#I JUST LOVE HER SO MUCH I WANT TO BE HER!!!!

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Some may be apprehensive that Severance won’t portray Mark’s interaction with Helena in the tent as the sexual assault it was. But not only will they — they already are.

Mark’s behavior toward Helly has completely changed. He doesn’t sit next to her at Irving’s funeral. He shuts down attempts at conversation with offhand, vague snarky comments and a defiantly blank facial expression. When Helly knocks on the door to the bathroom, his eyes dart around like an animal cornered. Where he once would have slowed down for her in the hallway so they could talk, he walks much faster ahead. He’s trying as hard as possible to avoid her. To ignore her. To run away.

Now contrast this with his treatment of “Helly” when she first walked out of the elevator in season two. He waited for her to arrive! He was so relieved she’d come back! And when they were walking down that hallway and he was explaining the situation with Ms. Casey, he stopped mid-stride, turned to her with a smile on his face, and said “Look, Helly—“

He never got to finish that sentence. But some say he was going to confess that though his outie had a wife, his affections lay with her. And I think they’re right.

So why is he acting so differently now? The answer is obvious: “Because they are smarter than us, okay? They know everything.”

After the assault, Mark likely feels like a complete idiot. He spent so much of season one deconstructing his beliefs and breaking free from Lumon’s propaganda. And the minute he believes he’s immune to their lies and no longer a corporate slave, he is taken advantage of and hoodwinked by the very figurehead of said company, masking as someone he loves.

A symbol of Lumon convinced him he was safe. Tricked him. Invaded him in the most intimate way possible, with him completely oblivious, “like an idiot.” Right when he thought everything might be okay.

So maybe Lumon’s right. Maybe there’s no point in fighting. Because if he was stupid enough to not realize his own friend was being possessed by her billionaire doppelgänger, then maybe Lumon is correct about innies being nothing more than pawns. Maybe they are people, and he really is… not. (That’s how Helena treated him, anyway.)

And if that’s the case, of course he wants to give up looking for Ms. Casey and lose himself in work! For a moment he thought he was a human being, deserving of autonomy over his own body and capable of something more than sitting behind a desk — but his assault sends that all crashing down. He is an extension of his outie, made for work and nothing more. Going beyond that gets dangerous. That’s what got Irving killed… and him in Helena’s tent. And Helly? He cannot trust Helly. As far as he knows, his only confirmed moment with Helly since the OTC was when he was holding her in his arms, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Why should it be Helly coming back to the severed floor? If Helena could trick him before, who says she can’t learn from her past mistakes and trick him again over and over? Mark refuses to be humiliated and hurt after last time, so he avoids her (and Dylan!) and puts up a barrier of cool, snarky indifference — just like how he deals with grief.

But we know that indifference is a mask. When Milchick walked out of the elevator after revealing he knew about him and Helena Eagan, Mark had no one to pretend for — and he went completely stiff, blankly wide-eyed in an expression extremely reminiscent of his usual innie self. Whatever the reasons for this, one thing’s for sure: Mark does deeply care about what happened in the tent. And at least for now, he will lose himself in Cold Harbor to cope with it.

Lumon certainly got their productive worker back. But good Lord… at what cost?

[missdynamighttt]

↳ ❝ FAT ASS LIKE HERS NEEDS A REAL MAN TO FUCK IT. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you get tangled up with your boyfriend's arrogant, infuriating, and devastatingly hot rival, katsuki bakugou and ended up fucking... one too many times.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x enemy's girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: cheating on yo shindo, cheating with katsuki bakugo, body worship, implied mentions of anal sex, oral sex (f! receiving, face riding), manhandling, penetrative / p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

note: usage of "sweetheart", "pretty", "pretty girl", "sweets", fem reader, implied plus size! reader, mean! katsuki, katsuki calls reader fat but not really (specifically, reader's ass), (hopefully) promoting body positivity. really thought this song gave katsuki vibes and havent seen a fic based off of it yet. reminds me of that montoya guy watching his girl fuck someone on camera lmao😭. time to give back to my community, hope you guys enjoy💜

╰┈➤ [katsuki bakugo was an asshole.] everyone knew that. and when it came to shindo yo, he was even worse. the two had never gotten along—never would. 

which was exactly why, when katsuki walked into the bar and spotted you, nursing a drink, frustration etched across your face, he couldn’t help but smirk.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. probably your boyfriend getting a little too damn close to another "friend" again. just like always. this wasn’t the first time, and knowing him, it wouldn’t be the last.

this was the kind of moment he lived for, a rare opportunity to get under shindo’s skin. sure, maybe katsuki didn’t hate shindo that much, but you? you were a different story.

he sauntered over, leaning an arm against the counter, eyes never leaving you. "rough night?"

you glanced up, instantly recognizing the pro hero standing beside you. with a sigh, you swirled your drink in its glass. “you could say that.”

“lemme guess... your idiot boyfriend givin’ you trouble again?”

“…something like that.”

“don’t know why you put up with him, honestly," he chuckled, the sound low and knowing. he tipped his drink toward you, watching your reaction carefully. "you deserve better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to appreciate you.”

your lips quirked, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “and you think you can appreciate me?”

katsuki had no shame, never did. so he grinned, a flicker of something dangerous in his crimson gaze.

"want me to show you, sweetheart?"

one thing led to another and soon enough— you were in his bed, limbs tangled, gasping his name, making sure you see the stars in the sky as he fucked the frustration right out of you.

and after that night, fucking you became katsuki's favorite way to piss shindo off.

you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly what this was. but did you care? not one damn bit. he had you in his bed more than your shitty boyfriend ever did. and yeah, maybe it started as a way to get under shindo’s skin, but somewhere along the way, it became something neither of you wanted to stop.

because katsuki? he was fucking obsessed with you.  

some nights, he’d pull you into his lap, hands splayed over your hips as he buried his face in your neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

“fuck, i missed you,” he groaned, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. his grip tighten, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs. “shouldn’t let you leave my bed, y’know that?”

you chuckled, tilting your head back as his lips trailed lower. “you’re never satisfied, huh?”

“so what?” he nipped at your skin, making you squeak. “i like my woman soft. more of you for me to grab.”

and grab he did. he was clingy in the worst way—always needing to have a hand on you, whether it was squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, or just absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh while you laid in bed together.

katsuki just loved how you felt in his hands.

then there are the nights when he'd lie with his head on your lap, letting you comb your fingers through his hair, one arm thrown lazily over his chest.

his eyes were shut, his expression relaxed, but every so often, his brows furrowed as he grumbled about his day.

like now.

“dumbass intern nearly blew up my whole damn office,” he muttered, eyes closed. “and kirishima kept laughin’ like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen.”

you hummed, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. “i mean… you do blow things up all the time. bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

his eyes cracked open, leveling you with a glare. “tch. ain’t funny.”

you bit back a smile. “a little funny.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. he never really did when you played with his hair. it was his weakness, and he hated that you knew it.

your fingers trailed down to his jaw, tracing the sharp edge. he leaned into your touch instinctively, like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

“you’re really pretty, you know that?” you murmured.

his eyes flickered open again, red irises locking onto yours. there was something unreadable in his gaze—something so raw and vulnerable.

“oi,” he muttered, shifting slightly, ears turning pink. “quit it.”

you grinned. “quit what?”

“saying dumb shit like that.”

“but it’s true.”

katsuki scowled, but the way he pressed his cheek into your palm gave him away. he huffed, eyes slipping shut again.

“…whatever.”

and he loved it. the times he's spent with you, whether he was fucking you or just talking about each other's day, he loved all of it. not just because it was a middle finger to shindo, but because katsuki got to have you all to himself. 

honestly? it stopped being about shindo a long time ago. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rub it in the bastard’s face.

"she was beggin’ me to keep goin’ last night," katsuki bragged, arm slung lazily around your waist, knowing full well that shindō was fuming. his hand drifted lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass. “bet you don’t even know how to handle all this ass, huh? shame. guess that’s why she keeps crawlin’ back to me.”

shindo clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what katsuki was implying. he knew. knew there was truth in katsuki’s words. knew that every time he and you argued, you’d disappear for a while, only to return looking a little too satisfied. "you really think you're some upgrade?"  

"she does. especially when she’s whining my name into the sheets.”  

"shut the fuck up, bakugo."  

katsuki barked a laugh, shameless and sharp. he was pissed, good. that was the reaction he wanted. but he wasn’t done yet.

“she’s a greedy lil’ thing, too. always wantin’ more," he grinned, eyes flicking over to him before locking back at yours. "but look at her. how could i say no? she looks so fuckin’ perfect under me."

your face burns, heat creeping up your neck before he scoffs and turns back to grilling your ex, like you weren’t just standing there, completely flustered.

"did she ever tell you how much she loves it when i grab these—" his fingers trailed down your side, giving a firm squeeze and earning a small yelp from you. "—and i slam my dick into her? fuck her real nice and deep? moans so pretty for me, too. you ever heard it?"

and if shindo so much as opened his mouth, katsuki would throw in another dig.

"nah. probably not. bet she asked you if it was in yet.”  

"well, she's all yours," shindo said, fists clenching, clearly seconds away from punching him. and katsuki lived for it.  

"yeah, figured you’d say that," katsuki taunted. "she’s been stress eatin’ too much to deal with a weak-ass like you."  

and then, just because he was an absolute bastard, he'd go in for the kill.

"fat ass like hers needs a real man to fuck it."  

shindo looked about ready to swing, but you pulled katsuki away before things got too messy.  you could still feel the heat of shindo’s rage burning through the air. it thrilled you more than it should have. 

but behind closed doors? the same man who ran his mouth would spend hours pressed against you, whispering things he’d never admit to anyone else.

"c’mere," katsuki grumbled, tugging you onto the bed after another long day of antagonizing your ex. his arms wrapped around your waist, face immediately pressing into your soft stomach.

he worshipped you—every inch, every soft curve, but nothing captivated him more than your stomach.

he was obsessed, utterly entranced. he’d bury his face against it, his hands kneaded your sides, gripping, squeezing—memorizing, pressing lazy kisses to every dip and curve. he held your body with a reverence that bordered on possessive, like he was terrified you’d slip away.

"fuck, baby," he groaned, nuzzling into you like he wanted to disappear into your skin. “love your body so goddamn much. s’perfect.”

you chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair. "thought you said i was stress-eating."  

"yeah, stress-eatin’ on my dick," he muttered, pressing kisses against your tummy. "he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

“then why do you still do it, hmm?”

he looked up at you, red eyes dark with something almost desperate as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

"tch, you know why i do that. pisses him off. makes him realize he ain't shit. ‘cause he ain't."  

you shivered at the heat of his lips against your skin, biting back a smile as you run your fingers through his hair. so that’s what this was about. "you sure you’re not just obsessed with him at this point?”

he scoffed against your stomach, his grip on your waist tightening. “the hell i am. only thing i’m obsessed with is you.”

it was the side of him no one else got to see— the way he nuzzled into you, the way he pressed his lips to your skin over and over, like he couldn’t get enough. he'd grumble if you tried to move, holding you tighter to keep you in bed, murmuring "stay here. wanna hold ya."  

he loved how soft you were, how warm—how no matter how much he grabbed, squeezed, or traced his fingers over you, it was never enough. he needed you. it was like he was drunk on the feel of you, the scent of you. and truthfully, he was.

"love this shit,” he admitted lowly, voice thick with something almost vulnerable. he nuzzled into your tummy again, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. "could live here."

you raised a brow, fighting back a grin as you looked down at him. “oh? you wanna live on my stomach now?”

“yes, baby,” he muttered almost desperately, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction while pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “soft. warm. smells like you.”

you laughed, dragging your fingers through his hair. “so what, you’re gonna quit being a hero and move in here?”

he let out a gruff chuckle, turning his head to rest his cheek against you. “tch. would if i could. wouldn’t need a bed, a couch, nothin’. just this perfect spot.”

“oh yeah?” you hummed, tilting your head. “should i start charging you rent?”

he huffed against your skin. “tch. smartass.”

you giggled, brushing a thumb over the shell of his ear. “i mean, if you’re gonna move in, might as well contribute. utilities, groceries… maybe even a tummy tax.”

his red eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. “the fuck is a tummy tax?”

you grinned. “unlimited kisses. daily.”

he snorts, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “already payin’ for that, pretty."

and you laughed, because for all his big talk, katsuki bakugo adored you. as long as he had you, nothing else mattered.

and despite the way he ran his mouth, he never let you feel insecure. if he ever caught you looking at yourself too long in the mirror, he’d grab you and pull you onto the bed, hovering over you with that intense, fiery gaze.  

"the fuck are you thinkin’ about?" he’d demand, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing, leaving marks. "you’re mine. this body? all mine. and i fuckin’ love every inch of you. don’t ever fuckin’ doubt how much i want you."

and god, did he prove it.

he didn't just tolerate your body—he adored it. and thats why you found yourself looking down at him lying comfortably on his back, eyes dark with anticipation. he was waiting—no, expecting—you to sit on his face.

you shake your head, heat creeping up your neck. "i can just lay down, 'suki..."

katsuki scoffs, sitting up slightly, his hands already reaching for your thighs, clearly impatient. "tch. and deny me a great view? cut the crap and get up here, sweets."

you shake your head again. "i just- what if i’m too heavy?"

he lets out a sharp, exasperated scoff. "for who? me? well that’s rude."

"it’s not..." you hesitate for half a second, but that’s all the time he gives you. 

he yanks you down onto his face with a low growl, his mouth immediately sealing over your cunt. "stop stallin’ and just give me what i want..."

you hesitate, subtly hovering just above him instead of lowering yourself onto his face, holding onto the headboard for support. his eyes flick up to yours, and the second he realizes what you're doing, his expression darkens.

"the fuck do you think you’re doin’?" his grip on your thighs tightens, his voice a low, dangerous growl. 

“i don’t want to crush you—”

“are you fuckin’ serious?” his voice drips with pure offense, like you just insulted his entire existence. "you really think i can't handle you? think you're doin’ me a favor by holdin’ back?"

you try to protest, but he’s already yanking you down on his face, forcing you to sit properly. his growl vibrates against you as he buries his face between your thighs. the way he looked up at you—pissed off and starving—sent a shiver down your spine.

your face burned, heart pounding in your chest. "i just— i don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

katsuki let out a sharp laugh, the sound vibrating against your folds, lifting you by your hips to give him room to speak from time to time. 

"uncomfortable? sweetheart, the only thing makin’ me uncomfortable right now is you not sittin’ on my goddamn face like i told you to."

your lips parted in protest, but a startled moan escapes you as his tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and demanding. his grip on your thighs is punishing, locking you in place as he devours you with obscene hunger.

"katsuki—" you try to lift yourself, but his hands hold you firm.

"nah. shut up," he murmurs burying his tongue between your thighs without warning. a moan escapes you as he groans against your heat, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you firmly in place. 

"fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters between licks, voice muffled. "ain’t takin’ this disrespect. you ain't doin’ me no favors by holdin’ back. told ya before— i want you—every fuckin’ inch of you." 

your breath hitches, and katsuki smirks like he knows he’s got you. his crimson eyes flicked up at you, glinting with mischief as he devoured the fuck out of your pretty little cunt, tongue glazed with his spit and your slick. 

"so don't you ever pull that hoverin’ shit again,” he warns, his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds "or i swear to god, i'll make you sit here all fuckin' night—"

his words were cut off by the way he devoured you, lips and tongue working so hungrily that your legs nearly gave out then and there. his crimson eyes burned into you, daring you to try that shit again.

you whimper, thighs trembling, and he doubles down, tongue curling inside you before dragging back up to your clit, sucking just to hear you whine.

"fuck, baby," he groans against you, his voice thick with need. "taste so fuckin’ good."

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on the soft strands, but it only spurs him on. his hands slide to your ass, forcing you to take everything he gave you. he’s lost in it, completely drowning in you, and he likes it. loves it. wants more. 

"you drive me fuckin’ insane," he murmured, sucking your clit into his mouth with a filthy slurp. "you’re too damn perfect, and it pisses me off."  

your fingers tightened around the headboard, thighs trembling around his head. “how is that my fault? you're the one who—"

katsuki let out a frustrated growl against your cunt, cutting you off before you could finish. without warning, he flattened his tongue and dragged a slow, deliberate lick through your folds, making you gasp.

"its your fucking fault," he went on like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to act so damn innocent.

his lips brush against your pussy as your legs threatened to close around his head, but his grip was firm, keeping you spread open for him. "prancin’ around, bein’ so goddamn pretty. takin’ up space in my head. gettin’ under my fuckin' skin and you expect me to act normal?"

you tried to answer, but he didn’t give you the chance. a sharp suck on your clit had your head tipping back, a needy whine escaping before you could stop it. his tongue slid through your folds again, swirling around your clit, and the sudden sensation made you choke on your words.

"katsuki—"

"nah. told you to shut up." he cut you off, voice muffled against your dripping cunt. "if you're gonna talk, you can fuckin’ moan."

your noises only spurred him on. your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as pleasure pooled in your stomach. his tongue worked you over with precision, switching between sucking and licking until your hips were rolling into his face, chasing more. 

"that's it," he muttered, sucking your clit into his mouth again, hard, and the moan that tore from your throat was anything but coherent, fucking you with his tongue. "you wanna run your mouth? do it like this." 

you could barely form a response, your mind going blank as he sucked hard on your clit, his tongue relentless. the only thing that left your lips was a desperate, broken moan.

"fuckin' knew it," he groaned, his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. "knew you’d sound so fuckin' pretty when you just shut the fuck up while riding my face. could watch you like this all fuckin’ day."

you let out a shaky breath, barely able to focus as his tongue flicked over your clit again. katsuki pulled back just enough to suck in a breath, his lips slick and glistening with your arousal. his crimson eyes burned into you, half-lidded and desperate, but still sharp with command.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice thick with hunger. “touch yourself, pretty girl. play with those pretty tits for me.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you hesitated, already feeling overwhelmed by the way he was devouring you. but his grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh in warning.

“c’mon, sweets,” he rasped, his tongue flicking out to tease your clit before pulling back again. his eyes dragged up your body, the heat in them making you dizzy. “be a good girl and gimme a show, yeah?"

with trembling hands, you reached up, cupping your tits, teasing your own nipples the way you knew he liked. you kneaded them softly at first, rolling your thumbs over your nipples, but the second you pinched them, katsuki groaned, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing in existence.

“fuck yeah,” he muttered, running his tongue through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “just like that, baby. play with those tits— keep puttin’ on a show for me while i eat this pretty little pussy.”

his tongue worked you over with hungry, unrelenting strokes, the obscene slurps and groans vibrating against you as he devoured you like a man starved.

you tugged at your nipples, your head falling back as pleasure rippled through you. your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around your nipples as the combination of your own hands on your body and his mouth wrecking you from below had your head spinning.

“katsuki—” you gasped, thighs trembling around his head. “i’m— i’m close.”

that was all it took. katsuki groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your cunt as his grip on your thighs tightened. his tongue worked even faster, flicking and circling your clit with devastating precision, like he needed you to fall apart for him or he'd die.

"yeah?" he rasped between licks, his voice thick and wrecked. "then fuckin’ give it to me, sweets. wanna feel you cum on my face."

he didn’t slow down, didn’t let up for even a second. his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to really sit on his face, and the pressure—his tongue, his mouth, the way he sucked on your clit—sent you careening straight into your orgasm.

your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. katsuki groaned against you like he felt it, like he was the one cumming, and he didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop devouring you, even as you trembled above him.

he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your slick as he sucked in a breath, eyes dark with hunger. he gave your thighs one last squeeze before gripping your waist.

“get up."

you blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “what?”

“i said, get up,” he growled. "need to be inside you. now.”

you whined, shaking your head weakly. “katsuki, i just— i just came…”

“and?” he scoffed, sitting up slightly. “the fuck that got to do with me?”

before you could protest again, his strong arms moved, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. a surprised yelp left your lips, but katsuki was already on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, his body burning hot against yours with his lips on yours.

"don't care if you just came," he muttered against your lips, biting down on your bottom one before sucking it into his mouth. "wanna feel you squeeze the cum outta me this time."

your head spun as he hovered over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. his hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading—like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

"katsuki—"

"shut up," he growled, shoving your legs open with his knee. "you think i’m lettin’ you off that easy? nah. you got one, and now i’m gettin’ mine.”

you gasped as his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them, his cock already hard and leaking against your folds. he positioned himself at your pussy, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against you.

"look at you," he murmured, rubbing his throbbing tip through your slick folds. "all fuckin’ messy for me already."

you gasped, legs twitching from overstimulation. “i— i need a second—”

“the fuck you do,” he muttered, lining himself up with your entrance. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. you’re fine.”

and before you could say another word, he thrusted into you, stretching you open in one slow, deep stroke.

"don't care what the fuck you say," he rasps. "bein’ so fuckin’ sweet, it makes me wanna ruin you."

your hands scrambled against his shoulders, nails digging in as you let out a choked sob, overwhelmed, tears pricking at your eyes as he kept moving, his cock dragging against your already-sensitive walls. “k-katsuki—'s too much—”

he didn't stop. didn't even hesitate. he knew better. knew you. if it was really too much, if you truly couldn’t take it, you would’ve said the safe word. and since you hadn’t? that meant you loved this—loved how he was using you, pushing you past your limits, making you take every inch of him.

“yeah? then why’s this pussy still fuckin’ suckin’ me in, huh?” he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “you know what to say if you really wanted me to stop, sweets.”

you whimpered, blinking up at him, your face hot and damp with tears. your breath hitched when he rolled his hips deeper, making your back arch off the bed.

“you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your cheek, tasting the tears running down your face. his hands pinned your wrists down beside your head, locking you in place beneath him. “fuckin’ cryin’ and takin’ my dick so good anyway. knew you’d let me use this sweet little pussy however the fuck i wanted.”

your body shook with every thrust, overstimulated and overwhelmed, but the pleasure was so sharp and dizzying, that all you could do was moan through the tears. you sobbed, back arching, hands clutching at the sheets. it was too much, but it felt too good. 

 his thumb swiped at your tear-streaked cheek, his other hand pressing down on your lower stomach, feeling the way he stretched you open. 

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice husky as he fucked into you harder, deeper, making sure you felt every inch. “be good for me. just take it. let me use you, yeah?”

you could barely think, barely breathe, and yet you nodded. and that was all he needed before his grip on your hips tightened, his cock stretching you wide, and he really started fucking you.

his hips snapped forward, burying himself deeper inside you, groaning as your walls clenched around him, still fluttering. his hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head to make you look at him.

“look at you,” he murmured, taking in the sight of you, tears spilling down your cheeks, the way your lips trembled. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. cryin’ for me. takin’ me like a good fuckin’ girl, squeezin’ me so tight, shit—”

your body trembled beneath him, your sobs mixing with broken moans as he fucked into you relentlessly. your arms struggled against his grip, desperate to reach for him, but he only pressed you deeper into the mattress, keeping you pinned.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks. “please—kiss me—”

he should’ve been satisfied with how wrecked you already were, with the way your body clenched around him so tight—but fuck, hearing you beg for his kisses?

that only made him worse.

“tch. still so fuckin’ needy, even when i’m ruining you.” 

his grip on your wrists loosens just enough for you to reach up. the second your hands touched him, you yanked him down, crashing your lips against his, desperate for the closeness, for the warmth of his mouth against yours.

katsuki groaned into the kiss, deep and hungry, swallowing your cries as he kissed you hard. his tongue pushes past your lips, claiming you just as much as his cock did. his thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t soften—if anything, he fucked you harder, like he wanted to ruin you completely.

“that what you needed, pretty girl?” he murmured against your lips, his breath heavy, your sobs melting into whimpers. “that why you’re cryin’? ‘cause you needed me to kiss you while i fuck you?”

you nodded frantically, another broken whimper slipping past your lips. “y-yeah—needed you—”

“yeah?” he smirked against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before kissing you again—sloppier, deeper, making sure you’d never forget exactly who you belonged to.

his rhythm starts to stutter, hips snapping into you harder, sloppier, and you felt the way his body tensed, the way his grip on your hips turned bruising. he forced another helpless cry from you, and he groaned against your lips, drinking in every sound.

"fuck—fuck," katsuki whined, voice raw and desperate as he buried himself deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing against your own as he lost himself in you. "you feel so goddamn good—s'fuckin’ tight, baby—"

you knew that tone—knew the way his voice cracked when he felt needy, when he was so fucking close to cumming. you loved when he got like this, when all his control slipped away and he was nothing but whiny, desperate need.

"katsuki—" you gasped, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "i'm—i'm close, i'm so close, wanna cum together—"

his grip tightened, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he snapped his hips into you, his pace turning desperate chasing both of your highs. "fuck, yeah? c'mon, baby— wanna feel you cum, wanna fuckin' feel you all over my cock—"

his next thrust sent you over, body locking up as the heat coiled tight in your belly and snapped all at once. your moan shattered into a cry as your whole body trembled, clenching around him so hard its about to break him.

“oh, fuck—” katsuki choked, eyes rolling back as he lost it completely, slamming into you one last time before burying himself into your warm, wet pussy. his whole body shook, breath stuttering as he spilled inside you, groaning out your name like a prayer.

he kept thrusting—shallow, drawn-out rolls of his hips, like he never wanted to stop feeling you, even as he came down from his high. his forehead pressed against yours again, his breath heavy, his body spent.

for a moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths, your bodies still tangled, clinging to each other as you both came down from your highs. katsuki was still holding you, his grip tight but no longer desperate—just grounding. 

then, with a deep exhale, katsuki finally pulled out, rolling onto his side and gathering you against his chest. his arms wrapped around you securely, his large hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back. you felt his eyes scan over you with something softer than before—something almost tender.

“you alright, sweets?”

you nodded, still catching your breath, but the way your body trembled slightly didn’t escape him. he scoffs, sitting up just enough to lean over and press soft kisses to your damp forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“liar,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. only warmth. “you cried, y’know.”

you let out a breathy laugh, snuggling closer. “you were relentless.”

he clicked his tongue, one of his hands finding the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, the other resting on the small of your back, holding you close.

you melted into his chest, sighing against his skin. “you’re so warm…”

he smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “duh. i’m literally made of explosions, dumbass.”

you lightly smacked his chest, making him chuckle. but his teasing quickly faded as he tilted your chin up, crimson eyes searching yours. his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of your overstimulated tears.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, quieter now. “you okay?”

your heart squeezed at how gentle he was being. how, despite how rough he could be, how demanding, he never once forgot to take care of you afterward. you leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

“i’m perfect,” you smiled sleepily. “because of you.”

“tch. sappy little shit," katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. his ears definitely got redder.  “you sure, though? i didn’t—y’know… go too hard?”

you hummed, tilting your head to press a lazy kiss to his jaw. “i'm fine, katsuki. i promise." 

he just huffed, shifting to grab a towel from the nightstand. “yeah, well, you better be. was holdin’ back just for you.”

you snorted. “that was you holding back?”

katsuki shot you a look but didn’t argue. instead, he started cleaning you up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. he was quiet as he worked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“…was it really okay?” his voice was quieter now, hesitant in a way he rarely was.

you cupped his cheek, running your thumb over the sharp line of his jaw. “yes. i’d tell you if it wasn’t, katsuki.”

his crimson eyes searched yours for a long moment before he finally exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders. “good.”

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips, lingering there as if he never wanted to pull away.

“cause next time, i’m makin’ you cry even harder.”

you groaned, shoving his face away as he laughed, the sound deep and full of warmth. 

katsuki didn’t say anything for a moment after—just stared at you, his expression completely unguarded. no sharp smirks, no cocky grins—just raw, unfiltered devotion.

he stared at you like you’d just hung the damn moon. like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.  

you reached up to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, and he caught your wrist midair, holding it for just a second before bringing it to his lips. the kiss he pressed against your palm was barely there, but it sent warmth blooming in your chest.

“you’re lookin’ at me funny,” you murmured, voice drowsy.

katsuki huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t look away. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled lazily back at him. “like i just saved a bunch of kids from a burning building or something."

his smirk was faint, more of a ghost of amusement than anything. he pressing lazy kisses along your wrist, trailing them down to the inside of your palm. “you didn’t save a bunch of kids. you’re just—you. and i dunno what the hell i’d do without that."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice, but before you could say anything, katsuki pulled you in even closer, pressing his face against your shoulder, like he was trying to hide.

“go to sleep,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “say any dumb shit about it, and i’ll smother you.”

you couldn’t help but smile as you curled against him, feeling the way his arms locked around you just a little tighter. “mhm. goodnight, katsuki.”

and then you smiled—sleepy, content, completely at ease in his arms.

katsuki stiffened. just for a second. just enough for you to feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hold on you tightened like he was trying to keep himself together.

fuck.

that damn smile. that look on your face. like he was your whole world. like you trusted him. like you loved him.

he clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose, like that would do anything to calm the way his heart was fucking pounding.

"goodnight." 

he was fucked. absolutely, completely, and hopelessly fucked.

because thats when katsuki bakugo realized he was in love with you. and he couldn't do anything about it.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ tags: ˚⋆ @kalulakunundrum @ch3rryjampi3 @lotusstarr @aranikai @emmab3mma @yannvi @gabby-ha @twoplayergaymers @xanneeeyyyy @akiii143 @ceeriusly-dumb @beabamboo @butlereyepatchbunny @qyuin @ocharavitys @dragonscribble @jimabbenamara @g0dawnlita @sourgrapesthings @seraphiicallyy @aawwq @kaybug88

[cressidagrey]

The mysterious Mrs. Piastri

We are interrupting our regularly scheduled programming for a Valentine's Day Treat. Remember that video where Oscar was asked "Get married or get a tattoo?" Well, it showed up on my FYP and I was like..:WAIT

Summary: 

Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even. Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar Piastri had always been a calm, collected kind of guy. Unshakeable, even.

Lando Norris, on the other hand? Not so much.

And today? Today was the day Lando fully lost it.

It had started innocently enough, just another fan stage, just another round of questions.

“Oscar, would you rather get married or get a tattoo?”

Easy. Straightforward. Oscar barely had to think before responding, “Well, I already did one of those things.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

Because one second later, Lando spat out his drink.

“YOU GOT A TATTOO?!”

Oscar turned, confused. “What? No.”

Lando, looking equal parts betrayed and horrified, pointed an accusing finger. “Mate, I’ve seen you in swim trunks. There’s no way you have a tattoo. Where is it?”

Oscar frowned. “I don’t have a tattoo.”

Lando’s face twisted in confusion. “But you just said—” He stopped. His eyes widened. Oscar could see the moment his brain caught up.

“WAIT. WAIT.” Lando practically jumped out of his seat. “YOU’RE MARRIED?!” Lando looked genuinely stunned, his mouth hanging open in shock. 

Oscar nodded, calm as ever. “Yeah.”

Lando’s reaction was not calm. Lando let out a strangled, guttural noise, kind of sounding like an indignant cat.

“WHAT?!”

The interviewer, who had been mostly observing up until now, leaned forward, eyes shining with the excitement of a woman who had just stumbled upon the biggest scoop of the season. “Okay, hold on. You mean married married? Like, legally?”

Oscar frowned. “Is there another kind?”

Lando’s hands were now on his head, his entire world seemingly crumbling around him. “SINCE WHEN?!”

Oscar shrugged. “A while now.”

The crowd lost it. The interviewer looked like Christmas had come early. The McLaren PR team, wherever they were, was probably having a collective heart attack.

Lando’s jaw dropped. “I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND.”

Oscar frowned. “You know that," he told Lando pointedly.

“I DO NOT KNOW THAT,” Lando shouted. “WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED A GIRLFRIEND—LET ALONE A WIFE?!”

Oh well. Oscar just shrugged. “Well. I do. She’s amazing. 10/10. Would always marry her again.”

Lando let out a hysterical laugh. “Wait, wait, wait. No, no. You’re telling me you have a freaking WIFE?!”

The interviewer seized the moment. “Okay, no, we need details. How long have you been together?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Since we were 15."

Lando made a strangled noise. “15?! YOU’VE BEEN WITH HER SINCE YOU WERE 15?!”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

The interviewer looked delighted. “How did you meet?”

Oscar tilted his head. “School?”

Lando groaned and turned to the audience. “Look at this guy. Look at him. Of course he’s been secretly married this whole time. Of course.”

The interviewer pressed on. “When did you get married?”

Oscar shrugged. “When I was 18.”

The entire crowd erupted. Fans were screaming, phones were recording, and McLaren PR was definitely hyperventilating somewhere.

Lando, meanwhile, looked like his whole world had just collapsed in real-time.

“You—you got MARRIED at EIGHTEEN?!” he wheezed. “WHY?!”

Oscar looked at him like he was stupid.  “Because I wanted to? Because I love her?”

The interviewer cooed over the answer. Lando physically recoiled. “What, like straight out of high school?!”

Oscar frowned. “Not straight out of high school. We waited a bit.”

“HOW LONG IS A BIT?!” Lando demanded.

Oscar thought about it. “Like… three weeks after graduation?”

Lando let out a strangled noise. “THAT’S NOT A BIT, OSCAR. THAT’S BASICALLY IMMEDIATELY.”

Lando dramatically fell back in his chair. The interviewer, meanwhile, was nearly vibrating with excitement. “Okay, okay, follow-up question—how did you propose?”

Oscar thought about it. “I asked her to marry me.”

The interviewer stared. “…That’s it?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”

Lando threw his hands in the air. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

The interviewer, trying desperately to salvage something remotely romantic, asked, “Where did you propose?”

Oscar, as if this were a perfectly reasonable answer, said, “Uh. At home?”

The interviewer looked at him. "...At home?"

"On the bed," Oscar added.

Lando looked like he was going to have an aneurysm.

The crowd groaned. The interviewer looked physically pained. Lando just laughed in disbelief. “I knew you’d be the most unromantic bastard alive.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “She said yes.”

Lando wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “That poor woman.”

The interviewer shook her head in awe. “Oscar, mate, I have to ask—how did you manage to keep this a secret for so long?”

Oscar blinked. “No one asked?”

Lando just screamed.

The interviewer, who had completely abandoned all pretense of professionalism, leaned forward. “Okay, wait, wait, who is she?”

Oscar blinked. “My wife?”

Lando threw up his hands. “YES, OBVIOUSLY, but who is she? What’s her name? Where’s she from? What does she do?”

Oscar's forehead creased. "Is that... relevant?"

The interviewer just about had a stroke. Lando looked like he was going to spontaneously combust.

The fans were losing their freaking minds.

Lando nearly fell out of his chair. “YOU���VE BEEN MARRIED FOR YEARS AND I’VE NEVER MET HER.”

“I mean, I thought it was obvious?”

“OBVIOUS TO WHO?!” Lando yelled. “BECAUSE IT WASN’T OBVIOUS TO ME.”

Oscar just shrugged. 

Lando groaned. “Mate, I DIDN’T KNOW SHE EXISTED!”

Lando looked like he was seconds from grabbing Oscar and shaking him until some kind of information fell out. "Okay, I can't believe I have to ask this, but why the hell didn't you tell me?”

"I thought you knew," Oscar answered simply.

Lando just gaped. "How on earth would I have known?"

Oscar shrugged. The interviewer, meanwhile, was leaning closer, clearly invested in the whole thing now.

Lando, apparently having had enough, decided on a different tactic. Lando pointed at him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not getting away with this. You are going to introduce me to your wife.”

Oscar sighed, clearly knowing a losing battle when he saw one. “Fine,” he said after a moment.

Lando sat back, satisfied. “Good.” Then he paused. “Wait—does anyone else know? Like, do the team know?”

Oscar shrugged. “I think Zak does.”

Lando made a strangled noise. “Why does Zak get to know?!”

Oscar pointed out, “Because he’s my boss?”

The interviewer, clearly having thrown all professionalism out the window, was just enjoying the chaos. Lando looked like he wanted to scream. “But I’m your friend!”

Somewhere in the background, McLaren PR was probably losing their minds, trying to figure out how to handle the fact that Oscar Piastri, their quiet, low-maintenance driver, had accidentally revealed he’d been married since he was 18.

Not Oscar’s problem, though...After he escaped Lando Norris' clutches.

He had a wife to call after all.

Oscar Piastri was a man of routine.

He liked predictability. Consistency. A life largely free of unnecessary chaos.

Which was exactly why, after the complete meltdown that was today’s fan stage, he had retreated to his driver’s room, shut the door, and pulled out his phone. If there was one thing in his life that wasn’t chaotic, it was his wife.

The call rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, love,” she greeted, her face appearing on screen. She was sitting in their apartment, hair tied up, wearing one of his hoodies. 

Oscar felt himself relax immediately. “Hey.”

She smiled at him. “So, how was your day?”

Oscar sighed. “Lando found out we’re married.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh.” A pause. “He… didn’t know?”

Oscar shook his head. "I thought he did."

She let out a small laugh at that. "How the hell did you think he knew?"

Oscar shrugged. "I dunno. We've been married for, what, five years now? How could he not know?"

Her smile widened. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're about as romantic as a cactus?"

Oscar let out a huff. "I can be romantic."

Before she could respond, there was a loud banging on the door, followed by—

“LET ME IN, PIASTRI!”

Oscar sighed through his nose. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

His wife bit her lip, clearly seconds away from laughing. “Is that…?”

“YOU HAVE EXACTLY THREE SECONDS BEFORE I BREAK THIS DOOR DOWN AND—”

Oscar hung his head. “Yes.”

She was laughing now, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad because it was an adorable sound.

The banging continued. “I CAN HEAR YOU IN THERE. STOP IGNORING ME, OSCAR.”

His wife bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “You should probably let him in before he tries to break the door down.”

Oscar debated not letting him in, but realistically, Lando would either A) find a way in, or B) make this everyone else’s problem.

So, with a long-suffering sigh, he got up and opened the door.

Lando barreled in immediately, eyes wild.

“WHERE IS SHE?!?” he demanded. “I NEED TO SEE HER WITH MY OWN EYES.”

Oscar sighed, holding up the phone. “She’s on FaceTime, you absolute lunatic.”

Lando’s head whipped around, and he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get to the couch. He pushed past Oscar with a huff, then stared, wide-eyed, at the phone.

Lando was silent. For once.

His wife was, bless her soul, doing her best to fight her laughter at the look on Lando’s face. “Hi,” she said. “You must be Lando.”

Lando just continued to gape.

Then, slowly, he pointed an accusatory finger at the screen. “You’re real.”

She laughed. “I hope so.”

Lando turned to Oscar, looking personally betrayed. “SHE’S REAL.”

Oscar sighed. “I know.”

Lando turned back to the phone. “And you married him? At eighteen?!?”

She smiled. “Yep.”

Lando reeled. “WHY?!”

She tilted her head. “Because I love him?”

Lando looked like his entire world had been completely shaken. “You love him,” he repeated, staring incredulously down at her.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oi, mate, why’s that so hard to believe?”

Lando just groaned in exasperation. “You do not understand how hard it is, being friends with a guy for literal years, and never knowing he had a girlfriend—let alone a WIFE.”

“Mate, I’m pretty sure that says more about you than me,” Oscar told him bluntly.

Lando shot him a glare. “Oh, and you’re what? Mister Emotional Intelligence? You’ve been hiding this for years!”

Oscar shrugged. “Never came up in conversation.”

Lando looked horrified. “Don’t put this on me!”

Oscar shrugged. “You never asked.”

Lando flopped onto the couch, rubbing his face. “Unbelievable.”

His wife stifled a laugh, the corners of her mouth tugging upward as she watched Lando in his current state.

Lando, meanwhile, had moved to the “trying to wrap his head around this situation” portion of his breakdown.

“Okay, no. We’re fixing this. Immediately.”

Oscar sighed. “Lando—”

Lando pointed at the phone. “I need to meet her.”

Oscar sighed. “Fine. Silverstone.”

Lando gasped. “Really?!?”

Oscar deadpanned. “No, I just said it for fun.”

Lando turned back to the phone. “Mrs. Piastri, I will see you at Silverstone.”

She laughed. “Looking forward to it.”

Lando nodded firmly, then turned back to Oscar. “I will be grilling you for details later.”

Oscar sighed. “Of course you will.”

Lando stood dramatically. “Good. Carry on.” And then he walked out like he had just personally fixed the situation.

Oscar turned back to his wife, who was fully laughing.

“I love Lando,” she said. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened.”

Oscar sighed. “I regret everything.”

She smirked. “Love you.”

Oscar huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

And somewhere, in the distance, Lando was plotting.

****

@/oscarpiastri ✅

Posted: 1 day ago

Caption:

So, the internet (and, more importantly, Lando) just found out I’m married.

To be honest, I didn’t think it was a secret. I’ve been married for years. I assumed people knew. Turns out, I was very, very wrong.

Yes, I’m married. Have been for five years this summer.

So, meet my wife—my best friend, my favorite person in the world, and the only one who has somehow put up with me for this long.

We met when we were 15. Two kids at boarding school, thrown together by pure chance. The only open seat in class was next to me, so she took it. I stole a pen from her once—completely by accident—but she still let me borrow her pens after that. Eventually, she started carrying a second one just for me. I told myself that meant something.

