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reidmarieprentiss · 2 months ago

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Red: Part One

Summary: Spencer, in need of a break, finds himself at a quiet bar where he meets you. What starts as a chance encounter quickly turns into something deeper as the two of you fall for each other. Though your connection is undeniable, both of you struggle with opening up fully, each holding onto personal secrets that linger just beneath the surface. As you grow closer, the trust builds slowly but surely, but what truths are you both holding back? And how will they shape the relationship that’s blossoming between you?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, mild withholding of information, season 7 Spencer, this is just so fluffy

Word count: 23.5k

a/n: i am deeply obsessed with these two and i am sooo excited to continue writing for them !!! part two on the wayyy — unedited NEVER be afraid to call me out!!

also so silly but in this gif mgg has pen ink on his hand and that makes me happy

main masterlist part two

Additional warnings: handjob, fingering, grinding, mild breast play

Spencer had his eyes half-closed, nursing his second beer of the evening, the slight buzz in his head both surprising and, in a strange way, comforting. It wasn’t often that he sought out a bar, let alone one like this—a dimly lit, almost hidden speakeasy. The soft, jazzy notes of a piano floated through the air, merging with the quiet hum of voices around him. He liked that no one recognized him here, no one pried, no one asked questions. He could just be.

As he took another slow sip, he felt the weight of the stool next to him shift. Someone had slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t glance over immediately, his mind too cluttered to bother with pleasantries. The cases were piling up like unsorted files in his head, all demanding his attention. His mother’s health was deteriorating again, and the migraines that had haunted him for years had made a sudden, unwelcome return.

For a moment, he regretted not finishing the bottle of aspirin in his bag before entering the bar. But the alcohol was doing its job, numbing the edge just enough to make the night bearable. It wasn’t about getting drunk—he knew he wouldn’t let himself go that far—but it was about finding just enough peace to ease the constant pressure in his head, even if only for a few hours. Spencer closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath, the smell of wood and faint whiskey lingering in the air.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the woman beside him, unable to tear his eyes away just yet. She looked like she had walked straight out of another world, her style effortlessly unique, her red boots and gingham shorts standing out against the muted tones of the dimly lit bar. There was something about her that drew him in, despite her stoic expression—an air of mystery, as though she held a universe inside her that she wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone.

The bartender slid the espresso martini in front of her, and she barely acknowledged it, her mind clearly elsewhere. Spencer wondered what she was thinking about, what troubles weighed on her. He sympathized, his own mind heavy with stress and worry. He almost felt a kinship with her, like they were both sitting here, burdened by their own worlds, trying to find some fleeting solace in the bottom of a glass.

The scent of her—something sweet, with a hint of spice—drifted toward him. It was a calming scent, one that made him close his eyes for a second longer, hoping it would ease the pounding in his skull. He couldn't help but think that her smile, if she ever chose to reveal it, would be the kind of smile that would light up the darkest corners of a room.

He wondered if it might also help alleviate the growing tension in his mind, the tight grip of his migraine loosening just at the thought. For now, though, the smell of her perfume was enough to dull the ache, if only a little.

"Espresso martini, huh?" Spencer asked, his voice soft, not wanting to intrude too much but also not wanting to remain silent any longer. "Interesting choice for a Wednesday night."

The woman turned her head slightly, glancing at him with a raised brow, as though surprised anyone had spoken to her. For a second, Spencer worried he had overstepped, but then her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but enough to make him feel like maybe, just maybe, he had said something right.

"Not going to sleep anyway," you shrugged with a tired laugh, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion but also nonchalance. "Might as well get a drink I enjoy, right?" You wrapped your fingers around the stem of the glass, feeling the cool condensation against your skin, but your eyes flickered over to the man beside you.

Usually, you wouldn’t engage with random men at a bar, especially not on a Wednesday night when the world seemed to blur together in monotony. But something about this one had caught your attention. He wasn’t like the others who sometimes tried too hard or made themselves too loud. He was quiet, unassuming, and there was a weight in his eyes that matched your own.

He was handsome, yes—remarkably so. His sharp, angular features made him look almost statuesque, but there was a softness to him too, something that balanced out the hard edges. It wasn’t just in his face, though. It was in the way he held himself, a little slouched, as if the world rested on his shoulders. There was something vulnerable about him, and that vulnerability intrigued you.

You weren't the type to make conversation with a stranger, but maybe it was the exhaustion that made you let your guard down, or maybe it was the way his gaze had softened when he glanced at you, as if he understood something about you without needing to ask. Whatever it was, you found yourself more open to this brief encounter than you normally would be.

He smiled slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond to your casual remark, but you noticed. It was a small gesture, but you appreciated it—more than you had expected to.

"Fair enough," he finally replied, his voice low but gentle, as though he was trying not to disturb the delicate balance of the quiet between you two. He took a sip of his drink, his fingers tapping lightly against the glass, a subtle rhythm that seemed to mimic the thoughts racing through his mind.

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, and you wondered if he, like you, had found some kind of unexpected solace in this quiet corner of the bar.

The man spoke again after a beat, his voice soft and almost hesitant, “Spencer.” He offered a small, almost boyish smile that contrasted with the sharp lines of his face.

You turned your body more toward him, your interest piqued by his somewhat awkward yet endearing demeanor. “Y/N,” you replied, returning the smile, though still guarded.

There was a brief pause, and then Spencer’s eyes lit up, as though something had clicked in his mind. “Did you know that your name, Y/N, has roots that trace back to—” He launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation of the origins and historical significance of your name, mentioning various cultures and meanings, weaving in obscure facts that you had never even thought about.

As he spoke, you felt a mix of emotions. On the one hand, it was oddly charming, the way he seemed so genuinely excited to share what he knew. He made you feel special, like your name was something worthy of deep analysis and thought, and you couldn't help but be flattered by it. But there was also something that put you a little on edge—the way he seemed to know so much, like he had all this information tucked away in his mind, ready to be shared at any given moment.

“I did not know that…” you admitted slowly, your voice a touch wary, even as you tried to keep your tone light. “Why do you?”

Spencer hesitated for a second, his smile faltering just slightly before he answered. “I, uh… I tend to remember things. I read a lot, so I guess some of it sticks.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Just ‘some’ of it?”

He let out a small, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe more than some. I’m kind of a… well, I guess you could say I’m a bit of an overthinker.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you said with a grin, feeling the tension ease slightly between you. “But it’s not a bad thing. Just… surprising.”

Spencer nodded, his posture relaxing a little, as if your comment reassured him. “Surprising in a good way, I hope.”

You shrugged playfully, leaning back slightly in your seat. “I’ll let you know.”

Spencer liked this. You were cautious, guarded in a way that suggested a sharp mind, the kind of intellect that naturally set boundaries when it came to engaging with strangers. Yet, despite your reservation, you kept your wits about you, maintaining a balance of good manners and a sense of humor that was both disarming and refreshing. It made you even more intriguing.

There was something undeniably endearing about the way you interacted—enigmatic and charming, with a touch of playfulness that made him want to keep the conversation going. Spencer found himself wanting to know more, to understand what made you tick in the same way he often tried to solve the puzzles in his own head.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Spencer said during a brief lull in conversation, his tone gentle yet curious, “what brings you to a bar in the middle of the week?”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, the corner of your lips quirking up in amusement. “I could ask you the same.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your response, appreciating how easily you turned the question back on him, challenging him to reveal his reasons first. It was a fair trade, after all.

"Touché," he conceded, leaning back slightly, considering his answer for a moment. "I guess I just needed a break… from everything. Sometimes it feels like things are piling up and... well, it was either come here or keep staring at the ceiling of my apartment."

You nodded in understanding, your expression softening just a bit. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you need to step away from everything and just… exist for a little while, right?”

"Exactly," Spencer replied, relieved that you seemed to understand without him having to explain too much. "And you?"

You tapped your fingers thoughtfully on the bar for a moment before answering, your eyes drifting toward the half-finished martini in front of you. “Same, I guess. Life’s complicated, and sometimes you just want to sit in a quiet corner and let the world pass you by for a while. Maybe with a drink that makes it a little easier to forget."

Spencer nodded, the quiet between you settling into something more comfortable. There was no need for either of you to dive too deeply into your respective reasons for being here. The understanding was enough for now. Two strangers, sitting side by side, momentarily finding solace in each other’s presence without demanding too much.

“I’m glad I picked this bar,” Spencer said quietly, after a pause. “It’s… different. Quiet.”

You smiled softly, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, me too. Good choice.”

“Have you... have you been here before?” Spencer asked, his curiosity evident as he glanced at you, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass.

You shook your head, setting down your now-empty glass and signaling the bartender for another drink. “No, actually. I saw it when I moved here, figured tonight was as good a time as any to check it out.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence. He wasn’t a man who often gave weight to fate or spiritual ideas—his mind preferred the concrete, the logical—but the fact that both of you ended up here on a quiet Wednesday night, for the first time, sharing an unspoken sense of heaviness... It felt like one of those rare moments that made him pause, as though something bigger was at play.

He smiled again, this time a little more openly. “I haven’t been here either. A friend told me about it. He, uh, likes to come here to meet women—said they’re more sophisticated than the ones he usually meets at clubs.”

You raised an eyebrow, your amusement clear as you leaned in slightly, your tone playful. “Are you, too, here to meet women?”

Spencer felt his face flush instantly, his eyes widening as he waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. “No! No, that’s not—” He cleared his throat, regaining a bit of composure, though the faint blush remained. “That’s not why I’m here. I just... needed a break, like I said.”

“Right... and that's why you're talking to the only single woman here,” you teased, gesturing around the dimly lit room with a playful glint in your eye. Spencer, caught off guard by the comment, blinked and glanced around for the first time since he’d sat down.

To his surprise—and slight embarrassment—you were right. The bar, small and intimate as it was, seemed to be filled mostly with couples. A few groups of friends sat scattered around, but there wasn’t another woman sitting alone at the bar. He hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his own thoughts, and of course, in you.

A flush of pink crept up his neck again, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he faced you once more. “I—uh... that wasn’t... I didn’t even notice,” he stammered, clearly flustered, his eyes darting to his half-finished beer in front of him.

You laughed softly, amused by how easily Spencer was thrown off by your teasing. There was something so endearing about the way he fumbled through conversations like this, so unlike most men you’d met before. He wasn’t trying to be smooth or overly confident, just... honest.

“Well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” you said with a grin.

“Thank you,” he sighed. There was a beat of silence before Spencer added, “But, uh, for the record... I’m not here to meet women. You just happened to be... well... someone worth talking to.”

Your smile softened at his admission, feeling the sincerity in his words. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of candidness from someone so quickly. "Well, aren't I lucky?" you teased lightly, though your tone had a hint of warmth behind it.

Spencer’s chuckle had a softness to it, but his next words seemed to strike a different chord. "Luck is relative," he mused, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Then he glanced up at you, his eyes searching your face with that same genuine curiosity. "Do you feel lucky?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His question seemed layered, and though you could sense the sincerity in his tone, the implication sounded... different to your ears. The way he asked it, with a certain intensity, made your mind wander to a more flirtatious place, a suggestion hanging between the lines. You had met men who approached conversations like this before, but there was something about Spencer’s awkward charm that made you hesitate to dismiss it outright.

For a moment, you thought about how you'd respond. You weren’t opposed to the idea of letting this man take you home, not at all. There was something about his presence that felt comforting, something about his awkward nature that drew you in. But you weren’t going to make it that easy. You enjoyed the chase, the cat-and-mouse game that kept things interesting.

You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes just enough to add a playful edge to your expression. "Lucky, huh?" You swirled the last of your martini in its glass, watching the liquid shift before locking eyes with him. “Depends on what kind of luck we’re talking about.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, clearly misunderstanding the subtle shift in your tone. "Oh," he stammered, clearly flustered. "I didn’t mean—uh, I wasn’t implying—"

You bit back a grin, enjoying watching him try to backtrack from what he thought was a misstep. "Relax, Spencer," you said softly, your tone more teasing now. "I know what you meant."

Spencer visibly exhaled, relief washing over his face. He wasn’t used to playing these kinds of games, that much was clear. But there was something about how genuine he was that made you want to keep him on his toes just a little longer.

You smiled, leaning back in your seat. "I guess I’m still figuring out whether I feel lucky tonight." You raised your glass slightly toward him, your eyes twinkling. “Maybe we’ll see.”

Spencer had relaxed as the two of you joked and bantered, and you noticed how much more comfortable he seemed, especially when he started showing you some of his magic tricks. It was charming, really—how this incredibly intelligent, slightly awkward man had such a whimsical side. You watched with genuine curiosity as he produced and shuffled a deck of cards with ease, his long fingers moving expertly.

But it was when he asked if you had a business card that really caught your attention. You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “No, but I do have a scrap piece of paper,” you said, pulling a folded-up slip from your bag.

Spencer took the paper with a playful smile, and with a quick flourish of his hands, it disappeared as if it had never existed at all. You blinked, leaning forward, impressed despite yourself. "Okay, I have to admit, that was good. Where’d it go?"

He grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. “A good magician never reveals their secrets.”

You laughed, thinking how absolutely adorable he was. There was something boyish and pure about the way he took joy in the simple act of performing a trick, like he’d just made your night a little brighter.

Absently, you went to brush a hand over the necklace around your neck, a habit you hadn’t even realized you had. But when your fingers grazed the pendant, you felt something unfamiliar—something other than the smooth metal of your necklace.

Frowning, you looked down. And there, dangling from your pendant, was the very same scrap of paper Spencer had taken. Your eyes widened in surprise, a burst of giddy laughter escaping your lips as you grabbed the piece of paper, utterly amazed.

You turned to Spencer, wide-eyed and full of wonder. “How did you—?!” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, your head shaking in disbelief, giggles bubbling up uncontrollably. He really had caught you off guard, and it felt... magical.

Spencer, looking very proud of himself, leaned back with a self-satisfied smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. He glanced pointedly at the scrap of paper in your hand, raising an eyebrow as if to say, take a closer look.

Curious, you followed his gaze and unfolded the small piece of paper. Scrawled across it in Spencer's neat handwriting was a number. His number.

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk and a flutter of excitement. "So... was this part of the trick too?"

Spencer shrugged, his smile a little bashful now.

“How many times have you used that trick on women?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, your voice soft and teasing. “And how many times has it worked?”

Spencer blushed again, the pink flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He shifted in his seat, clearly flustered by your question but still holding your gaze. “I... I used it one other time,” he admitted, his voice a bit shaky. “And it worked... sort of. But, um, it never led to anything.”

You smiled, leaning back slightly, enjoying how disarmed he was by your teasing. There was something so genuine about the way he interacted, like he wasn’t used to these kinds of moments—at least not often. He wasn’t the type to use smooth lines or rehearsed tricks to impress women, and that made him stand out even more.

“Well, I’m glad I could be the second one,” you said with a wink, letting the playful tension between you simmer. “But something tells me you’re hoping it leads to more this time.”

Spencer swallowed, clearly thrown off by your forwardness, but you could see the slight shift in his posture, the way his confidence grew just a little as he realized you were genuinely interested. “I, uh... I wouldn’t mind that,” he admitted, his eyes flickering from yours to the glass in front of him, then back again. “But I didn’t show you the trick just for that. I wanted to... impress you.”

Your heart fluttered at his honesty. It was so rare to meet someone who was so upfront, so unguarded in moments like this. You couldn’t help but find it endearing, and you leaned in once more, your smile softening.

“Well, you definitely impressed me, Spencer,” you said, your voice low and sincere. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you show me another trick later.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a little at that, and for a moment, you could see the wheels turning in his head. He was calculating, thinking, but also clearly intrigued by the promise hidden in your words. He gave a small, nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I guess we’ll see how lucky I get tonight,” he murmured, the blush still lingering on his face but his smile growing more confident now.

You grinned, knowing full well that he didn’t realize just how lucky he was about to get.

As the bar's lights dimmed and the final patrons shuffled out, you already knew you weren’t going home tonight. The air between you and Spencer had been crackling all evening, and the decision seemed inevitable, even as you lingered at the bar for just a moment longer.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, graciously paid for both of your tabs without hesitation. The bartender, who had seemed less than impressed by your modest drinking habits, shot him a look that Spencer either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. After all, this night was about more than just drinks.

Walking out into the brisk night air, you and Spencer moved shoulder to shoulder, your steps naturally falling in sync as if you'd been walking together for much longer than a few hours. The quiet of the evening surrounded you, the distant hum of the city softening the world around you, and the moment felt intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. You could feel the warmth of his presence next to you, the subtle brush of his arm against yours sending sparks up your skin.

Feeling bold, Spencer glanced over at you, his usual shyness tempered by something else—perhaps the electricity that had been building between you all night, or maybe just the quiet courage that sometimes came with these fleeting, late-night encounters. "Can I give you a ride home?" he offered, his voice softer now, as though he didn’t want to shatter the stillness of the moment.

You smiled up at him, a knowing look in your eyes as you accepted. Spencer’s posture straightened slightly, his eyes lighting up as he guided you toward his car. True to his nature, he opened the door for you, his touch gentle as he gestured for you to climb in. You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, watching as he quickly walked around to the driver’s side and slid into his seat.

He fidgeted for a moment behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel loosely as he glanced at you, clearly waiting for directions. “Where should I take you?” he asked, his voice still carrying that sweet, earnest tone.

You met his gaze, your eyes sparkling with both amusement and intent. "Wherever you're going," you replied, your words hanging in the air, full of unspoken promise.

Spencer blinked, taken aback for just a split second, but then understanding settled over him. He glanced down, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips, and you could see the faintest hint of color creeping into his cheeks. There was a brief pause as he weighed his options, but the decision was already made—you could feel it.

"Alright," he said, his voice quiet but full of meaning. "My place it is."

Spencer was a bundle of nerves. The whole drive back, he had rambled—nervous energy pouring out of him in the form of random facts, mostly about the risks of going home with strangers. He’d listed statistics about crime rates, recounted famous cases of mishaps, and even delved into behavioral patterns associated with dangerous encounters. It was almost endearing, the way he was so clearly overthinking the situation.

"Are you going to kill me?" you had asked him at one point, half-joking, hoping to lighten the mood.

His response had been immediate and emphatic. "No, absolutely not! I—I would never do anything like that," he stammered, his eyes wide and sincere. "Statistically, it’s much safer—"

You laughed, cutting him off gently. "I believe you, Spencer."

His relief was palpable, though he still hadn’t fully relaxed, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. And now, as he fumbled with his keys at the front door, you saw how his fingers trembled slightly as he tried to get the lock open. His nervousness was so genuine, so utterly sweet, that you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom inside you.

It was obvious he didn’t do this sort of thing often, and that made you feel... special. He was just himself—nervous, brilliant, and genuine—and that vulnerability drew you in even more.

Finally, after a moment of fumbling, the door clicked open, and Spencer gestured for you to step inside, his cheeks still slightly flushed. "Sorry about that," he murmured, a small, sheepish smile on his lips. "I don’t usually have... company."

When Spencer led you through the front door, the first thing that hit you was the cozy, dark atmosphere of his apartment. Books lined almost every available surface, stacked neatly on shelves and piled in corners in a way that suggested they were well-loved and frequently revisited. The space had an old-world charm, a lived-in feeling that instantly put you at ease. The warm lighting and the faint smell of coffee mixed with old pages added to the inviting ambiance. It was unmistakably his—a reflection of the man you’d spent the evening getting to know, both brilliant and a little awkward.

You couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the intimate, intellectual space he called home. It was entirely different from the sleek, modern apartments of other men you’d been with, and that difference made you like it even more.

You smiled softly, stepping into the warmth of his home. "It’s fine," you assured him. "I like it here. It’s... very you."

Spencer’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, as though he hadn’t expected you to say something so kind. His shoulders seemed to relax just a little, and he gave you a nervous but genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his smile sweet but clearly nervous as his hands fumbled slightly in front of him. He took a breath, trying to compose himself, but the words tumbled out anyway. “So... um, I know what usually happens in these scenarios, but I don’t want to be presumptuous—not that I’m expecting anything from you either, but I guess, I’m wondering what, uh... what you want here?”

You could see how flustered he was, the way his uncertainty mixed with his genuine desire to be respectful. It made your heart swell, your affection for him deepening in that moment. His awkward honesty was refreshing, and you adored the way he was so transparently himself, not hiding behind bravado or assumptions.

Stepping closer to him, you reached out, your hands moving up his chest slowly, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. You let your fingers trail lightly over him before wrapping them around the back of his neck, pulling yourself just a little closer. Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he looked down at you, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flickering in his gaze.

“Well, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice gentle but teasing, “I would like to do what usually happens in these scenarios...”

His eyes searched yours, his body tense with uncertainty and excitement, but before he could speak, you added, “But we don’t have to do anything.”

Spencer blinked, processing your words. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt just a little as he realized that the choice was mutual, that there was no pressure, no expectations. You were giving him the space to decide, and that made all the difference.

He swallowed, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “I... I’d like that too. But only if you're sure.”

You smiled up at him, your thumb gently stroking the back of his neck. “I’m sure, Spencer. But if you’re not ready or don’t want to—”

“No,” he said quickly, then softened his tone. “No, I want to. I just... I didn’t want to assume and I–well, I haven’t done a lot before.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in a little closer, your breath warm against his skin as you whispered, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, but he smiled, more comfortable now as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “I don’t hear that often,” he admitted softly.

“Well, you should,” you murmured, before closing the small distance between you and pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though Spencer was still processing that this was really happening. But then his grip around you tightened slightly, and you could feel him relax into it, his lips moving with yours, the kiss deepening as the warmth between you two grew.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his apartment, the world outside forgotten. And in that moment, everything felt perfectly right.

You gently pulled back from the kiss, feeling the way Spencer’s lips lingered for just a moment, his eyes still shut as though he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He followed your movement with a soft, almost unconscious pout, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“Easy,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection, as your fingers trailed up into his soft hair, stroking it gently. You wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. He was clearly nervous, but the way he responded to you, how earnest he was in everything he did, made you want to handle him with the care he deserved.

“What are you comfortable with, Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone reassuring, trying to ease the tension in the air. “I don’t want to push you too far, or do anything you’re not ready for.”

Spencer took a deep, grounding breath, his chest rising and falling as he gathered the courage to speak. His blush deepened, his cheeks flushing a bright pink as he met your eyes. “Um… I haven’t had anything, uh, penetrative,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper as if admitting something deeply personal. He swallowed, clearly feeling the weight of the moment. “But… I have been touched. And I have touched.”

Your heart softened at his vulnerability, and you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. He was sharing something intimate, and the way he trusted you enough to be honest about it made you want to hold him even closer.

“That’s okay, Spencer,” you said gently, your thumb brushing against his jawline in a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can take things as slow as you need.”

He nodded, looking relieved that you weren’t pressuring him. “I… I want to try,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. “I trust you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, more deliberate, allowing him to guide the pace. Spencer responded, his lips moving with yours, his hands resting tentatively on your hips as he began to relax into the moment.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered against his lips, reassuring him once more. “And you tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes meeting yours with gratitude and something else—something more. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his hands tightened just slightly around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Take me to your bedroom, Spencer,” you whispered against his lips, the warmth of your breath sending shivers down his spine. He nodded, his lips still brushing against yours as he took your hand and led you toward his room. The eagerness in his movements was evident as you both bumped into walls and knocked over small tables along the way, which made you giggle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, stud,” you teased, your voice playful but laced with affection. “I like how eager you are. It makes me feel desired.”

Spencer flicked on the bedside lamp, the soft glow filling the room and casting warm, golden hues across the walls. The light bathed you in a way that made you look even more radiant, as though the glow itself was drawn to your beauty. Spencer paused for a moment, standing there in awe of you, his eyes wide with admiration.

“You are desired,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. “So gorgeous, Y/N.”

His words made your heart swell. You could hear how much he meant it, how genuine his feelings were. Spencer wasn’t trying to impress you; he was simply telling you the truth as he saw it. And in that moment, you found yourself falling just a little for him.

“Sweet, sweet Spencer…” you whispered, smiling softly at the endearing man before you. Your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. As the fabric parted, you kissed the newly exposed skin—his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest—your lips leaving a trail of warmth with each touch.

You could feel Spencer’s stomach rising and falling rapidly beneath your fingertips, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as he struggled to keep his composure. He was nervous, that much was clear, but you could also see the way his body responded to your touch, the way his eyes darkened with desire.

“Relax,” you sighed gently against his skin, your lips brushing softly over his collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment made him freeze for a moment, and you could tell it wasn’t something he was used to hearing. His breath hitched as you kissed his chest, your hands sliding the fabric of his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he raised them to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes. “I… I just don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” you reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “We’re just here, together. That’s all that matters.”

His eyes softened at your words, and slowly, the tension in his body seemed to ebb away, replaced by a quiet confidence. He reached up, his hands moving more purposefully now as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice steadying as he leaned down to kiss you again, this time with a little more certainty, a little more control.

And in the quiet of his room, surrounded by nothing but the soft light and the gentle hum of your shared breaths, you felt completely and utterly desired.

"Do you want to take my shirt off, Spencer?" you whispered softly against his ear, letting your tongue graze the sensitive skin just beneath it. You felt the shudder run through his body as he nodded quickly, his breathing heavy, eyes still tightly shut as if the weight of the moment was too much to handle.

You giggled softly, charmed by his inexperience and how deeply he seemed affected by every touch, every breath. Gently, you took his large hands in yours, guiding them to the hem of your shirt. His fingers trembled slightly, but you could feel his eagerness beneath that nervous exterior. Slowly, he gripped the fabric, carefully lifting it up, still with his eyes squeezed shut, even as he let the garment drop to the floor beside you.

"Spencer..." you whispered, your voice sweet but laced with a hint of amusement. You couldn’t help but notice how his hands had frozen in mid-air, his fingers hovering, unsure of what to do next. His body was clearly responding to the moment, but his mind was racing, overwhelmed.

"You can open your eyes," you encouraged, leaning forward just slightly to nudge him out of his hesitation, your lips brushing his jawline.

Very slowly, Spencer cracked his eyelids open, his breath hitching as he adjusted to the reality of the situation. But the moment he caught sight of your bare chest, his eyes flew open wide, surprise and awe etched across his face.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. His gaze flickered between your eyes and your chest, as though he were trying to process everything all at once. His expression was a mix of innocence and desire, and it was clear that this moment was overwhelming him in the best way possible.

You could feel the intensity of his gaze, and the way his hands, still trembling slightly, hovered just inches from your skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered softly, guiding his hands to your sides, encouraging him to touch you. “You can touch me, Spencer.”

His breath caught in his throat, but this time, he didn’t pull back. His hands, once hesitant, now slid up your sides, gently grasping your breasts in his hands. His touch was reverent, almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening as he ran his thumbs over your nipples. There was something so pure, so unguarded about the way he looked at you, as though you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re...” he started, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re stunning.”

Your heart swelled at the sincerity in his words. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly, pressing your body against his. "So are you, Spencer."

You kept kissing him, your lips moving against his with just enough pressure to hopefully distract him from whatever whirlwind of thoughts his brilliant mind was racing through. You were learning he tended to overthink, and you wanted to help him focus on the moment, on the way your bodies were reacting to one another rather than on whatever internal dialogue was playing out in his head.

Your hands moved down to his belt, working on the buckle with ease. You could feel his breathing pick up as you undid it, but instead of pulling away or tensing up, his hands stayed on your breasts. His fingers squeezed you, almost like he was using you to ground himself, holding you tighter than before, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. The sensation sent a wave of pleasure through you, and without hesitation, you moaned softly into his mouth.

The sound surprised Spencer, his entire body responding to it. He froze for just a second, his mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that had gotten to him—it was the realization that he had made you feel that way. The knowledge seemed to set something off inside him, a surge of wonder and hunger, like he was teetering on the edge of something completely new.

As you undid the button of his pants, letting them fall to the floor, you gently nudged him to step out of his loafers and slacks, which he did, albeit a little awkwardly. Spencer pulled back slightly, glancing down at himself, standing in nothing but his tented purple boxers. He shifted on his feet, clearly still feeling self-conscious despite everything.

“I’m feeling a clothing disparity here,” he tried to joke, though his voice came out more nervous than playful.

You giggled softly at his attempt to lighten the moment, appreciating how vulnerable he was being, even in his nervousness. "I can fix that," you teased, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bottoms. With a fluid motion, you slipped off your boots, followed by the rest of your clothes, leaving the small pile of fabric on the floor as you stood fully bare before him.

The room seemed to grow quieter for a second, the air thick with anticipation. Spencer’s gaze moved over your body slowly, taking in every inch of your skin with an almost reverent look. His breath hitched again, his hands hanging at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do next.

You smiled, stepping closer to him, your fingers trailing lightly along his chest, leaning in to press your body against his, feeling the heat between you intensify. "Now... let's see what else we can do about that disparity."

Your hands slid lower, brushing against the waistband of Spencer’s boxers as you tried to ease them down, but there was a bit of resistance—a clear obstruction that made the two of you stumble into a fit of giggles. Some of the nervous tension between you both lifted in that moment, replaced by the kind of playful energy that made everything feel lighter, more natural.

“Well, sir,” you said in an exaggerated, mock-serious voice, stepping back slightly to assess the situation, “it seems as if something has blocked my path.”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a full, hearty sound that spilled out of him, the kind that seemed to release the last of his nervousness. His shoulders shook with amusement as he looked at you, shaking his head. “My deepest apologies, ma’am,” he replied, playing along with a grin that stretched across his face. “Allow me to be of service.”

You watched as he reached down, fumbling a bit with his boxers before finally managing to remove them, kicking them aside with a sheepish smile. His face was still flushed, but now it was more from laughter than nerves, and the atmosphere between you shifted again, becoming more comfortable, more intimate.

“Better,” you teased, your playful tone returning, stepping close enough for your bare skin to brush against his. You placed your hands on his chest, your fingers spreading out to feel the warmth of his body beneath your touch. Spencer’s breath caught in his throat again, but this time it wasn’t out of anxiety—it was pure desire.

You noticed the subtle shift in Spencer’s eyes—something deeper, more focused. The playful energy between you had served its purpose, helping him relax, but now you knew it was time to stop teasing and really show him how much you wanted him. The way he looked at you, still unsure but no longer nervous, told you he was ready to explore this new territory, even if he didn’t quite know where it was going.

With a gentle but deliberate push, you guided him back onto the bed, watching the way he looked up at you, his breath quickening. You moved after him with purpose, your movements slow and deliberate as you crawled toward him, like a wolf stalking its prey. Spencer scooted back to the pillows, his eyes locked on yours, his uncertainty fading into quiet anticipation.

His gaze flickered as you settled in closer, your knees on either side of his hips. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, his hands resting by his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. You could see he was still processing everything, still trusting you to lead him through this.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you said softly, your voice a quiet promise. You let your hands trail up his thighs, your fingers brushing through the soft hair there, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Is that okay?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, but he nodded, his voice barely a whisper as he responded, “Yeah.”

Everything you had done so far, he liked. He wasn’t sure what came next, but there was no hesitation in his trust—he knew he would like whatever you did. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second as he felt your touch move higher, and he let out a small breath, almost as if he had been holding it in for far too long.

You took your time, wanting him to savor every moment. Your hands moved with gentle care, exploring his hips and stomach as you leaned in closer, your lips grazing his neck, your breath warm against his skin. Spencer shivered beneath you, his hands finally finding the courage to rest on your waist, his fingers gripping you just enough to anchor himself in the moment.

"You're doing so well, Spencer," you whispered against his ear, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, one filled with pure, unfiltered arousal. He hadn’t known until this moment how much he liked being praised, but the way your words washed over him—telling him he was doing good, that he was making you happy—lit something inside him. A fire burned in his stomach, spreading warmth throughout his entire body, and he couldn’t contain the way his body responded to you.

But then, when you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, the heat exploded. It was as if you had poured gasoline onto that fire, and Spencer’s reaction was immediate. His back arched off the bed, his mouth falling open as a raw, guttural groan escaped him. His hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as the sensation overwhelmed him, taking him by surprise.

He hadn’t been touched like this in a long, long time. It had been just him, his own hands and his own thoughts, but now—now it was you, and the difference was intoxicating. Every nerve in his body felt like it was alive, buzzing with an energy he hadn’t felt in years. He was losing himself to the moment, to you.

"God... Y/N..." he gasped, his voice low and rough, full of need. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped him as your hand moved expertly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.

You smiled softly, watching the way Spencer's body reacted to your touch as you gripped him tighter, the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. He looked so beautiful like this—vulnerable and completely immersed in the pleasure you were giving him.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered again, your voice low and soothing as your hand continued to move, squeezing extra on his head and drawing more of those delicious sounds from him. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Spencer nodded weakly, his head falling back onto the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations. His mind, usually so busy and full of thoughts, was blissfully quiet now, his entire focus on the feel of your hands, your body, and your voice guiding him through this.

"Y/N..." he groaned again, his voice trembling with need, his hands reaching out to grasp your hips, wanting to feel more of you, to be closer to you. He was completely lost in you now, and he didn’t want it to end.

You smiled down at him, feeling a surge of affection and desire for the man who had so easily surrendered to you, his pleasure so raw and vulnerable. “Oh, you poor thing,” you whispered, your voice soft and teasing as your hand sped up its movements, stopping every once in a while to rub your thumb under his head. “You just needed someone to look after you, didn’t you?”

Spencer nodded quickly, his body responding to your words before he could even form a coherent thought. His head pressed back into the pillows, his chest heaving as the sounds of his pleasure spilled from his open mouth, completely uncontrollable. He was lost in the moment, lost in you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and tenderness as you watched him.

He looked so beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, and entirely open. His eyes, when they did open, were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. There was something pure about the way he gave himself to the moment, trusting you completely to take him somewhere he hadn’t been in a long time.

And you were honored to be the one to make him feel like this, to be the person who could show him such tenderness and care. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath your lips as you whispered, “I’ve got you, Spencer.”

His response was another shaky moan, his hands returning to your hips as if to anchor himself to you, his grip both needy and gentle. His body was trembling now, his breaths coming faster and more erratically, and you knew he was close, teetering on the edge of release.

You let your free hand reach down to grasp and roll Spencer’s balls, his entire body jolted at the contact and he let out a sound akin to a scream. You could feel the tension building in him, his body reacting to every touch, every word. “You’re doing so good,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “Just let go for me, okay?”

Spencer’s breathing hitched, and you could feel him start to unravel beneath you. He nodded again, unable to speak, but the look in his eyes said everything. He was ready to let go, ready to give himself completely to the moment, and you were more than ready to guide him through it.

And when he finally did—when he let himself go with a guttural moan that shook through his entire body—it felt like you were witnessing something truly beautiful. You held him close, stroking him through his high as he spurted over your hand and stomach, your touch never wavering, your voice a constant, reassuring presence.

Spencer’s body finally relaxed beneath you and you removed both of your hands, his breaths coming in deep, ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. His hands, still resting on your hips, loosened their grip, and he blinked up at you, his eyes filled with awe and affection.

"Can... can I touch you?" Spencer asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of exhaustion was too heavy for him to speak any louder.

You smiled down at him, his face flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Gently, you brushed the strands from his forehead, your touch tender. "Not tonight," you whispered back, watching as a small pout formed on his lips.

Before he could say anything else, you leaned down and kissed the pout away, your lips soft against his. "You're tired," you said softly, your fingers tracing his cheek, "and that was plenty for me."

Spencer sighed, the tension in his body giving way to exhaustion as he relaxed into your touch. He didn’t protest further, knowing you were right, but the way his arms tightened slightly around your waist let you know that he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion.

You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “What are you thanking me for?”

Spencer gazed up at you, still catching his breath, his face flushed from both exertion and emotion. His fingers lightly traced circles on your hips, the touch absent-minded but tender.

“For... everything,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky but filled with sincerity. “For talking to me, being kind to me, patient with me. For... understanding.” His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching, almost vulnerable. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

You smiled softly, brushing your hand through his hair again, letting your touch soothe him. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Spencer. I wanted this as much as you did.”

Spencer swallowed, his throat working through the remnants of tension. “Still... it means a lot. You make me feel... safe.”

His words stirred something warm and protective in you, and your heart swelled at the realization of how much this moment meant to him. It wasn’t just the physicality; it was the connection, the trust. He had let down his walls for you, and in that vulnerability, you started to see the depths of who Spencer really was—someone deeply deserving of care and tenderness.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you feel that way. You deserve to be cared for, Spencer.”

His lips curved into a small smile, the tension in his body fully gone now, replaced with quiet contentment. “I’m really lucky,” he murmured, his voice still filled with awe.

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “No, we’re both lucky.”

And in the warmth of that moment, you both knew that this was more than just a fleeting connection—it was something special, something real. Something neither of you had been expecting, but both of you had needed.

—

Spencer stirred, slowly waking up to the comforting warmth of your body, his head resting against your soft stomach, your fingers gently stroking him. The feeling was intimate, tender, and it brought a sleepy, blissful smile to his face. He could feel your fingers running through his hair as he nuzzled closer to you, feeling completely safe, completely at peace.

When he finally cracked one eye open, he saw you sitting up, wearing your shirt and underwear, looking down at him with a soft, almost shy expression—a side of you he hadn’t yet seen. It was endearing, and for a moment, he just wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in the warmth of your presence.

“Good morning,” you said softly, your voice timid, a tone that felt so different from the playful, confident energy you’d had last night. Spencer noticed the way you seemed slightly unsure, as if you weren’t certain what the morning would bring, and it made his heart ache with affection for you.

He opened both eyes fully, blinking up at you in a way that was so sweet and sleepy it melted your heart. “Hi,” he whispered, a smile spreading across his face, his voice still laced with drowsiness. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, as though waking up to you was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You grinned shyly in response, the soft morning light making everything feel gentle and new. “I hope it’s okay that I’m still here,” you said quietly, your fingers still moving softly through his hair.

Spencer’s smile widened as he shifted slightly, his head still resting against your stomach. “More than okay,” he murmured. “I... I didn’t want you to leave.”

His honesty made your heart swell, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I didn’t want to leave either.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, his body relaxing further as he closed his eyes again, soaking in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if to make sure you were really there, that this wasn’t just a dream.

“You’re still here,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet wonder. “And that makes me really happy.”

You continued to stroke his hair, your fingers gentle as you whispered back, “I’m happy too, Spencer. Really happy.”

And in the quiet of the morning, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, it felt like the beginning of something special—something neither of you could deny.

Eventually, the cozy bubble the two of you had created was interrupted by the sharp sound of Spencer's alarm blaring, signaling that it was time to get ready for work. The moment felt bittersweet, and Spencer, clearly not ready to break the warmth of your embrace, pouted grumpily as he reluctantly pulled himself from your arms to head toward the shower.

He paused at the edge of the bed, turning back to you with a hopeful look, still shy but clearly not wanting this to end. “Will you wait for me to get out?” he asked, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear the moment he stepped out of the room.

You giggled, shaking your head dramatically with a playful smirk. “Nope,” you teased, your tone light and full of humor. “This is when I’ll make my grand exit—after you’ve already seen me, of course.”

Spencer laughed at your playful antics, the sound filling the room as he smiled to himself. Despite the teasing, he appreciated how lighthearted and easy everything felt with you. Still, he quickly got up from the bed, scampering to the bathroom with a newfound urgency, his naked form catching your attention.

Before you could stop yourself, you called out, “Woo! The sun is out but the moon is full! How come I didn’t get to see your ass last night?”

Spencer immediately blushed, his face turning a deep shade of pink as he covered his behind with his hands and sped up his pace, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “I’ll show you mine when you show me yours!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the hallway.

Your laughter rang out, the joyful sound filling the space and making Spencer smile to himself as he entered the bathroom. It was the only response he needed, the perfect note to start his day on.

After Spencer disappeared into the bathroom for his shower, you took the opportunity to give yourself a quick tour of his apartment. It was just as charming as you expected—full of books, eclectic trinkets, and signs of his quirky, intellectual nature. When you found the kitchen, you spotted the coffee supplies and decided to make a quick pot. The smell of freshly brewing coffee soon filled the air, and you figured a simple breakfast would be a nice touch, so you whipped up some eggs and toast, humming softly as you worked.

By the time Spencer emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, the aroma of coffee and warm food had reached him. His heart swelled at the simple, thoughtful gesture. He had never imagined waking up to something like this. Rushing to get dressed as quickly as possible, he joined you in the kitchen, where you were casually sipping coffee and waiting for him.

You spent the next half hour in easy conversation, talking about simple, everyday things—where you grew up, how many siblings you had, whether or not you had any pets. Spencer seemed eager to learn all that he could about you, firing off question after question. You hardly noticed that he didn’t volunteer much about himself, his curiosity directed solely at getting to know you. You found it endearing, the way he leaned into every answer, his eyes lighting up with each new detail you shared.

Eventually, though, time started to slip away, and the soft glow of morning meant Spencer needed to leave for work. As he grabbed his bag, ready to head out, his shy demeanor returned, his eyes avoiding yours as he fumbled with his words.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearly flustered, “I don’t have time to take you home. I lost track of time.”

You were already sliding on your boots, unfazed by the rush. "That’s fine! I took a cab last night anyway, I can fetch another one," you replied with a smile, waving off his apology.

Spencer sighed in relief, though his brows furrowed with lingering guilt. “Can I pay for the fee at least?”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Absolutely not, Spencer. This wasn’t an exchange of goods," you teased with a playful wink.

Spencer flushed, chuckling at himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. Then his expression softened, his voice quieter, more sincere. “Can I see you again? Take you on a proper date?”

Your smile brightened at his request, your heart warming at the thought. “I would really like that.”

With that, the two of you officially exchanged numbers, the moment feeling more intimate than it had any right to. Spencer kissed you once, then again, as if he couldn’t help himself, savoring every second before he finally had to leave for work.

As he walked out the door, you called a car, feeling a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. This was definitely just the beginning of something worth exploring.

—

Spencer walked into the BAU that Thursday with an extra pep in his step, his usually focused and somewhat intense demeanor softened by a secret smile that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face. He barely noticed the way his colleagues, Derek and Emily, glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, instantly picking up on his unusual cheerfulness.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity, was the first to speak up as Spencer passed by his desk. "Whoa, whoa, hold up, pretty boy," he called out, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "What’s with the smile? Did you crack some unsolvable puzzle overnight or something?"

Spencer blinked, the smile still lingering, though he quickly tried to rein it in. "What? No, I didn’t... I mean, no puzzles," he said, fumbling slightly as he continued toward his desk.

Emily raised an eyebrow and leaned against Derek’s desk, crossing her arms as she smirked at Spencer. "Are you sure? Because you’re practically glowing, Reid. Come on, spill it."

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he realized he wasn’t doing a great job hiding his good mood. He sat down at his desk, avoiding their teasing stares. "It’s nothing," he mumbled, but his attempt to brush it off only made Derek and Emily more determined.

"Uh-huh, sure," Derek repeated, his grin widening as he leaned forward. "Come on, man, you don’t look like this for no reason. You’re practically walking on air. What happened? Did you learn a new language or something?"

Spencer, unable to resist the opportunity to lean into the joke, shrugged, deciding to give Derek a little win. "Sure, Derek. I technically did begin studying a new language recently," he replied, trying to keep a straight face, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Emily, sensing that they weren’t going to get the juicy details they were hoping for, sighed dramatically, waving a hand dismissively. "Ah, quel gâchis," she muttered, her voice laced with playful disappointment.

Spencer immediately glared in her direction, having caught the meaning of her words. "What a waste?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I’m standing right here, you know."

Emily smirked, clearly enjoying how easily she’d ruffled his feathers. "Well, we were hoping for something more exciting than a study session, Reid," she teased, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "But I guess we’ll just have to live with our imaginations."

Derek chuckled, crossing his arms. "Don’t let her get to you, pretty boy. Just know we’ve got our eye on you."

The teasing didn’t let up throughout the day. Derek and Emily, delighted by Spencer’s unusual behavior, had made sure word got around that Spencer was “studying” something new—something that had him grinning like an idiot at random moments.

When JJ and Penelope heard the news, they joined in on the fun, leaving their own playful comments. JJ had passed by his desk, nudging him lightly. "Studying something new, huh? I’ve never seen someone so excited over homework, Spence."

Penelope, ever the drama queen, had dramatically swooned in front of him. "Oh my stars, who knew Spencer Reid could look so refreshed and glowing? It must be some incredible study material," she teased, winking as she fluttered away, her laughter trailing behind her.

Even Hotch, who was usually more reserved about office banter, had joined in. “It’s good to see you more focused and refreshed, Reid,” he commented during a briefing, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his tone was as professional as ever.

But it wasn’t until Rossi chimed in that Spencer really realized how obvious he was being. Rossi had been watching Spencer with a knowing look for most of the day. After catching Spencer glancing at his phone for what must have been the hundredth time, he couldn’t resist.

“You’ve touched your phone an awful lot today, Reid,” Rossi mused as he walked by Spencer’s desk. "Waiting for something important?"

Spencer jolted slightly, startled out of his focus. He had, once again, been staring at the text he had prepared to send you but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to hit send yet. He glanced up at Rossi, trying and failing to hide the sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, something like that," Spencer replied, his voice softer, betraying the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms. "Ah, I see. Must be some important 'study material' then, huh?"

Spencer flushed, realizing that Rossi was in on the joke too. “It’s... very interesting,” he said, glancing down at his phone again, but the small smile remained firmly in place.

Rossi chuckled knowingly. "Just make sure you don’t fail whatever test you’re preparing for," he teased, clapping Spencer on the back as he walked away, leaving the young doctor blushing and still holding his phone.

Finally, Spencer shook his head and, after a deep breath, hit "send" on the text to you, feeling a flutter of excitement as he anticipated your reply.

The end of the workday was a welcome relief for most of the team, and everyone was packing up their things, preparing to head out. Conversations were light, the usual post-case fatigue settling in. But as everyone moved about, the sound of a notification buzzed from Spencer’s pocket, drawing all eyes to him.

It was as if the entire team had collectively paused, waiting with bated breath as Spencer reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He hadn’t said much about whatever—or whoever—had been keeping that secret smile on his face, but they all knew something was up. And now, they watched him, each pretending not to care, but clearly all invested in this "mystery" that had made their boy genius so giddy.

Spencer took a quick glance at the screen, and almost immediately, his eyes widened. The smile that bloomed on his face was unmistakable, pure, and full of excitement. Without thinking, he tapped his hands on the desk, unable to keep still. Then, in a burst of happiness, he spun in his office chair—twice.

Emily, who had been pretending to pack her bag, exchanged a smirk with JJ. Derek raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to tease right then and there, while Penelope was practically bursting with curiosity, trying not to let out a squeal.

After Spencer’s excited spins, he paused, staring at his phone again, as if confirming what he had just seen.

Hi Spencer :) I’m glad you texted, I would love to see you again. How’s Saturday?

Spencer stared at the message for a moment, his heart racing, a goofy grin still plastered on his face. Saturday. Yes. Saturday was perfect. He could already feel the rush of anticipation building up inside him.

Across the room, Derek couldn’t hold back any longer. "Alright, man, spill it. What’s got you doing a victory lap in your chair like you just won the lottery?"

Spencer, still smiling, looked up at his friends and teammates, feeling a little embarrassed by how obvious his excitement had been, but he couldn’t hide it anymore.

"I, um... I have a date on Saturday," he admitted, his voice quieter but filled with unmistakable happiness.

“Oh, boy wonder, please tell me this isn’t a date with more studying,” Penelope sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if she couldn’t handle the thought of Spencer’s version of a romantic evening being spent in a library.

Spencer’s blush deepened as he shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no studying,” he assured her, still smiling. “It’s just... dinner. You know, a normal date.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Dinner? Normal? Spencer Reid, going on a normal date?” She placed both hands on her cheeks in exaggerated shock. “Be still my heart, I’m not sure I’m ready for this new chapter of your life!”

Emily grinned, leaning on her desk. “What’s next? Dancing?” she teased, clearly enjoying how flustered Spencer was getting.

Spencer waved them off, though the smile never left his face. “I’m just... excited to see where it goes,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Derek raised a brow, folding his arms. “Well, don’t keep us hanging, man. You’re gonna let us know how it goes, right?”

Spencer chuckled nervously. “We’ll see.”

Penelope clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I am living for this! I expect a full report, Reid. Leave nothing out!” she added, already imagining the romantic possibilities.

Spencer just shook his head with a sheepish grin, knowing that after Saturday, he wouldn’t be able to escape their questions—but for now, he was just content with the thought of seeing you again.

—

Spencer spent all of Thursday evening through Saturday morning in a nervous wreck, spiraling between excitement and dread. The excitement stemmed from the memory of you—the way you looked at him, the way you had made him feel seen and wanted in a way no one ever had. But the dread… well, that came from his mind’s tendency to overanalyze, to question every little detail until it didn’t make sense anymore.

He had almost convinced himself that he had hallucinated the entire night—that perhaps he’d somehow gotten drunk at the bar and imagined everything. You were too good to be true, after all. You were beautiful, smart, and funny. And the way you had treated him with such care… it felt like something out of a dream. Spencer was nearly positive that it hadn’t really happened.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that after confirming the time and place for your Saturday date, your conversation had ended abruptly. No back-and-forth, no playful banter. Just... silence. He had been waiting, glancing at his phone far too often, hoping for another text that never came.

Maybe the magic had only lasted for that one night and morning. Maybe you had woken up and realized that Spencer wasn’t what you wanted after all. What if the moment had passed and the reality of who he was had set in for you? What if, after thinking it over, you decided he wasn’t worth seeing again?

Then there was the physical aspect—the fact that you had seen him. All of him. You had touched him, and though you had stayed afterward, making breakfast and laughing with him, the irrational part of his brain couldn’t stop replaying the possibilities. What if you hadn’t liked what you saw but had been too kind to say anything in the moment? What if you were regretting the entire thing now?

Rationally, Spencer knew these thoughts didn’t make sense. If you hadn’t been interested, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to see him again. You definitely wouldn’t have stayed the morning, made him breakfast, and kissed him so sweetly before leaving. But his nerves were gnawing at him, relentless and persistent.

Spencer wasn’t just nervous. He was terrified. In all his 30 years of life, he had never met someone who made his heart race so much in a good way. Someone who made him feel this vulnerable yet eager to dive deeper.

He spent Friday night tossing and turning, replaying every moment he’d spent with you, both wonderful and anxiety-inducing. By Saturday morning, he was an absolute bundle of nerves, wondering if maybe he should’ve done something differently, said something better, or been more... someone else.

But then, just as the clock hit mid-morning, his phone buzzed. Heart racing, Spencer grabbed it from the nightstand. A message from you.

Looking forward to tonight :) See you soon!

He stared at the screen, a wave of relief washing over him so intense it almost knocked him off his feet. You were still interested. You hadn’t changed your mind. You wanted to see him again.

For a moment, he just sat there, the nerves easing away as he reread the message. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

As Spencer got ready for the date, the nerves returned. Despite dressing the same way he always did—his usual button-up shirt, vest, slacks, his familiar aftershave, and cologne—there was a sense of urgency in his movements. He didn’t know why he was so anxious; after all, he hadn’t changed anything. But this was different. You were different. He just hoped that you would like him as he was.

You had offered to meet him at the restaurant, which, at first, he wasn’t sure about. He’d wanted to pick you up, to make the evening as special as possible, but when you suggested meeting there, he hadn’t pressed. Maybe it was nerves on your part too, or maybe you just liked the independence of arriving on your own terms.

When he arrived and spotted you chatting with the hostess, his heart swelled, almost too big for his chest. You looked effortlessly beautiful, standing there in a red dress that hugged your form perfectly. It was simple, yet elegant, and the way it contrasted against your skin made you stand out even more in the dimly lit atmosphere of the restaurant.

You were laughing, completely at ease, talking with the hostess as if you hadn’t a care in the world. The sound of your voice carried over the light murmur of the restaurant, and Spencer was instantly reminded of when he’d first seen you. The way you had drawn him in so effortlessly. There was no pretense about you—just an infectious warmth and natural beauty.

He stood frozen for a moment, just watching, trying to gather the courage to walk up to you. But when you turned your head and caught sight of him, your face broke into the most radiant smile, and Spencer felt his nerves disappear all at once. It was like everything fell into place.

“Hey,” you greeted him as he approached, your eyes lighting up with excitement. “You made it.”

“Yeah, I—wow, you look... amazing,” Spencer smiled, feeling the last remnants of his awkwardness melt away as you grinned at him, doing a playful little twirl in your red dress. The movement was graceful yet lighthearted, making him laugh, a sound full of genuine joy.

“I’m sensing a pattern,” Spencer teased, his eyes gleaming with affection as he took in how the red dress suited you so perfectly, just as your red boots and shorts had. “Do you like red?”

You stepped in closer, your hands resting lightly on his chest, the warmth of your touch sending a subtle shiver down his spine. “I do,” you admitted with a sweet smile. “My, uh, my aunt always called me Red. Like Little Red Riding Hood.”

Spencer’s heart melted at the story, his eyes softening as he looked at you with pure adoration. “That’s so sweet,” he murmured, as if he couldn’t contain how endearing he found the thought of you being called “Red.”

You chuckled, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, she said I was always wandering off on my own adventures, and she had to remind me not to get eaten by wolves.”

Spencer’s smile grew even softer, his hands instinctively resting at your waist. “Well,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with admiration, “I think Little Red turned out just fine.”

The exchange left the both of you wrapped in a quiet moment of warmth, the kind of connection that made the rest of the world seem to fade into the background. With a soft smile, you took his hand, ready to start the evening, knowing that it was already off to a perfect start.

After being seated, the conversation flowed easily as you both eagerly dug into the appetizers. The tension and nerves from earlier seemed to melt away entirely as you shared bites of food and laughed at small jokes. The restaurant had a cozy atmosphere, with soft lighting that gave the table an intimate glow, making everything feel even more relaxed.

You giggled, trying to hold in your laughter as you chewed, but it was no use. Spencer had said something funny just as you took a bite, and now you were covering your mouth with your hand, laughing through the food. Spencer immediately looked apologetic, his eyes wide as he realized his timing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, chuckling nervously, his hand halfway raised like he was ready to help in some way. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh while you were eating!”

You waved him off with your free hand, still laughing softly as you swallowed your food. “It’s okay, really,” you assured him once you could speak, your voice light with amusement. “It was worth it.”

Spencer grinned, a little sheepishly but clearly relieved that you weren’t bothered. “I’ll have to work on my comedic timing,” he said playfully, leaning back in his chair as he watched you, clearly enjoying the easy flow of your conversation.

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. It was the kind of dinner where nothing had to be perfect for it to feel just right. Everything between you and Spencer felt natural—funny, even in the smallest moments.

You stretched your legs out under the table, completely unaware of Spencer’s position, and grazed his shin with your foot. Spencer jolted slightly, his body reacting immediately to the unexpected touch. His brow quirked up, and he gave you a playful look.

"Are you trying to play footsie with me?" he asked, pretending to sound scandalized, though the teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips gave him away.

You burst into laughter, immediately throwing your hands up in mock surrender. "I promise I wasn’t!" you said, still giggling. "I was just stretching my legs!"

Spencer narrowed his eyes at you in mock suspicion, pretending to glare as if he didn’t believe a word of it. "Likely story, Red," he teased, using your intimate nickname with ease.

Hearing him call you "Red" sent a warmth straight to your heart. It had been so long since anyone other than your aunt had used that name, and the way Spencer said it felt special, like a quiet understanding between the two of you. You grinned, feeling that warmth spread through your chest.

"I’m innocent, I swear!" you laughed, leaning forward slightly, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint.

Spencer held your gaze for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. "I’ll let it slide this time," he said, his voice light but filled with a quiet fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

The dinner had gone off without a hitch, and Spencer, walking beside you under the soft glow of the streetlights, couldn’t even remember why he had been so nervous in the first place. The evening had been perfect—easy, comfortable, and filled with laughter. He found himself entirely at ease around you, more than he had been with anyone in a long time.

As you strolled along the sidewalk, your arm occasionally brushing against his, you made small talk, keeping the conversation light and fun. Spencer listened intently, smiling at your stories, hanging on to every word, though you noticed that he still hadn’t shared all that much about himself. You figured he had his reasons, and you weren’t going to push. He seemed too genuine, too kind-hearted, for it to be anything more than him needing time.

For now, you were content to share bits of your life with him—telling stories about your childhood, your adventures in college, and the silly moments that had shaped you. You spoke about your aunt, and how much she had meant to you growing up. Spencer’s eyes softened as he listened, clearly enjoying every word you spoke.

"You sound like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Spencer said with a smile as you finished a story about sneaking into your college library late at night for secret study sessions with your friends.

You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. "Adventurous might be a bit of an overstatement, but I definitely wasn’t the most well-behaved."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can’t imagine you being anything but well-behaved."

You grinned at him, loving the way he teased you with that gentle humor of his. "You’d be surprised."

He seemed content to let you lead the conversation, and though he didn’t say much about his own past, you could tell that he was listening to every detail you shared. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it felt as though he was genuinely absorbing everything about you, like he wanted to know you better, but in his own quiet way.

When the two of you finally made your way back to the restaurant, where Spencer’s car was parked, he offered you a ride home. His thoughtfulness made you smile, but once again, you politely declined, explaining that you didn’t mind walking.

However, Spencer’s expression immediately shifted, his brow furrowing in concern as he quickly launched into crime statistics about women walking alone at night. His detailed knowledge on the subject was impressive, but it also sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You couldn’t help but ask, "Why do you know so much about that?"

His response came with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I, uh, I work for the FBI. I deal with a lot of crimes.” His words were quick, almost bashful, as though he wasn’t used to dropping that kind of bombshell in casual conversation.

Your eyes widened in surprise as the pieces clicked into place—the secrecy, the knowledge, it all made sense now. "Oh!" you exclaimed, relief washing over you. "Thank god, I was afraid you had experience in kidnapping or something."

Spencer laughed, clearly caught off guard by your reaction. He was so used to people being either overly impressed or intensely curious when they learned about his job, but your response was different—humorous, almost relieved.

"No, no," he assured you, pulling out his badge to prove his innocence, still chuckling. "Nothing like that."

You leaned in to get a better look at the badge, your fingers briefly brushing over the picture. Your eyes lit up with amusement. "Oh my goodness," you said, grinning up at him. "You look like a little baby in this!"

Spencer flushed slightly, laughing awkwardly. "Well, I was 22 when that was taken," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I’m 30 now… maybe I should retake it."

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "No," you said, your voice affectionate. "I like it. It still looks like you, just more… innocent."

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat at the way you were looking at him, your expression so warm and kind. He wasn’t used to being seen like that, not after years of working in the field, seeing the worst of humanity. But in that moment, you saw him—not as a brilliant FBI agent, but as Spencer, the person. And he liked that more than he could put into words.

He gave you a shy smile in return, slipping the badge back into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said softly, genuinely appreciating your words.

You nodded slightly, unsure of how to navigate the next moment. It seemed like the night was coming to a natural end, and you didn’t quite know how to say goodbye without feeling like you were cutting it short.

“Wait, Y/N,” Spencer said suddenly, his hand gently catching your arm. There was a soft urgency in his voice, like he wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end either. “I can’t let you walk home alone. Please, at least let me walk you.”

You laughed, partly at the irony and partly at his genuine concern. “Oh, well, you see,” you began, biting your lip as you explained, “I didn’t want you to know where I lived, you know, just in case you were dangerous.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned by your honesty, but you quickly followed it up with a lighthearted smile.

“But,” you continued, glancing down at your shoes with a playful sigh, “seeing as you’re probably my safest option, I would love a ride home. These shoes are starting to hurt.”

Spencer’s expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and amusement. “Oh,” he smiled, clearly trying not to laugh at the situation. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I passed the safety test.”

You chuckled, grateful for Spencer’s warmth and understanding as he quickly unlocked his car, holding the door open for you like the gentleman he was. “I promise I’m just your FBI chauffeur for the evening,” he said with a playful grin. “No funny business involved.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you felt more comfortable now, letting yourself sink into the soft interior of the car. “I should hope there will be some funny business,” you teased back with a grin.

Spencer laughed as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat, his smile still lingering as he started the engine. “Maybe, if you’re lucky,” he shot back, a hint of playful banter in his voice.

You smiled to yourself, remembering the playful back-and-forth from the first night at the bar. “Oh, I’m lucky, alright,” you teased, letting your words hang in the air.

The conversation during the drive was light and easy, flowing naturally as you both learned more about each other. Spencer shared bits about his life—how he was from Las Vegas, how he’d been a child prodigy, finishing school at an age when most were still navigating adolescence. You revealed more about yourself too, that you were 25 and had just moved to Quantico a month ago. It was the most you’d learned about him so far, and your heart soared with the thought that maybe he was starting to feel more comfortable with you, letting those initial walls down just a little.

When the conversation turned to your age, Spencer let out a visible sigh of relief, as you had teasingly implied you were only 18 when he initially brought up his own youth. You giggled at his obvious relief, knowing he had been worried.

As you both stepped out of the car, Spencer opened the door for you once more, a habit that hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was then that you saw your cat, Poof, sitting in the window, his eyes staring down at the scene below.

“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his eyes following your gaze.

You smiled, proud as always of your feline friend. “That’s Poof,” you said, your voice warm. “My boy.”

Spencer turned to face you, and for the first time, he seemed to muster the courage to place his hands on your waist, the touch gentle but deliberate. His fingertips pressed lightly against your hips, pulling you just a little closer.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his with a playful, sultry look. “I hope it’s not time for that funny business,” you said softly, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Poof is watching.”

Spencer’s soft laugh filled the quiet evening air, his voice slightly teasing as he said, “Can you ask him to look away? I’d like to kiss you.”

You rubbed your chin, pretending to think it over, drawing out the moment. “Hmm, I guess I could try.” You turned your head over your shoulder and called up to your cat, “Hey, Poof?”

Poof perked up in the open window, his eyes locking onto yours, and he let out a questioning meow.

“Can you look away, baby?” you continued, your voice playful. “Mommy’s going to do something naughty.”

Spencer immediately flushed at your words, his cheeks turning a deep pink as he laughed nervously, clearly caught off guard by your teasing. Poof, seemingly understanding the moment, let out one more meow before hopping down from the windowsill, likely heading toward the front door to meet you inside. Whether he truly understood or just wanted to meet you, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same: the two of you now had privacy.

You turned back to Spencer with a smile, feeling the playful energy shift into something more intimate. With Poof gone, the evening air felt still, and you reached your hands into Spencer’s hair. Spencer, still slightly flustered but unable to hide his excitement, leaned in. His hands remained gently on your waist, but there was a tenderness in his touch that made your heart race.

Slowly, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the world seeming to quiet around you as everything else faded. It was gentle, tentative, and cozy, his lips pillow soft and sweet. Spencer kissed you like he was savoring every second, as if this moment meant more than he could put into words.

When you finally pulled back from the kiss, your noses still brushing lightly, the moment reminded you of a scene straight out of Lady and the Tramp. Spencer’s eyes were half-lidded, his lips still curved in a soft smile, clearly affected by the kiss. He exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, “I think you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

The sincerity of his words hit you like a warm breeze, melting your heart into a puddle. But as much as you felt overwhelmed with happiness, your expression must not have mirrored what you were feeling inside, because Spencer’s smile faltered slightly. He was quick to backtrack, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush.

“Oh no, was that too much? Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry,” he stammered, his nervousness suddenly replacing the confidence he'd gained earlier. He was clearly afraid he had said something to ruin the perfect moment, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You shook your head gently, biting your lip as you looked up at him. There was a newfound shyness in your gaze, an almost vulnerable expression that hadn’t been there before. "Just... please mean it," you whispered, your voice soft, your heart racing as you waited for his response.

Spencer’s eyes softened instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist, like a silent reminder he wasn’t going anywhere. “I do,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Hearing those words, a slow, sweet smile spread across your face, and the warmth in your chest bloomed into something even bigger. You felt seen, appreciated, and for a moment, it was like the two of you were in your own little world—just you, Spencer, and the quiet glow of the night.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

Spencer’s nervousness melted away in that instant, replaced by pure relief and something that felt like hope. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and everything felt right. No more hesitation, no more second-guessing—just the feeling of being exactly where you both wanted to be.

—

Spencer Reid had never truly been in love before—not in the way people described it, that overwhelming rush of emotions, the constant thoughts about someone else filling your mind. But as he sat in his apartment later that night, thinking about you, he was almost certain that this—whatever he was feeling—was love. The way his heart skipped a beat just thinking about your smile, how his palms had been sweaty before your kiss, how you had effortlessly made him feel like the most important person in the world.

Still, Spencer was Spencer—his mind always searching for logical explanations, grounded in facts and science. He knew that love was largely chemical, that the brain released dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, making people feel giddy and euphoric. And he also knew, from one of the countless facts stored in his mind, that both chocolate—and oddly enough, peas—could stimulate the release of similar hormones, mimicking the sensation of love.

So, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he decided to conduct an experiment.

The next day, he went out to buy both chocolate and peas—determined to see if those foods could recreate even a fraction of the feelings you stirred in him. He figured that if it was purely chemical, those foods should make him feel the same warmth, the same fluttering excitement in his chest.

He got home, spread out the chocolate and peas on his kitchen table, and hesitated for a moment. Was he really doing this? Testing whether his feelings for you were real or just his brain tricking him? He almost laughed at how absurd it all seemed.

But, he pushed forward, nibbling on some chocolate first. He waited, focusing on his body’s reactions. There was a slight rush—sweet and satisfying—but no butterflies, no pounding heart. Then he moved on to the peas, knowing they were supposed to have similar effects on the brain's chemistry. But after a handful of peas, he only felt... like someone who had just eaten peas. There was no spark, no overwhelming sense of joy.

Spencer sat back in his chair, staring at the empty plates, and let out a soft laugh. The experiment, while amusing, had proven what he already suspected: his feelings for you weren’t something he could replicate with food. They were something much deeper—something entirely unique to you.

The thought filled him with a sense of peace, and in that moment, he realized that what he was feeling was real. He didn’t need science or logic to confirm it—he just knew.

And as he closed his eyes, picturing your smile, he knew that love was the only thing that could explain the way he felt when he was around you.

—

"Alright, pretty boy, let’s hear it!" Derek clapped his hands together, rubbing them with an exaggerated sense of excitement as Spencer returned from the break room, coffee in hand.

Spencer paused mid-sip, his wide eyes blinking behind his cup, brows raised as if he hadn’t the faintest idea what Derek was referring to. “Hear it?”

Of course, he knew exactly what Derek meant. The date. But a small part of him—maybe a larger part than he cared to admit—wanted to keep you to himself, at least for a little while longer. His team already knew so much about him, and this, well, this was different. This was special.

Derek wasn’t having any of it. He narrowed his eyes, giving Spencer a mock-glare. “Don’t play with me, kid. You went on that date, right?”

Before Spencer could even respond, Emily perked up from her desk, always eager for gossip when it came to her favorite awkward genius. “Oh yeah! How did it go?” she asked, leaning in, her face full of curiosity.

Spencer sighed, setting his coffee down on his desk with a soft clink. He wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. He tried to keep his face neutral, his body language calm, but the memories of the evening—the walk under the streetlights, your playful banter, and that kiss—flooded his mind, making it hard not to smile.

"It went... very well," he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

Derek wasn’t convinced by Spencer’s attempt at subtlety. “That’s it? Very well?" he repeated, mocking Spencer’s impassive tone. "Come on, man. You’ve gotta give us more than that.”

Emily leaned forward even more, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, spill! Did she like you? Did you kiss her?"

Spencer could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to show in his cheeks. He could lie, brush it off, or keep it vague, but he knew his team better than that. They wouldn’t let it go. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to give them every detail.

"Yes, we kissed," he said, avoiding their wide-eyed stares. He could practically feel Emily and Derek’s eyes burning into him. "And yes, I think she liked me."

"Whoa!" Derek exclaimed, slapping his hand on the desk in excitement. "Look at you, Romeo!"

Emily was grinning now, clearly thrilled with this development. “Oh my God, you’re finally seeing someone. I knew this was going to be good!”

Spencer shifted in his chair, trying to avoid the attention while hiding his smile behind his coffee. "It’s... still early," he said cautiously. "We’re going to see each other again, but I don’t want to rush things."

Derek chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “No rush, man. Just enjoy it.”

Spencer nodded, feeling both overwhelmed by their enthusiasm and touched by their genuine happiness for him. As much as he had wanted to keep it to himself, there was something nice about sharing even this small piece of happiness with his team—his friends.

Still, in his mind, the best parts of the date were tucked away, memories meant just for him and you.

Just as Spencer was about to respond, Hotch’s voice cut through the bullpen. “Briefing room, five minutes,” he called, his tone all business as usual. But then, with a rare hint of amusement in his voice, Hotch added, “Congrats, Reid,” flashing a brief, smug smile before disappearing back into his office.

The team erupted into cheers and playful whops, their laughter filling the room. Derek gave Spencer a knowing nudge, grinning ear to ear, while Emily clapped her hands together in excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head at how quickly news spread in the BAU. He gathered his files, his coffee, and his thoughts, preparing for the case briefing.

As they made their way to the briefing room, Spencer found his thoughts drifting back to you. He wasn’t one to be easily distracted, especially at work, but today, there was a lightness in his step, a quiet happiness that followed him.

No matter what the next case would bring, you were there in the back of his mind, a constant, sweet reminder of the night before. And for the first time in a long while, Spencer felt like he was allowed to have something personal, something good, to look forward to.

—

It had been a few days since your date with Spencer, and though you hadn’t seen each other since then, the excitement hadn’t faded. Every day, you and Spencer shared brief phone calls after work, recounting your days, each conversation leaving you both with a sense of comfort and anticipation. It was enough for now, enough to tide you over until the next time you could be together in person.

Spencer, however, had been cautious about texting you first. He was afraid of coming on too strong, not wanting to push if you weren’t ready. He longed to see you again, and he was planning to ask if you were free this weekend. But the fear of always making the first move held him back, making him hesitate. He wanted to know that you were just as invested, that you’d reach out too.

Before he could summon the courage to ask you out again, the BAU caught a case that took them out of town. Spencer wasn’t sure what the protocol was for this kind of thing—how much should he let you know? It wasn’t like you were officially together, but at the same time, he didn’t want to just disappear without a word.

He decided to wait for your usual nightly call and tell you then, hoping the timing wouldn’t be off, worried that he might miss the window if things got too chaotic. A part of him secretly hoped you’d make the first move and call him tonight—an assurance that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

As the day stretched into evening, the team found themselves in a stuffy precinct in Arizona, dealing with an uncooperative local police department. The frustration levels were high, and Spencer was barely holding onto his patience with an especially difficult sheriff. Just as he was about to lose his cool, his phone rang.

Relieved for the distraction, Spencer pulled it out without thinking, assuming it was Garcia checking in with some intel. He answered with a weary sigh. “What’s up, Garcia?”

There was a brief pause before your voice came through the line, hesitant and uncertain. “Um, hi?”

Spencer’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His heart leaped in his chest, excitement bubbling up at the fact that you had called him. But it was quickly followed by a wave of embarrassment as he realized his mistake. “Y/N! Hi!” he blurted out, his voice filled with a mix of apology and enthusiasm.

“Expecting someone else?” you teased, but he could hear the slight edge of insecurity in your voice, making his stomach twist with guilt.

“No, no, I’m so sorry,” Spencer rushed to explain, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall of the precinct, trying to escape the noise and tension around him. “I’ve been dealing with this case, and I just—well, I thought it was a work call. I didn’t look at the caller ID. But I’m really glad you called.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Spencer held his breath, hoping he hadn’t ruined this. He desperately wanted you to know that you calling meant more to him than he could say.

After a moment, you spoke again, your tone softening. “It’s okay, I figured you were busy.”

“I am,” Spencer admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I would never be too busy to talk to you.”

