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fatesundress · 1 year

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⭑ patience, please, and thank you. tom riddle x reader

summary. you and tom have always sought to best one another in school. it doesn’t help that upon graduating, you work for opposing shops.

tags. rivals to … rivals with benefits? lovers? there’s no real animosity just #flirting so i don’t know, SMUTT minors begone, fluff that may be ooc to some but Not Me, reader literally learns archaic latin for this man, poor boy x rich girl trope if you squint, pureblood reader (and mentions of pureblood marriage politics), explicitly f!reader this time sorry!, fem anatomy, fingering, piv, tldr tom riddle would be turned on by the culminated tension of an eight-year-long academic rivalry.

note. i was 5k words into something else (that is probably better) before this came to me and would not go away so. here it is. don't know where all the smut is coming from. head empty

word count. 6.4k

The bell to Borgin and Burkes knells low and hollow in your ear as you enter, and there he is. Prim waistcoat and perfect hair, tucking books away with a wave of his wand. Far too pretty a thing for a dusty place like this, you think, and you smile with your head held high, pretending to take in the inventory as if that's ever been your reason for coming here.

“You mightn't consider leaving at all," Tom says, regarding you briefly before returning to his books, “if you're going to return this often."

“Oh, Riddle, but then what would you do without my company? Talk to the bones?"

“A tempting offer when considering my alternative.”

He leans against the counter to watch you as you make your way down the aisle, fingers jolting as they brush the shelves of dark paraphernalia, preemptively casting a locking jinx on a particularly nasty skeletal hand that grabbed you once last year.

“Is there anything you're looking for?"

“Nothing in particular,” you hum as you peruse, “Curiosities of your friendly competitors.”

“Friendly,” he repeats, like he’s tasting a strange flavour.

You smile with just enough polished barb that you hope it bothers him. “Most cordial. And I am nothing if not the dutiful volunteer for the task."

It is an objective truth that you are good at many things. Tom is good at all of them and perhaps one more: being pushed significantly and never showing symptoms of breaking. You'd like to be the one to change that.

“I presume you intend to leave with something?" There's a challenge in his voice, clear as day, as he stands straighter, but — not bothered. Not bothered, just intrigued. His hands fold behind his back and his chin comes up, daring you to say a single snarky thing that isn't true — that you're here to taunt him. Not to buy a thing, and not to enjoy his company.

It was such a boring day before this. If he only knew, he might have a tad more sympathy.

“Breathe, Riddle — if you can through all the dust in here — I've plenty of money to spare; there’s no need to fret about me leaving empty-handed." You select a book at random to prove your point, waltzing closer to hand Tom four sickles from your coin purse.

You're pleasantly surprised to see him actually smile, the corners of his mouth stretching with only the slightest degree of mirth. He reaches out and takes the coins, setting both upon the counter before turning up his nose at the book in your hands. “It must be an enthralling read to capture your attention."

You smooth the cover over with manicured hands and shrug at the indecipherable title. “Well, I’m remiss not to have a clue. I believe it's in Latin."

He runs his hand along the book, thumbing the pages with a raised brow. “It’s a history text. Ancient Roman institutes of magic.” His gaze returns to you. “Will that be all?”

You roll your eyes. He would know a dead language — it's such a remarkably Riddle thing to do — probably just for the sake of knowing it.

“Yes, if that's satisfactory enough that I may be permitted to walk the premises without causing offence."

“Of course. Though I do expect a review of it soon," he adds, “to know whether my time hasn't been entirely wasted."

“A review?" You laugh. “And I suppose you ask that of all your customers? Mind the matter of it being in a language I don't know; it would take me a few months for a crude translation at best."

“Only my best customers," he says with a small shrug, as if that isn't a completely arbitrary standard he's just pulled out of nowhere. “In that case, you've the better part of a year to read it," he adds, and the smile on his face is less thin, less restrained, more cocky.

You raise a brow, scanning over the words on the first page as if hoping something will stick out. It's all gibberish. “I'm being timed now, am I? I don't recall accepting the task."

"Do you not?"

You scoff. "Of course I do."

“Or perhaps I could translate for you?" he suggests, “It's really no bother for me."

You should be offended — he's eternally eager to see you fail — but your stomach flips at the premise of a challenge you haven't felt since you were in school together, and most importantly, you never fail. “Give me a date, Riddle.”

“I think by Christmas would be fair. Does that give you enough time, or shall I set it a bit later?"

“Christmas," you agree, shaking his hand with all professionalism you can muster (this is, after all, a very professional exchange), turning away, and smiling to yourself as the shop bell tolls again.

It’s only weeks before Christmas when it occurs to you that this isn’t even for anything. There’s no prize should you win, no one else is aware of it, it’s a great waste of time when what began as a passable weekend hobby has now drowned you in English-Latin dictionaries and histories of Ancient Rome. The shop surpasses last year’s sales and you’re dozing off into your mother’s pastry dish during the family celebration. Even your father telling a rather pitiful tale of his Polyjuiced visit to Borgin and Burkes can’t keep your attention when he drones on about how easily he fooled Mr Borgin into remembering the details of some spat twenty years ago. Your brain is in a half-scattered language. It tugs you to what might be the most depressing December 25th of your life if you’re forced to give Tom the gift of your failure.

So you double-down. Your social life is nonexistent. You’re three quarters through the textbook and dreaming about duelling Tom under the Arch of Constantine, and he wins, and he wins, and he wins each time. It only propels you more. You’re downing Invigoration Draughts like a drunkard with a cradle of firewhisky.

And you do it.

You finish the damn book, you think you might have actually fucking learned Latin with how deep the words have rooted in your skull, and you win.

You win, in your prettiest dinner dress, snow clinging to your hair, wrapped in a brand new coat as the shop bell tolls and you step inside.

You’re grateful you don’t say as much (which you were planning on doing — planning on slamming the door shut behind you and carolling your bloody success) because it’s Mr Burke at the counter this Christmas evening, not Tom.

“...Miss?” He regards you with perplexity behind the counter.

You blink, recollecting yourself and stepping forward to shake his hand. “Mr Burke. My family wished to extend their best wishes for the new year.”

“Quite a gesture," comes a familiar voice from behind you as Tom steps out from the staircase, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat, like he’s just been out. He’s smiling. He looks disgustingly well.

You glance between the two men, and Burke bows curtly as if made aware of something he’d previously been warned of. “To yours as well, miss.” And then he’s off to assist the only other customer, an elderly woman in fur-lined green with so many glittering pins in her hair she resembles a Christmas tree.

“Riddle,” you say, facing him, unable to hide the triumphant grin that digs into your cheeks. You hand him the book, and atop it, your three pages of articulate, edited review.

“You made it. You read it," he acknowledges, though you doubt he’s surprised, and then nods to the stairs. “Come.”

You follow him up the narrow spiral into a short corridor, taking one look back at the old woman, now clasping a shrieking bauble you gladly turn away from. The door Tom opens is unlocked, presumably where he’d just come from, and — you feel a bit overwhelmed if you’re correct, but you have no idea what else it could be — presumably his flat.

When you enter, the door shuts behind you with an empty click of the latch. The room before you is rather sparse, a kitchenette in one corner, a cramped study in the other, with books upon books and scrolls stacked high on shelves along the dark walls. There's only the barest of seating, two armchairs beneath a dim desk lamp, a small table beside the fireplace, and… a bed, of all things, separated only by a thin divider and the courtesy of enough distance not to immediately draw the eye. You, of course, can't quite help it, gaze lingering on the tidy sheets and back to him.

It isn’t a thought you do well to dwell on. Too many directions for your imagination to roam.

“Well then," you say, hanging your coat at the door and trying not to display any overt anticipation as the parchment rustles in his hand, “Shall I just sit and await your evaluation?"

He raises a brow. “I was going to ask if you’d like tea. Do sit, though.”

Oh. Yes, right, you’re rushing things. Hospitality. Decorum. Consideration. You suppose Tom Riddle would extend those things for the sake of posterity if nothing else. “Something black, if you have any, please.”

The water comes to a boil quickly under the steady heat of his magic, and you’re sinking into a shockingly comfortable armchair taking in every shape and blemish of the room while you’re in it. You don’t have to guess that he doesn’t have many guests.

“Darjeeling,” Tom says as he offers you a steaming cup, “if that’s satisfactory.”

You resist a scowl at his mocking tone, placing the tea on a glass coaster and glancing purposefully at your work (your magnum opus, really) once more. “Perfectly.”

Tom notes your look with a smile, settling into the seat opposite yours.

You take a sip of tea and lean back. “Do go on.”

“Eager,” he mutters, but begins.

He skims over the opening line before flipping the book open as if to be sure you haven’t made it all up, and then you think you probably could have made it all up if you wanted. Read one of the hundreds of magical histories of Rome that certainly existed — probably in your own shop, at that — and gathered much the same conclusion. But you did not. Tom must know you did not.

The silence is thick as he reads, waned only by the crackle of the fireplace and the occasional turn of a page. His brows furrow the way you always remember catching in school, like he's concentrating on a particularly hard puzzle, and you have to busy yourself with a nearly empty cup of tea to pretend not to notice the way his beauty is something almost delicate. Framed by firelight and the indigo gloss of the night shining in through the window, you imagine his hair mussed, his long eyelashes speckled with snow, his cheeks pink from the cold. You wonder about him in a nicer suit than this. You could buy him one, if you liked.

And then, at last, he looks up over the parchment, expression carefully measured. “I'm impressed.”

You put your cup down and you can’t help it. You're smiling. You're proud. His approval is like bottling the tail of a rainbow (which you’ve been told is possible), and it's a feeling that’s been absent from you for so long, it's never come from him — Merlin, you've always wanted it to come from him, haven’t you?

“You’re impressed?” you ask, as you love nothing more than to push. “Is that all?”

He loves nothing more than to keep his face impassive, but there’s a twitch there. Something you’re aware you can only spot because of how much attention you pay him.

“I enjoyed your perspective on the Romans’ utilisation of firedrakes. It was well-thought.”

“Well-thought?”

“Quite good, yes.”

“Good," you say, grinning in the bulk of your triumph, “I suppose that means I win."

Win. You’re not winning anything but the implication that Tom is somehow losing. Still he does not break, and you think at seventeen he would have. At nearly twenty his smile just grows. “Have you ever done anything less?”

Is he pushing too? That could be fun.

“Oh, first year tribulations. Nothing since — you wouldn’t remember.”

“Hm, I do recall an unfortunate lesson with a matagot in Beasts, and that must have been, what—” He tilts his head as though to ponder it— “fourth year?”

You narrow your eyes. “Paid an ever-close watch on me, did you, Riddle?”

“As close as anyone else.”

“And by that you mean to say—?”

“Only that it’s a most fascinating custom, the matter of pureblood marriage. It was hard to avoid your name in a common room full of your particular politics.”

“Ah,” you hum, summoning the teapot from the kitchenette to pour another cup, “so my potential marital affairs are what drew your attention. And here I was thinking it was because I was the only person who could ever best you.”

He stops your tea mid-motion, and you still as he sends both the pot and the cup to the table beside you. “Can it not have begun as one and have become the other?”

“Well, your curiosity knows no end; I should be flattered by such multifaceted interest.”

“So you won’t mind my inquiring.”

“Whatever you wish, Riddle.”

“Upon the current status of your betrothal.”

You blink, and then laugh. “There is no betrothal. At present.”

“At present. Is it subject to change?”

“There’s always talk,” you offer, and it offers impressively little.

“Elaborate...”

“I don’t know that you’re in any position to be making demands,” you gibe, “considering I paid four sickles to prove you wrong and I haven’t anything to show for it but my pride.”

He smiles. “Not enough to sate your desire to make me grovel, it seems.”

“You? Grovel?” You gasp, fingers circling your knee idly. “What a fascinating concept… Wait now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

“Is that not what you came for?” he asks, and it’s odd to see him amused by the idea. You push and push and he just continues to take. “To prove me wrong? To puncture my pride?”

You shrug innocently, even though you’d just said as much. “I’m here to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

He laughs, a warm, quiet laugh — more of a breath than anything — but true if you can read him at all, and that’s a bit alarming. “Of course. Near nine months of exhaustive translation all to bid me a nice holiday. It sounds almost like grovelling, doesn’t it? Wait, now, I’m trying to paint the picture.”

You bite back your smile. Damn him. He’s never been funny before. That’s a problematic development.

“Fine.” Your legs are already crossed and now you’re crossing your arms too, and you look very reserved compared to his relaxed stature. “A match would, of course, need to be of good title.”

“Of course,” Tom says, without even an attempt at masking his amusement.

“And he would need to be rich.”

“Naturally.”

“It would help to be from one of the Sacred Houses.”

“I should not expect anything less.”

“And I suppose age is a factor,” you go on. You push, and push, and push. Tom is impervious. He takes.

“What age would do well?”

“Near enough to my own. For health, of course.”

“For health,” he agrees delightedly.

What the hell are you talking about?

“It would be preferable that he be handsome.”

“And of his character?”

“Most agreeable.”

“Docile?”

“Hm, docile, yes.”

“It is a long list.”

“I’ve been told I’m a difficult woman to sate. Far too prideful, apparently.”

Your fingers are drawing figure-eights on your thigh now, and Tom’s eyes flash briefly to the motion. You stop as though caught, and you aren’t sure why.

“A defamatory accusation,” he says quietly.

You wonder if his voice has always had that tinge to it: the gravel underlining his polish like the crack of the fire, and — that must be why it’s so warm in here, too. It has been that way since you arrived, hasn’t it? Such polarising temperatures between your walk in the snow to this, you must have only just adjusted… an hour after arriving. It’s completely logical.

“So there are talks,” you repeat, if only because you’ve blanked on all else.

“Well,” he says, eyes boring into yours in a way that makes you feel transparent, “I wish you all the best. If it at all helps, you can now add a moderate understanding of Latin to your list of virtues.”

You drape an arm across your chair to match his easy posture. (And how is it he manages to look regal and informal at the same time?) “My list of virtues? Elaborate.”

He shakes his head with a small smile and you point an accusatory finger at him. “Ah, ah, Riddle — I won, remember? And I indulged your inquiring regardless.”

His eyes narrow. “You do want me to grovel.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“I don’t believe that’s the purpose of the day.”

“And that matters to you?”

He leans forward, looking over you as if your supposed virtues will reveal themselves upon scrutiny. It’s a bit offensive, really. You’d hope he could find more than enough with one glance.

He settles, after a long moment where you feel almost bare, on, “Your pride is agonising.”

It’s — not exactly what you were hoping for. Not quite grovelling, by any definition, but then, what did you expect from him?

“Excuse me?”

“Your stockings are ripped at the calf.”

“Riddle—”

“Your lipstick may have stained my teacup. It is a shade I’m rather fond of, but I do not wish to see a trace of it left behind.”

“Quite good,” you say through gritted teeth.

“And I should not be agonised — incautious and unfettered at a sliver of skin or the gesture of your mouth —” You realise with horror that he’s speaking through something constrained too — “and yet I am.”

It’s — is that a confession? Have you broken him? Have you won again? Your stomach flips and it doesn’t feel at all like winning. He certainly doesn’t look like a man who’s lost. In fact, he’s watching you intently, and at your lack of response, the constraint forming a taut line on his lips seems to slip back into something deliberate. Curious.

You recover to the best of your ability. “It is a short list.”

“Shall I go on?” he asks, and it’s an answer, too: no, you have most definitely not broken him. He looks a bit like he’s found a neat pathway to breaking you instead.

“I’d hate to debase you further.”

He leans in, and he might be about to stand, and that might be an irreversible thing to do. “Are you sure? I can’t imagine you’ve painted the picture yet.”

Oh, you’ve painted the picture. You’ve painted a gallery.

“I find the image regrettable half-done. No point finishing it now.”

You do not.

“And besides,” you add, “I know my virtues.”

He smiles, and he’s half orange in the firelight and half blue in the night, green somewhere in the middle, and he should be condemned for being this beautiful. “Elaborate.”

You shouldn’t. “I’m intelligent.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m a quick learner.”

“So I’ve seen,” he agrees, still leaning in.

“I’m good at my job.”

And then he stands.

It is an irreversible thing. Your heart lurches like it knows he’s going to do something that cannot be undone. Your heart lurches because it is a thing you’ve anticipated, quietly, on late nights in scrolls of Latin so you might be able to pretend to mistranslate them — you know, in your first tongue and any other, that you do not want it to be undone.

“Anything else?” he asks. You aren’t sure if you’re resentful of the proximity of his seat to yours or grateful for it, because it takes no time at all for him to be standing before you.

“I’m well-mannered,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you mean for it to. “Lettered in etiquette.”

“Etiquette," he repeats slowly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, and you don't quite know how he manages an intonation like that, but there it is, dripping with so much contempt you’re surprised he doesn’t fall over.

It wouldn’t be terrible if he did. He’d land right on top of you and put this little game to rest.

Instead he reaches a hand to your cheek — your hair — and brushes it like it’s an absolutely standard thing to do. He pulls away just the same. As if his hand is familiar with the shape of your face because it’s been there before. You'd definitely remember if it had.

“Of course,” you breathe, “patience and pleases and thank yous.”

“In all your manners, you might provide an example.”

Fine. If he’s going to be difficult. “I’d say I’m displaying great patience right now.”

“Hm.” His hands find yours where they sit on either arm of your chair, and his figure is blocking all light now. It shines on his shoulders, casts him like an aura. “That’s one.”

You look at his lips, and don’t bother to look away. You incline forward as much as you can when you’re caged in like this, until his breath is on yours and you can smell his cologne.

“Please,” you say, and for the challenge in it you don’t feel too humbled.

He is most obliging.

His lips just barely brush yours at first, and you did say you were patient — so you wait. The feather-light touch of them stills before it deepens, his hands pressing down on yours. Your open mouth. His tongue. You're kissing him, breathlessly and frantically and completely, and it is all you want.

Tom pulls back and you instinctively push forward. You will your eyes to open and he’s still right there — he hasn’t gone anywhere (what a deranged concern that is) — lips an inch from yours, and he’s smiling.

“That’s two.”

Oh. Oh, he’s an aberration in human variance. There’s something incredibly wrong with him.

There isn’t a way of turning gratitude into a challenge, you think. It doesn’t ask for anything. It appreciates. In this case it would more closely resemble worship. Thank you for your kiss, Riddle, I’d be nothing without it.

So you search to find a way around it that still gets you what you want.

“I’ll need a bit more than a lousy kiss if you want to see me grovel, Riddle." Your voice is a bit rough. You don’t know that your confidence lands the way it typically does.

But you came here to — what was it — puncture his pride? Push him until he breaks? You’ve already made it halfway, and you are, after all, very good at it.

And you suppose he wants to earn the third, because he scowls and then he’s kissing you again and this time his hands are on your face, and perhaps they are somehow familiar with the shape because they fit around you in some inexplicably whole way, like they were made for it. With your hands free, you’re carding your fingers through his hair, hoping for that vision of him you imagined earlier, with thick, messy waves and flushed cheeks.

Tom brings a hand to your waist and tugs you in, and you’re partly pulled from the chair by his insistence and overwhelmingly pushing to get out of it yourself, lips never leaving his as you stumble past the meagre divider to his bed.

The backs of your thighs hit the footboard and your knees buckle, gasping away from Tom’s mouth as you reach for the bedpost. His breath is heavy as his hand curves to the small of your back to keep you steady, your dress bunched in his fist, and there’s a heat in him pressed against you, like a match being held to kindling. And in the flash of fire when it finally strikes, everything in his eyes is clear, singularly focused, and he's pushing you to your back, splayed across his tidy sheets as he kisses you with bruising ferocity.

There's an urgency now to his movements that wasn't there before, and it's a stark contrast to his usual calculated demeanour, but that feels like winning. That feels like breaking Tom Riddle, whittling years of practised constraint to… this. That draws the third: makes you nice and grateful like he asked, because no part of you wants his careful fortitude here. You want to ruin him.

He appears to want the very same from you, which wrecks the whole thing.

Your legs move to wrap around him and he stops you, one hand pinning you by the hip and then down, past where you think he’ll go, as he finds the hem of your dress and lifts it from your calf to your knee. He draws circles over the thinly-clothed skin and you can do nothing but lie there, panting a little, staring at him with less patience than you’d proclaimed to have. And then his fingers move upwards, and they’re drawing figure-eights, and you understand that if this isn’t a taunt, nothing is. He copies your earlier motions. He does not kiss you. His fingers trail higher and higher and they’re soft like the shadows framing his face.

Finally he finds the waistband of your stockings and begins to tug them down your hips, stopping when he reaches that sliver of skin revealed by a tear in the fabric, taking your leg and hiking it up so he can look closely. He smiles, finger sliding down the tear in such a precise, meticulous fashion you can’t help but think he’s doing it on purpose. The moment does not linger when he pulls away, shuffling your stockings down the rest of the way so your legs are unclad before him, your heels already kicked off somewhere across the floor.

