#//how this will end is still up in the air

[inkskinned]

it killed you to grow up there, in the dark like that, with nothing but the bones of your childhood. they punished every version of you that wasn't a god. forced sainthood into saturdays and now when you're out in the sun, your hands shake. your breathing puffing into cold mornings, alone in your room, wondering how you could be so broken and yet never have anyone notice the break.

in the dream of that house, you sometimes remember meals and silence and long hallways and your hand cramping over your homework. you sometimes remember the yelling or the limegreen falsehood veneer your parents could construct in the presence of guests. mostly you remember the way time seeped through you, dripped onto everything, how the words it'll get better felt like an arrow through your chest.

you would lay in bed and hope for death with the same fantasy air as romance, picturing a glorious coffin. sometimes you'd picture a dramatic end or a tragic illness that would sweep you away. but mostly you pictured some kind of strange miracle; that you'd go to sleep and simply never have to deal with that again.

when you got out, you had to burn the atmosphere to escape. these days you reside on another planet entirely: one bright and full of lights and color and friends and spice and laughter.

and still sometimes when people say summer, you still remember the back deck. you still remember building a castle. you still remember the birds. when you lay yourself down at night - some part of you still whispers about catacombs, and the dark, and the bones.

some version of you is still resting in that tomb, after all. some version of you will always see the outline of that place and say that's where we used to call home.

[clockwayswrites]

Fresh Birb! Part 32

masterpost

“Thanks for the excuse to get some fresh air,” Danny said. He sounded grateful enough that Jason felt a little bad for using the ‘stroll around the yard’ as an way to gather some intel.

“Hey, trust me, I get how overwhelming the manor can get,” Jason said, “and there are a lot of us in house right now. It’s easier in small doses for sure.”

“I could see that,” Danny agreed. “But there’s also something nice about the full house. It’s all very… alive feeling.”

The words were more melancholy than they should be. They were more like how Jason, who knew the feeling of death all too well, might say them. It brought troubling thoughts to mind.

“Yeah, that can be nice about it. Sure is quieter if I’m not here or at Roy’s,” Jason agreed after maybe too long a moment.

“Is Roy that much more talkative when it’s just the two of you?”

“Oh, no. Well, yeah, but it’s more about his little girl, Lian. She’s three and a half and an absolute handful most days. She’s also at that age where she’s pretty much narrating her own life in half understandable babble so there’s just a lot of constant noise.”

Danny chuckled. “I bet. Stayed with a friend for a bit when I was between jobs and stuck there for a few months by a non-complete clause. Her one kid was that age at the time and the oldest five. I didn’t know just how much everything there was when having kids that age. It made me actually feel a little sorry for my parents.”

“You the youngest, oldest, or middle?”

“Youngest. I’ve got one older sister, Jasmine,” Danny said. “You could sorta say there’s a half a sibling too. I basically grew up with my best friend and there were some weeks I spent more time at his house than ours.”

“That close to him?” Jason asked.

“Yeah. That and it was easier, sometimes, to not be at home.”

“Oh.”

That implied some unfortunate things that Jason hadn’t quite been expecting. Danny seemed pretty well adjusted. He was even good at handling Damian, but Jason supposed that maybe part of that was because Danny had been through his own issues.

Danny just shrugged. “I have a life long friend out of it. We don’t see each other in person much these days since we’re on other sides of the country, but we still talk plenty.”

Jason gave a soft hum and, a beat later, asked, “What made you end up in Gotham of all places?”

“Wayne Enterprises, actually,” Danny said. “The rep in the industry as place to work is unparalleled really, especially for what I want to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Help people,” Danny said, honestly and with a crooked little smile. “Which I know sounds cheesy, but I really wanted to create things that help people. It’s not like I mind making a better cellphone battery or anything, but it’s nice to know that I get to work on things that help not just with the little, everyday issues but also the big, life changing ones. The fact that those things get to help the city I live in too is a real plus.”

“Gotham has a way of getting to you like that,” Jason said.

“Yeah,” Danny replied softly, gaze in the direction of the Gotham sky line.

And then a scream split the air.

Not a human scream, thankfully, but a repeated screech that had both of them starting and looking around for the source. The screech turned to a warbling clucking as Jerry emerged from behind the landscaping. His tail was high and spread, his wing tips brushed the ground, and he was looking almost shockingly colorful.

“A turkey?”

“Damian’s.”

“Damian has a turkey,” Danny said slowly.

“And a cow,” Jason said. “Cat, dog, a few snakes. He tried to keep a rat but Alfred stopped that pretty quickly.”

Danny rubbed at his temple. “This is why he knew how to take care of wings, isn’t it?”

Jason tried not to smile. “That came up, huh?”

“He’s been sending Bruce information about it,” Danny answered.

Jerry made another loud warble and struck what Jason could only describe as a pose.

“So… does he do this often?”

“His name is Jerry, and nope,” Jason said and pulled out his phone.

Jerry strutted closer to Danny, tail feathers shaking.

“Oh… oh,” Danny said with the tone of someone for who horrible realization was dawning. “Can you, ah, talk him down?”

“I’m afraid I’m morally obligated to film this,” Jason said somberly. He couldn’t hold back his smirk any longer.

Danny shot him a withering look and started to back up towards the Manor. “Really.”

“Really. Good luck.”

“Well, fuck,” Danny said and then took off running.

Jerry followed at top speed with a scream.

Jason sent the video to Bruce. ‘You have competition.’

[alchemistc]

my heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

Tommy blinks awake and immediately wishes he hadn't. This is his third time waking up, and apparently they listened to him when he asked them to slow down his morphine drip because everything hurts.

The busted leg he remembers - they'd kept him awake long enough to explain that they'd do everything they could to keep it but... Well. No buts, in the end, just titanium and enough pins to make sure he'll never get through TSA quickly ever again. Thank fuck most of his flying he does on his own.

Christ, if he has to get recertified...

Fractured ribs, a punctured lung, three broken fingers but thank god his arms had survived relatively intact.

The bruising on his face screams before the rest of it does, which is just - it's silly, actually, that somewhere in his head he's thinking about how awful he must look. Of course he looks fucking awful, he survived a helicopter crash. Why would he look great? He should look as bad as he feels.

On a scale from 1 to Fuck Off he's very firmly toeing the line into Go Screw Yourself.

The knock startles him.

The startle wrenches something in his neck area, and Tommy groans through the pain. Shit. Screw his dad just that little bit more for providing the perfect genetics for a proclivity for addiction.

Evan.

He's standing at the door, looking apologetic, head ducked a little like he does when he either wants something, or thinks he's done something wrong. Puppy eyes, he'd heard Hen call it once, while she mimed barfing, because Tommy thought it was adorable.

He still thinks it's adorable.

Fuck.

"Hey," he says, in his Hospital Voice. (Tommy is new to this voice, but he's growing more used to it, now: third time awake and it's the third time Evan's been there. In a chair at his side, flirting with a nurse while he wrote on Tommy's chart, now perched in the doorframe looking... a bit grungy if Tommy's being honest. Like he hasn't slept in days. Like those are the same clothes Tommy first saw him in.

Evan dances in the door and it's the first time he's noticed that one of his arms is tucked behind his back. "If that's a bouquet you should know I'm allergic," Tommy says, and doesn't hate the way his voice sounds quite as much as he has in recent memory. He's almost managed to get back the ironic lilt.

Evan's smile widens. "You're lying, and besides, you can't be allergic to every flower. Are you allergic to the corpse flower?" He pauses. Narrows his eyes like he's heading Tommy off at the pass. "You can't say the smell is as bad as the allergies would be."

"I feel like a corpse flower," Tommy intones, and he wonders - is that - is this what - they're just not gonna talk about it? What he'd said, in the air, with half the public servants of the city listening in? Or the fact that Evan hasn't left this hospital in two days? Or whatever he's still hiding behind his back?

Evan steps into the room. Rolls his shoulders with a shit-eating grin. Brandishes the item he's been hiding - a stuffed chicken. There's something sticking to the end of one leg, and Tommy squints to try to make it out. Looks like -

"Bobby got it for you! He said you'd know what the knife was for."

Tommy groans, tips his chin against his pillow, groans again because the pain is radiating throughout his body. Evan steps closer.

"I really wish you'd at least let them give you the muscle relaxants," Evan murmurs, closer, so much closer. Hand on the bed, fingers lifted like he's thinking about squeezing Tommy's thigh, and god - god, he wants that. But they can't just - they're in this whole mess because they talk around shit instead of about it.

Evan sets the chicken on the table next to the bed. His smile is loose and light, but his eyes are worried.

"I'm still pissed they put me on a morphine drip that first day, Evan, it's in my chart not to -." Evan bridges the gap, distracting Tommy thoroughly - fingers soft and light, careful, sliding across his thigh and dangerously close to the crease of his groin. Even if he weren't in a hospital bed he's in way too much pain to even think of getting it up but it's compelling. It's distracting. Tommy never wants him to move his hand.

"Hey," he says, and Tommy blinks. Frowns. Drinks in the sight of Evan's plaintive head tilt and tries to breathe. He hasn't really been this lucid, before. "I have one more thing for you."

Tommy raises a brow. Clenches his jaw. Tries not to freak the fuck out when Evan reaches for the pocket of his likely rank flannel and pulls out a suspiciously small box. No. No, absolutely not, has he learned nothing from Tommy's multiple attempts to get him to slow down.

Evan pops the lid.

Tommy feels the hysterical laughter bubbling in his chest and tries to push it down because laughing right now would jostle so many fucking things and he can't -

"So. Um. I know we - I know we still need to - to sit down and, like. Talk. About things," Evan says, while Tommy stares at the metal-on-velvet. "A-and this isn't me asking for anything. I'm just..." He presses a fist to his eyes, rubs, fingers opening to rub at the scruff on his jaw. "So. I have a spare room. And you won't be able to manage stairs for a minute, and - and I have, like, so much PTO, Tommy, an insane amount of it, and I just thought. While you get your bearings..." Tommy watches him, still quiet. "It really sucked being on my own dealing with a bum leg. And - maybe - maybe we take some time to talk. Crack open that champagne once your doctor clears it."

Tommy stares. Tommy contemplates. Tommy sucks in a deep breath and swallows hard.

"You want me to sleep in the spare room?"

One of Evan's hands is still on his thigh. The other is still palming a house key. His grin is wry. "I would like nothing less, but I thought I'd offer."

Tommy's hand has been creeping steadily towards the one on his leg for a minute now. He makes the final effort, curls fingers around Evans wrist. "Please tell me your mattress is off the floor."

"There's even a top sheet."

Tommy feels his lip quirking. It had been an almost-argument, a generational gap they couldn't bridge, something so small and silly it hadn't seemed worth the time to fight about it when there were better things they could be doing with the bed. He wishes they'd fought about it. He hopes they have a thousand fights ahead of them.

Tommy releases the hand circling Evans wrist, palms the key. Evan beams.

"It's not exactly traditional, but, uh - you have the one watch you refuse to take off for anything, and I wasn't gonna make you like, a paper crane, so..."

"Traditi - Evan, what?"

His smile goes a little coy. "I know there's like, a break in there, or whatever, but - uh - happy anniversary."

Tommy wants to cry. He wants to grin until his lips hurt as much as the rest of him. He wants -

"Come down here and kiss me, you lunatic," Tommy says, and Evan grins as he obliges.

[pbaz7]

FINDING PEACE IN YOU: PART 3

paige x azzi

word count: 10.6k

A/N: I don’t even know…I’m sleepy lol. This is kind of a filler chapter but it moves the story forward slightly in just small interactions and what not. Wasn’t meant to be 10k words at all. Proof reading was iffy so let me know if you see any mistakes! Please leave live reacts and comments letting me know what you think if you can 🫶🏼

—————————————————————————

Paige and Azzi had fallen into an easy rhythm over the next few weeks. Late-night dates after their hectic days, stolen moments in between their busy schedules, and quick texts just to check in. Some nights ended with Paige walking Azzi to her door before heading home, while others found her inside, curled up on the couch with Azzi, their lips tangled in a slow, familiar dance.

But that’s all it ever was—kissing.

Not that Paige was complaining. She loved the way Azzi kissed her, how she took her time, how she always left Paige wanting more. But that was the slight problem. Paige did want more but Azzi wasn’t quite ready yet.

Paige was currently sitting in the recovery room, stretching with some of her Dallas Wings’ teammates, including Dijonai, Arike, and Rickea. Lukas was off to the side, playing with a yoga ball and laughing periodically with one of the rookies on the team. Paige grimaced here and there, stretching out the soreness from how hard she’d gone in the weight room earlier.

Dijonai, looked up from her phone when Paige groaned a little loudly and spoke up. “Yo, why you been going so hard lately?”

Paige glanced at her. “Whatchu mean?” she asked, still stretching.

Dijonai gave her a look, raising an eyebrow. “Girl, you been doing extra reps for like the last two weeks.”

Rickea chimed in saying, “On God, your PR’s damn near about to be higher than mine?”

Paige laughed at that, shrugging it off. “Just been having some extra energy I gotta let out,” she said, trying to sound casual as she continued stretching.

Arike, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, added her two cents. “You gotta get laid instead of trying to kill yourself before the season starts.”

Paige laughed as she continued her stretch. “Not that easy.”

Dijonai raised an eyebrow. “Girl, it literally is that easy for you.”

Rickea added, “You could walk in a club, make eye contact, and walk out with somebody in less than five minutes.”

Paige shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Nah I’m not saying that it’s just—I been seeing this girl that’s all.”

Rickea raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the problem?”

Paige looked at her silently asking what she meant.

“Y’all should be hunching all the time then.”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Nah, we not there yet.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and everyone in the room froze, processing what Rickea had just said and Paige’s response. A mix of confused expressions filled the space—some with raised eyebrows, others with wide eyes, and a couple of “What?”s and “Excuse me?”s scattered around.

Arike squinted at her like she just missed the punchline of a joke. “What the hell you mean, ‘not there yet’?”

Paige shrugged, her smile softening at the thought of Azzi as she shifted her position slightly. “She’s just intentional with everything,” Paige continued, her voice softer now. “And Ion know, she just got a different vibe, so I’m respecting her wanting to wait.”

Dijonai chuckled at this, a confused look forming on her face. “Are you crazy? You’re telling me you decided to take the one person who won’t put out for you seriously? She a prude or sum?”

Paige’s smile faltered slightly, her tone getting a little more serious. “Yo, watch your mouth…That’s not how it is.”

Dijonai immediately put her hands up in surrender. “My bad, my bad.”

Rickea, not wanting to let the awkward moment settle too long, chimed in with a smirk. “Damn, you sprung already?”

Paige shot Rickea a quick glance, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Shut up,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “I just— I like her, aight? So I’m tryna be respectful and let her decide how fast we go.”

“So, you’re telling me, you’re out here…not getting any…on purpose?” Arike asked, trying to make sense of it.

The conversation came to a sudden halt when Lukas came barreling over, launching himself onto Paige with a grunt. She let out a little noise as he landed on her stomach. “Ma, I’m hungry,” he said.

Paige sighed dramatically, her hands resting on his shoulders to stop him from flailing around. “When are you not hungry?”

Lukas gave her a look, widening his eyes. “Always. But I’m extra hungry now,” he insisted, leaning into her, clearly unwilling to budge until she gave in.

Paige sighed, shaking her head. “Aight, man, come on,” she said, half-amused, half-exasperated.

Lukas beamed, a grin spreading across his face as he jumped off her lap. He ran over to Arike, dapping her up before bouncing over to Dijonaí and Rickea, hugging them both tightly. “Later!” he shouted, barely waiting for a response before he darted out of the recovery room, following Paige out into the hallway.

…

Paige sat on the bench outside the restaurant, watching Lukas happily eat his chicken tenders and fries. He was in the middle of talking her ear off about the exercises he’d done during her practice, hands moving excitedly as he rambled on about who knows what. Paige smiled, listening with half an ear as she checked emails, but her attention was pulled to her phone when it lit up with a FaceTime call.

She glanced down at the screen, and saw Azzi’s name. A small smile tugged at her lips as she swiped to answer, popping in an AirPod and glancing at Lukas to make sure he was content. Lukas had quickly moved on, coloring on the paper the restaurant had given him, clearly lost in his own little world.

Paige answered the phone, her smile growing when Azzi’s face appeared on the screen.

“Wassup?” Paige greeted.

Azzi’s lips curved into a smile as she leaned back in her chair slightly. “What are you up to?”

Paige swiped the screen, flipping the camera around to show Lukas happily munching on his chicken tenders. He was making a mess, dipping one in ketchup and then taking an oversized bite, his cheeks puffed out.

Azzi laughed at the sight. “He’s really going to town on those, huh?”

Paige nodded, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, he’s like this every time we go out. Makes people think I’m not feeding him.”

Azzi laughs at this.

Paige then leaned back from the camera slightly, her eyes softening as she refocused on Azzi. “How’s work going?”

Azzi sighed, rubbing her temples. “I actually have a huge headache,” she admitted, her voice a little worn. “Between the NBA playoffs and the WNBA season about to start, my schedule’s filling up faster than I can keep up with it.”

Paige’s expression softened with concern. “What’s wrong? You need a break?”

Azzi shrugged, looking exhausted but trying to smile through it. “I need more than a break. I’m just juggling too many things right now but it’ll wind down soon.”

Paige bit her lip, thinking for a moment. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Azzi smirked a little, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you get a doctor’s degree, then maybe.”

Paige laughed. “Oh, sure, I’ll just go to med school between games and practices. No big deal.”

Azzi’s smile towards Paige was warm, but the exhaustion in her eyes was still evident as she rubbed her temples again. Paige’s smile softened in sympathy. “For real, though, what can I do?” she asked gently, wanting to help somehow, even if it was just in small ways.

Azzi let out a quiet sigh. “I miss you,” she admitted.

Paige’s heart skipped a beat, her smile widening as she looked at the screen. “I miss you too.”

At that moment, Lukas tugged at Paige’s sleeve, his little voice breaking through the conversation. “Ma, look!” he exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement. Paige glanced down at her son, who was holding up his paper, clearly proud of something he had figured out.

She leaned closer, squinting at the crossword puzzle on the paper in his hands. "What’s that, buddy?" she asked, her smile stretching across her face as she saw the word he’d found. “Good job!” she praised him, giving him a thumbs-up.

Lukas beamed, pleased with himself, and immediately went back to scanning the next section of the puzzle.

Paige chuckled softly, shifting her focus back to the screen where Azzi’s familiar face filled the frame. There was something comforting about seeing her, even through the barrier of a phone screen.

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” Paige asked.

Azzi leaned back against her office chair, tilting her head slightly. “I’m off,” she answered simply.

A small smile tugged at Paige’s lips. “I wanna see you.”

Azzi’s brows furrowed slightly. “I thought you had Lukas’ birthday party tomorrow?”

“I do,” Paige admitted, the words carrying an unspoken weight.

Azzi’s expression shifted slightly as she processed the response, her silent question evident in the way she studied Paige through the screen.

Paige hesitated for a beat before exhaling, then continued, “It might be a nice time for you to meet him. You know officially.”

Azzi’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but then a slow, genuine smile spread across her face. She knew how Paige was when it came to Lukas—how cautious she was about who she let into his world. The fact that she was even suggesting this meant a lot.

“Really?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige nodded, but almost immediately, nerves took over, and she started to ramble. “Yeah, but I mean only if you want to. I know you’ve had a long week, and I’d totally get it if being around a bunch of kids isn’t your ideal way to spend your day off. I mean, they can be loud, and chaotic, and there’s gonna be cake, which is cool, but also probably a mess, and—”

Azzi’s smile grew as she watched Paige ramble, clearly nervous about extending the invitation. It was endearing—seeing Paige, who was usually so smooth and confident, stumble over her words.

“Paige,” Azzi cut in softly.

Paige blinked, her mouth still slightly open mid-sentence. “Huh?”

“I’d love to come,” Azzi said simply.

Paige exhaled a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if you’re really sure. I know Lukas is important to you, and I don’t wanna overstep just because we’ve been seeing each other for a few months.”

Paige shook her head. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t sure. I just—” she hesitated for a second, glancing down at Lukas, who was still focused on his crossword puzzle. “I know you’ve had a long week, and I’d get it if being around a bunch of wild kids isn’t your ideal off-day you can always just come after.”

“I’ll survive. Besides, like I said, I miss you.”

Paige smiled again, the warmth filling in her chest undeniable. “I miss you too.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Before Paige could say anything else, Lukas’ voice cut through the moment.

“Ma, I found another one!” he announced proudly, waving his crossword puzzle in the air.

Paige turned to him, laughing. “Good job, smartie pants,” she praised, ruffling his blonde hair before glancing back at her phone.

Azzi smiled at the exchange before sighing softly. “I have another client soon, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

Paige nodded, shifting the phone slightly in her hand. “I’ll talk to you later.”

They lingered for a few more moments, neither wanting to end the call just yet, smiles playing on their lips as they held each other’s gaze. Eventually, Azzi shook her head with a small smirk, mumbling out a soft, “Bye Paige,” before hanging up.

Paige stared at the blank screen for a second before exhaling, shaking her head to herself. Yeah, she was in deep.

…

Azzi stepped out of the car, thanking her driver before shutting the door behind her. As she turned toward the house, her eyes landed on the large sign near the side with an oversized arrow directing guests around the back. She laughed to herself, shaking her head—of course, Paige made them set up. She knew how much Paige valued her space, and the last thing she’d want was a bunch of people traipsing through her house.

Following the path lined with smooth marble stones, Azzi made her way to the backyard. But when she stepped around the corner, she froze, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

This was, without a doubt, the biggest birthday party she had ever seen for a four-year-old.

The backyard was transformed into what looked like a mini carnival—there were balloons tied to every possible surface, two bouncy houses set up in one corner, tables covered with themed decorations and all kinds of stations filled with professionals. There were kids everywhere, running around, jumping in the pool, screaming, and laughing, their energy buzzing through the air. Parents stood off to the side, chatting amongst themselves, while a few other athletes Azzi recognized were mingling near the food table.

She shook her head in disbelief. She knew Paige loved Lukas more than anything, but this?

Azzi stepped forward, scanning the crowd for the only person she really wanted to see today. She weaved her way through the chaos of kids sprinting past her and dodged a rogue balloon that almost hit her in the face. She finally saw Paige standing near a table, her hair pulled back into a bun, a drink in her hand as she casually observed the party.

Paige must’ve noticed her presence because when she looked up and saw Azzi, a smile immediately stretched across her face.

Azzi felt warmth spread through her chest at the sight of the blonde.

As she reached her, Paige instantly pulled Azzi into a hug, her voice low as she mumbled, “Wassup beautiful.”

Azzi let herself settle in the brief embrace before pulling back, her eyes flickering to the table filled with wrapped presents. Paige followed her gaze, then let out a small laugh when she noticed the gift in Azzi’s hand.

“You know you didn’t need to get anything, right?” Paige teased, reaching for it.

“Of course I did.”

Paige smirked, placing it on the table with the rest. “You tryna outdo me at my own kid’s party?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Please. There’s two bouncy houses over there—I think you have me beat.”

Paige finally let her eyes drag over Azzi, taking her in with an appreciative smirk. “You look good,” she murmured, her voice just low enough so no one else could hear.

Azzi rolled her eyes, shaking her head like she was annoyed by the attention, but the small smile forming on her lips gave her away. “You’re predictable,” she muttered.

Paige chuckled, not even trying to hide the fact that she was enjoying getting under Azzi’s skin. “You drive here?” she asked, shifting the conversation.

“You know I didn’t.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah. Had to ask, though.” She barely had a second to react before Lukas came barreling over, his excitement bubbling over as he tapped her repeatedly. “Ma! Ma! Ma!”

She looked down at him. “Wassup?”

Lukas immediately launched into a ramble about his party—how fun it was, how many presents he got, how he beat one of his best friends in a race. His words tumbled out so fast that he didn’t even notice Azzi standing there at first.

But the moment he did, it was like someone hit a pause button. His eyes went wide, and all that excitement suddenly shrank as he blinked up at her. Without a word, he tucked himself into Paige’s hip, his face turning pink as he clung to the fabric of her shirt.

Paige looked down at him, then back up at Azzi, who was clearly holding back a laugh. “You good, man?” she asked, nudging him lightly.

Lukas just nodded, but he didn’t let go of her shirt. He peeked up at Azzi, still holding Paige’s shirt like it was some kind of safety net.

Paige reached down and gently smoothed out his hair, taming the messy curls from all the running around he’d been doing. “You gonna be a gentleman and speak or you just gonna keep hiding in there?”

Lukas hesitated for a second before finally pulling away from Paige’s side. He looked up at Azzi, his voice a little quieter than usual. “Hi.”

Azzi smiled at him, crouching down to meet his gaze. “Hi, Lukas. Happy birthday.”

His blush deepened, and he quickly looked down at his shoes, mumbling a soft, “Thank you,” before fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. Paige just shook her head, biting back a grin at her son’s sudden bashfulness.

Paige also crouched to Lukas’ level. “You remember her, right?”

Lukas nodded, still staring at his shoes as he held the fabric of Paige’s shirt.

Paige tilted her head. “What’s her name?”

Lukas gave a small shrug, his fingers fidgeting.

Azzi smiled, not offended by his shyness at all. She extended her hand toward him, keeping her voice soft. “I’m Azzi. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Lukas hesitated for a second before finally reaching out, his small hand grasping hers for a quick, shake before pulling away.

Paige grinned, ruffling his hair. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Lukas just nodded again, his blush deepening as he peeked up at Azzi before looking away just as fast when he noticed she was still looking at him.

Lukas tugged at Paige’s shirt subtly, getting her attention. She looked at him and he cupped his hands around her ear and whispered something. Whatever he said made Paige laugh.

Paige looked over at Azzi, her grin growing. “He wants to know if he can show you a trick in the bouncy house.”

Azzi bit back a laugh, nodding. “Of course.”

At that, Lukas finally untucked himself from Paige’s side. Without another word, he turned on his heel and took off toward the bouncy house, clearly expecting her to follow.

Paige stood up, watching him go with an affectionate shake of her head.

Azzi just made her way toward the bouncy house, where Lukas was already waiting eagerly. His earlier shyness was completely gone, replaced by excitement as he waited for her to come over.

The second Azzi was out of earshot, Paige barely had a moment to breathe before her teammates appeared in front of her.

“And who the hell is that?” Dijonai spoke first, arms crossed.

Rickea smirked, glancing between Paige and Azzi’s retreating figure. “Yeah, why you ain’t mention all that?”

Paige rolled her eyes, playing it cool as she took a sip from her drink. “I don’t know what y’all talking about.”

Arike scoffed. “Don’t play dumb, P.”

KK raised an eyebrow. “So, we just supposed to ignore how you been smiling like a idiot since she pulled up?”

Paige shook her head, but the small smirk she tried to hide gave her away. “Man, y’all need to chill.”

Azzi strolled back up, shaking her head with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression. “Your son is going to kill himself in there,” she announced.

Paige glanced over, catching a glimpse of Lukas attempting some kind of flip. She shrugged, completely unfazed. “Eh, he’ll be aight.”

Rickea cleared her throat pointedly, causing Paige to subtly roll her eyes. She turned back to Azzi and gestured toward the group. “Azzi, this is Rickea, Dijonai, Arike, and KK.” Then, motioning back to Azzi, she added, “Everybody, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile, giving a wave. “Nice to meet you all.”

Arike smiled widely saying, “We’ve heard all about you.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, glancing at Paige, who let out a slow exhale through her nose, already regretting this introduction.

Paige met Azzi’s gaze and muttered, “Not for real.”

Azzi tilted her head, clearly messing with Paige. “So you don’t talk about me P?”

There was something in her tone—curiosity, maybe even the slightest hint of disappointment—that made Paige fumble for a response. “Well, like, yeah I’ve talked about you, but not in the way they’re making it seem,” she rushed out. “I’m not constantly talking about you all day or anything—just, you know, once or twice—casually that’s all.”

Azzi’s lips curved into a smile, amusement dancing in her brown eyes as she watched Paige stumble over her explanation. The reaction only made things worse, Paige’s teammates now staring at her in shock. They had never seen her like this—flustered, rambling in front of a woman, completely out of her usual element.

Before anyone could comment on it, Paige groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I need another drink,” she muttered before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving her teammates and Azzi standing there.

Azzi watched Paige retreat with a smile, clearly enjoying the effect she had on her. Paige’s teammates, however, were staring at Azzi like she had just performed the world's best magic trick.

Rickea spoke first. “Ain’t no way. That wasn’t Paige right?” She turned to Azzi. “What the hell did you do to her?”

Azzi chuckled, shrugging. “Nothing, I swear.”

Dijonai let out a low whistle. “Nah, that was crazy.”

Azzi’s smile grew, but she didn’t say anything, just glancing in the direction Paige had walked off.

KK nudged Arike. “We gotta mess with her about this later.”

Arike laughed, nodding along. “Oh, absolutely.”

Azzi just laughed, deciding she might have to tease Paige about this later herself.

…

Azzi settled in easily with Paige’s teammates after that. Talking and laughing with them as if she had always been part of the group. Every now and then, she’d recognize and she’d excuse herself to go say hello. At one point, Drew took it upon himself to introduce her to Paige’s other siblings, Lauren and Ryan, who both greeted her nicely.

Despite how busy Paige was with the party and giving Lukas her attention, Azzi noticed the way Paige kept glancing in her direction. It was subtle—quick flickers of her eyes across the yard, a lingering look of a smirk when she thought no one was paying attention. And every so often, Paige would find an excuse to wander over, asking if Azzi needed anything, replacing her drink, or just brushing by her with a quiet, “You good?” before getting pulled away again.

Azzi didn’t say anything about it, but she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips every time Paige checked in or the way her stomach fluttered anytime Paige was near.

The backyard was filled with the chorus of "Happy Birthday," and Lukas was soaking up every second of it. His face was practically glowing, his charming smile—so much like his mother’s—on full display as he sat in front of his cake. The flickering candles reflected in his bright blue eyes, and he clapped excitedly with everyone else when the song finished.

Paige’s mother stepped in to handle the cake-cutting, wanting to give Paige a break. “Go sit down for a second,” she told her, waving her off.

Paige didn’t need to be told twice. With a small smile, she subtly motioned toward Azzi before heading toward an empty area off to the side. Azzi caught the gesture and pushed off the table she was leaning against and followed.

As soon as they sat down, Paige exhaled, leaning back slightly. “I swear, I love that kid more than anything, but these little humans are exhausting.”

Azzi chuckled, watching as a group of kids ran past, laughed loudly. “Yeah, I don’t know how you do it.”

Paige looked over at Azzi, her expression softening slightly. "How are you?"

Azzi gave her a warm smile, leaning back a little in her chair too. "I'm good.”

"Thanks for coming," Paige said as a quiet warmth lingered between them.

"Thanks for inviting me," Azzi replied softly.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the backyard. Neither of them broke the gaze, letting the quiet between them linger for a beat longer than necessary.

Paige flicked her eyes down to Azzi’s lips before speaking, "I tell you how good you look?"

Azzi hummed, a slight smirk forming on her lips. "You did," she replied.

Paige broke out into a grin. "Hm," she murmured, her gaze lingering on Azzi.

Azzi leaned in just a little closer, resting her chin on her palm. "I don’t think I told you how good you look though," she said, her voice dropping. She subtly traced her finger along the back of Paige's hand, the movement almost imperceptible to anyone else. It was just a light graze but enough to send a spark between them. The cup in Paige’s hands shielded the action from anyone else in the backyard, but Paige’s eyes flickered toward the touch before flicking back up to Azzi’s gaze.

Her eyes held a quiet confidence, watching Paige as if she could feel the tension building between them. Paige’s lips parted for a second, as if considering if she wanted to say what was racing through her head, but instead, she just let out a soft exhale, trying to keep the moment light.

Which was ultimately a great decision because two seconds later Lukas was walking over with a huge piece of cake on his plate. Azzi leaned back slightly noticing her approach but her attention was still on Paige. He set his plate down on the table and climbed into Paige’s lap, making himself at home without even saying anything.

Paige looked at him, shaking her head at the audacity. Still she used her hand to pull him comfortably onto her lap as he settled in.

Lukas, blissfully unaware of the moment happening before he walked over, took a few bites of his cake before looking up at Paige, his mouth full. "Ma," he said between bites.

"Hm?" Paige responded, glancing down at him.

Lukas paused for a moment, swallowing before saying, "I’m four now."

Paige chuckled, nodding with a smile. "I know.”

Azzi watched the scene with a soft smile, taking in the natural ease between Paige and her son. There was something so genuine about the way they interacted, a love so obvious in the little moments like this one.

Lukas continued eating his cake after this, oblivious to anything else around him. Paige couldn’t help but laugh at the way he was stuffing his mouth, as she ran a hand through his hair.

"He's really something," Azzi said with a smile as she watched the boy now attempt to get frosting off of his cheek.

Paige grinned at her, as she observed the way she was smiling at Lukas.

Lukas, noticed Azzi looking at him and stopped mid-bite and shot her a shy smile, his blue eyes wide. "You like cake?" he asked, holding out his fork as an offering.

Azzi laughed softly, shaking her head. "It’s alright. I’m all good," she said, trying to decline gracefully, but Lukas wouldn’t have it.

He nudged the plate toward her with a grin. "No! You have to eat some. I’m four now!" he insisted, as if being four automatically made him the expert on how all things should be done.

Azzi’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, if you say so," she said, a playful smile curling her lips until she looked down at the already half eaten cake on the fork he was offering.

Paige, noticing the interaction and wanting to spare Azzi from sharing a fork with Lukas, took the fork from her son’s hands. She used the other end of Lukas’s fork to cut a small piece off of the plate and grabbed it with her fingers to feed it to Azzi.

Azzi hesitated for just a second, surprised by the gesture, but opened her mouth and took the piece from Paige’s fingers with a smile. As soon as she did, Paige sucked her thumb and index finger to get the icing off.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to Paige’s fingers, the soft motion catching her off guard, but she quickly masked her reaction with a smile. "Well, that was one way to do it."

Paige smirked. "I’m just looking out for you.” Her tone was light but there was a flicker of something more in her eyes.

Lukas, blissfully unaware of any unspoken tension, took another huge bite of cake and said, "See? I told you, it’s really good! You should eat all of it!"

Azzi chuckled softly, turning her attention back to Lukas. "I think I’m all good now buddy," she replied, though her gaze flicked back up to Paige’s and lingered.

…

Later that day the party had come to a close, and the sounds of loud chatter and laughter had faded with everyone's departure. The backyard was spotless, thanks to the hired planners who’d cleared out, leaving the space untouched by the chaos that had ensued only hours before.

Azzi was still there, her presence a calming contrast to the energy that had filled the house all day. She was leaning against the counter in Paige’s kitchen as she looked at something on her phone.

Paige stood opposite her, leaning against the island, her gaze fixed on Azzi. There was a lingering tension in her core from earlier that day. From the past few weeks actually.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, catching on to Paige’s stare. "What?"

Paige’s eyes softened, and she let out a small sigh, almost a breathless mumble, "It’s just crazy I haven’t kissed you yet."

Azzi grinned at this. "We’ve had an audience for most of the day.”

Paige hummed in agreement, leaning just a bit closer, but stopping herself before the distance between them could shorten too much. "I know," she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. Paige’s family was still around, still packing up things because Lukas would be leaving for Disney World soon. The thought of her son heading off with her family made her smile, but it also made the reality of the season setting in even more evident. She couldn’t afford to miss any time with the games starting next week.

Azzi took a small step forward, just enough to reach Paige, before gently tugging her closer by her shirt. She leaned back against the counter, guiding Paige in front of her as their space shrunk to something almost nonexistent. Paige let her hands settle on the edges of the counter beside Azzi

Without saying anything, Azzi reached up, undoing the bun at the back of Paige’s head, letting strands of blonde fall freely. Her fingers combed through Paige’s hair, the action making Paige’s shoulders drop just a little, the tension she hadn’t even realized she was holding beginning to ease.

"You seem tired," Azzi whispered, her fingers still threading through Paige’s hair.

Paige let out a quiet breath, blinking at Azzi like she was debating whether to be honest. Instead, she shook her head, her lips tugging into a small smile. "I’m alright."

Azzi hummed, not quite believing her, her touch slowing but never stopping. "Liar," she teased, her voice carrying a quiet affection. "Long day?"

Paige exhaled through her nose, finally letting herself lean in just a bit more. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice lower now, almost as if saying it out loud made the exhaustion more real.

Azzi’s hands slid down, resting gently on the sides of Paige’s neck, her thumbs grazing the skin there. "You could sit down, you know. Take a second before the season really takes over."

Paige let out a soft chuckle. "You gonna make me?"

Azzi smirked. "I don’t think I have to make you do anything," she said, tilting her head. Her fingers curled slightly in Paige’s hair, a clear point being made.

Paige rolled her eyes, but the way she stayed exactly where she was and didn’t say anything said more than anything she could’ve.

Azzi let out a small hum as she leaned into Paige’s shoulder, her weight settling comfortably against her. Without thinking, Paige rested her head on top of Azzi’s, the quiet moment wrapping around them.

Paige's hand moved in, absentminded circles along Azzi’s lower back back. “You sleepy?”

Azzi nodded slightly against her. “Mhm,” she murmured, her exhaustion from the week creeping into her voice.

Paige smiled, shifting just enough to glance down at her. “You can go lay in my room if you want.”

Azzi made a small noise of protest, mumbling, “Don’t know where it is.”

Paige let out a quiet laugh. “Because you refuse to ever go in it,” she teased.

Azzi just sighed, looping her arms loosely around Paige’s waist. “Maybe one day.”

Paige smirked. “Or…you could just go now and take a nap gorgeous.”

Azzi hummed again, but she didn’t move. Paige just chuckled, tightening her arm around her as they fell back into silence.

They stood there for a while, wrapped in the quietness of Paige’s house. Paige was still rubbing slow circles on Azzi’s back. The weight of Azzi against her was warm, and Paige was pretty sure she had drifted off about five minutes ago.

But then Lukas came barreling into her legs. “Ma! I’m going to Disney World!” he shouted.

Paige let out a breathy laugh, tightening her hold on Azzi to keep her upright. Azzi barely stirred, only shifting slightly. Paige glanced down at her before giving her waist a small squeeze.

“Third door on the left,” she whispered in her ear.

Azzi nodded, her eyes still heavy, before peeling herself away and heading up the stairs without another word. Paige watched her go for a second before turning back to Lukas, who was bouncing on his heels waiting for her attention.

Paige picked Lukas up with ease, settling him on her hip as he beamed at her. “You excited?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes of course silly!” Lukas vibrated with excitement before looking at her with big, pleading eyes. “But ma you have to come next time.”

Paige softened, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “I promise.”

Just then, her mom and siblings walked into the kitchen, their presence signaling that it was time to go.

“You guys about to head out?” Paige asked, adjusting Lukas in her arms.

They all nodded. Paige grabbed what she could to help carry things to the car, still holding Lukas as they made their way outside.

Paige buckled Lukas into his seat, making sure he was secure before brushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna be good for grandma right?”

Lukas nodded eagerly, his bright eyes full of excitement.

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” she mumbled.

“I love you the mostest ma,” he responded without hesitation, making her heart swell.

Paige smiled, giving him one more kiss before shutting the door. She turned to her siblings, giving each of them a quick hug before finally reaching her mom.

Her mom gave her a pointed look as she said, “Don’t think I didn’t notice your guest today.”

Paige just chuckled, shaking her head as she avoided the topic. “Drive safe,” she said instead, before bidding them all goodbye and watching as they pulled away.

Paige walked back inside, locking the door behind her before making her way upstairs. The house was silent now, a stark contrast to the chaos of the party earlier. As she reached her room, she paused in the doorway, her gaze softening at the sight in front of her.

Azzi was lying on her bed, eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady. Her features were completely relaxed, curly strands of her hair falling gently across her face. Paige couldn’t help but smile as she stepped closer, sinking onto the edge of the bed. She brushed a few strands away from Azzi’s face, her fingers barely grazing her skin.

The small touch caused Azzi to stir, her brows furrowing slightly before her eyes fluttered open. A sleepy smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “Hi.”

