this isn't a first for you both, that you've fucked multiple times before. he lands a slap on your ass, groping and spreading your cheeks.

even though, he's been fucking you straight for the past twenty minutes, he doesn't feel his climax anywhere near. so he arches your back and puts you in a chokehold. his biceps tighten around your neck, veins visible and pulsing with adrenaline.

“fuck! fuck! mingyu, please—” loud, lewd moans fill his ears and he savors each syllable that falls from your lips. it pushes him to fuck you harder and harder, till you completely fall apart in his arms. till your mind melts, and all you can remember is him. only him.

you scream, the orgasm washing over you unexpectedly. you tremble in his hold, sensitive from your climax. but mingyu isn't done. he pushes you onto the mattress and you grip the duvet with the energy left in you.

mingyu abuses your hole, thrusting sharply as his orgasm creeps closer. his balls slap against your clit, aiding in your overstimulation. with another sharp thrust, he cums inside you. a loud groan rumbles from his chest, letting the voyeur in your room know that he's reached his climax.

he pulls out and with that, his load also spills out. mingyu falls on the bed next to you, heaving for breath. another moan resonates in the room, and he lifts his head to look at the guy with a raised eyebrow. ah, right.

with a grin, mingyu walks towards him. although he's smiling, it's anything but friendly.

“listen, if any of this gets out—”

their conversation falls out of your earshot when your stepbrother starts whispering into his ears. but it isn't a mystery that he's threatening him. you don't bother with it much and fall asleep, feeling more spent than ever.

a memory plays out in your dreams, one that feels much more like the latter than the former.

[THE DAY OF YOUR PARENT'S WEDDING]

you groan out of annoyance and scream into your hands. nothing seems to be working your way today.

the heater doesn't work. your dad is marrying someone else, just six months after the divorce. your cereals were soggy. and, now you can't zip your fucking bridesmaid dress.

a knock on the door refocuses your attention. through the mirror, you see mingyu standing near the door. embarrassment shoots through your veins but you feign a smile and turn to look at him. before both of you can exchange words, his mother comes up.

“hi dear! oh, you look absolutely lovely.” she smiles at you, a genuine one. but you don't feel it in you to reciprocate it. you muster up your best smile and thank her, telling her the same.

“aww, thank you. oh, right! mingyu here said that he wanted to speak with you.”

your heart drops down to your stomach. ah, how could you forget your soon-to-be step brother from your list of mishaps? he isn't exactly mean or nice. he just acts as if you don't exist. and it hurts, especially when you feel such an attraction towards him.

you see him protest back, spitting something along the lines of “i never said that,” it worsens your nerves. she snaps at him, giving him a glare and you a smile. your heart palpitates when his mother closes the door and locks it.

mingyu doesn't say anything, instead takes time to compose himself. meanwhile, you contemplate on how to zip up your dress without further embarra— “need help with the zipper?”

“huh? ye-yes.” well, shit.

he stalks towards you and you turn around, involuntarily. you move your hair out of the way for him. he places one of his hands on the exposed skin of your neck and the other zips up your dress, albeit slowly.

and you swear on god that he caresses your skin while doing so. but you sum it up to your horny brain playing tricks on you. “thank you,” you whisper, meeting his eyes through the mirror.

“you're welcome.” his deep timbre voice shoots arousal down to your core and your body raises in temperature.

he inhales sharply before muttering, “mom wants me to get along with you.”

“but i don't want to.”

it stings. more than you'd like to admit. he continues, not giving you a chance to respond. “i don't want them to marry. i suppose you don't either. and i certainly don't want to follow whatever fucking rules they say.”

his eyes are trained on you the entire time, and you maintain it. even though, your nerves are all over the place and you're trying really hard to focus on his eyes and not lips.

“we could be good friends,” he suddenly moves closer. much closer. his body presses against yours and his hands settle on your hips. his chin rests on your shoulder and he maintains eye contact through the mirror. “only, if you can obey somethings.”

that tingles your stomach and you're more than intrigued to know what he means.

“like what?”

he smirks and breaks eye contact to look at you, rather than your reflection. “like that i'd rather be your fuckbuddy than your stepbrother.”

mingyu's heart paces on its own and he prays to god that he didn't hallucinate the way you look at him sometimes. where your eyes drift and the emotion swirling behind them. his assumptions are affirmed true when you arch your back, pressing your ass against his crotch.

he tries to control his smile and maintain his image to you. which proves to be very hard when you whine so cutely, “oh, fuck me.”

the zipper he'd just done comes undone as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses all over your nape and the exposed skin of your back. he presses his hard-on against your ass, feeling his cock sink into the plush flesh of—

“you both have better made friends!”

he pushes away from you, but not before he zips your dress. he fixes his suit, and you pat down the perspiration on your face. she unlocks the door and smiles at you both.

“look at you both! aww,” she engulfs you both in a hug, and you pray to god she doesn't feel your palpitating heart.

[...]

the elevator dings open and whoever was on the other side lets out a surprised noise and scrambles away. but you don't give a fuck neither does mingyu.

his tongue glides over yours in a hot, deep kiss, such that your faces are obscured to anyone who can stumble upon you. the heat of his body seeps into you, driving you absolutely crazy.

the elevator dings again, the automated doors opening to the floor of your room. his hands are all over your body and so are his lips. he nibbles on your ear lobe and neck, licking the patches of red he leaves behind.

you swipe the key card with much effort and finally get in. mingyu pins you to the door as soon as you get in, grinding his hard on against your stomach. he reconnects his lips with yours, humming in content.

the bed creaks with each of his thrusts. surely, there would be complaints from the neighbors but could care less about everything else. your mind can only focus on mingyu's cock drilling in and out of you.

mingyu's addicted to the image of you writhing in pleasure, underneath him. and the bulge of his cock that appears whenever he thrusts does little to soothe aching desire.

his balls slap your ass with each heavy thrust. your breaths mingle together as he splits you open on his cock. his canines ghost over your neck, and he sinks them into your skin, wanting to see how it looks. how you'd look with his mark.

you look perfect, he thinks, absolutely drunk on the idea of making you his.

it pushes him to fuck you harder. he pushes your knees on either side of your head, drilling his cock inside you deeper and deeper. your moans turn into screams with the drive of his cock. his leaking cock is buried to the hilt, hitting your sweet, spongy spot now and then.

you lose the ability to form coherent sources. only babbles and whines fall from your lips, absolutely drunk by his cock. mingyu adds to it by reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. the delicious friction has you mewling and canting your hips.

your nails rake his back as he continues to pound your cunt with all of his strength. that combined with the clit stimulation makes you sob and squirm underneath him. your legs quiver and toes curl. your breathing turns rapid and the knot in your abdomen gets tighter.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he presses your knees further down, fucking you with much ardour. tears stream down your face and broken sobs tear from your throat. mingyu licks your tears, and stares at you, drinking the sight beneath him. his cock twitches when you look up at him, “shit.”

your hips lift off the bed and legs tremble more than ever. you gasp loudly when you cum. the orgasm crashes over you, making your body a quivering mess. you see stars and you feel as if you're not on earth anymore, as if you're in heaven. mingyu brought heaven down to you.

you only realise that he pulled out when you feel his weight on your body. his body quivers just the same as yours, breathing rapidly and consciousness in another dimension. he rolls off you, lying on the spot next to you.

warm cum decorates your abdomen and it feels so right but so wrong.

“thanks,” you blurt out, regretting it immediately. he chuckles, “for what?”

[NOW]

“everything.” you mumble in your sleep and mingyu glances at you with confusion. you mutter more things and it causes him to chuckle. he pinches your cheek and kisses it.

his hand caresses your back as he cuddles you. it somehow feels right despite the moral restrictions. but he doesn't care, not when you look so peaceful, curled up on his side.

it may be debauched, but it sure as hell is his heaven.

[p0ckykiss]

who's spiderman - mark lee

summary -> mark lee is your best friend. you would trust him with your life, but you had no idea he was hiding such a big secret until tonight.

warnings -> female!reader x mark, friends to lovers, fluff

you sighed dramatically and flopped back onto the couch, legs draped over those of your best friend. “mark, I hate art.”

mark stopped in his tracks, a nacho chip halfway to his mouth. “but…y/n, you’re majoring in art.”

“i knooow,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “but i have like fifty projects due and not enough time to do them.”

mark grinned, finally crunching on the chip covered in cheese. “i said you should’ve started earlier.”

“psshh…just because you’re already done with all your finals for the semester doesn’t mean you can hold it over me,” you retaliated.

“yes it totally does,” he replied, laughing.

you grumbled under your breath and pulled out your phone in an attempt to ignore him. mark rolled his eyes and smiled, waiting for you to talk again while he continued munching on his nachos. several minutes passed in relative silence, and eventually you found a meme you wanted to show him, so you were forced to suck it up and acknowledge his presence. you shoved your phone in his face and he jumped before reading the post and laughing (as expected).

he spoke when you pulled the device away. “so you finally decided I was right, huh? done procrastinating now?”

“ughhh, i don’t want to though.”

“if nobody did things they didn’t want to do, then nothing would get done.” you stared at him in total confusion and he backtracked. “okay, that made no sense. how about this?” he grabbed your hand and looked you in the eye. “if you start the project for drawing class then i’ll go get us something to eat.”

“bribing me with food? you should be ashamed of yourself, mark.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” mark grinned and moved your legs so he could slide off the couch, grabbing the spare key before leaving the apartment.

much later that night, you were sitting on the same couch looking at your phone before bed. a clatter and then a thud coming from the bedroom raised your concern, and you stood with the intention of finding out what the sudden noise was. on your way to the hallway, you had a moment of common sense and grabbed a pan from the kitchen to potentially defend yourself against an intruder. did i lock my windows? you wondered, not able to remember to save your life.

your heart racing, you swung around the corner into the room. in your shock, you dropped the pan (thankfully, not on your feet) and it clattered to the ground.

there, lying face-up on your bedroom floor, was your best friend mark lee. however, he was entirely clad in a red and blue spandex-like suit from the neck down, and his face appeared to be bleeding. at the sound of the pan hitting the ground, he immediately sat upright and spun around to stare at you, a deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes.

“you’re – you’re spiderman?!” you asked incredulously, feeling faint suddenly.

“i – i – uh…” mark jumped to his feet before quickly removing his suit. the suit crumpling to the floor and leaving him in only a pair of boxers with stars patterned on them. “why do you ask?” he tried in vain to kick the discarded costume aside and crossed his arms over his bare (and very muscled, you might add) chest awkwardly. “who’s spiderman?” he laughed nervously. “i don’t know him.”

you couldn’t believe he was actually attempting to deny what you had clearly seen with your own eyes just a few seconds ago. also, blood was dripping off his face. you put your hands on your hips. “mark, what the hell. i know you’re a superhero. i just saw you wearing the suit. also, you seem to have crawled in through my window for some reason. and…you are bleeding.”

the reality of his injury seemed to catch up with him and he sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides. (you were momentarily distracted by the muscles again…how did you never notice how ripped your best friend was??) “look, I’m sorry. but you can’t tell anyone about this, y/n. the only other person who knows this is donghyuck"

you nodded until you looked up to his face again. “donghyuck knows you're spiderman???! ” you practically yelled.

mark rushed forward and pressed his hand over your mouth, the other arm reaching up to grasp your bicep. “shhh! don’t say it so loud,” he whispered, glancing around.

you rolled your eyes and pushed his hand away so you could speak. “oh, come on, there’s nobody else here. my roommate doesn’t come back until later anyway.” now so close to him, you could more clearly see that he had a jagged cut on the side of his face and a black eye on the opposite side. almost unconsciously, you ran a thumb over his non-bruised cheekbone, and he shivered. “okay, who did this to you, mark?”

his grip tightened and he sighed, closing his eyes. “just some bad guys,” he mumbled. “honestly, it’s nothing. i’ve had worse.”

“hush. we gotta get you cleaned up before that cut gets infected, idiot.” a hesitant smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you turned away to go find the first aid materials.

after a few minutes, mark padded into your kitchen, where you had pulled a couple of chairs near the small table and spread out the medical supplies. he had apparently discovered the ancient gray pair of sweatpants he left here a couple months ago, but he remained shirtless. “you, uh, seem to be taking this really well,” he commented, rubbing his arm nervously.

you felt your face flush. “oh, trust me – i’m still in shock, but right now I’m focusing on helping you instead of thinking too hard about everything.” you opened the dark brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and wet a clean cotton ball with the liquid. “all right…get over here.”

“listen, y/n, you don’t actually have to do this – it’ll heal on its own-”

“not if it gets infected it won’t. now come here.”

he seemed to realize that there was no point in arguing with you and gave in. rolling his eyes good-naturedly, he sat across from you in the chair you placed near your own and leaned forward. you lightly dabbed peroxide over the cut, and he hissed. “ow, that stings.”

“sorry!” you quickly apologized. “i should have warned you.”

he smiled for a quick second before grimacing as you continued. “it’s okay, really. i knew it would hurt. i guess i’m just lucky he didn’t get any closer than he did with that kni-” he stopped mid-sentence, sensing your concern. “um, never mind. you can keep going.”

as you carefully cleaned the wound, applied antibiotic ointment, and bandaged your best friend’s face, you noticed he was staring intently at you every time you happened to make eye contact. you could tell you were blushing while the minutes passed at an agonizing pace.

once the wound was wrapped in a protective bandage, you stood to clear the supplies off the table. mark suddenly leaned forward to hug you before you could step away, and once you got over your momentary shock, you hugged him back. “thank you,” he murmured into your arm. after a millisecond of hesitation, you pressed a feather-light kiss to his ruffled hair.

his arm around you squeezed tighter, almost as if he was afraid to let go. your face grew warmer as you felt his thumb brush your side. a few seconds more passed before you slowly tried to pull back, and he finally let go. before you could move too far away, however, mark grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, tenderly kissing your knuckles. you were stunned into silence, a certain dreamlike quality to his actions.

“is this okay?” he whispered, clutching your hand in his like he was dying and you were the cure.

“yeah,” you breathed in response.

mark stood suddenly, and your brain picked that particular moment to helpfully remember the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and nearly short-circuit. your breath hitched when he gently cupped your cheek in his hand. you could hear your heart pounding in your ears, waiting for his next move.

“is…is it bad if I really want to kiss you right now?” he murmured, meeting your gaze.

you managed to shake your head slowly, mesmerized by his deep chocolate-colored eyes. he stepped closer and you shivered involuntarily, giving your silent consent by closing your eyes as he leaned in.

the pressure of mark's lips against yours was steady, almost asking permission. after half a second, you pushed back and returned the kiss. he released your hand and gently held your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks with the softest touch imaginable. both of your hands were freed to find their way into his chestnut-colored hair and around his neck, holding on to him as if your life depended on it.

“i…love…you,” he spoke in between kisses. you smiled against his lips, and he pulled your body towards his with a surprisingly strong arm. mark kissed you again, long and lingering. when you finally broke apart, mark kissed your cheek before resting his forehead on yours.

“you have no idea how much i wanted to do that,” he admitted, gentle laughter shaking his body.

your mouth split open with a joyful grin. “you dork,” you replied breathlessly. “i love you too.” You closed your eyes again, exhaling shakily. when you opened them, mark had an intense look of adoration in his eyes.

“go out with me?” as soon as the words left his mouth, his brain seemed to catch up, and he pulled away quickly, trying to save himself. “um, uh, i mean…will you-”

you laughed, cutting him off. “yeah, mark. i’ll go on a date with you. even if you didn’t ask me the right way.”

he ran a hand through his hair, sighing in relief. “great, i was worried i messed it up for a second – wait, what do you mean ‘the right way’?”

you giggled at his confusion. “come on, mark. we gotta put these things away and get you out of here before my roommate gets back.”

at your bedroom window, mark couldn’t resist giving you one last kiss before pulling the mask on and swinging away with a wink. you pressed your hands to your blushing face, reflecting on the eventful evening.

falling backwards onto your bed, you smiled wide.

[passionwillow]

Cherry Tree

I was listening to Hozier and Work Song came on and next thing I knew my laptop is out and I'm writing. I hope you enjoy. ☺️

Bobby Nash x Reader

Warnings: Smut and fluff, age gap? First time writing full blown smut so I hope it’s okay.

Edit: after THAT episode of 911 I hope this heals some people because I wrote this ages before the episode and the irony kills me 😭

There's nothing sweeter than my baby / I'd never want once from the cherry tree

The only sound that filled the dark lit bedroom was the rustle of sheets and lips meeting intently. Bobby's calloused hands ran up your back as he pulled you in, rolling over slightly so he could hover over you and deepen the kiss.

It was somewhere around 1 am when he woke you, kissing along your shoulder and squeezing your hips to pull you from your slumber. His shift hadn't gone well, you could tell the minute he came home that night. The lines in his face, his tired eyes and quiet demeanor gave it away.

Dinner had been an almost silent event, and it wasn't until you were both cleaning the dishes he finally talked, opening up about a poor child whose mother was making him sick for money. As much as he had seen through the years, the rescues involving children still got to him.

You both showered and headed to bed early, but you could tell he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, not with everything on his mind. You’d finally fallen asleep after a few hours, but it wasn’t long before he had you awake again.

His kisses had started out soft, his eyes asking if this was okay, but your smile and pull on his shirt gave him reassurance. He needed to release some stress and tire himself out, and you were always willing to help.

That was how you found yourself pinned beneath him, leg hooked around his waist as he kissed you fervently, hand sliding under his t-shirt you were wearing and teeth nibbling at your lower lip.

Your hips pushed up into his and brushed his already hard bulge, his quiet moan muffled as he marked your neck. You shivered and whimpered slightly at the friction, tingles running up your spine at the stretch you knew was to come.

His sat up and finally discarded your shirt, taking in your bare chest with a hungry gaze before pulling his own shirt off, your eyes taking him in with equal lust. He cracked a smile before leaning back in, meeting your lips with a hum as his fingers played with the waistband of your sweats, pulling them down with your panties as your tongues met.

You blindly kicked them off and laughed faintly against his lips as you struggled, Bobby grinning and helping you undress, throwing them carelessly over his shoulder before moving down your body, hands gently but firmly pushing your legs apart as he settled between them.

You laid back down and instinctively slipped a hand into his hair, lip caught between your teeth as he peppered kisses on your plush inner thighs. Usually he would tease you more, have you begging for his mouth, but he didn’t waste any time. His tongue swiped over your core, collecting your already dripping arousal on his tongue before latching onto your clit, a groan leaving your mouth at the sensation.

His hot tongue probed eagerly at your entrance, his arms hooking around your thighs to hold you to him as you squirmed and arched off the bed, clawing briefly at his hair.

“Christ, Bobby- oh god, please-“ You broke off in a shaky moan as your toes curled, looking down to meet his cheeky gaze and biting hard on your lip, thighs clenching ever so slightly around his head as his tongue teased your clit relentlessly.

“Please, Bobby, I need you.” Your words earned you a muffled moan against your core, hips jerking at the sensation. He pulled away with a smile and crawled back over you, kissing you hard as he blindly pushed his sweats and briefs down, working them off as your tongue explored his mouth.

You moaned lightly at the taste of yourself on his tongue and ran your hand over his chest, fingers brushing over his toned stomach before grabbing his cock, thumb running over his leaking tip before starting to slowly stroke him.

He inhaled sharply and pulled back from the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he looked at you, eyes bright. “Y/N-.. Fuck, I need you.” You grinned at his words and nodded quickly, his smile matching yours as he positioned himself between your legs, replacing your hands with his own as his thick head ran over your folds.

You spread your legs further apart and bit your lip in anticipation, jaw going slack as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock sliding into you. He kept his eyes on your slick folds, unable to look away as he buried himself deep, tip practically kissing your cervix.

“God, you’re always so tight.” He bit his lip and looked up into your eyes, smiling at the eagerness he saw on your face. He leaned down over you and rested a forearm by your head, his other hand keeping your hips in place as he slowly started to thrust, giving you a moment to relax around him.

Your walls clenched around his thick shaft, moans and whimpers escaping as he moved, your legs a vice around his waist as you buried your face into his neck. His picked up the pace and it wasn’t long before he was practically pounding into you, the room filled with the lewd wetness of your cunt and the slap of skin, his deep groans and pants muffled in your shoulder.

Your nails dragged down his back as your moans left mixed with his, your legs spread wide again to fit him deeper. He lifted his head and looked down at you with glassy eyes, sweaty forehead resting against yours.

“That’s it, baby.. Taking me so well, so tight around me.” You blushed at his words and whimpered as his tip brushed that sweet spot inside you, a smirk forming on his face as he bullied deeper into you, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“F-Fuck Bobby, right there.. I’m so close, so-“ You choked on your groan as you felt his fingers on your clit, rubbing in quick, tight circles as he kisses your chest, hips moving at a steady pace as he mumbled.

“Cum. That’s it, baby, I’ve got you. Let go.” Your body shivered at his words and it wasn’t long before you were clenching around him, covering his cock as you came undone, practically crying out in pleasure.

He watched you with a smile and fucked into you harder as you came undone, nails digging into your plush hips as he groaned deeply, eyes closing and head falling into your shoulder, bottoming out completely as his orgasm rushed into him.

You whimpered weakly as you felt him fill you to the brim, panting and going limp as he eased out of you. He rolled over and laid beside you, both of your heavy breathing filling the quiet.

It wasn’t long before he rolled over and pulled you into him, kissing your cheeks and forehead as he mumbled. “Sorry for waking you.”

You happily snuggled into him and let out a quiet laugh, looking at him and cupping his cheek. “Anytime, baby.” He matched your grin and pulled the comforter over both of you, his arms secure around you as you laid your head on his chest, a content smile on your face as both of you finally got some sleep.

I hope you like it, it’s been in my drafts for a minute. ☺️

[finelinefae]

the other woman

synopsis: y/n is the other woman who just wants to be loved

word count: 5.5k

contains: angst, not a super happy ending maybe it is depending how u see it idk, harry is kind of a dick, mentions of medication, mentions of mental health (anxiety, allusions to depression), harry definitely listens to the 1975 in this, smoking, friends with benefits situation, toxic relationship

. . .

"That's the ugliest piece of shit I have ever seen."

"Yeah,"

"I love it."

"You do?"

"I adore it."

"Good."

Harry sat against the headboard of her bed which took up the majority of his tiny bedroom in his even tinier apartment an hour train ride from central London. He was shirtless, his trousers were unbuttoned and his hair was a dishevelled mess. He had a cigarette between his teeth, Y/N hated the way the smoke made the room smell but she would never tell him that.