Rossi happened to overhear the exchange between Spencer and you. Though the older agent smiled with quiet amusement and joy for the young genius, he refrained from teasing him. This was a rare moment for Spencer, and Rossi respected that.

On the other end of the line, you giggled softly, your voice light and teasing. “Never too busy for me?” you repeated, playfully emphasizing the words. “That’s quite the line, Spencer.”

Spencer felt his face warm even more, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Mhm, you know me, smooth talker extraordinaire," he replied, his voice soft but playful.

Your laughter echoed through the phone, sending a wave of warmth over Spencer. He couldn't help the huge smile that spread across his face. There was something about making you laugh that filled him with an indescribable joy.

On the other side of the room, Hotch overheard the exchange. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced over at Rossi. “Did Reid just use sarcasm?”

Rossi nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "I think the kid’s in love."

While they observed, you continued telling Spencer a story about Poof. "Oh, and today Poof scared a little kid into dropping their ice cream when he meowed from the window," you said with a giggle. "The poor thing was so startled. I ended up running downstairs with a popsicle from my freezer to make up for it."

As you laughed, recounting the moment, Spencer's heart swelled at the thought of your kindness. His mind briefly wandered to the idea of you as a mother, imagining you with a little one on your hip, comforting them with that same gentle warmth. And, to his own surprise, the thought of you being the mother of his children crossed his mind, and it didn’t scare him—it made his heart race in the best way possible.

He shook the thought away, trying to focus on the present, but it lingered, a sweet hope tucked away for the future.

"That's... really sweet of you," he said softly, his voice full of admiration. "That kid’s lucky you were there. I’m sure Poof didn’t feel too guilty, though."

You laughed again, the sound sending Spencer into another moment of quiet happiness. "Nope, he was pretty proud of himself."

Spencer chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in days despite the tension of the case. Just hearing your voice, your stories, made everything feel a little easier.

—

After the team wrapped up the case and stepped off the jet, Spencer’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw your name lighting up the screen. A soft smile spread across his face as he read the message.

Fly safe :) Come around to mine after you’re settled? I have a surprise!

His heart fluttered at the thought of you preparing something special for him. After the tension and exhaustion of the last few days, knowing that you had gone out of your way to plan a cozy night in for him made his chest warm with appreciation. He could hardly contain his excitement as he picked up his pace, eager to see you.

As he sped through the BAU offices, Derek’s voice echoed behind him, laced with amusement. “Got somewhere important to be, pretty boy?”

Spencer didn’t even slow down, not bothering to stop by his desk or respond to Derek’s teasing. He was too focused on getting home, quickly freshening up, and heading straight to you. He had been looking forward to seeing you since the moment your text had come through. The idea of spending the evening unwinding in your presence—feeling the comfort you always brought—was all he wanted after this stressful case.

Once home, he quickly showered and changed into something more relaxed but still nice. The thought of you, the surprise you had planned, fueled his every movement. His mind buzzed with anticipation, wondering what you could possibly have in store.

Soon enough, he found himself standing outside your door, the night air cool but carrying a sense of warmth knowing you were just on the other side. Spencer took a deep breath, knocked softly, and smiled to himself. Whatever the surprise, he knew this night would be perfect just because he’d get to spend it with you.

As you opened the door, your heart swelled with affection the moment you laid eyes on Spencer. He looked so relaxed, dressed down in a casual red sweatshirt, something you hadn't seen him wear before. It made him look more approachable, more... himself. And to top it all off, he was wearing red—a color you were more than familiar with.

“Trying to steal my look?” you teased with a playful grin, your tone lighthearted.

Spencer, however, found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to shoot back a quick, witty reply—keep up with your usual banter—but the sight of you in those shorts, your legs fully exposed, completely derailed his train of thought. His brain short-circuited for a moment, distracted by how stunning you looked in such a casual outfit.

His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, trying to regain his composure. "I—uh—yeah, I guess great minds think alike," he finally managed to say, though his voice was a little breathless.

You caught the way his gaze lingered a bit longer than usual, and it only fueled your affection for him. There was something incredibly endearing about the way Spencer, usually so articulate and brilliant, could be rendered speechless by the simplest things about you.

“Well, I think you look cute,” you added, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing smile.

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to focus on your words rather than how much he wanted to reach out and touch you. “You look... amazing,” he said, his voice genuine, the distraction momentarily fading as his gaze softened.

“Come on, space-cadet, step inside the spaceship,” you teased, giggling as you made room for Spencer to step inside your cozy, inviting home.

Spencer smiled, still somewhat in awe of you and how effortlessly comfortable you made him feel. He let you take his hand, your fingers lacing together as you guided him through the charming kitchen and into the warm, welcoming living room. The soft glow of the lamps, the greenery, and the sense of warmth that filled the space made it feel like a perfect sanctuary after the long, stressful days he’d had.

"So… I hope it’s not too much," you began, swinging your linked hands back and forth gently, clearly a little nervous. "But I, uh, rented some movies and made some food." Your voice softened as you continued, your gaze meeting his with a hopeful glint. "I thought we could just cuddle and hang out?"

Spencer's heart swelled at your thoughtfulness. The idea of a simple, cozy night in with you, far away from the chaos of work, was exactly what he needed. He could already feel the tension from the case melting away as he stood in your warm, peaceful space. The fact that you had gone out of your way to make him feel cared for, even without saying much, meant everything.

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "That sounds perfect," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “Thank you… for doing all this. You didn’t have to.”

You shrugged with a playful smile, pulling Spencer toward the couch. “I wanted to. You deserve a break. And... selfishly, I really wanted to see you.”

Spencer’s heart swelled in his chest, and he had to wonder if it was healthy for his heart to be beating this rapidly, this often. “Thank god,” he said dramatically, bending at the knees a bit for comedic effect, enhancing his performance. “Because I was really starting to miss you.”

You crinkled your nose in affection, finding his antics utterly adorable. Leaning up, you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “We’re going to be that disgusting couple everyone hates to be around, aren’t we?” you teased, a playful gleam in your eyes.

That’s when Spencer swore his heart stopped altogether. His brain short-circuited as he replayed your words in his mind. Couple? Could this be real? His pulse quickened, and he suddenly felt like his chest was too small for his heart.

“Couple?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement and just a hint of disbelief. He looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out without much thought. For a moment, you panicked, unsure of whether you had moved too fast or if Spencer was even ready for that. “I—uh... I didn’t mean to say that,” you stammered, feeling the nerves bubbling up. “But... is that okay?”

Spencer’s expression softened instantly. His eyes were still wide, but now filled with something warm, something deeper than mere excitement. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tender hug, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It’s more than okay,” he whispered, his voice slightly shaky from the rush of emotions flooding through him. “I… I’d really like that.”

You laughed softly, relief washing over you as you melted into his arms. “Me too,” you whispered back, your hands wrapping around his back, holding him close. The tension that had built up between you moments ago dissolved into something tender, something warm and reassuring.

After a few beats, Spencer pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his smile small but full of meaning. “So… we’re that disgusting couple now, huh?”

You giggled, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “Looks like it,” you teased, your voice light, yet filled with affection.

Spencer chuckled, unable to stop smiling, the realization of what this meant finally settling into his mind. This was real—you were real—and the connection between the two of you was deepening in ways he hadn’t even anticipated.

And there, in that cozy living room, something beautiful had started to bloom, and neither of you could be happier.

Of course, that was until you playfully pushed Spencer down onto the couch, the unexpected movement making him let out a surprised laugh. You leaned over him, your lips finding his, and kissed him with a fervor that made his heart skip several beats. His hands instinctively found your waist, holding onto you as you kissed him silly.

Every time your lips met, Spencer’s mind grew foggier, lost in the warmth and softness of your touch. His usual articulate thoughts were reduced to nothing more than pure sensation, and in that moment, he was utterly and completely yours.

But then, when you shifted, your hips settling down on his lap, and ground yourself against him, a low gasp escaped his lips. Spencer’s hands gripped your waist tighter, and he swore he was through the roof with happiness. His pulse was racing, his mind spinning, and yet, all he could think about was how perfect this felt—how perfect you felt.

A breathless laugh escaped him between kisses as he looked up at you with wide, adoring eyes. “I think,” he said, his voice ragged from the emotions swirling inside him, “this might actually kill me.”

You giggled against his lips, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Good,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him again, your movements deliberate and full of affection. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you survive.”

When your tongue traced along Spencer’s bottom lip, he knew he was in trouble—there was no way he was going to survive this, and, really, he was okay with that. But as the intensity of the moment grew, something shifted inside him. He didn’t want you doing all the work, didn’t want to just be the one melting under your touch. No, he wanted to return the favor.

“Y/N…” he mumbled, his voice low and filled with need as you sucked on his tongue, causing him to let out a deep, involuntary moan. The sound echoed in the room, making the moment feel even more electric.

Before you could continue, Spencer gently pushed you back, his hands still steady on your waist. “I want—” he began, taking a deep, steadying breath, his heart racing. “I want to… please you this time.” His voice trembled slightly, the desire in his words clear.

You paused, gazing down at him with surprise and affection, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, feeling the shift in the air between you. There was something deeply intimate in Spencer’s request, in the way he wanted to take care of you.

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers tracing light, almost reverent patterns along your skin as he held your gaze. “Please,” he added softly, his voice now filled with a quiet determination.

The vulnerability in his eyes and the sincerity of his words made your heart race in response. You smiled down at him, leaning in close so your lips barely brushed his. “Okay,” you whispered, giving him a soft, reassuring kiss. “Whatever you want, Spencer.”

Spencer gently shifted your positions, moving you onto your back as he settled between your legs, his body hovering just above yours. You giggled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you wiggled your eyebrows playfully. “Hello, handsome.”

Spencer smiled down at you, a warmth blooming in his chest at how effortlessly playful and sweet you always were. “Hey, gorgeous,” he breathed out, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to kiss you again, slow and deep, savoring every moment.

This time, his hands were braced beside your head, supporting his weight as he kissed you. Your fingers traced soft, lazy patterns along his back, the gentleness of your touch contrasting with the intensity building between you.

But then, Spencer lowered his hips, grinding down into yours, and the sensation sent a shockwave through you. You couldn’t stop the high-pitched keen that escaped your throat, your fingers instantly digging deeper into his back, your body responding to him with a need that left you breathless.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his gaze heated as he looked down at you, his breathing ragged. “Did you like that?” he asked, his voice husky, thick with a genuine curiosity—but the way he asked it, the rough edge in his tone, made your heart race and your blood pressure spike.

You nodded, your breaths coming out in shallow, excited gasps. “Y-yeah,” you managed to breathe out, the simple action of speaking feeling overwhelming with the way he was looking at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him right now.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again, but this time his hips didn’t stop moving, rolling into yours with deliberate, teasing pressure that made you arch up into him, craving more.

With each roll of his hips, Spencer was more determined to make sure you felt everything, his quiet confidence growing as he watched the way your body responded to him. The playful teasing from earlier had transformed into something much deeper, more intimate, and as his hands roamed your body, he knew that this—being with you like this—was something he wanted to experience again and again.

“Spence, ungh,” you whined, your voice shaky as pleasure coursed through you. “Spencer, this—this feels so good.” Your words stuttered out as Spencer’s lips trailed warm kisses down the length of your neck, making you arch into him, but something inside you told you it could feel even better. “Can I… move you?”

Spencer paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Move me?” he asked, his voice soft and curious.

You nodded, your breath still coming out in shallow bursts. “If you were situated a little more to the left… you’d hit perfectly.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, the realization dawning on him. “Oh!” He laughed, the sound a mix of amusement and understanding, as his face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Of course.”

He braced himself as your hand went into his pants, repositioning just the way you needed, his hands still braced on either side of your head as his body moved into place. And when he pressed down into you again, the sensation hit in a way that had your back arching and a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“That better?” he asked, his voice low, and though the question was genuine, there was an underlying heat in his tone that sent sparks flying through your veins.

Your only response was a breathless nod, your hands clinging to his back, your nails digging into Spencer’s back as he moved just the way you had asked. The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and it was all you could do to nod frantically, your breath catching in your throat as he pressed deeper.

"That’s it," Spencer murmured, his voice laced with both awe and desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good." His words only heightened the moment, sending a shiver down your spine as his hips continued their slow, deliberate movement against yours.

The tension in your body built with each roll of his hips, and every breathless whimper you made only spurred him on. Spencer's usually calm, thoughtful demeanor had melted away, replaced by something more primal, more intense. Yet, there was still something so gentle about him, like he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

You tilted your head back, giving him more access to your neck as he resumed placing kisses there, each one sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Spencer," you gasped out his name, your voice trembling with need. "Don’t stop."

His lips curved into a small, pleased smile against your skin. “I won’t,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. Spencer moved again, his body aligned with yours in perfect harmony now, and the sensation made you gasp out loud, your back arching off the couch as his name fell from your lips in a desperate moan.

He watched your every reaction with fascination, his gaze full of warmth and desire. “Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with the same yearning coursing through him. “I’ll give it to you.”

The intensity of his words, combined with the way his body moved against yours, was overwhelming in the best possible way. You felt your grip tighten on his back, nails dragging lightly against his skin as the pressure built between you both.

Your breath hitched again, every nerve in your body sparking with sensation. "Just like that, Spence," you managed to gasp out, your body trembling with anticipation.

And Spencer, ever attentive, ever caring, gave you exactly what you needed, his movements steady and sure as he took you closer and closer to the edge.

Spencer’s eyes were filled with awe as he watched you, the intensity of your expression sending a rush of pride and arousal through him. "Are you going to finish?" he asked deeply, his voice tinged with both excitement and lust, clearly captivated by the way you were responding to him.

But as much as you loved the feeling of him against you, you knew that you needed something more to actually reach that peak. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing anything wrong, because he wasn’t—everything felt amazing. You just needed a little extra.

Shaking your head slightly, you met his gaze, feeling a little shy but determined to be honest. "Um, no," you admitted, your voice soft but clear. "Spence, I’m going to need something more..."

His eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on him, and he immediately slowed down, his expression one of care and attentiveness. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice gentle, full of nothing but the desire to give you exactly what you wanted. Spencer was nothing if not eager to please, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t giving you what you deserved.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but you pushed through the nervousness. "I just need more… contact," you said, your voice trembling a little, but you held his gaze, knowing that Spencer was the kind of person who wouldn’t judge you for asking. "Maybe your hands... or your mouth?"

The moment you said it, Spencer’s eyes darkened with understanding and desire, and he nodded quickly. "I can do that," he said, his voice now rougher, the edge of excitement clear in his tone. Without hesitation, he adjusted himself, his hands sliding down your body with deliberate care, his fingertips brushing lightly over your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

"Tell me how," he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure it feels good."

You nodded quickly, your lips brushing against Spencer’s as you whispered, “Touch me, please.” The desperation in your voice sent a rush of heat through him, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at how the roles had reversed. You were the one who was a mess now, needing his touch, and he found it both endearing and exciting.

But Spencer wasn’t one to leave you waiting—he was far too much of a gentleman for that. He wanted to make sure you felt every bit of pleasure you deserved. His hands moved with purpose, pushing your tiny shorts and underwear down as far as they could go in your current position, the fabric bunching up around your thighs.

His fingers hesitated just for a second, brushing lightly over the coarse hair, testing the waters as he sought your reaction. The moment his fingertips made contact with your lips, you let out a soft gasp, your body arching slightly, seeking more of his touch.

Spencer’s gaze flicked back to your face, watching your reaction closely, a mixture of curiosity and admiration in his eyes. He loved how responsive you were to him, how honest your body was in its need. Slowly, gently, his fingers traced lower, gliding through the wet heat of your skin, exploring with a tenderness that made your heart race.

“Like this?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath as his fingers found your most sensitive spot, circling your clit with deliberate care and pressure. He wanted to make sure he was doing it just right, watching for every little tell that told him you were enjoying this.

Your breath hitched, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you nodded, unable to form words in that moment. Spencer, always attentive, took your reaction as the encouragement he needed and continued, his movements slow but precise, building the tension inside you with every stroke of his hand.

As your body responded to his touch, the quiet sounds of your pleasure filled the space between you, and Spencer’s heart swelled with satisfaction. He leaned down to kiss you again, his lips moving against yours with a renewed sense of purpose as his fingers continued their steady rhythm, determined to give you exactly what you needed.

You were quickly becoming undone beneath him, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you. Spencer could feel it too, the way your breathing quickened, the way your hips subtly lifted to meet his hand. And in that moment, all that mattered was making sure you felt as good as you possibly could.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips, his voice soft but full of awe. "Just let go, Y/N. I've got you."

Spencer's deep voice, laced with desire and tenderness, sent waves of heat coursing through you, and when you whined, your voice high and breathless, "Harder, faster, I'm so close," it was all he needed to hear.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as his fingers immediately responded to your plea, pressing harder, moving faster. His focus was entirely on you, on making sure you got exactly what you needed. His lips brushed against your temple as his fingers worked you over, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing lightly.

"Like this?" he murmured, his voice rough with concentration, the husky edge to it sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched as you gasped out, barely able to hold yourself together. "Yes, yes, right there!" The sensation built inside you with a blinding intensity, every nerve in your body alight as Spencer's fingers moved expertly, just how you needed.

He watched your face, utterly captivated by how you were unraveling beneath him, your body trembling with need, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. His fingers pressed even harder, his movements precise and relentless as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on," he whispered softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Let go for me, Y/N."

That was all it took. Spencer’s deep voice, the way his fingers worked your body, the tension that had been building—it all came crashing down at once. You let out a sharp cry, your body arching into his as the overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over you, your muscles tightening, then releasing in sweet relief.

Spencer slowed his movements as you rode out the high, his hand still gently moving against you, guiding you through the aftershocks. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your jawline, murmuring soft words of praise and affection as you came down from the blissful peak.

"That's it," Spencer whispered, his voice low and tender, filled with awe as he looked down at you. "Wow. You’re so beautiful."

He sat back on his knees, needing to take in the full sight of you beneath him, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of admiration. What he saw made his heart race—your flushed face, damp with sweat, your hair slightly stuck to your forehead, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. The rolls of your tummy from the way you lay on the couch only made you more irresistible to him.

But what really caught Spencer’s attention was the wet spot beneath you, a clear indication of just how much you had enjoyed yourself. His eyes trailed up slowly, following the evidence of your release until they landed on the source of that wetness, the sight making something primal stir inside him.

He couldn’t help himself—his hand moved instinctively, reaching out to touch you again, his fingers gently brushing over the sensitive, soaked skin. The temptation was too strong, and before he could think about it, his fingers slipped inside you.

You flinched, your body jerking in a mix of oversensitivity and surprise. "S-Spence, wait—" you gasped, your hands grabbing onto his forearm, trying to find something to hold onto as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Spencer froze immediately, his wide eyes snapping up to meet yours. "Sorry!" he blurted out, his voice filled with concern. "I didn’t mean to—are you okay?"

You nodded quickly, your breath still catching in your throat. "Yeah, yeah... just sensitive." You smiled at him softly, appreciating his eagerness and concern, though your body was still recovering from the intensity of the high he had just given you.

Spencer smiled down at you, his lips soft and warm as he leaned in to kiss you gently. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and husky, though there was a hint of teasing in his tone.

You took a few more deep breaths, your chest rising and falling quickly as your body calmed, but there was no way in hell you’d ever ask him to stop—not when he was making you feel like this. Shaking your head, you looked up at him, a playful glint in your eyes despite the lingering sensitivity. "Absolutely not," you whispered breathlessly.

Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfaction and mischief dancing across his features. "Didn’t think so," he murmured, clearly pleased with your response. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips felt against his fingers resumed their mission.

His touch was gentler now, coaxing rather than demanding, and the feeling of his fingers moving slowly inside you after you just finished made you shudder, your body responding instantly despite the intensity you had just experienced.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Spencer whispered against your lips, his voice a soft promise, but there was an unmistakable eagerness in his tone. He wanted to keep going, wanted to keep making you feel this way, but only if you were ready.

You nodded, your heart racing again as you gave him the permission he was looking for. "I will," you promised, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, holding onto him as his touch sent more sparks of pleasure through you.

And with that, Spencer’s fingers picked up their rhythm again, slow but deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched every reaction, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.

“I—I won’t come like this,” you managed to gasp out as Spencer’s fingers sped up once again, the sensation intense but not quite enough to push you over the edge.

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes locked on where his hand was working its magic between your legs. The sound of his voice, low and comforting, sent another wave of warmth through you. “That’s okay, darling,” he said, his words dripping with affection and adoration. “I just wanted to feel you.”

The way he said it—so sincere, so captivated by you—made your breath catch, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers. You groaned, the sensation shooting straight through your core, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t expected.

Spencer noticed your reaction, his smirk growing as his fingers continued to move, sliding in and out of you with steady precision. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I love the way you feel around me,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

His words, the way his fingers kept you on edge without letting you tip over—it was driving you wild. Even if you couldn’t reach your release like this, the sheer pleasure of having him touch you, of knowing how much he wanted to feel you, was enough to keep you completely captivated in the moment.

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered back, “Keep going, please.”

Spencer grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he quickened the pace of his fingers just a little more, continuing to enjoy the way your body reacted to his every movement.

After Spencer had taken his fill, and you were far too sensitive to continue, you giggled, gently pushing him off as you sat up. You reached towards his waistband with a playful smile, teasing, “I can help the next customer now.”

But before you could get far, his hands caught yours, stopping you. When you looked up at him, you saw his face flushing pink, an adorably sheepish expression crossing his features. “I—uh, finished a long time ago,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost shy.

You blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. “What?” you asked, incredulous but deeply amused. “When?”

Spencer groaned, his face turning even redder as he leaned in, hiding in the crook of your neck. “When you did,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

Your eyes widened at the confession, a rush of heat pooling in your stomach as you processed what he said. "Fuck, that’s hot," you murmured, the thought of him finishing just from pleasuring you sending a fresh wave of excitement through your already sensitive body.

Spencer pulled back just enough to peek at you, his face still flushed, a mixture of surprise and bashful pride written across his features. “Really?” he asked, almost like he couldn’t believe that you’d find that sexy.

You nodded eagerly, your hands gently running up his chest as you leaned in closer. “Really,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Spencer exhaled a small laugh, clearly relieved and a little proud, the tension easing from his shoulders as he kissed you softly. Even though he had been shy about it, your reaction had made him feel comfortable.

After the intensity of the moment, you both excused yourselves to clean up, laughing softly as Spencer ended up borrowing a pair of your sweatpants. He wore them with a grin, clearly feeling more comfortable now. The two of you tidied up quickly, putting everything in order before settling back into the perfect evening you'd planned.

Before you knew it, your cozy movie night was underway, the two of you curled up on the couch together. The living room was warm and inviting, the soft glow from the screen casting gentle shadows around the room. Spencer's arms were wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest as you absentmindedly played with his curls. The sound of his breathing, steady and peaceful, combined with the soft hum of the movie in the background, made the entire evening feel even more intimate.

It wasn’t long before you felt the subtle weight of Spencer's body relaxing against yours, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep. You smiled to yourself, your heart full as you gazed down at him. His face was peaceful, his usually intense expression softened by sleep, and you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have moments like this with him.

Gently, you nudged him awake just enough to move to your bedroom, guiding him carefully as he stirred. Spencer mumbled sleepily, still half-asleep as he followed you, reclaiming his hold on you as soon as you both slipped under the covers. His arms wrapped around you again, his body curling into yours instinctively as you both settled in for the night.

With his warmth surrounding you and the peaceful rhythm of his breathing lulling you, you quickly drifted off, the perfect ending to a night full of closeness and connection.

—

Spencer was incredibly content when he woke up to find his head once again pillowed by your chest. The quiet comfort of the moment filled him with warmth, his body relaxed and his mind at ease for what felt like the first time in ages. You were still asleep, your breathing soft and even, giving him a chance to truly admire your beauty without distraction.

He gently stroked your hair, letting his fingers run through the soft strands as he watched the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. Your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I am so lucky," he whispered softly to himself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

But then, he noticed a small, sleepy smile forming on your lips. Spencer paused, realizing you were pretending to be asleep. He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation as he gazed down at you. “I just hope she doesn’t look me up on the internet… she'd find my porno…”

Your eyes popped open immediately, and you sat up with a start, your voice full of shock and amusement. "What?!"

Spencer couldn’t hold back his laugh, his cheeks flushing a bit as he tried to stifle it with his hand. "I’m kidding!" he said quickly, grinning at the horrified look on your face. "It’s just a joke."

You stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter yourself, smacking his chest playfully. "Don’t scare me like that! I almost believed you!"

Spencer chuckled, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Sorry, sorry. You were just too cute pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, still laughing, but you couldn’t help the warm feeling in your chest at how playful and lighthearted Spencer was with you. “I’ll have to keep my guard up now,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Good idea,” Spencer said, smiling into the kiss. “Though I promise, no more fake confessions. Just real ones.”

"Better not," you warned playfully, your smile soft as you settled back into the warmth of his embrace, the both of you falling back into that easy, affectionate comfort.

You traced lazy patterns on Spencer’s chest, your fingertips lightly grazing his skin as you asked, “What would I find if I looked you up, really?”

Spencer sighed softly, clearly thinking it over for a moment before answering. "Some peer reviews, research articles, child prodigy stuff, and, uh… probably some news stories from the BAU."

The mention of the BAU caught you off guard. “BAU?” you asked, your voice holding a slight edge of nervousness. You knew Spencer worked for the FBI, but he hadn’t gone into much detail about it.

Spencer, misinterpreting the nervous tone in your voice, mistook it for confusion. “Oh, sorry, the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he explained casually, not yet realizing the weight of what he was revealing. “It’s the part of the FBI where I work. We profile and catch serial killers, violent criminals, kidnappers… you know, things like that.”

“Oh… yeah,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sounds scary.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers lightly brushing through your hair. “But it’s really rewarding too. It’s sweet that you seem concerned.”

You laughed lightly, trying to shake off the lingering nerves. “Yeah,” you said, your tone warmer now as you tried to ease the tension. “Don’t want my boyfriend being in danger.”

The word had slipped out so naturally, but as soon as Spencer picked up on it, his eyes widened in surprise and excitement. “Boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice practically buzzing with joy. “You called me your boyfriend.”

You laughed softly, feeling the warmth of his reaction settle your nerves. “Well, aren’t you?” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

Spencer’s face lit up, his expression one of pure adoration. “God, I hope so,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and happiness. His arms wrapped around you a little tighter as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening but didn’t want to let go of the moment.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the soft hum of affection that flowed between you both. “Then kiss me,” you murmured against his lips. “Boyfriend.”

Spencer chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but I’m not going to question it.” His voice was filled with genuine emotion, as though this moment meant more to him than he could fully express.

You smiled, nuzzling into him, feeling more at home than ever.

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chocosvt · 4 months ago

Text

HER | part one.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s!

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance

the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!

bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts

everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟

⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

“With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

“Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.

And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.

There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.

Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.

It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.

He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”

“Hm?”

“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”

“Up...? Why?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m sorry… what’s this about?”

“Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”

Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.

Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.

Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.

What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?

—MARCH 26TH.

Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.

Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?

Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.

“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.

But Wonwoo ignored him.

He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.

The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.

Ding!

A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.

He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.

Never in a million years.

It was funny, though.

Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.

Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.

He cracked his neck and walked in.

After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.

He gulped. Just suck it up.

She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.

Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.

“So, I’m not sure if you—”

“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”

He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.

“Woah. This is too pretty.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Me?” He found himself echoing.

“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”

“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."

It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.

“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”

“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”

He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.

“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”

“… Pardon?”

“Hold this, please.”

Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.

“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”

“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”

Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.

“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”

Finally, he spat out something coherent.

You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.

He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”

You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.

“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”

There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.

“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”

“I know.”

He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.

Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.

“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”

Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.

“Pardon?”

The man stopped and smiled.

“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.

“Be honest. How does this look?”

You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.

There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.

“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”

“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”

“Yeah, the frilly parts.”

God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.

“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”

Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.

Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.

When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.

“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”

He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.

“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”

Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.

“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”

Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.

No. No, no, no, no way.

The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.

“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”

“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”

“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”

“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”

“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”

“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”

“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”

“Great, whatever. Do that.”

He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.

“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”

He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.

“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”

“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”

“Why can’t you just pu—”

“Thank you!”

Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.

However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.

He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.

The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.

You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.

“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.

“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”

“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”

“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.

He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.

Kim Mingyu.

It was your boyfriend’s.

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts

[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.

He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.

It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.

But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.

But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.

“I can pay for you.”

He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”

“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.

“What’s the limit on that thing?”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t burned through it already?”

“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”

“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.

“Pick something!”

“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”

He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.

That was all Wonwoo asked for.

You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.

Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.

None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.

“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”

“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.

“So we can have a conversation.”

At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.

“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”

“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”

“Because—you—ah, whatever.”

“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.

“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.

Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”

[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)

[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh

[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you

[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??

[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.

—MARCH 29TH.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).

He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.

It was just that simple—you were gone.

In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.

He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.

Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.

Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.

Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.

When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.

Now, it was just him.

And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.

Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.

Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.

After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.

He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).

Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.

The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.

“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.

“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”

Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.

But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.

Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.

“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.

“Yeah, quarter ounce.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”

“Did you just say princess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s not princess?”

“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”

“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”

Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.

Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”

Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.

“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”

“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”

“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”

“Maybe?”

“She got any social media? An Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

“Ou, let me see.”

Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.

Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.

“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”

Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”

“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself, just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”

Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.

“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.

“With who?”

“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”

“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”

“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”

“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”

“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”

“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”

“Later.”

Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.

Fresh air was heavenly.

“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.

He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!

[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx

—APRIL 1ST.

It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.

You would be meeting him soon.

He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.

Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.

Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.

He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.

“Damn. Why is that?”

“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”

“Yeah?”

“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”

Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.

“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.

For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”

“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.

“Very, seriously frazzled.”

“I’m sorry about your day.”

Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.

“You’re actually such a good listener.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”

“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”

Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.

“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”

“Table’s yours.”

Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).

“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”

He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.

“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s why I want you to promise!”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”

You scoured at him from over your laptop.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”

“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”

You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.

“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”

What could he say? What was he supposed to say?

Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.

He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.

“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”

His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”

“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.

He truly hated this part of himself.

More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.

Especially people like you.

—APRIL 8TH.

Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.

After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.

When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.

He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.

Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.

However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.

He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.

“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”

Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.

“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”

Mingyu.

It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.

Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.

“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”

“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.

“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”

“Two aisles down, check the endcap.”

“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”

“Next aisle.”

“Got it.”

“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”

As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.

Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.

At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?

Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.

Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.

As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.

“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”

“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.

Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.

Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.

At least it was closing time.

Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.

Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.

A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.

In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.

Cute as buttons.

He fell in love.

And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.

Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.

It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.

And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.

He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.

Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.

Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.

The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.

It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.

An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.

He loved being alone.

Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.

But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.

He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.

Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.

He was a fucking mess.

It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.

—APRIL 15TH.

Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.

Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.

Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?

It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.

‘Till death do us part.

And then, something struck.

Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.

Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.

He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.

“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”

“Well, uh—”

“Great, thank you.”

You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.

“How are you?”

Gulp.

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”

You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.

“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re good.”

“What are you working on?”

“A paper.”

Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.

You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.

Wonwoo bit the bullet.

“Something you want from me, yeah?”

“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”

“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”

“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”

A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.

His mouth opened, and then closed.

Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.

You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.

“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”

You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.

“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”

Wonwoo scratched his nose.

“Uh, with the book?”

“Yes.”

“None.”

“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”

“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”

“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”

He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.

“What’s wrong with math?”

“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.

“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”

“So what is there space for then?”

“You're toeing a dangerous line.”

“Well, I like math and writing.”

"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"

Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”

“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”

He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.

“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”

Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”

“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”

“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.

“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.

Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”

“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue.

“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”

It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”

Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.

“If you think of anyone, please text me!”

Wonwoo nodded his head.

Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.

He didn’t know what kind of person you were.

But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.

—APRIL 18TH.

Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.

“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”

“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”

“We’re so close.”

Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”

Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”

“Yeah. Any ramen left?”

“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”

Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.

Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.

Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.

“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.

“Should be, yeah.”

“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”

Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.

“Go to what?

Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.

“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”

At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.

He sucked in a helpless breath.

“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”

“What—why?”

A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”

Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.

“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.

“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”

“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”

Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”

Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.

“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”

Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.

“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”

Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.

“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”

Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”

For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.

Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.

“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”

Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.

Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.

“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”

At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”

Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.

Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.

[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.

—APRIL 24TH.

Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.

Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.

It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.

After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.

What the fuck?

He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.

And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.

Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.

While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there

His chest fucking lurched.

Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?

God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?

[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.

He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.

“Well, hello.”

He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.

“Where should I take off my shoes?”

“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.

How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.

“Wow, you’re very clean.”

Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.

“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”

You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.

“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”

He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”

He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?

Manuka honey?

But it was just a trivial glance, really.

Nothing meaningful.

“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.

“It is.”

Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.

“Do you care if I go in?”

“No.”

He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.

It was a sour, sour reminder.

“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.

“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”

Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.

“You definitely go up there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”

“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”

“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”

You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.

“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”

You flashed him a brief smile.

“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”

“… Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.

“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”

And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.

“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”

Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.

No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.

You would either be his trigger or his pulse.

But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.

“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”

“Like, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really have no questions?”

Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.

“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”

“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.

He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”

Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.

“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”

“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”

“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.

“It does, yes.”

“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”

He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”

“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.

Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”

Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”

You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.

“That’s okay.”

But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.

“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.

Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.

“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.

“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”

And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.

The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.

Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.

He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.

Who are you?

What are you doing in his meaningless life?

—APRIL 28TH.

Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.

Hopefully.

On one hand, Wonwoo knew he should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.

Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.

“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”

And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.

That would never motivate him to do anything.

But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.

Jesus Christ. Finally.

“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.

Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.

“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”

“You have a good summer, alright?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.

And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.

Pulled out his laptop.

Opened the document he was at incessant war with.

The last scene he’d written was breakfast.

“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”

“Did you say orange juice?”

“I did.”

“So… chocolate milk?”

“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”

“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”

“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”

“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”

“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”

“That, you’ve got to work on.”

“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”

“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”

“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”

“I don’t know. Juicy?”

“Better juicy than anxious?”

“You could say that.”

Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.

Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.

The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.

He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.

Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.

Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.

[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again

—APRIL 30TH.

For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.

You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.

“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.

You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”

Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.

The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.

“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”

“All good," Wonwoo answered.

“You know where we’re off to?”

“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”

He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”

“I drink coffee, you know.”

“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”

Wonwoo preferred not to comment.

The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.

His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.

And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.

After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.

The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.

You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.

Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.

“Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”

“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”

Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.

That was its own mechanism of disaster.

“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.

You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”

“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.

He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.

“So… what’s your plan, here?”

You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.

Next, you pulled out a pen.

“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”

You stabbed the paper again to make a period.

“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.

“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”

“Why do I have to film it?”

“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”

Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.

While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.

Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.

“So, where else should I film?”

You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go all the way over there?”

“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”

Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.

“Nobody likes a complainer.”

Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.

There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.

You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.

“All done?”

Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.

Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”

“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”

“Right.”

He tried giving back the camera.

“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”

“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?

“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”

Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.

“How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”

There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”

Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.

“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”

“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”

Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic.

“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.

Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?

“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”

“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”

“Well, I know that.”

“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”

He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.

“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”

Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.

“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”

“Now you know,” you declared.

Wonwoo’s upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.

“I don’t sashay, do I?”

At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”

“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”

For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t remember, huh?”

“No… but it sounds familiar.”

“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”

He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.

“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”

“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”

“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”

“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”

Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”

“Psh. How do you even remember that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”

“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”

“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping.

Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.

“… That’s a little better.”

He exhaled a soft breath of relief.

As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.

“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.

“Oh, the dinner party?”

“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”

“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”

Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.

“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.

“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”

“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”

“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”

At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.

“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”

You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”

—MAY 3RD.

Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.

It was all very typical.

He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.

Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.

“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”

The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.

“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”

“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”

“Mhm. I bet she was.”

“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”

“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “

“You know what the fuck I meant.”

“Not interested.”

Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.

“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.

Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.

“It’s going well.”

Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”

“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.

“And, what?”

“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”

Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”

“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.

“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”

“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."

“Aren’t you her friend?”

“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”

“Favours are from friends.”

“We’re. Not. Friends.”

“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”

His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”

“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”

Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.

“Can you just take me home? Please?”

Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.

“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”

—01:49

Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.

Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.

For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.

He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.

Or, maybe he did.

There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.

He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.

Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.

One minute spent staring at your smile.

The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.

Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.

The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.

He would switch back and forth.

But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.

And alone with his thoughts.

—END OF PART PART ONE.

NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!

the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!

again, thank u so much your ur patience :3

much luv!! 💕

#seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen x reader #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fanfic #svt fanfic #jeon wonwoo #svt scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut

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marvelous-llama · 8 months ago

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Seventeen recs

<<original book

most of the mentioned works is 18+ NSFW, MINORS DNI

pls don´t hesitate to hmu, if any of mentioned links doesn´t work or you have suggestions for more fics... thank you so much for all the love and comments

one shots

the cake in the back by @toruro

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 3.8k) baker!reader, single parent!Sungcheol, acquaintances to lovers - fluff, smut cheol is a regular at your bakery, and it's all because his son loves the banana bread you make—at least that's what he tells himself. it also doesn't hurt that you're cute. and polite. and totally someone he'd like to fuck.

Dream Ride by @bambikisss

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 4.3k) strangers to lovers - fluff?, smut You haven't been able to sleep much lately, so you've been driving around at night to help ease your mind. However, you keep passing by the same jet black colored motorcycle every night, which then keeps showing up in your dreams. So when you stop one night to get gas and see the same motorcycle stopped nearby, you decide to meet the man under the helmet.

Crossing Boundaries by @wonusite

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 8.6k) nanny!reader, boss x employee to lovers, mutual pining - fluff, smut Seungcheol has always demanded that all of his employees keep professional boundaries, but it frustrates him that his son’s nanny is a little too good at keeping things professional.

Let Me Love You by @gyuwoncheol

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 5.3k) established relationship - fluff, smut You just want to shower Cheol with all the love and softness in the world and he’s determined to do the same.

Sentinel´s Serenade by @starlightxsvt

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 29.5k) bodyguard!Sungcheol, heiress!reader - angst, drama, romance, hurt/comfort, smut As you start digging up an accident that has been brushed under the rug, you make an enemy who is out to get you no matter what. Amidst all the chaos you develop feelings for your bodyguard who has built walls of steel around him.

Black Suit by @gyuranhae

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 5.3k) mafia AU, established relationship - smut You just couldn't help if you husband looked so good on an all black suit.

Seungcheol´s Letters by @wonustars

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 23.5k) best friends > fwb > lovers, university AU, slowburn - angst, fluff, smut all it took was one kiss and suddenly you and Seungcheol’s friendship has turned upside down. In other words: exploring how far the boundaries of your lifelong friendship can take the two of you, you and Seungcheol try to navigate what it's like to be friends with benefits. just because you're secrelty in love with each other won't fuck everything up...right?

Like You Do by @hannieehaee

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 7.8k) brother´s best friend, enemies to lovers - angst, fluff, smut when your brother's best friend suddenly reveals his newfound crush on you, you find yourself at a crossroads, thinking back to your own unrequited crush on him from back in middle school, making you wonder if you should be the better person and give him a chance.

off the market by @gyuzgrl

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 4.5k) strangers to lovers - fluff, smut You have a crush on your favourite customer. He's big and kind and pretty and god the things you wanted to do to him were unholy. Little do you know, he feels the exact same way.

all for you by @gfcheol

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 4.6k) friends to lovers - fluff, smut, hurt/comfort your boyfriend, wonwoo, just broke up with you to be with someone else. heartbroken and self esteem shattered, you sink into a hole of sadness, but luckily your best friend seungcheol knows the best remedy for you to stop thinking about your ex.

babymaker by @onlyseokmins

Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 7.9k) fwb to lovers, roommates to lovers - fluff, angst(ish), smut

series

Elevator by @wongyuuu

Jihoon x fem!reader, Seungcheol x fem!reader (wc - 10k + 17k) soulmate AU - angst, fluff, hurt/comfort in a world where soulmates exists, jihoon is faced with difficult decisions part 1, part 2

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen recs #s.coups #scoups #seungcheol #choi seungcheol #s.coups x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups smut #s.coups smut

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hoes4lino · 1 year ago

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🍓 Fields 🍓 | LMH

WARNING ⊂✦⊃ This story contains nsfw content as well as mentions of alcohol; minors please don’t interact, please beware of what you consume online.

Genre: College au, fluff, angst

Summary: He was madly in love, she just wanted to live in peace. What happens when one of the most popular guys in college falls in love with the dork who no one knows?

Word Count: 23.5k

Reading Time: approx 2hrs

Authors Note: In this fic I’m combining two of my favorite things in this world… soccer and leeknow ^•^ y’all should know that Im a hoe for romantic fics, so this was enjoyable to write even though it took me many sleepless nights to finish this. This is my first time writing such a long story, so hope you enjoy!!! <3

It was 3 am and you were already feeling today wasn’t going to be a good day. It all started when you abruptly woke up from what was supposed to be a 30-minute nap, just to look at the clock and realize it was 1:07 am… you overslept 6hrs since you got home.

All sweaty and thirsty, you brag yourself out of bed and opened the shower, while letting the cold water adjust to a warmer temperature you opened your Macbook to check what assignments you had to do for the day.

You internally cursed yourself as you blankly stared at the assignment, <what if I say my grandma died> you thought, as you tried to find a reasonable excuse to give your professor. You had no problem in speedrunning a few designs, however knowing your teacher you rather do nothing than give him some sloppy drawings <he is going to kill me> you cried <thats it, Im failing, im never graduating> as thoughts filled your head, you heard a notification pop in your phone, startling you.

Hello Cornell University!

Today we love to announce the beginning of autumn sports! Please join us tomorrow at the field for the first soccer game of the year!

Go Bears! 🐻❤️

You scoff at the notification. Since you moved for college, you didn’t take the time to make friends or meet any new people in general, you missed Korea and even though you were now at your dream college, you didn’t feel like you fit in here, the cultures were just too different and it made you feel off place, you didn’t like the people here, none of them seem to have manners or have some sense of respect towards others everyone was self-centered, the thing that made you scared to talk to others. You decided to go unnoticed and just stick to the friendships you had back in Korea. Although pulling up to the game and meeting a few people didn’t sound bad, you were a very passionate soccer fan, and meeting people with the same interest sounded exciting.

— — —

It was now 6 am, you had your first class at 8:45 am, and you finished doing your designs although they weren’t your best you were proud of how decent they looked, you grabbed the pieces of paper and placed them carefully into your folder trying to keep them at neat as possible, you thought of making yourself a cup of coffee, however, you decided to take a nap before your class started.

The way the sun rays gently touched your face and the birds sang beautiful background melodies was a warning that you were late to class. Eyes fully opening in panic when you read on the clock that it was now 8:28 am, you had about 12min to get to your class, quickly putting on a denim skirt, some Adidas forum, and a cute top, you rushed to grab your bag and left the dorm running. While running through the now-empty hallways with a piece of bread in your mouth, you brushed your hair and sprayed some perfume on yourself, trying to get yourself as decent as possible. As you were about to turn a corner you crashed with a firm body on the other side, making you stumble and crash yourself onto the floor.

Ashamed of yourself you just stood up and continued running, giving you the curiosity to know who that was and what they said while you left running. Luckily you made it to your class, maybe 5 or 8 minutes late but your teacher was the type to give you a few minutes to settle before he started his lesson in the morning. The class was going by pretty fast you were already in your 3rd period of the day, you went to your architecture class and your professor was impressed with your designs, you explained to him that you rushed through them, however, he seemed to have taken it in a good way.

"It’s ok y/n, I just graduate from college as well, I'm also a victim of procrastination" he whispered as he left a breathy chuckle, in that moment you realized Mr. Hyunjin and you had an age gap of 4 yrs, you two were pretty much alike, if he was your classmate he would be your best friend. At that moment you wondered how he got his teaching degree that fast "However, please do your drawings in time, although this is amazing I can see some of the lines are a little sloppy" he grinned at you as he handed back your drawings "I will Mr. Hawng" you grabbed your stuff; as you were about to leave when he stopped you once again in your tracks "Y/n, you should go to the soccer game today, its a big event and I have noticed you haven’t adapted yet to the environment" you slowly nodded as you gave him a small grin "I will think about it".

You thought of the proposal as you walked to your engineering class, everyone was talking about the game, was our team that good or was it just full of pretty faces and popular boys? Guess we will have to find out at the game. Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when someone decided to sit next to you, you usually sit alone in this class so you would lie if you said you didn’t feel nervous "Look its miss hit and run" You blink confused a couple of times as you stare at the brunette boy sitting next to you, his cat-like eyes, sharp nose, and plump lips made your heart skip a beat <Is this man-made by the greek god's wtf> he scoffed as you didn’t say anything back at him "thanks to you I was late to my morning class" he rolled his eyes, you could feel your cheeks turning bright red at the embarrassment "I’m so sorry, I was running late to my class" you mumbled as you tried to hide your face in between your books, he scoffed once again. The rest of the class was spent in uncomfortable silence, both of you were working on whatever assignment the professor assigned, however, you couldn't ignore the glances he would give you from time to time.

The bell rang and you tried to leave as soon as possible, quickly packing up your stuff "Do you have Instagram?" he asked before you could get up, he wants your insta? hell no... no one from here followed you and honestly you didn't want them to find your user either "I don't use social media, sorry" With that you left as fast as you could, to you those words meant nothing, for Minho that was like a dagger stabbing his heart, he knew you used Instagram he saw you on the app during the class, that's why he went for it and asked you, second, you have no idea how much courage it took him to ask for it. Minho is not the type of guy to be nervous around a girl however with you… it felt different.

— — —

Once school was over, you went to the nearest Starbucks and got yourself your favorite refresher, however, you couldn't help to ignore the group of girls in there, they clearly went to Cornell as they proudly wore the red hoodie with the mascot on it, they were probably going to the game, however, they seemed to be talking about you "She is the girl I saw Minho with today at class" a blond girl whispered with a tone of disgust "What are the chances of Minho fucking her?" a brunette girl replied, making one of the girls hysterically laugh "Girls lets be for real, look at her and now look at me" She paused as they examined you "You think Minho would downgrade that bad" she said in a sassy tone "hmm I dunno Vanessa... she is pretty solid, and definitely top of my class" the blond girl was quickly hushed as she saw the glare of her friend "Angie if you don't learn how to shut the fuck up, I will kick your ass" <Lord please get me out of here> you thought, as the girls kept gossiping behind you, you don't know what the deal with Minho is, but you definitely didn't want to do something with him, he just sat next to you for a class and now you got people gossiping about you? worse to say, they thought you two fucking? "Y/N" the Starbucks employee yelled, taking you out of your thoughts, you grabbed your drink and left, noticing how that little friend group looked at you up and down, maybe today was a bad day to wear a denim skirt, people will think you a hooker or something. "y/n... so that's her name," Vanessa said under her breath as she watched you walk away.

On your way home you couldn't forget the interaction at Starbucks and wonder who were these girls and why were they targeting you, knowing that you were a topic of conversation at the moment made you sick to your stomach. As you pass by the campus you can hear all the cheering and music coming from the field, tempting you to take a small peak at the game. When you got closer you hid somewhere in between the bleachers and watched, what felt like 10 minutes turned into watching the whole game, but what can you say both teams were competitive and it felt like watching a world cup final. People started to leave and you decided to wait for all of them to leave, you wanted to wander around the field once everyone left. Minutes pass and it was starting to get dark, the field seemed to be now empty so you left your hiding spot and walked around it while listening to "Good Days" by sza. The music instrumental combined with the beautiful scenery of the field with the vanishing sunset gave you a feeling of euphoria, captured by the scene as you stare at it mesmerized, you didn't acknowledge the presence approaching you.

"Fancy meeting you here" Startled by the sudden voice, your instinct was to throw hands, quickly throwing the refresher you had in your hand with half its content in it. The juice splashed all over the boy's face, leaving him with shock showing in his face. "I- I'm sorry," you stare at him scared "I swear I didn't mean to, you just appeared and..." You were quickly hushed as he opened his eyes, looking at you with pure anger "You just dirtied my shirt" he said in annoyment "I have another game tomorrow" he sighed in frustration "Give it to me, I have a washing machine and a dryer at my dorm, let me wash it for you" your voice stuttering here and there, unlike you Minho was enjoying this, seeing the way your eyes trembled and the way you tried to collect yourself to solve this more professionally "Ok, then..." he paused as he was about to take his shirt right there "WAIT" you stop him, your hands grabbing his forearms as you pulled them down with the shirt "Don't take your shirt here" you flustered "Just follow me to my dorm, it will take 30 minutes max and you can clean yourself" you suggested, you just wanted to be done with the shirt incident and never seen him ever again.

— — —

The walk to your apartment had to be the most awkward moment of your whole life. Once the two of you reached your door, you realized the type of person you were dealing with "Hope your roommate doesn't get the wrong idea when I get in" he said in a rather suggestive tone while he glare at you with a smirk, you sighed "I don't have a roommate, I rather live alone in silence" you said annoyed opening the door, making him chuckle "That's some valuable information right there" he said as he closed the door and quickly took his shirt off "where is your bathroom, so I can take a quick bath" you turn around to give him the directions when you were surprised with his honey-toned chest and flat stomach <Lord almighty> it seemed that after all you were right when you said he was built by the greek gods, however, you knew the game he was playing and you were def not forming part of it, so you shook all those thoughts away and took him to your bathroom, where you also explained to give how the washing machine worked and with that, you left him in there.

Now in your mind, you were recreating every single moment of your day. First, you crash into someone this morning, that someone being Minho, one of the most handsome guys you have ever seen, captain of the soccer team, popular and most likely a fuck boy based on the gossip of those girls at Starbucks, and now he is in your house... taking a bath... things can't get any worse at that moment if you told your friends they would swear you are creating some type of kdrama shit in your little delusional head, however, all this was real... which made you sick.

You stood up from your couch with a sigh, deciding to switch to more comfortable clothes and start your assignments, while you waited for Minho to leave. Going to your room you picked up a pink spaghetti strap tank top and your favorite silk white shorts accompanying it with fluffy socks and your pink slide slipper, then you left the room and made your way to the kitchen, reheating some leftover Gimbap from the previous night.

"Ahhh~" Minho teases "So this is what it would feel like dating you, taking a shower after a rough day, to find you in your little pajamas warming up some food for us" At that moment you couldn't focus on his words, as he was getting closer to you with his wet brunette hair and wearing nothing but a towel... YOUR TOWEL... Once he was a couple of inches apart from you, you looked into his eyes and started laughing, at that moment you didn't know if you were laughing at his words, at the whole situation, or out of nervousness.

"And here I thought I was delusional" you chuckle relaxing "Also what are you doing with MY towel" You emphasize the word as he looks down to stare at it "I gave you another one, you were supposed to use that one... not mine," you say in frustration, now you will have to wash it, the water bill was looking crazy at that moment "I liked the texture of this one better, plus I also liked the scent" you scoff at his words and took your food out of the microwave "Whatever, just dress up and leave my house," you said as you pushed him away of your way and sat on your comfy couch, placing your food on the coffee table and picking up the tv remote "So you are just going to let me go like that?" he said with a dumbfounded face, you look at him confused "ermm... yeah? you are only here cause I spilled my drink on you, don't abuse the invite, I could have hit and run like I did this morning" you said as you blankly passed the channels on the tv.

He scoffed, at that moment he didn't know why he felt disappointed, as if he was hoping for more, for you to invite him and have a bite of your food, an invite to sit there with you and watched whatever shitty show you were watching, he walked to the bathroom and took his cloths out of the dryer, he dressed up and even though he was ready, he didn't want to leave that bathroom cause that meant leaving your house.

The reality was that he had been liking you since freshmen year, the moment he saw you at the welcoming party was like you caught his mind, since then he's been in denial of accepting his crush on you. He knew you were shy and that you were good at drawing, he always paid attention to every little single detail of you, he would often find himself looking for you in crowded places knowing that you hated them, he hated every single thing about being in love with you, yet he always craved being loved by you; in the inside, he wanted to worship you, have you in his arms every morning, cook your favorite meals, go on silly dates with you... he would party and fuck around to see if you would leave his mind someday... yet he was never lucky, the only thing that would clear his mind was soccer, he loved the adrenaline, the intensity, and the beauty of the sport, in his head he would often compare his love for soccer with his love for you, the only difference was that one was more realistic than the other.

When he caught you today mesmerized with the field, he felt like you stole his heart for a second time, the way your eyes shined under the sunset, the way the breeze moved your hair, and the way your smile brought warmth to his heart, he felt like it was the day to do something about it, get closer to you. The moment you offered him to come to your dorm, his heart was beating so fast, he has never been this nervous before, and yes maybe he has been in a bunch of girl's dorms before but for some reason, yours just felt special.

He stepped out of the bathroom with a heavy heart, ready to say his goodbyes and leave your life for once, however, he didn't expect to find you knocked out on the couch, the sight of you sleeping peacefully made his heart skip a beat, making him mad at himself for being this down bad. He slowly walked to your sleepy figure, he grabbed a fluffy blanket you had on the couch and wrapped it around you. The next thing he remembers he was on his knees analyzing your face, he has never been this close, and the temptation to kiss your plump lips was bigger than anything, however, he held himself and instead planted a sweet peck on your cheek, with a smile on his face he made sure to leave quietly.

— — —

The next morning you slowly opened your eyes and sat on the couch, you blink a couple of times trying to remember what happened last night, the tv was off and you had a blanket on top of you... <When did Minho leave?> You ask yourself, due to the tiredness you don't remember a single thing. It was a Friday morning, and you had no plans for the rest of the day as you didn't have any lectures till the afternoon, however, you hated staying at your dorm the whole day so you decided to get ready and go for a refresher and then to the library. Today you decided to go with a simple purple sundress and your white Converse accompanied with a white tote bag.

You would lie if you said you didn't feel self-aware the moment you walked through the campus, a bunch of eyes staring at you, confused you tried asking someone around you what was going on, however, you were too scared to approach someone.

"So are you the girl Lee Minho was lucky to pull or is he just a pass time?" a girl with blond hair and lovely eyes said as she approached you "Excuse me?" you raised an eyebrow "I'm sorry, it's just that rumor is spreading like a wildfire" she chuckled while she gave you a warming smile "I'm rosé" she extended a hand in front of you "I'm y/n" you shook her hand while smiling "ermm do you mind telling me what this rumor is about? I'm really confused" she chuckled "Of course, let's go get something to drink first" she smiled grabbing your hand.

"So there is this girl Vanessa and her group of minions," she said while she proceed to take a sip of her drink "She is Minho's ex, however, she seems to not let him go" She paused "He dated her out of pity, she would always go around bugging him all day until he gave in, they broke up because she got jealous of the female soccer managers and threw a fit that expelled Minho from soccer finals... They still hook up from time to time when Minho loses his mind with the alcohol" She rolled her eyes and laughed "And about your rumor..." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and opened Twitter to show you a thread made by Angie one of Vanessa's minions.

"Angie saw you and Minho together after the game... she also saw how he was about to take off his shirt right there" She cringed as she showed you the video Angie took from a long distance... at that moment you could understand the rumor as in all honesty, it did seem like you two were about to hook up.

"That's a misunderstanding, he scared me so I threw my drink at him..." you mumbled, "Well... it doesn't end like this..." She then pulled a second video of you two walking to your dorm at night <Oh Jesus... People think we fucked> your eyes opened in panic... you went from no one to a hot topic in two days... "Yeah... but don't worry, Minho always handles these types of rumors" She reassured you "He is my brother's best friend, so I know what happened" She caressed your arm to ease your nerves "Thank you rosé" You smile "Don't worry I got you, also you can call me Rosie" She grinned at you, her pearly white teeth showing, she was truly gorgeous.

"Do you mind who is your brother, I have never seen you around... but that might just be cause I don't know anyone here" You took a sip of your refresher "My brother is Lee Felix, we like inseparable" You could tell she admired her brother by the way her eyes light talking about him "We have seen you around, but girl you are unreachable, matter many people have been trying to approach you, but everyone is intimidated by you" She laughed.

"That's why everyone calling Minho a lucky bitch, you have no idea how many people would kill for you" When you heard those words your mind went blank... do people think that about you? at that moment you felt mad at yourself for isolating yourself when you could be out there having fun with new people. "There's gonna be a party tomorrow night, be there or be square," The blond girl said as she stared at you with lovely eyes, after that you two talked until you had to leave for your class, today you could say you made your first friend ever.

— — —

It was around 8 pm that same Friday when you spotted Minho, peacefully walking with his headphones on, you slowly approached him to confront him about the rumor "Hey" you touched his shoulder giving him a warm smile, he froze at your sudden apparition "Miss me already?" he said with a smug face "No, I want to talk about the rumor... I talked with this girl Rosé and she told me you usually deny these rumors so-" You were interrupted when he started laughing "Why would I deny it? it's just an innocent rumor we both know it's not real and that should be enough" You couldn't believe your eyes at that moment, the audacity he had to say he wouldn't do it... that was an innocent rumor, you scoff "I'm sorry... innocent rumor? People out there think we fucked" you scoff once again "Ok and? what's the big deal if you know it's not true" his body stiffed as he stood straight glaring down at you.

"You don't know how it feels walking into a place and having a bunch of people talking behind your back? calling you a whore, a pass time?" you crossed your arms and looked around trying to remain calm.

"Knowing Im the hot topic of the day because of you makes me sick" your tone raising without you noticing "You are making a big deal out of nothing y/n" It was Minho's turn to raise his voice, he was about to say something when he got interrupted. "Y/n everything alright?" you turn to see Mr. Hwang "Oh Mr. Hwang" you nervously laughed "Everything alright, thanks for asking" he gave you a charming smile making Minho want to puke right there "I wanted to talk to you about something, do you have a minute? he asked ignoring Minho, which pissed him off even more "yeah sure" you smiled "Let's go to my classroom then," he said and you obediently followed him completely forgetting about Minho. He stood there, body burning in jealousy.

Minho needed to clear his mind, he didn't want anger to control his feelings, but every time he remembered the way that guy talked to you and even the way he looked at you, made him wanna punch his guts, he knew you weren't his but he wanted you all to himself and that's how he ended up in the soccer field kicking the ball as hard as he could and running as fast as he could until his legs gave up.

The roller coaster of emotions drove him insane as he ran behind the ball, thinking that you might like that guy was his final stroke as his legs gave up and he landed on the soft grass of the field, tears rolling down his eyes as he couldn't understand why he felt this way towards someone he barely knew. After he lay on the grass blankly staring at the stars for like an hour he decided to try and let you go, he grabbed his phone and Tweeted that the rumor was fake and to leave you alone, he threw his phone beside him and closed his eyes.

— — —

The next day you noticed Minho publicly denied the rumor, you felt so grateful to him, a warm smile adorning your face, and you kept it a mental note that you would thank him if you saw him.

The party was today and you doubted if you should go or not but after talking with your best friend Eunchae, she convinced you to go and that's how you find yourself wearing a silk black dress with a slit and your favorite heels, for the jewelry you went with a pearl necklace and long gold earrings and for makeup you went with something natural but cute, once your hair was done you grabbed a small bag and left your dorm.

At the party you meet up with Rosé, who you quickly lost as she joined her brother and a couple of other friends, they all disappeared into the crowded place filled with warm bodies, you weren't ready for all the chaos yet; so you made your way to the bar to get a few drinks and maybe lose up enough to start dancing with people, you were feeling yourself for the first time in years, you never thought you would enjoy this; but at that moment you felt that enjoy was not enough to describe how much you were loving this party.

The taste of the bitter alcoholic drink you were consuming plus the music and neon lights of the club made you feel as if everything was in slow motion, maybe the vodka of your drink had finally begun to hit, and you could also feel the temperature of your body rising, your eyes moving in all directions inspecting the people in the room; that's when you spot him.

Lee Minho, wearing an all-black outfit, his shirt was tight enough to give his body justice, plus it had a zipper he kept half opened exposing a bit of his chest, you could see the way girls drool over him and to think you got to see more than that the day he went to your apartment.

His brunette hair and plump lips, for some reason today you felt tempted by them for the first time, the way his cat-like eyes shined under the neon lights... yeah you acknowledge he was handsome, made by the Greek Gods as you would say, however, you were never captive by his charms like today... was it the alcohol? was it because of your previous interactions? You don't know what possessed you to stand up from your seat and made your way towards him.

Once he spot you the smile he had on his face faded away, at that moment you felt he didn't want you there but the way he looked at you gave you a hint that he wanted you there more than anyone. You smiled before approaching him, a giggle escaping your soft lips "I saw that you denied the rumors..." you trace as you study his face "Thank you" you finally said after a pause. At that moment you could see how Minho's body language changed, he went from relaxed to stiff in a matter of seconds "No problem" he said with no expression at all.

This was the first time you saw him this cold towards you, you couldn't quite decipher what was wrong so to lift the mood you grabbed his hand and brag him with you towards the dancing floor "y/n what are you doing" he said as he quickly walked behind you, At this moment he could feel the warmth of your hand touching his, everything was moving in slow motion for him, he was going to treasure this memory forever.

"I don't want to dance alone... I'm shy but with you, I feel like I can be myself" You grin at him as you glare at his deep brown eyes, if this was some kdrama Minho would have kissed you by now... he didn't know how much he would last this "cold treatment" act he was trying to play on you.

"I thought you didn't like our dating allegations, this will just add fuel to them" he scoffs rolling his eyes "Come on... you are Lee Minho" You emphasize his name "Do you really care about those rumors?" he didn't say anything, the tension was increasing creating an uncomfortable environment between the two of you; but you are y/n and you won't give up easily.

Die for you by the weekend started playing and you decided to screw it and let the music guide your body. Minho just stood there watching the way your hips moved to the rhythm of the song, the way you would throw your head back exposing your cleavage, he felt like you were inducing him, putting a spell under him, the way you smiled as you were having fun... he was falling for your act.

Once the music changed he realized he was hypnotized by you the whole time, but what made his blood boil is that he wasn't the only one as he spot more than a few staring at your body, at that moment out of instinct he placed a hand on your waist and pulled you closer to his body, the contact and the warmth of his chest against yours made your stomach tingle.

A few minutes passed and he had his neck in the crook of your neck as you both danced carefreely, he would constantly pull your dress down as it kept rolling up from all the grinding and movement.

Both of your hearts pounded excitedly there was something about this moment that felt special like it was meant to be, however, you were starting to get tired as you weren't feeling the music with the same energy you started. You gently pushed Minho away thank him for the time and left to sit somewhere in the club.

Minho's heartache as you left him, he wished he could stop time so he could enjoy more of your warmth, but he couldn't do anything and he knew it, you didn't belong to him and that's why he let you go.. he stood there watching your figure disappear between the rest of the bodies "HEY MINNIE" a voice squeaked behind him and he knew exactly who it belonged to as the girl hugged his arm... it was going to be a long night for Minho.

It was around 2 am and the party continued, you were pretty tired your social battery drained hours ago, you sat at one of the chairs at the bar and scrolled through your social media, waiting for Rosé to be done so you both could call for an Uber.

"Hey pretty" You look up to see an unfamiliar face, the man was really good looking and you could tell he had more than a couple of drinks by the way he would hiccup from time to time, by his body language you knew he wanted to hit on you and that he was rather desperate, making you uncomfortable.

"Hey" you tried to be friendly either way "You are y/n right, I’m Jake, I think you are really cute" he got closer placing a hand behind your back, at this moment you panicked you had no way of escaping his grip and it was making you feel uncomfortable, also with all the drinks you had you were feeling tired "Thank you so much and nice to meet you, but I gotta go" you nervously chuckled trying to push him away.

"Come on baby… don’t leave without giving me a kiss" With that he leaned dangerously close to your face trying to steal a kiss away from you when he abruptly got pushed away, startle you looked behind to see a rather pissed off Minho "Leave her alone" he hissed at him and grabbed your hand, quickly walking you to the exit "Wait… Minho, I need to wait for Rosé," you said mumbling "Don’t worry, Felix got her" you relax knowing that she was safe with her brother.

— — —

The walk to your apartment was rather comforting than you expected, you thought the walk would be awkward like last time and filled with silence, however, you didn’t expect Minho to be the type of guy that’s easy to talk to… well what did you expect he pretty popular for a reason.

Maybe was the alcohol lingering in the air or the impulsive thought to let him inside and see what would happen, but you never expected that after the first encounter, you would let him into your apartment again.

"It’s pretty late…" you trace looking into his dark eyes "The college staff might give you a warning if they find you" Although you tried to sound as stable as possible your voice started cracking as you finished your sentence.

He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, however, he quickly stopped in his tracks and slightly smirked "Sure" he smiled as he stepped inside the dorm and took his shoes off.

"I’m pretty tired so I’m going to change into something more comfortable," you said as you dropped your bag in the living room "Make yourself home, I will try to see if I can find something comfortable for you to wear" he looked at you as you walked around the dorm, all he could think of is how close he was but so far at the same time.

"Don’t" he quickly regretted saying that when you turned around to look at him confused "You don’t want comfy cloth?" you questioned, his cheeks lightly blushing… gosh is it the alcohol? he was going to make a mental note to never drink near you ever again "No… no… that’s not what I mean…" he traces shyly, you laugh at seeing him in this condition, where was the snarky, confident man you knew?

"Your dress" he spoke again after collecting himself "You look really pretty in it…" he paused walking closer to you with a smirk and dark eyes "Please don’t take it off yet" his hand moved closer to your face to readjust your bangs.

Once again you don’t know if it was the alcohol or the sinful thoughts you been having about him, but the urge to kiss him was unstoppable.

The way he looked at your lips with those dreamy eyes, with a soft hand resting on your cheek… everything at that moment felt perfect but you just met him a couple of days ago, that made you uneasy, but as your faces got closer and closer by the seconds you couldn’t help but let it happen; you closed your eyes in anticipation but then you came to the realization, that you are not about to kiss with the love of your life, this is Lee Minho… one of the biggest fuck boys in your college… is it worth it risking a night with him and then be the topic of conversation the next day?

You quickly moved your head to the side of his neck "Woah that tequila got me messed up" you laugh awkwardly as you backed away "Maybe on another occasion you get to see me with another pretty dress" You winked and went inside your room as quickly as possible.

Minho was left dumbfounded in the middle of your living room, he cursed himself for being too obvious and too desperate… he was scared you knew his true feelings, however, he is not the type of guy to stress over a crush so he shook his thoughts away and decided to wait for you in the living room while he watched something on the tv.

"Fuck" you mumbled as you struggled to zip your dress off, you had no trouble putting it on, but it seemed like the zipper got stuck on the fabric at some point, you walked around the room questioning what to do <C’mon y/n… you live alone if he wasn’t here what would you do…> stress quickly overtook you as you got more and more desperate trying to get rid of the dress <I guess I could cut it> you thought as you spotted a pair of scissors in your table <But its channel… I went on bankrupt to get it> you cried internally <They better make better quality zippers next time> you sigh in defeat.

Shyly you walk over to your door, the faint sound of the tv getting louder as you are slightly open the door "Ermmm Minho" you said quietly in a whisper, surprisingly that was loud enough to get his attention "Yeah" he said his gaze not leaving the screen in front of him "I need your help" this time he turned around with a confused look "The zipper is stuck… can you help me?" you said sounding defeated.

He hummed in agreement scared that if he used his words he would make his excitement obvious, you grabbed his hand and led him into your room, it was the first time he ever saw it, the scent of lavender and vanilla that surround your room smelled just like you, he studied the room spotting a bunch of books all over the floor.

"Don't mind the mess" you say "I have been busy with work" You sigh as your turn your back and moved your hair exposing the zipper of your dress "Don't worry about it, out of all the girl's rooms I have been, yours is the most exciting to be in" he mumbled as he focused on zipping the dress down; you blushed at his comment although you try to not mind it.

"Really? Usually, boys like it when a girl's room is clean," you said as you hold your dress by the chest so you don't flash him, he hummed at your response "A clean room doesn't tell much about you... a messy room feels more intimate," he said looking at the surroundings "by the bunch of books in the floor I can tell you use them often" he paused scanning the room one more time "And..." you could feel the tone in his voice change to a teasing one "by the panties laying on the floor" you look to see where he was pointing at "I can tell you left in a rush that you couldn't pick them up"

Your eyes widen in embarrassment and you could feel your cheeks burn "MINHO" you squealed hitting his chest, Minho chuckled treasuring the moment, everything about this felt intimate, helping you with the zipper, being in your messy room, the way you turned bright red out of embarrassment, he wanted this to turn part of his daily routine and maybe it was because of the alcohol or because of the euphoria of the moment but he wished he could just throw you on the bed and worship you in every single way, however, he shoved his thoughts aside and continued helping you.

He placed a hand on your bare shoulder, and his warm palm sent chills down your spine "Hmmm" he furrowed his eyes and tighten his grip on your shoulder "You weren’t joking when you said it was stuck" he scratched his neck trying to think of a way to get it out "Oh c’mon, you are a man it shouldn’t be hard for you" you spat, desperation getting the best of you.

An airy chuckle left his lips ticking your neck "Now that was a little sexist coming from you princess" you scoff at the pet name his been giving you "Just please take it off, I'm getting hot" you cried "Alright, but don’t blame me if it breaks" he raised his hand before readjusting his position to zip the zipper down.

After what seemed 2 minutes of struggle, he pulled the zipper as hard as he could, not realizing the brute force he used; the zipper snatched in less than a second, your dress falling to your ankles as fast as the light; both of your bodies tensed, you because you realize you wore your black lace undies just in case you brought someone home, on the other hand, Minho tensed as he realizes he messed up and that you were wearing no bra.

"I-" he paused trying to collect himself "I’m sorry" he almost screamed as he threw a pillow at you and turned to look away, you couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the situation, if this would have happened while you were sober it would’ve been a different story, however, the alcohol roaming around your blood made you feel more carefree "YAHH" you screamed in between laughs "You are the one who ripped my dress off, I should be the one throwing pillows at you" you grabbed the dress from the floor to cover yourself and picked up the pillow he threw at you and started attacking him with it.

The room was filled with giggles and pillow feathers as you randomly started a pillow fight. During one of your attacks, Minho was quick enough to turn you around so you would be under him, the sweat forming on his forehead and the dim lights of your apartment made it a delightful sight.

"What? Already falling for me" he smirked as he got slightly closer to your face testing the waters, you scoff and smiled back hanging your hands behind his neck "You wish" You moved one of your hands to his face and traced his features like if he was some type of sculpture "However…" you quickly stopped yourself from continuing before you made a mistake "However?" he whispered as his eyes looked from your eyes to your lips back to your eyes, one of the hands that was resting besides your face moved to grab the side of your waist and slightly massage it.

You parted your lips contemplating if the words that were about to come out of your mouth would be worth it "fuck it" you mumbled as you closed the gap and gently kissed his lips.

You can’t describe the feeling of his lips on yours… they are soft… really soft and warm, it felt like you were on cloud 9, as your lips parted a faint moan left his lips in complaint "I wanna taste you" you whispered in his ear, his eyes quickly turned dark in lust and the smirk planted on his face could only describe his satisfaction at that moment.

Were you going to regret it tomorrow when you were completely sober with a hangover? yes… definitely but it's Lee Minho when do you get the chance to get laid by such a man? FUCK IT.

Once again you pushed him down your lips, this time the kiss being rough and desperate, moans leaving in between kisses "You don’t know the mistake you are doing" he mumbles in between the kiss, you parted your lips to look into his eyes and smile at him innocently "I know what I'm doing" you took your arms off his neck and move them to reveal a little bit of your cleavage.

You were teasing him and he knew, the bulge on his pants being an indicator he was enjoying it "fuck" with no warning he grabbed your hands and placed them on top of your head, one of his hands grabbing them down while the other stopped him from crushing you, his lips went back to yours, his tongue dancing along with yours, bitting your lips here and there, you spread your legs unconsciously making him smirk as he placed his leg in between your thighs and pressed into your panties, which by the second were getting wetter and wetter.