Paige smiled at her, keeping her voice soft. “Hey,” she murmured. “Go back to sleep. I’ll go downstairs.”

Azzi shook her head just slightly, her voice drowsy. “I want you to stay.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, searching her face. “You sure?”

Azzi gave a small, slow nod, her eyes barely open.

Paige hesitated for a second longer before kicking off her shoes and carefully slipping into the bed beside her. Gently, she put a blanket over Azzi, tucking it around her before leaning back against the pillows.

She settled onto her back, one arm resting behind her head, the other draped loosely over her chest. Letting out a slow breath, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the day finally catching up to her.

Beside her, Azzi shifted slightly, just enough that Paige could feel the warmth of her presence. Paige wasn’t sure how much time passed, but the steady rhythm of Azzi’s breathing was enough to lull her into her own state of rest, her body finally allowing itself to relax.

…

The two of them stirred awake about an hour later, though neither was quite sure who had woken up first. They had shifted slightly closer in their sleep, but even unconsciously, Paige had kept a respectable distance.

Paige blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim lighting shining through the room before turning her head toward Azzi. “How you feeling?” she asked, her voice still a little raspy from sleep.

Azzi stretched slightly. “Better.”

Paige let out a soft hum. “I’m glad you got some rest.”

Azzi shifted slightly, her eyes flickering to the space between them. “You’re not a cuddler?”

Paige let out a soft chuckle. “Was just tryna be respectful. Didn’t wanna overstep.”

Azzi mumbled something into the pillow, her words too muffled for Paige to catch.

Paige turned her head. “What was that?”

Azzi sighed, lifting her face just enough to look at her. “Do you say shit like that on purpose?”

Paige blinked at her. “Nah, whatchu mean?”

Azzi shook her head, exhaling like she had just accepted some inevitable truth. “You say the perfect thing at the perfect time… every single time.”

Paige laughed softly, shifting so she was propped up on one elbow, her head resting on her hand as she admired Azzi. There was something about the way Azzi looked in this moment—still sleepy, her hair slightly messy, eyes warm—that made Paige want to keep her here just a little longer. “You wanna stay tonight?”

Paige immediately saw the gears start turning in Azzi’s head, so she quickly added, “Not like that. We both just been busy and I missed you like crazy this week… and my first two games are away, so I’ll be gone for like—”

Before she could keep rambling, Azzi cut in smoothly, “I’d love to stay.”

Paige’s eyes softened as she took in Azzi’s words. “For real?”

“Yes, Paige.”

That was all Paige needed to hear before a grin stretched across her face. She was still grinning when she murmured, “You know… I still haven’t gotten that kiss.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow. “Oh, you just remembered that now?”

Paige smirked. “Just thought it was worth mentioning.”

Azzi didn’t say anything else—she simply reached out, gripping Paige’s shirt and pulling her closer. Paige hovered over her for a second, their breaths mingling, before Azzi pulled her into a kiss. The moment their lips met, a quiet sigh escaped Azzi, her fingers tightening in Paige’s shirt as she felt the slow, deliberate slide of Paige’s tongue against hers.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was slower—like they were making up for every day they’d gone without this. Paige’s hand found Azzi’s waist, fingers pressing gently against her skin. They stayed tangled like that, lips moving in sync, lost in the quiet intimacy of it all for a while, losing track of time in one another.

Paige, getting a little too invested but not wanting to push too far, eventually pulled away.

Azzi let out a breathy laugh, her lips still tingling from how long they were connected to Paige’s . “You always pull away first,” she whispered, eyes half-lidded as she looked up at Paige.

Paige didn’t say anything, just licked her lips as she took in the appearance of Azzi under her before pushing herself off the bed and heading toward the bathroom.

Azzi called after her, “I didn’t know I had it like that.”

A moment later, Paige reappeared, wiping her wet face with a towel before tossing it onto a chair.

“Yes, you did.”

Azzi grinned, stretching her arms above her head as she watched Paige get comfortable again. “So you’re admitting it now?”

Paige just huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she glanced at her phone on the nightstand. Deciding not to address the question she looked over at Azzi. “You hungry?”

Azzi just grinned at Paige deciding to ignore her question. “I should probably eat.”

Paige grinned. “I can cook for us.”

But Azzi immediately shook her head. “Nope, I’ll cook.”

Paige scoffed. “I can cook, you know.”

“I’m sure you can, but you know I’m picky. And I’d hate to not like you anymore if you burn my food the first time one of us cooks.”

Paige let out a laugh. “Ok, that’s crazy—” But then, mid-laugh, she paused. Azzi’s words settling in a second later.

I’d hate to not like you anymore.

Her expression shifted, brows raising slightly. “Wait.”

Azzi, realizing exactly what Paige had just processed, stood up and made her way toward the door without saying anything else.

Paige blinked, watching her go. “Nah, hold on—Azzi commere,” she called, already climbing off the bed to follow after her.

But Azzi was already halfway down the stairs, acting like she hadn’t just slipped up. “Nope. Gotta make sure we don’t starve.”

Paige shook her head not accepting that as she trailed after her.

…

As she was cooking Azzi moved through Paige’s kitchen with ease, pulling out ingredients and utensils like she’d been in this space a hundred times before. Paige leaned against the island, watching her the entire time.

“Okay, I gotta say,” Azzi said as she reached for a pan. “I respect that you actually have things where they should be.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”

Azzi turned, giving her a look like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Some people just put things in the wrong spots. Like, why would I have to walk across the entire kitchen to grab a pot when it should be right here next to the stove?”

Paige laughed. “So you’re telling me there’s a right and wrong way to organize a kitchen?”

“Yes,” Azzi said without hesitation, setting the pan down on the stove. “Efficient kitchen organization is an art, and I—” She paused, feeling Paige step up behind her.

Paige leaned in close, her chest lightly pressing against Azzi’s back as she snaked her arms around her waist. “Mmhm,” she hummed lazily, lips hovering just near Azzi’s ear. “Tell me more about your organization skills.”

Azzi exhaled through her nose but didn’t let herself get distracted. “I’m serious,” she said, pouring olive oil into the pan. “People just put things anywhere, like knives on the opposite side of the kitchen from the cutting board. Doesn’t make any sense.”

Paige grinned against her temple as she whispered, “You kinda sexy when you talk like that.”

Azzi almost faltered but she stayed focused, reaching for a spoon instead. “I’m not that easy.”

Paige chuckled, unfazed by the resistance. She let her hands trail down Azzi’s arms before stepping back, leaning on the counter beside her instead.

For a few minutes, Azzi cooked while Paige lingered nearby, occasionally brushing against her or whispering little comments in her ear that made Azzi shake her head with a small smile. None of it truly distracted her though.

When Azzi leaned back slightly against the counter taking a break while something simmered, Paige took the opportunity. Without warning, she gripped Azzi’s waist and effortlessly lifted her onto the counter.

Azzi made a noise in surprise, her hands instinctively landing on Paige’s shoulders to steady herself. “Paige!”

Paige just grinned, stepping between Azzi’s legs, resting her hands on Azzi’s thighs as she dipped her head. “Yeah?”

Azzi opened her mouth to say something, but Paige was already leaning in, her lips brushing against the column of Azzi’s neck.

Azzi exhaled, fingers curling slightly at the back of Paige’s neck. “You—” Her words cut off as Paige kissed a little lower.

Paige smiled against her skin. “Me…?”

Azzi swallowed, her heartbeat picking up. “You know what you’re doing.”

Paige hummed in response, letting her hands slide further up Azzi’s thighs as she pressed another kiss just below her jaw. “And?”

Azzi was officially unraveling, her fingers gripping Paige a little tighter. “And you’re—”

A loud sizzle from the stove suddenly yanked her back to reality. She jolted, eyes widening as she shoved at Paige’s shoulders. “Oh my God!” she yelled, quickly hopping off the counter and rushing back to the stove.

Paige bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and leaned back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Damn,” she said, watching Azzi stir the pan. “That was fun while it lasted.”

Azzi shot her a glare. “You can’t do that while I’m cooking. New rule.”

Paige grinned at her. “Aw, come on, I was just tryna help.”

“Help who?” Azzi scoffed. “Because you definitely weren’t helping me cook.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll stay six feet away until you’re done.”

Azzi turned back to cooking, muttering under her breath, “You better.”

Paige, watching her with a huge grin, whispering just loud enough for Azzi to hear, “You liked it though.”

Azzi didn’t turn around, but Paige didn’t miss the way she let out a deep exhale.

Paige kept her word, leaving Azzi alone the rest of the time she cooked but it didn’t last longer than that. Paige immediately complained about the amount of food on her plate.

“You’re an athlete,” Azzi pointed out, sliding the plate in front of her. “You don’t eat enough.”

Paige scoffed, picking up her fork. “I eat plenty.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow clearly unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Just be quiet and eat, Paige.”

Paige rolled her eyes but took a bite, making a show of chewing dramatically before giving a nod of approval. Azzi smiled, sitting across from her and starting on her own plate.

The conversation flowed naturally between them, like it always did as they ate. Azzi asked about Paige’s games next week, and Paige leaned forward, resting her forearm on the table as she explained.

“We’re playing in Minnesota first,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then we go to Atlanta.”

Azzi watched her for a moment, noticing the way Paige’s expression shifted slightly at the mention of Minnesota. “You excited to be home for a bit?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. Even if it’s just for the game. It always feels different playing there. More personal.” She paused, then added, “Lukas starts school in the fall, by the way. Drew sent me a text while you were cooking saying Lukas said ‘Azzi has to know.’”

Azzi’s face lit up with genuine excitement. “Wait, for real?”

Paige nodded again. “Yeah. He’s already talking about what kind of bag he wants and how he’s gonna make ‘so many friends.’”

Their conversation shifted from Lukas to Azzi’s clinic. While they were talking about it Paige picked up on the way Azzi’s tone changed—still steady, but a little more contemplative so she asked her what was going on.

“Everyone’s kind of been pressuring me to expand,” Azzi admitted, her fork idly pushing at her food. “But I don’t want to.”

Paige rested her chin on her hand. “Why not?”

Azzi exhaled through her nose. “I don’t want any clients listed in my clinic that I can’t see personally. And I don’t want to have to hire other DOs—it’s a whole process, and I’d rather just keep things small, only seeing who I actually have time for.”

Paige nodded slowly, considering her words. “That makes sense. It seems

like you’ve always been hands-on so I feel like it makes sense that you wanna personally take care of your clients.”

Azzi gave a small smile at that. “Exactly. I don’t want to lose that connection. I like knowing the people I work with, understanding their needs, seeing their progress firsthand. Expanding would mean giving up some of that control, and I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

Paige studied her for a second before shrugging. “You don’t have to expand just because people are saying you should, you know? You built something great—if you’re happy with how it is, then that’s enough.”

Azzi sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s what I keep telling myself, but you know how people are. They think bigger automatically means better.”

Paige scoffed. “Not always. I mean, you could if you ever wanted to, but it doesn’t have to be now, or even in the next few years. Do it on your time.”

Azzi tilted her head, watching Paige with something softer in her gaze. “You always say the right thing.”

Paige smirked, reaching for her glass of water. “So I’ve been told.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the small smile on her lips. “Yeah, yeah.” She took another bite before glancing up again. “Enough about me—tell me more about Minnesota. You looking forward to it?”

Paige’s eyes brightened as she started talking about how special it was to play at home, even if it was just for a game here and there.

At some point, Paige noticed Azzi slowing down with her food, her expression softer, a quiet comfort settling between them. “You good?”

Azzi nodded, her voice a little quieter. “Yeah. I just like this.”

“Like what?”

Azzi shrugged slightly. “This. You.”

Paige watched her for a second before smiling softly. “Me too.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as they finished eating, the quiet clinking of silverware against plates filling the space. Once Azzi put her fork down and moved to pick up her and Paige’s plate, Paige was quicker, gently taking it from her hands.

“I got it,” Paige said softly.

Azzi bit her lip, watching her for a second before nodding. “Okay,” she murmured, pushing back from the table and settling back into her chair.

As Paige turned toward the sink, Azzi pulled out her phone, scrolling through her emails. The occasional sound of the running water and dishes clinking together filled the kitchen.

Paige glanced over her shoulder at one point, catching Azzi deep in thought as she scrolled, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration. She smiled to herself before turning back to the dishes, the simple domesticity of the moment not lost on her.

Once Paige was done, she dried her hands on a towel and walked back over to the table, her eyes settling on Azzi. She didn’t say anything at first—just leaned against the counter, watching as Azzi scrolled through her phone. Paige noticed the way she kept rolling her neck and shoulders, as if she was trying to work out some tension.

“You okay?” Paige finally asked.

Azzi exhaled through her nose, still scrolling. “My shoulders are just a little tight,” she admitted, tilting her head slightly to the side in an attempt to ease the discomfort.

“You should take a warm shower,” Paige suggested. “It’ll help loosen you up. And I can help after, if you want.”

Azzi looked up at her, considering the offer for a second before nodding. “That sounds good.”

Paige smiled at that, motioning for Azzi’s hand as they headed upstairs together.

Before Azzi walked into Paige's bathroom Paige handed her some towels. The moment Azzi shuts the bathroom door Paige drops onto the bed checking her phone and scrolling through social media a little bit. When Azzi finally steps out of the bathroom, her wet curls are clinging to her shoulders, and a towel is wrapped snugly around her body. Paige, who had been casually scrolling through her phone, glanced up—and immediately felt her brain short-circuit.

Her breath hitched, her eyes shamelessly trailing over Azzi before a slow, goofy smile spread across her face.

Azzi noticed and let out a laugh. “Can I have some clothes, please?”

Paige didn’t respond right away, still looking at Azzi like she had completely forgotten how to function. Instead of answering, she just lifted her hand and pointed toward her closet.

Azzi walked into the large walk-in closet. As she took in the sheer amount of clothes Paige had, she couldn’t help but tease her about it, “There’s no way you should have this many clothes.”

Silence.

Azzi, expecting some kind of sarcastic comment, glanced over her shoulder—only to find Paige sitting there with her eyes squeezed shut, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose like she was physically trying to reset her brain.

“You good over there?”

Paige let out a sharp breath, finally looking at her again. “You—” She stopped herself, shaking her head and laughing under her breath. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Azzi smirked, clearly not believing her, but didn’t press it. She grabbed a T-shirt and a pair of boxers before disappearing back into the bathroom to change.

The sound of the door clicking shut was followed by a quiet pause.

As she pulled the clothes over her head, Paige's voice cut through the stillness, calling out from the bed, “You’re definitely a tease.”

Azzi chuckled softly to herself but didn’t reply, finishing up in the bathroom and walking back out a few minutes later, Paige’s fresh clothes comfortably draped on her. She leaned against the doorframe as she said, “I’m not a tease.”

“Sure you’re not. And I don’t dribble a basketball for a living.”

Azzi crossed her arms with a small pout on her lips. “That’s not fair.”

Paige, completely unfazed, opened her legs slightly, “Come here.”

Azzi moved closer, allowing herself to be drawn in by Paige’s silent command. She settled her back against Paige’s chest, letting her head rest against her shoulder. Paige's hands were warm as they moved to her shoulders, starting to knead the tension out of them, and Azzi closed her eyes in quiet appreciation.

Paige worked perfectly, her fingers tracing the knots in Azzi’s muscles, focusing on the places where she’d been stiff from the werk. Everything else seemed to fade as Azzi slowly began to relax, sinking further into Paige’s touch, allowing herself a moment to let go of everything outside of the warmth that surrounded her.

Paige’s hands paused for just a moment as she felt Azzi unwind under her touch. For about 20 minutes the room was quiet, with only the soft sound of their breathing filling the space. Eventually Paige leans down, her lips brushing gently against Azzi's neck. She kissed the sensitive skin there a few times before whispering, “How was that?”

Azzi's response was a soft, almost inaudible murmur, her voice thick with the pleasure from Paige’s touch. "Amazing."

Paige smiled against Azzi’s neck before pressing another open-mouthed kiss to the same spot. She moved to pull away, her mind returning to the present, but Azzi wasn’t ready for it to end. She reached up, her fingers threading through Paige’s hair, gently pulling her back toward her. She tilted her head to the side, her lips parting as she whispered, “Keep going.”

Paige’s breath caught in her throat at the demand, her body responding instantly. She nodded and used her free hand to cup Azzi’s jaw gently guiding her head further to the side. As she did, her lips pressed back against Azzi’s neck, this time a little firmer, a little deeper, as she let her tongue trace Azzi’s skin.

The tension in the room shifted, becoming heavier as Paige’s mouth moved with more intention across every inch of Azzi’s neck. Azzi’s soft gasps of approval filled Paige’s ears, spurring her on as she kissed her way down.

As Azzi turned her neck to meet Paige’s lips with her own, the moment stretched out. They stayed like that, lips moving together softly at first, savoring the closeness. When she heard Paige groan at her attempt at tugging her closer, Azzi decided to turn around fully, straddling Paige’s lap. The closeness of their bodies seemed to heighten everything, and Azzi’s hands tangled in Paige’s hair as she pushed herself closer.

For a few minutes, they stayed like that, locked in the heated embrace. Azzi’s hands roamed, and Paige's breath quickened in response to the subtle touches. Slowly, Azzi began to push her hip closer, her lips trailing down Paige’s jawline before dipping to her neck. Paige clenched her jaw, trying to hold herself together. She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing Azzi to explore her skin.

It didn't take long before Paige's hands found Azzi's hips, squeezing them gently, breaking the spell for a moment.

"Azzi," Paige breathed, her voice thick. "Member how we said we were waiting?"

Azzi hummed, her lips still trailing over Paige’s skin, the sound similar to a purr as she didn’t stop what she was doing. "Mhm."

Paige’s breath caught, her tone breathier now as Azzi bit her neck gently before soothing it. "You gave me a timeline... and I’m just tryna make sure you stick to that, baby."

Azzi paused, her lips just millimeters away from Paige’s skin. "We can," she whispered, and then she sucked gently on the spot below Paige's jaw—one she had learned was a sweet spot for her.

"Jesus Christ," Paige whispered, her hands tightening around Azzi’s hips. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself. "I’m not gonna be able to if you keep doing all this."

Azzi pulled back slightly, her breath mingling with Paige's as she smiled at her. "Kissing?"

Paige laughed breathlessly, she felt Azzi’s lips return to her neck. "Nah, we can... it’s just..." Paige trailed off, her thoughts momentarily lost as Azzi’s sucked on her skin again.

Azzi pulled back looking at Paige with a heat in her eyes that made Paige’s chest tighten. "I want you."

The noise that left Paige’s throat was a mixture of a content sigh and something that sounded almost painful. Her voice was strained as she spoke. "You can't say shit like that to me right now."

"Why not? It’s true." As Azzi said this she connected her lips with Paige’s, her tongue swiping across her lips for access.

Paige felt the fog in her mind clear for just a moment as she pulled back, her hands steadying Azzi when she tried to chase her lips. "You said waiting was important to you.”

Azzi met her eyes, a calm sincerity in her gaze. "I trust you," she whispered.

Paige took a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "I know," she said softly. "I just don’t want you to regret not sticking to your plan."

Azzi gave her a playful smile. "Three months, two and a half... same thing. What’s two weeks?"

Paige couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between them momentarily breaking as she laced their fingers together. "Exactly," she said, her voice light. "What’s two weeks?"

"You’re really talking yourself out of sex right now?”

Paige leaned back slightly, shaking her head as she let out a quiet laugh. "Trust me, I know," she replied, the irony of the situation not lost on her. "I’m fully aware."

Azzi watched Paige who had leaned her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes. As she sat there looking at her for a moment Azzi was thankful Paige had stopped them. Because truthfully, Azzi still did want to wait.

Paige hadn’t started her season yet. All the traveling, games, expectations—it hadn’t hit. Azzi didn’t know if the version of Paige she had right now, the one she’d had for the past two and a half months, would feel different a few weeks from now. She didn’t doubt Paige’s feelings, but she knew how much weight was about to fall onto her shoulders. She knew Paige was about to be in different states, with different women and she wanted to be sure.

So, instead of pushing for more, Azzi leaned against Paige, settling into her warmth. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Paige barely opened her eyes, just enough to glance at Azzi before mumbling, “’Course.”

And they sat there just like that, wrapped in each other, the heat between them simmering down into something quieter, something deeper.

Paige started running her fingers through Azzi’s curls, her touch comforting as she said, “Can I ask you something?”

Azzi nodded, eyes still half-lidded from the warmth of Paige’s touch.

Paige hesitated for a second before speaking. “What happened with your ex?” she asked carefully. “M’ just askin’ ’cause I remember you saying she’s one of the big reasons why you wait.”

Azzi exhaled slowly, her fingers idly tracing patterns on Paige’s side. “We were together for four years,” she said. “And I found out she was cheating on me for half of them.”

Paige’s hand stilled in Azzi’s hair. “What?” The word came full of disbelief. She leaned back slightly, eyes searching Azzi’s face like she was waiting for her to say she was joking. But Azzi just nodded.

“I just felt really disgusting after I found out,” Azzi admitted quietly. “So—yeah.”

Paige’s expression softened, her hand moving from Azzi’s hair to cup the side of her face. “I’m sorry that happened to you, beautiful.”

Azzi shook her head. “Don’t apologize for something someone else did.”

Paige shook her head, eyes locking onto Azzi’s. “I’m not,” she said simply. “I’m apologizing that it happened to you. That you had to go through that. There’s a difference.”

Azzi blinked at her for a second before a small smile tugged at her lips. She leaned up, pressing a soft peck against Paige’s lips, her way of silently saying thank you.

Azzi let out a small yawn, and Paige caught it. “You wanna go to bed?”

Azzi shook her head, her curls brushing against Paige’s neck as she settled deeper against her.

Paige chuckled. “Why not?”

Azzi exhaled, playing with the hem of Paige’s shirt. “Because the real world starts again tomorrow, and I won’t see you for like a week.”

Paige grinned. “You could just fly to Minnesota for the game,” she teased.

“Ha-ha, very funny. Tell that to my overdramatic clients who act like they’re dying if they can’t see me.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, nudging Paige’s side. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

After a little more teasing Paige decided to turn on a movie, and the two of them settled in. But it didn’t take long for her to feel Azzi start to drift off. Barely fifteen minutes in, she felt Azzi’s weight relax against her, her breaths warming Paige’s shoulder. Paige grinned.

“Lemme take a shower before I get trapped underneath sleeping beauty,” she murmured, shifting slightly.

Azzi mumbled something unintelligible about Paige being rude sometimes, making Paige laugh. “Yeah, yeah,” she said, grabbing some clothes from the closet before heading to the bathroom.

By the time she stepped out of the shower, the room was dark, the only light coming from the large TV screen. Azzi was curled up on her side, mouth slightly open as she slept. Paige couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight.

Paige tossed her dirty clothes into the hamper before turning off the TV and climbing into bed. As soon as she slid under the covers, she felt Azzi curl into her side and drape a leg across her as she rested her head against Paige’s chest.

Paige blinked in surprise before Azzi whispered out, “Goodnight, Paige.”

A warmth spread through Paige’s chest as she tightened her arm around Azzi, pulling her closer. “Goodnight,” she whispered back, closing her own eyes as sleep slowly took over.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 IF WE WERE YOUNG AGAIN

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: your day was a mess from start to finish, and you knew it would only go further downhill when dazai inevitably called you up to his office once you got back to headquarters. still, you never could've imagined just how badly it would take a turn for the worse.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: AHAHAHAHAHA GUYSSSSS ARE U READY ARE U READYYYYYYYYY BEAST AU PMREADER AT LAST!!!!!!!! anyway there's not much to say yet, i shall be saying my thank yous and my full piece at the end of the last part, so ENJOY! this first part is a doozy dafuhsdiufh sorry the summary sucks i couldnt think of one and just wanted to get this out for u guys. be gentle on our girl reader, she's going through it. reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: dazai is quite cruel in this first part (with reason of course but it still might be hard to read). alcohol & drug usage. unprotected sex. finger sucking. a bit of implied/explicit misogny & slut shaming.

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai Osamu is dead—that’s what everyone tells you, at least.

Chuuya is convinced he died somewhere between his fifteenth and sixteenth birthday, months before you ever met either of them. He tells you that if you’d seen the way he acted when he and Chuuya first met—if you’d seen how bright his eyes got whenever he insulted Chuuya and goaded him into stupid challenges, if you’d seen the way he was so careless with his life and how he’d laugh gleefully when Mori panicked trying to keep him alive, if you’d seen him compared to how he acted afterward, you would know that something happened in those months that killed the boy that once went by that name. Chuuya is vehement in his belief that Dazai has been long dead, and the thing that lives on the top floor of the Mafia’s main headquarters is only a husk that wears his ex-partner’s face.

The Flags agree with him—they never knew Dazai well, but they knew of him enough to know that something had seriously changed in those few months. You’d never been convinced of it, though. You didn’t know Dazai before his ‘death’ date, but you know that he wasn’t dead when you met him. 

He was always odd; you could always tell that something heavy was hanging over him. There was an air of gloom and despair that clung to him like a second skin, and it made people keep him at arm’s length. Sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he’d get a faraway look in his eyes like he was lost in some other world, and sometimes he became cold and standoffish for no reason at all. It would happen so suddenly that it would give you whiplash, and you never knew what triggered it. Still, you could see the way his fingers trembled with guilt after.

He was odd, but he was alive. You fought Chuuya tooth and nail about it for two years; he always tried to get you to distance yourself from Dazai, warning you that something was wrong with him, that he was not right, that something changed him for the worse, and every time would end with you slapping him and the two of you not speaking for days. Dazai was alive—it was so abundantly clear to you in every interaction with him. His eye shone brightly whenever you walked into the room. You could hear and feel his heart racing when the two of you were curled up on the couch or in bed. His cheeks would flush a pretty red whenever you teased him, his breath would catch when your lips brushed his—he was alive, and there was no one you wouldn’t fight about it.

Your partner, Itou, didn’t know Dazai before his speculated ‘death’ date either, but he too was skeptical of how adamant Chuuya and the Flags were about it because all he saw was the way he acted with you. It made you feel validated, you would vent to him about it whenever you and Chuuya got into fights because you didn’t want to tell Dazai what Chuuya was saying about him, although you had a feeling he already knew. 

Then he hopped on the bandwagon two months before Dazai took over as Port Mafia boss. You don’t quite know what happened between the two of them—Itou and Dazai were never friends. Dazai was always cold to the older boy, and Itou always kept a distance from him, but they were cordial for the most part. Something changed at eighteen when Dazai picked up a mission that was supposed to be yours. He went with your subordinates up to Kyoto to handle Ihara Saikaku, who was undoing all the work you’d done up there before you came to Yokohama. When they got back, Itou could never look at him the same. He wasn’t quite as loud and adamant about Dazai as Chuuya and the Flags were, but you could tell that he wasn’t fully on your side anymore when you vented to him.

So you were alone in your defense of Dazai. Alone, and for a long time, you never wavered—Dazai was odd, but he was indubitably alive, and he was indubitably human. You fought Chuuya on it, you fought Itou on it, but eventually, you had to fight yourself on it, too. 

Your throat swells as you look at the small metal trinket resting in your hands. It’s ugly, haphazardly made—a bunch of wires twisted into an indecipherable shape. It’s only because you remember the offended expression that crossed Dazai’s face when he saw the confusion on yours after handing it to you as a gift when you guys were sixteen that you know it’s supposed to be a crab, and he has his own to match. Had his own to match. Chuuya had one, too, but he destroyed it right before your eyes during one particularly bad fight three years ago. 

Dazai had made them after watching a movie with you and Chuuya before their shaky friendship fell apart entirely toward the end of the Dragon’s Head Conflict. You’re not really sure what pushed him to make them, but Chuuya immediately called them ugly and said that he didn’t want a stupid crab, and Dazai promptly threw it in his face. The two of them started brawling on the ground for almost an hour, but even after they fell out, you know Chuuya took careful care of the stupid crab—it brought you solace for a time because you knew it meant that a part of Chuuya, however small, still clung to his old friendship with Dazai even if they weren’t on good terms anymore. 

Until he used his ability to ensure that there wasn’t even dust left when he destroyed it, that is.

“You already finished up with Mishima? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

You lift your gaze from the crab, eyes falling on Chuuya as he leans against the frame of the door to your office. There’s an odd expression on his face, and you realize that he’s not looking at you but instead at the object in your hands, trying to figure out what it is. As casually as you can, you lean back in your seat and bring your hands into your lap, giving him a wry smile.

“Dealing with Mishima never takes more than a couple of hours,” you say, quietly dropping the trinket in your desk drawer before sliding it shut. “I figured you’d be busy with the new recruits today. I heard they were incompetent.”

“Don’t get me started,” he replies dryly,  pushing himself off the doorframe to make his way over to you. He sits on your desk and you give him a withering look when he carelessly moves the documents you’d been reading. “I left Iceman to deal with it.”

“How considerate.”

“Always,” he agrees with a sharp smile. He leans back on his hands, hair falling in his eyes and hat crooked on his head as he looks down at you, eyes curious—you know him well enough that there’s a question on the tip of his tongue, but it’s likely a question he already knows the answer to and just wants to see what you say.

“We’re meeting at the bar in Hodogaya—you gonna come?”

It’s a casual question, an invite out with friends, so unassuming, but you know what the underlying question is. 

Are you going to answer him when he calls for you?

It’s a Thursday night. Dazai usually calls for you on Fridays because you’re not quite as busy trying to get together reports before the weekend—he knows you like to have them done before Friday morning—but you had a mission today, so you know, and Chuuya knows, that he’s going to use it as an excuse to call you up to his office tonight. 

There’s a heavy look in his eyes as he stares at you, waiting for a response, and you know what he wants to hear. He wants you to say yes, he wants you to turn your back on Dazai at last and come out with them instead—and you think he has some nerve expecting that of you when he still acts like Dazai’s loyal dog, killing and destroying on his command. This is going to lead to an argument between the two of you, not the first and certainly not the last. Every time you argue about this, he tells you that what he does for Dazai is different, he throws things in your face that you regret ever telling him, and then he’ll apologize when he calms down later. 

Then the same fight will happen next week like clockwork. 

“Chuuya,” you say quietly, letting out a sigh as you lean back in your chair, looking away. “You know—”

You sit upright when Chuuya suddenly leans forward, using his foot to push the drawer he’s sitting over open to grab what you tossed in there before he entered the room—you hadn’t been subtle enough. Your heart rate spikes, hand darting out to grab his wrist, but Chuuya is stronger than you, and he wrenches his hand away, staring down at the twisted wires with a disgusted expression

“Give it back,” you say tightly, holding your hand out. The air suddenly feels very hot, the room is suffocating. “Chuuya, give it to me.”

He doesn’t.

“You still have this shitty piece of scrap metal,” he spits, hand tightening around it. The Tainted Sorrow responds to his anger in an eerie red glow that emanates around his hand. Usually, Chuuya has impeccable control over his ability, he has to otherwise, destruction will follow him everywhere he goes, but the topic of Dazai is the only thing that manages to rattle the careful control he’s built. The only thing that wakes up the sleeping calamity god inside of him. “Why?”

“None of your business,” you say tightly, rising to your feet. “Give it back, Chuuya.”

“What the fuck are you still holding onto?” he demands, voice raising as he too comes to his feet, holding the trinket tight in his hands as he comes face to face with you. “He’s gone. How many fucking times does it have to be shoved in your face for you to understand? Dazai is gone.”

“Stop it,” you tell him, voice quiet but it wavers in a way you wish it didn’t. You’re not sure if you’re trying to convince yourself or Chuuya when you say, “He’s still there.”

“Dazai is dead,” Chuuya hisses. You can see he’s trying to calm himself down, but the frustration is whittling at his self-control. You used to be able to have conversations about Dazai, discussions about your opposing viewpoints, but now the instant his name is brought up, it’s like guns being drawn on both sides. “He died years ago. Whatever that thing is up in that office, it’s not him. Let him go, for fuck’s sake.”

“Rich,” you say with a laugh that you know grates his nerves. “Then why are you still here, Chuuya? You’re the strongest ability user in the world. No one could stop you if you wanted to leave, but you still answer his every whim like a well-trained dog.”

Chuuya’s expression twists like you’ve physically slapped him. A hurt expression crosses his face, and then something closer to guilt as he looks down at the ground. You know why—you know he partially blames himself for how Dazai changed. He thinks that there’s something he could’ve done differently in those months he knew him before he ‘died’ that could’ve led to a different outcome, and that’s why he stays at his side.

“Because once you’re done holding out hope that he’s still there,” Chuuya says, voice low and threatening in a way that has your hair on end—you’ve only ever heard him take this tone with enemies, “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” you reply, voice just as low. “He’s still the boss.”

“He’s a walking corpse.” 

“Watch your mouth.”

Chuuya suddenly laughs, taking a step away as he shakes his head. His eyes are wild, and you tense, waiting for him to escalate the argument, but you can’t brace yourself for the words that fly from his mouth.

“Always running to his defense, all for him to treat you like a whore,” Chuuya spits, slamming his hands down on your desk. He’s loud enough that you know all of the subordinates wandering the halls can hear. You don’t breathe as you stare at him, words processing slowly. “He calls you up there because he wants to get his fucking dick wet, and you spread your legs for him every time. Where’s your fucking self-respect?”

Your hand shoots out before you can stop yourself, palm stinging painfully as you slap Chuuya so hard that his head snaps to the side. He doesn’t budge for a second, staring at the far wall, a guilty expression crossing his face as if he only just now realized the gravity of his words.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers. “Get out of my office.”

Chuuya says your name quietly, regretfully. “I—”

“Get out, Chuuya,” you scream at him, taking one of the books on your desk and throwing it at him hard. He could use his ability to stop it from hitting him, or he could dodge, but he lets it drive hard into his chest, grimacing at the pain. “Get the fuck out.”

He leaves without another word, placing the bundle of twisted wires back down on your desk and only sparing one last glance in your direction before shutting the door quietly behind him. As soon as he’s gone, your hand is flying to your mouth to muffle the ragged breath you take in. Your eyes blur with tears, but you don’t let them roll over your cheeks—you don’t even have the chance to because your phone is buzzing with a message you’ve been expecting since you got back to base. 

What timing, you think dryly, desperately trying to calm yourself down.

Dazai: Come up.

———

When you reach the top floor, your heart is in your throat. You don’t meet the eyes of either of the guards in the hall leading to Dazai’s office. You can’t even if you wanted to—as soon as you stepped out of the elevator, they averted their gaze to the ground. 

You only come up here once a week—you only see Dazai once a week. You can hardly handle being in that office, it reminds you too much of Mori. It’s been four years, and you still sometimes expect to see him when you walk down this hall and through the double doors at the very end of it. You still haven’t fully processed his death—how could you with no closure? Dazai never even let you say goodbye. He didn’t tell you what was happening and had Mori’s body dumped before you could even race up to the top floor to stop him. By the time you got to the office, the deed was done, and Dazai was sitting at his desk, blood still fresh on his face and Mori’s scarf draped around his shoulders—a spoil of war, a symbol of his conquest.

There was no apology. No explanation. Not even a hint of guilt over what he did—for keeping you in the dark, for not even giving you the chance to cry over your father’s corpse.

He looked at you and said, “You were slower than I expected.”

He let you yell at him, he let you cry, but he never rose from where he was sitting at his desk. He watched impassively as you screamed your throat raw and cried until there were no tears left to shed, and when you sat on the ground heaving, finally starting to calm down, he told you to pull yourself together. That he needed your help reconsolidating power because the weeks directly after the transition would be the most vulnerable to internal and external conflict. That you needed to reach out to Leo Tolstoy and Mishima Yukio to let them know about the power transition and to ensure they were vocal in support of him.

Sometimes, you wonder if Chuuya is right because you don’t understand how Dazai could be so callous. And to you of all people. You can’t reconcile the Dazai of that day to the Dazai you knew for years—the one who lived in your apartment, who failed miserably every time he tried to make dinner, whose fingers trembled when you kissed him the first time.

He adored you for years, he looked at you like you were his whole world—he was cold to everyone else, but never you. From the day he met you when the Dragon’s Head Conflict was raging through Yokohama, he was gentle, overly affectionate, he gave you silly trinkets that reminded him of you, and picked the shittiest movies on Friday nights. He couldn’t sleep unless you were near him—a week before he killed Mori, he was curled up in your bed and complaining when you took too long brushing your teeth. You’d known the night before it happened that something was wrong, but you never could have expected what happened. Not ever. Not from Dazai.

He never explained why he really killed Mori; he blows you off with some shitty excuse about how it was what was best for the Mafia. How Mori knew this was coming. How it was always meant to happen. But you know there’s something he isn’t telling you, and his refusal to do so is as much of a betrayal as the act itself was.

When you reach the tall wood doors leading to his office, you take a moment to collect yourself. You remind yourself that it’s Dazai behind them, that Mori is gone, Elise is gone—you do this every time you come up here, but it’s never enough to rid yourself of the hope that briefly swells in your chest before it’s crushed by the sight of Dazai.

After what feels like an eternity, you finally push the door open and step into the office. The air is cool, brisk compared to the stuffy air of the hallway, and Dazai is standing on the other side of his desk, back facing you, hands clasped behind him. The door slams shut behind you with a deafening thunk, and you stay rooted to the ground in front of it, staring at the back of Dazai’s head.

He turns his head to the side, looking at you from the corner of his eye. For a moment, you almost think that his gaze softens as it lands on you, but it’s wishful thinking. You brace yourself when you see the way the corners of his lips quirk up into a sharp smile, how his eye glitters with a type of amusement that can only be malicious. His hands slide from where they’re resting behind his back to his front, out of view, and he says:

“You were slower than I expected.”

The air whooshes from your lungs—you don’t know what you thought he would say, but it wasn’t that. You try not to let the pain show as you recover from the blow dealt, but you know you failed to stop a grimace from crossing your face with how Dazai’s eye crinkles. 

“You’re lucky I came at all,” you finally bite back, hating the way your voice so obviously wavers. 

It’s always him, only him, who hurts you like this—he’s the only one with the ability to do this to you. Even Chuuya’s worst doesn’t come close to the damage Dazai can do with a few words. With everyone else, you can fight back, you can match their cruelty, surpass their cruelty, but he leaves you at a loss for words. He always has. He used to tease you with it—he was sweet and flirty, and it left you flustered, but now he’s cruel. He digs his fingers into wounds that he created and twists, violently reopening them so he can watch you bleed, and the worst part is, you don’t know why.

“Is that right?” he drawls, voice low and languid as he finally turns to face you, gaze roving over your body once before settling back on your face. His lips are pale and chapped, cheeks a bit sunken, the bag under his visible eye is almost black—you want to find pleasure in the fact that he’s clearly not doing well, but you can’t. He takes a few steps closer to you, and it takes all of your willpower not to let him back you up against the door. He lifts two fingers to your chin, tilting your face up to him and forcing you to hold his gaze—his fingers are so cold that it makes you shiver. “As always, all bark, no bite—you and I both know you’re too obedient to go against a direct order.”

You slap his hand away hard. His lips curve up into an unsettling smile that doesn’t reach his eye. He takes a step back to put some space between the two of you, hands taking their place behind his back again.

“What do you want?” you ask him after a moment, shaking your head as you look away. You know what he wants—you just don’t know what game he wants to play before he gets it. Especially not right now; he’s been so irritable and unpredictable the past few weeks. Sometimes, he likes playing politics, asking you about missions and how relations are with the Port Mafia’s allies; other times, he likes testing your limits, seeing how cruel he can be until you finally break. It always ends the same way for you—bent over his desk. “Hm?”

Dazai tilts his head to the side, giving you a lazy smile. “So cynical. What makes you think I want something? Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

You know better than to fall for that, lips tightening before you say, “You always want something.”

He leans forward on the balls of his feet, head dipping down, and there’s a playful expression on his face that gives you whiplash. You shift back, and for a brief second you see the Dazai you remember. The Dazai who giggled as he held your phone out of reach and watched you struggle to get it back. The Dazai who teased you into giving him your first kiss when you guys were sixteen. The Dazai who learned the names and stories of all of the constellations in the sky for you.

The Dazai you loved.

The Dazai you desperately want to believe is still here.