She sat up against the wall, her legs on top of his. She wore cotton underwear and his shirt, the buttons weren't done up, his gaze switching between his sketchbook and her breasts. Her eyes were fixated on the picture in the center of the white A3 pages.

She didn't know what it was but it was black and white and looked like skin. She wondered whether it was his skin but she wouldn't have called it ugly. She had seen every inch of his skin and the last forty-five minutes was proof of that. Her lips had pressed against the most intimate of places, she would know if it was his skin.

"What is it?" She frowned, tilting it to one side to see if a change in perspective would enhance its features.

"It's an areola," He responded, releasing a sigh, almost as if he was frustrated she didn't know he had taken a picture of a woman's breast.

"A tit?" Her heart began to race as she thought about him taking pictures of her without asking.

He chuckles and puts out his cigarette on her bedside table, leaning forward to throw it out of the window. "It sounds less artistic when you say it." He leans back again and reaches for a strand of her hair to play with. "But yes it is a tit."

'Who's is it?' She wanted to ask 'When did you take it?' 'Is she pretty?' 'Why not me?'

She could feel herself slipping away, wanting to cover herself up the more she questioned him in her own head. She glanced down at her chest briefly.

"It's not you." His words stung more than they should.

"I know that." She pushed the sketchbook away, not wanting to look at the picture of another woman's areolas. "What for?"

"We're doing the human form." He answers,

"Right."

"You're upset."

"I'm fine." She argued but the truth was she was upset and she hated the fact he knew that immediately.

He was good at hiding his emotions, he always had that sense of mystery to him, her not so much. She was sensitive and wore her heart on her sleeve. She was desperate to fall in love and when she did, she felt it to her very core, her chest would ache at the thought of being isolated from human contact. Sometimes she felt he took advantage of that but if she were to admit that, she would have to leave him and she couldn't do that.

She would rather die than be alone, especially if it meant being away from the one person to who she had developed an unhealthy attachment since they had met.

Harry's phone went off and he quickly reached across her to grab it from his side table. She felt like someone was pinching her all over as he bit back a grin at whoever had sent him a text. Suddenly being naked around him felt wrong so she quickly reached for her clothing that had been discarded on the bedroom floor.

"You're leaving?" He asks.

"Who is it?"

"It's nobody." She knew him long enough to know when he was lying.

"How long have you been seeing her?" Y/N wasn't going to cry, she wasn't, she really really wasn't.

Harry rolled his eyes, "You're being dramatic," He always tried to make it seem as if her feelings were too big for the space around them.

"You're a fucking jerk you know that?" She pulled her trousers up her legs and didn't even bother to button them up as she went in search for her shoes. "You show me someone else's tits as soon as we finish having sex? And then you get a text message and don't even tell me who it is?"

"I don't know why you're getting so upset we agreed long ago this was just a temporary thing."

"Oh I know you remind me that every time, I like to remind myself every day I'm just someone to pass the time." Y/N was used to being someone made to be used by someone else. She could be bleeding on the floor in the middle of the street and she wouldn't be surprised if someone took a plastic bottle and started filling it up with her blood in hopes it could save someone else before they even thought about rescuing her.

The problem was, she didn't even try to stop them. People entered her life and took pieces of her and carried them away with them, just to discard them later. Before she even thought about healing herself, someone else would come along and snatch another piece of her away.

That was the problem with people who were afraid of living with no love in their life, they were prepared to do anything for it. Y/N put too much faith in people despite the number of times she had been let down by the people close to her.

Harry was no different to that it seemed.

"What are you talking about? Hey," He grabs her wrist and pulls her into him, his eyes were sharp and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of emotion in his eye. Her heart pounded at the touch of his fingertips grazing her pulse. "What do you mean? You don't really believe that do you?"

"What does it matter? I know nothing about you Harry."

"You know more about me than anyone else does."

Sometimes it didn't feel like it.

Harry liked to make her feel special. He was good at it. He sent her texts during the day and brushed his hand against hers when they passed in the hallways. They'd come back to his place after a few drinks with friends in the evening, fuck, and be done with it. He'd send her away and act as if what they did didn't matter to him.

It mattered to her though. No one thinks that about a rebound or a person you had casual sex with but it always matters. She had never slept around until she had met him and now she was intoxicated by him because it mattered, right from the very beginning.

She closes her eyes and nods, "Please tell me who it was." She almost pleads with him.

"It's the girl in the picture, she's in my photography class." He admits.

"Do you like her?" Y/N almost whispers, she braces herself for the answer. She had been dreading the day he was planning to end this, she thought she would have more time.

Harry's head falls back like it kills him inside to give an honest answer to her question, "I really like her."

Y/N pushes him back and finally cries in front of him, "Go to Hell."

"Y/N-" He tries.

"No," She moves away from him quickly and reaches for the door, "And for what it's worth I lied, that is the ugliest piece of shit I've ever seen and I hate it. It's ugly and you are an awful photographer."

She was glad she got that out as she slammed the door behind her on the way out.

An hour later she called him.

"Harry, I'm sorry," She whimpers and sobs into the phone. It was an ugly, heart wrenching sob as she cried to him on the phone, "I didn't mean to upset you. I don't think it's ugly at all. I'm sorry,"

"Hey love, it's okay, it's okay," He comforted her.

"I didn't mean it Harry please forgive me I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. Please, please, please, please." She said the words over and over again. Pleading for something that seemed like more than forgiveness.

"Y/N I forgive you, I promise. Please go to sleep." He asks her, he was worried for her but she had done this often enough he knew it wasn't anything serious.

"Promise?" She cries, sniffling.

"I promise,"

"Okay, I'm sorry Harry."

"I forgive you."

The call ended and Y/N lay back staring at the ceiling, her eyes burning from all the crying she had done since she got home from being with Harry. She turned over and took half a miligram of xanax and a sleeping pill, despite her doctor telling her not to, and fell asleep.

"Who was that?" Harry turned to look at the girl in the photo who was now lying on his bed. Her hair was flipped to one side, exposing her entire neck and collarbones.

"Nobody." He forced a smile on his face and walked over to her with his camera, the sounds of Y/N's pleading echoing in his head for the remainder of the night.

--

The next day, Y/N walked into the art room for her first class of the day. She took out her portfolio and sat at her table where she had been working on her next project. It was a painting she had been working on for the past few days and she wasn't near to being finished just yet.

Her eyes were swollen and red from having spent the majority of yesterday crying her eyes out. She skipped her therapy appointment and turned her phone off as she thought about how lonely she really was and how she had no one but herself to blame for putting herself in that situation.

Harry was also in this class but he hadn't turned up yet. The thought of him made her stomach twist. Picturing his smile as he told her about the girl he had been seeing, 'I really like her.' echoed in her head and she wondered what it would be like for him to say that about her.

"How's it going?" Ollie, a good friend of Y/N's, sat down at the easel and stool next to her and placed his backpack on the ground at his feet. He pulled out his pens and watercolor paints as he set up his station to paint.

"Fine." She muttered, reaching for her headphones in her pocket and putting one in her left ear.

"That doesn't sound good." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm fine Ollie." She repeated, a little more hostile this time.

"Did you go to Harry's place yesterday? I tried to call you but it went straight to answerphone."

"What makes you think that?" She looked at him, tilting her head in curiosity.

"You have this look in your eye." He seems as if he doesn't want to go on but she waits for him to carry on speaking, "I don't know how to describe it... It's like someone's put light in your chest just to then suck the life out of you." He motions towards her painting, "Kind of like that."

She looked at her painting and stared at it. A woman sat in an empty room, a stream of light hitting her face from the window. Outside were people celebrating amongst vines and trees and flowers. The painting was a mixture of beiges and browns and green but the woman's eyes were black and lifeless... they were the saddest pair of eyes she had ever seen.

--

"Fuck," Harry groaned and fell on top of her, sweat beading his forehead as he left her and fell to her side. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, her mind was blank and her chest was heavy.

Harry reached across her for his phone, "Shit." He muttered, shifting to the end of the bed and jumping to his feet.

"What?" Y/N asked, sitting up, the blanket falling to her waist.

"I didn't know what time it was, I'm late for my class." He pulled up his trousers and ran his fingers through his hair as he went in search for a shirt to wear on his bedroom floor.

"Hmm." She sighed and fell back, reaching for one of his cigarettes and fiddling with it between her fingers.

"Are you going to smoke that?" He nodded towards the cigarette.

"Would you like me more if I did?" She replied.

He frowned, "I'd like you just the same."

She stared at him, he was so pretty. He had just gotten out of bed and his hair was a mess, his shirt had a stain on and his trousers were undone but he was so beautiful. She wondered if he ever thought that about her, whether she was beautiful despite the ugliness and mess.

Y/N reached for a lighter, lit the end of the cigarette, and inhaled the smoke.

She didn't seem to mind the way it made the room smell this time because it was a reminder that he had actually been there in her presence even just for a brief few minutes. She stared at the empty room where he once stood.

--

Y/N remembered when she first saw them together. It was a Friday night and all the art students spent Friday night at a bar in Camden Town. Y/N and Harry weren't in the same friendship circle but they had friends that knew friends and that was really how they met.

She sat with Ollie on a couch as everyone else played pool. She had taken three shots of vodka and was on her first drink of the night. The door opened and they both walked in hand in hand. The girl was stunning, her legs were long and thin, her hair was thick and wavy, her eyes were innocent and shone underneath the lights of the bar and her hand was intertwined with Harry's.

They caught eyes for a brief second before Harry turned away from her and went over to the bar to order them a drink. Ollie was talking about something she wasn't paying much attention to as her eyes stayed fixated on them.

She noticed the way his hand pressed against her back at the bottom of her spine and how he brushed her hair behind her ear as they leaned against the bar waiting for their drinks. How she smiled as he whispered something to her and bit her lip as he traced the back of her hand with the tip of his finger.

Y/N realised the Harry standing in front of her was someone she had never met before. It was strange how we never really know the people we meet as they choose to present themselves as someone else depending on who they are with. It's only when you're with your person that you can truly be your authentic self. She wondered which version of himself was real. She even wondered which version of herself was real, who she was with him or who she was without.

"I'm going to go over there." Y/N slurred, moving off the couch but falling back again as the room began to spin.

"Oh no you don't." Ollie pulled her back. "I'm not going to let you embarrass yourself like that."

"Why would I be embarrassed?" He looked at her like she was supposed to understand what he was hinting to.

"You'll forgive me in the morning." He said like he had done her some kind of favour.

She did.

--

"When are you going to take pictures of me for your class?" She wondered, playing with the ends of her hair on his bed as Harry fiddled with the strings of his guitar.

"You want me to do that?" He asked.

"Why not? I think it would be fun." She thought for a moment, "What would you choose to take pictures of?"

Harry pondered on the idea, thinking really hard to come up with an answer to her question. She bit her lip to hold back a smile. She liked the idea of him scanning his memories for parts of her body he had seen. It made her happy knowing that pieces of her were ingrained into his mind like lyrics to a song or the colours of the rainbow.

"Your eyes." He answered after a while.

She frowned, not expecting the answer, "What?"

"Your eyes." He repeated.

"That's it?" Her eyes were the only part of her he thought worth photographing?

"Yeah."

"That's boring." She muttered, falling back against the mattress.

"What makes you say that?"

"You took a picture of that girls boob and you've probably taken a lot more pictures since you like her so much." He cringed and set his guitar down to look at her properly. Harry knew he had to be careful with what he was saying, he could tell by the tone of her voice she was getting upset.

"Those were the only pictures I took." He argued, "And besides, I like your eyes."

"You never look into them." She retorts.

"Of course I do."

"You don't."

A beat of silence rested between them until Harry spoke again, "Maybe when you're not looking."

"Why would you look at my eyes when I'm not looking?" She wasn't understanding anything he was saying.

"Because I love watching you watch the world." He replied. "If I don't know how I feel about something I look at your eyes and everything makes sense. Sometimes it feels as though I'm understanding the world through you."

Her face softened, her heart settled in her chest. She felt warmth spread through her like she had just received a warm hug. The corners of her lips tugged upwards and she crawled over to kiss his cheek. "That was possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." She confessed, her heart expanding.

"Then you need to be surrounded by better people." He reached for his guitar. "Come sit here." He patted his thigh and she rolled off the bed to sit exactly where he asked.

He began to play a song on his guitar, gently singing the lyrics in a low voice. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

It was one of those moments she wanted to freeze and stay in forever. Nothing else existed outside of this bubble. Her heart was happy.

--

Ollie's birthday was January 23rd and he was having a house party at his flat.

"How many people are coming?" Y/N asked as she applied mascara in front of his bathroom mirror. She was crouched down inside the sink so she could get as close as possible to the mirror.

"I don't know, I invited about twenty and said they could spread the word to whoever was available." OIlie applied aftershave as he spoke.

"So everyone?"

"Possibly."

Y/N was excited to see Harry. Although they didn't speak much outside of the confinements of his bedroom, she was still looking forward to being in his presence. Ever since their intimate moment, they shared a few days ago, she had been longing for him. Her heart sighed in bliss at the thought of being near him again.

She wanted to wear something extra special that she thought he would like. Her hair was curled, which she never normally did, she wore black, leather trousers and a black corset to go with it and black heels to make her slightly taller than she really was. She accessorised with gold jewellery and had done her makeup in a much more simple manner.

"You look like that girl." Ollie spoke as soon as she walked into his kitchen.

"What girl?" She blushed.

"The one Harry was with at the bar the other night. I mean, the outfit is hot but you never wear your makeup and hair like that."

"Geez would it kill you to just say I look 'good'?" She mumbled, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. She never normally wore her hair down as it irritated her.

Ollie's face softened, she hated the sympathy on his face, "You look fucking hot." He said, pulling her in for a hug, "Don't let anyone change that." He whispered.

People began to arrive around 10pm. Ollie's apartment filled up rather quickly and Y/N was already on her third drink of the night. She was stood talking to a few of her friends from one of her textile classes until her eyes caught sight of the curly-headed boy she had been waiting for.

She smiled, excusing herself from the conversation and shifting through the crowd to get to him. "Harry hey," She beamed but then immediately felt her happiness slip from her.

"Hey Y/N," His eyes were wide at the sight of her, he was so used to seeing her in her natural form.

Y/N didn't reply as her focus was fixated on the girl talking to some other people. The girl he had bought with her. The girl in the photo. "Are you okay?" Harry asked when she didn't say anything.

"I'm fine." She forced a smile on her face.

"We're not staying long. I just thought I'd stop by to see Ollie." Her heart deflated at the use of 'we', they were a 'we' now.

"Right, I'm sure he'll appreciate it." She nodded, reaching for another drink.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He checked with her.

"I'm fine. I just need to use the bathroom." Y/N pushed past him and made her way to Ollie's bathroom which was surprisingly empty.

"Are you okay?" Someone asked her from behind as she was about to step into the bathroom.

She turned around and came face to face with the girl from the photo. She looked even more beautiful up close if that were even possible.

"I'm fine." Y/N muttered, it seemed as though that was the only response she was giving anyone nowadays.

"Harry sent me to come and see if you were okay." She said, even her voice was soft and gentle, "He was worried about you."

Y/N scoffed, "What he couldn't come find me himself?"

"He was trying to find Ollie I think-" The girl sighed, "If you're okay, I'll go back and tell him."

"Before you go...Can I ask you something?" Y/N could hear the voice in her head screaming at her not to say anything but she had to know, she needed to know.

"Go ahead." The girl seemed irritated by Y/N, like she was wasting her time.

"Do you know who I am?" Y/N could feel her eyes burn as she asked the question.

The girl from the photo frowned, confused by her question, "What?"

"Do you know who I am?" Y/N repeated but this time more sternly.

The girl from the photo looked at her, really looked at her, narrowing her eyes as if to get a better look. "I have no idea."

Y/N's insides felt as though they were bleeding. It was almost like Harry was the only one who was keeping her stitched together but now everything inside of her had come loose from that one reply.

The girl from the photo hesitated before saying, "I'll go and tell my boyfriend you're okay."

Y/N looked at her as she walked away, completely crushed. She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her, falling onto her knees and sobbing into her hands.

She hadn't realised how much power he had over her until this moment. How much she relied on him and how she couldn't picture her life without him. She trusted him too easily and that was nobody's fault but her own.

Her breathing began to pick up and she felt a strange sensation like pins and needles trickle along her skin. She pulled off her trousers and her corset until she was in nothing but her bra and underwear. She crawled into the bathtub and turned on the shower so cold water could reach her skin, all whilst hyperventilating and crying her eyes out.

This was unlike any pain she had ever felt. She wasn't sure why it had hurt so much but maybe it was because another person had used her, maybe this time it was because she gave every inch of herself to him and she had nothing but skin and bones left.

"Y/N are you in there?" His voice was muffled from behind the door.

"G-Go away." She whispered, rocking backward and forwards with her head tucked into her knees and cold water wetting her skin.

"I'm worried about you, love." His voice sounded so sad.

"Go away." She carried on chanting like this was a nightmare she wanted to wake up from.

She felt soft hands touching her shoulders and immediately looked up into green, sad eyes. For once Harry was easy to read as his eyes showed nothing but remorse.

He reached past her and turned the shower off, she was shivering and he reached for a towel to wrap around her shoulders in hopes it would provide some warmth.

They said nothing, Y/N didn't get out of the bath as it helped in providing a separation between them. "Why don't you love me like I love you?" She whispered. Her eyes looking into his, they were red and her face was stained with tears.

There was no point in denying things anymore, he was one of the only people who knew she was too clever for that, "I don't know," His head fell forward, he felt defeated.

"Why did you put me here?" She cried, "Why did you put me here if you were just going to leave me?"

"I-I thought you understood what this was. I thought-" He lied.

Harry knew Y/N better than anyone in her life. He knew better than to hurt her like this.

"Why does everyone leave me?" She whimpered, "Why can't I be loved?"

"Y/N-"

"Please tell me you love me. Please, please, please," She was begging him, crying into his shoulder.

"I-I can't Y/N." Never had her name sounded so disgusting coming from his lips.

"I don't know what to do anymore Harry. I-I would rather die than be alone," She sobbed.

"Y/N you're never alone."

"You're ending this." She cried, "I'm alone."

He couldn't stand having this conversation and not being able to hold her. He stepped into the bathtub fully clothed and sat in front of her, reaching for her hand and holding it gently in his. The feeling of his skin seemed to ease some of the pain she had been feeling, but the loneliness still echoed throughout her.

"I don't know why I can't love you, Y/N, but it doesn't mean I don't feel anything about you. You have become my best friend—"

"I don't want to be your best friend. No, no," she shook her head. "You've killed me once by admitting you don't love me. Please don't send me to Hell by calling me your friend. Do you know how painful that is? I just want to be loved by you. Is that too much to ask? I have given everything, I have given everything to you. I rooted for you in every way possible. I have killed myself trying to get you to love me, and I don't think I even know who I am anymore because of it."

Harry didn't know what to say. He was selfish and a coward and undeserving of her love, and he wished she could see that.

"Y/N—"

"Please just leave."

His eyes watered at the thought of going about his life without her. He could feel the air around them grow thick, his chest rising and falling as he tried to breathe in. He felt like he was drowning at the thought of her leaving his life. Despite not loving her in the way she desired, he realized he would also be alone without her.

Maybe that was it.

All along, they had just been two people dealing with loneliness and coping with it differently. One used the other to fill the gaps in the spaces where they felt most alone, and the other fell hopelessly in love in hopes it would change them. That was the true nature of it, and even if they were meant to be together at some point, now was not the time.

"Listen to me," Harry whispered, collecting her hands and holding them to his chest. "I'm going to leave."

She choked on a sob.

"I don't want to do that." She shook her head. "I just want to be with you." The thought of the loneliness seeped into her pores, and she didn't think it would be possible for her to stay afloat as she drowned in it.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said softly, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I-I don't know what I'm doing."

She was taken aback by his tears and was unsure of what to do. It was the first time she had seen him cry, the first time she realized he was equally as afraid as she was. She leaned forward and wrapped him in a hug, allowing him to cry into her shoulder.

This was the end.

"I love you, Harry. I really do," she whispered into his ear.

He couldn't reply, so he just sobbed even harder.

--

The days hadn't changed so much when Harry stepped out of Y/N's life.

They didn't talk much during the day when they were friends so Y/N went about carrying on her classes and speaking to Ollie who she appreciated more than ever as he comforted her when she was feeling at her worst. It was Ollie who made the days feel... a little less lonely.

She missed his touches and texting him on her phone but she tried to come up with ways to cope with that by watching youtube videos or drawing so she wasn't tempted to unblock him and forgive him again.

The nights were the hardest. Y/N hadn't realised that the only reason she'd been sleeping was because of Harry. She had tried to not take sleeping pills to help her get to sleep but sometimes she'd spend the entire night just painting in hopes it would made her tired.

Since they had some of the same friends now, Y/N knew of Harry's ventures through word of mouth. He had broke things off with the girl from the photo the day after Ollie's birthday party. Turns out they weren't really in an established relationship and the girl did know who Y/N was because Harry never stopped talking about Y/N when they were together.

That made her smile.

He was an assistant to a wedding photographer on the weekends so that he could save up some money for his own studio. She was happy to hear he was actually making the most of his talent instead of wasting it like she had considered doing multiple times.

Other than that, the days went by rather slowly and nothing out of the ordinary happened. She had been on dates here and there and was in her first real relationship in her third year of University but that only lasted a few months. Turns out he was cheating on her the entire time they were together which felt like one step forwards and two steps back.

Y/N moved into an apartment in central London after she graduated and did some freelancing as an illustrator whilst working weekends at a hotel and the evenings at a bar in Soho.

Her life was mundane but she was okay with that. She had spent so much time focusing on others that she forgot to focus on herself. She had started going to therapy, the gym, and even became vegetarian for a little while. She was no longer taking Xanax as often as she used to and spent less time thinking about Harry.

She wondered what he was up to from time to time but in the end, she just hoped he wasn't alone.

[stillhangingonthetelephone]

Y'know what they say about nerds? - J.J.M

jj maybank x reader || alternate universe || established relationship

blurb || You and your boyfriend, JJ, are cleaning out his room at The Chateau when you find a pair of his old glasses.

word count || 1,122

content warning || explicit s*xual content, [oral, reader receiving]

my first post, plz be nice lol!