He watches your sharp exhale when he ducks down to kiss the skin of your thigh. A shiver runs through you at his softness, another when you see his face, see his eyes go dark with want of you.

His constraint is back, and it’s fucking detrimental. The only silver lining you can find in it, and you hope to be correct (haven’t you been so far?), is that maybe that means Tom Riddle can be broken in litany. Maybe he amends his ruination now but you can carve it out of him again later.

“Come here,” you say, your voice ragged.

Tom frowns, one hand pursuing a dangerous path up the inside of your thigh. “And here I was under the impression you wanted me to grovel.”

“Oh,” you huff, “is that what this is? Not some feeble attempt at winning after I —”

You grip his hair as his fingers curl under the lace of your underwear, as he smiles at the dampness there, the way your argument dissipates beneath his touch. “Winning?” he derides, breathy to match your tone in a way that feels cruel rather than considerate. You nod even as your breathing accelerates and he lifts the skirt of your dress to rest over your thighs, his eyes darting between your legs and your own heavy gaze as if he can't decide which is more intriguing. And then he slides a finger across your heat and you think he’s made his choice. "Is that what you think I want?"

You blink, feeling a bit lost. "What else is there?"

“Will you thank me after this?”

Right. That. You swallow, head falling back on his pillow. “Doubtful.”

“Hm,” he mumbles, some kind of consideration that can only be answered by the movement of his fingers against you, slow as they seek to learn you.

You arrest the moan that rises in your throat, teeth clenching together as Tom climbs over you once more, his body keeping you in place to watch the sustained details of your expression as one of his fingers dips inside you. You hiss, and his gaze burns into you, his mouth parted with a degree of awe and you think perhaps this is the picture he painted — you, under him, eyebrows pinched together as your hands scramble for purchase on his chest, fighting to remain intact.

But then his thumb brushes up against your clit and you let out a sound — half a moan, half a mewl. Tom doesn't give you a second to recover as his lips come down on yours again, hard, desperate, like he's trying to inhale you. And you let him, you take the little bit of ruin he surrenders in the great expanse of yours.

Even if you could quiet your noises you stand to think Tom would feel them, taste them, bite down on them like he does your lower lip, a second finger coiling into you. Your hand smacks at his wrist, clutching his arm with such intensity you can feel every sinew of his movement as he works away at you. Your legs are trembling, pressing around his waist an act of simultaneous resistance and desperation as you push upwards for friction and conquest.

You find both. Undeniable hunger — how he groans softly against your open mouth, how the imprint against your thigh is hard under his trousers, how he wants you.

His ministrations only intensify when your hand searches for the buckle of his belt, gripping your jaw like he needs to watch you fall apart before you can find parity in your desperation. It isn’t an impossible wish; your mind is hazy at the push and pull of his fingers, curving where his thumb draws ceaselessly on the other side, and you think, as much as you’re able right now, that he could succeed. But you force your eyes open to the space where your hand is wedged between your bodies, yanking hastily at his belt and sighing into his shoulder as it unfastens.

His trousers are unbuttoned, unzipped, and you’re arching into him with laboured pants even when your hand slips past them to find skin you've never travelled before.

Tom’s motions stagger when your fingers brush experimentally over his length, and you suddenly understand his ardent focus. You can’t help but stare at the way his jaw ticks, a hiss parting through gritted teeth, and the fact that you’re doing this to him is almost enough to push you over the edge. You grip him in one hand, and his fingers move again like some act of defiance, tightening his hold on your jaw. And then you’re pumping slowly, carefully, the only way you think to with the intention of pleasing him. Of weakening him.

He turns your head so you’re gasping into the pillow, neck exposed for him to press his mouth to. His teeth and tongue are on you and your hand slips from him for a moment as you shudder. Fuck him. This isn’t enough. You won't lose like this.

You tug at his waistcoat now, snapping open the buttons until the last few are clinging on by cheap threads. You’ll buy him that suit, you think. One that you can shrug off as fervently as you like without worrying about tearing the seams.

Your removal of his shirt is not aided by the swelling fire inside you, how the attention of his fingers has remained steady through your squirming and it feels like it’s culminating to something fatal. Your fingers grow shakier but don't stop their pursuit until every button is undone and you can soothe their trembling by pressing your palms against the warm expanse of his chest.

And then they’re back in his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as he continues to chip away at you. You bite back moans and blink through your dizziness.

Tom stops, and it might be more devastating than if he hadn’t. Your body is taut, a fine, thrumming wire spared a moment before snapping.

“More,” is all you say, tracing the shape of him through his briefs.

“More?” he asks. There’s a small mercy in the rasp within in his voice, the uncertainty despite himself. “I suppose that means I win.”

“Win?”

His gall almost, almost pulls you back to reality. But he’s — he’s pulling his trousers further down and your body, like some separate entity to your mind, is flush against him when he’s finally free of all obstructions.

“Mhm,” he hums, and almost-reality dwindles away into fucking nothing — disappears before your eyes when he brings his finger to his tongue and tastes you.

You tear him back to your mouth with a sound that so desperate your humility shouldn’t be able to take it but that's all gone now. His lips are wet and swollen and you’re adjusting yourself so his hips are lined with yours, and your head rolls back when he positions himself against your core and stays there.

“I win,” you breathe. “Everything else is just—”

He moves, hands on your waist as he presses ever-so-slightly inside you. You clutch wildly at his arms, your eyes wrenching shut.

“Look at me,” he says softly. His thumb caresses your cheek as if any act of his acts of tenderness are at all actually tender and not depraved requests for your resignation.

You shake your head. “It’s ju-just—”

He sinks further, unhurried, and you feel like crying, your body clenching around him as the pressure deepens.

“Just what?” he asks, peppering kisses along your jaw.

“Just… um, just…”

“Hm?”

“I win... s’just… cheating…”

You feel him smiling against your neck, and then he detaches his lips to observe you, nodding with false sympathy. “You win.”

And he shifts himself forward so he’s pushed to the hilt.

It’s a lie. It’s a lie as Tom holds you against him, carving kisses into your skin that burn, as you shudder a moan into the thick, hot air, as he begins to move rhythmically inside you, your fingers digging crescent moons into his spine and dragging.

You don't win.

If you are steel honed over years, it’s this moment that you melt, and you think if you were to be fused again it would be in a different shape.

And you mean that. You honestly feel liquified when he splits you slow like this, rolling his hips as you cling to him for strength like he isn’t the thing shattering you.

You rock to meet him, you bury your nails in his back, you rest your moans with your teeth in his shoulder — whatever you can think to make this fair. Make true to your word. You are going to break, it's true, but you are going to break Tom Riddle too.

“Fingers,” you mutter, far too much of a demand for the way it almost stumbles into a sob, but Tom makes a strained sound in the back of his throat as if it gratifies him that you want it enough to ask.

“Thank me,” he answers on a harsh exhale.

You bite at his collar, shaking your head, but your legs are starting to shake and you wouldn’t ask if it was something you wanted — you mask it as an order because you need it. Because you imagine what he’s doing now combined with his thumb on your clit and it’s enough to make your abdomen clench just thinking about it.

Instead one of your hands forsakes the sweet curve of his muscles every time he thrusts into you so that it can snake between your own legs, and you mimic his earlier ministrations just long enough to drive a moan from your lips before Tom’s eyes dart from your lips, the rise and fall of your chest, to the hand missing from his back.

He grabs it with a scowl, pinning one wrist and then the other above your head.

“Stubborn,” he hisses, and he buries himself inside you like it's something personal, persistent in his strokes when his fingers finally rub over you how you wanted.

And you know you’ve done it when his head falls on your shoulder and you feel yourself tighten around him. His grip on your wrists is punishing. His mouth on your shoulder is stringent. He’s hard and full inside you and his fingers slide against you in delicate, torturous contrast. You know because it all stutters a bit when you pull him into a kiss, when you know you’re about to plummet into oblivion and he’s gripping you through it like you might steady him — like you aren’t the thing shattering him.

When you do, it’s something visceral. You think you might be spinning, or floating — screaming, maybe — spilling ill-mannered expletives in strings with his name because your hands are still trapped under his and your body can do nothing else. What you know, undoubtedly, is that you’re coming down from it for a long time, in a haze when you manage to breathe the words into his ear. “Thank you.”

Tom breaks. It’s the most beautiful you think he’s ever looked; eyebrows cinched and pink mouth parted, hair mussed like you wanted, neck tense as he stills inside you and you feel every part of him let go.

Your legs are too weak to cling to him through it, and you just pant under him, blinking languidly and in awe.

You stay like that for a long time.

He leans in when he finally pulls out of you, kissing you like one form of contact must be replaced with another. It's the same with his hands. He sinks into the space beside you and releases your wrists just to cup your face instead.

Yours come up instantly and shamelessly to his hair, craving nothing more than to curl your fingers through the dark mess of it. You trace the sharp shape of his cheeks, too, like his did to yours, like you need to memorize the lines of his expression and the heat of his skin before the world outside seeps in and it all goes cold.

But you pull away and you can't imagine it will.

There’s something in his eyes that feels new. Longing like he’s shed all pretence of acting like nine years of treading the lines of this rivalry has ever been anything but a pathetic display, like he knows you've shed it too. It makes you catch your breath to think this is what it feels like to be desired by Tom Riddle; that you desire him all the same; all this time.

“You know,” you say, and your voice sticks dry to your mouth, “I still win.”

He shakes his head. He smiles. You want terribly to kiss him again.

“I’ll just have to find something else to best you in, won’t I?”

You pretend like you’re considering it and not just staring at him.

“I think by Christmas would be fair.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle oneshot #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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itsgrimeytime · 4 months

Text

When he loves you... || Rick Grimes (TWD)

When you love him (prequel)

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

Alexandria. It was like a breath of fresh air, despite everyone still being skeptical -clean showers, clean houses, a home-

You were pleased, very pleased -even with your own doubts, you knew such a place was a miracle.

What you had noticed, however, was the wear and tear on your leader -he was stretched thin with every responsibility, and you knew he wasn't taking it well. Especially with Judith and Carl to take care of-

That's why you were here, at his doorstep, far past dinner. The sun set and the chill of the night dusting across your arms, you knocked.

You knew a long time ago that you were in love with Rick. It was more complicated then, with a wife and a baby and the loss- Some would argue it was less complicated now, with you a staple in his kid's life and his own.

He leaned on you like a rock, a friend, sure, but his rock. You weren't sure it was healthy on your part, honestly, but you loved him. You'd do anything to help him.

Once again, hence you being on his doorstep late in the night. Well, not late late, but you knew he wasn't asleep.

He wasn't sleeping, you knew that too, so-

The door swung open, and there he was -newly shaven and clean jaw. You hadn't seen that yet.

"When did you-" you motioned around your chin, it came out like an instinct -the beard was one thing, but now.

"This mornin'," he answered like it was normal for you to be at his doorstep -which it kind of was. You'd been gone all day on runs, you led a lot of them now -another thing to help Rick, now that you realized.

"Looks-" you cleared your throat, awkwardly, "-Looks good, Rick. Haven't seen you like that since-"

"The farm," he answered, smiling a little at what you weren't sure. It was nice to see, though.

"Well, yeah," you agreed, before shaking your head out of the stupor (stupid jawline-), "-Wait, I have a reason for showing up, actually."

"Don't need one," he hummed, offhandedly -opening the door more to let you in.

"I do, though," you echoed, something swirling in your stomach at the words -you stood squarely on the porch, "-Look, let me take Judith tonight."

"What?"

"I said-"

"No, no," he clarified, "-I know what ya said. Just... why?"

You stood your ground, a little intimidating but you always were with his health, "I know you haven't been sleeping."

"And you want to-"

"Help," you finished, "-I can stay here if you want, but I thought I'd take her a night, so you could at least try to sleep. I know you're busy the rest of the day, so-"

"I love you," he breathed out like it was a fact -as simple as the sun setting.

You froze, your tongue heavy in your mouth -your heart stilling in your chest. Did you really hear that right? Did he-

"Let's talk," he spoke, like his words were as normal as 'how was your day', and he nudged open the door even further -inviting you in, "'At okay?"

"Uh, yeah," you answered, a bit on instinct -your brain was running a mile a minute, all you heard was those words bouncing around your brain, 'I love you.' Had he really-

He guided you to the couch, motioning you to sit where you want -you chose on the far left, hopefully far enough to take a few breaths. Calm down-

Rick sat right beside you, your knees bumping into each other -his side pushed into yours. So much for a breath-

"Rick," you echoed, a little lost, "-did you-"

He sighed, a big loud one, and you were startled into silence, "You know I know all ya do for me, right?"

"Yes," you answered decidedly.

"Bringin' me a plate from Carol's, leadin' on runs, hell you even volunteer for baby duty," he laughed, "-No one wants baby duty."

"Well," you stammered, "-you haven't been sleeping, I just-"

"You care," he hummed, turning to face you, "-a whole lot. Always have."

"Well-"

"You deserve to know people care 'bout you, too," he echoed, now wrapping your hands in his, "-a whole lot."

"You-" you started, slowly.

"I love you," he confessed, like it was as easy as breathing, before laughing and adding, "-a whole lot."

Your mouth ran without thinking, "I love you too."

"I know," he smiled, a twinkly sort of one and you realized now he was just smiling at you.

You opened your mouth to ask how, but he cut you to the chase.

"Like I said, no one wants baby duty."

#rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #stuff n' thangs #twd blurb #rick grimes blurb #its griming time #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #twd oneshot

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brbsoulnomming · 7 months

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Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 23

-----

They're on the front page for about a week.

They run the stories of Hopper and Henry Creel simultaneously - honestly, Eddie kind of thinks the fact that Hopper was presumed dead and is now back makes it easier for people to believe a previously assumed dead guy is the top suspect for the murders.

Eddie gets barely a mention clearing him of all charges. There's a couple of articles about him and Steve fighting off Henry Creel, but the focus is more on Steve than anything else.

Steve bitches about it, about how they did the same thing after Starcourt, but Eddie's kind of glad his name isn't plastered all over the place anymore.

He and Steve are down in the kitchen scrounging up celebratory snacks and beers - Steve has a clean bill of health, and Eddie's stitches are coming out in a few days - when the phone rings.

"Harrington residence, this is Steve speaking," he greets.

Eddie barely has time to decide he's absolutely going to tease him about that later when the response comes - loud enough for him to hear it.

"Steven, my boy!" the voice booms, spirited and affable.

Steve closes his eyes, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Hi, Dad."

"We just heard the news!" Steve's father says. "Why didn't you call to tell us? Did the earthquake damage anything?"

Part of Eddie thinks he should leave. Or at least back away, so he can't hear everything that's being said - but the other part of him thinks that Steve'd push him away if he didn't want him here, and with how tense Steve's gone next to him, Eddie can't bring himself to pull away.

"The house is fine," Steve says. "Loch Nora didn't get hit at all."

"Good, good," Mr. Harrington says. "Your mother hears you and Rachel have been volunteering with the relief efforts?"

Eddie didn't think it was possible, but Steve goes even stiffer.

"Robin," he corrects, his tone smooth and entirely void of inflection. "Yes, we've been coordinating donations."

"That's what I want to hear!" There's a sound like a loud clap. "I'm glad to see you're taking this seriously. You had a lot of ground to make up for, but it seems giving you a dose of reality has paid off. We'll be able to have some real talks about your future soon. What? Oh, your mother wants to talk to you."

There's a shuffling noise, then a quieter and much less friendly voice greets, "Steven."

"Hey Mom," Steve's posture relaxes a little. "I told Dad we made it out okay."

There's some kind of response, but Steve's mom is too quiet for Eddie to make it out.

"No, of course I didn't file charges. I knew you'd want to handle it if anything else happened." A pause. "Yes, that Carver. Mom, it's not - yeah. Yeah, okay. No, it's just him. I think he's just mad that people listened to me and not him. Yeah, I - all right. Bye."

He hangs up the phone, leaning in with one arm braced against the wall, a long line of tension.

"Steve?" Eddie says quietly.

Steve turns to face him, giving a little crooked smile. "You can ask if you want. I don't mind you and Robin knowing. It's… easier sometimes, if she expects it, and it's probably the same with you."

Eddie aches a little. "What was your dad talking about? What ground to make up for?"

Steve makes a face. "I did a lot of damage to the Harrington image the last bit of high school, you know. Stopped caring about my reputation, didn't get accepted into any of the colleges they wanted me to go to, kept getting into fights."

"But that wasn't - did they even ask you what actually happened?" Eddie asks.

"They don't care what actually happened," Steve replies. "Just what it looked like. Like I said, it's all about appearances with them. My dad's the main reason I worked at Scoops instead of being a lifeguard again last summer - he says it's because I needed a real life experience, learn what it means to work at the bottom, but he was just pissy and trying to humiliate me. He talks a big game about working hard, but all he really cares about is how I make them look. Now that I've gotten good press twice, he's happy again."

Eddie's mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. "He didn't even ask if you were okay."

Steve shrugs. "I looked fine in the papers."

Right.

Appearances.

"Will you be mad at me if I punch your dad if I ever see him?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs, a surprised little sound like he's startled by it. "No," he says. "But only if I get to punch yours for leaving you."

Oh.

If Eddie was thinking about it, he'd have moved slowly, making sure to telegraph what he was doing so he didn't startle Steve, but he reacts on instinct and pulls Steve into a hug.

Steve doesn't even flinch at the sudden motion. He just melts into it, letting Eddie wrap him up and hold him tightly. His arms come up to cross over Eddie's shoulder blades, the placement automatically mindful of his injuries in the way only someone who's bandaged them multiple times could be.

"Sometimes I wish they just wouldn't call at all," Steve admits, face buried in Eddie's neck. It comes out in a rush, like he hadn't really thought about it before he said it, but he's getting it out anyway. "That they'd just cut me out of their life, instead of stringing me along."

"Fuck them," Eddie says. "I've got you."

He can hear Steve swallow, and Steve hugs him tighter.

They stay like that for a long while, until Eddie finally pulls back.

"Hey," he says softly. "I'll get the food and stuff. Go upstairs and see Robin."

Steve looks uncertain. "You sure?"

Eddie hugs him one more time. "You've got two soulmates," he murmurs. "Let us take care of you a little, okay?"

Steve squeezes him tight, then lets go with a nod before heading upstairs.

Eddie dithers in the kitchen for a bit, taking an extra long time. Whatever his complicated feelings are, it doesn't bother him at all to give Steve and Robin some space like this.

They're talking when he comes back, which isn't a surprise, and he hears his own name as he gets closer to the bedroom. Eddie pauses, even though he shouldn't, listening through the cracked door. He'll feel worse about it later, probably, but right now the masochistic side of him can't resist the urge to know what they're saying about him.

"I want him so much, Robs," he hears Steve saying, low and soft like he's trying to be quiet.

"I know," Robin replies, her tone somehow managing to be both gentle and snarky at the same time. "It's kind of pathetic."

Steve lets out a muffled groan. "Not helping. I don't exactly have the greatest track record at being able to get over people! I thought, with my soulmate-"

He cuts off, and Eddie can't help the bubbling anger that springs up. Steve thought? Has he stopped for one second to think about how Eddie might feel, only ever having a platonic soulmate? Wanting him just as bad and not being able to have him, not being able to have anyone?

"-someone else?" Robin is saying, like she's reading his thoughts, and Eddie has to hold his breath as he makes sure he hadn't accidentally said that outloud.

"I don't want anyone else," Steve says miserably. "Just him. I think - I think it's always going to be him. Fuck, why does this have to be so complicated?"

There's a heavy, thick silence, and Eddie's anger simmers and crackles under his skin, the way it always does when there's a hefty mixing of guilt in it.

"Do you think-" Robin starts, then stops. "Do you wish-" She stops again, voice thick with emotion. "Would it be easier if we-"

"No," Steve says, cutting her off at the same time that Eddie realizes what she's probably trying to bring herself to ask.

There's the muffled sound of shuffling, quiet hitching breaths - probably the motions of Steve trying to reassure one of his soulmates that he wants her, and he imagines him gathering her close, pressing soft kisses anywhere he can reach, cutting off anything she tries to say with a deeper, fiercer kiss.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes copper to keep himself from making some kind of sound to give himself away. He hates that he doesn't know what he's feeling - hates that he thinks he's jealous of Robin just as much as he doesn't feel jealous of her, not really. He's jealous of the images he conjures when he thinks about them together, but he's never actually jealous when he's with them, when he watches them.

That reminder makes him shift, peeking through the cracked door so he can see them. They're sitting facing each other, legs all tangled together. One of Steve's hands is covering Robin's heart, and the other is curled around one of Robin's hands, pinning it to his chest over his own heart, and their foreheads are pressed together.

Something in Eddie settles in a way he can't explain, all thoughts of jealousy gone.