“Do you know what tomorrow is?” he asks, visibly excited about whatever it is. But you don’t know what he means, so you don’t know how to answer, and your throat feels clogged with fear. 

What is tomorrow?

You’re fumbling, taking too long to answer, you know it, but you want this Dazai, you want him to stay, you want to drag him down to Chuuya and shove it in his face, ‘I told you it’s still him, don’t you see?’, and you want things to go back to how they were. You’re frustrated and panicked trying to come up with an answer for him, and on top of everything, you’re angry at yourself because you don’t know why you still cling so desperately to the boy he used to be after everything he’s done. 

His smile starts to fade when you don’t immediately respond, and you blurt out:

“We have a meeting with the Red Chamber tomorrow.”

It’s not the answer he wants—you know it as you say it, but it’s the only thing you can think of.

“Right,” he agrees quietly, smile gone and gaze lowering to the ground. For a moment, he looks disappointed but not surprised, and then he closes off from you again. His eyes empty of excitement, and his expression flattens—the Dazai you loved is gone again just like that. You know you shouldn't feel as gutted as you are, but you are. Not for the first time, you wish that you could rip out that traitorous beating thing in your chest. It would be so much easier if you could hate him. “Come.”

You don’t move immediately, a heaviness settling over you as you watch him pace back over to his desk, lithe fingers flipping through a manila folder lying on top of it. You swallow thickly before making your way over to him. He slides the folder in front of you and shifts so that he’s looking over your shoulder. He’s too close. You can smell the smoke on his breath from the cigarettes he chain-smokes, the whiskey staining his tongue, the familiar metallic scent of blood. Your gaze drags from the folder to the bandages that peek out from under the dark sleeve of his jacket and then up to his face.

He’s already looking at you through his lashes, eye half-lidded. His gaze isn’t empty anymore, it’s heavy, dark. You don’t know what he’s thinking—you used to be able to read him well, but you haven’t been able to in years. You wish you could now more than ever. 

“What is this?” you finally ask, voice quiet as you force yourself to look back down at the folder he passed over to you. The file is of an executive of the Red Chamber—an acquaintance of yours who worked to get Cao Xueqin to meet with you and Dazai tomorrow. “Why are you showing me this?”

“This friend of yours—”

“Acquaintance,” you correct with a frown.

“Acquaintance,” he echoes with an empty smile. “I want you to kill him tomorrow.”

What?

You don’t even realize you speak the word that instantly flies through your mind at the order he gives you. You turn to look at him again, and he’s watching you carefully now. You don’t know if this is a real order or if Dazai is just saying something ludicrous to get a reaction out of you. You can never tell with him.

“You heard me,” Dazai replies, dark eye dancing with amusement at your confusion.

“What purpose does that serve, Dazai?” you demand, shaking your head. You want to take a step away from him but his presence is magnetic, a black hole that relentlessly pulls you in. “Baoyu Jia is the closest to an ally that the Port Mafia has inside the Red Chamber. We may as well be shooting ourselves in the foot. You—”

Your words falter when Dazai reaches up with his left hand to grab your chin. He tilts your face up again, but this time, his thumb rests on your lower lip, effectively silencing you. He doesn’t speak for a moment, and you know that it’s a power play—forcing you to look at him, silencing you, and then just holding your gaze, daring you to continue. You want to rip your chin out of his grip and scoff at him.

You don’t.

“Don’t question me,” he finally tells you, voice cold, eye flashing with something indecipherable when he sees the rage that crosses your face, but it fades into disappointment when you don’t say anything. 

Did he want you to? 

You don’t understand him.

“I don’t do assassinations, Dazai,” you say instead, voice hard. The pads of his fingers are so hot against your skin, and his thumb against your lip feels too heavy. “I handle politics. You know that.”

His grip on your chin tightens just a smidge, there’s a cruel glint in his eye that you don’t like. You brace yourself for whatever he’s about to say, but nothing can prepare you for what he does.

“You slit your own mentor's throat in her sleep,” he says casually, like it wasn’t something you confided in him about when you were at your lowest years ago. “Surely, you can handle an acquaintance.”

You rip your chin from his grip, taking in a sharp breath as you physically step away. You turn your back to him so he doesn’t see the way your throat spasms as you swallow the sudden lump in it, the way your eyes sting with tears at his words. You don’t know what you expect coming up here every time he asks. You don’t know why you still have hope that he’ll treat you the same way he did before he put a knife in your father’s back and draped his red scarf around his shoulders while his corpse was still warm. 

You don’t know why you still want him to.

“I hate you,” you breathe out, hating how shaky your voice comes out.

Your breath catches when he takes a step closer to you, chest brushing your back, fingers ghosting your hips. His presence is deceptively warm, considering he has no heart to keep his blood pumping, and you hate the way it makes your hair stand on end. You hate the way he knows because you don’t have to look at him to know that his lips are curved up into an amused smile.

He leans down, breath fanning against the nape of your neck as he whispers, “Then leave.”

You won’t. You don’t. You never do.

One of his hands rests on your hip, fingers deceivingly gentle as he caresses you when his words feel like knives through your back. He lifts the other to graze your jaw, leaning in to brush his lip against where he’d touched before he lets his hand drop back to your side, sliding down your body to join the other on your opposite hip, holding you steady when your knees feel weak.

“Leave,” he tells you softly again. You press your lips together to hold back the moan that nearly tumbles out of your lips when his teeth graze that spot below your ear that makes your knees buckle. Luckily, you have enough control over yourself that your knees don’t give out, but you don’t think you were as successful at muffling the moan as you thought you were because you can feel Dazai’s lips curl up into a smug smirk against your skin. “Go, I won’t stop you.”

You should. You know it even as he resumes the slow, languid kisses down your jaw. You know it when you feel his hands slide from your hips to your upper thighs. You know it when he shifts you forward so that the front of your thighs are flush against his desk, the wood pressing uncomfortably into your skin, and you know how this is going to end. You should leave, you should shove him off of you and go back down to your office, you should give him a hateful look and tell him that the way he touches you makes you sick and you can hardly stand to look at him even if it is a lie just to see if he’s still human enough to be hurt by your words or if he’ll just stare at you with that unnervingly empty gaze that makes you question if Chuuya had been right from the beginning. 

But you don’t.

He pauses for a second. His hands go still on your thighs, his lips ghost your pulse point—he’s waiting to see if you’ll leave even though he knows that you won't. You never do. When you don’t move, you hear him take in a sharp breath, and you feel his grip tighten before he slides one hand up your back to fold you over his desk. 

Sometimes, you wonder if he wishes you would leave, if he wants you to fight back, if he’s disappointed when you don’t. 

You’re still wearing the black slip you wore to meet Mishima and his daughters. You purposely wore it because his daughters have wandering eyes and are prone to letting more information slip when they have something pretty to look at.

“You wore this for them.” 

It’s not really a question, but there’s an edge to Dazai’s tone that makes you hold your breath. You turn your head to the side to look at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to catch something on his face, but it’s as blank as ever, entirely unreadable even with you bent over his desk in front of him, hands on your thighs as he slides up your short dress.

“What does it matter?” you ask, voice tight. 

You don’t know how you want him to respond, but it’s certainly not with the way he does: “It doesn’t.”

His voice is as cold as it always is when he calls you up to his office for this. He’s never warm, never intimate—it’s always a quick fuck, it’s always over his desk and never in a bed, his fingers are always rough, and he never kisses you, not on the lips. He hasn’t since the two of you were eighteen. 

But sometimes you’ll hear his breath hitch when he’s deep inside you, you’ll feel his whole body shudder, fingers digging into you so hard like he’s terrified of letting go, and when you look back, you’ll see Dazai. The Dazai you know, the Dazai you loved, the Dazai you can’t let go of. You see it in his eye when he looks down at you—the adoration and the desperation, the tears that he tries desperately not to let spill over—and in the way his lips part like he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to. 

It’s why you keep coming back. It’s why you don’t leave when he tells you to. You cling to the idea that he’s still here like it’s the only thing that keeps you going. A part of you wonders if maybe it is the only thing that still keeps you going because the thought of your Dazai being gone leaves an aching hole in your chest that you don’t think will ever fill.

Sometimes, you wonder if you just imagine it. There’s no hidden intent. There’s no love that he pushes away because he can’t afford the weakness as boss of the Port Mafia; he’s not bringing you up here because he wants to indulge in something he shouldn’t be allowing himself to have. This is just another power play. He just wants to prove that he can have you whenever he wants—that you’re his even after everything he’s done. 

You’re just as much of a spoil of war as the scarf around his neck.

He lifts his hand to shift your hair out of the way, and the tips of his fingers brush the nape of your neck. You hear him let out a noise akin to a scoff when he sees the ribbon tied neatly around your throat. There’s a pinprick of satisfaction that flies through you when you get the audible reaction from him.

“You still wear this thing?” He’s careful to keep his voice calm as he asks the question, but you know from the way his fingers are tense against your neck that he’s bothered.

“It was a gift,” you reply quietly, watching him intently. Your cheek presses against the mahogany of his desk. It’s cool against your skin, but you feel like you’re on fire with the fingers of one of his hands digging into your hip and the other resting on your neck. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He leans down a bit more, his chest to your back, weight pressing down on top of you. His hips are flush with your ass, and you can feel him straining against his black slacks. Your lips part in a silent gasp when he presses his lips to the underside of your jaw, trailing slow, wet kisses down your neck.

“You cling to the past too much,” he murmurs against your skin, teeth grazing your pulse point before he bites down far more gently than he usually does. “You need to let go.”

You have a feeling that he’s not just talking about Mori.

“Letting go has never been my strong suit,” you whisper, lashes fluttering shut when he sucks a dark mark into the crook of your neck. Your eyes snap back open when you feel him grab one of the ends of the ribbon, preparing to take it off. You grab his wrist to stop him. “Don’t.”

He pauses, you can feel his sharp gaze trained on the side of your head, but you don’t look at him this time. You don’t want to know what he’s thinking right now—you can tell from his body language that he’s about to make a comment you’re not going to like.

“What a dirty girl you are,” he murmurs, kissing the crook of your neck over the bruise he left on it. It’s deceptively soft, which lets you know whatever he’s about to say is going to twist the knife still lodged in your back. “Letting me fuck you over Mori’s desk while you wear the first gift he gave you… I’m sure he’d be rolling if he knew.”

You physically jerk at his words, head snapping around, a shocked expression on your face, but before you can get out more than a ‘you—’ he uses his foot to knock your legs apart, hand dropping from your hip to slide against the silk material of your panties. You inhale sharply, lips parting in a moan that you can’t catch as Dazai circles his index finger around where your clit is hidden beneath your panties, his lips trail from the crook of your neck to the top of your spine, and he uses his free hand to slide the zipper of your dress down, revealing your bare back to him.

He doesn’t take off the ribbon around your neck. 

You almost wish now that he would.

“I hate you,” you say again, but your words catch over another gasp when he starts trailing hot kisses down your spine, fingers pushing your panties to the side so he can slide his fingers between your wet folds. You hate how your body is so quick to react to his touch. “I hate you.”

“So convincing, hime,” he drawls. You choke at the use of the title that Mori gave you as he sinks two fingers inside of you—it’s not his first time saying it, he used to tease you with it all the time four years ago. But it was always a soft teasing, you could see the way the corners of his lips curled up gently and the way his gaze was fond. This is mocking. It’s sharp. It’s the same tone people took when they used the title to insult you, to imply you weren’t worthy of your high-ranking position in the Mafia, that the only reason you had a seat at the table was because of your relationship with Mori. The ribbon around your neck suddenly feels too tight, cutting off the airflow to your lungs. “I can feel your hatred dripping all over my hand.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out, blinking away the tears of frustration that suddenly sting your eyes. Chuuya’s words ring through your head: where’s your fucking self-respect? “Fuck you, Dazai.”

You feel his lips curl up into an unkind smile against your spine. “In due time.”

A part of you wonders if the fleeting sight of the boy you once knew is worth dealing with who he’s become. If the pleasure you feel when he touches you is worth putting up with the cruelty. You enjoy the time you have with him—physically, at least. Dazai knows how to touch you in ways that no one else can compare to; he knows all of the ins and outs of your body and can bring you to the precipice with just a few touches like he’s doing now. You’ve tried seeking out others to warm your bed, but they paled in comparison to the way Dazai makes you feel.

But he knows your mind as well as your body; he knows all of the ways to make you hurt, and he knows how to make it as painful as possible. He reopens a wound slowly with honeyed words and sweet smiles before digging his fingers in and twisting. The hime was intentionally cruel—not just to remind you of Mori, of where you are, of what Dazai did, but also to remind you of who Dazai once was. He was shoving it in your face again, just like Chuuya always says he does—you cling to the past too much, you need to let go.

“I hate you,” you gasp again, but your lashes flutter as he fucks his fingers deep into you, slow and steady—the stretch is pleasant, familiar, dizzying in a way that no one can replicate. He hums against your skin as he drags his tongue back up the length of your spine after he’s left a trail of bruises down it, like he’s marking his territory on you. “I—hah—”

He kisses the nape of your neck at the same time as he presses that spot deep inside you that makes your eyes knockback. You claw at the mahogany of the desk you’re on top of, breath quick and thighs trembling as he leaves you on the edge.

“Things would be so much easier if you did,” he murmurs, and you think you’re not meant to hear it. You try to look back at him, and you catch an oddly resigned expression on his face as he stares down at the marks he left on your spine, the fingers of his free hand tracing them delicately. It’s so out-of-character that it draws you back from the edge, which is what finally pulls him out of whatever trance he was in, something strange crossing his face when he realizes that you caught him staring. 

At once, his fingers slip out of your well-stretched hole, and you can’t stop the pitched whine that slips from your lips, breathing heavily as you try to regain your senses after having been brought so close to your high. Your cheek rests back down against the desk, vision a bit blurry as you reel from the loss of his fingers, but you know you won’t have to wait for long because you can hear him undoing his belt, pulling out his cock to use his drenched fingers to stroke his cock before he presses his tip to your entrance.

Your body shudders at the familiar feeling, eyes half-rolled back, just knowing what’s about to happen. You feel him lean over you again, chest to your back, and he lifts his fingers to press the two that were inside of you to your lips. It takes a moment for your gaze to focus on his expectant face, and you’re too out of it to consider turning your head away to be spiteful, lips parting so that he can push his fingers into your mouth, tongue instinctively swirling around them.

Where’s your fucking self-respect?

Again, the question echoes through your mind, but before you have the chance to answer it, Dazai fucks it away as he thrusts forward, hips flush to your ass as he suddenly pushes his cock deep into you. And fuck, if the stretch of his fingers was pleasant, the stretch of his cock is heavenly, the closest to rapture you’ll ever get. The moan of his name that spills out of your lips is garbled and unintelligible around his fingers, and he lets out a breathy noise—a scoff? a moan?—you can’t tell, too focused on the intoxicating feeling of being split open on his cock.

For the first time since you left his office last week, you feel whole, and maybe that’s the reason why you keep coming back. Dazai Osamu has ruined you to the point where you can’t feel whole without him—you need him in you, on you, around you. You want to be consumed by him, you want to consume him. From the day you met him when you were sixteen, you knew it would be him. It was always him, it could only be him. He loved you in a way that you never thought you’d be loved from the moment you met. He had you as early as that night he brought you to the rooftop to tell you the stories of the stars—you were his, and you thought he was yours. 

You fell so hard for him, so quickly, it was almost unreal. He understood you in ways nobody else ever did. Sometimes, you swore it felt like he knew you before he ever actually knew you. You’d never felt so seen by someone before, you’d never felt so loved. You spent years alone in Kyoto, and before that, you were following around a man who was hyper-focused on your ability and your failures. Dazai was the first person who saw you for you. He was the first person to make you feel like your life had meaning beyond just furthering the interests of the Port Mafia for Mori.

And Dazai is observant, sure, but you've seen how he interacts with everyone. You studied it carefully because, at first, you were worried that you were reading into things you shouldn’t be, especially with Chuuya’s warnings about him ringing through your head. But the way he saw everyone else was different from how he’d seen you—he saw them for their weaknesses and their faults, so he could exploit them whenever he pleased, but he saw you. He knew you—he knew little things that he had no reason to know, that he couldn’t exploit: how you took your coffee, that you love thrillers and are bored by comedies, he knew your favorite book, your favorite constellation, your favorite color, he knew everything from trivial details to all of the fears that you could never bring yourself to speak out loud.

That’s why you cling to the past, that’s why you keep coming, that’s why you never leave. You can’t accept that he’s gone, you can’t accept that he sees you now the same way he sees everyone else: as a pawn, as someone to exploit. So even if it means having to endure his cruelty and the whirlwind of emotions that follow every meeting with him, if you can get a glimpse of who he used to be, any shred of proof that the boy you loved, the boy who loved you is still there, it makes it worth it. Because it’s easier to deal with cruel words than it is to deal with the loss of meaning in your life that would follow accepting that he's gone. It wouldn’t just be losing him, you would be losing the only other thing that’s kept you moving, too, because Dazai became the Port Mafia as soon as he took over as boss.

The breath you take in around his fingers is ragged. You don’t know why you’re suddenly thinking of this—maybe it’s because Chuuya’s words are haunting you, demanding to know where your self-respect has gone, maybe you just need to rationalize why you’re so dependent on someone who treats you like this. You don’t realize you’re crying until Dazai’s hips suddenly still, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth to grab your chin, turning your head to force you to look at him.

Something strange crosses his face—pain, guilt—and it’s only then that you realize that your vision is blurry, that your cheeks are wet. His throat bobs as he swallows, and he’s uncharacteristically gentle as he uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. His hand drops from your face, and you lay your head back down on the desk, taking in a shuddered breath when Dazai rests his weight on top of you. He kisses your shoulder blade, and he kisses up to the crook of your neck again before burying his face in it for a moment—it’s almost intimate, it almost feels like an apology, but you know better than to hope for that. 

You don’t know how long you lay there with him like that, but you bask in the intimacy he rarely allows you. One of his hands runs up and down your side soothingly, his breath steady against your neck, you can feel his heartbeat against your back. 

A reminder that he’s alive, a reminder that Chuuya is wrong.

For a second, your Dazai is back. The Dazai that loved you.

It’s only when your breathing starts to steady and the tears stop rolling over your cheeks that Dazai finally moves, but it’s not to pick up where he stopped. Your lungs are drained of the air within them when you feel him move away from you, when you hear him tuck himself back into his pants, when his fingers brush the small of your back to zip your dress back up. Just like that, you’re left hollow again, a shell, half of a whole without him to complete you.

“Dazai—”

“Get out,” he says, voice cold and sharp. It’s not the same teasing ‘then leave’ he says every time you come in. It causes a pit to form in your gut, uncertainty riddling you as you stand up unsteadily. His back is to you, hands out of sight in front of him as he looks out the window over the skyline of the city, only lit up by various buildings now that night has fallen.

“But—”

“Get out,” he repeats, harsher this time. “That’s an order. Don’t question me. And don’t make me say it again.”

Your throat swells as you stare at the back of his head in disbelief. “I—”

“Now.”

You feel sick to your stomach, straightening out your dress as best as you can, fixing your hair, and making sure your makeup isn’t terribly smeared. You don’t dare to look at him, you think you might cry if you do. So you set your gaze on the far wall as you fix yourself up, not looking back even when you hear him moving.

Once you feel somewhat presentable, you raise your chin and make your way out of his office, only pausing when you get to the double doors to spare a short glance behind you. Dazai is sitting at his desk, face buried in his hands, fingers trembling almost as much as his shoulders are shaking. Your throat swells—you want to say something.

You know better.

You leave his office quietly, making sure to hold yourself together as you walk past his curious guards. You know they must have an idea of what goes down in his office when you’re called up; they’re probably the reason why so many rumors circle around about you sleeping your way into an executive position, but you refuse to let them see you with your head hanging, so you only meet their curious stares with a cold one of your own before taking the elevator back down to your floor. 

It doesn’t take long for you to get down to your office, and you inhale as you brace yourself for your subordinates’ attention, but you freeze when the elevator doors open and you’re met with an empty hall. This hall is never empty, and it’s only when you see Chuuya waiting for you at the end of it near your office that you realize he must have cleared them out.

His expression is taut, but his eyes are gentle as they roam over you, and you let out a wet, shaky breath when you realize that he’s here to make sure you aren’t alone even after the argument the two of you had. You take one step toward him, and then another, and then you’re breaking over a sob and rushing toward him a bit faster—he meets you halfway, strong arms circling your waist as you cling to his shoulders.

“It’s not—” You don’t even know what you’re trying to say as you choke over your words. “It’s not simple, Chuuya. I can’t just—you don’t understand—”

“I know,” he murmurs, turning his head to the side to press his lips to your temple. “I’m sorry. Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“... Yeah.”

———

You’re already wasted by the time you get to the bar with Chuuya. The two of you went to his penthouse to drink away your sorrows before Albatross started spam-texting you, trying to get you to come to the bar with them. Chuuya was planning on ignoring him and spending the night relaxing with you, but you didn’t want them to think something was wrong, so, against better judgment, you ended up making your way to meet them.

They’re already there and several drinks in by the time you and Chuuya arrive. You’re still steady on your feet, but you can feel the wine that the two of you had been drinking getting to your head. You just want a nice night, you want to forget about Dazai, you want to get drunk with your friends, and maybe if you’re feeling especially spiteful, bring someone back to your bed because you know it will get back to Dazai because everything gets back to Dazai.

No, you remind yourself, no more thinking of Dazai tonight. Even in spite. 

Unfortunately, your hopes are crushed the moment you approach the private booth where the Flags are drinking.

“Do you hear half of the shit they say about her?” Iceman asks, not realizing that you and Chuuya are approaching. “I beat the shit out of one of my own subordinates who thought it would be okay to say shit about her around me. When the fuck did they start getting so bold?”

“I’m just worried about her,” Lippmann murmurs as he takes a sip of his drink. “You haven’t seen her lately, she’s…”

Great, you think, teeth grinding together as you try to push their words out of your mind. Chuuya squeezes your bicep before his arm drops from around you, clearing his throat and giving Iceman a heavy side-eye. Iceman and Lippmann, to their credit, do go quiet when they realize that you overheard what they said.

You force a smile onto your face as you move forward to take a seat in the booth, knocking your hip against Albatross to force him to move in. Chuuya sits on your other side, squeezing you between the two of them. You reach out to take Albatross’s drink from him, not caring what it is or what it might be laced with knowing the older boy, you just want to fucking forget about Dazai tonight, and if that means consuming Albatross’s questionable choice of liquor, then so be it.

“You guys are so dramatic,” you say. “I’m fine.”

You can tell that they don’t believe you. Lippmann and Iceman exchange a long look with one another, and Doc’s gaze lowers to the table. The corner of your lips waver, throat tight as you look down at the drink in your hands before taking a long swig of it. The plain vodka nearly makes you gag, but there’s an odd sweet aftertaste that leaves you a bit suspicious. Before you can swallow, you feel Albatross toss an arm around your shoulders and drag you into him, causing you to nearly choke over the liquid.

“I knew you’d come out,” Albatross croons, pressing his face hard into the side of your head and nuzzling. He kisses your temple obnoxiously twice before licking your cheek; you slap him away with a scowl. “My favorite girl’d never let me down like that.”

His sunglasses hang off the bridge of his nose, and when you see the way his pupils are the size of nickels, you start to question what exactly is in the drink you just took from him. He seems to know exactly what you’re thinking from the way he tosses a wink at you and leans back against the booth, arm still snug around your shoulder.

“It’ll make you feel good,” he promises with a sharp smile before turning to Doc. “Hey, so about that…”

You tune Albatross out as you turn your attention back to Chuuya, who gives the glass in your hands a reproachful look but otherwise doesn’t say anything else. You give him a pointed stare before you take a sip of it, you don’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes at you.

You turn your attention to Iceman and say, “You should probably stop going out of your way to defend me. Otherwise, there’s just going to be more rumors about me spreading my legs for the whole upper echelon. They already say I’m sleeping with Chuuya, Albatross, and Piano Man too.”

Piano Man’s expression twists in disgust at your words, immediately taking another sip of his drink, and Albatross quiets down, looking at you from the corner of his eye. Chuuya only gives you a heavy look that you can’t bring yourself to look at him. 

“So you just want us to let them talk about you like that?” Iceman asks with a frown, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “They’re tearing your reputation to shreds.”

“It works in my favor,” you reply, although your voice is strained as you say the words, lips pressing together as you look down at your drink. “It makes it easier during negotiations, our enemies aren’t as guarded because they think I wasn’t given my position through merit.”

“Bullshit,” Iceman snaps, the corner of his lips curling into a sneer at your words. You shoot him a flinty look, but he’s unrepentant. “You can sit there trying to convince yourself that to make yourself feel better, but not me. I’m not going to sit and let my subordinates disrespect one of our executives.”

“Rich, considering how you talk about Dazai behind closed doors,” you say lightly, but your fingers are tight around your glass as you take another sip. Dazai’s name feels like ash on your tongue, a heavy feeling settling over your chest as you remember what happened in his office—weren’t you supposed to forget about him for the night? 

Always running to his defense, all for him to treat you like a whore.

You think Chuuya is reminded of his words from earlier, too, because you see his throat spasm as he looks down at the table. The moment Dazai’s name is spoken, the tension at the table spikes—sharp and sudden. You’ve never confronted them about their resentment toward their boss. It’s always been an unspoken rule, a line carefully danced around but never crossed. They respect him, acknowledge how he’s elevated the Port Mafia to new heights, but his name still leaves a bitter taste in their mouths—especially when it comes to his treatment of you and Chuuya.

But it’s more than that. It’s not just bitterness and resentment—they don’t understand him. They never did, even before he took over as boss. To them, Dazai is something cold, something wrong, something inhuman. They prescribe to the same belief Chuuya has: Dazai Osamu died seven years ago, and the thing living on the top floor of the building is a husk that wears his face. He doesn’t think like they do, doesn’t feel like they do. When they report casualties from missions, he turns a vacant gaze on them and tells them to leave; you don’t think they ever fully got over how he murdered Mori and how he treated you afterward. He’s a machine—a monster—in the shape of a man, all calculations and sharp edges where warmth should be. They might fear him, might even admire all he’s done for the Port Mafia, but they’ll never trust him, and they’ll never like him.

On nights like this, when you all have a few drinks in you, they get a bit bolder with their opinions—especially Doc and Iceman. You made a mistake bringing him up, you don’t want to argue with them—not tonight, not after you argued with both Chuuya and Dazai already. You’re so tired, you just wanted a nice night out after how shitty the rest of your day had been. 

“Oh my,” Piano Man sighs airily. 

“Come on, guys,” Albatross complains. “Can we not?” 

But Iceman has a temper. The table shakes as his fist drops onto it, he leans over to get closer to you, putting his cigarette out on the ashtray. “It’s because of that bastard that half of the fucking Mafia thinks you’re a walking fleshlight—”

“Jesus Christ, Iceman,” Chuuya spits, interrupting him as he slams his hands against the table and rises to his feet. You don’t react to the comment—it’s nothing you don’t know, nothing you’re not used to hearing in whispers. You finish the glass of vodka, that sweet aftertaste lingering in your mouth. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

“Come on, man,” Albatross complains again, rubbing his face. “Too far.”

“I’m only repeating what I have to hear,” Iceman says, holding his hands up before he lights another cigarette. You can tell he’s upset because it takes three tries for him to get it lit, fumbling with the lighter. “What I have to hear because of how he fuckin’ treats her, only for her to keep defending him.”

You should be angry, you think, but whatever was in Albatross’s drinks must be working because all you can feel is a dull haze as your fingers thrum against the tabletop.

“I have free will,” you say, voice distant even to your own ears. Doc raises his eyebrows and looks down at the table, not commenting but making his position clear with how he gives you a long look. “I choose to go up there, I let him fuck me. Albatross whores himself out like no tomorrow. He spends every night in a different person’s bed. Why is it an issue when I fuck one guy?”

“Yo, why am I catching strays?” 

“Because of the optics of it,” Doc replies, ignoring Albatross as he fiddles with something under the table. “Because of who you are, who he is. Because of how it looks.”

“I know the first thing Kitada-san taught you was the importance of optics,” Lippmann agrees quietly. “He knows, too. He could have anyone he wants, there’s no reason for him to be letting the Mafia drag your name through the mud like this.”

The thought of Dazai with anyone else makes you feel distinctly unsettled to the point where the intoxicated haze starts to abruptly fade away. 

“He could easily find a whore to fuck if that’s what he wants,” Iceman adds with a scoff. “He knows what he’s doing to you by making you spread your legs for him, he knows how it looks on you. On both of you.”

 And just like that, lines are drawn. Doc, Lippmann, and Iceman are on one side; you, Chuuya, and Albatross on the other. Piano Man remains in the middle, ready to intervene if things escalate. Though you know Chuuya and Albatross agree with the other three, they’ll always take your side in public, and you know the other three are only angry because they’re angry on your behalf, but it makes you sick to your stomach to know that they think… they think what? That Dazai calls you up there, and you have no say in the matter, that you let him on you, in you, because you can’t say no to the boss and not because you want it.

“I don’t give a shit,” you say tightly. “He’s not making me do anything. If I want to fuck Dazai, then I’ll fuck Dazai. If I don’t want to fuck him, I won’t fuck him.”

“Right,” Iceman drawls sarcastically. “You think that piece of shit gives a fuck about what you want?”

The rage hits you suddenly—you don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the stress that’s been weighing on you all day, or whatever Albatross had in his drink, but it makes your vision go red too quickly for you to control. You rise to your feet, the table shaking as your palms hit it hard—you think it must be a combination of the alcohol and whatever was in Albatross’s drink because you don’t even feel the pain you should feel when a piece of glass cuts into your hand.

“What the fuck does that mean?” you demand.

Iceman raises his chin, exhaling a cloud of smoke before he says coolly, “Exactly what it implies.”

“Fuck you,” you reply, eyes stinging with sudden tears as you stare down at Iceman. The older man has the decency to at least look ashamed when he sees your reaction, but he’s unapologetic otherwise. “You don’t know shit about Dazai, and you clearly don’t know shit about me either. This was a mistake.”

You move to leave, but Chuuya is in your way. Glaring down at him, you snap, “Move.”

“You’re drunk and fucked up on whatever Albatross is on,” Chuuya says, disagreeing, but when your face twists in frustration, he lets out a heavy sigh and moves out of the way. “Let me come with you.”

“I just need some air,” you say, voice rougher than you intended as you stumble out of the booth. “I’ll be back.”

Distantly, you hear Albatross spitting something at Iceman, and you can hear the anger dripping from his tone. Albatross never gets angry, and you don’t know why that makes you tear up more. You feel too suffocated in the bar; you can feel too many eyes on you, and you just can’t breathe. You slap away the hand of an attendant who tries to help you when you stumble, pushing the door open and greedily inhaling the cool air of the midsummer night. 

You rest your back against the wall of the building, trying not to let the tears in your eyes roll over your cheeks. You don’t know why today has left you so emotional—it’s just like any other day you meet Dazai. You argue with Chuuya, you go to meet Dazai, and then you deal with all of the emotions that the meeting drags up. Maybe it’s just that you’re drained from dealing with the Mishimas all day, or maybe it’s because Chuuya didn’t have to spend hours trying to calm down before he came back to you, or maybe it’s because you don’t know what went so wrong earlier with Dazai.

You still don’t fully understand why you spiraled so much. More than that, you wish you hadn’t left when Dazai had told you to. The way his fingers were trembling, the way his shoulders were shaking—there was no hiding that he was crying, and you think that if maybe you’d stayed, if you tried to press a little harder, you might’ve been able to get some answers out of him at last.

You take in a wet, shuddered breath as you try to get ahold of yourself. You miss Dazai, you miss how things used to be, and you don’t know how much more you can take of whatever this is.

You hear noise from your left, and you think that Chuuya or one of the Flags came out to check on you, but you’re startled by an unfamiliar face staring down at you, expression unreadable.

“Who-”

You yelp when his hand darts out to grab your arm. He tugs you into his chest harshly, and you don’t even have time to scream for Chuuya before there's a rag being placed over your mouth. Your hand claws at his wrist when the familiar sharp scent meets your nose, but it’s to no avail. You find your vision darkening and your knees going out—and the last thing you think of before everything goes black is him.

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.2

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 is unfixable but that's definitely not the only reason max verstappen wants you around.

a/n: "who cares what they think" bf and overthinker gf are my roman empire

part one / part two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Max doesn't give you much of a choice.

One minute, you're wrapping up post-race debriefs with your teammates, pretending that you're not reeling from his reaction to your possible departure. They're very polite and do not pry into the conversation they all obviously heard. The next, he's standing by the garage exit, jacket in hand, waiting.

"Dinner," he says. It’s not a request.

You hesitate, glancing around. "I mean, I don't think-"

"I need to talk to you." His words are softer but still determined. "Properly. Not in the garage. Not with twenty people listening."

Your stomach twists. You should say no. You should.

Instead, you find yourself sitting across from him in a dimly lit restaurant, the scent of freshly baked bread and seared steak filling the air. It's nothing fancy. Fancy means attention. It's quiet, tucked away, the kind of place he probably picked because he assumed no one would bother him here.

But Max Verstappen is not someone who goes unnoticed.

Right now he's focused, barely glancing at the menu. It feels more like a business arrangement than a catch-up. That's how it's meant to be. Max is, in the hierarchy pyramid, somewhere a few diagonal triangles above you.

"Tell me what you need," he says as his fingers tap restlessly against the table. "More support? More control over the car setup? I'll talk to Christian."

You sigh, setting your menu down. "Max, it's not just about that. It's-"

A hushed voice at a nearby table. A phone camera clicks and, judging by the kerfuffle that follows, the person who pressed the button didn't expect it to be so loud.

Your stomach drops. Max's gaze flickers over your shoulder, jaw tightening as realization dawns.

"Shit," he mutters.

You don't turn around. You don't need to. The whispers are getting louder, the occasional giggle or gasp confirming what you already know-someone recognized him. And worse? They recognized you.

Your chest tightens. This is exactly what you didn't want. Attention. Speculation. The internet dissecting every detail of why Red Bull's star driver is having dinner with one of the team's engineers. Especially after that interview. Two things that should not be happening in quick succession.

Max leans forward and his voice is low. "Hey."

You shake your head, gripping your napkin like it's a lifeline. "I need to go."

"If you leave now, it’ll be worse."

You know he's right. Storming out will just make it look more suspicious. But that doesn’t stop the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Max studies you for a moment before making a decision. He leans back, body language shifting, a small smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Then, loud enough for the nearby table to hear-

"You're overthinking. Just enjoy your food."

It's so casual, so normal, that for a split second, it throws you off. And judging by the way the whispers fade just a little, it throws everyone else off too.

Max is playing it cool. Acting like this is nothing, just a casual dinner, nothing worth speculating over.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to match his energy. You pick up your menu again, even though you're too tense to focus on the words. "Fine," you sigh. "But if this ends up all over Twitter, I'm blaming you."

His grin deepens. "I'll take full responsibility."

Under the table, where no one can see, his fingers graze against yours. It's only for a second. It's probably an accident, you tell yourself.

You look into his eyes and you know it means so much more than just that.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You wake up to chaos.

Your phone won't stop buzzing. The messages, missed calls, and notifications stacking up faster than you can process. At first, you think it's just another race week frenzy. Then you open Twitter.

Max Verstappen on a dinner date with Red Bull engineer. Garage romance?

Attached is the photo. A little grainy, taken from the next table over, but unmistakably you and Max. He's leaning in, smirking, looking far too comfortable across from you. You're gripping your menu like you were ready to bolt.

There are too comments to keep track of.

user1 she's been in the garage w him all season user2 Bro is dating his own engineer to fix the car 💀💀💀 user3 i fear they look GOOD together user4 is she the one he slipped up about in the interview??

You barely register the rest before Christian Horner is calling you. You pick up immediately instead of letting him go to voicemail. This is bad.

"Do you know what's happening online?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I just saw it."

He breathes loudly-you can hear it over the phone. "Look, we don't comment on personal lives, but if anyone asks, we stick to the story. It was a casual team dinner, nothing more. Max's team is probably already handling it."

Max.

As if on cue, another message flashes across your screen.

Unknown It's Max

Unknown Don't look at twitter

Too late.

By the time you get to the paddock, the damage is done. Journalists are already circling, cameras flashing whenever you so much as breathe near Max's side of the garage. You stick next to Liam's car. You don't know what you're doing there, but he kind of does and pretends to talk with you about something he doesn't understand either. Good lad.

You keep your head down, pretending not to notice the murmurs. When you step into the engineering office, Max is already waiting.

He's scrolling through his phone. You can't see anything behind those startling blue-green eyes of his. You still can't when he looks up. "They're making a big deal out of nothing."

You exhale. "I'm trending on Twitter."

He shrugs, completely unfazed. "And?"

You blink. "And? Do you know what people are saying? That I'm-” You lower your voice. “That I'm sleeping with you for my job. That you’re-”

"Using you to fix the car?" His lips press together. Now his eyes darken, the sky before the storm. "Bullshit. Do they not know how engineers work? They fix the car anyway."

You shake your head. "It doesn't matter if it's bullshit. It's out there."

Max crosses his arms. "So?"

"So?" you echo, incredulous. "I don't want this. I don't want my name attached to you like I'm some stupid tabloid headline!"

He seems to read you. "Do you think I wanted it either? I just wanted dinner. I wanted to talk to you, convince you not to leave. Not...this."

Your anger deflates. You can't be mad at him. People are people.

Max pushes off the desk and steps closer. "Tell you what. If you want, I'll shut it down. Tell them all it's nothing, that it was just a stupid meal. That you mean nothing to me."

The words sting even though you know he doesn’t mean them.

You swallow hard. "Would you?"

His jaw tightens. "If that’s what you want."

You should say yes. You should. But he's the one waiting for you to make a choice-the choice-and you're frozen.

"I don't know," you whisper.

Is that relief you see on his face?

"Then we don't say anything."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The orange army has risen, and it's not McLaren's. The checkered flag waves, and above the screaming engines and the crackling of team radios, one thing is clear: Max Verstappen has won again.

Against the odds, against the struggles, against a car that has fought him all season, he has done what Max Verstappen does best.

He has won.

The Red Bull garage erupts. Engineers shout, mechanics throw their arms around each other, and the pit wall slams their hands down in victory. You barely register the chaos because your eyes are glued to the screens, watching as Max slows down on his cool-down lap, his voice breaking through the radio.

"YES, LET'S GO!" His laugh is breathless. "That was so, so good. Thank you, guys. Thank you."

You exhale. He did it. You don't even recognize the warm feeling going through you because suddenly, he's there.

Before you can even process it, Max is sprinting toward the garage, helmet ripped off, his fireproofs half-unzipped and clinging to his sweat-drenched skin. There's no hesitation, no second-guessing-shouldn't he be out there?-as he skids next to you.

Your heart lurches.

You don't even have time to move before he reaches you, before his hands find your waist and he pulls you in.

"Max-" Your protest dies in your throat because holy shit he's so close. His breath is warm against your skin, adrenaline pouring off him in waves.

"You," he pants, eyes wild and utterly alive. "You made that happen."

You shake your head, flustered beyond belief. "Max, you-"

But he cuts you off, hands tightening like he's afraid you'll slip away. "No. You fought for this car. You never stopped." He swallows, chest rising and falling. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

You feel every nerve in your body short-circuiting.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Just static.

Max searches your face. He looks at you as he does his father, after a race is over. Like this win doesn't mean as much if you aren't part of it. There is one person in the world he cares about making happy...might there be a second?

You’re completely, utterly speechless.

"Lost for words?" he teases.

You shove at his chest, but your laughter betrays you. "Shut up, Verstappen."

You untangle yourself from his grasp and motion for him to greet some other of the team members. The media must be having a field day. And after the entire PR talk, too.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The celebrations are still in full swing when Max is pulled into an interview. The champagne drips from his hair as a permanent grin is stretched across his face. He's still breathless, still buzzing, still high off the win.

The reporter from Sky Sports barely has to ask the first question before Max is already talking.

"Max, that was an incredible drive. How does it feel to take this victory after the struggles you’ve had with the car?"