-ˋˏ [proceed...] ˎˊ

The day has been seemingly endless, between the impossibly-hard-to-find-and-pick tape ends, and the long hauls bringing boxes out of the house, you both were getting tired. Why did your boyfriend even own this much stuff? You had always tagged him as more of a 'I live outta my backpack' kind of guy.

"Only a few more boxes now babe." You tiredly smile at him, whilst he lays face down on his freshly stripped bed.

Your hands wander over his littered side table, empty beer cans— God you'd seen too many of those today— random assortments of jewellery, and baseball caps skewed messily over the wooden structure. It is when you're pushing all of the stuff into their respective boxes when your hand hits an unfamiliar object.

"No way." You mutter.

JJ's head perks up at your tantalising tone of voice, a clear indicator of your usual teasing. Dread plasters itself on his face, however, when he sees what you're holding in your hands.

You have never seen your boyfriend move that fast, he jolts up from his previous— lazy position. You're struck with an excited fear as he runs up to you— his eyes focused on your hand, you slide past his last second and he almost plants himself into the nearest wall. "What?" You slip out past your hysterical laughing at his immediacy.

"Give 'em to me y/n." He says sternly but not grave enough for you to take him seriously.

The cold, black, matte frames in your hand make you smile and you walk towards him slowly. "I won't let you live this down, Jay— just put them on."

He sighs and leans his head back in a groan.

"Pleeeaassseee?" You plead with him and step even closer.

The huff he lets out goes amiss with your excitement, his calloused hands remain by his side and he allows you to slip them over his eyes.

Your silence worries him— his eyebrows furrow, mirroring the fear. "Well? Say— somethin! Make fun of me at least." He says awkwardly.

A soft snort escapes you, your hands flying up to your face in an attempt to muffle it. JJ attempts to move them off— his demeanour noticeably shifting, the laugh dies in your throat and you hold your hands up to the frames.

"Hey— no, I didn't mean it like that." His face softens at your hands moving to cradle his cheeks. "You just— kind of looked, I don't know, nerdy."

You smile when a chuckle bypasses his lips, the familiar JJ returning.

"I had 'em when I was like— fourteen." He looks past you with a stupid grin, his words mumbled faintly in embarrassment. "Nerdy— is exactly what they are."

Again, his tone shifts at the end of his sentence, it almost goes unnoticed by you.

"Yeah— well," You smirk and kiss his temple, then moving to brush your lips against his ear: "Y'know what they say about nerds?"

His hands falter at your waist with the mimicked southern drawl of his accent mirrored in your suggestive voice.

"They give the best head."

His hands, have you— really have you as he picks you up. He wastes no time in throwing you down on the bed and climbing in between your legs. Your lips collide in a frenzy of passion and need— his teeth biting hard on your bottom lip until you're sure it's bleeding a little. It forces a whine from your mouth which grants him the chance to push his tongue past the barrier of your lips. He explores the warm, wet cavern and your hands pull desperately on his bicep and jaw— just enough to pull a baritone moan out of him.

When you break away from the kiss he watches you through hooded eyes and his hands fiddle with the zipper and button of your shorts— shoving them down and discarding them on the ground. You shudder at the feeling of his mouth dancing over your thighs, his fingers dip just underneath the hem of your underwear and his teasing almost feels like too much and your mewl of dissatisfaction makes him smile.

"Patience doll." He whispers in his bedroom-sultry-accent, his hair brushing and teasing your inner thighs.

His mouth lands painfully over your clothed cunt— the thin material doing practically nothing to disguise the feeling of his tongue. The breath shortens in your throat, the action making your head fall back into the mattress. JJ's smirk burns into your skin and you push his head back playfully. You squeak as he finally rips down your underwear, your core aching in anticipation.

"You're so fuckin' wet." He growls out and he wastes no time in diving down to your glistening folds.

The feeling of his tongue finally lapping at your cunt makes your legs shake instantaneously— his mouth works hungrily at your core and eventually your hand interlocks in his mop of blond hair. You pull it as he pushes his mouth further into you, just roughly enough to feel him grumble against you. His thumb circles over your clit and your mind blanks— solely focusing on the pleasure that courses through your body.

JJ ruts into the edge of the memory foam, it makes you whine to think that he's getting off on your enjoyment. You look down at him— the sight itself is heavenly, his face buried so impossibly deep between your thighs and his hands snaking around your hips to pin you down to the bed. When he looks up at you though, it's fucking sinful. His eyes— blown out and erotic, meet yours as he looks up through the lenses of his glasses. He swaps out his thumb for his mouth, and sucks messily on your clit, pushing his ring and middle finger into your hole, all the while— maintaining eye contact. Your back arches into his touch, and you buck up into his mouth— the room's filled with the sound of your soaked noises.

"So fucking good for me Jay—" You gasp desperately and he thrusts his fingers into you at a euphoric rate.

You see stars when you finally come, your hands gripping his hair so hard it almost lifts his head from your cunt but he just moves harder and faster, helping you ride out your orgasm. The shaking of your thighs and wobbly breaths bring JJ up to you again, he's wearing a shit-eating grin on his face but you couldn't care less as you wrap your arms round his neck. He presses a lengthy kiss to your lips and breaks it off.

"I guess the rumours can be confirmed." You laugh and it combines with his.

"Glasses are a keep then?" He jokes.

"Glasses are definitely a keep."

[estellan0vella]

The Greatest Fucking Tragedy: L. Mh Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 14.3K

Content Warnings: Marijuana Use, Depictions of Focal Impaired Awareness Seizures (FIAS), moments of dissociation, and post-seizure disorientation, Drowning/Non-Consensual Submersion, Retaliatory Violence, Threats of Harm, Crude Humour, Background Jilix 

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The Alpha Phi frat house smells like weed and stale beer. It’s a permanent scent, woven into the fabric of the couch cushions and lingering in the wooden floors no matter how many times Seungmin bitches about cleaning. Right now, though, the weed is winning. Thick smoke curls through the dimly lit living room, the cheap LED lights flickering in rhythm with the low hum of music playing from someone's speaker.

Minho is sprawled across the couch, legs spread, shirt discarded somewhere across the room, his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He takes a slow drag from the bong before passing it to Chan, his eyes heavy-lidded, lips slightly parted. It’s a good high, the kind that makes his limbs sink into the cushions, makes the world feel warm and slow.

Across from him, Felix is perched in Jisung’s lap, and Jisung, the little shit, has both hands shoved down the front of Felix’s sweatpants. Felix barely reacts, eyes glazed over, exhaling smoke through his nose.

“Dude,” Changbin mutters, head lolling to the side as he looks at them. “At least fucking pretend like we’re not all here.”

Felix grins, a lazy, stoned smile. “Nah.”

Jisung laughs, head tipping back against the couch. “You’re just mad because you’re not getting any.”

Changbin flips him off, but it lacks any real heat.

“You know what’s actually pissing me off right now?” Hyunjin announces, draping himself dramatically across the armchair like some Renaissance painting. His long black hair falls into his face, and he exhales, letting the smoke swirl in front of him before looking at Minho. “Minho doesn’t know how to fucking swim.”

There’s a beat of silence before the entire room erupts into laughter.

Minho groans, throwing his head back against the couch. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Wait, wait,” Jeongin gasps between laughs. “You’re telling me you, Lee Minho, who can probably do a backflip off a fucking moving car, can’t even float?”

“Jesus Christ,” Seungmin chokes out. “That’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not embarrassing,” Minho mutters, reaching for the bong again. “I just never fucking learned.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Jisung sings, poking at Felix’s stomach while Felix tries and fails to bat his hands away.

Chan, who’s been silent up until now, takes a hit before leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His short blue hair is messy, and his eyes are half-lidded, but there’s a sharp glint of amusement. “Bro, what happened? Did your parents just decide, ‘Fuck it, let’s let this one drown?’”

Minho exhales slowly, fingers flexing against his knee. “I grew up in Gimpo, dipshit. Not exactly a fucking beach town.”

“That’s bullshit,” Hyunjin interjects, sitting up suddenly. “I’ve seen kids in the middle of fucking Seoul learn to swim.”

“Okay, well, I didn’t, you fucking pretentious art bitch.”

Hyunjin gasps dramatically. “Excuse you, I’m an art history major. Say it with respect.”

“Art bitch,” Minho repeats, deadpan.

“God, that’s pathetic,” Changbin snickers. “Can’t wait to throw your ass into a pool.”

“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” Minho warns, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, we absolutely would,” Seungmin grins. “Like, imagine the fear in his little rat face.”

“Fucking hilarious,” Jeongin agrees, laughing. “We’ll get some floaties for you, hyung.”

Minho exhales sharply through his nose, looking between them all with narrowed eyes. “Alright, you wanna go there? You wanna play this fucking game?”

Felix hums, head tilting slightly. “Always.”

Minho leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Hyunjin, you pretentious fuck, you spend more time making sad little sketches of broken statues than actually studying for your bullshit major. Jisung, you look like a fucking poodle with that mop on your head, and I hope you choke on Felix’s dick one day and die happy. Felix, your mullet is an actual crime, and I’m gonna shave that shit in your sleep.”

Felix gasps, clutching at his chest. “Rude.”

“Jeongin, your entire wardrobe looks like it came from a thrift store run by blind grandmas, and Seungmin, I hope every client you have in the future fucking sues you into the ground.”

Seungmin just grins. “That’s fair.”

Minho shifts his glare to Changbin. “And you, motherfucker, I hope you trip over your own fucking dumbbells and break both your legs so I never have to hear you talk about leg day again.”

Changbin snorts. “Joke’s on you, I’d just talk about arm day instead.”

Minho exhales sharply, leaning back against the couch. “Fuck all of you.”

Chan chuckles, passing the bong again. “Love you too, dumbass.”

“You know what, though?” Jisung suddenly pipes up, squinting in Hyunjin’s direction. “Hyunjin, you were the dirty bastard that left the used condom in the hallway after banging that Kappa Tau girl.”

A collective groan fills the room, a mix of disgust and exasperation.

“Oh, what the fuck,” Changbin grumbles, shaking his head. “I stepped near that shit, man. You’re fucking nasty.”

Hyunjin, instead of looking remotely ashamed, stretches his arms above his head lazily. “That may be true,” he admits, voice smooth and amused, “however, no one saw me bang that girl.” He smirks at Jisung and Felix. “But we all saw you two going at it on the couch that one time, you dirty exhibitionists.”

Felix, without hesitation, points an accusing finger at Hyunjin and shouts, “Homophobia!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hyunjin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re just mad because your past sins are being brought to light.”

“It’s not a sin,” Jisung grins, tightening his arms around Felix’s waist. “It’s called being in love, bitch.”

Seungmin, who’s been lazily nursing a beer on the other side of the couch, snorts. “Jisung’s probably fondling Felix’s balls right now.”

Felix smirks. “He is, actually.” He adjusts slightly in Jisung’s lap. “I’ve been at a semi for like twenty minutes.”

Jeongin groans, burying his face in his hands. “Fucking gross.”

“Hey, don’t kink shame,” Felix says with mock offence, raising his brows.

Minho takes a slow drag from the bong before passing it off and exhaling through his nose. “Shame,” he deadpans. “So much shame. We all saw Jisung balls deep in you, Felix.”

Felix just shrugs, completely unbothered. “And? You're all just jealous.”

“We also saw Jisung’s nasty balls,” Hyunjin pipes up with a smirk, “and his surprisingly fat ass.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “Excuse you! My ass is none of your concern.”

Hyunjin leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It became my concern the moment I had to witness it in a position I never wanted to see.”

Jisung glares. “Hyunjin, we all saw your used jizzy condom.”

Hyunjin smirks back. “But we all saw your nasty balls.”

Jisung whines, kicking his feet. “I fucking hate you.”

Felix laughs, patting Jisung’s cheek. “Ji, baby, your balls aren’t nasty or else I wouldn’t put them in my mouth.”

A collective groan of disgust echoes through the room.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man,” Chan mutters, rubbing his face. “I’m too high for this conversation.”

Jisung just grins proudly while Hyunjin mock gags. “You’re the most insufferable couple I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing.”

“You’re the one,” Jisung suddenly snaps back, pointing an accusing finger, “who, instead of using tissues like a normal fucking person, used a sock to clean up after your wank sessions.”

Hyunjin instantly straightens. “Wait, hold the fuck up-”

Jisung steamrolls over him. “And then, like the absolute menace you are, you had the fucking audacity to send me looking for a pair of your socks when you sprained your ankle last semester.”

The room goes dead silent. Then Changbin lets out a wheeze.

“Oh my fucking god,” Seungmin mutters, eyes wide with horror. “No.”

“Yes,” Jisung continues, as if reliving a war story. “Me, being a good fucking friend, went upstairs, searched through your shit, and found your sordid sock of shame.” His voice rises in outrage. “It was hard, Hyunjin. Socks shouldn’t be fucking hard!”

The entire room erupts into chaos. Felix practically falls off Jisung’s lap from laughing so hard, while Jeongin looks seconds away from leaving the house altogether.

“Hyunjin, what the actual fuck?” Chan gasps, leaning away from him.

“You nasty fuck,” Changbin wheezes, shaking his head.

“I’m gonna be sick,” Jeongin mutters.

Minho just smirks, watching the conversation unfold, deeply satisfied that the attention is nowhere near his lack of swimming skills anymore.

Hyunjin groans, running a hand down his face. “Alright, first of all, that was one fucking time-”

Jisung interrupts with a loud, “Bullshit!”

Hyunjin glares. “Second of all, why the fuck were you digging that deep in my stuff?”

“Because I thought I was helping a fucking friend,” Jisung snaps back. “I didn’t think I had to watch out for a biohazard!”

“Fuck you,” Hyunjin mutters.

“I’m gonna get you a box of tissues,” Felix laughs, wiping his eyes. “That was the most disgusting shit I’ve ever heard.”

“You all suck,” Hyunjin huffs, slouching back into the chair.

“Not as much as Felix,” Jisung quips.

Felix beams. “That’s right, baby.”

The argument between Jisung and Hyunjin doesn’t die down. If anything, it escalates, because neither of them knows when to shut the fuck up.

Hyunjin suddenly grins, pointing at Jisung with a newfound spark of mischief in his eyes. “You wanna talk about nasty? You fucking humped one of Felix’s pillows once.”

The entire room explodes with laughter, except for Jisung, who lets out the most inhuman screech imaginable.

Felix, to everyone’s surprise, doesn’t even look offended. Instead, he tilts his head, looking at Jisung fondly. “That’s cute, Ji.”

Jisung glares at Hyunjin, face burning red. “Yeah, well, Hyunjin fucking jerked off while wearing one of Changbin’s hoodies!”

The laughter somehow gets even louder.

Changbin, who had been taking a sip of his drink, immediately chokes. “What the fuck?”

“I fucking knew it!” Seungmin yells.

“I don’t fucking know why you’re all so surprised,” Minho mutters, shaking his head.

Hyunjin throws his hands up defensively. “Okay, first of all, that hoodie was comfy as fuck. Second of all, it’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Oh, it became my business,” Jisung snaps. “Because you’re a fucking weirdo.”

Felix, wiping tears from his eyes, claps his hands together. “Alright, enough talking. Time for physical violence.”

And just like that, all hell breaks loose.

Jisung and Felix immediately launch themselves at Minho, and Jisung shouts, “POWER OF THE GAY BOYFRIENDS!”

Felix follows it up with a very enthusiastic, “YEAH! Like Power Rangers!”

Minho doesn’t have time to roll his eyes before Jisung tries to tackle him, but Minho is faster. Years of football training make it easy for him to dodge, and he grabs Jisung by the waist, flipping him effortlessly over his shoulder and slamming him down onto the couch. Before Jisung can wriggle away, Minho shifts, trapping him between his thighs in a tight grip.

Felix tries to grab Minho from behind, but Chan, who had been minding his own business, too high to care, suddenly gets dragged into the mess when Minho pulls him forward, locking an arm around his neck in a headlock.

“Fucking traitor!” Chan gasps, squirming.

Minho just grins, tightening his hold on both of them. “You little shits thought you could take me?”

Felix, still determined, throws himself forward, trying to grab Minho’s arm. But Minho is faster, he catches Felix mid-motion, wrapping an arm around his neck and securing him in another headlock.

“I got two of you now,” Minho announces, grinning wildly.

Felix flails. “Let me go, you fucking rat bastard!”

Jisung is still trapped between Minho’s thighs, thrashing wildly. “Felix! Betrayal! He got me!”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Jeongin and Seungmin are wrestling like rabid dogs.

“Your fashion sense fucking sucks!” Jeongin yells, trying to shove Seungmin off him.

“Oh yeah?!” Seungmin barks back, gripping Jeongin’s shirt and yanking him down. “At least I don’t look like a thrift store threw up on me!”

“I fucking told you, vintage is in, asshole!”

Changbin and Hyunjin have also somehow ended up grappling with each other. At first, it was just playful shoving, but now Changbin has Hyunjin pinned down, and Hyunjin, breathless, suddenly blurts out, “I’m weirdly into this. Is it because I’m bisexual or submissive?”

Without missing a beat, Minho, who still has both Chan and Felix in a headlock, calls out, “Both.”

Jisung takes advantage of the distraction and bites down on Minho’s thigh. “OW, YOU FUCKING GREMLIN!” Minho yells, immediately releasing his hold on Chan and Felix to shove Jisung off.

Jisung cackles maniacally, rolling off the couch. “FUCKING WORTH IT!”

Chan, now free, immediately lunges at Minho, tackling him. “Payback, bitch!”

Felix joins in, piling on top of them. “GET HIM!”

On the other side of the room, Seungmin has Jeongin in a headlock, Jeongin is still screaming about fashion, Changbin has Hyunjin pinned, and overall, the frat house is complete fucking chaos.

Just another normal night in Alpha Phi.

Minho stands in the frat house kitchen, flipping thinly sliced beef in a pan, the rich scent of soy sauce, garlic, and sesame oil filling the air. His black hair is damp from a quick shower after the royal rumble in the living room, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. A cluster of Hello Kitty bandaids is haphazardly slapped onto his thigh, covering the spot where Jisung fucking bit him like a rabid animal. He still doesn’t know where the hell Felix got Hello Kitty bandaids from, but at this point, he’s given up questioning anything in this house.

Just as he’s about to taste a piece of bulgogi straight from the pan, Chan strolls in, looking far too smug for someone who got his ass handed to him in the wrestling match earlier. He props himself up against the counter, arms crossed, watching Minho cook.

“Hey,” Chan starts, casual. Too casual.

Minho narrows his eyes immediately. “What.”

“I have a friend who can teach you how to swim.”

Minho blinks, staring at him. Then, slowly, he reaches over and turns down the heat on the stove before resting his hands on the counter. “You have friends outside of the frat?”

Chan scoffs, shoving at his shoulder. “Obviously, dumbass.”

“I don’t believe you.” Minho smirks, popping a piece of bulgogi into his mouth. “You leave this house for, like, two things. Football and music. That’s it.”

Chan rolls his eyes. “She’s an architecture major. Business minor. She’s the year below us, and she’s on the swim team.”

Minho chews, waiting for him to continue. “And?”

Chan exhales. “She’s kind of anxious. Kind of like Jisung, but where Jisung’s awkward and loud, she’s just quiet, doesn't really speak unless she has something to say.”

Minho hums, tossing the beef in the pan. “Okay.”

Chan leans against the counter. “Go to the college pool tomorrow night. That’s when she’s there. Just explain that you’re like a baby that got tossed into water, and she’ll take pity on you.”

Minho snorts. “Wow. That’s a real confidence boost.”

“She’s nice,” Chan says, ignoring him. “She’ll help.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “She hot?”

Without hesitation, Chan slaps the back of Minho’s head as hard as he can.

“Fuck!” Minho hisses, rubbing his skull. “What the fuck was that for?”

Chan glares. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

Minho smirks, rolling his shoulders. “Well? Is she?”

Chan slaps him again, this time across the arm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Minho mutters, taking a step back. “I’ll just keep asking.”

Chan exhales through his nose, looking like he’s fighting the urge to hit him again. “Objectively, as a straight man? Yes. She’s attractive. But I don’t look at her that way.”

Minho takes another bite of beef, chewing thoughtfully. “Fine. I’ll go and see what she’s about.”

Chan nods, pleased. “Good.”

There’s a beat of silence, just the quiet sound of the stovetop sizzling. Then Chan adds, “Oh, also, she has epilepsy. FIAS.”

Minho’s chewing slows slightly, then he swallows. “Focal impaired awareness seizures, right?” He glances at Chan. “They covered it in my first aid certification course.”

Chan raises his brows, looking impressed. “Yeah.”

Minho shrugs, flipping the last of the beef onto a plate. “Alright.”

Chan watches him carefully. “That’s it?”

Minho scoffs. “What, did you expect me to freak out? ‘Oh no, the girl who’s gonna teach me how to swim has a medical condition, I guess I’ll just drown instead’?”

Chan snorts, shaking his head. “No, but I figured you’d at least have some dumbass question.”

Minho grabs chopsticks and digs into his plate, shrugging again. “Nah. I got it.”

Chan watches him for another second, then claps a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Just don’t be a dick.”

Minho grins, mouth full. “No promises.”

The air inside the college swimming centre is thick with the scent of chlorine, the sound of water lapping against tiled edges echoing through the vast space. Minho walks in, hands in his pockets, boots heavy against the slick flooring. His black top, with open-knit sleeves exposing glimpses of his arms, contrasts against the bright, sterile lights overhead. His black pants, speckled with splatter-paint details, shift slightly as he moves, and the layered silver chains around his neck glint under the fluorescents. The star-shaped pendant catches the light with each step.

His eyes scan the pool, and then he sees you.

You're in the water, moving with eerie precision, muscles cutting through the water like you were born for it. Your blue hair, tied back into a ponytail, gleams under the lights, the two silver strands at the front catching his attention. You’re wearing black yoga shorts and a white T-shirt, slightly translucent from the water, revealing the black swimsuit underneath.

Minho watches as you push off from the shallow end, slipping entirely under the surface. You don’t come up. Not once. He watches, eyebrows raising, as you glide through the water, streamlined, controlled. Your body moves with an effortless fluidity, and he finds himself unable to look away.

By the time you reach the deep end, a full fifty metres later, you finally surface. Not even gasping. Not even fucking struggling. You just exhale sharply, hands sweeping through the water to keep yourself afloat.

What the fuck.

Minho smirks, stepping closer to the edge of the pool. "Hi."

Your head turns towards him as you tread water, eyes sharp and calculating as they land on him. Your expression is calm, blank, like you're not entirely sure what to do with his presence.