She always knew when I was having a bad day, even when I hadn’t said a word. She made school bearable, made exams feel less stressful, made me laugh even when all I wanted to do was complain. Somewhere between stolen lunch breaks and long walks back to the dorms, between late-night study sessions and whispered conversations about the future, I fell in love with her. Quietly, all at once and over time. I knew by the time we were 15—maybe even before then.

She was my best friend first. The person I trusted most. The one who understood the parts of my life that didn’t always make sense to everyone else. By the time I worked up the nerve to tell her how I felt, she just smiled and said, ‘I was wondering when you’d figure that out.’ Like she had known all along.

When I left school to chase this ridiculous dream, she didn’t ask me to stay. She just told me she’d be there, no matter how far I went. And she was. Through every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt.

So when we turned 18, we didn’t wait. Three weeks after graduation, we walked into a registry office in London, signed a piece of paper, and walked out married. No grand ceremony, no expensive dress. Just us, two rings we picked out in under twenty minutes, and a promise we already knew we’d keep.

We told our families afterward. Some took it better than others.

I know getting married at 18 sounds a little mad. People told us we were too young, that we should wait, that we were being reckless. But why? I had no doubt in my mind then, and I have none now.

She’s still the first person I call after every race, no matter the result. She’s the one who tells me to go to bed when I’m up too late on the sim, who reminds me to eat when I forget, who talks me down when I start overthinking. She’s been with me through everything. Through junior categories to F1, through every high and every low, through the moments I wanted to quit and the ones where I felt like I was on top of the world.

She’s my best friend, my greatest love, the only person who can call me out on my nonsense and get away with it.

So, no, I don’t have a tattoo. But I do have a wife. The person who still looks at me like I’m just that 15-year-old kid stealing a pen and falling in love before he even realizes it’s happening.

I have no idea how I convinced her to marry me, but I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

10/10, would always marry her again. ❤️

Comments:

@/landonorris: FIVE YEARS??? YOU HAVE BEEN MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS???

↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I assumed you knew. ↪️ @/landonorris: WHEN HAVE YOU EVER MENTIONED HAVING A WIFE???

↪️ @/mrspiastri: He does this thing where he forgets people don’t just know things.

@/danielricciardo: High school sweethearts. Eloped at 18. Best plot twist of the season.

@/mclaren: We have so many questions.↪️ @mrspiastri: Submit them in an organized document, I’ll answer the best ones.

@/f1updates: Today in ‘Oscar Piastri casually drops life-changing information’—he has a whole wife. Lando learned this at the same time as the rest of us.

@/lanoscult: Not Lando finding out with the fans and having a full existential crisis on stage 💀💀💀

@/thef1editz: POV: You just found out your best friend has been MARRIED FOR YEARS and never told you (attached video of Lando’s reaction with dramatic music)

@/wagsf1: WE NEED A FULL BOARDING SCHOOL LOVE STORY IMMEDIATELY.

@/f1tea: No thoughts, just Lando yelling ‘WHO GETS MARRIED AT 18’ like he was personally betrayed.

@/padlockthegrid: We’ve been watching this man for YEARS and never once suspected a wife??

@/georgerussell63: I feel like this is something you announce at a dinner, not in front of an audience.

↪️ @/oscarpiastri: I thought I had mentioned it. ↪️ @/landonorris: YOU DID NOT.

@/charles_leclerc: This is the greatest plot twist in F1 history.

@/fernandoalo_oficial: I respect this level of secrecy.

@/chaoticneutralf1: Oscar Piastri is terrifying. He just DOES things and assumes people KNOW.

@/mclaren: Oscar, any other life-altering facts you’ve forgotten to mention? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not that I can think of. ↪️ @/landonorris: I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT.

@/mrspiastri: 10/10, would marry him again. (Even if he forgets to tell people.) ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Love you too. ❤️

@/danielricciardo: Oscar, mate, do you have any other shocking secrets? ↪️ @/oscarpiastri: Not really. ↪️ @/landonorris: I AM NOT CONVINCED.

@/chaoticgrid: I will think about this every day for the rest of my life.

@/mrspiastri

Posted: 2h ago

Caption:

"So. Yesterday happened.

Since Oscar apparently forgot that telling people you’re married is something you actually have to do, I’ve spent the last 24 hours watching the internet lose its collective mind. You guys have questions. Lots of them. So, let’s go:

1. Wait… Oscar is MARRIED?!

Yes. Since we were 18. I know, I know. We should have made a big announcement. Or at the very least told his teammate. Oops.

2. When did you get married?!Right after we graduated. We were 18, ran off to London, signed a piece of paper, and then told our families. In hindsight, we probably should have done that last part beforehand, but hey, we were young and in love (and slightly impulsive).

3. Why so young?Because we were sure. It wasn’t impulsive—it was inevitable. People told us we were crazy, that we should wait, that we’d change. But we didn’t. We grew up together, and we only ever grew toward each other. If I had to choose again, I’d do it exactly the same way.

3. How did you two meet?We were 15, stuck at boarding school, and Oscar stole my pen. He swears it was an accident. I maintain that it was the moment he decided to make me fall in love with him.

5. Did you really not tell Lando?I thought he knew! Everyone close to us does! I assumed Oscar had mentioned it at some point, but, well… you all saw what happened. Apparently, Oscar’s ‘private life’ policy extended to his teammate of three years. Which is why we all got to witness his public breakdown in real-time.

5. Does this mean you’re an F1 WAG?Technically? Yes. Do I have the outfit coordination and expensive handbag collection to back it up? No. I do steal Oscar’s team hoodies, so that counts, right?

6. What’s your favorite thing about Oscar?The way he loves—quietly, steadily, with his whole heart. He still waits up for me if I’m out late, still kisses my forehead when he thinks I’m asleep, still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves like he did back when he was karting. I’ve loved him for so long that I can’t imagine my life any other way.

7. And since Oscar said ‘10/10 would always marry her again,’ what’s your answer? 10/10. No regrets, no hesitation, no doubt. I’d marry him a thousand times over.

Comments: 

@/landonorris: I’M STILL NOT OVER THIS. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I’m never going to live this down, am I? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. But I love you anyway.

@/danielricciardo: This is the kind of romance novel material I expect from an F1 WAG.

@/mclaren: We demand a Netflix special on this.

@/wagsf1: This is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen. Please post more.

@/f1updates: The way she said ‘10/10’ like it was the easiest question ever 😭💖

@/wagsf1: He still tucks handwritten notes into his race gloves??? I’M GONNA CRY.

@/f1updates: This woman just broke the internet by being casually, devastatingly in love.

@/f1fangirl92: The way this man has been secretly in love since he was FIFTEEN is actually lethal.”

@/fanaccountoscarpiastri: So what I’m getting is that Oscar is out here winning races and marriage. I respect it.

@/paddockinsider: Be so honest. What did people say when they found out you guys eloped? @/mrspiastri: Oh, everyone thought we were insane. Random people who barely knew us were convinced we’d crash and burn. Now we get a lot of, ‘Wow, you guys really made it work.’ ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Wasn’t hard.

@/f1obsessed: Did you guys ever break up? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. Not once. Not even a ‘we were on a break’ situation. We’ve been together since we were 15, which is wild when I think about it.

@/fanofeverything: Why did Oscar keep it a secret??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: It wasn’t a secret so much as… he never felt the need to bring it up? It’s not like he was hiding me in a basement somewhere lol. He just doesn’t talk about personal stuff unless someone asks directly. Which, apparently, no one did.

@/gridgossip: So who knew? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mark. Andrea. Probably Zak? Our families, obviously. And, um. That might be it?

@/paddockinsider: Did Oscar just assume that everyone knew you guys were married? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. 100%. This man did not think to mention it because he thought it was ‘obvious. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: “OBVIOUS TO WHO??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: To him. He just figured if someone asked if he was married, he’d say yes. But since no one did, he saw no need to bring it up. ↪️@/landonorris: HOW IS THAT YOUR LOGIC. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No one asked. ↪️@/landonorris: I’M GOING TO LOSE MY MIND.

@/f1insider: We need more details about Mark Webber finding out. ↪️@/mrspiastri: I swear I saw his soul leave his body. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, EXPLAIN YOURSELF. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Didn’t seem necessary to tell him at the time ↪️@/landonorris: “HOW IS MARRIAGE NOT NECESSARY INFORMATION???” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mark Webber sat Oscar down like a disappointed dad and was like, ‘Mate. How do you just… forget to mention you’re married? ↪️@/mclarenupdates: “And what did Oscar say??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: “He just shrugged and went, ‘Not really relevant to racing. ↪️@/landonorris: “I NEED TO LIE DOWN.”

@/paddockdrama: People always joke that Oscar is a robot. Does that ever bother him? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really. I once asked him and he just shrugged and went ‘Doesn’t bother me. I don’t need to prove anything to anyone as long as you know how much I love you.’ ↪️@/landonorris: NO BECAUSE WHERE WAS THIS ENERGY WHEN I TOLD HIM I GOT P2 AND HE JUST WENT ‘NICE’??? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: It was nice.

@/paddockgossip: “Did ANY other drivers know???” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar’s Prema teammates figured it out. The rest of the grid? Oblivious. ↪️@/landonorris: How did Oscar never accidentally spill?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He doesn’t overshare. Meanwhile, I am still in awe that he just assumed people knew.

@/foreverf1: Wait, I need to know—who said ‘I love you’ first? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar did. Completely out of nowhere, too. We were 16, lying on the floor doing homework, and he just looked over and went, ‘Oh. I love you.’ Like he just realized it in real time.

@/f1teaqueen: Okay but like… NO COLD FEET?? Not even a little?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. We were 100% sure.

@/wildforwags: Who actually officiated your wedding?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Some very lovely lady at a London registry office. She called us ‘sweethearts’ and I think she knew we were completely insane, but she was very supportive about it.

@/racewifematerial: What did you wear?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: A white sundress I bought the week before. Oscar wore a suit that was slightly too big because he borrowed it last-minute. We looked like two teenagers who ran away from home, which, to be fair… we kinda did.

@/formula1fangirl: Who took the wedding photos? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We handed a disposable camera to two very confused tourists outside the registry office. They did a great job.

@/landoandchaos: Oscar, babe, how did you manage to keep this from your friend for FIVE YEARS? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Listen, Oscar is elite at two things: racing and not offering information unless directly asked.

@/mclarenfanatic: Did he really think Lando knew? ↪️@/mrspiastri: 100%. I asked him and he was like, ‘Well, I didn’t HIDE it?’ And I was like, ‘Oscar. That is not the same thing as telling people.’

@/fastandflawless: Be honest, did you ever have a moment of ‘Oh my god, I married an 18-year-old racing driver, what have I done’?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really? I mean, other people definitely thought we were nuts, but we knew exactly what we were doing. The real crisis moment was a few months later when I realized I’d have to file taxes as a married person.

@/waggossip: “Did Oscar have a big, romantic proposal, or was it just like, ‘Wanna get married?’ ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar woke up one morning, looked at me, and said, ‘We should get married. Logically, it makes sense.’ ↪️@/f1softies: YOU’RE JOKING. ↪️@/mrspiastri: I was like, ‘Okay?’ And he said, ‘Great, I’ll book an appointment.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: So let me get this straight. No knee. No ring. Just ‘We should get married.’ ↪️@/mrspiastri: Correct. ↪️@/f1wifeguys: And you weren’t even a little mad?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nah, I thought it was funny. If he’d done some big, dramatic proposal, I’d have thought he was concussed. ↪️@/mclarenupdates: Please tell me he at least got a ring after that. ↪️@/mrspiastri: He did! We picked one out together. It has both our birthstones.

@/paddocktea: Okay, but does he ever get super romantic out of nowhere?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, absolutely. Once, when I was really stressed out, he just looked at me and said, ‘You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m always going to be here.’ ↪️@/f1wifeguys: STOP THAT’S SO SWEET.

@/paddockinsider: What’s the most uncharacteristically romantic thing he’s ever said? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We were lying in bed once, just scrolling on our phones, and out of nowhere he goes, ‘You know, no matter how my life turned out, I think I would’ve found you in every version of it.’ And then he just went back to reading about Formula 2 tire degradation like he hadn’t just ruined me.

@/backmarkerbrigade: “So, like, what did you do after you got married? Fancy dinner? Celebratory champagne?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: ...Sandwichs at Pret-a-manger

@/gridlove: What’s the most Oscar Piastri way he’s ever told you he loves you? ↪️@/mrspiastri: One time he texted me ‘You’re my favorite human’ completely out of the blue. No context. No follow-up. Just that. It was adorable.

@/pitlaneprincess: Who cried more at the wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Me. Oscar was annoyingly composed. He did squeeze my hand really tight when we said our vows, though.

@/drsforlove: “This man has been giving post-race interviews like ‘Yeah, good race, car felt good’ and then just casually drops a wife like it’s a tire strategy.

@/wildforwags: What’s something you wish you had done for the wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Honestly, nothing. It was chaotic, but it was ours.

@/pitstopqueen: What was your first impression of Oscar? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Honestly? I thought he was too quiet. Then he made some dry, sarcastic comment under his breath in class, and I immediately knew we’d get along.

@/tracksidegossip: How long did you actually plan the wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: A week. And ‘plan’ is a generous term. We just Googled how to get married in London, booked the appointment, and that was that.

@/f1chaos: Oscar, be so honest, did you really think people would just ‘figure it out’ without you ever saying anything?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.

@/paddockprincess: Wait, so how did Oscar’s family react to you guys getting married so young? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Honestly? They were really supportive. His mum just went, ‘That makes sense,’ and his dad laughed. Oscar’s family has always been the ‘if you’re happy, we’re happy’ type. ↪️@/oscarpiastriupdates: “So no dramatic reactions from the Piastris??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: “The most dramatic reaction was his mum sighing and saying, ‘You two are hopeless.’ But she meant it fondly.”

@/chaosinthepaddock: What about your family? 👀 ↪️@/mrspiastri: Ah. Well. See, they did not get over it in five minutes. ↪️@/f1tea: Omg. HOW mad were they??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Very. Like, ‘multiple angry phone calls’ mad. Like, ‘we refuse to speak to you for years’ mad.” ↪️@/landonorris: Did they actually say you were ruining your life? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, yes. There was a lot of dramatic ‘you’re throwing your future away’ speeches. Which was funny, because my future was literally the same, just with more love and an Australian husband. ↪️@/piastrination: Did Oscar ever try to talk to them about it? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, he tried. But Oscar is Oscar, so he just very calmly said, ‘I love her, we’re married, and that’s not changing.’ Which, surprisingly, did not make them less angry. ↪️@/f1gossip: Have they come around since then? ↪️@/mrspiastri: No.

@/landonorris: Lando’s reaction when he found out vs. your family’s reaction when they found out—who had the bigger meltdown?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, my family by far. Lando was just confused—my relatives were furious.

@/gridgirlgossip: Oscar Piastri, the man who quietly eloped at 18, dealt with family drama, and then just went racing like nothing happened.

@/drsdiva: “This is the wildest reveal in F1 history. Netflix, do your job.”

@/f1softies: “The fact that Oscar has been in wife guy mode for YEARS and we had no idea.”

@/lando4lyf: Lando: ‘YOU GOT A TATTOO?!’ Oscar: ‘No, I’m married.’ Lando: internal system crash

@/piastriupdates: “Lando Norris finding out live on stage that his teammate has been MARRIED FOR FIVE YEARS is the funniest thing to ever happen in F1.

@/f1memesdaily: “Oscar Piastri eloped at 18, never told anyone, and assumed people would figure it out while Lando was out here thinking he was a single man. I respect the commitment to quiet chaos.”

@/danielricciardo: Mate. You were MARRIED this whole time?? I thought you were just too focused on racing to date anyone, and instead you were out here with a whole WIFE???

@/charles_leclerc: You were married at 18? And Oscar thought that was a normal thing to do?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. Yes, he did.

@/alex_albon: Tbh, I respect it. Absolute power move. Eloping at 18, casually keeping it a secret, and then just dropping it on Lando like that?? Unreal. ↪️@/mrspiastri: See? Alex gets it.

@/robertschwartzman: Oh, now everyone suddenly cares. Meanwhile, WE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. ↪️@/mrspiastri: To be fair, you two were basically forced to know. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Yeah, because he wouldn’t shut up about you. ‘Oh, I can’t come to dinner, I have to call my wife.’ ‘Oh, I’m flying to London to see my wife.’ Mate, we were 19, and you were out here married like a 40-year-old. ↪️@/mrspiastri: He still does that, btw. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: Not surprised. The man has been whipped since day one.

@/jehannadaruvala: “The funniest part was watching Oscar just assume we all knew. Like we’d be talking about normal 19-year-old things, and he’d casually drop, ‘Yeah, my wife said the same thing.’ ↪️@/mrspiastri: And did any of you ever ask for clarification? ↪️@/jehannadaruvala: Oh, we asked. His response? ‘What about it?’ LIKE SIR. ↪️@/robertschwartzman: “One time, I straight-up said, ‘Mate, do you realize you’re married?’ and he just blinked at me and said, ‘Yeah.’ As if that was a totally normal thing for a teenage racing driver. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Sounds about right. ↪️@/ollicaldwell: “Honestly, we stopped questioning it after a while. He was just so chill about it. ↪️@/arthur_leclerc: Yeah, it was like, ‘Oh, Oscar’s in a committed marriage while we’re all just trying to survive? Cool, cool.’

@/f1softies: Okay but does he ever have romantic moments?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oh, absolutely. They just happen out of nowhere and leave me emotionally ruined. ↪️@/mclarenupdates: Example, please. ↪️@/mrspiastri: One time, I was having a bad day, and he just looked at me and said, ‘You know, the best part of my life is that I get to love you.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: EXCUSE ME SIR??? ↪️@/landonorris: “WHAT THE HELL.”

@/f1updates: So you eloped… but do you think you’ll ever have a big wedding? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really. Oscar and I don’t love being the center of attention, so a big wedding never appealed to us. ↪️@/landonorris: THEN CAN I HAVE A BIG PARTY ON YOUR BEHALF??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We literally just had a wedding reveal by accident and you want to throw an even bigger event??? ↪️@/landonorris: YES.

@/f1insider: So how did Mark find out?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: We didn’t tell him. He found out when Oscar referred to me as his wife in conversation. ↪️@/mrspiastri: We were in a meeting. Mark stopped mid-sentence and went, ‘Your WHAT?’ ↪️@/landonorris: HIS WORLDVIEW SHATTERED. @/mrspiastri: Oscar, completely unbothered, said, ‘Oh. Yeah. We got married a while ago.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: I CAN HEAR MARK WEBBER’S EXASPERATION. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mark didn’t speak for a full minute. Then he sighed, rubbed his temples, and went, ‘Mate. You can’t just drop that into conversation like it’s nothing.’ ↪️@/oscarpiastri: I didn’t see the problem. ↪️@/landonorris: YOU WOULDN’T. ↪️@/f1updates: Does Mark ever bring it up now? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Every single time we see him. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: It’s been years. He should let it go. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Finally he just said, ‘Yeah, I should have figured.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: EXCUSE ME???” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Apparently, Oscar was too relaxed for someone hiding a major life decision. Mark said he’d seen too many drivers try to balance racing and relationships, and he knew Oscar had already locked it down. ‘Kid’s too stable for anything else.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: That’s actually terrifying. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Immediately after he went ‘Alright. Suppose we better make sure this doesn’t derail your career then.’ ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Classic Webber. ↪️@/mclarenupdates: Did he at least congratulate you? ↪️@mrspiastri: Yes. Eventually. But only after making sure we’d thought it through. ↪️@/f1softies: Did he give you a lecture?” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Not really. More like a ‘If you’re doing this, do it properly’ talk.

@/drsfordays: The fact that her family was furious while Mark Webber just sighed is sending me.

@/oscarpiastri_fanclub: So Mark Webber has known this whole time??” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. And I think he’s still mildly offended that Oscar didn’t ask for any advice beforehand.

@/f1updates: Why doesn’t Oscar wear a wedding ring? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He does! He just doesn’t wear it when driving. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Okay but I have never seen this man wear a ring in my life. ↪️@/mrspiastri: He wears it in the off-season. Also, fun fact: he has a silicone one for training that he keeps losing.

@/f1updates: Oscar is so calm and logical on track. Is he the same at home? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Mostly, yeah. But sometimes, out of nowhere, he’ll just say the most devastatingly romantic thing. ↪️@/f1softies: EXAMPLES PLEASE. ↪️@/mrspiastri: One time, I joked, ‘You’re stuck with me forever,’ and he just looked at me, completely serious, and said, ‘That was the goal.’

@/f1updates: Do you ever wish you dated other people before settling down? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Nope. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: Not even a little? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Why would I? I already found my person.

@/f1updates: Serious question—why don’t you ever go to races?? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Anxiety. And I like my privacy. Nobody needs to see my terrified facial expressions. ↪️@/f1memes: You really married a professional racing driver and said no thanks to the circus.” ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yep. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: And Oscar’s fine with that??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He knew what he was signing up for.

@/landonorris: So I still haven’t met you because??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Because you are chaos incarnate and I am scared. ↪️@/landonorris: I AM DELIGHTFUL. ↪️@/mrspiastri: Oscar tells me otherwise. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, SAY IT AIN’T SO. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: No comment.

@/mclarenmemes: So you just send him off to work and watch from home like it’s the Super Bowl? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Yes. ↪️@/f1memes: AND HE’S FINE WITH THAT??? ↪️@/mrspiastri: He comes home, I feed him, we watch race replays together, and he tells me all the paddock gossip. We have an excellent system. ↪️@/f1updates: Oscar, confirm or deny? ↪️@/oscarpiastri: Confirmed.

@/f1updates: So, will we ever see you at a race? ↪️@/mrspiastri: Maybe. One day. ↪️@/mclarenmemes: OSCAR, MAKE HER COME TO ONE. ↪️@/oscarpiastri: She does whatever she wants. I learned that a long time ago.

[capslocked]

PARIS

male reader x sana minatozaki

30k words

"City's a shithole," you tell Sana, stepping out of a taxi. "Absolutely rotten."

"It is not a shithole."

"It is a shithole, Sana."

"You just got off the plane. Can we reserve judgement on Paris until we've seen the fucking place?"

(This is the one where you get over a fear of flying, of falling - and Sana's breeding kink goes a little further, gets a little more complicated - and neither of you give up much ground. It's an ordeal, that one. You really oughta stop surprising her in hotels.)

-

"Little known fact," Sana says to you near the beginning and looking for once a little less ethereally put-together, a bit more like she wants to go back to sleep. "St. Valentine was actually an incel who died in jail."

She's slumped onto your kitchen counter in a sweater several sizes too large - the one with your college crest, a hole in the armpit - and shorts, her long bare legs dangling above the tile.

"So, y'know."

And you haven't a fucking clue.

She shovels another spoonful of cereal into her mouth, "spending the holiday insufferably alone is something of an homage."

"What?"

"An homage," she crunches, happily.

Oh, you're charmed by her, have been for weeks now, and you chuckle despite yourself, pour her coffee while you're waiting for the toaster to finish. You've decided she's going to eat fruit today whether she wants to or not - it's barely breakfast if it's just a bowl of sugary carbs; and in a pair of fuzzy socks, a stolen crewneck, with last night's makeup still slightly smeared at the corners of her eyes and her hair mussed to shit, Sana makes you feel sorta responsible for her health. Your infatuation must be showing. 

She lifts her chin, blinks lazily.

"I guess that makes us both artists by extension, or something," you say.

"Incels?" Sana snorts.

"No." Your toast pops. "Homage-payers."

You watch her mouth quirk around her spoon. "I kinda like that," she allows.

This morning, for the record, is only different than others in terms of superficial details - today Sana woke up with your hand cupped over her cunt, three fingers sinking slowly into her heat - annoyingly slow, the way she likes it least and best, depending on what she gets out of the teasing: her morning orgasm, in this case - and it was different enough that she moaned high and pretty, back arching as she squirmed on your palm, the sheets, whispering a delirious good morning against your jaw when her wits finally cohered into something more linear, understandable.

It's your new normal, sure: sleeping together - and its odd, comedy-forged counterpart, waking-up together.

It's eating breakfast, it's Sana stealing your clothes, sitting on your counters like breaking convention is some sort of biological imperative.

It's her legs wrapping around your waist while she kisses you soft and open-mouthed, leaving it to you to decide how much morning breath you can tolerate - and maybe that's a routine worth indulging, for a bit. At any rate: it's February 7th, which means there's this sword of Damocles hanging over your head that a whole financial system has been built around monetizing, a day people probably buy chocolates and flowers and write sonnets over - except Sana is jetsetting next week and you'll be spending February 14th in your apartment, possibly taking a shower, definitely sleeping in until noon, not being in love.

She's a once-in-a-generation talent, a gorgeous face, a fantastic fuck - this is just what's in the cards for you.

"You're going to miss me," says Sana, flat-out declaring it, threading her fingers beneath your chin, hooking her ankles loosely in the small of your back.

The cereal bowl clatters as you set it in the sink. "I might," you say, noncommittal, enjoying the way it makes her press further into your body, clinging tighter. "How long did you say this trip was going to be, again?"

"Oh, forever, maybe," Sana breezes, waving her other hand.

"You're gonna change your mind about the whole concept of romance and think about texting me within five, ten minutes of dropping me off at the airport. But then you won't actually do it, because you'll figure that I'm busy, and then you'll spend the rest of my flight kicking yourself for not sending me, like, an emoji, or something, and that it could've been enough to bridge the gap, and instead I'll be off somewhere all dolled-up and glamorous, probably surrounded by hot models, and that's when I'll meet someone new. I mean, there'll probably be no comparison to well, y'know-" She palms your crotch, fingers skating across the fabric. You recoil, almost scowl, and she snickers. "-but that's what happens when you don't text me. We're not in contact for one week and I replace you with a French man named Pierre. Or Jean. Jean-Pierre, honestly. If I were you, I'd play it safe and shoot me a Valentine's text."

"Wow." You push your thumbs under the hem of her shorts. "You got it in one, I think."

She shrugs, faux-modest. "Naturally. Jean-Pierre knows what's up."

You slip your hands up further and her expression shifts as you meet skin under the heavy fabric: all suggestion, no pretense. Sana sighs contentedly, leaning back onto her wrists so that you have to chase her, tilt your head to follow the movement. This is natural. She takes your lip between her teeth and sucks, gently. The angle puts a crick in your neck. You let her get away with it anyway, press further in between her thighs, spread them wide - and then she bites harder, the flesh of your bottom lip giving under her canines.

There's a spark there, it makes you want to pull her hair, kiss her harder, dig your fingers into her hips and leave bruises that'll last through the next couple weeks of international press junkets and glitter-eyed meetings with like-minded, like-pretty strangers. You're starting to suspect she's psychic - because she slides a hand up your shirt, letting her fingers skate over your stomach, the dip of your hips, the places that make you tick.

You clock the twitch in your pants, growing, filling. You've slept with this girl an awful lot. It's a problem.

"Possessive," is Sana's assessment, with all of the derision of a tease.

"Cool it," you warn her, sliding your grip up from her legs to her hips, pinning her solidly to the countertop. "I've got a full enough schedule this morning without you making a mess of things."

"Mmm, you don't." She's petulant, kissing you again and letting the touch linger on your bottom lip. It's a strong argument.

"I do," you try.

"You really don't," she says, sing-song, breathless with expectation, anticipating rough treatment.

Her smile is syrup-sweet, oozing indulgence: the sight of her sprawled beneath you is a pure profligate pleasure. Like she's an apple you stole fresh from the orchard, red and shiny and dripping juice down your forearm, dribbling sticky on the grass, rotted with temptation. You wonder if she's always been this way - begging to be held down, fucked hard, edged beyond the realm of possibility - and recently her appetite for filth seems endless, like she's come into a taste for it. Sana Minatozaki doesn't often say no.

For all intents and purposes, your answer should be a given.

"Well," you drawl, thumbing the soft cotton of her shorts, that spot just above the waistband, where her inner thigh meets the crease of her pelvis and you can make her voice go to velvet. "Did you say he died in prison?" You pull away from her a bit, switching tactics, letting the subject slide from bedroom talk to regular breakfast chatter. "Of what, heartbreak?"

"You'd think," she says, almost curt, irritated at the prospect of edification and sorely lacking a good fuck. It's a pleasant mood to find her in - very manageable, easier if you slip your tongue between her legs, though still relatively straightforward. "It turns out the dude got beaten to death with clubs, then beheaded; hence the martyrdom bit, which I think is fair. Pretty metal death to warrant sainthood."

"Seems a little redundant."

"So does giving a holiday to people who are already, like, super in love or whatever, but." She gathers her hair off her neck - lets it fall, satisfied. "I guess romanticism and pragmatism are just mutually conclusive."

"Exclusive," you correct, lightly.

"What'd I say?"

You exchange looks: it's definitely something you've already joked about before. It's easy, like the rest of your dynamic. Sana smiles, slow-burn, and all you can do is try and one-up her: you shrug, sigh, like there's a lot to consider.

Her fingers work open one of the buttons on the front of your shirt, hover on the one beneath it - her patience is dwindling.

"Fine," you relent, rolling your eyes, feigning reluctance. "But we need to be quick about it. Fifteen minutes, twenty max. Then I absolutely need to leave and go sit silently in a room doing jackshit for eight hours."

Sana kicks you lightly in the shins. "Let me get on top, and we'll have time to cuddle, too."

"No dice," you tell her. The negotiations continue, as they always do. "Face-down-ass-up, princess. You can clean up the kitchen afterwards."

"Ugh. You're gross," she says, as you help her down from the countertop, maneuver her toward your room with one wrist tucked firmly in your palm, already rucking up her sweater to skim your fingertips along her ribs. Sana goes easy, her joints loose, willing to bend. "And annoying. And unaccommodating. You're totally wasting my last few days in town."

"I know. I'm sorry about it," you respond, stepping behind her up the stairs, her fingers gliding gently up the rail.

"Liar." She shoots you a half-smile, laughing with no bite behind it. You think, just a bit, that she'd let you get away with just about anything - that is to say, she'd get off on a great many things: you'd let go of your own guilt, just for a moment. For someone so hot and cold with her control, it'd be easy to slide the pendulum to the other side. Maybe she'd beg for it, and it'd sound real: a small part of you thinks she's close enough already. Sana tosses a smirk over her shoulder and your mouth goes dry. "But i'm sure you will be," she tells you, her gaze somehow already unfocused. You suppose all the daydreaming is beginning to affect her too. "In, like, four and a half minutes, give or take. Probably closer to four."

"Careful, Sana," you intone, pitching low; it's like warning a child not to touch an open stove. "Your ass gets red fast."

Sana wiggles her eyebrows in an endearingly ridiculous way - you can't believe this is the girl getting checks from all these designer brands - and twists your way for a second, pressing a soft kiss to the hollow of your neck.

"Promises, promises." She bats those unequivocally long lashes up at you. "You better know I'll hold you to 'em."

-

In any case, she was right: St. Valentine got fucking wrecked. It's the whole morning's lesson. Maybe there's something to be said for dying in a spectacular way, one so fantastically morbid that it has to have happened in another era.

Sana gets on top, sorta, in spite of any negotiations; Sana kisses you stupid; Sana talks nonsense while you eat her out; Sana cums when you get two fingers deep inside her ass and slam her cunt full of another, curling the tip of tongue right across her clit. She goes easily from her knees to bracing herself against the headboard; and you follow her up the mattress when she scoots forward so you can fuck her with her back flush against your chest, head tossed on your shoulder, throat arched so she can choke out sounds you've never heard from anyone, ever. She's not a screamer, but she makes these high, keening noises when she's close - when you're giving her just the right pace, the right rhythm, the right depth - and you lean back on your heels, slap her ass, pinch her hip, "make me cum, baby," and god, her pussy grips down on you greedily, hungrily, swallows every inch and fucks you back until the condom swells full, deep inside her heat.

"You." You say it like it's a half-formed threat, kissing her sweaty, satiny shoulder, nosing the bra strap barely clinging to her skin. "Are such an insufferable cocktease."

"That's me," she quips, out of breath, entirely too pleased. 

It's such a familiar refrain now, her elbow bent back, hand trailing your neck, head tipped - she sinks her fingers into your hair and holds you against her pulse where it jumps sporadically under her skin. You flip her around - somewhat elegantly, somewhat not - nestle her soft, creamy thighs over your hips, warm your cock inside of her as she falls back from the clouds, pressing your hand to the tightness of her waist - she wasn't exaggerating: there's time to spare, to kiss her like a movie ending, and to come up smiling.

It's not just all the risky, illicit sex and reckless abandon already in play: it's also the entire lexicon and etymology of fated ends, of doomed sentiment - each verb conjugated twice and three times and five times over. She's got the filthiest parts of your imagination reined in with that face alone, like you're drowning in divinity; this is a girl so pristine and peerless and utterly without vice, staring up at you from underneath mascara-dusted lashes, waiting for her own devastation - always daring you to indulge her.

"You think you're corrupting me," Sana laughs in your ear, serenely, almost self-aware. "Is that it?"

"Well," you start, and there's a self-reflection somewhere in there - your fingertips on her jaw, her heartbeat in the hollow of her throat. The skin's so impossibly soft. Fragile. "It's a thought."

She lifts a shoulder, smiles lazily. Her mouth has that permanent imprint of sin, somehow simultaneously a crime scene and a place of worship.

"Baby," she drawls, all sugar-sweet. "I'm sure that's a given. I was such a good girl before I met you."

"Yeah," you reply, nipping the hinge of her jaw. "Such a sweetheart. So well-behaved."

"I'll take it."

Sana rolls the condom off of you, sitting cross-legged on your bed as you fold a pillow in half and prop yourself up, watching her do her thing.

She’s got so much control like this - wringing the thick mess out into her palm, then sitting back onto her calves. With two fingers and her thumb, she pinches at it, lets it drip back down. A beat later, she makes another string, decides she's all for swallowing today. That's an art. And it's mesmerizing, the way she concentrates with delicate precision, tipping her chin up and staining her lips, her tongue diligently slipping through the spaces between her knuckles.

"You're really cute," you inform her, and she flushes while licking up the rest - you love it, the little contradictions. "But that is filthy."

“Could’ve been inside me instead,” she muses, casually. She’s just testing it out, rolling the syllables on her tongue.

You raise your eyebrows. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” repeats Sana, quietly. She reaches forward, runs her thumb along your slit, a little lower - just a semi-circle of pressure. Yeah, you’re still achingly hard. She eyes you and her focus shifts; she seems to come to a conclusion, nods her head once; this girl, really, with all her unpredictable tempers. She takes the length of you in her hand, a loose, idle grip, more to be playful than sexy. It works both ways, apparently: your eyes roll up at her, and you suppress a gasp, grabbing hold of the pillow.

It's those dreamy, half-lidded eyes, glazed over and vapid - ah, the total and utter loss of any brain capacity. Something like a prelude to the sweet surrender; Sana does the drooling part for you.

“You wanna go again?” you ask her, and this is another bit: the whole I-say-one-thing-and-do-the-other game, the winding, unwinding tension. 

When she wants something, she talks to you like she'd burn a church down for you, then tuck her arm right into yours like the fire doesn't exist in the first place - Sana blinks prettily up at you, strikes the match behind her back. For her part, she doesn’t lie as often as she could, as often as you would expect her to; in the beginning, at least, you assumed she was a bad liar, a good flirt, that kind of contradiction.

If you didn't know better, you'd fall head over heels.

"Or are you just stroking me off because you like the way it feels in your hands?" you go on. You'd like to find out, actually.

Sana smirks, and slides her palm lower, gets a second hand involved, slow and steady - the friction is aching, fantastic. "Aren't you supposed to be working?” she asks, twisting both. You could cum again, but maybe you shouldn't. "Is this really how we spend all our time?"

“How conscientious of you,” you say, drily, and she laughs before tucking her hair behind her ear, kneeling on the sheets and bringing her lips to the end of you, letting her spit run down the head and catching it with her knuckles; just once, she licks. Then, twice. Okay, well - you could probably afford to stay away a while longer. In theory. Three times, four times - oh, her mouth is hot and silky and there's really no way around it. 

You grab your phone, shoot off an email or two, and slip your fingers into her hair.

-

Sana's someone you know from work, in a real roundabout sort of way. That's the whole sordid story.

You've got the cushy office job, the creative credentials, she's art, the product; and the optics surrounding that means you're supposed to never, ever lay a finger on her; oils mixing like they shouldn't - the finished, the half-baked, the polished to a gleam versus the raw unvarnished clay; but she'd wandered into the employee-only elevator and said good morning with that smart, sarcastic little voice and you'd turned around, thinking of some entitled manager in the process of haranguing you - only it wasn't a suit-and-tie corporate climber, oh, no, no-

"Hey," you said, too stunned for eloquence, too dumbstruck for wit.

Because here's a perfect, pouty-lipped princess, dressed like an angel and grinning like she's ready to rob a bank; like the moon landing and Shakespeare rolled into one, fantasy and classic literature and a pastel linen shirt, with what felt like half the buttons undone.

You blinked, remembered to breathe.

"Hi." She tipped her head and let a curtain of copper-spun hair slide off one shoulder. Took a slow, appraising sip of her iced-coffee. "You're new. Or - new to me, at least."

The doors shut, and suddenly there was no going back.

-

The signs are there. Four different conditioners on the bath rack, her lotion on the bathroom counter, her shaving cream next to the soap. She prefers peppermint to vanilla. And date night takes a turn from red wine to ramen; you'll end up on your couch watching crime documentaries because Sana will hook her fingers into the loops of your jeans, saying, can't we just, like, stay in?

This morning, too: her hand clings around your forearm a little longer when you kiss her goodbye and help her find the shoes she's wearing home, make her promise to return your sweatshirt soon.

But you know that if anyone asked, Sana'd shrug and laugh, say I dunno, it's not really anything at all. 

You're hooking up. You're being idiots - this whole thing, from the very start of it, was so off-the-rails, so questionable. You remind yourself she's never met anyone she didn't like. 

She doesn't think about consequences, and she certainly won't start with you. You figure things will fester, get murky and muddled and frustrating - and the worst part isn't how she's ruining you for anyone else; it's how you're going to miss the idea of her, the impossible promise. She's living the glamour, the ceaselessness, the adventure. It's all planned out. She'll keep living her life this way until she doesn't. It's an occupational hazard.

And she won't pay it any attention once some Jean-Pierre becomes her next hot, enigmatic, incomprehensible, asshole genius plaything - hypothetically speaking.

(Or maybe he'll be the first one to really, really figure her out, and that's the more disconcerting thought.)

So you're just...you don't even know what you are, frankly. Friends who text? Sure, whatever: that makes sense. You can cling to that. It's the most sensible explanation so far.

Sana: i was promised an apology text (´;︵;`)

Sana: the pregnant man emoji seems wildly inappropriate given the circumstances

You, at ten fifteen in the morning on February 8th: i'm in a staff meeting, first of all.

You've been getting nonsensical, arbitrary stuff since, like, October: grocery lists, links to memes, notes on things she remembers in the shower. Occasionally, it's horny stuff - a water droplet emoji, the wink, and the peach; then a photo of her skirt lifted in the mirror and her naked ass in a pair of heels - and occasionally, you oblige it.

You: second, I don't want this to come off as arrogant or anything, but I didn't realize you think about me the minute you wake up

Sana: um, soooo arrogant lol wtf

Sana: but also ur not wrong, im desperate for some relief <333

You: poor, pitiful baby 🙄

You: go find miyeon

Sana: she's ignoring my calls

Sana: just send something nasty please PLEASE 😭

Sana: tell me how hard i make you

You: i'm in a meeting, sana.

Sana: I WILL RIOT.

Sana: jk don't tell me. i'm just looking at pics of us rn and i'm going to die.

Sana: (send a dick pic u coward)

She sends you a heart. And an eggplant. Then the tongue. 

You: I'll see what I can do

She follows up with: thank u thank u god bless <3

-

Oh, it's dangerous, working in the same office, dealing in all that proximity - even with the floors between you.

You're constantly resisting the urge to slide by, to try and catch a glimpse, to find excuses to bump into her in the hallway, listen to her talk, say hi. So maybe you're a sucker for the devil, or maybe it's all just because she's Sana, and she's a vision in a pencil skirt, a beauty with her legs crossed and her chin tipped high; or it's worse: you'll catch her in yoga pants, hair mussed and shiny with sweat as she flits from practice room to practice room, to get water, to take a phone call, to rub chapstick over her mouth - the daydreams write themselves.

But it's not like you know any details of her job other than, 'singer' or 'professional tease' or the occasional tangential reference. She never really talks about work.

You walk through the halls, eyes flitting around every corner; there's a standing appointment, of sorts, and it has been for the past month, maybe longer - you've got your doubts that today will break the streak. You've never actually agreed to meet her; it's sorta an unspoken understanding, and you find her exactly where you thought you might, after you've made a loop around the seventh floor, wandered as slowly as humanly possible - as if stalling could stop you from inevitably descending the same stairwell you do every time. It's an awful, terrible descent and it's gonna get you both fired - or killed, if her manager finds you first. It's a miracle you're still here.