Max laughs easily. "Yeah, it wasn't easy. The car still isn't perfect, but today, it worked. And that's not just me, that's the team, that's the people who keep pushing-"

His words cut off for a second, his mind catching up to his own excitement. His tongue is loose, his filter nonexistent.

And then-

"-that's her."

The interviewer blinks. "Who?"

Max doesn't hesitate. "My engineer."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Your stomach drops as you watch from the back of the garage, eyes wide as the cameras zoom in on him. He's still grinning, still glowing, and either he doesn't realize what he just said or he does not care.

"She-" he stops himself, shaking his head like he can't find the right words. "She works harder than anyone. Every problem with this car, she's been on it. I mean, I was nowhere at the start of the season, and now, we're here. If anyone deserves credit, it's her."

The reporter raises an eyebrow. "That's very high praise. Would you say she's been a crucial part of your season?"

Max tips his head back in his laughter, and it's so obvious now, the way he's still running on instinct, how he's still in the moment.

"She's been-" He stops, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. And then, softer-too soft for someone who's just talking about an engineer-he finishes:

"She's everything."

The interviewer's eyes widen slightly, and there’s a second-just a second-where you see the exact moment he realizes what he just let slip. Max's lips press together, like maybe if he stops talking now, the words will somehow erase themselves. But the damage is already done.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Max turns his head like he can see you in the garage. He's searching, looking for you.

You panic. You run.

But the world has already heard him. You're not just another engineer.

You're Max Verstappen's everything.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The second you step back into the Red Bull garage, cheeks flushed from your bathroom pacing and breakdown, you know you're screwed.

The looks. The whispers. The way people pretend not to be staring but are absolutely staring. Because, of course, everyone saw the interview.

The moment Max Verstappen, three-time world champion, winner of the race, decided to open his mouth and say-

"She's everything."

You could kill him.

Scratch that. You will kill him.

Your heart is still hammering from the moment you heard it, from the way he looked for you afterward, like he wasn't even the slightest bit embarrassed about saying something that made it sound like-like-you don't even know what it sounded like, but it was definitely not normal driver-engineer talk.

And now, here you are, trying to avoid eye contact with every single person in the garage while searching for the idiot responsible.

It doesn't take long.

Max, being Max, doesn't bother hiding. He's standing by the monitors, still in his fireproofs, arms crossed over his chest, looking completely unbothered. He should be celebrating. Why is he not out celebrating?

He's still waiting for you.

The moment he sees you, his expression shifts. Something smug, something amused, something that makes you want to strangle him.

You grab his arm and yank him into the nearest private space you can find.

"Max," you hiss, barely able to contain yourself. "What the hell was that?"

His brows furrow. "What?"

"What?" you repeat. "You-on live television-you called me everything."

Max blinks, looking so utterly relaxed that you want to shake him. "Yeah."

You stare at him, waiting for him to realize the problem, to acknowledge that he just threw you to the media wolves with zero warning.

Nothing. Just calm, slightly confused Max Verstappen.

"You do realize what that sounded like, right?" You press, feeling your face heat up. "Everyone's losing their minds. Twitter is exploding. Horner gave me a look. Do you know how scary it is when Christian Horner gives you a look?"

Max’s lips twitch. He's fighting a smirk and he's not winning. "I mean… was I wrong?"

"What?"

He tilts his head, like he's considering his words. "You are everything. To this team. To the car. To-" He stops himself, but it’s already too late.

He knows exactly what he said.

"Max-"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

You can't, because he isn't. Maybe you've known it all along. Maybe this is why you can't leave the stupid team, even though it's causing hair loss and severe lack of sleep.

So you don't. Instead, you grab him by the collar and pull him down. Max lets out the softest, most relieved exhale before he crashes into you.

It's not a soft kiss. It's not careful, or hesitant, or anything close to restrained. It's desperate. It's months of tension snapping all at once.

You make a soft noise-half surprise, half something else entirely-and that's all it takes.

Max groans, deep and low, like he's wanted this for as long as you have, and suddenly it's worse, because now he's tilting his head, deepening the kiss, pressing you back until you hit the nearest surface.

You don't even know where you are anymore. A storage closet? A backroom? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is him. The way he tastes like champagne and adrenaline, the way he kisses like he races. All-consuming and with only one thing on his mind.

You should stop. You know you should stop. The entire garage is just outside. Someone will notice. Someone will hear.

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging just slightly, and Max shudders.

"Fuck," he mutters against your lips, utterly wrecked. His eyelids flutter, long lashes too. Max runs a finger down to your chin, forcing you to look at him. "You're overthinking again."

He's completely right. But you don't stop then. You relax and just let Max Verstappen take over every single thought in your mind.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: i just need a man who's bad at emotions but also so good at them

[nottslove]

BIKINI STRINGS

pairing: lifeguard!theo x reader

warning: 18+, slight smut, suggestive, voyeurism, semi-public/public, dry humping (slight) google-translated italian, cursing. lowercase intended

tags: @n-malfoy, @ur-local-wizard @nottsstar

summer was your favorite season. you loved everything about it; the country club, the pool, hanging out with your friends, sunbathing, the beaches...

at the moment, you lay on a sun lounger by the pool at the country club, dressed in a rather skimpy, sparkly, blue string bikini that made you look like a mermaid from a fairytale.

a cocktail rested next to you, perspiration dripping down all sides of the glass as the sun began to melt the ice cubes inside your drink, yet you made no move to pick it up and drink it.

you had always come to the same club, since you were young, there had always been the same lifeguard on duty at the pool, every, single summer.

except this one.

this was the first time seeing a new face. for one, he wasn't an old, whistle-blowing, grumpy female like the other one.

this one was a young, italian guy— and a smoking hot one at that. the moment you saw him, your mouth had watered, and your eyes had wandered.

he was well built, muscular, buff and not to mention— a goddamn flirt.

he had such a pretty, charming smile, shifting between italian and english whenever he addressed you, constantly asking you whether you needed his assistance in any sort of way.

his hands would occasionally brush against your bare back or your arm as he gave you directions, or help you back to the locker rooms.

at first, you tried to convince yourself he was just doing his job. but then, he started softly tapping your ass whenever he interacted with you, and when you'd look at him for an explanation, suddenly he would blow his whistle and rescue someone from drowning.

it was exasperating, to say the least— all the damn mixed signals.

still, you made no move on him, unable to figure out if he wanted you, or not.

because again, you did see him flirt with a few other girls when you had been sunbathing.

perhaps he wasn't flirting— maybe that was just how he was; maybe it was how men in italy behaved.

the sun was so warm today that you had ended up falling asleep on the sun lounger, with your sunglasses still perched on your nose. and it was only when your phone vibrated repeatedly next to you that you woke up.

the ice in your drink had completely melted, leaving it completely undrinkable.

the sun had already begun to set, and the pool was empty— shit.

it was so fucking late... and you had a date today. you looked at your watch. it was nearly six, and you barely had any time to get ready.

gathering your belongings, the least thing you expected was to bump into the lifeguard on your way to the locker rooms.

"oh— shit— i'm so sorry—"

"non c'è problema, piccolina," the italian drawled, carrying a sizeable stack of life rings.

the looked heavy, and you could see the veins in his biceps clenching underneath the sheer weight of them.

fuck me now.

the sight was mouthwatering, to say the least.

and just before you walked past him to get to the locker rooms, theo suddenly stumbled and dropped them all, cursing loudly as he gripped your shoulders for stability, before his hands accidentally slipped lower, to the sides of your arms.

before you knew it, you felt a sharp tug on your bikini top, and it all happened too fast for you to comprehend what the hell happened, because the next moment, theo's fingers had accidentally pulled on the strings at your back.

specifically, the strings that held your bikini together.

one moment, your tits were covered, the next, they had spilled out of the tiny top, nipples hardening into tight, pebbled nubs after being hit with a sudden draught of cool air.

"oh, shit—" you cursed, desperately trying to reach your back, fingers searching for the ends of the bikini strings to tie them back together.

"oops, mi dispiace molto— i didn't mean to do that."

you seemed oblivious to theo's hungry gaze, and even more so to the growing erection under the thin material of his red swimming trunks.

"need some help, piccolina?" his deep voice interrupted your performance, his blue eyes a shade darker with lust.

"if.. if you don't mind," you finally muttered, cheeks growing redder by the minute, your voice small.

"of course, piccolina," he cooed into your ear, as you turned around. your breath hitched as you suddenly felt his large hand against your lower abdomen, slowly guiding you backwards, until your back collided with his. "gonna need you to come a little closer..." he murmured.

holy fucking shit.

something hard pressed into your ass, and you bit your lip, stopping a lewd moan from escaping as you realized that his cock was stuffed between your asscheeks, and as he moved you to get you into the right position, you heard him hiss slightly. you could feel how fucking hard he was.

you let out a silent whimper, feeling his dick twitch against the crack between your asscheeks, your bikini bottom and his swimming trunks the only barrier between a sinful connection.

you found yourself involuntarily seeking a little more of that delicious friction, and you wiggled your ass slightly, whilst his cock rutted into you at a pace so slow, that you could have imagined it.

you clenched your thighs together, feeling the familiar wetness pool between your thighs, completely drenching your bikini panty, and you were sure that if he allowed his eyes to wander, he would notice the obvious wet patch staining your bikini bottoms.

as his hands found the strings of your bikini top, you felt his index finger graze against your bare nipple before he tied the strings together, a little looser than you'd have liked— your tits were heavy against the thin, sagging material, the shape of your nipples clearly visible... but then again, you were already too shy and embarrassed to tell him to tie it again; properly.

"thank you," you quickly muttered, sliding past him without a second glance, darting into the locker rooms at top speed, your heart racing.

ah, if only you had looked back.

if only.

you would have seen the obvious smirk on theo's lips, his eyes glittering dangerously, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

it had been so easy, to feign a stumble, so easy to pretend to lose control of the life rings...

all for an excuse to touch you.

if only you knew...

none of it had been accidental.

again, my intrusive thoughts won. i was supposed to go to sleep but i couldn't sleep without writing this. hope you guys like it.

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©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[thedensworld]

Favorite Cat | k.mg

Pairing: Basketball Player Mingyu! x Roommate Reader!

Genre: Roommate to lover au!

Type: fantasy, fluff

Words Count: 14k

Summary: After being roommates for years, Mingyu finally see 'your' cat for the first time—and it's not technically a cat.

Mingyu pushed open the door to his apartment, the weight of the crutches under his arms feeling heavier than his own body. His right leg, wrapped in a brace, ached with every small movement, a dull reminder of the career-threatening injury he had suffered during practice. The air inside was still, silent—too silent. Usually, he wouldn’t have noticed, but tonight, the quiet felt suffocating.

The moment he stepped inside, reality hit him all over again. No more training. No more games. No more adrenaline-pumping moments on the court. He had spent years building his life around basketball, and now, with one wrong landing, it was all on pause.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he forced a breath through his nose. Positive mindset, positive mindset… at least, he would have a year to rest. A whole year to recover, reset, maybe even enjoy things outside of basketball. But who was he kidding? His life revolved around the game. The thought of sitting on the sidelines, of watching his teammates push forward without him, gnawed at his chest like an open wound.

With a grunt, he shuffled further inside, his good leg bearing most of his weight. But just as he adjusted his crutches, his left crutch suddenly slipped, and his balance wavered. A sharp jolt of panic shot through him as he struggled to keep himself upright.

“Shit!” he hissed, his grip tightening just in time to prevent himself from crashing down. He glanced at the floor, only to see a crumpled wet tissue stuck beneath his crutch—the likely culprit. His brows furrowed as he glared at it, frustration bubbling in his chest.

You. You must have left it there before heading out.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but right now? He couldn’t even bend down to pick up a damn tissue. With a defeated sigh, he leaned against the wall, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat.

That tissue was staying there until you got home. And when you did, he was going to make sure you heard about it.

Mingyu lowered himself onto the couch with a groan, adjusting his injured leg carefully on the cushion. The dull ache was a constant reminder of everything he had lost—at least for now. With a sigh, he grabbed his phone and started typing out a message to you.

Mingyu: Got injured. Won’t be playing this season. Basically jobless now, stuck at home 24/7.

Mingyu: Except for when I have to stay in the hospital for surgery. Yay, fun.

Mingyu: Anyway, just letting you know before you freak out or something.

He hit send, then leaned back against the couch. But before he could even set his phone down, he heard a familiar notification sound—from the kitchen.

Mingyu’s brows furrowed. That wasn’t his phone.

Slowly, he turned his head, spotting your phone sitting abandoned on the kitchen counter. His lips parted in disbelief before he let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Of all the times for you to forget your phone, it had to be now? He shook his head, rubbing his temple. How could you be clumsier than him? At least he had an excuse—he was injured. But you? You were just naturally chaotic.

Six years ago, you and Mingyu met at a volunteer project for an animal rescue club. You—a self-proclaimed cat lover—had eagerly signed up, hoping to spend your time caring for rescued kittens. Mingyu—a very proud dog person—joined with equal enthusiasm, but for the dogs. Naturally, the two of you had nothing in common.

That was until fate decided to be cruel.

On your first day, you were assigned to work together. Not with kittens. Not with puppies. But with snakes.

Both of you despised snakes. Yet there you were, forced to clean their enclosure, standing stiffly at opposite ends of the room, watching the creatures slither while pretending to be unbothered. That pretense lasted all of five minutes before Mingyu nearly tripped over his own feet, sending you shrieking into a corner. From then on, your dynamic was set—filled with bickering, sarcastic remarks, and the occasional truce when neither of you could deal with a particularly terrifying task.

Fast forward a few months, and somehow, your lives became even more tangled.

Mingyu’s dorm contract was expiring, and he was scrambling to find a new place. Meanwhile, your landlord had suddenly hiked up your rent, making it impossible for you to afford the place on your own. The solution was painfully obvious. So, despite your history of playful feuds, you reached out to him with an offer—split the rent and become roommates.

Mingyu agreed.

And, surprisingly, living with you wasn’t as bad as he had expected. You cooked, you cleaned, and you practically ran the apartment while he was barely home, only crashing on his rare days off. When he did have free time, he’d find you deeply immersed in your work as a linguistic researcher—something he never quite understood, no matter how many times you patiently explained it. But over time, he started noticing little details about you.

One, you loved meditation.

Your yoga mat was always neatly rolled up in the corner, and the scent of aromatherapy candles lingered in the apartment. Some mornings, he’d wake up to the sound of soft instrumental music playing from your room—peaceful, calming, something he’d never admit he actually found nice.

Two, you enjoyed tea and reading.

The kitchen cabinet had an entire shelf dedicated to neatly arranged tea bags, and your mug collection was surprisingly excessive for one person. Whenever Mingyu came home early, he’d often find you curled up on the couch, book in hand, a warm cup of tea beside you. You looked so at ease in those moments that even he, someone who never had the patience to sit still for long, could appreciate the tranquility of it.

Three, you had a cat. Or at least, you claimed to.

This one, however, was a mystery. Mingyu had never seen the cat. Not once. And yet, there was a litter box, a food container labeled with a cat’s name, and bags of cat food neatly tucked away in the cabinet. It didn’t make sense. If you had a cat, where was it? Was it hiding? Was it imaginary? At this point, Mingyu was starting to wonder if you were messing with him.

Mingyu was about to scroll mindlessly on his phone when his ears suddenly caught a faint sound—a soft, whimpering noise coming from right beside him.

His brows furrowed. That was... a cat?

Before he could process it, the blanket next to him shifted, a small lump moving underneath. Then, out of the folds of fabric, a white cat slowly emerged, its fluffy body trembling as it cautiously peeked up at him with wide, round eyes.

Mingyu froze.

For months, he had questioned this cat’s existence and now, here it was, staring right at him. His injury, his frustration, the long, miserable day he would be having—suddenly, none of it mattered. The only thing occupying his mind now was how ridiculously cute this cat was.

"Hey..." Mingyu said softly, barely above a whisper, not wanting to startle the tiny creature.

The cat flinched at the sound of his voice, its small body shivering ever so slightly. Mingyu could feel the hesitation radiating off of it, its big, untrusting eyes locked onto him.

"That's okay," he reassured gently, keeping his voice calm. "I'm Y/n’s roommate. I live here too, just like you."

He stayed perfectly still, giving the cat space, hoping it wouldn't bolt and disappear like some kind of spirit again. A tiny part of him—the competitive part—was determined to win this cat over.

Before Mingyu could even think about reaching out, the white cat suddenly bolted.

In a flash of fur, it leaped off the couch and sprinted across the living room with an urgency that made Mingyu blink. He barely had time to react before the cat launched itself at your bedroom door—and to his absolute shock, it jumped up, grabbed the doorknob with its tiny paws, twisted it, and pushed the door open.

Mingyu sat there, mouth slightly agape.

The door creaked open just enough for the cat to slip inside, and then—slam! The door shut from the inside, as if the cat had personally decided that Mingyu was no longer allowed in its presence.

For a long moment, all Mingyu could do was stare at your now-closed bedroom door, trying to process what had just happened.

Then, finally, he muttered under his breath,

“…Is that actually a cat?”

*

"I met your cat, Caty, yesterday," Mingyu announced as he walked out of his room, his voice still thick with sleep.

You barely glanced at him, focused on the eggs sizzling in the pan. "Want some?" you asked.

Mingyu held up four fingers. "Make it four."

"Put some spinach, please," he added, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You ate all of it two days ago," you shot back instantly.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. He had thought there was still spinach left, only to realize that, yet again, he hadn’t gone grocery shopping in months.

As he took a seat at the counter, he leaned forward on his elbows. "By the way, about Caty," he started, a smirk playing on his lips. "She’s not a cat, right?"

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I mean, she immediately bolted when she saw me," Mingyu said, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused. "Then she—get this—jumped up, twisted the doorknob with her tiny paws, and slammed your bedroom door shut in my face."

He leaned back, laughing at the memory, his deep chuckle filling the kitchen.

"She hates people," you said simply, placing his plate of eggs in front of him. "Especially you."

Mingyu scoffed, clearly offended. "Excuse me? That was the first time she saw me—how could she hate me already?" He crossed his arms dramatically. "Girls will be girls, I guess."

Rolling your eyes, you placed a pair of chopsticks beside his plate before untying your apron and hanging it up.

Mingyu's gaze flickered to your outfit—plaid shirt, sweater, and your signature gray glasses resting on your nose. His brows furrowed. "You're leaving again?"

"I have work," you replied, slipping your bag over your shoulder. "Unlike someone who’s injured and stuck at home for a year."

Mingyu scowled. "That was uncalled for." But then he perked up, grinning. "Still, at least I met your cat."

"Whatever, Mingyu. Caty hates you—just like I hate you. I’m going."

Mingyu burst out laughing. "You love me!" he called after you.

"The opposite!" you yelled back, slamming the door behind you.

Mingyu never thought an injury could slow him down this much. Being forced to stay home, get plenty of rest, and eat healthy, home-cooked meals felt like a punishment at first. But to his surprise, the food was actually good.

He never realized you were this skilled in the kitchen. Sure, he knew you could cook—he had been eating your leftovers and stealing bites from your plates for years—but now that he was home for every meal, he was truly appreciating it. His days were suddenly filled with steaming bowls of soup, neatly arranged side dishes, and hearty meals that made recovery feel a little less miserable.

And the more time he spent at home, the more he realized just how little he actually knew about you.

You had always been the "mystery roommate" in his life—someone who was just there whenever he came back after a long day, quietly keeping the apartment running while he was off chasing his own schedule. But now, with nothing to do but observe, he found himself studying you.

Your routine—or rather, your lack of a consistent one—was oddly amusing to him.

One morning, you were up at dawn, doing yoga on your mat with soft meditation music playing in the background. The next day, you barely rolled out of bed on time, rushing through breakfast while half-asleep.

Some evenings, you came home and immediately sat at the dining table, sipping tea and reading quietly like some calm, sophisticated scholar. Other nights, you collapsed on the couch face-first, dead asleep within seconds.

It was as if you didn’t live by a routine at all—just a collection of habits that changed depending on your mood.

Is that even considered a routine?

But what entertained him the most was just how much you slept.

After work? Nap.

After dinner? Nap.

Before bed? Another nap.

If he were to break down your day, at least 70% of it was spent sleeping.

Mingyu had never met someone so committed to maximizing every second of rest. You woke up exactly one hour before your commuting time, never earlier. Sometimes, you even set multiple alarms just to squeeze in a few extra minutes of sleep.

And the funniest part? Now that Mingyu was home all the time, you started making breakfast for him, too.

Not because you wanted to. But because if you didn’t, Mingyu would guilt-trip you.

"You forgot about my existence, Y/n?" he would dramatically gasp over the phone if he caught you sneaking out without feeding him first.

"You have hands," you would grumble.

"But you make it better," he would whine, and somehow, that always worked.

A week after his first surgery, Mingyu was lazily scrolling on his phone, booking a cab for his rehab appointment when you suddenly spoke up.

"You have rehab today?"

He glanced up, surprised that you even remembered. "Yeah," he mumbled, still tapping at his screen.

"I'll drive you," you said casually.

Mingyu froze mid-scroll.

"You have a car?" he asked, staring at you as if he had just discovered a whole new side of you.

"Yeah?" you replied, confused.

His mouth fell open. "You're rich…"

You snorted. "It's my dad’s."

Mingyu clutched his chest dramatically. "And you're driving me? You’re—" he gasped. "You’re personally escorting me? This is love, isn’t it?"

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your keys. "Just hurry up," you muttered.

Mingyu grinned, slowly getting up from the couch, his movements sluggish as he adjusted his crutches. You waited by the door, watching as he hobbled over at a painfully slow pace.

"This is taking forever," you muttered.

"You try walking with one leg," Mingyu shot back.

Still, even as he struggled, even as he whined the whole way down to the car, he couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

Because, for the first time in forever, you were driving him somewhere. And for some reason, that made his day.

*

During dinner, Mingyu brought up something that had been bugging him for weeks.

"It's been two months, and I still haven’t seen Caty since that first time," he complained between bites, setting his chopsticks down dramatically.

You barely looked up as you reached for a piece of the chicken dish—one that Mingyu had proudly insisted on making that evening, just because he had groceries delivered in the afternoon.

"Why are you so obsessed with my cat?" you asked, popping a bite into your mouth. To your surprise, it was actually good.

"This is good," you admitted, pointing at the chicken.

Mingyu’s lips curled into a smug grin. "Of course it is."

You shook your head at his self-satisfaction and returned to eating, but Mingyu wasn’t about to drop the real conversation.

"Caty is so cute. Her eyes are huge, and her fur is so fluffy. I want to bite her," he said with a dreamy sigh, as if he were talking about some mythical creature he had only encountered once in a vision.

"You saw her just once," you deadpanned.

"And I want to see her again." He leaned forward eagerly. "Come on, where is she? She’s in your room, right?"

You hummed, neither confirming nor denying it, but your head shook slightly. "Caty is a very solitary creature. She doesn’t like company. She doesn’t even like my calm and reserved company."

"Maybe she likes mine," Mingyu said nonchalantly, as if that were the most logical thing in the world.

You rolled your eyes. "Good luck with that."

The conversation drifted to other things as the two of you finished dinner. Later, as you plopped down on the couch, stomach full and ready to unwind, you flipped through the channels until you landed on an animated movie.

Mingyu, with nothing better to do, joined you, stretching out comfortably on the other end of the couch. The movie followed a boy who lived apart from his parents, only for tragedy to strike when they unexpectedly passed away.

A quiet moment settled between you both as you watched. Then, out of curiosity, you asked, "Do you miss your parents?"

Mingyu didn’t hesitate. "Sometimes," he said, his voice casual but thoughtful. "But they don’t live too far. I visit them sometimes."

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the screen, but something about his answer stuck with you.

Mingyu had always been surrounded by people—friends, teammates, fans. Yet, for someone who thrived on companionship, he never really talked about his family.

And for the first time, you found yourself wanting to ask more.

"How was your childhood, Mingyu?" you asked, your voice light but curious.

Mingyu didn’t even hesitate. "I’ve always been a bright child. Very likable, very—"

"Noisy," you muttered under your breath.

Unfortunately, he heard it.

"Hey," he shot you a look, placing a hand over his chest as if you’d deeply wounded him. "I call it opinionated, sweetheart. And my parents were very lovely with their children, by the way."

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I can tell."

Mingyu turned to look at you then. He didn’t like how the atmosphere had shifted. Talking about his sunshine-filled, warm family was natural for him, but it was almost as if… you couldn’t relate.

He wanted to ask.

He wanted to know more about you.

But instead, he changed the subject. "How did you meet Caty?"

You let out an exaggerated sigh, fingers pressing against your temple. "Not with Caty again!"

"Why not? Caty is your family, right? I'd like to know!"

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the screen. "Caty..." you started, your voice unusually soft. "Caty has always been there. She's always been there with me."

Mingyu frowned slightly. "She doesn’t look old."

"We age like fine wine. It’s in our DNA."

Mingyu snorted. "So, she’s your daughter?"

You smiled, but instead of answering, you turned your head back to the movie.

And for the first time, Mingyu really looked at you.

The soft glow from the TV illuminated your face, casting shadows along your features, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the way your lips curled ever so slightly, the way your eyelashes framed your eyes.

You were beautiful.

Like, very beautiful.

And what surprised him the most… was that he had never really noticed before.

*

One night, Mingyu noticed that you hadn’t come out of your room since the afternoon. You hadn’t even touched your dinner. He remembered you mentioning your latest research paper and how much of a pain it had been, but he found it annoying how focused you could get—so much so that you skipped meals without a second thought.

Grabbing his crutch, he slowly made his way toward your door, knocking gently before calling your name.

"Y/n, you haven’t had dinner," he said, eyeing the takeout he had ordered for you hours ago, now cold and untouched.

Silence.

"Y/n?" His voice softened, worry creeping in. "You okay? I'm coming in, alright?"

But when he carefully pushed the door open, he was met with an empty room.

His brows furrowed. You had gone out? Without a word?

He was about to leave when something caught his eye—a small, curled-up figure on your bed, rising and falling gently with each breath.

A white furball.

Caty.

Mingyu's heart skipped a beat. He had been waiting months for this moment.

He stepped inside, moving as quietly as he could, marveling at the sight of the elusive cat finally in the flesh. "Caty…" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, afraid of startling her.

The cat stirred, her ears twitching as she opened her wide, curious eyes. But the moment she realized who was approaching, she immediately scooted away, eyeing him with distrust.

Mingyu huffed, placing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Don't be afraid, Caty. I’m Y/n’s friend. Y/n, your owner, who, by the way, left you all alone tonight. Can you believe that?"

His gaze wandered, and his frown deepened when he spotted her food bowl—completely empty.

"Ah, no wonder you’re grumpy," he muttered, shaking his head.

Determined, he hobbled toward the cabinet where he had seen you store Caty's food before. It took some effort, balancing on one crutch while scooping out the dry kibble, but as soon as he poured it into the dish, Caty sprang to life.

She ran straight to the food, brushing past him as if he was nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle in her path.

Mingyu blinked, then grinned. Progress.

His heart softened as he watched her eat eagerly. "How dare you leave her hungry, Y/n," he mumbled under his breath.

Carefully, he reached out, fingers hesitating just above her fur before finally making contact.

Soft. So soft.

Caty stiffened for a moment but, to Mingyu’s utter delight, she didn’t run. Instead, she let out a quiet purr.

Mingyu clapped a hand over his mouth, barely stopping himself from squealing.

"Oh my god," he whispered, eyes shining. "You’re my favorite cat. Can’t believe Y/n’s been gatekeeping you from me."

Caty continued eating, completely indifferent to his excitement.

Mingyu smirked, scratching behind her ear. "Your loss, Y/n," he murmured smugly. "She's mine now."

*

Mingyu had been grumpier than usual lately—you noticed. Maybe it was the cabin fever from being stuck at home for so long, but he seemed to get irritated over the smallest things.

Your hair strands on the couch? A crime.

Dishes left unwashed? He huffed.

And the worst? When he held up a piece of your underwear he found in the laundry machine with an unimpressed look, only for you to sprint across the room to snatch it from his fingers.

So, when you saw him sprawled on the couch, aimlessly scrolling on his phone, you decided he needed a change of scenery.

“Wanna come with me?”

Mingyu barely looked up. “Where?”

You shrugged. “A field visit. Secluded area, about two hours of driving and an hour on the ferry.”

That got his attention.

His ears perked up, eyes lighting up at the mention of a ferry. “Wait, on a ship?”

You nodded.

He sat up immediately, his boredom vanishing in an instant. “I’m coming. Wait for me.” Without another word, he grabbed his crutch and hobbled toward his room to change.

Not long after, the two of you were on the road, Mingyu comfortably settled in the passenger seat as you drove. You let him choose the playlist, and he happily took on DJ duties, filling the car with upbeat tracks.

As the music played, Mingyu danced along, his upper body swaying dramatically to the beat. You chuckled, half-focused on the road, occasionally singing along to the lyrics you knew.

“Ohhh, you actually know this one?” Mingyu teased, turning up the volume.

“Shut up.”

He grinned, throwing his hands in the air as the chorus hit, and for the first time in days, he looked genuinely happy.

As the road stretched ahead, the rhythm of the music and the hum of the engine filled the space between you. Mingyu was busy drumming his fingers on the dashboard, nodding along to the beat, when you glanced at him and asked,

“How’s rehab going?”

Mingyu blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Oh. It’s… fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders. “It’s just slow. Feels like I’m barely making progress. They keep telling me to be patient, but it’s frustrating.”

You nodded, understanding. “You’re used to moving all the time. Must be hard to slow down.”

Mingyu exhaled through his nose, staring out the window. “Yeah. Feels like I’m stuck.” Then, after a pause, he mumbled, “I kinda hate it.”

You didn’t rush to respond, letting his words settle. Instead, you reached over and gave his knee a small pat before putting your hand back on the wheel.

“You’ll get there,” you said simply. “You just need time.”

Mingyu turned to look at you, and for a moment, he didn’t have a smart remark or playful retort. He just watched you, as if he were seeing you in a different light.

Then, shaking off the weight of the conversation, he suddenly leaned forward and cranked up the volume.

“Alright, no more sad talk. Sing this part with me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing as he dramatically belted out the next lyrics, completely off-key.

The salty breeze whipped through your hair as the ferry glided across the waves, the rhythmic rocking of the ship creating a slow, lulling motion. You leaned against the railing, gazing out at the endless stretch of water, while Mingyu stood beside you, adjusting the strap of the bag he had insisted on carrying for you.

He glanced over, eyes squinting slightly against the sunlight. “So, what exactly are we doing when we get there?”

You turned your head, watching as seagulls circled above. “Just an interview with an old woman for my paper,” you replied. “She has a lot of knowledge about oral traditions in the area.”

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully before grinning. “And after that? We can go sightseeing and eat, right?”

You smirked. “You just want food, don’t you?”

“I always want food,” he declared shamelessly. “You know this.” Then, tilting his head, he asked, “You like seafood, right?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.”

Mingyu hummed, clearly pleased. “Good. Because I’m eating everything.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Try not to bankrupt me.”

“No promises.”

A comfortable silence stretched between you as you both looked out at the open sea. The horizon blurred where the sky met the water, and the sound of waves slapping against the ship’s hull was oddly soothing. Mingyu exhaled, rolling his shoulders.

“This is nice,” he admitted. “Feels like a reset.”

You glanced at him. “You needed a break.”

He nodded. “Yeah. More than I realized.”

You didn’t say anything, but you understood. The months of being stuck at home, of forced stillness, had been suffocating for someone like Mingyu. But now, with the wind in his hair and the vastness of the sea stretching ahead, he looked lighter. More like himself.

“You’re lucky to have work that takes you places,” he mused, watching a fishing boat in the distance.

You smiled. “I think so too.”

Mingyu turned to you then, studying you for a moment. “You really love what you do, huh?”

“I do.”

He hummed in approval before nudging your shoulder lightly. “Alright, then. Let’s get this interview done quickly so we can feast.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

The village was exactly as you had imagined—quiet, nestled between lush green hills and the vast blue sea. The scent of saltwater mixed with the earthiness of the damp ground as you and Mingyu stepped off the ferry, your shoes crunching against the wooden dock.

Mingyu took a deep breath, stretching his arms. "Alright, lead the way, researcher-nim."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, leading him through the narrow streets where elderly locals greeted you with warm smiles. The air buzzed with the faint sound of waves in the distance, children’s laughter echoing from somewhere unseen. Mingyu, ever the curious one, peeked into open storefronts, his eyes lighting up every time he spotted something new.

Your interview with the elderly woman took place in a small, traditional house with wooden floors and the scent of dried herbs lingering in the air. Mingyu, despite not having much to do, listened attentively from the side, nodding along as the woman spoke of old myths and stories passed down through generations. At one point, you caught him staring at you instead, watching the way you took notes, the way your brows furrowed in focus. He quickly looked away when your eyes flickered to him.

When the interview was over, the two of you explored the village, wandering through small paths that led to breathtaking cliffside views. Mingyu took photos, claiming it was for "memories," but he sneakily snapped a few of you when you weren’t looking.

Lunch was a feast—freshly grilled fish, buttery scallops, spicy seafood stew. Mingyu ate with the enthusiasm of a man who had been starving for days, humming in delight with every bite.

“You’re going to cry over food again,” you teased, watching as he closed his eyes in exaggerated bliss.

“I might,” he admitted, stuffing another piece of fish into his mouth. “This is happiness.”

By the time you both decided to head back, the sky had turned a soft shade of orange, the sunset casting golden hues across the water. The ferry ride home was quieter, more peaceful. Mingyu sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours every time the ship swayed.

“Thanks for bringing me today,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned to him, surprised by his sincerity. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy it this much.”

Mingyu chuckled. “Me neither. But I did. A lot.”

The warmth in his voice made something stir inside you, but you pushed it down, nodding as you turned back to the sea.

By the time you reached home, it was already late. The apartment was dark except for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the window. You both kicked off your shoes near the entrance, exhaustion settling into your limbs.

You yawned. “That was a long day.”

Mingyu hummed in agreement, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, but a good one.”

You nodded, reaching to switch on the hallway light when suddenly—

Mingyu grabbed your wrist, turning you toward him. Before you could process what was happening, he took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, warm, familiar in a way that made your stomach flip.

His eyes flickered down to your lips for just a second before he whispered, almost to himself, “I really want to kiss you right now.”

And then he did.

The kiss was slow, unhurried—like he was memorizing the way you felt against him, the way your lips fit together perfectly. His hand slid up to your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm, as if he had been waiting for this for a long time.

You were speechless.

Even after Mingyu pulled away, even after he chuckled softly and rested his forehead against yours, even after the warmth of his lips lingered on yours—you couldn't find a single word to say. Your mind was blank, your heart hammering so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

Mingyu, on the other hand, had a million thoughts racing through his head.

He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t even thought about kissing you before today, at least not consciously. But now that he had, now that he knew what it felt like—soft, warm, and entirely too natural—he didn’t know how to go back.

Because this was you. His friend. The person who had let him crash at her place, who had cooked him meals, who had dealt with his grumpiness and his boredom. You, who he had always seen as someone steady in his life.

And yet, at some point, that steadiness had become something more. He hadn’t realized it until now, until he kissed you and felt the undeniable pull in his chest.

Mingyu swallowed, suddenly feeling like he had crossed a line he wasn’t sure he could retreat from.

“Uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, stepping back slightly, giving you space. “You okay?”

You blinked up at him, lips parted slightly, still trying to process everything.

Mingyu forced a small laugh, trying to mask the sudden conflict waging inside him. “You’re looking at me like I just spoke in an alien language.”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I just… I didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah…” Mingyu shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Me neither.”

Silence stretched between you, the air thick with something neither of you dared to name just yet.

Mingyu glanced at you one more time, his expression unreadable. Then he cleared his throat. “You should get some rest. It’s been a long day.”

You nodded numbly, still dazed.

And as Mingyu walked off to his room, closing the door behind him, he let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending that what he felt for you was just friendship anymore.

*

Mingyu barely got any sleep. The kiss kept replaying in his mind, over and over, as if his brain was determined to dissect every second of it. Was it the right thing to do? Did he just ruin everything? The moment had felt so natural, so inevitable, yet now, in the morning light, doubt clung to him like a shadow.

He sat on the couch, his crutch resting beside him, his fingers drumming against his knee. Normally, by now, he would hear the soft sounds of you moving around—your sleepy footsteps padding into the kitchen, the clatter of dishes as you made breakfast. But today, there was nothing.

His brows furrowed as he glanced at your door. Still shut.

Mingyu pushed himself up, walking over to knock softly. “Y/n?” His voice was gentle, but there was a hint of concern beneath it.

No response.

He frowned, knocking again. “Y/n, you awake?”

Silence. A familiar unease crept up his spine. Don’t tell me you already left?

He hesitated before slowly pushing the door open. And sure enough, your room was empty.

Caty was in the middle of it, lazily sprawled out on your bed, her fluffy tail flicking. The place was messier than usual—blankets half-tangled, papers scattered on your desk, as if you had rushed out in a hurry.

Mingyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You really left without saying anything?” he mumbled to himself, glancing around the room.

Caty, now realizing she had an audience, stretched and let out a tiny chirp before hopping off the bed. She trotted towards Mingyu but got distracted halfway, swatting at a fallen pen instead.

“Caty,” Mingyu called, shaking the kibble container to get her attention. The second she heard the sound, she perked up, immediately scampering toward him. He walked to the kitchen, pouring some food into her dish, watching as she eagerly began eating.

He crouched down, gently rubbing behind her ear. “I see Y/n forgot to feed you again…” he muttered, shaking his head with a small sigh. “She was really in a rush, huh?”

Caty purred under his touch, completely unbothered by the absence. Mingyu, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in his chest.

You left without waking him up. Without a single word.

Did it have something to do with the kiss?

Mingyu didn’t like the way that thought made his stomach twist.

He exhaled heavily, leaning against the counter as Caty purred beside his hand, rubbing her head against his fingers like she had finally accepted him as an ally.

“At least you don’t hate me,” Mingyu muttered, scratching under her chin.

*

That week, Mingyu finally ditched the crutch—a massive milestone in his recovery. It felt liberating, almost like reclaiming a piece of himself he hadn’t realized he’d lost. But as he walked into the apartment, feeling lighter than he had in weeks, he noticed something else.

You were on the couch, curled up with a book, a steaming cup of tea in your hand. The sight was so... normal. A stark contrast to the avoidance act you had been pulling lately. If Mingyu counted correctly, he had seen Caty more than he had seen you this past week—a fact he wasn’t sure he wanted to categorize as progress or not.

"Hey," he greeted, setting his keys down.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, and for the first time in days, you actually smiled at him. "You're walking now," you noted, putting your book aside, your attention fully on him.

Mingyu smirked, stepping further into the room. "Not just walking," he said, twirling on the spot with exaggerated grace. "I can even ballet."

It was meant to be a joke, an attempt to break through the strange tension hanging between you two. But even as you let out a small chuckle, neither of you could ignore how much thicker the silence had become.

The kiss still lingered in the space between you, unspoken but impossible to forget.

Mingyu hesitated for a moment before finally lowering himself onto the couch beside you. He didn’t sit too close, giving you space, but he was near enough that you could feel his warmth. The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words.

He cleared his throat. "So…" He drummed his fingers on his knee, glancing at you before looking away. "About that night."

Your grip on your cup tightened slightly, but you said nothing. Mingyu caught the shift in your expression, the way your lips pressed together as if bracing yourself. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he also didn’t want to pretend nothing had happened.

"I don’t want to pressure you or anything," he said carefully, his voice softer now. "I just… I don’t regret it, you know?" He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t want you to think it was just some impulsive thing that didn’t mean anything to me. Because it did."

Your fingers traced the rim of your cup, eyes fixed on the steam rising from your tea. "Mingyu…" You started, then stopped, as if searching for the right words.

He didn’t rush you. He just watched, waiting.

"I just didn’t expect it," you finally admitted, still not meeting his gaze. "And I don’t know what it means for us."

Mingyu nodded slowly. That was fair. You had been friends, living under the same roof, never crossing that line—until now. "I don’t know either," he admitted with a small chuckle, leaning back against the couch. "But I do know that I like you."

This time, your eyes snapped up to his. Mingyu smiled, not teasing, not playful—just honest. "And I’m okay with figuring it out together. No pressure. No rush."