He tilts his head slightly. “I’m Minho,” he says, tone easy, casual. “I, uh-” He gestures vaguely. “Need to learn how to swim. Because I’m sick of my asshole friends picking on me for it.” He grins. “It’s my only flaw, really.”

You blink at him.

Undeterred, he continues. “I’m free Wednesdays and Fridays. Whichever works for you. Chan referred me to you, so here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence, the water shifting gently around you. Then, finally, you speak.

"You need some swimming trunks."

Your voice is soft, quiet, but not hesitant. Minho watches the way your lips barely move when you speak, like you're used to making yourself small. He leans forward slightly, smirk deepening. "I can get those."

"Friday nights. Late."

"See you then, mermaid girl," Minho says, stepping back slightly. Then he pauses. "Wait, Chan mentioned FIAS. What happens if that happens in the water?"

You meet his gaze evenly, voice completely flat. "I pray."

Minho snorts. The bluntness catches him off guard, and for the first time, he sees your lips twitch, just barely. It's small, barely a movement, but he sees it.

Interesting.

"See you Friday, then," he says, turning on his heel, already looking forward to whatever the fuck this is going to be.

Minho arrives at the swimming centre late Friday night, the place eerily quiet except for the distant sound of water lapping against the edges of the pool. The fluorescent lights cast a cold, sterile glow over the tiled floors as he steps inside, heading straight for the men’s locker room. He’s dressed in sneakers, sweatpants, and a hoodie, his usual go-to for lazy days, but now, faced with the inevitable, he exhales sharply.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, stripping out of his clothes.

He pulls on the black swimming trunks he bought earlier that day, minimalist, simple, no unnecessary designs, because he refuses to wear some ridiculous board shorts with neon patterns like an overexcited tourist. He rolls his shoulders, shakes out his arms, and then, satisfied, steps out of the locker room and into the main pool area.

You’re already there, standing by the edge of the shallow end, your blue hair tied back into a ponytail, the two silver strands in the front catching the light as they sway slightly. You’re wearing the same white T-shirt and blue yoga shorts as before, the fabric damp from where the water has already lapped at the edges.

Minho watches as you drop into the pool effortlessly, slipping beneath the water before resurfacing in the shallow end. The movement is smooth, controlled, as if the water is an extension of you rather than something separate.

Minho, however, is not fucking graceful.

He carefully climbs in, feeling the cold water instantly hit his skin. The chill makes him jolt, and before he can stop himself, his hands fly up to his chest, covering his nipples.

“Oh my!” he exclaims, voice high-pitched in mock horror.

Then he pauses, blinking.

“Fuck,” he snorts, shaking his head. “I sounded like Dorothy Gale.”

Your expression remains neutral, but the slight quirk of your lips does not go unnoticed.

Minho grins. “You’re holding back a laugh.”

“I’m not,” you say, though your voice is softer than before, almost amused.

“Liar,” he hums, letting his hands drop back to the water. “Alright, teach. What’s first?”

Without a word, you grab two inflatable armbands and a bright orange life jacket, stepping forward to hand them to him.

Minho stares at them, unimpressed. “Really?”

“No risk of drowning if you wear those.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head, but pulls them on anyway, the plastic squeaking slightly against his arms. The life jacket is a little snug, but he fastens it without complaint, standing in the water looking every bit like a grown-ass man being forced into safety gear like a toddler at the beach.

“This is humiliating,” he mutters.

You don’t comment, simply nodding towards the water. “Lie on your front and kick your legs.”

Minho eyes you suspiciously before doing as instructed. He stretches out, floating on his stomach, and starts kicking. The water splashes aggressively around him, but he doesn’t fucking move.

He pauses. Kicks harder. Still nothing.

You tilt your head slightly, watching the sad display. “Okay. New plan.”

Minho flips onto his back, groaning. “Thank fuck.”

You step closer, extending your hands toward him. “Hold my hands, and then kick your legs. I’ll pull you.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches forward, grasping your hands in his own. Your grip is surprisingly strong despite your smaller frame, steady and sure, like you know exactly how to keep control.

Minho lets you guide him, kicking his legs as you gently pull him through the shallow end. It’s not exactly the most dignified moment of his life, but he supposes he has to start somewhere.

“We’ll stick to the shallow end for now,” you say, voice calm and even. “You need to get comfortable in the water.”

Minho watches you as you focus, your movements precise, controlled. Your face is unreadable, but he can tell you’re completely in your element here, unbothered by the water surrounding you.

“You know,” he muses, kicking lightly, “for someone so quiet, you sure take your job as a teacher seriously.”

Your grip on his hands remains steady. “You’d rather I let you drown?”

“Nah,” he grins. “I like the attention.”

"Keep kicking,"

Minho groans as he keeps kicking, his legs starting to ache. “This is fucking tiring,” he complains, gripping your hands tighter as you continue pulling him through the shallow end. The life jacket and armbands are doing most of the work, but still, kicking non-stop is a workout.

You don’t respond, just keep moving, your expression unreadable as always. The water ripples around you both, the fluorescent lights reflecting off the surface. Minho watches the way you move, barely making a sound, like you’ve done this a million times before.

Then, suddenly, you stop.

Minho doesn’t.

“Oof! Fuck,” he grunts as his face smacks directly into your stomach. His fingers clutch yours tighter on instinct, and for a second, he just stays there, processing the fact that he’s literally face-planted into you. He blinks before pulling back slightly.

Your fingers twitch in his grasp. Minho straightens up immediately, expecting some sort of reaction, maybe a shove, a deadpan glare, a snarky comment, but instead, you’re just standing there. Your body is still, eyes unfocused as you stare off into the distance, expression blank.

His brow furrows. “Uh, hello?”

You don’t react. Minho tilts his head. Then, cautiously, he waves one of his hands in front of your face, letting you hold the other. Your fingers twitch again, slight, barely noticeable, but he feels it. 

Then it clicks.

“Oh,” he mutters, realization settling in. “It’s happening, huh?”

You remain frozen, still staring at nothing. Minho watches closely, observing the subtle shifts in your body. Your fingers keep twitching against his palm, and there’s the faintest movement in your lips, like you’re about to say something but never quite get there. He’s seen shit like this before, at least in training videos, but seeing it in person is different.

“Damn,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. “That’s actually kind of cool.”

He inches closer, curious, watching the way your expression remains eerily blank. He wonders what it feels like, if you’re aware of what’s happening or if it’s just an empty space in your head. He’s about to say something else when you suddenly blink rapidly, your head jerking slightly.

Your eyes focus again and then you yelp when you see a pair of brown eyes inches from your own. Minho barely has time to react before you start toppling back into the water. His hands shoot out, grabbing you by the waist before you go under, keeping you steady. His grip is firm but careful, keeping you upright as you breathe sharply, eyes wide.

“Whoa, easy there, mermaid girl,” he says, smirking slightly. “You good?”

You blink up at him, hands gripping his arms instinctively, body still slightly tense from the abrupt shift. Your lips press together briefly before you nod, adjusting yourself so you're standing properly again.

Minho doesn’t let go immediately, watching you closely, making sure you’re not about to keel over again. Your fingers tighten slightly on his arms before you let go, taking a small step back. “Sorry.”

He snorts. “What the fuck are you apologizing for?”

You just shake your head, as if brushing it off, and Minho narrows his eyes slightly. “Does that happen often?” he asks.

You hesitate, then nod. “Sometimes.”

Minho watches you for a second longer, then finally releases his hold on you, stepping back as well. “Huh.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Huh?”

Minho shrugs. “I dunno. Just thought it’d be more dramatic. Like glowing eyes, speaking in tongues-”

You stare at him.

He grins. “What? I think that’d be cool as fuck.”

Your lips twitch again. Not quite a smile, but something close. Minho notices and he finds himself already looking forward to seeing more of it.

Minho wakes up feeling like absolute fucking death. The moment he tries to move, his muscles scream in protest. His legs? Useless. His arms? Betrayers. His back? Feels like he got hit by a fucking truck. He groans, flopping onto his side, and staring at the ceiling like it personally offended him. He knew swimming was a workout, but this? This feels like he spent all night fighting for his life against a bear and lost.

After several moments of regretting every decision that led to this moment, he decides he needs to get to the kitchen. Food. Coffee. Maybe painkillers. Preferably all three.

Except there’s one problem, his legs don’t work.

With a grunt, he rolls onto his stomach and starts crawling out of his room. The frat house hallway is silent except for the occasional creak of floorboards beneath his weight as he drags himself forward. His limbs feel like jelly, completely useless beneath him.

He pauses, exhales sharply, then keeps going, determined. If he dies, at least let it be in the kitchen where someone will find him before his corpse starts to stink.

Reaching the staircase, Minho stares down at the steps like they personally wronged him. No way he’s walking down those. Not happening. Not when his legs feel like they’re made of fucking pudding. So he sits his ass down on the top step, grips the railing, and starts bum-shuffling his way down like a fucking toddler. Every bounce sends a fresh wave of agony through his body.

Fucking fuck. Fucking swimming. Fucking Chan. Fucking mermaid girl.

By the time he reaches the bottom, he’s out of breath. This is the worst workout of his life, and it’s just existing at this point. He flops onto his back for a second, groaning, before realizing he still has to make it to the kitchen.

So he rolls back onto his stomach and starts crawling again.

This time, he doesn’t even pretend to make it look dignified. He’s just dragging himself forward with his arms, barely using his legs. Like some pathetic fucking soldier crawling through the trenches.

When he finally reaches the kitchen doorway, he gives up. Completely. With a dramatic groan, he sprawls out on the cool tile floor, pressing his face against it, arms and legs splayed out like a crime scene chalk outline. "I'll nap here," he mutters, voice muffled against the floor.

And he means it. If this is how he dies, so be it.

An hour later, the frat house is still mostly silent, everyone either still asleep or too hungover to move. The only sound is the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors.

Then, Jisung stumbles into the kitchen.

Still half-asleep, he drags his socked feet across the tile, rubbing his face, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. His hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and he looks like he just crawled out of hell.

Which is exactly why he doesn’t see Minho sprawled out like a fucking corpse in the doorway. With absolutely no warning, Jisung’s foot slams down onto Minho’s ribs.

"FUCK!" Minho yells, jolting awake as if he’s just been electrocuted.

Jisung screams too, flailing backwards. "WHO THE FUCK- WHY THE FUCK- WHAT THE FUCK."

Minho groans dramatically, rolling onto his back. “Ji, you fucking dickhead.”

“Me?” Jisung yells, gripping the kitchen counter to keep himself steady. “Why the fuck are you sleeping on the goddamn floor like some fucking Victorian orphan?!”

Minho sighs, cheek still pressed against the cool tile. "Legs don’t work. I’m dead."

Jisung blinks, looking down at him, expression shifting from pure horror to vague amusement. “Wait, for real?”

Minho just groans in response.

Jisung smirks, stretching his arms above his head. “Damn. Sounds like a you problem.”

Minho lets out a long, suffering sigh. “Ji, drag me to the kitchen table.”

Jisung stares at him. “You want me to drag you?”

“Yes. By my ankles. Do it.”

Jisung shrugs. “Alright, bet.”

Without another word, Jisung crouches down, grabs Minho’s ankles, and yanks. Minho grunts as his body scrapes across the tile, arms flopping uselessly at his sides like a fucking ragdoll. The kitchen floor is cold and definitely not clean, but at this point, he has no fucking dignity left.

Jisung keeps dragging him across the room, humming casually, like this is a completely normal morning routine. By the time they reach the table, Minho is done. His pride? Gone. His will to live? Questionable.

Jisung finally stops and hoists Minho up into one of the chairs, grunting as he shoves him into a semi-sitting position. “Jesus, you’re fucking heavy,” Jisung mutters, rubbing his arms.

Minho flops against the table dramatically. “Coffee?”

Jisung leans against the counter, eyeing him. “You want it black or with a side of my dick in it?”

Minho barely lifts his head. “Both.”

Jisung snorts, shaking his head. “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Minho sighs, pressing his cheek against the cool surface of the table. “I love you.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, grabbing the coffee pot. “Yeah, yeah. You’re buying me breakfast, asshole.”

The swimming centre is eerily quiet this late at night, just the low hum of overhead lights and the distant echo of water lapping against the pool’s edges. Minho steps inside, adjusting the collar of his black leather jacket, his boots clicking softly against the tiled floor. Underneath, he’s wearing a simple black top, paired with heavily distressed light-wash jeans that hang loose around his frame. His silver chains clink softly with each movement.

He scans the pool area, expecting to see you standing by the water like last time. Instead, his eyes travel upward and his stomach fucking drops. You’re on the highest diving board.

Minho freezes, every muscle in his body locking up as his palms instantly start to sweat. The fuck are you doing up there? The fuck are you doing up there? His own fear of heights kicks in violently, making his heartbeat hammer in his chest.

Then, before he can even breathe, you leap off.

“Oh, what the fuck-” Minho slaps his hands over his eyes, peeking through his fingers like a horrified child watching a horror movie.

You free-tumble through the air, flipping effortlessly, the movements fluid and controlled like you’re meant to do this, like gravity is just a suggestion. Right before you hit the water, you take perfect form, slicing through the surface with barely a splash.

Minho drops his hands, exhaling sharply, watching as you pop up to the surface like it’s nothing, slicking your hair back casually.

You’re insane.

“I’m gonna go change,” Minho announces, his voice slightly higher than usual.

You just nod. He watches you for a second, still processing the absolute insanity he just witnessed. Then, a thought strikes him. “Is that safe for epilepsy?”

You shrug and Minho stares. “Cool, cool, cool. No doubt, no doubt, no doubt.”

Then he turns on his heel and beelines for the locker room, already questioning every fucking choice that led him to this moment.

Minho steps out of the locker room, now clad only in his black swimming trunks, his skin still chilled from the air-conditioning inside. The moment he emerges, he spots you standing by the pool, waiting, with those fucking armbands and life jacket again.

He stops in his tracks. "You’ve got to be shitting me."

You don’t even blink, just extend them towards him like it’s non-negotiable.

With a long, suffering sigh, Minho stomps over, yanking the armbands onto his arms before grudgingly pulling on the life jacket. It squeaks slightly as he fastens the buckles. He steps into the pool and immediately tenses at the coldness. “Fucking shit, fuck-”

You wait, completely still, just watching as he hisses through his teeth before finally sinking deeper, water lapping at his shoulders.

“This is actual torture. I’m filing a fucking lawsuit.”

You ignore his dramatics. “Okay,” you say evenly, voice calm, “so today, we’re going to get you comfortable with not being able to touch the floor.”

Before Minho can protest, you grab the back of his life vest and start towing him toward the middle of the pool. “Let me go!” he yelps, kicking his legs as if that’s going to help.

You nod. “Okay.”

And then you fucking do.

Minho immediately freezes, his breath catching in his throat as he realizes. He’s just floating. Not touching the ground. No solid surface beneath him. Just water. His muscles tense, but instead of immediately drowning like his instincts scream he’s about to, he just bobs.

Minho blinks.

You’re treading water beside him, effortlessly balanced. “See? You’re fine.”

He exhales, body still stiff, but, yeah. He’s fine. He lets himself bob around for a bit, staring at the ceiling, processing the fact that he hasn’t died yet.

After a few moments, you speak again. "Want to know next week’s lesson?"

Minho glances over warily. “What?”

You meet his gaze, voice neutral. “Getting comfortable being underwater. Fully submerged.”

Minho immediately straightens. “The fuck I am!”

Panic shoots through him as he starts paddling away, pathetically, in what can only be described as the saddest attempt at a doggy paddle ever witnessed. He doesn’t get far. Because you just grab his ankle and tow him back.

“NO!” he yells, flailing. “FUCKING LET ME GO!”

You don’t even struggle, just calmly drag him back toward the centre of the pool like he’s some misbehaving pet. Minho groans in defeat, throwing his head back.

This is actual fucking hell.

Minho storms into the frat house living room and immediately regrets it because Jisung and Felix are making out on the fucking couch. “For fuck’s sake,” Minho groans, marching over. “Do you two ever fucking stop?”

Jisung barely acknowledges him, just waves a lazy hand in Minho’s direction while still attached to Felix’s mouth. Minho scowls. Fuck this. He grabs the back of Jisung’s hoodie and yanks.

“HEY!” Jisung yelps as he gets ripped away from Felix, arms flailing. “WHAT THE FUCK?”

Felix blinks at the sudden loss of contact, lips slightly swollen. “Uh why?”

Minho ignores the way Felix looks two seconds away from pouting. “I need him,” he says simply, already dragging Jisung toward the stairs.

Jisung stumbles after him, grumbling. “Can I at least finish-?”

“No.”

“Jesus, you’re strong for a dude who doesn’t even fucking swim.”

Minho hauls him up the stairs, yanks open his bedroom door, and shoves him inside before slamming it shut.

Jisung huffs, straightening his hoodie. “Alright, asshole, what the fuck is this? Why am I here? And why-” He pauses, eyes locking onto the bathtub, which is completely full of ice water. “-the fuck is your bath full of ice?”

Minho sighs. “I need your help.”

Jisung squints at him. “With what? Are you planning a fucking polar bear plunge?”

Minho runs a hand through his hair. “I’m taking swimming lessons.”

Jisung stares at him for a long moment. Then, he just nods. “Finally. The bullying worked.”

Minho glares. “Fuck you.”

Jisung grins, clearly too pleased with himself. “So, what? You’re trying to get used to freezing to death?”

Minho exhales sharply. “My teacher wants me to get comfortable underwater, and I don’t want to look like a bitch in front of her. So, you’re helping me practice until next Friday so I can show her I can do this shit.”

Jisung snorts, crossing his arms. “And you think dunking yourself in a fucking ice bath is the way to go?”

Minho gestures toward the tub. “Water’s water.”

Jisung shrugs. “Fair enough.” He gestures toward the bath. “Get in, then.”

Minho grimaces, looking at the water like it personally offended him. “You’re gonna have to force me in.”

Jisung blinks. “Are you serious?”

Minho nods. “Dead fucking serious. My body is screaming ‘fuck that’ right now.”

Jisung grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Before Minho can protest, Jisung grabs him by the arms and lifts him straight off the floor.

“WAIT- FUCK-”

Jisung drops him into the ice water. Minho screams. Not just any scream. A full-body, guttural, horror-movie victim scream. “FUCKING SHIT! JISUNG, YOU FUCKING DEMON SPAWN!”

Jisung, completely unbothered, leans over the tub. “Deep breath.”

Minho whips his head around, shivering violently. “What? Why?”

Jisung shoves his head under the water. The cold hits like a fucking truck. Minho flails, the shock rattling every nerve in his body, but Jisung holds him down. 

Ten seconds. Ten seconds of pure, fucking misery.

Then Jisung yanks him back up. Minho gasps, sputtering water, eyes wild. “WHAT THE FUCK-”

Jisung claps him on the shoulder. “Only five more days of this. Deep breath.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Wait-”

“Three, two, one.”

And back under.

Underwater, Minho screams, but all that comes out are bubbles. He starts shouting curses at Jisung from beneath the water, muffled but angry as fuck. Jisung just grins, keeping him down.

This is absolutely the best part of his fucking week.

The water is cool against Minho’s skin as he drops into the shallow end of the pool, his silver chains glinting under the fluorescent lights. The weight of them against his collarbones is familiar, grounding. The past week of Jisung’s torture training has prepared him for this moment, and for once, he doesn’t hesitate before stepping into the water.

You swim over to him, moving effortlessly, your sage green yoga shorts clinging to your hips, your white T-shirt damp and slightly translucent from the water. Minho catches the slight contrast of your sage green bikini top beneath it, but he doesn’t let his gaze linger.

"You ready for submersion?" you ask, voice quiet but steady.

Minho grins, rolling his shoulders. "Yep," he says confidently. "I fucking trained for this."

And without waiting for a response, he drops under the water. 

Everything muffles. The sounds of the pool, the hum of the building, even his own heartbeat, it all dulls to a distant echo as he sinks just enough for his head to fully submerge. He hovers there, his body bobbing slightly, legs kicking just enough to keep him steady. His lungs burn slightly, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s almost peaceful.

Then his mind starts wandering. Why the fuck is he so desperate to impress you? It’s not like he gives a shit about what people think of him. He’s always been confident, always had people watching him, but this feels different.

And then, before he can stop himself, his thoughts shift. To you. To how fucking beautiful you are. And then, seamlessly, to all the filthy fucking things he wants to do to you.

Minho smirks to himself, keeping his face submerged as his brain dives headfirst into every inappropriate thought he probably shouldn’t be having in a fucking swimming pool. But fuck it.

He thinks about you in his bed, tangled in his sheets, your body pressed against his as he drags his teeth over your skin, making you moan for him and him only. He thinks about your legs wrapped around his head, your hands clutching at his hair as he eats you out, taking his time, drowning in you in the best fucking way. He thinks about you with your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs as he fucks you, your breath hitching, voice breaking as you say his name the way he wants to hear it.

His lungs start burning a little more now, but he stays under, letting the thoughts roll through him like waves. Then, finally, he pushes himself up.

He breaks the surface, shaking the water from his hair, and immediately locks eyes with you.

"Forty-six seconds," you say, nodding slightly. "Impressive."

Minho grins, still thinking about the absolute filth that just went through his mind. "Told you I trained."

You just hum, watching him, but something in your gaze makes him wonder if you can somehow tell what he was just thinking about.

Then, after a pause, you say, "Hey, what's the best way to shut a guy down?"

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Depends. Are we talking politely or effectively?"

You tilt your head slightly. "Just straightforward."

Minho shrugs. "Just say, ‘Hey, not interested.’ That’s it. No explanation needed."

You nod, processing that. "Okay."

Minho narrows his eyes. "Wait, who the fuck are you rejecting?"

"Just some guy who asked me out that I’m not interested in."

Minho immediately wants to ask who, but shakes it off. Instead, he smirks. "There is another option. Do this." He lifts both middle fingers.

You pause, watching him, and for the first time since he met you, you smile. Not a twitch of the lips. Not just a small reaction. A real, actual fucking smile. And Minho feels it hit him straight in the chest like a fucking wrecking ball.

Oh, he’s in trouble.

The pool water is cooler than usual tonight, but Minho barely registers it as he steps in, his silver chains clinking softly against his collarbones. You’re already there, standing waist-deep, your blue yoga shorts clinging to your hips, your white T-shirt damp against your frame with the blue bikini top just barely visible underneath. Your hair is tied back as always, those silver strands framing your face. 