Sana's leaning against the railing, flipping through her phone; when she hears your approaching footsteps she looks up and meets your eyes. Smirks.

"Ms. Minatozaki," you say, like this is a high school and she's one of the tardies you can't stop calling out. 

It's the nth time this has happened, and you have to know she comes looking for you, too.

"So," she drawls, standing and sweeping all her hair up off her neck, clipping it like it's habitual, and the way her hands rest at your waist is a scandal in itself. The watch on her dainty pale wrist glitters in the fluorescent lights, slides down her forearm as she pushes her sleeves past her elbows. You're not really thinking about things like propriety, restraint; Sana's very good at convincing you to shed all pretense of ethics, morals. You're slave to the thousand-kilowatt smile, the short skirts and thigh-high boots and every calculated display of skin. This girl has her agenda written plain on the walls and you've made it known in ten different languages: it's one hell of a view, and it's impossible not to stare.

"You here to escort me somewhere?" asks Sana, in a way that sounds vaguely dirty - which it is. "Need to go looking for pens again?"

She takes a step closer, presses a palm flat to your chest; hums a low, delighted sound.

"Or you could bend me over the railing and stuff me right here." Sana tilts her chin and squints upwards, assessing the metalwork. She drops her gaze, presses her fingertips to the knot of your tie; and then, a show of pity or mercy, drags her eyes back to your face, pretty lashes blinking slow. "Wouldn't be complaining."

"I really wish you could hear yourself sometimes, sweetheart."

"Trust me, it's been on my mind all morning," she confesses, all soft, wicked intimacy. "Distracting me. I doubt you want me keeping it to myself, either."

"No," you admit. "You've got that right."

Her fingers toy with your top button, pop it open. You grab her wrist, stop her, gentle and warning. Her hand goes limp in your grasp, acquiescing easily; this is the part where she likes it, getting pulled back on the right side of polite. "You should kiss me," says Sana.

Like she has to. Like this girl, rich and famous and inexplicably out of your league, a glamorous songbird living high up in her nest, and still wanting for the little taste of heaven she thinks she can steal away from you in dark corners

"Where?" You're playing, and the moment you brush your mouth over hers, the second her breath meets your lips, you've gone and forgotten all your prior reservations about fucking her at work. You let go of her wrist, allow her hand to wander lower, unbuttoning, dipping past the waistband of your pants. She slides her palm beneath the material of your underwear, tugs them just low enough that her slim, small fingers can encircle the base of your cock.

"Anywhere," Sana decides, and kisses the answer into your mouth, sighing into it - enough to pull you under, to submerge and suffocate.

It's funny; she smiles like she's the heroine of your life story, like the storybook star on the cover of an epic, or an infallible leading lady - like someone to love, like someone to admire and aspire to. Or maybe it's a touch sinister: her eyes sparkle and your worldview snaps a little sideways, just to accommodate her; she could be the villain all the same - not your protégée, not the good girl, not an angel or a miracle. There's your poison, and it's in her blood - it's a flashpoint of pure greed, and Sana doesn't need a mirror. She knows every single sin.

You drop your hand from her hair, the pretense, and give in: the railing creaks a quiet noise of protest as she wrenches her ass against the unforgiving steel, and then she's arching into your body, sighing again; it's a sound you've committed to memory, ingrained it, the sweet taste, the sharpness of her exhale when your hand wanders high up the hem of her skirt.

"Anywhere?"

"Sure," breathes Sana, fingers spidering further into your open zipper. 

It's so incredibly risky, it's bad practice, not to mention illogical: the stairwell is a public, communal space, no escape, nowhere to hide - there's only seven floors to the building, seven opportunities for someone to stumble in, and none of these numbers are in your favor.

"I'll be quiet," she mutters, lips ghosting along your jaw. "I promise." She knows that's not what you're concerned with, but you appreciate the thoughtfulness; oh, who's fooling who? "We can just-" Her hips hitch up and press firm against yours. "-see where it goes."

And, well - you have the rest of your career to be responsible, probably. Professional, obedient and boring and ethical and so many other useless terms you could drag up and wave in the face of the fact Sana's fucking gorgeous. She's holding back from giving you the full-on pout, but just barely - you catch the shadow of it on her lips; the thinly concealed ache, the pretty agony. She kisses you like she's not gonna breathe until the second after you're inside her - then that's that, like some sorta ritual. A tradition, an instinct, it's a swan-song for every shred of decorum she's begging to burn up.

You hoist her, balance her on the railing. When your grip tightens, she shuffles forward, draws her legs up a little - that's the key, letting her settle just right: the end of the world could come now and she'd still feel fucking divine, pussy dripping through her underwear straight onto the crotch of your pants - there's a wet spot now, you can feel it on the side of your thigh where you've got a fistful of her skirt scrunched, rolled up above her thighs, all bare creamy skin, something to remember this by: her in the height of perfection, full of good intentions and eager to fall apart.

"Panties," you tell her, palm up, hand held out. 

"You're fucking crazy," she exhales, but she's fiddling with her waistband and shifting on her ass in seconds - they're tangled around her boots - you're a goner from the start, it's like your soul leaves your body with a wet little snick. "Get - get them off," and it sounds so sweet in her voice, whining, ragged - not that it was in any danger but her own breath renders her resolve for composure pointless.

"Your little cunt's dripping," you note, with your hand cupping it, two fingers teasing along her soaked slit; no part of the conversation has ever needed to go in circles with Sana, or anyone else. You just sort of lean into it. "Been wanting me since you got dressed, huh."

"Your fault," she tells you, nose sliding over yours, seeking affection. "Explicitly. Never got those pictures out of my head."

"Um," you say, slipping into another finger, because she's hot and slick and insatiable and the friction will melt her right to goo - you think Sana's orgasms might be getting a little violent, these days. You're more inclined to inspire them. "I didn't actually send you anything provocative."

"See?" She grins at you, breathless. "Here lies my problem."

"Such a hard life." You crook your fingers a little deeper; Sana collapses against you, a flower drooping from too much rainwater. "Such a burden, being you, hm?"

"So I'm the issue in this scenario," she mutters, pushing back into your hands, squeezing her thighs. "Causing problems, all by myself, sluttly-little-me."

"I never said that."

"You called me a fucking cocksleeve, the other night."

"Sana."

"Which is absolutely correct. Like. One hundred percent. But don't act like you don't get off on it."

"Well," you say, innocuous: stroke up inside of her, stretch, reach - crook - and there's a breathy moan in your ear. "So do you."

"Shut up," she says, "this is about your inability to compartmentalize," and her cunt is so slick that it makes a delicious, lewd squelching sound as your fingers dip and curl in further, the walls of her pussy clenched tight, suffocating your skin - every time you roll a condom over your cock and sink inside her you do have to wonder if it's really, genuinely necessary.

"Wanna cum?" you ask, deflecting a bit, and stroke her with intent, relishing the way her little pink mouth drops open to exhale.

"Gotta be better than getting psychoanalyzed by a guy who has my fucking panties in his pocket," she grits out, hips rolling to the tempo of your fingers, now scissoring apart. You're only touching her cunt and still she moves against you like you've been railing her for hours - you think she's so wet you might hear it down the hall, down the street. "Might be a good tradeoff. Maybe." Then, more resolutely: "Fuck. Yes. Please."

It's hard to take her seriously like this, with her pretty features drawn up, all the facets of a statue rendered beautifully human, transient, falling apart in the pleasure. In moments like these, Sana looks most ethereal; when your thumb's fast on her clit and you croon compliments and the sweetest-bittersweet filth in her ear until her whole body becomes liquid-fire, sloppy and hot, desperately keening.

"On my fingers?" you ask, because maybe you're a lot like Sana: an insufferable tease. 

You slip your fingers down to the next knuckle and curl it up against the slick heat, deep, until she's making soft, whimper-like sounds, brow furrowing in focus, straining for release, and Sana can't even look you in the eyes, too far gone already, lost in this. "Or," and here's the dangerous part - "I could get on my knees and eat this pussy until you can't see straight." You're dangerously close to taking the panties from your pocket and sliding the lace under her tongue just so you could see how pretty she looks like that, huffing, groaning, eyes flickering shut at the sensation - not the actual taste of herself, but just the way it's so undignified. 

She looks pretty at any angle, any moment - you wonder if you can fuck it into her so she'll always know it's true: the kind of egomaniacal narcissism Sana might get off on. It seems appropriate.

Sana just hums at this, arching a delicate brow, considering.

"How about you give me your mouth and watch me fuck the hell out of it, hm?"

"Mildly threatening, but okay." You take one hand, smooth over her ribs until it's cupping the slope of her jaw, and draw her gaze upward, until she's staring into your eyes. "You always taste like a godsend - could get addicted to it, probably, baby - would you wanna ruin my throat? Make me drool all over you? Turn it into a little fucking mess, just the way you like?"

The sound she makes then is unearthly, somewhere between a moan and a groan. A reverb.

You know it's out of hand because you've started using the same euphemisms she does - breeding her, ruining her tight little pussy, stretching it out nice and full. Getting a second opinion, then a third and a fourth. It's a little crass for your typical repertoire, but she makes the sweetest, most ruined noises at that. You're an equal opportunist, and her whiny submissiveness is just as good - maybe a little less effortless. More demanding: there's always the feeling she's lording it over you.

"No, really." You're stroking your fingers in solid, even thrusts as you speak: gentle, measured, nowhere near enough. "You're fucking soaked," you remark, the corner of your mouth tilted up. "Like you can't stand not having something inside you, huh?"

"Something big," she grits out.

You laugh a little, amused. She's practically leaking down the heel of your hand.

"The problem is," breathes Sana, swallowing once, twice, eyelashes flicking lower, her cheek pliable in your palm and her nails scraping gently against the hair at the nape of your neck - she's dissolving. She's all yours to own, consume, to make cum. She's drenched and warm and perfect and there's a whine threaded through every expletive. She always likes things better when you're nastier to her; it's probably fucked up. Everything is, and it's Sana - so that should go without saying. "Fuck - whatever - please. Just-"

You laugh again, and the noise twists a little meaner this time in Sana's ear.

"C'mon," you say. "Tell me about this - about my issues. Your ideas. How badly you're gonna, what was it, destroy my life, I think? Just talk while I go down on you. Might help take the sting out of it." You pause. "Or make it all the more worse, really."

Sana whimpers, broken, liking the sound of that, judging by the way her cunt drips, swollen and fluttering and you can feel her pulsing against your fingertips.

"I'll tell you if you start to go in the wrong direction," says Sana, petulant and lovely as ever. "How's that - how's? Oh, my fuck-"

Sana's words drop off. It's well-warranted. You're hungry for her, insatiable; you sink down to the floor, get your mouth on her pretty little aching cunt and that's sorta how this always starts.

She gasps out and tangles her fingers in your hair, fucks her cunt against your tongue and cries out like this isn't a scandal. 

You pray to god no one comes for a smoke, for the breeze to cool them off: because nobody needs to know how thoroughly you ruin the company's golden goose, their pristine girl-next-door, pop-sweet baby-princess. You pray because she's going to cum like the rest of your brain won't remember it tomorrow, like every teary-eyed scream won't stick to your lips like static. 

Your tongue moves, pressing harder to her clit; she rides your face. Grinds down your lips while your gaze remains rapt, transfixed.

You won't blink, won't look away for even a moment. Not when Sana's falling apart above you: a complete fucking mess, a spitfire and a divinity and a filthy-wet-dream in heels, panting so hard that you're gonna need an excuse. That everyone's gonna see you've done it, broken the perfect facade and left her absolutely mangled. It's fucking obscene the sounds she's making. High, aching whines, squelch, wettened suction; her fingers tearing through your scalp; those god damn lip-gloss-flavored moans - they echo on your neck and chest, run down and through your rib-cage. They land in your gut and rest heavy and stale, ruminant, too thick. Sweet and molasses and unbearable, all stuck inside your throat. Fuck, fuck. She cums; there's your paycheck in the line of her body, arched into an acute, cataclysmic peak, an upstretched needle to pierce the surface.

It's a moment in a crystal-clear shot, one you'll try and lock in the bank, the hallows, your mind.

She's beautiful, obviously: in the aftermath, ragged, inelegant - you figure it's the fact that the poor thing's so damned unused to being fucked, has gone on for all her teenage years, then her early adulthood, barely scraping a few fingers, a low buzz of some unremarkable toy; no - she's used to the admiration. The flattery. The rapture and praise.

But you doubt anyone's made a thorough wreck, a beautiful slobbering, sloppy mess - and who would. She's worshiped like she's an icon. Some half-baked notion of reverence, like she's holy. An angel in the wrong hands - oh, the imagery's much too flimsy. Fawning. Unending, untethered; you might be a sucker, but you wonder when you'll meet the next guy in her rotation, and, not wanting to spend much thought on him, wonder instead about Sana and her subterfuge. 

You've wondered on and off why the hell she chose you.

"You don't deserve that," says Sana, after, a little breathless but otherwise unfazed and smug, like it isn't a big fucking deal to talk back to you while your jaw is still covered in her slick.

"Pretty sure I do." You wipe at your mouth, come up closer to her again. "Seemed like it helped."

"I have a whole monologue prepared," says Sana, a touch irritated - ah, well, she might be spoiled after all. "It wasn't easy to put together. The idea of you fucking me is kind of distracting, just for the record."

"Sweet of you, baby."

"Oh, fuck off," says Sana, promptly.

You smile. It's charming and cheeky and Sana blushes, suddenly off her game. "I'm serious," she says, scrambling back to her point. "You deserve nothing for leaving me alone and miserable and not showing up for ages. You're so - I'm mad at you."

"Oh," you say, and raise an eyebrow, mock-horrified. You kiss her bare, sweat-sticky neck, trace a finger from her navel down past her hips. Sana shivers. "I had no idea."

It's just Sana's axiomatic response: all snark and sass and sly one-liners until you've got your finger against her clit, and then all at once she's begging, sobbing, falling to pieces, whining your name like it's a mantra. She doesn't give a damn about your apology now. The state of your relationship has hardly progressed - but it doesn't matter. It's only the sex, the endless hours spent with Sana's thighs bracketing your head, her lipstick imprinted on your throat, the red lines she paints over your shoulder blades. It's only that. Sana's cunt, clenching and raw from orgasm and soaked like you can never fill her up: dripping, drooling.

And, okay. Yeah, maybe you didn't show up when she asked you to, didn't listen. You admit it. She's needy every second, craves praise and your cock in equal measure - but you are guilty. 

(What's that she said earlier - that you didn't deserve it? Right.)

You aren't really in a position to say shit about being ignored either, so.

-

Sana has you pegged to her whims: she doesn't have to do a damn thing, she just breathes and has you around her finger.

Well - actually, she's very proactive. She likes making demands. Well, really: she wants things.

It's February 9th, for anyone keeping track - the shortest month of the year and the one with a few more grey days in the bank than the others, which makes sense since you're deep into the heart of winter by then. On December 28th you and Sana had spent nearly three hours on the phone discussing the latest installment of this netflix miniseries of very questionable quality. There were a lot of different points to be made, apparently: you think both of the leads are, objectively, fairly attractive, but Sana wouldn't admit she had a crush on the lead until you got to the third season.

Anyway, she was upset on her birthday because of it.

"Happy new year, by the way," you told her, somewhere in the middle of the call. Sana had to speak quietly so her parents wouldn't hear, but she sounded kind of moody. "How are you gonna celebrate?"

"My ex," Sana groaned, ignoring the question completely, "made fun of my taste in guys. Like, my type or whatever."

You cocked your head. "And what is your type?"

"Oh, you know," she said, dismissive. "Hot." You laughed, and then she said, "A little less old and a little more muscular," and that shut you up, quick. Sana hesitated.

"Shit," you said.

"Shit," she agreed. "I really, really like you, though." And then:

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

And you've been kinda done for ever since.

-

Right, okay. You get sidetracked, easily. It's a running gag. Sana gives you shit for it, but then again she gives you shit for a lot of things.

On February 9th, evening leaking through a skyline cracked open and gushing like an oil spill, and the stars dripping silver - auspicious, potentially, on Sana's side - she turns up at the door of your apartment, tapping snow from her boot-clad feet, mouth tight.

"It's fucking freezing," she snaps at you, as a greeting - the hello goes unsaid. You open the door wider and she sweeps past, takes a glance around like she owns the place. You should have known - in hindsight.

Work was fine but felt lengthy. Sana shot photos for some designer brand you'd never heard of and felt pretty proud of the day's accomplishments. She talks your ear off about it while you lean against the counter and nod attentively, put water on to boil and think about getting a fish, a dog, maybe a plant; you haven't quite figured it out. Sana might have opinions about it all.

You make tea for both of you. It's this rose hibiscus thing that supposedly soothes the mind. It was a gift from a coworker at some point. Or maybe it was going to be a gift to a coworker and you just never got around to sending it; either way, it had a bow and everything. At some point in time, when someone received it, there was a bow involved. You'll work out the details - at the very least, you'll say the explanation was very elaborate and poignant, and it'd get Sana smiling. She'd trace your hand, thumb skimming your knuckles. All of a sudden you'd be sitting across a small table, talking and talking as a stream of conversation ebbed and flowed; you'd think about the stars in the sky, like blood in water. You'd kiss her neck and tell her you're not tired, ask her if she'll stay the night - it would be easy.

"So he's a total prick," finishes Sana, chin in one of her palms, blowing over the lip of the mug, "but at least he's good with a camera. Otherwise, I swear I would've left the label years ago."

"Wow," you say. You weren't paying attention.

"Mhmm," she continues.

You blink at her, slightly disoriented.

"I was talking for like, twenty minutes. You should have noticed."

"Were you," you say mildly, "seriously? Shit. I'm sorry. I guess I tuned out, just - went somewhere else."

"Huh." Sana leans on her arm. There's a lacy white ribbon tied in her warm, amber hair. It suits her, matches the gauze-thin chiffon sleeves of her sweater, the floaty skirt she's wearing, dark gray tights adorning her legs - a cossack blouse, maybe, would describe it. She's so fashionable, all the time, like it comes from the tips of her fingers, unbidden and instinctive. It makes sense; Sana's a muse for the finer things in life, all light and lovely like gold. Like - rose quartz, the blush of dawn. It's an indescribable sort of attractiveness - the kind that is rooted in her mind, in her character.

You're glad she hasn't made you spell this sentimentality out.

"Do you have a secret girlfriend you need to be confessing to?"

"I ran into Momo earlier," you say instead, which - bad timing, maybe. Sana's bright-eyed, brow lifted, curious.

"Where?" she asks.

"That cafe place. The one by the second-hand shop she likes. Near the theater."

"I've never been to a movie with you," she remarks, instead of pointing out that your explanation could apply to like, twenty places around the city alone. "Is it because you'd rather die than be seen with me in public? Like, are you worried I'm ruining your reputation?"

She's playing. Obviously. The script here is flipped: you're the secret fling, the casual affair, the quick fuck that isn't meant to mean anything, no strings attached - but maybe the implication in Sana's question is that she'd consider it otherwise. She'd like to go to the movies, or out to dinner. Somewhere crowded. Not exactly an ideal date, but you could see it on her. You want to take her places. Maybe you already do, anyway.

You roll your eyes. "Right," you say.

"Does she know?" Sana taps her bottom lip. "About us."

"Yeah," you say, too quickly.

Sana makes a face. "How? When?"

"She's your roommate," you explain, kind of at a loss. "And - you talk to her. I figured. How could she not know?"

"Dude," says Sana.

"Is this gonna be one of those moments where you pretend to be way angrier about something than you actually are?"

"Obviously, yes." Sana tilts her mug toward you in accusation. "What'd she say?"

"She asked if we were dating."

"What'd you say?"

"No," you say. "And then she asked if I wanted to be, and then I ran into traffic, like, literally, to escape."

"Do you," begins Sana, in her best innocent voice. "Or don't you?"

She looks delighted. You stare at her flatly. "Ask Momo," you tell her, and she dissolves into that creased-eye smile that sends all your faculties reeling. The gorgeous little tri-tone of laughter and her fingers combing through the silky length of her hair - she's still teasing you. You've figured out the steps, memorized the way this game moves forward. It's an indulgence and it's an obsession - and it's the same thing for you as well, really. 

"Can't," she says, still laughing. "She'll lie on your behalf."

You have no clue what that means - but you guess that's Sana, really.

-

So here's an inflection point, right before Valentine's day, because you have terrible timing - right before Sana ships out to Bruges, or Milan, or wherever the fuck it is for Fashion Week: you'll only catch a few days, maybe less, before she jets again for some other assignment. It's part of how her job works, and the situation's all roundabout, because she's probably spending the holiday eating French toast with a model and waiting in an airport, watching the world go by from the plane. So, sort of backwards. You should get the bouquets and heart-shaped boxes and share a plate of pasta, you suppose - but the main thing here is you'll only get a weekend. Then you won't even see her in person until the 28th.

Or not at all. Whatever the outcome - maybe she'll stand you up and have her revenge for you being so goddamn difficult and antagonistic in the first place. Who knows. Not you.

She's studying her reflection in your bathroom mirror, tying off an elaborately loose bun, pulling some curls free, working around the headband that she seems hell-bent on keeping in her hair, in case you should ever forget she's a total living doll. A pair of shorts reveals the creamy expanse of her thighs; she doesn't have a bra under her tank top. Your mind wanders.

"You look fine," you say, yawning, elbow to the sink's countertop.

The sound of the shower running is white noise in the background, droning away, and the door's cracked ajar so steam wafts into the hall. Sana doesn't spare you a glance, focused as she is on arranging herself back to magazine-cover perfection.

And it's not unreasonable: you've seen in her high heels and on runways, with cameras flashing, with a toned physique and carefully sculpted makeup and hair to match - but you think there's an authenticity here, the clothes she keeps in a bin above your dresser that have somehow mixed themselves in with a tube of mascara and a stick of deodorant, a set of bristled hairbrushes - the toiletry bag from her makeup case. If you were a more emotionally intelligent and honest man, perhaps you'd say something to the effect of, you look beautiful, or maybe, I'm going to miss you, you know, so if there were any big revelations that you might be having, if you might have something important you've neglected to bring up-

(Maybe it's not healthy - but you'll admit to some oddness, some habits: Sana sleeps better after she's been fucked senseless, her forehead pressing to yours; the sheets need washing more than once a week. It's a very regular development in her life and the fabric softener she prefers, the lavender and verbena, has started appearing in your cabinet; you're using that type now automatically. 

And that's not nothing. That's probably an invitation for some sort of talk. It's not - well, yeah. Anyway: no one will ever accuse you of being great at communicating.)

You wrap your hands around her waist, pushing the cotton of her shirt up, spreading your palms flat to trace her skin, feeling the tight muscles in her stomach flex and quiver - your touch skates to the valley of her cleavage and back, around her side, shoulders to collarbones and the front of her ribs, then her hipbones. She squirms a little bit; her skin pebbles where you're touching her. She's sensitive - ticklish, maybe. 

"Feels good, that," she admits, half into the sink.

And in the reflection, watching, you see her lean back, lean into you, without thought for herself; the familiarity of your touch. The easy intimacy of it.

"Well," you tease, "yeah, it's a bit of a problem for you lately."

The shower's still running. You kiss the side of her throat.

She smacks a hand down on your wrist - she's playful, though, teasing in her chide. "Get out," she says. "Unless you're getting in with me."

It's 11:34PM. You're already halfway to fucked-out; there was a particularly intense stretch, her thighs clenching and trembling on either side of you as she rode your face, hair falling and hitting her cheeks, her mouth parting open into the hottest sound you've ever heard, her shoulders arching; your palms braced tight against the soft skin of her hips, holding her just above your tongue as she whimpered please, more. She'd came on your face - like, all over - and then fell to your lap and was just so, so eager for a second helping. So you held her there, at the edge of your mattress as she took it so prettily; moaning and pleading until she'd sobbed through another and collapsed in a messy heap of satisfied flesh, slumped against you like the physical stress had stolen whatever architecture her bones had remaining. 

It's not an unusual turn of events - and now, there's the two of you. A routine; a domestic dance, almost. A morning-evening-afternoon affair.

"Nah," you say, pressing a kiss to her hairline, her jaw, the nape of her shoulder. "You could use some space, baby. Wouldn't wanna infringe."

"It'd be worth it," she says - not even flirtatious. Just blunt, honest.

You run your hand through your hair, intimate deep-in-thought.

"Oh, c'mon." Her reflection scoffs at you. "Momo doesn't call us a pair of sluts with a love story because you're the uncomplicated, mature one."

"So you did talk to her." She shoots you a glare through the glass - but no fire to it. She's relaxed in your grip, compliant. "And listen, maybe it's my character arc, honey, let me have it. I think I'm really coming into my own."

Sana flushes just a little at the pet name. There's a roll of her eyes, too. It's intentional, and you adore her for it. "Are you?" she snipes, but you're her favorite frustration and this is all just prelude; there's heat in her tone, an anticipation of wanting to be grabbed, to be slammed down into the pillows and fucked hard until her thighs can't tremble anymore. It's an indulgence in familiarity. You understand - but you don't quite give her what she's looking for.

"I hope so." You lean further, push deeper into her space. Your arms bracket her in. She's a beard-burn shy of looking completely debauched. It's tempting. "One of us has got to get their shit together, and you're obviously not taking any interest," you continue, all clandestine and shrewd and serious. Your free hand presses at her thigh. It doesn't matter which one.

Sana rolls her eyes again. "You bitch," she mumbles, shifts her weight - nudges you a bit with her elbow. She keeps you close, either way. "I'm being serious." 

You'd beg to differ, but the way she reaches her hand back into your hair and looks at your reflection is so loaded: lips plush, jaw smooth, a shadow resting across her shoulders. The honeyed quality of her hair. The rough shape of her collarbones, half-hidden beneath her loose cotton top, gray as gunmetal and baring her smooth, gorgeous shoulders. Sana is, above all, an attention-getter. It's hard not to fixate on the physicality. All parts of her - legs, ass, tits, hair, the swan's neck, the way she's just tall enough that you'd need her standing on tip-toe to kiss her, chin lifted, eyes down - that sweet little pout of a mouth - they're all an aesthetic intent; her waist has been grabbable since you've known her, and you would die to tug the ends of her hair free, ruffle the order and let them fall, a wavy-brown disaster, to her bare shoulders, frame her eyes with her eyelashes. That would make you soft, for sure. Or, anyway - more soft. As though you hadn't spent the past three months staring her down in the mornings, sneaking glances like she'd catch you at it, fixated and lust-ridden: Sana has all the elements to break you down.

You snap her waistband to make her flinch.

"You know what our problem is?" The water's still running - maybe she likes the sound of it, is trying to tune you out. "I always have to watch you for like five minutes before you kiss me," she chides, lifting her hair like she's fishing for compliments. "It's fucked up."

"A serious dilemma," you agree, without hesitation. Your thoughts are: 5'4", 120 pounds soaking wet, a perfect proclivity for being manhandled and made to feel cherished and worshipped and slutty as she needs. It's what you know of her, more or less. There are more things not on record. Things of consequence, weight. It would require context. "Truly."

"I mean, your mouth is never where it should be."

"Everyone's a critic."

Sana leans into you. Tips her head back. "Pay attention," she whispers, "be good," and lets her lips begin to part.

"Yeah?" your reflection replies, unkind.

She rolls her eyes again. Again again. There are many moments for this: the attitude, the incredulous stare, her naked body pressed to the marble walls of a bathroom she's becoming dangerously fond of - she sighs, like her heart's in it and it aches her. It's dramatic. "I'll teach you."

She spins away from the mirror and cups her hand around your mouth: another gentle touch, in contrast.

You think, all over again, of her thighs. Of the weight in her shoulders. The fine points of her wrists. She loosens the ribbon from her hair and places it on the counter. You don't know why that's so poetic. It feels like you've won something.

"Do I need to go get another condom?" you ask, dry, when your head goes south and your gaze gets low, right there - the cut of her clavicle, the way she'd probably like being handled rougher, hiked up on the bathroom counter, forced to submit like she's letting you do it.

Sana doesn't smile, but her lips twitch.

"Maybe," she says.

(You have an inkling, or two, or more.)

"Maybe you should take your clothes off before we talk logistics, huh?" she teases, and she does smile now. You laugh, despite your better judgment. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like that."

"I swear," she mumbles - it's accusatory, the way she leans her weight against you. It's her signature move. "I think your new thing is just a dirty girl complex."

You stare down at her. "Oh, okay."

Her lips crease: disgusted. "Just a thought," she says. Her eyes are hooding, and it's what she does when she's letting herself slide. Her hands come down slow, so slow to your neck. You could bite her if you wanted to. There's plenty to mark, plenty of skin to bruise: she's at your mercy, and she loves it like that. She licks her lips and waits. "You're out of them, by the way. Like - the condoms. I grabbed the last one from your nightstand and - you know." She's shaking her head - something solemn about it. "No more. I'm telling you for your own benefit. So, um - yeah, that's your warning."

"My warning?" you repeat.

You take her jaw, watch her cheeks bloom pink - it's nice. Pretty. Very charming. Well, that's Sana - well, at least it fits.

"What I'm trying to say," she begins, slowly, uncharacteristically bashful, "is you could, like, do whatever you wanted, probably."

"Dirty girl," you repeat, quiet.

She blinks at you. A furrow forms, impervious, in her pretty brow.

"This isn't - I don't - listen, no one says that- they only do that shit in the movies."

You grin.

"But you're like, a guy in real life."

She swats at you.

"I can't believe I have to clarify the fact that-"

"You want me to fuck you raw," you interrupt, gently - and when Sana looks at you there's something guarded, and soft, and caught, and it's almost like-

Well, what's the word?

"I just mean I trust you," she mumbles.

You think: well, you could've led with that.

"Oh," you say, instead. "Oh - sweetheart," and then she blushes harder, but it's not because of you. She has a sudden and surprising sense of embarrassment, and you just blink at each other for a couple seconds - maybe you weren't expecting that from her, the sentimentality - and she doesn't want to apologize. "Listen-" you begin, and then cut yourself off. What is there to say? What did you just spend the better part of an evening trying to avoid mulling over?

(A fleeting, untoward notion. Some sort of unsolicited idea, illicitly tangible. As in: maybe you're both going a little insane.)

"I have a couple questions," you add, like an afterthought.

"I can't with you." Sana ducks her head, pulls on the bottom of her top. "Sorry, just," she starts, but lets the rest slip. "You don't need to make a thing of it."

"You seem - conflicted, is all." You catch her by the hip, guide her a little closer. There's a slow-simmering feeling stirring in your gut - something incessant, demanding of attention. "A little regretful. Look at me."

"I wasn't asking." She looks. It's a direct hit: she has a mean glare, one with the same capacity to bore through you, tear you limb by limb. She has the capacity for cruelty, is what you're getting at. "If you're that curious about the specifics, it was an expression of trust. Take it or leave it."

"Now you seem upset."

She arches an eyebrow: the normal one, the regular sardonic-you're-so-hot-I-hate-it eyebrow, not the sexy-sultry-dirty eyebrow.

"Five minutes," she huffs, without explanation. "Five whole minutes and I'm still not being kissed, like, why-"

Your laugh comes from somewhere in your chest; deep, surprised.

"There's no winning with you," she grumbles, but when she looks up you can already see it - it's in her eyes, she's not actually that upset. There's no stormy undertow, just the fondness lurking like a tidal wave underneath everything else. You feel the current a bit before it swallows her: there are hands tugging, winding, drawing the whole mess closer and closer. It's affection, an entire sea's worth of it, flooding and indiscernible. You can see all the stars that shimmer. It's just: her hips are so fucking grabbable, you know that already, that it's to the point of being inescapable, an absolute truth - and she wants to get off, she always wants to, but there's some greater, darker purpose to how her breath ghosts on your neck. How she blushes like it's the first time.

"I want," she breathes. It comes with intent.

(Yeah, a lot of fucking intent.)

"I know, baby," you tell her, low - and press a kiss to the juncture of her jaw, one hand lifting her top, palming her breast, the other sliding into her underwear. "You always want more," you murmur. Sana nods like a doll - you've reduced her, again, into a bundle of fussy limbs and breath and gasps, begging you to get inside her pussy. "I've got you," you coo, a bit darkly: and, well, Sana isn't wrong - it is a kind of dirty girl syndrome. At least for her. 

For you, it's more like a daily reacquaintance with your sins.

Your mouths meet, clumsy and off-kilter; Sana's tongue is heavy, languid in the wet heat of your mouth, and the kiss tastes like everything else: her hair like flowers, her makeup, the faded sweat, her cherry lip balm, the flat, glassy quality of the cum dried on her thighs, her underwear around your fist. There's a lingering scent to her sex that reminds you of how badly you wanna fuck her; your finger ghosts at her cunt and it's wet again, dripping-pink and sensitive, ready, open, a bruised thing.

"You," she breathes into your mouth, and her teeth skim your lip, "are so fucking hard." She's skated her palm down into your sweats, taken a rough hold of your cock, as though to prove something: and she's so right. She doesn't break the kiss. Her thumb smears a bit of your pre-cum over the slit, spreads it up and down your length. You're already aching-hot and throbbing for her. "Baby," she murmurs, sounding devious, feeling it, too. There's more to say, more of that floodgate left to open up:

"You're going to cum so much in me, aren't you?"

(It's rhetorical.)

You hoist her onto the counter, shove her shorts down, pull your cock out of your pants: it's just muscle memory, the way the rhythm works itself out - and if Sana was trying to push you, she's definitely succeeding.

"You should be careful what you wish for," you offer, half-nonsense, half the judicious side of an agreement. The devil on the shoulder's not exactly in the business of sticking to your promises: "I should probably pull out, you know," you go on, mindlessly - but she's got her arms around your neck, is rolling her hips impatient and insistent like the conversation isn't even important enough for her to properly listen to.

"Gonna cum on all over me instead?" she asks, too quiet. "Is that the plan?"

And it's the least combative you've heard her be in a hot minute. You slicken your fingers with her cum and rub your digits along the flushed, throbbing surface of her clit: the only way you know to deal with her filthy mouth.

"Right on my tummy, or all over my chest," she goes on, heedless, dragging her fingertips over her shirt like you need a demonstration. She's just spewing bullshit for the thrill of it. The grin accompanying that is sly, cheeky, like her whole self; she rubs her nose against yours. 

You gather her panties and let them ball up in your palm.

"Maybe a mess all over my ass?"

"Oh, definitely," you sigh, finally, and work her apart as the kisses fall out of line.

She looks up at you from beneath long, delicate lashes, fluttering like she knows the effect it's having on you: it's un-fucking-fair, the way she uses it, wields it like the weapon it is. A sigh slips from her, ragged, fucked: she's bracing herself, chasing the tip of your cock, leaning into the nudge. "Maybe you can push me onto my knees, shove your dick down my throat and gag me with it until I swallow every drop, yeah?"

"Sana," is your reply. "Of course." It's the conscientious, mature, adult thing to do.

She's batting her eyelashes. You should do something about it, maybe: you line your cock up against her entrance, holding steady, and slap your hand on the smooth expanse of her right thigh. "Spread," you snap at her, and then grin back. 

Her face scrunches: genuine exasperation, tight cunt, real feeling.

She huffs, opens her thighs wider, gives herself up to you - and that's another victory. Her fingers reach up and dance against the scruff on your jaw like it's a fond curiosity. You watch her search your face for affirmation like it'll fix everything. There's not much to do but to slip your arms around the waist, let her wrists cross over your shoulders like she needs the anchor to survive.

"So pull out then, mister-good-ideas-at-work," she taunts, nosing at your throat, the underside of your jaw, up to your ear: "Show me, if it's so easy."

You can barely breathe, it's so tense; the way she teases the shape of it, her cunt slick and open against you. She'll stretch like she was tailored for the fit, easy and familiar, taking, taking, taking - she's always such an angel, but she's halfway in hell already, legs spread out, slick pussy lips bumping against the blunt head of your cock, so wide, so vulnerable.

"Sana," you hear yourself say, voice like sandpaper, throat drying. Her smile twists her features to something more-knowing, all full-lipped and curving at the corners - she's a little more practiced in sinning, knows the game better. It's an act and it isn't, all at once.

"C'mon, I need it," she drawls, but the soft little plea comes back: "please."

Your hand drops from her mouth, smoothing over her chin, down the swell of her breasts, her ribs. You slip your cock inside her and can see the exact moment her face blanches - it's so sweet, so sharp: her eyes widen and her jaw goes slack, lips falling open as her brow furrows. She's so wet around you, taking you, swallowing up every inch like it's no work at all, her perfect pussy clenching just as it hits the base: like it's muscle memory, like she's been molding herself for it, opening for you. The very thought makes you want to fuck her even deeper: you tighten your hand at her hip, drag yourself out of the slick squeeze of her cunt.

"Oh," Sana breathes out, eyes half-lidded. "Holy- oh, you're-"

Your cock sinks deeper. The word gets lost in her moan; a crease forms on the bridge of her nose, between her brows, and she presses her fingers to your nape, clutching at the skin like she's unsure of the support. One of her palms strokes across your cheek: a wonder, a mercy, a favor, all of it. You'll ruin her, just like she wants, just like you promised. You're sure of it.

You have to fight the urge to ask if she's okay, because you know what kind of face she'd make: exasperated, disappointed, incredulous. Instead you snap your hips and drive yourself inside of her again.

All her thoughts and her confidence - the casual faux-command, the playful, arrogant tilt in the turn of her words - unspools, dissolves, crumples in her eyes, collapsing to dust around you: she can't even choke out her filthy demands, let alone the sugar-soaked slights and slander that came first. The innuendos, the bullshit, all those deliciously-subtle negotiations. She blinks, and the second you slide a couple inches back in and in and in, her eyes flicker shut and you both exhale into the same breath: an oh-my-fuck-Sana, and the answering whimper-moan that falls so effortlessly out of her mouth. Your palm burns against her hip bone, sinking deep, trying to press her tight against your cock, skin-to-skin and full-to-the-brim.

"How," Sana gasps out, sounding delirious, out-of-it, her brain rattled by nothing more than the full, perfect fit of your cock inside her. Her fingers lock behind your head, pulling you even closer. She gasps against your mouth, "-how does it- fuck, oh my god, fuck-"

You see what she's getting at.

There's nothing separating you, and it feels - well, her pussy is unbelievable. The realization is hitting you harder with each glide you sink inside her; just like everything else with Sana - charged, thrilling, slightly inappropriate and hotter for it.

And you'd tell her if you had the words - how fucking good she feels, the grip around your shaft as you hilt inside her, the exact feel, taste, texture of Sana's perfect, pretty, slick-squeezing cunt. Oh, you're slaking a kind thirst here they write stories about, the kind you die for: it'll never be sated, you'll always be seeking, and the deeper you go the further you drown.

"Yeah," is all you can say. "Fuck." The only explanation.

Her voice goes tighter with each stroke, her legs wrapping around your waist like rope. You're touching everything of Sana that can be touched: you kiss her hair, suck marks into her collarbone, cup her face and force her eyelashes open; you fill her up so deep you can feel her throat tremble when your name just brushes the roof of her mouth.

Oh, it's rough, messy, somehow incandescent; you're pounding her right there on the counter, against the sink. The showerhead's hissing just loud enough for you to miss the string of expletives you know she'd be spitting, the half-bitten curses. She keeps her ankles hooked like she's afraid you'll fall, afraid that you'd slip out of her, leave her empty, unoccupied, unfulfilled, wanting. 

"Fuck, baby," you hear, feel against you: her lips are near your ear. She shivers. "If I knew," a pause as Sana swallows, her hair clinging damply to her forehead. "If I knew- felt this good- you're going to- your fucking cock, I swear, ohmygod, I swear-"

You press your mouth right at her temple, harshening the rhythm and loving the way her fingernails dig hard, bright crescents into the skin of your back; there'll be marks there tomorrow, the perfect imprints of her grasping, coming apart, holding on. 

"God, Sana," you mutter, almost desperate. It's such a fucking disaster. She's wet on your skin, soaking everywhere. It's so fucking hot.

You want her cumming on your cock; you want her on her back, knees up, shaking; you want her a sweat-shining mess, breathless and glassy-eyed. You'd worship her body if you didn't have your hands clenching her ass so you could push her (one, two, three, four) times (five) against the tile, (six) against your skin.

It's more imperative than religion, really.

Three months later and you suppose there's been a lot of perfect, sopping-wet, begging-and-creaming, broken-off, rough-thrusting, sinful fucking, and sometimes it's in her apartment or in the backseat of her car or in your fucking kitchen, her braced up against the island countertop with her legs spread and you railing her in her pajamas. Sometimes it's when Sana whimpers in this awful way when she's kissing you, pressing a soft, barely audible "ruin me," into your mouth - it's then when she gets really, truly fucking filthy: you're actually going to fucking cum inside her, sobbing and stupid, if she doesn't fucking knock it off. If this doesn't just kill you both - and that's how it'll go: her legs locked so tight around your waist, hands white-knuckled around your shoulders, face-to-face and with the base of her cunt kissing your cock so sweetly.