You swore you could get drunk on the wet kisses he was leaving all around your neck and cleavage, they were so addictive and the way he would force you to make eye contact or else he would stop had you on the edge. He made his way to your ear and bit it while you tried your best to not grind on his leg.

"You are getting too desperate princess" he whispered while gently caressing your wrists his been holding this whole time, he placed a chaste kiss on your lips "It’s time to stop" your eyes widen at his words… stop?! does he really want to stop??? did you do something wrong…

"Why?" You questioned as he was getting up "D-did I do something wrong" The panic in your tone scared him "No princess, of course not" he said while he hugged you and caressed your hair "I don’t get it.." you trace trying to hold back your tears from embarrassment "You are drunk… we are both drunk… I don’t want to take advantage of the situation" you pulled away from the hug and look into his eyes trying to see if he was joking, but to your surprise he wasn’t, he was straight up serious <A fuck boy who doesn’t want to fuck> you thought as he grabbed your hand "You should go to bed, it's pretty late princess" he stood up and guided you to your bed, he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaving "Sweet dreams princess, don’t forget to include me in them" he chuckled as he closed the door and left you with no words in your bed.

— — —

Two months passed and you and Minho became really good friends, both of you seemed to collectively agree to never talked about that night ever again; although there was some tension lingering between the two of you, you decided to ignore it, mostly because Vanessa has been sending you threatening notes from time to time; she believes you have no clue who those notes come from but it couldn’t be more obvious; the situation was more annoying than scary.

Another reason why you and Minho kept things as they are is because of soccer, he is busy with practice you barely see him, and only during your engineering class and parties rosé makes you tag along.

You have also been busy with your self-development or that's what you call it. You have made a bunch of new friends, mostly thanks to Hyunjin, he is supposed to be your professor but you truly appreciate the soft spot he has for you "I have been in your place" he told you once when he invited you for a quick treat, since that day you understood that he is helping you do things he wished he did during his college career.

So far you are loving the new version of yourself and you rather focus on yourself than on anything else.

— — —

"YAH MINHO" you squealed as you land harshly on the soft grass. It’s been a week since Minho begged you to join him at one of his soccer practices.

You scoffed as he screamed at the tv "This players are ass, I could beat them any day" You shoot at him but quickly regretted your words as he gave you a death glare "Don’t you dare insult my idols like that, I bet your ass won’t last a minute in a game or worse a second at a practice" you took that as a challenge, one that you regretted the day after; since then his been bugging you around with it so you finally cave in.

"Told you" he continued to laugh historically "You are too pretty to last a minute in a soccer practice" he smirked while he walked to you to help you.

You roll your eyes at his words and stood up yourself, rejecting his help, you walked towards your backpack "Woahh quitting already" You could feel the quirkiness in his tone as he followed behind you.

"You wish, Im just getting started" You took a ponytail out of your bag and turned around to face him while you do a medium ponytail.

Minho has been trying to hide his feelings for you, but it's the bare minimum you do that gets him flustered, the way your soft hair moves as you tie it and little details in your face like the mole in your bottom lip that makes him wanna kiss every single inch of you.

A loud smack is what snatched him out of his thoughts, he looks at you blankly while caressing his cheek "What the actual fuck y/n" he says in amusement which you only blink innocently in return.

"I asked you something and you never replied so I found out a good smack would kick you back to your senses" You smiled as he looked at you offended.

"I would beat your ass right now but that’s something I’m saving for another occasion" You could sense the double meaning behind his words but you shrugged it off "Other occasions will it be" you chuckled "Anyway back to what I was saying" you roll your eyes knowing he didn’t hear a word of what you were saying.

"Why do women's sports shorts have to be shorter than men’s sports shorts" You looked down at your legs "You are wearing Nike Pros, those are supposed to make you feel comfortable while moving" you scoff "Comfortable?!?!" you paused to look at him in disbelief.

"How am I supposed to feel comfortable when I feel my ass is bare naked" Out of instinct Minho tilted his head to check you out, making you hit his chest "YAH LEE MINHO" You gave him a death glare as he swung his hand in the air in defense.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to my body just moved," he said in panic, his ear turning in a faint shade of red "Whatever let's just start this practice" You pushed him and walked towards the center of the field.

After the hours passed you felt how your body was dragging you down to the grass, the cold and soft grass touching your skin, sweat dripping down your face as you tried to control your heavy breath.

The feeling of the cold breeze touching your body and the sight of a sky covered with stars felt so euphoric, a moment you wished to be trapped in. It was a feeling you haven’t experienced before, you were used to exercising but this felt different; it felt comforting… safe.

"This is a vulnerable moment for a soccer player" Minho whispered next to you, trying not to ruin your moment.

You turn your face to see him, his sharp features being hit by the soft moonlight, breeze moving his hair lightly "Tell me more" you whispered back.

Even though Minho couldn’t see your face he knew you were smiling, he could feel it in your tone "Once your legs give up to the point your body brags you down to the grass" he trails, debating whether he should turn his face to face you "That’s when you know, you did your best, that's the moment you realize you can rest from all your hard work, it’s like a prize you know?" He turns to face you, your eyes were wide looking at him, he could see the shine of the stars in them.

"A prize" you raise an eyebrow "But what if I feel like I didn’t do my best?" he chuckles "It’s a prize because it's a feeling that lets you clear your mind, you may lay down in the grass feeling like a piece of shit but when you get up, you feel like you can rule the world" he chuckles when he sees your face even more confused "Forget it, you won’t get it," he said as he sat down.

"This is going to sound crazy but I think I do" You copy his movements and sat "It’s weird but I feel refreshed…" you mumbled as you stare at the stars.

As you both stay there in awe a shooting star flew across the sky "Woah" you both said in synchronization, turning to face each other and laughing "Make a wish" he said as he went back to stare at the stars "You should make one too" you closed your eyes to make your wish "I already did" he mumbled as he stared at you.

To this day he hates himself for loving you the way he does. After that night at your apartment, he tried to distance himself, he wanted to take things slow, he wanted you to know him for who he is not for the fuck boy image he won over the years. He wanted you to be madly in love the way he was, he wanted you to crave his attention the same way he did with you.

"What did you wish for?" You broke the silence slightly opening your eyes "It’s a secret if I tell you I might jinx it" you scoff in annoyance "Not fair, now Im curious" You closed your eyes again "Just finish your wish and let’s go, It's getting chilly" He stood up to grab your belongings and get ready to leave.

— — —

The days keep flying by, and Minho’s company became something of your daily life; no matter where you were or the time, he would find a way to be there. At first, you thought it was who he was, pretending not to care about others but secretly wanting to be with them; but as you progressively got closer to him, you noticed the special treatment he would give you from time to time.

Your friendship anniversary was getting closer as yellowish colors started to paint the trees. It was a chilly night on the October breeze when he mentioned it to you "Isn’t it crazy, how it has been almost a year since the morning you ran into me"

You never took track of time the same way Minho did, he would remember every single date he considered special or worthy of remembering.

"Can’t believe so much has happened during that period" you said in a nostalgic tone, remembering how you met, the rumors, the day you became known because of a boy's attention.

That day on your way home, you scrolled through your phone, looking at all the silly videos and pictures you took with your friends and Minho. You wonder what would’ve happened if you hadn’t crashed on Minho that day… would you still be unknown? Would the two of you eventually meet?

All the what if’s started to give you a headache, so you threw yourself in bed and decided to go on a slumber sleep.

— — —

The way his soft lips left wet kisses all over your neck was a delight to your soul and body, the faint whimpers that left his mouth as if he was begging you for more, you opened your eyes, looking at the brunette boy on top of you.

You couldn’t see his face but everything felt a little too familiar, you moved your hand to squeeze his hair, giving light tugs that would gain soft moans from him "Can I" his voice was raspy and soft there was care in his tone.

You just nodded as he slid a hand under your pajama shirt and teased your boobs, drawing circles around your nipples but not touching them, his lips too busy with your lips as his tongue explored yours.

A loud moan escaped your mouth as he suddenly pinched your nipple, a smirk forming on his lips "Please let me fuck you till you scream my name" he whispered in your ears while nibbling it; you just nod at the sensation, you wanted him to do more than teasing, he was making you desperate and he knew it… both of you knew it by the way you crossed your legs in search of some friction "Easy princess, let me worship you" he moved back to your lips, the room being filled with wet noises coming from them, his hands moved from your boobs to your legs, separating them as he left your lips once again.

His body was now kneeling in between your legs, your body temperature rising even though you were wearing shorts and a t-shirt. His soft hands caressed your thighs as he made eye contact with you, the crazy feeling about all this was that you couldn’t see his face clearly, which made you even more desperate. "May I take it off" he signaled at your shirt, there was something about him asking for consent that made you feel a pool of butterflies in your stomach, you slightly nodded, suddenly feeling aware of the situation.

The smirk that adorned his face suddenly softened as he stared at your body topless "Fuck" he mumbled to himself as he dived into his chest, his mouth wrapping automatically on one of your nipples as he played him with the other one with his hand. The way his tongue would move up and down on your nipple would make you squirm in place, There was something delightful about the way he would aggressively suck on your nipple but would leave kisses on them whenever you made a sound of complaint.

As he kept working on your tits with his mouth, one of his hands slid down to tease the band on your shorts, hand sliding even deeper to touch your pussy lips, his middle finger moving up and down your folds dispersing the wetness all over your core. "Please" you begged through moans as your hips unconsciously moved to grind on his finger "Say my name and you have it" he teased biting your lips, you cried in frustration you didn’t know who he was, suddenly he slipped the finger inside you making you moan loud as the sensation "Please" you cried "Say my name" he kept whispering in your ear as he trusted his finger inside you painfully slow.

You squirmed underneath him tears falling down your cheeks as you tried to find his name in the back of your head, a second finger was inserted slowly stretching you out "Please let me fuck your cunt senseless" he begged "Say my name y/n… please" he sounded just as desperate as you, at least you knew he was also being tortured.

The torture continue as you felt his boner on your thigh, his position switching so he could give ghostly kisses on your clit, your hips buckled up at the sensation, his nose hitting that spot you needed him to work on, a moan came out of both of your mouths "Please say my name" he kept repeating, frustration overtaking you as you start to cry "Please just fuck me" you cried grabbing his hair so he would look at you "PLEASE" you cried even harder, your head going blank by the second "MINHO PLEASE FUCK ME"

Suddenly you jumped out of your bed, hitting yourself on your night table "OUCHH" you hissed as you curled yourself up in the bed, then you remembered your dream, the obvious wetness you felt between your legs being the evidence that you did have a wet dream about Minho.

You cringe at yourself as you turn to face the ceiling… what was happening? where you developing feelings for him? <Nah… I don’t think so…> You told yourself <Maybe it’s the hormones… I haven’t been laid in a while> you laugh it off as you get up from your bed to take a shower and clean yourself, however, you still felt unease at the dream you just had.

— — —

After that dream you decided to take a hot shower, and wash away all the sweat and thoughts from your head; however, the shower didn’t quite help you forget about the dream or Minho.

Suddenly your bell rang shrugging you off from your thoughts, quickly you closed your shower and wrapped yourself with your towel, you weren’t expecting any visitors since it was a Sunday night. You looked through the peephole and spotted Minho… looking a little beat up?

"Gosh, Minho what happened" you spat quickly as soon as you opened the door, distress in your tone as he falls in your arms. He was struggling to keep up with weight so you grabbed him and tried to walk him towards your couch.

"I lost my match" he groaned grabbing his head and squeezing his hair "Easy there…" You grabbed his hands stopping him from hurting himself; he gave your hands a light squeeze and sighed.

His pupils were dilated and his eyes looked rather red and watery, was he crying? Was he drunk? maybe both… you were quite confused trying to figure out his state "Were you drinking?" you questioned as you stood to pour him a glass of water.

He was silent for a bit collecting his thoughts "I usually don’t make a big deal when I lose…" he trace as he shifted on the couch, his arms and legs spreading across the couch, head falling back with a sigh. You knew this wasn’t the right moment but the sight of him manspreading in your couch with his soccer uniform was quite a view.

"But" he trailed once again before pausing "Vanessa" he sighed, the tension he was putting on his words was sending you over the edge, couldn’t he get straight to the point "She is making my life impossible" he groaned, you walked back to couch placing the cup of water in the table and sitting next to him "What’s wrong? Is she following you around again? I thought she got a boyfriend…" You were honestly startled at the mention of her name, Vanessa started dating Lucas a couple of months ago, he was the captain of the soccer team and a really handsome and extremely popular guy. "That’s the problem" he placed his hands on his face in frustration "She is only dating Lucas to be "closer" to me" he quoted the word with his hands while rolling his eyes.

"Today Lucas found a letter she was planning to give me… confessing her feelings" The more he talked the more you could sense anger in his tone "He got sooo pissed off and placed me as a sub player for today's match" he sat down and looked into your eyes in disbelief "ME A SUB PLAYER?!" He scoffed "I’m literally the star" he spat quickly grabbing the cup of water and taking a sip.

"Worst part he placed me in the last 10 minutes of the game when we were losing 1-3" he placed the cup back on the table.

"He thought I was gonna pull a hat trick of my ass and save the game, but ofc I didn’t" This time he sounded disappointed rather than mad "At the end of the game the coach scolded me for "poor performance" he quoted his words, then scoffed before leaning back against the couch.

"I felt like shit, useless" he paused "Yah Lee Minho" You grabbed his shoulder which got no reaction from him, seeing him vulnerable like this made your heart shatter in pieces. You knew how much Minho treasured soccer and the sacrifices he does for that sport, seeing him like this because of selfish people made your blood boil.

"I thought a couple shots of alcohol were going to make me feel better" he paused, silence filling the room "but it didn’t" he turned to look at you with a soft gaze, eyes threatening to shed tears as he made eye contact with yours. Soft big eyes that could hold the galaxy in them, Minho treasured them, your eyes were like the door to your soul he could tell what you were thinking by just looking at them, he admired them.

“Then I thought of you” He gave you a warm smile before softly chuckling “It instantly made me smile. So I thought I might gave you a visit” He looked around your apartment before fixing his gaze on you once again.

“It’s…” He paused choosing his words carefully “It’s been a while since I last came here” You chuckle “You are right” Deep down you knew he was trying to switch the conversation, although you wanted to comfort him you figured the best way to do it was by giving the company he needed.

“Although we don’t speak of the last time” You raised your hands in defense, it was his turn to laugh at your actions.

“Now…” You said softly “If you don’t mind, I’m gonna go change. You took me by surprise” If you hadn’t pointed out that you weren’t wearing clothes but a towel Minho would’ve never noticed.

His eyes quickly glanced down, taking into his view a couple of water droplets laying down in your cleavage, your wet long hair dripping down on the couch. His eyes darkened and a shade of crimson red sparkled in his ears.

He cleared his tone “I… ummm sorry for interrupting your bath” He touch his neck in embarrassment. He opened his mouth to say something else, probably another apology so you stopped him. You placed a hand in his bicep to comfort him “Don’t worry about it, I’m here for you” You gave him the most sincere smile Minho has ever seen in his life, a shock of excitement rushing down his body to his… you know.

If you could manage to give him a boner with your smile, he can’t imagine with your body. Minho wasn’t a fan of sexualizing you, he adore you too much to not feel guilt. However he is only human after all.

“I’ll be back. Feel yourself at home” you nudge him with your elbow before getting up and disappearing to your room. He just sat there in the middle of your living room contemplating his life choices, he knew he was at a very vulnerable state, not only emotionally but also physically. He could feel the shots of vodka he took before rushing down his body. One thought let to another and that’s when he decided that if he was going to fuck it up, it was going to be tonight.

He prepared a mini speech in the back of his head, ready to blurt it out once you stepped a foot out of your room. The adrenaline sobering him up as the seconds passed by. What fell like an eternity you finally opened the door to your room, coming out in a set of black silk pijamas. He could feel his dick throbbing in his pants as he saw you walking out <Keep yourself together Minho> He mentally cursed himself.

“Sorry for the delay, I couldn’t find my fave pj’s so I had to stick with this one” you walk over to the kitchen looking for something to eat. Minho just looked at you wondering how you could be so nonchalant about it. Like it wasn’t a big deal… well… it wasn’t… but considering he was fucked up and you we wearing a set of silk pijamas the smoothly hugged your curves was making him even more insane.

“Are you craving something” You ask reaching to the top shelf in your kitchen, trying to grab your favorite snacks “I can ask delivery, I only have leftovers and-“ Your breathe hitched as you could feel his warm body behind you.

“Here” He turned you around and gave you the bag of chips you were struggling to get “T-thank you” you grabbed them and placed them in the counter next to you. However he didn’t move, your body being pressed against the counter. Although he wasn’t fully close to you, the way he looked at your lips drawn you closer to him without even noticing.

“Y/n” he placed a hand on your cheek “I… I have something I been wanting to tell you for a while now” His cheeks blushed in embarrassment, he has never confessed to anyone before and he had no idea what the outcomes could be in this situation. “I been crushing on you for a while now. I been trying to swallow my feelings but I can’t. It’s gotten to the point that I can’t look straight into your eyes cause I’m afraid I will make a mistake” He stopped to analyze your face, he looked into your eyes and found an expression he has never seen before… it was unreadable.

A knot started to form in his throat as breathing suddenly became a hard task for his body to do. You notice his body shaking and placed a hand in his chest and moved your other hand to fix his bangs “Minho… I” you laughed softly “I been feeling the same for a while now. Although I never saw you as something more than a friends, recently you been in my mind lately” The smile that adorned his face in that moment was the most stunning thing you have seen in your life. The way his eyes would wrinkle from his big grin. Minho was just to precious for you to ever harm.

Both of your bodies started to unconsciously get closer to each other like magnets, his face centimeters away from yours “Can I…” You could feel his breathe hitting your lips as he spoke, his eyes never breaking contact with yours as he placed one of his hands on your waist and the other in your hair “May I kiss you?” Something you loved about Minho was his gesture of asking for consent. You didn’t have a big dating history but the few guys you dated never asked you for permission to kiss you or anything else.

You nodded afraid that if you used your words it would expose your excitement. His lips were soft on yours, his movements delicate as if he was savoring the moment, studying every single line in your lips. A soft gasp left your lips as his tongue tapped your bottom lip asking for permission to go in.

It’s been a while since you and Minho kissed on that night, but the fact that now you were both sober… well half sober in case of Minho, however, kissing him sober felt like a whole new world. The way the butterflies erupted in your stomach and the warmth of his hand left a huge impact on your body.

As the kiss started to get more desperate more needy, Minho lifted you up and sat you on the counter, making room for his body in between your thighs. His boner slightly pressing into your pussy, A moan escape your lips in between kisses, the gripped you had in his hair tightening. He groaned as he bit your lip in lust, his eyes opening to look at your face and smile “Do you mind if I mark you” Here we go with the butterflies again, your stomach doing black flips “You can do whatever you want as long as I can do same” He smiled into your neck before biting the soft flesh, you whimper trying to hold back your moan. You were really ticklish and hated when people touched it, however, this felt different a hundred times better.

As he kept leaving wet kisses in every spot he could find. You could feel your stomach rumbling around, you tried to ignore it, however, as it progressively started to get louder you couldn’t anymore. Pushing him off slightly, cheeks burning in embarrassment “I’m hungry” you said with puppy eyes, the room bursting in laughs as his stomach proceeded to groan as well.

“Let me treat you then” He smiled as he helped you down the counter. You didn’t knew he was a great cook, the way his hands cut the vegetables in such a skillful way “You are giving Husband material right now” You joked as you continue to stare at him. He hated the way you could say such words in such a nonchalant way, not knowing the way those words impacted his body, your words going straight to his heart and down to his dick… he couldn’t help it.

He sighed as he placed the knife down looking at you, a smirk forming in his face ready to tease you “Marry me and I will show you how husband material I can be” His dark eyes never left yours, threatening you to stare away, however, you weren’t going to let him win that easily “You wish” you scoffed looking back at your phone, he chuckled “Say’s miss wet panties” You choke on your saliva at his words- how can he be this imprudent?! “Excuse me” you move your gaze back to his, the smug on his face giving you butterflies “I could feel it while we were kissing, your shorts don’t leave much to the imagination” He said as he proceeded to cut the vegetables. Your face turning crimson red as you tried to hide yourself “YAHHH” you threw a piece of potato as him, making him chuchas “Easy there princess, shouldn’t throw food at the possible father of your children” Your eyes widen… this man was really something else. You laugh “Lets not get too ahead of ourselves, you just confessed, are you still drunk?” you tease him, he hummed “I don’t know, want to test it out? See if I make any mistakes” You knew what his words meant and even though it was very tempting all you were craving right now was some good food.

The rest of the night went smoothly, both of you ate and watched shitty shows on your couch, both of your bodies cuddling under your soft blanket. Maybe this was the beginning of you adventures with Minho.

———

It’s been exactly a week since Minho asked you to be his girlfriend. It was a random Friday when you opened your locker to get your math book a letter with little cat drawings falling down to your feet. When you opened it you were greeted with Minho’s hand writing inviting you to go to the field that night.

As you walk anxiously around the field, you look around trying to spot him. Suddenly a hand grabbed yours startling you, in reflex you tried to punch whoever grabbed you but they acted on time and stopped your hand “Easy there Princess” he chuckled. Relief showered down your body as you see him laughing in front of you.

As you scolded him, he grabbed your hand and walked you through a path you have never seen before. You could see lights at the distance, curiosity rising in your head as you kept asking questions; however he never replied he just kept quiet till you reached your destination.

It was a tree house, it wasn’t too far from the field and it was hidden in the tiny forest next to the field, you have never been in one before. He grabbed your hand and told you to trust him. Once there he told you the story about the tree house and how its special to him and his family. Butterflies ran through your stomach at the thought of being the first girl he has ever brought there, it made you feel special. The house was adorned with fairy lights and comfy blankets, a bottle of wine and snacks being placed on a small table. He played your favorite movie, however, out of nowhere it started glitching and the small movie projector turned off. You sighed in disappointment, turning to see Minho. Your eyes widen and your jaw dropped as he was suddenly carrying a ring.

“M-Min… what’s this?” Your brain couldn’t process what was happening at that moment, a million thoughts running through your mind “A-“ you paused “Are you asking me to marry you?!?” Your voice increasing in a high pitch as you talk, you were scared, wasn’t it too soon?! he could see the panic in your face and decided to speak before you decided to hit and run like the first time you met.

You got pulled out of your thoughts as his laugh filled the room “No silly” he grabbed your hand and placed the ring on your finger “It’s a promise ring” He placed his hand on your cheek so your gaze was fixated on his “Every time I think of my future you are in there, and its driving me crazy to the point you won’t leave my mind” The more he spoke the more embarrassed he got, you could see the way his face turned into a light shade of red and the way his voice trembled “I know I’m being too cheesy and I can guarantee you I won’t be able to sleep in peace tonight… but you know” He took a deep breath “I will be able to sleep at peace tonight knowing that you are my girlfriend” He took a second to analyze your face before speaking again “Y/n… would you be my girlfriend?” He tilted his head and smiled, the gesture reminded you of a curious kitten and it made your heart melt. You quickly squealed and wrapped your hands behind his neck stealing a kiss from him “I hope that answer your questions” You say as your lips separate from each, just to reunited a second later. Since then everything has been going smooth, however, its been just one week so you didn’t want to jinx things.

Your doorbell rang and you opened your door to find a big teddy bear behind it.

“Surpriseeee” Minho screamed as he shoved the teddy bear to your arms “Happy one week princess” He tried to kiss you but couldn’t because of the teddy bear in between your bodies “Im gonna do a mental note to buy a smaller one next time” Both of you chuckled as you placed the bear on your living room couch.

“I didn’t knew you were coming today” You softly kiss his lips smiling “My plan was actually to take you out for dinner, but I got assigned a house project” His smile slowly faded away, disappointment taking over his tone “Soo I decided to buy you a small gift” You laugh as you stare at the big ass bear sitting on your couch, you wonder if it would fit in your bed. “I’m still mad Im trapped with the project though… it was last minute too” He cried “Worst part Is that I have to work with Angie and someone else. Working with Vanessa’s minion is definitely hell” He dramatically threw himself into your couch hugging the bear.

“Angie? Damn that’s tough” you sat on his lap and planted your face on the crook of his neck “You got this though” you left a kiss on his cheek and smiled fondly at him. “You sure know how to make my day princess” He sighed “Well I gotta go, I love you so much” He gave you a peck on your lips before exiting your apartment.

— — —

It was around 4pm when your phone started exploding with messages.

Rosie <3 : Y/N

Rosie <3 : Y/NNIE~~~

Rosie <3 : MY PRECIOUS Y/N PLEASE REPLY

Rosie <3 : BITCH IF YOU DONT ANSWER THAT GOD DAMN PHONE

Rosie <3 : WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE ONE?

What do you want? : Y/N

Rosie <3 : Would you go to Jennie’s party with me tomorrow night?!?! Pleaspkeapelaopslepalplsssss

I don’t know…. : Y/N

I made plans with Minho : Y/N

Rosie <3 : Y/N NOOOO THEY GOT YOU, I KNEW YOU ONCE YOU SHOWED ME THE RING.

Rosie <3 : BUT ITS SATURDAYYY.

Rosie <3 : ITS GIRLIES NIGHT

sigh… I will think about it : Y/N

Rosie <3 : THANK YOU LORDDD

Rosie <3 : let me know latest tomorrow afternoon

Rosie <3 : ttyl~~

Byeeeee <;3 : Y/N

You stared at your phone thinking how Minho would react if you suddenly ditch him, technically both of you planned this outing. Switching plans on him out of nowhere was definitely not looking good.

You could hear a faintly ding from your phone as you started to drift away from your sleep, eyes heavy you started to search for you phone without moving your head. You groaned as soon as you saw the time, it was already 10pm. You had no idea when you had fallen asleep, all you remembered was watching south park and eating some leftovers. As you progressively started to wake up you opened the notification that initially woke you up.

It was an unknown number and an image was attached, you raised an eyebrow in confusion as the picture started to load. Your heart dropping immediately to your stomach as you stare at the picture.

It was Minho kissing a girl. You immediately zoomed into the picture, hoping it was all a joke, however, it was not. He was wearing the same clothes he wore today, one of his hands was on the girls chest while the other grabbed her arm. You tried to figure out who was that girl in the picture, your heart dropping once again as you figure out it was Vanessa, you always thought you didn’t have to worry about her; after all Minho seemed to hate her, however, you couldn’t deny she was gorgeous. She was a straight up barbie, plus she was Minho’s ex… what if after a week of dating you he realize he loved her? that he wanted her?

Tears started falling down your cheeks, a knot forming in your throat as you desperately cried in your bed. Your phone flew away across the room as you looked at the bear he gave you “YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME” you punched the bear before throwing it across the room like your phone. You honestly couldn’t believe it yet… while you were sleeping daydreaming on your next date he was kissing some other chick. You stared at your promise ring. As much as you wanted to you couldn’t take it off, you wanted all this to be a joke a set up… but the evidence was water clear. One final tear rolled down your cheek as you took the ring off your finger, you tried to throw it in your garbage but your heart wasn’t strong enough for that, so you opt out to place it in your night table.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, hoping it was all a bad dream.

———

The next morning you are woken up by the sound of your doorbell, whoever was behind that door was definitely desperate to go in. The ringing sound embedded in your head, making you annoyed.

You look through the peephole a wave of emotions attacking you as you see who was behind that door… a knot formed in your throat and tears threatened to fall. You backed away from the door as quiet as possible, trying to make no sound so he would think you weren’t home. The audacity he had to come to your house after cheating on you last night. Maybe the project thing he mentioned you was a lame excuse to go see Vanessa.

You go back to your room ignoring the continuos ringing from the doorbell. You pick up your phone from the floor to find 100+ notifications from Minho, he probably found out he got caught and tried to explain it to you. You weren’t feeling it today, you wanted to forget everything. So you texted Rosé confirming that you were going to the party, whats the best way to fix a broken heart without alcohol?

Two hours passed and Minho finally gave up trying to contact you, he called, texted, passed letters through the opening of your door. For a moment you thought he was not giving up. You knew he left once you heard Rosé’s voice on the other side of the door, you could hear her scolding Minho; telling him to leave you alone for once. He tried to explain things to Rosé, however, she never replied to anything he said.

You got startled when you heard a knocked on your door “Y/n its me~”By the tone in her voice you knew she was trying to distract you. Her voice was sweet and playful. You opened the door to find her with food in her hand “I grabbed something to eat before coming here” She lifted the bag, a big warming smile adorning her face.

Both of you were having a good time eating the food she bought and gossiping around, it was just some quality girl time, last time you had one was a couple days before you and Minho started dating. You didn’t knew how much you missed it till now.

“I don’t really wanna touch the topic between you and that asshole” She exhaled as she thought of her words carefully “But… I think you should listen to him… I mean… he looks too heartbroken for it to be something he did willingly” She finally lifted her head to look at you “His eyes looked tired, he looked like a mess… I have never seen him like this before… He definitely did not sleep last night” She laughed softly trying to lighten the situation.

“I know… I know… but I don’t know how to feel about all this, I want to hear him out but my ego won’t let me” You sighed picking up the dirty dishes “Now lets start getting ready for tonights party, I’m trying to get white girl wasted and have fun” You laughed making Rosé laugh along with you, however, She felt uneasy… she knew how much you hated parties and every single word that just came out of your mouth, wasn’t something you would say in your daily, but she is your friend and supports you 24/7, so she got up from the couch and ran out to you “WOOOO PARTY IN THE USAAA” She screamed while jumping up and down around you.

You took a long bath, it was comforting and relaxing. The way the warm water wrapped your body, you sometimes wishes you could live in your bathtub, it was just too good to be true. You got out and checked yourself in the mirror, you felt hot. Your boobs, ass, curves, everything was perfect to your eyes. You smirked thinking that this is what Minho lost, maybe and you weren’t perfect like other girls but you loved yourself and that’s what mattered.

You grabbed a purple silk dress, it wasn’t the type of dress you would wear considering how short it was and a v neckline that punctuated your cleavage. Rosé made you bought it the moment you both saw it at a store “Save it for a special night” she teased as she brainwashed you to buy it. You never expected to use it but it was too pretty to not get it.

You wore your favorite pearl dress and some sutil earrings, you wore your favorite pair of high heels and call it a day, you came out of the bathroom Rosé’s jaw dropping as she saw you.

“GIRL” She squealed “YOU ARE TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE” She started doing a happy dance “Let me do your makeup and hair and off we go to party land” The excitement in her voice made you forget everything, Rosé was the type of person that could make you feel better in no time, you were really grateful for meeting her.

The moment both of you stepped inside the party everyone’s eyes were on you. You two shared a knowing look and dashed to the bar to get some drinks, giggles and squeaks taking over your conversation as the alcohol ran through your system. Pink Whitney was your weakness, every time you drank it you couldn’t stop, it wasn’t because it was tasty even though it tasted way better than most alcohol, but it was because it made you feel sober making you drink more, but more you drink it, the more fucked up you got.

Two hours passed and you lost track of how many shots you have chugged down, you were currently playing beer pong with Jennie and other friends when you felt the urge to use the restroom. Politely you excused yourself and walked towards the bathroom. What you saw shouldn’t have hurt you the way it did. It was Minho… kissing someone but this time it wasn’t Vanessa, it was some other girl you have never seen before. The way he pinned her against the lonely hallway and placed his knee in between her tights… the sight was enough to sober you up, your heart shattering like a crystal figure that had been slammed against a wall; you were for real done with him.

“You guys lasted more than I imagined” Her voice drew shivers down your spine, you turn to face her, trying to hide your tears “Me and my girls bet that you guys would last 2 days” She laughed looking at you, you felt pathetic “Don’t feel bad though, he is a fuck boy he is meant to play with girls” She faked a pout and caressed your hair “Vanessa, I don’t know whats your deal but leave me alone” You unintentionally raised your voice catching Minho’s and the other girl attention.

“Shit” Minho mumbled under his breath “Y/n wait” he said as you started running away from there, he tried to follow behind you but was stopped by the girl he was kissing, Vanessa turned around to look at your figure disappear between all the bodies, a smirk adorning her face.

You cleaned your tears before telling Rosé that you were calling it a day, you didn’t want to ruin her fun so you didn’t mention the incident. As you walked out of the party you crashed into someone, your eyes widening.

“Mr Hyunjin?” You said in surprise, he chuckled at you “Hey y/n, leaving already?” He looked stunning, his long blond hair and casual attire gave you butterflies, you were used to see him in his typical teacher attire, at some point you thought he had no fashion taste by the way he dressed but now you understood that just his class attire. “Yeah…” You softly exhaled trying to hide your disappointment “May I ask why you are at a student party” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity, the sight making him laugh “Jennie and me went to the same high school, we are really close friends. However due to early degree, I have to keep it professionally” The smile in his face never faded away as he talked “Do you mind telling me how you got your teaching degree that fast?” He laughed again at your curiosity he find it really cute “Sure, but its a long story, why don’t we go somewhere else to talk?” That was an offer you couldn’t deny, specially tonight.

He knew he had no right to be jealous right now, but seeing you walk away with Hyunjin made his blood boil. He carefully followed you guys to a cafe. He sat far enough for you guys not to notice him but close enough to see the way you would laugh at his jokes, how you would often touch him here and there and the glances he would give your chest while you laughed.

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the jealousy that ran through his body, but the moment you excused yourself to the bathroom he found himself walking towards Hyunjin.

He was sketching something on a napkin when Minho grabbed his shoulder giving it a squeeze “Took you long enough” He said nonchalantly as he kept drawing, not bothering to turn around to see Minho “You and your pretty mouth, you swear you are better than everyone” He groaned gaining a laugh from Hyunjin “I don’t think I’m better than everyone” he paused to look at Minho “I just think Im better than you” His smirk was Minho’s last stroke, he lifted his fist ready to punch him when Hyunjin catch it “I gave you time to not mess it up, but you are Lee Minho” His face didn’t have an expression at all, Minho couldn’t understand how he was so well collected while he threw poison at his face.

“I always knew about your little crush on her. I sacrificed my feelings for you, cause I’m a teacher and I need to keep things professional. However, I’m not gonna let you hurt her. I know how hard it was for her to be the person she is now, I’m not letting you ruin that” He started to squeeze his fist and aggressively moved it out of his face. Minho stood there dumbfounded at Hyunjin’s confession.

Minho and Hyunjin had a complex background story, they both met at summer dancing camp. Although both had so much in similar they never clicked, often turning everything into a competition. When he went to college and found out he was one of the architecture teachers he felt sick to his stomach. Hyunjin and him had a gap of 3 years, how come he already be a teacher when he was just starting a carrier. This only made Minho more jealous.

His thoughts were interrupted when Hyunjin spoke again “She is coming, you have the option to leave or face the reality” He smirked once again as he saw the troublesome look in his face, however what he didn’t expect was a tear to run down his cheek “Please take care of her” He said in defeat, a faint smile painted on his face.

Now this was something Hyunjin never expected from Minho, he knew him as the guy who would fight against him till the last breath, seeing him this vulnerable broke something inside him. “Sorry I took so long” You said as you sat down on your seat.

“Minho you idiot” he cursed to himself, so low you couldn’t hear it, at least you didn’t catch on it. He closed his eyes and sighed in frustration.

You were confused as to why you were walking towards the field with Hyunjin, he said he had something to show you, however, there was nothing to see when you were there. He grabbed your hand and placed it in his chest “I know I’m your teacher and this is wrong even though we both adults” He spat as he stared deeply into your eyes “But please concede me one kiss” He looked at you almost begging.

You look down at his lips, you would lie if you said it wasn’t tempting to steal a kiss from them… however it felt wrong and not because he was your teacher but because of Minho. You couldn’t believe yourself after all he did to you, but something deep inside you still believed in him.

While you seemed to be caught in thoughts, Hyunjin spotted Minho behind you staring at the two of you, no expression in his face, however his eyes were dark and his hands were pressed against each other.

Hyunjin smirked and got closer to you, Minho doing the same, Hyunjin knew what he was doing, his plan was to provoke him. Fight for you.

He wrapped a hand around your waist making you gasp in surprise “Hyunjin” you said softly “Shhh just play along” He whispered against your ear, you couldn’t tell why he was doing this until he spoke again “He is watching” You immediately understood what he was doing, you smiled at him “I will” Hyunjin was left dumbfounded at your words “I will kiss you” You finished, he looked at your eyes in panic “Y/n you don-“ His words were interrupted as you planted a kiss in his lips, they were just as soft as Minho’s but maybe a little bigger, however, the sensation didn’t even compared to Minho’s.

A hand grabbed your arm and snatched you out of his grip. “Minho” You said as you panted. “So you decided to fight” Hyunjin smiled proudly “Go ahead and don’t mess it up” He said nonchalantly as he walked away, leaving you alone in Minho’s arms.

It was a chilly night, the breeze hovering over your bodies. Both of you stood there without saying a single word to each other. His body was tense just as yours was. Should you be the first one to talk, tears starting to form in your eyes. He could hear you sniffing so he turned you around to face him.

He had an angry expression in his face which pissed you off but also made you feel guilty “I know I have no right to be jealous or mad right now” He finally spoke looking into your eyes “But I would be lying if I said im not mad or jealous right now” He got closer to you “Y/n… the picture they sent you last night was a set up…” He began to explain “I was doing the project when she came, she tricked me, I was trying to pull away but Jesus Christ she has a strong grip” You lowly chuckled at the playful tone on his last phrase “However today… I did kiss that girl willingly” Your heart once again dropping to your stomach “I was drunk, which is no excuse I know, but I was trying to forget everything. I was trying to forget the fact that I had lost you because of the plan Vanessa set up” He paused, his heart broking as he saw your eyes full of tears, your head staring down at the grass “I was on my 15th shot of the night, when the girl approached me… her scent reminded me of yours. Levanter and Vanilla” He whispered “One thing led to another… Im sorry” He started to cry “I’m so stupid… Im sorry” He kneeled in front of you crying.

You didn’t knew what to exactly do in that moment, forgive him? Comfort him? Leave him there? Screamed at him? You wanted to do all of those options but you didn’t have the heart to do any of those.

“L-let’s go to my apartment” Although you felt you were going to regret it, it was the only thing that crossed your head “Don’t think anything about it, Im just getting chilly” You extended your hand to grabbed his.

The walk to the apartment was silent from somehow comforting, you opened the door and led him inside. He sat on your couch while you brought a bottle of vodka. “You trying to poison me?” He said playfully trying to lift up the mood, however you weren’t feeling it “If we are going to talk I need to take few shots first”

———

You don’t know how you ended up in this situation “Teasing me with this little dress” He slid a hand up your dress and played with the band of your panties “You knew what you were doing every time you bend and moved sensually whenever I was near” He whispered in your ear, gently nibbling it. “Minho” You called out his name softly, his lips interrupting yours with a kiss. It was hungry and lustful, wet noises from the kiss hovering all over the room. Last thing you remembered was shoving down a shot of vodka before kissing him and now you were here.

He was on top of you in your bed, your hands pinned down as he kissed your body up an down. The faint light of your fairy lights being the only source of light in the room. His knee was firm against your pussy, your dress rolled up with all the movement. “You look so pretty” He almost moaned at the sight. Your messy hair, your legs exposed, your white panty on full display, and the way your dress struggled to cover your tits. Minho was drunk in you, he wanted to drink you dry. “We have made a lot of mistakes tonight…” he said in between kisses “Please lets make one that we won’t regret” moved to kiss your neck, softly biting it leaving faint marks in it “Fuck” you gasped in delight “Minho do whatever you want, any mistake I do with you ends up being the best” You could feel his smirk growing against your neck.

Next thing you felt was his nose pressed against your clothed clit, you moaned gripping his hair, he laughed “Patience princess, I want to take my time with you” He kissed your inner thighs up and down, kissing everywhere around but where you wanted him the most.

You felt shameless as you lifted your hips trying to find some type of friction. He just giggled before taking off your panties painfully slow. The cold breeze blew against your pussy making you whimper “Fuck I love it when you whimper” He placed his face closer to your pussy and blew gently on it, mesmerized by the way he impacted your body.

The feeling was mutual though, you could see the way his pants tighten the more he got aroused. Once his tongue was playing with your clit you lost it. It felt like you were on the clouds, his tongue was soft a warm, the slurping noises making you even more aroused. He grabbed your free hand and intertwined it with yours. His thumb caressing your hand as a gesture of comfort. You loved this man so much he didn’t understand.

With his other hand he slowly started stretching you out, one finger, two fingers, three… you gasped, body lifting up as he added a fourth finger. He kissed your cunt and your inner thighs trying to soothe you. “You got this princess” He slowly started to pump in and out of you, being as careful as he could, not wanting to hurt you in any way.

You threw your head back as you could feel your high approaching, moans getting louder and louder by the second. Minho closed his eyes and hummed in delight, his mouth attaching once again to your clit, listening to your pretty moans like it was his favorite song “Min-Minho” You breath hitched as you couldn’t hold back anymore “Go ahead Princess, show me how well I treat you” You came all over his finger and face, your face crimson red as you rode out of your high, embarrassment showering you over.

You could hear his soft chuckle as he kissed you, his tongue dancing with yours. You could savior yourself through his tongue. He sat you down as he glare at you, eyes dark in lust. A whimpered left your lips as he sucked the same fingers that were inside you, sucking them dry in front of you not breaking eye contact. “Fuck you taste so sweet” He was driving you insane. You moved towards him, taking what was left of you dress, your boobs falling free. You could see him salivate over them as he stared at them shamelessly.

“You have no idea how many times I have pictured you naked” He said groping your boob, his finger flickering your nipple. You couldn’t hold it anymore, your hand traveling to his belt, taking it out in a split of a second. Your hand unzipping his jeans as he helps you get rid of them.

You could see his dick through his boxers, a stain of pre cum visible at the tip, you leaned to his stomach and planted few kisses. His whimpers were a melody to your brain.

Removing his boxers, his dick sprung free, you leaned down to give the tip few kitten licks, teasing his slit while applying pressure to it. He groaned as he tightly tugged your hair. A moan escaping your mouth sending vibrations down his dick.

“Fuck… Princess… I don’t think I can resist if you continue” His voice was unstable as he tried to form words inside his head “Please let me fuck you” You raised your face to look at him, smiling as you kiss him wrapping your hands around his neck “I should be the one begging you” You tease, gaining a scoff from him.

He stood up to pick up his pants in search of a condom “Fuck” he closed his eyes, he gave the one he had to a friend who needed it at the party, he turned around to you disappointed “It will be another night Princess… I don’t have one on me right now” His voice was soft and filled with disappointment.

“Fuck me raw” He turned to face you, looking at your innocent face like you hadn’t just spilled one of the most lustful thing. You bat your lashes at him as you sat down like an obedient puppy in front of him. You tilted your head “If you want ofc, I’m under birth control” The way his cock throbbed at your words drove him crazy.

In a split of a second he was on top of you again, his mouth playing with your nipples as he teased the tip of his dick in your folds, he rub small circles around your clit with his tip, drops of pre cum falling down your folds. “Minho please just fuck me” You cried “I always forget you are impatient Princess” He chuckled, sending vibrations down your stomach. The pool of butterflies you were feeling at that moment. You were willing to forget everything that has happened in the past just to have him next to you every day.

He slowly started stretching your cunt with his tip, you groaned in pain, the fingers definitely did not prepared you well to take him in.

Once he was fully in he waited for your sign to keep going. A soft whimper leaving your mouth as you gave him the green light. He started slowly pumping in and out of you carefully.

As he started to feel pleasure as well he couldn’t help but fasten his pace, your eyes fully cloth as you moaned his name “Bet Hyunjin wouldn’t make you feel like this” You don’t where this is coming from but you like the way he talked dirty “Neither any other bitch could take my cock the way your cunt does” He placed his face in the crook of your neck panting. Shivers rolling down your spine “Fuck. The way your cunt squeezes my cock” He threw his head back in pleasure “Let me fuck you like you’re mine” He reposition himself, a hand next to your head while with the other he applied slight pressure on your neck.

He stopped thrusting you, gaining a moan of complain “Princess if you want me to continue I need you to look at me while I fuck you” You could feel your cheeks burn in embarrassment, although you were desperate. You nodded at his command and he continue with his task. His fast pace, the pressure on your neck and his dark eyes piercing yours, it was all too overwhelmed to handle, tears falling down your eyes as you moan.

Seeing you in this state made Minho crazy, you were like this because of him. His cock starting throbbing inside you as you started to uncontrollably squeeze him “Fuck Princess” He moved his hand from your neck “Min” You gasped for air “Im close” You cried out as you grabbed his hair and pulled him for a kiss. “Lets cum together then” he whispered in your ear, he moved his hand to your clit and started rubbing circles in it, while his pace started to move faster. You moaned in his ear as he felt your cum washing over his cock and spilling down your bed sheets. You knee he was close when his thrust became sloppy and he started to slow down, he was about to pull out to cum im your chest when you stopped him “Please breed me” You begged in his ear, he came almost automatically, his seed spreading in your inside “I hope your birth control doesn’t work” He said as he rode out of his high, his cock softening inside of you.

He wrapped you in a warm hug “I’m going to clean everything and then leave, you need space to think” You were disappointed at his words, although you did needed to think things over, you didn’t want to think now. You grabbed his arm “Please stay tonight…” you say softly afraid to be rejected “You can leave in the morning, but please don’t leave when Im sleeping” You mumbled as you cuddled on his chest. He chuckled softly while he played with your hair “If you say so… If it was up to me, I wouldn’t leave your side eve again” With that both of you closed your eyes and drifted to a peaceful sleep.

———

A month passed and you and Minho were keeping things as friends. After all the drama that happened both of you agreed to be friends again before trying things out again. Although it was hard to keep things friendly when you had a bunch of friends who would constantly tease you. At parties they would put both of you in situations were you had to kiss each other for a dare or go in a small closet for 7 minutes. Childish games that you never thought you would be playing in college. Everything seemed to be good, Minho got a restraining order for Vanessa, she had no other choice but to transfer colleges. The pissed off face she had the day you said bye to her was definitely the highlight of the year. Although her friends apologized to you, you didn’t want to know anything about them so you agree with them to forget about each others existence.

As to Hyunjin, he started dating Rosé, it was the biggest plot twist of you life “The moment I saw him at the party I was on my knees” She squealed as she hugged a pillow “And he is a teacher…” You widen your eyes <It can’t be…> You thought as you waited for her to spill the name “Mr Hwang Hyunjin” She moaned taking you by surprise “SO HOT” She pretended to faint dramatically in your bed, making you die of laughter. Gosh you loved that woman so much.

Life was good although it felt incomplete, yeah Minho was your friend but you wanted him to be more than that, however, you didn’t want to rush things so you decided to give it time. Wait for the perfect timing to come.

———

“Nice game Lee Minho” You tease as you hug him “Thank you thank you miss y/n” He chuckled “I scored all my goals in your name, so we can say this was a two person job” You laugh at his words “How considerate of you” You faked an awe face and laughed. It was the end of the autumn sports season, Minho and his team won states and everyone was celebrating “Shouldn’t you be there celebrating? you were the mvp” You raised an eyebrow looking at him “Nah… I rather stay here and watch the sunset with you” You looked at him in admiration, even though he was all sweaty and messy you couldn’t help but find him hot “I love this field” You say out of nowhere. He turned to face you, intrigued by your words.

“Most of our adventures occurred here” You laugh at your cheesy words cringing at yourself, however, to Minho your words got to him, his eyes fixated on your smile as you stare vaguely at the sunset.

His lips soft against yours, his hand on your waist while the other is in your hair “Min-” you said surprised as you broke the kiss “Is it too soon if I ask you if I can be your boyfriend” Butterflies rushed to your stomach at his words, your cheeks matching the pink tone on his.

You kissed him and smiled through the kiss, breaking the kiss once again to stare into his brown eyes “I hope that answers your question” You both smile and stay there in silence appreciating each others company while the sun slowly disappeared through the landscape of the field.

——————————————————————

Authors Note: Let me know if you guys find any typos, I didn’t spell check most of the fic and I wrote most of it at 2am, Also suggestions are appreciated 🙏

Hope you guys enjoyed~

#lee know #lee know fluff #skz smut #skz fluff #lee know smut #leeknow smut #stray kids #lee know imagines #minho smut #lee know x reader #minho x reader #lee minho fluff #minho fluff #college au #romantic

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the-boy-meets-evil · 11 months ago

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take my hands (we can fall together) | lee chan | pt 3

(where you and chan are friends, but he's your brother's best friend. and you've always been just a little out of reach. until one season changes everything.) pairing: brother's best friend!chan (dino) x f!reader genre: friends to ??, pining, slow burn | fluff, angst, smut rating: explicit warnings/notes: mentions of unhealthy relationships (reader x boyfriend), mentions of food, mentions of drinking/alcohol, friendsgiving, chan is having a crisis, explicit smut in this part, kissing, body appreciation, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), face sitting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, protected sex (p in v), aftercare, chan is a tease, chan calls reader baby one time, i think that's it but let me know if it's not word count: ~9.2k (full fic is roughly 23.5k) notes on the characters: anyone used as a background character is meant to be an OC, i'm just lazy with coming up with names a/n: SHE'S DONE! i cannot believe that (not me sticking to a timeline). huge thanks to @svthub for hosting this fall collab. check out the full list of fics here. make sure you go back and read parts 1 & 2 for context. this is the last one 😭 (unless i return for a drabble/timestamp). also thank you to my bby indi for creating an amazing banner @classicscreations.

tagging: @christinewithluv @aaniag @dejavernon @tbzhub @bitchlessdino @seungkwansphd

part 2 | masterlist

Even though he feels a bit weird about it, Chan makes good on his promise to Carla and they reschedule. Instead of going out to a too-loud bar, Chan suggests a favorite restaurant of his. Some place with good food and a better atmosphere. The perfect place to try and get to know his date on a real level. Not only is she beautiful and genuinely interested in him, she’s kind, easy to talk to, and surprisingly funny. The perfect person to finally move onto a healthier, strictly friendly relationship with you.

Everything about the date goes even more smoothly than he expects. Despite how open she is while texting, Chan’s surprised to find how engaged she is in person. It’s like nothing and nobody else exists apart from the two of them. She talks openly about liking him, too, because she says she doesn’t see the point of dancing around things, playing some kind of game. Life is too short not to tell someone how she feels. There’s a warmth in hearing that, like something dormant being awoken. It’s not like his other feelings completely disappear, but it’s nice to have that kind of connection.

At the end of the date, they walk out together and Chan grabs her hand without thinking twice about it. She stops him just outside the restaurant to pull him towards her for a kiss. Maybe it doesn’t make him see stars or anything insane like in the movies, but it’s nice. Her lips are soft against his and seem to just kiss away any worries. It really has been the best date he’s been on in a long time. So much so that he considers coming up for a drink when Carla invites him. There’s just a little something in the back of his mind holding him back and so he politely declines. He reasons it away that he’s got Friendsgiving the next day. It’s been a great date, but he’s definitely not ready to bring Carla to meet his friends. It’s only been one actual date. Even if they have been texting a lot.

Chan is up a little early the next day because he needs to run to the store to get some drinks before making his way to Seokmin’s house. That’s been their go-to place for bigger gatherings like this since he bought it because it’s got the most space. Last he heard, there were fifteen people coming for Friendsgiving. He’s also got to pick up Jay and Vernon on the way there so there aren’t too many cars. Jay should’ve been helping him pick up drinks. But, no. He crashed at Vernon’s. Which isn’t entirely surprising since Vernon’s new game is at the beta-testing stage and Jay’s always been the number one tester. It’s more than mildly concerning to see his two friends smirking when they get in the car, though.

“What?” Chan prompts.

“How was your date last night?” Vernon asks.

“Yeah, are we going to have to set an extra place at the table?” Jay adds on.

“What are you talking about?” Chan questions.

“You went on a date last night, right?” Jay presses.

“You know I did,” Chan confirms. “We live together.”

“And you took her to that restaurant we love,” Jay carries on.

“Yeah,” Chan says slowly, drawing the word out.

“Oh, cut him some slack. I guess you were so caught up in the date that you entirely missed that some of our friends were there too,” Vernon says and laughs at Chan’s face. “Yeah Jiyeon texted me laughing about how she tried to get your attention and you didn’t even notice.”

“Oh shit, I’ll have to apologize to her,” Chan says.

“She was with Mina, Lisa, and my sister too,” Jay adds on.

“They were all there?” Chan worries.

“Yeah, I think it was my sister’s idea. A little bit of a girl’s night for whoever was free,” Jay says. “Rude of them not to invite us. But clearly you were busy.”

“So are we going to be seeing her today?” Vernon asks.

“It was one date,” Chan deflects.

“One date that you kissed and then left with,” Jay adds on. Chan whips his head over to look at his best friend.

“Sorry, Ji had a lot to say about it. You know how she is,” Vernon shrugs. “And Jay wasn’t sharing the game so I had a lot of time to text her.”

“Great,” Chan says.

“Hey, that’s a compliment! I stayed up playing a game and crashed on a couch, for you,” Jay complains.

The two of them carry on bickering while Chan’s head is a million miles away. Not exactly what he’s prepared for or expecting walking into Seokmin’s house. At least he knows ahead of time. For all the times Jay’s a pain in the ass, which is basically any time he’s breathing, he’s a loyal friend. He might be ribbing Chan for being so oblivious now, but he’s also giving him time to prepare before he walks in because Jiyeon is going to give it way worse. So, Chan takes the rest of the drive to figure out how he’s going to say.

It’s hard, though, because entirely too much of his brain focuses on the fact that you were there, too. Something Jay kind of glosses over, probably trying to take the focus off. He’s never called Chan on it, but he’s known how his friend feels for a long time. You were there and you saw his whole date. Saw the way he was caught up. Saw the way he left with Carla. Saw the kiss. Saw everything. Because you were with Jiyeon and she would have been doing a live commentary. That’s just who she is. Not in a malicious way, she just hates being ignored. It’s stupid to be caught up on what you thought. He’s moving on. That’s what the date with Carla was supposed to do and he knows he can’t just live in this perpetual state of caring about you. Not when you’re in the middle of putting your heart back together. Not when you haven’t shown any interest. Not when you straight up said Chan was just a friend.

He’s barely through the door before Jiyeon is harassing him. “So, what, you go on a date with someone you barely know and you just forget we’ve been friends for literal years?”

“Easy, Ji, I didn’t see you,” Chan repeats.

“Well obviously,” she retorts.

“Did you call my name? Or send me a text to be like hey, over here?” Chan fires back. Fighting fire with fire is the only thing she responds to.

“No, you were too wrapped up in your little date,” Jiyeon answers like it’s obvious.

“Maybe you didn’t really want to get my attention. Maybe you just wanted to bitch today. Maybe you woke up and chose violence,” Chan says, earning an immediate eye roll.

“Did you just call me a bitch?” Jiyeon asks with faux outrage.

“I said you wanted to bitch, I’d never call you a bitch,” he answers anyway.

“Well, where is she then?” Jiyeon asks as she makes a show of looking behind Chan.

“Carla? She’s not here. Obviously,” Chan says.

“Oooooh do you like her enough to use her name? Not just the girl you’re dating?” Jiyeon teases.

“I hate you,” Chan utters without any bite.

“I know,” she sing-songs.

Almost involuntarily, Chan’s eyes find their way to you, looking for some kind of reaction to the whole scene. But, you’re sitting with Seokmin, like you aren’t paying attention at all. Like maybe you don’t even care. Which is good, right? Chan wanted you to leave Seungsik so that you could be happy and heal, not so that he could have a chance. Which is exactly what happened. It should be a good thing, seeing you happy. It’s just that he can’t help but feel like you don’t seem as happy as you did the day after leaving Seungsik at his aunt’s house.

It starts as Chan thinking he’s overreacting. Throughout dinner, it becomes crystal clear that something is off. You stick close to Seokmin and Lisa, don’t even really mingle with people in the same way you do any other time everyone is together. Even with the friends you don’t get to see as often. There’s something a little dull about you, like the dimmer switch isn’t all the way on. And Chan never sees you without a drink in your hand, which is a little odd, too. Almost everyone drinks too much at Friendsgiving and then naps or sobers up before leaving. Drinking is normal. This isn’t that, though.

The thing that hurts Chan the most is that you hardly speak to him at all. Several times, he tries to start a conversation, only to have you give short answers before excusing yourself to do something else. Or talk to someone else. Or be anywhere that Chan isn’t. That hurts on a much deeper level than any feelings he has or had for you. Over the past two months, it’s felt like you were coming to depend on him more as a genuine friend. Someone that you could turn to or be vulnerable around. More than just another person in a decent sized friend group or your younger brother’s best friend. There were even times when he wondered if he was in your inner circle. Things definitely shifted. But, whatever it was seems to have been short lived. The two of you are further apart than where you started.

It’s not until Chan is back home at his apartment, leftovers from the meal tucked away in his fridge, and getting ready for bed that he gets answers. He’s not tired and he doesn’t want to go to sleep. All he wants is to get comfortable and watch something mindless. Jay seems to sense that something’s off and doesn’t even give him a hard time. Just lets him go off into his room and shut the door. His phone dinging catches his attention, though.

You: today ws wierd and i hted it You: i mis m y channie

The text catches him off guard for a lot of reasons. The first is that you’re clearly a little drunk, or maybe a little buzzed. You’re not usually such a sloppy texter. But, the much bigger reason is that you called him your Channie. You’ve called him Channie but never yours before.

Chan: are you drunk? Chan: are you okay? You: ‘m fine You: not drunk Chan: are you home? You: no stayed at seoks Chan: good i’m glad You: do you like me

Chan stares at that message for a good minute like the words will somehow change. Does he like you? Are you asking as a friend or something more? Can he really try to get over you when you’re texting him like this?

Chan: course i do, we’re friends You: that’s not what i mean

Of all the ways the night could have gone, this was not one Chan considered. Things were definitely weird during Friendsgiving. He’s not sure how many people noticed. Jay definitely had, if him giving Chan space when they got home is any indicator. Seokmin probably noticed too, since you’re currently staying there. Before he can answer your text, his phone is going off with an incoming FaceTime. He answers without thinking.

“You answered,” you say like it’s some kind of surprise.

“Of course I did,” Chan breathes out. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you like me, Chan?” you repeat. It’s so different watching you say it than seeing it typed. He’s trying not to focus on you sitting in bed just like he is.

“I told you…” Chan starts and you’re shaking your head.

“I know we’re friends, but do friends do everything you’ve done for me? Do friends go on train rides and apple picking and photoshoots and to pumpkin patches? Do friends spend an entire party not even bothering to talk to anyone else? Do friends support each other the way you’ve supported me?” You’re rambling, Definitely a little drunker than you want to admit, especially with some of your words slurring together.

“I don’t know,” Chan admits.

You turn back and look straight into the camera. “Why didn’t you even see me last night, Chan?”

“Well, I guess I was just…” Chan starts.

“What? Distracted? So distracted by your date that you didn’t even see me?” you ask. His heart breaks for how hurt you look. That’s the last thing he wants.

“I’d already kinda blown her off once, over you, kind of,” Chan admits. Too honest.

“Over me?” you ask. Your eyes are wide like it’s not what you were expecting.

“I was, well I was with her when I saw Seungsik,” Chan says. “I made an excuse and left, but said I’d see her again another time.”

“Oh,” is all you say.

“Yeah, so I didn’t really want to do that to her again. She doesn’t deserve that,” Chan says quietly.

“What about what I deserve?” you wonder.

“You know I think you deserve the entire world,” Chan insists.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth like you’re at war with yourself over something. “Do you think you could love her?”

Before Chan can answer, he hears a door open and watches you turn to the side. Somewhere in the room, he hears Seokmin.

“I thought we said no drunk texting or calling or anything?” Seokmin reminds you, sounding very sober.

“I thought you meant Seungsik,” you shrug, unashamed. Seokmin comes into the frame and sees Chan.

“Oh, hey, Chan,” Seokmin says, smile not quite as bright as Chan is used to. It’s clear that Seokmin didn’t just mean your ex.

“Hey, Seok,” Chan answers.

“I’m gonna take this and put her to bed,” Seokmin says.

“Good idea,” Chan agrees.

Seokmin turns the camera to you. “Say goodnight to Chan.”

“Night Channie,” you call out.

“Night,” Chan answers.

“Goodnight, Chan,” Seokmin says.

“Wait,” Chan says and watches as Seokmin’s face turns to him. “Delete the last few texts in our thread. That’s probably a better conversation to have when we’re both sober.”

Seokmin’s face relaxes and he nods, like he understands more than Chan does at the moment. Maybe he does. The entire conversation is weird and it’s leaving Chan with way more questions than answers. Why are you so curious about his feelings now? Why do his feelings for Carla matter to you? Why are you drinking like that? Did something happen with Seungsik? Are you finally processing and this is part of the grief? Why does it hurt to feel like an outsider to it all again?

The next time Chan sees you, there’s no mention of the brief FaceTime call or the texts. Things with you are somewhere between the total comfort of the party at his aunt’s house and how you were before all the Fall activities. It’s this weird limbo that he doesn’t really know how to process. It seems like nobody else really knows how to process it, either, and unfortunately, some of them are picking up on it.

Then, there’s the issue of Carla. She hasn’t done anything wrong, but Chan also isn’t sure how he feels. On one hand, he really does think it’s best to just move on from his feelings for you because it’s all just been too much. On the other hand, it feels dishonest to keep going out with Carla when his head isn’t totally in it. But, she really is kind and she seems to understand some of his hesitation and even suggests that they do something a little more lowkey, like lunch during the work day, and that seems fine, right? Everyone has to eat lunch.

Wrong.

Well, not about the lunch part. She picks a place that’s close by where they work, since they don’t work far apart, and Chan appreciates the slightly longer lunch. It’s a welcome break in his day and the perfect way to end the week. Carla is sweet, doesn’t push him to talk about anything he’s not ready to, though she can obviously tell there’s something. There’s a subtlety to the way she lets him know that he can talk to her about anything, no matter how awkward. And a grace when he says that he’s just not ready. She keeps all the conversation light, easy. There’s even something about it that feels a little more friendly than like a date. It’s really just an incredibly pleasant lunch.

And then comes the text. The text from you. Why on Earth did you need to send Chan a text saying you heard he went on a lunch date with the same girl from the other day? Why did you need to say that you hoped he had a good time? Why did it matter if he was spending time with someone else? It’s just kind of confusing because you’re definitely friends, but not the kind of friends that text like this. Not when it’s the first text you’ve sent to Chan since the ones he asked Seokmin to delete for you.

So he doesn’t answer, doesn’t really know what to say. Instead he tries to make plans with Vernon to go for drinks after work. But, Vernon has other plans and Chan settles on just asking Jay. Although Jay is truly his best friend, he’s not Chan’s first choice when it’s you on his mind. Chan’s feelings for you, whatever they are, aren’t a secret to Jay, even if they’ve never talked about them. If he’s going drinking now, though, it might be too hard to keep avoiding talking about whatever he’s thinking.

It seems initially like Jay might let Chan get away with just wanting to drink. They talk about work, about the holidays coming up, about upcoming plans. Jay mentions the big family Thanksgiving, which they’ll both be at. Chan talks about how he already feels behind on holiday shopping. They both talk about how crazy it is that Vernon’s so close to finishing one of his games. It’s just normal roommate shit. Much like lunch with Carla, everything is light and unserious. At least through the first drink. Everything changes when the bartender sets the second drink down in front of them.

“We’ve gotta talk about it, man,” Jay finally says.

“Talk about what?” Chan feigns ignorance.

“Whatever your feelings for my sister are,” Jay presses on, unwilling to let his best friend continue to ignore a problem.

“Is this where you tell me that she’s fresh out of a relationship and give me some sort of speech about protecting her?” Chan asks.

“No,” Jay says simply. “She’s an adult and I’d never tell her who to date as long as she’s happy. Besides, you’re friends with her too.”

“I really don’t know if we’re friends right now, things are weird,” Chan admits.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jay says with a bit of a snort.

“I went out to lunch with Carla today and then I got a text from her saying she’d heard about my lunch and hoped it was good. What am I supposed to do with that?” Chan asks, louder than he meant to.

“I don’t know,” Jay admits. “I don’t think she knows, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” Chan asks.

“Well, I’ll admit that I told her that you went to lunch with Carla because she’s been really weird about you since she broke it off with Seungsik. Probably before that, honestly, but it’s definitely been weird since then. I know she went to your aunt’s house the day after you told her and she confronted that asshole,” Jay says.

“Yeah, my aunt was thrilled,” Chan remembers.

“So was my sister, she said it’s one of the best times she’s had in awhile,” Jay shares.

“What did she say to you when you told her I was out to lunch?” Chan wonders.

“She just said oh good for him,” Jay says, “which I assumed meant she didn’t want me to know what she was thinking so I wouldn’t have to lie to you. I figured she was going to text you, too. Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” Chan brushes off.

“Do you like her? Like actually like her?” Jay asks.

“I don’t…I’m not sure, honestly,” Chan admits.

“You were sure, though,” Jay presses. “I could see it in the way you looked at her. I remember thinking anyone would be lucky to have someone look at them that way.”

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t that subtle to anyone but her,” Chan jokes.

“I think even she stopped being oblivious,” Jay laughs. “So what changed?”

“I don’t know,” Chan shares. “I guess, I don’t know, it just felt like it’s been all this time and I was doing all these things with her when Seungsik didn’t want to. And I had this moment where I thought I could do things like that with her the rest of my life and be happy. But, then we were talking about him after I saw him out and she said something about how he always thought I liked her but she brushed it off. So I just kinda realized I needed to move on.”

“Can you do that if she never knew for sure how you felt?” Jay asks. “Is it fair to either of you?”

“Is it fair to her when she’s only just gotten out of a relationship?” Chan challenges.

“Like I said, Chan, she’s an adult. Just telling her that you have feelings for her isn’t the same as expecting her to jump right into something new,” Jay reasons. “If you love her, like I think you do, then she deserves to know that she isn’t crazy. Even if nothing happens. The only way to move forward is by being honest.”

“Love her…wait, why would she think she’s crazy?” Chan worries.

“Because you’ve been weird too, bro. It isn’t just her,” Jay laughs. “She is going to absolutely kill me for this, but she remembers texting you and then FaceTiming you after Friendsgiving. She knows you asked Seokmin to delete the chat and dodged her question about how you felt. So, I think she thinks that she imagined you liking her.”

“Shit,” Chan breathes out. “I was just trying to do what I thought was best.”

“I know that, but I’m not sure she does,” Jay shares.

“Fuck it, I need shots,” Chan declares.

He’s definitely not sober when he shows up at your apartment a few hours later. Despite Jay’s insistence that they eat something, he’s still very buzzed, bordering on the world having some blurry edges. Although Jay insisted this could wait until tomorrow, he’s still here at your doorstep. Doesn’t even look back at the Uber after he gets out. His fingers dance over the keypad to the building on autopilot because he’s been there enough times before. There’s no thought about if you’re home or what time it is. No thoughts about if you have company. All he can think is that he’s sick of this weird limbo.

You answer the door with your hair piled on top of your head, oversized t-shirt hanging off your frame, and a look of complete surprise on your face. Whatever you see on Chan’s face makes you step aside and let him in without a word. It’s not until he feels the couch dip as you sit next to him that he really meets your eyes.

“What are you doing here, Chan?” you ask.

“I’m sorry,” Chan whispers.

“For what?” you prompt.

“For so many things,” Chan answers. “For Seungsik, for not being a better friend, for not seeing you that night at the restaurant, for telling Seokmin to delete your texts, for not giving you a straight answer, for going on dates with someone. But mostly for falling for you when it’s the worst possible timing.”

“You’re drunk,” you say after a moment.

“A little, maybe, but that doesn’t make any of it less true,” Chan argues.

“I want to hear all of this from you in the morning, when you’re sober,” you say.

“Please, I don’t know if…” Chan starts.

“Come on, Channie, let’s get you to bed and we can talk in the morning,” you say.

You stand and reach a hand to him. He’s not sure if it’s the thought behind the gesture or hearing you say Channie, but he takes your hand without questioning it. Before he knows it, he’s tucked into bed and his eyes are closing. It may be the most comfortable bed he’s ever slept in.

The next morning, sun through the cracks in the blinds wakes Chan up and it takes him more than a moment to remember where he is. It’s only when he looks around and sees your familiar decorations everywhere that it dawns on him. Not only is he in your apartment, he’s in your bedroom. He slept in your bed last night. Somehow that realization has him feeling even worse than the slight hangover. Since life is really unfair, you walk in a minute later, looking far better than anyone should in the morning. You hand over a cup of coffee. Fighting his embarrassment, Chan sits up so he can accept it and take a sip. Of course it’s perfect. It feels like the reverse of the morning after the Halloween party.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Terrible,” Chan admits ambiguously.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for drinking so much. Jay said he wasn’t sure where you were putting it,” you chuckle out. You pick up your own coffee mug to take a sip.

“When did you talk to Jay?” Chan wonders.

“He was blowing up your phone and I don’t know your password so I figured he was worried about you. I texted him to say you were here and passed out and you’d text him today,” you answer. “He didn’t seem concerned once I said you were here.”

“Yeah, well it’s not really the hangover that’s making me feel terrible,” Chan mumbles and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“I hope I’m not making you feel terrible,” you throw out.

“No, I’m just embarrassed, really,” Chan says.

“You don’t need to be,” you assure him, voice gentle.

“I am so sorry for telling Seokmin to delete those messages, I thought it was the right thing to do,” Chan begins.

“It’s fine. I’m not surprised my darling brother told you about that, though,” you say.

“It’s not fine. I just, I don’t know, I didn’t really know what was going on and it felt a little overwhelming,” Chan says.

“Yeah I can see that. To be fair, I’m not really sure what I was even trying to accomplish that night,” you say quietly.

“Can I try to say the things I wanted to say last night?” Chan asks. “Jay actually helped me realize some things.”

“He’s got his moments,” you laugh. “And yeah, I think I’d like to hear what you wanted to say, now that it’s morning and you’re sober.”

“I could repeat what I said, but it really comes down to this. I like you. A lot, way more than I should and I know that it’s, like, the worst timing in the world because of Seungsik and the break up,” Chan rushes out. “I know it’s probably not fair to you to tell you now, but Jay also pointed out that I can’t really try to move on when I haven’t told you how I feel. I just, I got kinda freaked out to tell you when you said the thing about your ex thinking I liked you, but you brushing it off.”

“Chan,” you try to interrupt.

“And, fuck, I was trying so hard to date someone and get my mind off you that I didn’t even think about it,” Chan carries on. “But the reality is that all the things we did all season long have been some of the best times of my life. I’m sorry, I know that I’m rambling.”

“Can I speak now?” you ask and Chan’s cheeks burn red.

“Sorry,” Chan whispers.

“I like you, too,” you admit. “I’m not really sure when it happened. Maybe somewhere along the way of you just constantly being there.”

“Yeah, we’ve spent a lot of time together the last like two months,” Chan agrees. “Wait, did you say you like me, too?”

“I did and, like, we have definitely spent a lot of time together doing all the things I love to do, which maybe helped me realize, but I think it’s been there a lot longer. All this did was make me realize how you’ve been there for me for years and I didn’t see that it was more than just a friendly thing,” you say. “You probably don’t remember but back in college, that idiot broke my heart and you and Jay spent the whole weekend cheering me up. I get why Jay did it, he’s my brother, but you didn’t have to.”

“Of course I remember, that’s when I realized I had a crush on you,” Chan says softly.

“Chan, that was like 6 years ago,” you say, nearly choking.

“Pushing seven,” Chan admits.

“You’ve liked me all that time and I didn’t realize?” you wonder.

“Maybe not all that time, it’s not like I haven’t dated,” Chan points out.

“Oh yes, because you’ve dated such winners,” you scoff.

“Are you, were you jealous?” Chan teases. “You started acting weird when I went on the date with Carla and didn’t notice you or our friends.”