"Okay," you say, voice smooth, measured. "You're learning breaststroke today. It’s the easiest for beginners. You keep your head up."

Minho nods, already bracing himself for whatever bullshit he’s about to endure.

You hand him the life vest. Without hesitation, he pulls it on, tightening the straps. At this point, he barely even complains about it anymore, just accepts his fate.

"Lie on your front," you instruct.

Minho exhales through his nose and flips onto his stomach, legs floating behind him.

"Hold the wall," you say.

Minho grips it, brows slightly furrowed.

"Legs are important in breaststroke," you continue, treading water next to him. "You kick your legs in a circular motion to propel yourself through the water. The legs are the primary source of propulsion, so it's important to get the technique right."

Minho hums, tilting his head slightly. "So what do I need to do?"

You watch him for a moment, then explain, your voice steady, clear. "Start with your legs in a streamlined position, feet pointed. Then," You pause. "Bring your heels towards your ass, with your knees slightly over hip-width apart."

Minho listens, brows furrowing slightly as he tries to visualize it.

"As your heels come up, turn your feet and knees out," you continue. "Then push your feet back in a circular motion. Finish with your legs together, stretched out, and in a streamlined position."

Minho blinks at the ceiling for a second. "That’s a lot of fucking steps."

"It’ll feel more natural once you start," you say simply. "Go ahead. Try it."

Still gripping the wall, Minho starts practising the motions, his legs moving through the water, awkward at first, but getting smoother as he repeats the cycle.

And then, your hand presses against his stomach. Minho freezes, muscles tensing beneath your touch. "Focus on keeping your core strong while you work your legs," you say, completely unaware of the absolute fucking war raging in Minho’s head right now.

Minho nods stiffly, resuming the leg motions, but all he can think about is how soft your hand feels against his bare skin, how close you are, how he’d kill to touch you in return. But he pushes the thoughts aside.

Because fuck that, he needs to get this right. He focuses hard, making sure his legs move in the correct circular pattern, making sure his core stays tight, making sure he doesn’t look like a complete fucking dumbass. Because if he’s going to impress you, he’s going to fucking earn it.

“And now stand up.”

Minho obeys, his feet finding the pool floor as he straightens. The water drips from his hair, sliding down his skin, but he barely registers it. His focus is entirely on you, watching as you move with that same effortless control, completely at home in the water.

“Okay, now the arm movements,” you say, treading water next to him. “You extend your arms, keeping your elbows tucked in, then push them forward to create a streamlined position.” You demonstrate, your arms cutting through the water with precision, your movements controlled and fluid.

Minho watches carefully, then mimics your motion, extending his arms in front of him. His elbows are a little too stiff at first, but he adjusts, rolling his shoulders, making the motion smoother.

“Then,” you continue, nodding at his form, “dip your head between your arms.”

He does, the coolness of the water surrounding him in a way that should be unnerving but isn’t. Not as much as before.

“And when you're using your legs and arms at the same time,” you say, your voice calm, even, “glide forward as your kick finishes behind you. Then sweep your hands out to the sides until they form a Y shape with your body.”

Minho mimics the arm motion, feeling out the movement. It’s strange, a little awkward at first, but it makes sense. He grins, looking at you with sharp confidence. “I’m ready to try and combine both.”

You nod. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Minho takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and then tries. It is an absolute fucking disaster.

The moment he attempts to coordinate his arms and legs, it’s like his entire body forgets how to function. His kick is mistimed, his arms flail in some horrific attempt at a Y shape, and instead of gliding smoothly through the water, he just sinks slightly, floundering like a dying fish.

For the first time ever, you giggle. It’s quiet, soft, but it immediately catches Minho’s attention.

His head pops up above the water, hair dripping into his face, and he grins instantly. “Made you laugh!”

You keep giggling, and it’s genuine, your shoulders shaking slightly as you try to compose yourself. “You looked so ridiculous,” you admit, voice breathless with amusement.

Minho’s grin only widens. “I didn’t look that bad.”

You nod, still giggling. “You did.”

You lift your hand and point at him, as if emphasizing how fucking ridiculous he looked, and you’re still laughing, the sound soft but real. Minho watches you, something warm spreading through his chest, and for once, he doesn’t say anything. He just lets you laugh.

The next day, Minho aches. Every single part of his body feels like it’s been set on fire, the result of spending hours practising breaststroke, pushing himself relentlessly just so he can show you his progress next Friday. His arms hurt, his legs feel like fucking concrete, and his core, don’t even fucking get him started on his core.

But it doesn’t matter. Because he’s going back.

It’s midday when Minho arrives at the swimming centre, determined. The pool is mostly empty at this hour, which is perfect, it means he can practice without distractions.

He strides into the locker room, pulling his hoodie over his head, tossing it onto the bench before stepping out of his sweatpants. His movements are slower than usual, stiff from soreness, but he powers through, grabbing his black swimming trunks and pulling them on. The moment he steps out, rolling his shoulders, he hears it.

Splashing. But not the normal kind. Panicked splashing.

Minho he snaps his head toward the pool. There, crouched at the edge of the deep end, is some Sigma Chi fucker. He’s leaning over the side, one hand pressed down into the water, holding someone under. Whoever it is, they’re clawing at his arm, fighting desperately.

Minho’s stomach drops. Then, he realizes.

It’s you.

“OI!”

His voice booms through the swimming centre, and the Sigma Chi guy jolts, head snapping up in alarm. The guy’s face drains of color, hands immediately raising in surrender the moment he sees who the fuck he’s dealing with.

Because everyone knows about Minho.

Minho doesn’t stop until he’s standing right there, towering over him and then, the guy removes his hand from your head. The second his grip is gone, you break through the surface, gasping for air, your hands immediately gripping the pool wall as your body wracks with coughs. Water drips from your hair, your shoulders shaking as you struggle to breathe, to steady yourself.

Minho’s rage spikes so violently he sees fucking red. Without hesitation, he shoves the Sigma Chi guy straight into the pool. There’s a loud splash, followed by a string of panicked curses, but Minho ignores him. His focus is on you.

He crouches immediately, reaching down and with zero effort, he pulls you out of the pool. The moment you’re standing, you cling to him, your body still trembling, coughs shaking through you. Minho wraps an arm around your back, pulling you closer, his other hand smoothing your soaked hair down in slow, calming motions.

"Want me to call Chan?" His voice is low, controlled, but his fury is boiling beneath the surface.

You shake your head, still gripping onto him, your fingers curled tightly into his skin. You don’t say anything, don’t let go, just keep holding onto him like he’s the only stable thing in the fucking world right now.

Minho doesn’t move. Just keeps rubbing your back, keeps smoothing your hair down, keeps holding you until your breathing steadies.

Behind him, the Sigma Chi guy sputters in the water before shouting, "What the fuck, Minho?!"

Minho doesn’t look at him. "What the fuck you?" His voice is sharp, cutting, layered with undiluted venom. "What the fuck are you doing trying to drown her?"

The guy scoffs, pushing his wet hair out of his face. “She deserved it!”

Minho’s jaw tightens. His fingers flex against your back as he holds you tighter, keeping you as far away from this fucker as possible. “Oh yeah? How?” His voice is calm, too fucking calm, and dangerous.

The guy’s eyes flare with resentment, his face twisting in rage. "She fucking humiliated me! She rejected me! Like anyone else would even be interested in her!"

Minho feels your fingers tighten around him, your whole body tensing against his.

That’s it. That’s all it takes.

Minho shifts, turning to face you, his voice gentle now, quiet. "Go get dry and dressed," he murmurs, his hand still soothingly rubbing your back. "We'll get coffee, yeah?"

You nod, hesitating only slightly before finally slipping away, heading toward the women's locker room. Minho watches you disappear through the doors before he finally turns back.

Minho crouches at the edge of the pool, his lips curling into a grin, but there’s nothing friendly about it. It’s the kind of grin that makes people sweat, the kind that carries the weight of a promise. One soaked in violence and bad fucking decisions. The Sigma Chi guy treads water below him, still coughing, still glaring, but there’s a flicker of something else behind his eyes now. Unease.

Minho tilts his head, fingers drumming against his knee like he has all the time in the world. “You wanna drown someone smaller than you?” he muses, voice light, almost conversational. “Someone who’s too shy, too fucking kind, too scared to fight back?” His head tips forward slightly, his grin widening. “Well, now, you’ve pissed me off.”

And then he moves. With zero hesitation, Minho’s hand shoots forward, grabbing the fucker by the collar and shoving him straight down into the water.

There’s a choked gasp, followed by a violent splash, but Minho doesn’t let go. He watches as the guy’s arms flail, his hands grabbing at nothing, his legs kicking uselessly beneath him. It’s not panic yet, not fully, but Minho can see it brewing, feel it building, and he revels in it.

It’s not even close to what the bastard did to you, but Minho doesn’t need long. Just a few seconds. Just enough to make a point. Beneath the surface, bubbles rise as the guy thrashes, his fists hitting at Minho’s wrist, but Minho doesn’t budge.

And then, just when he starts to struggle harder, just when the panic fully sets in, Minho yanks him up by his hair.

The guy breaks the surface with a ragged gasp, sputtering, coughing, trying to push his wet hair out of his eyes. His breathing is shaky, his expression furious, but it’s fury laced with fear now.

Minho leans in closer, voice low, steady, sharp as a fucking blade. “I see your face around her ever again,” he murmurs, tightening his grip in the guy’s hair, forcing their eyes to lock, “and you won’t resurface next time.”

The guy stills. His whole body goes rigid, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, and Minho watches as his brain finally fucking catches up. Minho lets go, standing up smoothly, towering over the water-drenched mess below him. He doesn’t need to say anything else. The warning is clear enough. And if the bastard is smart, he’ll take it.

------------------------------------------

Minho steps out of the pool area, rolling his shoulders as his gaze immediately finds you sitting outside the women's locker room. You’re curled up on one of the plastic benches, elbows resting on your knees, fingers playing with the hem of your white cropped hoodie. Your black sweatpants are slightly too long, pooling around the tops of your scuffed white Converse, and your damp blue hair is still tied back, the silver strands at the front framing your face.

You look small like this, curled in on yourself, your usual quiet presence even quieter than usual.

Minho exhales, schooling his expression into something lighter, something easier. He won’t make this worse for you by hovering too much, by pressing for details you probably don’t want to give.

Instead, he stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly. "I'm gonna go throw some clothes on, and we'll go, okay?"

You blink up at him, nodding once, your fingers still idly tugging at your hoodie sleeve.

Minho doesn’t hesitate. He turns and strides into the men’s locker room, making quick work of peeling off his swimming trunks. His body is still aching from hours of practice yesterday, and now with the added exertion of holding someone underwater, his muscles protest every movement.

Still, he moves fast, pulling on a pair of black sweatpants and a fitted hoodie, leaving his damp hair to dry on its own. Within minutes, he’s stepping back outside, rejoining you where you’re still sitting in the exact same position.

He doesn’t give you a chance to hesitate.

"Come on," he murmurs, gently pulling you up to stand, his arm automatically wrapping around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. He keeps his grip loose, non-restrictive, letting you lean in as much or as little as you want. "We’ll get you some tea or coffee, yeah? It'll help."

You nod again, your body moulding slightly into his warmth, and Minho exhales softly, steering you toward the exit.

The air outside is cool, the sun dipping lower, casting long shadows across the pavement as Minho leads you toward the frat house.

“We can go back to the house,” he says, keeping his tone casual, like this is just another normal day. "Everyone has lectures or shit to do, so it'll be quiet."

You nod again, your gaze fixed ahead, silent but steady.

Minho watches you for a second before tightening his arm around you slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything else. He just keeps walking, keeps leading you forward, until the swimming centre is nothing but a fading memory behind you.

The frat house is exactly as chaotic and disgusting as Minho expects when he pushes the door open, stepping inside with you tucked at his side. You glance around, eyes scanning the absolute mess that litters the floors, the couch, the countertops, crushed beer cans, abandoned hoodies, a pair of sneakers that definitely aren’t the same size, and an inflated condom bobs around the hallway.

Minho kicks it out of the hallway like it personally offended him, muttering under his breath before leading you toward the kitchen.

You follow silently, your steps slow, as if still processing everything from earlier. Minho keeps one eye on you, making sure you’re not checking out mentally before focusing back on the kitchen doorway.

And then, you trip. Minho's arm shoots out immediately, catching you before you even come close to hitting the ground, steadying you with ease. But instead of focusing on you, your eyes drop to the floor, to the thing that nearly sent you flying or rather, the someone.

There, sprawled across the cold fucking tile, is a guy with fluffy brown hair, dead asleep. His cheek is smushed against the floor, arms sprawled out, one leg bent awkwardly over the other, like he just died mid-walk and collapsed.

You blink.

Minho exhales through his nose. "That’s Jisung," he says, bored, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "He’ll literally sleep anywhere. The fact that he’s still here means Felix isn’t, or else his clingy little boyfriend ass would’ve coaxed him into sleeping somewhere socially acceptable."

You nod, still staring at the grown-ass man sleeping peacefully on the filthy frat house floor.

Minho steps over him without hesitation before glancing back at you. "Just step on him."

You frown. "That’s cruel."

Minho smirks. "It’s Jisung, it’s fine."

You shake your head and carefully step around him instead. But Minho steps directly on Jisung’s back. There’s a grunted noise from below, a sleepy, confused “fuck off”, but Jisung doesn’t even move, just shifts slightly before settling back into deep unconsciousness.

Minho moves on, making a beeline for the kettle, rolling his shoulders as he opens a cabinet stuffed full of tea bags, instant coffee packets, and a variety of shit he barely remembers buying.

"Any preference for tea?" he asks, glancing at you over his shoulder. "I have every kind you can think of."

You hesitate for a second before murmuring, "Green tea."

Minho nods, pulling a box from the cabinet with one hand while reaching for the kettle with the other. "Honey?"

"Yes, please."

He hums, setting the kettle on before turning to face you, leaning against the counter. His gaze lingers on you for a second before he says, voice still casual but laced with something sharper, "So. What happened with that Sigma Chi dick?"

You don’t answer immediately, fingers curling slightly against the hem of your hoodie. Then, finally, you sigh, voice quiet but steady.

"He and his friends cornered me. He asked me on a date, I said no, and then, well, you saw how he took that." Your lips press together briefly before you add, "He was waiting for me when I arrived at the pool."

The sharp, earthy scent of tea fills the kitchen as the kettle steams, and from the floor, Jisung sniffs like a fucking bloodhound. His eyes crack open groggily, still half-asleep, but immediately locked onto the source of the smell.

"Tea," he mutters, voice rough from sleep. "Me want."

Minho doesn’t even glance down, just rolls his eyes as he pulls two mugs from the cabinet.

Jisung starts to push himself up but pauses mid-motion, blinking slowly as his gaze shifts to you, still seated at the table. His head tilts, squinting slightly, like he’s trying to confirm whether or not you’re real. 

"There’s a Smurfette in the kitchen," 

Minho snorts, shaking his head. "Jisung, this is Y/N," he says, setting a mug down in front of you before handing you a spoon. "She’s my swimming teacher, my friend, and Chan’s friend."

Jisung blinks again, brain still not fully operational. "Chan has friends?" he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes before his head snaps up properly, realization finally fucking hitting. "Wait, wait, wait, you’re Minho’s mystery teacher?"

Minho sighs. "Give him a minute," he mutters to you. "His two brain cells need time to fucking jumpstart."

Jisung doesn’t even register the insult. Instead, he points at you, eyes wide, and then immediately swivels back to Minho. "What the fuck did you do to the poor girl?!" His tone is accusatory, like Minho’s some villain who just kicked a puppy. "She’s soaked and sad!"

Jisung scrambles up onto his feet, rubbing his eyes before dramatically throwing himself between you and Minho, arms outstretched like some tragic hero. "It’s okay, honey, I’m here to protect you from the big meanie."

You blink at him, processing the absolute whirlwind of energy that just came flying at you, before calmly saying, "Minho helped me."

Jisung freezes and his arms drop slightly, his brows furrowing as his lips purse in deep confusion. He turns to you slowly, like he’s trying to process words that don’t make sense. Then, with absolute seriousness, he asks, "Minho? Lee Minho? Helped someone?!"

Minho just rolls his eyes, stirring the tea, but Jisung isn’t done. His brain pivots instantly, fixating on you instead. He squints at you, tapping his chin. "You look like you have anxiety. I have anxiety. That makes us anxiety buddies."

You blink as Minho groans, setting his mug down with a small thud. "Jisung, she doesn’t need your crackhead anxiety energy right now. She needs calm."

You shrug, voice still soft. "I don’t mind."

Jisung immediately flips Minho off before he slides into the chair beside you. With zero hesitation, he digs into the pocket of his hoodie, pulling out a small fidget toy, a soft, squishy ball that glows slightly when squeezed, and places it in your hand.

"Here, these help," he says. His voice is genuine, no longer teasing, just light and warm and real.

You look down at the toy for a second before wrapping your fingers around it, testing the texture, feeling the slight give as you squeeze. It’s simple, but oddly grounding, and when you look up again, Jisung is grinning at you.

"It’s okay," he says, nodding sagely. "Minho might seem like a dick, but he’s nice."

You don’t hesitate. "I know."

At that, Minho pauses, his spoon still stirring, but his lips twitch slightly, a hidden smile that he quickly hides behind his mug as he takes a slow sip of tea before he turns back to the counter, grabbing the jar of honey and twisting off the lid. He dips a spoon in, watching the thick golden liquid drizzle into the mug, swirling into the warm tea as he stirs. His movements are unhurried, the soft clink of the spoon against ceramic filling the kitchen.

Behind him, Jisung shifts in his chair before he speaks again, voice more curious than concerned. "Uh, Minho, what’s wrong with her?"

Minho glances over his shoulder and immediately spots it. You’re completely still, your eyes locked straight ahead, your fingers still fidgeting with the squishy toy Jisung gave you, but your expression is vacant like someone hit a pause button on you.

Minho exhales through his nose, setting the honey jar down. "She’s having a seizure."

Jisung frowns, turning toward you, his head tilting as he waves his hand in front of your face. No reaction. You don’t blink, don’t shift, don’t even seem aware of the movement at all.

Jisung leans back slightly, processing, before muttering, "Aren’t seizures more-" He suddenly jerks his arms and shakes his whole body violently, mimicking full-body convulsions.

Minho snorts, shaking his head. "Different type of epilepsy, dumbass. She’s just not here right now."

Jisung drops the act, blinking at you with open fascination. "Dude, this is cool as fuck. I need to learn how to disassociate like this. My brain never fucking shuts up."

Minho just rolls his eyes, turning back to the counter and grabbing your mug. He lifts it carefully, making sure the tea is mixed properly, before moving back toward the table.

Just as he sets the mug down in front of you, your body jerks slightly, and then you blink. Your hands twitch around the fidget toy before your gaze refocuses, flickering around as if you’re reorienting yourself.

Minho watches, giving you a second before speaking. "Tea’s ready, mermaid girl."

Your eyes drop to the mug in front of you, your fingers hesitating for half a second before wrapping around the warm ceramic. You don’t say anything, don’t acknowledge what just happened. And Minho doesn’t press.

He just leans back in his chair, watching as you slowly bring the mug to your lips, your fingers still curled around Jisung’s fidget toy.

Minho arrives at the swimming centre late Friday night, his boots scuffing against the pavement as he approaches the entrance. The air is crisp, the quiet hum of streetlights buzzing faintly in the background. He spots you immediately, standing just outside the doors, your fingers fiddling anxiously with the strap of your bag.

You’re dressed in beige cargo pants, the fabric slightly oversized, hanging comfortably around your frame. A white knit sweater is layered over top, the sleeves slightly too long, the hem brushing just below your waist. A beige cap sits snugly on your head, your hair tucked back neatly, and your white sneakers scuff lightly against the pavement as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

Minho slows his steps, his brows pulling together slightly. "You okay?"

Your fingers still against the strap for half a second before you nod, but your voice is quiet, controlled. "I didn’t want to go in without someone checking he wasn’t waiting again."

Minho nods once, his jaw tightening as a familiar wave of irritation flickers through him. He doesn’t say anything—just wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as he guides you inside with him. His gaze scans the space immediately, sweeping across the pool deck, the empty bleachers, the locker room hallways. His muscles are tense, his grip slightly firmer than usual, but he doesn’t let it show on his face.

After a few moments, he exhales through his nose. "I think you’re good," he murmurs, finally glancing down at you. His arm squeezes briefly, reassuring, before he steps back. "Meet you in the pool?"

You nod once, your voice slightly steadier. "We’re working on breaststroke in the deep end today."

Minho smirks, shaking off the lingering tension. "Great."

He heads toward the men’s locker room, stripping off his hoodie and jeans as he moves. His body is still sore as fuck from practising all week, but he doesn’t care. He’s determined. He tugs on his black swimming trunks, running a hand through his hair before stepping back out toward the pool.

The moment he does, his eyes immediately find you.

You’re standing by the edge, adjusting your navy yoga shorts, your posture casual, your skin still slightly damp from warming up earlier. You’re not wearing your usual T-shirt over your swimsuit this time, just a navy bikini top, the fabric snug against your frame, exposing more skin than usual.

You catch him looking and exhale through your nose, tilting your head slightly. "I forgot my T-shirt." Your voice is as even as always, but there’s a hint of hesitation, like you’re expecting a reaction. "Is that okay?"

Minho grins immediately, his gaze sweeping over you without shame as he hops into the pool, the water sloshing around him as he lands. His smirk is lazy, teasing, eyes glinting.

"More than okay," he says smoothly, shaking the water from his hair.

You don’t react. Just tilt your head slightly, watching him with that same calm, unreadable expression. But Minho notices the way your fingers pause slightly against the waistband of your shorts before you follow him into the water.

Minho paddles out into the deeper part of the pool, his strokes steady, his muscles aching slightly but functioning better than they ever have in the water. You swim beside him, your movements smooth, effortless, like the water bends around you rather than resists. The contrast is almost funny, where you glide, Minho is still learning, still adjusting, but for the first time, he doesn’t feel like he’s fighting against the pool itself.

“Remember what I taught you,” you say, your voice lighter than usual, more open. There’s a warmth to it now, something easier, something softer.

Minho grins. “Obviously,” he scoffs, then actually fucking does it—his arms and legs moving in sync, his body pushing forward without immediately sinking. It’s not perfect, but it’s breaststroke, and it’s working.

You watch for a few moments, and then, to his absolute fucking delight, you smile at him.