Sana makes a weak, overwhelmed noise, like the same thought's gotten the best of her, too.

"My pussy," she says in this high, thin whisper. "It needs you. Like I fucking - oh, fuck - like I think I was made for your cock." Her words have gotten little manic, voice edging at hysterical: "It's a perfect fit. Just feels fucking-" A whine pitches in her throat and she grinds her clit against your lower stomach, her abs quivering like she's had three cups of coffee. 

You thrust once - no, you really, truly fuck her: you snap in and in and in - you hold her fast to the sink basin and bury your cock all the way to her deepest point, to where Sana clenches and her muscles ripple around you.

She's always so sensitive. Like in a smearing-lipstick, fucked-through-half-a-box-of-tissues, you-absolute-angel kind of way. 

But there's no tease, no falsified modesty to it - none of the push-and-pull from either of you; your expressions are blissed-out, stuck in awe, in reverence. Jaws dropped and punching out each hard, deep fuck into her, gasping for air. "Oh my god," she's saying, head lolling like there's no rigidity left to her spine, nails digging into the hard muscle of your back. She's saying other shit - and you're talking, too, talking a bit: it's the kind of delirium that strips language to the bone. "Holy fuck- I know- Yeah. Fuck, I know."

The nodding is excessive - but in your shared defense, so is the sensation of fucking each other raw. Who the fuck coulda guessed?

She's hot and tight and god-blessedly gorgeous - and you tell her that. From the first time you watched her stretch a condom over your cock, roll it down with her palm, and felt her pussy sink onto you inch by inch and the pressure was immediate and aching - "It feels so fucking good," she'd been saying - to the fifth, to the fiftieth. To her draining you dry, her moans winding you up and around her finger - even that first time in a filthy, nasty, cramped bathroom stall, drunk as all fuck, and then the next morning. "More, more, more," and now, too, all: "It's everything, please, fuck, keep going," all the other times where your tongues have turned to satin, curling into the place of your own destruction, where the warmth is licking out all sense. 

In the worst of moments, in the best - she's clung to you, body arched up, hips up, heels dug into you so hard you might be bruised under her.

All her moans are punched-out, high-pitched, shuddering with her exhales.

It's everything: "Don't stop." 

And that's really how the last shred of coherency slips past, disappears down the drain: her voice twists as you graze the spot inside her you want her to cry at, and you sink into a pleasure so intense, a release so in-tune, it's like it'd only be complete after you both sank to hell.

"Such a good girl," you kiss into her skin, sinking your fingers into the round fullness of her butt, spreading her apart so she knows, even better, exactly where her cunt ends and your cock begins. "The prettiest fucking girl; your fucking pussy is so tight; hot and soaking wet for me." Your voice sounds worse with each dirty little nothing: you've both been babbling for a while. Maybe ten seconds. Maybe since the beginning. "I think I could fuck you forever."

"Cocksleeve," she agrees, and tips her chin to the ceiling, blinking hard at nothing, trying not to lose it, but maybe also, in the same sense: "Literally could just - be my cunt. For the rest of time. Cocksleeve."

"Gorgeous," is what comes next out of your mouth; and, in some warped parallel to the truth, "All mine."

For her, too, really: she likes being tossed around, told how much you need to breed her, how slutty she is - but then you watch how her brain fries with the softer, sweeter stuff. Oh, you're making love to the thoughts she keeps trapped under a box in the back of her head, and all the things she'll only dare admit to under dim lamplight; when she thinks she can disguise how they might come across as anything at all besides absolutely fucking tragic. 

You could bottle her tears for how sentimental this shit is - well, you could do that anyway - the whole messy situation. You say her name once and she whimpers out your own. That's the state of affairs. Just one look at her face is all you need. It's an instant trigger, it's how the electricity rushes and buzzes through the wires.

"You're stunning," you say, totally earnest.

And the heat goes straight to her guts.

It's the transparency of it all, or the bordering bratty-tilt to it, or something, you're not a therapist - it's just what sends Sana toppling, fluttering like a heartbeat as her hips stutter into your own, legs spasming, pussy clenching - and right on the heel of that, with a strangled: "So fucking good to me, I swear, please-"

The moan barely passes the boundary of her lips as it breaks like dawn over her body, sending her spine arcing, chest heaving. It's a kettle-whistle pitch and you think your neighbors are sick of the screams, the late-night-to-early-morning, pounding rhythm against the thin walls, the laughter, the headboard beating like a drum. And they would have to be blind, to not look at her and see a sin they want to taste, too - she's divine like this, moans broken-off and falling into each other, a slur, a blur, her tits bouncing under the flimsy tank, rising higher with each stroke - the fat, firm weight of them; and this is when you know she's going to cum on your cock, the way her muscles go loose, pliant, willing, relaxed - it's all an afterglow in the waiting, she's wriggling into her death, in anticipation, arching up to meet you.

When you pull your hand out from under her ass to grab a fistful of her shirt, right at the center and pulling up to keep her back arched off the counter, her breasts spill from the loosened material and up, and up - they bounce higher, tighter; you're pounding her sopping-wet pussy harder than you have any right to.

There is no heaven to compare. 

You'll tell her, if you'll survive the sight of it: Sana is an absolute fucking wreck. Her jaw is slack, her lipstick has long smeared to obscurity and she is a vision in the sexiest, sluttiest sense. She is the kind of fucked that's worth staying dead for. Worth taking last breaths to witness, dying to witness. 

And, the moment her lips graze yours: your insides crackle and smolder.

Her hand hits the counter, knocking whatever's next to you onto the tile - the clatter would've been distracting, but you're balls-deep and you think it'd break her if you hit it any rougher-

"Ruin me," Sana pants into your mouth, barely audible. "Fucking ruin me, please, ruin me-"

"Sana," you manage through the hot clench of her around you, the near-painful crush of her arms tight at your waist.

"Need your cum," is what she sounds like. "Like fuck, do you feel that?" She's breathing into your ear. "God, fuck, your cock is right against my tummy, right here," she mewls, one slender hand slipping down to tap a knuckle right below her belly-button, "can feel it pressing up against me," and your mind's gone off, racing down every back-alley, all the old dirt-road streets: "You'd cum right up my little womb. You could. If you wanted, you could breed me up - pump me full, fuck me full. Give me- just - give me everything," and she has no idea - no idea what she's saying, what she's doing, how hard it is to think around a girl with such a perfect, pretty, slick-squeezing cunt-

"Sana," is all you can manage, warning and plea in one. "Careful." It's stupid: you have half a foot on her, outweighing her by more than the other direction, and yet Sana makes you weak. You're like clay for her to mold, bending beneath her fingertips and falling straight through, like the word please: a request. You don't know how she has you all figured out. It's no fun this way.

"Or else what?" Sana smirks, winning. "Gonna get me pregnant?"

You swear you see stars, that it's going to end embarrassingly fast for you, and the thought of you hilting right into Sana's tight cunt, knocking up against her insides, breeding her like your stupid fucking cock knows it wants, that's so, so fucking filthy - no, no, fuck no: that's not what this is, this is supposed to be innocuous, or some approximation of it - you're gonna put her on her knees, cum on her face, fuck a load across her tits, in the bowl of her cupped palms and watch her lap it up and lick clean her long fingers, maybe push the whole, aching head of your cock between the lips of her plush, pink, sweet-as-can-be mouth. Send the load directly down her throat, tugging those gorgeous tresses while her brown, liquid eyes peer up at you. A mess: a sopping, fucked-out, splayed-out, mess.

"Filthy fucking mouth," you deflect, because you can't keep on track with how pretty Sana's perfect cunt's clutching you like a fucking fist, her tiny frame somehow matching you, thrust for thrust.

"What about it," and Sana isn't even flinching.

"Gonna cum in it," you snap, a growl, and it's supposed to be a threat, but then it hits - right at the crease between her torso and legs, your favorite place to pound into her; you're fucking her like a toy, treating her like the easiest little hole you've ever had your hands on, and you'd never pull out, you'd never give this up and Sana knows it, too - you have to make sure to take the base of your cock and work your cum deeper into the bowels of her perfect, hot cunt.

"Yeah?" she hums resplendently.

Somehow, fucked-out and blissful, soaking your cock as you split her open, there's a note of tease in her voice - and an echo in the swell of her womb, clenching, just as willing; Sana's a genius, so she must have found all this shit out already - but it's the type of thing you have to admit, privately and to yourself, through gritted teeth, not within hearing-distance of a girl whose smile could undo every thread in the fabric of time: it's kind of really, ridiculously hot.

"Can you promise?"

"Yeah," you choke.

"Go on," breathes Sana, a dare and a request in one. "Love hearing you say it."

"On your knees," you try to swallow, "gonna pump your cute little throat full," you groan, a man unmade, "gonna have to fuck you like this again, baby. I'm going to make you-"

Make her what: a mother? A whore? A wife, a baby, something she'll be afraid to call out loud, but will say anyway-

"Yours," and that's Sana, fucking the thought out of your head, "so you could use me up, so you'd make me take it, give me everything - cum, cum in me, I need it- please," her voice climbing, crescendoing, "Cum in me," a broken record, all instinct. Sana and her tight, creamy little pussy, you pumping full, you flooding her insides and spilling out, the messier the better - it's how she gets off, her voice wavering until you can feel the shivering, the shaking, the quivering; that perfect moment of collapse, where you're there with her, just the same.

There's a certain kind of pure, self-destructive stupidity in trying to rationalize it, you know, but that's the fucked-up part.

"Oh," she breathes, deep and deliriously hot, and it's an aftershock of its own. 

There's no reasoning with how badly you're pounding into her, fucking your cum as deep as it'll go, letting her soft curves rut against your body, to meet her rhythm in turn, to fill her up to the brim and then just a bit over.

"Oh, I can feel it," and Sana sounds like you've done the unthinkable: as if you'd broken a prayer, a hymn, the key to heaven held beneath the wetness, the heat, the fluttering pulse, the tightness, the sex, this body of yours. Like she could die. Like she should die. "That's - oh, oh - your cum's filling up my pussy," and it doesn't register that she shouldn't say it, and you should be telling her to shut the fuck up, but it just doesn't cross your mind at all: "Oh, God. You're - it's so hot inside of me, can - feel it," and it's all true.

There's nothing like it, her silken, creamy, slushy warmth surrounding your softening cock, the way you fit so easily against her.

"I told you," is the first thing out of her gorgeous, swollen mouth. Her lips brush your jaw, your neck. Sana's breath tickles, light on your skin. "No shot you were pulling out."

"Shut up," is the best you've got - it makes her laugh, eyes creasing, throaty and sweet; oh, there's that quintessential Minatozaki charm. 

-

(That's it: she has your number; you watch her smile, watch the way her legs shake when you slip out of her, watch her warm brown eyes flit upwards. You can't let her leave. And she knows.

Sana's fingers graze the curves of your cheeks as she holds your lip between hers, tongue tasting, teasing. A long beat before she releases you, and her smile spreads over the line of your face, slow and steady, like a sunrise. She's impossibly gentle, all silk and sweetness. Unthinkingly soft as her palm smooths your hair out of your eyes - her skin on your skin. Sana's eyes are dreamy like this. The radiant gleam in her irises clashes with the moonlight on her lashes.

She's glitter, gold.)

-

The pharmacy. The one by your apartment that's open a little after 1 am on a Saturday.

And this should be your cue: walk on by, look forward, straight ahead. 

Walk, like you have somewhere to be. Toss some distractions into the basket, drain cleaner, detergent, a fifth, new, foreign bottle of conditioner; maybe some light beer, too, to fit the stereotype, to balance things out.

You tell yourself you have no place here, amidst boxes of birth control pills, gels and patches and syringes and capsules of every single kind. Don't dawdle - don't linger.

Sana's milling the aisles in pursuit of candy, or a bag of those heinous fucking Takis, probably. A bottle of gatorade, realistically; she likes the blue one, says it tastes like putting your tongue to a nine-volt. What an eloquent princess, you think, and find it hard to hide the smile, the simpering stupidity, the tenderness.

She's someone you text about shitty things, who complains to you about her coffee stuck in the vending machine, Mina's ongoing billionaire-affair and Nayeon's chattering over some boy she likes from way back when. Someone whose high ponytail can be found above a pair of comically large glasses, a paperback novel pressed between the bend in her arm and her ribs (bitch, of course there is, she'd said when you'd asked, there's smut in everything these days); whose laugh, tinkling and lilting and silver-bright, has no right to sound as rich or as deep or as richly deep as it does. 

Someone who looked in your eyes and found it - that gaping hollowness, a vacancy in the marrow - and who laughed at that, too. She makes it worse. You might actually love her.

"You're like, really nervous," she tells you, not asking.

"Well," and that's when the wall between your mouth and your brain finally collapses: it all rushes through; no air left in the room. "Maybe I'm a fucking idiot."

"I've actually always known this." Sana looks at you, half a smirk. It's almost impossible to imagine the last time you were anything else. "But, like, aren't all men, really?"

"Yeah, yeah. A genius observation." You run a hand through your hair; her smile blooms wider.

"If you insist," and Sana tosses her head, exaggerated, before dumping a shit ton of Twizzlers into the cart. "They're for Tzuyu," she explains. "She's been fucked by her publicist more times this week than she's had hot meals."

"Y'know I actually caught wind of that," you say, moving one step forward in line. "It was neck and neck until she skipped a lunch. Although I don't think those count as like, substantial nutrition. It doesn't negate the other thing."

"Fuck, you're probably right. Gummy bears next time, then."

"Right. Better, slightly."

"That's the spirit," and she peels away, leaving you with her smoky sarcasm - a hand on your bicep as she saunters off to the parking lot. "Also: get some of the good Tylenol from behind the counter. You fucked my brains out and I think I'm coming down with a concussion."

"Jesus christ," you groan. "Again with the outdoor-voice, Sana."

She flashes you her megawatt-grin, flips you off, and the whole transaction at the register is over before you've made sense of it. It's an opportunity for some perspective, a chance to decide you've got it wrong. You should walk home, Sana should ask for a ride, or an Uber - neither of you should need a night-time pharmacy. You could change it if you tried. It's almost absurdly simple, but the way she takes your hand on the walk home is so soft. She's so close: her profile is elegant, poised in the streetlamp's sick, sulfur glow. 

You turn the key. There's her laughter again, echoing like windchimes through the city.

And, fuck. It's going to be harder to forget this than you think.

-

"The internet says it's best to use within twenty-four hours," is all Sana says about it. The tablet's small and green. She hands the plastic bottle to you to check it. Her hair's fallen over her shoulders like ribbons, soft as her eyes. "And the way Momo described it," she explains, almost playfully, "if I wait to take this tomorrow, I think we'd get an excuse to fool around some more."

The look she gives you then is somehow uncharged, despite the suggestion, and she has that habit, when she's laughing or when she's moaning, of chewing on the inside of her lip. She's sitting on top of your breakfast table and looking like starlight. She uncrosses her legs, tips her head.

"What do you think?" and it's everything, a complex trap in four syllables. She's caught you well and squarely. "Do we have a reason?"

"Hm," you say. Sana crosses her legs the other way.

"It's bona fide," she says, teasing you a little, running a finger along the tabletop, her eyes flicking up. She's impossible. It's terrible. "You can creampie me over and over. Can fill up every inch of my pussy - fill my guts right up, and breed me good."

"Huh." It's all you have left to deflect with, when she's laid it all out like that. "That's not what bona fide means, by the way."

Sana lifts a hand, cocks her head. "Means you can do whatever you want." She clicks her tongue, scandalized. There's not much point in refusing, and not even a chance.

"Carte blanche might be what you're after," you offer.

Her laugh is a little breathless, annoyed. "Yeah," and it's like she's flushing pink. "That's what I said. Are you gonna ask me if I know what creampie means too, smartass?"

"Princess," you say, grinning a little, setting the plastic down beside her. You're pretty sure it's rhetorical anyway. "If you read even another sentence from one of Momo's incognito tabs, you'd end up drooling on my sheets." You keep her gaze, eyes locked - well, at least one of you's taking this seriously, you think, as the corners of your lips curve, unbidden - fuck, she's always making you smile.

"Does this mean you're into me, or something?" You tilt your head, pretend to consider. Sana makes a show of scowling. "Or do you just have a thing for being a cumslut," you gesture vaguely, "like, generically?"

Sana leans in and kisses the underside of your chin.

Quick, easy; she snaps back into place like you'd somehow never notice. "A little of both," she says, as breezy as possible. "I'm surprised you're ruling out me taking pity on you." Her eyes have all the mirth you'd expect, and the warmth - the fondness. She looks up at you, and her smile's not as bright or sharp as it used to be. She just seems happy. "Wishful thinking, but whatever."

-

And maybe Sana's on to something: wishful thinking - but, then again, maybe you're getting close to the part where you've both got it all so, so wrong. You'll have to figure things out from there. Either way, you're at a place where you're genuinely taking medical advice from Hirai Momo.

So, it is what it is.

-

You don't exactly talk about it. Which is to say neither of you ever bring up how this whole arrangement came to be.

Because it's not romance, it's not sweet, it's not soft or sentimental - it's not even halfway serious: the way everything unfolds haphazardly and with no real, defined idea of what you're getting yourself into, other than a precautionary 'hey, we're not gonna know each other' rule that got broken almost instantly is all that you can divulge, for now. There's all these complexities, layered and tangled and difficult. It's all-consuming. It's an emotional quagmire. It's the kind of thing that'll take years to unpack, the kind that'll never really have an actual explanation; a mistake, probably, you think, one worth repeating, definitely.

"Look. You're leaking out of me," she murmurs from against your pillows, thighs parting - you glance at her cunt, exposed by her twisted panties, and sorta get stuck there. Sana laughs. "Wow," she says, watching you with that wide-open smile of hers, dark hair splayed across the pillows. "Your obsession's worse than I thought."

She's leaving town in the afternoon, so it's been this lazy, lingering fuck all morning, just to pass the time.

You're working from home in the most metaphorical way possible - taking advantage of the daylight streaming in the windows, playing with her hair, fucking her on and off until you get tired of having a mess of a stranger in your apartment. Right. That's the explanation you'll give, when anyone asks. It's a miracle you've slept at all - but then again, Sana gets blissfully and completely tuckered out, turns into putty in your arms, and this is the most dangerous thing of all, the sultry, doe-eyed beauty of her slack mouth in the dark. 

You fell asleep together the first time you shared a bed and now never seem to wake up on your own anymore.

She's lax on your mattress, and the blanket's riding low on her thighs, revealing the slopes of her perfect ass. Her little cunt's gaping. Leaking cum. There is no denying it. You think the devil would look a lot like this.

You place your reading glasses delicately on the nightstand, pretend you haven't heard her - or the squelch of her fucked out cunt as she slides a finger down, down, down-

"Oh. Am I distracting you?"

"You have a breeding kink," you say, once she's on a second bottle of water, when her skin's less flushed. You're rubbing between her shoulder blades - she's glowing in your sheets like she belongs there, all white satin and innocence, even with the sweat matted at the ends of her hair.

"Probably," sighs Sana, eyelashes fluttering. "Do I?"

"Definitely," you say, amused.

"Maybe," hums Sana, sounding winded still. You dig your fingers into the nape of her neck, and the next sound out of her mouth is not entirely uncontrolled. You have a point; you're both thinking it. You're just not going to make it. "What's your excuse?"

"Excuse?"

You're not asking her to clarify the question, you're simply buying time to scramble for an answer. Because- "I have no excuse." You shrug. "Just - biology." She rolls her eyes at the apparent insufficiency. "Something about filling up this perfect little body and ruining your whole" - you make a gesture toward her - "pristine-ness."

"Ah, there we go." Sana sits up, the sun casting golden streaks over the angles of her back as she goes. 

She stretches like it's an accident, reaches for the hair-tie on the nightstand, and it doesn't matter if you see her do it. "Well." She combs back her damp curls, piling it in an errant bun with practiced ease. It looks good. It's hot, actually. Your cock's still sensitive - but, well, so is Sana's everything. "We're fucked in the head. We get it out of our systems."

"Speak for yourself," you say. She raises a pointed, unmistakably Sana-ish brow. "I'm well-adjusted," you insist. "No baggage."

You watch her go through a moment of disbelief, trying to find some leeway before she snorts. She's climbing on top of you, apparently. Theoretically, you've been keeping an eye on the clock - counting down the minutes before she has to be checking bags and folding up a boarding pass into her purse - first class, because the company believes luxury begets beauty. You'd argue she was both regardless, but-

"That," she says, very matter-of-fact, and settles down so the curve of her ass is over your thigh. It's light pressure. Barely. "Is bullshit."

"I thought that's what you wanted, Ms. Corporate-wunderkind. A therapist type."

"Shut the fuck up." She smacks your chest, too hard to be playful, but a beat later and her hand's snaked back behind her, palm curved over your cock with a promise that makes the rest of the world seem sort of dull.

You shift beneath her, involuntary. Let your hands trail to the warm hollow of her hips, brushing your thumbs over the pink blush marks that blossom on her skin when you touch her for too long.

"Wanting, wanting," she muses, with a strangely alluring sense of casualness, "you've got one track mind - ah - don't even try to hide it." You're more interested in her fingers dragging over your tip, the graceful knuckles that go rigid as she finds your cockhead grazing over the pad of her palm. "For all you know I'll fuck another guy," she says, in a matter-of-fact, it doesn't matter anyway type tone. "Or, god, a dozen."

"Please." Your incredulity and chagrin slip out in equal measure. "Have pity."

Sana cocks her head, intrigued, and takes ahold of the base of your dick.

"No," she decides, "can't say that I can."

There's the stretch, the press. She sinks onto you with no resistance; she's all velvety and wet and you know you were the one who'd gotten her that way. You hiss - so does she. Then it's just quiet again, except for Sana shifting above you, her long legs tangling with yours, the heels of her palms pinning your thighs down to the mattress behind her. She gives a languid little swivel.

"Do you remember," you hear Sana saying, very dreamily, and that's what makes you think perhaps it isn't a serious inquiry and that your input isn't required. She goes, "there was that last day of scheduled rehearsals, that we had before the long winter break. And we got through the numbers in four hours, maybe? Tons of time to kill, and there was nowhere for me to be."

"You came over to my place," you mumble, a vague, wordless reminder of your role.

"Right." Another shift; you're still sensitive as fuck but Sana's weight feels good in your lap and the view of her tits is objectively excellent. "And I took a shower."

"Sure."

She squeezes and rises in tandem, sighing blissfully.

You sit up slightly, support yourself on one elbow and watch yourself disappear, reappear in the wet slit of Sana's pussy. "For a really long time."

"Like an hour," agrees Sana, almost humming, and snaps her hips forward. The jolt forces a groan out of you. She tilts her head up as she does it again, eyelashes fanned, and the reverberation of her movements shakes loose that damned piece of hair clinging to the arch of her temple. You watch a thin stripe of cum leaking out of her, too; that'd been inside her an hour ago. Maybe less. She's fucking you like it doesn't bother her, like she'll never grow tired.

She pulls at the long lock of her hair, seems to examine it contemplatively. She's so perfectly content in her self-aware, blasé, cat-like smugness, purring and untouchable and arching back. Then she says, "That was because I was fantasizing about getting filled with so much cum that I just started running down your shampoo bottle - that's, like, the ultimate breeding fantasy for me, honestly."

"What about that one time," you say, as though unhinged, as though half-conscious, as though every word has the consistency of molasses and there's a bright pulse of blood flooding your brain and rushing out your cock, "when we snuck out to the parking lot, and I made you sit on the hood of my car-"

"Shh, not the same," dismisses Sana, leaning into you, and you hold her there, lock your fingers into the swell of her ass to steady the desperate throbbing inside her pussy. Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth, but her head lolls to the side, the gauzy curtain of her hair swaying at her waist.

"But," she concedes, an exhale, "that was good, yeah."

"You came really fast - like, so fast," you insist, thrusting up to the sound of her small groan. Her body, all lush skin and ample, unresisting curves, is flushed and gleaming. There's so much of her to take in: the inky fan of her lashes, the ridge of her ribs, the way her breasts hang heavy as she moves. This kind of debauched view feels exclusive, as if reserved just for you. "Remember that?"

"Did I?" She blinks owlishly.

"I'm remembering it for you." Your palm is heavy on her ass; it's what keeps you grounded, lets you get leverage. "What were you thinking about then?"

She bares her teeth in an indecent grin, tugs on the corner of her lip, as if reveling in the memory.

You watch her mouth open, close again.

It clicks: "Right," she answers, finally, and rides you all the harder. "Errant thought, but." She climbs up onto her feet, knees swung wide, her tiny soles balanced perilously atop the duvet - it's all slippery friction and she's so light you could flip her right over. It's all at your discretion. You lean up further. Your arm braces her back, low and hot. "Was imagining how you'd feel in my ass," Sana continues, carelessly, matter-of-fact, as if discussing dinner plans or a movie rental, and you don't expect a laugh from your lungs, but it comes out harshly, all surprise and hot delight, like a confession.

"This was a few years ago," Sana says.

She lifts off, teases your cockhead with the shallowest grip. Watches all the lines in your face start to wobble, and then sinks back down, all the way, burying your cock in her pussy again. Her lips move, you bottom out, you know she's going to ruin your next orgasm like that.

"Someone online posted some bullshit comment about me being - quote-unquote - easy," she tells you, turning her head to the side, to the window. You know the expression on her face: her mouth curved, eyes dark and so, so full of that amused contempt. "Just this thing that you see on the internet all the time. Everyone just doing the same thing - said I probably love it in the ass and - yeah. Can't recall. Fucked off right away."

"Really stuck with you, huh?" Your hips snap, and you swallow hard. "Brought that - image. Up. Didn't it."

"Guess it kind of did."

"Uh-huh."

She licks her lips. "I'd heard worse," she says, and hums, low.

Your grip on her back, her waist, her hip - they're steel-tight. "Felt like someone had put it in my head," Sana remarks, dreamily, then raises an eyebrow. "So y'know. Had a thought and let it take me there. Only made sense. Let myself. Daydream a little, take a long shower," and her smile goes lopsided, her eyes drift, "breathe hard against the bathroom tile, take two of my own fingers up there-"

And she drops, sinks, the lewd, sloshing sound of it resonant; your hands pull her to you by the roots of her hair and she gasps, heaves a small, faltering breath. She's so fucking wet.

"Baby," you groan, completely flat. "I'm gonna cum in you."

"Yeah." Sana looks like she's miles away. She could be. "I know."

She brushes the hair out of your face, holds her nose to your cheek, starts riding you fast, faster - and you do.

-

This is where the story actually starts - which, in retrospect, is kind of ironic, because everything was technically pre-written, already preordained:

You're in an airport, arriving late and harried, your hair a mess, Sana's luggage slipping from your shoulders. It's snowing biblically outside, the pavement frosted and dangerously slick with ice. The precipitation heavy and thick and white enough to obscure vision. You keep checking your phone, checking your texts, trying to stay grounded even though the forecasters specifically said the skies would clear by sundown.

Flying conditions: sub-optimal - but only barely. 

You think serendipity could be something of an old friend to the two of you - if only the pantheon of weather-adjacent gods didn't seem to like her just a little more.

She's calm and unruffled and preposterously cool, with one hand slipped into her coat pocket, her face tipped towards the window so she can survey the falling snow. She looks the part of the chic world-traveller, clad in leather gloves and a tweed peacoat, the collar popped high and stern.

In contrast, you feel like the embodiment of frazzled, clutching anxiously at the handle of her suitcase and turning frantically to ask her which direction to head in; you're not her manager, you didn't plan her flight, didn't schedule any car services for the ride to her hotel. In a few odd hours she'll be on a different continent, standing in a different hemisphere, and you don't really know what to do with your hands.

"When am I gonna see you again?" she asks, pointedly sidestepping all forms of goodbye, bypassing any polite small-talk about the state of the storm. 

She's done up in semi-dramatic makeup, a pair of gold earrings swinging when she tilts her head, fixes the edge of her fringe with her fingers: you watch her catch herself, relax - like a true work of art, you suppose, nothing to imply a separation.

There's the duality, you guess. You're looking at a profundity in motion.

And there will be a thousand cameras in her face when she touches down, vying for attention, swivelling and clicking, seeking shots that are just perfect enough - the internet is rabid and frothing at the mouth for a glimpse, some semblance of truth to satiate the rumor-mongers and their constant dissections of the arch of her spine, in the sway of her walk. She's got knee-high socks on and the fashion mags will be desperate to tear her apart at the seams, claim a sliver of all that profundity - they'll never know it's less of an aesthetic decision and more just a stopgap for the thumbprints blooming yellow-bruised in the curves of her calves.

Sana's watching you watch her; expectantly, eyes shining, big enough to fall into.

"Soon," you say, like you have a choice, and hope it sounds like reassurance, not resignation. "Hopefully soon." 

She lifts her carry-on to one shoulder, smiles.

The lens you have is quieter, subtler - that's all.

-

(You can feel Sana turn to look from the terminal, paused, hovering, her jaw catching on her silhouette; and she waits until you're gone before she strides confidently to the desk, brandishing documents and asking sweetly, charmingly, for the check-in. Her walk slows, stutter-stops. Her posture straightens.

She brushes back her hair and keeps going.)

-

"You better not be romanticizing your melancholic solitude," Momo says later, with a tray of food in her hands.

It's the next day - same time, probably - you'd gotten back from the airport, hailed a cab and stewed in something like self-reflection before deciding you'd bury yourself in your work. You've been letting Sana distract you too much recently - not that you particularly mind it - but if she's not here to drag you into a conference room and drop to her knees, you might as well start making some progress elsewhere.

You roll your pen around your fingers. "What exactly do you think I'm gonna get up to? Staying up until midnight writing shitty poetry and getting blackout drunk?" Momo snorts. "She'll be gone for two weeks, Momo, not ten years. I think I'm gonna manage okay."

"Don't go punching through glass windows just yet, buddy. It's been twenty-four hours, that's nowhere near enough time for your brain to bathe itself in all the wrong chemicals yet." She plops a bowl of instant udon down in front of you. You realize suddenly you haven't eaten in - well, quite some time. 

She wrinkles her nose. "God. So morose."

When you glance up, Momo's regarding you with one fist balled tight to her hip. You stare back at her. Her shirt is doing absolutely nothing to contain the top-half of her chest and your coworkers keep passing and rubbernecking. You get it. Her lanyard just goes right through the center of her cleavage; you sorta squint.

Some things never change.

"Um," she says, mock-scandalized. "Can you not?"

You lean back in your seat. "That was totally professional. I looked right at you."

"Yeah, like I'm a specimen." Momo pulls out the chair next to yours and takes a seat.

"I mean, you kind of are," you deadpan.

Momo chortles, pointing her chopsticks at you. "That was almost flattering, thank you." She slurps up the first noodle. "If you're nice to me, I won't tell Sana you're flirting with girls at the office while she's away. I think she'd come all the way back and wring our necks."

"And wouldn't we deserve it," you add. Your computer screen is frozen, blue-tinted with failure. Great. Momo sits down and the sky's falling within seconds. You assure her for the umpteenth time that she's not really your type anyway.

"Excuse you," Momo says, indignant, because that's a joke. 

See - Momo's everybody's type, if you had to peg the definitive example of universal attractiveness. She's everyone's favorite eye-candy whether they swing right, left, upside down or none-of-the-above; it's the ass, ostensibly. The big eyes, the gorgeous cheekbones too - her jet-black hair's cut short, practically the opposite of Sana, sleek and androgynous and hanging off her shoulders in the prettiest sort of way.

If they made dolls they'd be collectibles, wildly sought after as a pair, mint-in-box-worthy - the perfect, polished icons of feminine beauty: brains, bravery, strength. But also definitely the ass.

You blink. "Is there something you're here to harass me for, or is my total lack of interest in banging you just something you're interested in re-establishing?"

"I dunno," Momo says around a mouthful of noodles, "it's distracting. It feels weird when Sana isn't here. Things don't feel very funny. Or cute, y'know? I feel like a standup act missing the lead comic relief."

"Are you saying I'm not hilarious and entertaining?"

"I think you're funny, but." She munches happily on some spring onions. "Not intentionally, not usually."

"So why are you getting soup all over my desk?"

"You're pouty for one, all sad-like," Momo says, swallowing. "And you're supposed to be coming up with this advertising pitch and the only thing written in that word doc was 'hey guys'."

"First draft's the hardest," you recite automatically. "I'll figure it out."

"But not anytime soon," Momo drawls.

You slump your shoulders. "But not anytime soon, no."

"If you miss her, just call her," Momo urges, with all the delicacy of an elephant on stilts. "I'm sure she's bored and horny. Like, wicked horny."

Momo is both direct and filthy - there's another difference. Sana's a layer cake: whip it into shape, top it off in pink icing, drizzle white syrup on top; she looks good and acts good and you can swallow her whole, every inch of her tasting sugary, syrupy sweet. Momo doesn't hide that she's the filthiest mess in a five-mile radius; the complete opposite of Sana - well, sorta.

"I heard you dropped a load inside her, earlier." She laughs out loud, true to form. "What the fuck are you thinking? I mean, serious talk: that shit will also rewrite your brain-chemistry. And the farther Sana is from us, the more your neurons are going to start feeling like they're fucking dying, so don't give me your stupid bullshit and tell me you're 'fine' when you're like, a total wreck."

"Can you fucking keep it down?" You rub a hand over your face. "Also wasn't it you who called us 'all-or-nothing?'"

"That was like a month ago. The whole being-casual-and-making-it-work shtick seemed neat and I wanted in. Also it's February 14th, you jackass. I think you two skipped past normal the second you could get into each other's pants." Momo slurps the broth. "Totally unhealthy."

"Also not fucking true." You exhale. "What am I gonna do?"

She gives you an are you stupid? look. "Text her," she enunciates slowly, like you're hearing her wrong. "Call her, I dunno. Romance is all about grand gestures and unreliable narration. Or at least she reads enough trashy Nancy-Meyers-movies-adapted-into-books-style romance to try and extrapolate something. Go out, and find some flowers." The next bite of her noodles is overly enthusiastic. "Make the girl feel special or something."

"Right, she's gonna love that."

"That's what all the books say."

You purse your lips. "So basically all the books have lied, but Sana loves them anyway because they make her cum with how badly they're written, and now you want me to act like they're an instruction manual on fucking courtship. Am I missing any other steps? Like, does this take into account the fact that I'm also really not that romantically inclined-"

"I think you have to do something nice, put some effort in," Momo interrupts, sagely. "Y'know, the gesture's important. A little creative thought. Something better than you've got going on in that empty husk of an advertising pitch. She doesn't actually care about flowers, but it means you think of her."

You slide further into your seat. Momo grins at the glare you give her, too-friendly. The girl is the only person on the premises who can call you out on your bullshit with any actual weight and expect to get away with it. She doesn't technically even work with your department - has more or less established herself as some combination of A-lister, sex icon, social darling - all rolled into the body of a curvaceous woman barely dressed. And everyone's just sorta charmed by it.

If you were a slightly-less-rational person you'd probably try to date her, too.

"Did you know that St. Valentine was actually beaten to death with clubs before getting decapitated?"

It's an aside question, because the only thing worse than arguing a point with Momo is when she happens to be right.

"Where are you pulling this shit from?" Momo wonders, deadpan, wiping her chin. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Thought it might be relevant." You swirl a plastic spoon in the bowl. "Do you have anything else for me, O great and venerated sage of modern womankind?"

Momo snickers at the sarcasm. "Sure," she says. "Tell me your current thoughts on Paris."

You drag a breath through your teeth. "City's a shithole if you aren't rich, famous and absolutely beautiful. In which case, the city exists solely to bask and dote upon your presence. What was the question?"

"Stop checking the travel sites."

"I'm not."

"Are to."

"Don't."

"Do," Momo replies, primly, and waves her hand dismissively. You are very, very mature. This is your professional space. "Keep it simple." She adds, casually: "Or something."

-

Far, far away and farther still, a girl ducks into a hired car, takes her heels off and turns up the air conditioning, wiggling her toes in relief. 

She ends up slipping out of her clothes, taking a hot shower, changing into sweatpants. A private meal is offered to her; she turns down a glass of champagne, instead requesting iced coffee with an obscene amount of espresso shots - pours a ridiculous amount of milk in until the contents are a creamy beige, not even close to being a light-roast.

Later, much later, after a scented candle is extinguished and a notebook is closed shut, the night sky still dark and unchanging, the time zones shift, and then a single, glowing notification flashes across the screen - 4.42 am, her phone says. She's drifting in and out of sleep, dreaming in monochromatic pixels.

It's a mundane, totally insignificant message: nothing fancy, nothing new. A quick update - something along the lines of where are you, what are you doing, are you safe and happy, thinking of you. But it's punctuated with an exclamation point and followed by a pair of hearts - which is something new - like you're thirteen and she's just given you her home-room assignment list on a slip of paper and made you promise to exchange homework with her in the morning.

"How cute," she breathes, softly, and feels warm.

-

Here are the three rules about falling. Another anecdote; another wish-wash of creative editorializing, again: you really hate that you're quoting Momo on literally any of this, but unfortunately Momo has a lot of practical advice in the form of shitty armchair-psychology.

You know because you have a literal book full of the worst pithy maxims, delivered by her in varying states of drunkenness and hysteria and grudges borne of much heavier drama, all edited to her personal taste. It's a different thread, but also all part of the story: she and Sana are best friends. Take it or leave it.

Anyway: the rules,

1.) Grand gestures. Unreliable Narrations. Know that the idea is romantic, but the process is totally horrifying.

There aren't really any guidelines or requirements, not an exact science, anyway: there are softer, slower and easier ways to love than an impulse transcontinental flight; it comes in different forms, with much fewer headaches, far, far less red tape.

Try a knee nudge in a cab, a smoke-flavored kiss on the back porch, a text me when you get home, murmured in between yawns, the click of heels coming into the house after work - maybe, outside her apartment, making out against a wall of bricks like it's all you'll get, breathless and laughing under streetlights; if Sana were any less captivating (a loaded word if there ever was one) there'd be no good reason to think or to dwell on the semantics.

2.) Bending at the knees makes you less likely to get a concussion when you lose your balance. It's still risky, still a shot in the dark: in physics, there's a certain amount of grace under pressure - Sana's adored not by men, not by people, but by the universe itself. 

It feels like: she's too loved, too known. The number of followers she has is, frankly, abhorrent to your sensibilities.

3.) An object at rest remains at rest: it is up to someone else to try and change its trajectory.

For all practical intents, purpose and reasonable application: forget them.

The only lesson that counts is 4.) Fuck logic, and that goes in the book.

-

February 14th.

Presently, we're flying at an altitude of twenty-eight-thousand feet as we begin our descent into Charles de Gaulle Airport. I'd like to ask you to please fasten your seatbelts, place all tray-tables and upright seats in their fully-vertical positions and power off all personal electronic devices. The local temperature at the landing strip is eleven-degrees celsius or about fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit. The forecast for the rest of the afternoon predicts clear blue skies, and we would like to thank you for flying Air France. Please have your passports and immigration documents handy for quick and efficient processing.

Then the same message in French, you're guessing. Welcome then, to the City of Light.

-

Your cell service pings back to life as you navigate through customs. Her texts and voice-mails are short, clipped, inane: news bulletins of random things she's heard of, things that catch her attention, new designs, newly-founded associations, this gallery and that gallery, this statue, that museum - all without her own commentary or editorializing.

The deluge of information almost makes her seem impersonal, disconnected from her own thoughts, like you're getting everything secondhand. Like it's accidental.

9:00 AM - Sana: oh btw just saw the 80's hairdressing revival special in studio e. 7000 times worse than the 70's one. nothing. nada. not a single ounce of cool. not like, at ALL.

Sana: never in my life will I EVER, in the history of fashion, agree with it.

Sana: photo attached

The photo is honest-to-god terrible. You have no idea what she's referencing.

11:30 AM - Sana: idk how it happened or why, but there's this tennis match thing i guess i'm supposed to be at

Sana: im honestly too zoned-out to tell whether i actually like this game lol

Sana: how tf does everyone know the rules. what is for-de-all? is that just a made-up thing people scream when a serve bounces into the net???

Sana: we'll see how it ends

Sana: ok the pro in the white suit is kinda hot and like, sosososo talented

Sana: he hits hard and his returns are perfect

Sana: how have i gone so long without knowing how deep i could get into the sports of men in fitted shorts??

There are countless more: small-talk, casual banter, lighthearted teasing, all going at her own speed of 5000 centimeters per second. You skim through, not sure how to parse the implications: she seems at best half-focused, unengaged, probably tired - maybe high on local-jet-lag, more interested in telling you she misses you and that her hotel room bed feels massive than telling you about her afternoons wandering art museums in a designer dress; oh, the magazines are frothing over her.

For reasons you don't feel entirely ready or qualified to address, you're reading between the lines to all sorts of things.

3:00 PM - Sana: could i call you? it'd just be like 5 minutes, i'm not busy or anything but idk if youre busy. not sure if you'll reply to this right away.

Sana: sorry don't mean to disturb you (´;︵;`)

Sana: well tbh i actually kinda do mean to interrupt.