"There's no me without you," Steve is saying. "You're a part of me, Robs, I can't do this without either of you."

She says something too muffled for Eddie to make out.

"I'm happy. I really am, I promise. I love you, I love us, exactly the way we are. And with Eddie-"

Eddie leans forward, too desperate to know what he's going to say to worry about being caught.

"I don't need anything else other than just him. However I can have him. If it's never romantic, if this is us forever - it doesn't matter, not really. I just need you and him, and the kids, and I'm good."

There's silence, the two of them just completely wrapped up in each other, and fuck, Eddie - he thinks you know what, if this is it, if what he has is Steve and Robin and the kids forever, then he's good, too.

"I love you, Robin Buckley," Steve says. "In a way I never realized was possible, until you and that dumb kid showed up in my life and taught me that you don't have to do anything to earn someone's love. That sometimes, it's just unconditional."

Steve was sixteen when he fought his first demogorgon, Eddie remembers that. Which means he couldn't have been any younger than that when he started really spending any time with Dustin or Robin, which means - the same thing that Eddie went through when he first moved in with Uncle Wayne, the thing that was so impossible for him to believe at twelve, Steve wasn't shown until he was probably seventeen.

Fuck, his heart aches.

"Does Henderson know he was your first true love?" Robin asks, her voice a little wet, but obviously trying to make things a little lighter.

Steve laughs, the sound just a bit thick. "No, and he'd be insufferable if I told him."

There's the faint sting of a new lie being written on the back of his calf, and the second he registers it, he hears Robin's startled laughter. Eddie pulls back from the door, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out, trying to get himself back under control.

"Oh my God, Steve, you did tell him! When?"

He can hear Steve sputtering and deflecting, the sound of Robin smacking him and Steve scrambling - probably trying to avoid them - and if there was ever going to be a good time to announce his return after shamelessly listening in for too long, now is probably it.

Eddie pushes open the door, six pack under one arm and bags of popcorn and chips under the other as he shoots a hopefully only slightly manic grin at them. "What's Steve lying about now?"

"Nothing!" Steve says too quickly.

Sloppy, for him, considering Eddie knows how good Steve usually is at using sarcasm or half truths to avoid telling lies, so Eddie tosses the bag of popcorn at him.

He catches it easily, of course, but it means he's now vulnerable to Robin's attacks, and he has to swerve to avoid another slap to his shoulder.

"Steve's trying to pretend like we both didn't get that lie, too," Robin says.

Steve groans. "Fine, Jesus. It was back when we were waiting at the camper, and Dustin was upset. I told him that he was the first person who was ever just - there, in my life because he wanted to be, even after he didn't need me to fight demodogs. No one could ever replace him."

"You're such a sap, Steve," Eddie teases him as he comes to sit next to him and Robin.

"Shut up," Steve grumbles. "That's it, I'm picking the movie."

—

The next day, Lucas and Max swing by. Steve hauls a basketball stand out of the garage and sets it up in the driveway, and Eddie sits at the kitchen table, eating a bologna sandwich while he watches them play.

It's safer inside, where there's no one to see if he gets affected by Steve's tank top and shorts.

Or at least, he thought it was safer inside.

"Do you love Steve?" Max asks, plopping down beside him.

Eddie chokes on his Coke, and she stares at him unsympathetically until he manages to breathe again.

"He's my soulmate, so." Eddie shrugs.

Max gives him an unimpressed look, and yeah, okay, he figures they both know soulmates aren't a guarantee of anything. Eddie's parents were soulmates, after all, loved each other more than anything else in this world, and that still hadn't been enough.

"I wanted him to be my soulmate before I knew it was him," he admits, because that's a more true answer without actually having to say yes or no. "Nothing's happened since to change that."

She gets this look on her face like she's trying to decide if that's an acceptable response. After a moment, she rests her chin on her knees, staring out the window, and Eddie figures he's in the clear.

"Steve has two soulmates," she says after a while. "You don't. Doesn't that make you feel - I don't know, like you aren't enough?"

"Jesus Christ, Red, you're not pulling any punches today, are you?" Eddie swears.

He doesn't actually want to have this conversation. It's not something he's completely sorted out on his own, yet, even though he's done a lot of thinking on it, and he's tempted to tell her to mind her own business.

But she won't look at him, and he knows why she's asking. She's not talking about him and Steve and Robin, not really.

He thinks about telling her something standard about soulmates, or maybe even the advice that his uncle gave him, but it doesn't feel right.

"It's not what I always imagined," Eddie admits slowly.

Max doesn't say anything, but he watches the way she starts to unwind a little, how she doesn't hold herself so stiff, tilts a little to actually listen to what he's saying.

"You know Steve and I talked to each other when we were younger. We thought the same way about a lot of stuff, and I had this idea in my head that he was some little outcast like me, in another small town somewhere out there, that we'd move to a big city and find each other. But then we stopped talking."

"How come?" Max asks, looking caught up despite herself.

Eddie grins at her, wide and self depreciating. "I found out he was probably some rich, popular jerk, and decided I hated him."

And there's that unimpressed look again.

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie grumbles. "Let's just say there might be some truth to not talking with your soulmate before you actually meet them. Point is, for almost five years, I hated my soulmate. Thought the best I could hope for was that we'd meet when we were thirty and ancient, and maybe then he would have changed. Then a little while ago, I met Steve."

Max's brows furrow. "You met Steve way before that."

"Nah," he says. "I knew of Steve. I had a lot of assumptions about him, knew what I thought he was, but I didn't know the real Steve. That Steve I met when he helped explain all of this to me and didn't make me feel stupid for not picking up some of it right away, even after I held a broken bottle to his throat."

She snorts, but looks like she's considering that. "I met him when he was putting himself between me, Lucas, and Dustin and a hoard of demodogs, a couple of hours after calling them dickheads and me some random girl."

Eddie salutes her with his can of Coke, half in understanding and half to cover the way his heart wants to melt again. "That Steve was nothing like I imagined my soulmate to be, when I was daydreaming about him or hating him. But I knew I didn't want anyone else, and Steve having another soulmate doesn't change that. I don't think it makes what he feels for me any less than what I feel for him, and I don't think it means I'm less important to him than he is to me."

Max frowns. "Really, or are you just saying that?"

"Really," Eddie says, though he hadn't actually been sure it was true until he heard himself say it. "I'm not saying it's not hard sometimes. And sometimes I get in my head about it. But I wouldn't change it. Steve wouldn't be the same without Robin, you know? He wouldn't be the Steve that made me want him to be my soulmate so bad."

There's a long moment of silence. Then, "Would you be saying that if both of his soulmates were romantic?"

Eddie's glad he stopped drinking, because he knows he would have choked again. For a split second, she wonders if she's picked up on - but no, that still isn't what this about. "Are both of yours romantic?"

Her jaw juts forward, arms hugging tighter around her knees. "What if they were?"

Fuck, he doesn't know what to say to that. "It's okay to like both guys and girls," he says, because he feels like that's the most important bit. "I do. I mean, mostly guys, but sometimes girls."

Her grip loosens a little, but she still doesn't say anything.

"It sounds like maybe I'm not the one you should be talking to about that," he says carefully.

She scowls. "I talked to Steve already."

Right, of course she did.

"What did Steve say?"

"Steve said he thinks the line between platonic and romantic soulmates isn't as straightforward as people like to pretend it is. That sometimes what you might think should be romantic is actually platonic, and sometimes what you think should be platonic is romantic, and sometimes there's going to be things that blur the lines and you don't really know which one it is. He said it was okay to have two platonic or two romantic or one of each or, like, any combination." She makes a face here, like she's not entirely sure what he meant by any combination - or like she was sure, and didn't need that much detail. "That as long as everyone was communicating, it was okay to do whatever worked for us."

Eddie swallows. "Steve sounds pretty smart."

Max rolls her eyes. "He has his moments."

"So… are you communicating with Lucas and El?" he asks.

She picks at a rip in her jeans. "I talked to Lucas."

He waits, but it seems like that's all he's going to get. He starts to ask what Lucas said, but… he gets the feeling that it's not necessarily about what he said or not.

"But it's Lucas," Eddie says. "And you wanted to hear how someone else in a familiar situation felt."

Eddie gets that familiar, itchy feeling that he does when he wants to run, and he only barely resists the urge to bounce his leg up and down. It's not that he wants to run from Max, or even from this conversation, it's just - it's starting to make him think about things, and he really, really doesn't want an audience for this. He wants to lock himself in a room and pace, listen to some music, maybe scribble out his thoughts, something to get his hands moving and his brain in some kind of order -

"Even if Steve wanted both of us romantically," he says, knowing it's close enough that it's not a lie. "I would still rather be his soulmate than anyone else."

Max looks at him with narrowed eyes for a long moment. "I'm gonna ask Steve if you lied about that."

Eddie fixes her with an unimpressed look right back. "You think I'd do that to him?"

"You better not." There's an edge of menace in her tone, but she lets it go, so Eddie figures she doesn't really think he'd lie about something like that knowing it would be etched on Steve's skin forever.

Silence stretches between them, and Eddie follows her gaze out the window, watching Steve and Lucas playing basketball.

"I've put him through so much already," Max says, so quietly that he can barely hear it.

Fuck, Eddie is so fucking soft for these kids.

"You have not," Eddie says immediately. "You haven't done a goddamn thing, Red. Both of you have already been through so much, and it's not because of something either of you did. It's fucking Hawkins."

She doesn't look convinced, so Eddie pushes his shoulder against hers.

"Lucas is smart. He's more emotionally intelligent than I am-" Max snorts at him, and he's reasonably sure he hears her mutter something along the lines of like that's hard, but he ignores her. "He knows what he can take and what he can't. All you have to do is believe him when he tells you it."

She's quiet for a moment, looking contemplative. Then she asks, "Does that work for you?"

Right, yeah, okay, he deserved that one. He thinks about deflecting, but -

"I'm trying," he admits quietly. "What do you think, huh, you gonna let me beat you there or are we gonna do this together?"

Max glances out the window again, then turns to look back at him, her chin jutting out. "Steve loves too much, and he gets it thrown back at him too often. I don't think he really believes that we love him as much as he loves us, even though we do."

She says it like a threat, like she's saying if you tell him I said that I will kill you or maybe if you hurt him I will kill you. Either way, he'd be dead.

"I'll talk to Lucas and El, and you make sure you don't disappoint him."

Goddamn if that doesn't stab right to the heart of him, lodging itself beneath his ribcage and sticking right into the parts that'd already made him want to run from this conversation.

"Okay," he manages to get out, because he's not sure he'll survive any other answer.

Max nods. "Good talk," she tells him, and then she pushes herself up and she's gone.

Eddie stays there, mulling all of that over. He doesn't think she'd actually tell Steve anything they just talked about, nor does he think she really has any idea that Steve had asked him to make their bond romantic and he'd turned him down. Honestly, Eddie could probably get away with patting himself on the back for actually managing to give some decent advice and be the person she'd needed him to be for just a little while, then go on being a very devoted platonic soulmate for Steve.

Except even if Max doesn't really know, Eddie does. And now Eddie's thinking about things he doesn't want to, and wondering how much of a hypocrite some of the advice that he gave her makes him, and -

"Hey," Lucas says, and Eddie yelps.

Lucas raises his eyebrows at him.

"Jesus Christ, don't do that," Eddie bitches.

There's a little smirk, but fortunately, Lucas doesn't actually comment on it. "You talk to Max?" he asks instead.

"Yeah," Eddie replies, narrowing his eyes at him.

Lucas lights up, though, his whole face practically beaming with his smile. "Good. I figured it'd help her to hear that your soulmate cares about you no matter what from someone who wasn't me."

Eddie raises one eyebrow. "How do you know that's what I said?"

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Because you're Steve's soulmate. If that wasn't the way you felt, Robin would know, and she'd have already murdered you."

Eddie considers that. "Okay, fair."

Lucas makes his way over to the fridge, yanking it open and standing in front of it as he peers in. "So what did you tell her?"

Eddie sits back, waiting until Lucas turns to look back at him so he can shoot him a wide, smug grin. "If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

He gets a glare in return, but Lucas doesn't protest that, just leans back in to grab a pair of Gatorades from the fridge. He twists the top off of one, taking a long swallow before he shuts the door and starts back out of the kitchen, giving him a little nod as he passes.

"Hey, Lucas?" Eddie calls before he can leave.

Lucas pauses, looking quizzically at him.

"I'm guessing you talk to Steve like Max does, about all this." Eddie makes an exaggerated gesture between them and out the kitchen window, meant to loop all of them in together. "But, uh. You know. If you ever want a different perspective, from someone in kind of your position."

He motions to himself, then splays his hands out all ta-da.

Lucas hesitates, lingering in the middle of the kitchen before he seems to make a decision.

"I was kind of upset about it when I first found out Max's other soulmate was El," he admits. "It was right after Billy died, and their soulmate bond was new, and Max kept letting El in while she was shutting me out. And I was angry, and jealous, and then when El had to leave and Max kept pushing me away, I just kept thinking that if El was here Max wouldn't be by herself so much, that the wrong soulmate got to stay in Hawkins."

Lucas pauses, twisting the Gatorades in his hand, but Eddie gets the feeling it's a gathering his thoughts pause more than a waiting for Eddie to say something pause.

"Eventually I realized that El could help Max in a way that I couldn't, and that maybe that was the point. I started calling El a little, too, when the phone wasn't busy, and just - El was grieving, too. I didn't want to feel jealous over something that helped them both anymore. It's been good with El back, really good. I don't know if I like El like that, but if Max does-" he shrugs. "I guess I kind of already got over the jealousy bit. It doesn't really matter to me if they kiss while they're having sleepovers or not, as long as they don't exclude me."

Now it seems like a waiting for Eddie to say something pause, so he gives a soft little hum. "What do you do if you end up feeling excluded?"

Lucas blinks, like he wasn't expecting that question. "Uh. Well, before, I talked to my parents and sometimes to Steve or Robin or Dustin. It's hard talking to Mike or Will about it because they're not all that objective about El stuff. I don't… really know if I want to tell my parents about Max and El like that yet, so I guess… talk to Steve or Robin or Dustin." He pauses, then, more tentatively, "Or you?"

Fuck, these kids keep getting to him. "Or me," he agrees easily. "But you should probably also add talk to Max and El to that list."

Lucas makes a face, but doesn't disagree. "I don't think a lot of the others know about Max," he says instead. "Just me and Steve and Robin, and now you."

There's an edge to his voice, like he's pretty sure Eddie must be safe if Max told him, but he's ready to fight him about it anyway.

"Max knows about me, now, so we're even," Eddie replies, pleased that the effort he puts into making sure his voice sounds steady pays off.

"Yeah?" Lucas asks. "Who else knows?"

"Steve and Robin. And now Max and you," Eddie replies.

Lucas lights up a little. "Cool."

"Cool," Eddie echoes, even though he feels a little shaky from the fact that he's now said it twice today, which is double the amount of times he's ever said it before at all.

There's a comfortable silence for a moment.

"It's complicated, being in our position," Eddie says after a bit. "I think it's always going to be complicated. But if we let it - I think it could be really great, too. Most people only end up in pairs, but us? We get a whole damn party of interconnected soulmates."

"A party of soulmates," Lucas says thoughtfully, then grins. "Yeah, I like that."

"You're a good kid, Lucas," Eddie tells him, not sure if he really needs to hear it, but he still remembers the way it made him feel when Uncle Wayne said it.

Lucas ducks his head, looking a little pleased, even though he follows it up with a sidelong look. "Even though I'm kind of a jock?"

Eddie shrugs. "My soulmate is a whole jock. I guess that means I've got a little jock in me, too."

Lucas's expression shifts, turning mischievous, and suddenly he looks like the fifteen year old boy he is, and not a world-weary adult. It's nice, it's wonderful, Eddie loves to see it, except it makes him realize what he just said far, far too late to do anything about it.

In his defense, they were having a serious discussion, and -

Yeah, he's got nothing.

Maybe it'll be fine? Lucas is probably the most mature out of all of the boys, maybe -

"I don't know, man," Lucas says, slowly, like he's actually considering that. "We've all heard the rumors about Steve. I don't think it's something little you're gonna be dealing with."

Eddie gapes at him.

"I said you were mature," he bemoans, flinging his upper body over the top of the kitchen table just to make Lucas laugh harder. "I told Max you were emotionally intelligent! Begone from my sight!"

Lucas takes his Gatorades and leaves, still laughing at him.

—

"Max cornered me in the kitchen to threaten me today," Eddie says.

Steve snorts. "Of course she did. What about?"

Eddie shrugs, waiting for Steve to look at him so he can waggle his eyebrows at him. "She also threatened to kill me if I told you."

Steve shoves him, and Eddie falls back dramatically, sprawling out on the couch. He props himself up on his elbows to look at Steve, but he doesn't seem inclined to actually push him to reveal what he and Max talked about. Instead, Steve goes about shutting down for the night, checking to make sure all the windows and the sliding glass door are locked.

"Soulmate stuff," Eddie says. Or more like blurts out, before he can change his mind, to force himself to have to keep going. "She told me what you said about the line between platonic and romantic soulmates. Made me think about some things."

"Yeah?" Steve asks, stopping by the couch to look at him.

"Do you still want me, Steve?" Eddie asks, his heart in his throat.

He isn't prepared for Steve to shut down, for the way his face goes cold and hard and blank.

"Not cool, Eddie," Steve says, turning away and going back to the windows in the living room.

Eddie pushes himself up off the couch, then immediately doubts himself and sits back down. "Steve, what?"

Steve won't look at him, and he can hear the window locks rattling with the force that Steve's using to check them. "You're being a dick, man, come on. You can't ask me stuff like that."

"I-" he starts, then stops, his mind scrambling a little. Is he too late? Did Steve move on already, even though he told Robin that he wasn't going to? Is Eddie so easy to get over that even his fucking soulmate couldn't keep him? "What happened to it's always going to be him, huh?"

"Jesus Christ," Steve says, incredulous, and Eddie kind of wants to cry a little because he knows that Steve has started saying that more because of all the time they've spent together. "You were listening to me and Robin? What the fuck, man, you still think it's fair to throw that at me?"

"Fuck you, Steve, I know it wasn't a lie when you said that. Am I so fucking easy to just stop wanting, or are you that fucking fickle?"

"Eddie, goddamn, is this - were you testing me? Is this you lashing out at me again? Because I can't, okay, not about this, I can't-" he cuts off, one hand scrubbing over his face. "I told you, I can't."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

"Steve, no, I wasn't teasing, I - it was a real question."

Steve stills, pausing right by a window. The light of the moon catches on him, highlighting parts of him in pale silver while the rest of him is warmed from the soft yellow of the living room lamp. "Seriously?"

"Come on, Steve. I just picked a fight with you instead of asking what you meant, and you're surprised I'm not sure you still want me anymore?"

Eddie can hear Steve breathing out, then in, then back out again, watches as he lets some of the tension bleed out of his body. "I think I picked some of that fight right back. I'm sorry, I just - all right, let's go back, and I'll listen without making assumptions, okay?"

Yeah, okay, Eddie can do that.

"Max told me what you said," Eddie starts again. "And it made me think about how smart you are." He wishes Steve were closer, so he could see his face better, at the same time as he wishes he couldn't see it at all. "How brave you are. How when you know what you want, you go for it, how you fight to keep it, how you own up when you make a mistake, how you work so hard to make all this work."

This is Eddie trying to be brave, he thinks. Trying to go for what he wants, to accept that they're going to have to work at this, that he's probably going to get hurt, that he has to trust that Steve will be willing to work past whatever it is that springs up.

It takes him a little too long, though, because after a few moments, Steve gently prompts, "Eddie?"

"Do you still want me?" he asks again. He didn't mean to, but it comes out anyway, all small and tentative.

"Eds," Steve breathes out. "I'm always going to want you."

He loves too much, and he gets it thrown back at him too often, Max had said, and Eddie swallows down the urge to ask him if he means it, if he'll still mean it the next time Eddie picks a fight, or every time he's an ass.

"I'm always going to want you, too," Eddie says.

Steve's hands twitch, and he looks like he's waiting for something - for a lie to show up on his skin, Eddie realizes, and Eddie knows he's going to have to do better than that.

"I want you," he says again. "Steve, I want you. I'll take you any way I can get you, but I just - this is stupid, I'm stupid. I'm making us both miserable because I was scared."

He's not surprised that's what gets Steve moving, and he comes over to sit by him on the couch.

"You're not stupid," Steve replies. "Not for being scared."

Eddie shakes his head. "No, but I am for giving into it. So I might get hurt, so what? I'm already hurting, wanting you so bad and not getting to have you, knowing you'd probably let me kiss you and not letting myself go for it."

Steve's looking at him, eyes all sharp and intense, like he's really listening to Eddie's every word, and hell if it doesn't make him feel just a little bit drunk on it.