“What now? I’m like a fucking fish!”

You tilt your head, clearly unimpressed. “At best, you’re at a six-year-old’s swimming competency.”

Minho gasps, hand dramatically slapping his chest. "How fucking dare you-"

His overreaction costs him immediately. The second he loses focus, his rhythm breaks, and his body tilts awkwardly, sinking slightly. His instincts kick in, panic flaring for half a second, but before he can do anything, you move first.

You dive forward, reaching out without hesitation, your hands gripping his arms, steadying him, keeping him above water before he can actually fuck himself over.

Minho exhales sharply, adjusting, getting his balance back, and then grins triumphantly as he resumes swimming, this time more controlled. “You,” he pants, paddling closer to you, his voice smoother, cockier. “You’re a fucking miracle worker.”

You glance away, almost shy, before nodding slightly, the corners of your lips twitching again. Minho watches you for a beat longer before he moves.

Without thinking, without second-guessing, he surges forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His fingers tangle into your damp hair, and before you can react, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is hot and demanding, his lips moving over yours with no hesitation, no uncertainty, just pure fucking intention. His other hand grips the pool ledge, holding you right where he wants you, his body pressing against yours, chest-to-chest, nothing between you but water and heat.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your thighs squeezing slightly as you pull him closer, and he fucking groans into your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair as he kisses you deeper, harder, hungrier. Your hands find his shoulders, gripping lightly, nails digging in as you kiss him back, the slow burn of tension between you finally fucking snapping.

Minho’s hand slides down, dragging over your thighs, your hips, your waist, mapping out your skin like he’s memorizing it, like he’s claiming it, like he’s been waiting for this the entire fucking time. And then, slowly, he pulls back, his breathing slightly uneven, his forehead resting against yours as he smirks. “I’m gonna take you on a date,” he says, voice rough, but amused, like the words just popped into his head and stuck.

You blink at him, slightly dazed, and he grins. “Somewhere where I have the high ground,” he muses, still catching his breath. “Like football.” His fingers trail lazily down your spine, and he smirks even wider. “Yes. I’m going to teach you how to play football.”

You stare at him for a second, and he knows you’re about to call him a dumbass, but before you can, he tilts his head slightly. “Wanna go on a date?”

There’s a pause, a small one, but a pause nonetheless, before you finally nod. "Sure."

The college football field is eerily quiet this late at night, the floodlights casting long shadows over the empty bleachers. The grass is slightly damp from the evening air, but the field itself is pristine, untouched, a perfect stretch of green beneath the stadium lights.

You stand near the centre, arms crossed loosely over your chest, dressed in black leggings, black Converse, and a long-sleeve black T-shirt. The fabric clings to your frame just enough to be flattering, but loose enough to be comfortable, your movements easy, fluid, as you watch Minho with quiet curiosity.

Minho, on the other hand, is grinning like a fucking idiot, clearly thrilled about whatever the fuck he has planned for tonight. In his hands, he holds his black and red #25 jersey, the fabric slightly worn but clearly well taken care of.

"Put it on," he says, handing it over with zero explanation.

You eye him for a second before taking it, fingers brushing against the material as you pull it over your head. The scent of fabric softener, faint cologne, and something distinctly Minho lingers in the material, comforting, familiar in a way you hadn’t expected. Minho watches, clearly pleased, before stepping closer and placing a football helmet on your head.

It immediately slips forward, covering your eyes. There’s a beat of silence. Then Minho sighs, shaking his head. "Okay, maybe we forget the helmet. Time to learn football."

You adjust the jersey, pushing the sleeves up slightly before glancing at him. "You know, I had hoped our date would involve food."

Minho waves a hand dismissively. "Food later. I’ll cook for you. I’m the best cook in the frat." His smirk widens. "But right now, I get to teach you something."

You exhale through your nose, clearly unconvinced, but before you can argue, Minho tosses you a football.

You reach for it and miss completely. The ball thuds against the ground, bouncing off into the distance.

Minho throws his head back, letting out an obnoxiously loud whoop, his hands shooting up toward the sky. "YES!" He claps his hands together. "You suck at something! Thank you, God! Finally!"

You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. "Shut up."

Minho grins, clearly delighted. "Okay, can you run?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Yes."

Minho smirks. "Of course you can. At least you’re terrible at catching. You need a flaw, sweetness, and God has finally given you one."

You don’t dignify that with a response, just watch as he tosses another football toward you. You reach for it and miss again. With a deep sigh, you drop your hands. "This isn’t fun."

Minho hums, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Then, suddenly, he snaps his fingers. "Okay, let’s make it fun." He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something lower, smoother. "Kisses. Lots of kisses. If you can take this ball from my hands, I’ll reward you."

You tilt your head, stepping closer. "Or," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers brushing against his as you lean in. "You could fuck me in your jersey."

Before he can process what the fuck just came out of your mouth, you snatch the ball straight from his hands and sprint. Minho freezes. His brain short-circuits completely, his entire system rebooting like a fucking crashed computer. His hands are still outstretched, fingers still slightly curled, like they haven’t quite registered the loss of the ball yet.

His brain screams at him to move, but all he can do is blink rapidly as the words repeat in his head on a fucking loop. 

Then, finally, he reacts. "HEY!" His body jerks forward, snapping into motion as he scrambles to chase after you, his feet digging into the turf as he takes off.

But, you’re faster. You fucking sprint, your movements quick and controlled, your legs carrying you with ease as you gain distance. Minho grits his teeth, pushing harder, but you’re already ahead, already laughing breathlessly as you weave across the field.

The cool night air rushes past as you sprint across the field, the football tucked securely under your arm. Your heart pounds, not from fear, not from exhaustion, but from the sheer exhilaration of being chased.

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Minho gaining on you, his strides long, powerful, relentless. His expression is pure determination, sharp and focused, but beneath it is a grin, a cocky, teasing thing that says he’s enjoying this just as much as you are.

Before you can push forward, before you can even think about trying to outrun him again, he lunges. His arms wrap around your waist, and for a split second, the world tilts. But instead of hitting the ground hard, he twists mid-fall, flipping the position so you land right on top of him, his back hitting the grass instead of yours. The impact is cushioned, controlled, his body taking the fall for you effortlessly.

You blink down at him, breathless, the warmth of his body radiating up through your clothes.

Minho’s grin is smug, his dark eyes flickering in the dim stadium lights. "Nicely played," he murmurs, his voice low, amused, his hands still resting against your waist, fingers just barely digging into your hips.

You smile, something mischievous flickering behind your usually calm gaze. Slowly, deliberately, you lean down, your lips barely brushing against his, teasing, soft, fleeting before you’re gone again.

You push off of him, sprinting away before he can even think about stopping you, the ball still firmly in your grasp. Minho bursts out laughing, a full-bodied, genuine laugh, as he scrambles back to his feet, his boots digging into the turf as he launches himself after you.

"Come on, sweetness!" he calls after you, his voice dripping with cocky amusement. "You can’t run forever!"

You know he’s right, his endurance is better, his reaction time quicker, and before you can dodge, before you can make another move, he snatches your wrist mid-sprint.

With one fluid motion, he spins you back into his chest, your body colliding with his, and in an instant, his mouth is on yours. The kiss is nothing like the last one.

This one is fierce, unapologetic, possessive, his hands cup your face, thumbs brushing over your skin, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you there, as if making sure you’re not slipping away again.

Your breath catches, but you don’t pull away, don’t hesitate, don’t second-guess. Instead, you press closer, your fingers gripping at his clothes, your entire body melting into the kiss like you’ve been waiting for it.

Minho makes a low, satisfied noise, something deep and approving, something that vibrates against your lips as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss even further, like he can’t help himself.

The football? 

Completely forgotten.

The swimming centre is buzzing with faint echoes of water slapping against tile, but the real noise comes from the group of seven loud-mouthed Alpha Phi assholes standing at the edge of the pool, all of them dressed in various pairs of swimming trunks, looking either confused, bored, or outright suspicious.

Minho stands in front of them, hands on his hips, grinning like he owns the fucking place.

"Good afternoon, bitches," he announces, his voice echoing through the space. "Meet Y/N."

You’re standing slightly behind him, relaxed but observant, dressed in your usual yoga shorts and a bikini top, arms loosely crossed as you watch them all process the introduction.

Chan, standing closest, immediately steps forward and wraps you into a warm, familiar side hug, squeezing lightly before pulling back just as quick. You return it, a small smile forming as his presence is steady, grounding, something safe.

Jisung, already grinning, waves happily at you, his expression bright, easy, open—completely different from the crackhead energy he had the first time you met him. You wave back, your movement small but genuine, and Jisung nods approvingly, like he’s decided he fully supports your existence now.

Then Hyunjin, who has been watching Minho with pure suspicion, tilts his head, arms crossed over his chest. "Why are we here, Minho, and why the fuck are you in swimming trunks?"

Minho’s grin widens, clearly thrilled to finally say it. "Because, dear Hyunjin, I can swim." He claps his hands together, turning slightly as he throws his arms out dramatically. "And I'm here to prove it to all you bitches." Then, his voice shifts, going softer, more playful, as he turns to you. "Not you, baby."

Your lips twitch slightly, but you don’t say anything, just watch as Hyunjin’s jaw actually fucking drops.

"What?" Hyunjin sputters, looking wildly at the others. "Are we being punked? Are there cameras? No fucking way."

Chan, still processing, frowns slightly before turning back to you, his eyes narrowing. "Y/N, you and Minho?"

You nod once, your face calm, unreadable.

Chan immediately loses it. "WHAT? NO, NO, NO! NOT MY LITTLE BABY!"

And then, before you can react, he fucking cradles you. Chan, all muscle, all protective instinct, literally wraps his arms around you, holding you like you’re an actual fucking child, his voice dramatic, pained. "This is a disaster. This is the worst thing to ever happen. No. Nope. I refuse. We are undoing this. Y/N, blink twice if you need saving."

Minho, completely unfazed, crosses his arms, rolling his eyes as he waits for Chan’s meltdown to pass.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Minho waves him off, stepping forward, leaning casually against your shoulder, completely ignoring the fact that Chan is still holding you like a toddler. "I corrupted your baby. Wasn't really hard anyway. It's me, Chan. Time to accept it."

Chan groans loudly, shaking his head. "I hate this. I hate everything."

Minho grins wider, fully basking in the moment. "And anyway, none of that matters because the real point is-" He gestures toward the pool with both arms, dramatic as ever. "Y/N taught me how to swim, so my only flaw? Gone. I am now perfect."

Jisung bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach, literally bending over as he wheezes. "Your only flaw? Minho, you are the biggest piece of shit I’ve ever met."

Hyunjin claps sarcastically, still looking personally betrayed. "Wow. Wow. I’m so happy for you. This is truly a moment for all of us."

Seungmin leans against the edge of the pool, arms crossed, his expression completely unimpressed as he watches Minho stand there like he’s about to unveil the greatest athletic achievement of all time.

“Get to swimming then, Tinky Winky,” Seungmin deadpans.

Minho’s head snaps toward him so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t break. “Fuck you,” he shoots back, flipping him off before stepping toward the edge.

And then, without another word, he hops into the pool.

The water splashes around him, cool against his skin, but he barely registers it before he pushes off the wall, kicking off with force, and starts breaststroking up and down the pool. His movements are controlled, precise, smooth, nothing like the floundering disaster he started with weeks ago.

It’s not perfect, but it’s damn good.

The guys watch for a few moments, still processing the fact that Minho, Lee Minho, the man who refused to even put a toe in the deep end, is actually swimming like a normal fucking person.

“Pssst, Y/N,” Hyunjin suddenly whispers, leaning in slightly. "Hi, I’m Hyunjin. How bad was he when he started?"

You tilt your head, your expression calm, innocent, but there’s a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes. "He wore a life vest and arm floaties."

Hyunjin’s hand flies to his mouth, trying to smother his snort, but it’s too late—a wheeze escapes him, and the others immediately zero in on the conversation.

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to make them hang on every word. "The first time he tried combining the arms and legs for breaststroke," you continue, straight-faced, "I thought he was going to die."

The guys erupt into laughter, the sound echoing through the swimming centre, bouncing off the walls as Chan doubles over, clutching his stomach, while Jisung literally collapses onto Felix. Seungmin is wheezing, Changbin is cackling, and Jeongin actually has to sit down on the edge of the pool from laughing so hard.

You smile innocently in Minho’s direction just as he reaches the wall, finishing another length.

He catches the look on your face immediately, and his own grin grows wider. "What are you talking about?"

Hyunjin, still laughing, straightens up instantly, clearing his throat. "Oh, uh, nothing, right Y/N?"

You tilt your head, playing along effortlessly. "Nothing."

Minho narrows his eyes slightly, clearly not buying it, but before he can say anything else, he reaches up, grabs Hyunjin’s wrist, and yanks him straight into the pool.

Hyunjin yells in betrayal as he hits the water, arms flailing dramatically, his voice muffled by the splash as he disappears beneath the surface.

The others cheer loudly, jeering as Hyunjin resurfaces, coughing and spluttering, glaring at Minho like a wet cat.

Felix and Jisung, still grinning, move toward you, offering their hands. Without hesitation, you take them, letting them help you into the water, the cool temperature washing over you instantly. Changbin, Chan, Seungmin, and Jeongin all hop in after, the pool filling with energy and laughter as the guys start splashing each other, the tension from earlier completely gone.

Then, from somewhere behind you, Seungmin calls out.

"CHICKEN!"

Minho turns to you immediately, his smirk returning full force. "Get on my shoulders, baby."

You raise a brow but don’t hesitate, placing your hands lightly on his shoulders as he ducks under slightly, guiding your legs around him before standing up fully, lifting you above the water with ease. For a second, the world tilts, your vision filled with stadium lights reflecting off the rippling pool, the sounds of laughter and splashing fading slightly as your focus shifts solely to Minho.

He’s looking up at you, his hands firm around your thighs, holding you steady. But his expression is different now, his usual cocky smirk softened, his dark eyes taking you in with something quiet, unreadable.

The lights from the pool cast a soft glow around you, catching on the strands of your blue and silver hair, making them shimmer like fucking stardust. And then, before he can even stop himself, Minho murmurs, almost in awe,

"You’re beautiful, you know that?"

You smile at him, a small, genuine thing, one that lights up your eyes. Minho smiles back instantly, warmth spreading through his chest, a deep, easy kind of happiness settling in his bones.

For the first time, he lets himself think about it, really fucking think about it. If the guys hadn’t bullied him into learning how to swim, if he hadn’t let his own stubborn pride push him to prove himself, he would have never met you.

And in Minho’s mind, that would have been the greatest fucking tragedy.

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind

Lee Minho Taglist: @0haerireah0 @linowzzzz

Proofread by the lovely @eastjonowhere

[heretical-cogitations]

Help! My serf smells like the armoury and it's making me have heretical thoughts.

 Word count ~700 ish 

Part 2 Part 3

A/N - Never wrote anything in a fandom before I started this blog, I'm sorry if this is poorly written!!

Was thinking about Titus when I wrote this, but also Loken when he would chat to Mersadie. I think it's vague enough to fit any astartes??  Cato Sicarius not included bro would throw a tantrum, go sulk somewhere and deny he liked them even the slightest bit then get jealous if they even glanced at another space marine. (I want to tear him to shreads (affectionate)).

Kinda suggestive, nothing explicit but added a little cut.

 

His serf had been staring at him for a while now, the pauldron they were cleaning thoroughly before now barely touched with each lazy pass of the cloth. Their lord angel, sitting on a nearby bench, was busy polishing the piece of armour most recently cleaned. This ritual maintenance of his armour was usually a relaxing activity for the space marine but today it was becoming more and more stressful. 

Why does his serf smell like the armoury? 

When did they go there?

Why are they fidgeting so much?

Why won't they look him in the eye? 

Why is their heart fluttering like that? 

Why do they smell so ... pleasant?? 

A prickling warmth began to spread through him. His mind was racing, his face tight, brows furrowed, something wasn’t right. He said their name multiple times, but they continued to stare straight at his chest, eyes roving over the defined planes of muscle; occasionally flicking to focus on the ports decorating his skin. They had seen his ports before so was it the difference in attire, he wondered. His usual body glove discarded for a simple loincloth. He caught their attention with a low rumble of their name louder than the last attempts. This time their eyes snapped to his, squeaking in surprise.

 "Oh! Sorry, my lord. What did you say?" Their eyes dart away, head hanging low, cloth forgotten along with the armour. Running their hands down their thighs straightening the creases of their robe. His eyes follow their hands, watching as the robe is stretched tight over their legs. It's an appealing sight... He shakes the jarring thought away.

"Why do you smell of the armoury? What business did you have there?" His gaze set on their face. They look back to him again, clearly confused. "I haven't been to the armoury, my lord. Before you returned, I had been attending to your room. "

"You needn't lie to me, little one, I am not angry you were there." He pressed for the answer as softly as he could. "My lord, I don't understand what you mean. I didn't go there."  They replied hurriedly. The shift in the smell as stress hormones flooded their body caught him off guard. He sat back, placing the armour and polishing tools down beside him, spreading his legs wider as he crossed his arms in thought. He knew enough about astartes biology to know external smells didn't mix well with those produced from the body, so it would make no sense for their smell to shift the way it did. He rested his chin on his hand, looking down at his serf. "Hmm, I believe you, no need to fret."  He finally responded pensively before closing his eyes and taking a deep but measured breath. "Th-thank you, my lord." They stuttered out relief clear in their breathtaking voice.

A new wave of the smell washed over him like a strong tide, so similar to where he dons his plate but sweeter and more palatable like it was concocted specifically for him. His mouth watered; he wanted to see if they tasted better than they sme- this isn’t right. Despite his closed eyes, he could feel their stare burning through him. It wasn't the type of attention he had come to expect from baselines. This, alongside these new thoughts, was all so overwhelming to him.

This is not right; eyes now open he cast his gaze down to his serf, their beautiful eyes almost glassy as they looked at him hands grasping the hem of their robe revealing a tease of their plush, soft thighs, his breath stuttered at the sight, the urge to squeeze and knead the- he caught himself again, this was getting out of hand. The smell was even more intense. He felt himself losing his ability to think. He stood up abruptly, "M-my lord?" They whispered breathless. "I must take my leave, little one. I'll return to you soon." With that, he shrugged on a robe hung by the door and left, not seeing how his serfs gaze lingered on him until the very last second.

[roxxiies]

AGAIN MY REQUEST! granger getting chocolate's from others girl but he declines it and when the reader gives him a chocolates and he got very happy but tried to hide it because he wants to look cool Infront of her!!! PLEASE NOTICE ME!!!

:⁠-⁠*(⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

despite being popular, he still and will forever receive everything about you. sfw, fem!reader, fluff

✩　featuring: granger

Valentine’s Day?

Granger found it quite unnecessary.

But this day he dreaded had come, and gifts started flooding in—chocolates ranging from the finest to the most exotic and all from admirers he barely even knew. However, he never really accepted them, just throwing them away to rot.

Love was a distraction, he says, and distractions had no place in his life.

As he prepared to discard yet another heart-shaped box, he suddenly froze. A familiar shade of hair stood out in the crowd and was now coming towards his direction. Instinctively, he hid the box behind his back, hoping she hadn’t seen it.

Once she saw him, she hesitantly walked towards him and handed him a simple red box—handmade and…cute, he couldn't deny how much effort she had put into it.

“You don’t have to take them…” she murmured softly, shifting under his unreadable gaze. “I heard you like almonds… so I baked some cinnamon for you.”

Hot, freshly baked cinnamons. Did she also know he liked that?

The young lady knew how to bake thanks to her mother. Her father loved his wifes cooking it too; maybe that's how she captured his heart. Similar to her mother, she always baked to her heart's content, but she—and I mean, you—never got the chance for someone to fill that aching gap.

Patience, love favors the patient, your mother would murmur.

For a moment, he said nothing—more like breathless. His sharp eyes flickered between the box and your face while somehow feeling his heart race as soft pink dusts his cheeks, but gone as it arrived. But like any other encounters with the other admirers, he waits for that well-revised confession… but, uh, none came.

The murmurs and whispers around you grew louder. Your hands trembled slightly from the unwanted attention, but you stood firm on your ground, and it didn't go unnoticed by him.

Something stirred in his chest—an unfamiliar, unsettling yet ticklish warmth.

A few seconds later, he accepted the box slowly, his fingers brushing against the ribbon you had tied so carefully. You almost instantly beamed as he took it, and he couldn't help but let out a chuckle at your expression. The whispers around you seemed to start fading into nothing as the thumping of your heart nulls the noise.

He stares at you with a smile—mind you, he rarely found anything worth his time, let alone showing his affection.

"Happy Valentine's Day." He said and he could see your face flush red from his words, not expecting it and he chuckles, "Do you have a valentine? Hopefully not." You could almost turn into tomato—

That night, alone under the moonlight and on a balcony, he hesitated before untying the ribbon. Quickly, the faint scent of almonds filled the air, stirring memories he had long buried since... ah, he doesnt even remember but the sweet pang scent of almond felt like bringing him back home. He picked up a piece and took a bite.

The flavor hits his tongue as he lets out a sound of satisfaction, closing his eyes to savor it a little more. Then, another bite. It was sweet. Sincere.

And for the first time in years, Valentine’s Day didn’t feel so bad after all.

[tangerinesgf]

Oh my God the dirty talk in Tomxreader getting caught was so hot 🤭. Do you think you can write something with Tom wanting reader to sit on his cock between filming? Perhaps more dirty talk and a little bit of being cock drunk?

A/N: Thank you so much for your request I hope you enjoy it! I hope it's not too short :)

Tags/warnings: smut 18+ MDNI, p in v sex, reader riding Tom, dirty talk, hints at being cockdrunk. Gn!reader, but is refered to have the body of afab. Not proofread sorryy...

Many of your friends had warned you against working with Tom Ryder. Words like selfish, idiot, narcissist and alcoholic were dropped as you told them about the new movie you were gonna film with him.

And sure you believed everything they said. Tom Ryder was a right asshole, you'd spend enough time with him to know that. Yet in a way it was different for you.

Because you were Ryder's partner. The apple of his eye.

Admittedly you had never made a movie with him before despite both of you being actors, but you were mostly excited. As was your boyfriend. You had never seen Tom this excited to get started on a project.

You were about halfway through filming the movie and to be honest it was great. Both of your schedule's aligned for the first time in forever and you got to spend more time together. With both of you being actors one of you was always somewhere half across the world, away from each other.