He could see the conflict in your eyes, the thoughts racing through your mind. But he also saw something else—something softer, something hesitant but not entirely unwilling.

Your amusement faded as quickly as it came. You set your cup down on the table, fingers lacing together in your lap as you exhaled slowly. "Mingyu… you shouldn’t like me."

His brows furrowed, the lightness in his expression fading. "What do you mean?"

You hesitated, pressing your lips together. There was a part of you that wanted to let this happen, to let yourself believe in the warmth he was offering. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew that if he found out the truth, he would regret ever feeling this way.

"There are things about me you don’t know," you said quietly. "Things I can’t tell you."

Mingyu frowned but didn’t interrupt. He was patient—he always was with you.

You swallowed, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands. "If you knew… if you found out, you’d regret this. You’d regret ever letting yourself feel that way about me."

Mingyu’s jaw tightened. "That’s not fair," he said, voice firm but gentle. "You’re deciding for me how I’d feel without even giving me a choice."

You finally looked at him, and he saw it—the fear in your eyes, the weight of something you were carrying alone. "Because I know what it would do to you," you whispered.

Mingyu shook his head. "Y/n, whatever it is, I—"

"You don’t," you cut him off, standing abruptly. "You don’t know, Mingyu. And I can’t—" You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply. "I can’t let you get caught up in it."

He stood too, searching your face, his frustration evident. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

"But I have to," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "Because I’d rather be the bad guy now than let you hate me later."

Mingyu stared at you, his heart pounding. He didn’t know what you were hiding, but he knew one thing for sure—you were terrified. Not of him, but of whatever secret you were keeping.

And that only made him more certain.

"I’m not walking away," he said, his voice steady. "No matter how much you try to push me away, I’m not going anywhere."

You looked at him, eyes conflicted, torn between hope and fear. But before you could say anything, Mingyu stepped back, giving you space. "I won’t force you to tell me," he said softly. "But I hope one day, you trust me enough to let me in."

And with that, he turned and walked toward his room, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your carefully built walls cracking just a little.

*

You sat at your desk, staring at the open document on your laptop, but the words blurred together, refusing to make sense. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. Your head ached from the lack of sleep, your body felt sluggish, and your mind was stretched thin from everything—your workload, the constant deadlines, your barely functioning routine, your health that you hadn’t been taking care of, and most of all… Mingyu.

You pressed your palms against your face, exhaling shakily. Everything was piling up, suffocating you. The late nights, the skipped meals, the self-imposed isolation—it was all catching up to you, and now Mingyu, with his unwavering presence, his persistence, his feelings, was another thing you didn’t know how to handle.

You shouldn’t have let it get this far.

Your chest felt tight as you leaned back in your chair, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Mingyu wasn’t supposed to look at you like that—with warmth, with patience, with something deeper that you weren’t ready to name. He wasn’t supposed to tell you he liked you. He wasn’t supposed to fight to stay when you were doing everything to push him away.

And yet… he was still here.

You knew he was in the next room, probably watching something on his phone or reading messages in the group chat. You could hear the occasional shuffling, the sound of video played on his phone. It was comforting, but also suffocating in its own way. Because you wanted to believe in the comfort, but you couldn’t afford to.

Not when you were already breaking under the weight of everything else.

You ran a hand through your hair, gripping the strands in frustration. Your schedule was a mess, your health was deteriorating because you barely had time to take care of yourself, and your work wasn’t slowing down. The pressure was relentless. And now Mingyu—Mingyu, with his steady eyes and his stubborn heart—was making it harder to keep things in check.

A part of you wanted to walk into the living room and tell him everything. To let yourself lean on someone for once. But you couldn’t.

Because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to stop. And you couldn’t afford to fall apart.

Not now.

Your breath was shallow, uneven. The weight pressing against your chest refused to ease, your hands trembling as you clutched your desk for stability. The walls of your room felt like they were closing in, suffocating you with the pressure you had been trying so hard to suppress.

No. Not now. Not this.

You pushed yourself up, pacing in an attempt to ground yourself, but your legs felt weak, and the buzzing in your head only grew louder. You needed water—maybe that would help. Maybe if you cooled down, if you just focused on something else, the panic wouldn’t consume you.

Your steps were unsteady as you walked out of your room, hands gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as you reached for a glass. The water was cold against your lips, but even as you gulped it down, it did little to ease the storm inside you.

And then, you felt it.

The dizziness. The telltale warmth flooding through your limbs. The sensation that always preceded the shift.

No. No, no, no.

Not now. Not here. Not with Mingyu in the apartment.

You gripped the counter tighter, willing your body to stop, to fight it, but it was too late. The overwhelming sensation crashed into you, your vision blurring, your balance giving out. You barely registered the sound of the glass slipping from your fingers, shattering against the floor, before your body gave in.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was Mingyu.

Standing at his door.

Eyes wide.

Mouth slightly open.

Frozen in place.

Watching as you—

Became Caty.

*

Mingyu jolted awake, gasping for air as he found himself lying on the cold floor. His head pounded, his heart racing in his chest. What the hell just happened?

He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the moment before his eyes landed on the small figure sitting beside him.

Caty.

The white-furred feline stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes, her fluffy tail curling neatly around her paws. She looked normal—just a cat, nothing out of the ordinary.

But that was the problem.

Mingyu let out a strangled, surprised noise and immediately scooted back, his body dragging against the floor as he put distance between himself and the animal. His breath was uneven as his mind scrambled for explanations.

Was it his medication? Had the lingering effects of his painkillers messed with his head? No—he hadn’t taken them in days. Was it exhaustion? A hallucination? But he had quit drinking. Why would he be seeing things now?

His eyes darted toward the kitchen. The shattered glass glistened under the dim lighting, water pooling around the broken shards. His gaze then shifted to your bedroom—wide open, empty.

He was sure you had been there.

He was sure he had seen you.

And then—

Mingyu swallowed hard, eyes flickering back to Caty.

Was it real?

Had he really seen you shrinking—morphing—into a cat?

Was Caty… you?

Mingyu swallowed the lump in his throat, staring at Caty like she might suddenly start speaking. His mind screamed at him that this wasn’t possible, but his gut told him otherwise. He had seen it—hadn’t he?

Slowly, he sat up, never taking his eyes off the small creature. He needed to confirm it somehow.

"Y/n…?" His voice was hoarse, hesitant. "If—if that’s really you, can you… meow?"

Silence.

Caty blinked once but didn’t move.

Mingyu exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Uh, can you—jump?" He pointed at the couch, waiting, hoping for any kind of response.

Nothing.

Caty just sat there, tail twitching slightly, ears perked.

Mingyu frowned, his frustration growing. He had to be losing his mind. "Alright, what about sitting? Oh, wait—you’re already sitting," he mumbled to himself, rubbing his temples. "Fine, then. Blink twice if you’re Y/n."

Caty blinked.

Once.

Mingyu held his breath.

Caty licked her paw and started grooming herself.

Mingyu let out a strangled groan, slumping back against the floor. "Oh my god, I’m losing it," he muttered, staring up at the ceiling. "This isn't real. This isn’t happening."

But no matter how much he tried to convince himself, his eyes kept drifting back to Caty—who sat there, unmoving, watching him with those all-too-familiar eyes.

Mingyu sighed as he crouched down, carefully picking up the shattered glass pieces from the kitchen floor. The mess was everywhere—your discarded clothes near the counter, the spilled water, the broken glass. It felt surreal.

Above him, Caty sat perched on the kitchen counter, watching his every move. Her tail swayed lazily, but her eyes never left him. It was unsettling.

Mingyu exhaled, shaking his head as he reached for the broom. "Okay, so let’s go over this again," he muttered, mostly to himself, but also to the silent feline observer. "You were standing here. You tried to drink water, and then—bam! You turned into a cat."

Caty’s ears twitched.

Mingyu dumped the glass shards into the trash and wiped his hands on his sweats. He glanced at the pile of clothes on the floor—the ones you had been wearing just minutes ago. His face heated up at the realization.

"Oh my god, this is insane," he whispered, running a hand through his hair. He turned to Caty, pointing at her. "So all this time… you were Caty?"

Silence.

Mingyu let out a breathy laugh, though there was no humor in it. "You’ve been sleeping on the couch. Sitting on my lap. I even fed you tuna last week!" He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh my god. Oh my god."

Caty just blinked at him, expression unreadable.

Mingyu leaned against the counter, staring at her. "You know, the least you could do is react. Maybe a guilty meow? A tail flick? Something?"

Caty licked her paw and groomed her face.

Mingyu groaned again. "This is ridiculous. I—I need a drink. Wait, no, I quit drinking." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need answers."

His eyes met Caty's again, and this time, there was something different—something knowing.

"You really are Y/n, aren’t you?" he whispered.

Caty finally did something. She blinked. Twice.

Mingyu let out a deep sigh, staring at the ceiling as Caty—you—sat comfortably on his stomach. He had never been a cat person, but here he was, hosting the biggest secret of his life on his body, staring at him with those too-familiar eyes.

"This is insane," he muttered, gently poking your tiny forehead. "I should be freaking out more, right? Like… panicking, losing my mind. But no, here I am, talking to a cat—you—like this is normal."

Caty blinked slowly.

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his face. "You’re not gonna talk, huh?" He tried again, looking at you. "Maybe blink twice if you can understand me?"

You just stared at him.

Mingyu huffed. "Okay. You’re either messing with me, or you really can’t answer like this." He let his head fall back against the couch. "Either way, you’ll probably shift back soon, right?"

That thought struck him suddenly. If you turned back into a human, you’d be—Mingyu’s eyes widened. "Crap, you’re gonna need clothes!"

He carefully moved you off his stomach and onto the couch before rushing to his room. Grabbing a couple of blankets, he returned and draped them over the cushions. "Here. If you shift back while sleeping, just—just wrap yourself in these, okay?"

He pointed at the blankets and then at you. "Inside them when you sleep, alright? Caty? Y/n? Whoever you are!"

You flicked your tail, making him sigh.

"Okay, fine. Ignore me." Mingyu plopped back onto the couch, still watching you with curiosity and concern. His head was still spinning, but there was nothing he could do except wait.

The next morning, Mingyu stirred awake to the soft glow of sunlight seeping through the curtains. He stretched, muscles stiff from sleeping on the couch, before something caught his attention.

There, curled up under his blankets, was you.

Not Caty. You.

Mingyu stilled. His breath hitched as he sat up, staring at your peaceful face. The blanket was wrapped securely around you, your hair a little messy from sleep, but there was no doubt—you had shifted back.

It was real. All of it.

Mingyu leaned back against the couch, exhaling slowly. "Holy shit."

Caty had been you all this time.

*

You sat on the couch, a human-sized bundle of blankets, while Mingyu stood in front of you like a detective who had just uncovered the most absurd case of his life. His arms were crossed, his jaw slightly dropped, and his eyes were scanning you as if expecting you to sprout whiskers at any moment.

"So… you are Caty?" he asked slowly, as if hoping he had misheard himself.

You nodded, peeking up at him from the cocoon of warmth.

"You shift into a cat," he continued, his voice a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. "Am I right?"

Another nod. This time, you kept your gaze firmly on the coffee table.

"So you're human… but you can also turn into a cat?"

You nodded again, bracing yourself.

Mingyu opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again—like a fish trying to form words but failing. And then, as if his brain short-circuited, he let out a loud, exasperated groan and ruffled his hair so aggressively it looked like he’d been caught in a wind tunnel.

"You should’ve just told me it was all a dream!" he burst out, pacing the living room. "Or that I was hallucinating! That I was seeing things! Y/n, what the hell?! How—why—how does a human just shrink into a—into a cat?!"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, pulling the blankets tighter around yourself like they could somehow shield you from his meltdown.

Mingyu let out another deep breath, his hands on his hips. He turned away for a second, mumbling something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "I quit drinking for this?" before whipping back around to face you.

"Okay, wait. You said it happens when you're stressed?"

You gave a small, pitiful nod.

Mingyu blinked, as if this somehow made less sense than before. His brows knitted together in deep thought before he squinted at you suspiciously.

"So… all this time, when I was talking to Caty… was that you? Were you ignoring me on purpose?"

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head frantically. "No! That was Caty! I—I can't control myself when I shift. It’s like… I become the cat version of me, but I don’t remember anything when I change back."

Mingyu opened his mouth again, closed it, rubbed his temples, and then let out a long sigh as he dropped onto the couch beside you.

"This is insane," he muttered, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to his problems.

You swallowed hard, watching him carefully. He looked like he was either going to burst into another round of questions or possibly combust.

Then, after a long, heavy pause, Mingyu exhaled deeply, shook his head, and mumbled, "Of course the girl I like turns into a damn cat."

Mingyu sat there in stunned silence, his brain slowly piecing everything together like a detective in a crime drama—except the crime was you being a cat.

He turned to you, eyes narrowing in deep concentration. “Wait a minute.”

You tensed. “What?”

His gaze scanned you like he was seeing you for the first time. Then, his mouth fell open as realization hit him like a truck. “Oh my God.”

You blinked. “…What?”

Mingyu shot up from the couch, pointing at you like he had just solved the biggest mystery of the century. “It all makes sense now!”

You pulled the blankets tighter, suddenly very nervous. “…What does?”

“All of it! Your hobbies—meditating, reading, and drinking tea—you do everything to reduce stress. And your sleeping habits!” He started pacing. “You nap all the time, and you hate waking up early. You curl up in the weirdest positions when you sleep—like a cat!”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “I—I do not—”

“Oh, you do!” Mingyu pointed an accusatory finger. “And your attitude—how you act all distant sometimes, but the next moment you’re affectionate? Total cat behavior! And don’t even get me started on how you disappear for hours and then show up like nothing happened!”

You sank deeper into the blankets, heart pounding. He was way too good at this.

Mingyu continued, voice getting louder with every revelation. “You love warm places! You always complain when it’s too cold, and you sit next to the heater like your life depends on it!” He gasped. “And the hair! The random strands of hair I keep finding on my clothes—it was you!”

“I mean—technically, it was still my human hair—”

“And the way you stare at me sometimes, like you’re silently judging me but won’t tell me why! That’s such a cat thing to do!”

You opened your mouth to argue but… well. He wasn’t wrong.

Mingyu groaned, running his hands down his face. “How did I not see this sooner?”

You bit your lip, guilt creeping in. “I—I wanted to tell you, but—”

He spun around, eyes wide. “Oh my God. I bathed you.”

You winced. “Oh. Really?”

He pointed at you again. “I carried you like a baby after you fell asleep on my lap! I let you sleep in my bed!”

“…You must had volunteered that one.”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE A REGULAR CAT, Y/N!”

You shrank under his intense stare, whispering, “I was a regular cat at the time…”

Mingyu let out a strangled noise, like his brain was overheating. He collapsed back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. “I need a minute. Or maybe ten.”

You hesitated before mumbling, “…You still fed me tuna.”

Mingyu groaned into his hands. “I fed you tuna.”

Silence stretched between you before he finally peeked at you through his fingers. “Okay. So you turn into a cat when you’re stressed. But why? How?”

You sighed, tugging at the blanket. “It’s… complicated.”

Mingyu exhaled sharply. “Y/n, everything about this situation is complicated.” He tilted his head at you, still processing. “But somehow… it still makes sense.”

You blinked. “It does?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s weird, but it’s you. And honestly, the cat thing explains a lot.”

You stared at him, heart stuttering in your chest. After all this—after watching you shift, realizing you had basically been living a double life, learning he had bathed and fed you tuna—he was still sitting here, talking to you like you were just… you.

Maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t the worst-case scenario after all.

*

From that day on, Mingyu became obsessed with monitoring your stress levels.

It started small—like when you reached for your morning coffee, and he immediately snatched it away.

“Caffeine increases stress,” he said, squinting at you like a scientist observing a volatile experiment. “You could shift if you get too anxious.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Mingyu, I won’t turn into a cat just because I drink coffee.”

He didn’t look convinced. “I don’t know, Y/n. You shift when you're stressed. What if caffeine speeds up the process?”

“Mingyu—”

He grabbed a tea bag and handed it to you. “Just to be safe.”

You glared. “I don't want tea.”

“You don't want shifting in front of me more.”

You wanted to argue, but… fair point.

Then it escalated.

Every time you sighed even slightly too heavily, he’d whip around like you had just announced you were about to combust.

“Are you stressed? Are you shifting? Should I get a blanket?”

“I just sighed, Mingyu.”

“Yeah, but was it a regular sigh or a cat-inducing sigh?”

“Oh my God.”

At one point, he even started doing random check-ins.

“You good?” he’d ask, mid-lunch, mouth full of food.

“Yes, Mingyu.”

“You sure? No tiny paws incoming?”

“I swear to God.”

Even when you were peacefully reading, he'd suddenly lean in, staring suspiciously at you. “You seem tense.”

“I am tense,” you deadpanned, “because you keep asking if I’m tense.”

“So you are stressed?”

“Mingyu.”

He hummed in thought. “Should I get some chicken? Maybe chicken will help.”

You threw a pillow at his face.

And the worst part? You actually started feeling stressed because of him.

At work? You were fine. Dealing with your schedule? Manageable. But Mingyu constantly watching you, gasping dramatically whenever you so much as blinked too hard?

That was starting to become a real problem.

One night, after yet another "Are you feeling shifty?" question, you groaned and flopped onto the couch, burying your face in a pillow. “Mingyu, I swear, if I shift into a cat, it’s going to be your fault.”

Mingyu gasped. “So I am stressing you out?”

“Yes!” You shot up, glaring at him. “You’re so paranoid that I’m going to turn into a cat that you’re actually making it more likely to happen!”

His eyes widened like he had just uncovered a terrible truth. “Oh my God.”

“Oh my God, what?”

Mingyu clasped his hands together. “So what you’re saying is… I’m your trigger?”

You blinked. “That’s not—”

His face lit up. “Does this mean I have power over your shifting?”

You groaned, throwing yourself back onto the couch. “I give up.”

Mingyu, now grinning like a kid who had discovered a new toy, leaned over you. “Don’t worry, Y/n. I promise to use my powers wisely.”

You peeked up at him. “If you ever use this as an excuse to mess with me—”

“I would never,” he said, hand over his heart. Then, after a beat, he smirked. “But, you know… if I ever need a cute little furball to do my bidding—”

“Mingyu.”

He laughed, dodging the second pillow you threw at him.

Mingyu was out grocery shopping when something in the pet accessories aisle caught his eye—a delicate, silver cat collar with a tiny pendant hanging from it.

He picked it up, examining the details. It wasn’t just any collar; it had an adjustable strap and a small locket that could be opened to store a tiny piece of paper inside.

"You can adjust the size, sir," a salesperson said, approaching him with a polite smile. She took the collar from his hands and demonstrated how it worked.

Mingyu nodded, intrigued. It was simple but elegant—something you would probably like.

"How old is your cat?" the salesperson asked casually.

Mingyu blinked. Well. Technically, you and Caty were the same age, and there was no way in hell he was about to blurt out, Oh, she’s 27, actually.

"Uh… four?" he answered, hoping that was a reasonable number.

The salesperson beamed. "Oh, how sweet! This locket is great for adventurous cats. You can write their name inside—or even a personal contact number, just in case they like to wander off."

Mingyu nearly laughed. You liked to wander off. You loved adventure. If anyone needed a tag in case they went missing, it was you.

As ridiculous as it was, he suddenly found himself imagining slipping this around your neck—not just when you were Caty, but even as yourself. It would be a little secret between the two of you, a playful reminder that he knew your real secret.

Yeah. This would make a great gift.

Grinning to himself, he grabbed the collar and headed toward the cashier.

*

During dinner, Mingyu suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, sliding it across the table toward you.

“I got you something,” he announced, leaning back with a smug grin.

You looked at him suspiciously before picking up the box and opening it. The moment your eyes landed on the contents, you froze.

"You got me what?"

"A collar," Mingyu repeated, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked at him. “Mingyu. I’m human.”

He nodded, completely unfazed. “And also a cat.”

You groaned, closing the box with an exaggerated sigh. "Not this again."

“Hey, listen—it's adjustable! And I got one with a little pendant so I could write my number inside. Y'know, in case you ever shift outside and get lost.”

You shot him a deadpan look. “You seriously think I’m going to wake up in an alley one day and some stranger will check my collar for your number?”

Mingyu shrugged. “It’s just a precaution. Plus, it was pretty expensive, so you better appreciate it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Where did you even find this?”

“Hm…” He scratched his chin, pretending to recall. “You know, at—” He paused for dramatic effect. “—E-Mart.”

You let out a scoff. “So you just casually browse the pet aisle for gifts now?”

“Only for my special cat-human hybrid roommate.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to push the box back toward him, but Mingyu was already reaching over. Mingyu’s fingers brushed against your skin as he adjusted the collar, the cool metal of the clasp briefly pressing against the nape of your neck before he fastened it in place. His touch was light—careful, almost reverent—as if he didn’t want to startle you, as if this ridiculous gesture somehow held more weight than either of you had expected.

When he finally leaned back, his gaze lingered on you, a slow smile stretching across his face. There was something different in the way he looked at you—not just teasing amusement, but something softer, something unreadable.

The air between you shifted, quiet and thick with unspoken things. The usual banter was missing, the jokes fading into something more uncertain. Mingyu wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smirking. He was just looking at you, his brown eyes warm, thoughtful, studying you in a way that made your pulse stutter for a second.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your breath hitched.

It was just a word, a casual compliment, but something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, or the way his gaze softened ever so slightly, like he had never really looked at you like this before. Like he was seeing something new—something more.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the collar resting against your skin, the weight of it foreign yet oddly grounding. “It’s—” Your voice wavered, and you cleared your throat. “It’s just a collar, Mingyu.”

He grinned, the spell breaking just slightly, but his eyes never lost that unreadable glint. “Yeah. Just a collar.”

And yet, as you sat there, your fingers brushing the pendant absentmindedly, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had changed. Even the air felt different—charged, expectant.

You had spent so long keeping a distance, so long making sure that Mingyu never got too close. But now, sitting here with his warmth still lingering near you, with the way his gaze held just a fraction too long, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—it was already too late.

The moment Mingyu pulled your wrist, you barely had time to react before his lips were on yours. It wasn’t rushed or playful like you would have expected—it was slow, deep, and entirely consuming. His hands found their way to your waist, grounding you as he leaned into you, his body warm and solid against yours.

Without thinking, your arms lifted, slipping around his neck as he crouched down to meet you properly. The chair beneath you felt distant, the dinner forgotten. All you could focus on was the way his lips moved against yours—gentle yet insistent, like he was memorizing every second of it.

His fingers curled slightly against your waist, and a shiver ran down your spine. There was no hesitation in the way he kissed you, no uncertainty—just quiet, deliberate affection. It wasn’t like the first time, the one that had left you confused and shaken. This time, there was no doubt.

Mingyu was kissing you because he wanted to. Because he meant it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you slightly breathless. His hands stayed on your waist, thumbs tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your shirt.

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were darker now, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but felt all too clearly.

“You…” You swallowed, trying to gather your thoughts, but the words felt tangled in your throat.

Mingyu exhaled a soft laugh, his breath fanning against your skin. “Yeah.” His voice was quieter than usual, almost tender. “Me.”

Your heart pounded, but this time, you didn’t want to run. Not when his hands were still holding you close. Not when his lips were still tingling against yours. Not when, for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

The moment your fingers tightened around the collar of his shirt and you pulled him back in, Mingyu knew—dinner was over. The food, the conversation, the playful banter about the ridiculous collar—it all faded into the background.

His lips met yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation. Mingyu took it as a sign, as permission, as everything he had been waiting for. His hands moved instinctively, one sliding up to cup your face, the other pressing against your back, pulling you closer. The chair scraped slightly against the floor as you shifted, molding into him, deepening the kiss like neither of you could get enough.

Mingyu wasn’t gentle anymore—not because he wanted to rush, but because he needed you, and he was finally letting himself show it. The way your fingers tangled in his hair, the way your breaths mingled between kisses, the way your body leaned into his—it sent his heart into overdrive.

He barely registered how he had lifted you, how your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as he carried you away from the table. The scent of dinner was still in the air, but all he could focus on was you. The way your lips never left his, the way your hands explored, the way his name came out in whispers between breaths.

By the time he reached his bedroom, both of you were already lost in each other, in the heat, in the pull, in the undeniable truth that this had been building for far too long.

Mingyu wasn’t thinking anymore. He was feeling. And right now, he felt like he needed you more than anything else in the world.

Mingyu’s breath was warm against your skin as he hovered over you, his lips brushing against your cheek before trailing down to your jaw. His voice was barely above a whisper, but every word sent a shiver through your body.

“I like you,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I want you… I need you.”

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could hear it. His words weren’t just words—they were filled with something raw, something real. The weight of his body against yours, the way his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns on your skin, the way his gaze held yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away—it was overwhelming.

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. Mingyu noticed, his lips curving into a soft, almost teasing smile as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “Are you nervous?”

You exhaled, trying to steady yourself, but the truth was, it wasn’t just nerves. It was him. The way he made you feel—like he could unravel you with just a look, like he was seeing all of you and still wanting more.

Mingyu leaned in again, his forehead resting against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with restraint.

Your breath hitched, panic creeping into your veins as your body tensed beneath him. The warmth of Mingyu’s touch, the weight of his body pressing into yours—it was too much. Not in a bad way, but in a way that sent your heartbeat into overdrive, your nerves firing off alarms you couldn’t ignore.

You could feel it happening.

The shift.

Your skin prickled, a deep sensation rolling through your bones, telling you that your body was about to betray you at the worst possible moment.

“Mingyu—” you gasped, trying to warn him, trying to push against his chest, but he was too lost in you. His lips dragged over the sensitive skin of your neck, down to your collarbone, his grip firm as he held you in place, his breath heavy with desire.

“You’re beautiful, Y/n,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with emotion.

Don’t say that, Mingyu… You clenched your eyes shut, your head spinning. Your stomach twisted, your blood rushed too fast, too hot. It was coming. It was coming.

You barely managed to shove at his shoulder before it happened.

Your world tilted. Your limbs curled inward. The familiar dizziness hit you like a freight train, and before you could even process it—

Poof.

The weight of the blankets suddenly felt ten times heavier. The warmth of Mingyu’s body was gone.

And in his place?

A very, very stunned man, now lying chest-down on the mattress, his arms empty where you had just been.

“...What the—?” Mingyu blinked, slowly lifting himself up, eyes searching the space where you had been seconds ago.

And then, finally, his gaze landed on the small bundle of fur now tangled in his sheets.

Silence.

Pure, deafening silence.

Mingyu sat there for a long moment, his brain clearly short-circuiting. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, voice flat.

“You have to be kidding me.”

*

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You stirred awake, your body stretching instinctively against the soft sheets—only to realize, with a jolt, that you were naked. Your breath hitched as your fingers clenched around the blanket, pulling it tighter around you. The air smelled like Mingyu—like warmth, like home.

Then, a voice, teasing and low—

"Awake, kitty cat?"

Your head snapped toward the doorway, where Mingyu stood leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching you with barely contained amusement. His dark eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but his smirk told you everything.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered—Mingyu, his hands, his lips, the way your body reacted to him, the way your nerves got the best of you—oh god.

Mingyu pushed off the doorframe and walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze never leaving yours. Instinctively, your arms tightened around the blanket, shielding yourself from the weight of his stare.

"I still can't believe it," he mused, shaking his head. "Caty really did that." He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before giving you a pointed look. "Do you have any idea how traumatizing it is to be cockblocked by a cat? A cat that just so happens to be you?"

You swallowed, cheeks burning.

Mingyu let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to gently tug the blanket away from your face. His fingers brushed through your hair, a quiet tenderness in the way he touched you.

Then, his voice dropped, turning serious. "After last night…" He hesitated, his thumb grazing your temple. "You know we can’t just go back to being friends, right?"

Your heart pounded in your chest.

"I like you, Y/n," he confessed, his tone unwavering. "So much that I wanted you. And I could feel it last night—you wanted me too. But you were nervous." His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm, grounding. "And then you shifted."

Shame curled in your stomach, and you lowered your gaze. "I'm sorry…" you whispered.

But Mingyu shook his head. "No, don’t be sorry. I get it now." He exhaled, his hand moving down to grasp yours. "But please—tell me you want this too. Tell me we’re together."

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. He wasn’t just asking for an answer—he was asking for you. And you knew, despite everything, despite the chaos, despite the impossible nature of what you were—you wanted him too.

"But Mingyu… I'm a cat," you whispered, your fingers gripping the sheets tighter. "I can shift anytime—just like last night. And..." Your voice wavered as you swallowed hard. "I can't even communicate with you when Caty takes over. You don’t understand how—how frustrating that is. How helpless it feels."

Mingyu sighed, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as if afraid you'd slip away—not just figuratively, but literally. His brows furrowed as he looked at you, deep in thought, but there was no hesitation in his expression.

"So?" He said simply, tilting his head.

You blinked. "So?"

"So what if you’re a cat sometimes?" He shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "I mean, yeah, it’s insane. But you think that’s enough to make me not want you?"

You bit your lip, eyes flickering downward. "Mingyu… I shifted right in the middle of—of that last night. That’s not normal. I can’t control it. What if it happens again?"

Mingyu dragged a hand down his face, exhaling heavily before leaning closer. "Then we deal with it," he said, voice softer now. "We figure it out. And maybe next time, we make sure you’re not stressed, huh?"

You frowned. "You stress me out most of the time."

Mingyu gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "Me?! No way."

You shot him a flat look, but he only grinned, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Look," he continued, "it’s a little complicated, sure. But Y/n, I like you. Whether you’re human or a cat, whether you ignore me as Caty or let me kiss you as Y/n—I like you."

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart tightening in your chest.

"Besides," he added, flashing you a lopsided smile, "if you shift again, I’ll just put your little collar on. That way, if you run away, at least people will know you belong to me."

Your mouth fell open. "Mingyu!"

He burst into laughter as you smacked his arm, but the warmth in his eyes never faded. You wanted to argue, to tell him how ridiculous this all was, how dangerous it could be. But the way he looked at you—like shifting into a cat in the middle of making out was just another small inconvenience, like it didn’t change the way he felt about you—made you wonder.

Maybe this wasn’t so impossible after all.

*

Mingyu came home after practice, greeted by an unsettling silence. The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow from the city lights seeping through the curtains. He stepped inside, his muscles aching from the long day, and made his way to the bathroom. After a quick shower, he changed into his pajamas, slipped on his wedding band, and went to find you.

It was already past ten, but the quiet felt unusual. You were a night owl, always awake, always up to something. Yet tonight, not even the hum of the TV or the soft clatter of your late-night snacking filled the space.

“Babe, where are you?” Mingyu’s voice echoed slightly in the stillness, laced with growing concern. He checked his phone, scrolling through his messages—he had texted you earlier, letting you know he’d be late because of practice. No reply.

A frown settled on his face. "Did she go out?" he muttered, not liking the idea one bit. The thought of you wandering around alone, pregnant, made his stomach twist.

It still amazed him how much life had changed. When he first met you, he never imagined falling this hard. But after months together, he knew—he knew—you were the one. Through all the ups and downs, his knee surgery, his return to the team, he always came back to you. Marrying you was the easiest decision he’d ever made.

Meeting your family, however, had been chaotic. He would never forget the way your father—so nervous about meeting his future son-in-law—had turned into a cat right in front of him. Then there was your brother, Wonwoo, who had also shifted into a sleek black cat the moment he found out you were pregnant before marriage. Mingyu had nearly lost it. But somehow, after all that madness, things smoothed over, and now, he was officially part of the cat family.

And now, with you seven months pregnant, he was counting down the days until he could hold his baby girl. Though, he did have a sneaking suspicion that one day, she too might randomly turn into a cat.

But that was fine. Mingyu had long since accepted that cats—especially you—were cute.

"Baby?" His voice carried through the apartment as he checked the master bedroom. Empty. The nursery? Empty. His frown deepened. Where the heck is she?

Feeling increasingly uneasy, Mingyu perched on the barstool and dialed your number. The moment he hit call, he heard a faint rustling noise. His head snapped toward the pantry.

A breath of relief escaped him. There you are.

But when he opened the pantry door, he didn’t find you.

Instead, he found Caty.

A very pregnant Caty.

Mingyu groaned, rubbing his temples as his gaze shifted to your phone and the pile of clothes discarded beside her.

"Not this again," he sighed, exasperated but unsurprised.

Shaking his head, he scooped Caty into his arms, along with your things, cradling the small, fluffy body of his very human wife-turned-cat.

"You just had to stress yourself out, didn’t you?" he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Caty’s head as he carried you back to bed.

“What was it this time? Did you watch a sad movie? Did Wonwoo say something weird again? Or was it me? It’s me, isn’t it?”

Caty—you—only flicked an ear in response.

Mingyu huffed, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen this coming,” he muttered, glancing down at your small, round belly. “You’re literally seven months pregnant, Y/n. You can’t just shift like this every time you panic.”

But deep down, he knew you couldn’t control it. The stress, the hormones, the whole being-pregnant-and-turning-into-a-cat thing—it was a lot.

Mingyu gently laid you down on his pillow and covered you with the blanket, careful not to make you feel trapped. Then, he sat beside you, rubbing his face tiredly.

“We really need to figure out a way to stop this from happening,” he mumbled to himself. Then, he side-eyed you. “What if you shift during labor? Am I gonna have to explain to the doctor why there’s a cat in the maternity ward?”

Caty blinked.

“Oh my god,” Mingyu groaned, flopping onto the bed. “I’m gonna be a dad and a cat owner at the same time. This is a nightmare.”

Despite his complaints, his hand found its way back to stroking your fur. He sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. “At least you’re cute.”

He yawned, exhaustion from practice finally catching up to him. He wasn’t sure when you’d shift back, but until then, he’d just have to wait.

“Just don’t go into labor while you’re still a cat, okay?” he mumbled sleepily. “I don’t think I can handle that.”

With that, Mingyu let his eyes drift shut, one hand still resting protectively over you.

*

Mingyu woke up to the sound of soft shuffling beside him. His arm instinctively reached out, landing not on soft fur but warm skin. His brows furrowed as his fingers flexed against the familiar shape of your waist. Slowly, he cracked one eye open.

And there you were—back in your human form, sitting up in bed, stretching with a yawn, his oversized pajama top slipping off one shoulder.

Mingyu blinked blearily. Then, his mind caught up.

“Oh, thank God.” He groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back. “I thought I’d have to raise a kitten instead of a baby.”

You scoffed, pulling the blanket over yourself. “I was planning to wake up in human form before giving birth, you know.”

Mingyu sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. “Yeah, well, forgive me for being concerned when my pregnant wife disappears and a pregnant cat magically appears in her place!” He dropped his hands to his lap, staring at you pointedly. “You really gotta stop doing this to me, babe.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Mingyu sighed, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing against your cheek. “You scared me, though.”

Your eyes softened, fingers playing with the hem of your sleeves. “I’m sorry…”

Mingyu exhaled, then suddenly pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“You should be,” he muttered against your hair, his grip tightening. “I lost at least five years of my life because of you.”

You giggled, snuggling into his embrace. “You’ll be fine. You still have, like, a hundred years left.”

Mingyu snorted, pulling back just enough to look at you. His hands rested on your belly, thumbs rubbing small circles over the bump. “I guess we should start preparing for the fact that she might inherit your little condition.”

You groaned, flopping back onto the pillows. “I really hope she doesn’t.”

Mingyu leaned on one elbow, gazing down at you with a knowing look. His fingers traced absentminded circles over your belly as he asked, “Is that what you were stressing about last night? The fact that she might inherit the cat DNA?”

You hesitated, then sighed, covering your face with your hands. “Okay, maybe…”

Mingyu let out a short laugh, amused but not mocking. “Babe.” He pried your hands away gently so he could see your face. “You really think that’s gonna make me love her any less?”

You pouted. “It’s not just that, Mingyu… What if she suddenly shifts for the first time at daycare? Or what if she can’t control it, just like me? What if—”

Mingyu pressed a finger to your lips. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

You blinked up at him, and his expression softened. “You think I haven’t already prepared myself for this? I married into a literal cat family, Y/n. I knew what I was signing up for.”

You exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift from your chest. “You’re really okay with it?”

Mingyu grinned. “Are you kidding? I think it’d be adorable if our kid turns into a tiny furball. She’s gonna be the cutest kitten and the cutest baby.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, some of your worries melting away. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” Mingyu teased, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then, with a smirk, he added, “But for real—should we get her a tiny collar? Just in case?”

“Mingyu!”

Your husband only laughed as you smacked his arm, his affection and lightheartedness making it impossible for you to stay worried for long.

Mingyu smirked, leaning over you, his nose brushing against yours. “Well… if she does, at least she’ll be a very cute kitten.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face as Mingyu kissed you softly, his warmth melting away the last remnants of your stress.

The end:)

[2neaky]

Black orchid & patchouli has been in the air ever since the bathroom door opened. Sure, it’s died down some. Yet, still, the source of the smell is present.

Just a foot or two away from him.

She’s in her own world, listening only to her thoughts. 

He knows.

He remembers when she told him that getting dressed is her favorite part of the day. It’s during that time she usually turns her brain off, and allows her body to move on autopilot.

It’s the perfect chance to just simply exist for her.

It’s very calming, he understands.

She looks so at peace as she moves. So lost in her own head that she never really realizes that he’s staring.

He always does.

She doesn’t even know that his favorite part of the day is watching her get ready.

Her limbs move with grace; A true vision when she drops her fluffy, white towel to the bed, baring her body to the privacy of this room.

Their bedroom.

When it comes to moisturizing, her routine is always the same: arms first, abdomen, legs, then feet. Being that they’re just reaching the end of winter, gourmand and cozy scents have her preference as of late.

The scent of today is different, however; light, floral, and warm.

He can’t quite catch the notes—maybe there’s a hint of pepper. But, it isn’t offending. Actually, it works just perfectly on her; an added bit of spice to her sweetness.

So entranced by the smell, he doesn’t even realize how long he’s been pondering on it. He’ll have to ask her about that one, he thinks as he recenters his focus.

She’s moved to her stomach, rubbing the body butter into her skin. Off-white slowly melts into warm brown skin as she takes her time to massage it in.

Her palms, flat against her body, keep going in circles. Circling, circling, circling her lower tummy—right below her navel. So tender, gently pressing into the relaxed muscles of her stomach.

The first thought that pops into his head: a baby. 

He almost laughs out loud, it’s so stupid. So ridiculous how such a simple act—his woman taking care of herself—can get him to think of something so intense. So life changing.

It’s scary, the idea of having a family of his own. But … with her? 

That alone settles him. 

If anyone has the potential to be the perfect mother, it’s her. He believes in her. So much.

“Terry?”

Her voice is pure silk. He almost doesn’t hear it.

“Yeah, baby?”

Taking up the small tub of body butter, she outstretches her hand to him. Its sparkling scent fills the air, it’s all he smells.

“Help me, please?”

He looks up from the swirled butter in the tub to warm brown eyes, staring back at him over a shoulder. 

Her back is presented to him. The divot of her spine runs down its middle, tailed by twin dimples at the small of her back.

Below the left dimple, closer to her hip rather than directly under it, is his name in scripted black ink: 𝑹𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅. 

It’s so tiny, that his thumb covers it every time he holds her there.

And below that is an ass that he feels blessed to see every day. It sits up, the brown skin smooth and unmarred. She’s got subtle hip dips that give way to wide thighs, granting the prettiest pear-shape. 

He can hardly resist the urge to take a bite every time he sees her this way.

“You never ask me for help,” he smirks, scooting towards the bed’s edge to get closer.

“I know, but … I decided to be a little lazy today,” she smiles. 

And he loves when she does. The way the corners of her eyes crinkle up, adding a comforting sense of familiarity and warmth to the expression.

He feels lucky that’s it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up, and the last thing he sees when he goes to sleep. That’s a smile he’d love for his child to see, growing up.

He’s not letting this one go, huh?

Wordlessly, he sets the tub down in his lap and scoops a dollop up with a finger. Spreading it over his palm, he then rubs both hands together. The smooth butter warms quickly in his hands.

He starts at her shoulder blades, dragging his hands down her skin. He’s careful, trying to mimic her tenderness. It comes so natural to her, evident in the way her body languidly moves. 