"Talking with Max made me realize that I trust you. I trust you, with my life, with - fucking everything. I trust you to work through this with me, to figure out what works for us."

Steve runs a hand over his jaw, going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yeah?" he asks after a moment. "You really - you want to do this?"

"So fucking much," Eddie says.

Steve's whole face lights up in a smile, and he leans in, one hand resting on Eddie's knee. "That mean I can kiss you now?"

Eddie barely manages to get out a please before Steve's other hand is sliding over his jaw, slipping back to push his fingers into his hair and cup the side of his face. Steve holds him there as he kisses him, and it's-

It's not Eddie's first kiss. But it's his first kiss that's ever really meant anything, and the soft brush of Steve's lips against his makes his heart stutter in his chest.

Steve gives a little hum, low in his throat, and then he's tilting his head to get a better angle, and holy shit.

Eddie pushes forward eagerly, deepening the kiss until they're both panting for breath, and even then they don't pull away. Their foreheads press together, lips parted and just barely touching as they share the same air. His eyes have closed at some point, but now he opens them to find Steve looking back at him, and Eddie smiles.

"How long do you think until Robin notices we haven't come up?" he asks.

"I'm okay with figuring that out," Steve replies, closing the tiny bit of distance between them to kiss him again.

I've got a pretty good handle on the outline for the rest of this now, so I'd say we've got about four more parts left!

-----

Part 24

Tag list (always happy to add more): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #robin buckley #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #background lumax #hints of elmax and elumax #platonic soulmates stobin #steddie soulmate au

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breadandblankets · 16 days

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how i hc duke's relationships with the other (main) bats

bruce: mentor/friend/weird HS teacher u bond with kinda thing, i think bruce on his end still feels simmering guilt for not being there for duke when he needed him, duke feel simmering resentment towards bruce for being another adult that left him, this will boil over at some point but then they'll get over it, they will never be that dumb nuclear found family thing, i think doug and elaine would like bruce tho so maybe one of those friend of the family situations where u call someone ur not related to aunt/uncle

cass: very very good friends, would probably consider her a sister from another mister if u will, i would hesitate to call her a best friend *gestures at all of war* but i think she's up there, i really love the headcanon that there is some tension on duke's end because cass has the ability to be more efficient but she actively chooses not to, i think for a long time duke is going to be holding some unhealthy and unrealistic standards both for himself and also people around him, like everything else this causes tension then erupts before it gets resolved, cass i think would know about said tension the whole time but have no idea how to bring up the issue or how to even think about resolving it so it drags on

dick: i think duke holds a grudge for the robin war thing, and i think he fucking should iykyk, (the way he just leaves duke on a roof??? with cops????, i was shouting at my fucking comic) idk i think dick would probably make light of it for a while but duke would be real fucking clear that he remembers and won't be forgiving and forgetting any time soon, i think they're acquaintances at best but realistically, coworkers

damian: like cass Extremely good friends, found family if you will, honestly i think they got a lot of their interpersonal issues out of the way before duke becomes signal, so really its a matter of time before they actually become friends and not just acquaintances, they're old man young to me, i think they do old man things like feed birds in the park and play Go together, i think damian is probably one of the only people duke doesn't hold to his standards, he thinks damian deserves to be a kid, making damian be a kid is probably some of the only time that duke is forced to relax by proxy, therefore duke and damian's friendship is strongly encouraged by bruce who is out of his depth for what to do with both of them and throwing them at each other seems to be working (👍 parenting)

tim: i honestly don't think they know each other well, like i think they may have talked once??? so i don't have shit to base their relationship off, generally i think they're amicable if distant, like a coworker you say hi to at the coffee machine

babs: i Need them to interact, honestly it would be really funny if duke meets babs for the first time as oracle and he's just like??? you're my favorite librarian? and babs is like !! we missed you when you stopped volunteering!!! and duke has to be like yeah that was the joker, i think they would have a good relationship, they don't work together all that much cause oracle doesn't run duke's ops and duke isn't usually on the night shift but they know they can call each other in if they need. one of duke's few trusted AdultsTM

jason: i think rocky at the start, duke would definitely have some Memories of the red hood, that would probably be a hill to overcome, but i generally think that jason will eventually move into a more positive position in the city even with the shadows of all that stuff following him ofc. they are absolute Assholes to each other in a way that is clearly affection, jason will let duke get away with anything up to and including murder, duke will never let jason get away with anything, its like a typo in the group chat

steph: re same as tim, and babs practically nothing to base the relationship on BUT i think they would get on like a house on fire, like cass: sister from another mister energy, steph is giving duke the "you just found out ur dad is a supervillain" support he needs, they are the only bats successfully going to college they probably go to events on campus together, idk they have so much potential as the forgotten robins and all that, i think they should bully bruce together that would be so fun.

#duke thomas #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #barbara gordon #jason todd #stephanie brown #batfam #oh gd tags #i hate tagging them all like this but my last group post went Nowhere and i Actually put thought into this #i mean i lost steam at the end i just want it out of my fkin drafts #tired boy hours #anyway these are just my hc #its how you'll see me write them for the most part #or it wont be neither i nor gd know what is going on at any one time

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sheilab34b · 7 months

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Introduction

I thought I should make myself known to people, since some of you seem to have the wrong idea. I am a woman, a real woman, age 34 and into hypnosis for a few years now. People seem to like relaxing when I soothe their mind enough to ..... well, whatever comes to mind, if you know what I mean. I too think about the supremacy of women and how things are changing for men and women. Anything you have to ask, just drop me a note.

I thought I should add that I dabbled, well more than just dabbled, with hypnosis during my college years. I gave little demonstrations for friends in the privacy of their homes, and occasionally a stage show for my classmates. So much fun!! So many hands raising as I suggested a balloon string attached to their wrist on their left hand. Like so many volunteers all at once. Sleepy eyes looking at me, their left hand raised begging to be further enhanced in hypnosis. I mean balloons are lighter, right? So why wouldn't your hand be lighter too?

Oh did I mention I love it when I swing a pendant or something shiny and you follow it, your tired eyes following.. left... right

Recently I have been thinking about gaslighting, changing a subject's mind about simple facts or even changing their memory about situations, orientation, interests, desires, experiences. Change is good for girls, where they don't have to think about anything. Facts they thought was clear, like addition... 2+2 or what 22/7 equates to. They accept totally whatever I tell them it is. 2+2 isn't always what you might think, right?

One thing about spirals is that girls have a difficult time following them, even when they think they are following, they aren't. Their eyes lag behind the pretty spirals. Have you noticed if you pull up a spiral that you don't actually do it like you think you are. Pulling you deeper as you gaze. So addicting, wouldn't you agree?

Actually there is something else I have been thinking about a lot. #Covert Hypnosis is becoming a real, strong interest of mine. Imaging just you and I having a somewhat average-type conversation. You might not even notice my repeatedly using some words or phrases, repeated that have a tendency to make you yawn or sink deeper in your chair. Maybe your mouth gaps open a bit, or your eyes feel tired. #trigger talk is very exciting, isn't it?

Introducing a new concept is always fascinatingly arousing. Maybe I am not talking about it overtly, but subtle in the application of the concept of corruption. Lovely, lovely corruption. Once I have the trust and complete acceptance of corruption, I don't even have to mention it until later, after corrupting you bending your will to me, to mine. Corruption makes you want to be engaged with me, without the least bit thinking about it. It is, the state of it, it is who you were meant to be. Yes, clothing is not something you are comfortable with when we are alone. You have a rather strong need to display yourself. All of your physical attributes that you work so hard on maintaining. Hustling to be with me to show me, hoping I am pleased and that we can spend evenings together, in corruption.

Email... [email protected]

#hypnotic eyes #spirals #corrupting #cant remember #covert hypnosis #trigger talk #sheila34b #Sheila

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gothamitelove · 2 years

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cellmates (joker x reader hcs)

god knows why you're in arkham asylum, but you are, and that's just how it is. you don't waste your time thinking about the past- what matters is now, and how you're going to survive here.

they haven't assigned you a cellmate yet, since you're still staying in the emergency ward. it's only been a few days, and it's clear this place does not have its shit sorted out yet.

but when the scruffy-looking guard with the beard does give you your assigned cell, he looks like the cat that's just eaten the entire pet store's stash of canaries. the name on the paper he shows you reads Joker.

you try to get out of this. it's got to be some human rights violation to shove you in with him. he'll either kill you or drive you mad, he's done it to others before

nobody listens to you, though, because of course they don't.

the joker takes an immediate, very strange liking to you. maybe it's because you don't let him just do whatever he wants- this is a civilized society, dammit, and he'd better sleep in his own bed before you make him.

he thinks it's very cute, and continues to do whatever he wants anyway. eventually you give up on the bed debacle and just sleep on his when he's being difficult about it

has his weird, aggressive mood swings that you learn to predict and avoid better than anybody else. it makes you nearly invaluable to other inmates and the prison staff when it comes to “what will he let us do today”

can be very touchy, especially in front of people he doesn’t like (read: the guards)

you volunteer information about yourself to him- he never tells you anything about himself in return. it’s just not something he ever speaks about, and you don’t push him on it.

but he does listen to you when you talk, even when it looks like he isn’t. he remembers just about everything you say and will quote you in conversations with other people

sometimes you think he’s going to kill you. it’s not a happy go lucky relationship you’ve got here- but it is one of the only consistent ones he has, and he won’t let go of it easily at all. he doesn’t kill you. but on some occasions, he comes very close.

anyway good luck being locked up with him 23/7!! you’re really gonna need it. (i swear i could write an actual fanfiction about this nobody enable me)

(requests are temporarily closed! but shoot me an ask when they open up again and i'll get back to ya asap. and if you'd like to be tagged when i post like this, dm me!)

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ashlayan · 9 months

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Little blunder

College AU

Tw: SFW, can be read as gender neutral tho written with a fem reader in mind, fluff.

Pairing: Dan Heng x Reader.

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

You pull up in front of the apartment complex and slowly get off your bike. You take out your phone, swipe past the 99+ notifications from every group chat you're in and go straight to Dan Heng's contact.

The last messages there were "Hey, I think I have a crush on someone and need advice" and his reply, "wanna talk about it after tutoring tomorrow?"

You type "Here", then quickly make your way up the stairs. With any luck, he's just woken up -today was his day off- and still hasn't seen any messages about this morning's... fiasco.

You reach his apartment door just as he unlocks it, probably after he heard you approach, and give him a quick greeting, closing the door behind you as you enter.

"So," he starts, "should we focus on History or Chinese literature today?" He asks, still under the impression you're here for your regular tuesday afternoon tutoring sessions. Then... He doesn't know yet. Ok, that's good.

"Actually..." You start slowly, gathering your courage to just be done with it. Come on, I can do this! You think, attempting to pump yourself up. "I'm here to borrow something" You lie instead... Hm. Maaaaybe I can't do this ...

"Of course you are," An eye roll. "what do you need this time? A dictionary? A calculator? Or am I a living dictionary, calculator, and thesaurus all in one?" Had things been normal you would've probably laughed.

"Well you see..." You glance around his apartment nervously, and say the first thing that comes to mind. "I kinda need your dish washer?" You try, and proceed to mentally facepalm. Really?! His dishwasher?!

He narrows his eyes in clear confusion. "You need... my dish washer?" He repeats. "What do you want a dish washer for? You don't even cook?" He sighs.

"If you're planning on borrowing stuff that's mine, then just ask. No need to make stupid excuses like needing my dish washer, of all things. I am your friend, you know that, right?"

"Ahahaha the school population might disagree at the moment." You reply nervously.

"..." He gives you another confused look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You take a deep breath. "Soooo you know how I've been volunteering to help out the broadcasting club? With equipment maintenance and such?"

He nodded, though now he just looks more confused.

"Right um, about a month ago, I found a club member crying alone after a bad breakup... To comfort him I told him he was a great guy, that anybody would be lucky to-"

"Didn't you already tell me all that?" He interrupted quickly, probably sensing you were still stalling.

"Right, right, just making sure you remember." You answer smoothly enough.

"So anyways, that guy may or may not have asked me out for the school dance?" You pause, gauging his reaction, but he turned his usual pokerface back on, and it gives away nothing.

"Uh? Congratulations?" Realizing he won't say anything more, you move on for now. "No, no. I didn't agree or anything," you say quickly. "Instead I uh, may have rejected him by saying I have a boyfriend, and when he insisted I was lying, I maaaaayyyyyy havesaiditwasyou?" You rush through the last part as your nerves get the best of you.

"..." There's silence in the room as Dan Heng stares at you, processing what you'd just said. He swallows and takes a deep breath. "You. Did. What?" His words are measured.

"I panicked? I'm sorry!"

"Panic led you to name-drop me as your non-existent boyfriend?" He asks with a hint of irritation.

"Well that's because I was thinking about you-" You say before you could think better of it, and by the time your hand slaps your mouth shut it was already too late.

A small smile spreads across his face. The first unguarded reaction you'd seen him make since the beginning of this conversation. "Really?" He asks. "Did you... did I happen to cross your mind as you rejected that person?" He looks at you, his eyes narrowed in amusement.

You blush. HARD. "Well- I- I mean! Yes! of course because-" You think of a quick lie "-because I needed to return your..." You slide your hand into your pocket, pull out the first thing you find, a chewing gum packet he'd given you the day before and say "The- This...?" You end Lamely.

He shakes his head, smiling. "Nice try," he says, "but there's something else on your mind. You're bad at lying." He puts his hands on his waist and smirks.

"Now, tell me the truth. Why did you name me?"

You sigh, utterly defeated... As expected of Dan Heng "Well, I guess I wanted to ask you out to the school dance? I- I've been meaning to finally tell you today but then that guy came out of nowhere and asked me to go with him and I just- welp." You shrug.

He raises a brow "Wait... am I... your crush?" He asks, not believing the question. "It's me, isn't it? Huh." He tilts his head, a bit confused and amused.

"But... why? Why would you be into me? I'm literally the definition of a nerd," he says while glancing over to his desk, cluttered with books and his gaming build.

You jump at the opportunity to tease him "What's this Dan Heng? Are you fishing for compliments?" You ask slyly, hoping to make him blush so it wouldn't be just you.

His ears immediately turn red. "No, I'm serious," he says, "Why me?" He looks at you with a puzzled look, then says, "I mean, I'm flattered, but I don't get it. Out of all the boys in class, why me? Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he chuckles.

A small win for me! He went blushy blushy! You giggle to yourself. "Well what's there not to like? You're always there for me, be it calling me first thing in the morning to make sure I'm awake for classes or tutoring me so I understand the material, you even cook extra portions of food for me because I am not um... adept in the kitchen. Like how thoughtful is that? Honestly how could I possibly not fall for you?" By now you've completely run out of breath.

Dan Heng's cheeks are flushed pink. I can die happy now "Y-You... you're actually serious?" He asks, feeling a wave of relief and joy wash over him. "Because I... I feel the same about you. You're so... you're the sweetest, kindest, most considerate person I've ever met, (Y/N). You're always helping people, even in things completely unrelated to your own life... I mean, broadcasting equipment maintenance? You had to learn a completely new skill just to help them with that."

He took a deep breath, seemingly steadying himself, then continued.

"And... I just have this feeling whenever I'm with you, my heartbeat quickens and my stomach turns in a flutter. Do you... do you feel the same?" This was probably the most honest and vulnerable he's ever been with you.

You smile brightly. "Yes! And I'm ecstatic you do too!!!"

He smiles as well and nods. "When's the dance, again?" He asks. "And how should we tell our friends that we're dating, now that I've said yes to your... confession?"

"If it even is called a confession?" He mumbles in amusement.

"Ah yeah about that..." You smile sheepishly, debating how to break this one to him.

"What... what is it, (Y/N)?" He tilts his head in curiosity. "Tell me. I don't bite," he teases.

"Sooo, remember how this whole thing started in the broadcasting room? Remember how March uhhh... Sometimes forgets the mic open?"

Dan Heng's eyes widen. "No way."

"Hahah... Yeahhhh." You fish your phone out of your back pack, unlock it and pick a random group chat. Sure enough, the chosen conversation topic is still the "Broadcasted failure of a confession LMAO!!" You hand him your phone, let him scroll through the messages, knowing he probably doesn't bother to even join most of these group chats.

"Huh," he starts, "aren't they being a bit... Harsh on this gu- wait." His eyes narrowed. "What does Jing Yuan mean by 'he was being a total creep??'" he asks alarmed, now looking at you.

"Ehh that might be an exaggeration? He probably means how the guy wouldn't take no for an answer, it's kinda why I had to lie in the first place, I mean I was being considerate at first but he really wouldn't let up... Huh now that I think about it, maybe Jing Yuan's right. "

Dan Heng didn't seem to like that one bit.

"You know what? I'm actually fine with the broadcast thing," He replied coolly. "If more people knew about my feelings for you, then that's great. As long as they know you're dating me now."

"So. Are you going to be my date for the dance?" He asks.

You grin. "I'd be honored to!"

"Great." Dan Heng smiles and reaches out to hug you. "So then... that means we're officially a couple?" He grins slyly. "And does that mean you'll call me honey now?" Oh he's trying to make you blush.

You smile back, every bit as mischievous "I was actually thinking of calling you: Darling, love of my life, light of my days, and saviour of my grades! But sure whatever you like." You say innocently. He laughs.

"I think I like that last one," he says, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from your face. "But I want you to call me Dan Heng, alright? If I ever heard someone refer to me as "Darling" or "Love", I'd probably turn into a ripe strawberry." He seems to consider something for a moment then says: "And when we see each other at the dance, will I be able to give you a kiss?" He asks cheekily.

"...!" When they go bold I go BOLDER! " You can kiss me right now." You say, summoning every last bit of confidence within you.

He leans in and gently presses his lips onto yours, holding it for a moment before breaking apart. "Will that suffice?" he asks with a grin.

"Now, come on. We better hurry up. All our friends are probably waiting for us at the cafe," he says and offers to take your hand.

"They're gonna be thrilled. Imagine how happy March will be, learning her little blunder for once caused something great." he adds with a bright smile.

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

Author's note:

Alhaitham: I'm just a feeble scholar.

Dan Heng: I'm literally the definition of a nerd.

Kaveh & I : \(O-o)/

#dan heng #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #dan heng x y/n #dan heng x you #hsr #college #college au #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail fanfiction #honkai star rail leaks #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #dan heng honkai star rail #hsr au #au #alternate universe #fluff #getting together

158 notes · View notes

kaepop-trash · 10 months

Note

not sure if you’re still taking requests for chance encounters but i just read the whole thing in one sitting and love it sm!!! i love your more angsty drabbles so i was wondering if you’d do one where yn and johnny are on a “break” 🥹

Give Up, Give In

There were a lot of requests for going back to the club so I'm just adding some of my favourites:

Anon: I'm just a girl standing here asking for more Johnny (CE) yearning. Make him suffer ma'am 🙏🏻 [Yes ma'am🫡]

Anon: The club is your Chekhov's Gun and it's still lying unfired on the table. [This is the best ask I've ever gotten since this account started]

Anon: Just. More. Dom. OC. [Short and sweet. How can I refuse?]

Mini Masterlist

I was in quite the headspace when I was writing this and you can tell. In contrast to most other things I've published, I edited this painstakingly. Somewhere in the middle I watched Casablanca again and you can actually tell where.

This is just very intense. Idk what came over me, I think the characters came back to me like past lovers do in a dream. I wrote this in a daze. I also surprisingly like this. I'm posting it with love instead of just shrugging responsibility of it. Enjoy!

Warnings: Angst, Angst, Angst; A lot of references to a movie older than the Czech Republic; (There are just a lot of sexual warnings in this one girls) Smut, Voyeurism, Friction play, Light BDSM, Handcuffs and Whipping (not the main characters), Dom! OC/Sub! Johnny, Dom! Johnny/Sub! OC (They are switches in the most literal sense of the term), ribbon play (male receiving) [is that even real?], Abs riding, grinding, Dirty Talk, Degradation; Intense, INTENSE; So much angst like what was I thinking; Johnny's a bit of a babygirl in this lol idk how else to explain it; Pussy-whipped Johnny you are my #1; OC is mean, but Johnny actually likes it (He told me); A lot of misplaced anger and resentment (in a sexy way); Alcohol; Johnny has the kind of sadness in him that you only see in east european gay porn; There is some homosexual themes in this, don't forget that in this world everybody is bisexual (except Tenmin, they are full fruit loops); Bisexuality(?).

WC: 18.6 k (Honestly this can and should be read as a standalone.)

Her focus came in and out of the moment, mostly being drawn back by the occasional whimper or hiss that echoed loud against the cement walls.

It was a mistake coming here tonight. she knew it the moment Hyuck bought it up.