She sends an obnoxiously bright, cloyingly pink 'V-Day' Gif in place of the last text and then doesn't answer. And suddenly, in a way you hadn't considered before - you think you're losing your goddamn mind, trying to construct an actual picture from fragments, assembling all the puzzle-pieces back into a single, discernible whole. She hasn't so much as signed off her text, let alone give you anything concrete to follow up on; this whole chain reads like the equivalent of sending her a lunch break meme, asking what her day looks like.

Inconveniently: it's the 14th of February, and Sana is the kind of person you'd get chocolates for - would tear open a Valentine's Day card and sign the message and seal it off with a stamp. It'd be tacky, and overly sappy and gaudily, horribly romantic - like a suitor from the Renaissance. You've always suspected she was something like an antique, in this very modern kind of way. It's how she looks best, all draped in antique jewels, chiffon and damask, dripping pearl and lace and silver threads, all in expensive, cosmopolitan aesthetic that makes sense within itself: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

The insanity is that it's making perfect sense right now. You have been ruined in ways unimaginable, and you have not, as Momo kindly warned you, even known.

You are not, in fact, alright - or casual about the situation.

You need flowers, urgently: this is a gift-giving crisis.

-

It's funny - this winter fling, as ill-fated as they come, a few months in: time seems to pass fast. Too fast, to the point where it starts to slip away in longer and longer increments, faster and faster, further and further intervals - like shadows stretching inexorably towards dusk.

There's no flowers, no cards, no nothing - and that is sort of the nature of it, the romance of the everyday.

You're in the metro so you can't even use your data, can't send her a quick selfie of your charming visage, with the background blurring like you're getting real poetic about it. No moon, no stars, no gaslight illuminating the dark. Just plain-ass subway tracks, a near-soviet expression of concrete, and some stupid ads for full-body waxes. The trains clear the station at 8:57 PM local time. That's Paris's time, Paris's city, her backdrop. The frame of this portrait.

So, in other words: you are not poetic, at all. You've probably got nothing in your hair except dust, dirt, and a bit of airfare grime. You've still got yesterday's cologne and nothing worth sending her except an afterthought.

No photos, no video, no cards, no ring; no pearls or lace, no gold and silk - and this is total luck, by the way; serendipity must still like her more - you look across the platform and watch the lights of another train arrive: the girl stepping off is stunning. 

And even further in terms of non-comparisons: she's the type who laughs too hard at your jokes and wipes away the smeared tears on her cheeks afterwards, who will drop a dirty joke at every moment, who lets you see her mouth open in a perfect, dripping-wet gape, who will sink into the mattress after a good, rough fuck, the headboard creaking; a girl who will tell you your coffee is too bitter and when you ask, sweet enough? - she'll still say no; not yet; no; don't; harder, don't you dare stop - that type of girl, is the one inching off the metro, glancing down at the watch on her slender wrist.

The trains start again and the girl is left standing on her own. In another five seconds, someone will probably say, mademoiselle? - which, also: there's a class on language you have not passed; you'll pay that back later - and in response, she'll sigh deeply, stretch her arms out. Tilt her head upwards for some fresh air.

You blink once, twice: and no - that really is her, on the other end. Sana Minatozaki - somehow inexplicably, for no reason you're privy to - has materialized as though she just decided on a whim to visit her home planet again.

You call out across the chasm, like a man possessed, and it is incredibly loud, incredibly embarrassing, incredibly out of character. You hardly notice.

Your voice catches on the draft of the tunnels; it must've echoed. She spins around to see who's calling her.

When she spots you, her face glows.

-

"Holy fuck," she rasps, trying to catch her breath, putting her forehead to your shoulder. "Jesus christ. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"We were in the same city," you respond, hoarse and almost panting, palms flat against her skin. Your muscles have that third-rail electricity running through the tendons and straight on through, too; Sana feels like pure tension, just burning off. There's something vaguely buzz-high about you. "Couldn't resist. I was gonna call eventually-"

She hits your shoulder like she's mad, but her face has more or less melted in pleasure, her mouth parted into a wide smile, all sharp edges and incisors. Her hair's almost a disaster: you can see the barrette slipping out, the edges of it, the glittery accents; you think about getting your hand all knotted up in the up-do and pulling - just to watch her spill off the end of the spool, tightly wound, twining around you like ribbon, sinking in and refusing to leave.

The doorman tried to ask for your coats before you fell on each other - in the middle of the lobby, if that's possible - and it's not like he even really saw anything, you were sure: just saw her smile when you pressed the tip of your fingers up under her chin, just your thumb grazing her lip before you bent your mouth to hers and didn't come up for air.

The doors of the elevator up shut close, and suddenly there's nowhere left for you to go: no further to climb, to hide, to disappear.

"You," she begins, biting off the end of the sentence in exasperation, settling instead for letting the word trail away. Her lips ghost across the hollow of your throat, the curve of your jaw, the little dip between the column and your ear, pressing hard and insistent - marking her territory.

"Do you just, y'know, pop up in fucking New York once in a while, too, for like a spot of breakfast and then, yeah, I'm good." Her voice sounds tired, worn. It's kinda cute. "No plans to stay, nothing booked, just passing through, huh?" She taps your shoulder, pulling away to run her fingers through your hair. "Idiot," she breathes, in that saccharine way of hers, smiling; you are helpless; you are done for, fully done-for: she can take as many digs at you as she wants. "Also what the fuck, you didn't answer my texts," her face crumples a little when you grab her, haul her against you - holding on, tight. It's an intoxicating rush, seeing Sana falter like that. 

She's as stunning off-kilter as she is put together: more real than any human being should be allowed.

"Well," you say, not apologetic at all. "It's a holiday."

"You're making it really hard to be angry right now," she replies, lifting herself in her pumps and slotting her lips over yours. This time, the kiss lingers. It is the point of departure, a threshold of arrival: who knows whether or not she can feel you melting beneath the heat of her fingertips. You want her to take as many soft, easy-going kisses as possible - a stack, a row, a wall. If she keeps leaning into you like that, you'll do just about anything. "Not just to make a boner joke, either," Sana whispers, fingers gripping onto your shoulders for balance. "I wanna go slow for once. Real gentle."

"Say that again?" You hum, unable to leave well enough alone.

"Something slow?" She lilts.

"A boner joke."

"God," she groans. "Would it kill you, you massive fucking prick, to have a modicum of compassion and not act like you're five?"

And look - there's not enough elevator for the whole story, let alone the novel it would be to properly explain everything there is to know about Sana; how the sky goes dusky-hued when the streetlights come on; how she always fiddles with her hands in her pockets when she's bored, the impatient flex of fingers, pulling at the loose threads. How you'd kiss her knuckles to calm her - how she was annoyed that she let you in the first place.

The story of the two of you would take, well - it'd take a few months.

"Actually," you counter, "it would. Probably kill me dead. Obituary, a single photo of a smirking ass in a dress suit. Very sad."

"Christ. I've put up with way too many assholes today," she huffs, shaking her head, "for you to be the way that you are."

"Oh, trust me. It's not my favorite either." You lean back, can't quite help it: she's not at all ruffled - only curious, only teasing. You pull her hips tighter towards you. She kisses you, sighs a little: her neck smells like orange-blossoms. You had no idea that could be as sensual as it is. "You'll just have to deal," you murmur.

"Like always," she complains.

"It is pretty rough."

Sana meets your grin. Her hand cups your face - it feels oddly tender.

"How," she says, slowly, the words very carefully enunciated - "the hell did you think this would turn out?"

You open your mouth: this is what you are capable of.

-

Sana never actually gets around to telling you the things she meant to say: the confession of a valentine, all sappy and serious, almost candid, with gravitas - a five-paragraph essay, four pages long.

It's a messy affair - you've got a fistful of hair and the other's shoved down the front of her skirt. She's been wanting to be here all day, it seems - you've seen the text-book spread of supermodels and old-money socialites and she's wanted a moment's escape from them all, has been pining for someone, anyone (most certainly you); waiting in her pretty dress and her high heels, a set of pearl earrings, the starlet curls of her hair - the clutch she left on the floor by the door because you shoved your hand underneath the fabric, said: I'll eat you out right fucking here.

So there's a common thread, if nothing else: you and Sana are verifiably incapable of having anything resembling a serious conversation. There isn't a single point of departure: the entire thing starts out casual and remains, firmly, casual.

You are deeply unserious people; this is just how it is. So clear from your head the ideas of saviours, soulmates.

You stumble together into the sitting room of her hotel suite - the luxury is appalling, almost, the floor-to-ceiling windows opening onto a gorgeous balcony and overlooking the Seine - "It's fashion week,"  is her excuse, "all the good penthouses have been booked since last November," she apologizes, which you can't really wrap your mind around anyway. You nod like that's reasonable, the right answer, pull at her lip with your teeth, and she melts right into the open palm of your other hand - oh, she'll fit well here. It's where she belongs: soft, sweet, yielding to you.

"Don't need your pity," she pants, breaking the contact to speak, to drag her tongue up your collar and up to the hinge of your jaw, grinding her hips down so that you hiss and close your fist tighter in her hair, give her that sudden tug, that sweet little rush: that thing she doesn't need, wants anyway.

Her expression flicks something in you - the eyes, the mouth; the trademark Sana-sneer. And suddenly you need to pin her to the wall, the floor, hold her still for the taste. You look up to get your bearings and find the world gone monochrome: night, cold, grey, grey-on-grey, black, dark - and that's fitting somehow. Sana tilts her head away to observe you back - you have a feeling she's observing how fucked-up you are over her already, and for some reason, you can't give her the satisfaction, not quite yet: can't admit the defeat of how you can't ever take your eyes off her, the thick swell of her legs and the smooth curves of her calves. Can't lay out what you'll do to her.

Though that's about when the storybook romance vanishes, and in its place - a more familiar arrangement; the reality you'd built with her over the past half year, the awful, easy rhythm you're going to settle back into with little ceremony: all playful affection, no sentiment. Zero pressure to pretend - or to pretend anything differently.

(Which brings you to this.)

"Sana," you drawl, grabbing her chin, making her twist in the direction of your touch. "Is that your dildo stuck to the coffee table?"

Because in the middle of all this, that's what she left lying out in plain sight: a some-odd inch silicon cock, unabashedly translucent, obscenely clear; with a ridiculously realistic head, veined shaft, balls - she had gotten her vibrator out of one suitcase and forgot the rest. It's literally sitting right next to the complimentary drinks; so obviously out-of-place, it's impossible that someone could mistake it for anything.

"Oh god," is the only reply, mortified. "Please, dont. I didn't think I'd be-"

"Should I be offended?" You are doing a truly appalling job at sounding seductive. You are, in fact, kind of choking down a laugh.

Sana takes a hand through her half-disassembled hair. Tosses the bobby-pin holding up her bangs: there. Full dishevelment - the effect is startling. You can almost trace the silhouette of a girl so very badly kept together; frayed ends, straying strands, half-gossamer and half-permanent dye.

"It's a toy," Sana explains, like you hadn't pieced together that much. She shrugs off a strap of her dress, the other. "It's just plastic and stuff." She looks at it. You can see the wheels turning, trying to figure out if it's worth salvaging. Then: "Here, c'mon - don't think. Don't," she tries, unconvincingly: "think too much about this."

You raise an eyebrow.

"I was planning to fuck myself senseless, maybe because somebody wasn't answering their texts," she adds, glibly. It is absolutely stunning, watching Sana Minatozaki shamefaced, pouting - trying and failing, failing miserably - to look even a little apologetic. "Just lemme - if you're into it, y'know, we could. Use. It. Or something."

"Or something." 

It's too late: you're cracking up.

"This is really what you use on your off hours? On yourself?" You pick it up: it's heavier than you expect, mostly because the thing is made of clear jelly, probably some kind of latex-powdery-water concoction - just the sheer thought is bizarre, foreign to you. The base suction cups to...any surface, you suppose, to provide stability. It's not altogether very practical, now that you're getting a closer look. "Is this," and you hush conspiratorially, "Is this Jean-Pierre?"

Sana smacks the side of your arm, flushing. "Shut the fuck up," she responds, laughing. A beat later, her lips tilt. "His name's Woody."

"That sounds like a conversation starter."

"I shouldn't have to explain the reference."

"You're sure it's a he?"

"Oh yeah," you say, weighing the toy in your hand. "Look at that."

"Would you just, like," Sana coughs delicately, looks around the room for something interesting. "-put it somewhere."

"Phrasing," you can't help but point out. "Jesus you moved the mirror in here, too."

And you'd caught the moment originally, when the blush had filled her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, all the way on to her ears. She had known. "Maybe you really did corrupt me," she counters, turning her head pointedly away. "Wiped away the good girl veneer and turned me into a degenerate pervert."

"Which is basically how you started," you remind her - and you catch her in your arms. She relaxes almost instantly; you sink a palm down the small of her back to rest in the dip of her spine. You've learned a little: Sana prefers closeness, intimacy, touch. No questions, no fanfare, no gimmicks, just the simple offer of body warmth. She'll curl into your chest and stay quiet, almost content; an ineffable smile leaking up the back of her throat as your nose tickles the side of her neck, mouth open and warm and pressed into her skin.

Her eyes crease. She feels more real, a little less ethereally divine.

"How could you?" she asks, faux-affronted. You can feel how she breaks character, the laughter reverberating against your fingertips. "I'm, like, so fucking demure."

It takes everything to resist kissing her until she moans: which is the danger. You do anyway, but at least the damage has already been done.

She locks her wrists loosely behind your neck. Kisses you slow. Heavy. Giggling - you've been demoted to giggles in the end, it seems, a slip from seductress back to child-like delight. "Seriously," Sana sighs, rolling her shoulders out and circling her hips slowly. Your heart drops. Your entire face turns hot; you're really fucking gone for this girl. "Wanna watch me ride it?"

-

The thing is, a bed-time story would have paper-hearts, and candles, and maybe a field of birds; an open space, a plush meadow, a wide, beautiful, clean canvas for this little romance to run wild across, uncontained.

Sana instead, reaches for a bottle of personal-lubricant, glances back with a smile; your breath catches - you think it's a momentary trip, a chemical reaction.

You realize it's the lighting instead, the frame of this moment. The simple concept of art, how the hues of the dark deepen, saturate into something a shade off - purples and blues; something to capture and press into paper, inked forever.

She holds the bottle above the end of the toy, pours generously. As you can already tell - no lack of initiative, imagination: she takes both her legs to the edge of the table, stretches them outward - makes a pretty little show of herself, arches her back off the glossy wood - and sets the tip just against the inner junction of her thighs. Sana pushes, tilts: gasps aloud, sharply inhaling, watching you watch her with heavy-lidded eyes. Her shoulders relax and the rest of her muscles follow the tension - easing in a slow, languid circle, hips grinding down. She sighs at the cool feel of it, before pulling it back to rest the edge just in-between her lips, a teasing movement, right where you would reach - two fingers inside, hook up and outwards and open, stretch her wide to fill.

The girl looks like sin, looks like decadence; near-saintly: holy and sacrosanct. You think they've beatified less.

Sana reaches with her free hand for the front of your shirt.

"You," she whispers, and your hands flex involuntarily.

"Yeah," you reply, soft, even-keeled. "Me."

(Romance me, she'd said, only half-sarcastic. Sweep me off my feet and ruin me. Then I'll show you just how obsessed I am with you.)

-

There's always the itch, the impulse: to undo and dismantle everything around her, take everything to pieces; reduce her to tears until all she knows is your hands and your voice. To stop treating her like a masterwork and treat her more like something you're carving out of a block of stone. Maybe she'd lose that divine edge; she'd fall from that angelic grace into something mortal, and it wouldn't be anyone's fault. Not really.

Well - until now; because this is all you.

"Oh, Sana," you murmur, watching her tear up like it's killing her. "God, look at you."

You’ve got your fingers running through her honey-blonde tresses, got her wet lips slipping down the length of your cock, got the cutest little whimpers coming from her chest when you push a little too far, force yourself a little too deep - got the prettiest girl on her knees, working your cock to the back of her throat and letting her hips grind a few more inches of silicon inside her. The visual isn’t even in competition, in comparison - her huge amber eyes all innocent and glassy, those flawlessly plush red lips - you really shouldn't do it; if she hates something it's being mussed up, but here she is, anyway, because if there's anything she hates more, it's not getting a full serving of exactly what she wants - and she's swallowing your dick down her tight little throat without asking anything in return.

"You love this, don't you, baby," and when she bobs up - sinks back down - your next breath drags through your teeth.

The mirror's behind her; you don't need the nod for confirmation. 

You can see it clear as day: her pussy creaming, glistening as she takes it even deeper, leaving a white, glistening trail from the base to the tip of the silicon shaft - how far she's gone; how far she'll still go.

"You love having my cock down your throat," you keep talking, and you curl your fingers gently in her hair, not enough to guide or press, but Sana - bless her - takes it like an indication and does the work for you; she nods anyway.

The waterline of her big doe-eyes is swimming, nearly spilling over - and if this doesn't prove it, then nothing will, certainly not anything she could say herself.

But, really - you can't get over her face, and she must know that. 

Prada, Fendi, Chanel, Dior - they've got similar ideas, sure; straight to the gutter, only if they could see how you're replicating their vision - her eyes: too huge, too shimmery, too imploring; her hair spills from your fists in loose, glossy coils; that magazine-cover-ready look all flushed, mascara-thick lashes wet from the strain, jaw a little slack to accommodate the size of you - you're not too much easier to take than the dildo stretching her cunt wide right now, either. 

Oh, she's filled up on both accounts.

"Mmnhph," is how Sana hums around you, tongue working obscenely over the head. Her mouth feels velvety-tight on the upstroke.

It doesn't take much to forget her mouth's playing second-fiddle to the work her cunt's doing, and her free hand's curling tight around your thigh, a steadying mechanism - which, isn't that the very root of the matter: the first time you'd cum in her tight little pussy, hadn't it been just like that, where all the pieces slotted right back into place, a certain order to the chaos? The desperate cling of her pretty-fingernailed hand. 

Eyes wet and blinking: trust, don't let me down.

And you'll indulge her like tomorrow's the end of the world. Work her through it; watch her fine eyebrows pinch tight together; note how her high-strung breathing sounds muffled in her nose. How she lets you slide to the edge of the chair to fuck her face, lifting your hips and knocking into the slightest gag-reflex possible. She gets progressively filthier, tongue lathing the underside of you, sucking the head with the tight seam of her lips whenever you pull back to give her a second to breathe. 

"Jesus." Your fingers loosen in her hair, combing her wild bangs from her flushed face. It's suddenly delicate. Gentle. Doting. Sana's pretty little forehead deserves a kiss for how fast, how deep, she's taking your cock in the softest part of her throat.

"There we go - just relax, sweetheart," you tell her, the very same girl who is making herself cum in the full-length mirror: pussy stretched and pulsing wet around the toy. "Catch your breath."

She doesn't even flinch when you touch your thumb to her cheekbone, carefully pulling her face back, feeling the wet press of her tongue at the crown. But her lips pull into a pout like she's sad you're stopping her. "No more?"

You inhale, deeply, and try not to laugh out loud. Her cheeks have flushed this adorable rose color. "Baby," your voice trails off with a click, and it's entirely your fault for teasing her; you might not get out of this room for the rest of the night, after all. So much for red wine and valentine's on the Seine - the perfect, the picturesque-

"I can't help it," Sana cuts in. She doesn't even hesitate. If anyone can redefine perfection, well. She's wearing that look: her mouth an utterly sinful pucker and her tongue skimming pink up the wet mess her throat's made of you. Her big, heavy-lashed eyes gazing at at you, and her pupils - well, that's no doubt what happens when something hits too hard, and it's the last thing you should notice, really, in this moment.

Her tongue is flat, stuck out. Very pink. She slaps your cock against it. Jesus christ, you think.

But: who can blame you, when the gorgeous, nude, marble-perfect woman on her knees is riding her toy with no qualms whatsoever, gazing straight into your soul?

"The faces you're making are really fucking hot and it's valentines day and you, like, taste and smell so fucking good-"

"Okay." You're twitching in her hands, and it's making her give you the most awful bedroom eyes in the world. "Okay, baby, slow down-"

She doesn't, but she can't do much worse; Sana presses her plush, swollen bottom lip to the crown of your cock, makes a show of licking the precum beading from your slit - licks her lips like it's a present, like she'd flown halfway around the world just for that, and it's an ambrosia she'd rather savor than spill.

"Sana," and your laughter falls out in a gasp, because, fuck - she's got a tight grip on your thigh and the most selfish desire for your orgasm you've ever seen; her other hand is already set, too, the one rubbing away at her own dripping pussy, wrist working just underneath her, catching her clit. "You're going to make me cum like that."

"Okay," she tells you, all round-eyes and wet-mouth; she's so fucking insatiable. "Then cum."

You're not sure how a goddess who worships your cock ends up like this: propped up the hotel-furniture, sinking down a thick, gleaming dildo and the slightest hitch in her breath a fucking non-sequitur. "Fucking hell," you gasp. "Princess-"

And, well - it's not like you really protest; her mouth's already at the tip of you and she's working it there, in and out, with a teasing wetness.

She sighs, heavy, but also blissful; sinks lower in one, rolling agonizing movement; meets your eyes when you go heavy-lidded and biting your lip - like it's a competition for who can end up the worse wreck. She swallows, slowly, so slowly. Lets her nails lightly dig into the sensitive skin behind your balls, drags them back up with her tongue and her throat constricting.

It's her expert mouth, that's the thing. You close your eyes because you think you might cum right then; right down the back of her pretty, porcelain throat. You can hear her humming like she's enjoying it more than you - can hear the clicking sound in her throat when she bobs her head, fucks herself deeper. Can hear the slick, filthy slaps of her pussy taking the cock fastened to the coffee table under her. And, you think, opening your eyes just a crack: when your girl's making a mess of the expensive hardwood with the cream spilling from her needy cunt - that's worth giving into. That's an image so good and perfect and god-damned filthy that you'd bet, when you cum, all the devil will want is a deal for a replica, for a pact to possess every woman out there who fits the mold: this one's yours.

You're fucking her mouth so hard, she's drooling.

"Jesus- ah, fuck. I'm going to fucking cum, Sana," and, not that she listens, “down your fucking throat, honey- I'm, oh," - not that she cares, really - you've just managed to grit your teeth - to arch your back up like that could pull you out from the sensation: it doesn't.

She does moan around you, then. Pulls the vibration deep and uses her tongue, works the pink, slender muscle right down to where you're half-gagging her, making her eyes water.

It's easy to knot your fingers back in the locks of her hair, pull tight. 

Easier still, her face is framed with your thighs and the effect's immediate - it feels as hot and wet and tight as a vice and your voice shakes along with the rest of your neurons, firing, collapsing, keening - and, of course: when your hand fisted in her hair tries to pull her hot mouth off your cock, well.

There's a few more inches of sloppy-wet friction and slippery-tight drag you hadn't really budgeted for.

You're cumming all over her face, not that you had much of a choice - it's just one wave and another, your thighs tensing and the breath going out of you in stilted, long, stuttering moans - Sana looks up, when your brain has unscrambled enough to register her name and the light of the world and the absolutely perverted expression she's got: there's a shot of cum that streaks across her closed eyelid and another string making a sticky-white mess out of her button-nose and, god-

You don't mean to cum in her hair, but-

"Fuck," your teeth clatter around a biting-gasp, "Sana, oh fuck," but - as expected, she does have your cock gripped tight at the base, her lashes clumped with the mess, her cheeks sticky-messy. 

Sana's looking up with the innocent sort of mischief only she could ever get away with, you figure, cum-covered and beautiful: the good girl with her good girl mouth, all the evil inside of her.

She lets your cock fall out of her hand, down, with an obscene, wet thud, right where she can press it against her face - press it against those sharp cheekbones - and those doe-eyes, and those lips: the ones she draws across the dripping tip, pulls at them with a sultry sort of sigh. Sinking the curve of her nose down the belly side of your cock as you paint her, gasping for air; and it gets worse - when her tongue catches between your balls, when her lips are pouting right around the soft skin there and her soft moans make you pump the white-hot ropes of cum until it's a mess in her hairline, in the silky locks that fall to the crests of her ears and down to where they rest over her tits, hiding the flush of her hard, puffy nipples, her tiny little pink clit-

"Messy," Sana croons, without much of an inflection; one eyelid flutters open and a milky-stream runs down the curve of her cheek; the other seems hopelessly stuck.

Oh, she's usually such a wet blanket about getting anything in her hair (which is more often just an excuse to ride you brainless on the shower bench, but it doesn't come without her grumbling on the way), and even then she's lifting up off her heels and resting her chin on your thigh to make sure you can watch when she spreads the mess along her slender throat and back behind her ear, almost shy, drawing strands of cum into her mouth with her long-lashed eyes locked onto yours.

"It really hasn't been that long," and she says it with some exasperation, with a bubbly little bout of laughter that has the same weight as her pecking kisses along the muscles of your abs, cleaning her cum-hand against the patchy wetness across the flat plane. "Geez - you must've been so pent up -" and she stops for breath, for another suckle to your shaft; your cock twitches in her grip, the sensation too much, but it makes Sana give the most self-satisfied smile. It'd be unbearably irritating if she wasn't your entire universe - she is, so you try not to move as she steadies herself on your thighs; presses her messy face into the side of your throat and mewls. "All mine," Sana decides, sounding quite content about it. "Do you need a few minutes?"

She asks this like she isn't pumping you still, using her delicate fist to keep you upright for her while she speaks into the line of your jaw.

"Um," you say, before anything else. Before thinking about her clinging, wet heat around you. Before anything else: "yeah."

She purses her lips. Presses her free hand to your chest with a needy arch of her body. Pants for you, lashes falling shut - and, there's the problem, she's so much more fuckable like that. She's painted red from her cheeks all the way down her tits and you're just realizing how much drool fell off her chin, how much of a mess is between her tits, how much she revels in it - getting her face-fucked until neither of you can survive the fallout.

"How about," she huffs against you, all breath and the curve of a whine, "I clean this up," her hand's still tight at the base, where your nerves are singing with all sorts of new sensory input - "and god, your heart," she whispers, and her chin hooks over your thigh. She's looking up at you, ruined, flushed and dewy. "-is beating so fast for me -" she says, almost wistful.

That's the point, probably. It's the entire problem: she has a few ideas of how beautiful she is, the kind of destruction she wreaks.

Her breath catches in her chest when her hips shift back and that thick, fake cock pops out of her cunt; it sounds fucking filthy, and the softest of keening moans escapes her - it has the weight of your existence and she probably knows it; her amber gaze fluttering shut as she doesn't move for a second.

You don't either, can't really; Sana sliding up your body as graceful as ever, even naked and used-looking, leaves you barely functional and running on over-stim. "I mean," she starts, like the two words just tumbled out of her cunt with the rest of the mess and that's a great explanation; Sana's moving around in your lap anyway, dropping that nice, hard dildo on the seat beside you, still dripping. "I can't let you cum in my pussy," she says, all gentle matter-of-fact, while her mouth opens across the arch of your jaw and she gets cum down her wrist. "Well," she amends, "-not yet anyway, not right now," and she does look guilty, for some reason.

It makes your smile twist wry and unattractive, probably. "I'm good at controlling myself," you manage.

"Liar," says Sana, which is a reasonable reply. You'd laugh, but her cunt's wet and hot against you, already sinking, settling, just an inch deep into her cunt. It's easy to take in hand - you grip her hips, thumb her little pink clit.

Sana's response is to rut against it, rubbing all over where the swollen head of your cock rests between her thighs. Her smile goes a little blissed out, dreamy.

"There's another place," she's saying, while her hair spills down your arm, between you, sticking in the space between her tits, "that would be a perfect home for this thick, gorgeous cock."

"I think you should let Woody and I sort that out," and, shit, that doesn't make her stop moving, dragging her soaked slit over your shaft. "Maybe he'll be your valentine after all, huh, babe?"

Sana narrows her eyes, tilting her head forward in her best attempt at threatening. It's cute, almost, if your dick wasn't trapped between the wet heat of her body and your belly. You pick her up so, so easily. And that's hot, you think: your strength, her whole lithe-waisted petite-tits everything.

"Hey," her lips part against yours, a protest there - until you move her by the hips, pushing up and watching her spread for it.

And if that doesn't go straight to your ego.

Sana huffs, playing aloof, petulant - a character you draw out when she's really hoping and praying you'll fold her up and show her what the good parts of worship mean. "You think you can share?" she's asking you, voice already growing rough. She's trying to fuck back, take her hips again, but you still her with your palms, fingers sinking tighter and her ass spilling out between your knuckles.

"Get your knees back on the table for me, pretty girl," and you lift her as she squirms; set her down, until her body is arched forward, tits pressed punishingly to the hardwood. 

You think you're maybe spending next-century's savings on a wet-dream made real; maybe being too rough, too mean about your hand twisting through that mess of golden-strawberry curls at the base of her spine and making her spine curve deep as she breathes out a heavy, messy curse.

"Give me what I deserve, then," and she can't reach under her body and tug at your cock, but she gets the words out. The order. "I'm aching, it's sore and empty and, it's so fucking tight," and that's not a demand but a whine. She wants you, that's the real point. "You know, I want," and she doesn't finish that, but: 

She's blinking at her reflection in the glass, watching it. You really fucked up that pretty painting, and she's appraising the art, tilting her chin just a bit to appreciate the effort: how she's made to be wrecked. 

You grab Woody, attach it to the table without thinking; the weight's warm, solid; he's hard-used and wet enough from her body that it's not an issue; there's enough lube leftover to slide your palm once or twice over and drag it wet across Sana's ass, around your length, even over Sana's pink cunt, wet and swollen and bunched with the toy she'd used, stretched deep as you'd seen. She whimpers out the softest sound, then, and you think: what a miracle, and maybe she does too because her hips arch into it like she's begging for praise, for your touch, anything; there's a few seconds of pressure, just enough time for you both to realize what's happened.

"This'll get messy, you know," you tell her, which isn't fair. "It won't feel the same in there," because your baby needs her explanations.

"Want to feel you both in my guts," is what she offers instead, and- yeah, it's so not fair for her to say stuff like that either.

You touch the silicone head to her puffy folds, ease him up and down - just how you would for her, only taking care to feel where she's pinkest. Where's the pressure on your fingers? There, probably, but there, too. Where does she gasp the softest when she's full and tensing in anticipation? Oh.

Her cunt is so slicked she sinks on it, opening fast and beautiful and dirty.

The sound Sana makes is unreal; no way to measure her reaction otherwise. You don't know whether it's good or bad; all you see is the way her reflection dips into nothing, into pain, but: her head jerks up in time to watch and she moans like she's begging - loud and pretty and shocked, eyes fluttering. Her hair falls like curtains around her face, a wildfire behind her. She's stunning; of course you think it.

"See that," she says, through clenched teeth, "the pretty way it pushes out of me-"

"Makes room for me," because yeah, fuck, okay. You know it too.

She's perfect for this: a body like she's the centerfold in a dirty magazine and then a disposition that says yes, you do want me like that. Or, she's asking for a pounding. That's the least you can do - straddle the surface with her, line your cockhead up, push just barely to the resistance - force Sana's hips down until Woody's bottomed and her legs shake for the first time.

"You good, baby?"

"You can," and-

Oh, man. "Let me do it," you tell her, sliding your hand up her back to grab her hair, winding it between the thick of your knuckles. "I'll take care of you, I promise-"

That's another shot in your veins: her lips bitten red, her expression ruined; the way her face falls for you like she's meeting you in that elevator for the very first time, the straw of her iced coffee between her lips, her nose wrinkling for the cliché.

She blinks at you again, nods and keens and oh-

Your cock works in that next fraction of an inch, just the head spreading Sana open.

"Holy-" but she chokes it back, so you'll keep doing this, making her think, fuck- "oh my-fuck-okay," is what she gives you, breathing in pants; what her expression tells you, the lines cutting over her brows and between her nose.

"Sana," is as far as you get, and Sana's grinding, gasping. She'll sob. She'll get loud. You can see from your angle; just feel how much it burns, the way Woody's working inside her, splitting her to the core.

You watch the line of her back work, tense, clench - where it's just that simple and base and human. 

And the mirror's got the full story: it all comes up with the same obscene details - Sana's mouth a deep open pink, her eyes rolling closed as she swallows thickly - as she's wetting the air down and relaxing her whole body for it: her toes curling. She sinks another inch onto the toy, you figure, and she makes this fucked-up mewling noise, half-cry, half-begging. Your cum is tacky all over her front, drying sweaty; her makeup's runny. She's a disaster and so pornographically stunning.

You sink deeper, and she bucks, takes her time riding. "Feels- fucking incredible, doll, I'm going to start fucking you, ok?" and you groan; you are. You pull back, seeing where her cunt is creamed out and ruined, where there's the ghostly wet lube smeared on your cock, all sticky like her.

Sana nods, looking back - she finds your face, doesn't falter; she'll see her tits spilling against the table; the dark shade of her nipples. Her cunt's sliding over the toy in a rush; she's shimmying her whole body, impatient. You let go of her hair and touch between her shoulder blades to the base of her spine, marvel in the stretch of it, the pretty flush you're fucking into over and over.

"It feels-" Sana's talking, her forehead bowed against the table, her mouth hanging loose, "feels-good. Good. Amazing. Feels-" and she can't breathe, you know, but fuck, neither can you- "so. Full. Full."

You nod; know. She knows.

She's saying it for herself, in a slur, the words on the edge of a gasp: "I'm-holy-"

Your fingers pinch her ass, just gentle; enough to spread her, catch a view of her stretched asshole. Her teeth knock together - she's trembling for this. She'll cum.

"Trying to kill me," you tease, but fuck- it's good; so fucking good. 

You've been brushing your cock to the back of this girl's throat and it's still the hottest thing you think you'll ever see; her personal toy buried to the hilt beneath you, just the tight little opening of her pussy fucked-out and slicked-up, raw and red and utterly ruined-

"Shh, sweetheart," you manage, burying yourself in as far as possible, leaning over. You move the hair falling into Sana's face and trace her features with the tip of your index finger, smudging a fingerprint of eyeliner. You're kissing her hair, her skin, tasting salt, sweat, cum: "Such a slut, taking that big fat toy all in you, opening you up-" and the last you get out isn't her name, it's a murmur- "look what a whore you're being," and her cunt is fucking throbbing-

You lean back, catch a sight of it; her thighs trembling and pinkish and oh, fuck, no. She's got one of her hands worked back and on her clit, stroking it feverishly-

"Baby-"

"I need you," is what she cries out; not an explanation. "So," and it's something mangled- "God, please. Come on."

She tells you twice; she can't help herself. Sana's ass is unbelievably tight. So pretty; so the little fucked-out cocksleeve you always needed. All her eyeliner's fucked to hell and her hair's still a knotted disaster; you've got all your inches inside her, she's pressing the heel of her hand to her clit and drawing patterns over her face with her fingers like she can't remember-

"My pussy, jesus-fucking-christ." Her mouth is falling slack again. "God. God. Harder, it feels too good, don't stop-"

"Such a good fucking girl," and there's this picture-perfect moment-

She cums. You're all up in her guts, spilling to the tight space, that she's fucked beyond the stretch and that's got to burn, paradoxically making her go all crazy with this feeling. Your cock's making space - you'd hate not fucking her until she's overfull and all those slick muscles are clenched and bruised-

"Does my princess need something?" you ask her, while your palm teases the flare of her hips. It's teasing; she won't stop; she'll cum again. You're pounding her ass and that toy's still there, buried to her cervix, her pussy's a mess and it's almost an itchy pleasure, too much stimulation, too sensitive; she's slick, sodden.

Sana is nodding furiously. One hand's doing it again, and the other's got the thumb trapped in her mouth; she's trying for silence; it won't last. Her throat's loud and filthy and you've always probably known, since the very beginning, that Sana loves taking you in whatever gorgeous, wet, tight hole she can.

"Please," she manages. Her hand's moving quicker- "Let me. Let me." And she's grinding against you, taking in every inch you have for her, arching her back; her clit is raw and throbbing and she's a fucking genius. A natural at begging. She deserves the win. She's being good. She's letting you fill her with cum.

You're not even fucking her into particularly fast, particularly deep, just grinding, using the tight ring of muscle, the heavy, bruising press.

"Tell me," and she can't focus- "Tell me when you're going to cum, princess. Can't wait to feel you-".

Oh. And, then-

You want it to last.

Her feet are tapping, toes curling into the hardwood, and it's over: she's tightening her grip against the table and making sure to keep the vibrations direct, her cheek pressed to the wood, drool drenching the corner of her lips. You've seen enough dirty shit, done enough kinky stuff. This - this might actually have you dumbfounded: watching her convulse; watching her bring her hand away, just touching. Her cunt's all milky and soft.

"Stay still, sweetheart," you're saying; as if she can move. You're holding her steady by her hips. You're massaging lightly; taking all the rest you can. "That's it, come here, you're so-" and your cock's easing its way out- "fucking."

She gasps when you slip all the way free; your cum slides back down. Sana's languid and fluid, skin sweating, hair everywhere. She's not crying, but it's the closest she's been in ages; the closest, most pure you can get a girl: your cum spilling out and all over you, and you're telling her it's alright, telling her she's gorgeous; saying it's okay she's already stretched herself so thin, exhaustion pooling, seeping out of her mouth, the line of her thighs and-

"Thank you." It's that genuine, melodic cadence, the honesty - it's that the first time she's looking down and she's blinking tears- "Want you to- right here," and she's moving forward, slowly.

You're cupping Sana's thighs before you can even think; lifting, bending them to her chest, her lips bitten, kiss-swollen. Her tongue darts to the corner of her mouth: Sana knows where this is going.

You can taste her. You can taste your own sins - the vanity, the hubris, the glutton, the greed - taste how wet, how flushed. She's putting that expert mouth to good use and keeping quiet again: a pant, a whine, an ahhhh, a whimpered half-curse. Her chest is flushed the prettiest, sweetest, lightest shade of red.

It's too intimate. You could lie in it, keep her warm like this until the very earth rotted. All the rough, dirty things you could do to her; it's almost sacrilegious that this is what brings the closest feeling of bliss, peace.

You don't realize how still everything is, all stilled, until Sana's small, quivering legs hook your shoulders; until the end of her toe brushes the shell of your ear, presses. Her spine arches into your mouth and the scent of her cunt - the taste. You could stay here, in your hands, and take, and - and give it right back: take, take, and take.

You eat her cunt until her voice is wrecked raw, your tongue dragging across her ass, over your lower lip, smearing her slickness, tasting her from your fingertips. She doesn't beg and she doesn't tell you what to do, she just spreads her pussy and rides her clit against your lips, moaning unashamedly as she rocks herself on your face, coming on your tongue in two, three hard, heavy pulses.

"Good fucking-"

"-God," you finish for her, and it's all the most sacred kind of silent. Your face buried back in between her thighs, just breathing. Just loving her, and holding her steady, because aftercare's a bigger part of the game than either of you let on, and you know she's ready and safe in your arms by now.

Sana pants and heaves, eyes shut. Bites her lips red as she smiles. 

The lines of her face relax as if you're soothing her, tucking her in: good job, I've got you. When she isn't such a tender wreck, it'll happen all over again.

-

"You know," you say conversationally to Sana, who's lying in the fetal position at the foot of the bed, "you look cute right now."

It's another day, same time-zone, different house, same game. You've never stopped in your pursuit of what exactly a muse looks like: perfect, empty, caught in the bright white exposure of her hotel room lamp; all hard black-and-white, tonal range; in the scratch of the pen and the haze of the film developing, on the translucent material of the photo you'll print. There's the image, there's her breathing-

(There's all the ones you don't even know you'll find: her belly growing large, skin smoothing with child, a birth, a growth, a transformation; the dreams.)

-she's told you as much, but you can never know for certain if she really, truly- 

"I'm dying," she grumbles. "You fucked me to death."

"You're bad for my ego." You plop down next to her and rub a hand between her shoulder blades. The curve of her back makes your fingers ache and your throat close up. "How do you feel, really."

Sana takes a moment before she replies.

"Hurt," she finally murmurs, quietly. You hum back a soothing noise. "But good. The best. Everything I've always wanted." She pauses. "Also: dead."

"You said that already." You're rolling your eyes, fondly.

She doesn't reply, just pushes herself up, legs crossing, one hip propped up. She's in a hotel bathrobe and she's supposed to be at a runway in an hour. "Hey."

"Yeah?" you're already tilting your head. She's sitting in the middle of the bed now, legs crossed under her; this is definitely a hotel robe, you've never been around her this long. "What's up?"

Sana just tucks her hair back, bares her shoulders and moves the fabric down the curve of her side.

"I told you," she starts, and her teeth snag on her bottom lip, "I think you're good," and she's suddenly shy: this little fuck-off of yours, of yours. "For me."

"You-" you start, and there's a way that things are and you have the gut instinct, the conviction of it, but-

(Then again, a girl with hair the color of a caramel confection and eyes you could be lost in for eons told you the other day without having to say it, eyes widening in the haze and light and gloss, that she could love you forever.)