Filming together was like a dream come true. Tom was in a good mood which made everyone on set a lot happier as well. Sure he was still weird as hell, but he wasn't as much of an asshole as he usually was.

In these last few weeks you've seen more of each other than in the last months. Your favorite moments were spend in between filming were you could just have some time for the two of you. It had really done wonder's for your relationship

Like now as you were both in his trailer (which you slept in more often than in your own), reversing your lines in between takes. You had about an hour before your next scene and what better way then to run a few scenes... or well that was the idea.

You were rehearsing a love scene between both of your characters as Tom guided you to sit on his lap, trying to increase the intimacy. And because when so close together neither one of you had any self-control you started making out.

So now here you were, straddling Ryder's lap, his cock buried deep in inside you as you ride him. Pages of the script were discarded across the room, the entire scene forgotten. Your hands were buried inside his hair, pulling ever so slightly to get those sweet soft moans from his lips.

"I love the way you sound.." You moan softly as he bucks his hips up, hitting just the right spot. "Keep making those sounds f'me while I make you feel good."

He nods and leans forward to kiss you again. It´s sloppy, kissing you from your mouth to your jaw and your neck, his hands running over you back to pull you closer. "Faster, baby.. ah shit-" Tom groans, his hands gripping your waist.

"Nuh uh.. no helpin'." You grab his wrists and pin them down at his side while increasing the pace, trying to drive him over the edge.

"You're killing me here, darling.." Tom groans. You can tell he has to control himself not to touch you, a control he doesn't show very often. He loves touching you, woreshipping every part of your body.

"I know.. and you love it." Your walls clench around him as you feel his cock twitch inside you. "Fuck- you close? I can feel it, come on baby.. cum f'me." Somehow you find it in yourself to go just a bit faster before you feel all the tension leave his body.

"Oh god, I love you." Tom throws his head back against the chair, letting out a string of whimpers as he cums inside you. His hips buck up into you, driving you over the edge with him.

You let out a loud moan as your orgasm washes over you and you collaps on top of him. It almost feel euphoric, no man had ever made you feel this good. And he hadn't even actively done anything.

As the both of you catch your breath Tom wraps his arms around you, caressing your hair gently. "You're so good to me, darling." He mutters as he kisses the top of your head. "You alright?" He asks when he doesn't get much of a response from you.

"Yeah.. yeah just need a minute, you're a lot." You mumble quietly.

"Awh, was my cock too much for you, love? I didn't even do anything." He teases you. It's almost funny how almost immediately after finisheing his submissive attitude disappears, replaced by his normal cocky behavior.

"We still got a scene in 30 minutes, remember?" He reminds you you with a small grin on his face.

"Mhm.. just gimme a minute yeah?"

"Sure.. I'll just let you lay here with my cock still inside you. Doing nothing at all.." There's a mischievious grin on his face as he rolls his hips up, forcing a whine from your lips. "Tom.."

"You're so sensitive, baby.. alright I'll knock it off." He chuckles softly before he gives you another kiss.

"Rest. I'll wake you up, okay?" You nod in respone before falling asleep comfortably in his arms.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, hope you enjoyed it :) Comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I live off those.

I know I'm a bit slow with the requests but if you do have any don't hesitate to send em in, I promise iĺl get to them. Love you guys <33

Taglist: @earth-elemental18 @allaroundjejje @cockete (lemme know if you wanne be removed/added)

[julieverne]

When everyone had gone, Jane heaved a sigh of relief. She cracked open another beer and poured Maura a wine, flopping down on the couch next to her.

Maura wasn't everyone. Maura was staying. Maura had nearly died today. Jane had told her not to come, and she'd come anyway.

Jane sipped her beer and looked over the webpage for the track Maura had booked, then the other tab with the hot air balloon. Two tickets to the track. And the shoes.

Maura pulled down one of the horse balloons to examine it. "This isn't anatomically correct," she said. She'd showered, and Jane hadn't. Jane was still in her clothes she'd worn when Hoyt had touched her. She shuddered and put her beer down. Maura followed her to the bathroom and retrieved Jane's clothes as she discarded them.

"You've always said you wanted to burn my outfits. Go ahead with this one; I don't ever want to see it again."

Maura nodded and Jane heard a plastic bag being filled, then the sound of the front door closing as Maura went down to the furnace.

Jane didn't know what she'd done to deserve her.

She'd nearly lost her. It was Jane's fault Maura was there. It was Jane's fault Hoyt even knew she existed. Hour had toyed with them both. He'd known he'd win, no matter what Jane did. Jane had killed him, but he'd won anyway. He'd escaped a slow and painful death; he'd gone out on his own terms. He'd chosen Jane as his own murder weapon.

And he'd touched Maura. She'd had to kill him. She couldn't have let him touch her.

Jane shuddered again. Maura came in with Jane's sleepwear; an old Sox jersey and some sweatpants. She put them on the bathroom counter.

"Do you need anything?"

"Not now."

Maura turned to leave.

"No, stay."

"You saved my life," Maura said, her voice shaking, and Jane abandoned the shower, grabbing a towel and running it over herself quickly.

"I wouldn't let him hurt you. I mean, I did. I'm sorry, Maura, I'm sorry."

"You saved my life." Maura pulled away. Her eyes were damp and she swallowed and blinked.

"I couldn't let anything happen to you. If I'd been alone in there..." Jane trailed off. She'd been frozen by fear, but the second he'd touched Maura the anger had flooded her veins, lending her strength she didn't even know she had. "I'm sorry you were there. I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm sorry he hurt you." Jane let her fingers touch the little bandage on Maura's throat.

Maura looked up at her with shining eyes and Jane thought about Hoyt, about how he chose couples. He'd wanted Jane from the start, but he'd gone for Maura first. He'd known. He'd seen what Jane had been hiding for so long. He'd known how to torture her.

He'd also known that it would make Jane snap, to end him quickly.

It had taken too long to have her hands unbound, to get up next to Maura and hold her.

"I'm glad I was there, if it motivated you to save yourself."

"No, no, don't be--I should never have let him know you existed."

"He'd have--Jane, can we talk about this tomorrow?"

Jane let go of her like she'd been burned.

"Sure. Sure, let me get dressed."

Maura watched instead of leaving, as though she was making sure for herself that Jane was undamaged. Her hand reached out and touched Jane's bullet wound and Jane felt herself freeze before a warmth flooded her at Maura's touch.

"Did you even get any of that pizza?"

Jane shrugged. Maura's eyes dragged away from Jane's torso to meet her eyes.

"I'll order one, then."

"Pepperoni," Jane called after her, and heard Maura's chuckle.

"I know what you like." Maura's voice was so sexy when she felt confident. Jane finished dressing and rubbed her thick hair; it took forever to dry but it was worth not smelling like the prison.

"Twenty minutes," Maura said as she hung up her phone, putting it on the coffee table.

"Thanks for my present," Jane said, throwing herself back onto the couch.

"If I'd known you were this into horses, I'd have bought you one."

"A trail ride would have done," Jane mumbled. "As long as you were there."

Maura's face softened at that. She relaxed somehow.

"You don't mind that I booked a racetime with you?"

"And I'm assuming you'd have booked two tickets for the balloon? Or the spa package, or whatever you were going to buy me before Frankie set you straight?"

"Sox tickets," Maura admitted. "Two."

"You don't have to buy my affection, you know. Is that what Constance did? She couldn't be there so she'd pay for whatever you wanted. And you'd go do it alone?"

Maura looked away; Jane had obviously struck a nerve. Jane sighed.

"Come here," Jane said. Maura sat next to her, still not meeting Jane's eyes. "You don't need to buy me. You couldn't if you tried. I'd love to go to the racetrack with you, or a trail ride. I'm less keen on the balloons and spas, but I'll go if you want to. The best part of any of these gifts is because you'd be with me, you get that, don't you? It's you that's the present. Your presence in the present. I know you're busy, but you're never too busy for me."

Maura looked up quickly at Jane's face, then her eyes darted away. She flicked her eyes back to Jane's and away again, like a skittish foal prancing away from a halter.

Jane hadn't broken her in yet.

Maura's eyes met hers. She blinked but didn't look away. Whatever she saw in Jane's face reassured her and she relaxed.

"Really?"

"Really." Jane chuckled.

"But you were so happy when I took Angela in."

"Well, in that instance, it was because it meant I'd get to see more of you. And also didn't have to live with my mother in a one-bedroom apartment in my thirties."

"You wanted to see more of me?"

"I like you. Not your money."

"You said you l--loved me, when I said she could move in."

Jane groaned and swigged her beer. Now that Maura had mentioned it, she could taste the aluminium. "Yeah, that too." She was relieved when there was a knock on the door. She let Maura answer it and pay for the pizza; she was tired down to her bones. She flicked a mushroom back onto Maura's side with a finger, then peeled her slice away from the surrounding slices.

It was good. Greasy and rich and cheesy. The dough was spongey and the sauce was just acidic enough to cut through the grease.

When Maura cried, Jane wasn't ready for it. She'd been bracing herself all evening, watching Maura carefully. She'd been waiting, and now Maura was sobbing.

Jane wiped her hands and swallowed quickly, pulling Maura against her.

"I've got you," Jane whispered against Maura's head, holding her close. Maura's hands grasped her desperately. Jane tightened her arms around Maura, realising how close she'd come to losing her. "You're safe. He'll never hurt you again."

"You know what he does to couples," Maura sobbed. "He was going to..."

"He can't. He's dead. I should have killed him before I'd ever met you. I should never have let him meet you."

"You saved me."

"I saved myself," Jane bluffed.

"No." Maura pulled away and wiped her eyes; even with running mascara she was magnificent. "No, you saved me. Because you love me."

"I do," Jane admitted, glad she didn't have to say the words out loud to Maura again. It had been so heart-poundingly difficult last time. She'd never had trouble telling her family or even her old boyfriends how she felt about them, but when it came to Maura her palms got sweaty and her heart started doing a fandango and her mouth refused to say what she meant. She'd faced the devil today, her own personal devil. "I love you," she managed, heedless of her racing pulse and sweaty hands. "And I'd never let anyone hurt you like that."

"I shouldn't have gone but I didn't want to leave you alone with him. He must have been able to tell."

"That I love you too much to let him live?"

"No, that I love you too much to let you face anything I can't ease in some way."

"It's not your fault, Maura. Wait, what?"

"I know you're straight; I used to think I was too. But every time you hug me, I think how nice it would be if we weren't straight. And I figured that wasn't very straight of me. You're the only person who'd turn down a racehorse in favour of spending time with me. You're the only person I've met who actually likes me. Not just to get in my pants or my purse, but to just sit on a couch after the worst day of our lives and eat pizza with me. Just to keep me in the bathroom while you shower so you know I'm safe. And I know we're not like that, that Hoyt was wrong, that I overstepped and he read me like a book because he only goes after couples..."

"You were just a bonus."

"No. He laid his traps and I fell into it with you because I couldn't let you go alone. Because I love you. We're not a couple, but he knew, somehow, that I wanted..."

Maura trailed off. She ate a slice of pizza; oil was congealing on the top and Maura didn't bother to blot it off. Her teeth were strong and her lips were pink. She examined her slice.

Jane picked her slice back up and dug into it to give herself time to think. She'd assumed Hoyt had picked up on her affection for Maura. She hadn't even considered that Maura had felt anything for her; why would she? Jane was a basic Italian-American blue collar worker.

"I thought--I thought he might have picked it up from me," Jane said finally, once she'd finished chewing. "Because, I mean, I thought you were straight."

"I haven't dated women because they judge me on more than just a pretty face."

"But you're so much more. You're so smart and compassionate. You're so generous and kind."

"Dating men is like shooting fish in barrel. Women have standards. Well, women that date women do. Sometimes."

"And what standards don't you meet? You're a socialite, richer than Croesus, and you're gorgeous. Why are women turning you down?"

"Because I'm hung up on my best friend."

Jane was a detective, yet she hadn't seen this coming.

"I hope you don't mind," Maura said so shyly that Jane's heart almost broke. The poor woman was so scared of rejection, of being abandoned. She spent all this money on Jane--money Jane didn't care about--just to bribe her to stick around when Jane needed no such incentive.

"Why would I mind?" Jane kept her voice as low and smooth as she could. "I've been--I'm--I guess I'm hung up on you too."

"Oh." Maura's eyes met hers, searching for a lie or any discomfort. "But you're..."

"I'm your fake girlfriend whenever Giovanni comes near us; I might as well be..."

"You'd be okay if people knew?"

"if you were my girlfriend? I'd be proud. Huh. I guess that's why they call it pride. My mother's going to be impossible, you know."

Maura smiled, then her face softened and relaxed. She believed Jane.

"Can we have the balloon ride?"

"Only if we get a trail ride too."

"Deal." Maura smiled at her again. "You won't regret it in the morning, will you?"

"Regret what?" Jane's heart started pounding in her chest; she'd managed to say what she'd never thought she'd have the nerve to say, and Maura was looking at her so expectantly that it seemed foolish to have never considered this going well enough for there to be a morning after.

"Saying any of this. Because you're saying it because of Hoyt. Because of the leftover adrenaline. You wouldn't say this if you hadn't sunk a six pack and been abducted and almost murdered today."

Jane put down her second slice of pizza with a sigh. It wasn't getting any colder.

"I'm saying it because you looked so scared and sad when you told me. I never intended to tell you; you have so many better options than me. I'd be holding you back financially and socially. But you looked so hurt and sad that I couldn't let you go on thinking that any of this was your fault."

"What does that mean?"

"That means that I'm calling Ma and telling her to stop setting me up on dates I don't want with men I don't even like because I've found someone I not only love, but I like her too. Because she's strong and brave and adventurous and she knows what I like."

"Pepperoni," Maura clarified. Jane chuckled and closed the distance between them. Maura's breath caught but she tilted her face to Jane's, her lips falling open.

Jane brushed her lips against Maura's; they were softer and sweeter than Jane could have imagined. Maura kissed her back, nuzzling her lips against Jane's, shy and delicious.

"Pepperoni, and you," Jane said, resting her forehead against Maura's.

[jestercouture]

trash turns to treasure. [ch.2]

watching you.

[1]

warnings: stalking, obsession, yandere, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Hisoka

You had avoided Hisoka’s card ever since he had “gifted” it to you.

It felt daunting to have it in your possession, almost as if it were holding a demonic talisman within its intricate artwork. It was a beautiful thing really, that you could not deny; good quality and detailed far beyond what you would expect from a simple thing such as a playing card. 

But it contained the very essence of Hisoka, acting almost as his lifeline, a part of him. They went where he went, and Hisoka used them with such precision it was more than unnerving. 

He weaponized them and used them to kill, to hurt, to tear apart.

Yet with you, he still used them all the same…but in a manner that almost didn’t feel that threatening. You almost felt like throwing up when you thought about it for too long, but it always came down to the fact that Hisoka hadn’t technically used them to threaten you. 

He had handed it to you softly, as though he himself wasn’t entirely sure of the purpose he gave it to you. 

Why did he want to ‘escort’ you? He had practically dragged you around York New, even though it was under your wearied direction. You still let him, though. As if you had much of a choice, Hisoka just had this…unmistakable air of threat that followed him. Like he was just testing the waters with you the whole time, testing you and observing your reactions.

But you think back to the card. 

Hisoka used those to fight others, to kill them. Why would he give one to you? What was the point of anything Hisoka did? You almost yearned to figure him out, but what would be the point if it cost you your own life? Hisoka liked to toy around and manipulate, you’d seen enough of his fights to see that fact glaring straight at you like a red alarm. 

 Hisoka played on that fact, that he could inspire dread into anyone he pleased and he relished in it. 

You knew you weren’t wrong when you began to realise that your encounter with the jester was something else, were you? You had tried to be so careful, so in touch with your surroundings, yet Hisoka had still wormed his way in, taken your mind hostage. 

Just like all that time ago, when you were poised to take the Hunter Exam. 

Irreplaceable. Is that how he saw you? Hisoka never saw anyone as irreplaceable, as he simply preferred to toss something away when it had served its purpose to him. There was no point keeping something useless after all.

 You were a meek little thing, really, accepting his help and answering so many of his questions. You even took his playing card at the end, with such intoxicating hesitation. You really didn’t know what to do with him, did you? Such a thought made him chuckle. 

It seemed as though he didn’t know what to do with you either. 

Hisoka initially saw you as a toy, something to play with and discard as soon as he lost his interest in you. He looked at you, running his eyes up and down your form to attempt to grasp whether you used Nen or not. He watched you interact with others, your demeanour so sickeningly normal and lacking variety it almost made him doze off. 

But then, on the day of the exam, he saw you again. Gazing upon the place rumoured to be the entrance to it, wistfully, fidgeting with your bag as you seemed to debate on whether to take the plunge. 

He waited. Narrowing his eyes and simply shuffling cards in the shadows, anticipating your next move. 

You stiffened up, and turned your back towards him, still unknowingly right near him, in reach of a single hand to wrap around your throat-

You were gone in a millisecond, not frightfully but as if you had made up your mind and acted on pure instinct. 

He never forgot about it, the way you had stood so resolutely in place, so sure that you would give in and attempt to make something yourself. But you walked away, just as confidently, maybe you’d be sure to return?

Hisoka almost hoped that you’d return, prove him right or- wrong- and you did, to his inward satisfaction. He went on to cause chaos, see chaos and earn his licence…but you never left his mind.

And since he had grasped you, had a taste of your mere presence, Hisoka would not just let you go. He would hunt you down. Bare witness to all of your natural reactions, how you would cry and beg, maybe you would struggle?

Or would you just stare at him, as still as you gazed upon the site of the hunter exam?

Hisoka wanted you to look at him so badly, your gaze on him, fixed and unmoving. You had never looked at him directly during your little expedition together, but he always kept himself fixed on you. It was like a compulsion, a need that he had to give into or else he felt like the memory of you was slipping away. 

And that wasn’t any good now, was it? 

Hisoka wanted to lay his eyes on you almost constantly; but in a city such as Yorknew, how was he supposed to find you? He was considered as elusive as anyone could be. He didn’t know all that much about you, but he was sure that he could change that. 

Hisoka would change it. And you in the process. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 1. 10pm.

You went home normally, exhausted from the gruelling day of training that you had undergone. Despite your hard work in earning your license, you felt that you needed more fine tuning in regards to your abilities and strength. 

You weren’t stupid. Passing the exam meant that you were worthy to become a hunter, do all that traveling and exploring you’d always yearned for. Passing was one thing.

You wanted no scratch that, you needed more.

 But for that, you needed skill. Talent.

You needed to be dangerous. 

“God, what am I turning into?,” you muttered, clenching your jaw and grimacing at the stench of sweat that you were drenched in. Practically tearing your clothes off, you jump into the boiling jets of a long-awaited shower that’s been calling your name for what feels like years.

The muscles in your body relaxed and you groaned into steam rising around you, tension easing away and into the drain below. Bubbles slid down and covered every bare inch of you, and as you finished up and stepped out of the shower, a certain feeling began to wash over you. 

It was indescribable, at first. A cloying, heavy feeling that something was amiss…ever so slightly. A towel was hastily grabbed, covering your form as you quickly shut the bathroom door and scanned around your apartment. Nothing appeared to be out of place. The windows were shut, vaguely sheer curtains shielding you from any onlookers on the streets below. 

But why did you feel so wrong? Why did you feel as though something had shifted, yet you could see no such change? 

The minutes ticked by, you standing there and shivering, eyes wide and desperate to try and find the culprit of your unease. 

“I had better not be losing it,” you muttered. This was stupid, if you were so sure something was off, why wasn’t anything different? There had to be something though, anything to indicate any intrusion. You just had to be losing it, didn’t you? Meet a jester and get given a playing card, now you get weird feelings whilst wrapped in nothing but a threadbare towel? 

Whatever. 

The feeling never quite went away, hours ticking by as you tried to ease up and relax but you just had never felt this on edge before. As if there was someone else here,  watching…waiting for you to mess up and get sloppy. The only time you had felt this damn uneasy was when you had met Hisoka. God, when was he ever going to leave you the fuck alone? He wasn’t even here and he was haunting you, ghostly alabaster skin and all. 

It was a question you couldn’t answer, yet you knew deep down all this work you were doing was for him. To have a chance- even if it were a tiny chance- to hold your own in the event that you came across him yet again. 

It was for yourself most of all. To keep him away. 

Two golden eyes watched through the crack in your sheer curtains, eagerly looking in at you so vulnerable. Hisoka was so close to you, through this pane of glass. His connections had really come through this time; your address was admittedly a little hard to find but what did that matter? He had you now, all in a luxurious vision of his very own lecherous eyes. 

He chuckled as you furrowed your brows as you slept, seemingly frustrated and tossing yourself around. If you weren’t careful he’d have to jump in and catch you before you really hurt yourself. 

And catch you Hisoka would. And if you fought him, he would delight in doing it again, and again.

And again. 

Like a cat and mouse. 

[madameisaacpereire]

a harsh blur

❝You’ll remember the moment morning light stings your eyes, alcohol seeping from your pores, and you’ll spend the entire train ride back to Virginia in shambles.❞

The way it all unravels.

so this is not proofread and i kind of hate it but i also kind of love it too? idk. there will be a lot more middle stuff to their story though, dw!

the sparrow collection

    One might think your sexual tension would simmer down, once you’ve had a taste of what sleeping with Henry Winter is like. If one did, they’d be mistaken. It’s a lonesome strand of desire, twisted up with other tricky feelings too silly to entertain. Love. Hope. Wonderful names for children, terrible words to even think during a relationship of this sort. 

   Hiding the marks from your cousins proves difficult the first time, but by the second and third, you’re a pro. A cool compress, hair down, makeup- a scarf, on one sweltering occasion. Perhaps, stupidly, you wish you might allow others to see. To read it as a branding or a staked claim, to suppose something more of your relationship than there is. But you’re very good at making the best of things, so keeping each bruise for yourself as though it’s a gift will have to do. 

  It’s unfortunate, the first time you catch him watching Camilla again. Fond as ever while she makes herself a cup of coffee. The feeling this evokes within you is ugly, sharp, and a touch teary. You push it to the back of your mind and prop up a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes; but your smiles so often don’t, so nobody seems to notice. 

  None of this is any more Camilla’s fault than it is yours. You know this dance better than any pas de deux you’ve seen onstage. Men bleed for her, they break bones they desperately need but pretend they don’t for her. You come along and sweep up the pieces. Sometimes with a little Elmer’s Glue and a touch of acrylic paint, so they appear right as rain. Sometimes it’s kindest to discard them softly in the trash. You know innately what you’ve gotten yourself into. And you’re fine with it, or you resolve to be, because if you aren’t okay, you’re sure you’ll never have him again in any capacity. 