He wonders if she can tell that it isn’t the same for him? The pressure he applies is uneven—unsure. His hands move with the weight of his past, one of a former Marine.

Hands trained to be a weapon, now being used to massage lotion into the tender skin of his love.

They’ve been together for so long. These hands have touched every part of her body, more times than he can even think to count. He knows her body so well, yet still feels as though it’s a privilege that she’s allowed him to be apart of her regimen. Her favorite part of her day.

He takes more crème into his hands; this time his hands run down the spout of her spine, fingers molding to the contours of her body. He makes sure to get her sides, too. Can’t leave those dry.

Then he finally gets to the bottom. His fingers start at the small of her back before they slow spread out. His fingers curl ‘round the bones of her hips, thumbs massaging whatever’s left of the crème into her skin.

His hands do one last pass down her back, then he has to pull them away. 

Standing between his legs, she slowly spins, now presenting her front to him. He swallows. 

First, his eyes fall between her legs to fat lips thinly veiled by a trimmed bed of dark curls. Then, they slowly lift to the basin of her stomach, up her torso, through the valley of her breasts, and finally, to her round face.

A grateful smile is on her full lips, the apples of her cheeks lifted, too.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She smiles at him, still, yet in her eyes there’s contemplation. Her thoughts are rolling over in her head, he can tell. And that’s why he doesn’t pull away—only stays in place, waiting on her next few words.

“You can help me some more, if you want.”

This time, he’s the one smiling, though it’s nowhere near as innocent as hers. Without any objection, he dips a finger back in the tub of lotion and rubs some between his hands.

“Turn around,” he mumbles, matching her quiet volume. 

Each careful step she takes in turning her back to him makes her ass jiggle. And when it’s presented to him once again, he wastes no time making the wide surface shine.

Like a sculptor whose hands mold and shape the clay before them, he kneads the fat with a renewed sense of expertise. He makes sure to cover the fronts of her hips to the flanks of her ass. 

And when he gets those parts, his hands encase her hips and lays two, quick taps to the side of her left cheek. He lets himself smirk, watching the fat ripple.

“Turn around.”

She does it wordlessly, carefully raising her forearms to avoid hitting his head. When they face each other again, he pulls her in close by her waist. Letting temptation win, he presses a smooch right above her belly button.

“Terry,” she giggles.

Wordlessly, he smirks, more so to himself as he sets the tub of lotion to the side.

He gathers more crème onto his hands before they snake behind her, diving for the underside of her bottom. He’s taking his job serious, making sure to moisturize every crevice of skin hidden by a fold—he even lifts it if he has to.

So concentrated on the task, the gentle weight of hands on his shoulders slips by his notice. But, he does realize they’re there when her fingers press into his skin—just as he’s pulls her cheeks apart.

His head cranes up, finding those chocolate brown eyes lower than usual. Much less focused, too.

This time, when he does it again, he doesn’t look away. His fingers reach just a little further, the tips of them barely grazing between her cheeks. His grip gets a little tighter, too, and his hands pull them just a little bit further apart.

For a moment, he holds her open. As the warm air of the room hits her newly exposed parts, her hole clenches. Her pussy even flutters. The reactions her body makes are thoughtless.

And so is the movement of his hand when he swipes a middle finger up her crack, stopping it just over her puckered hole. 

He taps it once. Twice. 

The little thing winks beneath the pad of his finger. His gaze falls to the globes of fat he holds in his big hands. 

“When’s the last time we played back here?”

Shyness bleeds onto her face. She tries to hide it with a lifted shoulder, though the corners of her spreading lips can’t be concealed. 

“A while,” she mumbles.

The sweet sound of a hum made in agreement resounds. Circles of hazel flick upwards to meet her gaze again.

“Yeah … s’been a while, huh? You cleaned good?”

Her heart stammers behind her rib cage. It leaves her almost breathless. 

“Terry,” she warns.

His finger had never moved from that spot. It circles the taught skin. “What? You busy today?”

Her eyes flutter. One of her hands on his shoulders drops to his bicep, giving it a weak squeeze. “Y-yes.”

“Yes to both? And with what?”

As her mouth opens, her words get caught in her throat. That finger applies a soft pressure that sends her pussy into a frenzy.

“Yes, and g-groceries, Terry.” She had almost whined out.

“Aldis not going nowhere.” He smirks up at her.

She shivers, feeling that finger angling to press its tip right at her hole. “The—I don’t want t-to be there when it’s c-crowded.”

He half-shrugs with a clueless frown. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

She doesn’t say anything to that, which only makes him more determined. It seems he hasn’t fully convinced her to abandon her responsibilities, something he’s been too comfortable doing himself since he met her.

“Remember how wet you got last time?” He leans in closer, face just centimeters away from her pussy as he lowers his voice for her to only hear. “I didn’t even touch her.”

The corners of his mouth raise even higher as he looks into her eyes, seeing them glaze over in real-time as her brain replays the distant memory.

“All I did, was play with—“ His finger double-taps at her un-stretched hole again. “You made such a mess. You think you could do that again?”

She dismisses a whimper as she remembers how she felt like a leaking faucet that night. Beneath her, the sheet was a mess, soaked. Her thighs only trembled as her pussy dribbled, globs of slick rolling down its inner-sides.

Her breath hitches, feeling the rough pad of that finger slide back and forth over her. It’s like a splash of cold water, bringing her back to focus.

The gentle musk of her arousal hits his nose. It mixes deliciously with the scent of her crème.

“I’ll get the groceries this week.”

Her eyes almost cross as that finger presses harder against her hole.

“Just lemme do this.”

‘Yes’ and ‘no’ become a blur in her mind. She doesn’t even hear herself when she mumbles the one beginning with ‘y.’

She didn’t think twice about it when he told her to get on the bed, face down and ass to the sky. The position’s got her open and needy. While the water runs distantly in the background, her brain is fuzzy.

All it can do is conjure up thoughts of how far he’ll go this time. There’s only been one time she took his dick through the back, all other times it was his hand. 

She hopes they can turn that one time into two. The thought almost makes her drool into the pillow.

She doesn’t hear when the bathroom faucet squeaks as it’s closed. Or when Terry emerges from the bathroom, muttering about having to fix that later.

Just feet away from the bed, he admires the picture before him: a gift, all spread out and open for him.

“Now, ain’t you a sight?”

His voice brings her from her reverie. The only response she gives is to reach behind and pull those shiny, smooth cheeks apart to show him how her body yearns for his touch.

Both holes clench. Beads of slick glisten through the hair closest to the opening of her cunt.

He takes slow steps towards her. “Look at the mess I created.” He chuckles to himself, barely shaking his head. “Guess I gotta clean it up, huh?”

Dumbly, her face pressed to the sheets, she nods. 

When he’s finally behind her, his hands take their treasured spots over her hips—left thumb covering his name, as always.

“How should I clean it up, baby?”

Her eyes falls closed as she tries to focus on speaking her thoughts.

“Hm?”

“U-use your tongue, first.”

His face brightens with a toothy smile. “First? Oh, there’s more,” he laughs.

He can’t tell if it’s a hum or a moan she makes, maybe it’s both. But he does understand when she nods.

“Well how you want me to finish the job, when I’m done using my tongue?”

She can hear the amusement in his voice, the smirk on his lips. Quite frankly, she’s too horny to be timid about it.

“Your dick—“

He almost blanches at her boldness. But his shock gives way to a new wave of arousal.

“Want it, Terry,” she speaks breathlessly. “Wanna feel—“ she reaches back again to spread herself again. “—feel full.”

His fingers sink further into the fat of her hips as he gathers all the moisture he can in his mouth. There’s a quick shift of his jaw, then a bullet of spit shoots past his puckered lips and hits his target dead-center.

Her body twitches from the impact. “Oh…” she moans softly.

The translucent, bubbly glob of spit rolls over the tight ring, making it shine. It dribbles down further, slipping down the slide of her crack and finding its way into her shallow bed of curls.

He catches her pussy do a little flutter. The tiny reaction prompts him to lift a hand from a hip, only to slam it back down against her right cheek.

Her back bows inward, a quiet mewl coming from her.

“Yeaah, keep it just like that… Just like … that.”

She hadn’t even heard the shift of his body—only felt his soft, warm, velvety tongue lave against her hole.

A gasp—she almost inches forward before remembering not to run from such pleasure. Terry’s never liked that.

“Mmh…”

There’s a tenderness that spreads throughout her cunt as his hum provides a soft vibration for her. Every time her body bears down, there’s an ache in her core.

He laps against her one more time before pulling the taut skin into his mouth to suck on. There’s hardly any give, but he doesn’t stop. His hands keep her spread apart as he continues burying his face in her ass. 

Terry’s never been a man too scared to get messy, especially when it counts. And when it comes to his woman, trust that it counts.

Slobbing her down, his own spit coats the lower half of his face as he tongues her hole down without coming up for air. The wide, wet muscle is putting in overtime to work her open. 

Her moans goad him on, even if they are muffled by the sheets.

“Mh … mmh,” he groans, eyes closed as he devours her like a meal. 

One hand lifts, immediately falling back down against the plump skin of her asscheek. The spank is sharp, it echoes in her ears.

“Shit,” she hisses, face screwing up as his tongue breaks past her rim.

He pulls back, if only to admire his work so far. In between her cheeks glisten. And, what’s more, is that she’s dripping onto the bed.

Just like last time.

“You like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yess, baby, yes.”

Wordlessly, he dives back in. The same hand he used to smack her earlier, leaves its spot once again. 

She anticipates another slap, catches herself almost begging for it, actually. However, she gets a better surprise:

His hand, warm and soft, slides over her pussy with ease to cup it from underneath. She flinches when his fingers barely rub over her swollen clit.

That doesn’t last too long; Terry’s hand retreats, fingers poised just at the opening of her drooling cunt.

With too much ease, both middle and ring fingers slip in.

She whimpers.

They sink right in with wet suction, her pussy spurting around them. His heavy fingers settle comfortably in a familiar spot within her tight and slippery heat as her body seems to instantly mold around them.

Every time Terry’s in it, he almost swears she’s truly an endless portal into ecstasy. 

And while his mind finds itself caught on the wonders of her pussy, his mouth still wrecks her even tighter hole; His tongue digs into her, his fingers are pressing into her G-spot—it all stuns her. She can hardly breathe, feeling him push and prod. 

One particularly loud slurp of his makes her eyes roll back. Her pussy flutters, feeling a glob of his spit roll down her crack.

“Wanna fuck you. Fuck you with my tongue—“

She moans in agreement. The guttural sound transcends past the thick sheets.

“Hold it open.”

Although his voice is low, she still hears every word Terry mutters.

With an abundance of eagerness that her body can barely contain, she reaches back to hold herself open for him. 

As Terry remains knuckles deep within her, aiding in the escape of her sticky sap from her cunt, he pushes his tongue back into her ass.

She sloshes as he fucks his fingers up into her. Milky white and almost frothy cream runs down the palm of his hand to his wrist.

He doesn’t move his head, too desperate for her body to pull away. Instead, he tires himself with fucking into her by dragging his tongue in and out, his pace quickening. The ache of his jaw and the burn of the overworked muscle does nothing to dissuade him. 

One must work for their pleasure, he knows that.

“Oh … ohh … ah—aauhh!”

Her whines work alongside the tightening of her body. He doesn’t stop—doesn’t let up or slow down.

In fact, he receives her orgasm with an open palm, letting her pussy spill into it. Her squirt splashes against his forearm and the bed. And still, his hand never stops.

“Y’know … I was thinking about how much … how much I wanna make you a mom.”

His words come out airy and light, but that doesn’t diminish their effect. Her body responds, clamping tighter around his fingers.

A deep chuckle rises out of him. “You like that?”

Her only response is an incoherent moan as she pushes her hips back on his hand.

“Want me to make you a mommy?”

“Yes,” her voice waivers.

When he pulls his hand out of her, it’s like a great loss. Suddenly, her world is empty without him. She wants to cry.

“Yeah, me too.”

When Terry finally pulls his dick out, he’s got more than enough of her cum on-hand to lube himself up. The creamy mess of her cunt is more than enough material to get him rock hard—not that he wasn’t already.

Taking himself in hand, he slowly lifts his heavy cock and drops it right between her ass cheeks. 

About two inches wide starting at the tip, his dick only gets slightly wider towards the base. Its underside has got that one vein running along it. She always licks at it when presented with such an opportunity.

A heated tint of flushed pink blossoms over the bulbous tip, dying down to a darker shade of brown along his shaft. It curves just to the left, the perfect angle that always seemed to knock against her walls perfectly.

Pulling his hips backward, he watches his dick drag against her supple skin, falling closer towards her center. When it’s just his tip left touching her, he takes ahold of himself at the base and slowly pushes forward.

He slips against her underside, burrowing into her thin bed of curls. The head knocks against her clit, triggering a stronger quake in her thighs.

Terry puckers his lips to spit another thick loogey, watching it land on her puckered rim. It winks back at him.

She can’t tell what goes in first, his thumb or his dick. All she knows is that he’s about nine inches deep in her cunt, and that there’s a thumb sinking into her ass.

There’s a delay before a long-winded, singular moan falls out of her mouth. All of her breath is caught in her chest. Her body is tense.

“Breath, baby. Breathe,” he reminds her.

Her brain buzzes. His words really only get through to her once his hand washes over her back like a cool rag.

That’s all it takes for her body to relax—somewhat at least. Her shoulders relax and her back even sinks inward.

A softer, much shorter moan leaves her, and the arching of her back accentuates the ache caused by his dick pressing against her walls. If either of them would look, they’ll see the outline of him, poking through her lower tummy in a small bulge.

Her pussy, stretched to its capacity, flutters around him, almost like it’s trying to swallow more than it can handle.

“S-so heavy,” she mumbles, gripping the sheets.

“But you like it,” he smiles. “I could tell, hm?”

Terry pushes in the last inch, taking too much joy in the broken whimper that leaves her. She’s suffocating, squeezing him and bathing him in wetness all the same. In this deep, he feels a soft, spongy wall pressing against his tip. 

“What’s that?” He shifts inside, nudging at that wall.

It’s a good thing she doesn’t look back, face too screwed up to see the horrific smile on his face.

“Huh?”

She almost wails out. Her hands twitch, itching to reach for her stomach. To cradle it as the deep ache within her reaches new heights.

“C’mon, talk to me.” 

The rest of his fingers splay out over the small of her back as he pushes his thumb deeper into her ass. The thin stretch of muscle separating the two pleasure zones allows him to feel the curvature of himself, sitting deep in her walls.

“I’m in your stomach?”

Teeth gritted, she nods her head as fast as she can.

“You so quiet already.” Gentle and slow, he pulls out some inches, granting her relief. “I don’t like that.”

He slides his hips back in, pushing his dick right up against her cervix.

“GOD—“

“Yeah, like that.” He pulls out again, only to give her yet another deep stroke. “Keep doing that. Keep talking to me—”

“H-ooh—T-Terry!”

“Yes, baby,” he groans out over the sound of his hips meeting her ass. “Tell me, tell me how good it feels.”

“Ffuuuck!”

She writhes beneath him, shouting out ragged moans as he’s digging her out. 

Every time he pulls out, his dick is wetter and wetter. It goes from shining with her juices to caked in her crème in just a few strokes. 

Around her stretched hole is a mess, covered in her frothy release. It all builds up to the point that some of it sludges down between her legs and falls to the bed.

“Oh … shii—aaugh!”

Her resolve breaks, finally allowing her to press a hand to her stomach. Under her palm, she feels the repeating wave of his dick punching her guts beneath the wall of muscle.

She hisses, feeling his thumb fuck her ass as he pulls her back against his. With every plop of their body’s meeting, her cream splatters against his pelvis. Tiny beads of white fly, landing against his sweat-sheathed skin.

“Gonna need another shower after this, huh?” 

Even as Terry tries to remain cocky, his upper lip twitches as his body starts to react to this pleasure.

“Making a mess.” His stomach clenches. “Th-thought I was s’posed to be cleaning up.” 

He chokes out a bit of laughter, trying to conceal a moan of his own. His words start to blend as the pleasure overtakes him:

“You … creamin’ all over … mmh—“

His eyes threaten to roll back. But just as fast, Terry seems to regain a bit of composure. Enough to lock back in.

Rolling his lips into his mouth, his focus straightens and he gives repeated strokes. They’re dead-on, sharp, and heavy.

She screams out a profanity—he can’t even tell which one because she’s so out of it. But, her body is granted a moment of relief as he stops.

Carefully, he pulls his thumb out of her butt. It shines with her slick. When he looks at her barely stretched hole, clenching around nothing, it’s covered in her cream. 

The sight has him twitching inside of her, causing her body to give him a couple of extra squeezes in response.

“You look so good like this,” he mumbles. As his body starts to weaken, he sways a little. “M’sorry I had to mess you up like this, baby.”

Her only response is a mewl as she tries to fix herself.

Taking the hand he had used previously, he holds himself at the base to pull out of her. And when he’s finally out, it’s like there’s a dick-shaped hole in her stomach. She swears he left an impression inside of her.

Her pussy feels so tender and swollen, clit overly sensitive. And yet, the pain of it all is too good. She misses it. She misses him.

And he can tell, seeing her hole flutter around nothing, stretched out. But she doesn’t have to worry for too long, because he’ll fix that.

Peering down at himself, Terry is marveled at all of the mess between them. His dick, still hard, is a creamy, sticky mess—practically dripping in her release.

At the base is where there’s the most build-up. Loopy off of all the testosterone running through him, he gets an idea that has him swiping up some of the mess with his middle and ring finger. 

With no hesitation, Terry presses the two fingers to her ass. They slide in with ease, even causing a very loud squish.

“Ooouuhh,” she groans. 

Turning her head to the side, Terry’s finally able to see how pleasure contorts her face. Eyes low and unfocused, heavy bottom lip pulled between both rows of teeth, as she begins to slowly rock back and forth. So desperate, she fucks herself on his fingers.

“Just like that … take it, baby. Take it—”

“Oouuh shit, Terry.”

“C’mon.”

“Ooh, fuck—“

Pfffffft.

The sharp sound of air expelling from her cunt as Terry pushes back in, punctuates her sentence. Her mouth drops open, her neck craning against the sheets.

He’s speechless, too. Seeing the way her pussy blows a raspberry around his thick dick, spitting out dribblets of cream against his lower stomach. Some even dribbles out of her.

“Hnnnh,” she whines, pathetically.

Curling his fingers inside of her, he plays with her ass. Throughout this all, his other hand had never left her left hip, thumb still covering his name.

He pulls out halfway, only to push his dick back in.

“Fuck, I love it when she talks to me,” he laughs, breathlessly, throwing his head back. It’s music to his ears, hearing her pussy squirt and fart around him.

So lost in the sound, he doesn’t even notice the way her shoulders twitch as her orgasm crashes into her. It’s not until he feels water hit his pelvis that he looks down.

Around his dick, she squirts. It’s a heavy enough stream. He watches it trickles down both of their thighs, completely drenching the already soaked through sheets.

Without a word, he pulls his fingers out before placing the other hand on her hip. His grip tightens around her.

Leaning more of his weight forward, Terry pushes her arch deeper. “Really gonna … make you a mommy like this—“

She gets no prep as he fucks the arch out of her back and puts her into the mattress. The clap of her ass against his pelvis is almost deafening. 

Her hips are barely off of the bed. Behind them, her legs raise, toes curling tightly as she wails out.

“Keep squeezing me,” he pants, teeth gritted. “Keep fuckin’ … fu-uck—“

He buries his face into her neck, groaning. His ears ring as he shoots off a heavy load in her.

For minutes, they stay connected as Terry tries to regain his breath. His orgasm lasts much longer than he thought it would, filling her to the brim.

When he finally pulls out, mustering enough strength to stand, he watches tiredly as her body pushes out thick globs of their mixed release.

Her pussy is slathered in their mess, certain spots caked up in a frothy white.

He grabs a cheek, pulling it apart from its twin so that he can see it all much clearer.

“You look so good like this,” he mumbles. “Love when you let me use you.”

Mindlessly, he lets a hand fall to his dick. It’s tender, but his hold on himself is light. Still holding her open with the other hand, he gently strokes himself. His hand practically glides over himself, what with all the cum coating his dick.

The sensation, the mess, her—it doesn’t take too much for him to get a semi.

“Fuck, you always make me so horny.”

He gets a knee on the bed, positioning himself directly behind her again.

Sensing his growing closeness, she weakly picks her head up and looks back at him. She’s a vision of wild curls, watery eyes, and bitten-raw lips.

As he gets closer, stroking his hardening dick, he brushes his fat, swelling tip again her lips. Rubbing himself against her, he gathers more of cum, coating himself.

“Terry,” she whines, a soft pout on her lips.

“You too tired?”

He pulls her asscheek further, fully exposing her second hole.

Her plump lips part to speak, but nothing comes out.

“You want me to stop? You could tell me, baby,” he cooes.

Still, he begins rubbing his tip against the much smaller hole. She can feel it throb against her.

“Tell me. Y’know I’ll still get the groceries for you.”

He gives her time to object, to say ‘no,’ while he’s positioning himself at her opening. However, she only watches, her face scrunching even more as he slowly applies pressure.

“I’ll get you whatever you want. Especially when you have our son.”

With little effort, he pops the head in past her rim. A tired smile lifts his lips as she moans out lowly. Her head turns back forward as it falls to the bed.

Weak to the way he uses her body, she simply lies there, taking his dick through the back as he sings his delusions to her (because who said she was going to have a boy).

Even tired, her body tenses with the pressure of his dick sliding in her. He’s not as rough as when he was in her pussy.

This time, his strokes are gentle and shallow. It’s a moderate pace he maintains as he holds her open to see the way he stretches her out.

And it just does something to him; seeing her spent pussy just below, covered in their cum and still leaking while he uses her asshole just the same.

Because, she’s his woman, and he’s going to have every part of her body. Just in the same way that he’s her man, and if she wants him at any time she can have him.

His second orgasm doesn’t take long to come. When he feels it approaching, he carefully pulls out. Taking himself in hand, he gives a few short strokes before painting her ass. 

Streaks of white splatter against the warm brown canvas, making her ass look like toasted buns covered in vanilla drizzle. 

And if he had the energy to, he’d eat her ass again. But this was already a lot, and he can’t lie, he’s exhausted.

Terry can only hope that she won’t be mad that he waited a little longer to get the groceries.

@wintrrxxo @vibewshyla @icanmakethedickstandup @toji-dabi-wife @genea-myers @whoareyouuuo @thegoatedaries @nova2kss @thecoochiefairy @plutobratz @levibabymama_ @bubblegum-lollipop @junitries @kenshisluvrgirl

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[itsactuallylina]

FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ☆ YJW

SYNOPSIS: falling for your best friend's cousin was never the plan, but as you and jungwon grow closer, keeping secrets gets harder. Especially when minju starts to notice!

PAIRING: best friend’s cousin!jungwon x f!reader

GENRE: fluff, angst(most of it), flirty jungwon, high school au, love at first sight kinda, mention of panic attacks , A LOT of angst, pov switching, intended lowercase, possible mistakes

FEATURING: enhypen sunoo, illit minju, zb1 gyuvin, kiof belle , bnd taesan

WORD COUNT: 12.8k (ik it’s crazy)

A/N:lol 😝 this is a revamp (?) of my old ass smau which has like 2 chapters LMAO. i was thinking about writing it as a long fic for like a year and finally did it! first long fic too bruh. pls lmk if u like it 🥹 also english is not my first NOR my second language 😭 so sorry if there are any mistakes ; tagging @miumura

check out the masterlist —> here !

“minju, where are we going now?” — you whine, not wanting to walk again, you were pretty sure that you already had over 15 thousand steps today, and yet, minju has another place she suddenly wants to go. “i am tired”

“you’re always tired” she claims, staring into your eyes. “you’ll like it, I promise”

you groan, tilting your head back. “every time you said this, I end up regretting it later”

“excuse me?” minju says baffled, “did you regret the arcade? the rooftop picnic? the train to nowhere?”

“…okay, those were fun,” you admit, narrowing your eyes. “but i’m still tired”

she grins, already tugging your wrist. “it will be quick, just a few pictures. i’ll even let you pick the filters!”you sigh, following her. “fine fine, but if I look half-asleep in them, thats your fault”

“deal!”

you knew that you would give in, you love minju. she is your best friend after all.

the photobooth minju suggested to go to was located in the popular arcade, the one you went to that one time. as you walk in, the neon glow of the arcade flickers above you, minju is already almost at the booth area, you quickly catch up with her, escaping the air filled with buttered popcorn and soda scents. you’re mid laugh, looking at the ridiculous stickers displayed at the entrance when—

thud.

you barely register the warmth of another person before you stumble back, almost falling off your feet.

and then you look up.

wow.

you almost forgot how to breathe.

he is gorgeous. the guy standing in front of you is tall, hands stuffed in pockets.

for a second, his gaze locks onto yours—in this mere moment you notice his boba eyes, lightly curled hair and his catlike features.

you realized you probably looked like a creep, so you break off the eye contact.

“y/n, are you alright? you almost fell down” minju took a hold of your hand, worry visible on her face, before it disappeared as she looks in the way of the person you bumped into.

your best friend scoffs. “ugh, seriously? again?”

again? your brows knit together as you glance between them.

that guy chuckled, his gaze locked on you again. “I’m happy to see you too. didn’t know you had such a pretty friend.” he says with utmost confidence. you can feel the warmth appearing on your cheeks at his compliment, trying to avert your eyes somewhere else.

“oh my god, can you not?” minju sighs dramatically, you never knew she could be so annoyed at sight of someone. huh, guess there is a side of her you don’t know of.

“what? you won’t even introduce us?” he smirks, not looking away from you.

“fine, jungwon this is y/n, y/n this is jungwon, my cousin.” a nth dramatic sigh escaped from her.

so he is minjus cousin…

“nice to meet you, y/n” he says, extending his hand for you to shake, your name rolling off his tongue the way you never thought you would hear.

“uh, yea, nice to meet you too” you stutter, mentally slapping yourself for it. that’s what you say? seriously ?

“you’re really cute, you know?” jungwon suddenly said, you still didn’t calm down from the previous compliment and he throws another one at you?

the blush on your face only deepens, making you look like a tomato. gosh, so embarrassing…

“sorry, but she’s off limits to you, don’t try.” minju remarks before you could even respond.

“off limits, huh. that’s a shame” her cousin replies. “oh well, we can still be friends, right y/n?”

mention of your name makes you jolt, and before you could even think, you agree. “Of course! Yea, we can be friends, no problem”

“y/n?! whatever, just don’t cross any boundaries” ou, maybe you shouldnt have said that.

minju grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the booth. “you can ignore him if you want to”

you let yourself be dragged away, but as you step in the photo booth you make a mistake of looking back.

jungwon is watching you, a smug grin on his face, like his cousins words don’t mean a thing to him.

If only you knew that it was just a beginning.

since it was a little holiday break before the school starts, you decided to visit your favorite record shop to finally buy a vinyl from your favorite group, arctic monkeys.

walking in, you feel the warmth of the cozy atmosphere. the record shop is filled with a quiet melody, which you recognize but can’t put a name on. the air is thick with the scent of old vinyls, worn leather, and a faint trace of coffee coming from the counter. your fingers skim over the albums on display, the rough texture of cardboard meeting your skin. the lighting is dim and golden. it was a place where time slows down. you loved it.

when you find the needed section, you scan the variety, thinking which vinyl you should get. your eyes stop at the familiar black cover with a white sound wave—AM, one of your favorite albums of all time. weird how you never got it, since your first choice song, fluorescent adolescent, is on it.

your hand extends towards the album, and as you almost take it, it disappears from your sight. you firmly turn, hand still in mid-air, eyes locked onto the thief who dared to snatch your treasured almost-purchase. and then—you freeze.

yang jungwon.

the same guy who shamelessly flirted with you back at the arcade, minju’s cousin. but now, the smirk he had the first time you met is nowhere to be found, replaced by an expression that you can’t quite read.

“jungwon?” your own voice comes out before you can even think. maybe you should get that checked out.

he blinks, then lets out a small laugh that gives away his disbelief. “huh, didn’t think that i’d run into you again.”

your gaze flickers to the album he still holds in his hands. “didn’t think you’d steal my vinyl either, but here we are.”

“steal? didn’t see your name on it.” the smugness you remember makes its way back onto his face.

“i literally was about to grab it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

jungwon tilts his head, examining the record while considering something, at least from the looks of it. “you have good taste, but i’m not sure if i should be impressed or offended that your first arctic monkeys vinyl wasn’t this one.”

“i didn’t really ask for your judgment,” you say, rolling your eyes.

he grins, offering the album back to you, but as you were about to take it, he pulls it back. “how about this?” he muses, eyes shining. “i’ll let you have this if you… beat me in a game at the arcade. let’s keep it fair and simple.”

your brows shoot up. “you can’t be serious.”

he shrugs his shoulders. “oh, but i am. you win—you get your precious AM album. and if i win?” he slightly leans in, just enough to make your heart do something stupid. “you take me out for coffee.”

you can sense heat creeping up your neck as he goes back to his original position. “that sounds more like a win-win for you, though.”

“exactly.”

you narrow your eyes at him, pretending to think about your options. jungwon watches you with amusement, twirling the vinyl between his fingers. finally, you sigh. “alright, lead the way.”

his smirk widens as he gestures towards the door with an exaggerated bow. “after you, my lady.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide the flutter the silly nickname gave you. feeling his presence behind you, you go through the aisles of the store. the dim light fades into the neon gleam of the arcade across the street. the distant sound of buttons and clicking fills the air, instantly reminding you of the last time you were here.

but before you can dwell on it any longer, jungwon steps beside you. “hope you’re ready, because i won’t go easy.”

you glance up at him. “never expected you to.”

maybe you should have been a little bit less of a nerd and agreed to gyuvin’s and taesan’s offer to go to the arcade.

you’re losing horribly. you did not expect jungwon to be this good at the games.

it all started with the air hockey—you were in the lead for the first few minutes before jungwon suddenly interrupted your scoring streak and literally humbled you. was it karma for being too confident?

then came the basketball shootout. jungwon scored three points out of five effortlessly. “i’m not going easy this time,” he teased.

“you said that six times already,” you muttered, focusing on the game before you, remembering the basketball lessons you attended in middle school.

your first shot bounced off the rim, making jungwon’s smile wider. “what’s wrong? scared?”

you ignored him, concentrated again, and—swish. the next shot was clean. then the next one. and the next one. and also the last one.

jungwon’s confidence wavered as you scored four points. you won.

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “you got lucky.”

you grinned. “sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” it was finally your turn to tease him.

now, the dance dance revolution is happening. the glow of the DDR machine flickered as the game loaded. the platform beneath you slightly vibrated, metal panels cool under your shoes.

as soon as the game started, the arrows flooded the screen. the music played through the speakers, matching your moves. jungwon was beside you, moving effortlessly, barely missing a step.

you, on the other hand, weren’t so careful. your movements were a little frantic, messy, but fun. laughter bubbled up between breaths as you nearly tripped on a tricky move.

“is that all you got?” jungwon teased.

“just wait,” you huffed, eyes locking onto the screen.

the song sped up, so did both of you.

your movements became more precise, matching the beat. the combo is unbelievably high right now, and everything seemed good.

until it didn’t.

you can feel yourself slipping because of the slick material of your shoes. already prepared for the impact, you’re expecting the pain, squeezing your eyes shut—

but instead, you feel warmth engulfing your hand and bringing you back up.

“careful now, it’s still not the end,” jungwon says while holding your hand and continuing to dance.

you, having no choice, but to carry on with your movements, but now, with intertwined fingers with the guy beside you.

laughter filled the air as the music started to fade away before it completely stopped and the game started to count your scores.

you, still breathless, still holding hands with jungwon, look at the screen.

87.

you feel proud, but you quickly glance at the screen next to yours, and it says the exact same thing.

you look at each other’s eyes before bursting into chuckles again.

“so it’s a tie?” he asks, turning to you.

“i guess so,” you reply, chuckling a little bit.

“alright then,” jungwon says while tilting his head towards the exit. “we both get what we want.”

you nod, still catching your breath. “right. first things first—my album.”

“lead the way.”

as you both made your way back to the record shop, the warm scent of vinyls and coffee filled the air again. scanning the shelves, you grab the desired AM album before jungwon could.

he just laughed. “happy now?”

“very.” you grinned, already going to check out.

when you paid for the vinyl, you find a phone right before you.

“put your number in. you promised me a coffee, remember?” he reminded you.

for a second, you hesitated, remembering minju’s words.

“come on, we had a deal.” a little pout appeared on his face, making you chuckle.

“alright, alright.” you take the phone from him and enter your number before giving it back. you feel your own phone vibrate in your back pocket.

“just making sure it’s real.”

“do i look like someone who gives fake numbers?” you scoffed.

“not really. more like someone who’d block me instead.” jungwon hummed.

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, he was already heading toward the exit. “i’ll text you. be ready.”

and with that, you were left alone near the checkout station of your favorite record shop, with the number of a really handsome guy who was off-limits.

the break ended, and you were back at school. the bell rang, signaling the start of lunch. you packed your bag and headed toward the cafeteria to meet up with your friends. when you arrived, you could see your friend group sitting at your usual table.

“hey, everyone.” you greet them, sitting near belle. you unpack your lunch, listening to the conversation flowing around you. belle was excitedly talking about some new drama she started, while minju scrolled through her phone, occasionally nodding. across from you, gyuvin and taesan were locked in some silly debate about whether mint chocolate was a real ice cream flavor or not. the usual chaos filled the cafeteria—laughter, the clatter of trays, and distant complaints about break ending too soon.

just as you were about to take a bite of your food, minju nudged your arm. “so,” she started, “did you end up getting your album?”

you put your chopsticks down. “yeah, why?”

belle perked up. “wait, didn’t you say jungwon was there too?”

at the mention of the guy’s name, minju sighed dramatically. “ugh, don’t remind me. of course he was. he is everywhere. seeing him at school and family gatherings is enough for me, but no, of course not.” she complained further, making belle laugh.

taesan, who was half-listening, raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, as in your cousin yang jungwon?”

minju sighed again. “yes.”

gyuvin smirked, leaning toward your side with curiosity. “this kinda sounds like a wattpad story. you and jungwon at the record shop? what happened?”

you shrugged, not wanting to give details. “nothing much, we just ran into each other,” you say, leaving out the arcade and the bet. technically, you didn’t lie—you did run into each other.

minju scoffed. “yeah, and he used his annoying charm, didn’t he?”

belle grinned. “that explains why y/n looked a little flustered.”

you decided to ignore her comment, but the way minju stared at you made you shift uncomfortably.

before she could interrogate you further, a new presence approached the table.

jungwon.

your breath hitched as he casually walked past, chatting with some of his friends, some of whom you recognized. jungwon didn’t stop, but as he passed, his gaze found a way to you—just for a second. a glance and a knowing smirk.

your stomach did a weird flip.

taesan must have noticed because he nudged you with his elbow. “uh-oh. what was that?”

you quickly shake your head. “nothing.”

minju, however, caught on immediately. “y/n.”

you ignore her, suddenly finding your lunch very interesting.

but your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you had a guess who that was.

jungwon: hope you’re not backing out of our deal, pretty girl :)

you locked your phone, hoping no one saw that message.

yeah… this was going to be a problem.

if before you never noticed jungwon at school, now it’s a different story.

minju was right—he is everywhere. you go to the vending machine? he is there. go to your locker to grab a textbook? jungwon is across from you, near his own locker. even in the cafeteria, he always seems to find a way to sneak a glance at you. what’s worse? he makes it obvious. always smirking at you, showing off his dimples. at times, texting you compliments, reminding you of your promise to get coffee with him.

now, as you come out of the teachers’ lounge after discussing your projects with the physics teacher, you really hope not to bump into jungwon.

but luck is not on your side.

as you step out of the teachers’ lounge, you barely take a few steps before a familiar figure casually leans against the wall beside you.

“took you long enough.”

you blink at jungwon, who’s watching you with his signature smirk. “were you waiting for me?”

he shrugs. “let’s say i had a feeling you’d pass by here.”

you cross your arms, raising a brow. “and why exactly would you wait for me?”

“well, i think someone still owes me coffee.” he tilts his head, pretending to be in deep thought.

you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “i didn’t forget.”

“good, because i was starting to think you were trying to escape from our little deal.”

you scoff. “please, if i wanted to, you wouldn’t even see me.”

jungwon chuckled, clearly amused. “is that right? guess i’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

he steps back, shuffling his hands into his pockets as he starts to walk down the hall. “meet me at the front gate after school, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah. don’t be late.”

he grins. “i should be the one saying that, pretty.”

and with that, he disappears into the crowd, leaving you standing there, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

but someone noticed the blush on your ears, and they weren’t overjoyed with it.

minju and you had been friends since middle school. she truly cared about you, thought of you as her best friend. but as she watched your interaction with her cousin, she couldn’t help but feel the disappointment creeping in.

she wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much—maybe it was the way jungwon looked at you, like he already had you all figured out. or maybe it was the way you looked back at him, the kind of gaze she had never seen you give anyone.

minju had always been protective of you—it was a responsibility she felt. she had been by your side for years. through every bad grade, every family argument, every late-night conversation about life. you were her person, and she assumed she was yours too.

but now, watching her cousin tease you with his shameless smirk, watching you try to stop the smile from appearing on your face, she felt like someone had stabbed her with the sharpest knife.

it wasn’t jealousy, as she thought. she didn’t really care about jungwon chatting with her friends, but the thought of him stepping into the space she always thought was only hers, the thought of you abandoning her for her cousin—made her stomach twist in pain.

she knew how jungwon could effortlessly pull people in with his natural confidence, and she knew you too, how easily you could be swayed with kindness.

was she overreacting? maybe, but as she caught the faintest blush on the tips of your ears, she couldn’t shake the feeling that made her feel horrible.

and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

the afternoon sun hung low as you stepped out of the school grounds, only to be met with a familiar smirk. jungwon was already waiting, leaning against the fence, looking too pleased with himself.

“thought you’d run off and break our promise,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “you wish. i take my debts very seriously.”

“so buying me a coffee is a debt now?” he raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.

“you practically scammed me into doing this.”

jungwon let out a laugh, his dimples showing. “and yet here you are, willingly taking me to the café. interesting, isn’t it?”

you didn’t have a comeback for that, so you stayed silent, making him chuckle as he opened the café door for you.

you both walked to the counter to make your orders.

“i’ll have a peach iced tea, please,” you ordered your usual.

jungwon hummed, looking at you with an amused expression. “peach iced tea, huh? didn’t think you’d be the sweet type.”

you almost looked offended. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he grinned, turning to the barista. “i’ll have an iced americano. card, please.”

you blinked. “wait, what?”

jungwon shrugged, handing over his card before you could protest. “consider it a treat. since, you know, you’re already so sweet.” his tone was playful, but the smile told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

you groaned, hiding the warmth creeping up your face. “you’re impossible.”

he simply laughed, nudging your arm lightly as you both stepped aside to wait for your drinks.

you didn’t think jungwon would be an interesting person to talk to.

yeah, he made you feel something, but you just brushed it off as pointless flirting.

but as the conversation between the two of you kept going, you realized there was more to him than just smooth lines and smug grins. he was funny—witty in a way that kept you on your toes. he listened, asked questions, and actually seemed interested in your rants about movies, books, music—whatever else slipped past your lips.

at some point, you caught yourself not hiding the smiles anymore, leaning in a little closer. it was easy—too easy—to get comfortable around him.

still, you reminded yourself: it was just playful banter. nothing more, nothing less.

at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

as the evening settled in, you and jungwon stepped out of the café. the cool air was a stark contrast to the warmth of your conversation. the streets were quieter, bathed in the golden light of street lamps.

“you didn’t have to walk me back, you know,” you said, glancing at him.

“i wanted to.”

you didn’t protest, secretly enjoying the way his presence made the walk feel shorter, lighter—better. the conversation continued, usual teasing remarks mixed with moments of quiet comfort. by the time you reached your doorstep, an unfamiliar hesitation lingered between you two.