"Yes," she answers, because it's your question, that slow smile making her features draw inward, the wrinkle of her nose: yes, it's your decision. That she's telling you the truth. "Exactly."

-

Actually, to frame this right, you probably ought to have started with her, at the girl with idyllic, copper-spun hair and a thousand-watt smile. It reads main-character energy from fifty feet away: you should've pulled the curtain back and simply said, meet Minatozaki Sana.

Your significant other, sorta - few people on earth know that, for a lot of reasons, and depending on the day, you can't be entirely sure if she wants it that way or if she'd rather scream it from the rooftops; Sana is - well, it's tricky. She's beautiful in a way you never got to conceptualize before, that nobody probably does. She's magnetic. It's effortless. It's gravity, and it's only natural that you'd always want to pull yourself back to her, to orbit her; she'd ask and you'd die, right? 

She assumes you'll ask to marry her, someday - you're starting to suspect she's probably right.

And there's a pattern of nuance to how you know her, all the definitions of her - you bring her fresh-cut flowers, you call her princess, you fuck her until she begs, you hold her while she rinses her hair in the shower. You run your mouth, you eat her cunt until she can't walk straight. It's a big role, a broad palette to capture.

Sana, in the morning for example: 

Can't drink her coffee black; steals sugar packets from cafes and slips them into her pocket; sleeps so still and so quietly that sometimes it almost scares you, worrying that she’s slipped off into a coma. She likes being doted on, likes getting compliments, likes melting under someone’s full attention as if she's waited for that from you her whole life. She says it directly: listen, okay, don't laugh at me, I get needy.

Or, beneath starlight:

Flitting across hotel balconies, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you into open bars.

She'll buy you a drink and loves when you buy her another, her glass never half-empty. She climbs on top of you and presses her mouth to your ear, sings the song in her head for the next five minutes, hips jolting when she sways a bit too far - a light bulb over a diner counter. Tips the waiter extravagantly, rolls her eyes when you lecture her for spending your money. Smiles at you anyway and takes your hand in hers on the way out the door.

Sana Minatozaki, on herself:

A nightmare. I don’t even know. Seriously. An absolute mess. Completely nuts. (You said you were a 'total fucking catch.') Oh, yeah. I guess that's true too.

-

(Or maybe, Sana, on you:

Well, when you ask on the flight out, she says something sweetly innocuous. When you press her again, she blushes. When she might be feeling especially adoring, she'll look at you and say, with utmost certainty and uncharacteristic lack of sarcasm, 'I mean, it's you. What more can I say?')

[vakarianshepard]

Come back alive. It'd be an awfully empty galaxy without you.

Happy Valentine's Day!! 💖💖

[wheeboo]

(edit) FUCKING TUMBLR DELETED HALF OF MY TAGS NOOOO THIS IS SO DEVASTING SKYE BUT JUST SO U KNOW IM SCREENCHIGN I LOVED THIS SO MUCH 😭😭😭

─ ♡ crash course in romance | kwon soonyoung

SUMMARY: meet kwon soonyoung, he’s the ultimate goofball—sweet and chaotic but clueless when it comes to romance. so when you ask him to be your fake boyfriend even though you barely know him, he says yes, even though he's never dated before and has no idea what to do. as you show him the ropes and coach him on how to be the perfect boyfriend and slowly get to know him, soonyoung finds himself slowly falling for you. and maybe, just maybe, you're falling for him too.

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x fem!reader

GENRE: strangers to lovers, fake dating, best friend’s brother, first love, light slow burn, humour, rom com.

WARNINGS: kissing, fluff, light angst, mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption, use of curse words, little suggestive (towards the end), cameo of roommate!seungkwan and other svt members, hoshi being a clueless idiot

WORDCOUNT: 40.8k

A/N: FINALLY A LONG FIC FOR MY HUSBAND AAAA . this fic is part of the lonely hearts cafe collab by @camandemstudios! i had so much fun writing this fic. yapped to much and ended up with 40k but i'm so proud of this fic. thank you to @wheeboo for hearing me crash out over this fic. it is also set in the same universe as her chan fic! and thank you to cam and em for hosting this lovely collab! please support the other writers in this collab and check out their amazing fics too! i would love to know what you think so feedback is always appreciated <3 thank you to @diamonddaze01 and sar @cheolhub for beta-ing the fic!

you’re about to pull up at your best friend, jihyo’s place. you dial her number, calling her up and she picks up after four rings, her voice filling the space in your car.

“hey”, she says as she picks up. “hey jihyo, i’m about to reach your place to collect my mail and other packages”, you say. “oh, i’m actually not at home right now, but i’ll tell soonyoung to hand them over to you, i think he’s dropped by”, jihyo informs and you can hear the bustle of people talking through the phone as she speaks, assuming she must be at work. “sure, okay”, you say and jihyo mumbles something about calling you back later before cutting the call. you pull up at her driveway a few minutes later.

you step out of the car and walk up to the house, ringing the doorbell. usually you’d ring the doorbell and walk right in, but considering she wasn’t there, you didn’t want to suddenly intrude, it felt odd. you wait a few moments and you can hear the shuffle of feet from the inside, along with a soft thud of something falling, probably a box. the door finally opens and you’re greeted by kwon soonyoung—jihyo’s younger brother.  

“hey, yn right?”, he says when he sees you. “jihyo told me you’re here to collect your mail and stuff”, he tells with a slightly frazzled face, like he was put to this task last at the minute and had no idea what to do, like a deer in headlights. you nod and he gestures for you to enter. you walk inside as he disappears back into the other room, probably to fetch your mail. you’d asked jihyo to drop by your place if she could to collect your mail since you’d been out of town for two weeks on a business trip and you didn’t want anyone stealing your packages or snooping around.

you’d known jihyo ever since you joined university. she was your roommate and now bestfriend. she was kind, sweet, funny and a little chaotic, but you loved everything about her. so naturally, you’d been to her house countless times, and met her brother too— soonyoung. he was two years younger than jihyo and you, and he was always so sweet. when you’d come over during the break or to hang out, you’d see soonyoung occasionally or bump into him when you were entering or leaving, as he’d always be doing his own thing. but now, you were probably seeing him for the first time since you graduated university and started a job, having moved a little further away into the city. so it’s been almost three years since you saw soonyoung again, because whenever you’d meet jihyo now, it was always in the city or somewhere out, not at her family home.

soonyoung had changed a lot. he’d grown tall and his hair that had been virgin black was now dyed a silver blonde. it had grown too, his hair falling over his forehead in a cute shaggy mess and growing a little long at the ends, almost at the beginning stages of a mullet and somehow, he pulled it off—t looked good on him. his face was framed by soft rounded features and he somehow raidated a youthful, approachable glow about him. his almond shaped eyes are soft, but also sharp, holding warmth in them, and lastly he had definitely been hitting the gym because he looked different—he looked good.

two minutes later, soonyoung walks into the room holding a big box with a smaller box stacked on top of it along with a few small parcels and envelopes. “this is all the stuff”, he announces, like he’d just accomplished a huge task by collecting all of this for you. 

“thanks!”, you say, taking a step forward to take the box but he speaks again. “let me load it up in your car, it’s a bit heavy”, he says as he looks at you, blinking. “okay, sure”, you say and you open the door, walking outside towards your car with soonyoung following beside you. you unlock the car and pop open the trunk and soonyoung sets down the pile of boxes with a soft thud before taking a step back. 

“thanks again soonyoung”, you say, looking up at him. now that he was right next to you, you realise how tall he’d actually grown. he gives you a polite smile as he runs a hand through his silver blonde hair, the strands of hair getting messed up, falling over his forehead in a cutely disheveled manner. “it’s no problem”, he says and with that you give him another small wave and head out, heading back home.

when you get home, you find your apartment spick and span—quite the contrast to which you had left it, considering you had left on the business trip in a rather short notice. but now as you walk inside, your shoes are all neatly lined up by the side, the bunch of laundry that had been rotting on your bed for two weeks was neatly folded and kept aside in your wardrobe. your mugs, which had piled up were all neatly rinsed and washed and your fridge was stocked with new food—no doubt all the doings of your mother. 

you immediately reach for your phone and dial your mother’s number and she picks up almost immediately, like she had been waiting for you to call. you drag your suitcase to your room and leave it there, taking off your coat and throwing it on your bed.

“mom, did you drop by?”, you ask, already knowing the answer, but you liked to tease her. you visibly hear her sigh and you hold back your laugh.

“no darling, a ghost dropped by your apartment”, she deadpans, making you let out the laugh that you were holding. “i don’t even think a ghost would want to live in your apartment in that state”, she adds. 

“i was busy and i had to leave on short notice”, you counter. “that’s what you always say”, she says and you scowl. “it was really short notice this time”, you say and she only hums in response.

“thank you mom, i love and appreciate you for that”, you say after a moment. “i made your favourite, it’s in the fridge”, she adds and you smile. your mom really knew the way to your heart. you walk towards the kitchen and fill the kettle with some water.

“so, did you meet any cute guys on your trip”, she asks and you let out a small groan at her question. of course that’s what she’d ask you first, not how the trip was or how work had been.

“no mom, it was a work trip”, you say, letting out a sigh. “still! you should keep an eye out”, she says. “after you broke up with that jaehyun, you’ve been sulking around. it’s time to find a guy and settle down”, she adds and just then the kettle lets out a whistle, signaling that the hot water is ready. you take a mug from the shelf and pour the boiling hot water into in, watching as the steam curls at the top before you drop in a tea bag, watching the tea leaves slowly seep into the water, turning it into green tea.

“for the millionth time, he broke up with me mom, and i just need some space right now, i’m not in the mood for a relationship, nor do i have the time”, you tell as you take the mug of tea and walk over to the couch, plopping down on it and putting the mug on the table beside you.

“nonsense, if you start dating again you’ll feel better. do you want me to find someone for you? i found this guy, i’ll send you his picture, i can set you up with him on a blind date and—”, you cut her off.

“mom, i’m serious about the no dating thing right now”, you say and she clicks her tongue in disapproval. “i’ll still send you his picture if you change your mind”, she says as you take a sip of the hot tea.

fast forward two weeks later, you’re at the bar of a restaurant, downing your fourth drink of the night. the music playing is loud and the lights are dim. you put the empty glass down on the marble counter with a soft clink and shake your head a little to get your mind straight. you can already feel the effects of the alcohol in your system, your head feeling light—you were definitely tipsy. you glance over your shoulder and see your coworkers all talking to each other, laughing about something, all nursing drinks of their own and you turn your head again, looking down at the empty glass in front of you before asking for another drink. this was a company treat for finishing a project with a high value client. that’s why you’d been out of town for those last two weeks, securing the deal and finishing the project. it had all been riding on you and you’d done it. though if you were being honest, you really didn’t want to be here right now. you’d rather have been at home, lying in your bed, under the blankets and watching some nonsense on television. but who were you to say no to free food and drinks since the company was paying for it—so here you were.

your phone pings with a message from your mom and you open it to see another picture of a guy she’d found you, saying he came from a good background and that you’d be a good match. she really was not taking no for an answer. you sigh and put your phone down with a light thud and groan, burying your hands in your face. 

“are you okay?”, you hear someone ask and you peek through your hands to see whoever it was, only to recognise the face—kwon soonyoung. you look at him and a hint of recognition seems to flit over his features as well as he looks at you.

“soonyoung? hey”, you say, sitting a little straighter. “yn hey”, he says, his tone casual.

somehow, hearing your name from soonyoung’s mouth feels oddly sweet. “are you okay? it looks like you were having a bit of an existential crisis”, he says, making you sigh even more. you look at him and his silver blonde hair seems to catch the light he’s sitting under and it highlighst his features. his jawline is sharp and his eyes are just as sharp. he’s wearing jeans, a shirt and a ring adorns his pinky finger. you notice the helix piercing in his ear, which you never noticed before and you glance away for a second before looking back at him.

“yeah, that’s exactly what is happening right now”, you say as soonyoung takes a seat beside you.

“what are you doing here by the way, is jihyo here too?”, you ask and he shakes his head. 

“nope, i’m here alone”, he informs and you nod. “you?”, he asks, curious in his tone.

“work dinner”, you say, gesturing to the table over to the side where all your colleagues sat, talking and drinking and his eyes follow your gaze before returning back to yours.

you glance over at soonyoung, realising you don’t actually know much about him. all you knew is that he graduated last year because jihyo told you about it, but besides that, nothing much.

“so, what have you been up to?”, you ask, curiosity getting the better of you and soonyoung seems to sit up straighter at your question.

“i’m actually working! i’m the manager and one of the instructors at a dance studio downtown”, he says and you widen your eyes in surprise. 

“wow, that’s very cool”, you say. you remember jihyo mentioning something about soonyoung liking dance, and having even majored in a dance related program in college. “i think it’s been almost three years since i saw you, so you’ve changed quite a lot, grown up i can say”, you tell and he gives you an almost shy smile.

“yeah, my mom always mentions you, asking jihyo to invite you over to dinner”, soonyoung fills in and you smile, remembering how warm and welcoming jihyo’s mom and entire family has always been with you. you really should drop by sometime.

“what have you been doing?”, he asks a moment later.

“nothing much, same old corporate job that i say i’ll quit everyday but don’t because i need the money”, you tell, feeling deadbeat. 

the drink you had ordered finally arrives and you take a big sip, emptying it almost immediately. soonyoung looks a little alarmed at that but he doesn’t say anything. you feel the rush and buzz in your head, feeling tipsy and slightly intoxicated before you decide to speak again, which was a bad decision because you were always a yapper when you got tipsy. so right now, soonyoung was going to face the wrath of whatever nonsense you were going to tell him, poor thing.

“this sounds really stupid, but my mom keeps trying to set me up on blind dates and i keep telling her i don’t want to date right now and she can’t seem to take no for an answer”, you tell in one breath.

“that’s exactly like my mom, she keeps trying to set me up too”, he says, a small lopsided pout forming on his face as he speaks.

“damn, i think all moms are just universally coded like that”, you joke and he lets out a small laugh.

there’s a moment of silence between you both after that and you gulp down the rest of whatever drink is remaining in your glass.

“the thing is, i’ve never dated before so she thinks something is wrong with me”, soonyoung fills in. 

“wait, what? really?”, you ask, a little surprised because looking at soonyoung now, he was pretty good looking and pretty handsome, so hearing him say he’s never dated before takes you by surprise. 

he nods. “yeah, i just…haven’t found the one you know”, he says, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“my mom thinks i’ve dated too much and something is wrong with me”, you tell, letting out a small laugh at your situation. “she wants me to settle down and stuff but i’m not ready for that, at least not now”, you add. “it’s kind of ironic considering i have four exes, so you’d think i’d have found the one by now, but nope”, you say defeated. 

“it’d be funny if we fake date just to get them off our backs”, you blurt out a second later without thinking, the words already out before you can take it back and you watch as soonyoung blinks at you, the words slowly sinking into him.

“that’s actually a genius idea”, he says, a hint of enthusiasm in his tone. “wait, really?”, you ask, not expecting that answer from him. “i could use a break from my mom trying to set me up on blind dates, i wouldn’t mind”, he says.

“okay, done deal”, you say almost immediately. why? because you were stupid and tipsy and not thinking straight. just then one of your coworkers comes over, saying you were wanted back at the table and she grabs your arm, taking you over there.

“i’ll text you”, you mouth to soonyoung who watches you leave. but who were you kidding, you weren’t going to text soonyoung because you didn’t have his number. 

a week later you seem to have completely forgotten about the deal you had made with soonyoung when your head was in the clouds. sure, you remember meeting him and talking to him, but the bit about fake dating seemed to have been erased from your memory. so when you go to see jihyo later that evening, you're surprised to see soonyoung there too. you all sit down at a cafe nearby, jihyo saying that soonyoung was in the area so she called him over too since he had the car.

the conversations are normal, nothing ordinary, just you filling in jihyo on your work drama and life while she does the same, while soonyoung leans back in his chair, listening intently. you didn’t think soonyoung had a thing for gossip, but the concentration on his face and the way his brows were furrowed said otherwise.

jihyo’s phone rings and she excuses herself, saying it was a work call and walks outside the cafe to speak, leaving you and soonyoung alone. soonyoung picks up his eyes and looks at you before speaking.

“are we still doing the fake dating thing?”, soonyoung asks softly and you almost choke on your tea upon hearing his words. he’s quick to hand you a tissue and lean forward and push the glass of water towards you.

“the what now?”, you ask and he gives you that lopsided pout again. why did that look so cute on him.

“fake dating? you know, the one we talked about last week at the bar?”, he fills in and you wrack your brain trying to think when you both even talked about this before the memory seems to slowly make its way back into your mind. 

“oh”, you say once you seem to recall everything and you glance outside, seeing jihyo still talking on the phone. 

“you were serious about it?”, you question, which only seems to make him more confused.

“were you not serious about it?”, he asks, blinking at you. you open your mouth to speak but close it, unsure what to say. 

“but won’t it be awkward since i’m jihyo’s friend?”, you ask and he only shrugs, like that didn’t seem to matter to him.

“nah, i’m sure she’d be chill with it, we could let her know too, it could just be a something between the three of us”, he explains and you nod because he did have a point. 

“i’ll think about it okay, give me a day?”, you ask and he nods. “sure, you can text me”, he adds and you internally wince. “i actually don’t have your number so”, you say softly, unlocking your phone and handing it over to him. he dials in his number and hands it back to you.

jihyo’s walks back in, taking a seat, looking between you and soonyoung, giving you both a look. “what happened here?”, she asks and you both seem to shake your heads at the same time.

“nothing, i was just asking soonyoung what he’s been up to”, you say instead and she seems to smile, sitting back down. “he’s been up to a lot, haven’t you soonie”, jihyo says, nudging him with her elbow and soonyoung gives her a look at the mention of his nickname.

you don’t text soonyoung after a day, nor the day after and it’s been a week now. you’ve sat and thought about it, overanalyzed it, overthought it and made up every possible worst case scenario that could happen if you fake date your best friend's brother and the light at the end of the tunnel does not seem bright with that idea. so, you decide to tell him no, that you don’t want to fake date, that it was a stupid idea and would never work in the first place. but when your mom calls you up again, trying to set you up on yet another blind date, you’ve hit your limit. you open your phone, click on soonyoung’s contact and text him.

you [7:37 PM]: hey, it’s yn! i’ve decided that yes, we can go ahead with the fake dating plan.

when soonyoung gets your text, he nearly drops his phone. after you failed to text him, twice, he was bummed, thinking that you didn’t want to talk with him, and that you just said that you’d text him just to be nice since you were jihyo’s friend. but now as he sees your text on the screen, he doesn’t know how to respond. 

“close your mouth man, a fly is going to go in there”, seungkwan says, snapping soonyoung back to reality.

soonyoung whips his head up and clears his throat, setting his phone down on the table. he glances at seungkwan, his roommate and friend, and that one look from soonyoung is all it takes for seungkwan to understand that soonyoung was up to no good.

seungkwan visibly sighs before he speaks. “what did you do now?”, he asks, massaging his temples.

“first of all, i didn’t even do anything”, soonyoung counters. “right, now spill”, seungkwan says and soonyoung takes a second before he speaks again.

“what do you know about fake dating?”, soonyoung asks, almost too innocently, making seungkwan’s eyes widen. “fake dating? what ghost has possessed you”, he asks, making soonyoung roll his eyes.

“just tell me if you know anything about it or not”, soonyoung says, crossing his arms over his chest in defense, frowning slightly. “i don’t know man, i guess it’s just like normal dating expect it's fake. you’re pretending and putting on an act and of course the most important thing is that you don’t catch feelings”, seungkwan says.

“is it hard?”, soonyoung asks, genuinely curious and seungkwan only blinks at his roommate. “i don’t know? i’ve never fake dated”, seungkwan says, exasperated all of a sudden. “why do you want to know all this anyway?”, he asks. soonyoung only blinks back at seungkwan and shrugs his shoulders. “just curious”, he says, trying to act casual but seungkwan can see right through it.

“did something happen at the dance studio? is this why you’re asking about this?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung shakes his head.

“no! nothing like that, i was just asking jeez”, soonyoung says, pushing his chair back and getting up, grabbing his phone from the table as he trudges back into his room. seungkwan doesn’t ask anything more as he watches soonyoung go. soonyoung sighs softly, falling on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how to respond to you. he feels like a fool now. he’s the one that brought it up, suggesting the fake dating plan when you’d clearly just been joking about it. but now that you said yes, he had no idea what to do. a moment later he reaches for his phone, opens your contact and texts you back.

soonyoung [7:55 PM]: hey! okay let’s do it.

you [7:56 PM]: sounds good! let’s meet up tomorrow afternoon? i’ll text you when i’m free and we can go from there!

you’re sitting in a cafe downtown, waiting for soonyoung. you were nervous for some reason and it makes you laugh, because you’d never get this nervous about meeting someone. you deal with clients on a daily basis and they never made you feel like this. you take a deep breath and that’s when soonyoung walks in. you see him enter the cafe, his eyes scanning the area before they land on you. you give him a small wave and he makes his way towards you, pulling out a chair and sitting down. 

“hey”, you say. “hi, sorry if i’m late, the class ran a bit late”, he informs but you didn't mind.

“no worries, can i get you anything?”, you ask, standing up to order. “oh, no it’s fine”, he says but you wave your hand. “it’s fine soonyoung, my treat, what will you have?”, you ask and he says he’ll just have an iced americano.

his coffee and your hot tea arrives and you set it down on the table, taking a seat. soonyoung’s hair is styled differently today, exposing his forehead, with just a few loose strands falling over his forehead and he’s wearing jeans and a loose button up shirt.

“so,” you began, clearing your throat a little too loudly. “um, how’s your… coffee?”, you ask, wincing internally, realizing how dumb you sounded. but soonyoung only seemed to smile softly and nod. “it’s good,” he says, his almond shaped eyes sparkling with warmth. ”how’s your tea?”, he asks.

“it’s good too,” you say, taking a sip, swallowing it down and there was another beat of silence.

“so”, you start again, looking at soonyoung. “about the fake dating thing…i guess we should set some ground rules right?”, you say and he nods, like he understood what you meant, but he didn’t. he takes a sip of his coffee, gulping down 1/4th of the drink in all the nervousness before he looks back at you.

“i don’t really know how fake dating works”, he finally says. “i mean i’ve never dated before, so i don’t know how this entire thing works really”, he admits, looking sheepish.

“that’s fine soonyoung, i’ll teach you. i have plenty of experience, so i can definitely show you the ropes and stuff about dating, it isn’t that big of a deal”, you add on and relief seems to wash over his features. “okay”, he says, “so what do we do?”.

“first the ground rules: make a convincing story, set some boundaries and an end date”, you say and he nods along, waiting for you to continue.

“so, for the story, if anyone asks how we met, we gotta have the same story so it’s convincing”, you explain. “so we could just say we met through jihyo, right?”, he suggests and you nod. “yeah, sure, that could work”, you say. “we’re going to tell jihyo about this right, otherwise it’s going to be really awkward”, you add and he nods again.

“okay then, now for the boundaries. we can decide what is okay and not, PDA wise and stuff”, you say and soonyoung only seems to blink at you, a little clueless.

“PDA?”, he asks. “public display of affection? you know, like holding hands and stuff”, you tell.

“right, yes”, he says. “so, are you okay with that? i mean holding hands and stuff if we need to? that’s all we’ll basically do, drawing the line there, no kissing or anything else, just holding hands”, you say.

“okay, only holding hands, that’s easy”, he says, like he’d done it a thousand times before. 

“and the end date, how long do you think we should do this for?”, you ask and he leans back in his chair, thinking, that small frown forming on his face again as he’s thinking.

“how long do people usually do this for?”, he asks, like you’re some sort of expert in fake dating. “uh— maybe three months to begin with? we can decide what to do after that”, you tell, unsure how long to set this for either. “so basically if we both need plus ones to an event, we can call each other or if your mom bothers you again, just say you’re dating me”, you tell.

another sense of relief seems to wash over soonyoung at your words and he lets out a  small goofy smile. “okay”.

“okay”, you say and silence seems to engulf you both again. “cool”, he repeats, getting nervous again. “cool”, you repeat again, an awkward tension now filling the air between the both of you. you take a sip of your tea, but the silence only seems to grow louder before you decide to speak again.

“i should head back to work, but just text me if you need anything”, you say, gathering your bag and standing up. soonyoung stands up too and says a small ‘see you’ before watching you walk out the cafe door. 

that night as you lay in bed, you just can’t bring yourself to call jihyo and tell her this rather ridiculous plan about fake dating her younger brother. you were somehow convinced that and sure that she’d disown you, block you and ask you what the hell was wrong with you. so after contemplating about it for nearly an hour, your finger that was hovering over her contact finally taps the call button and the phone rings. you throw your phone on the side, burying your face into the pillow, regretting every life decision you’ve ever made when she picks up, her voice filling the room since it was on speakerphone.

“yn hi babe”, she says, sounding upbeat. “hi babe”, you say and pause, trying to gather your thoughts and think of how to drop this bomb of information on her.

“i need to tell you something”, you start off. “but promise me that you won’t kill me”, you say and jihyo laughs. “what yn, you know i would never do that, what’s wrong?”, she asks but you hesitate. “you did say that the one time i texted my ex”, you say and she scoffs. “okay that was for a valid reason though, we don’t support texting exes over here”, she says and you roll your eyes.

“okay back to the topic”, you say as you gather the courage to spill the beans to her. “you know how my mom keeps trying to set me up on blind dates right?”, you ask.

“yeah, oh my god, is she still doing that?”, jihyo asks and you groan out a yes.

“so what about it?”, she asks, trying to get back to whatever you were trying to tell her. “i might have made a really stupid decision”, you say, biting your lip.

“what did you do?”, she asks. “i may have decided to fake date this guy to get her off my back”, you say and you hear jihyo exclaim on the other side. 

“OHMYGOD WHO”, she asks, almost yelling at you and you wince, clearing your throat before breaking the news to her.

“your brother, soonyoung”, you say softly, hoping she didn’t hear it but she does. 

“wait WHAT”, she asks and you can hear the confusion in her voice. “what do you mean you’re going to fake date soonyoung? my brother?”, she asks again, like she was trying to make sure she didn’t hear you wrong.

“yes, soonyoung, your younger brother”, you repeat and the line is silent for a few seconds.

“are you insane? what is wrong with you”, she says. “i’m not insane! it’s a perfectly good solution for two people to fake date to get their pestering mother’s off their backs!”, you tell, trying to sound convincing but it seems to lack conviction even to you.

“i met soonyoung at the bar two weeks ago and we talked a bit. he told me about how your mom kept trying to set him up on blind dates and stuff, so i jokingly suggested we fake date since my mom was doing the same thing, and well, here we are”, you explain.

“but soonyoung out of all people? he’s clueless yn, he’s a walking disaster when it comes to dating, no wonder he’s still single”, jihyo says and suddenly you feel bad for him.

“hey! don’t say that, i’m sure he’ll make a great boyfriend”, you say, recalling how cool he looked when you saw him earlier. he just needed a little push, somewhere to start. “he’s cute”, you say and jihyo scoffs softly. “well, don’t say i didn’t warn you about what you’re getting into”, she says. “yes ma’am”, you say and she laughs.

“also this is top secret, you can’t let anyone know we’re fake dating. i’m only telling you because you're my best friend and his sister, so i don’t want things getting awkward between us”, you say and jihyo hums at your words.

when soonyoung gets home that night there’s a shift in energy in him, he’s nervous, but also excited for some reason. seungkwan is quick to notice and soonyoung decides to be the first to break the news to him—that he has a girlfriend now, but he was going to leave the fake part out of it.

“i—um— seem to have gotten myself a girlfriend”, soonyoung says once he’s closer and seungkwan spits out the water in his mouth, the water sputtering out and landing right on soonyoung shirt.

“seungkwan what the hell?”, soonyoung shouts looking down at his clothes, as seungkwan wipes his mouth with his hand.

“what? you got yourself a girlfriend? the mr. i won’t date till i find the right one has finally found himself a girlfriend?”, he asks, shocked.

“yeah, why is that so hard to believe?”, soonyoung asks with a frown and seungkwan nods. “yeah that’s really hard to believe, but who’s the girl?”, he asks and soonyoung shrugs lightly.

“just someone, you don’t know them”, soonyoung says, trying to avoid the topic but he melts under seungkwan’s gaze and gives in, “she’s my sister’s best friend”, soonyoung finally admits and seungkwan’s sharp inhale of air can he heard.

“i didn’t know you had a thing for your sister’s best friend dude, holy shit”, seungkwan says, but soonyoung only rubs the back of his neck, trying to ease his nerves and play it cool.

“yeah, haha, i mean my sister is cool with it so”, soonyoung says, hoping he sounded convincing enough.

“so you think she’s the one then?”, seungkwan asks. “you’re always telling me that you didn’t want to date just for the sake of dating, but wanted to only date when you found the right person”, he asks and soonyoung feels his ears turn red at seungkwan’s words. fuck, he was going to have to lie again to keep this up or else he was screwed. 

“yeah, she’s the one”, soonyoung says quickly before turning around and making a beeline to his room, nearly slamming the door shut. shit, this was going to be harder than he thought.

“what do people do on dates?”, soonyoung asks the next morning, the question sounding so innocent that seungkwan wants to strangle him. 

“people just do couple things, they talk about stuff, support each other, do things together, hold hands, kiss”, seungkwan says, listing out stuff.

“do i have to be like cool?”, he asks. “no man, you don’t have to be cool, just be you”, seungkwan replies. 

“do you know what she likes?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung only blinks back at him. “then go ask her, find out what she likes, dislikes, get to know her. i thought you’d know all this by now”, seungkwan says in an almost scolding tone.

“of course i know what she likes!”, soonyoung replies before he says something about having two classes scheduled today so he’ll be home only in the evening and he walks out the door, thinking he’s such an idiot, that he was doomed—because he really didn’t know much about you. he had half a mind to call jihyo and ask, she’d know plenty of things about you. he was even sure jihyo would know your astrological chart by heart if he asked but he didn’t. 

work is busy today and you had two client meetings, plus you had to manage three projects simultaneously so you were running around pretty much the entire day today. you barely have the time to eat lunch or dinner, just nibbling on some snack bars through the afternoon and by the time you clock out, it’s late, later than usual. you walk to the bus stop, hoping you haven’t missed the last bus and sit down and wait, hoping it’ll still come otherwise you are going to have to take a cab.

on the other side of the road, soonyoung walks, evidently a little tired but still energised, a slight little bounce in his step. it isn’t until soonyoung turns around to cross the road that he spots you sitting at the bus stop across the road. it’s an odd thing really, how you’d always taken a bus at that bus stop, and how soonyoung always walked down that path everyday for the last two years, but today is the only time he sees you there, notices you.

he straightens up and blinks, looking at you to make sure it was indeed you and crosses the road when the light turns green. you haven’t seen him yet, busy typing away on your phone. he stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets and walks towards you, his shoes crunching on the leaves fallen on the roadside.

“yn hey”, he says and you snap your head up at the mention of your name, your gaze softening when it lands on soonyoung. 

“oh, hey”, you say, surprised to see him here. “heading home?”, he asks and you nod. “yeah, you too?”, you ask and he nods.

“do you always work this late?”, he asks, taking a seat next to you. “no, usually i leave earlier, but today was a busy day, i had things to take care off”, you say and he nods.

the bus finally comes and you get up. you turn around, giving soonyoung a small wave before you climb onto the bus and find a window seat. soonyoung watches as the bus leaves before he turns on his heel and continues walking in the other direction, kicking a stone as he takes a step, his hands still stuffed in his pockets. soonyoung reaches home and unlocks the door to the apartment, stepping inside and spots seungkwan on the couch.

“someone is late”, he says but soonyoung shrugs. 

“i was with my girlfriend, i saw her at the bus stop so i stopped to talk”, soonyoung tells proudly. “did you drop her home too?”, seungkwan asks and soonyoung furrows his brows in confusion.

“drop her home? was i supposed to?”, soonyoung asks and seungkwan runs a hand across his face, clearly done with his clueless friends behaviour.

“dude, it’s so late and you let her take the bus alone and didn’t even offer to drop her home? are you stupid? that’s the basic thing to do when you’re in a relationship”, seungkwan explains, shaking his head in disapproval. 

“i think instead of dance classes, you need to start taking some romance classes”, seungkwan adds. “wait, is that actually a thing? do you think i should sign up for that?”, soonyoung asks, oblivious, which only makes seungkwan groan even louder.

“oh my god, you, my friend, are hopeless, i can’t believe this”, seungkwan exclaims. 

if soonyoung was going to get this fake dating thing right, he had a lot to learn. 

“did you look at the picture i sent, he’s a decent guy yn, give him a chance”, your mom says as you wait for the leftover takeaway food to heat up in the microwave. you take a breath, because you had to break the news, and you weren’t sure how she was going to react to it.

“mom, i found a guy and we’re in a relationship”, you say and you mom goes silent for a moment before her voice crackles through the phone again. “who?”, she asks, her tone a little scary. well, here goes nothing.

“soonyoung”, you say. “who?” your mom asks again and the microwave beeps, your hand reaching out to open it.

“soonyoung, you know, jihyo’s younger brother”, you say, hoping she wasn’t going to freak out about this.

“how long has this been going for”, you mom asks, her tone taking a sort of serious edge. “last week”, you say, biting your lip as you take the plate and walk over to the small table. 

“why?”, she asks and you furrow your brows. “what do you mean why, mom, i like him”, you say, trying to sound convincing. 

“what does he do?”, she asks. “he works at a dance studio”, you say. “does jihyo’s mom know about this?”, she questions and your silence is all she needs to get an answer. 

“of course mom”, you say a beat too late, hoping you didn’t screw things up already, but soonyoung’s family were bound to find out about this some way or another. you just didn’t know how quick the news was going to spread like wildfire. your mom had immediately called up soonyoung’s mom, who then asked jihyo if this was true before calling up her son for more answers. 

when soonyoung’s phone rings, his mom’s caller ID on display, he smiles and picks up the phone, but he doesn’t expect his mom to ask him bluntly, “you’re dating your sister’s best friend?”. soonyoung nearly trips on the steps but catches his balance before it’s too late and stops in his tracks.

“what—how did you find out?”, he asks. “you think i’m not keeping tabs on you boy? i have eyes everywhere”, his mom tells and soonyoung scratches his head.

“how long has this been going on for?”, she asks and soonyoung stutters out an answer, wracking his brain on what to say. “last two weeks”, he says and his mom clicks her tongue.

“yn’s mom said it’s been going on since last week”, she questions him and soonyoung nearly breaks into a cold sweat with the way his mom was interrogating him. “um-yeah-no last week-it’s been official since last week”, soonyoung sputters out, hoping he didn’t already bust his cover. “i see”, is all his mom says after that, the line going silent for a few seconds before she speaks again.

“take good care of her”, is all his mom says finally, before saying she had to get back to making some kimchi and hangs up the phone.soonyoung stands there stunned and a little nervous about how he’s going to tell you about this. he decides to text you when he gets home.

soonyoung [6:33 PM]: hey! hope all is well.

you [6:35 PM]: yeah, what’s up?

soonyoung[ 6:37 PM]: so my mom found out we’re dating…

you [6:38 PM]: omfg i’m sorry this is my mom’s doing i told her and she must’ve immediately called your mom 😭

soonyoung [6:39 PM]: oh…so we’re cool right?

you [6:39 PM]: yeah, don’t worry, they were bound to find out anyway.

soonyoung [6:40 PM]: okay 👍🏽

you call jihyo when you reach home. “i told my mom and she immediately told your mom like we committed a crime or something”, you tell. “yeah, my mom sort of chewed my head about it too, i’m glad soonyoung isn’t here or he'd put me in hell right now”, jihyo laughs.”i wouldn’t be surprised if half the neighbourhood knows about this by tomorrow”, you add and jihyo laughs even more.

“are you enjoying my sorrow right now?”, you ask. “well, you’re the genius who wanted to fake date my brother out of all people, so this is on you, don’t say i didn’t warn you”, jihyo says and you scoff. 

“whatever”, you tell. “but your family is chill with this right?”, you ask, unsure.

“yes, what do you mean? my mom is literally in love with you, she’s doting over you all the time, so i know she’s secretly happy about this, even though it’s fake”, jihyo says and you let out a small breath of relief. “okay good, because i was starting to think i would never be welcome in your house again”, you joke. 

“you know, soonyoung works really close to your office, he moved into that part of town too for work and stuff”, jihyo says and your ears perk up at this piece of information.

“oh yeah, no wonder i bumped into him at the bus stop yesterday”, you say, the information clicking in your brain. “if you get the time, you should drop by the dance studio, it’s actually pretty cool and he’s actually really good at teaching and dancing”, jihyo praises. 

“how come he’s never dated before?”, you ask, curious to know the reason. you remember him telling you something about not finding the one, but you were sure jihyo had more inside information on why exactly. 

“i don’t know, he’s always been sweet, but when it came to dating, he wasn’t really interested. he said he didn’t like anyone, and wanted to devote his time to dancing rather than dating. he’d always say he’d date someone when the time was right, when he really liked someone”, jihyo explains and you hum in response. “yeah, he’s silly like that. good luck dealing with him”, she says, making you chuckle.

“come on, he’s not that bad, he’s sweet”, you say.

“did you break up with your girlfriend or something? i haven't seen you talk to her or go meet her once this entire week”, seungkwan asks as soonyoung is eating dinner, who nearly chokes on the spoonful of soup.

“she’s just busy!”, soonyoung counters and seungkwan only narrows his eyes at soonyoung, not taking his word for it. “she’s busy”, soonyoung mutters again, averting his gaze, looking at the meal in front of him, but he can still feel seungkwan’s piercing gaze on him.

“something isn’t adding up”, seungkwan declares, crossing his arms over his chest and soonyoung tries not to panic, he couldn't blow his cover. “is she not taking you seriously because you’re her best friend’s brother?”, he asks and soonyoung blinks in relief.

“no dude, she really likes me, she’s just really busy at her super important corporate job”, soonyoung says and seungkwan raises a brow. “corporate job? what does she do?”, he asks and soonyoung freezes, because fuck, he had no idea what you did.

“um, she’s like super duper important and has a really high position”, soonyoung says and seungkwan furrows his brows more. “but what exactly does she do?”, he asks and soonyoung lets out a fake cough, standing up to go grab some water and he turns around, only to see seungkwan still waiting for an answer. 

“she deals with people you know, she’s a people person”, soonyoung says, sounding like a fool. “right, and i’m supposed to understand what that means”, seungkwan tells and soonyoung lets out a nervous laugh.

“i mean, even if i told you, you wouldn’t understand, it’s complicated”, soonyoung says, trying to act cool and just then seungkwan’s phone rings, prompting him to get up to fetch it and soonyoung thanks the gods because he was this close to revealing the truth.

“my mom wants you to come over for dinner”. jihyo says over the phone.

“oh…oh… is this bad? oh my god”, you say, panicking a little. it was funny how you’d always loved her family, her mom loving and welcoming you, but now that you were dating, well fake dating her son, suddenly the thought of going over for dinner felt daunting.

“yn chill out, you’re acting like my mom is going to kidnap you and chop you up into pieces! she’s chill with you guys dating trust me”, jihyo says, trying to soothe you. “i don’t know why you’re freaking out so much when the whole arrangement is fake anyway”, she adds.

“i just don’t want your mom to think i broke her son’s heart when we end the thing”, you say and jihyo hums. “i’m sure she’ll understand”, she says, trying to soothe you. “so you’ll drop by this weekend for dinner then?”, jihyo asks again and you bite your lip, contemplating a response before you say yes, because if you were going to fake date, you had to do it right.

on the day of the dinner with jihyo’s family, you’re a mess. your entire wardrobe is dumped out on your bed and you’ve tried on at least eight articles of clothes, discarding them all because they didn’t look good. you finally settle for something simple, a pair of high waisted jeans paired with a flowy baby blue top that was tucked in, and ankle length boots. it was simple and comfortable. you decide to drive to her place instead of taking the bus. you usually only took the bus to the office and back since it was cheaper than driving there everyday.

when you pull up at jihyo’s place, you have to sit in the car for a minute and breathe. why were you so nervous? you knew her parents and they were so sweet to you, but tonight the thought of sitting and having dinner with them felt nerve wracking. you open the door and step out, making your way to the door and ringing the doorbell. soonyoung opens the door and he lets out a small smile when he sees you, beckoning you to come inside. just then his mother comes into sight. she lights up when she sees you and immediately pulls you in for a hug. jihyo’s dad waves at you from the back as jihyo tackles you in a hug too and you give him a small wave.

“yn! look at you, it’s been so long since i saw you, you’re all grown up now”, she says and you laugh softly and smile. she ushers you inside and asks soonyoung to fetch you something to drink. so far the conversation seems to be going well, but if you only knew how awkward it was going to get when you all sat down for dinner. 

soonyoung sits next to you. “so, how did you guys end up dating?”, soonyoung’s mom asks and you glance at soonyoung before you clear your throat and answer. “it just sort of ended up happening”, you say, giving his mom a small smile in an attempt to distract her from your half baked answers.