“I wasn’t acting weird,” you protest.

“Yes you were, even Jay said so,” Chan counters.

“Oh whatever, you’ve liked me for seven years,” you tease with a roll of your eyes.

“And you’ve probably liked me just as long but you’re stubborn,” Chan says.

He’s not sure where the confidence comes from now, but hearing that you like him too just makes it feel lighter. Even though there’s no telling what happens from here, it feels good to have it all out in the open. You’ve both abandoned your coffees at this point and are just sitting on the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I am not stubborn,” you protest.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must be thinking of someone else,” Chan teases.

“Must be,” you agree.

“Hey,” Chan says, more serious. “I don’t know what happens next and I know you just got out of a relationship, so there’s no pressure or…”

Chan can’t finish what he’s saying when you press your lips to his. It takes him several seconds to get over the shock, though. It doesn’t matter that you admitted to liking him, too. That’s still a big step to go from that to kissing. You’re pulling away when his brain finally connects and he kisses you back. Makes him pull you back into him so that he doesn’t miss another second of the way your lips feel against his. Makes him dig his fingers into your hips when he pulls you on top of him. You pull away to gasp and catch your breath. Let yourself get situated with a knee pressed into the mattress on either side of him. All you can do is just look at him, pupils a little blown and chest rising with each breath. Loosening his grip on you, he looks down and watches his hands slide over your thighs and back up to your hips. When he looks back at you, he finds you’re watching the movement.

“You don’t have to be so careful, Chan, I’m not that fragile,” you utter.

“I know you’re not,” he confirms. “But, are you sure?”

“About this?” you ask and he nods. “The most sure I’ve been about anything in a long time.”

He’s about to ask you again but you just shake your head before leaning in to kiss him. You’re giving him confirmation and permission all at once. Confirmation that you want this and permission to not treat you so gently. It’s all he needs to start running his hands up across your hips and then under your shirt and up your back. Your hands move from the sides of his face to fling your arms around his neck when he presses you tighter against his body. Kissing you isn’t anything like he imagined. It’s not soft and tender. It’s a little desperate and needy, but still completely full of affection. As if testing what you said about not needing to be careful, he nips at your lower lip. The light moan shoots straight to his dick and his hands travel back down your back to your hips. Gripping you tight but also making you slightly rock against him.

It’s not enough contact, though. Now that he’s got you like this, he just wants more. It’s almost too much when he pulls your t-shirt off and he realizes you aren’t wearing a bra. Maybe this was in your plan all along. Chan pulls back and plants a light kiss on your lips, currently pouting and a little puffy from the kisses. When he kisses across your jaw and down to your neck, you arch into it. He wants to savor this, to take his time taking you apart. Wants to coax every noise out of you. Wants to be the reason you’re completely ruined. Doesn’t know that he’s already well on the way there.

He kisses across the top of your chest, from one collarbone to the other and you let out a small please. Probably that you need more. That’s definitely going to take time, though. When he places a feather light kiss between your breasts, you whimper again, rock your hips forward over him again. It’s everything he can do to not get too turned on too fast. It doesn’t matter if you have a million more times after this. This is the first time and he wants to savor it. Slowly, he moves his lips over to one of your breasts, flicks his tongue across your nipple a couple of times. Nips a mark into your sensitive skin and laves his tongue over to soothe the sting. Your hands are tangled in the ends of his hair that’s longer than you remember it being before. Even if you won’t admit it, he can tell you like it by the way your hands keep finding it.

As he kisses his way back up to your lips, he moves you a little further back on his lap. Misses the confusion cross your face. But, he’s got a plan. Once he’s kissing you again, one hand slides down your inner thigh and plays with the edge of your shorts. You squirm when you realize just what he’s doing. He can’t fight the groan when he realizes you don’t have any underwear on under your shorts, either. Jesus. He has to pull back for a steadying breath. This is about you and making you feel good. He can’t get too turned on too fast. His lips find yours again and his thumb runs along your slit, inside your shorts. Collects the wetness already between your legs. You try to pull away from the kiss to moan and he uses his free hand to anchor you to him. Lightly, he spreads your lips apart so that his thumb can brush over your clit. That’s when he finally let’s you pull back.

“Fuck,” you utter immediately.

“Is this still okay?” Chan whispers against your skin before kissing the spot just below your ear.

“Yes,” you hiss out as his thumb continues to caress your clit.

“You can stop it if you want,” he tells you.

“I will kill you if you stop,” you threaten, lust heavy in your tone.

“Wouldn’t want that now, would we?” he teases.

“Stop being such a - fuck,” you gasp out when Chan slides a finger inside you.

“Such a what?” he prompts.

“A tease,” you finish. “Please, Channie, you’re moving so slow.”

Instead of answering right away, he leans in to kiss you again. Captures your moans, but doesn’t increase the slow, almost lazy speed that his finger enters you. “You in a hurry?”

“No,” you whine, “but I need more. Please. Please just give me a little more.”

The way words fall out of your mouth, begging him to carry on, makes his dick twitch. He’s thankful you don’t seem to notice because he likes having the control like this. Likes watching you squirm on top of him and knowing it’s all for him. Gives you at least a little of what you want when he slides a second finger in. Doesn’t tell you that it’s still just warming you up for something more. Something he’s been thinking about for weeks.

“I want to feel you, please,” you beg when Chan pulls his lips away from yours again.

“Not yet,” he tells you.

“Why?” you whine out.

“I want to taste you first,” Chan says, fingers stilled inside of you, but thumb still lightly circling your clit.

“Can’t we just…” you start.

“Are you gonna make me beg, baby?” Chan wonders. Your eyes widen at that, both out of surprise and desire. “I will, I have all the time in the world.”

“N-no, you don’t need to,” you stutter out. “How do you…”

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says simply.

“What?” you nearly gasp.

“I want you to sit on my face,” he repeats. “Just straddle my face and let me show you how good I can be for you.”

“I’ve, um, well I’ve never…” you start, turning a little shy.

Chan takes his free hand and tilts your chin up, so gentle that he doesn’t realize the act almost breaks you. “Never had someone eat you out like that?”

You shake your head. “I, um, haven’t actually been eaten out much.”

“Can I admit something too, then?” he asks, wanting to make you comfortable. You nod. “I’ve been thinking about what it would feel like to be under you since you got on my shoulders at the orchard and your thighs squeezed my face.”

It’s clear that’s not what you’re expecting. It’s something so honest that it’s all you can focus on. Where Chan would usually feel too exposed, he only feels comfortable with you. Like he can expose everything about him and he’ll still be safe with you. He wants you to feel that too. Doesn’t realize that you’ve never had someone take their time with you like this.

“Well it was kinda hot, the way you picked me up like that,” you finally admit.

“So trust me again, I won’t let you fall,” he urges.

You mumble something under your breath that sounds suspiciously like too late. He’s trying not to focus too much on that, too much on what happens after this. All he wants is this moment to last forever. To be able to show you just how much he cares for you.

“So how do we…” you start.

“Here, get up for a second,” he directs you, gently moving you off his lap.

In one quick motion, he pulls his shirt off and watches the way your eyes drink him in. His muscles contract as you reach out to run a hand along his stomach. Doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath and waiting for your verdict.

“Fuck me, you’re hot. I’ve seen you swimming, have you always looked like this?” you say, sounding annoyed and making him laugh.

“Let’s get you out of these,” Chan says instead of answering and helps you pull off your shorts.

He leans back and makes sure that he’s comfortable. Then, he directs you to straddle his face. Urges you to trust him, Promises you that you’re not going to hurt him. Reminds you that this is about you, but it’s about him, too. He’s wondered what it would feel like to have your thighs boxing his head in. To be so caught up in you. Just as you’re about to protest, he licks a strip up your core and you gasp. He continues to run his tongue up your entrance, sliding his tongue deeper into you as he goes. You start to squirm almost immediately and he reaches up to anchor your legs on either side of his head.

It’s honestly far better than Chan was imagining. The noises coming from you were only encouraging him to keep going. Not that he really needed any encouragement. He could drown between your legs and be the happiest he’d ever been. It was unthinkable that nobody wanted to take care of you like this before. Your arousal coated his tongue as he pressed it deeper inside you between his licks. His nose bumped against your clit and he had to grip you harder again to keep you from arching off his mouth. As if sensing that he needed you closer, you leaned forward, gripping onto the headboard. He squeezed your legs and fucked his tongue faster into your pussy.

“Chan, fuck, oh my god, your tongue, I just - fuck,” you curse out.

He’s good with his tongue, he knows that. Knows he’s good at a lot of things. This is different, though. Every noise sounds so much better, every body spasm is that much more rewarding, every curse sounds perfect. It’s not until your body starts quivering hard that he realizes he’s never wanted to make someone come on his tongue more than this. You must be close because you start to get more incoherent, start to try and pull yourself off him. Instead, Chan holds onto you harder.

“Please, I’m gonna come,” you whine.

Chan pulls away from your pussy just long enough to utter a single phrase. “Then, come for me.”

And then he’s back to burying his tongue inside you, licking faster, reaching a hand around your leg to circle your clit with his thumb again. It’s nothing but a string of curses that you utter. Clench your walls around his tongue. There’s nothing hotter than how fully you trust him as you let go, coming on his face. He times the strokes of his tongue to guide you through the high before helping you off of his face so that you can lie back on the bed and catch your breath. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, fully aware that he hasn’t gotten it all, and repositions to lay next to you on his side. Your eyes are closed and he can’t help but brush a piece of stray hair off your face. The tenderness at odds with the previous moments.

“Whoa,” you finally say when you open your eyes to look at him.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

“That was…fuck, that was good,” you admit. “I don’t want to give you a big head or anything but damn.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” Chan jokes. “I could feel how much you enjoyed it.”

You swat at him. “Fuck off.”

He catches your hand and presses a light kiss to your knuckles. “Not before I fuck you.”

The contrast between the kiss and the statement nearly gives you whiplash. It’s plain on your face that you’re wondering where this version of him came from.

“Unless you changed your mind or you’re too tired,” he offers. “I just remember you saying you wanted to feel me.”

“Oh no, I definitely still want that. I seem to remember you promising to show me how good you could be for me,” you say, regaining the confidence.

“My pleasure,” he says and gets up from the bed.

You’re about to ask what he’s doing when he pulls his briefs and shorts down in one motion, dick springing free. There’s a satisfaction to watching the way you take in the sight of him fully naked. He’s confident in his size, definitely confident he can make you feel good, but it’s still nice to see the way your eyes go big. Nice to see the way you swallow while watching his hand move lazy along his shaft.

“Condoms?” he asks.

“That drawer,” you indicate.

He reaches in to get one and rips the package with his teeth. He’s watching you as he slides the latex over his dick. Watching for any signs of second thoughts. There aren’t any, but he wants to check anyway.

“You’re still sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” you confirm, meeting his eyes. “And if something changes, I’ll stop you.”

“Good, because I still wanna make you come at least two more times before I do,” he tells you.

You shudder. “You sure you can do that?”

“Positive,” he says with a smile that’s entirely too confident.

Except he knows he can deliver. Knows that he can show you just how good he can be. Knows that he can make you feel amazing. He directs you to lay back on the bed and spreads your legs. Instead of sliding right in, he uses a finger to make sure you’re still ready for him. To make sure he’s not rushing it. You squirm against his finger and he can tell you’re getting impatient again. But, he wasn’t kidding. He’s going to take his time with you.

You’re still so sensitive that he brings you almost to the edge just with his fingers. Delights in the way you arch into him. In the way his name falls from your lips like a prayer. In the way your fingers dig into the sheets at first before you grip one of his arms. Before you leave scratch marks along that same arm. Before you’re begging him just to let you feel him inside of you. It’s enough to finally make him give into your begging. He lines himself up at your entrance and presses his dick in slowly. Much slower than his finger was pumping into you. He wants to let you adjust to the stretch, though. Your hands make their way to his back and your fingers run down his muscles there. Gently at first, like you’re just exploring his body. When your fingers run down his back again, this time scratching along the way, he buries himself in you and pulls back to snap once, quick. The resulting gasp is music to his ears.

He sets a varying pace. Mixing slow with fast. Shallow pumps with deep ones. Tries to find out just what you like the best and what pulls the best sounds out of you. He leans back so he can throw one of your legs over his shoulder and hit a different angle. That seems to be the one you enjoy the most and it’s only moments before you’re coming undone around him again. He pulls out when you start to clench around him because he’s not sure that he’s strong enough to hold back through that. And he really does want to make you come more before he does.

It carries on like that, Chan constantly changing your positions, doing more than his fair share of the work, studying every inch of your body. It’s clear that your brain is going a little mushy and that you’re insanely overstimulated. In the end, he makes you come two more times, in addition to the two previous orgasms, before he finally lets go. It’s honestly the best release he’s ever experienced. The best high and the best sex. Everything feels magnified and also like the most natural thing in the world. He finds it’s really easy to figure out the things you like and they seem to line up with things he enjoys as well.

He lies back on the bed and you curl into him after you take a minute to recover. Actually tuck yourself right into his side and nestle in with his arm underneath your neck. He wouldn’t ever move if he didn’t have to. But, you both definitely need to get cleaned up.

“Where are you going?” you ask when he starts to move. Your eyes look a little worried. That kind of breaks his heart because why do you look so nervous?

He leans back onto the bed and presses the softest, most gentle kiss he’s ever given anyone on your forehead. “To get a towel to clean up a bit. And I was gonna start a bath for you, I know your tub is crazy nice.”

“A bath actually sounds really amazing,” you admit.

“Just stay here then and let me take care of you,” he insists.

You nod and lay back onto the bed, closing your eyes and smiling. It makes his heart swell at the level of comfort you seem to feel. He also knows that you and him need to talk, to figure out what’s going on and where this is heading. Knows that he’s already in way deeper than he should be. But, all he focuses on now is cleaning himself up a bit. It’s a little hard to do, so he just hops in the shower to rinse off as quickly as possible. Once he’s done with that, he focuses on getting the bath running for you.

When he feels like the temperature is right, that the bath bomb has dissolved enough, and that it’s all completely perfect for you, he walks back into the bedroom. He expects to find you asleep. Instead, you’re sitting up with some fresh clothes next to you.

“I heard you in the shower,” you say and offer him the clothes when you get up. You wince just slightly.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly.

“I’m not,” you disagree. Chan helps you to the bathtub and helps you in. He blushes a little when you return the favor and kiss him softly on the lips. He turns around when your voice stops him. “Where are you going?”

“I was going to let you enjoy the bath,” he answers.

“I’d like it better if you stayed here,” you admit and his heart feels like it really will explode.

“Let me just put on some clothes,” he requests.

“You could also just get in with me,” you offer. “Not in a sexual way, just in a closeness way.”

How can he argue with that, really? Your tub is plenty big enough, a sticking point for you even if the rest of the apartment was on the smaller size. The main bathroom was massive, comparatively. So he gets in carefully across from you and settles into the water. It does actually feel really nice. His eyes fall on you moving gingerly to wash yourself off.

“C’mere,” he says, “turn around.”

You do as he asks and settle in between his legs, with your back leaning against his chest. He picks up your loofah and takes over rubbing it carefully across your skin. You relax further against him almost immediately, which he takes as a good sign that he’s doing something right. There’s a lot he’s done or tried, but this is new territory for him. And he wants to be good at it, too.

Once he’s finished cleaning you off, the two of you just stay like that, you leaning against his chest. It’s a comfortable silence that neither of you feels the need to break. It’s not until the water starts to feel cold that you both admit you need to get out. This time, you actually let Chan put his clothes on and you put something comfortable on as well. He helps you pull the sheets off the bed to throw them in the wash.

The two of you check your phones when you plop down onto the living room couch and Chan grimaces. He’s got a whole bunch of texts and missed calls from Jay. Some are from last night, like you said, but some are from today, too. He shows them to you and you show him a string of notifications that look similar.

“Time to break the bubble?” Chan asks.

“At least for long enough that he stops having a heart attack,” you agree.

So, Chan dials and isn’t surprised when Jay picks up on the second ring.

“What the fuck, Chan, where are you? And why isn’t my sister answering either?” Jay asks instead of a hello.

“Uh, you’re on speaker,” Chan answers.

“Hey,” you chime in.

“You’re still over there?” Jay asks incredulously. “How much could you possibly have to talk about?”

“Worried I’m going to steal your best friend?” you tease.

“Or are you worried I’m going to steal your sister?” Chan asks and you laugh.

“No, you’re better than literally any person she’s dated ever. By a lot,” Jay acknowledges.

“Oh my god, you really are just missing your best friend,” you groan.

“And my roommate, he’s my roommate too,” Jay protests.

“We have things to talk about,” you say.

“How much do you have to talk about?” Jay wonders. “He likes you, you obviously like him. What else do you need to know?”

“That’s between us,” you say as Chan starts to talk.

“We also didn’t talk last night because I was drunk,” he adds.

“Yeah and it’s late afternoon now, so what have you been…oh my god, that’s fucking gross, that’s my sister,” Jay sputters out.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Chan protests.

“You didn’t have to. We’re roommates, remember?” Jay answers.

“If you miss me, just say that and go,” Chan teases.

“I do miss you, I made Vernon come over earlier and it’s not the same,” Jay says.

“Hey,” they hear Vernon say in the background.

“I think I hate this already,” you say and scrunch your face.

“Sick of him already?” Jay jokes.

“No, I don’t like you liking someone I’m dating,” you disagree.

“Dating?” Jay and Chan ask at the same time.

“Oh, well, I just figured…” you start.

“I’m hanging up on you, bro, we have things to talk about,” Chan says.

“Fine, but just be good to her, she deserves that,” Jay says.

“Yeah, she does,” Chan agrees, eyes on you.

He hangs up the phone and just looks at you, unsure of what to say. Unsure of how to start figuring out what this is. You just got out of something that was really unhealthy and he’s not trying to rush you into something new or risk it being unhealthy because you didn’t heal. Couldn’t stand to be a rebound. He’s never thought this far.

“I didn’t meant to assume, I just…” you start.

“Of course I want to date you. It’s just, you just got out of a relationship and I want to give you time to get over that,” he says.

“I think I’ve been over it since the train ride, to be honest,” you say. “Maybe it took me a while to realize. But you showed me, time and time again, what it means to show up for someone you love.”

“I love you, too,” Chan says softly.

“So we figure it out together?” you ask, so hopeful.

Chan leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “Yeah, we figure it out together.”

i'm sad this is over, but it was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoyed them as much as i did. and there's a very real chance i'll return to this with future timestamps/drabbles. but who knows when because of who i am as a person!

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christinesficrecs · 11 months ago

Note

do you have any fics where stiles and derek are hiding to have sex? specifically hiding from the sheriff or maybe scott lol

Well, there are quite a few secret relationship ones. And these ones, that kinda jumped out at me. 😉

I Just Wanna Be With You Every Day by Brego_Mellon_Nin | 33.9K

When his best friend’s son barrels into the kitchen only dressed in a pair of skintight jeans, lean but defined torso on display, Derek knows he’s truly and utterly fucked. Not only is the kid barely eighteen, but he also happens to be the Sheriff’s only son.

Derek makes a vow to himself that he will not seek Stiles out and he’ll get this thing under control.

I’m at one, and I’ve been quiet for too long by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 11.4K | Explicit

The one where the pack insists Derek can’t date anybody for a year but he ends up finding romance much closer to home anyway.

With Just the Door Ajar by mirrorkill | 61.6K

So there’s a bunch of reasons why Stiles has been away from Beacon Hills: most noticeably being the time he accused his English teacher Jennifer Blake of being the evil Darach who spent two years sacrificing twelve of Beacon Hill’s best.

But Stiles can’t stay away forever from the town that killed both his parents. When he gets a job offer he can’t refuse, it’s time for him to grow up and apologize for his mistakes. Which just lands him an invitation to Beacon Hills’ wedding of the century. Jennifer’s wedding. To the werewolf Stiles had a thing with in senior year. To the werewolf Stiles might not exactly be 100% over.

Still, he’s a grown up now and he can handle this thing without causing any trouble. Having sex with the groom repeatedly doesn’t count as trouble… does it?

Hallmark should really make cards for this shit by Jessicatty | 2.8K

When the pack finds a unicorn in the woods they call Stiles to come help since he should be the only virgin left in the pack. Should being the key word here.

Over the Threshold by alisvolatpropiis | 5.8K

This is the last time,” Stiles declares, just before he attacks Derek’s mouth with his, the kiss fevered and desperate, his long fingers jabbing roughly into Derek’s abs as he tangles them in his shirt. He pulls him close and walks them away from the front door, and in his hurried clumsiness, Stiles’ nose smashes Derek’s glasses into his face, hard enough that they smudge against his eyelids. It should be annoying, but like everything else about Stiles that should be infuriating, Derek can only find it hopelessly endearing.

That’s the thing about love, he supposes, even a love he won’t fully admit to himself, let alone to Stiles.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress | 38.9K |

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb.

Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn’t even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record.

The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great.

Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin’ Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again.

Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

Paper Airplanes by RemainNameless | 23.5K

The road to unfortunate, accidental, and possibly career-destroying relationships is littered with good intentions, snark, bad timing, and not a few paper airplanes.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #secret relationship

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some-october-in-the-future · 1 year ago

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Geraskier Fic Rec May 2023

Hello lovely people! I've decided to start my fic rec lists with some Witcher fic focusing on Geralt/Jaskier (Geraskier). I started reading Geraskier fic about three years ago and I'll probably never get tired of this pairing. The below list are some of my favorite fics I've stumbled upon throughout my time in the fandom - I hope you enjoy them! If there are any you think should be added (or you just have good recs) please feel free to send them my way, I'm always looking for new fic! And if you decide to read any of these, please heed the tags on ao3; some deal with topics not everyone wants to read about.

(The first two are probably my favorite Geraskier fics ever)

(if you like any of these let me know let's geek out together)

A Blessing, A Curse by aileenrose, E, 12.6k

"For a while, Jaskier doesn’t know he’s cursed. It feels like free will, going back down that mountain, just as dangerous down as the way up, and alone this time, too. The descent is fast, maybe even reckless, but Jaskier’s feeling numb and out-of-sorts anyways, Geralt’s words simmering in his mind, and at the time it doesn’t feel like he’s being pulled on by anything but his own desire to get away."

Based off a post that Geralt's words on the mountain are granted by the djinn.

one foot in sea by theundiagnosable, E, 23.5k

“Well, that’s a separate issue entirely, isn’t it?” Jaskier says, clearly enthused by being taken on. “I’m opposed to marriage on principle. Would you like to know why?”

“No,” says Geralt.

“I’ll tell you why,” says Jaskier.

to render it transparent by theundiagnosable, E, 24k

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

another dawn by alittlebitmaybe, T, 8k

“Well, we’ll have all the time in the world to make it official, right after we check out this—what was it?”

Geralt side eyes him. “Abandoned cottage. Disappearances. Strange sightings.”

“Right, yes, after we deal with this mysterious hut deep in the woods. No problem. Days and weeks and years aplenty after that."

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) by xdandelionxbloomx, M, 7.5k

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Shadowplay by sospes, M, 26.5k

Geralt returns to Oxenfurt on a bright May morning to find flowers laid outside Jaskier's rooms and a fresh grave in the cemetery.

Except, as Geralt is about to learn, in Jaskier's world things are never quite what they seem.

Bad Moon Rising by sharkhette, Not Rated, 9k

Jaskier had never expected it would be Geralt trying to kill him. Sure, the witcher liked to threaten as much, but they both knew he'd never make good on it. They were friends, whatever Geralt said.

But friends didn't try to rip each other's throats out with their teeth.

Or, Geralt returns from a hunt acting strange.

Valley of Plenty by aileenrose, E, 40.6k

Geralt's brother has died, and now he is raising a child on his own. The last thing he needs is an annoying sous-chef who won't leave him alone.

Or, a variously loose and faithful adaptation of the classic rom-com No Reservations.

The god of scraped knees. by spqr, M, 8k

Jaskier’s been pretending to be human for so long now that he hardly remembers what it feels like to be a sorcerer. He doesn’t want to remember what it feels like to be a sorcerer. But people still murmur his name with reverence in certain dim halls; Dandelion, Dandelion, destroyer of worlds.

Lessons in Losing by didoandis, E, 11k

“We met five years ago or thereabouts,” Geralt says through gritted teeth. “You came up to me in a tavern near Posada, decided I would be good song material, and we’ve travelled together, off and on, ever since.”

“Huh,” Jaskier says.

“You remember?” Geralt tries to keep the note of hope out of his voice, and doubts he’s been successful.

“Not in the slightest,” Jaskier says cheerfully. “But I must admit it sounds like something I’d do.”

When Jaskier forgets their life together, Geralt learns an unexpected lesson.

#fic rec #can you tell that I enjoy temporary character death lol #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher fic rec #fanfic rec #fanfiction rec #ao3 rec #the witcher a03 #geraskier fic rec #geralt/jaskier fic rec #the witcher fic rec #fanfic #geraskier fic #geralt/jaskier fic #text #my fic recs #my recs

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nativestarwrites · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

I've got nothing with 'mimic' for Word Game Wednesday but here's a snippet of what I was working on tonight instead. A discussion earlier in the week made me open my Magic Mac wip I started nearly a year ago, and I've made some good progress on it. Worked out a few kinks in the plot and got my writing mojo back. It's currently at 23.5k and I think it might even hit 30k before I'm done. But hopefully won't be long before I can post the next chapter!

“I can’t really put my finger on it, I’m not talking about how focused he is on his training with Flint, I kinda get that, Mac’s never had a mentor for his magic before. It’s… like he doesn’t think we’ll get it, so he’s keeping us at arms length.” Bozer said. “He did that when he first moved in with us, he’d always kept it hidden before, he didn’t know how to explain it to us and part of him feared rejection too, so he just kept that part of himself held back for so long.” “How’d you get him to stop?” Bozer shrugged. “Only thing we could do, just kept being there for him until he was ready. Nothing special, no intervention or anything, just made sure he knew he was loved no matter what.” “Trust me, Bozer. That’s very special.” Jack replied, with a small smile. Maybe that’s all they needed to do now, give Mac some time and make sure he knew he could talk to them when he was ready.

#WIP Wednesday #Macgyver #Mac has magic

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fitzrove · 9 months ago

Note

Passing this on :p

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! 💞

Ahhhhh thank you so much!!!!!! This is so nice of you to send >:] tysm <3

I'm going to recommend both Elisabeth and Endeavour fics because I've spent a lot of time writing for both!! So let's get to it, in no order of preference:

Feel The Night - Endeavour (TV) - rated T, Morse x Jakes, vampire AU, Victorian setting, mystery/romance, ballroom dancing, neck biting, strangers to lovers, 5 chapters / 23.5k

This is secretly a TdV / Endeavour fusion (from before my full-blown euromusical era hehehehehe). I think it's some of the best work on setting and mood that I've done - like I did a bunch of research and actually put that to the page ajdjjjg. Really proud of it even 3 years down the line!!

Flights of Angels - Elisabeth - rated M (references sex), Rudolf x Tod, post-canon, angst with a happy ending, character growth, historical references and commentary, 12 chapters / 20k

My todolf divorce fanfic xD Exploring the deep implications of the common trope of human-to-Todesengel; Tod backstory and worldbuilding, esp referencing the human-metaphor dichotomy inherent in Máté's portrayal; character growth and character development for Rudolf. Yeah I wax poetic but this is actually mostly an exploration of how Máté!Tod and Lukas!Rudolf (because they are very specific portrayals!!!!) could make a long-term relationship work. There are Implications to it. Also, Mizzi Kaspar appears!!!

Vögelein - Elisabeth - rated M (but one chapter might as well be E), Rudolf x Tod, lesbian todolf, 5+1, historical commentary and references, 6 chapters / 7.2k

Lesbian todolf!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It's literally just "what if Rudolf was born a girl" (and Stéphanie a boy) and goes from there - ie. we end up in the Belgian court which comes with extremely unfortunate implications in the late 19th century. Also Tod is a woman (hehe lyrics reference) because I don't stand for heterosexuality sorry AHSHFHGH. Rudolf also keeps all his (= her) unsavoury historical womanizing because it's so integral to the character, in my opinion. I'm really proud of this >:]

Soft Like Summer Rain - Endeavour - rated M (but one chapter might as well be E), Morse x Jakes / Jakes x Hope / Morse x Jakes x Hope, mutual pining, 21 chapters / 51.6k

My longest fic to date!! I wrote it when I was 18 fun fact: largely in class too xD so some parts I can't bear to reread because I'm afraid I'll find lots of melodrama ahdjg, but it's one of a kind and I'm so proud of what it represents!! Plot: what if Morse visited Jakes over the summer after S3 and things kinda went from there. I can't believe Jakes asking him to come to the US with him actually became canon in S9, 4 years after this fic was published,, half-convinced Russ Lewis reads my fanfic...

Midnight Man - Elisabeth - rated E, Rudolf x Tod, modern AU, yeah um it's a one-shot that's rated E and only 2k words long you can do the math about what happens in it...

My first todolf fanfic xD Lawyer Rudolf. There's an entire unpublished modern AU universe based on this but it's more fun to think about than it necessarily is to write out, especially since the fun parts are just Tod forcibly inserting himself into Rudolf's life as common-law boyfriend/roommate (depression metaphor!!1) and getting up to shenanigans. I don't really have interesting things to say re: it being a modern AU, which makes it harder to write. I've worked on a ballet AU behind the scenes for like 2 years adjhfjjg which is a modern AU that takes the metaphors a lot further... but I haven't managed to write it because I'm not entirely sure how I'll approach it, especially the Tod characterisation in that. But I've done so much research that hopefully I will write something in that universe eventually...

Thank you again for sending this, it was so much fun to look back on what I've written!! >:]

#writing #fanfiction #my writing #musicals #theatre #not putting this in the main tags ajdjf #oh i recently changed my ao3 username to avoid Too Much Congruence between suspicious stuff and serious stuff (ie. smutfic and video essay)#but it's still the same person xD

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nellycanwrite · 2 years ago

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I promise I'll update Part 3 of “A Request” and finish the Namor x Filipino!Diwata!Reader soon😭 Give me about three more days and I'm finally done with my Finals omfg😩 Thank you so much for your patience I sweeeear🥺 And all the asks in my inbox are gonna be answered in a few days; I'm just trynna concentrate and get my head on the game right now! I promise I'm not ignoring anyone I swear😭

On a side note, I feel like the Diwata!Reader fic is gonna be LONG long. And I mean it as in the same length as His Timeless Love (23.5K words-ish). I'm so excited to finish writing UGHHHH. But right now I'm currently fighting off my demons (the demons are my Finals. I want to choke my 3D modelling reqs).

#namor x reader #mcu namor #namor x filipina!reader #namor x filipino!reader #attuma x princess!reader #attuma x reader #mcu attuma

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slowd1ving · 4 months ago

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THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST・゜゜FRANCIS MOSSES EVENTUAL NSFW

"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. “Yes, please.” He maintains eye contact this time. Perhaps it’s the fatigue that’s trained his gaze on you. Perhaps he’s slightly delirious. Perhaps it’s neither. Regardless, you can feel a slight shift in attitude, and you don’t like it. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? this is the best thing I've ever written and it's all for someone with all the personality of a cardboard box (if you read anything from my blog read this!!! I beg!!!) warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey total wc: 23.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

I. THAT'S WHAT ALL THE PEOPLE SAY ･ﾟ → Tinny, crackling music permeates the small diner. Sound waves echo against the chequered tiles bathed azure in the blue hour, and return to the record player in an endless cycle. Rinse and repeat. Devour yourself and be devoured in exchange. Ouroboros.

II. RIDING HIGH IN APRIL ･ﾟ → You’re a soldier, so you’re not allowed to wax poetic about him – any letters you write, any flowery prose will be obscured by the heavy darkness you drag within you. But for once, you’d like to try your hand at words. And if your hand is still too stained with that bleeding arterial red, you’ll write it with your body.

III. SHOT DOWN IN MAY ･ﾟ NSFW → Who are you? The questions run unfiltered through his mind. Perhaps in this harsh weather, when the skies are so dispassionately blue and his lungs burn desirously for air, the barrier erring on the side of caution erases itself. He wants to know. He wants to hear it from you, personally. What’s going on?

bro forget chemistry this was just weaving together physics knowledge

had me yapping about astrophysics fr

#francis mosses x reader #masterlist #navigation #res ･ﾟ writing #x reader #francis mosses #that's not my neighbor #x male reader #amab reader #slowd1ving #that's not my neighbour x reader

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nriacc · 2 years ago

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Frail State Of Mind | NRIACC: Part 30 |

Nothing Revealed In A Common Crisis

Plot by @imagine-that-100 and @ghostlightqueen

Written by @imagine-that-100

Description: | Here |

Word Count: 23.5k

Warnings: This series contains mature content and themes throughout

A/N: Hello everyoneeeee, can you believe that this is the last chapter before the endings? I can’t quite believe it’s finally here. I found this pretty emotional to write, I think I’ve cried more in the past week writing this than any other chapter, not because it’s depressing but just feeling nostalgic about the fic. I really really hope you all enjoy this chapter. I’m going to write the two endings as fast as I can whilst doing them justice. I can’t wait to share them with you. Thank you so so very much for sticking with me, it means the world. Please enjoy the final chapter x

~*~*~*~ November 27th ~*~*~*~

“Hello?”

Down the phone, you hear Matty’s chipper voice, “Hey Sweetheart.” but you know him well enough to know when he’s slightly out of breath.

So of course, you want to know why, “Hey Curly, why are you out of breath?”

“I’m walking around my estate but that's besides the point.” Matty explains but you can picture him shaking his head before his mind snaps back to what he clearly phoned you about. “Wheels, you know that night that we fucked because I gave you that letter?”

“Fucking hell, Matty,” You can’t help but laugh a little, but you also shake your head, “Tell all your neighbours and the world why don’t you.”

“Please,” You hear him dismiss your worries. “It's not like they don't already know, they heard you scream.”

Dryly laughing, finding him quite comical at how random this conversation is, “Don't think it was quite a scream but go on.”

“Hurt my ears so wasn't far from it, but anyway…” Matty laughs loudly, “The day after when we fucked again in the shower, do you remember our conversation?”

“Matthew,” You rub your temple with a smile on your face. “I’m begging, go inside if you’re going to give out details of where we fucked.”

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s only the guys here with me.” Your curly haired brunette says like it’s all okay. You’re almost laughing before he asks again, “So yeah, do you remember when I fingered you in the shower and then we shagged?”

“Oh my god.” You pause the TV at this point and sink back into your settee, giving your full conversation to the man down the phone.

However, you start giggling when you hear another voice in your ear.

“Matty, fuck off! You’re fucking mingin’! She’s my cousin!” You can hear Adam scorning him in the background. “I don’t want to know about what you were doing in your shower with her.”

“Oh stop getting all touchy.” You can picture Matty’s glare as you hear him give more information than anyone but you and Matty need. “She sucked my dick as well before we fucked in the shower and on the bed.”

You hear a small scrap take place then, probably Adam pushing Matty off the pavement and onto to the road more than likely hoping for some oncoming traffic as he says a muffled, “Fuck off Healy!”

Hearing Matty’s laugh, you’re thankful he’s not dead like Adam’s hoping for. But he’s clearly now standing beside George because you hear your gentle giant through the phone.

“You know,” George begins, clearly saying only loud enough so Matty - and subsequently you - can hear. “I know you’re just saying all this out loud to make me jealous and not because you want to annoy Hann.”

“Oh my god,” You feel blood rush to your cheeks then, and you can’t help but say, “Tell George to come round to mine now.”

“George will be cumming nowhere near you, Sweetheart.” Matty backchats and before you can complain he goes back to your previous conversation, “So Wheels, remember what we were talking about in the shower before you dropped to your knees?”

You almost laugh when you hear your cousin say a loud, “Lalalalalalalalala.” And you’re sure you hear Ross laughing too.

Your cheeks are going hot as the memories flood back but you can’t help but correct him, “If you’re doing a run through Curly, make it accurate. You fingered me first.”

“My apologies Sweetheart.” Matty chuckles a little, but then asks, “But do you remember what we were talking about?”

“Very vaguely. Didn’t we talk about the music videos in the shower?” You can’t help the grin on your lips as you add, “Before you started getting handsy anyway.”

“Hey,” You can picture Matty’s grin as he recalls what happened, “I believe it was you that said something about making the most of you naked in my shower.”

You snort with laughter at that, but even more so when you hear Ross half shout at him, “Matty, stop before both you and George pop a boner.”

You can hear your gentle giants laugh at that, but your curly haired brunette clearly isn’t impressed at that thought. He scorns, “George better not pop a boner at the thought of my ex girlfriend.”

“It just happens, okay?” The drummer half laughs as he jokingly admits.

The thought has you holding your breath as you have to stop yourself from silently screaming. As you hear Matty scorning him, you say more to yourself, “Christ I need to marry him.”

“No, you don’t.” Matty says bluntly right back down the phone which ends up with you whining.

“Please sing at the wedding.” You beg him.

“No.” He puts it so bluntly back to you it makes you laugh. But before you can counter argue, he takes you back to why he called. “Anyway, back to music videos. You said you didn’t wanna say no to things that made you happy anymore, so I’m not asking you. I’m telling you that you and Y/B/F are going to be in our new music video.”

This makes your whole face light up, but you can’t help but ask in surprise, “Are we now?”

“Yes you are.” Matty confirms and you can already tell that you wouldn’t be getting out of this even if you wanted to. Especially when he continues, “She’s already confirmed with me just a few minutes ago and now you’re going to put the date in your calendar. It’s going to be great.”

You have to ask, “Is the song about me?”

“Course it’s about you. It’s why you have to be in it.” Your curly haired brunette confirming your suspicions just makes you smile. Even more so when he already attempts to stop you from worrying, “Don’t worry though, it’s not just you and Y/B/F. We’ve got fans coming in again for it so it’s mostly about them, but I want you in it even for the briefest of moments.”

“Okay.” You smile, your heart swelling hearing that.

However, the singer clearly expected a different response. Because he sighs before he begins to plead.

“Wheels please. I really want yo-” Clearly Matty only just processes what you say because he stops his argument, “Wait, did you just say okay?”

“Yes Curly.” You’re entirely amused by this now.

Even more so when Matty sounds a little speechless and hesitates before admitting, “I had a whole argument planned out.”

“Well save it for another day.” You smile, before promising, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want? Okay then fuck the kids were bringing in.” Matty takes what you’ve said a little too seriously because he decides, “The video is now just me and Wheels doing a sex scene.”

“No.” You hear Adam scorn Matty from the other side of the phone.

But you’re just laughing, shaking your head even though you know he’s joking. You have no problem sighing, “You’re insufferable.” whilst pretending like you don’t have a grin on your face.

“Sweetheart, think of the views!” Matty tries his best to excitedly persuade, “Think of how much money you’ll make us all.”

Not giving him any leverage, you change the subject back to what it was and ask, “When’s the video shoot Matthew?”

“In a fortnight. We’re doing Monday and Tuesday, but we’ll just need you on the Monday.” He quickly adds, “You’re welcome to come and watch on the Tuesday though too if you want. You’re always welcome.”

Smiling, you confirm, “I’ll be there.”

“Amazing. Very excited.” Matty informs you like you can’t already tell by the tone of his voice. You can practically picture his grin. Although, you can also picture him glaring at his friend when he says, “George is a little too excited.”

After this you hear a little scuffle on the other end of the phone that ends after a few seconds with hearing George groan in pain and him saying fuck you to his best mate.

So you can’t help but ask, already thinking you know what happened, “Please tell me you didn’t punch him in the balls.”

“Okay,” Matty chuckles, and he sounds almost proud of himself when he says, “I won’t tell you.”

You let out a loud laugh at that and you don’t even hesitate to tell him, “I love you idiots.”

“We love you too.”

~*~*~*~ December 9th 2019 ~*~*~*~

The music video shoot has been fucking awesome. Seeing how it all comes together and the different way they shoot is so fascinating. It’s somehow more intricate than the One For The Road video which you never thought would happen considering there were tractors involved in that one.

You’d been watching as Matty and the other boys greeted the fans this morning before everyone set off to work. There were two main ‘relationships’ that the video follows and it was so cute watching as the kids, especially the blonde girl and the brunette that the video was apparently going to begin with, get more and more blushy around each other as the day went on.

The other couples that were all fans seemed to be having a great time being filmed partying and kissing with their favourite band present for it. You find it so nice that your boys want to include their fans in music videos, it must be such an amazing feeling for everyone involved.

You and Y/B/F are sitting down on the floor at the end of a single bed and you’ve been given a fire extinguisher to mess about with. Both of you don’t have any idea why, but you think it adds to the chaos that this house party that they are making.

And after a few minutes of positioning other people around you, the director tells you what he’s after.

“Y/B/F, Y/N are you okay to spray that at each other and just mess around.” The director gives you your antics to be doing, before addressing all of you in this fake room with only two walls, “Completely ignore Matty as he walks behind or around you, you’re too invested in your drunk antics to notice him.”

Everyone gives a confirmation in the form of a nod or a mumbled okay. Well, all except for your best friend.

“He’s very easy to ignore,” She gives the director a thumbs up and a big smile, “Got it.”

That makes you laugh along with the other fans who were in this short scene surrounding you. The other boys behind the camera and the director himself all laugh but then you hear the door open behind you that you all know has Matty on the other side.

Your curly haired brunette sticks his head around the door and points to Y/B/F on the floor and jokingly warns her, “You’re asking for it.”

When she mimics him in a high pitched voice, Matty grabs a teddy from the table beside the door and launches it at her head. Y/B/F, however, being the bad bitch she is, she picks it back up and throws it right back at him. “You’re going to get it.” She tells him, and if Matty didn’t have the door to hide back behind it would have hit him in the head which has you giggling.

Matty reemerges then, and goes to say something but he stops himself and laughs, “I almost said Adam will give it you then.”

Both you and her start laughing then, before Y/B/F checks, “Christ, do you think it’s 2012?”

“Sorry,” Matty almost blushes but he’s still chuckling a bit, “I know you’re both practically married to other people.”

“It’s all good.” Y/B/F dismisses his worries before she threatens, “I’ll just make him hit you later.”

“You’re just upset you can’t do it yourself with prying eyes around us.” Matty says knowingly because in any other circumstance, she would have punched his arm or something to get back at him, but here in a professional setting with others around she doesn’t feel like she can.

“So true.” She nods, chuckling a little.

The scene plays out after this, both you and Y/B/F pissing about spraying each other with a fire extinguisher and then laughing. First there are a few close up ones, of the couples kissing behind you, and then one of you spraying Y/B/F with the extinguisher.

And finally there is the bit of Matty opening the door and moving towards the window that isn’t too far from you. One the first take Matty trips as he’s about to climb up on the bed which results in everyone around you laughing as the song continues to play in the background.

And it means that you and Y/B/F are still laughing as the second take begins. As the smoke dissipates and you hear ‘been in love with her for ages, ages, ages’ you know that Matty is about to stand on the bed just behind you.

You’re sure you can hear your curly haired brunette singing the lyrics, but you don’t feel him go behind you. And you’re confused until you feel a quick kiss being placed on your head whilst you stay in character and continue laughing at Y/B/F.

The gooey feeling that fills your chest is something you can’t stop and you’re unable to help the smile that beams on your face. When you feel Matty stand on the bed behind you and walk over through the window and the director yells cut, you still can’t make that smile disappear.

In fact, it stays on your face for the rest of the shoot. Even though you’re in no more of the video, the joy which that kiss brought to you lingers and as you’re standing beside Matty, watching the fans party and kiss each other, you end up surprising him.

Entirely out of the blue, you startle Matty when you ask him quietly, “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Pardon?” Matty’s eyes go wide, entirely in disbelief he just heard you say that and it wasn’t some distant voice in his imagination.

His shock has you smiling, and you repeat your question, “Do you want to kiss me, Curly?

Matty stutters for a moment, but he composes himself and thinks for a moment before answering. He needs to ask, “Where’s this coming from?”

“Well you’re filming a music video for a song about us and everyone’s kissing and getting off with each other around us.” You tell him your truth, you suggest with a tiny smirk, “And for a song that’s about me I thought you might want to kiss me.”

Matty smiles at you saying that and the both of you take a moment and carry on watching everyone dance to your song on set. That is before Matty turns back to you and whispers, “Do you want to kiss me?”

Taking a second to think about the repercussions of it, you know that you shouldn’t. But that’s not what he asked.

“Yeah. I do.” You nod.

It only feels right. It’s a music video for a song that's about you and Matty. ‘Me & You Together Song’. How could you possibly appear in this video and not kiss him whilst everyone else around is kissing and dry humping?

Matty raises his eyebrow, “On camera?”

“Won’t be just us, will it? So sure, why not?” You shrug, not seeing a problem with it if everyone else is kissing around you.

Matty tries his best to not smile like he’s just been given an early Christmas present. Not because he’s so infatuated with you that kissing you is all he wants to do like he once was like. More so because he never thought he would get a chance to have you kiss him or even appear in one of his music videos.

It warms Matty’s heart more than he will ever be able to tell you that you finally feel confident enough to want to be in one of his music videos. He still remembers the conversation you once had where you said that you didn’t feel pretty enough to appear in any video, so it makes Matty quite emotional hearing you ask to be in more of it than what you already have done. You’ve come a long way from not wanting your face to appear in a video.

“What’s your vision?” Matty asks you, needing you to be comfortable with whatever you want to do.

“The party room where everyone’s kissing and dancing.” You nod towards it as you explain what you’re picturing in your head, “Maybe there’s just a slow moving shot that focuses on us and as everyone’s doing their stuff, we kiss?”

“Damn.” Matty smiles, half because it’s a fun idea and half to tease you.

You know he’s teasing though so you nudge your shoulder into his and offer, “You can even slow mo it, if you fancy?”

Matty laughs at that before he pulls you into him and he embraces you into a hug which you don’t mind in the slightest. You lean into him and wrap your arms around him and you smile even more when he chuckles, “Sweetheart, I adore you.”

“I adore you too, Curly.” You promise him.

The director cuts the take that the kids are currently doing and the giggles of the couples awkwardly being around a bunch of strangers whilst getting off with each other takes over the room. You and Matty let go of each other then but before he moves away he tells you, “Let me go and pitch it… And by that I mean let me tell him we're adding it in and I'll be back over in a minute.”

Of course, Matty persuades the director to do his bidding. Well, both of your bidding really.

But before you know it, Matty is pulling you into the crowd of people in the fake party and he stops you in the middle of them.

“We’re all gunna dance and have a good time, right?” Matty grins at everyone around him and they cheer whilst you share smiles with the kids who clearly recognise you.

A few of them you could tell were a little nervous to come up to you and Y/B/F earlier, but they needn't have been. The ones that came up to you and told you that they liked your art, you loved talking to.

You know by now that sometimes a mere smile to your friend’s fans means a lot to them, and it’s really not a hardship for you to say hello to anyone.

As the director sets the shot up on the cameras, the song plays in the background and everyone is encouraged to continue dancing as the lights are all ready for them and Matty clearly doesn’t have to sing along in this shot.

When everything around you feels normal and not false, you and Matty are dancing a little and he asks, “You ready?”

“It’s really not a hardship to kiss you, you know?” You giggle, because it truly isn’t.

“That’s good to know,” Matty smirks, “I can make you do it more often.”

You shake your head, telling him to, “Stop it, you tease.”

“When haven’t I been a tease?” Your curly haired brunette chuckles and pulls you a little closer to him.

It seemed to be right on cue though because after you’re securely in Matty’s arms the take begins.

“Alright guys. Same take as last time please,” And once everyone is set, the director yells. “Action.”

Looking into his brown eyes as you carry on dancing for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed. You feel like you’re back in his house, at one of his house parties when you were both a hell of a lot younger than you are now.

You’re the first one to initiate this kiss as you look down to those lips that you can practically already feel against your own. And when you look back up at him he’s now looking at your lips.

When his eyes meet yours again, you just know that the both of you feel the pull that’s between you. And neither of you hesitate to press your lips against the other’s.

Kissing Matty feels like coming home. It helps that his curls are as wayward as ever, and you push them back behind his ears as you take his face in your hands, wondering momentarily if it’s too much, if you shouldn’t be obscuring his face. Matty leans into it though; his palms flat across the curve of your back, tucking his body towards yours. It’s about as much as you can get away with in such a public setting.

Nothing about this kiss feels performative. Perhaps he’s just that much of a natural in front of the camera, but you’re both taking advantage of all the shared history in your touch. A kiss between the two of you speaks to so many years of pining, crushing, wanting, loving. You can’t part your lips too wide, let too much in or out, but his mouth is soft and gentle, undemanding despite all your mutual teasing, yet still feels hot and has your heart racing.

Matty punctuates the kiss with a brief interlude, kissing your cheek. Your hands drop to his collar, and one of his own settles at the nape of your neck, his thumb brushing the very corner of your jaw and making a shiver run beneath your skin. Ridiculous, you think, how he can still summon that.

His lips find yours again and you both almost lose yourself and forget your surroundings entirely when Matty bites your lip to pull you into the next kiss. You both almost deepen your next kiss until it’s shortened a little too quickly by the director shouting, “And cut!” and that feels like such a shame for the both of you.

However, you and Matty smile at each other and the look on his face makes you feel like you're a school girl with a crush again. You feel embarrassed by the amount of eyes around you that you have to look down at the ground after that small moment grinning at the singer.

“I think we need to run it again.” Matty calls out which makes everyone, including you laugh.

You look back up at him and shake your head, calling him, “Greedy.” in jest.

“Always.” Your curly haired brunette grins and you see that his cheeks have flushed slightly.

“We got it Matty, it was a long kiss.” The director calls back which embarasses you a little more but you don’t regret either of your actions.

Acting like he isn't already blushing, Matty asks, “You sure?” clearly in hopes that you both get to do another take.

“Stop being a simp, Healy.” George yells from across the room which makes you and all the fans around the both of you laugh.

“Ignore him,” You tell Matty before you wrap your arms around him, “He’s just jealous.”

The singer laughs at that and hugs you back, whilst shouting over your shoulder, “Yeah, hear that George. You’re just jealous!”

The laughter surrounding you makes you an unknowing victim as to what’s about to happen to you. Clearly Matty has no idea either because you’re sure he wouldn’t have let you go from the hug if he knew that George was going to march up behind you, spin you around, and pick you up, practically throwing you over his shoulder.

George throwing you over his shoulder makes you squeal and before you even know it you’re being walked away. “Who’s jealous now Matty?” You hear George call and you're left clutching to the giant's top to keep you sort of upright and you see the man you just kissed trying not to laugh and he shakes his head at the sight of you on his best mate's shoulder.

“That’s an accurate representation of the three of our’s relationship.” Matty tells all the kids and as they laugh your cheeks just heat up more and more until you feel like you could die from embarrassment.

~*~*~*~

The rest of the day goes really well. And all of the kids are only there for a few more hours until Matty and the boys end up talking to them and saying their goodbyes once all the takes they were needed for were finished.

“Now everyone’s gone can we do our sex scene.” Matty grins as he traps you in another hug.

He has you giggling dismissively, “Very nice try.”

“You know I'm joking.” Your curly haired brunette grins, loving hearing you laugh.

“I know.” You chuckle.

And it is the truth. You can tell just by the way Matty is that he really wasn’t using today as a way to come onto you. After all, it was your idea to kiss him. And the flirty banter has been there for months including being on tour with him, and it doesn’t mean anything other than you being close friends still.

You can tell by the way he acts that he’s really not looking for a relationship with anyone at this moment in time. Something which you respect because you were still in the same sort of spot at the minute.

You’re more set on nurturing your friendships at the moment and getting back on track with everything. Especially since Alex came back into your life properly. And for now, you're happy as you are.

“You want to stick around and watch us do the song?” Matty brings you out of your thoughts.

“Course,” You nod, knowing that they were going to position them on set so they can pre-set the cameras in the positions they will be needed in tomorrow. Which reminds you to ask, “Can I still come tomorrow? I find this all very interesting.”

“You’re more than welcome Sweetheart.” Matty smiles as he squeezes your arm a little. “Thank you for today by the way. You didn’t have to do that but I really appreciate it.”

“Like I said earlier, it’s not a hardship to kiss you Matty. It felt right.” You’re completely honest with him.

But before either of you can continue, your soulmate uses your nickname to summon you.

“Hey Baby!” George calls, drawing yours and Matty’s attention towards him.

He waves you over, “Come look at my outfit for tomorrow.”

Matty ends up pulling you over towards where the other guys and Y/B/F are. And you walk over to just beside Ross who pulls you into a side hug as you say to George, “Lets see.”

“Yes.” Y/B/F nods very enthusiastically, “Please take your top off.”

You burst out laughing at that, and you encourage this, “Yes, please please do.” which has Adam walking off from you all mumbling something about going to phone Carly, Ross shaking his head but chuckling.

But what’s best is that Matty is faking hurt like a child that’s had his sweets taken away whilst George is grinning like he’s just won a Grammy. The wink he gives both you and Y/B/F makes you a little hot under the collar. When you both giggle and your best friend starts fanning herself, Matty then scorns her.

“Y/B/F, I’m going to gag you.”

She tuts and shakes her head, “That's Charlie’s job.”

That has you, Ross, and George trying not to cackle with laughter. Matty chuckles a little but mostly acts repulsed by the knowledge, although not as repulsed as you would imagine Adam would be if he heard that even if he did once go out with her.

“Not a visual I needed thanks.” Matty shakes his head, expressing his distaste.

Y/B/F just scoffs and stares at him as she reminds him, “Neither was you going down on my best mate and making her orgasm three times, but I was still told.”

In your peripherals you see Ross and George’s head snap towards you then. It’s about as quickly as a smirk appears on Matty’s face as the memory clearly comes back to the forefront of his mind.

“You asked me to tell you what happened.” You shrug, knowing it’s not exactly your fault that she knows the details. What else were you meant to do when your best friend was asking for them? But you quickly tell the other boys, “Years ago, don’t worry.”

“I remember you once said you were jealous of her.” Matty reminds her and she tries to take back her past self’s words.

“How young and naive I must have been,” Y/B/F shakes her head, but then she looks between both you and your curly haired brunette and scorns, “I still can't believe that’s how you both ended a day ice skating.”

You’re about to respond and say that the both of you showered beforehand but as it turns out, the other two boys were shocked by the reveal.

“Are you kidding?” Ross deadpans, “That’s what happened after ice skating?”

You nod slowly, wondering why both the drummer and bassist seem so shocked.

Even George asks like he just needs that extra confirmation, “We’ve been asking you all these years and it was that?”

The three of you who clearly knew all nod and you’re about to ask why until George speaks and it all makes sense.

“Well, props to you Matty.” The drummer nods, but then he looks back at the bassist and demands, “But Ross, I think you owe me that tenner now.”

You truly want to laugh hearing that. You’re not shocked at all that him and Ross had a bet on what happened after that day you went ice skating. You do tell them though, “You’re children.”

“We were when we made the bet.” Ross reminds you just how long it's been since you and Matty first got together, and it really makes you feel old when he exaggerates, “Would have been settled a long time ago if you told us what happened.”

You turn to Matty and say, “Surprised you didn't tell them to be honest.” and you watch his smirk get the slightest bit bigger but before he can say anything that’s even remotely flirty, you look to your soulmate and ask, “Can I see your outfit please George.” as you need the subject to be changed.

Happily George spins back around to the rack of clothes and quickly he pulls out a grey top. He turns back towards you and holds it to his chest and announces, “Here it is.”

“George.” You and Y/B/F gasp at the same time.

Except your jaw has also dropped and you’re practically clutching your pearls. The thoughts that swim through your mind make you very pleased that mind reading isn’t a thing.

Y/B/F laughs loudly as she sees you fucking gulp at the thought of George in a top that says, ‘Porn Star’ on the front.

Your best friend rips the smirk straight from Mattys face when she looks at George and smirks, “You just unlocked a new thought for her to get off too.”

And you immediately begin to get all shy and embarrassed because she’s speaking the absolute truth. Your soulmate just laughs at your reaction.

“Do you want to go get married right now?” You ask George as soon as you compose yourself.

“Absolutely not.” Matty doesnt even let George respond to you because for the second time today, your feet leave the ground and it’s not on your own accord.

This time your curly haired brunette has picked you up from the ground, this time you’re forced to wrap your legs around his waist to make it easier for him to carry you away from your friends. You play the part of a damsel in distress and say, “Matty put me down.” and “No, George, help.” but it just makes all of them laugh at Matty’s jealousy over yours and George’s flirting.

The singer puts you down when the both of you make it outside, which was only a short distance away, but Matty lights up a fag a minute after your feet return back to the ground.

The both of you laugh about George for a moment before you talk about today's events and how you both think the fans enjoyed it. You talk about anything and everything with him until you’re called back into the studio.

“You coming to our gigs in January?” Matty asks curiously.

“Yes, of course.” You smile, and then you decide to tell him, “Al is going to come to the first O2 show, if that’s okay?”

“Course it is.” Your curly haired brunette nods.

In the past few weeks you’d been back in contact with Alex again, you had told Matty about it and he seemed relieved for you because he could tell on tour that it was eating you up inside the way Alex left things with you. And despite you knowing that the singer had every right to say ‘I told you so’ about your best friend, he never did.

Something which you truly appreciated. But after all, that was something your curly haired brunette would have done when he was a lot younger. He’s grown up and he’s a better person than he once was. Silly arguments mean wasted time and Matty would rather have you in his life than without you, so he would support whatever decision you made regarding your friendship with Alex.

Matty promises you, “I’ll sort a box for you.”

“Thank you, but I don’t want a box, Matty.” You really fancy a good dance and a vibe for his music this time, so you tell him, “I’ll chill on the floor.”

“You can’t.” Matty almost laughs thinking that you could. He has to remind you, “You’ll both be mobbed.”

You know he’s not exactly exaggerating because you’ve seen the way Alex’s fans tend to swarm him. You can’t imagine those of Matty’s fans who like both bands would be any different. So you just end up pouting, “But I wanna dance Matty.”

“You can dance at the sound-desk, yeah?” The singer suggests a happy medium.

“Alright, sure.” You smile, getting that nervous excited feeling in your stomach because his gigs really aren’t that far away. You feel like you’ve just managed to get tickets on Ticketmaster. “I’ll definitely take you up on that one.”

Their February tour truly can’t come soon enough.

~*~*~*~ December 12th 2019 ~*~*~*~

You and Alex had spent almost every day with each other since he came back. Making up for lost time is clearly what you’d both been doing.

Apart from those days you were with Matty and the other boys watching them shoot their music video, you had seen Alex for at least a few hours a day, if not all day. With him not working, and you obviously working from home the both of you have talked everything out and Alex has been making amends with you.

The amount of grovelling from Alex has been borderline funny, but you know that you deserve to receive every apology he has for you after what happened. But that doesn’t mean that all the both of you have been doing is getting over the past.

Like tonight, the both of you have been out with Matt and his new girlfriend Amanda. You’ve been out drinking in Soho after you’d just been for a meal with them and a few other friends of theirs and it has been a really nice evening.

Despite it being a Thursday, when the time came for you both to go out drinking afterwards, you all agreed to it. And you’re already a little tipsy and you know Alex isn’t too far behind you.

And your tipsy state is probably what makes the both of you lag behind the happy couple and their friends as you all make your way to a new bar. However, you and your best friend don’t make it to the next bar at all.

When your friends are a fair distance in front of you both, Alex grabs your hand and you both come to a stop on the busy road. You raise your eyebrows at him, wondering what’s made him stop in the first place.

And your best friend surprises you a little by suggesting, “Let's go in here.”

You look up at the sign that reads ‘Ronnie Scotts’ and you’ve heard the name before which is why you question him, “A jazz club?”

“London's finest, come on.” Alex grins and gives it a little tug, “It’ll be fun. Better than all the pretentious people we've just been around.”

You smile at that and nod, “Okay.” and your best friend doesn’t need to be told twice to pull you inside. Neither of you even thinking to tell your friends that you’re ditching them.

Inside immediately feels like you’ve stepped into the past. The only way you can describe it is that you and Alex have walked into an episode of Peaky Blinders where they are in a club but there’s no cocaine or prostitutes.

The decor is very Ritz like and there's a vintage ambiance to the place. The lights in the room have been turned down, and there are small lamps on each table keeping the room lit so the guests who are already in here can see each other.

The music is what gets you though. You’re already well aware of the importance of live music to peoples lives but there's something about Jazz music that hits you square in the chest that makes you love it.

Quickly you and Alex are escorted to a free table and you love that you have a great view of the stage so you get to watch the musicians at work. Both you and Alex are spellbound as you watch the musicians improvise their music, more so you than Alex, but you both barely remember ordering your drinks with the waiter so when they come you’re almost confused.

The both of you watch in awe as you sit close to each other so you can speak about the music when you can. Alex tells you little interesting facts about friends of his who sometimes do this sort of thing or about different places like this he’s been to that he’s seen on his travels and you just get all the more jealous of him.

You and your best friend only start chatting properly when the band goes on a quick break and you’re left with some Jazz music coming through the speakers instead. You and Alex start drinking your drinks then and you end up doing a few shots with each other too. It’s been a fun night, you might as well end it by getting pissed with your best mate after you both abandoned Matt and his girlfriend.

“How you feeling about everything?” You ask the question you’ve been wanting to ask for the past week or so. “We’ve not spoken about it in a while.”

You’re unsure half the time Alex is with you, if he’s pretending that he’s always alright. Especially since most of the time he’s been grovelling too.

As he should really after what happened, but apologies can only take him so far. Besides, you want to make sure he’s actually doing okay in himself and not just because he feels like he can’t be sad about his bitch of an ex in front of you.

“I'm good.” Alex nods, “Been doing alright.”

And whilst that is good to hear, you need to know he actually means it. Because you don’t want him to be suffering in silence.

“Yeah but are you good good.” You question him, “Or are you just saying that so I don't worry?”

“If you really must know,” Alex smiles but his face becomes a little more serious as he tells you truthfully, “I’m not hurt over it anymore. I’m in that bit where I’m angry… But I don’t think that's going to go away. I think that's where the phase will stay with that whole thing because she used me at the end of the day. It was just a waste of my time and effort.”

Nodding, you tell him, “I don't blame you for being angry. God knows we all still are. But as long as you’re okay.”

Both of you almost jump a little as the band starts playing loudly again. Clearly the both of you are so invested in your own conversations that you didn’t see them come back on stage.

“I’m the best I can be.” Alex speaks a little louder and he nudges your shoulder as he smiles, “I’ve got my best friend back by my side and we’re out listening to fucking awesome live music.”

He gestures back to the band and he loves the smile that lights up your face as you see them performing. But Alex enjoys making you laugh even more when he says, “Even better that we’ve just ditched a bunch of boring people and Matt’s god awful new girlfriend.”

“Alex,” You laugh, your face filled with shock and amusement, but have to scorn him, “You can’t say that.”

“I can and I will.” Alex takes a long sip of his drink before confirming, “She’s really annoying.”

You shake your head and look back to the band, not entirely disagreeing with him but you haven’t met her enough times to make a full decision on her yet. Yes tonight she seemed annoying but you can’t base your dislike of someone that you’ve only met for around 4 hours.

“We’re allowed to say things about people's girlfriends now anyway if we don't like them, are we not?” Alex smirks, seeing your disapproving shake of your head.

“You don't not like her,” You try to reason with him, “You just think she's annoying.”

“Don't you dare tell me that you don't find that accent the most overbearing thing in the world.” Alex laughs, knowing full well that you’re not fully set on Amanda yet.

There had been multiple occasions tonight where Matt’s girlfriend had said something and it made both you and your best friend give each other a knowing look. One that screamed, ‘what the fuck’ or ‘i can’t believe she just said that.’

“You literally had an American girlfriend.” For now you defend her though, reminding Alex. “And you have American friends.”

“Yeah and she had a nicer accent.” Alex laughs, “And my friends from America aren't annoying or overbearing like her… Well, my favourite ones aren’t anyway.”

You catch a small smile brighten your best friend's face then and you can clearly tell he’s got someone in mind, but you don’t question it. You’re not given time to anyway, because Alex throws his head back and complains almost to God, “I'm sick of him showing me pictures of her arse.”

“Alex Turner.” You laugh out loud, having no idea about this before he just told you. But you just can’t believe he’s complaining, “Never thought I'd see the day when I hear that you don't want to see a woman's arse.”

“I don’t mind seeing your arse Angel,” Alex jokes and then he drops the jokes when you hit his arm. Laughing at you, but saying truthfully, “I don’t wanna see this random woman’s arse when I've only met her twice. I’ve seen her arse more times than her face.”

“You’re such an arse man it's unreal.” You deadpan, you can’t believe the fact that he’s saying that he doesn’t want to see pictures of a woman’s arse, “I can’t believe I'm hearing this.”

“All of your official girlfriends have been in the iddy biddy titty committee Alex.” You want to laugh in his face, “You’re a bigger arse man than Matt.”

“Shut up.” Alex playfully puts his hand over your face and pushes you away slightly.

You’re just drunkenly laughing and you lick his hand so he moves his hand off you. Your best friend starts laughing too before he wipes his hand down your arm.

“I just don't like her, okay?” Alex chuckles and he decides to distract you with alcohol, “Do you want a cocktail?”

You hastily nod, “I would love a cocktail.”

“Okay then.” Alex grins and reaches for the menu so the both of you can continue your night in the best way possible.

~*~*~*~

After you’re both another 3 drinks deep, and you’re both feeling the full effects of the alcohol you’ve had now, your latest conversation gets interrupted by an older lady that you’d seen down on the dancefloor not so long ago with who you presumed to be her husband.

The older woman gives you a big smile as she approaches the both of you and she stops and says, “Hello there, I’m Bess.”

“Hello Bess.” You offer her a big smile in return.

Watching as she eyes the both of you, she smiles and nods, “You two look like you’ve got rhythm.”

Your drunk brain nudges Alex with your shoulder and you grin, “This one certainly does.”

In your head, this makes sense because your best friend is a musician and he literally has to have rhythm to be good at his job. However, to an old lady, who has no fucking clue who Alex, it sounds seedy. Something that you might have picked up with a clear mind, but certainly not whilst you're drunk.

“I bet he does.” She smirks and winks at you before grinning at Alex, “Young chap like you looks like you keep the both of you very happy.”

Alex immediately smirks at you, nudging you right back not bothering to correct Bess, but it’s only at that moment that your slow brain catches back up with how the comment was taken.

“Wait no! No,” Your eyes go wide and you begin to backtrack, “I- I meant tha-”

“Angel,” Alex interrupts and he smirks saying, “Let the lovely lady talk.” clearly enjoying you fumble over your words when the lady took it the wrong way.

And you’re sure he must be a little curious too because he prompts the lady to continue, “Amazing, so tonight we're teaching people how to dance like we’ve just won the war and we're going to need the two of you to come and help us fill up the floor.” The lady grabs your hand and gives it a gentle tug with a bright smile on her lips, “Come on.”

“Right now?” You ask, your eyes going a little wide.

Looking back at the dancefloor, it’s certainly filled a lot more than you’d seen earlier. You hadn’t noticed before but there are a fair few elderly couples now around, there’s not many young couples at all. Certainly not on the floor waiting to dance anyway.

“Yes, right now.” She tells you as she almost pulls you out of your seat. Not before you grab ahold of Alex’s hand though and make sure he comes with you, “Whilst the night is still young.”

“We’ve never danced before.” You tell her truthfully.

Truly you can’t imagine dancing how she’s expecting you both to dance when the both of you have slow danced at the very best at various weddings over the years and nothing more. But the lady assures you quickly in hopes that you don’t back out.

“That's fine.” She smiles at you and she’s grinning as she tells you, “Half the people we get up each month haven't either. You two are more of the unlucky ones tonight. But I promise you, you’ll never feel more alive than you do tonight.”

Alex, clearly listening from just behind you, leans down to your ear and whispers, “I can think of a few occasions.” and you can feel his smirk on your skin.

You purse your lips together to try to stop the embarrassment from taking over, but you shake your head at him, “You’re filthy.”

Alex just laughs as the both of you are pulled onto the dancefloor and you have to admit that you feel pure dread when the band start playing again and the couples around you are all fucking amazing. Despite their age, the fast paced dancing doesn’t phase them in the slightest, in fact you don’t think you’ve ever seen smiles so big.

Bess sets herself the task of teaching you and Alex how to dance to jazz music and she is a fucking trooper with you both because to start with you’re both fucking awful. She teaches the both of you first how to move together as you dance and she does this by demonstrating with her dance partner Christopher (who Bess made very clear was not her husband but her neighbour) before she takes Alex from you to show him how to move you and Christopher does the same with you.

It takes a little bit of time for you both to get anywhere near good at this, but when both you and Alex try together you both have the best time even if it goes wrong. At one point you got the steps wrong and you bumped into your best friend's chest and you both just burst out laughing.

You hid into his chest for a few seconds and his arms wrapped around you to steady you but you can hear and feel him chuckling. You truly blame being so bad for being drunk and you keep joking with Alex that you’d be great at Jazz dancing if you were sober. Eventually once you master dancing together, and what you think Bess calls ‘swinging in and outs’ from each other and ‘side passes’, you move on to different moves that you can incorporate into the dance.

Some of them make you and Alex giggle when you’re just doing the move on its own because it feels so silly. For example, the ‘Shorty George’ (a move which you will definitely be making Mr Daniel do the next time you see him) which is where you have to stick your elbows out slightly and you walk forward whilst swaying your hips with your knees bent.

But when you come to put that move into your ‘swing in and outs’ or ‘side passes’, you struggle so much (But you think it is a bit nasty that it’s just you who does the move when you’re dancing with a partner and your best friend gets away with not doing it again). It makes Alex laugh at you so much but he finds it funnier because despite you being drunk, you’re so determined to get that one and all the other’s you’ve learned right in the swing outs.

You learn how to do Skates, Stomps, the Suzie Q, and a Lock Turn and the both of you have so much fucking fun. Both you and Alex really struggle with one called the Full Break but you end up sort of getting somewhere near it as you try your best to have good rhythm whilst you dance.

Either that or you're slightly too drunk and you’re both fumbling messes. But you don’t care. You’re having fun with your best friend and you’re loving it.

Even when you need a short break though, the both of you are giggling as you can’t really believe that this is how your night has turned out. You stop for drink breaks when Bess will allow you to and Alex is the one who runs to the bar each time to get something to quench your thirst.

The first time he comes back with a pint of water each for you along with two alcoholic drinks. The second time he comes back with more drinks for you and even some shots like earlier.

But this time when Alex went to the bar, you didn’t give yourself much of a break from dancing. Your best friend stands and watches you as he’s at the bar and feels a series of emotions run through his body as he looks at what you’re up to.

You’re drunkenly giggling with a different elderly couple as the lady teaches you what Alex thinks he remembers Bess saying was a Gaze Afar. And it’s the smile that’s on your face that makes Alex want to remember every single second of seeing you so happy.

Feeling someone's gaze on you, you look up and see Alex at the bar after you’ve done what the lady was showing you and the way your face lights up even more as you wave him back over to you really makes his night. You look like an excited puppy wanting to show him a new trick.

After he’s come back with drinks the both of you start dancing again and just like before, each time you learn a new move, it throws you off a bit.

You bump into each other's chests as you clearly get the steps wrong, but you both just burst out laughing and stay there for a moment. Your head rests on his shoulder as you giggle before you look up at him and start laughing at yourselves some more.

Alex wraps his arms around you to give you a hug and despite the both of you being slightly sweaty now in this hot room you lean into him. This is the most fun you’ve had on a night out in ages and the fact you’re both not terrible makes it a little better.

Eventually, your instructors leave you to your dancing obviously thinking you’ve got enough moves under your belt to keep you going now. And the both of you dance the night away. The next time that you see what time it is, it’s almost 2am and you and Alex decide to call it a night as you’ve been here almost 4 hours and you’ve been dancing for 3 of them.