“well,” you started, gripping the strap of your bag. “thanks. i had fun today.”

jungwon grinned, but this time, there was no smugness behind it. his smile felt softer. “me too. see you tomorrow?”

you nodded, stepping inside, giving him a little wave he reciprocated. when the door clicked shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

as jungwon walked away from your house, the usual confidence in his steps faltered. the night air felt heavier, and for the first time in a while, he found himself deep in thought.

at first, it was fun—teasing you, watching you get flustered, sneaking in compliments just to see your reaction. it was easy, something he never took seriously.

but now?

now there was this unknown feeling in his chest, one he didn’t understand. the way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up as you ranted about your favorite songs, the way you looked at him when you thought he didn’t notice—it all replayed in his mind, like an arctic monkeys album on repeat.

he liked you.

the realization hit him. it was both exciting and terrifying because it wasn’t harmless flirting anymore. it wasn’t a game anymore.

and suddenly, fear crept in—the fear of messing up, of ruining the dynamic you already had, of what minju would think, of what you would think if you found out how he was starting to care.

with a sigh, he pulled out his phone, hesitating before typing a message. but in the end, he deleted it, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he continued walking.

for now, he’d play it safe.

but he knew these feelings weren’t going to disappear anytime soon.

minju has been acting weird. not in a way that it’s obvious to everyone—she still laughed at gyuvin’s dumb jokes and rolled her eyes when taesan ranted about some rock band he had a hyper fixation on. but with you, something shifted.

she didn’t text as often, and when she did, her replies seemed distant and dry. at lunch, she still sat beside you, but the stiffness in her posture gave out how she was forcing herself to act normal.

you had a guess it was about jungwon, but there was no direct proof. she hadn’t said anything, nor confronted you. she hadn’t even mentioned his name. when you caught her looking at you, you could see an unreadable emotion—something about it pained you so much, no words would be able to explain it.

the worst part about it all—she pretended everything was normal, when it was clear as hell it was not.

did she think you wouldn’t notice?

you had enough.

after a week of minju’s distant behavior—short replies, the forced smiles, all the excuses—you could not take it anymore.

so when the last class of the day ended, before she could storm off as she did the past week, you gathered up all the courage you had and reached for her wrist.

“minju, wait.”

she froze for a second, carefully turning to you, her expression blank. “what?”

you exhaled, steadying yourself. “can we talk?”

you could recognize slight hesitation in her eyes. but then she sighed, pulling her wrist from your hold. “okay.”

you didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, she already knew what you were about to say.

as the teacher stepped out of the classroom, leaving you two completely alone, you opened your mouth to say something—but nothing comes out. the guarded look on minju’s face made you hesitate.

still, you pressed further. “minju… have i done something wrong?”

her brows furrowed, like she did not expect that. “what do you mean?”

“you have been avoiding me—barely talking, no daily update texts, you don’t even look at me!” you said it all in one breath. “please, tell me if i have done something wrong.”

she scoffed, shaking her head. “you didn’t do anything.”

“that doesn’t sound really convincing.”

she exhaled heavily, gripping the strap of her backpack. “i just—” she stopped herself, biting her bottom lip, before muttering, “nevermind, it’s nothing.”

you frowned. “it is if it’s making you act like this.”

she looked conflicted, her fingers twitched, like she wanted to grab something, maybe steady herself. then, she let out a humorless chuckle.

“you really don’t get it, do you?”

you raised your eyebrow, signaling her to elaborate.

minju sighed. it wasn’t her usual frustrated huff, it was heavier, emotionally deeper.

“it’s jungwon.”

you blinked. “jungwon?”

she nodded, letting out a breath she was holding. “you and him. i see the way you two are.”

you looked at her confused, not exactly understanding what she meant.

she looked at you, her eyes did not hold any frustration behind them, they were hurt.

“i hate it.” her hands clenched at her sides. “i hate seeing you with him. i hate that your smile is brighter with him rather than me.”

your breath hitched at her sudden confession. “minju…”

“i know i shouldn’t feel this way, i know it’s selfish,” she continued, her voice wavering. “but i can’t help it. you were my best friend. and now—” she swallowed hard.

“now, i feel like i’m losing you.”

you could feel your heart ache. minju had always been at your side, and you’re making her feel like this.

you took a step closer, taking her hand. “ju…”

she shook her head, wiping a few stray tears with her free hand. “i just don’t want you to leave me behind.”

you hesitated, guilt twisting inside you. fidgeting with your fingers, you remembered all the times minju had been distant lately, the way she avoided you, the way warmth in her was replaced by something unfamiliar, colder. it wasn’t about jungwon. it was about you. about her. about the space growing between you.

you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her more than you already did.

your arms flung around her, hugging her tightly. you whispered, “i won’t see him anymore.”

minju’s eyes widened. “what?”

“if it brings you that much pain… i’ll stop.”

for a moment, she stared at you, as if she didn’t believe you. then her lips parted slightly, letting out a shaky breath.

“…thank you,” she whispered, hugging you back.

you gave her a small smile, as you continued to hold her. but deep down, you felt something twist painfully.

you ignored the feeling, because if staying away from jungwon would fix things, then that’s what you will do.

you will keep your distance. you will ignore the way your heart pulled you in the opposite direction.

making things right with minju was what mattered the most.

but as you held her, a storm of emotions burst inside you, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this decision would leave a crack in your heart that might never heal.

that night, as you lied in bed, the weight of your promise crashed on you like a big pile of stones. every time you closed your eyes, you saw jungwon’s smile — the way his dimples would appear when he teased you, the way his eyes softened when you reacted to it. you tried to push these thoughts away, telling yourself it was for minju, but to no avail. the harder you tried to fight it, the more his face lingered in your brain. was this really the right thing to do?

you decided to scroll through your chat with him — for the last time, before everything comes to an end. going back to older texts, you stared at your phone, that one message glowing on the screen: “hope you’re not backing out of our deal, pretty girl”. a smile tugged at your lips, before quickly wiping it away, remembering minju’s tear-strained face. she was—is your best friend—your person. you had to fulfill what you promised. but then why did it hurt so much, even from a mere thought of letting jungwon go?

you decided to go wash up, maybe a cold shower will freshen you up.

that’s what you thought.

the cold water hit your skin, sharp and biting, but it did little to wash away the mess in your mind. you stood there, letting the water hit you, hoping that it would drown out the thoughts about jungwon. but instead, it only made them louder. overwhelming thoughts clouded your mind. what if this was all a mistake? your—whatever it is—with jungwon. maybe he really didn’t care about you, maybe he was just bored and decided to play with you. but then you remembered the way he looked at you — like you were the only one in the whole world. undoubtedly, jungwon made you feel like it. you remember the way his hand held yours back in the arcade — warm and steady, like the tickling of a clock. even now, you swore you could still feel it, under the icy stream, the ghost of his touch hugged your fingers.

was it possible to miss someone that much?

after what you thought would be a refreshing shower, your mind never cleared up. changing into pjs and trying to sleep—uncountable attempts at emptying your head and tossing and turning in your bed.

concluding that trying to fall asleep was pointless, you went to your small balcony, the cramped comfortable place with a small couch. you always liked it, the way the city noise faded into distant hums, the way the sofa would cradle you when everything was too heavy.

you hugged you knees to your chest, looking up at the star-filled night sky, the cool air brushing against your skin. the familiar comfort of the balcony couldn’t help with the ache in your heart. why did it have to be like this? why did you have to choose between the person who was always there for you and the person who made your heart race in a way that you’d never felt before?

life is so unfair.

you knew that the next day would be challenging. you woke up earlier than usual, just so you wouldn’t bump into jungwon at your locker, just so you didn’t have to regret the decision.

one thing you were grateful for—jungwon wasn’t in your class. belle and gyuvin were—they helped you to empty your mind, they made things so much easier for you. at that moment you silently thanked them for being there.

during lunch, you sat at your usual table, forcing a smile as belle and gyuvin had a heated debate over something silly again. minju was next to you, her laugh ringing out as she teased gyuvin for his unluckiness. she was looking better, happier.

she gave you hope that everything might be okay. when she noticed you looking down, which she always did, she took a hold of your hand, squeezing it lightly. you looked at her, smiling and squeezing her hand back, signaling that everything was okay.

it was a lie.

you noticed jungwon coming closer to your location with your peripheral vision and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking, but you had to. you could since the way his gaze lingered on you for a second too long. you couldn’t reciprocate it, you shouldn’t. so you didn’t, you simply ignored him, rather engaging in a chat with your friends about who knows what.

this choices pained you, but you didn’t pay attention to it. thinking everything will be alright as long as you don’t acknowledge it. just to make sure, you squeezed the hand in your again, hoping the gesture would help to relax, but all it did was remind you of the promise that could be broken with a single glance.

it will be fine.

that’s the phrase you kept telling yourself, over and over, like a mantra. but as you sat there, surrounded by your friends, their laughter and chatting filling the air, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were lying to yourself and everyone else. you didn’t wanna believe it, refusing to accept your own thoughts. everything will become easier.

right?

the rest of the day passed in a blur. everything was as usual—you answered some questions in class, nodding along your conversations, even laughing at the right moments. you tried to delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, and you almost succeeded. in the back of your mind, thoughts about jungwon still lingered.

when the last bell rang, you let out the sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding. you hurried back to your locker, you had to go home as quicker as possible, you didn’t want to encounter with anyone. but to your luck, fate had other plans for you.

“hey”

the familiar tone of his voice made you freeze. slowly closing the door to your locker, you stepped back, to make the distance a little bit longer between you two, as it didn’t feel as an enormous canyon already.

as your gaze met his, for the first time today, you were stunned. there he was in all his glory — jungwon. he was casually leaning against the lockers, hands holding his backpack.

“you’ve been avoiding me” the way he said this was light, but it carried something heavy, his eyes tell everything.

you open your mouth to deny, but you can’t. because its true. you have been avoiding him. you did everything just to not interact with him. suddenly, you can’t look him at the eyes, unable to focus on anything, your eyes run across the hall, just to find something. anything.

“is everything alright?” his soft, somewhat scared tone made your eyes flicker to him again. this time, he wasn’t looking at you, instead, he stared at the floor beneath him.

if the smirk that had a place on his face at the start of the conversation, now it disappeared. his face carried so many emotions, but one stood out the most.

fear.

this is the first time you see him like this, the confident, cocky jungwon, was now too scared to look at your eyes, asking such a simple, but at the same time difficult question. you didn’t know what to do.

one part of your mind whispered—to apologize for ignoring him, to hug and to comfort him. you want to say that you didn’t want to make him feel like this. but on the other hand, someone screams at you to go away, to stop seeing him, to tell him to block your number. and the one thing that pulls you to do so, is the promise between you and minju.

you never have broken your promises, never. even in the third grade when you got one C, you promised your parents to get 100 in all the classes next semester. that you did, even when you were sure that they wouldn’t mind if you got less. even in the 7th grade, when you promised to bake cookies for all your friends, with zero knowledge of baking. you still did it, even if the taste wasn’t that amazing. you still did it.

you can’t break the promise you made yesterday, the promise to your beloved best friend.

what you were about to do will hurt you, and you will definitely regret it, but it just had to be done.

“lets stop this” you say sternly, trying to hide away all the pain that your own decision brought you, hoping that it will ease the impact on jungwon, fully knowing that it wont.

“what?” his head shot up, a surprised look evident on his face. for a moment, he just stared at you, as if waiting for you to laugh and say it was a joke. but that moment didn’t come, his expression shifted, confusion and hurt played on his face, along with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.his eyebrows furrowed, “are you serious?”, his voice cracking slightly.

you just nod your head, despite the storm and explosions inside your brain. fixing the bag strap on your shoulder, you just walk away, like it didn’t bother you, like you didn’t care about the record shop, arcade, cafe, like every his message didn’t bring you joy, like you didn’t care about him.

each step was heavier than the last one, you could feel the way he stared at you from behind, even when you wanted to, you wouldn’t dare to meet his eyes. if you did, you were sure you’d break.

tears welled up in your eyes. you want to apologize, want to say that it was just a stupid prank. but you couldn’t. not even for him.

as you walked away from the school grounds, you let tears spill, not able hold them back anymore. you wiped them away, but they kept coming, they were serving a reminder of what you just did, what you just lost.

as you walked home, the weight of your decision settled with unexplainable pain in your chest, a constant sickness that didn’t fade.

when jungwon arrived home after that night, he started thinking immediately.

should he confess or should he wait? if the first, then how? where? with flowers? with a plushie? with a vinyl?

as he thought about these, the moments of your talk flickered in his memory. not wanting to forget a single detail, jungwon grabs his notepad and writes down everything he remembers.

even after scribbling down his thoughts, his heart didn’t calm down—it still raced, he couldn’t understand, it was the first time he felt this way, he didn’t think that someone would be able to make his stomach flip with every emotion known to the world. he leaned back in his chair, spinning mindlessly around his room as different outcomes played in his mind. he was fed up with all this overthinking.

he should rest.

that’s the conclusion he came to. jungwon rushed to the shower, turned up the coldest temperature and screamed in terror.

that’s not what you do, idiot

after adjusting the temperature, he basked in the comfortable rain, calming down his mind and heart. that night he slept almost worry-free.

the week went smoothly, usual eye contact with you at lunches became something more, little waves joining the routine. jungwon tried to talk with you during breaks more too, finding you at your locker or vending machine in the backyard of the school campus.

sometimes you would share short jokes with each other, laughing quietly. the other, you would get to know each other more, playing 21 questions, this way jungwon was able to show you the picture of maeumi and find out that you adore dogs, especially the small ones. that small fact brought a smile on his face, he started to imagine the walks that you two would go on, he’d bring maeumi along, and you would have a nice picnic date, maybe.

he was quickly snapped back into reality with your next question, pretending that he didn’t just imagine how you would intertwine hands.

one time, you were quiet with each other. it could’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t, it was comforting actually. the wind gently blowing on you, carrying faint noise from other classes along. you two would just laugh at that while making eye contact.

everything seemed to go smoothly, jungwon was already brainstorming ideas for his confession—already sure with his choice. there was just one question left to ask: what is your favorite arctic monkeys song.

and he was sure that today he would ask it.

the morning went as usual, he got up, brushed his teeth, got dressed and went to school. his first period was math, but even that couldn’t ruin his mindset, which wasn’t unnoticed by his friend, sunoo.

“what’s up with you today? you’re never this hyped for mr. lee’s class”, he asked, looking at jungwon like he grew 2 heads.

“it’s nothing, just have big plans” and that he did, jungwon planned to take you to the vinyl shop where you met during the break. listen to some albums and ask you the question he badly needed an answer to.

“something related to y/n?” sunoo asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

instead of a response, jungwon just smiled, the red cheeks answered for him. and when he heard the giggle his classmate made, the blush only deepened.

up until lunch, jungwon couldn’t contain the happiness he had, smiling through all his classes, even through chemistry. his classmates looked at him like a maniac, i mean, who smiles during organic chemistry explanation?

he didn’t care about all that tho, all he wanted is to see you at lunch, look at your eyes and smile.

when he met up with jay near the cafeteria, he knew that they would pass your usual table, he mentally prepared himself for that moment.

he walked in your direction, that way, you would face each other perfectly, and when he almost waved, you refused to meet his gaze, preferring to engage in a conversation with your friends.

the smile on jungwons face immediately faltered. he felt an instant drop in his chest, confusion overtook his expression, if the cafeteria wasn’t so crowded, he would definitely stand like a deer.

jays arm was placed on his back so he would continue walking, and jungwon couldn’t help but submit. a wave of emotions struck him. what was that just now?

he could only keep walking, but the only thing replaying on his mind was how you turned away from him. over and over.

did i imagine that? maybe y/n just didn’t see me, yea that has to be it.

he tried to reason with his own brain, but the more he thinks about the interaction, the more doubt he has. you looked at everyone else, hell, jungwon swore, you looked at his direction for a millisecond. you saw him, you just—chose not to.

the weird feeling appeared in his stomach, not the one from before, no. it didn’t make him giggly and happy, instead, it made him sorrowful, doubtful.

jays words don’t even make sense now, jungwon can’t hear them, all he can think about is: what did i do wrong?

when he met up with his other friends, his mind was somewhere else, he didn’t answer their questions, he couldn’t even hear them, he was deeply immersed in his own thoughts. every single possibility crossing his mind. he had to ask you what was that.

after lunch, he could not focus. if in the morning it was because of the happiness that distracted him, now it was the misery casting upon him. he had to get out of this class immediately. jungwon counted seconds until the bell. and when finally it rang—he ran to the backyard with all his strength. he doesn’t mind his friends who look at him confused, he has to go to your spot. and when he arrives—

nothing.

jungwon is met with emptiness of the backyard, if you wanted to come here, then you would, your classroom was literally a minute away, unlike his. but you didn’t.

you’re not near the vending machine, not sitting on the bench, and you’re not even crouched down in the corner where you two would usually sit.

then it hits him. it’s not a coincidence.

you’re avoiding him.

jungwon just stands there, not knowing what to do. he takes in the silence—the emptiness. the place that was associated with warmth was colder than any winter.

now he must talk to you. he checks his watch, it was 2 minutes before the bell on the last lesson. he had no choice but to come back. when his friends tried to question him, jungwon just shrugged, signaling that he didn’t want to answer anything.

he just has to wait for another hour. damn it.

when that painfully long 60 minutes passed, jungwon stuffed all his things into his backpack, not caring if it was messy, which was unlike him, he always made sure that his notebooks are all organized. the mess in his head made his actions look chaotic.

when he arrived at the lockers, he saw you. rushing to put all your textbooks in a tiny blue locker. why were you in such a hurry? is it because you didn’t want to see him?

jungwon shakes his head, there was no time to overthink, he just had to ask, you were right here, in front of him.

as he tried to calm his mind down, you were almost done. he leaned against the lockers, almost whispering:

“hey”

jungwon could see you stop in your movements, this little detail made his heart sink, his hands gripping the backpack strap so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

as you carefully close your locker and take a step back, which breaks his heart, you finally look at him, at that moment, jungwon felt mute, he couldn’t get any words out of his mouth, and he had plenty. he wanted to curse at you, question you, adore you, but all that he is able to muster out is — “you’ve been avoiding me”

you look stunned, like you didn’t expect that question, but quickly that expression transformed into one of regret? that only made jungwon more curious at what you had to say. he felt despair, he was dying to know what prompted such behavior from you.

after noticing how your orbs scanned through the school hall, he couldn’t continue looking at you, instead, shifting his gaze to the floor, wishing that it would swallow him as a whole. “is everything alright?”, he manages to whisper.

few seconds later, which felt like an eternity, you look at him, with a stare so harsh, that it felt like a hit by a metal bat.

“let’s stop this” you say, and jungwon can’t believe his ears. his breath got caught in his throat. you didn’t have to specify what you meant by ‘this’. it was obvious, you both acknowledged the growing tension between the two of you.

he felt like a deer in headlights. “are you serious?” he asks, because he feels like you’re joking. he is waiting for you to laugh at him, to point his expression, just say something, anything.

but you don’t, you just nod, rubbing salt into the wound. and when it couldn’t get worse, it did. you turned away and walked away. just walked away. the ache in his chest spread all over.

jungwon felt devastated. after everything — you just turn away from him? he wants to cry, to break down, but doesn’t find any strength in himself to do so.

he just watches your figure slowly disappear when you walk towards the direction of your home.

you cried the whole evening.

when you just got home, you broke down, disturbing everyone present. your mom looked so heartbroken at the sight of her daughter in such misery. and she couldn’t do anything but give you a comforting hug and offer your favorite tea, which was enough.

your dad decided to give you space, which you were grateful for. you didn’t know what to do and what to think. you just…had no idea.

even your older brother gave you some space by not teasing you for your tears, feeling that it was something serious.

when you went up to your room, you dropped your bag, which resulted in a loud noise, but you paid no mind to it, you just wanted to cry.

not bothering to change out of your school uniform, you collapsed onto your bed. the dampness of your pillowcase only reminded you the reason why you were crying.

jungwon.

the way he looked so hopeful, but so doubtful at the same time. visions of him only strengthened the flow of your emotions.

you want to apologize, to call him, to confess in everything you felt, how he made your heart race, or how you couldn’t think straight way back when you two met at the photobooth.

and then you remember minju. how happy she looked, like she was released from the heaviest load. or how she looked when she admitted her feelings, how much stress she buried within herself.

all these overwhelming feelings made you tremble. your fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket, gripping it so it could somehow steady you, like it could calm down the storm in your mind. you tried to take a deep breath, but it only made everything worse—you could smell the scent of cinnamon of your shampoo, the one that jungwon teased you for all the time.

you exhaled. shaky and unsteady.

why did it feel like this?

every time you though of him—his eyes searching yours in the sea of others, his smile with unforgettable dimples, that made you giggle too—it felt like a weight pressuring down on you. you squeezed your eyes shut in attempt to forget those memories, but they clung to you, like lyrics of the song you loved.

you had done the right thing.

then why was the pain so sharp?

monday was a dread. the start of the work week, the sudden change in the sleeping schedule and an overwhelming amount of tasks and responsibilities weighing over you.

but this week, it’s even worse. because this week, you had to face him again.

you still weren’t over the emotions that consumed you over the weekends, still feeling regret, melancholy and sorrow. and that showed in your academics. you had no energy to even talk, there’s no need to mention solving an equation at the board.

thanks to your good reputation, teachers decided to let you rest, that you needed. honestly, you wouldn’t have come to school, if not for the physics quiz, but there is one.

your friends—belle and gyuvin—seemed really worried, asking you numerous questions about your well being. you didn’t wanna explain, so you just said that you didn’t sleep well. an excuse that works all the time.

you felt bad for lying, but you felt that the moment his name will leave your lips, you would break down in tears, not wanting to embarrass yourself further, you saved yourself the trouble.

your look hasn’t changed at all when it was lunchtime. barely making your way to the cafeteria, dragging your legs across the floor. when you did arrive there, you felt overwhelmed, your mind clouded with scrabbled thoughts, and suddenly, it was getting harder to breathe.

trying to compose yourself, you get to your usual lunch table where everyone else were waiting. plumping yourself on the seat and greeting others, you pick on your food, having no appetite, even though you haven’t had breakfast in the morning.

all the words don’t make sense, whatever minju is telling you, it goes into one ear and leaves through the other, you can’t focus on anything.

the struggle to breathe came back. dropping your utensils, you grab your head, not being able to deal with all these noises. you could feel tears forming in your eyes, daring to roll down. the heartbeat went far away from normal.

this is not you, focus y/n

you try to tell yourself, but to no avail. you could feel like the control of your body slipped away from your grasp.

suddenly, there was a sharp sensation, someone is trying to wake you up, shaking you. its minju.

“y/n? y/n! Y/N?”

it is definitely her. her voice stands out from the crowd. you could finally see what’s happening around you, blurry, but good enough.

“follow me. inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale” minju repeated worryingly, imitating what she meant.

you did as she asked, inhale and exhale, and repeat.

feeling the warmth of the real world, you gasp, your hands quickly taking ahold of whatever first came into contact, which happened to be your best friend’s arms.

“y/n! are you alright? what happened?” all the eyes were on you, staring into your soul.

“i…don’t know, i juts lost myself for a second, i guess…”

“come with me, ill walk you to the nurses office” minju says and immediately brings you up, giving you no room to refuse.

having no choice, you follow her, hoping to get a little bit of silent time.

jungwon watched this unfold from few meters away.

the moment he saw you, tirelessly dragging yourself to your friends, he couldn’t tear away his gaze from you, not even the pain you brought stopped him. he just knew that something was wrong.

when the faint sound of chopsticks falling onto the table could be heart, he became tense, stopped eating himself.

the tears that formed at your eyes made his eyes widen, and his posture weird, like he wanted to stand up and come to you.

jungwon’s fingers twitched against the table, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t, but he wanted to.

while he was in the internal conflict, his body moved up on its own, but not making more moves, like testing his limits, if he can hold himself back.

but his mind was too slow. his own cousin was already helping you, trying to snap you back into reality. he could feel his chest tighten at the sight.

was it jealousy? was it sorrow? maybe both? jungwon didn’t know, only you were on his mind.

how he hates to see you in pain and how you pained him. the contrast was overwhelming, but before he could even decide what to do, you were walking away, in the arms of minju.

what was he supposed to do? was he supposed to do anything? questions filled his mind.

he didn’t even notice how he sat back, his mind being too clouded.

jungwon hopes he will have a chance to know if you’re well.

the moment you lied down on the bed in the nurses office —you fell into a deep slumber, having no worry in the world, it might have seemed like that, but it was actually the opposite. the overwhelming amount of things that clouded your mind made you pass out.

to be frank, the sleep was nice. but the sound of someone calling your name disturbed it.

and just like that, you were woken up and met with the face of your own mom.

she sweetly said: “sweetie, i’m here to pick you up. your homeroom teacher told me what happened. are you okay?”

“im fine now. what time is it?” you answer her, scratching your head, ignoring the mess that formed there.

she looked at her watch and looked back at you. “2:30, you won’t miss much, don’t worry”

“alright, should we go now?” you stand up on your feet, holding her hand.

your mother just nodded at you, saying goodbye to the nurse.

when she finished filling out the form, she took ahold of your shoulders, as to steady you.

“im alright mom, i wont fall”

“better be safe than sorry” she said softly, but worry was evident in her voice.

“if that makes you feel better”

as you both sat down in the car, the feeling of drowsiness appeared again. the drive to your house was not short, so you decided to sleep for a bit. your mind was clear as day, like it was washed, which is so unusual for you, especially in the past few days.

when you arrive at the house, you decided to check your phone, several messages appeared, some from social media, some from other stuff, and a lot from the specific group chat.

it was your friend group chat — and multiple messages made it clear that you made them worry a lot.

minju: y/n pls text when you’re feeling better :(

belle: yes! and don’t forget to drink lots of water and rest a bunch TT

taesan: belle is right, you should rest. don’t come to school tmrw

gyuvin: you made us worried bro 😭 don’t scare us like that the next time

smiling at their care, you quickly type a response.

you: sorry everyone! thank you for all the support, and i don’t think ill come tmrw either TT

you: im alright now tho, just gonna rest a lot lol

a few bubbles appear immediately, wishing you a good rest, and saying that you should take better care of yourself.

you reacted to their messages, silently promising that you will do as they said.

putting your phone on the charger, you change into more comfortable clothes and go back to your bed, ready to make up for missing sleep the past week.

tuesday, you, as promised, didn't show up. minju was glad that you let yourself rest, even if it’s just for a day. she was worried about you after all, it wasn't like you to have a panic attack in the middle of lunch.

it was boring though. usually, you’re the one who agrees with minju, the one who would listen to her. it’s not like the others won’t, but it just wasn’t the same.

“whatever,” minju thought. “at least i leave early today”

today was some kind of a family event at her house, her mom loved inviting guests over. jungwon will be there too. minju didn't feel anger as she usually does, talking with you helped a lot more than she thought.

after the fourth period, right before lunch, minju was already packing her bag. as she walked to the gates, she noticed a familiar figure waiting there.

“jungwon?” minju asked, when she was close enough.

the said boy turned around to face her, he didn't seem surprised though, like he was waiting for her.

“oh, hey. my mom will be here soon”

“huh? auntie is picking me up?” minju was surprised to hear that, as she wasn’t notified of this.

jungwon looked at her weirdly, raising one of his brows. “yea? pretty sure, your mom texted you about this.”

minju immediately checked her phone—taking it from her pocket—and jungwon was right. there was a message from her mother that minju will be picked up from school.

“oh.”

awkwardness filled the air; it was weird, the two of them got along just well, playfully bantering, but supporting each other when needed.

“are you alright? you seem pretty out of it” minju broke the silence, genuinely worried for his well-being.

“huh? oh yeah, just fine” he replied, his words trailing off into something barely audible.. “um,” jungwon hesitated.

“is y/n good…?” the question was asked impulsively, jungwon was surprised himself.

minju looked at him weirdly. “yes, she is. why do you care?” the previous awkwardness shifted into something more sharp and stern. friendliness slowly disappearing.

“i guess, i was worried. looked like she was having a hard time yesterday.” he didn't mind minju’s tone, like it was normal for her, which it kinda was.

their one-sided tension was interrupted by the sound of a car honk. it was jungwon’s mom.

“hey, you two! get in! we’re already late!”

the two teenagers looked in her direction and sprinted off to the vehicle. both of them got into the backseat, on the opposite sides. while minju was talking with her auntie, jungwon decided to wear his headphones and tune into his world of music.

when they arrived to park household, minju and miss yang went to the kitchen to help minju’s mom, while jungwon went upstairs to minju’s room.

“you can go to my room” he recalls her saying.

as he walks in, jungwon is met with a splash of sky blue. her bed is made, with different jellycats on top of it, near it, minju’s desk stands, different makeup tools and school stuff lay on it. but jungwon’s attention goes to the board above her desk. different polaroids and photobooth photos are there, but his gaze is fixed on only one.

three photos with you and minju. you look exactly the same as the day when he first met you. the same sweater, hairstyle and lipgloss.

jungwon’s eyes widened. he doesn't know why. he is aware that you’re best friends with his cousin, so why did his chest tighten?

he still likes you.

that’s right. he still does. even after you said that you gave to stop seeing each other, his feelings still lingered.

“hey jungwon, you should go downst-”

minju stopped in her tracks when she sees her cousin staring at her board with pictures. her eyes immediately landed on what he's staring at—those pictures.

“oh, yeah, lets g-” he didn’t have time to finish his sentence as the sudden door slam scared him.

“what’s up with you? first you ask about y/n, and now you’re staring at her photos? didn't i tell you to stop whatever you're planning?” annoyance was evident in minju’s voice. she hated the fact that jungwon looked like he cared about you, minju knew he didn’t, she hoped he didn’t.

jungwon's chest tightened, his hands formed fists as a habit whenever anyone raised their voice at him.

"what are you talking about?" his voice was quite, but sharp.

minju scoffed at his ignorance. “don't play dumb, jungwon. you know exactly what im talking about. its y/n”

his jaw clenched. the sound of her name felt like a hit in the ribs. “what? i can't ask if she’s okay now?” he tried to play it cool, he didn't want to show his vulnerability.

minju let out a dry laugh. “you don’t get to pretend like you care.”

jungwon couldn’t believe what was he hearing now, he can’t back down now, that’s for sure. “you think i was, am pretending this whole time?”

minju was stubborn, her knuckles turned white. “then explain, why did she stop talking to you, huh? if you truly cared for her, then she wouldn’t walk away, right?”

jungwon flinched. his heart rate picked up and his fingers curled tighter into his palms.

he has been asking himself the exact same thing.

he sharply exhaled, forcing his voice to stay steady. “how about you tell me?”

minju froze, her eyes widened, her hands relaxed.

her reaction wasn’t unnoticed by jungwon. that’s when the realization hit him.

“so it was you? you told her to do it” his gaze locked on hers—piercing, demanding to confess.

“yea, so? it was the best choice for her” minju snapped, but quickly quieted down, as she started to pick ner nails. nervousness took a hold of her.

jungwon let out another exhale. “you cannot be serious now” he took a step closer. “who are you to decide what’s best for her?”

minju was triggered, she was everything he wasn’t to you. “i am her best friend, who are you to decide that you’re the one who she needs?”

“are you calling yourself her best friend when you can’t even see and value her feelings?”

“I-” minju had no words. he was right, she made you stop talking with him out of her selfishness. she wanted to keep you for herself. she didn’t want jungwon to take you from her. she didn’t want that to happen again.

“yeah, exactly.” he looked at her for one last time before rushing to the front door. he needed some fresh air.

“jungwon? where are you going?” “to the shop, i'll be quick!”

minju could hear voices downstairs, she was completely frozen. she was slapped with realization that she had no right to decide what’s best for you. even if she just wanted you to be happy.

tears formed in her eyes, silently running down her cheeks. minju leaned against her door and plumped on the ground, sobbing inaudibly.

she can’t just do nothing now. she was proven wrong. she hurt two of her closest people. the guilt was eating her alive.

minju stood up and sprinted to the front door, shouting “i’ll be right back!” ignoring the yell from her mom, she had no time, she had to apologize to you.

it’s a 15 minute walk from her house to yours, but she made it in 7. she started ringing your doorbell, even when she was still catching her breath.

“minju? what’s up- what happened?” you opened the door just to be met with your best friend breathing profusely, her face slightly puffy. from the looks of it, she looks like she cried. “did you cry? are you alright?”

when minju calmed down and was able to breath properly, she looked at you straight into the eyes.

“y/n, i-i am sorry. i’m so sorry.” she started apologizing, for what? you had no idea.

your brows furrowed. “huh? minju, why are you apologizing?”

her hands clenched at her sides. she looked like she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.

you had never seen her like this before—so frustrated with herself, so shaken.

she swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “i’m so sorry y/n, it was me”

you were still dumbfounded. “what?”

minju’s voice cracked, but she kept going. “i was the one who made you stop talking with jungwon” she exhaled sharply. “i thought it would be for the best, but it wasn’t. i acted on impulse and because i was selfish. i thought if you and jungwon got close, you wouldn’t need me anymore. i didn’t want you to talk to him because of that, but i never asked you how you felt, and i guess you really like him, maybe i knew it the whole time, but didn’t want to indulge into the thought that i was in the wrong, but it doesn’t matter” she rambled before making a quick pause.

minju’s eyes were glistening again, her voice barely above whisper. “i hurt you both with my actions, and i want to apologize.” she wiped her eyes harshly.

minju took a deep breath and stepped closer, bowing almost 90 degrees. “i know i don’t deserve it-” her voice was raw with emotions. “can you forgive me?”

you listened to all her ramblings, trying to catch everything. and when you did, your mind went blank.

you had tried to justify what you did—tried to convince yourself it was for the best. but now, hearing minju say it out loud, admitting her mistakes, the truth weighed heavier than you had imagined. a moment of silence has passed before you broke it off.

“minju, i forgive you” you replied to her apology. “i understand how you felt, and i guess it was wrong to just randomly start talking with your relative.”

minju stood straight and grabbed your shoulders. “no! it was entirely my fault! i have no right of controlling who you decide to talk to.”

you placed your hands on her own. “i never knew you felt that way. i’m sorry for not noticing.” you bitterly smiled, feeling guilty.

minju hugged you, shuffling her head into your neck. you instinctively hugger her back, her tears dampening your shirt.

“come on, i’ll make you some tea”

you had spent an hour or two calming minju down.

she kept apologizing even after you told her you forgive her.

you listened to her worried and reasons behind her actions, and you never knew that she felt like this.

“you should confess to him, you know?” minju suddenly said, making you almost spit out your tea.

“huh? who said i liked him?” you looked around, like searching for the guilty one.

“it is pretty obvious. you never get flustered around anyone. the only time i remember was back in 8th grade.” she put her head into her head. “was his name jongseob, or something? you liked him a lot” minju reminded you of an old crush, which made you more embarrassed.

“ugh, stop, it’s embarrassing.” you lightly hit her. “i don’t think jungwon even wants to see me now. not after i said all that stuff to him.” tearing your gaze away from her, you looked around.

“you’re kidding. he literally asked me only about you today. ‘is y/n okay?’ ‘is she doing alright’ blah blah blah” she exaggerated even more by showing talking signs with her hands.

you quietly laughed at her antics. “i don’t know. i think he doesn’t want to see me”

“if there’s anyone he doesn’t want to see, it’s me, i promise you” she breathed out. “we got into a fight which resulted in me coming here.”

you looked at her with pity. “sorry, i guess, i am the reason behind it”

“stop. don’t blame yourself. it was all me.” minju looked at you sternly.

“sorry-“ you couldn’t hold yourself.

“stop apologizing! you should fix that habit of yours, it starts to get annoying”

you laughed lightly at her, almost apologizing again.

when minju came back home, everyone was gone. her place was filled with silence.

“oh, minju, where were you? you missed everything” her mothers voice filled the air.

“sorry, i had to do something urgent. has everyone left already?” she quickly made her way to the living room, where her dad was napping and her mom was watching the TV.

“yes, about half an hour ago. did you and jungwon had a fight? he looked pretty sad.”

“uh, yeah, it was my fault. i’ll apologize to him soon, don’t worry” minju felt guilty at the mention of her cousins name.

“i hope so, he looked miserable. you two always got along well too” her mom sighed, “go to sleep, you have school tomorrow”

“alright, good night” minju said as she went upstairs.

“good night!”

the next day, you didn’t have any trouble with breathing nor steadying yourself. you were just nervous. in the morning, minju pulled you aside, telling you that you need to confess to jungwon today.

after that, your focus was shifted to something else. how will he react after seeing you? to you confessing? will he reciprocate? will he reject you? all kinds of thoughts filled your mind up until lunch.

you wanted to look for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. when you felt his presence near, you quietly turned your head to look at him, just to find him already looking at you.

kathump.

the feeling in your chest was back. your heart rate sped up again.

a light hit made you snap back, it was minju, she wore a teasing smile that literally said “i told you so”

your mind went back to that interaction the rest of the day. you couldn’t stop thinking about it. but when it was the time to talk to him, you were ready to go straight home.

you were scared. when minju noticed your hesitance, she slightly pushed you.

“your prince charming is waiting, look” she pointed at the direction where jungwon stood.

when you turned to look at your best friend, she was already leaving, mouthing you a good luck.

oh you needed it.

as minju disappeared from your view, you looked back at jungwon.

there he was. hands in pockets, standing tall.

you decided to take one step. and you already felt dizzy.

it’s okay. you can do it.

you quietly said to yourself. you swallowed hard. every step towards him felt heavier, like your legs didn’t want to move.

but you that you had to, that you wanted to.

as you were almost there, he looked at you. jungwon just stood there and watched your approach him. even though his hands were barely visible, you swear his fingers twitched—like he was holding himself back from walking to you.

you stoped in front of him.

silence.

the weight of everything crashed down at once .

“I-“ you started, but didn’t know how to finish. you just stared at him.

and he stared at you back. he blinked at you—his expression unreadable, but his eyes, they were curious, like they were searching for the reason you came up to him.

you turned your gaze to the ground below you, unable to stand under the pressure of his eyes. fingers finding the straps of your jacket.

“jungwon, i-“ you took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to look at him again. “i’m sorry.”

his face flickered with surprise. “for what?”

“for-“ your throat tightened like your grip on your jacket. “for pushing you away. for saying things i didn’t mean. for not asking how you feel. for-“

you exhaled.

“i miss you”

the words made their way out before you could stop them. your feelings summarized in three words. you just missed him.

jungwon froze.

he fixed his posture, continued to look at you, waited for you to continue.

your hands let go of your jacket and balled into fists. “i like you, jungwon” you made a slight pause. “i truly do, i don’t know how and when it started, but-“ you let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head.

“i just know because when i’m not around you, everything feels wrong”

jungwon was still staring, like a deer in headlights, but then, in a second—

his hands weren’t in his pockets anymore, they were on your face.

your breath hitched. you could feel the warmth, both from his hands and your fluster.

his fingertips, warm and gentle, carefully traced over your cheeks-like you weren’t real, like you could disappear in a millisecond.

his voice was barely audible. “are you serious?”

you nodded. “i am”

a small, breathless laugh escapes him.

and then-

he kissed you.

the warmth of his lips connected with yours.

your eyes widened, but you quickly adjusted, closing them, your hands made their way to his shoulders.

when his lips started moving, you couldn’t help but reciprocate. it just felt right.

you kissed each other just right. it felt wonderful.

the lack of air made you pull away first, but jungwon quickly kissed you again.

and when he did pull away, he smiled.

you saw the smile that you adored, the cutest dimples made their way back on his face.

jungwon hugged you, pulling you close by your waist. “i like you too,” he whispered into your ear. “i always wanted to say that.”

you hugged him back and lightly laughed. “so, can i be your girlfriend?” you asked him.

“i’d love that” jungwon replied, stuffing his head deeper into your hair.

you and your boyfriend lied in your room, enjoying each other’s company.

arctic monkeys’ ‘AM’ album playing in the background. and it’s all you could ever ask for.

“still can’t believe minju was the one who promoted you confess” jungwon suddenly said as he played with your hair.

“if it wasn’t for her, i’d never look at your direction again, honestly. you should thank her” looking back at him, you enlightened him.

“nah, we’re even.” he joked. “i’m glad she apologized tho, unexpected from her.”