“how long have you liked each other then? has this been going on for long?”, soonyong’s mom asks, looking between you and soonyoung, who is close to breaking into a sweat because he had no idea what to say, so he just blabbers something at the same time you open your mouth to speak.

“one month”, he says in a rush. “two weeks”, you say and you both look at each other and you tilt your head to the side, giving him a look and soonyoung scrambles to save face.

“i mean to say that i liked yn for a while, so it was one sided until two weeks ago”, he says and jihyo lets out a small snort at his answer. soonyoung looks at you with that lopsided pout on his face and rubs the back of his neck, nervous, his eyes asking if he did okay. you only laugh softly and lightly nudge him with your elbow. “he’s funny, but yeah that’s the story”, you tell, playing along. “then what made you say yes to dating him?”, his mom asks and you panic again. “um—he was cute and eventually grew on me”, you say, sounding ridiculous and jihyo stifles a laugh and you give her a look. jihyo’s mom doesn’t say anything more, and the conversation diverts to what you have been doing and catching up and you couldn’t be more grateful. when dinner is done, you’re helping clear the table. that’s when soonyoung notices you and rushes over, saying he’s got it and takes the plates from you. 

jihyo whisks you away to her room and you crash on her bed, the various memories of when you’d come over and the countless sleepovers you’d had during your college days come flooding back. “this room hasn’t changed a bit”, you say, sitting up and looking around. you both probably end up talking for a good 30 minutes when a realisation hits—the realisation that you were here for soonyoung and you’d been completely ignoring him. jihyo gets called downstairs and she says she’ll be back, leaving you alone. you sit on the bed, contemplating if you should head out too and find soonyoung when you notice a head peeking into jihyo’s room—soonyoung. when he sees that you’ve caught him, he straightens up and runs a hand through his hair, coming into view.

“soonyoung hey”, you say, realising you’d barely greeted him or talked to him this entire evening. “hi”, he says looking at you before speaking. “my mom was asking if you wanted some ice cream?”, he asks. “sure”, you say and soonyoung leads you downstairs. jihyo’s arguing about something with her mom and when her mom sees you, she ignores jihyo and hands soonyoung a tray with two bowls of ice cream.

“here, eat it in your room with yn”, his mom says and soonyoung blinks, glancing at you.

“i’m coming too!”, jihyo yells but her mom stops her. “stop it, leave soonyoung and yn be”, her mom says, ushering you both back up the stairs. jihyo mouths an ‘all the best’ to you and you give her a look. you both walk up the stairs and you’re standing in front of soonyoung’s room when he looks at you. “just…give me a minute, it’s a bit of a mess”, he says, stepping into the room quickly and you hear the shuffle of feet as he tries his best to tidy up the room quickly while you’re standing outside. he dumps whatever clothes were on his bed into the wardrobe and shuts it, straightening his bedsheet and fluffing up the pillows as much as he could. his eyes scan the room once more and once he deems it tidy enough he opens the door rather hurriedly, like he was scared that he’d made you wait for too long.

“you can come in now”, he says and you step inside. soonyoung’s room is so much like his personality. there are a bunch of old textbooks stacked up in a corner of his table. there’s a bluetooth speaker by the side and bunch of charging cables strewn next to it. there's a photo frame that has a small collage of pictures—soonyoung, jihyo and their parents and you smile softly at the sight of soonyoung grinning wide in the picture. your eyes glance down and there is a whole corner on the floor that is stacked with shoe boxes all stacked on top of each other, holding his sneaker collection. on the wall on the other side, there are a bunch of medals and certificates decorating his wall. you walk forward to take a closer look at them—they were all medals and certificates he’d won through participating in various dance competitions or events. you turn around and soonyoung’s holding out the bowl of ice cream for you and you take it. the ice cream’s already half melted but you don’t mind and soonyoung gestures for you to sit down on his bed. you take a seat on the edge of the bed while soonyoung pulls out the chair from the study table, taking a seat there. you eat a spoonful of the already melted ice cream and there’s an awkward silence that engulfs the both of you. 

“that’s quite an impressive collection of medals and certificates”, you say finally, earning a look from soonyoung, who bursts into an almost shy smile. “thanks”, he says. “how’s it working at the studio?”, you ask and soonyoung’s face seems to light up at your question.

“it’s really good! it’s really fun to see people from all different walks of life come together because of their passion for dancing. we get so many different people, ones who just dance as a hobby, some who are passionate about it and do it on the side, some who join to rediscover their passion for dancing and other beginners who just want to take a dance class for the fun of it. i think dance is a wonderful thing and me being able to teach and do what i love for a living is so worth it to me”, he explains and you smile at the way he explains it with so much enthusiasm, with so much passion.

“that’s wonderful to hear”, you say and he smiles more. “you should drop by sometime”, he asks. “i’d love too”, you say.

“sorry my room’s kind of a mess”, he says, looking around and getting a little self conscious about it. “it’s fine, it’s not bad…it’s just you”, you say. “you think so?”, he asks and you nod again, earning another shy look from him.

and just then jihyo bursts into the room, opening the door and startling you both. “guys, stop making out, mom wants to know if you want more ice cream”, she says rather loudly and you get up, smacking her arm.

“shut up jihyo, oh my god”, you grumble out, getting embarrassed while she only laughs at your misery. “i hate you so much”, you repeat and you glance over at soonyoung who looks like he’s just seen a ghost, his face turing pale.

“jihyo why would you say that!”, soonyoung says standing up and crossing his arms across his chest in an attempt to look tough, but his sulking tone shines through. “you guys need to have a little fun, come on!”, jihyo says laughing.

“also babe, it’s getting late so i thought i’d come ask you if you wanted to stay back or head home”, she says, looking at you. you glance at the time on your watch, realising that it was indeed late and you should probably leave to reach home since you also had work tomorrow.

“i’ll leave, i have my car anyway so don’t worry”, you assure and you nod. you walk down with jihyo, soonyoung following behind you with the ice cream bowls in hand and he drops them off at the sink when you’re putting on your shoes by the door.

“aren’t you going to walk her out?”, soonyoung’s mom says from the kitchen and you hear her. you can see the mental picture of his mom shooing him towards the door to walk you to the car. soonyoung comes up into sight again and jihyo pushes him forward, telling him to drop you to the car. 

“you don’t have to walk me, i’m fine”, you say but jihyo isn’t taking no for an answer. “come on yn, just let him”, she insists and that’s how you find soonyoung walking you towards your car, which was parked a little down from jihyo’s house. you glance at soonyoung, who’s walking with his hands stuffed into his pockets. the night breeze blows and catches in his hair, tousling it but he doesn’t seem to mind. his blonde silver hair seems to catch the moonlight and streetlight around, and under it, you notice how handsome it makes him look.

“sorry if this whole thing was weird for you”, you say after a moment, realising it must've not been easy for him to pretend, let alone know what to do since you recall him telling you that he's never dated before. “it wasn’t all that bad”, he says, looking at you and you stop walking, having reached your car.

“well, if anything comes up, i’ll text you”, you say and he nods. you get in your car, bid soonyoung goodbye and start your car, driving back home.

after the family dinner with you, soonyoung is determined to up his game and be a better fake boyfriend for you. so his search history looks a little like this:

how to be a good boyfriend

what does a boyfriend do

what do people do on dates

top ten date ideas

how to impress your girlfriend

how to hold your fake girlfriend’s hand

top ten pick up lines 

soonyoung spends the entire night staying up and searching all of this, reading through various blogs, articles and people’s comments to determine which approach was the best and what really worked. he had no idea dating included so many things, let alone having it pretend on top of all of that. but he was going to tackle it, because he wanted to impress you and be a good fake boyfriend for you. it’s only two weeks later when soonyoung bumps into you again.

you’re at a cafe, your favorite one and since it's friday, you decide to drop by and grab a quick bite there, you had always loved the food here. soonyoung is walking down the road when he happens to look into the cafe and that’s when he spots you sitting inside. he stops in his tracks and looks at you, squinting his eyes and making sure that it was indeed really you before his legs seem to have a mind of their own and take him inside the cafe. he pushes the door open, stepping inside, and the aroma of coffee and baked goods welcome him. he looks at you from the corner, watching you type away something on your laptop that’s open on the table, a mug of hot green tea on the table. he hesitates for a moment, not sure if he should come and say hi or leave. but then you look up and your eyes land on him. he looks away immediately before looking back in your direction and makes his way towards you.

“hey”, he says once he’s close enough. “soonyoung hi”, you say, looking at him. just then the waiter comes by and drops off your sandwich and soonyoung stands awkwardly by the side. 

“i’ll head out”, he says softly, like he was unsure if he was welcome to stay but you look at him. “you’re leaving already?”, you ask, to which he only blinks at you. you gesture for him to sit down and he takes a seat opposite you. “do you want anything, i’ll get it for you”, you ask and he shakes his head in refusal.

“oh no, i’m good”, he says. “coffee? tea? anything at all? it’s really no big deal”, you say but he says he’s fine again. you offer him the other half of your sandwich too, but in the end he only ends up munching on a few of the chips that were on the side. 

“you’re cute when you’re shy”, you say after a moment and he lets out a shy smile.

“what do you do?”, he asks after a moment, leaving you confused for a second before it clicks that he’s asking you what you do for a living. “oh, i’m currently working as a project manager for an advertising agency”, you say and he nods, like he’s impressed. “that must be really hard”, he asks. “yeah, it can get pretty hectic”, you say before silence settles between the both of you again and you take a bite of your sandwich. 

“so you teach everyday then? or does it work on shifts?”, you ask and again his eyes seem to light up at the mention of dance or you taking an interest in what he does. 

“yeah mostly it’s five days a week but the timings can vary. it mostly depends on the crowd, and what i’m going to be teaching, but sometimes i get days off in between since we have other dance teachers on rotation”, he explains. 

“that’s sounds really nice, god i wish i could get a day off in the middle of the week like that”, you say, already thinking of the workload that was waiting for you back home.

“you majored in dance right?”, you ask a second later and he nods. “yeah, a performance and choreography major”, he says and you nod your head, impressed. you finish eating the rest of your sandwich and you both walk out, hoshi offering to walk you to the bus stop. 

when the new week rolls in and it’s monday, soonyoung finds himself thinking about you. he finds himself waiting for you near the bus stop, hoping he’d spot you so he  walks by the cafe again. it’s silly really, how badly he wants to bump into you, to have an excuse to talk to you again. he could just text you, but it doesn’t feel the same. and on wednesday, he does manage to spot you, but this time he quite literally bumps into you. you both are turning around the corner and you’re in a rush when you bump right into him, your phone falling out of your hand and clattering to the floor.

“oh shit, i’m so sorry”, you say, a little frazzled, bending down to pick up your phone but he’s already got it. it’s only when he stands back up that you realise it’s soonyoung.

“soonyoung oh, hi”, you say and he seems to look relieved almost to see you, like he’d been waiting for this moment, his eyes lighting up when he realises it’s really you in front of him. “yn”, he says, saying your name so sweetly, like he’d been waiting for you for far too long as he blinks at you. he hands you your phone but not before glancing at it, making sure it wasn’t cracked or anything.

“sorry, i wasn’t looking where i was going”, you tell, apologizing. “heading somewhere?”, he asks, noticing how rushed you looked. “yeah, i have to meet a client so i’ll get going, see you around”, you say, giving him a tiny wave before walking ahead, leaving soonyoung behind. you hadn’t given him time to reply or say bye back to you and he just watches you walk away, whatever words he wanted to say dying on his lips. soonyoung stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes his way to the dance studio, a little bummed about not evening getting so say anything else to you besides the hi. he pushes the door open to the dance studio, waving at the receptionist and walking inside towards the staff rooms. he grabs his dance outfit from the locker and changes into it before walking into one of the dance practice rooms.

soonyoung turns on some music and does some light stretches, warming up his body for the dance session that was going to take place. soon, the room starts filling up with students and he greets them all one by one as they enter. soonyoung’s passion for dancing was immense, it was something like breathing to him, it came naturally. soonyoung was also great teacher, he was firm when needed but also patient and he was good at helping the students understand the movements easily, how to move their bodies and he always advocated about how taking care of yourself, a balanced diet and stretching was always required and a must. he’d often take a few extra minutes after class to help students who were particularly struggling or wanted extra help. the best part was the group dance showcases every week, showcasing everyone’s progress and dances, and he always found that exciting—to see his student’s progress and improvements always made him swell with pride. today’s dance session goes well and soonyoung is satisfied. it’s only when the class ends that three girls come up to soonyoung.

“do you have plans for dinner? you could join us”, one of the girls says. “yes! you always say no, you have to come tonight”, the other girl says, laughing softly, trying to convince him as they flirted with him.

“sorry, i have to get going”, he says, trying to sound nice as he smiles a little even though they try to convince him more and ask him out, but he declines and turns on his heel, making his way out the door, hoping he could catch you at the bus stop. but when he walks to the bus stop, soonyoung doesn’t spot you there, and he glances at the time, coming to the conclusion that he was a little late and had missed seeing you. 

soonyoung doesn’t bump into you again until friday. he’s walking by, minding his own business, making his way to the bakery downtown. this place was known for their freshly baked goods, the ovens churning out fresh bread and other delectable goods almost every four hours, so he knew he’d always get his hands on something freshly made. this place was particularly famous for their salt bread and doughnuts. seungkwan had asked soonyoung to get some salt bread on the way back home to stock up for the week so that’s where soonyoung was heading. soonyoung can smell the aroma of the freshly baked bread down the road. when soonyoung walks in, there’s a crowd no doubt. his eyes flicker around, looking at what was on display and that’s when he spots you. you’re standing in line, waiting to order and soonyoung slowly but carefully makes his way towards you. when’s he’s close enough, he ends up nudging you slightly because of the crowd and you turn around, ready to give a piece of your mind to whoever bumped into you, when your gaze softens at the sight of soonyoung. he gives you a small smile when he sees you, his eyes forming little crescent moons as the smile reaches his eyes.

“yn hi!”, he says, like he’s so happy to see you and you smile back.

“hey hi again”, you say, realising you’d started to bump into him quite often. 

“this place has the best salt bread, i’ve come to stock up on that”, he says and your face lights up. “they really do! and the doughnuts too, i need to indulge in some so i came to get some as an end of the week treat”, you explain.

it’s your turn to order and you go up to the counter, placing your order. “please give me two salted caramel doughnuts, two chocolate glazed ones and”, you stop, glancing at soonyoung.

“what are you getting?”, you ask. “oh, just some salt bread, two loaves”, he says.

“and two loaves of salt bread”, you say to the cashier who rings up your bill. you’re about to hand your card to the cashier when soonyoung stops you, saying he’ll pay, but you’re not having it. “soonyoung it’s really fine, consider it my treat”, you say, giving him an easy smile and handing over your card, but soonyoung thrusts his hand forward as well and the cashier stands blinking between the both of you.

“so who’s paying”, the guy asks, looking at the both of you. “mine, take mine joshua”, you say. having been a regular at the bakery, you’d gotten to know joshua who works there, so he listens and he takes your card. soonyoung stutters out a “no let me pay”, but it’s too late and joshua taps your card. you receive the goods from the counter two minutes later and soonyoung carries his bag with the two loaves of salt bread and the two chocolate doughnuts you bought for him and sneaked inside his bag. (he didn’t know).

“you really didn’t have to pay for my stuff yn”, he mutters out as you both walk to the side of the store. you’re about to respond to him when you hear someone call out your name

“yn! oh my god hi”, you hear someone call out and you turn around, watching your co-worker, mina, walk towards you. your eyes widen in surprise and you glance at soonyoung, who seems oblivious to the panic in your eyes.

“oh hi! didn’t think i’d run into you here”, you say, trying to sound calm. your co-worker, mina, seems to notice you glancing over at soonyoung and looks at you, waiting for an explanation. 

“this is my friend,”, you say in a rush, panicking when you say it. soonyoung’s smile falters for a second, his eyebrows raised slightly, a flash of surprise in his expression, having gotten caught off guard by the ‘just a friend’ part. but he’s quick to mask his expression with a easy grin, but the way his lips were turned down, forming a little pout told a different story

“yep, just a friend,” soonyoung repeats, his tone light but with a hint of forced cheerfulness. he politely says hi to your friend and stands there while the two of you make conversation.

“great, i’ll catch up with you later yn, see you later”, mina says to soonyoung too before she waves and leaves.

soonyoung glances over at you.”just a friend? i thought we’re supposed to be pretending to be a couple”, he says, looking at you with that lopsided pout on his lips. 

“i’m sorry, i panicked”, you tell, feeling a little bad but in hindsight, you really don’t know why you said that. soonyoung doesn’t say anything else as you both walk out of the store. “i’ll see you around then”, you say, when you both are outside.

“let me walk you to the bus stop”, he offers. “oh, it’s fine, it’s just a five minute walk”, you say. “but i want to”, he says lightly, so you let him.

“what else do you like from that bakery?”, soonyoung asks, glancing over at you, in a small attempt to get to know you better. “hm, i do love their red velvet cake and their dark chocolate chunk cookies”, you say and soonyoung makes a mental note to get those for you next time. after five minutes, you’ve reached the bus stop and he watches you get onto the bus and waves as it leaves.

it’s only when soonyoung gets home that he realises you’d sneaked in the chocolate doughnuts with the salt bread. “why did you get doughnuts? but i’m not complaining they’re always so good”, seungkwan says when he opens the bag that soonyoung had left on the counter.

“doughnuts? what do you mean? i didn’t buy doughnuts”, soonyoung says and seungkwan opens a box to reveal two chocolate glazed donuts inside them. “oh”, he says softly. soonyoung thinks it’s a mistake, that the cashier accidentally packed your doughnuts with his bread, so he snatches the box from seungkwan, telling him not to eat it and places it back in the bag before rushing to his room to grab his phone.

soonyoung [9:10 PM]: hey! 

you [9:12 PM]: hi, all okay?

soonyoung [9:13 PM]: you left your chocolate doughnuts with me, it was in my bag.

you [9:13 PM]: oh! no they’re for you, enjoy!

soonyoung [9:14 PM]: oh

you [9:14 PM]: yes :)

soonyoung stares at his screen, trying to formulate a response but doesn't know what to say. so he just settles for saying a thank you and shouts out to seungkwan that he can have the doughnuts. “are the doughnuts good?”, soonyoung asks, when he walks out to see seungkwan stuffing his face with it.

“oh my god, it’s so good, i can’t believe i’ve never tried this one before! i’m glad you got it”, seungkwan says and soonyoung only seems to sigh in defeat before walking over to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water.

“why are you sulking?”, seungkwan asks, being able to read soonyoung’s emotions. “i’m not sulking”, he says but who was he kidding, he was. “it’s stupid”, soonyoung says but seungkwan only looks at him, waiting for him to explain.

“it’s just that, when me and yn were at the bakery earlier, she introduced me as her friend”, soonyoung says softly and seungkwan sucks in a dramatic breath. “WHAT?”, he says, his voice muffled through the big bite of the doughnut he had taken.

“that’s foul”, seungkwan says after a moment, which only seems to make soonyoung pout more. “i’m sure she didn’t mean it in a bad way”, soonyoung says, which only seems to fuel seungkwan’s thoughts.

“are you crazy? she introduced you as her friend and not boyfriend? that's so foul, you know what, give me her number, let me talk to her”, seungkwan says, all riled up for no reason. “woah that’s not needed man”, soonyoung says, walking over and grabbing the other doughnut, taking a bite out of it. “hm these are actually really good”, soonyoung says as he walks back to his room, the doughnut in his hand.

it’s a week later and soonyoung has been busy with dance lessons at the studio, and you have new projects on hand at work. finally, he has a day off and decides that it’s the right time to buy you back some chocolate doughnuts. he walks to the bakery with a stride and on a mission. along with the two chocolate glazed doughnuts, he gets you four dark chocolate chunk cookies and a slice of red velvet cake, remembering you mentioning that you liked those too. he pays at the counter and walks out of the store, excited to give these to you, only to realise he doesn’t know where you work, or exactly where your office is located. 

he thinks that he should text you and ask, but then that’ll ruin the surprise. so he asks jihyo instead, who is a menace and it takes three pleases before jihyo laughs and says she’ll text him the location to your office. he nearly jumps when his phone pings with a text and he’s quick to put the location in maps. it shows that it’s a fifteen minute walk from the bakery, which wasn’t too bad, so he starts walking in the direction of your office, hoping you’d like the little surprise.

when soonyoung finally reaches your office, it’s a huge building and he looks up, counting eight floors, wondering which floor you work on. he walks inside before turning to the reception desk on the left side. 

“hi, i’m looking for yn, she works here”, he says and the receptionist looks at soonyoung. “and you are?”, the lady asks, looking soonyoung up and down.

“oh! i’m her…boyfriend”, he says with a small smile. “i just got her some stuff to eat”, he adds and the receptionist nods, scribbling down something in a book.

“it’s lunch break now so she’ll probably be at the cafeteria, 4th floor”, the lady says and soonyoung thanks the lady and walks towards the elevator. he hums to himself as he walks into the elevator and when it opens, he’s greeted by your co-worker whom he saw the other day—mina. soonyoung walks into the elevator and presses the button to the fourth floor.

“hi, you’re yn’s friend right?”, mina says after a moment, seeming to recognise soonyoung. “yeah, her boyfriend actually”, he corrects and your friend lets out a small gasp in surprise. and just then the elevator pings, signaling that it has reached the fourth floor and the door slides open. 

“i got her some things from the bakery”, he says, holding up the bag as he steps out of the elevator, mina following beside him. “that’s so sweet, oh my god”, she says.  "you're really spoiling her, huh?", she adds with a more teasing tone as you both step out. just then two more of yn’s colleagues appear around the corner, all of them stopping short when they notice soonyoung standing there, looking a little lost and a lot out of place.

"what’s going on here?" one of them asks, raising an eyebrow at the scene before them. the way soonyoung was standing, clearly unsure of where to go makes him even more endearing. soonyoung looks around at the people that seemed to have gathered around him. “yn’s boyfriend is here”, mina sings songs and the rest of the girls all exclaim. “no way”, one of them says and the whole group goes silent for a split second, before they erupt into small gasps. "oh my god really?!" one of them asks with a small grin. "yn has a boyfriend?"

soonyoung lets out a nervous laugh, his face turning a little pink at the sudden attention he was getting and he scratches the back of his neck and asks, “uh, do you know where i can find yn?”.

“she’s probably in the break room getting coffee, let me call her”, mina says and just then yn seems to step out and mina calls out her name. “yn! over here!”, mina calls out to you and you turn your head around when you hear your name, your eyes spotting your coworkers all gathered in the corner near the elevator, and that’s when your eyes land on soonyoung. your eyes widen in surprise and you make your way towards them. it’s only when you’re close enough does mina speak.

“yn you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend?”, they all tease. “you’ve been hiding him? i thought you were just casually hanging out with him? you said he was just a friend when i bumped into you guys last week”, mina asks as she looks at you.

you panic and scramble for an answer. “oh, we just started dating three days ago”, you blurt out. “uh, we just, you know, kept it low, i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it”, you add, trying to salvage the situation.

"he’s literally perfect for you!", they chimed in, making your cheeks flush. you shoot a quick glance at soonyoung, who looks just a flustered, but seems to mask it better than you. “he’s so cute, much better than all your exes if you ask me”, one of them adds and you just give them a small laugh.

“oh my god, babe you have to bring him to my wedding as your plus one at the end of the month!”, mina says and all the other girls all chime in with a big yes and you know you really can’t pull yourself out of this situation now. “yeah, okay sure, i’ll get him along”, you say, giving mina a small smile. 

“we’ll give you two some alone time, there’s ten more minutes left for lunch break anyway”, mina says, giving you a mischievous look and you glare at her before all your co-workers walk to the break room and you grab soonyoung's arm, dragging him to the balcony on the other end of the room.

“soonyoung what are you doing here?”, you ask, confused, and a little frazzled at his sudden appearance at your workplace.

“i wanted to give you something back for paying for those breads last time, so i went to the bakery and got you all your favorite things from there”, he explains sweetly, holding out the bag. “i got you those dark chocolate chunk cookies, red velvet cake and those chocolate glazed doughnuts too”, he finishes, still waiting for you to take the bag from him. you reach your hand out and take the bag from him, opening it to take a peek inside, the smell of sugary goodness wafting in the air. “you didn’t have to”, you say, your tone softening at his gesture. 

“but i wanted to”, he tells and you smile at his warmth in his tone and the sweetness of his gesture. “that’s sweet of you”, you tell softly and he grins proudly. “no worries”, he says, looking at you, content. “i thought you’d enjoy it during a hectic work week”, he chimes in and you nod. “i definitely will, thank you”, you say and your eyes dart around, looking to see if anyone was around, which soonyoung picks up on.

“i’m sorry if i showed up unannounced, i didn’t think i’d bump into your co-workers”, he says, thinking he’d done something wrong. “no, you’re all fine soonyoung, it just took me by surprise”, you say. “cool, um, i guess i’ll see you around then?”, he says, sounding a little unsure as he says it. “yeah, see you around”, you say and he smiles. 

when soonyoung’s phone rings and he sees jihyo’s caller id, he has half a mind to ignore the call, but he doesn’t, knowing she’d just continue to call and pester him until he did pick up. 

“what?”, soonyoung asks, only to be met with a scolding. “that’s how you talk to your sister?”, jihyo asks and soonyoung sighs. “i’m busy”, he mumbles out in a whine.

“i have two tickets for this movie that was released last week, but i can’t go anymore, so i’m giving it to you”, jihyo says and for a second, soonyoung thinks that this is some kind of trap. “you’re joking”, he says. “i’m serious! take them, i really can’t go”, jihyo says.

“okay, but what will i do with the other one?”, he asks. “then take yn with you idiot, she’s been wanting to see that movie anyway”, jihyo says and soonyoung seems to stand up straighter at the mention of your name. 

“yn?”, he asks. “yes, yn, take her along”, jihyo says again like she’s already tired of talking to soonyoung. “i’ll send you the tickets, so go, i have to go now”, jihyo says and ends the call, hanging up before soonyoung can say anything more.

the thought of you seems to make soonyoung unintentionally smile and his phone pings with a text from jihyo with details about the movie and tickets. soonyoung opens the text and finds out that the movie was booked for saturday evening, which was in three days. soonyoung isn’t sure about it, isn’t sure if you would even want to watch the movie with him. so he sleeps on it, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he actually does want to go watch that movie with you. but the question is how he was going to ask you.

it’s already friday and soonyoung is starting to get restless. he can barely focus on anything, his thoughts racing in endless circles about one thing—you. his mind won’t stop replaying the thought of you and if he should ask you out to go to that movie with him, and it’s driving him crazy. the nervous energy bubbles up inside him until he can’t take it anymore, so in a desperate attempt to clear his head and figure out what the heck he was doing, he decides to hit the gym.

he pushes through the door, ready to work off some of his restless anxiety, but as soon as he steps inside, his eyes landed on a familiar face—lee chan, who was his school friend. chan smiles and waves at him when he spots soonyoung, but soonyoung only gives him a half-hearted wave of the hand. 

confused, chan trudges forward to soonyoung. “everything okay?”, he asks and soonyoung sighs dramatically, his shoulder slumping. “i don’t think you’d be much of a help with this man”, he says, looking like a lost puppy. but chan’s face is full of determination as he steps closer, crossing his arms. “what’s going on?”, he asks.

soonyoung’s eyes dart around as he tries to get the words out without sounding like an idiot, but it’s no use. “how do you ask a girl out to the movies?” he blurts out, his voice full of uncertainty that it was almost painful.

chan blinks at him for a second, not expecting soonyoung to ask him something like that. chan scratches the back of his head, looking just as clueless as soonyoung. “um, i guess you just…ask her?”, he says, unsure.

soonyoung groans again, pulling a hand down his face. “ask her how?”

chan blinks again, looking around for some kind of answer. “I don’t know man, maybe text her? call her? i don’t know, just… ask?”

“it’s not that easy, chan,” soonyoung says, practically sinking into the bench that he had sat on. “why? does she not like watching movies or something?”, chan asks.

soonyoung buries his face in his hands, exasperated. “no! not like that—it’s just—ugh!” he lets out another sigh, quieter this time, and looks up at chan with eyes full of uncertainty. “i don’t know if she’d actually want to watch the movie with me”.

chan tilts his head, giving soonyoung a confused look. “you guys don’t do movie dates?”

soonyoung’s response is a helpless gesture of both his hands, as if he was trying to wrangle some logic from the air around him. “i… i don’t know! we haven’t really done anything like that before, and i—” he cuts himself off with a dramatic sigh. “this is so stupid, isn’t it?”

chan blinks at him, then his face softens with a quiet chuckle. “it’s not stupid man, you just gotta be honest with her and just ask her”, he encourages. chan gives him a small smile, patting him on the shoulder. “you’ll figure it out man, don’t stress, girls like that honesty thing trust me”, chan says.

chan then leaves since his workout is over and soonyoung is left alone with his thoughts. soonyoung contemplates how exactly he is going to ask you out to the movie without making a total fool of himself. he should just ask you right? it was such a simple thing really, but the thought of it felt too daunting for soonyoung. 

after the gym session, soonyoung heads back home. he takes a hot water shower but he still can’t stop thinking about the movie, about you. maybe he should ask seungkwan? when he comes out of the shower, he throws on sweatpants and a loose shirt, walking into the living room to see seungkwan sprawled on the couch. he walks up to seungkwan and takes a seat on the other end of the couch.

“what is it this time?”, seungkwan asks, without even looking at soonyoung, making him scoff. “why do you always assume i did something”, soonyoung complains. “because you have that look”, seungkwan tells and soonyoung mumbles something under his breath and finally seungkwan looks up at him,

and all of a sudden, soonyoung feels like an idiot all over again. “how do you…you know…like…how to ask a girl out…to the movies”, soonyoung asks slowly, the words coming out unsure. 

“man not this shit again”, seungkwan mutters, giving soonyoung a look “i’m starting to wonder how you even got a girlfriend at this point when you’re so clueless”, seungkwan says, bruising soonyoung’s ego.

“hey! i’m not that bad, this is just all…new”, he says, trying to salvage the situation but seungkwan was right, he was totally and utterly clueless.

“just tell me how to ask her to the movie”, soonyoung repeats, bringing the focus back on the situation. “and quick because the movie is tomorrow and i already have the tickets”, he adds. seungkwan gives him another serious look, asking soonyoung to come closer with a gesture of his hand.

“if you want to properly ask her out, you need to get a dove, write a message and send it to her house as a messenger”, seungkwan says, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but soonyoung doesn’t catch it. “but then wouldn’t that take too long?”, he asks.

“exactly you idiot, so you need to call or text her”, he nearly yells at soonyoung, exasperated. 

“but should i say?”, he asks, that lopsided frown forming on his face. “ssk her if she wants to watch a movie with you, what else are you going to say?”, seungkwan asks, scoffing with annoyance.

“okay man, calm down”, soonyoung says, unlocking his phone and opening your contact. his fingers hover over the keyboard as he wracks his brain on what to ask. he gives seungkwan a glace, who looks like he’s ready to snatch soonyoung’s phone and ask you instead.

soonyoung [10:35 PM]: hey! i know this is last minute but do you wanna go watch a movie with me tomorrow evening? i have an extra ticket.

soonyoung hits send and throws his phone on the couch with a yelp, covering a hand over his mouth. 

“i asked her," he says, his phone in the middle of the couch now. two minutes later his phone pings and soonyoung jumps. “is it her? what if she said no?”, soonyoung asks and seungkwan reaches for the phone to see who texted.

“it’s her”, seungkwan says. “really? what did she say?”, soonyoung asks, leaning closer.

“she said she doesn’t want to see the movie”, seungkwan lies and soonyoung looks like he’s about to burst into tears at any second. he snatches the phone from seungkwan and reads the reply you sent.

you [10:37 PM]: soonyoung hi! sure i don’t mind.

“SEUNGKWAN”, he yells, getting up in a huff and hurling one of the pillows at him. “i’m never asking you for help again”, soonyoung mutters out, walking back to his room. he closes the door and crashes onto his bed before he reads your text again, a small smile creeping up on his face.

so you did want to go to the movie with him. 

he turns over and buries his face into the pillow and smiles wider before gathering his thoughts, typing out a quick response.

soonyoung [10:38PM]: okay! the movie is at 8pm so i’ll pick you by 7:15

you [10:38 PM]: cool okay!

when saturday evening rolls around, soonyoung is freaking out. it’s like a tornado hit his room with the way all the clothes are splayed out on his bed and floor. he barges into seungkwan’s room for the fourth time, asking him if his outfit was okay.

“is this okay?”, soonyoung asks, adjusting his top. “yeah it’s fine”, seungkwan says, not bothering to look, which only makes soonyoung groan out in annoyance. “chill out man, it’s just a movie, you look fine”, he says, finally looking at soonyoung. “okay okay”, soonyoung says, glancing at the time on his watch and realizing he had to leave now if he wanted to reach your place on time.

you on the other hand are a mess too and you're starting to wonder why you agreed to this, except you had a good reason why—you wanted to test soonyoung’s and your chemistry. if he was going to come to the wedding with you, it needed to look like you were both really dating, and not pretending. plus this seemed like a good opportunity to teach a few things to him about being a boyfriend since he didn’t have any prior experience. 

you glance at the mirror, smoothing out the cream colored sweater that was tucked into the waistband of your high waisted jeans. it’s cozy and warm, perfect for the evening ahead. the look is casual yet sweet, just the right balance for a movie date. you slide on a pear of black ankle boot and you grab a small shoulder bag and sling it over your arm. you brush a hand through your hair, leaving your hair loose and letting it fall and frame your face naturally. 

just then you hear the honk of a car outside–it must be soonyoung. in a rush grab your lip tint, stuffing it in your bag and walking out. you open the door just as soonyoung is about to knock on the door and he’s a little surprised with the way you open the door so quickly, nearly bumping into him.

“soonyoung, hi!”, you say in a rush of nerves for some reason. soonyoung’s wearing a loose, dark brown jacket over a simple black tee and jeans. his ash blonde silver hair is slightly tousled as it falls over his forehead, just enough to make it look like he’s run his hands through it a few times, giving him a messy, carefree look—it’s cute. his hair catches the light under your front door, softening his sharp features, but still making him look striking in a way. 

soonyoung almost forgets to respond to you, distracted by how pretty you look. his eyes roam over you, lingering on you, taking in the way your hair falls loosely and frames your face just right, or the way you’d put on some makeup, something different than your usual office makeup, something bolder, but still pretty. his eyes flicker back up to yours, a hint of surprise in them, before he finally gives you a soft, almost distracted smile.

“h-hi”, he stutters out, clearing his throat, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool and wasn’t caught staring at you in awe. “are you ready?”, he asks after a second, and you nod. “yup, i’ll just grab the keys and lock up”, you say and walk back inside, grabbing the keys from the bowl and walking back out. you lock the door behind you and drop the keys in your bag. 

soonyoung runs over to the car and you’re confused for a moment before you realise he’s opening the door for you. you give him a small smile and say a small thank you before you sit inside, and he closes the door.  but how did soonyoung know all this? he had stayed up the entire night, googling silly things. every search felt like another step into the unknown. “what to do on a movie date,” he typed in, squinting as the search results loaded. his fingers hovered over the screen, unsure if it was a good idea to click on it before and if he overthinking this entire thing. in a panic, he clicks on the —“10 things you should NEVER do on a first date” article.

the more he googled, the more overwhelmed he became. “date ideas for people who have no idea what they’re doing,” he types instead, praying for something that might make him seem like less of a disaster. he didn’t want to screw this entire thing up. he had even watched a youtube tutorial titled “how to not be awkward on dates (for dummies), and read through countless articles like “how to be a good boyfriend,”. “how to impress your girlfriend”, “how to hold hands”. he was trying his best, but this was all just new, uncharted territory for him.

the drive to the theater is quiet and when he pulls up at a red light signal, soonyoung turns around to glance at you. you dig into your bag for the lip tint you had thrown in there and open it, hoping it still had some product left in it because it was on the verge of getting over. you open the cap and try to scrape out whatever product you could get on the wand and apply it on your lips, dabbing it with your finger to spread it out evenly. you hadn’t bought a new one because this one was out of stock and you hadn’t had the time to go to a store and look for similar shades. soonyoung watches you, wondering why you hadn’t just bought a new one. it’s only when the cars honk from behind that he snaps out of his daze from staring at you and drives ahead. once you reach the theater, you get out and you both walk inside. you stop just short of the entrance, prompting soonyoung to stop and turn around, looking at you a little confused.

"hey, soonyoung?," you say, your voice soft but purposeful. he walks over to you immediately, eyes wide with anticipation, clearly ready for whatever you’re about to say. “yeah?”, he asks.

you hesitate for a moment, then take a deep breath. “do you maybe want to try... holding hands?", you ask softly.

for a split second, soonyoung’s face freezes when he hears your words and his brows furrow slightly, like he didn’t quite catch what you said. he repeats it, a little too quickly, as though he’s making sure he heard you right. “hold hands?”

you smile, trying to ease the awkwardness. "yeah, like... we could practice doing some stuff today, you know? since you're coming with me to that wedding and all."

soonyoung blinks a couple times, still processing your words and his gaze flicks down to the ground, then back up at you, like he's trying to figure out if you're joking. "wait, you really meant it? you're really taking me to the wedding?"

you can’t help but laugh a little, amused by how surprised he sounds. "of course, i wouldn't leave you behind. plus, if i showed up without you, my friends would probably kill me”, you explain.

soonyoung relaxes a little, but there's still this wide-eyed, nervous energy around him. he clears his throat, trying to act cool, but it’s clear he’s a bit flustered. “i—uh—okay, so hold hands?”, he prompts again and you nod. “yeah, just for a bit, we can practice, it’s not a big deal”, you say, trying to sound reassuring.

soonyoung scratches the back of his neck nervously. "okay... we can try, i mean, we’re just practicing, right?", he asks as he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and hesitation. you extend your hand slowly, watching as soonyoung does the same. his fingers tremble just a little, and he hesitates for a fraction of a second before his hand brushes against yours. he pulls his hand back almost immediately, like he was suddenly unsure. he looks at you again and you give him a small encouraging smile.

this time, when you offer your hand again, soonyoung hesitates just a little, his fingers hovering over yours as if he’s psyching himself up to reach out and take your hand. when he finally takes your hand, it’s tentative—like he's afraid he might break something. but then, after a deep breath, he laces his fingers with yours, and his hand feels warm, a little sweaty, but he’s holding your hand now.

you feel a soft chuckle bubble up from soonyoung. "whoa, this is actually kind of nice," he admits, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, a clear sign that he’s nervous but trying to hide it. you smile, "i think it’s nice too”, you say, smiling up at him.

for a moment, neither of you speaks, just standing there with your hands clasped together and soonyoung fidgets slightly, glancing down at your joined hands as if he was checking that it's real, and then back up at you. his face is flushed, a mix of shyness and excitement and something a little more earnest in his expression. he notices how small your hand looks in his, how his hand practically could engulf yours entirely, and he thinks that’s cute.

"so," he starts again, his voice soft, but holding a tone of determination. "we’re really doing this, huh? holding hands like a couple?", he asks as he looks at you. 

you chuckle, the tension easing as he gets more comfortable. "yep, just a little practice before the wedding”, you confirm. 

after that first tentative moment of holding hands, the two of you make your way into the theater and soonyoung seems to have shaken off his initial nerves. but every now and then his fingers give yours an almost unnoticeable squeeze, as if he’s checking to make sure it’s still real, that he is in fact holding your hand. you buy a bucket of popcorn and you both head inside the theater, finding your seats. soonyoung is nervous as he sits down and he wipes his slightly sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, before glancing over at you. 

the smell of buttery popcorn fills the air as you reach into the bucket, grabbing a handful before turning your attention back to the screen. you glance at soonyoung, who is sitting beside you, his hand hovering hesitantly over the popcorn. he had barely eaten any since the movie started, and you could tell he was holding back.

"i'm not going to eat this entire bucket myself soonyoung," you say softly, nudging the popcorn towards him with a smile. "you can have some more”, you say and he nods, mumbling a quiet, "yeah, sure," before finally taking some more.

the movie starts, the screen illuminating both of your faces in the dim theater. at first, soonyoung is focused on the movie ahead, his gaze locked onto the action unfolding before him. but at some point, his attention wavers, and instead of the film, he finds himself watching you—the way your eyes light up whenever something funny happens, the way your brows furrowed in concentration during an intense scene. the soft glow of the screen made your features even more captivating, and he couldn't help but admire the way you reacted so naturally to every moment.

his fingers absentmindedly reach for more of the popcorn, just at the same time yours does, and the brief touch of your fingers against his sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he immediately retracts his hand, swallowing nervously. you turn your head slightly, glancing at him with a knowing smile, before pushing the bucket a little closer to him in silent reassurance.

when the movie is over and the credits roll out, you stretch lightly in your seat before looking over at him. "that was good," you say with a satisfied smile and soonyoung nods, though he had hardly paid attention to the second half of the film. you both step out into the cool night air. your stomach grumbles quietly because the popcorn you had eaten had been more of a snack than a meal, and now the real hunger was creeping in. you glance over at soonyoung. "i'm still kind of hungry, do you want to grab something to eat?", you ask.