"You look lethal." Yuta crossed his arms the moment she walked into his house, equally confused and somehow proud. Beside him, Hyuck whistled. Both of them eyed her top to bottom, taking in the very nice dress she bought herself this week.

“Absolutely deadly.” Hyuck agreed, crossing his arms in front of him, “So where are we going?” He looked between the both of them.

“For dinner. A bar maybe, judging by how our friend is dressed.” Yuta mused, turning to (Y/N) for confirmation of the plan she laid out.

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” She frowned.

“What?” Hyuck looked between both of them, confused, “We aren’t going to your club?”

Yuta chuckled, “No (Y/N) is staying away from the hallowed grounds.”

“Why?” Hyuck turned to her, looking offended. “I shaved my balls for this.”

Both Yuta and her turned to the boy, incredibly confused and horrified by the information he willingly volunteered

She cleared her throat, deciding it best to ignore it outright, “That’s none of your business, Lee Donghyuck.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I just told you I shaved my genitals and you’re bringing up personal businesses?”

“You volunteered that information.” She grimaced, wondering why she didn’t see this coming. “You can’t just go to there on a whim. There’s a list that’s fixed a week in advance.”

“Aren’t you literally friends with the owner?” Hyuck mirrored her arms.

“The owner's friends gets benefits." Yuta shrugged, "You're roped in by extension, it seems.”

The very mention of the person who was not to be named made her spine straighten, “We are not going to the club. I don’t want him to think I am in his space, I don’t want him to think I need to. It’s a horribly petty thing to do.”

“He might not be there at all.” Yuta offered.

“We are not going.” She repeated herself, looking at the both of them with a sense of finality.

They ended up at the club less than two hours later. After dinner, entering a “normal” club reminded her exactly why she stopped doing this after undergrad. She wanted to just go home but Hyuck and Yuta were both slick menaces. And now she was here.

One of the men in front of her cursed, bringing her attention back to the present.

Her original reasoning to slip into the basement the moment she entered the club was to mitigate even the most remote possibility of being confronted by Johnny. Another part of her was overcome with intrigue once the idea materialised.

The basement was one place she hadn’t had a chance to explore. Initially, Johnny would tease her with the idea of it, but he never lived up to his own promise in that department. A couple of months in, their visits to the club reduced considerably as work got harder and their apartments got more comfortable. Then the matter was never brought up again.

Sitting in it now, she tried to imagine what Yuta meant when he compared it to the few dungeons he frequented in Amsterdam. A few with Ten even— back when he was still single of course.

The place was a lot more elegant than the floors above, divided into confined rooms that felt larger than they were owing to the incredibly tall ceilings. Unlike the rooms on the second floor though, there was no pretence. Instead of looking like hotel rooms, each room was mostly minimal. Despite the baroque display of velvets and satins, each only had one tall bench and a few chairs. The lighting was also much brighter than the intimate dimmed ones above. The lights here were yellow and brazen, nothing hid under them. The most apparent of which were the contraptions and tools displayed audaciously on the walls, ranging from curious to downright frightening.

Despite all that attention, the rooms were also open: no door, not even a curtain to lend privacy to the inhabitants. If she was clueless about what the requirements on this floor were, taking a walk down the length of the corridor gave her the clarity she needed.

Pain of this magnitude wasn’t something she was ready to give or receive from a stranger. But she did gather that spectatorship was a part of the experience on this floor. The chairs in most rooms had at least one person seated, watching as other people made use of the various instruments available.

That is how she ended up here.

One of the rooms seemed to be void of any onlookers. Two men occupied the bench inside, looking at each other with tender trust. She stopped at the entrance, deciding that this was the palatable option. She might even learn a thing or two, she wagered.

At first, they seemed unaffected by her presence. She pulled a chair and sat down at a considerable distance, still feeling trepidation about the intrusion. She watched as they got comfortable with each other, imagining that they met here for the first time today. They decided to trust each other despite, was what she decided.

Sometimes she wished that was how her initial visit to the club went.

“What should we use?” One of the men asked the other, the yellow sleeves of his shirt brushing over the man's cheek. The other looked to be the one calling the shots, so she was waiting to know as well. But he surprised her, turning to look at (Y/N) instead.

Her eyes went wide for a moment, not sure why she was being acknowledged.

“Well? You’re wearing silver aren’t you?” The man asked, his hooded eyes impatient.

Oh.

Her hand went to touch the chain that Yuta had so creatively woven into her hairpin. It was supposed to be half a joke.

Owing to the spontaneous visit, they were unaware that there was a theme tonight. It was classic movies night and none of the three were dressed for the occasion. So they decided to keep the spirit, deciding on pursuing otherwise uncustomary situations. Hyuck said he'd do anything the first person he met told him. Yuta claimed that today would be the day he pursued his favourite bartender. And she put on the silver chain and walked into the basement. A decision taken for the interesting stories it would birth. Much like this one, she relented.

She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think of what she could possibly say.

“I don’t think–” Yellow shirt began to speak, probably sensing her panic.

“Did I ask you?” The other was quick to interject, keeping his eyes on her.

She looked at the two men carefully, the more compliant one much taller than the one clearly in charge.

“Take your shirts off.” She said first, “You’ve been rubbing against each other like kids at church. It’s pathetic.” Hooded eyes smirked, pleased to get what he was looking for.

“You heard her little boy.” He turned back to his partner, reaching out.

“You’re own clothes. Not each other’s.” She clicked her tongue, expressing her disapproval through her tone.

And that was how it began. They were excellent at following her instructions and slowly she began to take more liberties.

People came and went behind them. The first hint of another presence had surprised her. After that she started ignoring the sound of occasional shuffling.

Except one that spoke with a voice she could not ignore. A familiar one.

Johnny was comfortable in his corner, pretending to listen to Ten explain the theme again.

“I was watching this movie with a friend while she was recovering from a broken leg. And it came to me!” He told yet another person, “Unfortunately, she isn’t here today.”

“What are you talking about?” One of Ten’s friends sat up at that, “I saw (Y/N) an hour ago.” She looked at Johnny for confirmation.

Johnny looked up, at least two pairs of eyes already on him. He shrugged, trying to play off his nonchalance by taking another sip of his drink.

“Babe,” The woman continued, poking the man beside her. “You remember seeing (Y/N) downstairs, right?”

Johnny snorted, “You must be confusing her with someone else.” He said with utter confidence. She would not be anywhere near him if she had the choice. Not after what he said.

“She’s in a white dress today, right?” He asked his partner, who nodded.

“Yeah, she’s downstairs. Martin told me when I went for a cocktail. I wasn't looking or anything.” He added quickly. “Don’t glare at me man.”

Johnny looked away, not realising he was. His mumbled apology wasn’t even trying to be genuine.

“There’s Yuta,” Ten raised his arm to call the man. “Let’s ask him.”

“There is no need.” Johnny groaned, but Ten ignored him with ease.

“What?” Yuta came up, looking thoroughly annoyed. No doubt being interrupted in the middle of something.

“Is (Y/N) here with you?” Ten asked.

Instead of answering, Yuta turned to Johnny. The cautious look he gave him gave him the answer he was looking for.

“Yeah.” He turned back to Ten.

“Where is she? It’s her theme tonight!” Like most other people, Yuta too did not care about Ten’s theme.

“You would not guess.” He said with a grin, sitting down with a conspiratorial chuckle.

And that's how Johnny ended up in the basement for the first time in a year. He walked past each room, looking in to find what he was looking for.

Johnny wasn’t sure what he’d even do when he found it. Would he stop her? Would he watch? Or would he leave her alone like he had himself wanted?

Johnny slowed his steps, only for a moment. Why did she have to come to the basement now? If she wanted to, why didn't she mention it to him? He thought she wouldn't like it. Or maybe he wasn't the one she wanted to share that with. That last thought was alone to add a spring to his step.

His thoughts only spurred him on as he passed more rooms without her in it. Almost crossing one, he stopped to take a few steps back. He had to be sure that the back that was facing him was the one he was seeking.

She was in white like Ten's friend had stated, a dress he never had the privilege of seeing before tonight. Head rested on her hand, she was watching someone else. He relaxed, walking further into the room. Once her side came into view, the relief that came over him seemed to piss him off. Any thought of leaving her alone evaporated with it. This was supposed to be what he wanted.

“I had to see it for myself.” He scoffed, the novelty of the situation only just coming to him. (Y/N) turned in her chair, looking up at him with surprise in her eyes. “Trying new things? You could have told me if you wanted to come down here. At least I know what your limits are. You were never the best communicator.”

“I would assume that I know my own limits best.” She turned away from him, back to the two men in front of her. Not a hint of kindness in her eyes.

He really must have said too much that night.

One of the men sat quietly on the large wooden bench every room had, yellow shirt hanging over his shoulders, in place because his hands were cuffed behind him. The other man stood over him, a flog in his hands. His white pants matched her dress.

“Has he stopped asking for more?” She questioned the one standing. Both the men were watching her, waiting.

“Then why did you stop?” She questioned, voice impatient. “Does the little boy want something stronger?” Yellow shirt nodded like he was waiting for the question.

(Y/N) chuckled, getting up to walk to the small chest of cupboards. She leaned over, making Johnny finally notice the length of her dress— high above her knee. Pure instinct made him turn to the other people in the room, watching her with undoubtedly the same thought on their minds.

“Someone isn’t on theme.” Johnny clicked his tongue. It made the guys turn to look at him, then between the two of them.

Suddenly Johnny felt like they were the spectators, and he was the one on display with her.

“I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, so I didn’t receive the memo.” She didn’t even look at him, standing up with a thick whip in her hand.

“Eyes on me boys.” She turned to the boys, “Do you want this?” She questioned and the one meant to be on the receiving end nodded eagerly.

She chuckled, walking over to them and handing the tool over.

“Such an obedient boy, aren’t you?” She cooed, hand on his chin. Yellow shirt nodded enthusiastically. Giving in to her so easily that it nauseated Johnny. That would get them nowhere.

Keeping her eyes on his face and her fingers stroking his cheek, she handed the whip to the other guy.

“Start slow. You’re being too hostile.” She turned to the man with a warning.

“He likes it.” He defended, her hooded gaze remained bemused.

“I’m the one who’s calling the shots, am I not?” She raised a brow. The man swallowed, giving her a quick nod. As complaint as his companion.

This was no fun.

Johnny scoffed rather loudly, but she ignored him and as a consequence, the boys ignored him as well.

“What will you tell me you'd do?” She continued, focused on the man.

“I will listen and follow instructions.”

“Like a what?”

“Like the slut I like to pretend I’m not.”

She smiled, letting the one in yellow go to run a hand through this one’s hair. He closed his hooded eyes to enjoy the feeling.

“Good. Now do what you’re told.” He nodded and she let go, turning around to walk back to where she was.

Her eyes met Johnny’s finally.

“Can I help you?” She asked him, the tyrannical tone bleeding into the question. Johnny’s cock twitched for the first time that evening.

“You can start by reminding yourself who you’re speaking to, pet. Or do you need assistance?” Johnny tongued his cheek, shoving his restless fingers into his pocket.

She looked at him with disbelief for a moment. When she rolled her eyes, he was sure she was taunting him.

“You can keep your reminders to yourself.” She rubbed her hands together, “I didn’t come here to play with you.”

“Why are you here at all?” Johnny raised a brow, unable to hide the vexation in his voice. Why didn't she tell him she wanted to come to the basement?

It earned him the first flash of anger in her, so far, apathetic gaze. “I didn’t realise you were marking territory? Am I barred from coming here now?”

“I was asking a question.” He took in a cautious breath, realising that she thought he meant the club. Perhaps, the alternative made him look less bothered.

“Can't you see?” she pointed at the two boys, “I'm simply minding my own business. Why have you come down here? Looking for me?” She leaned against the head of the chair she was seated in before, waiting for his response.

Johnny let out a humourless laugh, “Who said I was looking for you?”

“I haven’t known you to come to the basement before.” She pointed.

“Just because I haven’t come here with you, doesn’t mean I’m a stranger to the place."

The words did what they were intended to do, her anger flared with an inhale she tried to play off. Johnny had to bite down his smile.

“Okay, be on your way then.” She flicked her hand towards the exit, dismissing him. "There are other rooms."

Johnny took a step towards her instead, “I stopped at this one because I could not believe you could be a watcher. I wanted to see for myself."

“She told you to leave man, why are you ruining our night?” The boy in yellow whined, making Jaehyun turn to find both men watching the exchange. The other one kept his eyes on Johnny.

She turned to meet his gaze, “Did I say you can speak?” She questioned. The boy gulped, shaking his head. “If you’re that impatient then get on with it. I didn’t say you can stop.” He nodded, turning back to the man in white pants with a demand, his eyes still watching Johnny. He looked familiar.

Johnny whistled and hissed, bringing her attention back to him. “Look at you. Even I almost believe that look on your face. What’s wrong, baby? You sound mad.” He cooed, mocking her.

“What’s wrong is that you’ve sauntered in here to ruin my night.” She failed to hide her frown.

"Ruin?" Johnny's voice raised in taunt. "I'm sorry to disturb your little pageant. You must have been enjoying just how easy this was before I walked in. They're eating up your every word, you must be elated."

Her jaw flexed and Johnny had to resist the urge to close the gaping distance between them.

"If you're done with your tantrum. You can leave now." She aimed her gaze at the door, a single and final order. It was Johnny's turn to flex his jaw. Tantrum.

"If you think this is a tantrum then what should we call your fucking fits?" He clamped his jaw the moment he heard the edge in his voice.

"We don't have to call them anything." Her volume rose, taking a step forward, daring him to continue.

"There it is." He smiled victoriously, "Why don't you stomp your foot while you're at it. Let's show everybody what you're really like under this act."

He could see the way she got blinded by her rage. For him he realised, that was something only he was capable of pulling out of her.

He should have backed off but Johnny stayed pinned in place, momentarily consumed by his sick desires to always get a rise out of her. He knew she wanted it too, her breathing hitched but eyes stayed glued on him. It was deranged but this is what he has signed up for with her.

“Fine," She said after a well contemplated silence. Johnny's lips quirked, knowing he was right as usual. Finally she was going to give in to him. For once. "Take off your chain and I’ll give you what you want.”

His smile faltered, brows furrowing. He regained himself quickly, reminding himself that he was being foolish to believe it would be that easy. Not after he was the one who told her they'd be taking a break. Not after the unnecessary things he'd said.

It was a silly thing that he regretted the moment he proposed it. But the tone she had ignored him for no reason still made his blood boil. At least he had the decency to lay down his intentions in front of her. She had absolutely no right to be angry. And yet, she was furious at him. It was evident in how she refused to so much as look at him since he had made the proposition, acting like he wasn't even there. Refusing to share an elevator, refusing to bring papers to his office.

He wanted to be civil but she went to great lengths to stay out of his path. Even reminding him that he wanted this when he asked her why she was sending interns with tasks that were done easier without the middleman.

It was infuriating and it only offended Johnny further. Even now, he was the one to come here with his pride between his legs. He told himself that he would not give in till she relented first.

“And what is it that I want, Kitten?”

“What you always want.” She turned to walk back to her chair, pulling the object closer to him, letting it grate against the cement floor harshly. “Me.”

Johnny's teeth against each other. Taking his hands out of his pocket, he folded his arms. No, it was her turn to give in.

“I will give you what you want if you take that chain off.” He pointed at her head.

“What I want is for you to leave. If you can’t do that, I will have to abandon my new friends.” She pointed behind her.

They reached a stalemate with her words, silently sizing each other up. In the back, the boys had forgotten about the commotion all together. The sound of clicking locks signalled the introduction of the bondage frame. The next sound was the clean crack of a whip, followed by a harsh inhale once it touched skin. Johnny took in a sharp inhale himself, the sounds tempting him.

“What good will taking mine off do?” Johnny spoke through raspy breathing, “You give up too soon anyway. You don’t know how to be in charge.” Another slash echoed against the walls, this time Johnny exhaled slow. “You only know how to be a brat.”

Despite his words, she smiled, watching him shift on his feet. “Two weeks without being inside me and you’re already forgetting things.”

“Has it been that long already? I didn’t even notice.”

“Sure. The last time you went this long, you were throwing tantrums like this.”

It was Johnny’s time to be racked with anger, his exhale slow, dangerous.

The whips increased in frequency and moans filled the large roam, bouncing across the walls with urgency.

“Go slow.” She lashed, turning her attention back to the couple.

“Sorry." Both of them said together, the one whipping dropped his arm. The other opened his glazed eyes.

Johnny should have brought (Y/N) to the basement himself.

“Sorry what?”

“Sorry, miss.” They said in tandem.

Johnny scoffed, “I never realised what a good teacher I was.”

“What do you fucking want?” She turned back to him, lips twisted with irritation. “You wanted a break, didn't you? What was it that you said?” She finally sat down, leaning back and crossing her legs. “That’s right. “You wanted a change. What happened, are you bored already?"

"No," Johnny shrugged, unclasping his arms from his chest to walk towards her. "I just wanted to see what you were doing with your free time. It's such a pity to see you waste it. The only person bored here is you apparently." This time he did smile, enjoying the way she averted her gaze, "So I came to offer you a game just for tonight."

"Not interested. You need to come up with better excuses."

Johnny hummed like he didn't believe her, shadow falling over his entire form as he came closer. Her brows knit, gearing up to defend the truth. He cut her off before she could even speak.

"Stand up." He ordered, stopping his stride only when his knee touched the chair.

She blinked, practically rendered silent by his audacity. What pissed her off more was how she almost did it, the chair audibly screeching back before she could reign her instincts in.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, mirroring his stance from earlier as she sat back to play off the slip, pretending she was just trying to sit back.

She knew it didn't work when Johnny smirked. She was busy preparing herself for when he asked again, to stand her ground with more conviction. Instead, he leaned down, kneeling in front of her. The act was in sharp contrast to his previous words, giving her whiplash and leaving her out of depth.

His fingers brushed her dress, staring at her lap in a way that made her think he would rest his head against it. It was a thought that had no place in the given circumstances. Slowly he looked up with a tender gaze that was equally out of place.

"What game do you have in mind?" She asked, mostly to distract herself from the way her heart leapt when she met his eyes. After all this time, he still had the ability to make her feel so excruciatingly timid.

"It's movie night." His voice was soft, "Let's pretend to be different people." He ran his tongue over his cheek.

She wasn't sure what to make of the statement. After all this time he never stopped being an enigma.

"Who are you dressed as?" She looked down at his white shirt, making a note of the undone bowtie, "Roger Moore as James Bond?"

"I prefer Sean Connery."

She took the bowtie between her fingers, "You don't have his raw sexual magnetism."

Johnny's lips twitched and she couldn't help the way her own mirrored it.

"If we're going to be playing parts," She sighed, not entirely sure how he'd managed to lure her in. Then again, she was always too ready to give in to him, "Let's play ones different from who we really are. Something to keep this night out of our," She failed to hide the sliver of indignation in her deep inhale, "Current situation."

Johnny licked his lips, looking somewhere between amused and rattled. Yet again, she was stunned by his audacity.

"In that case, I have the perfect thing." He took her hand in hers, bringing it up to kiss her palm. This time her indignated inhale came before a pained exhale.

He came closer instead of finishing his thought, leaning till their noses touched.

"Let's pretend we're in love."

Her eyes froze over in an instant, a foreign gasp making her turn back to the people who were now spectators to her vulnerability. Both of them watched with bated breaths, their own preoccupations long forgotten. They watched her, waiting for her response.

She pushed Johnny without looking at him. Predictably, he did not budge. When it happened the third time she did turn back, liquid rage dripping from her glare. Her mind mulled over a response multiple times, the sort of words that would express her outrage without hinting at her agony. It fell short, not finding the right ones to express how deeply unkind his words were. Not without betraying her closely guarded secret.

He was still close to her, close enough to let her count the lashes that framed his amber eyes, to see the stray one that fell on his cheek. This close it was easy to see that he was the most beautiful man on earth, easy to forget everything and just fall an inch closer. It was easy to want nothing more than to press her lips against his, to forget they were meant to be apart. This close she didn't need to pretend to be in love.

"Oh god." She heard Yuta's voice, cutting through the haze of lust that began to overcast her decisions. "(Y/N)." He marched up to them.

Only when she heard his footsteps stop beside did she turn from Johnny.

"Let's go, babe." He pointed his thumb at the door, whistling to play off the urgency.

She turned back to Johnny, who had moved back a few inches now. Miles, as far as their usual proximity was concerned.

She sighed, pushing her chair back.

"What do you need (Y/N) for?" Johnny asked casually.

"I need to keep her away from you." Yuta clicked his tongue, laughing awkwardly when Johnny turned to frown at him. "Nothing personal, buddy. She made me promise I would." He pointed at her.

Johnny turned to her, raising a brow. Waiting for confirmation.

"Don't bother. My instructions are to take her away whether she likes it or not. You know how crazy our (Y/N) is." Yuta chuckled like he was making small talk. She got out of her chair with a loud screech.