“stop making her sound like a villain!” you hit him, but you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “she’s the one who made me go to that photobooth.”

jungwon held you tighter, kissing your cheek. “whatever, i have you now. the others don’t matter.”

at that you could only hum, closing your eyes.

as fluorescent adolescent—your favorite song—started playing, you drifted into slumber in your boyfriends arms.

[mommyameliestorycorner]

Reasons Why ALL Boys Belong in Diapers

Boys are messy creatures. From their sticky fingers to their questionable aim in the bathroom, boys have never been good at keeping things clean. A diaper just simplifies the whole process—no more "oops, I missed" or "it was just an accident!"

Moms and girlfriends are already cleaning up after them. Ever noticed how boys conveniently “forget” how to do laundry, dishes, or pick up their own socks? They already expect someone else to handle their messes—diapers just make it official!

They think farting is funny. So let’s see how they like a full diaper. Boys love to giggle about their own gas, but let’s see how funny it is when there’s more than just air in their diaper. Oh, what's that? Suddenly it's "not so funny"? Thought so!

They have the attention span of a goldfish. Oh, look! A ball! A car! A flashing light! Boys get so distracted by the simplest things—who has time to actually remember to use the potty when there are way more important things to focus on? Best to keep them safely diapered so they don’t make a mess when they inevitably forget.

They have NO shame. Boys will scratch, burp, and do all sorts of gross things in public without a second thought. If they have no problem acting like babies in front of everyone, why not dress them like one too?

They never know when to stop playing. Boys will run around, roughhouse, and completely ignore their obvious potty signals until—oopsie! Too late! Rather than trusting them with big boy underwear (as if!), it’s just safer to keep them padded so they can go whenever they inevitably lose track of time.

They’re so lazy. Let’s be honest, even if a boy could make it to the potty, would he really want to? Getting up, stopping what he's doing, actually aiming—so much effort! It's just easier to let him go in his diaper like the helpless little thing he is.

They still act like babies, so they might as well wear what babies wear. Boys whine when they don’t get their way, throw tantrums over the smallest things, and sulk when they lose. If they’re going to act like fussy little toddlers, they should be dressed like one too—diapers included!

They hate being told what to do. Which makes it even more fun! The best part? They’ll huff and puff, but there’s nothing they can do about it. They can squirm all they want—at the end of the day, they’ll still be right where they belong: safely diapered.

Deep down, they know they belong in diapers. At the end of the day, all their silly protests and puffed-up bravado don’t change the truth—boys just aren’t meant for potty training. They’re much better off being padded, protected, and properly taken care of. And while that will never change, their diapers certainly will—again and again and again

Please reblog I you agree, that all boys should be in diapers 24/7! Thank you @all4thedips for your suggestions and help.

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it gf! vs tf141 bf (hurt/comfort edition)

i was spat on and essentially physically threatened by a man over a foot taller than me today, and if my husband was with me i know i would’ve been safe because NOBODY does shit to me and gets away with it when it comes to him and it got me thinking about how the tf141 boys would act in situations like this soooo I typed all of this with one hand (still in a splint) because I needed some fictional comfort even in the arms of my husband

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE: "A fuckin' death wish!"

He’s parked just across the lot, watching you through the windshield like always—cool, relaxed, unbothered—until he sees some lumbering fucker square up to you.

You don’t even get a word out. The guy spits on you.

And John is out of the truck like a shot.

Door doesn’t even fully close behind him. He’s marching, beard twitching, jaw clenched, eyes locked on the guy like a trained predator.

"Oi," he barks—sharp and low enough to stop everything in the lot. "You got a fuckin’ death wish?"

The guy barely turns before Price grabs him by the front of the shirt and slams him against the nearest wall. Calm. Efficient. Terrifying.

"You spit on her?" he asks. Real quiet. Real dangerous. "Call her that again. Go on. I dare you."

You don’t even realize you’re shaking until he’s at your side, big hand cradling the back of your neck, checking you over like he’s memorizing you from scratch.

"Y’alright, sweetheart?"

You nod, watery.

He kisses your forehead. "Get in the truck. I’ll be right behind you."

You don’t ask what he does next. And you don’t see that man in town again.

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK: "shitting enamel for a week!"

He’s in the truck FaceTiming Soap when he sees it—your walk, that cute little bounce in your step—and then?

Spit.

Your whole body flinches.

And Kyle goes silent.

Just disappears from the screen.

You don’t even see him until the man’s being yanked backwards and shoved hard into a parked car.

"You wanna say that shit again, bruv?" Kyle growls, barely keeping his voice low. "You think you're hard, spitting on a girl half your fuckin’ size?"

You’re frozen, arms crossed, tears stinging.

"Move," he snarls. "One more step near her and I'll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be shitting enamel for a week."

The guy stumbles off, humiliated.

Kyle turns to you, jaw tight, eyes scanning you top to bottom.

"You okay, love?"

"Y-yeah—"

"No," he murmurs, pulling you into his chest, hand on the back of your head. "You’re not. But you will be. I’ve got you."

And when you slide back into the truck, his hoodie ends up on you before you can even buckle in.

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY: "BURY YOU"

He’s in the driver’s seat, hood up, skull mask pulled down, watching the door like a hawk.

He sees the guy step in front of you. Hears the shout. Sees the spit.

He doesn’t even blink.

You try to sidestep and the man blocks you.

But then—

A voice. Right behind him.

"Back away from her."

Simon’s just there, looming, deadly, still as a statue. The man turns and sees death staring him in the face.

"Move. Now."

The guy scoffs.

Simon grabs him by the collar, yanks him off his feet, and slams him into the pavement so fast the air leaves your lungs.

"You ever even look at her again," he says, low and gritted, "I will bury you where you stand."

He turns to you like nothing happened. Gently takes your shaking hands, pulls you into him.

"You alright, lovie?"

You nod, but the sob breaks free anyway, and he just wraps you up in those massive arms, silent, safe.

You ride the rest of the way with your seat leaned into him and his hand on your thigh the entire time.

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH: "SHES FUCKIN' MINE!"

He’s parked up front, phone out, ready to record a stupid TikTok with you and Gaz about your sauce order, when he sees it go down.

Spit. Words. Your whole body freezing.

He’s already out the door and sprinting before your brain even catches up.

"Oi!" he roars. "You fuckin’ DAFT?!"

The guy has no time to react before Johnny’s got a fistful of his jacket and slams him into the side of the building.

"You touch her? You spit on her?!" His eyes are wild. Voice cracking. "She’s fuckin’ mine!"

It takes Gaz and a stranger to peel him off.

He’s still breathing heavy when he rushes to you, hands everywhere, checking your cheeks, your arms, your eyes.

"You okay, bonnie? Did he hurt you? Say the word and I’ll go back over there—"

You just shake your head and throw yourself at him, and he catches you like he was born for it.

His voice breaks a little when he whispers into your hair, "Nobody does that to you. Not ever. Not while I’m still breathin’."

He drives with one hand clenched so hard the wheel squeaks and the other holding yours like a lifeline.

[puck-luck]

i know you said a while ago that you’d consider writing for mat barzal but aren’t sure how to go about it and im just up late thinking about how barzy gives me suchhhh best friends to lovers vibes like hanging out ALL the time to the point where everyone assumes you guys are dating anyways, dropping literally everything when either of you needs the other, and things slowly progressing between you guys without either of you realizing it until one day one of your regular sleepovers is filled with so much sexual tension that you end up having crazy sex all over his apartment

closer than close | mat barzal

warnings: friends to lovers, fighting with friends (anthony beauvillier's ex emma simard), sharing a toothbrush (grosser than unprotected p in v IMO), (speaking of!) unprotected p in v, french kissing, booty callllll, sex in unconventional places (against a wall), fingering, dirty talk i guess, allusions to squirting but it's kind of left up in the air so... enjoy!

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

wc: 3,911

“You’re at Mat’s again?” Emma demands. Her outrage is no surprise to you. Ever since she and Tito broke up, she’s been more and more against your friendship with Mat. Sometimes you think it’s because she’s jealous that you remained friends with Tito’s friend after that ended, but sometimes you think she’s just mad that you’re denying something that isn’t there.

You shrug, untying the long socks from where they’re wrapped in your hair. The curls look good this time, unlike the last time you did heatless curls like this. Mat made fun of you relentlessly when they frizzed all over the place and curled all the wrong ways. “I haven’t left yet,” you reply. “I’ve been here all weekend.”

“Don’t you have work soon?” Emma asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m getting ready.” You squeeze a bit of toothpaste onto Mat’s toothbrush and pop it into your mouth. Emma makes a face at you and you make a face back. It’s simple– you forgot your toothbrush and Mat said you could use his. “And then I’ll probably come back. Mat’s injured and I’m bored in my lonely apartment, so we’re keeping each other company.”

Emma mumbles something you don’t catch.

“What?” you press. “What did you say?”

“All of this and you haven’t fucked,” Emma repeats, the look in her eyes growing sharp. “You keep denying it and keep denying that you want Mat and that he wants you, but you’ll spend three straight days at his apartment, sleeping in his bed and using his toothbrush. When are you going to admit that you guys are more than friends?”

“We’re not more than friends, Emma,” you say with a frown. “We’re close, but we’re not that close. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

Emma shakes her head and scoffs. “I have to go. Call me back when you figure things out.”

She hangs up and you frown, taking in the blank screen before you. You take only a split second to revel in confusion before you finish getting ready for the day. 

You try to push Emma’s comments out of your head, but they stick with you. You get to work and you’re still thinking about the look on her face through that tiny screen. You’re on your lunch break and start overthinking your friendship with Mat. You’ve always slept in the same bed because it’s easier– you’ve never wanted to mess up the pristinely folded sheets in his guest room. Plus, it’s not like you and Mat cuddle or anything. You stay on your side and he stays on his. You may have woken up with his arm over your stomach once or twice, but that’s a subconscious reaction to the chilly winter air. Mat keeps the apartment insanely cold. It’s not a surprise that his body tried to seek out your warmth. Even as you’re leaving for the day, you’re debating whether or not you should just go home to your own apartment rather than go back to Mat’s.

Your phone chimes with a text. It’s a picture of Mat and a steamer pot on the stove. He’s flashing a thumbs up in the picture and the accompanying message says, Making those dumplings you wanted! Hurry back or I’ll eat them all ;)

That sorts out your plans for the night. You don’t spare a second glance at the phone, nor the blue and orange hearts that you once put next to Mat’s contact name as a joke and never removed. 

The thought doesn’t cross your mind again until you’re laying on the couch with Mat, watching a movie before you go to bed. His head is on your lap and you’re carding your fingers through his hair. 

“That’s nice,” Mat murmurs.

It’s the first time he’s spoken in a while and it draws your attention to his lips. He’s practically falling asleep on your lap, eyes fluttering and nearly purring like a cat. Just this morning, you said you don’t cuddle with Mat, but here you are. He’s been pretty touchy today, or, maybe, you’re just noticing it more because Emma planted a seed in your mind.

You hum, twirling a strand of Mat’s hair between your fingers. You hope he doesn’t buzz it again. He’s done it twice now and, even though he can pull off the buzzcut, you prefer when his hair is this length. 

His lips are plush and pink and, well, Emma declared that you needed to figure it out. One little kiss, a tiny peck… that could be the end of it. You wouldn’t feel a thing, and neither would Mat, and you can tell Emma with absolute certainty that you and Mat are just friends.

You lean down and connect your lips for just a second. There’s no bright moment of realization washing over you, no life-changing feeling accompanied by a choir of angels. You kiss Mat and then you pull away.

He’s got that stupid look on his face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “What was that?” Mat asks. 

You shrug. “Just wanted to see something.”

Mat seems to buffer. “By kissing me?”

“Yeah. Emma thinks we’re lying to ourselves when we say we’re just friends.”

“Emma… Tito’s ex?” Mat seems caught off guard. “She still thinks we’re hiding something?”

“I mean, she’s not the only one who thinks we’re more than friends. I’ve been thinking about it all day, so I just thought I’d go for it and see if I felt anything.”

Mat frowns and sits up. “You can’t tell something like that just from that measly little kiss you gave me. No one would feel anything from that shit. We have to actually kiss.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. “Actually kiss? What does that mean?”

“With tongue,” Mat replies. “If you still don’t feel anything after you kiss me with tongue– I’m pretty damn good with my tongue,” he sidebars with a wink, “Then you can tell Emma that she was wrong and you were right.”

“It just sounds like you want to kiss me with tongue,” you tease, squinting at Mat suspiciously.

He grins and wiggles his eyebrows at you. “We’re friends, but that doesn’t mean you’re not pretty,” Mat says. “I’m not against kissing you.” 

His words seem laden with a bit of seriousness, even though his smile and eyes are bright and joking. You don’t have the time to probe at that, not before Mat is reaching out and cradling your face in his palm. 

His smile is smaller, more gentle. His hand is warm.

When he pulls you in and parts your lips with a pass of his tongue, you feel a splash of dizziness run through your bones. Mat guides you, kissing you deeply. You can feel every curve of his mouth against your own. Almost immediately, you get the feeling that you should be memorizing this and noting the details.

Mat pulls away before you’re ready. “How was that?” he asks.

You blink at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing but not producing sounds.

He starts to laugh. “Speechless, huh?”

Your dumbfounded look turns to a glower. “Don’t brag, Mathew.”

“How can I not?” he teases. He thumbs at the side of your lip, wiping something from your face. “I just kissed you stupid.”

“Whatever,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest and turning back to the TV. 

You finish the movie without talking. His arm remains on the back of sofa during the duration of the film. You’ve never been more aware of Mat’s body next to yours, nor the space separating you. His arm is practically around your shoulders, but there are inches between your bodies, and your skin feels like it’s vibrating off of you. You go to bed with Mat, as normal, but in silence. There are miles between you and Mat in his king-size bed and for the first time in a long time, you consider going to the guest room.

The following morning is no better. You’re getting ready for work, packing your things up, making breakfast, and preparing to leave Mat’s apartment for at least the rest of the week. You assume that he’s still asleep, since he doesn’t have PT until the afternoon, but you hear footsteps padding down the hall as you reach the front door. He follows you all the way to the doorframe, resting his hand on the crown moulding and looking down at you.

“Have a good day at work,” Mat mumbles. “Are you coming back here tonight?”

You look away and shrug. “I should probably go home for once.”

Mat is silent for a beat too long. “Okay,” he says simply. “I’ll miss you.” Mat bends down and presses a kiss to your cheek, catching the very corner of your lips. He pats the doorframe and gives you a wave as you start down the hallway. Your first few steps are slow and confused, because what the hell is happening and why did Mat kiss you again, but you feel like running by the time he closes the door behind you.

You’re distracted at work. It’s worse than yesterday. You feel jittery. When you go home at the end of the day, your apartment feels empty. You crinkle your nose and rub your arms, trying to warm up. It’s weird being alone for the night after staying with Mat for a few days. You got really used to being next to him, eating dinner with him, watching stupid shit on the TV while laying on his couch, and sleeping in his bed.

You lay in bed, unable to sleep. You toss and turn, scroll on your phone, try and sleep again, and fail. It’s 2am when your phone vibrates with a text and you check it immediately, hoping for something interesting.

It’s Mat.

‘Miss you :(’, he says. There’s a picture of him pouting into the camera, his bedside lamp turned to the lowest setting, just bright enough that he doesn’t need to use the flash. 

Your mouth automatically matches Mat’s. You sigh, zooming in on his tousled hair. You scroll across the picture, lingering on Mat’s bare chest. You stare for much too long. Much too long… to be considered friends. Mat’s kiss has really messed with your mind and now you can’t stop thinking about him and his tongue and his hands and–

You bury your face in the pillow and groan. You don’t bother to change out of your pajamas. You throw on your bathrobe, just to combat the cold, and within fifteen minutes, you’re hitting the buzzer to call up to Mat’s apartment.

“Hello?” Mat’s fuzzy voice comes through the speaker. 

Idiot, you admonish in your head. Who answers the buzzer at 2am? Especially when you’re a desirable athlete… God, Mat, you’re so dumb.

“It’s me,” you say. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

You hear the door click, unlocking, and you push your way inside. Your foot taps impatiently as you wait in the elevator, arms crossed over your chest. As the doors open, you spot Mat waiting at his front door, leaning against the frame like he was when you left him this morning.

His face is lined with sleep and there are lines on his chest like he just scratched an itch. 

You’re kissing him again as soon as you get close enough. You throw your arms around Mat’s neck and he wraps his arms around your middle, lifting you up until you naturally twine your legs around his waist. 

Mat’s kissing you back, moving into his apartment and closing the front door behind him. His bottom lip is between yours. You suck and nibble it, soothing the skin with your tongue after you bite hard enough for Mat to groan. His hands are planted on your behind now, kneading the skin.

“So you’ve been thinking about it too,” Mat breathes out between kisses. 

“All day.” Your hands work up into his hair and pull.

Mat shivers and his mouth drops open at the tug of your fingers. He turns toward the wall and pushes you up against it, trapping you with his body and pressing his groin against yours. He’s deliciously hard and you grind down on the bulge in his sweats. Mat moans and separates his lips from your mouth, instead trailing them wetly down your neck.

“Bedroom,” you tell Mat, voice hitching when he leaves a bite on your pulse point.

“Fuck that,” Mat replies. He pushes your shirt up and over your head. “Can’t wait. I couldn’t sleep because I was thinking about this.”

“Fucking me against the wall?”

“Having crazy sex with you all over the apartment,” Mat corrects. “You know when you’re about to sleep and then you feel like you’re falling and you wake up?”

“Yeah?” you respond, confused.

“It was like that.” Mat comes back up to kiss your lips. “I’d almost fall asleep and then I’d see you here. I’d see you bent over the kitchen counter or the arm of the sofa. I’d have you against the tile in my shower, then over the sink and I’d wipe all the fog off the mirror so you could watch. You’d be laying on the dining room table and I’d be between your legs, then I’d be sitting at my desk and you’d be between my legs.”

“Sounds tortuous,” you joke. 

“It was torture to see you like that and not have you,” Mat says in complete earnest. “That kiss broke a fucking dam for us, I swear.”

“Emma’s going to brag about getting us together,” you say.

“Don’t tell her,” Mat replies simply. “I’m on Tito’s side of the breakup anyway.”

“That’s not how friendship works.”

“Clearly, we don’t have any idea of how friendship should work,” Mat laughs. His eyes are twinkling with mischief. “I’m about to fuck you against the wall and we’re ‘just friends.’”

“We’re going to have to talk about that,” you tell Mat. 

“Now?” he asks, his middle two fingers finding your clit over your panties and rubbing.

“After,” you confirm. You pull him back in for a kiss and roll your hips into Mat’s hand. “After, for sure.”

Mat chuckles into your mouth. He shifts your panties to the side and slides his middle finger into your cunt. “Wow, look at how you’re taking me,” Mat says. His nose knocks against yours when he turns his eyes toward your core. “So wet. Bet you taste good, too.” 

You whine when he removes his finger from your entrance, annoyed. That feeling vanishes shortly after you’re emptied, once Mat brings his finger to his mouth and hollows his cheeks around the digit. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops open, drool pooling on your tongue. 

Mat smirks. His finger leaves his mouth with a pop and he then licks both his middle and ring finger, wetting them and bringing them back to your core. Mat leans in as he presses both fingers into your hole, his tongue sliding against yours as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Oh my God,” you say to yourself when Mat’s thumb comes into contact with your clit. If his kiss was stuck in your head all day after just a few seconds with his tongue in your mouth, then this moment will be seared into the blank space behind your eyelids for weeks.

“Just me,” Mat teases. He kisses over your neck, sucks on the corner of your jaw, and gently takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs, then drops the soft skin and breathes cool air over the skin just beneath your lobe. 

You shiver and throw your head back against the wall, baring your neck to Mat. He takes full advantage of it, but the location of his mouth is the least of your worries. You’re too preoccupied with the way his fingers are dancing inside of you. You feel your insides jump when Mat comes into contact with your g-spot, playing with the soft spot fixed at a seemingly random and elusive point on your inner walls, biting down on your lower lip to stop an embarrassing sound from escaping you.

Mat’s hands are busy– the one inside of you and the other planted on your side, helping hold you up against the wall– so he can’t remove your bottom lip from the confines of your teeth. Instead, he hovers right in front of your face, just close enough to kiss, but he doesn’t make the move to unite. 

You get the message, dropping your bottom lip in favor of kissing Mat’s. He smiles into the kiss and squeezes a third finger inside of you. You can feel his muscles tensing, the rippling of his forearm and bicep traveling all the way up to the place where his arm meets his torso. 

“I don’t want to come like this,” you declare in a high voice, shaking a bit as Mat brings you right to the edge and nearly pulls you over. “I want to come on your cock, Mat, fuck me.”

“You can’t give me two?” Mat asks.

“It’s not that I can’t,” you whine. “I just want you inside me.” You dig your nails into Mat’s upper back when his fingers continue to piston against your sweet spot. “Fuck, Mat.”

Mat slows his fingers and relents. “Hold on,” he says. He presses you further into the wall, no space between your bodies.

You tighten your grip around his neck and lock your ankles around his waist.

Mat pushes his sweats and underwear down. They fall to his ankles and he tugs at the crotch of your panties again, making sure to tuck them securely out of the way so that he can guide his cockhead to your dripping center. 

You don’t realize that your nails are creating red half-moon crescents on the fleshy skin covering his traps until Mat captures your wrists between the fingers of one hand– his thumb and forefinger around one and his other three around the other– and holds them against the wall above your head. You whimper and tilt your hips forward, pulling him closer by the linked ankles at the small of his back. 

“Fuck, baby, I didn’t know you were so desperate that you’d claw me up,” Mat says. Humor is laced throughout his tone. He brings his shoulders up and tenses them, then releases the tension. His cock pushes inside you all the same, despite the discomfort he might be feeling. You barely hear him, anyway– not with his cock dragging against your walls and kissing your insides like that. 

Your mind is stalling, feeling like it’s trapped by the grip that Mat has on your wrists. “Mat,” you keen, trying to bounce on his length as best you can while hovering against the wall and contained by Mat’s body. 

He presses his lips against your cheek before shifting his hips forward and drilling into you, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mouth opens in a gasp and Mat flicks his tongue against yours. His fingers squeeze your wrists with each thrust– the pleasure from his tip knocking into your cervix plus the pressure against your skin, arms raised up above your head, pairs together in a way that had your mind spiraling. 

The noises that come from Mat’s mouth don’t help– he’s grunting and groaning and his breath is heavy. He’s never silent, never, and you know that if you close your eyes, you could get off to his noises alone. 

“You feel so good,” Mat compliments in a low voice. His cooing tone fills your ears like how a sink drain sucks all the water away, creating a whirlpool and gulping for more. “Tight and wet and squeezing me, fuck, we should’ve been doing this for ages.”

You nod your head in assent, eyes shut tightly as a coil of pressure screws and tightens in your abdomen. Mat’s words dissolve in to babbles, the blood rushing to your head. Your pulse booms in your ears as he talks on. Mat’s hand digs into your side, the soft flesh of your waist giving in order to make room for his fingertips as he bucks wildly into your heat. Your slick and the slide of his cock creates a squelching, clapping sound each time that his pelvis collides with yours. Your clit, swollen and aching to be touched, brushes against Mat’s abdomen with just enough friction to send you over the edge, quivering in his arms and arching your back as your climax crashes over your being and overtakes you. Your jaw practically pops with how wide and unhinged it becomes, strangled and drawn-out mewls spurring Mat on while you come in his arms and on his cock. 

Almost simultaneously, Mat’s head dips and his hips stutter, white cum shooting from his slit and painting your walls. Mat continues fucking you through your aftershocks and his own, with gravity taking effect almost immediately– as he draws his cock out of you, just to shove it back in, the mixture of your cum drips from your hole and creates a mess that you and Mat will notice in the morning and gape at before breaking out the cleaning supplies. 

You breathe together. Mat’s movements slow and he crowds your body, plastering himself against you. His heaves are wet against your neck, drinking air back in. As Mat catches his breath, he starts to mouth against your skin, planting a series of kisses along your collarbone and shoulder. 

“Oh my God,” you repeat again. 

Mat’s grip on your wrists relinquishes and your arms drop to his shoulders. His cock slips from your pussy as it softens, but he places his hands again on your ass and keeps your legs around his middle. He hums and kisses your cheek, then your mouth. The kisses are less rushed and frenzied now, matching the original kiss he gave you that filled your mind and stayed there. 

“Take off work tomorrow so we can fuck all over the apartment,” Mat suggests between kisses. He’s finally on the move again, making his way to the bedroom with you in his arms. “That was only one of the ideas I had.”

“I can’t take off work for sex,” you reply. Mat lays you on the bed and you pull him down with you. “But I can stay all weekend again.”

“Yes,” Mat whispers in a celebratory voice, grinning widely when he pulls away. He disintangles himself from your arms and legs, collapsing onto the mattress beside you, in your normal spots. “Do I need to go and buy a toothbrush for you so you don’t have to use mine?”

“Get one of the good ones while you’re at it,” you tease. “Use that big hockey budget and get me one of those electronic ones that’s a waterpick when you swap the head out.”

“Careful,” Mat says. “If I buy that one, I’ll start using your toothbrush.” He pulls the covers over your bodies and holds his arm out so that you can cuddle into his side.

For the first time while awake, you curl up with your head on his chest and throw your leg over his thigh. Your hand comes up to cover his heart and Mat presses a kiss to your head. 

“We’re not going to be just friends after this,” Mat tells you.

You laugh. “No, I don’t think we will.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

I love your Freelance Inventor Au so much! (And, like, all your other work,, lol) I can't help imagining Danny finding out about the Batfam and turning to Bruce like, "You let our kids be vigilantes?!" Meanwhile Bruce is stuck on the fact that Danny called them "Our" kids. Or the reveal the other way, with Bruce finding out about Phantom first? He'd freak out- clearly he doesn't know Danny as well as he thought he did. And he can't believe Danny never told him! Meanwhile, Danny thought he mentioned the Phantom thing ages ago and that Bruce just doesn't care.

Since Jazz put the idea in his head, Danny has been unable to think of anything else. The idea that he might be in love with Bruce Wayne and had been for so many years but didn't notice because he assumed everyone felt that it was for that one friend.

It was there whenever he was drafting new blueprints, when he traveled across the world looking for inspiration and investors, when he settled into bed for a good night's rest, and most of all, when he finished his weekly phone call with Bruce.

"Get some rest," Bruce's warm, smooth voice says over the speakers. "I'll talk to you soon. Goodnight, Danny."

"Goodnight," he responds softly. He has a request to stay on the line on the tip of his tongue, but with the time difference, he knows it's not a good idea. And have a good day, Bruce."

The call ended with a click, but he couldn't help but feel their goodbye needed something.

I love you.

That was it. That's what was missing. But did he dare? Could he? Was he confusing love for something it wasn't? Was Bruce even interested?

Danny places his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling of the latest hotel he booked, wondering if Bruce is leaving for lunch with the kids. He said they were celebrating Tim's new clothesline and wished he was there to cheer the boy and his team on.

Danny is in Toykyo today, presenting his new hologram keyboards to a big company.

Of course, they were the second company allowed the selling rights. Wayne Tech was the first, and Danny kept the production and creation rights. It was one of Danny's most ingenious inventions, if he did say so himself, but the look on Bruce's face when he revealed it to him was far more exhilarating than creating the keyboard or gaining the fat paycheck.

Fenton's Ghost Touch was a set of two rings with a hologram keyboard inside. When someone needed to type, they would spin the rings and double-tab the inner lining, connecting to devices using the Bluetooth function.

A visible hologram would pop up underneath their fingers, or if they wanted (and were good enough typers), they could move their fingers in the air without it, which would still allow them to type.

Danny had chosen to release the line in black internationally with Toyko, but Wayne Tech would release an exclusive color line. The rings were of the same design, all using slick silver bands but with different colors as the activation inner rings and some elegant carvings, unlike the international releases, which were just one solid color.

Fenton's Ghost Touch would come in seven colors: blue, red, pink, green, purple, white, and yellow.

Danny had purposely designed them using each of the Wayne kids' favorite colors and sent them all a set with their corresponding colors. The morning they arrived, he got a picture of them showing off their new rings, smiling widely at the camera from Bruce.

He saved the photo as his laptop background. His phone background already had a picture of him and the Waynes at Thanksgiving. They had crowed around, holding their wreaths with Bruce and Danny in the center.

Danny had been facing the camera, beaming in pride at the kids' work. Bruce was half-turning, his gaze stuck on Danny's face with a strange, fond, soft smile, the kind he rarely saw Bruce give anyone else.

It made him hope. Oh, how he hoped, but it also scared him. What if this wasn't love? Danny has never been in love before, has never fallen to the urges that others describe, and had been so comfortable convincing his asexuality meant he would never have to be the kind of person staying up long into the night overthinking every interaction with another person.

Yet here he was, seeing Bruce in a whole new light and discovering how different everything was because of it. But at the same time, how nothing had changed. He spoke to Dani about this, but his clone-turned-sister had only shrugged.

"You raised kids with the man." She laughed. Dani wasn't like Danny, and although she was more informed than their parents, she had difficulty wrapping her head around not having those feelings. "I think it's past the point of having a crush on him. I think you should go for it. Make it official."

Danny reaches up, rubbing at his eyes. It was midnight, and he had a meeting with another with the Japanese board again at eight. He really needed to rest and be on top of his wits so that he and his lawyer could ensure the contact was in his best interest.

He clicks open his gallery on his phone instead of swiping through photos of Bruce and feeling his heart leap nearly out of his chest. He misses the man.

Since Jazz's conversation, Danny has been practically avoiding him. This is due to his being hyper-aware of himself and Bruce: the way Bruce laughed, the dip in his voice whenever the British accent he picked up from Alfred popped in, the slight facial expressions he made when confused about emotions, the shift from playful to professional in work settings, and most of all, the attention he always bestowed onto Danny.

How the world just seemed brighter whenever he was with the man.

Bruce was his sun, and Danny was nothing more than a flower seeking him out. It made the Halfa want to hide in a hole but dance around in public all at once, and he didn't know why.

He finds a video, tapping the play button before thinking further of it, and melts when the first sound he hears is Bruce's laughter. It's quickly followed by the loud noise of the Waynes' Children. It was taken at the last Wayne game night—at the time, Danny had been in England with Dani.

Tim recorded Damian standing proudly over a map covered in white trains, arms spread into a T position, and Duke screaming accusations of cheating. After Alfred banned Monopoly in the Manor, the game Ticket to Ride quickly took over as the new worst enemy creator.

Dick was in the background sobbing into his hands as Jason tried to confront him. Steph and Cass were each leaning on Bruce's two shoulders, laughing as hard as their father, and Alfred was out of frame but not out of hearing, so when he stated, "Master Dick, how could have gone in the wrong direction? It's the map of the USA, it hasn't change in years!"

"He has a concussion, Alfrie!" Jason protested hotly. "Leave him alone!"

"YOU CHEATED!" Duke raged as Damian continued his pose with the most serious expression he'd seen on the child. It made his heart swell to see Damian copying him.

Danny struck the same pose whenever he beat his sisters at a game, even at his advanced age. Once an annoying brother, always an annoying brother.

The video ends with Tim flipping the camera. His broad grin covered the whole screen as he shouted, "Love you, Dad! Miss you! Can't wait to see you!"

Danny turns to his side, feeling his heart flutter more as the word plays repeatedly in his head. A few years ago, the Wayne Kids—excluding Damian, who was polite to the point it hurt—switched from Danny to Dad when referring to him.

Bruce hadn't made a big deal about it even though they called him Dad. Would that mean the man was happy his kids saw him as a second father figure? Did it mean the man thought of him as....a husband?

Danny groans, burying his face into the cool sheets of his futon, begging his mind to stop for a few seconds so he can rest. After this deal goes through, Danny is going to face the music.

He would go to Gotham and figure out a way to tell Bruce how he felt. He just hopes he has it figured out by then. Danny has an idea, but explaining the mess in his head into words is going to be much harder than anything he's ever done.

Not to mention Phantom. That was a can of worms he hadn't ever touched in Wayne's presence. What was Bruce's stance on ghosts anyway?

Should he practice what he would say about the topic? Turning onto his back, Danny holds up his phone, clicking the screen so the lock screen image of a grinning Bruce appears.

It was from the surprise vacation Danny rented out the hut next to the ones the kids sent Bruce to. It had been taken at sunset, the soft orange and purples of the sky framing Bruce's grin and dancing on his wind-blown hair. It had been a spur-of-the-moment walk around the beach, but from Danny's perspective down below and Bruce climbing back up to his hunt, it had almost appeared like Bruce was descending from the heavens.

Danny had used every film skill he had ever heard Dani speak about to capture the beautiful sight.

It is the best picture he's ever taken.

"I love you," the words leave his mouth in surprise, even though he had meant to talk about ghosts. But when they are spoken, he ducks into ice water and realizes they are true.

He sits up, using both hands to hold the phone in front of him, hoping that somehow, in some unrealistic dream, the words will carry across the world, and Bruce will hear them. Maybe even feel them, too. "I love you, I think I do. Do you love me too?"

The screen goes dark, and Danny sighs. Ten years. Will he really risk ten years of friendship over these little feelings?

Yeah. He thinks he will.

[mattscoquette]

MATTSCOQUETTE AU SPECIAL ౨ৎ

dad!matt and the girls making breakfast for reader

the kitchen was a disaster, messy bowls and pans strewn across the counter that was covered in flour.

“here, stella, let me crack the eggs.” matt said while he carefully took the egg out of his daughter’s hands, cracking it against the bowl and into the mixture.

stella, who was standing up on a stool in front of matt, looked up at him and giggled, reaching her hands out in front of her. “daddy! i wanna help!”

“we are helping, stel,” lorelai giggled as she climbed up on the stool next to her sister, “you’re just messy.”

matt laughed, throwing the egg shells into the trash as he returned to his spot by the counter, a whisk in hand. “you girls wanna help me mix the batter?”

the twins nodded rapidly and giggled, holding onto the whisk with matt as he began to stir all the ingredients in the pancake batter together.

the start of the spring season was always tough for you and your allergies, causing you to feel a bit under the weather. matt took notice of the amount of tissues piling up in the bathroom trash over the course of the week, and took it upon himself to make you breakfast in bed. along with the help of his daughters, of course.

“daddy, can we have pancakes too?” lorelai asked.

“these are for mommy, lo! to make her feel better” stella told her, still helping matt stir. (she was starting to make a mess, the pancake batter getting all over the counter).

“yeah, but i’m hungry too,” the other girl whined, looking up at matt with her best pleading eyes, “please daddy? can we have some too?”

matt smiled, ruffling her hair playfully. “we can make extra, babe, okay? so you and your sister can have some.”

the girls’ grins widened while they continued to help matt. when they finished stirring, the girls carefully helped their dad pour some of the batter into the pan, the sweet scent of the breakfast starting to fill the air.

“you girls think we should make a heart pancake for mommy?” matt asked as he settled the bowl back onto the counter, picking up a spatula to begin cooking the pancakes that were now in the pan.

“we can do that?” stella asked with widened eyes while lorelai nodded in excitement.

“yeah, yeah, let’s do it!” lorelai cheered.

matt let out a chuckle while nodding his head. “alrighty, heart pancakes it is.”

matt and the girls continued baking the pancakes, lorelai even trying to pour a heart that ended up looking more like a circle than anything.

eventually, the batter ran out, and matt was making his way back to the bedroom with girls with a tray assorted with your favorite fruits and the fluffy pancakes. he even went as far as putting a few flowers into a small vase to bring to you.

he opened the door slowly, revealing your sickly self wrapped up in the comforter surrounding by a mountain of tissues.

“good morning beautiful,” matt said with a smile, walking over to the bed and placing the tray on your lap and planting a kiss to your forehead, “how’re you feeling?”

“mommy! mommy! we cooked you breakfast!” the girls cheered while they came running in, jumping up into the bed with you.

you beamed at the twins, giving them each a kiss on the cheek goodmorning before smiling up at matt. “you didn’t have to do all this.”

“i wanted to.” he replied simply while he shrugged.

you smiled widely, pulling him and the girls into your arms, squeezing them tightly. “i love you three so much, thanks for always being the best.”

© mattscoquette | taglist

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ first fic of the au special how we feeling !!! this is sm longer than i intended but </3 dad!matt my cutie i love him. anyway next fic is ab to be FREAKY hope u guys are ready! and i hope u all liked this as well :) love u all dearly

[loveln4]

PART 1 , PART 2

LANDO NORRIS x GIRLFRIEND!READER

You will love me until you resent me

- gracie abrams, I know it won’t work.

warnings: unhealthy relationship (lying, ignoring, etc), cursing, violence??, sexual tension question mark??

synopsis: Lando’s caught in a scandal and has to prove to his significant other that it didn’t mean anything, will she listen?

“Get the fuck up.” Y/n shook Lando’s sleeping body, “Fucking— Get up, Lando!”

“What do you want!” He groans and shields his eyes from the light coming from the uncovered windows, “I need sleep—what’s wrong?” His annoyance slowly shifted to worry. Y/n was crying, like she was obviously gasping for air crying. Lando’s worry turned into defence as he had realised that she was no longer sad, or not showing it at least.

“I told you, you should’ve stayed in.” She whispered harshly as she brought her phone up to his face, “What the fuck?” Her voice broke slightly.

The image woke him up entirely, events from last night rushing back to his mind, “Y/n, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Fuck you.” She pushed him down as he started to get up.

“No—I swear, I was drunk.” He grabbed her forearms as she batted him with blunt hits, “Enough!”

They both stilled and a single tear fell from y/n’s eye, “You’ve been so ignorant, is this why?”

He shook his head, “I don’t know who she is.”

“Your Instagram following list begs to differ.”

“Shit…”

Y/n pulls away from Lando’s tight grip, clambering off the bed and out of the bedroom into the recently cleaned kitchen. “Where are my keys?” She asks herself way too caught up in her head to be embarrassed by the conversation she’s having with no one but herself. Lando’s now standing in the middle of the empty space dividing the kitchen and dining table.

“Let’s talk about this, okay?” He goes towards her but stops as he notices her glare from across the island table. “I had too many drinks!”

She scoffs, her arms folding against her chest, “That doesn’t make you any less of a cheater.” Y/n rushes off past him and back into the bedroom, looking through her bedside table, “What the fuck, where is this bitch?” It seemed her keys had gone missing.

“Baby, please.” He went up behind her, turned her around and pinned her on the bed, “I want to talk with you.”

“Get the fuck off me.”

“No.”

“Get off!” She had shouted. This shouting turned into three minutes of constant screaming.

How did Lando bare it? Who the fuck knows.

Gasping for air she finally calms, her body was once tense but is now gently relaxing, allowing her body to be pushed down by Lando. “If you were over me, you should’ve just said so.”

“I’m not over you.” He whispered sadly.

“You are, stop lying to yourself. You’ve lied enough.” She closed her eyes and regulated her breathing, opening them once more, meeting Lando’s. “Lando, you have ghosted me three times this month, stood me up last week at dinner even though you knew how exhausted I was that day and have been ignoring my presence in the paddock.”

“I— I haven’t, stop saying this.” His voice breaks, eyes tearing up. “I didn’t mean to…I didn’t…” He could tell she was getting over his repetitive defences and let go of her, turning to his right so he could lay on his back beside her.

Her breath shudders and she sniffs, “This isn’t healthy.” She sighs, “You can’t deny what I saw in that photo, I mean…photos.”

“There’s more than one?”

“Each one gets worst.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” They lay there in silence waiting for each other to break it, to say something about their relationship. Where would they end up by the end of the day?

Y/n sat up, maybe a little too quickly as her vision started to get spotty. Lando following this action but staying seated on the bed. “I fear you loved me too much at the beginning and started to get bored…” She whispered to him, “I love you…I do, but i can’t be with someone who won’t give me the time of day.” She’s knelt down looking up at him.

Lando begins to cry in his hands, not saying a word to her.

“I’ll be back for my stuff in an hour or two, make sure not to be here when I am.”

She got up and left the apartment not caring that she had no transportation. She just needed to get out.

A/N: right sorry… i don’t know what’s overcome me wtf.

send through your requests for any driver 🩷