After thanking Bess and Christopher and you’ve said your goodbyes to the other couple that helped you, you link Alex’s arm and the both of you head outside. You can’t help but think they are legends for being so much older than you and actually staying out later than you both.

And you never thought you would appreciate the chilly December air again like you once did but it was glorious after you’d just been dancing for almost 3 hours. The relief both you and Alex felt when you got outside was like you’d gone back in time and you were leaving a nightclub back in Sheffield after one of the Monkeys first gigs.

Needing to wind down a little but not yet wanting to call it a night, both of you head into the infamous Bar Italia which is just over the road. It’s a cute cafe that doesn’t close until 3am so you’ve got a little over an hour to just chill out and calm down before you plan to head back to your flat.

Once you and Alex get settled in the cafe that's currently decorated from top to bottom in Christmas decorations, you and your best friend get your coffees and start chatting the night away. After just talking about how much fun the both of you had, you glance around at the pretty Christmas lights and you have to ask him.

“Are you going home for Christmas?”

“Yeah.” Alex nods before taking a sip of his Americano.

You smile at that, and ask, “When are you heading back?”

“Depends when I brave it, but not sure on the day yet.” Alex tells you, “What about you?”

“Me and Matty are driving home on the twenty-third…” You tell him and after you sip your Cappuccino, you offer, “You’re more than welcome to join us. He’s taking me back to Sheffield first and one more person in the car won't be an issue.”

“Thank you, but I don't want it to seem like a taxi service on your road trip.” Alex smiles completely thankful for the offer but goes on to explain why he declines, “Besides I think I’m going up a little bit earlier this year... Mum’s got some family thing she wants me to come to, I don't really know though.”

“That should be fun.” You smile, and there’s a warm feeling that makes its way back to your chest when you think about that Christmas that you spent at the Turner household.

You especially miss just being younger and going to his house after school with Matt or one of the other lads though. You miss the nights that you, Y/B/F, Alex, and Matt would have together where everything in life was so easy and simple that the only worry you all had was homework. You even miss it when it was just you and Alex in his house for those few months you were sort of seeing each other before his second tour.

You’re honest when you tell him, “I miss coming to your house and seeing Penny and David.”

“I’m sure they miss having us there,” Alex smiles a little, thinking back on the times you were in his childhood home with him. “Same way we miss Sheffield.”

“Yeah.” You nod, glancing down at your Yorkshire rose tattoo fondly.

After a moment, Alex brings you out of your head when he wonders, “You having Christmas in Manchester or are you staying in Sheffield first and then driving over?”

“I think I'm going to stay in Manchester for this one.” You explain as you pick up your spoon and start stirring the foam around in your drink, “Mum will probably only come round for dinner again… So I think I’m just going to spend the day with my Aunt and Uncle and then help my Aunt cook. And then wait for people to come round after Mum leaves.”

You sigh a little at the end of telling your best friend that, but instead of dwelling on it you just ask your best friend, “What’s your plan with your Mum and Dad on Christmas Day?”

When you don’t get a response after a couple of silent seconds of you still playing with your coffee, you stop and look up at him. And when you do, your best friend looks at you with so much emotion in his eyes it’s difficult to pick out exactly what he’s feeling. Especially when you’re still a bit tipsy, so you’re thankful when he speaks up.

“I don't know if I've ever told you Angel, but I’m drunk so I’m just going to say it how it is.” Alex doesn’t hesitate to look straight into your eyes and tell you that, “You deserve so much better than what your Mum gives you... I’m sorry she’s not how you want her to be and that it's still so strained between you.”

“Thanks Al.” You smile, but even Alex can tell it’s a pitiful one. You just shrug, “Unfortunately, I'm used to it but I sort of get it… It's another hard holiday for her.”

“Doesn’t mean that her not seeing you for long on Christmas is any less harder on you.” Alex takes your hand and he gives it a squeeze as he says, “You both lost your Dad, not just her.”

“I know. I know.” You squeeze his hand back. “Guess I’ll just have to wait for the days when I don't have to go home for Christmas.”

Clearly after a few drinks, you must like to chat about deep stuff because after a minute of the both of you going back to your coffees you ask Alex, “Do you ever feel left out when it comes to that?”

“How’d you mean?” Alex asks, not quite understanding your question.

“Well, do you realise it’s always us going home for Christmas but Nick, Jamie, and Matt don't go home… To their parents I mean.” You explain as best you can, “I guess I’m trying to ask, do you ever feel left out that you don't have your own family to stay in one place for?”

Whilst the question shocks Alex a little, he lets you continue airing your thoughts, “I was talking to Ross, Matty, and George about it and we said that we all think that when the time comes for Adam and Carly to eventually have a baby that they won't go home for Christmas, because London's their home.”

It’s at that point you look to Alex in hopes for a reply, and after a few seconds thinking, he says, “In some ways I think so, yeah… I'm sure you all agreed with me on that. Maybe you more so than them because all of our friends - bar Y/B/F - have kids. They aren’t exposed to it as much as we are, but yeah, I think we miss out on the stability of everything. But I think that the definition of ‘home’ changes when kids come along.”

Alex watches as you as he continues on to explain, “Parents end up coming to your house instead, or you just go round in the evenings if you live close enough... But with Adam, if he did have a baby, your Aunt and Uncle would more than likely be invited to his house. It’s what Matt does, and Jamie and Nick… So nothing really changes. You still have your family, you’re just headed to a different destination when you’re home for Christmas.”

And whilst you nod agreeing with what he’s saying, maybe it’s the lingering alcohol that opens a small insecurity of yours which is why you end up faking a smile and saying, “And that leaves me alone in my flat in London.”

Immediately, your best friend raises his eyebrows and corrects you, “It leaves you to decide whether you want to go to mine, or Y/B/F’s, or Matty’s, or George’s… You’re not ever going to be alone on Christmas, Angel. And don't be silly, you’d be invited to Adam’s.” Alex adds with a smile, “They would need a babysitter.”

And whilst the thought of your cousin makes you smile for a second, Alex suggests an alternative, “Besides when that happens, you might already have your own family to stay around for.”

And whilst the thought is nice, you immediately let out a dry laugh and shake your head, “I don't want a baby anytime soon, thank you very much. I’ll let Adam check that off and then I can be a real Auntie to baby Hann.”

“Fair enough,” Alex laughs at that but then asks, “You think he’ll get married first?”

“One hundred percent.” You nod, not believing for a second it would go any other way.

After this, you and Alex finish off the last of your drinks and he asks, “You fancy a walk?”

“I’d love a walk.” You smile.

And so that is how the both of you have ended up walking home past 3am as you make the long trek from Soho to your flat in Kentish Town. The both of you knew it was about an hour's walk away, so you’re not quite sure why you did actually want to walk that far in the cold. But the both of you did prepare for it, because the both of you bought an Americano to go and you bought a small bottle of whisky at an off licence and added some in hopes to keep you drunk enough that you don’t feel the cold.

When you’re about 20 minutes away from your flat, your best friend breaks the short silence between you, “Angel?”

You smile at his nickname for you and you say his right back, “Darling?”

“I really enjoyed tonight.” Alex tells you with a proud smile.

You’re smiling like an idiot at that knowledge, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods.

“So did I.” You start grinning like an idiot when you tell him that.

You’ve had the best night out for a long while tonight. The last time you had a night this good was when you, Matty, and George got high on tour in America and you had the best night out with them.

Alex’s smile is so bloody cute when he asks you, “You wanna do it again?”

“Yeah, I’d go again.” You smile, thinking it’s adorable that he seems like he actually wants to go again.

“Okay,” Alex nods, looking like he’s won the lottery with the grin on his face he tells you, “Next month we’re going again.”

You’re grinning like an idiot now, “Okay… We will get a taxi back then though.”

It has gone a little too cold since the both of you finished your coffees and you now wish the both of you got a taxi. But you’re closer to home now so you might as well finish your walk.

“Sounds like a plan.” Alex grins, and he chuckles before he says, “I’m glad we left Matt.”

You give him the side eye then and shake your head, telling him seriously to, “Be nice.” because you know he’s just looking for an excuse to chat shit about Matt’s new girlfriend.

“No, I’m serious,” Alex dryly laughs, “We would have ended up wanting to jump in front of a bus because of what Matt is like with her.”

That is a completely fair point. The new couple are all over each other and it’s minging. The constant PDA is what gives you the ick, especially when you are all out in public together. Even when you were with Matty or Alex, yes you were clingy in the privacy of your own homes but when you were out with them you kept it to a kiss here and there and hand holding.

Matt and Amanda clearly have very little boundaries currently.

You all but snort, thinking the past would have definitely repeated itself if you stayed out with them, “It’d have been like the night we got out of the taxi.”

Alex chuckles to himself a little then though, which prompts you to ask, “What?”

“You read my mind. I was thinking the exact same thing.” He smiles, nudging your shoulder a little, almost making you trip.

You giggle a little and nudge him right back so he’s the one that stumbles a little. But once you fall back in step with him and you both calm down a little, you ask your best friend, “Can you believe how much has changed since now and then?”

So much has changed in both of your lives since that night you pulled Alex out of the taxi so he wasn’t left to hear Matt shag that girl. The night that you kissed each other and slept together for the first time was so long ago but it’s strange because you remember it so well.

You truly don’t think you could have ever predicted your life ending up the way it has though. If you would have told your 17 year old self that you would be best friends with boys in very successful bands and that you yourself are a successful artist you would be so thrilled for your friends and so very proud of yourself.

“I know.” Alex seems fond of the memory, and the way he’s grinning tells you that much. But he ruins it by rubbing his cheeks a little and saying, “All my spots have finally gone.”

“Stop being nasty to yourself.” You punch his arm playfully but you’re honest when you say, “You were fit, Alex. Stop.”

“Were fit.” Alex rests a hand over his chest like he’s hurt and he fakes being upset as he points out, “Past tense. Quite rude.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “You know exactly what I meant.”

Alex just chuckles at that and after a minute, he asks curiously, “Did you like me before that night?”

“Honestly, no.” You shake your head, almost laughing when you say, “Nothing more than a close friend anyway.” because it’s fucking mental how you’ve both ended up as you are.

Alex isn’t offended at all by this, but he does wonder, “So why did you ask me to kiss you?”

“Because I wanted to have a good first kiss with someone I trusted.” You tell your best friend after thinking about it for a moment, and add, “In the same sense that I wanted to have sex with you because I trusted you.”

Alex smiles at this, feeling genuinely happy that you trusted him enough back then for you to even want to kiss him.

“And no I didn’t even think about shagging you before I kissed you, before you ask.” You add with a little smirk before he can ask himself. But you want to make sure he knows, “And you were always attractive Alex, even with your spots. I just never thought of you like that because I didn’t think you would think of me like that.”

Your best friend still has a grin on his lips after you tell him that, but the both of you still walking hope at this stupid hour in the morning has you both feeling reflective. And it leads to Alex asking, “Want to know a secret?”

“Depends what it is.” You raise your eyebrows.

And his grin somehow gets bigger when he tells you honestly, “I started thinking you were attractive back in high school.”

“Really?” Your eyes go wide at this, not thinking anyone found you attractive until that night you and Alex lost your virginities.

Alex nods, “Yeah.”

“What made you think that?” You have to ask him before the conversation moves on.

You were in sixth form when you and Alex first had sex, and before that not even Peter had given you an inkling he liked you. And in high school you certainly didn’t feel very attractive in your school uniform so in your mind you can’t imagine anyone fancying you in school.

“I don’t really know when the change was.” Alex thinks out loud, “I think I always thought you were pretty though... Even a five year old me could tell that.”

“Oh stop.” You don’t believe him for a second, “You people pleaser.”

“I’m serious though.” Alex tells you, and when you look at him you can actually tell that he’s being honest. But then he goes on to explain your previous question, “And I think you just grew up and came into your own… You got more confident and definitely more ballsy.”

Your best friend grins when he recalls, “I remember thinking that you were a bad bitch for sneaking out of your bedroom window that night that me and Matt helped you down.”

But what you don’t expect him to remember at all was what he said next, “I think everyone noticed you properly though that non-uniform day where you came into school and you were wearing skinny jeans and a crop top.” Alex cringes a little as he looks for your reaction as he tells you, “Gross lad talk, but everyone thought your tits and arse looked great and you had everyone groaning when you put that baggy cardigan on because we all wanted to ogle you some more.”

You laugh, not being surprised at all. You just disapprove by stating, “Horny teenage boys.”

“Yep.” Alex laughs, and he almost groans when he adds, “But when you started with the fishnets and the skirts, Christ, you were so fucking fit Y/N/N… Everyone was jealous of Peter.”

You tease him a little by shrugging and telling your best friend, “You could have had me then Alex.”

“I know, don’t remind me.” Alex scorns himself and the regret is written all over his face. But he continues to tell you his God's honest truth, “But I never thought about you as more than a friend until that night. I feel like after our conversation we were bound to each other because if you didn’t ask if I wanted to get things out of the way with you, I would have asked you after that kiss.”

“Great minds.” You grin and after another minute of walking, you start to recognise the shops you're passing so you know you’re almost home.

But whilst your mind is on that night in particular, you ask Alex, “Can you believe you were my first proper kiss? The one I remember anyway.”

“I’m happy I was.” The smile on Alex’s face brightens up all of his features, but hearing he’s happy he was your first kiss makes you smile and your cheeks heat up a little bit.

“I wish you were mine.” Your best friend tells you, “I don’t even know the name of the girl that was mine. She disappeared whatever night it was in that bar.”

You vaguely remember the night he was referencing. Your friends at the time nudged both you and Y/B/F so you could watch it happen. And you all hyped Alex up after it, but you remember his slight disappointment when he went back to where she was with her friends earlier and the girl was nowhere to be found.

“She disappeared or you got too drunk?” You decide to tease him.

Alex gives you a look then and it’s a playful ‘don’t question me on this’ which almost makes you giggle. But your best friend reiterates, “She disappeared, Angel.”

You pout and ask, “But who would run away from you?”

“Don’t know.” Your best friend shrugs, but when he’s about to say something else about your past, you suddenly start running ahead of him.

Immediately Alex knows you’re ‘running off’ from him like you’re joking the girl he kissed did, but your best friend doesn’t hesitate to chase after you. You’re a quick little thing, but Alex catches you fairly easily as his arms wrap around you from behind and he picks you up and spins you around.

The both of you are laughing loudly despite the hour and the fact people in the houses around you are definitely asleep. But the both of you are so in your own little world that you couldn’t care less.

Once Alex puts you back on your own two feet, he doesn’t really let you go. He spins you around and traps you against him, wrapping his arms around your lower back so you can’t leave him again and he playfully chuckles, “Now why would you do that?”

But you’re too busy giggling to give him an answer. You stand in his arms, both of you laughing for a good minute until you calm down enough to remind him, “Hey, do you remember that you hesitated when I asked if I could kiss you?”

Alex want’s to tell you that he remembers everything about that night in vivid detail, but he settles for admitting, “Clearly I was young, naive, and very stupid.”

You hum in approval of that and you’re looking up at him as you think out loud, “Must have been a shock… I don’t blame you.”

The both of you just look at each other with massive smiles on your faces then, but only when Alex’s eyes drop to your lips do you feel the air around you change. It becomes charged again and you don’t do anything to stop it.

You're not all that surprised when after a silent minute, your best friend says, “Angel?”

“Shakespeare?”

Alex whispers, “Please ask me your question.”

You knew it was coming, but actually hearing him ask that again stirred up feelings you hadn’t felt for a long time. Unable to stop yourself, you recall him with a small grin, “You told me to stop asking it.”

It feels like Alex is looking into your soul when he gently shakes his head and whispers, “I don’t want you to stop asking it.”

Whilst that makes your heartbeat a little faster, you have to remind him, “We’re drunk.” because you don’t think this would be the smartest thing you’ll ever do.

“And?” Alex shrugs and instead reminds you, “We were drunk the first time.”

Too much has happened to fall into old habits though, so even if you kiss him, you tell him, “It can’t lead to that this time.”

“I know.” Alex smiles a little, and you can see and feel that he genuinely means it when he says, “But I want to feel seventeen again for a very brief moment.” and it’s the small pleading, “Please.” after a few seconds that has you asking your question.

You take a deep breath before you ask, “Can I kiss yo-”

Despite being cut off, you relax into your best friend immediately. Your lips meet again in a drunken kiss, one of the best kinds, all instinct and no hesitation. His head tilts and his arm wraps itself around your shoulder, pulling you in at the perfect angle.

And you stand there for a few moments like that - breathing one another in, warm lips on warmer lips. You wish you could just melt into him, stop existing at this precise moment in time so it could be preserved forever. It feels like it could only be pleasurable, judging by the way you both are reluctant to loosen your holds.

At the final instant, he pulls back playfully on your bottom lip and slowly releases it before it returns to where it should be and it leaves you and your best friend trying not to smile like idiots.

You think it’s the alcohol and the fact that you’re both tired which makes you rest your forehead against his for the minute after. The fact that you’re so warm in his arms almost makes you want to continue, but when a loud car drives past the both of you end up moving away from each other.

Both of you don’t say anything after your kiss. You’re just grinning like it’s 2003 again and you make your way the now short distance back to your flat with your hand tightly holding his.

It takes around 5 minutes and before you head into your building, Alex stops and hugs you tightly. And you treasure it, but you’re getting cold now and you can practically hear your bed calling you.

You give your best friend a squeeze before instructing, “Come on.” and you take his hand again and step out of his hold to pull him towards the door.

But Alex pulls you back towards him though and he shakes his head, “I’ll carry on walking.”

“You can stay here.” You tell him, and by the look on your face Alex knows that you won’t take no for an answer. But when he tries to argue with you, you smile and say words you’ve definitely said once before to him. You joke, “Mum’s not home, don’t worry.”

Alex smiles and his eyes brighten at the memory of that night, but he asks, “Thought you said we’re not reliving the past?”

“We’re not.” You chuckle, “But you’re staying here.”

After that Alex doesn’t argue with you at all. Within five minutes of you getting into your flat, the both of you climb into your bed and will sleep to come.

Because you’re cold, you cuddle up to your best friend and once you’re settled, you say, “Sweet dreams, Shakespeare.”

Alex smiles and holds you the tiniest bit closer to him, and he whispers, “Night, Angel.”

~*~*~*~ February 21st 2020 ~*~*~*~

“Good luck Bro.” You give Adam the biggest hug before you all get told to leave their dressing room.

You feel him give you a squeeze as he smiles, “Thanks B.” before letting you go so you can hug the other guys.

Ross comes over to you next after already giving Y/B/F a hug and you think you hear Alex wishing George luck for the show just before the bassist grins, “I’m so happy you’re here.” and he wraps his arms around you.

“Of course I’m here.” You say into his chest, and you crane your neck up to look at him and tell him sincerely, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m coming back tomorrow too, you know?”

“You better be doing,” Ross grins, “You’re my biggest cheerleader.”

“Ross, I saw a girl in a top that was covered with your face when we were on tour.” You laugh at the memory as you assure him, “You have an army of cheerleaders.”

Both of you laugh at that before you wish him luck and he lets you go. Moving straight on to hug gives your curly haired brunette a hug and of course Matty gives you one of the best hugs.

Or should you say your no longer curly haired brunette, because Matty has shaved the sides of his head and given himself a short haired mohawk. When you first saw him after he’d done it, you slapped his arm so hard because how dare he take away those luscious curls you love so much. Regardless though, you’re still here to support him tonight.

You wish him luck and he thanks you for it but he gives you the best news when he lets you go, “You know on tour when you asked me about that song that’s a bop but it isn’t about you and I wouldn’t let you listen?”

“Yeah.” You nod, remembering very well how much you pleaded to hear it.

On tour you were denied every opportunity to listen, but your luck seems to have changed because Matty confirms, “Well we’re playing it tonight.”

“No fucking way.” Your jaw drops and your excitement bubbles.

“Yep.” Matty nods, happy to see that you’ve now started grinning like a fool. He tells you, “You’ll know when it’s the one when you see TV screens come up as the visuals behind us.”

“Oh my god, okay.” You have to tell him, “I’m excited now.”

“You should be excited anyway.” Matty pulls you into another short hug so he can whisper, “Best band in the world remember.”

“Okay,” You nod, agreeing with him but only because the Monkeys aren’t currently on tour. “But don’t tell Alex.”

Both you and Matty snort in laughter then, but your best friend clearly hears his name so he wonders over to both you and Matty and he offers him a handshake.

Your best friends shake each other's hands as Alex smiles, “Good luck mate. Hope it goes well.”

“Thanks mate, keep her at the sound desk, yeah?” Matty jokingly adds with a grin, “Don’t want her, or you, to be mobbed and ruin my gig.”

Alex laughs but nods, “I’ll keep her in check.”

You giggle for a brief moment but it’s purely sarcastic because you tell them, “I think we all know that the only one who can keep me in check is George.”

“Yeah I am.” The drummer wraps you in a loving headlock and pulls you back into his chest then. And once you laugh a bit and settle against him, he kisses the side of your head and says, “Love you Baby.” as the room watches on.

“Love you too Georgie.” You tell him but the fact he wasn’t really meant to hear what you said leaves you a little embarrassed and your cheeks hot.

George sees the way Alex and Matty laugh at your reaction to him doing what he’s just done, so he’s fairly certain of the answer when he asks, “Is she all flustered?”

“You know she is.” Y/B/F answers for him as she comes to stand beside Alex.

“Okay,” You pat George’s arm so he will let you go, “I believe you have a set to get ready for.”

“You’re usually jumping in my arms not wanting to get out of them.” George whispers in your ear which makes your cheeks get unbelievably hotter.

You try to calm down before you dismiss him by whispering, “Hush.”

After George lets you go, you give him a proper hug before you say your goodbyes to everyone before the three of you decide to head down to the middle of the arena. Because you’re going down about 5 minutes before the boys head on stage their security is taking the three of you to the sound desk which is a little excessive because you think you’ll be fine.

But just as you’re about to leave the room, you hear Matty shout your name.

“Sweetheart.” Matty smiles when you pop your head back into the room. And you look at your guys smiling at you which makes you feel all gooey inside. Matty continues to tell you, “Before you go, we want you to know that there’s a surprise in the set tonight. It’s another new song of ours that you haven’t heard but it’s more the visuals behind it that we think you’ll like.”

“Okay,” You nod, and now you’re really excited for tonight's set. “Looking forward to it.”

“We love you B.” Adam smiles and the rest of them do too.

“Love you all too.” You blow them a kiss and wave goodbye before following Alex and Y/B/F down the hall.

~*~*~*~

As always their show is fucking amazing. The noise that they create in the O2 is pristine and George’s snare drum rips though the room like a gunshot, you can practically feel it, it sounds so good.

Whilst it was a little weird hearing your song, Sex, be played second instead of dead last, you were glad it was over and done with and you could enjoy the rest of the gig entirely care free. You’ve been having a laugh and dancing with Y/B/F and Alex for the first third of the set, and when Matty talks between songs you’ve all laughed along.

But this time Matty doesn’t speak between the last song and the new one. Instead, he has a drink whilst the lights dim a little again and you see the large LED screen behind him start to appear.

Y/B/F had gone to get you more drinks a minute ago so you have no one but Alex to scream to when you see a bunch of old TVs stacked on top of each other appear behind the band and a woman’s angelic vocals fill the room. You slap Alex’s arm a few times excitedly which has Alex’s head snapping towards you and wincing slightly.

He sounds almost offended when he clutches his arm and asks, “What was that for?”

But you’re too excited to notice, you’re practically buzzing with excited energy now. “This song isn’t about me! It’s new and I’m so excited to hear it.”

“How’d you know it’s not about you?” Alex questions, seeing the utter delight on your face and you’re unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“Matty said when the TV’s come up on the screen it’s the song that’s not about me.” You tell him and you get so excited as you hear the intro start.

And when the drums kick in you just know that this is going to be a hit. You’re already half dancing to it and you love it as soon as Matty starts singing, “I see her online… All the time.”

Alex enjoys the song and he’s smiling seeing you enjoying it too, but after Matty sings, “I’ve gotta see the girl on the screen.” his jaw almost drops at the boldness Matty has to release a song with lyrics like the chorus has.

“She said maybe I would like you better if you took off your clothes.” Matty sings and you almost scream.

“Oh my god!” You start dancing around as you watch the lyrics fill the screen behind the band and you love the sax parts. “This is fucking awesome!”

This song has barely started and it’s already made its way up to your top ten favourites of theirs. You’re dancing along as you watch and listen to Matty sing, ”I wanna see and stop thinking, if you’re too shy then let me, too shy then let me knowww!”

You can’t believe Matty is brave enough to release a song that you interpret as him basically being encouraged into having sex over facetime. You fucking love how brave and bold it is and the fact that it is such a good song, and one hell of a fucking bop, makes it even better. Matty could have a crowd singing about literally anything and he knows it and uses it to his advantage every time. And you adore that they all seem to be loving this new song just as much as his others.

“Are you sure this isn’t about you?” Alex makes you laugh by asking as soon as the chorus is finished.

“One hundred percent,” You nod, “I’ve never done that.”

And it makes you giggle again when a few seconds later Y/B/F comes back with three drinks, but she doesn’t even tell her to help you. Her eyes are just wide as she asks, “Is this about you?”

Once you assure her that it isn’t, you give the band your undivided attention again. The second verse is just as funny and honest as the chorus but from reading the lyrics behind them last time you’re dancing and singing along when it comes round again.

But the song has you grabbing Alex’s hand and making him dance with you when the sax solo hits. You’re having the best time and you giggle when Alex twirls you around and only when he dances with you do you let go of him and dance with Y/B/F.

After Waughy’s sax solo Matty has the room clapping in time and you three partake in that as well. You and Y/B/F are singing along and Alex can’t stop laughing at the fact you’re tipsy as well as enjoying probably the only song you’ll all hear tonight that isn’t about you.

When the song finishes, the room erupts and you start whooping and screaming in delight. You lift both hands in the air, your drink almost spilling out when you start jumping around for joy as the room is still loud.

“A song that isn’t about me!” You scream with pure and utter euphoria, “I fucking love it!”

You have both Alex and Y/B/F laughing at you but you couldn’t care less you’re so unbelievably happy.

The rest of the set is just as brilliant. But when you get to the other new song that the boys called you back into their dressing room to tell you about, this time you don’t dance, you listen and appreciate every single second of it. Especially after how your best friend on stage introduces it.

“Another new one for you now everyone.” Matty announces, and you can tell by the fact he’s got an acoustic guitar that this is a slow one. When the crowd cheers for them, you see Matty smile and say, “Thank you very much… I wrote this song about how lucky I am to have such beautiful friends.”

He has all your attention after that introduction, but when you see the screen light up behind him with home videos from when they were all younger that is all you can keep your eyes on. You smile seeing younger Matty with his glasses on and how young George looks and at Ross’ and Adam’s old hair. It brings old memories right back to the surface and makes your heart fill with love and adoration for each of them. You can’t believe how much they have all changed.

Before Matty even starts singing his new song, you see yourself in a snippet of a video from when you were younger. It’s of Matty playing guitar and you and George are sitting beside him, and you look rather bored which makes Alex and Y/B/F nudge you laughing a little.

“I was missing the guys, in my rented apartment.” Matty starts singing and immediately you feel all of the emotions start filling your chest as you continue watching the screen, “You would think I’d realised, but I didn’t for quite some time.”

You start seeing videos of them on their first tour and how happy they all seem and it makes you so unbelievably happy they continued with their home videos so they have this to show for it. You’re giggling every now and again too at them pissing about with each other and Matty and George in an airport waiting room makes you giggle.

But when you hear and see the lyrics to the chorus come up on the screen, a lump immediately forms in your throat. “The moment that you took my hand, was the best thing that ever happened. Yeah the moment that we started a band, was the best thing that ever happened.”

During the chorus, you see videos from the tour just gone and the one that you’d been on them with. The video of Matty and George laughing was one that you’d taken yourself and it makes you so happy to see something you captured in such a precious video. The one of George dancing in the doorway was one of yours too and you remember the day so well and how much it made you all laugh.

You’re truly going through it. Your emotions are through the fucking roof and you can’t hold it together anymore when you see an old video that you remember George taking of you and Matty that day at the fair which was practically your first date. And seeing the video of you with a missive smile as you’re pretending to be Sandy from Grease as you walked over the revolving floor with Matty grinning at you from behind has you tearing up. But when Matty sings, “Man, they were the golden times. They were the best of my life.” over it before going back into the chorus, that is when your tears start to fall.

You feel Y/B/F grab your free hand and she intertwines your fingers to offer you comfort and a few seconds later you feel Alex’s hand running up and down your back to do the same thing. But you can’t stop watching. Certainly not when you see small snippets of Adam and Y/B/F together and it has her holding your hand tighter.

Seeing George skating makes you cry even more and when it changes to an old video of first you and Matty but then all of you skating at the skatepark in Wilmslow, you don’t know how you don’t sob out loud. It’s even more difficult because Matty is singing the chorus at the same time, “And I wish that we could do it again, you guys are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

After this you see a video of Matty trying to do a kickflip in that stupid purple hat of his, which is another video you took on the american tour. And seeing them doing karaoke in Japan and looking so happy makes you cry even more. You’re the FaceTime call that Matty is holding his phone up for because you remember his drunken giggles down the phone as he was showing you what was happening.

When Matty continues singing, “You guys are the best thing that ever happened to me.” with other videos that make you laugh like George bowling, or other ones that make you cry because you're nostalgic like the clip of the Wilmslow sign at the train station.

But when a close up of you and Y/B/F laughing at the camera and with each other comes up you don’t know how you stop yourself from ugly crying. You clutch her hand so tightly and she does the same back, glancing at her you see that her eyes are fixed on the screen but she’s crying too. When you look back you see the camera zoom out to reveal Matty and Adam on either side of you.

The next clip of you and Adam being forced to get a picture together in your ugly Christmas jumpers from back when you were teenagers makes you laugh and cry all the same. But you do laugh some more when you see George and Matty jump into the video laughing, clearly ‘ruining’ it for your Aunt who would have been the one who forced the both of you to wear them.

You and Matty slow dancing at your Aunt and Uncle’s pops up next and you don’t know what is keeping you together at this point. Thankfully, it cuts back to a few different videos of the band again and there’s one of George and Matty asleep on a plane that makes you smile before a 2016 Matty with wild curls pops up to end the song and he’s filming himself in a mirror. This is the last thing you’re left with as the song fades out and it’s at this point you turn to Y/B/F and clutch her in the tightest hug.

A hug that lasts a long time because the both of you can’t stop crying. You even feel Alex wrap his arms around the both of you and he kisses the both of your heads and rubs your backs to try and make the both of you feel any better. You barely even register them moving onto the next song before you both hear Matty say, “That was for sixteen year old me, this one’s for sixteen year old you.”

The audacity Matty, but mostly Adam has (because you know he makes the setlists), to put Robbers right after this stunning new song about all of your friendship is really fucking rude. You don’t stop crying until well after Robbers has finished and you made Alex go and get both you and Y/B/F some tissues which he happily does for you.

You know that your mascara must be a mess but you don’t really care after that emotional rollercoaster. However, when the house lights go back up after Robbers, Y/B/F fixes your face and you fix hers. And you’re thankful that your nostalgic self kept it together for Fallingforyou and every song after that.

You truly don’t know what you would do without those boys on stage or your best friends who are currently by your sides, and you truly hope you never have to. Your heart is so full of love for all of your friends, you truly know just how blessed you are.

You don’t know what you would do without them. Spending time with your friends is what makes you happy and the thought of you ever having to spend a long time where you don’t have them all in your life makes you want to hold them and your memories of them closer. Each and every one of them is so precious.

The fact that you’re buddies with Ross, Nick, Jamie, and Matt. You’re flirty, but boarding on obsessive relationship with George. The fact that Y/B/F, Alex, and Matty are your best and closest friends in the world makes them the most important people in your life.

They are all your family. Your happy place. And you never want to find out what life is like without them and you’re thankful that you won’t ever have to.

~*~*~*~ March 7th 2020 ~*~*~*~

Being back up in Sheffield with everyone in Y/B/F and Charlie’s flat (your old one), makes you so unbelievably happy. And the fact everyone is here, including everyone's wives and girlfriends, bar Matt’s (you and Alex high fived after you were told she couldn’t make it), means that you just know you’re going to have the best night.

It’s been a long while since you all gathered here last, so you and Y/B/F intended on throwing this party to be one of your very best. And it’s been a really fun night.

Since Amanda wasn’t coming, of course you made sure Breana was and Miles had turned up a little later as a surprise. Everyone’s kids were with their grandparents so that meant that you all were drinking and could have a good laugh together.

Of course, you were doing strawberry shots with your boys and you and Y/B/F were really trying to persuade George to let the both of you do tequila body shots off of him but he was having none of it. It was probably for the best considering that Charlie was here and you know Matty would get a little grumpy over it but teasing Adam would have been funny.

You’re already a little tipsy when your phone starts ringing in your pocket and initially when you pick it up, you don’t notice that it’s your work phone. Something which you only realise after you’ve already pressed the green button so you cringe internally as you put your work voice on and you answer saying, “Hello, Y/N Y/L/N speaking.”

“Hi, um…” The man on the other end of the phone asks, “Is this Y/N Y/L/N who’s friends with Alex Turner and Arctic Monkeys.”

Immediately, you roll your eyes as this has happened to you a few times. Considering you were talking to them before your phone rang, Y/B/F and Alex both have a questioning look as to why your face fell, and you mouth back to them, ‘A fan asking about Alex.’

Alex looks like he wants to apologise because he knows that this isn’t the first time it has happened to you, but you have dealt with it enough times to know what to do.

You just stay polite and just reason with whoever is on the other end of the line intending to cut the conversation as short as possible, “Hi, listen I don’t think it’s appropriate for fans to phone me up, especially on my work number. Yes, I know the music is good but he’s not with me twenty-four seven and I can’t get you free tickets to a gig.”

“Put it on speaker and mute yourself.” Y/B/F tells you just after hearing what you said a moment before.

You do as you’re told, but none of you predict what the guy on the phone says back, “Oh no, sorry, I’m not a fan at all. Not even in the slightest actually.”

Immediately the three of you are confused as to why whoever has contacted you, but thankfully they tell you, “I’m calling because I went to high school with you both.”

Your jaw drops at the same time as Y/B/F’s and you can’t tell if Alex is looking at your phone in slight disgust because whoever it is has said they’re not a fan of his music or because the whole phone call feels dodgy.

Unmuting for a second, you ask sceptically, “And what school was that?”

“Stocksbridge High School.” Your eyes widen when they get the answer right, “And we went to Sixth Form together too.”

You’re about to end the call as it feels like something they could google but then it gets a little too personal for them to actually be lying.

The guy goes on to say, “Y/B/F H/L/N is your best friend and your Mum's called Y/M/N and your Dad was called Y/D/N.”

And at this point you must have known them, because you don’t address your Mum as anything other than Mum on your instagram and she doesn’t have an account, nor has Adam or any of the other boys ever mentioned her name online. And fucking hell, you’ve never ever mentionned your Dad on anything and they said what his name was, meaning they know he’s not alive anymore.

You abruptly ask at this point, “I’m sorry who is this?”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognise my voice.” The person says and you genuinely have no idea so you keep silent. Which prompts the guy to announce, “It’s me, Peter… your ex boyfriend.”

You think everyone who has started listening in on this conversation is now wide eyed. And you can’t fucking believe it. You don’t know how you get out the almost sarcastic sounding, “Oh heyyy Peter.”

You mouth for your friends to shush as they have just started gasping and reminding or telling the ones who don’t know who he is. Y/B/F is looking at you like she can’t believe what she’s hearing and you’re just fucking amazed, and not in a good way.

Although, it is fucking hilarious you didn’t recognise his voice.

“Hey Y/N/N. How are you?”

“Not going to lie Peter, I’m a little shocked to hear from you.” You say whilst shaking your head completely blindsided by the call, you ask despite not exactly caring, “How are you?”

You just want to know why he’s calling and why he’s decided to do it after all these years. You’re genuinely so confused but also interested as to why.

‘Mute your phone’ Y/B/F mouths and you quickly do and the both of you say, “What the fuck!” so loudly at the exact same time.

“That’s the long term fucker who made you unhappy, isn’t it?” Matty asks, coming straight over to stand beside you as you barely listen to Peter going into depth as to what he currently does for a living, which none of you listening care about. Matty checks, “The one you were going out with when I kissed you?”

You confirm, “Yeah.”

Jamie scoffs, “He literally just said he didn’t like our music… What the fuck?”

“Unmute.” Y/B/F points back to your phone which has just gone silent and you quickly tap the microphone button.

You have to know, “So what brings you my way, Peter?”

You know everyone in the room is eavesdropping when you hear the music being turned down most of the way and everyone’s eyebrows furrow when you all hear Peter say, “Oh I was wanting to catch up a bit.”

You almost laugh, but you just say a confused, “Right?” and it does sound like more of a question.

“So…” Peter continues this awkward as fuck conversation, and you find it hard to believe that the last time you spoke to him was literally the day you broke up, and what’s on his mind is, “Your still friends with the band then?”

“Yeah,” You pretend as if they aren’t all around you as you say, “I see them sometimes.”

Alex smiles at that but it’s Matty that almost laughs at how bizarre this all is. Even Charlie looks confused and you don’t blame him.

“Oh right.” Peter seems surprised by this, and you only understand why when he continues to ask, “You and Alex had a thing, didn’t you? Thought you’d be closer than sometimes seeing them.”

You pull a face at that comment, and when you glance at Alex his eyes are narrowed at your phone too. It’s so fucking confusing to you as to why the fuck Peter is phoning and asking about Alex.

“They are busy people,” You say as if it’s obvious but then ask so you can gauge just how long your ex has been keeping an eye on you, “And when was this thing that you think happened between me and Alex?”

“Well you were always really close with him when we were going out,” Peter says, “So I wasn’t surprised when I saw you in magazines with him around the time AM came out.”

“Right, okay.” You want to laugh at this but you just look at Alex and mouth, ‘what the fuck?’

Especially when your ex continues to say, “And you were all over the papers, weren’t you? Because you'd been going out with that guy with the weird hair from the year band.”

You nudge Matty playfully at the fact he’d got a mention, and you correct Peter with a smile on your face as you really try and hold in your laugh, “You mean the 1975?”

Y/B/F and Alex are silently laughing at the ‘guy with the weird hair’ comment, but Peter makes it more difficult for you not to start laughing when he confirms who he’s talking about. “Yeah. That guy, you know with the floppy curly hair, seems like a bit of a slag.”

Both you and Matty scoff at the exact same time but thankfully it only sounds like one. You’re entirely offended when you ask, “Are you saying I went out with a slag?” whilst also running your hand over Matty’s mohawk whilst pouting to show you miss his floppy curls that your ex is mentioning.

“Oh well, I’m not saying he was with you. But he seemed to be after.” You say a silent, ‘wow’ before Peter continues, clearly has no boundaries as he asks, “Didn’t he get with that girl Alex went out with?”

Watching Y/B/F slap a hand over her mouth so she can’t laugh almost has you doing the same thing, especially when Matty mumbles, “For fucks sake, I’ve apologised time and time again. When will we let it go.” and he looks at Alex and says, “Sorry again mate.” and Alex smiles, saying it’s fine.

But you take your opportunity to tease Matty and sigh back to Peter, almost as if you’re still annoyed, “Well that is one of life’s big questions.”

Matty’s head snaps to yours and Y/B/F lets out a giggle and you have to mute so you can laugh out loud. You fully giggle and promise Matty, “I’m just joking, I don’t care.”

“Good.” Matty says, at the same time you hear Peter question what you just said, “What?”

“Nothing.” You unmute and dismiss him, “Just taking a trip down memory lane.”

“Oh I feel like I’m watching Jeremy Kyle.” George giggles from the corner of the room and when you look over him and Miles are sitting together trying not to burst out laughing.

You turn away because you will just break and laugh if you carry on watching them.

Peter’s questions get weirder as he curiously asks, “How’d you end up with the guy from the 1975 anyway?”

“He’s in the band with my cousin.” You say bluntly, feeling like if he’s been stalking you as much to know when you went out with Matty and Alex he should know that.

But clearly Peter has no fucking clue because his next question is, “Which ones your cousin?”

You, Carly, Y/B/F, and George laugh the loudest at this. Adam looks so offended it makes it funnier and you’re glad you covered your phone’s microphone so your ex doesn’t hear you.

“The one that plays the guitar with short hair.” You laugh when you remind him, and it’s a dry statement when you say, “You met him Peter.”

You mute the call as Peter goes on with himself and all of you start talking about how fucking weird this whole interaction is. You make it clear to everyone that you haven’t spoken to this man since 2007 which is 12 years ago and you’ve not once tried to contact him.

They all think it sounds weird and dodgy and you genuinely think so too. Or that is until the true nature of the phone call ends up revealing itself. Because all of the awkward conversation finally makes sense when Peter asks, “So are you single now then?”

The clarity is magnificent. You’re his booty call.

You humour him, “Yeah, I am.”

“Amazing, well I was wondering if you fancied meeting up?” Peter asks confidently, and he’s got absolutely no shame when he confirms, “Not to start anything back up properly but like maybe have a bit of fun, if you’re down?”

There it is. And it boosts your ego tenfold because this man has clearly been pining for over a decade which is fucking hilarious considering you broke up because you kissed Matty.

“Have you really gone to this much trouble to contact me to ask to shag again Peter?” You cringe internally, still not entirely believing this is happening.

Both Matty and Alex are laughing at you now and Y/B/F has had to hide into Charlie to keep her giggles at bay. And your heart melts at the way Charlie is grinning and holding her. Christ, they are so sickeningly cute, you love them so much.

“Well, you know how good together we were.” Peter continues to shoot his shot, “And what better than to meet back up and relive old times?”

You’ve never clenched in disgust so hard in your life. This man must be on drugs because he clearly remembers your relationship very differently.

“Fuck off, I can’t” You don’t even attempt to mute the phone at this point, you’re just laughing. And you shake your head when you sarcastically tell your ex, “Oh yeah, I really enjoyed the sex by the end of our relationship when you couldn’t even be bothered to make me finish.”

George is the one who loudly laughs at that and the others in the room follow suit. Matty and Alex look so enthused it makes you want to laugh properly, but you see that most other people’s jaws have dropped because they can’t believe you’ve just said that. And it surprises no one when Adam cringes and just heads to the kitchen to make himself seem busy so he can’t hear.

But then Peter tries to brush that comment off, “I don’t remember it like that.”

“Me and my hand got endless cramps after you fell asleep so I think I remember it just fine.” You shoot him down with brutal honesty, “You were shite at the end Peter, no I don’t want to sleep with you again, thank you.”

And you’re about to hang up, but then you hear the most absurd question leave your ex’s mouth.

“Well do you think Y/B/F would be down?”

When you say you’ve never heard so many gasps fill a room before, you mean it. It was like Alex spilled your virginity secret all over again.

“Wait,” You genuinely laugh, not believing your ears.“So now I’ve said no, you want my best friend?”

Y/B/F’s jaw is dropped and you can’t look at her without a shocked smile coming to your face. You truly can’t believe this is happening.

“Well?” You can imagine Peter shrugging. “She’s fit.”

“I know she’s fit. And she’s good in bed too. But she’s not going to sleep with you Peter.” You voice has gone to a higher pitch at the audacity of his call. There’s dry sarcasm when you ask, “Do you know nothing about girl code?” because the answer is clear.

You see Matty and Alex mutter to each other, “This guy has gotta be kidding, right? Was he always this dim?” and Alex saying back, “He was never this fucking bad.”

“Wait, what? You’ve slept with Y/B/F?” Peter asks in disbelief.

“Yes.” You put it plain and simple for him.

But your eyes roll when he asks, “So you’re a lesbian now?”

“You know you don’t have to label things in life Peter.” Because why the fuck would you tell someone you’ve not seen for 12 years about your sexuality. “It’s not 2003 anymore,” You recall another memory which you wish you didn’t because of the can of worms it opens, “Me and her didn’t have to keep quiet when we shagged like I did at the beginning with you. It’s been over a decade Peter.”

“We really shouldn’t have done all that whilst my parents were in the house... At least we waited until they went out for your first time.” And when he says that, you and Alex look at each other and almost laugh.

You’re about to drop the bombshell of a lifetime.

“Peter. I need to tell you something because after this phone call, I don’t plan on speaking to you again.” You can’t get the smile off your face as you speak the truth, “In the interest of dying one day with a clear conscience, I need to tell you that you weren’t the first person I slept with.”

“What?” Peter is clearly confused which is understandable. “You said it was your first time.”

“I didn’t.” You shake your head, being honest, “I just didn’t correct you.”

He seems to be struggling to comprehend, because he stutters trying to wrap his brain around it before he ends up arguing the point, “But you were nervous?”

“I used to get nervous when I had to phone up to order a take out.” You frown thinking that’s really not a solid fact as to if you would have been a virgin when you first slept with him or not. “Of course I was nervous sleeping with you for the first time.”

Peter’s question makes everyone smile. “Well who was it then?”

“I don’t think you want to know.” You grin at Alex at this point and everyone is finding this hilarious now. Eagerly awaiting Peter’s reaction to this new information.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t seem to like him or his music…” You trail off and bite your lip as you smile at Alex who is silently chuckling.

“Fuck off, you’re having a laugh.” Peter sounds so annoyed when he asks, “You and Alex?! Are you joking?!”

“There it is.” Matty laughs to Y/B/F and Charlie and she fully starts laughing into Charlie’s neck.

You confirm that you’re not joking, “No, I’m not.”

“But when we-” Peter starts.

But you interrupt before too many memories are, “Okay Peter, we don’t need to recap us shagging for the first time.”

And clearly this man has issues because after a decade has passed, his immediate reaction is anger and he accuses you straight away, “I fucking knew you liked him when you were with me.”

You wish that this wasn’t peak comedy so you could just hang up. But you're finding this slightly too funny.

“Did I? That’s interesting, how’d you get to that conclusion?” You have to ask because that’s the biggest load of bullshit you’ve ever heard.

You got with Peter when you were still hurt by how Alex had led you on a couple of months after you came back home and you didn’t get close with Alex again properly until you were both 19. And the reason you got close with him again was because you found out Joanna was cheating on him and you wanted to be a good friend to him and comfort him afterwards.

There was no overlap with liking Alex at all. Peter is chatting utter bollocks.

“You were always on the phone to him when he went away.” Is your ex’s apparent proof.

“Do you not think that’s because he was on tour and I’m nosy and wanted to know who he’d met.” You dryly laugh, “He made friends with Lily Allen, Peter. Do you forget how much I listened to her? I was trying to snag that signed record.”

You laugh when Alex playfully pouts and mouth’s ‘sorry’ because it wasn’t something he ever got you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You hear Peter ask when you tune back into him, “I was with you for four years.”

“It was three and a half at a push and we lasted a year longer than we should have Peter.” You correct him, “And it was a secret. I didn’t tell anyone about it for like ten years.”

And you’re about to force a goodbye so you can be done with the conversation but the dickhead on the other end of the phone clearly has no boundaries, as he asks with annoyance clear in his voice, “So what you just saw how good AM was doing and thought ‘oh I’ll relive old times’.”

Matty’s eyes go wide and he quietly says, “Oh shit.” as he sees anger fill your face.

“Are you having a laugh?” You say dryly but seriously, “Peter, I fucking made the album cover. Like I did for Suck It And See too and all of their fucking logos before that. I went on the AM tour because I wasn’t working and they’re my friends.”

You don’t really know why you’re telling him this and defending yourself, because even if you did want to relive old times, you were entirely entitled to. Peter has no reason to be annoyed.

“Just a bonus you could shag Alex on the road then?” Peter sneers and you see red.

“Man’s got a death wish.” Miles says and George snorts with laughter. And everyone’s eyes go wide hearing what Peter said.

“Excuse me? Not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t shag Alex on that tour at all.” You’re fuming when you ask, “Who do you actually think you’re speaking to?”

“Of fucking course.” Peter is clearly still putting pieces together because he sounds even more annoyed when he says, “Your house number was 505, I fucking knew I knew that number.”

If you weren’t fuming you would have probably heard Alex look at Matty and joke, “Wow, absolute mastermind on the phone only took thirteen years to figure that one out.” and Matty cackles.

“Yeah, he’s not very covert but Peter, just listen to me right now. Don’t ever fucking call this number again.” You put it very bluntly because you’re over this conversation now. “Y/B/F isn’t going to sleep with you because she’s got good taste in men and women. And quite frankly, my standards have improved a hell of a lot since I got with you.”

You think you hear Breana and Katie say, “Amen.” to that which makes Y/B/F laugh.

“Hint for you. Just being nice to someone doesn’t cut it anymore and trying to come for them over the phone doesn’t really work for a booty call.” And because you don’t give a single shit anymore, you tell him straight. “And, I’d like to tell you that both Alex and Matty have bigger dicks than you and are better in bed. I never actually had to fake it with them unlike I did half the time with you when you got tired and just got yourself off.”

You would laugh at Alex and Matty fist bumping each other, but you’re seething.

“So I hope you find someone with low standards to help you out.” You say but you truly don’t mean it. You are kind enough to tell him, “Tip for the future. Spend more than two seconds on the clit and just because they say they came doesn’t mean they did.”

Adam chose the wrong time to walk out of the kitchen because he immediately regrets his decision and George’s laugh echoes the loudest seeing his disgust and the way he immediately goes back into the kitchen makes it funnier. But you think he may have caught the end of you telling Peter, “A good meal and a vibrator is better than you ever were.”

Matty laughs so loud at that you decide to bring him into the conversation, “Also the whole of the 1975 say hello. Matty have anything you want to say?” You offer him the phone.

And he takes it with a big grin coming to his face. “Yeah, hiya. You’re a fucking twat and you didn’t deserve Y/N in the first place. Don’t worry though, I made up for what you couldn’t achieve so thanks for showing her real disappointment so I seemed so much better. Oh and in case you were wondering, it was me that she kissed back before you split up so thanks for being a shit enough boyfriend she wanted to get with me.”

And when you take your phone back, you look at Alex this time as you tell your ex, “Oh and funnily enough Arctic Monkeys happen to be here too. All of them pretty offended that you don’t like their music and Alex looks like he wants to throw my phone out the window because you’re still gabbering on.”

Which isn’t a lie, he looks fuming that Peter has spoken to you the way he has. You offer him the phone, “Alex?”

“Peter, you're not special mate. And you can hate me all you like but at the end of the day, at least I can make a woman finish.” Your best friend puts it plain and simple for your ex.

And you’ve had enough now, so you end the conversation with, “Oh and by the way Peter, I’ve been scorned before so if any of that was recorded to be sold on or even if someone else is listening now, you didn’t make it clear I was being recorded and you bet I can sue your arse along with both bands following me. Then you’ll end up in court, bankrupt, and in prison.”

“Goodbye Peter. I’d say it’s been nice but that’d be a lie.” And when you end the call, absolutely seething, the room starts celebrating and whooping which makes you laugh.

You look at Y/B/F, Alex, and Matty and say, “Your all indirect sexual partners with that. Have fun with that information.”

After they all cringe, the night gets back underway. You make sure your work phone is turned off completely and you all have the best night together.

Later on in the night, all of you are tipsy at this point and you’ve been having the best chats and catch ups with everyone. You’re so bloody thankful that Alex and Matty seem to be getting on with each other like actual mates and it makes your life so much easier and better and you can chat with the both of them with absolutely no worries of an argument.

And it’s even funnier when George comes over and pulls you into his side and they both just end up rolling their eyes at you. You think that they are finally accepting you and George and you love that.

“We're playing that game now.” Y/B/F announces to the room. “Charlie planned it for us to get us even more lashed and the winner gets a present along with a bottle of spirits of their choice.”

“And everyone has to play, the only person not doing is Adam because he’s going to call out what he wants us to do.” Your best friend tells everyone before getting everyone in two lines and opposite another person.

Thankfully, no one argues and the game works well. It’s a game where you are paired together with a different person each round and it’s basically a game of simon says without saying simon says. But there's competition and an incentive to win because on the floor in the middle of each pair there is a small present wrapped up.

You’ve been told most of them are mock gifts and the real one will be given to the final two people playing and the winner can open it.

And you’re competitive when it comes to games you can win, so you’re ready for this. You try your very hardest to beat those who you’re up against.

First you’re up against Alex and you pray you win this one. The game starts when Adam makes you touch your heads, knees, shins, toes, and ears before he shouts, “Gift.” and everyone scrambles for the present on the floor in front of them. Each round gets half the people out every time and you’re thankful when you wave Alex off to the side lines because you got the gift before him.

The second round, you’re up against Matty. And once again it feels like you have to win and as soon as your cousin shouts “Gift.” you drop as fast as you can to the ground to get it before he does.

Thankfully, you do get it before him and you grin like a fool at Matty’s fake glare. But you just rub it in his face and tell him, “That’s what you get for cutting my curls off.”

“It was my hair.” Matty reminds you.

You remind him, “You’re my Curly, can’t call you that now, can I?”

“Yeah mohawk boy, step aside.” George tells him as he’s now who you’re playing in this round.

Being up against George makes you all the more competitive. But after you touch all the different body parts you’re told to, and then “Gift.” is shouted, you truly don’t know how George gets it before you. It was like he was already going for it before ‘gift’ was even announced.

Obviously, your loss makes you pout and you pretend to glare at George. You say, “I’m going to fight you later.” as you walk past him to stand with your other friends who are out.

George just turns and smirks as you stand beside Matty and Alex pretending to be grumpy still. But the drummer winks at you and says, “Oh yeah Baby, let's fight in your bedroom... I’m sure you’ll enjoy losing.”

And when you say that you don’t know how you didn’t fall to your knees for him right then and there, you truly don't know. The chokehold this man has on you is unmatched.

Matty sticks his middle finger up at George which has the drummer turning around laughing loudly. But then your best friends have something to say about it.

“Don’t get any ideas.” Matty tells you, but what really stops your heart is when Alex says, “I’m sure we’d rather offer you the threesome again before Matty lets you take what George is offering.” and Matty hums in agreement.

You have to close your eyes and rub your temples to try and get a grip of yourself. Your cheeks are so hot and you whisper to yourself, “So so many thoughts. They need to stop.”

Both men beside you hum in amusement and you try to focus on the rest of the game. George is up against Y/B/F and Charlie is up against one of his friends that he invited tonight. And you watch your best friend and soulmate intensely.

But when you watch them play, you notice that when ‘gift’ is shouted, George doesn’t even go for it. So as Y/B/F is celebrating and is about to go up against her boyfriend for the final round where Adam places the real wrapped up gift between them, you scorn the drummer.

“Did you just let her win?” You ask him.

George smiles and says, “I just wanted to beat you Baby, now come here.” and the drummer pulls you from being just in front of your other best friends and now your back is leaning against his chest.

“Oooo battle of the lovers now.” Jamie grins and you all smile at the cutest couple in the room.

And when their game starts you’re all cheering them on until Adam quiets you all down so they can hear his instructions. But you all cheer for Y/B/F when she’s the first to get to the present in the middle of the room.

Adam recorded the whole of that round so he captures the way Y/B/F’s face lights up when she wins. You encourage her to open the present as you asked her before what the prize was and she said that she had no idea because Charlie sorted out the game.

As you watch your best friend giving her undivided attention to the present she’s started to unwrap, you almost miss the way Charlie starts slowly dropping down to one knee. And just as you’re about to gasp, George’s hand comes over your mouth so you can’t ruin the surprise for her.

Y/B/F gets the wrapping paper off and it reveals a ring box. But only when she curiously opens it does she notice that her boyfriend is on one knee and she gasps and puts her hands over her mouth.

From where you’re standing, you can just about see the edges of Charlie’s mouth and you know he’s grinning like a fool.

“Y/B/F, you always said that you wanted this to happen surrounded by all your friends and everyones here… I love you so so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He takes the ring box from her and opens it up to ask her, “Will you marry me?”

You’ve already teared up and your heart is so full as you watch your best friend nod and she drops to her own knees so she can excitedly kiss Charlie. Only then does George drop his hand from your mouth and you’re free to cry properly at the fact your best friend just got engaged.

Whilst Y/B/F is still having her moment with Charlie, you turn around to punch George in the chest and him, Alex, and Matty all laugh a little at your reaction. “You knew!” You cry at the drummer as you can tell from your other best friends' faces that they had no clue, like you.

“And I was told, make sure you get Y/N out and don’t let her ruin the surprise.” He tells you chuckling.

You giggle a little but you tear up even more because you’re so happy for them, and George pulls you into a hug to comfort you. Alex and Matty smile at your reaction but you can’t stop looking at the happy couple who are now standing up clutching each other tightly.

When you finally get to wrap your arms around Y/B/F, you cry, “I’m so unbelievably happy for you.”

“Thank you.” She’s a little teary eyed too as she clutches you just as tight. “Did you know?”

“No,” You shake your head, but joke, “And I think it’s a little rude he didn’t ask for my blessing.”

The both of you cry as you giggle then, and you turn the both of you so you can see Charlie being congratulated by Alex, Matty and George when you say your next sentence.

“How have we gone from me and Alex walking in on you two shagging on that sofa to this?” You embarrass Charlie by asking.

The laugh you all let out though is infectious, and you all spend the rest of the night celebrating the happy couples engagement. You can’t describe your happiness enough.

Everything is perfect. Your life is perfect. You have the best friends in the world around you and you’re so beyond thankful to have each of them in your life.

You’re most certainly at your happiest when you’re in the company of your friends and it’s unfortunate to find out that you’ve always taken that for granted. Because everything is about to change.

~*~*~*~ June 1st 2020 ~*~*~*~

March 23rd was the day that the UK went into lockdown and life as you all knew it stopped for the foreseeable future. Covid hit the country and right now, you don’t know if there will ever be an end to it.

Lockdown rules meant that all of your friends' work stopped but yours, as you already worked from home. But you all had never been confined to your homes before now.

It was law not to mix with any other households, and you were restricted to an hour of outdoor exercise each day on top of a whole other bunch of rules. The prospect of not seeing anyone for so long hurts like a bitch and watching the Prime Minister tell you that the county was basically shutting down scared you a lot.

This pandemic has scared you a lot because Charlie is at the front line and that’s really fucking dangerous and it panics you just thinking about it. You truly don’t know how Y/B/F is coping with the fear of him potentially catching it because you can’t imagine the love of your life being put at risk every day.

You know that Y/B/F has been having a hard time of it because she’s just had to move out from the flat and she’s staying with her parents for the foreseeable future because after a chat between her and Charlie they decided it would be safer and less stress inducing for Charlie himself if he was in the flat on his own. That way he didn’t have to worry about potentially passing the virus onto her.

You’d offered for Y/B/F to drive down to London and stay in your flat because you were alone and haven’t seen anyone for months. You’re being so safe with everything but you understand that she wanted to stay up North just in case Charlie needed her.

Clapping for a few minutes every Thursday evening really didn’t feel like enough for everything he and his colleagues working in the NHS are doing to save people’s lives. And it upsets you so much that this should be such a happy time for your best friend and Charlie to start planning their wedding but everything has obviously stopped and almost every day Charlie is seeing people die from this horrible disease.

At first, you tried to take the positives out of being confined indoors, or what positives you could take from a global pandemic. You tried to think of it as a way for you to focus entirely on your art and make the most of the time you could concentrate on it.

In the beginning of the pandemic, you finished all of your custom pieces that people had ordered a while ago and once you got them all shipped out, you endeavoured to continue with your next collection of pieces for your gallery. But after a while all of your motivation died a slow death.

Friends have been keeping in contact, and all of you do a Zoom quiz every week to have a laugh with each other as best you can. But it’s not the same as it was. Nothing is the same anymore.

Recently, you haven't been doing too well.

All motivation to work has gone entirely and most nights this week you’ve been crying yourself to sleep at the sheer heartbreak of not being able to see your family or your friends. In the day, you’ve FaceTimed everyone almost obsessively to make sure they are alright and they are doing okay, so much so it leaves you a little paranoid if someone doesn’t text you back within 10 minutes.

You know people have it a lot harder than you do, and you’re grateful that everyone you know is relatively safe. But your mental health is taking a dramatic decline and you don’t know what else you can do.

You’re tried everything you’re allowed to. Hour long walks in the London parks is what you’re limited to but it doesn’t give you any comfort like your spot in the park back in High Green does.

You’re really struggling and tonight it’s hit its peak. You really can’t do this shit anymore. You’ve been on your own for months and you haven’t had the simple pleasure of a hug in such a long time, you realise just how you’ve taken everything for granted with your friends up until now.

It’s almost 1am and you’ve been crying for the past few hours and you’ve only just calmed yourself down enough to even see your phone properly, because you know what you need to do to avoid getting any worse. It may be against the rules, but you’ve been isolating for months and you don’t think isolating with another person who has also been doing the exact same thing will get you into trouble. Especially when you know that doing this will save your mental health.

So you calm yourself down enough to make the phone call.

You call the man who you truly think you can’t go another day without seeing. The man who has wormed his way so deep into your heart that he’s the most important person in your life and you don’t want to go another second without him being by your side.

It’s not long before your phone stops ringing and you hear his voice and it hits you like a breath of fresh air, his tired voice says down your phone, “Hello.” and you feel bad that you’ve clearly just woken him up.

“Hey.” You just about get out, as you want to cry from just hearing his voice.

He knows you so well that he can hear from just your greeting that you’re upset. He doesn’t hesitate to ask, “What’s wrong?”

The tears fall unwillingly, and you sniffle a little as you try and take a few breaths to stop yourself from crying more. But it gets harder when you hear him call you by the nickname he has for you, and you know just from the way it lightens your heavy heart that you’ve made the right decision.

After wiping your tears, your voice is full of emotion as you ask, “Can I please come and stay with you?”

“I’m on my way.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Can you believe that’s almost it? I’m very emotional, how about you? Who are you picking? I’ll probably ask you when we get to the two endings which you choose too but I’m so keen to know. What did you think of the last chapter? Did you cry? How are we feeling? Sobbing for Charlie and Bestie, I love them so much. Who are we wanting Wheels to be endgame with????

Thank you all so much for reading!

Taglist: @psychkunox @sofiaaraee @thewheeler @cold-hands-cold-eyesss @xovalliegirlxo @vroboat @hoodskillerqueen @woahhealy @emmaheg1005 @belledawnidk @elen-alambil @megann-duff @alexsvacuumcleaner @bshelley322 @g0thwat3rr @cassieinnit @ohmyolympusssywp @filling-thevoid @xqueenkt @indierock4ever @amturners @alovesreading

Add yourself to the taglist with the link in the Masterlist!

#alex turner x reader #matty healy x reader #alex x reader #matty x reader #alex turner #matty healy #alex turner fanfic #matty healy fanfic #alex turner fanfiction #matty healy fanfiction #the 1975 #arctic monkeys #matt helders #george daniel #jamie cook #adam hann #nick o'malley #ross macdonald #miles kane

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dgmovies · 3 years ago

Text

ENHYPEN: Recommendations Masterlist

✨Welcome to my world✨

Here are some fics I've collected of ENHYPEN. I have a few more saved up, so I will be adding those in the future. I have only included the legal-line. Enjoy :) Idk if all the links work. Some works may have been deleted already. Also, some info might be missing. *Disclaimer: English is not my first language.*

Tags: © = My personal favorite, F = Fluff, A = Angst, S = Smut

*Updated: 13-02-2022*

Lee Heeseung

ONE SHOTS:

Hate You, Hate Me - @enhahardhours (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Enemy!Heeseung

That’s Right, He Can’t (Ft. Sunghoon) - @jaylaxies (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Dom!Heeseung, Switch!Sunghoon

SERIES:

~ Nothing yet... ~

Park Jongseong (JAY)

ONE SHOTS:

A Friendly Favor - @hoonbami (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Wanting to have a little bit of experience before your first hook up ever, you come to your best friend, asking him if he’ll do you a favor by taking your virginity for you, and much to your pleasure, he actually agrees (BestFriend!Jay)

All I See Is Gold - @httpheeseung (A, F, S) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 23.5k

Summary: Jay would do anything to make his parents proud. Prove himself as the successor to his dad’s firm, be top of his class, have the right friends, be the perfect son. So when his parents meet you at a fundraiser they’ve organized and think the two of you are dating, he has to get you on board with his stupid plan. Too bad you just happen to be his most annoying rival. (College!AU, Rivals2Lovers!AU, FakeDating!AU)

SFW version -> click here

Ave, General - @heetendo (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 12.7k

Summary: After your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of Rome. However, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, Jay Park only wanted one thing – some time alone with you (Roman!AU, RomanGeneral!Jay)

Bourbon and Blood - @heesunminies (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: You had charmed the man right to where you wanted him, like a fly trapped in a spider’s web – If only he knew you were Park Jay’s girl (Maffia!AU)

Don’t Say Goodnight - @jeontaeil (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: After having one of the most mind blowing nights of your life, you go to work only to find out that the guy you hooked up with is now your new boss.

Fallin’ For Him Was Like Fallin’ From Grace - @heesunminies (S, F)

Status: Completed (+ sequel)

Word Count: ?

Summary: ?

Marked - @hyunsuks-beanie (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: TigerHybrid!Jay

Noise Complaint - @jaylaxies (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: HotelNeighours!AU

Picture Perfect - @nyanggk (©, S, F) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 28k

Summary: Park Jay is known around your campus as a resident fuck boy. Him and his friends compete in a game wherein by the end of the year, they have to complete their fuck list in order to win. But what happens when jay meets a girl who can resist his charms? (RugbyPlayerJay!, ArtClubMemberReader!, HighSchool!AU, E2L!AU)

Popsicle - @neonheeseung (©, S, F, A) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 27k

Summary: Camp m.e.y.r. is the best place on earth -- it's where you met your best friend, Jay Park. And it's also where you fell in love with him... But you try not to think about that part. This year, however, is the last time any of you will be attending m.e.y.r, and your friends convince you to flirt as though your life depends on it -- to play on his supposedly mutual feelings. Now, this summer camp has turned into a heated tug-of-war, where you and jay both compete to make the other snap first... (SummerCamp!AU, CampCounselor!AU, RichKid!AU)

(SFW version available on @freckledwinterfalls, soon to be @sunshinelixie-lee)

The Hates Everyone Except You Trope - @taeghi (©, S, A, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 28k

Summary: Being the smartest one in your whole year had its perks, but it meaning that you would have to tutor the students that were behind in class was definitely the ultimate con- except for it allowing you to get to know the school’s bad boy in a way no one else has before.

The Path To A Nerd's Heart- @jaylaxies (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: School!AU, Sub!Jay

SERIES:

~ Nothing yet... ~

Sim Jaeyun (JAKE)

ONE SHOTS:

Behind Closed Doors - @ikigaitsuki (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Finding an unlocked door in one of your friends’ usual parties provides an opportunity to escape the crowd. But with the closing of some doors, comes the figurative opening of others.

Burn For You - @jayflrt (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Regency London’s competitive marriage market is no match for you, who brings suitors to their knees with a simple bat of your eyelashes. However, the issue is that you only care for your best friend, Sim Jaeyun, and your competition is a princess! (Bridgerton!AU, BF2L!AU)

Hold Still - @ikigaitsuki (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: If he were to get his hands on you, there wouldn’t be an inch of your skin untouched, no area unmarked. After all, we need to see who you belong to, right?

If You Hate Me So Much - @m4sh1 (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: You were tired of Jake tagging along on your nights out with your friends. You hated him and wanted him to leave you alone. If only he wasn’t so stubborn and impatient.

Lakeside Rendezvous - @jaylaxies (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: BF2L!AU

Library Hook-Ups - @enhahardhours (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Badboy!Jake as your tutor and ended up fucking you.

Warm - @sunnyjae (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Chilling with the guys during a movie leads to you and Jake being more touchy under the covers (the boy is whipped for you, you’re just oblivious). (BestFriend!Jake)

Wish Come True - @jaylaxies (S, F)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: ?

SERIES:

~ Nothing yet... ~

Park Sunghoon

ONE SHOTS:

10:21 PM - @jaylaxies (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 0.7k

Summary: 7MinutesInHeaven!AU

After School - @sunnyjae (S, F) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Sunghoon and you never got along – he was too teasing for your own good, you were too bratty for him. What if Sunghoon sees something he may or may not have been the intended recipient of? Will you guys use your feud to an advantage? (E2L!AU)

Lovers In The Night - @jaylaxies (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 6.4k

Summary: You despised dinner parties with the park family, solely because you had to face Sunghoon there, your resident fuckboy and childhood 'friend'. Things took a turn when his mom caught you both in a compromising position, mistaking it as a relationship, when in reality, all you were trying to do was to snatch your phone back from Sunghoon. Highly pleased, his father allows him to go to the trip he's been waiting for since long. Desperate, he begs you to keep up with the facade in return to set you up with Heeseung, your crush. Before it all, they invite you for a dinner and night-stay, forgetting to inform you that you'll be staying in Sunghoon's room, sharing the bed with him.

Real You, Real Me - @httpheeseung (F, A) *recently added*

Status: Completed

Word Count: 22.8k

Summary: You’re the most popular girl in school, with the highest grades and the best looks. Everybody loves you and you intend to keep it that way; but at the beginning of your senior year of high school, Park Sunghoon finds out about a side of you you had desperately tried to keep hidden for years. He now has something he can hold against you, and you best believe he’s going to use it to his own advantage. (FakeDating!AU)

That’s Right, He Can’t (Ft. Heeseung) - @jaylaxies (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Switch!Sunghoon, Dom!Heeseung

The Art of Porn - @enhahardhours (S)

Status: Completed

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Two best friends don’t want to be virgins when they graduate, so they decide to let go of their innocence together—no strings attached.

SERIES:

Star-Crossed - @fallingforgyu (S, F, A)

Status: Completed (2 Chapters)

Word Count: 15.3k (2 Chapters)

Summary: Prince!Sunghoon

The Jock - @jongseongsnudes (S, F)

Status: Ongoing (Chapters 3/4)

Word Count: 10.5k (2 Chapters)

Summary: Everyone knows Park Sunghoon as the handsome, charming jock that all the girls want to be with and all the guys want to be. You however, know him as your brother’s cocky best friend who always finds ways to annoy you so how you end up pinned on the bed by him one night… is quite the story.

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #jay smut #jake smut #sunghoon smut #fic recommendation #one shot #masterlist #series #sim jaeyun smut #jaeyun smut #park jongseong smut #jongseong smut #lee heeseung smut #park sunghoon smut #park jay smut #sim jake smut #enhyphen smut

939 notes · View notes

in-san-ity · 3 years ago

Text

zemblanity (c.jh)

synopsis : Jongho could be compared to a black cat with the amount of bad luck he brings to your life. Ironic that he becomes your guard dog.

pairing : Choi Jongho x reader.

themes : mafia au, angst, some fluff & smut.

word count : 23.5K

author's note: the dogs have a bigger part in this than San. Idk why I put so much emphasis on them. Also this is my first work so I hope you like it!!

Going on vacation alone was the best thing that ever happened to you.

Although you could do without the pitiful glances the staff would give you whenever they realized you had rented a huge suite alone and ate every meal at a solo table. What did they know anyway? As far as you were concerned, people didn't give it enough credit

You got the bed to yourself. You could be as antisocial and distant as you wanted to. And most importantly, your agenda for each day was completely your decision. No sunbathing at the poolside for your friends that liked to wear bikinis and looked good in them. No sightseeing for those who enjoyed looking at cracked old buildings and stupid nature.

No, for you it was each night at the club, dancing your heart out and drinking your body weight. Then getting some greasy pizza and falling asleep in your hotel room before waking up the next day and repeating it.

You didn’t know how many times the hotel staff had to escort you to your room because you fell asleep in the lobby. Although you could hardly consider that your problem, though you were grateful to them for helping you and made it apparent through your tips.