   It has to be enough. And so it is. It’s enough when you spend the week before Francis’s aunt and cousins arrive drinking in his family home, sneaking to Henry’s room at night. It’s enough when you pretend not to hear him murmuring her name into the crook of your neck as he finishes, a week after that. It’s enough every time he shows up when he knows your cousins are busy, only to press your face into the bed you and Camilla share. 

   This isn’t to say it doesn’t hurt you: it eats away at your soul. You pretend not to see every longing look he fixes her with, but within four weeks you can no longer paint. Your canvases lay dry, your Hampden College Campus series half finished. Your alcohol consumption tips up, matching Charles’s own. You spend an entire weekend just shy of blacked out with him, pouring drinks from dawn ‘till the two of you are passed out- in the late evening. 

    And this would be alright, if it were the lowest you sink this summer. But the week before you head home for school, Charles has the grand idea that you need a proper college night out. So you all dress up- or, rather, down- and roam Hampden Town. The entire group comes, of course. This is your send-off, after all. 

   The night is a harsh blur of drinks, cheap lights, cigarettes half-smoked as you marvel at the beauty of the Burger King sign. You swirl around the dance floor with anyone who asks you. You never turn down a shot, even when you should. Perhaps the lowest point of the night should be throwing up in Francis’s car. And yet, that isn’t even it.

   The lowest point is when you’re perched on a bar stool, Henry beside you. You both await drinks while everyone else is off… you can’t even keep track of what everyone else is doing. You think, dimly, that Camilla is dancing with Richard, and Charles and Francis have gone to fetch more cigarettes. But is that right? Or have you gotten it mixed up? Your mind is too pleasantly fuzzy to care. 

   You shovel salted peanuts into your mouth by the handful, amused by the way they feel against your alcohol-numbed senses. Every sensation is somehow less, yet more. The bartender pushes your drink toward you, which is when you finally look up from the bowl. You’ve almost finished it, you realize in dismay. You take a large gulp of liquor, letting it rinse the salt from your mouth, enjoying the way it runs cold down your throat.

  Henry’s watching you with cool amusement, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He hadn’t wanted to be here tonight at all. Yet here he is, sticking out like a sore thumb in his full suit. He clashes with the sticky floors and yellow light, looks borderline ridiculous next to the mounted animal head two feet to his right. You let yourself smile at this, foolishly convinced that he’s here because he cares for you. 

   “What?” You ask, swaying closer.

    Henry shakes his head and swipes a grain of salt from your lips.

   “You’re very messy tonight, Sparrow.”

   He gives you the smallest smile. One usually only brought out by Camilla or Bunny. Your heart stutters. And perhaps it is this, more than the alcohol, that brings your next words tumbling out.. You speak though his hand hovers near your cheek, though he looks like he’s about to kiss you. You speak, and it ruins everything.

   “I don't want you to ever be with anyone else.” Your words sound sincere, and naive in only the way a smitten nineteen year old can.

    He draws back like your words sting, any traces of good natured intimacy gone. Your stomach sinks. He doesn’t have to say anything, though you’re sure he will, to get his point across. One cannot help who they love, of course, and you don’t know why you thought his heart might have changed directions.

   “That request is not yours to make.” His words are sharp, slicing you in two. 

    The floors tip like the deck of a large steamship. It makes you think of the Titanic, Henry’s words cold as the water that swallowed the ship whole. Your nose and eyes prickle and you force yourself to move, to take another sip of your drink. Drinking anything, you’ve discovered, stalls tears. 

   “I thought you were clever enough to understand what this was.” 

    He’s talking down to you, posture a perfect, icy echo of your first meeting. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth as hard as you can. You feel lightheaded as your blood rushes, adrenaline spiking. With one sentence, one slip of the tongue, everything has changed. A cruel smile twists across your lips as you employ your final line of defense. 

    “And I thought you were clever enough to know that this,” You gesture between the two of you, “Is the closest you will ever get, in all your life, to fucking a Macaulay.” 

   Disgust ripples across his features. He hates swearing, you’ve learned, reasons unbeknownst to any of you. Perhaps he thinks himself above them. Perhaps it’s something else. As you throw back the rest of your drink, you can’t bring yourself to care. You place your empty glass beside his, neatly, hop down from the stool as smoothly as you can, and stumble off into the crowd.

    You don’t see him again tonight and you won’t see him again before you leave. Part of you expects this. You saw the hurt flash through his eyes mere seconds before the disgust appeared; you know your words have hit their mark. There’s more shots, more dancing, and raucous laughter that helps you forget that things with Henry are over. 

   But you’ll remember the moment morning light stings your eyes, alcohol seeping from your pores, and you’ll spend the entire train ride back to Virginia in shambles.   

[storiesforallfandoms]

too sweet ~ joel miller;the last of us

word count: 3128

request?: no

description: in which his friend's daughter comes on to him and he tries to convince her that they can't be together...tries

pairing: dbf!joel miller x female!reader

warnings: swearing, age gap (reader is early 20s, joel is 36), use of y/n, pre-outbreak/no outbreak, joel did not know the reader before she was 18 because that would be icky

based on this song (which joel miller now owns sorry hozier)

masterlist (one, two, three)

The barbeque was already in full swing as Joel pulled up with Tommy and Sarah. It was a small party his buddy from work, George, was throwing for the start of summer. Everyone was invited, plus significant others and kids. George's house and backyard was huge with a pool, so everyone had happily accepted the invitation.

George and the other guys from work were stood around the barbeque. Tommy went to join them right away. Joel looked down at Sarah. "Go play with the kids."

Sarah looked over at "the kids", which were mainly kids between 2 and 6 years old. There were maybe two other preteens, but they didn't seem to be as social as the younger kids. Sarah looked back at Joel with a skeptical look on her face. Joel nudged her forward before going to join the other men.

"Hey, there he is!" George said. "Glad you made it, Joel."

"Yeah, thanks for the invite," Joel said.

George offered him a beer. "I was just telling the others that my daughter got home early today to surprise Mary and I."

"You're always talking about your daughter, but none of us have ever met her," Tommy noted.

"Oh, that's on purpose with you, Tommy. I wouldn't let you within ten feet of her." The group laughed as Tommy put his hands up in mock surrender. "She's been away for college. She doesn't get to visit a lot besides the summers. We thought she wouldn't be home for another few weeks, but she wanted to surprise us."

George served the first round of burgers to the kids first, then to whoever else wanted whatever was left. Joel was able to snatch one burger before the rest were claimed. He took his plate over to the table where George and his wife had condiments set out. As he was putting ketchup on his burger, a woman stepped up beside him. He glanced at her briefly, and had to stop himself from doing a double take. He had never seen her before, but she was beautiful. He didn't want to stare like a creep, but he did take another quick moment to appreciate her beauty.

She reached for the bottle of ketchup Joel had just put down. That's when Joel noticed she had two burgers on her plate.

"You got lucky there," he said, nodding to her plate.

She looked between her plate and his before chuckling. "You have to act fast. These people are vultures when they smell fresh barbequed meat."

Joel chuckled as well. He picked up his plate and his beer to move along, when two kids suddenly came barreling towards the table. One of them ran into the woman, causing her to stumble into Joel and knock his beer over the front of his shirt. The two kids gasped, then giggled in the unserious way young kids do, before grabbing ketchup and mustard, and running off again.

"Shit, I am so sorry," the woman said.

"S'all right, wasn't your fault," Joel assured her.

She grabbed a handful of napkins and started to dab Joel's shirt. She scrunched up her nose as she tries to get the beer out of his shirt. It was the cutest look Joel had ever seen.

"You're going to reek of beer," she said.

"Maybe you can dump my burger on me and make smell like grease instead."

She glared at him, but there was a playful look in her eyes.

Joel's breath hitched as she slipped her hand under his shirt and pressed the napkin against her hand through the shirt. If she touched his chest, she would feel how quickly his heart was beating. She looked up from the beer spill into Joel's eyes. Her hand paused its movements as they held eye contact.

"What's going on over here?"

She pulled her hand from under Joel's shirt and discarded the wet napkin onto the table next to them as George walked up. "Two of the kids ran into us and I spilled beer over...um..."

Joel realized they hadn't been formally introduced yet. "Joel."

"I spilled beer over Joel's shirt. I'm trying to soak it up as much as I can."

"You're better off getting another shirt," George said. "Even if you dry off, it'll have that beer smell all day. Run inside and grab a t-shirt from my room, honey."

The woman took off towards George's house. It took Joel a moment to realize what George had said. "Wait, is that...?"

George chuckled and nodded. "What a way for you to meet my daughter, huh?"

It may have been dramatic to say, but for a moment, it felt like everything crashed down around Joel. He almost felt wrong for having any sort of attraction towards her knowing now that she was George's daughter. He knew she wasn't terribly young; she'd be in her early 20s going by what he knew from George. But, that was still an almost 20 year age difference, and Joel was friends with her dad. It wouldn't be right for him to pursue her, no matter how much he wanted to.

She came back with a black t-shirt and offered it to Joel. As he took it, she said, "My name is (Y/N), by the way."

"Nice to meet you," Joel said.

He took the shirt and went into the house to change. When he came back out, George had gotten him another beer and more food. If he had seen anything between Joel and (Y/N), he wasn't letting on.

For the rest of the evening, Joel made sure to avoid (Y/N). He could see her looking at him every so often. She would try and approach him or talk to him, but he would find a reason to walk away. After a few hours, when he was sure Tommy wouldn't complain about wanting to stay, Joel decided it was time to go. He thanked George for having them over and rounded up Sarah and Tommy to go. As they walked to the truck, Tommy said, "You have a thing for the daughter, huh?"

"Big thing," Sarah agreed.

Joel ignored them both and got into the truck.

It was hard to forget about (Y/N). Joel thought that once he had left, he'd be able to put (Y/N) out of his mind. He wouldn't have to see her again, so all the thoughts he had about her should've stayed at the party. That's how he thought it would go, anyways, but things rarely ever go as planned. Instead, Joel found his thoughts were almost constantly consumed by (Y/N). Especially when he was alone at night, with nothing to distract himself. The image of her would come to him as he was laying in bed, trying to sleep. He knew it should've felt wrong, but his want for her outweighed the knowing that he shouldn't want her.

The next time Joel saw (Y/N) was during work. He and the guys were taking a break from their latest project when a car pulled up to the site. Joel had glanced over for a second as the door opened and someone got out, just to see who it was. He looked away, but then his brain registered who it was and his head quickly swung back around to look at her.

(Y/N) was in a pair of the shortest shorts Joel had ever seen, and was wearing a tank top. There was nothing inherently wrong with the way she was dressed. It was a hot day out after all. But seeing her like that made Joel's inappropriate thoughts run wild, which was not a good thing considering George was sat just a few feet from him.

"Hey sweetheart!" George called. "What are you doin'?"

"Mom told me to bring you your lunch," (Y/N) responded as she approached the group. She held out a paper bag to her dad. "You left it on the counter."

"God bless that woman," George said as he took the bag. "I was already an hour into work before I realized I had left it home. I thought I'd have to run down the street and get a sandwich or something."

"You know mom wouldn't have let you do that," (Y/N) said, giving her dad a bright smile that managed to distract Joel from the way she was dressed.

(Y/N) stuck around for the rest of their break as everyone started asking her questions. Joel tried to keep his focus on his own food, but it was nearly impossible not to look at her. It was like she was a magnet trying to draw him in.

When the rest of the guys got up to go, Joel lingered back. He shouldn't, but the way (Y/N) was looking at him told her that she wasn't about to let him leave so easily anyways.

"We have some unfinished business," she told him.

"Do we?" Joel asked. "Last I checked, there was nothing else to happen after our last encounter."

"You were ignoring me that whole party," (Y/N) said. "After we seemed to have a pretty good connection after I bumped you. I think I deserve to know why you suddenly changed your mind."

"You got that idea from a short interaction?"

"I saw the way you looked at me, Joel. I'm not an idiot."

Joel sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Listen, (Y/N), you know why I changed my mind. You're a smart girl, I'm sure you figured it out on your own."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I had a feeling. I was just hoping I was wrong."

"I do think you are a beautiful woman, but nothing can happen between us. You're too young - "

"I am an adult!" she argued.

"You are a young adult. I still have at least 16 years on you. I have a daughter, a career. You're still young and in college trying to make something for yourself. Not to mention, your dad is a good friend of mine. He would kill me if he found out anything was happening between us."

(Y/N) broke their eye contact to look down at the ground. Her mood had completely changed, and Joel could see it in her face. He felt bad to have to reject her, but it was the right thing to do. He couldn't have her throwing herself at him when they both knew it wasn't right. She would be better off finding someone her own age while at school - a thought that made Joel's heart ache, but he knew it was better for her.

"It was nice to meet you, Joel," she said before turning to walk away.

Joel watched her go back to the car. He could see the dejected look on her face as she got into the driver's side. He shook his head, trying not to linger too much on how rejecting her made him feel, before turning to go back to work.

~~~~~~

About a week later, George had invited Joel and Sarah over for dinner. It wasn't unusual for him to do so. He said that Mary enjoyed having more people to cook for, especially when (Y/N) was gone. And usually, Joel accepted in a heartbeat. He and Sarah loved Mary's cooking. Actually, Sarah often said that she preferred it to Joel's.

But this time when George asked, Joel hesitated. He came up with some excuse that he and Sarah had other plans. When he hung up, Sarah was stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.

"We don't have plans," she said.

"No, we don't," Joel said with a defeated sigh. There was no arguing or lying to Sarah.

"Then why did you say we did?"

"I just don't feel up to going to George's tonight."

"You can't avoid going there all summer just because you have a thing for (Y/N). He'll start to get suspicious eventually."

Joel glared at his daughter. "You know entirely too much for a 14 year old."

"I'm very perceptive. Call George back and tell him we're coming, or I will."

And that's how Joel found himself following Sarah to George and Mary's front door. Sarah turned the knob and let them in, another usual. There was no need for knocking when they were already so familiar with the place. Mary was the first to greet them, pulling Sarah into a hug and commenting about how much she's grown. She hugged Joel as well and told him that George was in the living room.

George and Joel sat on the couch watching TV while Sarah sat on the floor in front of them.

"Do you need any help?" Sarah asked Mary.

"Oh, thank you honey, but I'll be alright," Mary responded. "I have my own girl here to help me tonight."

Joel tensed for a moment at the mention of (Y/N), but tried to calm himself down so that George wouldn't notice.

After about 20 minutes, (Y/N) appeared in the living room to tell them that dinner was ready. Joel couldn't help himself from looking at her. She was wearing a floral summer dress that was down to her knees and had spaghetti straps, and her hair was pulled back into a braid. She looked absolutely stunning. And now he was mentally cursing himself for giving into Sarah.

They sat around the table, with George and Mary at the heads, Joel on one side by himself, and Sarah and (Y/N) sat next to each other. Luckily for him, Sarah spearheaded most of the conversations. If Mary wasn't asking Sarah how things were going with her, Sarah was asking (Y/N) about herself. The two got along so well that Joel couldn't help but picture how Sarah would be if (Y/N) was around all the time.

Between dinner and dessert, Joel excused himself to go to the bathroom. As he came out a few minutes later, he found (Y/N) stood on the other side of the door.

"Sorry," she said, backing up to give him some space. "I wasn't coming to ambush you again, I promise. I actually have to use the bathroom."

"It's okay," Joel said.

But neither of them made a move. They just stood there on opposite sides of the hallway, looking at one another.

"Sarah's nice," (Y/N) finally said, breaking the silence. "She seems like a great kid."

"She is," Joel said. "She seems to like you, too."

"I like her, too."

Silence fell over them again. (Y/N) was avoiding eye contact. Joel longed to reach out for her and tilt her head back so he could look into those beautiful eyes. Keeping his hands to his side was starting to become a difficult task.

"I'm sorry about that day at your work," (Y/N) said, being the one to break the silence again. "I went with the intention of trying to get your attention, and it really wasn't fair of me. I understand why you don't want to be with me, and it was foolish of me to think there was a possibility of anything happening between us."

"You weren't foolish," Joel told her.

She let out a sound that was half laugh, half scoff. "No, I was. I knew from the moment we met that there was no way anything would happen between us. I just really hoped that maybe my assumption in that was wrong and you wanted me enough to look past my age. I mean, I'm not a kid by any means, but I do understand how our age gap would make you feel uncomfortable."

Joel was moving before his mind could process what he was doing. (Y/N) was mid sentence as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a kiss. It had been what he was thinking of for so long that he had officially lost the battle of restraint with his own body. And the kiss was everything he could've expected it to be. Her lips were so soft, her body fit perfectly against his. He wanted to let his hands wander, to travel up the hem of her dress and see how far she would let him go, but that was definitely not something that could happen at this time.

When they broke away, (Y/N) was looking at him in awe.

"You're not foolish," he repeated.

"I might be, because I want to do that again."

He chuckled. "Yeah, me too. But we probably shouldn't be gone for much longer or else someone may come looking for us."

"You're right." Reluctantly, (Y/N) pulled out of Joel's arms. He already felt wrong not holding her. "Are you sure about...what we just did? You're not regretting it, are you?"

"I may regret it later, but right now I don't," he said. "I just want you to realize what you're getting into if we do let this happen between us. For one, your parents aren't going to be happy. When the summer ends, you'll be going back to your college campus full of guys who are actually around your age."

(Y/N) scoffed. "You're giving 20 year old guys way more credit than they deserve. Most of them act as if they were mentally stunted in their freshman year of high school and likely won't mature until they hit their 30s."

"Okay, fair point," Joel chuckled. "But you also realize you're getting into something with an older man who has a daughter, right? I'm not saying that if things get serious between us that you have to become a mother figure to Sarah, but dating someone with a kid is different."

"I like Sarah, Joel. I would love to do things with you and with her if she's comfortable about it. Genuinely, I'm seeing no downsides here."

Joel smiled and he couldn't stop himself from quickly kissing (Y/N) again.

"Go back to the dining room before they start to wonder where we are," she told him. "I was being honest when I said I had to use the bathroom."

Joel chuckled and kissed the top of her head before letting her go into the bathroom. When he came back to the table, Mary was putting the dessert on the table. The three looked up at him as he slid back into his seat.

"Everything alright?" George asked. "You were gone for a while."

"Oh yeah, everything's fine," Joel assured him. "Just got a bit...held up in the bathroom. Poor (Y/N) had to wait forever for me to come out."

Across the table, Sarah was giving Joel a knowing look, and started to smile.

[dandylion240]

Coming home Ethan peeked into Eli’s room to find both his husband and son involved in an exciting car chase. Shaking his head he closed the door careful not to make a sound. Going into the bathroom he shared with Jonah he discarded his clothing haphazardly around the room. His shirt knocking over the nearby trashcan.

With a silent groan he bent to pick up the scattered debris. He began tossing it back into the receptacle. He almost missed the used pregnancy test in his outstretched hand. “The hell” he mumbled holding it up to read the results. “Positive” he whispered sitting back on the floor the cool tiles seeping into his bottom.

Tears misted his eyes “I’m going to be a daddy….again.” Wiping his eyes he realized all the signs were there. He’d just missed them. “This time I’m going to do it right” he promised taking the used test and sealing it in a plastic baggie. He set it inside his drawer until he could figure out how to preserve it. He wanted to remember this forever.

Stepping into the shower he wondered when Jonah would tell him. This time he was going to show him how much he’s changed. This time there would be no doubt in Jonah’s mind how much he wanted this baby.

“Daddy no” Eli screamed stomping his foot.

“Eli Grandpa will play with you” Jonah said attempting to soothe him.

“No you stay” he cried throwing his arms around his legs.”

“I’ll play with you later. I promise” Jonah ruffled Eli's fluffy blond hair. “I thought you liked playing with Grandpa.”

“No” his lips puckered in protest. “You stay.”

“We don’t have time for this” Ethan groaned scooping up his son and depositing him into his father’s arms. “Now be good for Grandpa.”

“No” Eli wailed arms and legs flailing as Jonah followed Ethan from the room.

Half turning around Jonah murmured “maybe we shouldn’t go.”

“You’ve got to learn to be firmer with him or he’ll always be like this whenever we leave him.” Ethan kept on going a firm hand clasped beneath Jonah’s elbow.

“But” sighing he looked over at Ethan “what if we had another?”

“All the more reason that he learn he can’t always have his way.” Opening the door he let Jonah walk out first. “Honey he’ll be fine. Dad knows what he’s doing.”

“I don’t doubt that” he nibbled on his bottom lip his resolve to tell Ethan about the baby slipping.

At the restaurant they were seated by a couple a few years older than they were. They had a toddler who was whining that he wanted to play and a new born baby crying despite it’s mother’s attempts to soothe him. Ethan leaned over to the hostess who seated them “can we sit somewhere else?”

“I’m sorry sir” she glanced at the young family making it obvious this wasn’t the first time she’d been asked that. “We’re booked solid for the night.”

When the hostess walked away Jonah lifted his menu saying “that could be us. Please be nice.”

“That’ll never be us” Ethan grumbled picking up his menu. “Can’t she take that thing outside? This isn’t what I call a romantic dinner when I can’t hear myself think over all that wailing.”

Picking at the table cloth Jonah knew tonight was not the night to tell Ethan about the baby. “What if they couldn’t get a babysitter” he asked feeling sorry for the parents.

“Then go to Chucky Cheese or McDonald’s or something” Ethan grumbled. Setting the menu down he smiled at Jonah “let’s not talk about them. Let’s talk about us. Anything you want to tell me?”

Jonah felt his heart rate skyrocket pounding in his ears. Had Ethan somehow seen the test? He’d gotten home before he’d had a chance to dispose of it properly. Did he know? Should he tell him? Opening his mouth deciding to just get it over with…

“Oh come on” Ethan glared over at the other table “now the other kid is wailing.”

Picking at the table cloth blinking back the all too ready tears. Jonah just couldn’t tell him. He could feel Ethan’s eyes on him waiting for an answer. “Nnothing” he stammered wishing they’d never gone out.

Disappointment washed over Ethan as he waited expectantly for Jonah to tell him. He’d given him the perfect opportunity and he didn’t take it. The irritation he felt at the commotion from the family at the next table only fueled his growing disappointment. Why didn’t Jonah want to tell him?

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