"Let's go." She grabbed Yuta's arm to turn him around, "I need a fat drink."

"You need a fat something." He scoffed, knowing himself that he deserved the smack she landed on his arm

"At least try to think before you speak sometimes." She groaned.

"Just tell her man." One of the boys spoke up, reminding Johnny of their presence. It was the one in yellow, his brows furrowed in deep thought. His companion scoffed, shaking his head.

"Did anybody say you can stop whipping?" Johnny raised a brow at the guy with the object in his hand. "Did you tell him to stop?" He asked the one tied up. Both shook their heads.

"In that case, you need to focus on your own endeavours." Johnny stood up from the floor, brushing the dirt of the knees of his good pants. "Enjoy your night."

As he turned to walk away, the sound of a whip cracked through the silence.

(Y/N) seemed to find more than a few merits in the basement. On top of being less crowded, the basement bar also housed some interesting liquor choices. A tequila bottle with a worm and some Baiju with an entire snake sat side by side on the shelf at eye level. While she would not be trying them, she could respect Ten's sense of humour.

Yuta also swore that this was the bar with the best cocktails. Martin, the bartender, was a legend on the premises if her best friend's claims were true. Patrons would sometimes grace the floor to only stop for a drink. She was sufficiently intrigued.

Nails tapped against the stone surface of the bar as they waited for the cocktails in question. She also waited for Yuta to speak, getting impatient and agitated from his stare.

"I just don't understand why you keep doing this." He huffed. Never one to express any overt opinion on the matter, she was caught off guard by his frustration. "If you really want to stay out of his way then do it."

"I'm trying. He came to me."

“You and I both know that you can enforce a boundary when you want to.” He groaned, looking away like the whole thing was making him uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t want to sit here and act like I can give you any real advice. I just want to ask you if you’re sure about what you’re doing.”

She could never lie to Yuta, not in a convincing way at least. She stopped tapping her nails, rubbing her fingers together and watching the bright lights above reflect on her nails.

“I know what I'm supposed to be doing. What it’s supposed to be like.” She mumbled the confession, spotting a chip in her nail enamel. “But it’s confusing with him. Everything is confusing with him.” Teeth ground against teeth as she let the words wash over her. She needed a manicure. She needed to stop doing this to herself.

"This has started to feel self-inflicted to me." Yuta assessed with accuracy.

"It needs to end." She spoke, the words rattling her to the core.

It was the only way left now.

"Then do it? What exactly are you waiting for?" Yuta raised a brow, making it blatant that he was baiting her.

Her lips parted, answer ready on her lips. She bit her tongue the next moment, putting the thought away.

"How do you just expect him to notice that you're this in love with him when you put so much effort into hiding it?"

She looked up at him fast, "I’m not–"

"Spare me, (Y/N)." He cut her off, "The only person who can't tell is the man himself. And that’s only because he’s too busy being in love with you.”

“Stop.” She shook her head, “That just isn’t true.”

“Are you stupid?”

“Fuck off, Yuta. You don’t know all of it. You’ve seen him be nice, you’ve seen him take me to the orthopaedic’s, seen him get me drinks. But you don’t know how he is. If Johnny loved me, he would say it.”

“Like you say it?” His brows furrowed, looking angry. She had never seen Yuta angry at her.

“It’s not the same.” She took a deep breath, her lungs fracturing from the force. A sound of wood cracking filled the air, followed by the laughs of multiple people. She turned back to see the cause of the commotion. Someone shouted that a bench broke, followed by a reassurance that everybody was fine.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yuta spoke after, “You keep torturing the guy because you don't know what to do about how you feel. And you torture yourself because you don't want to make a decision." Yuta paused, giving a sympathetic sigh. "I love you, but it's not fair, you know that. He drops everything for you, I can’t believe you don’t see how he lets you toy with him. He’s always at the mercy of your whims and he doesn’t even mind it. Do you want to be the kind of person who does that to someone? He’s a decent guy."

She knew he was right. But he also didn't know all of it.

"I don't want to torture him." She admitted, keeping her eyes fixed on the white bar top, “He's always trying to get a rise out of me and I just,” She paused to sigh, yet again feeling confronted by her own state. These were things she’d never said before. “So I give him what he wants, a fair fight. I don't know how this ended up being the kind of thing where we keep pushing to see how far it can go.”

Yuta frowned, visibly bothered by the notion. She couldn't blame him. It seemed to be like this all the time now. Both of them looked for reasons to fight lately, like they were testing to see who would get up and call it off first. Loving him made her angry and picking fights made it easier to pin that anger on the right target. He had begun to find her frustrating as a result.

"Why not just talk it out? It can't be worse than it is now?" Yuta questioned.

About this, he would be wrong. She knew Johnny too well by now. He would try to play it off, say that they can give it a shot without meaning it. Johnny was used to being admired, he would never understand its intensity. He would take it as easy as he took most things and it would ruin her.

"I think," She paused, looking up at the ceiling with a groan. "I'm not afraid of rejection. If he said no it would hurt, but I'd move on." She looked back down at her friend with a heavier heart. "What I'm afraid of is that he would say yes without meaning it. He's okay with everything. If I asked him for a relationship he'd say okay, if I ask him I never want to see him again he'd say okay too. If I asked him for the real thing I'd want it to work. But I don't know what he wants."

She sighed, thinking about how complacent he was about everything. When she decided to ignore him on a whim he left it alone, when she decided to spend the last week of her recovery at Yuta's he was okay with it. He was okay with her sleeping with Doyoung and when she told him they don't anymore he was okay with that too.

"Johnny is just always okay with everything." She spat the words, before she sighed again. "I know that's not fair I just–" She paused again, entirely lost on what she even wanted. "If he loves me, he does a terrible job showing it."

“Oh,” Yuta said. To his credit, she could tell that he was trying to understand. “That does sounds complicated.”

That was what finally made her laugh. Complicated was exactly what she’d spend her entire life avoiding. It was why she spent her weekends with her friends and why she was insistent on keeping things casual with Johnny.

She nodded in agreement, a pitiful smile lifting her lips. "I'm ready to take all of it too. That's how afraid I am to be without him. I keep playing his games and I keep making new ones. Hoping it will keep him interested. Hoping that for once he'd say more than okay. Even if it was a no." She groaned, once again angry at herself.

"What happened to you?" Both of them laughed, her face scrunching.

"I don't know, man. I've tried so many times to figure out how I let a person rattle the peace I’ve spent my entire life protecting. A man who could replace me without any effort."

"No one can replace you." He sounded offended.

She scoffed, mostly finding his reassurance touching.

"I get that you're moping, but you make no sense." Yuta's brows furrowed, "He's wrapped around your fingers."

"That's just because I keep him on his toes." She shrugged, "To overthrow predictability is to strive for more compelling experiences." She repeated the words Johnny had said to get once, the words leaving her tongue bitter.

Yuta tapped his knuckles on the bar with a frustrated groan, pointing an accusatory finger at her. " I told you to not play fuck monopoly. You've gone and turned it into a tournament." Yuta groaned, knocking his shoulder against hers.

"I should have listened to you.” She admitted, lips twitching when Yuta looked surprised at the confession. “Sometimes I wish it wasn't so combative. If I wasn't so afraid of losing him every second he's with me, then maybe I'd love him without fighting it all the time."

The words left her heavier than she imagined, wishing she really could do it. When she wasn't so busy fighting it with all her might, she knew that loving him was worth all of the things it came with.

"You can just love him." Yuta's words made her close her eyes in denial, "Everybody is at the risk of being lost, no? Nobody comes with a guarantee, why should he? I could have a heart attack tonight while having the best sex of my life and you will never see me again. You don't fight our friendship? Why fight this?"

She looked up a little at loss, unnerved by the wisdom Yuta suddenly imparted.

"What?" He asked.

"I can't believe you just live, laugh, loved this." She snorted. Despite everything, she felt more grateful for Yuta now than she ever had before. "I appreciate this. Really, you are my ride or die." She gave his hand a squeeze.

"Aw, you're so sentimental. Do you still want me to keep you away from Johnny?"

"Yes."

Yuta sighed, "I guess I was also being too optimistic expecting you to change overnight. Think this through when you can."

"I will." She promised.

"That's good enough for me."

Leaning against the bar, head resting on her palm, she took in another deep sigh. (Y/N) had lost count of how many it had been. A deep melancholy had settled in her bones and it could neither be shaken off nor be cured.

"What can I get you?" The bartender came up to her.

Her order came to the tip of her tongue like it was second nature, a glass of whatever red was the best. But she stopped herself when she realised that it was Johnny's second choice, not hers. Then she thought to ask for a whiskey but immediately realised that it was Johnny's first. Maybe making a simple decision shouldn't be so complicated.

"A gin and tonic for the lady, Martin. The one you make with the lavender gin." Johnny spoke as he took the seat in front of her. "Since she walked into my gin joint of all places."

The words made her finally realise what he meant to dress as, a humorous smile tugging at her lips.

It had been a while since she'd seen him properly. Johnny had spent most of the past few weeks on a work trip, spending the remainder of his time on the recording floor. The rest, she took the effort of being out of his way, taking his need for a break to heart. A break from her, he meant. It was the least she could do.

Right now, in the depths of her despair and with two glasses of two different liquors in her, she allowed herself a good look.

To her misfortune, he looked as he always did. As breathtaking as the first day she walked into this club. He was different behind these walls too; always at ease, not exhausted, not burdened by the condition of his position. In here Johnny was always just a man.

She seemed to understand then. He wanted a break to get back to this, to be carefree and fun. Without the predictability and bitterness that had settled into what they had. Her fingers squeezed the edge of the bar.

Johnny ran his index finger over the rim of his glass, mixing the sound with the tapping of his shoe— making some unknown melody. The action brought her attention to the flicker on his wrist, from where hung a single gold chain. Her eyes wandered to his collar, where the silver chain from earlier was missing.

"What brings you here, Miss?" He sat back in his chair, his eyes sparkling under the sparse lights.

She took a moment, taking his words in. His question was an open ended request. She could be anybody she wished right now, say whatever she wished. She could be carefree and fun, be as unpredictable as she liked.

She could make him stay.

"A miscalculation. I thought it would be an enjoyable night. Yet I'm stuck making boring small talk with a man who thinks he can order drinks for me." She couldn't help the words, the anger from before still remaining. If he wanted time away from her then why did he keep coming in her way? Why did he make it hard for her to walk away from him?

She could be anybody at that moment. Yet, (Y/N) chose to be herself.

Johnny's eyes danced with embers, tongue darting out to lick his eager lips. He chose to be himself too.

"My apologies, Miss." He tipped his head, not meaning it in the slightest.

"You seem to know my tastes." She picked the drink up once Martin placed it in front of her, giving him a quick smile.

"I am a man of many talents." Johnny answered.

"I was talking to the bartender, Sir." She turned to him, nose raised high. Martin chuckled, apologising to Johnny almost immediately after he could. The title was meant to mock the one he used for her. Yet the very formation of the word on her tongue reminded her that it was a word between people they were trying to run away from at the moment.

Johnny's lips twitched and she couldn't tell what it implied, what he was reacting to.

"What brings you here?" She asked, humouring him at last.

"To this place?"

"To me."

Johnny chewed his bottom lip, clearly a little frustrated at her adamant need to be difficult. In truth, she couldn't be sure why she was being like this either. But Johnny liked when he was cornered, rendered retortless. And the distress marked so clearly across his face made the depths of her belly twist in a way it hadn't in weeks.

"Do you gamble?" She asked him, once again steering the conversation away from the dead ends she sent them into herself.

"I did once, lost everything I had."

"That must have been hard. My condolences to you."

"It doesn't matter to me. At least we'll always have Paris." He gave her a smile that was uncharacteristically warm. It pulled her out of the act, reminding her of what she was missing.

(Y/N) remembered making Ten and Johnny watch the movie. One of her all time favourites, she had warned him when he complained about the cliché premise. She knew that was why he was doing this. She just couldn't tell if it was out of spite or affection.

"My husband is waiting for me upstairs. I must go to him." She stood up, breath catching in her throat when he caught her wrist.

"Your husband is gambling."

"My husband doesn't gamble."

"We all gamble, my love."

She jerked her hand out of his hold, the words stinging her like a live wire. Sucking in her teeth she couldn't help the way her face twisted, seething.

"You will be back." Johnny sat back, face neutral.

"Why would I?" She tapped her hand on the bar, lifting her drink into her free hand.

"Because we all have something at stake." He let her hand go, eyes shifting with sorrow. She wondered if he'd always been such a good actor.

Johnny played her face over in his mind so many times that he hoped it would dull the pang in his chest. Could it really be that bad? Did she hate the idea that much? Was being in love with him that unpleasant a thought to her?

He groaned, sitting up on the sofa. The sound earned his friends attention, Ten turning to him with a particularly impatient gaze. He looked ready to say something.

"Can you just–" He began, his husband's hand coming up to stop him.

"Johnny needs another drink." Taemin gave Ten a warning look, turning to Johnny after. "There's a good Japanese whiskey out today." He offered with a smile, pitying him.

Johnny wanted to scoff, but he was aware that he had successfully over wrung everybody's patience. So he nodded and got up to leave.

He realised that he had become the reason he avoided the fancies of things as tedious as love, sitting here by himself drowning his aching sorrows in alcohol too expensive to be drunk so copiously. Just like the movie he had made fun of, Johnny was yet again a cliché.

"This needs to stop." He mumbled to himself, not remotely drunk enough to pull half the antics he did tonight.

Johnny had always believed that he’d find love when the time was right. He never sought it out because he believed that these things happened on their own. The fact that he spent the entirety of his twenties building his company was something he was proud of. He didn’t believe he had wasted the time.

In truth, Johnny had spent his entire life working towards something. Too occupied to ever feel loneliness in the way it was perhaps meant to be experienced. Which was probably why he wasn’t prepared for it. Love had finally found him and Johnny was plunged headfirst into wanting something that he failed to work towards. There was nowhere to go. What he wanted was right in front of him. He just didn’t have the courage to grab it.

He heard the hesitant intake of breath he’d recognise anywhere. The sound dragging him out of his musings.

"You were right." Her words pierced through his thoughts.

Johnny halted the urge to whip his head immediately at the sound.

"Are you here to finally gamble?" He spoke to his glass. She came around to stand in front of him, shaking her head.

Her hand reached out, moving the few stray strands off his face, When he flinched at the touch, she retreated her fingers quickly.

"You aren't the only one to have lost everything in Paris." She spoke carefully.

He sighed, the sound more like the wince of hot sand when it finally rained. Looking up, his eyes met her vulnerable ones, the ones he’d keep making the same stupid mistakes for. The ones he'd happily run into a million dead ends for.

Johnny put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She didn't fight it and he was sure that his relief was written across his face as he rested his forehead against hers.

“Who are you really?” He sighed.

“We said no questions.” She sighed along with him; caressing his hair, playing his game.

"We have to stop doing this to each other. To ourselves." He let the liquor speak for him, soaking up the courage it came with. Johnny took a breath, telling himself to take the leap; to say what he needed to say, to ask for what he yearned to have.

Her hand landed on his arm, squeezing. “Johnny.” Her whisper trembled past her lips.

“Hmm?” He said with incredible caution, squeezing her tighter and bringing her closer. Slowly he opened his eyes, waiting for her to speak.

“Let me go. I don't like this game anymore.” She tried to get away from his hold.

Johnny’s brows furrowed, “What?” He breathed out, not expecting that. He was being serious, he needed to speak before he lost his nerve.

“Just,” She huffed. “Move. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” She hit his shoulder when he didn’t listen.

“You came to me.” He reminded her.

“Yes, and now I want to go.” She grit her teeth. “Please.” She pleaded, practically whimpered in pain, and his hands relaxed the very next moment, letting her go.

“Whatever, (Y/N). I’m tired of this.” He turned away from her.

Despite her earlier insistence, she faltered. He could see her watching him from the corner of her sight, hesitating. Just as he turned to call her out on it, or to finally ask (he wasn't sure), a voice called his name. Both of them turned.

“Hey Johnny,” It was Jessica, the model. “Can you come with me for a moment?”

Johnny turned his gaze to look at (Y/N), finding her jaw gritted and eyes fixed on the girl. His lips quirked despite himself, tongue sliding over his lower lip as it lifted.

“Sure.” He sat up, “I was done here anyways.” He stood up from his seat.

“What?” Johnny stopped in front of Ten. If the way he snapped didn’t betray his irritation, he hoped his face did. “Why did you send Jessica to call me?”

Ten turned to Johnny, taking in the apparent displeasure with a frown of his own.

“Yuta mentioned that he’s meant to keep the two of you apart. I thought I would add to the effort.” Ten shrugged.

Johnny ran her hands through his hair, “Okay.” He groaned, sounding anything but. “But why did you send Jessica?”

“She was passing by and she knows you.”

“Yeah but now (Y/N) thinks–” He paused, exhaling in a way that sounded like another groan. “Nevermind. Did you even want anything?”

“Not really.” Ten smacked his lips, “If I avoided all the people you’ve slept with in my club then I would have had to go call you myself.”

“You should have since you’re so passionate about this. (Y/N) can make her own decisions, just leave it alone.” He flicked a pillow from behind Ten, making the guy fall back into the sofa.

Ten turned around, eyes laced with intention.

“You’re a coward Johnny.”

“Ten.” Taemin cautioned but his conviction did not falter.

“You need to grow up and have a real conversation with the girl you love.” He continued, giving his best friend a pertinent look. “You’re just punishing yourself and that girl for no reason.” His face softened for a moment, looking like he was pitying Johnny. “Sometimes we ruin things beyond repair by letting it be.”

“You need to,” Johnny took a step closer, “Leave it alone.” It was a plea, partially because he knew Ten was right.

“He’s right.” Taemin interjected, “You can’t meddle in his matters.”

"I'm not meddling." Ten hissed at his husband, "I'm tired of watching my best friend wallow in a misery of his own making." He looked at Johnny, "It won't go away if you ignore it. And it won't change till you do something about it. So why?" He asked.

Johnny rubbed his hand over his face, not in his right mind or place to have this conversation. “You don’t get it.” He said with a lost voice.

“You have to do something, Johnny. Do you expect to live in limbo?” Ten added.

He expected her to deal the death blow. Something he would not say out loud. This entire time he had expected— practically hoped— that she would be the one who would have left by now. He would have accepted it, he would have swallowed it as an inevitable, and he would have taken solace in having been right from the start. That she would get bored of him.

He had been so sure of it that he wasn't prepared for this. He hadn't accounted for ever making it this far.

Johnny nodded to Ten, a silent promise. His friend was right, no matter how much it pissed him off. Johnny knew he would at least have to make a decision soon.

(Y/N) walked away from Johnny with cold hands. This was it, her steps faltered. She walked as far away as she could. All the preparation she had done for that exact moment had evaporated with his words. She couldn’t believe that she ran away like she did, only delaying the inevitable.

He was ready to do it, she could feel it in her bones. She could read it all over his face.

I’m tired of this.

That was the exact indifference to the matter she had feared most of all.

Whatever.

It was like being stabbed by a rusted knife— messy and unnecessary in its cruelty.

Whatever, (Y/N).

Her head hurt, she pushed through to get deeper into the club. To somewhere she could not be found. She needed to prepare herself better for this. She was afraid she’d beg him to say, afraid she’d cry. This wasn't the place or the state of mind she needed to be in for this.

Whatever.

She took a deep breath. No, she needed to prepare herself better.

She couldn’t believe that he would do it here. And he would have. Her exhale came out irate, he would have held her in place and told her he was tired of her.

He would have finished the thought had it not been for the model. Miss belly button herself. Her next breath came out utterly furious.

She was tired of this too, she coaxed herself. Tired of being stuck in limbo with the most elusive man she could have possibly laid hands on. She was tired of loving him too, she lied to herself.

She stopped, realising that she was in the emerald alcove. Yuta’s favourite corner. It was a cosy spot lined by arches that circled the area, littered with chairs that were closer together. Each arch had large and thick curtains that were never drawn, but nonetheless served as a visual policy that added to the sense of seclusion it was meant to emulate.

It was also the part of the club where Johnny had fucked his blonde companion on that night.

(Y/N) shoved the thought out of her head as fast as it emerged. The first order of business would be to stop thinking about him all the damn time.

She picked up her drink from the bar, a sweet and potent cocktail this time, her kind of drink. Looking around to find a corner to sit in, her eyes landed on a man at the bar. One she recognised. One of the guys from the basement. The rough one with hooded eyes.

"The glasses really change your face." She sat down on the bar stool beside the one he occupied. The man looked up, surprised to see her.

"Usually people tell me how used to my glasses they are, that my face feels empty without them," He smiled to himself. "But I suppose we met under extraordinary circumstances." He tapped his glass, still giving her an odd look.