Such was the case as tonight. You were dancing, raising the drink in your hand to the air while cheering as did the other club-goers. Drinks sloshed together and dripped out the sides of the glass and even on your head as you drunkenly swivelled your way around the club and closer to the bar.

You had been dancing for the better part of the night, which was all night, and your aching feet needed a rest.

“French fries and a Blinker please.” You said and grabbed a bar stool. In your haze, you didn’t quite realize that you had grabbed the stool just as someone was about to sit down and the next thing you heard was someone falling to the floor.

Your eyes widened, scrambling towards the woman, who by the looks of it was just as drunk as you were before grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet, “I am so sorry, I didn’t see you.”

You were hoping she wasn’t one of those drunks that let her inner Karen out. Or worse, she was a Karen who just got even more Karen-er when intoxicated. The last thing you needed was a lawsuit for something as harmless as a bruised ass. If she were any fun, she would consider a bruised ass as a sign of a good night.

So, you were quite relieved when she laughed it off, waving her hands like she was shooing the problem out of the air. She grabbed another stool and sat beside you, waving down the bartender.

“Chicken tenders and two beers for me and my friend here.”

You raised a brow, chuckling, “Friend? We just met and I knocked you on your ass.”

“More like swept me off my feet! Besides, I’m trying to rack up the bill to piss off my husband.”

“Oh, I hear that, sister.” You muttered, stuffing a few fries in your mind unceremoniously. She grabbed a couple out of your plate and did the same, but you didn’t mind. It didn’t take long for the both of you to become best friends; in a half hour, you were doing love-shots of tequila and feeding each other jalapeno poppers.

That was the best thing about being drunk anyway; the one-night stands that applied to friendship just as much as it did sex. You’d remember her as a girl who you’d kill for in that slim window of time and then never thought of again.

Bongsoon, who had to introduce herself thrice since the first two times you pretended you heard her when you didn’t, was obviously rich and you could tell from her expensive handbag which matched her designer shoes. As if that wasn’t the image of wealth, she also had a bodyguard that lingered by her side. At first, you thought he was a creepy stalker, but she quickly waved your worries away, saying that he was a man who worked for her husband.

She was new to clubbing, you could tell from the way she refused to come and join you on the dance floor even though she was swaying and singing the song underneath her breath. You doubted that she would’ve come here had she not wanted to get back at her husband who apparently brought work on their vacation.

You didn’t blame her; you would've done the same thing.

Ever since you hit the legal age to drink (which was only a couple of months ago), you could be found in one of two places after dark. You visited clubs so often they became a second home to you, second only to your actual home where you would be hidden underneath a pile of your three dogs.

Even though your new friend was much older, you were hardly surprised when she told you it was her first time in a club, usually headed for the classier bars where she could wear heels and an elegant dress without worrying about it. You could only hope you’d have enough money to go to high-end places like her when you were older.

Halfway through, Bongsoon left to go to the washroom, and you chuckled at the way she left her drink in the open, making a mental note to tell her not to do that anymore if she planned on continuing to go clubbing. Or living.

So, you just took her drink and placed it next to yours for safety and waited until she came back.

“Hey, you shouldn’t leave your drink out in the open like that. Don’t know what creep might try and drug you.” You said, pointing at her pint of beer that was right beside yours and waiting for her to innocently nod like she had been doing the entire night. The way her face fell as though you had just betrayed her by protecting her drink caught you off guard.

She reached out to grab the glass and hesitantly raised it to her lips, sparing you a glance and if it was possible, her face scrunched up more painfully when she realized you were staring intently. In your head, you were just trying to figure out what had caused the sudden change in mood but to her, it felt like you were waiting for something. She had seen that look all too well.

Suddenly, something froze over in her eyes, and she slammed the glass back on the counter, glaring harshly at you.

“Drink it.”

“What?” You blurted, confused.

“Drink it.” She repeated, just as coldly as she had done before, and your eyes went wide finally understanding what she was trying to imply here.

“You don’t think I put something in your drink, do you?” You sputtered, put on the spot by the way she was glaring at you, a stark difference from what she had been for the majority of the night.

“If you’re so confident then why don’t you take a sip.” Her personality had taken a whole 180-degree turn and you could only wonder what had suddenly brought the distrust. You hadn’t even done anything to her aside from keeping her great company.

Glaring back, you stood to your feet, grabbing the pint by the handle and chugging the beer. As the level of the beer decreased in the glass, you could see the expression on her face melt from one of confidence to uncertainty as she watched you gulp down all of it before wiping the foam away from your mouth.

Usually, you wouldn’t have been able to drink that much without taking a break, but you guessed the anger at her accusations fuelled you long enough to finish the drink before telling the bartender to charge it to your room and turning on your heel.

The dizziness from drinking all that alcohol hit you just as you entered the lobby and you stumbled to one of the sofas, almost immediately collapsing into the soft velvet of the cushions and passing out.

The hotel staffed sighed before playing their nightly game of rock paper scissors to see who had to carry you up to your room.

***

Luckily, you hadn’t been stupid enough to drink on an empty stomach and due to the time difference, you ended up waking up in the middle of the night. Your incredibly hung-over self at least had the decency and respect for her body to drink a bottle of water and take some aspirin before promptly falling back asleep.

When you woke up the next day, you felt better than expected since you had drunk until you quite literally blacked out. It was only a two more days before you had to leave and you decided to actually leave the hotel room this time to get some food, so you could at least have some memory of this vacation.

The sun was bright and warm against your skin and the breeze by the pool was so inviting that you almost wanted to skip lunch and curl up in one of the lounge chairs. If you were disciplined in any way, you would’ve resisted the temptation by not walking by the pool. But it was your vacation, and you frankly didn’t care about food that much.

Besides, there was always pool side service.

Considering the pool was usually packed with so many people that it looked more like a public bath, a bell should’ve rung in your head when you found it nearly empty. Only a few people were by the pool, but you didn’t pay them any attention, barely glancing at them through the sunglasses and laying down on one of the beach chairs.

It was kind of ridiculous that you were already groggy and tired when all you had done today was get out of bed and take a shower, but it was vacation, you were catching up on the hours that you missed due to your demanding university.

“The pool is closed. Get out.” Came a gruff voice and you lifted your sunglasses to find legs by your chair. You looked up to see a man with red hair glaring down at you with the anger of a demon.

You wondered how you missed the reservation sign on the gate but nevertheless muttered a half-assed apology and got out of the chair. Now that you knew just how inviting the pool was, you made a note to come here a little later.

“(Y/N)?”

Surprised once again, you glanced at the pool side to find Bongsoon laying there in a pretty swimsuit with a book in her hand.

“Hi.”

“Hi!” She scrambled out of the chair, pulling on a cover up and making her way over to you before grabbing both your hands eagerly, “I’m so sorry about last night. It happens to me more often than you’d realize. I was just being cautious, but you were just doing a nice thing for me, I’m sorry I accused you of something like that.”

Her gaze was so earnest, it was kind of uncomfortable and you spared a glance at the man standing beside you. He had a mean look on his face and you were turned off to say the least, what on earth had you done wrong?

Gently pulling her hands out of her grip, you smiled politely, “No hard feelings.”

Of course, that wasn’t true, but you wouldn’t see each other again anyway so what was the harm in lying so you could leave sooner. Just as you wrenched your hands out of her perfectly manicured grip, she grabbed them again, “Let me make it up to you; let me buy you some lunch.”

Her gaze was even more pleading and the man beside you was burning holes against the side of your head. Your eyes were darting around trying to find the quickest way out of here possible and your palms began sweating before you realized. So much for a relaxing morning.

“I already ate.” That was a blatant faced lie and had the sound of the water been any quieter she probably would’ve heard your stomach rumbling.

“Dinner then, please?” This lady clearly didn’t understand when she was being kindly rejected. Or she did realize it and very pointedly decided to ignore it.

“I thought you wanted to spend time with your husband?”

“Oh, he can wait one night. Come on, please?”

You sighed, finally meeting her eyes, “Alright.”

***

Dinner was actually more enjoyable than you realized it would be. Totally wasn’t worth the amount of dread you felt as you walked to the restaurant. After your first drink, everything was forgotten as you and Bongsoon fell into your previous groove, laughing like old friends.

Unlike last time, her bodyguard was nowhere in sight, and she was a little more comfortable with you, sharing things about her life instead of screaming things over the loud music like you had when you first met her.

Bongsoon had good taste in food and wine, it was one of the most satisfying meals you had ever had in your entire life. So much for quantity over quality, she might just convince you that the tiny steak you had was better than a bucketful of chicken.

“What about your parents, (Y/N)?” She asked after telling you that she was something of a chaebol, grabbing the glass of wine and bringing it to her lips.

“They live abroad, I moved out when college started. We don’t really talk much.”

The dinner was going better than expected, you almost considered giving her your phone number so you could stay in contact.

Although you’d soon take back that thought.

Just as you left the place and were walking back to the parking lot, you thought you heard the cock of a gun and the next thing you knew, Bongsoon was tackling you to the ground after yelling “Get down!”

A shower of bullets followed it, hitting the car you both had ducked behind.

“W-What’s going on?! Are they shooting at us?!” You screamed, blanching as she pulled a glock out of her purse like she had been expecting this to happen. Her hands were shaking though, as she peeked out from behind the car and fired timid shots, each missing.

“Why are they shooting at us?! What the hell is going on?!” You shouted, grabbing her shoulder but she shrugged your grip off, shooting again and you just knew that she missed from the way her hand moved due to the recoil.

“Give me that!” You snarled, snatching the gun from her hands and peered over your cover before shooting at one of the armed men. He fell to the ground and your confidence went up, firing two more shots before the gun ran out and you went back to cowering beside her.

“What now?” You asked, voice small and she stayed silent for a moment until the sound of an engine sounded off and she sighed in relief.

A large car suddenly stopped in front of you, shielding the two of you from your attackers as more men clamoured out of the car and began shooting at them. Bongsoon quickly jumped into the car and left the door open, beckoning you to get in with her.

“Oh no, you must have lost your mind if you think I’m going anywhere with you!” You said, taking a step back and ended up colliding with something that grabbed your arms tightly before pressing a cloth to your face.

“Actually, we’ll be taking you.”

***

Being drugged was no picnic.

When you woke up, you were immediately in alarm, vaguely remembering what had happened and realizing that you were tied up to a chair in a dingy looking room, with a flickering light. It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie.

But whatever they had drugged you with was strong, and you not having anything put in your body other than local aesthesia and maybe the occasional painkiller, it felt like you had been hit by a truck. You could barely even register the feeling of the ropes burning your skin.

The door opened and in came Bongsoon with 7 other men that glared at you as if you were scum.

You said something but all that came out of you was a groggy groan and one of them chuckled, “This can’t be the first time you’ve gotten special treatment like this. Snap out of it!”

And then came the blow across your face that had your nose bleeding and tears skating across your face.

“What happened?” Came your response when the spots in your vision cleared and you were fighting unconsciousness due to the drug in your system.

“We’ll ask the questions; who sent you?” Your nose was bleeding heavily, and you could taste the blood in the back of your throat. Now the tears falling on your cheeks were more because you were scared and not because your nose hurt.

“What?”

“Was it Stray Kids?”

“Who?”

“Going to play dumb, huh? Well, we’ll have you singing like a canary, or I’ll cut your throat out.” He said, brandishing a knife and your eyes went wide. You summoned whatever strength was in your body to try and wiggle away from him which was in vain.

“Oh, my goodness, oh my god! Look, I think there’s been a mistake, I’m not some agent or something! I wasn’t sent by anyone! I’m just a university student!” You screamed, still trying to use your strength to get away from the blonde stalking towards you. Which when you think about it, was kind of stupid considering you wouldn’t get far even if you managed to free yourself.

“And we’re supposed to believe that just a university student can shoot a gun like that.” Came a remark from a man with orange hair that stood next to Bongsoon. Soft sobs were already making their way out of your mouth but when you tried to take a breath to regain your senses, the man came closer, making you panic.

“My mother! And my father! They’re Olympic shooters! I learnt from them! Please don’t cut my fingers off!”

“If your parents are athletes then your name should have come up on the search.” Bongsoon’s cold voice cut through the air and when you looked at her, you were astonished to see how steely she looked at you. Why was she mad at you when all you had done was protect her?

“My last name isn’t the same as theirs, I have my mother’s maiden name. Please don’t cut my fingers off.”

“And how does a college student with no job pay for a vacation like that?”

“My parents send me a lot of money. The apartment I live in is theirs, they send me money for groceries and bills and things like that. I saved up whatever was left at the month end to pay for the vacation.” You rambled.

You knew that your story was far from convincing, but you really didn’t have the coherency to make them understand at the moment. Blood was dripping onto your pants and your head was spinning. You shook your head with the last amount of strength you had, crying quietly as your head began lulling, your neck unable to support its weight.

They didn’t look convinced, “Any proof?”

You tried to rack your brain for something, anything. The original papers for the house were still with your parents, your house lacked anything related to the both of them.

“My phone.” You groaned out and to no one’s surprise, one of them pulled it out of their pockets, unlocking it even though you were sure it had a password on it.

“My parents send money to my account monthly. I have pictures with them too, you can compare with images from the internet.”

It was true; they noticed messages from the bank saying that money had been deposited into your account. It half proved who you were, and they would have to do some digging but they’d be able to prove the other half of your story without a shadow of a doubt.

“So, you really didn’t lie?”

You shook your head groggily, not sure how long you’d keep consciousness anymore.

“Yeosang, untie her.” You whimpered when the man who was threatening you gently snipped away the ropes confining your skin and pulled you to your feet.

The rest of the men filed into the room, the one with red hair grabbing your other arm just as you took a step. Your leg buckled and you fell into him just as your eyes shut and everything faded to black.

***

You weren’t sure what to do.

As soon as you woke up, you were slightly relieved to find that you were in a comfy bed rather than the chair you had woken up in the first time. The drug had completely made its way out of your system this time.

The rope burns on your wrists, the bleeding nose and bruise on your face had all been treated and you would’ve thought it was all a dream had they not left behind their nasty marks.

Bongsoon had come up to the room not too long after you had woken up with a plate of food. Once again, she apologised for doubting you again and putting you in this situation.

Even though you probably shouldn’t have; you lost your temper and completely blew up on her, telling her to get out and never show her face to you again. As soon as she left the room you began feeling regret; she could have you killed for just showing her the whites of your eyes. But you were still angry.

Since you met her, you had been accused of trying to drug her drink, been shot at, drugged, kidnapped and even beaten. She shouldn’t have expected that a plate of food would have been able to make up for it.

Though losing your temper with the one person who had your life in their hands was reckless.

When she returned with the men you had seen through hazy eyes before, you squeaked and pulled the covers high to protect yourself.

“The blanket is hardly going to be effective. If anything, it might hinder you in your escape.” Said the tallest one and you threw the duvet off you immediately, shivering at the cold air against your will. He chuckled at you, and maybe it was meant to be reassuring but you felt your skin crawl at the sound. It was like he was mocking you.

“First of all,” Said the man with orange hair who you came to find was Bongsoon’s husband, “I wanted to thank you for saving my wife and looking out for her. And I want to apologize for this mess. Even though we have our reasons, I’m sure it must be scary to a civilian like yourself.”

That didn’t sound too bad, at least they knew that that they had done something wrong and they did owe something to you. These men showed you their gratitude by bowing their heads and it gave you some glimmer of hope that maybe you’d be able to get out of this whole thing alive and be able to put this behind you.

And then came the bad news.

Apparently, mafia gangs such as themselves had rules. What honour could exist amongst people that broke the law? You didn’t know but you had broken one of them. The shots you had fired that night to protect yourself and Bongsoon had killed one of the opposing gang’s higher ups. Since you weren’t an official member of their mafia, it meant that a civilian interfered in mafia business. Which Hongjoong, who was Bongsoon’s husband, informed you was bad news.

Interference meant that the other gang would probably be trying to kill you to get even. And Ateez wouldn’t be able to negotiate for your life without breaking rules themselves. Because this meant they were vouching for someone outside their mafia, which implied that they were the ones who hired you.

It was a lot of information to receive, and you quite frankly were floundering at the fact that everything seemed so official.

Since when was the mafia so by the book?

“So, what your saying is because I saved your life, I’m going to be killed?” Bongsoon hid slightly behind her husband to escape your stare. You weren’t stupid enough to glare at her in front of men who carried guns in their pockets like gum but that didn’t stop you from feeling annoyed at her.

“Since we’re now indebted to you, we’ll do whatever possible to keep that from happening. You’ll stay here for the time being.”

“What about my things?”

“They’ll be brought over here.”

“What about my dogs?”

“Dogs? Plural?” You ignored how pleased most of them seemed at the sound of that. For a split second they looked like children on Christmas morning. It was like when someone said baby and immediately people coo even though it’s completely unrelated.

“Three Dobermans.”

“Are you sure you’re not from the mafia?”

The joke was unappreciated.

“And university?”

“We��ll take you back and forth. This is Jongho, he’ll oversee you, ask him if you need anything.”

Jongho was clearly not informed about this prior, considering the cold look on his face was replaced with one that compared to a confused puppy as he watched the others quickly shuffle out of your room after patting his back.

Once his gaze was on you however it steeled once again, and you were left wondering why you were on the receiving end of his anger. What did you other than exist?

“Could you move a little, you’re stepping on the duvet.”

***

Jongho was scary to say the least. If you had to compare him to something, you’d choose a scary guard dog personified by a thousand. Sure, your dogs were trained to guard you and looked like they’d rip the liver out of someone without a second thought, but they still rolled over for you to scratch their bellies.

Jongho, with his red hair and dark clothes and muscles that looked like he could rip your head off like he was cracking open a pistachio, on the other hand looked like the hellhound from the underworld.

Which is why you were currently trailing behind him like a lonely puppy.

He was currently walking around the house, just getting irrelevant things done like his laundry and stuff. You had learnt that where you were temporarily staying was the group quarters, which was in the same estate as the home of Hongjoong and Bongsoon.

Some of the members opted to live in their own apartments outside but Jongho believed there was safety in numbers and thus stayed here with the couple since their wedding. Talk about a cockblocker but with an estate as big as this, you assumed they hardly ran into each other.

As long as certain people didn’t overstep their bounds, everything would be fine.

You weren’t exactly sure what his bounds were and frankly you were too scared to ask, instead keeping your mouth shut.

Shuffling quietly behind him, you held your phone with both hands, keeping your eyes on the floor as he moved from the laundry room to the training hall when he suddenly paused. You stopped immediately after, waiting patiently until he started walking again. But he didn’t.

Instead, he turned around to meet your gaze with a harsh glare and you visibly shrunk.

“Why do you keep following me?”

You held your phone out to him, trying to widen your eyes innocently, he already looked angry and the last thing you wanted to do was replace his punching bag today, “Could you please tell me the Wi-Fi password?”

***

You had gotten used to a routine in the past week. You knew when Jongho left the house and around what time he would return. You didn’t interact with anyone yet, aside from Bongsoon who had leant you some clothes and bought you a pair of underpants. You had been meaning to urge Jongho to go and get your clothes but didn’t want to piss him off, so you kept quiet.

Your days were usually spent crouching beside your bed since you couldn’t stretch the phone charger all the way to the bed, and it was too heavy for you to move yourself.

You were doing the same thing today, binging a new drama on your phone since you didn’t have anything better to do. If you were allowed to talk about it, you would’ve called your best friend but so far you had been holding it together quite well and if you heard your best friend’s voice, no doubt you would end up sobbing over the phone.

You took your time in solitude today in your advantage and took the time to finish washing your clothes so you could have fresh ones before taking a long bath. If there was one thing about this situation you liked, it would be the giant bathroom with marble floors and a bathtub in the centre.

It was a miracle that you hadn’t dropped your phone in the tub with the amount of time you spent soaking.

When you heard the door click open, your stomach twisted into a tight knot and your eyes darted to the clock. It was way too early, Jongho wasn’t going to return for a couple hours, and your phone was in the bedroom.

Your best option was to hide.

Just as you crouched and hid in the pantry, the door swung behind you and slammed shut. You cringed and your heart stopped in your chest. If the intruder didn’t know where to find you, they certainly did now.

So, you cowered behind the sac of rice and covered your head with a bag of flour, clamping your hands over your mouth to prevent any noises from coming out.

Footsteps came closer and your flinched, hiding into yourself, hoping the sac of rice was enough to keep you hidden.

The door clicked open, and you were suddenly concerned that they’d be able to see the bag of flour move with each breath you took and even though you immediately tried to hold your breath, your anxious heart wouldn’t let you.

“What are you doing?”

All the tension in your body fizzled out and you peeked over the jute bag to find Jongho staring at you with a mildly confused expression. For the first time since coming here, the sight of someone from Ateez actually relieved you. The knots in your stomach condensed and you felt tears brim from being so overwhelmed all at once.

“You scared me! I thought you were a murderer!” You exclaimed, hiding your face in between your knees and taking deep breaths.

“So, you made a big fuss of sneaking into the pantry and hiding behind groceries?”

“I panicked! You could have at least said something when you came in!” You countered and he raised his brows.

“Like what?”

“People usually say something like ‘I’m home’.” You said, standing up and brushing the flour off your hair and clothes, pushing past him and into the kitchen. Did air always feel this fresh? Or was it just because you felt like you were going to die just this second?

He scoffed at that, “We’re not playing house here, (Y/N). Why should I act like your damn husband?”

“So that I don’t die of a heart attack.” You replied just as haughtily and he rolled his eyes, moving past you from the kitchen and toward the living room. You didn’t bother until something occurred to you and you jumped, racing to catch up before blocking the entrance to the living room.

He seemed slightly startled at you and the way you were holding your arms up to barricade the entrance. It was useless, you both knew, if he really wanted to get in there, he could.

“You can’t go in there.”

It seemed that for a second, you completely forgot that you had just gotten them to stop suspecting you of being an agent from a rival gang. Sometimes you were a fucking idiot.

“And why not? What the hell are you hiding in there?” And scary Jongho was back.

And then you realized how the situation looked, like you were trying to stop him from seeing something incriminating. Which technically, you were, but this was a different category of incriminating.

“Nothing! Certainly not anything suspicious! But you can’t go in there, I put something private there.” You explained and nearly facepalmed, you were so bad at explaining yourself. But how else were you supposed to get him to leave the place alone without actually telling him what you had left there.

It didn’t even take both hands to get you to move, he just had to yank you hard enough and pushed you out of his way to stride into the living room and it was at that moment, you wanted to combust into a pile of embarrassment.

Because right at the entrance on the heater, you had left your underwear after washing it so it would dry faster before your shower. And it was practically flagging down his attention because of the contrasting colour.

“I needed to wash it, but it didn’t dry fast enough, and I don’t have any other pairs since I don’t have my clothes yet and I had to take a shower.” You explained quickly, wishing the earth would just swallow you up at that moment. Judging by the about of heat radiating from your face, it might have been enough to set your underwear on fire, let alone dry it.

Jongho turned back to face you, ears red and unable to look you in the eye before clearing his throat, “I’ll go to your apartment today and get your clothes and things. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to bring your…. essentials sooner.”

You nodded, staring at your feet, “Okay.”

***

“Are you headed over to my apartment?”

Jongho, you learnt, was a man of very few words. Unlike his friends Wooyoung and Yunho who could take from dawn to dusk, he usually didn’t say much unless prompted, usually giving you answers by shaking his head yes or no.

This time he did the former and you suddenly felt extremely sweaty when you saw him stuff his gun into the back of his jeans.

“Please don’t kill my dogs.”

He rolled his eyes at this; you had been skating across eggshells ever since moving in. Every time he even moved you would flinch and curl into yourself. It was getting annoying for him, but you could hardly care when he looked like a character from your nightmares.

“I’m the mafia (we do it like the mafia lmao) not a butcher. We don’t just kill for no reason.”

“What classifies as a reason to you? Because for us regular people, it’s usually we don’t kill period. And for the record, butchers have more reason to kill than mafia.” You replied and your heart shot to your throat when something not short from a smirk appeared on his face. Thank goodness, he wasn’t one of those emotionless psychopaths, he found you funny, it’s okay.

“Anything in particular you need?”

“Uh, if you could please be a little gentle with my laptop? All my notes and work are saved there, and I haven’t backed that shit up.” You pleaded, making a praying gesture and he nodded, grabbing his jacket before leaving the house.

Ever since the incident where you thought an intruder broke into the house, you had been waiting eagerly for Jongho to get your dogs. So far you had been relying on your friends to stop by and feed them.

You wouldn’t be lying if you said you felt lonely and maybe even a little unsafe in the house when Jongho wasn’t there. Even though he assured you that no one would be stupid enough to come to Ateez’s home base to attack you, it still had goosebumps crawling across your skin whenever you heard a sound.

So, you figured having your dogs at home would reassure you a little and you would be lying if you said you weren’t excited to be reunited with them. In fact, you were so ecstatic, Jongho thought you quite resembled a chihuahua yourself, with its tail wagging happily behind it.

The reunion was, to put it in one word, dramatic. The dogs (named Geon, Killeo and Skai) not having been separated from you for so long bounded across the hall as soon as they saw you and practically tackled you in your spot. It was truly a sight to see; three giant dogs that could easily match your height when on their hind legs, doggy piling you and smothering you with licks and kisses.

Although with the amount of crying you were doing, it was hard to tell who missed who more.

***

“Here.” Jongho said, holding out something to you and you noticed something dangling from this hand. A pretty pendant with a silver chain was in his hands and he was holding it out for you.

You let him drop it into your hands before examining it yourself. The pendant was a stained resin in the shape of a turtle with a tiny gem stuck to it that was meant to imitate its shell. It was adorable, to say the least, the turtle was about the size of a fingernail and reminded you of a plushie you had on your bed.

“What is it?”

“Well, after the whole pantry incident, I figured that you’re next to useless if ever caught off guard.” You huffed at this, but he didn’t even bat an eye, “The turtle has a tracker inside it and the shell is a panic button. If you’re ever hiding in the pantry again, press the button and someone from Ateez will be alerted to your location.”

“And you’d actually come and get me?” You asked and he didn’t seem to pick up your tone, turning back towards the television. You stared at the side of his face, and he seemed so uninterested, like this was second nature to him, like he had completely accepted your presence.

“Maybe not me, I said the closest member. If you’re ever in public then go to a crowded place. Don’t get into any vehicles unless you see one of us and try to blend in.”

He sounded like he actually wanted you to survive. It was one thing you couldn’t understand and had been on your mind ever since he found your cowering form in the pantry. Why were these people trying to keep you alive?

Sure, you had saved Bongsoon, who was the wife of the leader and they owed you that much. But so far, you couldn’t see any advantages to them. In fact, you were a huge liability and hindrance. So, why hadn’t they killed you the first chance they got? And why did they continue to keep you safe even though it was a disadvantage to them?

Was there something you didn’t know about? Or were they just waiting for the perfect moment to abandon you?

Your theory made sense. So far, Ateez had no way to prove to the rival gang that you weren’t a hitman that was hired to kill one of their higher ups so maybe they would wait until your life was in danger and show them that you had no relations to Ateez by letting their rivals kill you even when they could’ve saved your life.

The thought had bile crawling up your throat, it made perfect sense. These were mafia people, they killed in cold blood, and you shouldn’t expect them to show you any mercy just because you had done them a favour.

It was people like this who didn’t blink twice when turning on people they thought were friends. You were coldly reminded of the night you had met Bongsoon and how quickly her personality had changed.

What they showed you was not what you got. You needed to keep reminding yourself of that.

***

Your first day back at university made you feel nervous. You were scared to leave the house for the first time and must go to your classes without Jongho. Thankfully, you were in the middle of the year, so you knew all your classmates. So, if there was anyone knew and therefore suspicious, you’d be able to keep an eye on them from the start.

Jongho laughed when you brought this up to him. Because why would their rivals go through the trouble of finding which university you went to and attending themselves just to kill you when they could easily do so with a gun from across the street.

When he put it that way, you felt stupid for thinking about it in the first place.

Still, you couldn’t stop your leg bouncing as Jongho pulled up in front of the campus main building. You recognized many of the students as they got off the bus and from their own cars. You had a while until class began so you supposed you could track down your own friends and catch up.

“Thanks for dropping me off.” You murmured, slinging your bag on your shoulder and grasping the door handle.

“When do I need to pick you up?”

“Not sure yet. I’ll receive my schedule in a while, so I’ll text you when my classes get done.”

“Don’t get off campus.” He warned and you nodded, stepping out of the Range Rover. Just as you were about to shut the door, he leant across the centre console to look you in the eye, “There’s a group dinner at Hyung’s place today. You don’t have to but noona wants you to come.”

You nodded, telling him you’d think about it before shutting the door.

Jongho didn’t leave yet, probably waiting until you entered the building. It made your heart flutter in a weird way, everything about this situation rivalled dramas and movies and sometimes you could really see the appeal. 'Sometimes' being the times that you weren’t reminded that your life was in danger.

In the past few weeks, he had warmed up to you considerably. You both actually spoke to each other and more than once shared a meal together too. It was like you were roommates rather than you being a prisoner and very so often it was enough to distract you.

You had to admit that he was actually pretty sweet and funny. The time you'd spend together wouldn't be awkward and weird anymore but actually comfortable. More than often you've found yourself laughing at something he said or being in total awe of his party trick: breaking an apple with his bare hands.

Did it make you slightly more afraid of him because the literal hulk was living with you and you tended to be a generally annoying person? Immensely.

Your eyes scanned your surroundings before landing on a familiar pair of heads and you beamed as your two friends walked up to you. Your two closest friends in college, Jaemin and Renjun who took the same courses as you. Since starting university, there hasn’t been a single time you didn’t share a class with at least one of them.

“Jaemin-ah!! Junnie!” You whined, pouting heavily and holding your arms out for a hug. Finally, now that you were around people you knew, you were free to act like how much of a brat you wanted without being scared you’d have a bullet in your head the next second.

“Oh, who made our princess so sad this fine morning?!” Jaemin coddled and you gave him a syrupy sweet smile, wrapping your arms around him tightly. Finally, a hug from someone who was an actual human being and not your dog that jumped 6 feet when you tackled him in a hug. Renjun rolled his eyes at both your antics and hugged you as well.

“How was the vacation?”

“Horrible, I almost died.” You replied honestly.

“See! I told you if you went alone you were bound to end up with alcohol poisoning.” Jaemin replied without missing a beat and you giggled. You wish it had been alcohol poisoning.

“How’d you get to school today? We didn’t see you on the bus.” Jaemin and Renjun were roommates and lived a floor below you. They were the ones who had been feeding your dogs while you were on vacation.

“Someone dropped me off.” You replied vaguely just as the three of you came up to the front-office. Renjun had already come by and collected his schedule a few days ago, ever the responsible citizen while you and Jaemin were a few minutes from your first class and had yet to find out which class you’d be attending.

“The same person you’re living with? We stopped by and the doggos and half your stuff were gone.” You already knew that because they had called you in a panic, saying that you needed to call the police before you calmly explained that you knew your dogs and things weren’t at the apartment.

“Yeah.” You replied shortly. The less they knew about this situation, the better. You didn’t want to feel the guilt of the mafia killing your closest friends as well.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” You were caught so off-guard; you weren’t even sure which one of them said it and thus smacked them both.

“Don’t say shit like that, this is exactly how rumours spread.”

***

Jongho was leaning against the door of the car when you left the building, Jaemin’s arms intertwined with your own. Renjun’s classes finished a little earlier, so he went back home to get some sleep. You walked right up to him, not realizing the way your friend’s pace slowed down as you strode to the expensive car with the scary man leaning against it.

“Sorry, were you waiting long? My professor made us stay behind for a while.” You explained and Jongho nodded before moving off the door and opening it for you.

“Oooh who is this, (Y/N)?” Jaemin teased, walking up to you and you admittedly felt a little respect for him when he looked Jongho right in the eye, “The man you’re living with? Boyfriend? Sugar daddy?” He sang, wriggling his eyebrows with an infuriating smirk on his face.

You scoffed, “Please, you can consider him as my guard dog.”

“No way, there’s no way your parents hired this guy to keep an eye on you?!” Jaemin exclaimed and you could practically feel the ice from Jongho’s glare. You didn’t know why he was suddenly so annoyed that Jaemin was a little hyperactive at times, he had Wooyoung and Yunho and Mingi, this couldn’t be that irritating.

“If my parents were that desperate to keep an eye on me, they’d just move here.”

He dropped the topic quiet quickly, not really curious about Jongho as much as he was interested in teasing you. Now that there was not much to tease you about, he brought something else up quite quickly, “How about we go for some *chi-maek? It’ll be fun.”

Your eyes lit up and a smile spread on your face, “Yeah sounds like fun! Jongho can I--?” “No, get in the car.”

You gave him the most bewildered look you could produce, “Why not? It won’t be for long and I won’t even drink that m –” “No, get in the car.”

You shared a glance with Jaemin, who looked just as surprised as you were, “But I just want to—” He slammed the car door and you scoffed. You hugged Jaemin one last time, jumping apart when Jongho pressed the horn, “I’m sorry, Minnie. We’ll go next time.”

He nodded and sent you off with a smile, telling you to get home safely and then waved goodbye before shutting the car door for you. You whipped your head around to face Jongho, “What the hell was that about?!”

***

You did end up going to dinner at Bongsoon’s place, hoping that you’d get the alcohol and chicken you were so rudely deprived of earlier. Given that Yeosang’s (the man who smacked you across the face and threatened you during the interrogation) favourite food was fried chicken, you knew there was a high chance there would be some crispy chicken legs up for grabs tonight. You sat with the 8 of them; apparently, they had another member, but San was currently overseas.

You supposed the dinner wasn’t a total bust; you had gotten the last piece of chicken even though Yeosang had reached for it first. All it took was you telling him that you deserved this after he tortured you that day and he meekly backed off. (Yeosang: I didn’t even actually torture her. How long is she going to hold it against me?)

Even with the extra chicken piece you were still mad at Jongho for so very rudely declining when you asked him to go for chicken with Jaemin. He wouldn’t even tell you why he was suddenly acting like such an ass, keeping silent the entire ride home. You had given up trying to get answers after the second try, opting to instead shoot him glares all throughout dinner, not like he even noticed.

The others certainly did.

“Oh, I know that look,” Yunho began, voice in a teasing pitch, “Did you both have a fight?”

You just huffed and turned back to your food when you noticed how Jongho rolled his eyes. Everyone else finally turned their eyes to the two of you; they had noticed how Jongho didn’t take part in the conversation as usual, instead looking intently at his phone.

“Oh, yeah look at Jongho’s sad face. They definitely had a fight.” Wooyoung sang and Jongho finally looked up, meeting his hyung’s eyes.

“We didn’t fight. She’s just mad that I didn’t let her go out with her boyfriend.”

You scoffed, “First of all, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Wake up and smell the roses, (Y/N). No guy spends that much time with a girl without being interested.”

“You realize that we live together, right?” You retorted cleverly, only to grip your fork in a tight fist when he rolled his eyes again and then shook his head.

“I’m just your dog.”

"Guard dog, my ass. Even I have standards, you should go and live in the zoo.”

The others watched you argue, hiding smiles of their own when Jongho started threatening you with a fork. They had met Jongho when he was a kid, still wide-eyed and immature but as he climbed the ranks in Ateez, he got more serious, and it felt like they had ruined that once bubbly and cute kid. Seeing him throw petty insults and even rolls of bread at you across the table, had them all recalling those times in his youth.

“Stop fucking throwing butter at me!”

“Then stop throwing bread at me!”

***

Wooyoung and Yunho sat in the backseat, looking between you and Jongho curiously. You were snoozing quietly in the passenger seat and every time they even opened their mouth, Jongho glared at them through the rear-view mirror. As though the sound of Wooyoung yawning might disturb you.

They were on their way to drop you off at university before leaving on a mission themselves. Jongho said they’d send for a vehicle to get you back home and you merely blinked at him before nodding off to sleep, ignoring his warnings about how that didn’t mean you could go to the club like you were planning to.

It was hilarious to watch Jongho’s duality. When you were asleep, he spared you glances every few seconds, moving the air vents to make sure you weren’t too cold and then too hot and even pulling down the sun visor to keep the light out of your eyes. He didn’t even honk when someone cut in front of him.

Just as they pulled up to the university, he elbowed you harshly and you jumped awake, whining at the sharp pain in your arm. Wooyoung had to smother a laugh into his hand at this, narrowly missing Jongho’s hand as he tried to pinch him.

When you felt goosebumps raise on your legs from the A/C and remembered that you didn’t bring a jacket. Just as you slid out of the car, you grabbed Jongho’s leather jacket that was laying across the console, “Thanks for dropping me. I’ll be borrowing this.”

“That’s mine!”

“Consider this payback for you throwing my precious cardigan in the dryer.” You replied quickly before slamming the door shut. Jongho didn’t say anything else but watched through the window as you pulled on the jacket and without realizing it, a microscopic smile grew on his face.

His friends burst into laughter, “Dude you’re so whipped.”

“Shut the hell up.”

They just laughed harder.

Meanwhile, you snuggled closer into the jacket during class, fighting the urge to fall asleep. It was hard though, the jacket was like a giant, heavy hug. You didn’t want to take it off but keeping it on had your eyelids feeling like there were weighted with barbells.

You could smell Jongho’s cologne on it, smiling at the trace scent of it and snuggling closer. Now that you both were used to living with each other and dare you say you even enjoyed it, his cologne that you often smelt around the house brought you comfort.

It was unexpected to say the least, your newfound compatibility with Jongho. Initially, you thought he was like a hound from hell, but you soon came to realize that once you gained his trust, he was just as gooey and sweet as your own dogs back home. It was initially just a joke, but you might actually consider Jongho an equivalent of your dog.

You crossed your arms over your chest, hugging the jacket closer and then you winced when you felt something hard poke you in the ribs. Thinking it was just a pack of cigarettes or a wallet that he left in the pocket, you ignored it, gently massaging the bruised skin until you felt it again.

Curiously, you dipped your hand in the inseam pocket and your eyes went wide in shock. You could feel the handle and the safety trigger. Even though it was physically impossible for you to have divulged that information to anyone in the last 3 seconds, you still looked around to see if anyone was watching you.

Jongho had left his gun in the jacket.

Your heart began beating slightly faster. You were wide awake now.

Anxiety filled your body and you lost focus on the lesson, completely tuning out whatever the professor was saying. This wasn’t the first time you had a gun on your person, and it was definitely not the first time you had touched one, but this felt way more nerve-wracking than the guns you would use for training.

Possibly because it was illegally acquired but you didn’t want to think about that right now.

For the next hour, you were imagining all the possible situations that could happen just because of this gun. What if it randomly went off? What if it fell out of the jacket and someone saw? You’d be arrested before you could even explain what happened. And even if you were given the chance to explain, what would you say?

As soon as the lecture ended, you stuffed your things into your bag before holding it close to your chest, as if people would be able to see through the jacket and your bag was a method of protection. If you were actually thinking about it, your thought process was absolute bullshit, but these unreasonable things made you feel a little bit at ease, so you just did so.

Luckily, you only had one lecture today, meaning that someone would already be outside the university ready to take you home. The mere thought of it comforted you and you were speed walking towards the door, no thoughts other than getting into that car.

A black car was parked right in front of the building, windows tinted to be opaque and looking extremely ominous. A few months ago, you would’ve avoided this type of car like the plague and gone in the opposite direction. Something about knowing that this car was for you made you feel powerful, it was weird.

Still, you kept the bag huddled close to your body and shuffled quickly into the backseat of the car. It was only then you realized you hadn’t ever met the driver of the car before. You smiled in greeting, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror, “Are you San? We haven’t met before, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

He grinned widely and you immediately understood why the others complimented his looks, this man knew he was handsome, and the confidence just made him even more good-looking, “Yep, that’s me! Nice to meet you too!”

He pulled out of the parking space, and it was quiet for a few minutes as he continued to drive, missing the first exit.

“Oh, you had to take that exit.” You mentioned, turning around in your seat to point at it. San laughed and scratched the side of his neck, “Yeah, I don’t really know how to get back home from the university. So, I’m just gonna get to the town square because I know how to find my way from there.”

You nodded, finding it weird but you didn’t want to push and get him angry. You hadn’t ever met San before and the last thing you would want to do is piss him off within the first five minutes of meeting him.

You sat quietly for a while until you noticed how he was glancing at you in the rear-view mirror, and you smiled at him before your eyes caught onto what he was looking at. Three motorcycles were trailing the car. Your smile slowly disappeared as your eyes flickered back to San, noticing the back of his neck through the small gap in the driver’s seat.

That was a Stray Kids tattoo.

Your heart stopped in your chest when you realized what was going on. This wasn’t San. And this was the wrong car.

On an impulse, you moved quickly, fisting the strap of your bag in your hands and throwing it over the seat, wrapping it over his neck and pulling hard, using your legs to anchor you and pull as hard as your strength would allow.

He choked, hand going to his neck and the car slightly swerved. You reached over to pull the seat lever and pushed the seat in front as much as it could go before unclicking his seat belt and throwing open the door. Your bag and the man went flying to the road and you quickly climbed over the seat, taking the wheel and began speeding.

The rumbling of the motorcycles filled your ears and you pushed hard on the gas, swerving between as many cars as you could. Your hand curled around the pendant on your neck and your trembling fingers clicked the panic button several times as you tried to fight the onslaught of tears.

You saw your way out just as a tunnel appeared in your view. It was empty, no cars going through it at this time of day, and you saw your chance, speeding even more to enter the tunnel. You spared a glance to the rear-view mirror and just like you assumed, only one of the motorcycles was trailing you.

The other two were no doubt trying to catch you at the other end.

You looked back to the exit. The other two weren’t there yet.

Slowing down the car and moving towards the wall of the tunnel, you pulled the gun out of the jacket, clicking off the safety and you kicked open the door. You ducked to avoid the sparks as the door scraped against the wall before it broke off and flew down the road towards the motorcyclist.

They tried to avoid the door and you took your chance to shoot a bullet. It landed on the bullseye, throwing the driver off the motorcycle before it toppled and fell to the ground. You slammed on the breaks and ran back, getting on the motorcycle as quickly as you could and speeding in the opposite direction.

You didn’t even know where you were or where you were headed but all you knew was that you needed to get as far away as possible.

You heard the distant roar of motorcycles and the lump in your throat grew, tears fighting to gloss over your vision, and it took everything you had not to break down. They were coming closer, and you had no idea what to do.

Revving the motorcycle to increase your speed, you zoomed towards the busy intersection, cutting through traffic and even nearly missing a truck to get across it, trapping the others on the other side.

The sigh of relief when you weren't able to see them anymore was short-lived.

Another car began cutting ahead of others, zigzagging in between lanes to catch up with you. You made a harsh turn, getting away from it just in time and they continued ahead. You continued down the road again, looking over your shoulder every few seconds and you couldn’t help the sob that left you when you noticed the motorcycles gaining distance behind you.

And then ahead came the car you had avoided before and was zooming towards you. They were cornering you from both sides.

Hands shaking, you grabbed the gun from the jacket once again and then tilted the bike, kicking it away with your legs. You rolled on the rough tar a couple times, scraping your cheek and your hip badly against it. Even though it hurt incredibly, you didn’t have the time to cry over it.

Your motorcycle intercepted the car, ramming into the bumper and front wheels and causing it to flip over. You turned, shooting at the other motorcycles before pulling yourself to your feet and running for your life.

You barely made it down the road before another car pulled up with the windows rolled down and you couldn’t stop crying when you recognized the people inside. Jongho threw open the door and you leapt inside, right into his arms.

Mingi didn’t stop driving for a second, slamming his foot on the accelerator and getting the hell out of there.

“Are you hurt?” Jongho asked, grasping your arms and you winced. Something was definitely broken or bruised after the way you fell from the motorcycle.

Your head kept flashing with images and your hands began shaking when you realized what had just happened and what you had done. You looked up at Jongho, distressed, “I killed somebody.”

You weren’t even sure you could cry with all you were feeling. Everything felt overwhelming and every nerve in your body was buzzing with something that made you dizzier as seconds passed. You were panting for air, but it felt like it wasn’t reaching your lungs.

Jongho gently placed a hand on your head, stroking your hair with such a delicate touch that you wanted to melt into him. Your hand curled around his shirt, holding onto it for stability and he placed a firm kiss to your forehead as you panted into his neck. It wasn’t one of affection or even comfort.

The kiss was meant to ground you, pull you back to earth from whatever hell you were bound to. To make you aware that you weren’t dead or dying, but you were alive and here in his arms.

“Anything that needs immediate medical attention? Were you shot? Stabbed?” He asked, running his hands up and down your back to calm you. He felt you shake your head and sighed in relief, tightening his arms around your waist.

“You’re lucky they underestimated you because you’re a civilian,” Mingi spoke up, “Had this been about eliminating a threat, rather than getting revenge, you wouldn’t have made it.”

You knew what that meant.

It meant that next time, they wouldn’t underestimate you.

***

The second you stepped out of the car; you couldn’t help the cry of pain that left your lips. After finally having rested your legs on the ride back, you realized that you probably landed on your knee harder than you recalled during the fall.

You didn’t even have to say anything for Jongho to scoop you up in his arms and carry you into the house. His arms didn’t even tremble under your weight, and he held your body close to his as if you would shatter with a simple touch.

Finally, the exhaustion of today crept up on you and in the warmth of his arms, your eyes began to shut. You barely recalled him placing you in your bed and you were passed out by the time he got the first-aid kit from his room.

In the back of your head, you could feel the graze of the wet cotton against your skin and then felt the sting of the antiseptic, but you could barely lift your finger, let alone gain some energy to wince and flinch. You just let Jongho move you as he pleased to treat your wounds.

Jongho noticed how you weren’t flinching as he disinfected the cuts and nearly sighed in relief. You had already been in so much pain, the last thing he would want is to cause some more.

After covering the cuts on your hands, knees and hips with gauze, he moved up your body to treat the scrape you had gotten on your cheek. With a touch that could only be rivalled by a feather, he cleaned the blood away, watching your face carefully to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.

The sight of your relaxed face had his heart settling slightly in his chest. The past hour had been hell on him, his heart still hurt from the way it was beating a mile a minute when he got your panic alert. Even though he had warned you to stay in the same vicinity if you were ever in trouble, when he watched your tracker move across town and even farther from where he was, he felt a lump in his throat.

The others had never seen him this hysterical, usually so calm and collected and quick to come up with a plan. He looked at his phone for a second during the meeting before his eyes went wide as saucers and he was hauling Mingi to his feet and running out, his only parting words being “(Y/N) needs me.”

He delicately brushed a strand of hair away from your face before applying a band aid above the area.

He couldn’t help himself. Seeing you so vulnerable below him, he was filled with an undeniable need to protect you, to make sure that you were okay and that no harm or sadness or discomfort would ever come to you.

Gently, Jongho placed a featherlight kiss over the band aid before figuring you could get a better check up by Seonghwa once you woke up. For now, he’d let you rest, God knows you deserved it.

Even though you were nearly out cold, it was weird that you suddenly felt the pressure beside the bed decrease and your hand shot out before you could even think, fingers clasping tightly around Jongho’s wrist.

“Don’t leave.” You rushed out, panicked at even the thought of being alone in the room.

“(Y/N)—”

“Please. Please, stay.” You begged, tugging him towards you. He relented, sitting beside you on the bed and you sighed, settling down on the bed again.

“You should get changed into something more comfortable.” The red head mumbled, noticing now that you were still in your tight-fitting jeans, his leather jacket covering your blood-stained shirt.

Your fingers lightly curled around his t-shirt, unable to open your eyes, “Please do it for me.”

His eyes slightly widened, “(Y/N)—”

“Please, I can’t move right now.” You whispered and the crack in your voice had him breaking. He moved away from you to grab some of your clothes, softly shushing you when you whined and reassuring you that he’d be back.

It was so intimate and Jongho’s heart was filling with something that he’d never felt before. Something heavy and dense and made him feel like he was high on the sweetest thing he had ever tasted before. He held you closely to him as he helped you slip out of your pants and then shirt and when his heart twisted at seeing the bruises covering your skin, he made sure to be even more gentle.

It wasn’t long before the both of you were settled into bed, cuddled close underneath the covers with his arms protectively around you and your head on his chest. Never had you felt so secure and fulfilled by just being around someone. Jongho made you feel like he’d keep even an army away if you just hid in his arms.

His thumbs stroked your skin and with each stroke you were lulled into a deeper sleep, finally being able to rest. He watched you for a while longer, carefully watching each breath you took before the sight of your own peaceful face had him closing his eyes as a dreamless sleep welcomed him.

By the time Seonghwa came over to check your bruises and injuries, Jongho was already awake, an arm wrapped around your shoulders and scrolling through his phone as you napped into his neck. He made it look like he was so calm when in reality it took every ounce of self-control to keep a smile from breaking out on his face.

Having you so close to him made him feel complete, an emotion that he rarely feels being in his life.

The others came in right behind him to check up on you and Wooyoung would’ve made a big fuss about you both cuddling had you not woken with a start and immediately panicked before realizing where you were. They saw the frantic look in your eye as you shot up, straight as an arrow as soon as you felt Seonghwa touching your arm.

It took a few seconds for you to gain your bearings and in those few moments you could barely recognize anyone, feeling panicked at so many faces suddenly in the room before you remembered what had gone down in the last couple hours.

Their features became more familiar, but you still felt on edge until you saw Jongho’s concerned face staring at you and finally settled down against the bed, back into his arms.

It was probably because you saw him the most since moving here or because whenever you felt even a little bit scared or not safe, you went to Jongho because you knew he was meant to protect you. He didn’t seem to mind, keeping a hand on your waist even as Seonghwa checked the dressings he put earlier.

Bongsoon talked to you for a while, pulling you into a warm hug that made you feel like you were in a mothers embrace. You both talked for a few minutes while you held Jongho’s hand underneath the covers and then the two of you were alone again. You didn’t want to sleep yet; you had slept all day and were still groggy and you didn’t want to go back to sleep.

But you didn’t want to stay awake and think about it, it was just way too much at the moment and everything made you feel too much at the moment. It was just something you’d rather avoid so you just intertwined your fingers with the man beside you before laying back down on the bed and closing your eyes.

***

Jongho had left you alone in bed only when he was certain that you had fallen deep asleep to get something to eat, take a shower and for a brief meeting with the others about what exactly had happened in the last day.

He didn’t return to your bed that night, but he did check on you one last time before going to bed himself. You were deep asleep which relieved him a little; the features on your face were smoothed peacefully. He made sure to leave the lamp on, in case you woke up in the middle of the night.

In the end, he was the one who woke up way past midnight after hearing noises from the hall. He didn’t waste even a second, grabbing his gun from his bed-side table and heading to the source of the noise before he realized what it was.

Geon and Skai were whimpering, while trying to scratch your door handle, unable to get it open. Once they saw Jongho, they quickly pattered over to him, trying to bring him to your door. He didn’t hear anything from the inside, so if it was an intruder, he didn’t want to make too much noise and alert him.

Soundlessly, he cracked open the door to find your room empty thankfully. The lump underneath your duvet had his attention as soon as he entered the room, gently padding over to you. He didn’t want to wake you up, so he didn’t make much noise, still trying to find what the dog were so worried over. Or maybe they just missed you, after all, he had made sure they didn’t jump all over you for the sake of your tired body.

You moved lightly and stopped immediately but Jongho noticed, and he kneeled before peeling back the covers.

His heart nearly broke at the sight of your scared and tear-stained face staring up at him. It was obvious you had been crying for a while, lips cracked and dry and your eyes looked sunken. Without another word, he slid underneath he covers, and you adjusted your position to make room for him.

You didn’t even need to ask for him to place his hands on your waist and pull you into his chest. You were surprised that he was holding you as tightly as you were, like he needed this just as much as you did. One of his hands gently cradled your head against his neck and he felt your wet face against his skin.

“I was so scared you’d get hurt.” He confessed, suddenly aware of just how thankful he was that you were in his arms, unhurt and safe. He didn’t know what he would have done if something had happened to you, and he could still feel the anxiety he did when he got your alert.

“It was weird,” You admitted, whispering your secrets to him in the dark, “I thought I’d feel regret about the things I didn’t do in my life, but all I could feel was fear and the need to run away. Far, far away where no one would ever find me. Even now, after all of that, I don’t get that feeling on life being short. I’m just scared.”

It was frightening to be honest. In the moment, it felt like you didn’t have an identity, like you didn’t know who you were or what was important to you. All you knew was that you had to put as much distance in the least amount of time possible. You were sure, if you had managed to get them off your trail before Jongho found you, your next stop would have been to the airport or docks.

You always thought it would be difficult to hurt somebody, you got squeamish when you had to watch someone else get an injection but for some reason you didn’t feel anything shooting those other people and killing them. They were still people, you tried to remind yourself, people like Jongho but to you they were nothing more than empty shells.

How could you even live with yourself?

“You don’t have to justify your feelings to anyone. If that’s the way you feel, it’s okay.”

“Thank you for staying here with me.” You murmured, pulling away to look him in the eye. They were twinkling, deep like pool of water and honey that made you feel so secure.

You liked your lips without realizing, swallowing thickly as the air thickened with something that you couldn’t put your finger on. Call it lust, or desire, or even love but when it boiled down to it, all you could feel underneath your skin was longing.

Jongho leaned in and his fingers tightened on your waist, breath coming out a little shaky against your face and he paused, brushing his lips over your tenderly. For a few seconds, that was more than enough, making you dizzy from the contact.

You sucked in a deep breath, snaking your hands up to thread your fingers through his red hair and kissing him hard. His body twisted to press closer to yours, a leg snaking in between yours and one hand found its place on your back while the other cupped your jaw.

Your heart quite literally skipped a beat as he pressed his chest to yours, deepening the kiss. You let him take control, just wanting to be in his arms and feel loved for the time being, gently toying with his soft hair as he caught your bottom lip in between his teeth before licking over it.

The whimper didn’t go unnoticed by him when he slipped his tongue against yours. Your fingers twitched against his nape as you sucked slowly on his tongue, clenching your legs around his thigh when he groaned lightly.

The sound of rustling of the sheets and lips smacking filled the air as you continued to squirm when you realized painfully that you were running out of air. Jongho pulled away, panting heavily and took a second to admire how fucked out you looked from just kissing.

Your eyes were still shut, struggling to catch your breath, spit glistening on your swollen lips. When your eyes finally fluttered open, his heart swelled at the small smile you sent him, unable to resist the one tugging his lips as he connected them to yours once again.

Eventually, he pulled away again when you needed to catch your breath, trailing kisses down the column of your throat, nipping at the skin occasionally, just to hear your sweet sighs and whimpers.

“I like you.” You blurted out suddenly and he paused, taking in what you just said before he pressed a warm kiss to your pulse point, pecking your lips next.

“I hadn’t noticed.” He replied sarcastically, only to laugh when you smacked his chest while a wide smile graced your beautiful face.

“I take it back.”

***

If there was one thing that was put into perspective after coming so close to getting abducted, it was your inhibition. The rules of dating were thrown out of the window as soon as your eyes opened the next day, all you knew was that you liked Jongho, and he felt the same about you. Why should you still walk on eggshells around him?

You also wanted to expend as much of yourself as you could towards feeling something. You needed to make this connection with Jongho stronger, give yourself something that could give you stability and maybe even some sanity if anything like that were to ever happen again.

So, when you found yourself reliving what happened, feeling guilty that your emotions seemed to leave you when you had a gun in your hands, you replaced the phantom of the Glock with Jongho’s skin, kissing him until you felt dizzy.

Though he was kind of overwhelmed with all the affection you suddenly decided to show him, he also realized it was the only way you knew how to cope with everything that had happened. You had a lot of feelings and you needed to redirect it from the fear and anxiety you felt.

Besides, he was more than happy being on the receiving end of your unhealthy coping mechanism.

Although, he was more than grateful when you put a pause on all the kisses and hugs when the others came over. You seemed more than fine with it, happy with the distraction and thankful that they all came to check on you.

While Jongho was talking to the others and you realized that you couldn’t speak as easily, you suddenly remembered your friends; Jaemin and Renjun. You lost your phone along with your bag during the abduction, so you hadn’t called him to tell him you weren’t attending university today. No doubt he’d be freaking out and would call the police any second.

“Do you mind if I borrow your phone?” You asked and he handed it to you without qualm, “Sure, why?”

“I was thinking I’d meet up with Jaemin. Is that okay?”

Now this caught his attention. You had been so clingy all day, back-hugging him as he made you breakfast and peppering kisses along the side of his neck. He was honestly surprised that it hadn’t gone any further with the amount you were holding on to him. And you were way friendlier with Jaemin than you were with him.

“Are you sure you want to meet with him? So soon?” He didn’t notice how the others hid a smile at his obvious behaviour, but you didn’t seem to catch onto it. They had spent all their lives looking after him, they knew what his well-concealed jealously looked like.

“Why? Do you think it’s unsafe?” And suddenly he regretted even opening his mouth, seeing how worried you looked and shook his head, nodding with a placating smile, “No, no, it’s okay.”

It took a more reassurance but when you were finally convinced, you quickly dialled your best friend’s number before walking to the kitchen to talk. Jongho practically scoffed at the fact that you had his number memorized; who memorizes phone numbers anymore?

“Jaemin-ah!” You whined, happy to hear his voice again.

“Bet she never says your name like that.” Wooyoung teased and Jongho realized how deep the scowl on his face was. Sending him a withering glare, he entered the kitchen and shut the door behind him just in time to avoid the rest of them roaring with laughter at him.

Instead, he walked up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder, you flinched in surprise for a second raising a brow and him, but he shook his head, pressing his fingers to your stomach. Your breath hitched and he chuckled.

“Do you know how worried I was?! No call, no message! Your phone number can’t be reached when I try to call it! ‘Oh, that’s no problem’, one might say, ‘just go to their place’. I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE! YOU WON’T EVEN TELL ME!” Both you and Jongho flinched when he began yelling into the phone.

“Sorry, Minnie. My phone broke so I couldn’t text you. Tell you what, I’ll meet you today at your place and prove to you myself that I’m completely fine.” You chirped.

Jongho placed his lips on your pulse point, and you took a deep breath. He felt your heartbeat quicken and your skin got warmer as he nipped lightly before licking over it. Your hand intertwined with the one on your stomach, squeezing your fingers around his tightly as he continued to nibble up your neck.

“Tell Junnie to prepare his liver. Buy all the bottles of soju you can find and bring out that bottle of vodka I bought you.” You said, squealing at a particularly harsh bite right underneath your ear. The hand around your waist slowly slid up to palm at your breast and you bit your lip to keep a small moan from escaping you.

“I thought you wanted to save that bottle for graduation?” Jaemin asked and your voice caught in your throat, unable to say anything while Jongho sucked at the junction between your neck and shoulder, tightening the grip you had on his hand.

“Keep talking.” He whispered and you couldn’t help the whimper that left you.

“I—I did, but I think we should indulge ourselves a little. I’ll buy you another for graduation.” The thought of not making it till graduation crossed for mind for less than a second before your legs practically turned to jelly when Jongho licked over the mark he left.

“Alright, then. See you tonight!” Jaemin chirped before hanging up and you quickly placed the phone on the counter, holding onto the edge of it for support. He wasted no time in turning you around and pressing you to the counter, attacking your lips.

“What has gotten into you?”

“What’s more important is that I haven’t gotten into you, yet.” He replied, distracted as he tilted your head to access your mouth easily.

“Your friends are right outside!” You whispered heatedly, pushing him off you but he didn’t even let his hands come off you for a second, leaning in to kiss you once again.

“So, tonight then?” He smirked and you huffed out a laugh, “Not likely. I’m going to come back black-out drunk.”

That was true, after about 9 bottles of soju between the three of you and half of the bottle of vodka gone in shots, you called Jongho to come pick you up. You had quite literally blacked out on their couch before Jongho had to carry you back to the car.

***

As soon as Killeo heard the sound of food containers, he ran to the living room, eager to get any table scraps and not afraid to use his puppy dog eyes. The thing about having more people in the house was that it was easier to sneak food when no one was paying attention.

You definitely noticed when the giant dog trotted into the room even though he tried to look inconspicuous, you knew what he was up to. Afterall he was the culprit behind many of your foods going missing.

“Hui jia*.” You said immediately, pointing at the door. Everyone looked at you, wondering why you were suddenly speaking Mandarin. He whimpered a little, tilting his head and begging just like you knew he would. But you stayed firm, shaking your head.

“Hui jia.”

With a defeated whimper, he left the room with a low head. You’d give him an extra treat later for being a good boy but for now at least you didn’t have a giant Doberman jumping on the table while trying to get food.

Satisfied that he listened, you went back to your food.

It was silent for a second before, “YOUR DOG SPEAKS CHINESE?!”

Everyone burst into laughter.

***

“We’re going to Japan in a few days for a negotiation.” Jongho told you one night as you laid beside each other in bed. You looked up at him for a few minutes to find him looking at you with a fond look.

“Why Japan?”

“BtoB and Ateez don’t have much influence there. We wanted it to be on even ground.” He told you and your eyes went wide at the familiar name. You sat up immediately, covers pooling at your waist as you looked at him in shock.

“Didn’t you say that BtoB was all buddy-buddy with stray kids?” You hoped this was one big mistake. They couldn’t have been actually meeting with the group that was in alliance with the one that almost killed you the other day, there just wasn’t any chance.

Jongho looked surprised that you remembered but not to the point where it looked like he got caught red handed. He nodded, raising a hand to ruffle his hair a little, “They are, which is why we want to form an alliance with them. They were actually interested in us from a while back, if we form an alliance with them then it means we’d be affiliated with Stray Kids and then they can’t send another attack after one of our own.”

You looked a little apprehensive, “You’re not going to sell me or anything right?”

This seemed to startle him, and he sat up a little only to grab your hand and pull you to his chest. He cupped your cheek with a steady grip. His eyes raked over your face for a minute, taking in all your features that he adored, “Don’t even say something like that. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“Really?” You whispered, voice fragile and he nodded, pulling you closer and capturing your lips with his. You kissed him just as eagerly, snaking your hands around his neck and twisting your body so you were straddling him comfortably.

He didn’t have to wait long before he was sucking on your tongue, his sneaky hands travelling down your body to stop at your ass, pulling you forward to grind your heat against him, swallowing your moans.

You whined as you pushed your hips forward and back, creating a steady pace and breaking off the kiss to breathe. Your wet lips trailed down his neck and you bit down on the spot below his ear, letting out a high-pitched moan as he bucked up into you.

You were rocking into him without any help, following the rhythm he set earlier, and his now free hands snuck underneath the t-shirt you had on to play with your breasts. Your hips stuttered, pressing harder into him and he groaned.

Your lips returned to his as he rolled your nipples between the pads of his fingers, tugging and teasing lightly. In the next instant, his hands disappeared from your chest, grabbing your waist and pressing you to the mattress, spreading your legs so he could slot himself in between your thighs.

You whimpered when his hips rutted against yours, the growing bulge in his pants pressing into you so deliciously.

You both were frankly too turned on to remember that you had left the bedroom door open. Alerted by the sounds coming from the bedroom, Geon and Killeo both went in to investigate. To a guard dog, you could understand why this particular situation looked concerning and the next thing you knew, they were barking their minds out at Jongho before Geon literally tackled him to the ground.

Killeo proceeded to sit on you, baring his teeth at your ‘attacker’ and you couldn’t help but laugh at the betrayed look on Jongho’s face.

“(Y/N)!” He whined, “Can’t you call them off?”

“I can but even if I manage to get him off me, there’s no way they’re gonna let us lock the door.” You laughed, quite disappointed yourself but very much amused by the whole situation.

“I’d recommend taking a cold shower.” You smirked.

Which is exactly where the frustrated man was headed, glaring at the pile of you three on his bed and declaring that Skai was now his favourite, all while muttering curses underneath his breath.

If he looked pitiful then, he would only look more miserable when he came back to realize that the dogs took his place on his bed, and he had to go and sleep alone in your bedroom.

***

When you woke up, you could feel cold sweat dripping down your back and your heart was beating out of your chest. It was still dark outside, you had slept for maybe an hour and the dogs were dead asleep, twitching a little when you shot out of bed but aside from that didn’t move.

You remembered a lot from your nightmare, a world where the panic button didn’t alert Jongho but instead restarted the day. You remembered running from Stray Kids, the gang members getting closer each second no matter how fast you ran and finally when you collapsed from exhaustion, they would land a bullet in your spine or forehead right before you restarted the day and were caught in the same situation.

It was horrifying to say the least, in your nightmares they weren’t people but monsters with red eyes and cruel smiles that looked more like giant shapeless figures than people. You were left panting, trying to get your heart to stop hammering against your ribs as you clutched the covers in a tight grip.

Your senses were extremely clouded, nothing coming to your mind other than getting as far away from here as you could. It was a thought that followed you like the plague, and you couldn’t seem to shake it off. Ever since you moved to this house, you had been followed by bad luck.

Unfortunate things kept happening and sometimes it was just too much to take when all you wanted was to go back to your own life. Especially since you hadn’t asked for any of this to happen. Many times, you had gotten the urge to just leave in the dead of the night and take a flight to anywhere.

It was what you had seen in movies, and it was the only thought that kept intruding your mind when everything got to be too suffocating. But you always managed to calm yourself by thinking a little rationally.

You had no idea how this world worked, how quickly it would be for them to find you and how to even cover your tracks or anything like that. Leaving the house without telling anyone and all alone would make you a sitting duck and no matter how exhausting this all was, you weren’t too keen to die either.

So even though your legs were shaking, you quietly left the room to wash your sweaty face with some cold water before going to the kitchen to get a drink of water.

You weren’t quite sure what to do, as such the case whenever something happened to you. Should you cry it out while hiding in the bathroom? Should you call Jaemin and talk to him for a while? Should you just try and get your mind off the problem by watching TV?

A part of you didn’t want to actually cry about it; it was funny really, if this had been happening to someone else, you wouldn’t hold it against them if they lost their minds but because it was you, you felt like you were being dramatic whenever you lingered over these feelings.

Maybe a drink would be a good idea? Surely if you were drunk, it would be easier to get through this?

You sat at the kitchen counter, sipping water for a while before your glass ran empty and you wondered what to do then. You didn’t feel like running anymore but you didn’t feel like going back to sleep just yet.

You glanced at your bedroom door that was closed shut, no doubt Jongho would be asleep in there. He had been your shelter in this crazy storm up until now, that was probably why you were quietly padding over to enter the bedroom. Maybe just lying beside him would make you feel better.

He was sleeping soundly, clutching one of your pillows in his arms and you could feel the small smile growing on your face as you inched closer to him. His hair was covering his shut eyes and you raised a hand to push it away from his face when he clasped a hand over your wrist and pinned you to the bed.

You gasped when his knee pinned your hip down and he immediately pulled away, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes, “(Y/N)? I thought you were asleep. What are you doing here?”

“I just—" You stuttered, wondering if you should tell him about the nightmare. In reality there was nothing that he could do, and you didn’t really want to talk about it, “I just missed you.”

He didn’t believe it and you both knew it but he still sat up and pulled you to him so you could curl up to his side and cupped the back of your head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your hand rested over his chest, feeling comforted by the beating of his heart underneath your fingertips.

You both were leaning against the headboard, just listening to the sound of breathing.

“Are you okay?” He whispered and you nodded, “I’m fine as long as you’re here with me.”

Jongho stopped running his thumb over your knuckles in favour of raising your hand to his lips. You pulled your hand out of his grip to graze your fingers over his cheekbones. Everything always felt so much more valuable when you were troubled, and nothing felt more precious to you than Jongho.

It always made you feel guilty in a way, because in your fear you’d sometimes blame him, resent him for putting you in this position but when things got put into perspective, you always ended up treasuring him even more.

You realized just why you were feeling so uneasy earlier.

“I missed you.” You whispered, voice tight and you felt your eyes prick from how much you were feeling. Your fingertips moved to his cupid’s bow, gently tracing over his plush lips. You swallowed thickly, moving your fingers to his brows.

“I’m right here, baby.” He murmured, catching your wrist in his grip as he leaned in to place a warm kiss to your lips that you returned. The kiss didn’t last long, you were a little too distracted tonight to maintain your breath and he pulled away when you needed to breathe, trailing his lips down your neck again.

This time there was nothing to stop you, the door was shut, and you were all alone, you realized, jumping when you felt Jongho’s tongue against your skin. Sighing, you turned your head instinctively, giving him more access.

His hand left your wrist, instead trailing down your body to stop at your waist. He continued his assault on your neck, leaving marks along your skin between kisses and licks. You whimpered, the hand on your hip getting frustrating and wanting more.

“Jongho, please.” You whined, sensitive to his fingers drumming against your waist and he pulled away from your neck.

“What, baby? Use your words.”

“More, please.” You sighed out and he chuckled, his hand sneaking between your legs to your clothed heat and you squirmed, trying to move your hips towards him. His lips returned to yours while his fingers pressed against you, and you felt yourself grow wetter.

Jongho rubbed circles over the material of your shorts, tracing your slit and swallowing the moans you were making. He was quite pleased when you began rocking your hips against his hand, frustrated with the light touch.

He rubbed gently at your pussy a few more times, feeling the material get slightly damp and then suddenly tapped right where your clit was. You cried out, legs jerking and he soothed you with a kiss.

"Please, stop teasing." You let out a loud moan when he snuck his hand underneath the waistband of your shorts and panties to press against your clit and you bucked your hips in pleasure.

"Fuck, you're dripping, baby." He growled against your lips, beginning to rub figure 8's against your sensitive bud and you practically mewled. You're so wet that his fingers glide easily through you, sinking two fingers into you without any resistance.

His thumb was rubbing over your clit while his fingers pump inside you, setting a slow pace that has you whining again. He wasn't going to give you what you wanted without teasing and you were frankly too turned on to try and resist him.

Your fingers curled around his wrist, trying to get him to move but he's stronger than you, continuing with the torturous pace and your eyes water with frustration.

"I want more." You get out, finding it hard to even open your eyes at this point but Jongho is nowhere near breaking.

"You want me to tease more? I can do that, baby." He answered and you shake your head, a tear falling on your cheek when you felt him stop. You were clenching hard around his fingers, trying to gain any kind of friction but it wasn't enough.

He supposed somewhere he felt bad for making you feel frustrated when you were so vulnerable to him, but you were just so submissive beneath him, he was getting harder with each plea that slipped through your lips.

"You need to be clearer. What do you want, baby? If you ask nicely, I'll give it to you." He cooed, peppering kisses against your neck and waiting for you to understand what he was asking for.

"Please, please, make me cum." You begged, sobbing when he curled his fingers before thrusting them hard and fast into your sopping core. At each thrust, he's scissoring his fingers, spreading you wider each time as the heel of his palm bumped into your clit.

"Fuck, yes, right there, don't stop." You squealed, clenching around his fingers tightly when the pads of his fingers brush against your g-spot.

The knot in your stomach curled a little tighter when he rammed his fingers against the spot, eyes rolling back in your head, "Right there, baby?"

Your nails were digging into his wrist when he finally brought you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you with waves of pleasure as he continued to finger you, bringing you down from your high.

You winced when his fingers left you and he didn't hesitate before popping the soaking digits into his mouth, growling at the taste. The air was practically alive with sparks as you tried to come down from your high, chest heaving.

"Fuck, you taste so good. Wanna eat you out."

You were barely out of your daze before Jongho pulled off your shorts and panties in one swipe, pulling you forward by your thighs so your back hit the bed before burying his face in your heat. And in a second, the sparks from earlier were transformed to lightning by his lips.

You moaned loudly, raking your fingers through his hair when he licked up your slit, still sensitive from your orgasm. He continued licking all your juices before pressing a finger to your entrance, pushing your hips down when you bucked against his face.

Everything felt like it was on fire, your skin was burning so hot you felt like the room was setting ablaze around you. You couldn't even breathe, Jongho was determined not to give you a break, teasing gone far from his mind.

He closed his lips around your clit, alternating between sucking and licking as his fingers brought you closer to the edge once again.

"Feels good." You slurred out; eyes screwed shut as you tugged lightly on his hair. He smiled slightly and pulled away to place an affectionate peck on your inner thigh before returning to his task.

His hand abandoned holding your hips down in favour of snaking underneath your shirt to roll your nipple between the rough pads of his fingers and you groaned, tightening the grip you had on his hair and rolling your hips against his face.

When he caught your sensitive nub between his teeth and tugged, every muscle in your body tensed before you came with a silent groan, squirming because of the sensitivity as he continued to lick your release out of you.

You were panting as he kissed up your body again, taking off your shirt this time before connecting your lips to his. You could taste yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth when both his hands began teasing your breasts.

"Can you give me one more, baby? Cum on my cock one more time, hmm?" He asked, grinding his covered hard on against your soaking folds and you nodded.

"Words, darling." He reminded as he tugged off his shirt. Your hands immediately ran down his chest, stopping at the hem of his pants. You look so pretty like this, sprawled out underneath him with the most fucked out expression on your face.

"Fuck me, Jongho."

Once his pants are on the floor, he's back over you, kissing down your neck. His length was pressing against your inner thigh, and you spread your legs wider.

You were on the brink of the overstimulation being painful, lungs practically screaming for air, but you wanted him inside you, or it felt like you'd die.

He pumped himself a few times, hissing at the feeling before guiding him to your hole. The crown of his cock nudged against your bundle of nerves, and you squealed before he sank into you with a groan.

You both were moaning against each other mouths as he slid his length into you, inch by glorious inch, until his hips were flush against yours. Your previous orgasms were enough to keep the stretch from being painful.

When he bottomed out, he stilled for a second, glancing at your face that was scrunched in pleasure before he pulled out halfway and thrust back into you.

Your nails were immediately dragging down his back as he slammed his hips against yours, pulling sweet moans from your throat. All your nerves were lit on fire as he began building your third orgasm of the night.

Your warm walls were clenching around him so deliciously that his mouth was pooling with drool, and he lowered his head to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, dragging his teeth over the hardened nub before turning his attention to the other one.

A thin string of spit connected his lips to your nipples when he pulled away. Once he was satisfied with the marks he left along your breasts, he pecked your lips sweetly before tracing your lips with his fingers.

"Get this wet for me, baby girl." He muttered, pressing his thumb into your mouth and groaning when your lips wrapped around it, sucking it eagerly before running your tongue along it.

He pulled the wet digit from your mouth to rub harsh circles against your clit and you nearly screamed, raking your nails so hard down his back he was sure he would have a reminder of it the next day.

"I'm gonna cum." You whimpered and he groaned, feeling your walls get tighter around him, "I'm almost there baby, cum with me."

That was all you needed cum again, moaning as you felt him release inside you soon after. He stayed inside you for a while, feeling himself go soft before he carefully pulled out of you.

You whined, distressed by the sudden emptiness but Jongho quickly peppered kisses along your chest, trying to pacify you before getting a wet rag to wipe you clean.

He covered your naked body with the covers, quick to baby your sensitive self as he pulled your form to his, holding you tightly to his chest.

You intertwined your fingers with his, playing with them and drawing figures onto his palm that made his heart flutter in his chest just watching you. While you did want to go back to sleep, worn out from the sex, you weren't exhausted enough just yet.

You spent the next hour that way, just basking in the after-sex glow together as the sun began to come up.

You looked up at him with a small smirk, "Round 2?"

Jongho chuckled and his eyes darkened before he was parting your legs again, "I'm gonna ruin you, baby."

***

Jongho had been on your ass the whole day. Since he was leaving with the others tonight, he spent all day giving you warnings and borderline nagging you about what to do while he was not here. It started out with just simple safety tips and what to do or not to do while he wasn’t here.

You could understand his concern but once you realized that it was never going to end, you were eager to get him out of the house if only to stop his incessant nagging.

But now that the others were waiting for him in the car outside and he was grabbing his bag, you were beginning to feel anxious about being alone. The last time Jongho wasn’t right beside you since he had a mission, you were almost kidnapped, and you didn’t want to find out what could happen if he was in another country.

A part of you knew everything was going to be okay, that once you made it one night on your own, you’d feel better. Besides, you had your dogs and Jongho even showed you the locations of all the hidden guns in the house in case of anything.

The other part of you wanted to dig a hole in the ground and hide there until he was back home. And you hated feeling this way.

“Be safe.” Jongho murmured against your lips just before he left and you nodded, delicately brushing his hair away from his face, “Come back home in one piece.”

With another kiss, you were waving goodbye before you shut the door, taking a few steps back until you came back to make sure it was locked. It was just your mind playing games on you, but the house seemed bigger, and the shadows seemed like they were moving.

Just to calm your nerves, you called the dogs to the living room, having them beside you while you watched some TV. They were completely calm and that made you relax slightly; if the beings with super hearing didn’t feel a problem, then why should you be so tense about it?

You ended up passing out with the three of them on the couch, cuddling with Skai as the other two were on your sides. Ever the empathetic dogs, they seemed to know you were somewhat on edge, even making Geon sit outside the bathroom so you’d hear him better if he barked.

You barely got any sleep that night, tossing and turning and practically jumping whenever you thought heard a single sound. And as the sun came up you realized that there was one thing you learnt spending your first night alone.

You did not want to be alone.

Which was exactly the reason you were knocking on Bongsoon's door in the morning, asking her if you could have breakfast together. She agreed without any complaints, the house was empty since her husband was also in Japan.

You felt remarkably more relaxed with her company, she was a horrible shot with a gun but at least she's been in this business for longer than you have.

Over breakfast, she told you all about how she was arranged in a marriage with Hongjoong and even confided in you about how she feels out of place in the mafia world. But unfortunately, she was born into it.

In a sense, you felt the same way; this kind of life wasn't for you, and it was abundantly clear. You had never taken the opportunity to think about how messed up all of this was in reality.

What would you do after everything was resolved? Date Jongho like a regular person? You had feelings for him, and you wanted to be by his side but for some reason you felt like when you eventually went back to your life, you could just look back to this like some crazy fever dream.

Would that even happen?

Would you be able to put this whole thing behind you permanently?

"(Y/N) you should know something." Bongsoon started, looking at her hands that were carefully placed in her lap.

"The negotiation with BtoB means that Ateez will end up in alliance with them which consequentially meaning that we'd be in alliance with Stray Kids too. Now that the deal is underway and hasn't been approved or denied means that Ateez and BtoB will be neutral parties until either happens." She explained.

"That means that if you wanted to make a break for it, now would be the best time."

Your brows furrowed, "What are you saying?"

"The stakes are still high. Ateez is hoping that this alliance will keep Stray Kids from killing you but there's still a chance that BtoB might reject it, in which case, there's no telling how long before Stray Kids manages to get their hands on you."

Even though she explained it as simply as she could, you were still confused and overwhelmed by the sudden avalanche of information. She was trying to tell you that there was never going to be a 100% chance that this was all going to blow over.

And that you could still lose your life now, but the probability was less if you tried to run now rather than later.

"I don't--I don't understand. Are you telling me to run away?"

Bongsoon swallowed thickly, "I've always felt guilty about you being here. You never asked for this and because of my mistakes, I ended up dragging you into this whole mess and I wish I could do something to correct it."

She reached over to grab one of your hands, holding it between both of hers, "It's ultimately your decision but if the deal falls apart, it's going to be safer for you if you leave before they return from Japan."

Before Jongho came back? Did they even know about any of this?

"And if I do choose to run away? What then? Will I ever be able to come back?"

"I don't know." She admitted.

"You don't know?! So, it's either always live on the run or stay here and be killed eventually?"

"I'm sorry, (Y/N). I wish I could do more to help but there's no way. Unless Stray Kids are eliminated there's really no telling what could happen. And that's something that Ateez won't be able to do."

Ever since meeting Bongsoon, you were put into a position where your life was one of the pawns on a chessboard and frankly it was driving you nuts. 'Why me?' was a question you often found yourself wondering.

Your hand went to the necklace around your neck; the only thing Jongho has ever given you and it was a tracker. The past months have been hell, with the constant fear.

You had never been a fighter growing up, never getting into any fights with other students since your parents were very strict about violence. Granted they were the ones who taught you how to shoot but it was very clear that it was just a sport.

But in the last month you had shot people, maybe even killed some of them and that was a tough pill to swallow.

"I'll think about it."

You didn't want to talk about it anymore, you didn't want to think about it but that was another thing that was ripped out of your control; you knew this conversation would be the only thing on your mind till the time you finally fell asleep.

You left her place soon after that, saying a brief goodbye before you were walking back home. No, not home: Jongho's house. This wasn't your home.

And the second you stepped through the door, you realized something was terribly wrong. The house you were expecting to be completely silent had loud barks echoing through the hallway.

Something had set the three of them off, they were howling madly at something, and you felt your stomach sink. For a few seconds, you were just frozen, unable to think about what to do. On one hand, you could just leave and tell Bongsoon but if there was someone armed in the house, there was no telling how long it would take for their patience to run out before they kill your dogs.

So, you took off your shoes and quietly padded through the halls to find the hidden gun that Jongho had stashed in the display case.

As quietly as you could, you went closer to the sounds of the dogs and held the gun between shaking hands. This wasn't where you wanted to be, you realized. There was no telling what would happen with each step closer, and you felt your eyes prick with tears.

One wrong step, one wrong move could have you dead. Maybe you were walking into a trap at the moment, and you'd be ambushed any moment. You didn't know how many people were here, you realized, and then you felt stupid for trying to confront them.

Heart racing, you stopped outside the entrance to the backyard, trying to listen in case you heard the intruder say anything. You looked down at the gun and felt grief in the pits of your stomach; you'd have to kill someone again.

With trembling fingers, you slowly clicked off the safety and exited the house, pointing the gun up at whatever the dogs were gathered around.

Which looked like an equally frightened raccoon.

The gun tumbled out of your hands and to the ground along with your body when your knees buckled, and you fell. Your heart was beating rapidly in your throat, and you could feel the breakfast you ate an hour ago crawling up.

You were clutching your shirt right above your chest, so overwhelmed that it felt like you were having a heart attack. The dogs, alerted by your panicked state trotted over to you, trying to comfort you the best you could as you gasped for breath.

It was too much.

The house, the people, the lifestyle. You couldn't take it anymore. Everything was suffocating you to the point you wished that you never existed. Your hands and feet were throbbing painfully with the lack of blood flow, and you were getting lightheaded.

You needed to get out of here.

***

Jongho stood in the shower, reliving what had happened in the last hour. Cold water was pouring over his head, but he could barely feel the chill, caught up in his thoughts.

He hadn't been particularly anxious or excited when he landed, sure he was happy to see you but all he wanted when he got home was a relaxing afternoon in your arms. And after the week they had, he more than deserved it.

He wasn't exactly going above the speed limit or filled with this immense excitement of seeing you, in the week apart he hadn't exactly felt that deep longing that was described in books and movies. Perhaps it had been because he was so busy. he hadn't gotten the opportunity.

But it wasn't like he wasn't looking forward to it, because he was. You had become such a regular part in his life, it felt weird not to wake up beside you and it took a while getting used to sleeping without the sounds of you or the dogs breathing.

The others had already gone to their own places, San hadn't even gotten on the plane back with them since he had a mission elsewhere and Hongjoong rode home with him. Right before they were about to part ways, Hongjoong insisted that he stop by to say hello to his wife before leaving.

Jongho had protested at first but then finally relented, seeing as how his hyung wasn't planning on letting him go home without seeing Bongsoon. Which didn't even make any sense, didn't married couples want to spend more time together and have some sort of dramatic reunion?

The guilty face was the first thing he found out of the ordinary, his noona was staring at him with a remorseful expression and he found himself wondering just what he had walked into.

"Jongho....there's something you need to know."

With each word that came out her mouth, his heart sank lower and lower until it finally disappeared into that growing pit in his stomach. Hongjoong had tried to comfort him by placing a hand on his shoulder, but he was quick to shrug out of it.

He didn't even meet their eyes when he told them he had to go and take a shower.

When he entered the house, he wandered through it like a zombie, heading straight for the bathroom without bothering to look through the bedroom. He heard deafening silence as soon as he entered and his heart sunk, knowing that the dogs weren't there anymore.

Through the glass doors of the shower, he caught his own reflection in the mirror and his eyes zeroed in on the marks you had left on his neck and chest. They still hadn't faded.

He glanced down at the chain in his hand, the turtle charm dangling from his palm. He must have forgotten to set it aside before he entered the shower.

Suddenly, all the longing hit him at once, feeling like a painful punch to the gut.

One tear fell.

And then the rest.

No one was in the house to hear Jongho soft sobs echo through the empty halls.

***

It had been two months.

Two months since you frantically showed up at Jaemin's house, telling him to look after Geon, Killeo and Skai while you had to do something. You told him that you'd be leaving town for a while and completely freaked him out with the way you were behaving.

It had taken a lot of begging and crying for him to stop asking questions and then you disappeared.

You lived in your parent’s summer home for a month before flying out to see them. You had lied and told them you were taking a semester off, telling them that you had gotten into a car accident and wanted to just relax for a while.

They believed you, knowing that you wouldn't have taken a huge break unless you had to.

It was better than you expected, you spent a lot of time with your parents, working with your father on his garden and with your mother in the kitchen. Of course, it got boring at times when you had nothing to do but lounge on the couch and even though you didn't mean to, often you found yourself wondering about Jongho.

A part of you was sad that you didn't get to tell him anything, you regretted not seeing him one last time at least and getting some closure but you also knew it was probably for the best.

You hadn't contacted anyone from back home yet, only the university to tell them you'd be taking some time off due to urgent circumstances. You wondered about Jaemin and Renjun, the way you had said goodbye no doubt made them panic and you felt guilty about leaving your pets with them.

And what about your three babies? You missed them dearly.

You knew this wouldn't hold up forever, you would only be able to lounge around for another month at most and then your parents would demand that you go back to university. Would you be able to? If Ateez handled the problem, then would they even be able to find you?

Those questions would answer themselves sooner than you expected.

The day was as mundane as ever. You had woken up late and groggily stumbled from your room, not bothering to change out of your pyjamas to go and lay down on the sofa, switching on the tv to watch the new show you were binging.

Your mother gave you breakfast, and you smiled at her; if you had been back at university breakfast would have been choked down on the way to the bus stop while you tried to get kibble out of your shoe that you accidentally dropped. You missed living with your parents and ended up treasuring these small things more than you realized.

Around lunch time, just as you were trying to decide between going out for a walk or taking a nap, your father came to the living room.

"(Y/N) someone's at the door for you."

You froze.

Is this the part where you die? Oh god, what about your parents? Would they spare your parents who had no idea of all of this?

"Who?"

He just shrugged, pointing at the hall, "I don't know, some Bongsoon, says she's Hong-something's wife. Are your friends already married?"

This was a conversation; you really didn't have time for. Feeling like you were walking into a trap, you cautiously stepped towards the front door and when you opened it, you were surprised to see that your dad was right. Bongsoon stood in front of you, looking like she hadn't slept in weeks.

"Whoa--What's going on?" You asked and bit your tongue when he eyes watered. She looked more put together while drunk but her hair was a mess and her skin seemed to have lost the glow it usually had.

Instead of her usual classy clothes and shoes, she was wearing a pair of sneakers and loose-fitting clothes. You could see her unkempt and tangled hair underneath a cap and a facemask was tucked underneath her chin. She looked like you had when you had rushed to the airport after leaving.

Bongsoon tried to hold herself together, but it seemed like all she could do was quieten her cries as tears began streaming down her face. You stayed by the door, unsure of what to do or why she was even here.

"(Y/N), I need your help."

Your brows furrowed together, "What do you mean?"

"(Y/N), the deal with BtoB. We were ambushed. They took them, everyone, and in a couple days they're gonna kill them. Some of our men even turned on us. I don't have anyone else to ask except you."

"What good can I do?"

"I know where they're holding them. They're waiting for their leader to come back to the country before they kill them. We need to ambush them first. I need your skills as a shooter."

Your eyes widened and you took a step back, grasping the handle of the door and ready to slam it in her face. She reacted fast, holding the door open and the look in her eyes turned a little panicked.

"(Y/N) please! I know I'm selfish for asking this. I know I'm the worst for asking you to come back here and for you to be a part of this, but I can't trust anyone. If we don't do something in the next three days, everyone will die." She wept, trying to wipe her tears on the sleeve of her jacket.

Your heart stuttered at that. Everyone from Ateez would die. Jongho would be killed.

You wanted to be selfish, you wanted to close the door and pretend like this had never happened. All this while, whenever you had held a gun in your hands or even thought about participating, you were filled with dread and guilt.

Now you were feeling the same way about trying to refuse this.

You didn't have the time to think about it, in three days Jongho's head would be on a chopping block and you just knew in your bones that if you were sitting on your couch while it happened, you would never forgive yourself.

You sighed grimly, accepting defeat, "What do I have to do?"

***

After landing, the two of you embarked upon your mission together. You spent the next day in her house, coming up with a plan and then finding the weapons that Hongjoong had stashed around the house.

You practiced with a rifle that reloaded on its own and trying to shoot in different positions at moving targets while Bongsoon who was just an amateur just tried to shoot a regular gun at a target.

It took a while for both of you to become comfortable but with your teaching, she was able to pick up fast. You didn't have time to waste on incompetency anyway.

Bongsoon told you that Ateez were being held at a warehouse in BtoB territory at the other side of town. Her plan was to have you set up on a neighbouring rooftop and ready to shoot them.

One problem was that there was a part of the warehouse that wasn't exposed to your line of sight. Which meant that she would have to go inside and take care of them herself. You didn't like that idea but really, what choice did you have? It was the two of you against the rest of them. You just hoped that she knew was she was doing.

Another problem was that all the members weren't here yet. They'd show up eventually after dark for Ateez's "execution" but until then you'd have to wait. If there was one thing you knew about this life was that if you cut one head, another was to grow in its place.

This wouldn't end unless you severed all the heads at one.

You concealed the rifle in a violin case and you both even took the public bus there, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. You both arrived there while the sun was still high, none of members were outside.

You both snuck onto the roof and began setting up, before waiting for dark to come. It felt like it couldn't come sooner but with each second that ticked by the anxiety in your stomach began growing.

When the sun began setting, you started praying to anyone who might be listening for this to work.

And then finally, it was dark. The black sky cast shade over everything, and the warehouse was concealed due to the lack of streetlights. Eventually, you both heard the cars and peeked over the ledge to see large black cars pull up to the location. A couple members exited from each car before entering.

You took a deep breath and spared a glance at Bongsoon. She gave you the most reassuring smile she could manage before holding your hands in a shaky grip.

"Whatever happens. I just want to thank you for everything." She whispered, "If anything goes wrong, I want you to hide your face, shoot everyone that stands in your way and get the hell out of here."

You nodded, acting like you understood but it was likely that if something went wrong, you'd be killed before you even made it back on the ground. At this point, you were just glad that you said a proper goodbye to your parents.

You watched Bongsoon sneak behind the warehouse with a gun in her hands and even after she disappeared from your vision you could hear her shallow breaths through the earpiece, she had given you. It was what she would use to give you the signal to shoot.

You glanced at the open windows, counting each man that you could see. You had a little visual access to Ateez where you saw them chained and kneeling. You hoped they weren't hurt too badly.

The more you waited the more anxious you got. What if you couldn't hear her? What if she got ambushed before giving you the signal? What if one of the members got shot in the crossfire?

Your head was filling up with scenarios, each more plausible than the last until you finally heard her signal and the finger that you had been resting on the trigger twitched before you heard the shot ring out and the window shatter.

Your heart was still beating madly in your chest, like whenever you had to give a presentation or speak to a professor or the dean, but it was like your precision had never been better. You didn't hesitate like you did before, you didn't recheck your shots to make sure they had landed.

You had the calculation of a mafia member and that both terrified and excited you.

You noticed Bongsoon fighting off one of the members before shooting him and you shot another one right behind him. Before long she told you that there was no one else standing and that you had won.

You practically collapsed from relief, rechecking the outside to make sure no one else was there before unloading the gun and running out of the building to meet her inside.

The second you entered you were enveloped in a hug. Bongsoon squeezed you tightly, giggling in your ear as she whispered praises and ‘thank you’s. You held her for a while before she went to her husband’s side.

The others smiled at you, helping each other get up and your eyes scanned over them before landing on the familiar red head and it was like the world stopped. Everything had solved itself in the moment you locked eyes with Jongho, and you felt so relieved and happy that you had been here.

Jongho looked a little beat up, but he was standing and that was all that mattered. You thought he'd be upset, angry even but his eyes told you a thousand things he'd never even be able to put into words. He was relieved to see you here too and the smallest smile pulled on his face.

Everyone watched between you two, expecting a dramatic couple’s reunion where you jumped into his arms and kissed like a cheesy movie.

You were more than surprised when you were caught in a hug by another man.

"Oh my god, 16!" San cried out, spinning you around in a hug, "I knew you'd come for me! Actually, I didn't, it's weird that you're here but I just knew we made a connection that day! And now you've saved my life!"

"You two know each other?"

"We met while we were waiting for our connecting flights a couple months ago." San explained, finally setting you down and you pushed his arms off you, but he quickly pulled you into a side hug, "My little friend here was so depressed because of some boyfriend she broke up with and we had a heart to heart."

"Um, San?" You spoke up from where you were trapped underneath his arm, "You know that boyfriend I was talking about?"

"Uh huh, poor guy really to lose such a great catch like you."

"He's standing right in front of you."

And everyone chuckled as San's expression dropped when Jongho raised his hand like the teacher was calling on him with the most unamused look on his face. San's arm loosened around you, and you immediately went to Jongho's arms, sighing in content when he hugged you tightly.

"That actually makes more sense."

***

You both groaned in unison as Jongho rolled his hips against you. The sheets pulled around the two of you was the reason that rivulets of sweat were rolling down your sides and down his back but something about it made this feel more intimate.

Or maybe it was the way he was pressing your intertwined hands to the mattress, kissing your lips with each thrust. Your orgasm built slowly, the tension in your lower stomach tightening gently.

Jongho pulled away from the kiss to mark down your neck and to your breasts, tongue laving over the marks he had left a couple rounds ago.

Jongho felt your fluttering walls tighten around him and groaned, "Fuck, I love you so much."

"I'm so close." You whispered and he picked up the pace a little, wanting to go over the edge with you and you moaned, tightening your grip on his hands.

"Cum with me." He murmured, kissing you again and you moaned into his mouth as you finally collapsed over the edge, seeing stars as you felt him fill you up.

His hands let go of yours and he fell on top of you, burying his head in your neck and your arms wrapped around his shoulder. You were both drenched in sweat and you'd no doubt have to change the sheets but for now you just wanted to lay here with him.

He lifted his head in concern when you heard you sniffle and felt your chest move up and down as you tried to control a sob, "Did I hurt you? Why are you crying?"

"I missed you so much." You confessed, ask tears streamed down your cheeks from all the emotions you felt in the last hour. You were unsure that your heart could actually handle the amount of love you had for me.

The expression on his face softened and he leaned up to kiss you soundly, wiping away the tears and even chuckling when you sobbed a little pathetically against his mouth.

"I missed you too. Never leave me like that again." He whispered, peppering kisses over your wet cheeks.

You shook your head, gently running your thumbs over his cheekbones, tearing up again from just how much you were in love with this man, "I won't. I love you too much for that."

***

"(Y/N) (L/N)!"

You couldn't help the wide grin on your face as your friends exploded into cheers as you walked on the stage to receive your diploma. Jaemin was screaming his lungs out, just as you had done when he was called.

You smiled shyly at Ateez that were clapping for you before stealing a glance at your boyfriend. Jongho was beaming with pride, and it had your heart fluttering in your chest. After taking a picture with the dean while she teased you about having quite the fan club you descended the stage to meet up with them.

Jaemin caught you in a hug first, bonking his graduation cap against your head and you laughed before turning to the rest of them. Jongho smiled sweetly at you, handing you a bouquet of flowers and you hugged him as a thank you.

"I'm really proud of you, baby." He murmured just as you sat down, and you smiled at him before intertwining your fingers.

"Me too, baby." Jaemin called out and you laughed at the irritated expression that crossed his face. Ever since you had introduced your boyfriend to your best friend, he realized that Jongho was easy to make jealous and was also quite funny when irritated, like Renjun.

You managed to distract Jaemin from trying to piss him off even more when you noticed it was going to be Renjun's turn next. You both cleared your throats, waiting eagerly for his name to get called out before you launched to your feet, screaming and hollering so hard that your throat would be sore.

("Bet she never screams your name that way.": Wooyoung)

"THAT'S MY SON!" You both screamed and as embarrassing as it was for you it was all worth it when you saw his face turn red as he bowed his head in apology before stomping over to the two of you to smack you.

As you all were leaving the school, you quickly rushed over to Jongho's car and pulled out your gift to the boys.

"In honour of our graduation, let's get drunk tonight." You smiled, holding out the bottle of vodka and they grinned wide, cheering loudly. You spared a glance at Jongho and felt kind of bad actually, he always looked so lost whenever the three of you were together.

"I don't know how much I like the idea of you getting drunk with two guys who are not me." He muttered in your ear just as you were parting with them, promising to meet up in a couple of hours after you had lunch with your parents that were flying in this afternoon.

"Don't worry, they're not men. They're like little chihuahuas." You giggled and he have you an unimpressed frown.

"You pretty much said the same thing about me."

"I said you were a guard dog, meaning you'd eat tiny babies like them for breakfast."

He still frowned, knowing you'd break with those adorable pouty lips and begging eyes and while your heart did flutter, and it took you every ounce of self-control to keep your ovaries from doing loops.

You reached across the centre console to place a kiss on the corner of lips, quite literally kissing the frown off his face before whispering something in his ear that had him smirking.

"Play nice and you can eat me for breakfast instead."

*Chi-maek -- Chicken and beer

*Hui jia-- Go home

2K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years ago

Text

help me now, i’m running on empty

characters: shigaraki tomura, dabi, a hint of keigo

genre: smut and angst

notes: waaaaaah finally!!! this is the fourth part of break my bones but act as my spine. please, please heed the warnings on this and stay safe! | title cred: memory by kane brown ft. blackbear

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, depictions of severe metal illness including psychosis (delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech), one psychiatric assessment, family members that mean well but just Do Not Understand in the slightest, toxic relationships, cheating, extreme guilt, slight power play, minimal prep, size difference/belly bulge, slight coercion, dacryphilia, slight degradation/dumbificaition, marking, cum eating/feeding, multiple orgasms, overstimulation if you squint, rough sex, reader is quite flexible, verbal fights, blood, daddy kink, drugs, 2 references to tarantino’s reservoir dogs that are relevant to the plot, keigo goes as both hawks and keigo

part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four ⋆ part five ⋆ epilogue ⋆ series masterlist

words: 23.5k

synopsis:

And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi thinks Tomura’s about to spill his guts—to tear himself open and spew himself at Dabi’s feet, to bear his bones and blood and broken soul in a way Dabi knows he didn’t for those doctors. And, for one terrifying moment, Dabi hopes he will, the way he used to—the way they both used to—on those rare nights where they were feeling especially sick and saccharine, juvenile and jaded, free and fucked up.

But he doesn’t.

Standing in the elevator threshold, he’s tall—so tall the crown of his smooth, bald head nearly brushes the chrome frame—and dressed sharply, just as he always is, in a pristinely pressed black suit, tailored to his abnormally large, hulking frame, stitches stretching just a little as he extends his arms out; an invitation.

Your feet know what to do before your mind can even send the signal—a pure, innate instinct, almost—as you gravitate towards him, so fast you stumble into his chest with an audible thud, fingers curling in the thick material of his jacket as a wailed, warped Daddy! lacerates your throat.

He catches you with ease, just as he always does, with a fond chuckle that seems out of place given the situation; that inspires an intense warmth to burst throughout your chest and flood your veins regardless.

Cocooned in large arms, you burrow your salt stained face into the soft cashmere of his white shirt, revelling in the comfort familiarity inevitably brings as his body vibrates with the baritone of his voice, reverberations sending sparks throughout your limbs to chase the warmth.

You can't tell who he's talking to—Dabi or Kurogiri, maybe both at once—words mostly drowned out by a harmonious concert of bellowing blood in your ears and cloistered cries in your chest; something about doctors and professionals, duties and procedures.

When he does finally address you—in a voice that’s so soft, so gentle, so incredibly patronizing it would seem offensive coming from the lips of anyone other than him—it’s to placate the shudders wracking your frame and pacify the jagged fragments of concerned sentiment that keep slashing at your tongue.

“Hush now,” he’s saying, words cascading over you like melted chocolate being drizzled over a warm cookie. “It’s okay, I'm here, it’s okay,” a heavy palm cups the crown of your head, thumb caressing the strands. “We’re going to figure it out, sweetheart,”

Finally, you pull back, just enough to gaze up at him through the filmy shield residual tears have lacquered across your eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise, darling,”

The elevator dings, and Dabi emerges, carrying a box overflowing with messy papers—documents and dossiers, notes scrawled on scraps, files with cracked spines and fraying edges filled with censored forms—chest heaving just a touch.

“Ah, wonderful. Thank you, Touya,”

Touya?

Your gaze flies to Dabi’s, features crinkled in confusion; eyes squinted, brows knitted, mouth twisted.

But Dabi steadily and expertly avoids your stare, doesn’t even flinch at the use of the now foreign name, and nods, features a stern mask of professionalism, voice infused with utmost respect—more respect than you’ve ever heard in his tone before. “Of course, Sir. Trade you?” He holds out the box to his Boss as an offering, head nodding in your direction.

Tomura’s father chuckles, easily exchanging flesh for cardboard, a precious little squeak catching in your throat as the goods are swapped.

Dabi isn’t as warm as the Boss, lacking the padding strong muscles provide, but you cling to him anyway, fingers tangling in the cotton of his hoodie and lungs filling with the soothing scent of smoked hickory and tangy cinnamon.

Another ding! attracts four pairs of eyes, chrome doors sliding open to reveal a large man with tousled ivory hair and irises that shimmer like gunmetal.

“Sorry I’m late,” he’s saying with an amicable smile as he enters the penthouse.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Dabi’s practically breathing out, dragging you towards the man as he falls into an awkward half-hug, one arm wound tightly around the man's neck, nearly trapping you between their chests.

“Anytime, Nii-san,” the man is murmuring, too low for anyone outside your intimate little circle to hear. Dabi says something in response, muffled by the man’s broad shoulder, though you can feel the gentle vibrations radiating through his torso, quivers that turn into subtle tremors as they travel through his limbs. “I know, I know,” The man continues in a whisper, an arm hooked almost protectively around Dabi’s waist, large palm rubbing lopsided circles into his back. “He’s gonna be alright,”

A tattooed fist tangles itself in the material of your dress, gripping you to his side as Dabi nods, giving the man one final squeeze before finally releasing.

“I hope you’re right,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Tomura knows it’s coming. Kurogiri had already told him, twice, what would be transpiring soon after landing on Japanese soil, and a voicemail from his father had confirmed it.

And even though it’s expected, that doesn’t make it any less annoying, or infuriating, or terrifying.

They decide to conduct in in his fucking bedroom of all places, all four of them shuffling through the heavy mahogany doors, all familiar faces—people he knows, people he should trust.

Should.

It’s easier this way, his father had reassured him, after he had suggested they move to somewhere more professional, like his office.

And so Tomura sits, like a fucking child, with his legs crossed in the middle of his massive bed, and he waits.

Doctor Atsuhiro Sako, their resident psychiatrist, speaks first. He introduces himself, mentioning his title and education, politely and patiently responding to Tomura’s snarky huffed out remarks about patient confidentiality and invasions of privacy when he explains that they're only present because they're gravely concerned about you, Tomura.

“Remind me why I have to do this again?” Ruby eyes narrow sharply as they focus on his father’s face, nose scrunching up in distaste.

“It’s just a simple assessment,” the Boss says conversationally, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather.

“For what?”

“To determine whether or not you would benefit from psychiatric treatment, or some sort of, you know, inpatient program,”

“You...You want to send me to an institution?” he seethes. “You think I’m fucking crazy?”

“We all just want the best for you, like the Doctor said,”

“This is the best for me! St-Staying right here! I’m fine!” Panic sinks razored claws into his heart and squeezes, his breathing beginning to accelerate. No, he has to stay here, here with you, or else—

“Son,” his father begins with a soft chuckle. “You totalled one of the most prestigious suites in New York, and slashed yourself to bits in the process, and not one of us has a clue as to why. That doesn't seem fine to me,”

“Well, I wasn’t, then,” Tomura rolls his eyes, as if this is obvious. “But I am, now,”

“And what, exactly, has changed in the past...” His father checks the glittering Rolex adorning his wrist. “Forty-eight hours?”

Everything. Everything has changed. Now that he’s here, back home, now that he’s safe, it’s all suddenly crystal clear; it’s as if he can see the whole situation from afar, from above, in its totality.

“We care about you, Tomura,” Kurogiri chimes in, tone firmer than the Boss’s. “That’s it,”

“Let’s not be hasty and jump to conclusions, now,” Doctor Sako says, quieting the room. “Nothing is final until I’ve fully assessed you, Tomura,”

He perches gingerly on the ottoman in front of the bed, crossing his legs and humming, eyes scanning an impressive list of questions, safely secured to a plastic clipboard. The tip of his plastic pen taps once, twice, three times against the metal clasp.

And then, he begins.

Can you tell me today’s date? How’s your mood been? Are you sure? You’re not sad, frightened, upset, angry...? Alright, and how are your sleep habits? Are you sleeping at all? What about food? Are you adequately fuelling yourself? Grooming habits? How’s your concentration? Is there something on your mind that just won’t leave you alone? What about thoughts that enter suddenly and refuse to leave? Are you feeling confident in your sense of self? Any goals for the immediate future? I understand you were having difficulty meeting deadlines and completing work, such as the meetings you held in New York; why do you think that is? Are you feeling especially stressed? Do you think it’s impacting your performance? How do you deal with stress? Would you say drugs are a coping mechanism?

Unsurprisingly, Tomura is overwhelmingly uncooperative, responding to all of the doctor’s questions exclusively with shrugs and single word answers.

But Doctor Sako fires them off so rapidly, so tirelessly that Tomura’s head reels with it all, as if his brain’s some sort of malfunctioning projector, what was once playing a seamless sequence of smooth images now beginning to freeze, to flicker, to chop and distort and rewind as the slides judder and catch in a faulty machine.

It’s beginning to feel like too much, overloading his senses and short-circuiting his thoughts as strains of words clash and collide, uncontrollably interrupting each other, ears ringing with each question spit from chivalrous lips, the doctor’s voice ricocheting off the walls of Tomura’s skull, mixing with all of the mundane, inconsequential sounds of everyday life that prick his ears, that he can’t seem to tune out no matter how hard he tries, hyper-focused and sensitive: the breathing of every man in the room, his own unstable heartbeat echoing in his ears, the gentle hum of the desk lamplight, the chirping of the birds outside, the cars zooming by below the penthouse, the scraping of the Doctor's teeth against plastic as he chews thoughtfully on the edge of his pen, the irritating skritch-skritch-skritch of the ballpoint tip against thick paper...

And finally, he slips up, he shows weakness, he gives something of apparent importance to the insatiably vying Doctor, when he confirms his recreational drug use. Doctor Sako perks up at his response, shoulders rolling back, chest leaning forward, elbows digging into his thighs.

“What have you been taking?”

Tomura’s face puckers as his eyelids scrunch shut tightly, nails moving to automatically scrape at the scabs collaring his neck, the familiar burn bringing peace and silence with it, features relaxing.

“D-Dunno,” a shoulder shrugs in painful indifference, face morphed back into that mask of passive apathy, though a soft whimper catches in his throat, snuffed out and swallowed down before it can reach his tongue. “Coke and Oxys,”

“And how much have you been taking?”

“Dunno,”

“Did you take anything the night of the incident?”

“Probably,”

“You don’t remember?”

Tomura’s head shakes, lips pressed in a thin line. “No,”

Sako sighs, scribbling something, and Tomura’s nostrils twitch.

“What about voices? Have you been hearing things that aren’t there? Seeing things that aren’t there, or that others can’t see?”

“While high?”

“Are you ever completely sober?”

Tomura cracks a smile at that, eyes narrowing a touch. “No,”

“To?”

“Both,”

The Doctor nods to himself, humming and glancing down at the clipboard for a second. “Your father tells me you’re worried someone very close to you is in severe danger—”

“She is,” Tomura scowls, glower floating to his father’s face. “You heard the calls! You both did!"

“We did, son, we did,” the Boss agrees, calm and courteous.

“But we haven’t received any contact in nearly a month—”

“I have!”

“The records—”

“I don’t give a fuck about the records! I have been getting them!”

"Tomura," Kurogiri begins slowly, cautiously, concern carved into his crumpled features. “We can’t find any traces of those calls, or texts, or emails, anywhere. Are you—Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m fucking sure,” Tomura spits, though his voice breaks, words trembling under the burden of fear—of not being believed, of it being true. A dense film of tears glazes scarlet. “I can’t get them out of my goddamn mind, Kurogiri,” The confession tapers off into a cracked murmur, Tomura’s shoulders hunching in on himself, features wobbling under the combined weight of panic and agitation.

“And what do these messages say?” Sako jumps in hastily, redirecting Tomura’s attention to him, chest beginning to heave slightly as a pen scribbles against paper, the Doctor’s eyes not leaving Tomura’s face.

“Gruesome,” Tomura whispers, wincing as the word leaves his lips, as if the letters are made from razor blades, as if they slice his flesh on their way out. “The ways they plan to chop her up, what they plan to do with the pieces,” he swallows thickly, bloodied fingers threading through silvery tufts and pulling, a feeble attempt to quiet the reverberations of the threats, echoes that crawl through his brain like greedy little parasites, feeding off of his sanity, eyes clamped shut tightly.

“Tomura?” Someone begins hesitantly, carefully, as if they’re speaking to a feral animal on the verge of losing control.

“They’ve got to be deleting them, somehow,” he says after a moment, abrupt and unprompted, voice rough, lids finally lifting to reveal glassy crimson eyes, protected by a shield of rapidly collecting tears. “Th-That's the only explanation. We should—” he stops, eyebrows pushing together as if he’s confused, as if he’s suddenly lost the remainder of the sentence, a singular tear finally escaping his lashline, rolling down his cheek in solitude. “W-We should...refrain from using phones; they might have the lines tapped,”

“We don’t even know who ‘they’ are,” Kurogiri sighs heavily. “We haven’t gotten a single lead, not one clue,”

Tomura’s gaze snaps up, tears incinerated in an instant, fiery fury burning them to vapour. “But you—you heard them! They happened,”

“They did, over three weeks ago,”

“No, no,” he growls. “They didn't! I got them, just this past week! I got them during that horrendous trip you forced me to go on! I got them!”

“Christ, we’re just going in circles again,”

“The phone companies,” Kurogiri begins, voice rising, and Tomura flinches violently. Kurogiri inhales a breath, deep enough to fill his entire chest cavity, held for three seconds, then exhaled, slow and controlled. He tries again, softer this time. “The phone companies haven’t been able to find any traces of these alleged messages, Tomura,” A frown tugs at the corners of the older man’s mouth, staring at his charge with overwhelming pity in his bright eyes. “Nothing,”

“Well, then, they—they must own the phone companies,” The words tumble from his lips hastily, the full thought spit out before it can be interrupted by the noises bouncing around in his skull, eyes blinking rapidly as Tomura tries in vain to quiet the indiscernible racket—the breathing and the heartbeats and the tapping—to calm the chaos in his mind.

“Don’t be absurd, Tomura,” his father chuckles, the harmonious titter swiftly cutting through the disorganized turmoil in his head. And Tomura can’t believe he’s laughing, can’t believe he’s amused, can’t believe he’s so fucking nonchalant about the entire thing. “If there was an organization powerful enough to own the phone companies, down to having the ability of manipulating records, surely we’d know of them,”

“We’d be them, most likely, Sir,” Kurogiri adds politely, head bowed as he speaks to the Boss.

“Exactly,” the Boss continues. “If there were someone with monopoly over the phone companies—if there were someone tapping our phones at all, as a matter of fact—Tomoyasu would know in an instant; you know that, son,” Another deep chuckle vibrates in his chest, and he stares at his son with a peculiar little smile, head tilted, crimson eyes softening in patronization. “Really, Tomura, this is getting a little ridiculous. How much have you been taking lately?”

“Is this—” he chokes out, breathing beginning to accelerate, wild ruby eyes flying from one face to another, between the two people he’s known his entire life, between the two people he’s ever known as family, head whipping back and forth with the motion before his dropped jaw snaps shut. “Is this some kind of fucking joke to you? Huh!?”

Standing suddenly, Tomura’s fist slams down on the surface closest to him—a mirrored bar cart, mostly empty, reflective glass smashing upon impact—his chest stammering under ragged inhales, uneven breaths that blister as they barrel into his chest.

“It's not funny!” he tries to shout, but his voice cracks, words fragmenting in his throat, jagged edges slicing the gummy walls and forcing a vicious cough. “The one person more important than—than anyone, than everyone combined—is in serious danger, and you’re—you’re laughing?”

“No, Tomura,” Kurogiri jumps in quickly, attempting to pacify the swiftly escalating situation. “There’s nothing funny about anyone being in grave danger, especially her,”

“Then...Then...Why are you laughing?” His chest hiccups with a hitched sob, half-swallowed, and he stumbles backwards, blinking rapidly as his blurry gaze flies between the two men who have raised him, more tears spilling over his lashes. “You don’t...You don’t believe me?”

And it’s like a sharp slap to the face, this startling realization, their dismissal of the severity of the situation, fury reigniting in his chest, flames blazing higher and higher until they lick the back of his tongue, scorching his throat.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that!” he roars.

“No, we know you wouldn’t—”

“Bullshit! I’ve been working my ass off, alright? Tirelessly searching for these motherfuckers, and I—I bet you haven’t even been trying, have you! Thought this whole thing was some big joke right from the start, huh!”

“Tomura,” his father begins, booming voice forcing a jolt up the spine of everyone in the room, except his son. “You know that isn’t true,”

“Prove it! Show me your research!”

“I think that's enough for today,” Kurogiri murmurs to Doctor Sako, placing a hand on his shoulder and rousing the Doctor from his stupor.

“What?” the Doctor looks up, frenzied scrawling halted, surprise evident in his cinnamon eyes. “But we’re finally starting to make progress!”

The Boss shakes his head, signifying that the decision is final. “No, no, that’s enough for today. He’s clearly quite agitated,” three pairs of eyes sweep towards Tomura, who’s begun clawing at his neck again, fractured shards of the smashed mirror wedged in his flesh, viscous crimson flowing down his wrist to stain the cuffs of his shirt, trickling down his neck to begin pooling in the dips of his collarbones. “And I’d rather not exacerbate the situation any further,”

“I’d like to treat his wounds and inspect his healing now,” Natsuo speaks up for the first time, drawing all of the gazes in the room towards him. “If that’s alright?”

“Of course,” the Boss says amicable, features molding into a friendly mask. “We’ll leave you to it,”

✰ ✰ ✰

On the other side of those doors, you sit huddled against Dabi, helplessly listening as Tomura’s fury builds from smoldering cinders to raging flames, consuming all in its path.

Something shatters, and your entire body flinches, Dabi readjusting his grasp. His heart rattles the bones that cage it, and his head dips down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Uh,” he starts unsurely, fingers playing with the material of your dress. “Maybe we should—”

“No,” you cut him off, voice brittle and frail and not nearly as assertive as you wish it was. “I don’t want to—I won’t leave him,”

“But I just think—”

“No,”

It’s supposed to be firm this time, strong and fearless and non-negotiable, but it comes out as more of a whine, as a plead, quivering and broken.

And for once, Dabi doesn’t push, doesn’t argue or huff under his breath, simply responding with a single jerk of his head and holding you close.

Another smash, another shout, and Dabi embraces you tighter, cradling you to his chest as his body curls in on your own, as if he’s trying to protect you, to shield you from all of the pain and the hurt and the fear.

Gentle tremors crawl under your skin, wracking your entire form as you attempt to suppress the malicious sob mauling your chest, little fingers gripping his forearms, keeping his whole being wrapped up in yours as nails bite into his skin.

“I’m here,” he whispers, so softly you nearly miss it, discerning it mostly from the light reverberations against your back. “I’m here,” he repeats, firmer. “I’ve got you, okay? I-I’ve got you, baby,”

You nod, lips pressed together as that sob finally breaks free, barreling up your throat and crashing against the barrier of clenched teeth and sealed lips.

And Dabi wants to tell you that it’s okay, wants to tell you not to restrain it, to let it escape, the way he gave you permission to shatter to pieces in his arms back in New York, but he can’t seem to form the words, tongue burning to ash as the letters sear themselves into the tissue, voice disintegrating to shreds in his throat, residual vapours of broken breath causing him to choke.

Instead he just holds you firmly, safe and secure in his tattooed arms, offering you a comforting space to break down in while inked lips press chaste kisses to the crown of your head, chest quivering with the hum of a familiar tune you can’t quite place, lulling you into complacency as he rocks your bodies in a trancelike, soothing manner.

Finally, finally, they exit, you and Dabi on your feet before the bedroom door’s even swung shut behind them.

“Natsuo’s treating him now,” the Boss informs Dabi, who responds with a curt, wooden nod. “So, Doctor, what’s your verdict?”

“Well, it’s hard to say,” Doctor Sako says, hints of irritation sewn into his tone. “Some sort of psychosis for sure, but whether it’s from the drugs or a deeper root, I can’t tell,”

“If you had to take an educated guess,” the Boss encourages in an easygoing lilt. “Which would you say it is?”

The Doctor blows a robust gust of breath from his lips, eyeing the Boss warily. “If I had to guess,” he begins, rubbing at an eye as he stares down at his clipboard. “I’d say it’s likely that there’s a more deeply rooted cause here, amplified or aggravated by the drugs,"

“He’s sick,” you pipe up, face half buried in Dabi’s chest meekly.

“It’s a plausible possibility,” the Doctor confirms. “But with what, exactly, I can’t be sure. I wasn’t afforded enough time with him to preform an accurate and thorough assessment, and Tomura was exceptionally uncooperative,”

“S-So, what can we do?”

“Ideally, stop the drugs and start him on anti-psychotics, and probably a mood stabilizer, too.” A frown tugs at the corners of Doctor Sako's mouth. “But he has made it very clear that he will not do so willingly,”

“And that in-patient program you had mentioned...” the Boss trails off, head tilted curiously.

The Doctor shakes his head. “Aside from the isolated crystal incident, he currently does not check many boxes for at risk of harm to himself or to others—meaning we cannot forcibly place him in a program without his explicit consent, because, technically, he doesn’t qualify. Not yet, anyway,”

“What are our other options, then?” Dabi speaks for the first time, voice gravelly. You cling to him tighter, and he acknowledges your presence, his own fingers readjusting their grip around your waist, digging into the soft flesh.

“Even though there’s no guarantee that he’ll actually take them, I can prescribe him some meds,” the Doctor says, through his expression is grim.

“Anything else?”

“I’m, of course, open to holding sessions with him,” he looks over to the Boss, gauging his reaction. “Either here, at the penthouse, or in my office; his choice,” he pauses, gaze flitting back to Dabi. “Other than that, all you can do is keep an eye on him. If his symptoms escalate, or he becomes exceedingly dangerous, call an ambulance,”

“I’ll talk to him about the therapy,” the Boss nods. “Thank you, Doctor,”

“What about work?” Kurogiri questions.

Tomura’s father sighs, expertly polished mask of authority finally beginning to tarnish. “Regardless of what exactly this is, Tomura is evidently not fit to be managing a full workload,” Scarlet eyes assess Kurogiri slowly, who is already nodding. “We shall reduce his duties significantly, and allow him to work from home, where he feels much more comfortable—and where you can efficiently keep watch over him.”

✰ ✰ ✰

They leave shortly after—all of the physicians and psychiatrists and family members—and Tomura counts; one, two, three dings—and then, Tomura waits, waits for the chaos in his head to diminish from blaring white noise to sizzling static, for the blood to clot and begin adding to the embellished choker collaring his neck, for the pain from his fresh wounds, new bandages overlapping older ones, to fade from sharp stabs to dull throbs.

Finally, Tomura emerges, hair a haystacked mess, neck and wrists still trickling scarlet, the nail beds of his bony fingers stained with rust and stuffed with dead flesh as they absentmindedly pick at a bandage, fresh blood beginning to seep through.

A precious gasp claws its way up your throat, and you’re on your feet in an instant—out of Dabi’s arms, into Daddy’s, little whimpers spilling past your lips as you fret over him, pillowy palms that smooth down fluffy tufts, tender fingers that catch crimson on their tips.

Sunken ruby eyes meet glittering sapphire, and Tomura sighs, leaning heavily on you.

This is it—Dabi knows this is it; this is the end. Tomura’s going to dismiss him of his glorified babysitting duties and permit him to return to the work he’s good at, to return to the work on the streets, to the grime and grit and ghouls, dwelling in the underground tunnels where he belongs.

Tomura murmurs something in your ear, and Dabi watches as shock bleeds through your features—raised brows, an agape mouth, widening eyes—but you don’t defy him, nodding along to whatever he’s just demanded and taking your immediate leave. His gaze follows your movements, waiting until his heavy bedroom door has fully shut behind you, then turns back to Dabi and wordlessly holds out a hand in the vague direction of his office.

“She would’ve been listening, had we spoken in the living room,” Tomura explains as they enter. “Little brat,”

Wordlessly, Dabi nods, tongue lethargic and lifeless in his mouth, tiny spikes of adrenaline tingling through his veins, surging with his blood as his heart attempts to climb through the ribs that cage it.

“Anyway,” Tomura continues, raking brittle fingers through his nest of silver, the loose corner of a bandage catching on the strands. “It’s not like it’s all that important,” he collapses heavily on the mauve leather couch with a sigh, head tipping back.

Dabi follows.

And Dabi waits.

Head lolling to the side lazily, Tomura opens an eye to stare at his inferior. “Your duties are being reduced,”

“What?”

“You’ll still be bringing her to and from school, and wherever the fuck else she wants to go, but now that I’ll be working from home...” Tomura trails off, singular lid sliding shut again, words exhaled on a heavy breath. “I won’t be needing you here, in the penthouse,”

“So, I’ve been demoted to chauffeur, basically,”

“Yeah,” Tomura chuckles, though it’s nothing more than an exhausted huff, eye opening again, weak amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. “A chauffeur.”

Heavy despondency seeps into the floor of his stomach, taking root at the core of his soul and beginning to fester, to spread, to devour; weightless delight fizzes behind his sternum, tiny bubbles of sunshine—of your laugh, your eyes, your touch, voice, scent—that burst delicately, their warmth soaking into his flesh. They mix into something toxic, into something intoxicating, a bitter acid crawls its way up his throat, eroding his esophagus before dwelling on the back of his tongue.

“That’s all, Dabi,” Tomura says softly, after a few moments of prolonged silence.

Clearing his throat roughly, Dabi nods, palms pressed to his knees as if he’s about to rise from his seat on the cushion, a sudden tug on his ribs tethering him. “Hey, uh,” nimble fingers flex, nails digging into denim. “Are you—I mean, how are you?”

Tomura’s head flops to the side, and he stares at Dabi through dense, fanned lashes. Crimson sears itself into his skin—scorching his cheeks and charring his neck—and Dabi shifts under the invasive gaze.

“Fine,” Tomura says with a nonchalant shrug, but his fingers are toying with the fraying edges of a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

Dabi doesn’t buy it, not even for a second, but he swallows his fragmented words.

There’s more he wants to say, more he has to say, but he isn’t sure how to say it, lost all ability to stitch letters into words, to knit words into sentences, to vocalize the thoughts tangling in his head with the wobbly voice lodged at the back of his throat.

So he says nothing, delivering one curt nod before grunting and standing. Each step away feels worse than the last, feels wrong, like there are threads connecting him to the only person close enough to ever be considered a best friend, pulled taut and tight with every footfall towards the door, begging him not to go, not to snap those strands, so weak and worn.

It’s only when Dabi’s hand is on the doorknob that they yank and force him to turn.

“Tomura,” running his tongue along his bottom lip, he pauses, waits for his boss to look up, then swallows, voice thick and weighted. “Let me know if, uh, well,” A sharp exhale, a clenched jaw, a twitching nose. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help, alright? You don’t—You don’t have to do this alone,”

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask Dabi to stop, to wait, to stay, and he doesn’t tell Dabi about the horrifying thoughts twisting the tissues of his brain into tight, tangling knots.

He merely nods once; a slow, sleepy movement of his head, eyes slipping shut again, breathing shallow, affirmation slipping through licked-raw lips in a mutter, floating on the tail of a sigh.

“Will do,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Ambivalence chases, races, the blood in Dabi’s veins for the rest of the day; faster, higher, brighter with each second that ticks by, thrumming through his cells until his entire body’s ablaze, engulfed by the inferno sizzling under his skin by the end of the night, such scalding heat keeping him awake, alert.

This day would come eventually, inevitably; he knew it would, carrying with it the bittersweet tang of relief and remorse, anticipation and anxiety.

If he’s being truthful, now’s the best time for it to happen—he needs to get away from you. Really, he does—he should. You’ve barely been back in Japan for forty-eight hours, yet his best friend’s mind is decaying to rotting flesh, and Dabi—well, all Dabi can think about is you; the taste of your moans, the scent of your arousal, the sound of his name on your lips—and so, yeah, he should.

Or should he?

Because spears of terror pierce his heart any time he thinks about leaving you alone with Tomura—poor, unstable Tomura, who’s preoccupied trying to stitch together the remaining shreds his mind has decomposed into, who loves you so much he’s completely stopped granting you his attention, in a desperate and urgent attempt to protect you.

Because that monster you birthed in his chest, all those months ago when all of this was just beginning, gnaws on his ribs and claws at his stomach, its eyes glowing bright jade at the thought of Tomura getting to kiss you, touch you, fuck you, whenever he wants to.

Because icy tears sting his eyes and freeze into a sharp block in his throat when he realizes that he will no longer see you every single day, will no longer spend every waking moment with you—morning to night, dusk to dawn—will no longer get to eat all of his meals with you, or laze around taking naps with your head in his lap, or listen to you complain every time he throws on those sci-fi serials from the 30s that he loves so much.

And that’s terrifying.

✰ ✰ ✰

It isn’t like you had expected things to go back to normal, to go back to the way they were before, just because Daddy’s at home now. No, of course not; you knew he was a very busy man, even with his workload reduced to something more manageable.

But you hadn’t exactly expected things to get worse, either.

It was a silly hope—a dream, maybe—that Tomura might begin paying more attention to you now that you’re sharing the same space again; that Tomura might take notice of your presence and find some scraps of time for you: to eat a meal with you, or watch an episode of some stupid show with you; that, if you’re really well behaved, Tomura might even allow you to sit in his office with him as he works, cute and quiet and perfect as always.

It was a silly hope that Tomura might want to do any of these things at all, that Tomura might care about anything other than ironing out the kinks and knots his mind has twisted itself into.

And it isn’t like you haven’t tried, haven’t been trying, in conjunction with Kurogiri to get him to emerge from that godforsaken office, with its heavy mahogany doors and thick brass locks; to get him to eat, to take a break from whatever the hell it is he’s doing locked away in there all day.

But Tomura’s nothing if not brutally, infuriatingly stubborn.

You still see Dabi, a few times a week for your classes and the like, but the rest of his time is occupied elsewhere, doing whatever it is he did before being assigned to protect you.

But Dabi’s sudden absence from the penthouse itself affects you more than you anticipate.

It feels as though everything has lost its purpose, as though everything has lost its appeal. No, you don’t want to watch those stupid wedding dress shows if Dabi isn’t there to harshly critique them with you. No, you don’t want to have dessert if Daddy isn’t there to lovingly scold you about your sugar consumption, or keep a watchful eye on how many cookies you’re nibbling on. And no, you don’t want to take a nap because you’re cranky; not if it isn’t safe and secured in a pair of their arms, not if it isn’t cuddled and clasped against one of their chests.

And you feel it, his absence, both of their absences; a deep, dull ache that has drilled itself into the core of your very soul, that keeps tunnelling and tunnelling and tunnelling until it cracks the center and splits it wide open, filling the gash with ice, shards of it prickling through your veins every time your gaze catches on something that reminds you of them.

And you know that’s exactly what it is that’s causing this constant throbbing pain, too; you know it is, because on those occasions when you’re privileged enough to catch in their light—Dabi’s weak flickers, or Daddy’s simmering embers—it thaws, and you feel alive again, right again.

And, for a little while, that’s enough. For a little while, you can live with that, be alive with that, heart vigorously pumping boiling blood through your cold veins, blazing through the thick ice and alighting your entire body with that special warmth whenever Daddy has a few minutes to spare, whenever Dabi drives you to your classes.

But eventually, flickers and embers aren’t strong enough to keep that frigid pain rooting itself within your chest from freezing your entire body.

Eventually, you need more.

It takes just under two weeks—eleven and a half days—until your resolve finally crumbles and your pride burns to nothing but cinders, until that loneliness threatens to engulf you from the inside out, snapping your body clean in half as it envelops you in its icy embrace.

✰ ✰ ✰

You must stand outside that fucking office for hours, spending too much time debating whether or not this is the right choice; whether or not you’re just being selfish and needy, before spikes of ice shoot through your chest again, and you finally raise a trembling fist to knock knuckles against the wood.

The first three times, he doesn’t answer.

It’s expected, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

A tentative hand wraps around the doorknob, beginning to twist, to tug.

“D-Daddy?”

And for a moment, it’s silent. Then:

A harsh chuckle splinters the mahogany wood, Tomura’s voice slithering through the cracks it created. “I know you didn’t just try to break one of Daddy’s most important rules, princess,” he calls, voice cold and condescending, garnished with just a hint of amusement.

You know better than to lie to him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly, yanking your hand back from the brass knob as if it suddenly sprouted teeth. “I just—I miss—I haven’t seen you in over a day, and—Well, I’m...Worried?” your breath catches in your chest, stagnant and stiff, only releasing when he fails to respond. “I—I mean, have you eaten at all in the past twenty-four hours?”

Another pause, another beat of tinny silence. Tears swell in your throat, thick and tingling, your words fighting to climb to your lips.

“I made you some lunch,” everything sounds garbled, nothing more than a tangled mess of letters on your tongue as you glance at the silver cart, food protected under the intricate cloche no doubt gone cold by now. “I-It isn’t much, jus’a little something, but—“ you swallow. “It’s better than nothing. Try to eat, please? I-I’ll be with—I’m going out,”

And then you’re off, barely able to get the whole sentence spit from your lips before you’re practically sprinting towards his bedroom, a vicious cry clawing at your chest. The door swings shut behind you in your haste, hard enough to rattle the art hung on the walls as you slide down the wood.

If Daddy were in his right mind—if Daddy cared at all—such an action would’ve earned you a hefty punishment, full of tears and apologies, raw flesh and glowing rubies.

But he isn’t, and he doesn’t, and you can’t stay here anymore, surrounded by him, by his waning scent and his perishing soul, swallowed up whole by his essence, rotting away in the belly of the beast.

Trembling hands urgently scroll through your phone, quivering so terribly the device nearly slips from their grasp twice, frenzied and desperate to find his name, to end this erosion, to get out.

Bringing the phone to your ear, you work hard to quell your sobs and quiet your sniffles, swallowing hard to suppress them, to keep them in your stuttering chest, to be strong and stoic.

And for a second, you’re sure you’ve got it under control, emotions locked away in a cage of ivory, the only remnants of them present in the way your chest stammers unevenly as they thrash to escape.

But it all implodes the moment you hear his voice, infused with panic, with passion; it all bubbles right back up again, thick tears blurring your vision and whole body shuddering under the weep you tried to tame, resolve burnt entirely to ash as a cracked wail of D-Dabi! tumbles past your lips.

✰ ✰ ✰

It seems the city is caught under a perpetual drizzle lately, a soft rain whose droplets turn the world into nothing more than a landscape of hazy lights and monochrome.

The sun, which has kept itself buried behind thick charcoal clouds for the entirety of the day, has nearly sunk beneath the skyline now, stowing away beyond skyscrapers and high-rises, gobbled up whole by the jagged teeth of the city.

They’ve just finished their biggest job for the day, finding recruits—more accurately, test subjects—men and women desperate for something: money, a fix, an escape; men and women willing to do anything to get their hands on whatever it is they want, including agreeing to becoming AFOs personal lab rats.

Most of ‘em don’t make it, a man by the name of Rikiya Yotsubashi had told Keigo his first official day on the job, which was coincidently the day Dabi & Co left for New York. Most of ‘em are junkies, criminals, people on the run, people who need something, he shrugged, shooting Keigo an appraising gaze from the corner of his eye, molars grinding pink bubblegum to goo. Y’know, people who won’t be missed.

That was the most important qualification, Keigo had found out. He hadn’t exactly been shocked; it took the department years to catch onto what the medical conglomerate had been doing with its carefully selected candidates; individuals who disappeared frequently with no logical cause, who had no family or friends that would come calling for them or sniffing around, who society disdained, cast to the margins and forced to scuttle along the outskirts of civilization.

The government was happy with it. It keeps the streets clean, Riyika had recited to him, quoting the prime minister. He donates generous sums of cash to keep our operations going, solely for that reason.

It was revolting. The gluttonous greed of man is utterly disgusting, his boss had chuckled, clapping a large hand on his shoulder hard enough to make Keigo sway. Welcome to the real world, Detective.

Keigo had thought he was in the real world, that he had already experienced the real world; a world full of contradictions and conspiracies, sure, but a world where Good and Bad were clearly defined, neatly sorted into easily digestible categories. A world where he knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. A world where he could nonchalantly dismiss his own unsavoury actions in favour of the Greater Good.

He isn’t so sure anymore.

He isn’t so sure, because this world, the underworld, the universe of corrupt riches, has managed to turn all of Keigo’s neat little notions on their heads.

Because he’s witnessed why these people join such organizations; he’s seen it: the single mom with several mouths to feed, offering Keigo cake and tea regardless of her predicament the moment he step foot in her shabby home; the drug addicted father with the prodigy daughter who deserves the best education money can by, working three jobs to ensure her tuition is paid in full, and she can get those pretty red shoes she wants so badly; the barely legal teens who’ve been raised by these streets, who’ve raised their siblings on these streets, desperately searching for a place to belong, for a family.

People who are the salt of the earth, the gold in the sun, simply doing what they can to survive, doing the jobs society has forced them to do then shunned them for it, doing their best to provide better lives for their loved ones, even if it means risking their lives and bloodying their hands to achieve it.

Because he’s seen the innocent victims, too; friends and family that get caught up in it all as collateral damage; innocent little girls like you, that fall into the clutches of monsters, that happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; or maybe it’s the right place. Keigo can’t tell anymore.

Keigo can’t tell anymore, because down here, in this world, the underworld, bustling beneath the feet of society, Keigo’s come to learn that Good and Bad aren’t so clearly defined. In fact, he isn’t quite sure they even exist as separate entities anymore, notions bleeding into one another until they’re neither, until they’re both, all at the same time, oozing into one another like messy watercolour on a chaotic canvas, creating a new colour entirely, something Keigo’s never seen before.

And despite the fact that Keigo’s made next to no progress these past two weeks—his first two weeks officially ‘on the job’—it’s these thoughts that infect his mind for those fifteen days Dabi’s absent in New York. It’s these thoughts that burrow through the recesses of his brain, latching onto the tissues with sharp little teeth and burying themselves within the folds, never to be extracted.

Dabi’s been back in Japan for just under two weeks now, and Keigo’s been instructed to ‘shadow’ him every day thus far.

On this particular day, Dabi’s got his hands cupped protectively around the flickering flame of a silver Zippo, cigarette secured between two rows of ivory, when the call comes.

“Fuck’s sake,” he huffs out under his breath, flipping the lighter closed with a sharp twinge and sucking hard.

Keigo laughs a little as Dabi fumbles through his deep pockets, muttering a hasty Shut up, when Keigo remarks that this is an peculiar turn of events, that no one ever calls Dabi.

But his features, pinched in irritation, relax the moment his gaze skims his phone, thumb practically slamming down on the answer button, fingers swiftly removing the cigarette from his mouth as he breathes your name into the receiver, followed by a near desperate What is it? What’s wrong?

Keigo straightens up, too; he can’t help it, action almost automatic, attention perking up at Dabi’s disquieted tone.

He’s unable to hear what you’re saying, voice so meek it has Dabi gripping his phone to the side of his head, pressed tightly against his ear as his eyes narrow in concentration.

“You...What?” Dabi’s lids loosen, eyes widening—in surprise, or shock, Keigo isn’t entirely certain. “I mean,” Dabi coughs, clears his throat, tugs a little at the collar of his hoodie, ash from his steadily burning cigarette dusting his chest. “Did you ask your Daddy? ... What do you mean He doesn’t care? You know he does, princess ... He’s what? Busy? Too busy for you?”

Lips wrap around the cigarette, and Dabi inhales deeply, like he’s unsure, burnt fingers threading through ink. “I dunno, baby,” he mutters, words hidden in heavy clouds of smoke. “I don’t think—No, listen—Hey, listen. I don’t think Daddy should be—He does, for Christ’s sake, will you stop that?” A pause, a thumb rubbing at an eye in exasperation, your voice beginning to rise in pitch, loud enough for Keigo to hear it—just a muddled shrill sound echoing from the phone—but not loud enough for him to discern any words.

“I don’t think Daddy should be left alone,” Dabi says slowly over your speech, almost like you’re stupid, almost like he has to force the stubborn words from his tongue. “I know, I know, I miss you too, princess. It’s been—”

And it’s then that Dabi becomes aware of Keigo’s prying, vying eyes, turning away from his inquisitive, invasive gaze and hunching in on himself a little. “It’s been hard on me too, you know,” he continues, a soft, self-conscious confession. “It’s been...” he stops, words strangling themselves in his throat. “Different, yeah,” he agrees in a huff of breath. “Different,”

Guilt, thick and sticky, unfurls itself in the pit of his stomach; a rapidly spreading slime that engulfs his organs and twists, and Keigo averts his eyes, tries his best to stop listening.

Because he shouldn’t be, truly, and the longer he does, the more he feels like he’s encroaching on something deeply personal, on something that’s none of his business and should be none of his concern, something he was never supposed to be privy to, or tangle his conscience up in.

Because Keigo can tell that whatever you’re saying on the other line, with your escalating little please?’s and whiny little Da-bi!’s, is absolutely killing his colleague, struggling more and more with each breath you take, each exhale of smoke from his nostrils, to deny you.

In the end, he loses, just as he always does. In the end, he finds himself lounging in the luscious lobby of Tomura’s condominium—of his own home, and yours—nimble fingers picking at a stray thread of the armchair he’s leaning against.

One ding of the elevator, one gentle breath of his name, and he’s straightening up instantly, catching you snuggly against his chest, limbs wrapped almost protectively around your slightly trembling form.

And it’s interesting, the way the two of you nearly melt into each other in a way that’s so intimate, so familiar, that Keigo can hardly believe you haven’t known each other your entire lives.

It’s interesting, the way your bodies seem to knot together in a manner that’s almost graceful despite how tightly you’re clinging to one another, arms looped and legs locked, everything stitched together in one perfect present, one unbreakable entity, immaculate in the way it moves, ebbs and flows, breathes in singularity, in unity.

Keigo takes this as his cue to leave, to allow the two of you some space and privacy, Dabi nodding his understanding over the crown of your head, face still nuzzled into him.

“Hey,” Dabi says softly, once Keigo’s departed, palms cushioning your head in an attempt to draw your face up from his chest. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he commands gently, removing your face from its sanctuary, discerning sapphire sweeping across your face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,”

Dabi’s face hardens, lips pressed in a firm line. “Don’t bullshit me,” he warns. “What did he do?”

“N-Nothing, he didn’t do anything,”

And it hurts, because it’s true—he really didn’t do anything. A scolding, silence as a response—not exactly anything out of the ordinary, not anymore.

Rough palms find their designated place on your cheeks, cupping your jaw, delicate and tender as if you’ll crumble to dust if he isn’t cautious and careful. Calloused thumbs caress the flesh stretched over your cheekbones, and you find yourself nuzzling into his touch, a pathetic little hiccup breaking in your throat.

Crystal eyes rapidly search your face, a cute crease between his eyebrows carved from concern. His head shakes a little, just minuscule movements, really, indicating that he doesn’t exactly understand, large hands keeping your gaze from straying from his.

“He didn’t do anything,” you repeat through a thick swallow, words distorted with spit. “Th-That's the problem,”

“Baby,” his voice breaks, as if it pains him to speak, as if it pains him to tell you that he doesn’t understand, that he can’t offer the comfort he so desperately yearns to. “I-I’m—I don’t—”

“No provocation, no protests, no possession...No nothing. He just...He just let me go,”

Understanding cracks through the confusion coating his face, pinched features melting as anxiety bleeds through them, replaced with the unsteady wobble of worry.

But Dabi stays silent, because there’s nothing to say anymore, because you’ve heard it all before, opting to draw you into his arms and tug you to his chest once again, exhaling a weighted sigh against the crown of your head.

And, truly, he wants so desperately to tell you that it’s okay, that it’s all going to be alright, that Tomura’s just in some pissy mood and it’ll pass soon, he promises, he swears, just like it always does; he wants to.

Yet no words come, because he can’t, because he won’t, because he can’t find it in him to lie to you, even if only to provide a few moments of fleeting solitude.

✰ ✰ ✰

Over the next month or so, your presence becomes more and more of a frequent occurrence until it’s practically a permanent fixture.

It starts with a mere call or two a week, asking if you can tag along with them, always promising you’ll be on your very best behaviour, always begging Dabi with those precious little pleads about how bored you are and how much you miss him. But it grows rapidly, in conjunction with Dabi’s steadily decreasing ability to refuse you, and before long, Keigo’s seeing you an average of five times a week.

And, oh, you’re so cute, Keigo just can’t help but melt a little, warm a little, whole facade dropping the first time you meet when you ask, after hastily wiping those pesky crystal teardrops adorning lashes spiked with water and introducing yourself, if Hawks is his real name.

“What do you think, songbird?” he had questioned, voiced laced with a hint of teasing as he flipped those windswept golden curls from his eyes. “Be pretty dangerous to work on this side of the industry without a code name, don’t you think?”

But your increasing presence becomes a disruption.

Because your time together shifts, evolves, blurring the lines between labour and leisure, morphing from you attending those standard jobs—mostly consisting of drug delivery to the higher-ups, quick and inconspicuous meet-ups with the white collar criminals, and the never-ending recruitment process—to visiting those greasy American style diners Dabi practically lives on after the work is done, time becoming languid and loose as you lounge on their glittering plastic seats, leaking into the wee hours of the morning. Or, sometimes you swing by those old movie houses, now nothing more than crumbling skeletons of the grand palaces they once were with their fraying velvet and peeling paint, to watch their midnight double features, often 1930s gangster films or those buddy-cop flicks from the 70s and 80s that Keigo just can’t seem to get enough of.

Soon enough, Keigo’s accompanying the both of you home, the three of you huddling up in the theatre room Keigo’s so unabashedly fascinated with, with laps full of buttersalt popcorn and fingers encrusted with the sour-sweet sugar from those stupid gummies you love so much, barely paying attention to whatever show’s on the screen as you chat.

Or you’re loitering in the kitchen, perched on the edge of granite countertops while greedy hands scour the innards of the fridge in search of something tasty and expensive; or lounging around the main living room, surrounded by scattered styrofoam and too much take-out, dainty giggles prying past your lips as the men debate philosophy and chuck dumplings and rice balls at each other.