"You look disconcerted by the memory." She pursed a smile.

"Not particularly, I just didn't think I'd see you again. I'm a little surprised in all honesty." He commented.

"It's a small world." She shrugged.

"It's an even smaller guest list."

This time she did smile.

"I do finally understand why new faces are such a sensation around here." She continued into a new territory, enjoying the confusion on his face.

"Isn't it so?" He snapped back into a casual retort almost immediately. "It gets awkward really fast when everybody is a friend of a friend."

"Speaking of, where's your friend?" She looked around, wondering if he was close.

The guy smiled, almost like he was expecting it. "Why? Would you prefer his company to mine?"

She looked back, "I'm just curious." Her shrug was noncommittal.

"He must be around here somewhere." The man shrugged back, equally evasive. "We aren't friends, we just fuck sometimes. These big, important men and their secret need to be in the palm of someone's hand." He told her like she somehow knew what he was talking about.

She gave him a puzzled look that made him chuckle.

"I thought Johnny Suh used to wear copper as a joke." This time he steered the conversation into new waters, "But you, I always knew were the silver type." He pointed a finger at her, more victorious than accusatory.

"Nonsense." She laughed.

"You're a natural. I knew it on the day the man spent the entire evening on the floor with your foot in his lap."

"I," She paused, stunned at the mention of the day. From the perspective of a virtual stranger nonetheless. "I can't believe you saw that." She blushed, the memory coming back. It was a joke, something they did to see how their friends would react. It never occurred to her before now how it might look to an onlooker.

"Small pool." He shrugged, "When I first started coming here, I had my eyes on him. But it's easy to tell that he's not the surrendering type. So when I saw that, I couldn't help but have my eyes on you."

She was surprised by the easy confession, an effortless breeze .

"Did I live up to your expectations or was it disappointing?" She questioned, playing her surprise off as flirtation.

"Yes and no." The man smiled, pushing his specs higher up. "On one hand I've finally solved the mystery that is Johnny Suh."

"Oh.” She stopped to wonder if she should ask him to elaborate, thinking against it immediately after. “And on the other?" She asked instead.

"I really wish you did more than just watch."

Her mouth opened with evident surprise, the words so easily said. An absolute and uncomplicated request. The man laughed, clearly enjoying the surprise on her face. It made her snap back.

"Maybe in a few months, we can get back to this." She half joked.

"Months?" He winced, "Are you going on a trip?" He sniggered.

She smiled, not willing to elaborate any further.

"Something to look forward to nonetheless." He raised a glass, "I think your usual is waiting for you." He pointed over her shoulder, making her turn.

Her usual was sitting on one of the sofas, at a considerable distance. She wouldn't even have noticed him without the prompt.

"Well, your glasses work for sure." She squinted. "Trying to get rid of me?" She asked while trying to gauge Johnny's expression. She was unfortunately not wearing her own glasses.

The man laughed, "No, I just believe that some things are best left unbreached." His voice was careful.

She turned back, "And here I thought you were flirting with me."

"Oh I absolutely am. I just have different tastes. Also best left unencroached." He licked his lips.

Her eyes fell on the movement, "I have ears and an open mind." She looked up deliberately slow.

"I don't know, will you just using me to make a point?" He teased, eyes darting behind her.

"You don't seem to mind being used."

His cheeks turned red and it made her lips twitch. She had been denying herself the extent of what the club had to offer, (Y/N) realised.

The man's eyes went behind her again just as she heard shuffling. She rolled her eyes to the heaven's themselves. Eventually, she'd tire of Johnny's predictable antics. Maybe then she'd tire of her own too.

"Is she bothering you again?" Johnny put a hand on her waist, effortless and clear in its intention.

"We were just getting to know each other." The man smiled.

She realised that she hadn't caught his name yet.

"Are you finally socialising?" The question was blatantly aimed at her. But she pretended not to understand, turning to call the bartender over instead.

"A repeat?" The server pointed to her glass but she shook her head.

"Water."

"Time for us to go home, babe?" Johnny leaned down, his breathy question warning her neck. The heat from his hand burned her through her dress as well. The assumption in his words burning her pride.

"You're intruding." The words slipped from her tongue. She didn't look at Johnny but the other man looked up at him with a glint in his eyes.

Johnny laughed again, this time a little more nervous. Good, she thought. She was done pretending to take him in stride.

"(Y/N)–" Johnny began, his words careful.

"Go home, Johnny." She interrupted. "Didn't you say you were tired?" She turned to look at him. Johnny looked down at her with a heavy frown. She braced herself for some dreaded response. But he said nothing, just watching her for a fleeting moment in a way that gave her hope. Hope that immediately soured when he looked away.

"I'm actually tired." She said simply. "You might have to go look for belly button again. What was her name, again?"

"You never asked her name."

"Right. It's for the best, I suppose." She grit her teeth, hands tightening around her glass. "It would be a long day if I tried to keep up with them all."

His eyes glimmered with ill intention as he leaned closer to her face. Pride made her stand her ground, not look away.

"I've done it to you too. If you want me to do it again just ask." He licked his lips, a heated reminder of a few months ago when things were so very different. Every inch of her skin flushed.

"Fuck you." She spat, the implied consolation in the words enraging her from head to toe. Especially when he didn't sound consolatory at all.

She turned when she heard the chair beside her move.

"Leaving so soon?" She asked the man. He shrugged, adjusting his glasses and giving her a nod.

"Come on." Johnny nudged her, "We're done."

"No, I'm just getting started." She met his gaze from the corner of her eyes, You can go back to whatever cunt you crawled out of." She eyed Johnny's unruly hair, ruined by god knows what, truly at the tail end of her patience and pretence.

She turned back to give the man a smile, "I'm sorry, please just ignore him."

He gave an uneasy laugh, looking up at Johnny before back at her. Before the man could get another word in, she felt Johnny close in again. This time his fingers slid down her arms.

He did it so deliberately slow, so expertly, that apart from breaking into goosebumps, she also visibly shivered. His lips part against the shell of her ear, the sound rattling her spine.

"The only cunt I'm crawling in or out of is yours. I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure that out by now." He kissed the skin under her ear, making her shut her eyes. The words and the action did exactly what he intended. She melted against him, heart soaring at the confession.

The chair beside her slid back further, making her eyes open. "Never a boring day in this club." The man chuckled to himself, walking away after giving her a last wave and Johnny an amiable nod.

"I hate you." She spat at Johnny once he was gone.

"Okay." Johnny said, not even pretending to take her seriously. "Come, I want to fuck you." He brushed his fingers over her knuckles. The words made her stomach twist and clench. "I even wore your favourite little chain." He took her hand in his, the gold chain hanging from the wrist.

Her lungs slammed her heart, no doubt exhausted by its flightless fancies. He was giving her what she wanted. It was all she would have. Johnny was giving in to her for once.

Fuck. She cursed in her head. Just this once.

She still didn't turn to look at him, "Will you honour it?" The words came out easier than she would have liked. Johnny hummed against her ears, lifting her hand to his lips.

"Anything you want." He kissed the tips of her fingers one by one.

"Are you still playing your game?" Doubt made her ask the question, finally daring to turn just enough to see his face. She wanted him to say no. He looked up and remained silent instead.

Her ensuing exhale was one of surrender, "Fine, let's play."

A game was all it was, she supposed.

Johnny lay back in bed with a kind of cocky smirk that looked like he had already won. She couldn’t fathom what he was so proud about. But then again, he had no clue what was to come.

“How will you have me?” He asked, undeterred by the weight of any consequences. He put his arms behind his head, relaxing further into the bed. She didn’t answer him, turning her back to him to peek through the amenities drawer. After rummaging through all the intriguing objects, she settled on a long satin cloth. Running it between her fingers she closed her eyes to feel it, deciding that this would have to do.

When she turned, his eyes were waiting, taking the object in.

“Are you going to blindfold me to deprive me of your pretty face? Or will you do it to yourself to pretend I’m someone else. The man from earlier, perhaps?” He raised a brow.

She said nothing, keeping her eyes roaming and on anything but him. Gently, she put the cloth down at the very foot of the bed before walking into the washroom.

When she returned, Johnny’s brows were furrowed. He tried to smooth it out when she came into view, but the subconscious frown on his lips remained. It made her purse a smile.

For all his menacing ways, Johnny was a generous lover. His intention was to push her beyond the edges of her flimsy patience, going a little further each time till she was surprised at her own limits.

But he was also kind in a way that he didn’t realise. Johnny would take his time, but the man always gave in before he intended. True to his personality, he went with the flow and stayed starkly aware of his partner. She could always trust that he would never push her beyond a limit she could not handle.

She however was not the same. Not as seasoned as he was, she was driven solely by her need to stake a claim on his bottomless patience.

Her need to control him was unique to him only. (Y/N) had never desired to conquer a man like she wanted to conquer Johnny Suh. It made her petty and it made her unpredictable. He had known how to push her buttons from the first day she walked into this place. Even before that, Johnny always knew how to push her professionally. He drove her to blinding rage that left her vulnerable.

It made her mean in retaliation. Her method was to distress him in an effort to shatter his usual easygoing resolve. She liked to watch him beg as much as he did her, but more than that she liked to watch him as he let her get away with it all.

She was always at his fingertips. But he was also wrapped around her fingers. And she'd take every opportunity she had left to remind him of that.

He turned to look at her, trying to hide his growing impatience. She untied her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders with a sigh.

She stopped at the edge of the bed, eyes going over his entire form. Her eyes halted at his legs, returning to his waiting gaze with a silent instruction. Johnny decided to play dumb, raising both his brows in clueless question.

She didn't move, watching him with such impassive patience that a part of her was impressed by her own restraint. There was a silent stare off that she promised to win on account of the indignation she'd been holding at bay for two weeks.

Johnny smiled, a thought sparking his eyes.

"You do it." He stared at her, "Please?" His voice dripped with his taunt.

She turned away from him, walking back to the foot to pick up the sash she left. His eyes followed her as she came back. Sitting beside him, she placed her hand across his torso. Tilting her head to her shoulder she watched him for a second, eyes storming with contemplation.

"Come here." She finally said, fingers brushing over the buttons of his pants. He moved so fast that he almost threw them both off the bed. Her lips twitched and she had to look away to bite it back.

"We don't know each other." She said softly, fingers flicking the button off. When she looked up, Johnny's brows were furrowed in confusion. "We're strangers who met here today. That's the people we can pretend to be."

Johnny chewed on his bottom lip, looking like he wanted to say something.

"It's my turn. That's the part I want to play." She reinforced her idea, taking his silence as agreement.

Johnny nodded, confused but intrigued by where this was going. She was angry, it was plain to see. Johnny had never really seen how her fury looked when it boiled over. But he hadn't expected it to be this silent. He tried to push down the fear it brewed deep within his bones. With all his pushing, Johnny also knew how to pull back. So he allowed himself to go along with the game, hoping he hadn't pushed her too far.

When she did pull his pants down, Johnny's dick stood up like it was peering to catch a glance. As usual, a traitor. She unclenched her fingers, the sash falling on his legs. Still unsure of its purpose, he extended his hands to her, wrists held together.

She looked up at him with cold amusement, "Do you want to be restrained that bad?"

"What else could it be for?" He asked, voice betraying his impatience.

"You don't need to be tied, Johnny. You never do. It's not like something so flimsy would hold you anyway." He watched her toy with the object, gingerly wrapping one end of the cloth around her palm a few times. The other end still resting against his thigh.

"Then?"

"What? Don't trust me?" She raised an expectant brow.

"Right now, I'm not sure what you're going to do." He gave her a cautious gaze, yet again failing to gauge her state of mind.

"Just lie back."

So he did, he listened to her and relaxed back against the pillows.

She raised her hand flicking the sash up, the material brushed against his dick, making it twitch again. She did it again, moving it back and forth against his tip till he was clenching his thighs.

"What are you doing?" He asked between rapid breaths.

"Don't like it?" She questioned, meeting his gaze. When she moved it again, the smooth cloth brushed over the underside of his cock, grazing the vein that was now bulging. Johnny's hips lifted off the bed. "You seem to like it." She hummed.

She looked back down, spinning the sash around this time. The thing wrapped around his cock in hypnotising circles, covering the length with feather light brushes. When it brushed over his tip, Johnny had to close his eyes.

He had been so on edge all evening, so excruciatingly hard, that his dick was beyond sensitive. It made the delicate friction shoot liquid electricity up his legs, fresh blood pumping into his already stiff dick.

Then she tugged the ribbon with one harsh pull, the entire thing tightening around his length in one exquisite clench.

"Fuck." He groaned, hips bucking up again. "That's–" He began, but the material was already coming loose, making his eyes shoot open just as she let it fall slack.

Before words could form in his mind, before Johnny even tried, she was moving it back and forth again.

"What are you trying to do?" He asked, feeling as confused as he did aroused.

"I'm going to get you off. That's what you want, right?" She blinked up at his face, giving him an innocent look.

He wanted her to touch him. But that felt like a confession of subjugation.

"I'm not going to get off like this." He said instead. Her lips twitched, the glint in her eyes telling him that he'd said the wrong thing.

"Are you assuming, or is that a promise?" She questioned.

Johnny didn't respond, knowing well when he'd walked into one of her traps. She knew it too, returning to the task at hand with a chuckle.

"I'll take that as a promise then." She spoke softly, words as gentle as the satin that brushed against his dick over and over.

With each stroke, he felt the skin get more sensitive than he thought possible. His hips squirmed more frequently, eyes fluttering shut, the fabric edging him to insanity. The precum that was beading at his tip began to make each brush a little harsher.

It wasn't enough to even pretend to search for the beginnings of a build up. Yet it made his cock twitch a little more with each brush, just enough to feel good in what it was denying him. Johnny's lips parted when she wrapped the ribbon around his dick again, brows creasing as she tugged the thing tight around his length. He would have laughed at his state had he not felt so incredibly turned on.

"You love this." She seemed to choke on her own realisation, just as he felt the cloth begin to wrap around his dick again. Knowing what was coming, he braced himself. "Look at you, Whore." She clicked her tongue, "Your fingers are going to tear the sheets."

Heat spread from his forehead down his chest, suddenly too aware of the effect this was having on him.

"I'm trying not to grab your hair and put your mouth where it belongs." He opened his eyes, just in time for her to pull the sash taut again. A moan slipped past his open mouth.

"Where does my mouth belong?" She goaded him, "On your cock?" A dismissive hum slipped past her lips. "Looking at you now, I think my mouth is too good for you."

With that, Johnny could agree. Her mouth was too good for anyone. He wasn't sure that he wouldn't come the moment she so much as brushed her lips against it.

"You've kept me hard and waiting all night. There's only so much a man can take." His thighs unclenched as the ribbon released his length, falling around the base in circles.

"I told you to go bury your busy cock in some other hole."

"And I told you I only want to bury myself in you." He raised a brow, annoyed that she refused to believe him.

He saw the shift in her gaze and the red that tinted her cheeks.

"Let me feel how wet you are." The words rushed out with desperation, taking the liberty the moment gave him. Slowly, he dragged his hands closer to her. Despite the caution she was menacing, tightening the cloth against his base with a swift jerk. The friction made him wince, his hips lifting off the mattress again.

"Take your time with your game. I just want to see how much your pussy missed me."

Her breath came in and out in sharp waves, never too far to not be affected by the right words. Words he knew best.

"Behave." She warned him.

"No." He sat up, enjoying the uneven rise and fall of her chest.

"Alright." She said, letting the sash go entirely.

Johnny raised his head, a little surprised by her agreement. He also couldn’t believe the pang of disappointment that racked through him at the loss of the touch.

"Take your shirt off." She pointed her chin to his chest.

Experience told Johnny that there was a catch, but it also told him to do what he was told. He took off his buttons rapidly, afraid she'd change her mind.

“You’re very eager.”

“I’ve had a long night.”

She got off the bed, bending over to pull her panties off. Johnny licked his lips before he could truly understand and control the urge. She caught the sight, lips cocking in an arrogant smirk. Both of them turned to catch his dick twitch.

She stood up once the garment was off, walking back towards him while Johnny curbed the urge to demand she take her dress off too.

Slowly, she got on the bed. Resting either knee over his waist, Johnny put his arms behind his head to watch her straddle him. Feeling cocky himself, he let a smirk light his lips. When she caught it, her own smirk looked to pity him.

“You’re also very presumptuous.” She started moving forwards. His tip brushed against her clit as she moved, both of their breaths seizing in tandem.

To his surprise, she got a hold of herself before he did, lifting herself higher to avoid a repeat.

Having already lost the upper hand in the situation, Johnny parted his lips. “Do it again.” He asked shamelessly.

She ignored the words, not even refusing or reminding him of his current station. When she sat down, it was on his abdomen. For a moment, his senses blurred.

Johnny could feel the smooth glide of her wet slit, practically slipping.

“Fuck Kitten, You’re so wet.” He hissed, stomach clenching tight along with his fist as he resisted the desire to grab her waist.

“I’ve always wanted to do this.” She breathed out, the shake in her voice betraying the intensity of the sentiment.

“Just listen to your sopping pussy squelch for me.” He groaned, head falling back as he heard the sound of her pressing against him. “You just love using me, don’t you?”

“How can you tell? Are you used to being used?” She questioned.

Johnny thought it was a joke, lifting his head with humour in his eyes. But upon meeting her gaze, he saw it bore into him, looking displeased.

Right.

He forgot they were strangers.

“I know the type.” He answered after several moments.

“Oh? A lot of experience in the area?”

“Mmhm.” He hummed.

Both her hands pressed against his chest, “Eager and presumptuous men should be used once in a while. Keeps you grounded, don’t you agree?” Her hips slid forward, head falling over almost immediately.

She bit back a moan. Johnny smiled.

“I’m not sure I do.”

“No?” Her next glide came as Johnny flexed his stomach, pulling a hiss from her. “You need a change in perspective.”

“Is that what you’re here to do? Enlighten me?” He raised a brow.

She nodded, eyes fluttering closed. With each glide of her hips, it got harder for her to hold still. Soon, her legs were tightening around his waist. They still shook, despite the tight grip.

“Your legs will be sore tomorrow.” Johnny warned.

"You should be more concerned about yourself right now."

"I think I'm doing good." He sighed, lips lifting in a relaxed smile.

"That's unfortunate. We can't have that." Her breath stuttered as Johnny flexed his stomach in retaliation.

Johnny scoffed, "You just love to make it harder for yourself, don't you? Just wait till later."

"Later?" She hummed, hips coming to a halt. "Do you think you'll see me again?"

Johnny chewed on the inside of his cheek. That was not funny to him at all. It leeched what little enjoyment he had and he had to close his eyes to take in a furious breath as she began humping into him again.

(Y/N) couldn't tell why he had gone quiet all of a sudden. She wasn't supposed to care, she wasn't going to. He was doing what she had intended to do. She told herself that his silence was also a tactic. That is why she felt bothered. Her hands pressed against his chest with more urgency, the movement of her hips getting faster.

"Enjoying yourself?" He asked after so long that she gasped at the sudden sound. She nodded, her pace increasing as she felt the knot in her stomach tie itself tighter.

She looked up at his eyes, this close the building pleasure in her core muffled her brain further. (Y/N) leaned in, eyes fixed on his lips. Everything aside, she always missed kissing him the most.

She didn't expect his hand to move at all, nonetheless to grab her chin. He squeezed her cheeks harshly, lifting her face to meet his gaze as he sat up.

"I don't kiss strangers." He reminded her, making her crumble inside. "Understood?" He raised an irate brow. She nodded and he let go as fast as he had grabbed her, bringing his hands back to his sides and relaxing again.

Her pace slowed down a little despite herself. She felt rattled by the words.

Right.

She forgot that he could be cruel too when he wanted to be. At least in these cases, they were true equals.

After losing her rhythm, the tightness in her belly slipped away. No matter how fast she moved her hips, what angle or pattern she tried, she felt frustratingly far away from the build up that never came.

"You don't seem to be doing too good. Need help?" His words were a taunt. She thought it best to ignore it, moving down to sit atop his length. Johnny's head fell back as a sigh left her.

"I think I can manage." She muttered, too distracted by her own frustrations.

"I don't think you can." He spoke through a tight jaw, "Ever used a man before, honey? I don't think you know how to do this." He continued to provoke her.

"And you do?" She asked, sliding over his length. Both of them gasped when his tip nudged her clit, leaving his length wet from her leaking insides. "You look too busy being pussy drunk."

"I'm nothing if not a multi-tasker." He groaned, hips bucking once before he pressed it back down with the sheer force of his will.

She smiled, "That's a lot of promises."

"Give me a chance and I'll show you."

She thought about the first time he was at her mercy like that, the time feeling like it was years ago instead of just one. His every overconfident claim drove her mad, even more so when he lived up to each claim and more.