And it’s...It’s nice, Keigo’s horrified to discover. He knows Dabi’s mostly toying with him, intentionally wasting his time, knows Dabi still hasn’t conducted any serious business in his presence; just those tiny jobs that leave Keigo empty handed and frustrated, that lead to nothing of real use or significance.

But when Keigo raises these concerns to his superior, worried he’s squandering precious and valuable time, Chief Yagi tells him not to worry.

Infiltrating the penthouse is also an important part of your mission, he had said. You’re doing well, Detective, keep it up. Getting them to relax in your presence is crucial to this operation coming to fruition, he had promised.

Sure, that makes sense; the more they lower their guard, the easier it’ll be for Keigo to wheedle information out of them, to go snooping and sniffing for clues.

But what happens when Keigo feels like his guard is lowering as well, entirely against his will?

Because throughout it all, Keigo observes, Keigo witnesses: just how much you and Dabi lean on each other, rely on each other; just how much you and Dabi hurt every time another slice of Tomura’s mind disintegrates—and Tomura himself.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s nearly a month—twenty-seven and a half days, to be exact—before Keigo finally sees him in the flesh for the very first time.

And the portrait Keigo’s met with will be seared into his mind forever, carved into the walls of his skull, doomed to ceaselessly relive the scalding and the scratching when his sins haunt him in the middle of the night.

The man walking across the room bears little resemblance to the Tomura Shigaraki he’s seen in photos and files. Knotted tufts of dull silver stand on end, mussed from bony fingers tugging, raking, yanking.

Most of his muscle mass has disintegrated, leaving behind the shell of a man; hollowed eyes and sunken cheeks accentuating his sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, his silhouette nothing more than a collection of rigid lines and razored edges, a protruding collarbone peeking out from an ill-fitted cashmere button-up, bony wrists adorned with perpetually healing wounds, thin gaunt skin stretched too tight over slim hands.

Blood seeps into the crisp white collar and cuffed sleeves of his tailored shirt, readily leaking from his gashed neck and gorged wrists and creating a grotesque painting in the fabric, artful blotches of crimson as bright as his eyes soaking through unblemished ivory in asymmetrical smudged patches, like bloody clouds in a bleak sky.

And still, you’re scrambling the moment you lay eyes on him, struggling to pull yourself from Dabi’s iron grip with sweet little whimpers, feet clambering and fingers clawing your way free.

“Daddy!” you breathe as you stumble towards him, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste. “Oh my God, Daddy!”

He barely even registers you until you’re barreling into his chest, hastily taking a wounded wrist between your tiny palms and cradling it like it’s special, like it’s precious.

He seems as shocked as you are, belated surprise morphing his features, gazing down at his own gushing wrists as if his body isn’t quite his own, as if he doesn’t fully recognize it.

But it is his, and these scrapes and scratches and hollows and hacks are from him, unkempt fingernails encrusted with rust and flesh.

He doesn’t even feel it, he tells you, voice painfully monotone, dead and limp and dismal, stare never lifting. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Wh-What? What do you mean—oh, gosh—Dabi,” you throw a quick glance over your shoulder, Tomura’s head finally lifting, confusion contorting his features. “Some bandages, please?”

“Dabi,” he says, soft and slow, as if he’s tasting the name, rolling it around between his teeth, tongue curling around it protectively, before finally swallowing it down. “I thought I dismissed you?”

“Oh,” Dabi breathes, avoiding scarlet eyes as he hastily searches for those bandages. “Well, you did, kind of. I, uh—”

“I invited him over,” you say simply, little thumbs running across Tomura’s gouged wrists with the gentlest, barely there caresses. “And that’s Hawks, one of Dabi’s friends,” and your voice is so sweet, so soft, Keigo can’t help but deflate a little, just the way your Daddy does into your calming touch. “And don’t worry, Dabi screened him; he’s safe. We hang out sometimes, when you’re too busy ‘n all—they keep me company,”

Tomura’s gaze doesn’t lift at all, refusing Keigo any sort of acknowledgement, head nodding lethargically as you and Dabi hold delicate wrists between your palms, wrapping each in cloth and gauze, ministrations doused in compassionate vigilance.

Yes, that’s how it happens, the very first time.

But fleeting interactions such as these are becoming more and more difficult for Keigo to stomach.

Because the pain is fucking excruciating.

It’s painful to witness this memory of a man—now nothing more than a wisp, a shell, a ghost—painful to watch the way your eyes fill with tears the moment he steps in the room, and the way Dabi’s avert, the way Dabi can’t even bear to look at him anymore without a twitching nose or a trembling chin.

It hurts too much.

Because although Dabi doesn’t say much, can’t say much, Keigo can tell that he yearns to, that he’s affected by this in unimaginable ways as well, that this whole situation is eroding him from the inside out, each sighting of Tomura dishevelled and deranged birthing another parasite to chew it’s way through his organs, to feast on his heart.

It’s evident in the way he’s bit his bottom lip raw and picked his cuticles until they’re bloody, in the way he rubs aggressively at his eyes once Tomura’s gone, in the way his chest stammers with hiccuped words and half-buried whimpers on the rare occasion that he does speak to his boss.

And it’s painful to witness you or Kurogiri gently asking Tomura when the last time he showered was, or if he’s eaten, if he’s changed his clothes in the past few days, a once pristinely tailored suit now all rumpled and stained as he looks down with a shrug.

It’s painful to witness Kurogiri working tirelessly to pick up Tomura’s slack, reorganizing appointments, holding meetings in his place, and making executive decisions.

From the fragments of hissed conversations Keigo catches, he’s come to find out that Tomura has completely dropped his executive duties.

“He’s missing every single meeting we’ve set up for him,” Keigo had discovered Kurogiri whispering into a phone one dreary evening, the receiver cupped to his mouth as if his palms could stop the words from escaping, from reaching prying ears. “He is not adequately fulfilling his obligations as CEO; the promises he made to the company, the duties and demands he used to delegate so professionally. He’s failing to complete the tasks assigned, he isn’t showing up for appointments, he’s refusing to return calls…Such behaviour is beyond unsatisfactory—Sir, I—”

That’s all he had managed to hear, before Kurogiri’s voice had faded into incomprehensible static, as he moved to another room.

And it’s these memories that haunt Keigo—sharp shards and slivers of broken expressions; glassy sapphire eyes and violently quivering lips, hidden in the comforting necks and arms and chests of one another—that torment him the moment he’s finally alone in his bed, when his ears are ringing with phantom laughs and sobs, vacant whispers and whimpers, all etched into the tissues of his brain, all typical residue he brings home from the day.

It’s these memories that swirl around in his mind, turbulent and disruptive, harassing him the instant he finds a shred of peace.

Because it’s his fault.

It’s his fault you go to sleep with tears staining your pillow. It’s his fault Dabi can barely spare a glance at his best friend, much less talk to him. It’s his fault that Tomura Shigaraki has lost his fucking mind, tangled up in paranoid thoughts saturated with terror.

And no matter what he does, no matter who he speaks to or where he is, Keigo cannot rid his mouth of this pungent sourness permanently woven into his saliva; Keigo cannot quell the bitter acid that continually creeps up his throat to sting the back of his tongue, corrosive and toxic as it seeps into the pit of his stomach and rots away his soul.

✰ ✰ ✰

“I like Hawks,” you hum out in a breath one night, nearly asleep after Dabi’s finger fucked your brains out and you’ve swallowed his cum for the second time that week.

Your head rises and falls in time with his slow, shallow breathing, his eyes half-lidded and body languid as the drugs course through his system. Your the same, more or less, though you don’t need any drugs to get this way, such a state achieved by Dabi pulling near-violent orgasms from you with those rough fingers, greedily chasing the dull, dim after-sparks as you halfheartedly grind against his thigh.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, palm petting your head rhythmically.

“Mhmm,” you sigh, readjusting yourself, gripping him closer, tighter. “Where’d you find him?”

He chuckles a bit at your naiveness. “He found me,”

“How?”

Dabi shrugs the best he can, the motion causing you to jiggle. “Y’know, when you know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone…” he trails off. “S’how it is in this line of work,”

“How’d you find Daddy?”

The question, mumbled out past loose, sleepy lips, has him jolting with a frightening start, whole body going rigid, but you’re too fucked out to notice.

“I didn’t,” he says after a while, not even sure if you��re still awake, voice sounding weird to his ears, off, infused with something he can’t quite place. “He found me,”

“How?”

“I, uh...Don’t get along with—My father and I—We just—He just—” he stops, eyes closing so tightly it crinkles his face, as if it’s painful to speak these words, to recall these memories, releasing a long, sharp, heavy sigh.

A while passes, the drowsy post-orgasm haze beginning to dissipate with each second he stays silent and stiff. Thick guilt begins to unfurl in your stomach with the growing terror that you’ve crossed some unmarked line, that you’re intruding, trespassing on memories that are not yours to know, not yours to relive, or to keep. You pull back slightly, blinking twice at him as your mouth falls open to apologize, to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about this if it makes him uncomfortable, if it’s too upsetting to utter, but his lids lift, and then he’s speaking again.

“My father’s a real piece of shit, alright?” he exhales the sentence in one breath, words soaked in causticity, features screwed up in an expression you’ve never witnessed before, an expression that sends a scorching shock through you limbs straight to your heart, an expression saturated in pure hate. “And I just—I couldn’t fucking take it anymore,” A pause, a tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth in contemplation before releasing it with a soft pop!. “So I left,” he pauses, sucking the lip between his teeth again and biting hard, a feeble attempt to stop his chin from quivering. “At thirteen,”

“That must’ve been really tough,” you whisper, eyes full of so much concern, so much compassion it scalds his skin, douses him in your endearing affection and eats through his flesh and bone like some sort of corrosive, bearing his imperilled heart to you.

Sapphire darts away, whole head turning to take shelter from your gaze, an attempt to rebuild those walls you can seemingly knock down with a gentle breath and a pretty smile, barriers you can crumble with a tender hand on his forearm and a soft Dabi?.

“Yeah, well,” he clears his throat roughly, a vain effort to rid his voice from that stupid tremble. “I managed, didn’t I?” he chuckles wryly, but it comes out dry, withering, strangled. “We aren’t all lucky enough to be born, or even adopted, into welcoming homes with—with tenderness and warmth and people who—” the word catches, shatters into sharp shards in his throat, but he barrels on. “People who care,”

“No,” you agree quietly, thumb rubbing absentminded circles into his skin, squeezing gently. “We aren’t. But he found you,”

“He did,” Dabi nods, swallowing harshly, resolve resuming. “He did.”

“How?” you ask for the third time that night.

Silence smothers the room, dense and suffocating as it encases the two of you in it’s haughty embrace. Sapphire stays focused on the flickering screen, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, shifting, clicking as he figures out how to proceed. And you don’t push, you don’t rush, opting to simply continue trancing nonsensical patterns into his scarred flesh—motions he can barely feel in some parts, but greatly appreciates nonetheless.

“I was on the streets for three years; you know, they kept trying to put me in children’s homes and all that bullshit, I kept evading, or escaping,” The phantom of a laugh catches in his chest. “I was really sick by the time Tomura found me—it was winter, and I was curled up on the steps of a shelter, or something, half-alive and wrapped up in every article of clothing I owed. I had passed out, apparently, and when Tomura bent down to wake me, I was burning to the touch and unresponsive,”

“Oh my God, Dabi,”

A shoulder shrugs halfheartedly, as if it wasn’t any big deal, the motion jostling you slightly. “I really don’t remember it much; just waking up in this plush bed, with clean clothes, and thinking that—for a moment, that I had really died and gone to Heaven,” he pauses, huffing out a soft sardonic chuckle, lips curling up cruelly. “But then I remembered that people like me don’t get to go to Heaven,”

Your lips tug down into a frown, protests getting lodged in your throat.

“I hadn’t, of course. But what Tomura gave me was close,” he pauses, carding through the thoughts in his head. “He showed me more kindness in those first few months than—” and he has to stop, to pause and swallow the emotion thickening his voice. “Than anyone had ever shown me in my entire life,” He looks down at you then, finally, and you think you can see it—a thin film of water coating sapphire, catching in the frail silver light illuminating from the screen. “He gave me a place to stay, a car, a phone, a—a new name, new identity—and filled my bank account with 10 million yen to start, and—and—”

And this is how I repay him.

“He did a lot for you,” you acknowledge gently, tugging on his arm a little and garnering his full attention. “Because he saw potential in you,”

Dabi nods, nostrils flaring with a shuddery exhale.

“But you did a lot for him, too,” you continue in a whisper. “I don’t—He doesn’t tell me much about—about those days, but I know it wasn’t just him helping you,”

Dabi supposes you’re right; knows you’re right, hazy fragments of memories slashing through his mind—men with ruby and sapphire for eyes and sharp ivory for teeth, talking, laughing, fucking, killing; dusty desert roads and luxurious hotels and crystal blue water; the creaking of king mattresses and echoes of gunshots; flashing sirens and viscous crimson, stained by soft powders and pretty pills.

“He’s entrusted you to take care of me. And you have—you do,”

He has; he does, the job morphing from some glorified babysitter to so much more.

But at what cost?

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s late, the night Keigo finally finds the courage to bring it up, to make it known, the far wall of the Chief’s office lined with glistening glass illustrating a vibrant cityscape against a pitch black sky—starless, moonless, cloudless; and yet somehow, someway, the small droplets continue to smatter against the windows, hurled by robust gusts of wind that rearrange them into a constantly morphing mosaic of bokeh—blurs of teal and fuchsia akin to tiny gems stuck to the glass.

“Alright,” Chief Yagi is saying as he re-enters, an absurdly large mug of black coffee gripped in one massive hand. “What’s all this about?”

Inhaling, Keigo takes a moment to find the right words, letting his lungs expand with them, holding them in his chest for a moment before finally releasing them, confession carried on a defeated exhale of breath.

“I think we should stop with those nasty text messages,” he admits, and his superior frowns, brows furrowing as he takes a large sip, imploring Keigo to continue. “Look, this guy—Tomura, I mean—he’s really not doing well,”

The Chief cocks his head, eyes squinted as if he doesn’t quite understand, words slow and smooth. “I would, if it weren’t for the fact that we’ve already ceased the messages,”

“What?”

“Mm,” Chief Yagi nods, humming around another mouthful and setting his heavy mug down with a thump. “Haven’t sent a text or a call since before he was in New York,”

Adrenaline surges through his veins, blood thrumming with the hormone, and Keigo nearly chokes on his words. “You’re serious?”

He hums out another affirmative, blue eyes careful and calculating as they observe his inferior. “The last one was sent—” a pause, the clicking of a mouse, the clacking of keys. “Two days before he boarded the flight,”

Shock saturates Keigo’s features, eyebrows raising and eyes widening as he shakes his head a little, in disbelief, in disagreement. Breath infused with potent guilt twines itself around his ribs, tangling in thin strands and tightening, crushing his lungs, his heart, his soul until he can no longer inhale, attempts sputtering in his sticky throat.

It’s so much more severe than he could’ve ever imagined, and a sickening culpability, stuffed full of acid and spite and fault, roots in the pit of his stomach. Something is seriously wrong.

“Then, maybe we should stop—no, no, suspend; maybe we should suspend this operation,” at the Chief’s questioning smirk of incredulity Keigo continues, pressing and urgent. “Just until he’s a little more stable,”

“A little more stable?”

“Chief, listen,” Keigo pleads, leaning forward in his chair, fingers curling around the edge of the desk. “That man is sick—” His boss snorts, but Keigo barrels on. “I mean it; he’s really sick; mentally sick. He barely leaves his office anymore, his personal relationships are deteriorating to ash, and all he can ever talk about on the rare occasion that he does emerge is ‘the enemy’—us, you; whoever’s been sending those texts—”

“I told you, no one’s sent a text, or a call, or a letter in weeks,”

“Not to Tomura! Not in Tomura’s mind!” The words exit as a shout, startling the large man sitting across from him, Keigo’s fingernails digging into oak wood. “As far as he’s concerned, he’s still receiving them. I don’t know if he’s hallucinating or what but Chief—” Keigo’s voice breaks, whole face crumbling under the weight of accountability.

“Detective,” Chief Yagi begins, hands folding on his desk. “I know that whatever’s going on with Shigaraki must be difficult to watch, but this is precisely the time we should continue with this operation—because the head of the company is so unstable. If anything, such a turn of events should make it that much easier for you to infiltrate; to gain important information and intel. You’re in their inner circle now; you should be able to find a way into that office at some point,”

“But Sir—”

“Can I ask, Keigo, why exactly this matters so much to you?” Chief Yagi’s chest rumbles as he clears his throat, fixing the younger man with a levelled gaze. “What happened to my Detective; the one who solved project HIGH-END? The one that was ruthless and frigid, the one with an iron grip on his personal emotions, the one willing to do almost anything—certainly more than most—to restore peace, even if it meant soiling his own palms in the process? The one who understood what fighting for the Greater Good meant?”

Shoulders deflating with a heaved sigh, Keigo shrugs, almost indifferent as he leans back in his chair, mouth settled into a wobbly line. He doesn’t know; he isn’t sure; he can’t quite explain it, the sudden phenomenon stirring to life in his chest, the concerning squeezes his heart gives every time he watches the light fade from that young woman’s eyes—from Dabi’s eyes—that accompanies each and every passing interaction with Tomura.

Maybe it’s because he feels irrevocably responsible, this time. Maybe it’s because he knows Tomura’s on the verge of a full psychotic break, and this is all he can do about it. Maybe it’s because he’s positive they’re the cause; that they’ll be the trigger that forces him to finally snap.

“Have you gone soft on me?” the Chief asks with a slight chuckle, redirecting Keigo’s gaze from his knees back to his superior’s face. “Have you developed some sort of soft spot for them? A particular fondness, perhaps?”

And while it’s all teasing—the smirk that playfully tugs at the corners of his boss’ lips indicating so—Keigo is powerless to stop the rush of guilt, of shame, of terror the words inspire, bitter acid settling on the back of his tongue—because what if he’s right? What if it’s all true? What if he’s beginning to lose his touch?

That grin is no longer dancing around the corners of his mouth, and Chief Yagi sighs, carding both hands through unruly golden hair. “Maybe you need a reminder of just how heinous these people are, hmm? Some concrete proof of just how crooked that conglomerate is,”

Yanking open a deep drawer, the Chief shuffles through files and documents until he finds an overstuffed file, throwing it on the desk. It lands with a distinct thud against the wood, some of the contents falling loose, bits and pieces of information peeking out from the frayed edges—murders and human experimentation—hinting at what the folder holds.

No, he doesn’t need to hear it again, to see what they did to those girls, barely legal and bloated on the side of the river, bodies twisted and mangled and pumped full of a cocktail of illegal substances. He doesn’t need to relive, to remember all of the children they’ve left orphaned and homeless for their own personal gain. He doesn’t need to be reminded of the so-called ‘lucky’ ones, the test subjects that were able to escape with scraps of their sanity in their clutches, sentenced to live out their days in institutions and homes, because AFO robbed them of their lives, of their livelihood.

“I assume you don’t also require reminding that this is an internal investigation?” His boss continues after several beats of silence, Keigo’s unblinking eyes finally flashing to his face, sluggishly shaking his head.

No, he knows that, too—knows that this is to be kept private and under wraps from the majority of the force, most of which AFO happens to own; knows that their small operative—only a handful of trustworthy people, really—have been working tirelessly to keep this whole thing quiet and discreet. Keigo knows that, essentially, they’re on their own with this.

Not that any of this really matters anymore, since Keigo’s nearly positive Dabi knows exactly who he is—a fact that his superior had claimed held no significance.

“It’s for the greater good, Keigo—remember that,” the Chief’s voice cuts through his thoughts, scalding and steaming. “Shigaraki will survive. Focus on the task at hand—the sooner we have that concrete evidence the sooner this will all be over.”

Keigo hopes he’s right.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s a bad habit, the things you engage in at night.

it’s a bad habit—full of noxious ink and sharp fangs and poignant guilt, so heavy that it seeps through the floor of your stomach and slithers thickly through your veins, spreading to your blood and your heart and your brain until everything’s been engulfed, infected.

It’s a very bad habit—one that scuttles up your throat with choked whimpers of his name and skitters across your skin with tattooed palms and blunt nails and calloused fingertips, stained from the flames of Zippos and the ash of cigarettes and the blood of dead men.

It’s a bad, bad habit—one that laid its eggs in New York and hatched in Japan, nurtured and nourished by absence, hostility and preoccupancy—and the both of you are fucking hopeless in halting it.

And it evolves. It morphs from grinding hipbones and fingers toying along waistbands to hands finding warm sanctuary between thighs and underneath clothing, choking on each other’s tongues and precious, pathetic little sounds throughout it all.

It evolves until finally, finally, it reaches its terminal stages; the evolutionary form you had both been trying to desperately to keep it from growing into, the evolutionary form that was inevitable from the start.

It’s been building all day, the buzzing of that bad habit, the insatiable creature it’s spawned, the sickness it’s poisoned your brains and bodies with; it’s been growing, all day, rattling against cages of ivory as it forces your chests to expand until you just can't take it anymore.

You aren’t sure why today is the day it decides to finally erupt, to escape from those confines; the pretty bone and soft tissue that had contained it, that had housed it. You aren’t sure why those gentle, platonic, typical touches that have become practically habitual at this point—an arm, twined around your waist under your spring coat; tiny fingers, tangled in the curls at the back of his neck; your cheek on his shoulder, his chin on your head—now send sizzling sparks zipping up your spine and through your veins to collect in your chest, in your skull, accumulating until you can’t breathe, can’t think about anything other than him, him, him.

And each touch is worse than the last; each touch conjures a sharper spark, blazing brighter than the one before it, bolting through your body and leaving your blood boiling in its wake.

No, you aren’t sure why it’s happening now, on this day out of all of the other mundane days it could’ve chose to burst, to break, but it is.

Maybe it’s because Tomura snapped on you this morning, cruel and ruthless, harsher than he has been in a long time. Maybe it’s because Dabi witnessed the tail end of it. Maybe it’s because you’ve become so starved for attention, for love, that you’re seeking it out where you’re positive you’ll find it, latching onto it like some famished parasite.

And maybe, maybe it’s because Dabi feels responsible in some inexplicable way, feels some sort of innate desire to protect, to care for and comfort.

Dabi had been able to hear it, the screaming and the smashing, all the way from his floor, overlapping voices becoming more pronounced and in tune as he ascended the fire escape—his preferred route of reaching the penthouse, since it’s only one flight of stairs.

“Nothing’s ever good enough for you anymore!” Tomura was seething, just as Dabi reached the top, eyes narrowed into slits, chest heaving forcefully with the flaring of his nostrils.

“Nothing—” you began, the word nothing more than a garbled huff of breath, dripping with disbelief. “Nothing’s ever good enough for me? I can’t even get you to fucking glance at me anymore!”

“I’ve given you everything. Everything!” A clenched fist comes down on the table, hard enough to wobble the legs, Tomura looking up with glowing ruby eyes, molars grinding together with such fierceness his jaw flexes. “What more do you fucking want from me?”

“You, Tomura! I want you!”

And that, that got him to stop, features puckering as he cast you a pitiful look. “Me? Me?” he chuckled a little, and it’s a callous sound, void of any mirth as it slashes through the air. “Sweetheart, you already have me,”

“Do I?” Glistening tears cascaded down your face, collecting to drip off your jaw, voice cracking. “When’s the last time we went out? When’s the last time you shared a meal with me? When’s the last time we went to bed together? Watched a film together? Hugged? Kissed? Fucked? When?”

“Oh, Christ,” Rubies rolled back in his skull, a sardonic little smirk carving itself into his face, paired with a sarcastic snort. “God forbid Daddy’s too busy working, working to keep you safe, to play with his needy little girl,”

“P-Play? No, I—” your voice cut off, severed by the vicious sob hiccuped in your throat, Tomura’s frantic eyes finally catching Dabi hovering in the corner.

“Great, you’re here,” he remarked dryly, regarding Dabi with disinterested apathy.

Crimson eyes slipped shut, concealing Tomura’s scathing gaze as slim fingers moved to rub at his temples in a vigorous manner, as if he were attempting to piece back together the thoughts your argument had shattered.

“Please, get rid of her for a few hours, so I can fucking think again,” lids lift slowly, penetrating gaze boring into your face. “And don’t bring her back until she’s ready to stop being such an ungrateful little brat,”

And, oh, how you had wailed, how you had cried and clung to Dabi for the rest of the day, keeping your face half-buried in his chest as you whimpered and weeped, only emerging when you heard the familiar symphony of clacking against plastic, glassy eyes suddenly vivacious as you watched Dabi tap two pretty blue pills into his palm.

No, he had told you sternly, staring down at you with an unyielding gaze. Not this time.

Eventually, you calm, ferocious sobs dying down to feeble sniffles, but he doesn’t let go of you.

Not even once.

It drizzles for the entire day, a sprinkling of mist across the city that has gotten progressively thicker as the day advanced, morphing from gentle taps to aggressive pounding.

Tonight, Keigo doesn’t even bother coming up to the penthouse as is usual protocol, opting instead to hurry home so he can peel drenched cotton and denim from his skin and steep in the steam of his shower, promising to send a text reassuring his safe arrival at his place.

You can’t exactly say you blame him, shifting uncomfortably as the chrome elevator climbs from floor to floor, small space filled with a soft symphony of residual droplets rolling off your coats and incessantly chattering teeth.

Dabi looks over at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he sucks it between ivory teeth, chewing. “We gotta get you outta those clothes,”

“Speak for yourself,” you snort, gaze cataloging the inky wisps of hair plastered to his forehead and cheekbones, half-framing his face.

Still, he has a point, your arms winding themselves tighter around your torso in a vain attempt to prevent more precious heat from escaping, inevitably hugging your doused clothing to your flesh.

The torrent had been so rough, so robust that the downpour had managed to soak straight through the rubber of your cute rain jacket as well as the leather of Dabi’s, leaving the articles underneath to sop up the water until they were thoroughly wet, too, exposed skin beginning to pucker.

It feels as though the chill of the rain has sunken into your very soul, rotting away the marrow of your bones, a violent shiver forcing the hollow structures to rattle against one another.

The elevator dings daintily, and both of you call out cautiously for Tomura, alerting him of your arrival home with the intention to ask if Dabi can borrow some clothes (in spite of the fact that Dabi’s closet is only a floor beneath you), but you’re greeted with smothering silence, taking his non-response as a yes.

“Here,” you’re saying as you emerge from the ensuite merely a few moments later, hair damp and messy from a hasty towel-dry, legs bare and body clad in a ratty Universal Monsters t-shirt—Dabi’s t-shirt, though he isn’t quite sure if you’re aware of this fact—hardened nipples peaking the worn fabric; before tossing a pair of Tomura’s grey sweatpants at Dabi, who’s perched gingerly on the edge of your Daddy’s bed.

It’s shameless, and borderline perverted, but you don’t even bother averting your eyes as he shucks his waterlogged clothing. Dabi calls you out on it, too, shooting you a sly glance from the corner of his eye as he unsticks the cotton of his briefs from his skin, cute fragments of giggles bubbling in your throat.

You find yourself in the theatre room, as it has become accustom in the past month or two, the both of you curled up on a singular mammoth seat, bodies stitched together as the roars of thunder compete with Dabi’s low, smooth voice.

Before New York, you and Dabi had never used the theatre; the living room TV had been more than big enough, and you had been content to flop your head in a begrudging Dabi’s lap while the sparkling city skyline streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, glittering light contending with the moon’s delicate beams.

But Keigo had been so enamoured with it, so impressed by the fact that the penthouse had a fucking theatre room—it’s only got eight seats, Dabi had informed him, lest he expect a full-sized cinema—that you had begun spending more time there.

It’s dark in the theatre, quiet in the theatre, intimate in the theatre. It’s almost as if everything changes in the theater—slows, stops, splits—reality bending and curving and twisting until it becomes some sort of warped, contorted version of itself, until it makes things like this night, and all of the nights that have come before it, okay, acceptable, normal.

Well, that, and the fact that Daddy doesn’t have cameras in the theatre.

It’s here, in your very own special, distorted version of reality, this personal liminality, that it finally transpires.

Casablanca plays softly on the screen, a pretty mirage of silver and smoke, grey and graphite images that waver almost gracefully on the canvas, but you aren’t paying much attention; not when Dabi’s calloused fingers are tracing nonsensical patterns on the exposed skin of your upper thigh, not when your own are busy swimming in the waves of soft ink at the base of his skull.

“Surprised you didn’t go home,” you mumble into his neck, voice thick with the threat of sleep.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, and the word’s nothing more than a gentle rumble deep in his chest.

“Mhmm, though you’d wanna change n’ stuff,” the words are slurred, and you hug yourself closer to him, leg hooked around his waist tightening protectively, possessively. “Why’d you stay?”

“You know why,”

“Why?”

And he gets like this, late in the middle of the night, early in the wee hours of the morning. He gets like this, when it’s just the two of you in your haphazardly constructed, fallacious world—in the false safety of your mangled mirage of reality, conjured up in the betwixt hours of the night, that starts to disperse, fade, the moment sunbeams begin to creep and crawl over the city.

He gets like this.

Honest. Raw. Vulnerable.

“Because I want to be with you, stupid,”

And although the sentence is sighed out in a single breath, fading and fraying as it reaches the end, it is still stuffed full of sentiment, so much so that the words are practically bursting at the seams, fondness threatening to fracture the entire thing.

There are no words to accurately explain just how much you cherish these transient moments, stashing them away deep within the tissues of your brain, protected by layers of pulsating blood.

And he knows why you do it, too, why you poke and prod and provoke him like that, why you force him to spill the secrets that have been taking shelter in his chest for so many months now, like the selfish little brat you are.

He knows you need to hear them now, that you thrive when you hear them now. He sees it in the way your eyes glisten and smile softens; feels it in the way your limbs curl tighter around him, pulling yourself impossibly closer; hears it in the sweet little giggles that interrupt your responding words.

And he fucking loves it.

It’s silent for a while after his gentle profession, and for a moment he’s sure you’ve dozed off, practically straddling his lap now, and he adjusts you a little, getting read to carry you to bed, when you speak again, voice meek and frail.

“He...He was real mean today,”

“I know, princess. He’s just...” the words decay on his tongue, and you know, you know, he’s just stressed; but there’s only so many times Dabi can repeat them before they begin to lose their impact, their worth, their truth.

“How do we fix this, Dabi?”

It’s so soft he nearly misses it, quivering question fading into his skin as lips brush against his collarbone.

A chuckle pries its way past his lips, just an exhausted huff of disbelief more than anything else, head shaking a little. “I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you for it to finally settle in that pretty little head of yours,” he taps your forehead, accentuating his words. “But this is not for us to fix, baby,”

“But—”

Dabi’s chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, annoyance sewn into his words as he tells you, yet again, that all you can do is offer help, that it’s up to Tomura to take it; no one can force him.

And you nod and hum and agree, because he’s right, you know he’s right, but it still hurts to feel useless, to feel helpless.

“I really don’t—” the words hitch in your chest, snaring on a trapped sob. A shaky exhale, an attempt to swallow past them, and you try again. “I really don’t know how I’d survive this without you,”

The confession is quiet and cracked with cognizance. It’s a perturbing realization, a petrifying realization, just how much you’ve come to rely on him, just how close you’ve grown.

Because—because it’s true; what would’ve happened to you, had Dabi not been here to weather this with you? What would you have withered away too, had you been forced to withstand this on your own?

Would there be any of you left at all? Or would you have decayed into nothingness, into a mere carcass of yourself, congruently with your Daddy, remnants fusing together as you both fell apart? Would anything new have risen from the remains? From the decomposing flesh and rotting bone and splintering minds?

You don’t know, you’ll never be able to tell, but one thing’s for sure: you truly don’t know how you would’ve survived this without him.

You won’t ever have to.

Sapphire blazes down at you, his chest rising and falling with short little breaths as his gaze studies your face. Lips part, but the words catch in his throat, burning up into nothing more than a disappointing huff of disconcertment.

You won’t ever have to.

He tries again, but the letters hook and burrow into the walls of his throat, leaving the flesh ripped raw and burning. Frustration seethes in his chest, rough as it rages against his ribs, and for a moment you look terrified, gazing up at him with wide eyes as panic tugs at the corners of your lips, mouth opening quickly to presumingly apologize.

But then he’s surging forward, crushing chapped lips to yours so fiercely, so ferociously it forces a soft whine to crack in your throat, lithe fingers splayed across your cheeks as his palms cup your face, curled around the hinges of your jaw and hauling you impossibly closer.

You won’t ever have to.

He prays you can decipher it, the promise he’s pouring into this kiss. He prays one day he can say it to you himself, in his own words and with his own voice, instead of forcing you to decode it though clashing teeth and dragging tongues and interspersed saliva.

Calloused fingertips and blunt nails nip at your skin, signing his name into your body in insignificant, impermanent little ways, and your responding kisses are filled with just as much fervour, messy and desperate as little hands paw at him, sinking into soft ink and knotting at the roots.

Fiery cinnamon and sharp nicotine sting your tongue, and you’re dimly reminded of how much spicier Dabi tastes, a stark contrast to your Daddy’s fresh mint and sour-sweet lemon. It’s tainted tonight, tinged with traces of bitter salt, tears rolling down soft cheeks to find refuge in the comfort of warm, wet mouths.

Boisterous hands push under your t-shirt, eager digits dipping into the waistband of your lacy panties, nimble fingers beginning to press and pull, to tear and tug, tips materializing through the dainty fabric as he grinds his cock against your inner thigh.

And you can feel it, hot and hard and throbbing through the thin material of the sweats, staining the grey fabric with sticky pre-cum as it strains and struggles against it, almost as if it’s yearning for you.

“Please,” he whispers, thumbs rubbing little circles into the flesh of your hips, the word so small, so fragile it’s scarcely a gentle wisp of breath exhaled into your mouth. It’s a question you’ve heard several times before, during three and four and five in the morning in compromising positions such as these, but tonight it sounds off, altered.

Because tonight, it’s different.

Because it isn’t a plead, desperate and urgent and heavy with beseeching, nor is it an order, wrapped up in the pretty and perfect guise of entreatment.

It’s an offer.

You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, the threat of tears thick in your throat, prohibiting your approval passage to your lips.

So you nod, just once, just a solitary quirk of your head—but, really, that’s all he needs.

Rough hands find the fraying hem of your—his—t-shirt, and he mumbles against your lips, voice raspy and low as nimble fingers begin to twist in the fabric.

“I want this off,”

Another nod, and your arms are raising above your head, aiding him in removing the garment.

Delicate fingers dance along the waistband of his—Tomura’s—sweats, and he chuckles, a gentle, fond little noise throttled out of his throat.

“Do you want these off?”

And you’re powerless to stop the shy little hiccup of a giggle that barrels past your lips as you nod, lifting your hips and helping him in kicking the pants off, cock bobbing a little as it’s freed from its confines.

Oh, it’s so pretty, you just can’t resist glancing down at it, marvelling at the way the cherry tip shimmers in the dim silver light, perfectly accented by a pearly dewdrop of pre-cum; at the way those veins, twined around the velvety shaft, dance harmoniously to the suspenseful thump of his heart.

“You want it?”

“Yes,” you choke out, the word grating your throat, glazed eyes finally finding his face.

“S'yours,”

The declaration is slurred from one mouth into another, and you swallow it greedily, a fierce flame of possessiveness sparking to life in your chest.

“Mine,” you nearly growl, small hand encircling his cock, squeezing a broken moan from his throat, a certain type of viciousness, voraciousness, veraciousness surging through your veins and alighting your entire body, because fuck yes it’s yours and you want it now.

There’s no bothering with prep; neither of you have the patience, Dabi’s adept fingers sneaking their way between your bodies to spread your cute little hole, guiding you to his cock, pretty pussy glittering in the chromatic silver spilling from the screen.

And the noise he makes as you finally sink down on him is nothing short of fucking breathtaking—a snuffed out whine that fractures in his throat, Adams apple bobbing with the effort as his head falls back with a heavy thud against the leather.

While he isn’t as thick as Daddy, the stretch is still incredible, a precious little hiss spit between the gaps of clenched teeth as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix. His hips shift immediately, impatient and desperate, the motion sending stinging pricks of pain searing through your abdomen, a wince twisting your features.

You can feel the delicate skin ripping, creating little fissures in the sensitive flesh, pussy pulsing around his cock. It feels like it’s splitting you open, feels like it’s stitching you shut, feels like it’s stuffing you full.

And you want more.

A half-swallowed moan catches in his chest as your hips wiggle, and you laugh, blinking bleariness from your gaze. A pair of tears escape your lashline, cascading down your cheeks in unison, and Dabi smiles; a wobbling, unsteady quirk up of his lips as he takes your face between calloused palms, thumbs catching the tears midstream.

After a few halfhearted bounces and a greedy whimper about how it just isn’t deep enough, Dabi halts you.

“Here,” he murmurs softly, palms slipping from your hips and skimming along your thighs, hooking under your folded knees and guiding them up gently, one by one, so your feet are planted on the plush leather, legs caging either side of his torso. “Better?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasp, a palm involuntarily pressed flat to your gut, right between your hipbones, whining loudly as you grind down, swear you can feel him, can feel his cockhead as it pokes and prods with each rut against him as your hips grind down tentatively, a broken little whine spilling from your throat. “C-Can feel you in my tummy, Da-Dabi, I swear I can,”

“Good,” he breathes, forehead knocking against yours and lips parted slightly, sweltering little huffs ghosting over your own as ravenous pupils glitter in the flickering light, that thin ring of sapphire catching in the dim illumination. “Now,” he whispers, grasping fistfuls of your flesh, calloused fingertips gripping your outer thighs. “I think I’ve waited long enough. Show me how gorgeous you look creaming all over my cock,”

The demand is barely more than a tendril of breath, punctuated by the rocking forward of his hips, blunt nails pressing pretty indents of crimson and violet into your skin as he holds you in place.

The sudden action strikes an affirmative yelp from your chest, head nodding almost lethargically and body snapping into motion, eager in its haste to comply.

And, for a moment, it’s nice; it’s slow and easy and distracting, languid rolls of your hips meeting his as teeth clack and tongues lick and lips suck.

But the thoughts are beginning to creep in again, glowing ruby and soft silvery tufts slashing the thin veil of counterfeit comfort to shreds; and the tears are beginning to sting as they overwhelm your vision, casting the prettiest gleam across your eyes; and the choked hiccups are beginning to scrabble up your throat, claws tearing into your flesh as they struggle to reach your mouth, half-dead as they pry past your lips.

Salt water stains your tongue—yours, his, both, combining with variegated spit to create the most bittersweet viscosity; a heavy, heady substance that saturates the muscle—and he exhales a juddering breath into your mouth, blinking past the thick film of water shielding his eyes.

“Don’t think,”

It’s a plead, it’s an order, it’s an instruction, whispered out so softly, so brokenly against your lips.

And you follow, you submit, you obey, because you don’t want to think, don’t want to know, don’t want to exist in this reality at all, longing for the false ignorance and distorted escape you’ve sought out, you’ve created, so many nights prior, together.

You nod, urgent and frantic in your motions, almost as if you’re begging him to make it all stop, to put your morality on pause and your guilt on rewind, to erase it all, but another sob tears its way through your throat and into his, and Dabi sighs, pulling back slightly.

Gleaming sapphire studies your face, shining impossibly bright in the dim light, gaze sweeping across your features in one slow, fluid motion.

“Come on,” he whispers, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as his nose nudges against yours, incentive rasped against your lips, though it shakes as it leaves his throat. “Be good for me, yeah? Be good for me,”

And you want to—you so desperately want to, so desperately need to, craving that sickly sweet equivocal praise that is so distinctly him; craving anything to make this less abhorrent, anything to scorch the shame rapidly engulfing your ribs in a tarry embrace, thick and voracious and intoxicating as it mingles with sticky desire and coats the bones, the weight of it nearly splintering them clean in half.

“You can do that for me, can’t you, baby?”

And, Christ, it’s so patronizing, your head lolling stupidly in a poor imitation of a nod. Knuckles collide with your skin, sending sizzling spikes rippling through your backside, and you squeak.

“Use your words, princess,” he chides. “I know I haven’t fucked you that stupid yet,”

“I-I can do it,”

“Yeah?” he prods in a murmur, lips busy tracing the curve of your jaw, the word soaking into your skin. “Prove it to me,”

It’s the ghost of the challenge, and the promised praise that comes packaged with it, that has your resolve strengthening, teeth gritted against stubborn tears as you begin bouncing in his lap, using your planted feet for leverage.

“That’s it,” he breathes out, head tipping back to gaze lazily at you through lidded eyes, chin tilted up slightly. “What a good girl,”

And it’s pathetic, really, the high-pitched moan such sardonic praise, drenched in condescension and sprinkled with icing sugar, evokes; a pathetic little sound that catches in your chest and cracks upon impact, tapering off into a soft whimper, a nonverbal plea for more.

It doesn’t stop the tears—not fully, anyway—but it does make them bearable, does make them easier to ignore, gathering your respective strength and bunching it together to create a flimsy barrier, one that won’t last for long, but can withstand the rest of the night.

Because try as he may, Dabi cannot hide the glittering dewdrops adorning his lashes, clumped together and saturated in sticky salt, or the continual, involuntary twitching of his nose, or the subtle trembling of his chin, juxtaposed by the love in his eyes, pupils blown to hell and insatiable for everything they scarf down—all of your sweet little noises and precious little expressions, hastily etching them into the tissues of his brain—and the genuine smile stretched across his face, widening a little more with each precarious laugh you tug from his throat.

It feels intimate, feels adolescent, feels new, and you’re powerless to quell the little bursts of giggles bubbling past your lips, peppering your hiccuped sobs, weaving together with Dabi’s gentle chuckles and short sniffles to create a harrowing harmony.

He lets you have your fun, though, lets you roll and hump and grind, his hips pressing up to meet yours, to drag his cock against that one spot buried deep inside of you, to pull those cherished, cracked sounds from deep in your throat, sucking them from your mouth and into his and storing them deep in his chest, protected by cages of bone and walls of pulsating flesh, keeping a piece of you inside of him forever.

And, really, you should feel sick, should feel disgusted for the involuntary little flutters your hole gives as those tears finally break past his lashes, streaming down his face and clashing against the elation shimmering in his watery eyes, contrasting the ecstasy glimmering in his pearly smile. Leaning forward, your tongue darts out from between swollen lips to lick and lap at the salty substance, soaking his sadness into your tongue and swallowing it down.

But it heightens the whole experience, every pound up and plunge into and pump out of you more hypersensitive than the next, intermittent flares of pleasure fraying your veins as they race your blood.

Fingertips brand his name into your skin, prints painting asymmetrical galaxies of swirling navy and periwinkle, fleeting and much too temporary as he encourages you to speed up, thighs beginning to burn.

You can feel them, those flares sparking to life in the pit of your belly, each rock forward conjured by strong hands sending sizzling cinders shooting up your spine, each piston of his hips to meet yours fanning the flames, raging higher and higher and higher until they lick at your ribs, needy moans and pathetic whimpers floating up your throat, carried on their embers.

“C’mon baby,” he nearly whines, large hands inhibiting your hips from slowing, forcing you to ride him faster and faster. “C’mon, show me how good you are, how much of a little whore you are, show me—ah, f-fuck—show me how beautiful you are cumming on my cock, show me, baby, I-I’ve been waiting so long to see,”

And it’s that confession, groaned out in near delirium, that has you gushing all over his cock, body convulsing almost violently as your cunt clenches around him, tears obstructing your vision as you cum with a strained cry of his name, making everything blurry, hazy, dreamy.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s it, that’s my good, good girl,”

He praises you throughout it all, tells you how good you are, how perfect you look, hands still clutching your hips, forcing you to continue moving until tremors jolt through your body with each brush of your oversensitive clit against his pubic bone, small hands scrabbling at his shoulder as you whimper about how it’s too much, too much, and it hurts, Dabi!

Leaning back as far as he can, he looks down as if he’s in awe, breathing ragged and chest heaving.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, gaze glued to his half-hidden cock, shaft and base glistening prettily with your juices. “Fucking beautiful,”

Finally, his stare lifts, cobalt eyes dark and ravenous as he lips at his chapped lips, breathing still laboured.

“My turn, baby,”

And you’re too fucked out to truly register his words, body boneless and pliant as he seamlessly rearranges you, unbending your legs—first one, then the other, cooing at your resulting wince—hooking a palm under one of your calves and pushing up, up, up until your ankle rest on his shoulders, thigh secured snugly between your bare chests, hard cock still buried deep inside of you.

A whine slips past your lips at the stretch, face screwing up cutely, and Dabi’s resounding laugh is cut off with simultaneous gasps as he readjusts your hips, because God, it’s so deep, you’re positive you can feel him in your throat this time, senseless babbling falling past spit-slicked lips.

Leaning back, your hands find purchase on his thighs, shaky fingers gripping his flesh as your hips roll, slow and sluggish towards his.

But he’s too impatient for that, now.

Because it just isn’t fast enough, hard enough, rough enough for him, one hand gripping your waist, the other latched onto your thigh, clutch tightening as he yanks you forward, hips snapping with a thrust so sudden it has you choking on a yelp, half-lidded eyes flying open.

It’s downright ruthless, brutal and merciless and entirely unforgiving as he slams up into you with such intense strength you practically bounce in his lap, his grasp on you so hard, so vicious that his nails break the skin, staining the pads of his fingers and the beds of his nails with bright crimson. Each powerful thrust is more relentless than the last, hips bucking up with insane precision as they increase in speed, every rut into you shoving another gorgeous grunt or glorious growl from his chest.

Arms lock around his neck to steady yourself, fingers threading themselves in a sea of ink and tugging harshly, knocking a high whine of his own from his throat.

Sobs shatter as they pry past your lips, whole body beginning to tingle from the pleasure, from the position, muscles aching as Dabi forces you to stay folded.

Everything’s beginning to feel faded, tears casting a misty daze across your vision and softening the edges, leaking into your skull and enveloping your brain in the familiar haze of unconsciousness.

“Gonna cum again?” he pants, words a faded growl more akin to a demand than a question, voice slicing straight through the cloud in your head, eradicating it in an instant. “Huh?”

“Uh—Uh-huh,” you nod your head, lashes fluttering as your eyes struggle to stay open, to be good, to obey.

“You better,”

And it’s the threat that has you pulsing around him again, whole body shuddering into his, muscles seizing and shivering.

“Please, please, please, Dabi,” you’re babbling, words flowing from your mouth in a steady stream, so slurred they’re nearly incomprehensible. “Please, want your cum, Da-Dabi; please, gimme your cum, you promised, you promised you would, you promised you’d fill my whole body with it, please, please, Dabi,”

“Oh, f-fuck,” he cries, the curse fracturing in his throat.

“Please, Dabi, I need it, I need to be full, please,”

Sharp ivory buries itself in supple skin with a predatory snarl, bones lodged in the flesh of your shoulder as he pumps you full of scalding cum; a silent stake of ownership, a subtle signifier that you are his now, too.

His jaw flexes in time with the throbbing of his cock, driving his teeth deeper, deeper, deeper with each infinitesimal increase in pressure, until they snap through the smooth barrier, flooding his mouth with metallic crimson.

A tongue pries its way past blood-stained lips to sop up the substance, greedy and insatiable as thick, sticky saliva varnishes his minuscule masterpiece.

He pulls back to admire his creation, a beautiful piece of art etched into your very being, full of the prettiest periwinkles and deepest navies and outlined by swirling charcoals, scarlet pooling in the indents left by his teeth the perfect accentuation. The tiniest whimper breaks in his throat as his rough thumb skims over the bite, glittering eyes flashing to your face as you exhale a hiss, a breathless little smile saturated with pride gracing his lips.

You can feel it, hot and sticky and oozing out of you, whining at the thought of even wasting a single drop. Little fingers sneak between your heaving bodies, varnished with sweet sweat, to dip into your raw, abused little hole, gathering as much of the viscous substance as possible and bringing it to your lips.

It appears Dabi’s in some sort of trance as he observes your motions, tongue unfurling to lick along his swollen bottom lip, laving the inky, scarred skin with glittering saliva, unblinking eyes glued to your actions, gaze shifting marginally from the way your mouth eagerly sucks your fingers in, to the way your lids flutter shut as you moan around the taste, to the way you pull your fingers free, mouth puckering greedily around them, sure to suck clean every last drop from your skin.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice totally wrecked, and you can’t help the shy giggle that barrels past your lips, fingers moving to gather more cum when he catches your wrist in a large hand, halting it.

“No,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and strained, cock giving another weak twitch. “Let me,”

His fingers are better, you tell him with a cute, lethargic nod, because they’re bigger, longer, can gather much more than your own as they delve into your cunt again, deep enough to brush your cervix, curling as he tugs them free, heaping glops of thick, gleaming cream glistening on his fingers.

Your mouth drops open immediately, obediently, tongue curling around his fingers in a way that’s nearly possessive as it welcomes them into the warm, wet cavern, lips wrapping around them as you suck hard, tongue licking and lapping and laving over his skin, between the cracks and crevices of his fingers, the digits spreading compliantly to allow your tongue to work, to ensure that you suckle every little bit from his flesh.

And you repeat it, you repeat these actions over and over again until his fingers are shrivelled and pruned from so much saliva; until your chin shimmers with strands of drool and watered down cum, the pads of Dabi’s fingers generously gathering the residue and pushing it back into your greedy, waiting mouth; until your cunt is empty and clean, and his cock is hard and leaking again.

But you’re practically falling asleep now, exhausted from the sex and the emotional turmoil. You tell him he’s welcome to use you as you sleep, to fuck you to sleep—and he thinks he just might take you up on that offer, cock jumping eagerly at the prospect; but later, another day. Right now, you need rest.

Tender hands untangle you from his body, your own limbs limp and lifeless, gathering you in strong arms.

“No,” you murmur, shaking your head torpidly and smushing your face into his neck.

“No?”

“No,” you repeat. “Not Daddy’s bed tonight,”

“If not Daddy’s—”

“Here,” you whisper, pressing a messy kiss to his neck. “With you,”

And, fuck, he’ll never be able to deny you a Goddamn thing.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s unusually sunny, the next Thursday afternoon, deep azure sky void of any cotton fluffs or ivory strokes, the golden rays streaming through the penthouse’s mammoth windows diffused by the partially drawn chiffon curtains, haloing the living room in a hazy, gentle glow, catching on sapphire and topaz as they glitter and flash with smug smirks and menacing scowls.

“It’s so gorgeous out today,” you whine a little, throwing your head back against Dabi’s collarbone and gazing up at him with a rapidly forming pout. “Why do we have to spend it inside?”

“Because,” Dabi begins simply, slow and supercilious like you’re stupid. “I gotta kick this motherfucker’s ass, princess,”

“You wish!” Keigo scoffs, gesturing the game board perched perilously in front of him with a halfhearted sweep. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I already own more than half the world,”

“Game’s not over yet, bird boy,”

“Hawks,” you sulk, petulant, brows drawn and nose scrunched with the full force of your pout.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he reassures you without looking up, brilliant eyes scanning the board as if he’s calculating, cataloguing. “I’ll finish this quick, and then we can go outside, okay?”

“But—But the sun will have set by the time you guys are done!”

“Don’t whine,” Dabi warns, word fading into a growl, finally glancing down at you. “Don’t start being a brat now, not when you’ve been such a good girl all day,”

“But—”

“Listen,” he begins, no room for negotiation, straightening up a little so he can glare at you properly, his shoulders hunching in, entire form engulfing your own and voice dropping an octave lower as he murmurs to you. “You have an awful lot of homework to do. Don’t think for one second that I won’t send you to Daddy’s bedroom to do it all, alone.” He pauses, cobalt eyes searching yours, allowing his words time to sink in. “And you know Daddy will let me,”

“Yeah, of course Daddy will let you,” you grumble, stubborn tears resurfacing, nose twitching as you exhale sharply, molars grinding in an effort to keep them from escaping. “Daddy doesn’t care about anything anymore—”

“Enough,” Dabi snaps, and you flinch. “You know that isn’t true. We aren’t getting into this now, alright? Just—” he sighs, eyes finally softening. “Be good for us while we finish, yeah?”

Be good. Be good.

“Meanie,” you huff, falling back against him with a thump and crossing your arms.

But his hands are on your hips, squeezing gently as thumbs grind lopsided circles into your flesh, a silent apology; and your fingers are curling around his, lacing them together in a messy embrace and wrapping his arms around your form, holding yourself tightly to his chest, a silent acceptance; and you’re snuggling into his neck as he rests his chin on the crown of your head, comfy and cozy in your consolidation.

You doze off after that, lulled to sleep by the vibrating baritones of Dabi’s voice and the victorious harmonies of Keigo’s laughs, only to be woken when things begin to get heated again.

The rumbling of Dabi’s chest rouses you, bleary eyes blinking as you catch the tail end of his threat, something about the game still not being over, about how things can flip even in the final seconds.

“Yeah, uh-huh, sure,” Keigo’s saying, waving a self-assured hand in dismissal. “You gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite? Cause I’ve been hearing a whole ton of commination with very little accompanying action,”

Dabi laughs loudly, shaking his head with disbelief, a sharp smile on his face. “Nah, nah, nah, buddy, if anyone here’s Mr. Blonde, it’s me,” He pauses, something dangerous glinting in his eye as his smile stretches to uncanny proportions, and Keigo blanches, amusement melting into apprehension, as if he’s anticipating something. “You’re more of a Mr. Orange, wouldn't you agree?”

Keigo swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion, and you rub at an eye cutely, straightening up a little in Dabi’s lap, features crinkled in confusion at the sudden change in atmosphere.

“Well, I—”

Tomura’s sudden appearance saves him from answering.

“Wait,” he calls, voice hoarse from disuse, dry and cracked as it mingles with Keigo’s stuttering. Clearing his throat, he tries again, voice finally booming the way it normally does, commanding the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity. “Wait, where’s that from?”

“What?”

“That—That line; the—the doggy one,” scarlet eyes blink several times in quick succession, frantically scrutinizing their faces, sweeping between the two fluidly, akin to a pendulum. “Where’s it from? What’s it a reference to?”

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s a line from Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs,”

“No, no,” he shakes his head, muttering to himself as his eyes squeeze shut, outgrown nails beginning to rake viciously against crusty wrists, raw skin stained with strokes of rust and embellished with shimmering scabs, collecting under his nails as fresh blood starts to flow. “That’s not right,”

“No, Tomu, it is,” Dabi says, slowly, gently, expression sobering, distress incinerating his delight in an instant. “You know, the one with the guy who cuts the cop’s ear off? You love that movie; we’ve reenacted that—”

“No,” he growls, crimson flashing dangerously as his eyes snap open, and you feel Dabi jolt under you, reaction automatic and involuntary. Tomura whispers something to himself, gory hands tangling in silvery tufts and twisting, yanking on the strands hard enough that his face crumples. Blood runs down his forearm and soaks into the soiled cuff of his shirt, fresh blotches of scarlet blooming amidst those that have blossomed from a bright carmine and died a dull burgundy.

Shaking his head again, Tomura continues to mutter to himself, voice harsh and hostile as if he’s conversing with someone, pivoting on his heel and stalking towards his office.

“Daddy! W-Wait!” you squirm in Dabi’s grasp, his arms tightening around you, a pitiful little sound of frustration spilling from your throat.

Your tiny cries cut through the haze in his mind, sharp and swift and clear, and Tomura halts, throwing you a glance over his shoulder, voice grave as he dictates. “Stay with Dabi, baby, you hear me?” His eyes flit from your face to Dabi’s, holding a silent, three-second-long conversation, before his gaze finally darts to Keigo again. “Do not leave Dabi’s sight tonight, princess,” he says slowly, unblinking stare still glued to Keigo, finally breaking away after a beat of silence, finding Dabi’s face again. “Keep an eye on her; do not let her out of your sight tonight,”

And you can feel it, can feel the way Dabi's chest stutters under the force of his thick swallow, can feel the way his voice strains under confusion, under fear.

“Y-Yeah, ‘course boss, always,” he nods, head tilted in puzzlement.

“Always,” Tomura repeats like it’s a gentle promise, features beginning to soften, trepidation and treachery beginning to decay. “Always,”

✰ ✰ ✰

It doesn’t dawn on him until much later that night, locked away in the sanctuary of his office, collapsed in his massive plush chair as tired eyes once again obsessively comb through the records he possesses—tape recordings of messages left, transcripts of phone calls, original copies of handwritten letters—which has now become a nightly routine, by all accounts.

Are you gonna bark all day, little doggy, or are you gonna bite?

The words loop through his mind, lazy and languid as they wane and waver in and out of focus, vaporizing to a hazy fog the moment he tries to grasp them, blanketing his brain in a cloud of confused distraction the moment he tries to dispel them, receding to the back of his mind to tug at his conscious with giggles and taunts.

It’s infuriating, the sentiment ripping through his thoughts in undetermined intervals, varying in their volume as tired crimson eyes sift through the material, the evidence, hunting, searching, investigating...

But eventually, eventually it clears, this misty smog infecting his mind, eradicated by two tiny words, scrawled in black ink, carved into the thick manilla paper, an absurd laugh prying its way past his lips.

There they are, glaring up at him and engraved into the crumpled paper held between trembling fingers—the second letter he had ever received, the night after he had disposed of Giran.

Lil puppy.

And, truthfully, he can’t believe it didn’t click immediately, the moment the words had bubbled past that stupid kid’s lips; he’s got these messages and transcripts practically memorized at this point, is sure he could recite them backwards it asked, and yet...

And yet, it doesn't finally snap into place, doesn't fully show itself, this perfectly sculpted jigsaw piece, until the dawn of morning, just as gold is beginning to spill over the horizon, several hours after the phrase was uttered.

Lil puppy.

Frantic hands shuffle through the tapes littering his desk, endless copies of repeatedly annotated documents and letters crinkling as he sifts through them, several cascading off the edges of his desk like some waterfall of ink and ivory, until he finds the tape he’s searching for.

OCTOBER 17, written across a fraying piece of cloth tape in big block letters.

This is it. This is the one, he’s absolutely sure of it, can feel it in the core of his fucking soul, positive he’s on the verge of some massive discovery, something that’ll finally make it all make sense, head nodding to himself as he hastily pushes it into the outdated player.

The thudding of his heart rattles his ribs, the cage expanding and contracting rapidly with each ragged pant torn from his throat, the echoes of his own breath creating berserk symphonies with the jumbled words crawling through his brain, too fast for him to catch, too fast for him to halt.

He finishes slotting the tape into the machine, a quivering finger pressing play, his breath cutting off the moment the reels begin to spin.

The words crack and sizzle, imbued with static as they come to life, and Tomura swears he can see them scratching themselves into his wood-panelled walls, blood beginning to drip from the crude slashes as the walls heave.

Ya gonna bark all day, lil pup, or are ya gonna bite? Huh? Lil puppy? Or does Daddy do your biting for ya, too? Chew up all your food ‘n spit it in your mouth? A caustic laugh spills through the speaker, so corrosive it’s a marvel that it doesn’t erode the plastic. Well, Daddy can’t protect ya forever, lil puppy. And you, hah! You can’t protect her at all.

A slender finger slams down on the stop button, halting the recording before it can begin spewing all of those heinous threats he’s heard too many times now, overly descriptive in what they plan to do to you, painting grotesque pieces on the walls of his skull, renditions that haunt him the moment the chaos in his mind stops, quiets, a whole new type of torture.

Silence drapes itself across his office, the chattering in his mind dimmed to gentle titters and pushed into a dark corner of his head, brows knitting as he contemplates.

This is invaluable information, sure, and he feels fucking elated, feels like all of his tireless work has finally surmounted to something, like he’s standing on the edge of a sharp cliff, and he can nearly see the ground below, mist almost fully eradicated—but there’s still something missing, though; one last piece to complete this puzzle, to crack this case...

Frenetic hands shove at the mess on his desk, pushing, digging, pulling, wildly hysterical in their search for his phone, transcripts tearing, messages crumpling, plastic of the tapes cracking as their corners collide with his wooden floors.

“Dabi!” he practically shouts, hoarse and heaving, when Dabi answers halfway through the second ring.

“Uh, Tomura?” Dabi grovels, disoriented and stuffed full of sleep. “What are you—”

“Hey, listen, listen. Who’s that kid you’ve been bringing around lately?”

“Oh, now you wanna know? Tomura, it’s 5:55 in the fucking morning,” he groans. “Can’t this wait until the sun is up?”

“No time, Dabi, no time,” and he sounds nearly distraught as the words urgently tumble from his lips, voice strained and brittle and thick with excited tears. “Need’ta know now, Dabi, or they’ll overthrow us; gotta know now, or the dogs’ll attack! Gotta collar ‘n cuff ‘em before they can,”

“Who’ll—Wait, what?”

“Who the fuck is he, Dabi?” And normally, normally a question like that would be harsh, scalding and impatient. But today, today it jiggles and jumps with glee, twitching with hopeful anticipation.

“Oh, he, uh, he’s some tweety bird I’m playing with," Dabi explains, voice warped by a yawn. “Nothing serious, no one important,” he sighs out, as though he’s falling back asleep again. “Just kinda stringing the cop along, y’know? I’ll probably dispose of him soon, or something,”

“A cop,” Tomura whispers to himself as his eyes widen, feet skidding to a stop, entire body going stiff.

“Hmm?”

“A cop! He’s a fucking cop!”

“Yeah, didn’t I tell you? Could’a swore I told you,”

“The Chief! I knew I recognized that handwriting from somewhere. Yes—yes, it must be, it has to be; it all makes sense now, he’s had it out for us from the very beginning—he’s the big man, the alpha dog, it’s gotta be him,”

“Wait, Tomura, what—” Dabi begins, only to be interrupted by incessant muttering, too low to discern. “What? I-I can’t hear you, you’re mumbling,”

“The time...Going to work...Likes his donuts...cream-filled...Gun, where did I put it...Maybe a blade this time—Oh, but I hate blades...Although, maybe...”

“Tomura? Tomura, stop, listen,” And it almost sounds like he’s begging, suddenly alert, alarmed, high notes of distressed concern fracturing his hasty tone. “Tomura, listen to me, what’s going—”

“I've got to go, Dabi,” his boss cuts him off abruptly, voice suddenly calm, serene, like he’s made a decision, a startling difference from the overlapping mumbles jumbling through the speaker merely a few moments ago. “I’ve got a rooster to slaughter,”

“Hold on a second,” Dabi gasps, shrill and frantic. “Where are you going!”

But the line goes dead.

✰ ✰ ✰

In the dark of his own bedroom, in his own flat wedged under Tomura’s penthouse, Dabi sits frozen in bed, phone still clutched to his head, fingers gripping the device so tightly it’s astonishing the glass doesn’t crack, doesn’t shatter to sharp pieces in his palm.

Time seems to slow, seems to stop for a moment as Tomura’s words coil through Dabi’s mind, letters mangling themselves with each lap around his brain, spiralling into a noose around the organ and tightening until it hurts.

Flashes of teal and jade splinter through the cracks in his curtains, mixing with the night and drenching his room in a dense yet faded blue, shapes of the night moving, morphing, as Dabi stares out into the indigo abyss, his heart oozing through the ribs that cage it.

Something is gravely wrong.

His own heartbeat blends with his quickening breaths, congesting his hearing as he calls Tomura’s phone twice more, receiving his voicemail both times.

He tries Jin next, who tells Dabi that he’s on the island for the next week or so, but that Dabi’s most definitely overreacting.

“Pop a couple roxys and go back to sleep,” he tells him, voice gentle and warm. “I’m sure Tomura’s perfectly fine; your paranoia’s playing tricks on you, makin’ you think you heard stuff and all that—footsteps and elevator dings. Truthfully, Tomura probably just fell asleep in his office, or something; you know how he gets after a night of sniffing and crushing,”

Dabi does, probably better than anyone else, but Tomura didn’t seem high; didn’t seem like he was suffering a drug induced episode. This felt like something entirely different.

He tries Chisaki next, who promptly tells Dabi to fuck off and to never call him at six in the morning for any reason ever again—he doesn’t give a fuck who’s missing, and then Tomura’s father, getting his inept personal secretary, who claims she has no idea where the Boss went, but that she’s sure he’ll return soon, and she promises to pass along Dabi’s urgent message.

Kurogiri lives a floor under Dabi, though Dabi knows his nights spent at the penthouse have been increasing with alarming frequency. After three calls and no answer, Dabi’s beginning to get agitated; Dabi’s beginning to get desperate.

There’s only one person left to call.

“Dabi? What’s—”

“I don’t have time to explain, bird,” Dabi nearly pants out, words snaring on a hiccup in his throat. “I think—There’s something going on—Something’s wrong—I think—” Another hiccup lodges in his throat, and Dabi’s lids squeeze shut, fighting back against the acidic water stinging his eyes. “I think Tomura’s gone missing,” he manages in a harsh rush of breath. “I need you to break down the office door with me, I can’t—You’re the only able-bodied man I could find,”

“Dabi, listen—”

“I don’t have the fucking time to listen!” he roars, finally erupting, ears ringing as his blood surges. “Get your ass to the fucking penthouse, or I swear to God, I’ll burn you alive Mr. Blonde style...Keigo,”

The other man’s breath stutters, echoing through the receiver, and then the line falls silent.

“Yeah, that’s what we do to cops who are uncooperative,”

Several moments pass, and then, soft and defeated:

“I’ll see you soon,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Large hands rip you from your slumber roughly, lithe fingers burrowing into your flesh as they grip your biceps.

Lids flutter to life, lifting slow and sticky to reveal bleary eyes, glazed with thick sleep that keeps knocking your vision out of focus. Bright azure and sharp ink begin to burn through the mist, a gravelly voice bleeding into your consciousness, realization forcing icy dread to freeze the blood in your veins.

“D-Dabi?” you whimper, fingers twisting in his hoodie, pulling yourself up a little. “What’re you—What time is it?”

“Do you know where Tomura went?” He practically heaves out, breathing erratic as sapphire frantically searches your face, fingers searing blotches of navy into your skin as they flex.

“I—What?” you blink, squinting against the light, Dabi’s expression fully eradicating the drowsy haze sleep had cast over you, notes of panic sown into your tone. “N-No? Tomura’s—”

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, eyes squeezing shut as nimble fingers rake through onyx strands. “He didn’t—He didn’t like, wake you up for a moment to inform you of his leaving? Or leave a note?” Calloused palms begin patting the plush comforter, scrutinizing gaze searching for a scrap of paper embellished with Tomura’s neat scrawl.

“No, he didn’t. Uh, w-why?”

But Dabi doesn’t answer, too preoccupied with searching the bed for shreds of clues. Little palms encircle his wrists, tender in their touch, and bring both hands to your lap, drawing his attention back to you.

“Why? What’s going on?

“He’s missing,”

“What?” the word escapes your throat in a gasp, choked and full of spit, motions stilling. “Wh-What do you mean, he’s missing?”

“What do you think I mean,” he seethes, and you flinch. A sigh leaves his lips in a heavy exhale, body slumping into your touch, perching on the edge of the mattress. He inhales, holding the breath in his chest until his ribs feel like they’re splintering, swollen lungs pressing into the cage, and exhales the words. “I just—He called me, like, twenty minutes ago, going on about dogs and threats and how he has to—has to go kill a rooster, or something? I don’t know,” Dabi shakes his head. “It barely made any sense at all—I could hardly hear him—but now he’s fucking missing and I—I’m—”

His voice cuts off, words mutilating themselves into nothing more than a pathetic little squeak. And try as he may, he just can’t force those words from his mouth, can’t admit his concern, sentiments burning themselves to ash on the back of his tongue and clogging his throat.

But he doesn’t need to.

He doesn’t need to, because you can see it, can see it in his eyes, in the way they keep glazing over, terrified tears stubbornly resurfacing regardless of how ruthlessly he tries to blink them back; because you can hear it, can hear it in the infinitesimal tremors lacing his voice, in the way they keep causing him to stumble over his words; because you can feel it, can feel the thick distress patched up with unease practically saturating the atmosphere around him, cloaking him in it’s devastatingly hollow embrace.

“It’s okay,” you say softly, taking his face between pillowy palms, forcing his turbulent gaze to halt, holding his eyes with your own. “We’re gonna find him,” tiny thumbs swipe over inked cheekbones, Dabi’s eyes closing with the motion, leaning further into your touch, seeking comfort, reassurance, hope. “Alright? We’re gonna find him,”

And although there’s a quiver in your voice, he thinks he can believe you, thinks you’re right—you will be right.

And, for once, he affords himself a singular moment to become immersed in your touch, to surrender control just for a second and be weak, to open his arms and allow you to crawl into his lap and snuggle into his neck and sink small fingers into his hair; to cleanse his mind, his body, his soul, with your soft motions and gentle kisses and whispered affirmations, each one sinking into his flesh, each one a tiny spark, each one collecting at his core, satiating that creature—the one birthed from love and hate and jealousy and desire—with a warm fire.

But then the elevator dings, and Kurogiri speaks rapidly to someone in hushed tones, and large hands wrap around your wrists, bringing them down and pressing them to your chest, giving one final squeeze before he lets go.

Forty-five minutes and one fractured shoulder later, that thick mahogany wood finally gives way, cracking deep enough that Hawks can kick it open, splitting it clean in two.

Both you and Kurogiri have spent the past half hour pacing and calling and shaking, growing more fraught every minute the door stays standing, both having fired off several increasingly distraught texts to Tomura, neither getting any semblance of a response, from anyone.

It’s been getting harder and harder to keep those sobs locked away in a cage of shuddering ivory, vicious cries finally breaking free as the door falls open, revealing an image that will forever haunt the recesses of your brain, etched into your soul for eternity.

Paper litters the entire room—heaping piles of the scattered across the desk, the couch, the floor, so much so it’s impossible to enter the room without stepping on something, and you can see phantom footprints of Tomura’s loafers imprinted on the sheets—the documents covered margin to margin in Tomura’s neat scrawl, ink as brilliant as his eyes vibrant against the crisp white paper.

Dabi plucks a sheet from near his feet, bringing it close to his face. It’s a transcript of some sort—no doubt connected to the alleged mystery calls Tomura’s been receiving—though it’s nearly impossible to read the original wording, Tomura’s bright scarlet writing crisscrossing over it in overlapping annotations, accented with arrows and asterisks.

“How can he even read this shit?” Dabi squints, holding the paper further from his face in an attempt to view it in its entirety. “It’s just—It’s just nonsense,”

A tattooed hand snatches another sheet, eyes scanning it briefly, then grabs another, then another, then another.

“They’re all...” Dabi begins, and his voice sounds faint. “They’re all copies of each other—it’s all the same few conversations,”

You bend down, leaning into Dabi to examine the documents between his trembling fingers, then grabbing a handful of papers for yourself, shuffling through them slowly.

He’s right; the documents are merely replicas of themselves, rendered endless iterations, covered edge to edge in red pen.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, but the words are garbled, half eroded by the time they leave your lips, tongue melting to acid in your mouth, bitter and burning and bubbling as it eats away at your teeth.

Your vision wavers, fades, then clouds with blurry water, the whole scene beginning to swirl around your head, around your body—but strong arms latch around your waist to catch you before you hit the floor, their owner’s back vibrating against you as they murmur.

“Woah, woah, hey!” Hawks is saying as he tries to get your feet under you, hoisting you up to lean half of your weight on him. “You okay?”

No. You’re not okay.

You’re not okay, because the most concerning piece of the devastatingly deranged scene laid out in front of you is Daddy’s massive cork board, which has been stripped of all its confidential company research, its several calendars and meticulously organized sticky notes, and replaced with clippings from the documents dispersed among the room, pasted together to create illogical sentences and bizarre conclusions and sprinkled with notepaper and photos, comming together to create a harrowing mosaic.

With a photograph of the Chief of Police pinned right to the center.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya todoroki x reader #dabi angst #shigaraki angst #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #bnha smut #bnha angst #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

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