She thought about her first night here, not even strangers back then. She thought about the first time she had met him. About how she knew him as the man who had built himself a monolith.

In truth, Johnny had never been a stranger to her. She walked into her interview the same way she had walked into the room much like this one a year ago.

Absolutely enamoured by him.

She stopped moving entirely, "Fine."

Johnny lifted his head to look at her, "What?"

She thought about the little things that could have been different the first time around. Whether they would have produced a different outcome.

"Show me." She lifted her arms, surrendering to him.

His hands came to her back in a flash, lifting her and dropping her down in a heartbeat. Her head fell on the very edge of the bed, knocking the air out of her.

"Are you sure?" He asked, eyes boring into hers.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, "Have you known me to offer anything if I wasn't?"

He raised a brow, forehead gathering. "I thought we didn't know each other."

"Your turn." She told him.

The words made him chew on his bottom lip, his free arm tracing up and down her leg and driving her wild.

"Alright. Sit up." He nodded, pulling back.

Confused, she regardless did what he asked. As she sat up, his hands came to her waist, keeping her on his lap.

Her nose knocked into his, the proximity to his stormy eyes making her dizzy.

"First thing," He whispered, hand coming to her hair. "We don't need these." He unclasped the pin that held the chain in her hair, taking the one on his wrist off right after.

She gave him a confused look but didn't question it.

"We play my parts now." His breath hitched, "There are no winners. I don't want to fight, I don't want to win. I don't want to be strangers." She heard the small clink of the two chains being placed on the table, his eyes coming back to hers right after, "I want to make love to you." He kissed her eyelid.

Her chest crumbled at the words, caving in and grinding itself into pieces. Helplessly, she nodded.

He shifted, gently placing her head on the pillows.

"Wrap your legs around my waist." He whispered, words as delicate as his actions. She did what she was told.

"Why are you doing this?" She couldn't help but ask, needing an answer.

"You said you wanted to be furthest from who we are. We're already strangers, (Y/N). Despite everything, I still don't know you."

"You could just ask." She whispered, brushing her knuckles over his chin. "I'd tell you anything you want. All you have to do is ask."

Johnny's eyes steeled over at the words and she bit down on her lips hard, cursing herself for letting her sentiments get ahead of her.

"You were truly born to drive me crazy." He groaned, leaning down to kiss her jaw. She froze, expecting him to kiss her. But his lips moved lower instead, hands coming up to the ends of her bunched dress.

"Taking this off." He mumbled against her skin. She nodded.

He pulled back to do the task, watching her with intoxicating intensity as she lifted her hips off the bed.

"So beautiful." He sighed, "I don't understand how you're mine." He breathed out, making the growing cavity in her chest swarm with butterflies. The lines between pretence and reality blurred long before they even existed.

"The same way you're mine." She dared to say, the thought itself as devastating as it was euphoric.

Johnny groaned with approval, hands slipped between them to pull her panties off, "Should I ease you into it?" He asked, finger brushing over her entrance.

Despite seeing white spots in her vision at the touch, she shook her head. "No, I'm good."

His head lifted, eyes coating with tenderness, something she didn't realise she had been yearning for, "Still, it's been a while."

She tugged at the edge of his shirt, bringing him closer, "Your dick is inside me more than it's outside it." She wiggled under him, her impatience already fighting with her need to cherish this moment, "I promise you, I can take it." She huffed.

"What a filthy mouth," He curled his smiling lips, leaning forward till their foreheads touched. She held her breath, again expecting him to kiss her, but he just brushed his lips over the corner of her mouth. "Did you miss my cock?"

"Johnny," She whined, "Please. I need you."

"Answer me, (Y/N)." He asked and she nodded.

Her eyes screwed shut, "I–Fuck." Her words jumbled, when she felt him nudge against her writhing hole.

"Did you?" He asked with a wispy voice, stuttering.

More than anything else, she missed him. All of him. The confession at the very tip of her lips, threatening to flow.

They were playing a part she reminded herself. For a few moments, she was safe behind it.

She forced her eyes open, "It was you I missed. God I miss you so much I might just go mad."

Johnny forsake his control, slowly beginning to ease himself into her. Every muscle in her body went stuff, endless mutters leaving her lips.

"Really?” He asked through his teeth.

"Every goddamn day." She responded with the same gritted jaw.

He hummed, sounding infuriatingly unconvinced. "Why didn't you come to me then?" He stopped after only a few inches, pulling back out again.

"You told me you wanted a break. From me. What was I supposed to do? You weren't even here. You did everything you can to avoid me."

"You did it to me too." He muttered. To her surprise he pouted, the gesture giving her whiplash as he entered her again a little further this time. "You're so wet, baby. So tight." He groaned, eyes shutting for a moment like he was taking it in.

Baby. It was something he had never called her before. Her insides clenched around him in the same way her heart squeezed around those words— holding the moment as tight as she could. He'd used an array of words to refer to her, to call her, to praise her and degrade her. Yet nothing ever felt like this one. As unassuming as it was. Maybe she was actually mad.

"I can't come and just demand your attention. I'm not like you, I just can't do it." She huffed, frustrated and relieved at the same time.

"You're always demanding my attention."

"That's untrue."

"Is it?"

It wasn't. She did always make an effort to be at the forefront of her mind. Of course like many other things, she'd assumed she was good at keeping it covert. In actuality, like most other things, he was just letting her get away with it.

But this was different. This wasn't about teasing him or toying with his need for excitement. This was him wanting a change. She knew that because he told her as much. It hurt her beyond consolation and she couldn't be in front of him with that.

It had been a year and she had probably become stale to him.

"Why are you fighting with me?" She said instead of acknowledging those things, "I thought you wanted to be in love?"

"This is how love feels like," He looked over her face. "So I'm told." He marched the words with the slow retreat of his length.

On this, she could agree with him. Of all the things people had to say about love, no one warned her how gut wrenching it could also be. She'd hate it if the good parts hadn't made up for it and more.

Her overwhelmed mind made the next question spill, "What does it feel like to you?" She asked him, not sure what she was expecting.

"Like this." He sighed, beginning to push so slightly back inside her. "Like being inside you."

The words made her clench around him yet again. She wanted nothing more than for him to mean those words. Moments like this made her wonder just how she had managed to mask her real feelings for so long. Especially now, when every inch of her seemed to be bursting with it.

"Kiss me, Johnny." Her eyes fluttered open, swallowing whatever remained of her pride to ask for what he already denied her. “Show me just how much you love me."

Johnny’s eyes softened like they melted— glistening despite being in the shadow.

Then his lips pressed against hers and she felt like her entire being lit up with the brunt of her relief. Her hands came to his neck, his to her hips, holding each other like it was the only thing they knew.

She sighed into his mouth without meaning to, the faintest moisture collecting in the corner of her eyes. She had truly missed kissing him. He had ruined the act of it. He had given her the privilege of kissing her, and now she considered it a privilege outright.

It would also be the thing she would miss the most. That and his smile, the sound of his voice when he laughed, the way he said her name. (Y/N) wondered if she'd ever truly be able to kiss another person again.

Johnny's lips moulded over hers like they were completing a puzzle. His hand stroked her thigh gently as her head tilted up to deepen the kiss. He kissed her slow and he kissed her fast, taking his time to navigate each familiar crevice. His sigh was touching, one of relief and comfort. She could get lost in that alone, locking the sound away in her memories.

She'd miss him so much when he was gone that she missed him already. Her arms pressed him closer to her, with more urgency. When he trailed his kisses down her neck, she used the opportunity to wipe her eyes against her shirt, still hanging on his shoulder.

Now Johnny entered her completely, and it took her breath away. Her arm squeezed his neck, his shoulder muffling her moan.

"Good?" He questioned, more as a gauge of her state than to fish for compliments.

"The best." She couldn't help herself if she tried. When he probed the thicker part of her walls she moaned his name so loud that she was sure it could be heard all the way to the basement.

"Yes right there." She added once the stars in her vision dulled.

"Yes, I know." He chuckled, peppering kisses all over her neck and cheek. "I know." He reassured.

"Don't stop." She whined, the pleasure mixing with the flurry of emotions to drive her mad. "Johnny, please."

"I won't." The words accompanied a tender hush. "I've got you." He promised.

"Johnny, I'm so—" He cut her off by grabbing her chin, lifting himself higher and making her look into his eyes.

"I love you. You." He tripped over his words. "I love you so much. More than life itself." He groaned, brows furrowing. "Fuck, you were just made for me and I spend all my time thinking about just that." His thrusts started to get sloppy, only spurred on by her tight grip around him. "That and just how much I fucking love you."

Her lips parted on their own accord, "Johnny, I–" But the words were cut off by a moan as he came with a sudden shiver. The feeling of his come shooting inside her sending her into her own orgasm as he kept up his ridiculous pace.

(Y/N) had never felt hollow the way she felt when he pulled out of her after what felt like hours of just laying there. She couldn't even feel the relief of his weight lifting off her chest.

He was staring at her from the side, she could feel his eyes looking her over, analysing each movement on her face. When he took in a breath— to say something, she got out of bed. Once again fear grabbed at her, mind filling with every possible explanation he would have to dismiss everything that had just happened.

"I should get cleaned up." She mumbled to the floor, not even bothering to gather any of her clothes. She just went into the bathroom and stayed in the tub. Long enough to be sure he was asleep.

Or gone.

(Y/N) woke up to the feel of Johnny’s hand sliding up her legs, resting on her hip. She smiled, pulling her head back to look at him through her slitted gaze.

“Morning.” Johnny’s voice, as deep as it was on most mornings, was too cautious. Her brows knit, confused for a moment. Then the previous night came back to her, reminding her that this wasn’t most mornings.

She hummed in response, “Where did you get pajamas?” She asked, eyeing the dark green t-shirt and pants that she was certain weren’t from his closet.

“The bottom drawers in the dresser always have a pair or two.” He informed her, the first she heard of this.

“Why didn’t I get one?” Her brows gathered. Johnny just gave her a cheeky grin.

“We haven’t spent a night here before, have we?” He questioned her.

“I haven’t.” She mumbled, shifting to bury her face further in his neck then she found it when she woke. But the reminder had ruined the harmless mood.

Pulling away felt too awkward to pull off so she just tried to shift again. Johnny must have read her mind because his arm came back to her leg, pulling it up on his own and leaving a chaste kiss on her forehead. A sigh left her lips, finding comfort in the familiar situation despite the circumstances. The air in the room was, nonetheless, tense. She told herself she'd take away these moments as relics.

None of them spoke to fill the silence. In truth, there was nothing to say. Only when it got too hot did she pull back from him.

Silently, (Y/N) slipped out of bed, looking around to spot her clothes. A knock on the door made her rise, grabbing one of the robes that always hung from the bathroom door.

She opened it to find Charlie, one of the servers, standing with her things in his hand.

“Mr. Nakamoto sent your things.” He reached his hands out with her bag, “I took the liberty of bringing Mr. Suh’s things as well.” He handed her the paper bag as well.

“Thank you, Charlie.” She smiled, “I heard that you’re getting married?” She beamed and the man blushed in response, giving her a shy nod.

The overnight bag she had packed for Yuta’s house was heavy and made it difficult to open it with both hands full. She reached into the packet in which Charlie handed over Johnny’s belongings, taking his wallet out to pick out a note to hand to the man for his efforts.

“Next time you’re manning the bar, I want to know how you met your partner.” She smiled at him and he thanked her for the tip. Once she closed the door, she could put the bags down. Sighing from the release of the burden, she opened her bag to fish her own wallet out, replacing the money she took from Johnny.

“You didn’t have to do that.” His voice came from behind. She turned, finding him leaning against the wall and watching her carefully, arms crossed in front of his chest. She just shrugged in return, coming up to hand him his things before walking into the bathroom.

When she emerged, she was dressed for the day. Johnny was laying in bed with his feet on the floor, looking up from his phone when she walked into his line of vision.

“Where are you going?” He asked, brows furrowed like he was somehow expecting her to stay.

“Yuta and I are supposed to have brunch today. Hyuck too.” She spoke while clasping her watch.

“The breakfast here is pretty good. You can just eat downstairs.” Johnny sat up, phone dropping on his chest and then on the bed.

She looked up at him, lost. Breakfast was another thing she did not know the club provided.

Johnny seemed to catch on, eyes lighting up with amusement. "Really, it's like a hotel if you can ignore the large bowls of condoms everywhere."

She laughed under her breath, “Ten’s more entrepreneurial than you are.”

“I’ll have you know that it was my idea.” He said defensively, smiling nonetheless.

“Oh.” She chuckled, “My apologies. The condoms or the breakfast?" Picking up her shoes, (Y/N) sat down at the edge of the bed.

"The breakfast. The condoms are more of a legal failsafe. Your department more than mine."

Both of them laughed.

The next several moments were silent till she finished putting on her shoes, his hand coming to her waist as she started getting up.

He snaked the arm around her to halt her efforts, “Stay.” It was a single word packed with a heavy request. She could feel his eyes on her in the mirror in front of them, keeping her own gaze fixed on the floor.

“I can’t.” It was an equally simple response, laced with a heavy implication. She looked up at the mirror, meeting his gaze. “We have reservations.” It was a flimsy excuse that seemed to get a rise out of him.

His soft eyes hardened, “You came prepared to stay the night, it seems.” His eyes drifted to her large bag.

It was a petty thing to say and for a moment she wondered if she should lie, give him the shot of provocation that he was seeking when he said the words. But the antagonism that filled the previous night had weighed down on her. She was tired.

"My original plan was to go for dinner and crash at Yuta's. It was Hyuck who insisted on coming here.”

Johnny hummed, the sound heavy with the words he held back, unconvinced. It made her turn to him, “I have no reason to lie to you.” The words were the simple truth and she could tell that it did the very thing she was trying to avoid.

Her eyes wandered over his face, taking in the way he was trying to hide his outrage. She wondered if it was his ego or if she wanted to delude herself into thinking he actually cared. “All this time and I still don’t understand you.” She bit the corner of her mouth, regretting the words for the argument it would spur.

“It’s not like you ever ask.” He slid closer, nose knocking against hers. His eyes looked up from her lips expectantly.

She wondered if he wanted a question or a kiss.

Her phone rang while she debated and she told herself it was divine intervention. Except it was just her best friend.

“Ask Johnny if he wants to go for brunch with us.” Yuta skipped the greetings to land the poignant jab. Of course he already knew who she was with. There was never going to be anybody else.

“No.” She got up from the bed, gathering her things.

Despite every ounce of sense telling her otherwise, she turned to look at him, meeting his gaze to give him a silent farewell. There was the brimming fear of this being the last time, afterall.

The thought made her still. She had to shake her head and look away.

“Meet me downstairs. Did you find Hyuck?” She asked, walking out of the room.

Another week passed and (Y/N) had begun the process of mourning. Taking the last two days of the work week off, she had holed herself up in the safety of her apartment for three days now. The time had been spent consuming enough sugar to remind herself that she never had a sweet tooth, before shifting to the store of sour candy that was seemingly endless. Putting the first one in her mouth made her eyes well.

Finally, she started looking for a different job, her constantly blurring eyes making the task take much longer than intended.

That Saturday night, she fell asleep trying to imagine how she would hand in her resignation to him. What could she even say? How would she avoid explaining to him that she couldn’t be around him.

She simply was not as aloof as she wanted both of them to believe.

The building phone never rang. The day doorman never had to see people come to her apartment unless they were with her or he knew them as her regular guests. The one on the night shift was new.

Her first thought was the most obvious one. It was Johnny, it had to be. But she reminded herself that she had other people in her life. It could be Yuta with some ridiculous situation that only he could have. It could be Doyoung since she had let it slip that her non-relationship with her boss was beginning to sizzle off.

“Hello?” She finally answered the phone.

“I’m sorry Miss, there’s a man here that refuses to give his name. He says you know who it is. I told him that you don’t take visitors this late.”

She huffed. That reduced her guesses to two of the three. Nonetheless, she was grateful for the man’s caution.

“I’ll be down in a moment.” She sighed.

The elevator dinged and she clenched her hands inside the pocket of her hoodie. The one that was not hers. Despite her reasonings, she of course knew who was the moment the phone rang.

Johnny stood in the lobby with his hands on his hips, a frown set deeply on his face. His hair glistened under the lights and her eyes drifted to the doors behind him.

It was raining.

“Your new place is definitely high on safety.” He remarked, lips still downturned. "Your doorman thinks I'm a thief who'd walk through the front door." He pointed behind him, a small grunt leaving his frustrated lips.

She loved him, she realised for the millionth time. This time with a sudden jolt. Despite every rational thought begging her to do otherwise. She loved him so dearly and so hopelessly that she didn't know what to do with it at all.

Johnny looked restless, his feet tapping against the floor. She could understand and she could forgive it. That was how much she loved him.

She loved him. A sigh of relief left her, like the crashing of waves on a rocky shore after it finally met land. It was useless to pretend otherwise. She loved him and she'd let him in anytime he showed up.

He was in a suit, the rain ruining the fabric permanently. She wondered why he was in one on a Saturday at midnight.

His hands dropped to his side, “You haven’t been coming to work.” He said as the gap between them began to close with each stride. “I was preparing for the quarterly distributor meeting and Kun’s notes made no sense. He’s on a work trip too. I had to call the entire legal team into work today because all of the copyright issues seem to be funnelled through you.”

She stopped a few metres short of being in his personal space. “I’m entitled to my leaves.”

“Then you should brief the team properly so work doesn’t stop when you aren’t around.”

He was right, she gave him a nod to affirm it as well.

“Did you get what you needed?” She asked, flexing her fists in the safety of the deep pockets of the hoodie.

“Yes. The intern, Hendery, had a decent idea. I hired him tonight.”

“Good. He’s good enough to replace me with enough training.”

Johnny’s frown went from expressing discontent to a confused one. She'd put the hint in his mind now.

“HR said you’re sick.” Johnny mumbled after a moment of silence, shuffling.

“It’s a cold. I just needed the time off to feel better.”

Johnny nodded, hands coming back to his hips. He kept nodding, deep in thought.

“Is that the reason you came all the way here? I was sleeping.” She finally huffed, feeling the brunt of her own indignation suddenly.

His brows knit, arm coming up so he could glance at his watch.

“Oh.” His face smoothened in one go, “I didn’t realise it was this late. I was just driving around to clear my head.” He slowly put his hand down, biting down on his bottom lip.

She finally took her own hands out of her pockets, only to cross her arms in front of her chest. She knew why he was here, but she wanted him to admit it. She needed him to confirm so she could act like she wasn't giving in without a fight. Her dignity was the one thing she wanted to walk away with.

“I’m sorry!” He finally huffed, following with a groan that came from somewhere deep inside him. She blinked, incredibly surprised. “Is that what you want me to say?” He huffed again.

The last part ticked her off, “I don’t want you to say anything. What are you sorry for? Is it for waking me up because that is fair, but it’s not the first time you’ve done it.” The words were deliberately cautious.

Johnny groaned, running a hand over his face. “You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be.”

“What are you sorry for?” She asked, raising her chin and burying her brimming hope.

He gave her a look of furious disbelief.

“For once,” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was second guessing himself.

“What?” She asked with more anger bubbling in her words, taking two steps closer. He took notice, his own two steps closing their gap. Now they were in each other’s personal space.

“For once, can’t you give in to me?” There was a desperation that made the edge of his words blunt.

She stared at him with disbelief. "From the moment I met you I've only ever given into you."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm not talking about work, or bed. I mean your pride. Put it aside for once. Tell me you want me. Give in to me." He took just another step closer.

Remembering the place, she turned to the doorman, “You can let him in next time.” She raised her voice enough to be heard by the man.

Her gaze softened when it came back to Johnny and she prayed to god that he couldn’t see the glisten in them. Finding a real touch too scathing to execute, she settled for hooking her finger through one of his belt loops.

"You wouldn't be here if you believed I don't."

"I'm here because I'm giving up. I'm done. I don't want a change, I want you."

The confession washed her in a flood of relief. She would love him as long as he'd let her.

"And I came down here because I'm giving in. I don't want a break. Either leave me once and for all or never say that to me again."

Johnny chewed on his bottom lip, taking in the tempest in her eyes.

“Take me upstairs.” He asked like that wasn’t exactly where she was taking him. Like it wasn’t the inevitable outcome he had in mind when he walked into the lobby. For all his claims, he knew how quick she gave into him. “You can sleep, you look so tired. I don't want anything, I just want to be here.”

“You will sleep too.” She announced, turning away to pull him towards the elevator.

Once on the elevator, a thought made her freeze, “The place is a mess.” She warned him, remembering the cave she had turned the place into in the past week.

He gave her a cautious look, “(Y/N). Baby.” He laughed, her gut kicking up an assault at his tender tone. “Your place is always a mess.”

She frowned, taking her hand out of his to smack his chest.

“Hey!” She huffed.

Johnny groaned, a grin tugging at his lips after.

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