"yeah, sure," he replies, perking up slightly. "there's this really good burger place not too far from here, i can drive us there”, he says.

when you arrive at the burger place, the scent of grilled patties and crispy fries fill the air as you both step inside. the restaurant has a casual, welcoming atmosphere, and you quickly place your orders before finding a booth to sit in. soonyoung sits across from you, his fingers fiddling with the napkins on the table, carefully arranging and then rearranging them as if it was the most important task in the world. there was a nervous energy about him, and you watched him for a moment before leaning forward slightly.

"you okay?" you ask, tilting your head lightly and his hands still for a second before he lets out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “yeah, just, uh…" he hesitates before looking up to meet your gaze, and then glancing away again. you smile softly, resting your chin on your hand. "you sure?”, you ask again and he finally lets go of the tissue in his hand. “i guess i'm just kind of nervous”, he admits.

"nervous?" you repeat, eyebrows raising slightly. "why?"

soonyoung hesitates, then meets your eyes again, this time holding your gaze a little longer. "i just don't want to mess this up”, he admits softly.

your heart does a small, unexpected flip at his words and a warmth spreads through you as you smile at him, a little softer this time. "soonyoung," you say, your voice gentle, "you don’t have to be nervous, you’re doing great!”, you assure and his lips part slightly in surprise before he breaks into a small grin, a mix of relief and happiness flashing across his face. and just like that, the nervous energy between you both shifts into something lighter—something warm.

the food arrives and the scent of freshly grilled burgers and crispy fries and buttery toasted buns fill the air as you and soonyoung sit across from each other in the booth. you are hungry, so without hesitation you pick up your burger and take a big bite. the flavors hit instantly and you let out a small hum of satisfaction.

soonyoung laughs softly at your reaction, taking a bite of his own burger. "good, right?" he asks, his words slightly muffled as he chews and you nod.

"amazing," you reply after swallowing, already reaching for a fry. "you were right, this place is really good”.

the two of you eat comfortably, occasionally exchanging small talk. the late night atmosphere in the diner feels warm, with the soft hum of conversation from other customers and the occasional clang of plates from the kitchen, the smell of fries and salt lingering in the air.

at one point, soonyoung glances up and notices something—just the tiniest smudge of sauce at the corner of your mouth. his lips part slightly, his fingers tightening around his burger as he thinks and hesitates, wondering what to do. he was hoping you’d notice it and take action yourself, but you were too busy licking salt off your fingers from the fries, completely unaware of it.

soonyoung could’ve told you, he could’ve pointed it out and let you wipe it away yourself because that would’ve been the normal thing to do. but instead, before he can stop himself, he is already moving and he reaches across the table, lifting his hand. his thumb grazes over the corner of your lips in the most soft motion. his touch is warm, almost featherlight and it catches you completely off guard. your breath hitches and your eyes flicker up to meet his, widening slightly, 

soonyoung freezes midway, his brain catching up on what he had just done. his thumb still lingers on your skin, before he pulls his hand back quickly, looking down before he looks back up at you.

"uh—" he starts, clearing his throat, his ears burning red. "you, uh... had some sauce right there." he says as he points awkwardly to the same spot on his own mouth.

you blink quietly, still processing what he had done, the warmth of his touch lingering even after he had pulled away.  "oh, thanks," you murmur and soonyoung lets out a nervous chuckle, looking down at his own food like it had suddenly become the most interesting thing right now. “yeah, uh, no problem”, he says, taking a fry and shoving it in his mouth in an attempt to recover from what he had just done.

you don’t say anything more, but it was like there was a shift in the air between the both of you—a quiet sort of electricity buzzing beneath the surface. soonyoung finally looks up, stealing another glance at you before he picks up his drink and chugs it down, hoping it’d ease his racing heart. 

when soonyoung goes home, he looks defeated. he sighs as he plops down onto the couch and keeps recalling the moment where he wiped the sauce off your lips, feeling like such an idiot. he hadn’t screwed up things between you both, right?

you decide to meet soonyoung once more next week for a little more practice, and today’s meeting point was by the lake near the park. the reason you loved going there was to feed the ducks. you had made it a habit to go there at least once a week or twice a month if you were too busy, and today seemed like a good excuse to go there—with soonyoung too.

you decide to walk there from your place, since it was relatively close and decide to meet soonyoung at the park itself, texting him the location. you wear something simple, some blue jeans, a white crop top, a baby blue cardigan and a pair of sneakers—it was simple, yet comfortable. the sunlight filters through the trees, casting soft patterns of light and shadows onto the wooden walkway to the lake, the air smells faintly of greenery and a quiet breeze rustles the leaves of the trees.

soonyoung stands there, casually leaning against the black railing, waiting for you. his blonde hair gleams under the sunlight, slightly ruffled by the wind, falling over his forehead and eyes. he’s wearing a light gray denim jacket that’s oversized over a simple crisp and clean white t-shirt that peeks out. he’s also wearing grey denim shorts to match and it hangs jus right, stopping just below his knees. his look is complete with a pair of cream colored slip on shoes. he shifts slightly, one hand resting against the railing, the other hand loosely hanging by his side. his gaze is steady and soft, yet thoughtful, as though he’s lost in the moment. he can hear the rustle of the leaves, feel the warmth of the sun and the quiet hum of the world around him. it’s only when he glances to his left that he finally sees you and his eyes light up. he gives you a wave as you walk up to him and you give him a small smile. 

“hey, you made it”, you say, the paper bag you bought along with some bread rustling in your hand. soonyoung’s looks curiously at the bag in your hand then looks at you. 

“do you want to hold hands again? you know, for practice”, you ask, and soonyoung nods, before squeaking out a small yes. you hold your hand out and this time he takes it without much hesitation, intertwining his fingers in yours and he gives you a small grin.

“come on, they’re waiting, let’s go”, you say, not giving him much information and you start walking, leading soonyoung, who’s following beside you as you both walk together hand in hand.

“who’s waiting?”, he asks. “the ducks!”, you reply and he glances at you. “ducks?”, he repeats. “have you never fed the ducks here?”, you ask and he shakes his head, “i didn’t know you could feed them”, he says. “well, i’ll introduce you to them”, you say turning the corner and the lake is visible now, the ducks too.

you smile softly when you near the ducks, letting go of soonyoung’s hand as you crouch down near the lake shore. the ducks seem to recognize you immediately, their quacks echoing across the water as they paddle toward you, their little feet slap against the wet grass as they waddle up to the edge, and your smile widens at the sight.

“well, someone’s popular,” soonyoung teases, crouching down beside you as you pull out some bread crumbs from the paper bag you had brought along.

“hi, guys,” you say softly, tossing a piece of bread toward the closest duck. the rest of the flock scrambles forward, quacking in protest, and you can’t help but laugh. you hand soonyoung a handful of crumbs. “here, you can help me feed them”, you say. soonyoung he throws a piece of bread to a particularly round duck and you point at it. “that’s sprinkles,” you say, grinning.

soonyoung freezes mid toss and turns to you with a raised eyebrow. “wait, you’ve named them?”

“of course,” you reply, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. you gesture to another duck, slightly smaller but just as eager. “that’s biscuit”, you say and then you then point to three more ducks that have joined the crowd. “and over there are noodle, muffin, and bubbles”.

he stares at you, visibly baffled. “you’ve named all of them?”

“well, not all of them,” you admit with a shrug. “just the regulars”, you say.

soonyoung narrows his eyes, looking between the ducks. “how can you even tell them apart? they all look the same to me”, he says and you gasp softly in mock offense. “excuse me? they each have their own unique personalities!”, you say and he snorts, clearly unconvinced, but he plays along, tossing a crumb toward the closest duck. “okay, that’s… biscuit, right?”, he asks and you shake your head. “no, that’s sprinkles”, you correct.

“right, sprinkles,” he says, nodding like he’s taking this very seriously. he tosses another crumb, pointing to a different duck. “and that one is muffin?”.

“nope, that’s bubbles,” you say, giggling now. he lets out a dramatic sigh, throwing another small piece of bread. “this is impossible! they’re all the same color”, he says, looking defeated.

“you just need to pay attention,” you say. “like noodle—he’s the one with the slightly crooked feather on his tail, and muffin is always the one at the back, kind of shy”, you explain. soonyoung squints at the flock, clearly trying to identify the subtle differences you’ve pointed out. “okay, but how am i supposed to tell biscuit from sprinkles?”, he asks.

“well, sprinkles has more attitude,” you say with a grin, gesturing to the duck in question, who is currently quacking loudly and shoving the others out of the way to get to the crumbs. soonyoung laughs, tossing another piece of bread to it. “oh yeah, i see it now”, he says.

soonyoung tosses a crumb directly in front of sprinkles and the duck snatches it up with a quick peck and waddles closer. "hey, sprinkles has really got an appetite," soonyoung remarks, tossing another crumb and the duck waddles even closer. then, for reasons only soonyoung would understand, he suddenly cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a loud, dramatic "QUACK!".

you freeze, turning to him as you try not to laugh. you’re about to open your mouth but then all the ducks on the pond swivel their heads in unison, their beady eyes locking onto soonyoung like he just declared a fight on the ducks.

"uh-oh," he says, standing up slowly.

"soonyoung, what did you do?" you whisper, trying not to laugh as sprinkles seems to waddle closer to him.

"i was trying to communicate!" he hisses back, taking a step backward as more ducks emerge from the water, their webbed feet slapping on the grass.

"well, they’re communicating now" you say, barely holding back laughter.

one duck quacks loudly, as if rallying the troops, and suddenly the entire flock is waddling toward soonyoung, their little heads bobbing with determination as they flock towards soonyoung.

"oh no," he stammers, backing away faster and all you can do is double over with laughter as the ducks seem to crowd around soonyoung. you stand up and try to shoo away the ducks, trying to distract them with breadcrumbs, but they aren’t deterred. so soonyoung does the only thing he can think off—he grabs your hand and runs. 

“soonyoung!”, you yelp out as he takes off, pulling you along with him and you run behind him, his hand interlocked with yours. you’re running, dodging stones and twigs, but then your leg gets caught on a stone and you lose your footing, and before you can process what’s happening, your balance topples and you’re falling.

“soonyoung!” you cry out, as you fall forward.

he reacts in an instant when he hears your voice and he whips around just in time to see you stumbling forward. without a second thought, he lunges toward you, arms outstretched, holding onto you and instead of hitting the ground, you land on him, the momentum knocking the both of you over. the world spins for a second, and when it steadies, you realize you’re sprawled on top of soonyoung, your hands pressed against his chest. his arms are wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head to shield you and his face is so close to yours that you can feel the warmth of his breath as he speaks.

“are you okay?” he asks softly, his voice full of concern. his wide, worried eyes searching yours, making your heart stutter.

you nod, suddenly hyper aware of how close you are. “yeah, i’m fine,” you mumble out, quickly pushing yourself up and sitting back. but the moment you put weight on your foot, a sharp pain shoots up your ankle and you let out a small gasp.

“what’s wrong?” soonyoung asks as he gets up immediately. “i think i sprained my ankle”, you say softly and his eyes dart to your ankle and back to your face, guilt etched into his expression. “i’m so sorry,” he says, his voice filled with regret. “this is my fault. i should’ve been more careful. i shouldn’t have—”

“soonyoung,” you interrupt, your voice soft despite the light pain. “it’s okay. it’s not your fault.”

“but it is,” he insists, shaking his head. “i shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess. i didn’t think—” “hey,” you say, placing your hand lightly on his arm. “it’s just a sprain. i’ll be fine”, you assure, but the lopsided pout on his face remains and he doesn’t look convinced. instead, he shifts closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “you could’ve really gotten hurt, shit, i don’t know what i’d do if something worse happened”, he says, but you give him another reassuring smile. “i’ll be fine, really”, you say. soonyoung helps you get up and guides you to a nearby bench, his arms steady around you as he holds you, but the guilt never leaves his face. he sets you down on the bench and looks at you like you’re made of glass, like if he just blinks, you might shatter.

“you can’t go home like this”, he says with a frown. “i’ll carry you home”, he declares after a moment and you blink at him. “wait what?”, you say but he’s already crouching down in front of you, patting his back.

“get on”, he says and you stare at him because he couldn't really be serious about this.

“soonyoung, no, that’s ridiculous,” you protest. “you can’t possibly carry me all the way home”, you say looking at him.

he turns his head to give you a look over his shoulder. “you’re not walking on that ankle, not even for a second”, he declares.

“but—” “no buts, now come on. you’re not going home like this and i refuse to let you limp the whole way”, he says with a pout. you sigh, knowing there’s no winning against him when he’s this determined. “fine, but don’t you dare drop me”, you finally say, giving in.

“pfft. please”, he scoffs. “i’ve been training for this moment my whole life”, he says and you roll your eyes because that was such a jihyo thing to say. they really were a pair of siblings. you carefully move forward, draping your arms over his shoulders and the second you do, he reaches back, hooking his arms under your legs and lifting you up effortlessly.

“whoa—okay,” you gasp as he stands up straight, securing his grip, adjusting his hold slightly so you’re comfortable. “okay now hold on tight”, he says and you do, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his shoulders as he starts walking. despite everything—the pain, the ridiculousness of the situation—you can’t help but smile lightly.

“you’re really that worried about me, huh?” you ask softly, resting your chin against his shoulder. soonyoung doesn’t answer right away, but when he does his voice is quieter than before. “of course i am. it’s you”, he says and your heart stumbles a little at his words.

“i just hate that you got hurt because of me” he continues. “if i had been paying more attention, then maybe i could’ve—”

“stop that,” you interrupt. “this isn’t your fault, soonyoung. you already did more than enough to make sure i didn’t hit the ground face first”, you say and he exhales slowly, his grip on your legs tightening just a bit. “still. i’d rather be the one getting hurt than you”.

the two of you continue down the sidewalk and his steps are careful and steady. despite your protests earlier, you find that being carried by soonyoung like this is… nice. it doesn’t feel weird or odd, but it feels right for some reason, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. soonyoung's grip on your legs is secure and his warmth seeps through his shirt into you. every so often you can feel the slight shift of his muscles as he adjusts his hold, making sure you’re comfortable. the steady rhythm of his breathing mixes with the distant hum of the evening air, and for a moment, it’s easy to forget about the dull throbbing in your ankle. you glance up and realize your house is just a few minutes away and guilt creeps in at the thought of him carrying you all this way. “are you sure you don’t need a break?” you ask hesitantly. “i think i can walk from here”, you add.

he doesn’t even slow down as he replies. “i’m good,” he says, as if carrying you for the past several blocks was nothing. but you don’t miss the way his shoulders subtly flex or  the way he exhales just a little harder than before. you frown, guilt pressing harder against your chest.

“soonyoung,” you say softly. “i’ll just walk. it’s really fine. i don’t want to burden you”.

he scoffs, adjusting his grip on your legs as if to prove his point. “burden? are you serious?” he asks, glancing back at you with a look. “well yeah, aren’t you tired?”, you ask and he stops walking. then,with zero warning, he spins you around on his back, making you yelp and you tighten your hold around his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his sides out of instinct, your arms tightening around his neck.

“soonyoung!” you screech, your voice caught between shock and laughter. his grip is secure despite the sudden movement. “if i was tired, do you think i could i do that?” he challenges playfully and you huff, smacking his shoulder as he starts to walk again.

“what the hell? i’m telling jihyo about this”, you say and soonyoung freezes mid step. 

“wait, what?”, he asks, his tone faltering and your smirk widens. got him. “oh, you heard me”, you say as he slowly starts walking again, but there’s a slight panic in his voice now. “you wouldn’t”, he tells.

“oh, you know,” you say innocently, tilting your head. “how would she feel knowing her little brother just threw me around like a sack of rice? or what would she say about how you almost dropped me in the middle of the street?”, you tell with a dramatic sigh.

“i did not throw you!” he exclaims, voice high-pitched. “and i definitely didn’t drop you!”, he defends as he starts walking again faster this time like he was on a mission to prove something. “you wouldn’t”, he says and you smirk, having fun teasing him.

“oh, i definitely would”, you say. “yn, you can’t be serious”, he asks.

“i am dead serious”, you say and he groans like his soul is physically leaving his body. “do you want me to die? because that’s what’s gonna happen if she finds out”, he says with a small whine. you can’t take it anymore and you burst out laughing, shaking slightly as you cling onto him. “oh my god, you’re so dramatic”, you say as you giggle and you lift your hand to ruffle his hair, your fingers slipping easily through the soft strands. “you’re such an idiot,” you say, your voice fond despite your words. he stiffens for half a second—so brief you almost don’t catch it—before he exhales sharply. he mumbles something, ducking his head slightly, but making no move to stop you.

“I’m just pulling your leg,” you say finally, your voice light and teasing. you’re still smiling as you drop your hand back to your side, and he hums in response, low and soft. he doesn’t say anything else, but the faint smile on his face remains. your house finally comes into view, and you’re suddenly hit with the realization that in just a few minutes, he’ll set you down and this whole thing—this stupid, sweet, ridiculous moment will just be a memory—and somehow you almost don’t want it to end.

soonyoung carries you up to the front steps, pausing in front of the building. “home sweet home,” he says and you blink, snapping back to reality. soonyoung carefully kneels so you can slide off his back, his hands lingering on your arm to make sure you’re steady. but the moment your foot touches the ground, a sharp sting shoots up your leg, and you wince.

soonyoung’s hand tightens on your arm as he turns around. “don’t put weight on it yet,” he says, his brows knitting together in concern. “are you okay?” , he asks and you sigh, shifting your weight to your other leg. “yeah, i guess it’s just sore”, you say and his frown deepens. “make sure to put some ice on it”, he says and you nod.

“i’ll be fine after some rest”, you say and soonyoung still looks worried. he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “again i’m so sorry”, he says.

“i swear if you apologize one more time, i’m really going to tell jihyo”, you threaten and he gives you a look. “okay okay”, he grumbles, looking at you before he takes a step back. “just remember to ice it”, he says again as he walks backwards and you nod, waving at him before you unlock your door and hobble inside. soonyoung texts you later that evening. 

soonyoung [9:37 PM]: did you ice your leg???

you  [9:38 PM]: oops, i will do that now.

soonyoung [9:40 PM]: yn 🤨 please ice it and rest your leg! (p.s please don’t tell jihyo)

the office is abuzz with talk and energy, since it was your co-worker’s wedding this weekend. “yn you’re bringing your boyfriend to the wedding right”, mina asks, nudging you lightly and you give her a knowing look.

“yes yes, i will”, you say and they all seem to cheer. “he’s so cute, what does he do by the way?”, one of them asks, and all of them seem to turn their attention to you, interested in your boyfriend, well fake boyfriend. 

“he’s a dancer”, you say and they all gasp collectively, not expecting that answer. “that’s so cool!”, one of them says. “he works at a dance studio downtown”, you add, feeling a little proud. 

“he’s so much better than jaehyun”, mina says and at the mention of jaehyun, the atmosphere shifts. it’s subtle—just a slight pause in conversation, a flicker of exchanged glances—but you can feel it. mina presses her lips together, like she’s debating whether to say more, before finally sighing.

“speaking of jaehyun…my fiancé invited him,” she says carefully. “apparently, they’re close business friends so…” mina trails off, watching you closely for your reaction. the thought of seeing jaehyun again makes your stomach flip and you gulp. 

“it’s fine, i’m over him anyway”, you say, shrugging, trying to act like this piece of information didn’t really bother you. mina doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push it and one of the girls quickly changes the subject, plucking the invitation from mina’s hand.

“okay, but can we talk about the most important part of the wedding?” she asks dramatically and mina’s eyes light up. “the slow dance?”, she asks and the group bursts into exciting chatter and mina nods with a smile on her face. “it’s going to be a huge part of the reception! after the first dance, everyone joins in, so no one is getting out of it,” she says.

“that sounds so romantic,” one of the girls says, sighing dreamily. “it is,” mina agrees. “but you know what i’m most excited for?” she turns to you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “seeing yn’s boyfriend on the dance floor”, mina says and you look at her, eyes widening.

“oh my god yes, he’s literally a dancer so he’s gonna make everyone else look so amateur”, one of them says, and they all laugh. “wait, wait,” another friend chimes in, grinning at you. “you’re gonna slow dance with him, right?”

you open your mouth, ready to argue, but the group seems to gasp at the same time. “oh my god,” mina gasps. “what if he dips you? or does one of those fancy spins? yn you guys have to dance together, you have no choice”, mina declares and you internally groan, covering you face in embarrassment. “yes you guys have to dance!”, the others echo in and you can only hide your face even more. you had zero dancing skills so you were very likely to make an embarrassment out of yourself on the dance floor, and knowing mina, she was going to make you dance no matter what. 

on your way home, you decide to take a detour and drop by the dance studio soonyoung works at. you were hoping he’d be there because you weren’t sure if he was working today or not. you manage to find it pretty easily and walk inside. you look around like you’re lost and you glance around at the place. 

“can i help you?”, someone asks, walking towards you. “oh, i’m looking for soonyoung”, you say. “oh, did you have a class scheduled with him? i think he’s done for today”, they say, but you shake your head.

“oh no, i’m just here to see him, i’m his girlfriend”, you say, the words coming out naturally before you can catch yourself and they nod, telling you to follow them. you nod in thanks, your heart suddenly hammering in your chest as you walk down the quiet corridor. your footsteps echo slightly against the polished floor, and with each step, a new thought rushes through your mind. should i have said that? does it even matter? why am i nervous?

when you finally reach the last door, they let you know that he’s inside and you could go in before they turn around and walk back to the front. you hesitate as you stand in front of the door, your fingers hovering over the handle. but then you notice that it’s slightly ajar, and without thinking, you push it open just a fraction more. your eyes immediately land on soonyoung. he’s in the center of the room, his reflection mirrored back at you from all angles. he’s practicing something intricate, his footwork light and sharp and you pause, watching him for a moment. he’s completely focused and you take a slow, deep breath, steadying yourself before gently knocking on the door. the sound breaks through the room and soonyoung hears it immediately, his movements slowing but never fully stopping. "come in," he says, but he doesn’t glance up yet.

you step forward cautiously and close the door behind you. when soonyoung finally looks up, his eyes widen slightly in surprise as he looks at you from the reflection in the mirror. “yn?”, he says, his voice carrying a note of surprise as he turns to get a better look at you as you walk closer to him.

you shift awkwardly under his gaze, suddenly hyper aware of everything in the room. you clear your throat, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "uh, hey," you say, voice coming out a little breathy. “what are you doing here?”, he asks, a little confused but happy to see you. “i mean not that you can’t come here, i just didn’t expect to see you here”, he says, his fingers starting to fidget with the hem of his shirt nervously before he crosses his arms across his chest.

“i just i’d drop by, you’re always asking me to come visit”, you say softly, looking around the huge room, taking in the mirrored walls, the polished wooden floor, and the faint hum of music still lingering in the air. soonyoung stands near the wall, his posture relaxed yet impossibly striking. he’s wearing a white sleeveless tank top, the fabric clinging just enough to highlight his toned shoulders and chest. and with the way his arms are crossed against his chest, it only seems to highlight and show off the defined curve of his biceps and toned arms, which are on full display. a simple silver chain rests against his collarbone, catching the light and you gulp before you tear your gaze away.

“i wasn’t sure if you’d actually be here,” you add after a moment, trying to sound cool. “well, here i am”, soonyoung says, his voice smooth and teasing. when you glance back at him, he’s watching you with a raised brow, “ i didn’t expect you to catch me mid practice though”, he continues, pushing off the wall and taking a few slow steps toward you. “but i’m glad you came”, he says, his tone sweet.

his words are light, but there’s something in the way he looks at you—soft, warm, almost appreciative, that makes your stomach flutter. you clear your throat, willing yourself to focus on literally anything else, but your eyes betray you again, trailing down to his arms and the way his shoulders shift as he moves closer. the tank top he’s wearing does absolutely nothing to help your situation, and you silently curse him for looking this good.

“i guess i thought i’d surprise you,” you manage to say, your voice quieter now. “plus the wedding is this weekend, so i thought i’d just drop by”, you say as you fish into your bag for the invitation, handing it to soonyoung. 

“can i ask you something?”, you ask after you give him a moment to go over the invitation and he looks up at you. “sure”, he says but you hesitate, the words dying on your tongue. “never mind, it’s stupid”, you say, brushing it off, but soonyoung doesn’t let you brush it off.

“what is it?”, he asks again and you stare at him for a second, your eyes darting to the side of the room before you speak.

"um...do you know…how to slow dance?", you ask softly and soonyoung tilts his head slightly before he nods. "yeah i do, why?" he asks curiously.

you cross your arm over your chest. "you know mina’s wedding? the one we’re going to, apparently slow dancing is part of it, and since we’re fake dating, people are gonna expect us to dance together. i just don’t wanna make a fool of myself if we actually end up dancing”, you try to explain and you watch as soonyoung puts down the invitation on the floor near his bottle before he stands back up. 

“so you want me to teach you?", he asks and you nod shyly as heat rises to your cheeks. "only if you actually know how," you shoot back, looking at him. soonyoung lets out a mock offended gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "excuse me? i’m a dancer, so of course i know how to slow dance”, he says and his eyes hold a little amusement in them as he takes a small step closer.

“i can teach you”, he offers and you feel so shy all of a sudden. you shrug, “if you’re willing to then i guess fine”, you say and he laughs softly, his voice dipping lower as he extends a hand toward you. he pauses just a fraction of a second before speaking again. “can i?”, he asks, holding his hand out, as if giving you space to make a decision. this was the same boy who was nervous about holding your hand for the first time and now he is asking you if he could hold yours.

“i promise i won’t step on your toes”, he says, to lighten the mood, but there’s something almost vulnerable about the question, the way he’s careful, like he’s waiting for your permission to do more than just teach you how to move. you shrug your bag off your shoulder and put it to the side. then you reach out for soonyoung’s hand, your fingers curling around his fingers. the air around you feels charged with something subtle and his smile deepens slightly. there’s a glint of reassurance in his eyes, in the look he gives you that makes your heart stir. 

your breath stutters as soonyoung pulls you in, his fingers warm and steady around yours. he doesn’t hesitate, like this is the most natural thing in the world. "okay," he murmurs, his voice softer now, melting into something calmer, something almost intimate. "let’s start with the basics”, soonyoung says again, his voice turning quieter. he gently tugs you forward, positioning your feet. “for a basic slow dance, you want to keep close, but not too close, because you don’t want to crowd your partner’s space,” he explains. 

you swallow, suddenly hyper aware of everything—his hand in yours, the slight distance between your bodies, the way his gaze flickers down to meet yours. and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re more nervous about the dance, or the fact that soonyoung is so close to you. you try to take a small step back, in an attempt to create some distance between you both but he gently tugs you back in. “i’m not going to bite”, he jokes, looking at you, probably sensing your nervous energy and you let out a small nervous laugh. “okay okay”, you say and watch as soonyoung shifts his other hand, reaching out but stopping mid air. 

“can i?”, he asks again and you nod before soonyoung shifts his hold, guiding your hand up to rest lightly on his shoulder while his other hand settles just above your waist. “first we’ll start with the basic steps”, he says, his voice quiet but firm. “left foot forward, like this”, he says and demonstrates, stepping forward with his left foot. you mimic the motion, lifting your left foot and bringing it forward just as he did and soonyoung watches you intently, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, but there’s no judgment, only quiet encouragement. he takes a small step backward, gently pulling you along with him. 

“perfect,” he says, his voice smooth and soft, a proud smile curling on his lips. “now, bring your right foot to meet it, just like that and step together. but take it nice and easy, there’s no rush”, he guides. his touch is light, hovering near your waist to ensure you’re in position. “feel the weight shift between your feet as you move” he continues, his voice gentle. “it’s about connecting with the rhythm, letting your body move as one”, he instructs. 

you try to focus on matching his steps, but your mind is a little too occupied with the fact that his hand is resting on your waist and you can feel the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric of your blouse. you fumble on the next step, accidentally stepping on his toes. "shit i’m sorry”, you say, glancing up at him but he doesn't seem to mind. "relax," he says, giving you a small smile, like he expected this.

"you’re thinking too much”, he adds and you scowl at him. “easy for you to say since you’re the expert here”, you counter and his smile only seems to deepen at your words.

you restart the movements and you step out with your right foot this time. soonyoung mirrors you, guiding you slowly through the motion. his hand rests lightly against your lower back, adjusting your posture, his touch both firm and reassuring. “good, now we’ll step back. first left foot and then the right foot to meet it”, he says and soonyoung’s hand never leaves your back, always guiding you with gentle pressure as you step and move together.  

“you want to move your body with your feet, don’t just focus on your feet—your body needs to follow too. it’s about fluidity, like we’re moving together as one”, he says, instructing you throughout. you think it’s kind of hot how much knowledge he has about this, especially with the way he was teaching you. you move through the sequence again, a little more fluid this time, the steps coming more naturally. soonyong notices the shift, his eyes lighting up. “there you go, you’re getting it”, he says with a smile.

for the next few minutes, you both move in sync, each step a little smoother, a little more confident. soonyoung’s hands are always gentle on your body, but they’re never hesitant as he guides you through each movement with a patience that makes you feel like nothing else matters in this moment. as you both continue to move, the music in the background fades into a soft hum, and the only sound is the rhythm of your movements, the gentle pull of his hands, and the careful way in which he holds you.

"okay, now just follow my lead, do you trust me?”, he asks, breaking the silence and you hesitate for half a second before you nod, not sure what he meant. 

"good," he says, and then without warning, he starts moving again, this time but slightly faster. you gasp, nearly tripping over your own feet, but his hold tightens just enough to steady you.

"soonyoung!”, you say and he laughs. "you said you trusted me," he says, his tone way too smug. "well i take it back," you grumble out, but you follow his steps anyway, trying your best to match his pace. and to your surprise, after a few beats, it actually starts to feel easier, almost natural. the push and pull of movement, the way his steps guide yours without hesitation. he’s a natural at this and eventually your body starts to just follow.

soonyoung’s smile widens as he pulls you in a little closer, his fingers gently curling around yours, guiding you into another step. the moment is easy, light, almost playful, but there’s still that underlying warmth between you both. “see?” he murmurs again, his voice lower now, closer to your ear. “you’re doing fine. i knew you had it in you”, he says, his hand lightly resting on your waist as his thumb traces small circles on your back and you can’t help but feel a small shiver run through your spine at the action. his gaze is so soft, so assured as you glance up at him and he tilts his head, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“do you want me to dip you?”, he asks and your eyes widen in horror. “no, thank you”, you say quickly, giving him a look and he feigns mock offense. he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “what? you don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice teasing and you shoot him a look. “i don’t want you to drop me”, you say and he chuckles, his hand still firm on your waist, but the sound of his laughter is deep and warm. 

“you really don’t have faith in me huh?”, he asks, his eyes twinkling with mischief, but there’s a softness in them too. “yup, zero faith in you, considering you almost dropped me on the road when you carried me on your back that day”, you tease and he rolls his eyes. “i mean, i’m not exactly the most graceful person”, you add after a moment and he hums in response. he doesn’t push you or he doesn’t try to convince you, but his gaze holds a quiet promise.

“but i’ve got you, alright?”, he says after a moment. “i promise that if i dip you, i won’t drop you, so you’re in safe hands”, he says with an encouraging smile and you can’t help but feel a flutter in your chest at his words, the way he says it with such confidence, with such certainty.

“i appreciate the offer, but i think i’ll stick to just the basics for now”, you say and he nods. “alright, alright, we’ll stick to the basics,” he says, still grinning, but there’s a softness to his smile now. “but just so you know, i could dip you and make it look effortless”, he adds and you roll your eyes at his cockiness. there’s an undeniable warmth that spreads through you at the thought of him being so sure of himself, of you. 

you shrug, pretending to be unimpressed, but the flush creeping up your neck betrays you. “i’m sure you could,” you say, still a little unsure, but more than willing to believe in him now. “maybe one day”, you say and soonyoung’s smile softens at your words. he nods with a kind of understanding that makes you feel like he’s not just teaching you to dance, but he’s teaching you how to trust him. “whenever you’re ready,” he says quietly, his voice sincere. “there’s no rush, we’ll get there when we get there”, he says quietly. 

you don’t even realize how close the two of you have gotten. his hand is still warm against your waist, his fingers lightly pressing against your lower back, like he’s making sure you don’t pull away too soon. his breath fans against your cheek, and when you glance up, he’s already looking at you. your heart starts to race, but it’s not from nerves anymore —it's from something else entirely, something unfamiliar and new. your breath hitches in your throat. the intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip. his gaze is soft, but there’s also something deeper in his look, like he’s seeing you in a way he hasn’t seen you before and your eyes glance down at his lips for a split second before you look away.

and then the moment comes crashing down on you all at once—he warmth of his hand, the pressure of his hold on your waist, the slow rise and fall of his breath against your cheek, the way his fingers press into your lower back, grounding you, holding you there close, too close, it’s suddenly all too much. your heart is racing and you suddenly feel hyper aware of every single point of contact between you both, of the way his grip is steady, sure, like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. you stop moving and soonyoung does too, his body stilling the moment he feels you freeze. his grip on you lingers for a second, his fingers squeezing softly against your waist like he’s waiting for you to say something.

“i should go,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips faster than you can process them. your voice is quieter than you mean for it to be, unsteady in a way that makes your own chest tighten. “it’s…it’s late”, you say. soonyoung doesn’t respond right away and his grip on you doesn’t tighten, but it doesn’t loosen either, he just holds you there for a beat longer, like he’s hesitating, like he’s not quite ready to break the moment. his fingers flex slightly, almost like he’s trying to memorize the feeling before he has to let it go. then, slowly—finally—his hands slip away, falling to his sides.

“oh.” his voice comes out, softer now, quieter than before and you nod too quickly, taking a step back, then another. “thanks for, um, for teaching me”, you say, swallowing hard, your throat suddenly dry.

soonyoung watches you, his eyes unreadable for a moment. there’s something in his expression—something hesitant, like he wants to say something else, do something, but instead, he just offers you a small, lopsided smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“anytime,” he murmurs out, but there’s something else under his tone, something you can’t quite name. “i can drop you home”, he offers but you shake your head. “it’s fine, i got my car today”, you say and you give him one last wave before you turn around and walk out the door. you don’t turn around.

when soonyoung get’s home, it’s late and the apartment is quiet. he tosses his keys onto the counter, shrugs off his jacket, and kicks off his shoes and he walks into his room. he has a quick shower and crashes into bed. normally, this is the part of the night where he falls asleep, exhausted from the day, but tonight sleep feels impossible, because all he can think about is you.

soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he lays on bed. his body is heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refuses to slow down. his fingers still remember the warmth of your waist, the way you fit so perfectly against him, and how natural it felt to hold you close. he groans, dragging a hand down his face. 

this isn’t normal, he’s not normal right now. every time he closes his eyes, he sees you—sees the way your brows furrowed when you were concentrating on getting the steps right, or the way you bit your lip when you got nervous, or the way you fit so perfectly against him like you were meant to be there.

soonyoung turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling, frustration bubbling up in his chest. he’s never been good at reading between the lines, but this felt like something. he tries to close his eyes, willing himself to sleep before groaning into the air. it’s ridiculous really, how much this is getting to him. he’s never had trouble sleeping before. and maybe, just maybe, he’s overthinking it. maybe you really did just want to go home because it was late and maybe he’s reading too much into the way your eyes flickered to his lips for that split second before you looked away. but the ache in his chest tells him otherwise.

soonyoung sighs again, flipping onto his stomach and burying his face into the pillow. this is so stupid. soonyoung doesn’t do this. he doesn’t lie awake at night thinking about slow dances and fleeting touches and what if’s, and yet, here he is. soonyoung’s chest feels tight, but not in a way that hurts. it’s just a feeling that’s… there. a strange, persistent weight that he can’t seem to shake off no matter how many times he tries to convince himself that he’s overthinking it. he’s never felt this way before, never been this restless, this frustrated over something so simple. 

but soonyoung does know this— the moment he held you in his arms, something shifted. he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t even know how to describe it, but he felt it. something about you makes everything feel different and it makes his heart race for no reason, makes his stomach twist with something unfamiliar.

sleep doesn’t come easy for soonyoung that night because every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is you.

that entire week is like a blur to you. you don’t contact soonyoung again, trying to occupy yourself in your work so that you don’t have to think about him. but you do, and  everytime you think about him you think about the way his hand felt against you, the warmth in his touch and gaze and your heart does a little flip and you’re convinced that something is wrong with you. it’s saturday evening now and the wedding is tomorrow evening, so you couldn't really avoid soonyoung any longer. you decide to text him, just to remind him that the wedding is happening tomorrow in case he had forgotten.

you [8:37 PM]: hey! just reminding you that the wedding is tomorrow evening.

soonyoung nearly jumps from his seat when he sees your notification, before he regains his composure and clears his throat. he’s quick to type out a response. 

soonyoung [8:40 PM]: yup 🫡

you [8:42 PM]: we’ll take my car so come to my place.

soonyoung [8:42 PM]: okay!

the next evening, your room is a mess, again. you finally decide on an outfit for the evening—a satin floor length dress in a soft, baby blue color. the dress is strapless, with a perfectly fitted bodice that cinches at the waist, hugging you perfectly in all the right places. the top of the dress has a subtle sweetheart neckline, offering a soft, feminine touch while maintaining an air of refinement, making it a perfect dress to wear to a wedding. there’s a small slit that runs along the side of the dress and it stops just above your knee. the hem of the dress trails just slightly on the floor. you turned toward the mirror, studying your reflection once more, running a hand through your hair. the soft waves cascade down your back and your fingers gently comb through it, giving them a little more volume and a little more definition. that’s when your doorbell rings. you freeze for a moment, a flutter of excitement rising in your chest. he’s here—soonyoung’s here.

you step toward the door, your heels clicking lightly against the floor with each step and you pause just before the door, taking another breath to steady yourself. you open it and soonyong stands in front of you, looking like he just stepped out of a dream himself. but you don’t give him time to talk, ushering him inside, saying you were almost ready and you walk back inside. he follows you and closes the door behind him before he calls out for you.

you turn around and look at him and he looks nervous for some reason. he digs into his jacket pocket and removes something—a brand new bottle of lip tint and another bottle of liquid lipstick. “i remembered how yours was over so i thought these might suit you”, he says shyly as he hands it to you. you smile at his gesture and take them both. the shades he had picked were really gorgeous and you immediately open the lipstick. soonyoung is quick to open his phone and turn on the front camera, letting you use it as a mirror, and you give him a small grateful smile as you apply the lipstick. you open the tube and apply the lipstick, using his phone a a mirror. soonyoung’s gaze lingers on your, and on your lips as he watches you apply the lipstick and his breath catches for a moment as his eyes wander over your body, taking in the sight of you, the way your lips pucker ever so lightly as you apply the lipstick and he bites his lip softly. he shakes away any irrational thoughts and clears his throat. 

“what do you think?”, you ask and he nods, like he’s happy with how it looks on you. “it looks great, it suits you really well”, he says, proud of his shade picking skills and you nod. “you’re right, i really love this shade”, you say and then you say something about getting your phone from the other room and go fetch it. it’s only when you step out of the room and glance at soonyoung that you take him in fully.

he is standing by your photo frames that are on the wall, looking at them with an inquisitive expression. he is wearing a sleek black suit that fits him perfectly. it clings perfectly to his frame and you can tell it’s been tailored with precision as it highlights the broad line of his shoulders and tapers down in clean, crisp angles. his black shirt is sleek and is a perfect match for the suit, its matte fabric contrasting the rich, glossy finish of his jacket. the silver chain he always wears is draped around his neck. his blonde hair, which is a striking shade of silver, falls in soft, tousled layers over his forehead and eyes, framing his face with a touch of wildness that contrasts his otherwise immaculate appearance. the longer strands at the back brush the collar of his jacket and his hair seems to be like a halo against the blackness of his attire.

you realise you’ve been staring too long and you shake your head, walking ahead, your heels clacking against the floor as you make your way towards soonyoung. and it’s only when you’re close by that you see the subtle makeup he’s done too. his eyes are lined softly and the faint smudge of kohl only adds to the depth to his gaze, making his already piercing stare seem impossibly intense. there’s a soft dusting of highlighter kissing the high points of his face—his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, giving his skin an ethereal glow. his lips are faintly tinted, carrying a natural flush that softens the sharpness of his features. you find yourself again lost in him until he clears his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“um, we should leave right”, you say, grabbing your handbag and stuffing your phone inside. you grab the car keys from the bowl and walk towards the door, signalling for soonyoung to head out so you could lock up. you lock the door and you both walk down towards your car when soonyoung walks over to the driver’s side. “let me drive tonight”, he says, holding out his hand for the keys.

“it’s okay, i can drive”, you say but he insists. “please, i want to, i don’t want your feet to hurt by driving in heels”, he says and you look down at your feet before glancing back up because he did have a point. 

“okay then”, you say, handing him the keys, your fingers lightly brushing against his as you drop the keys in his hand. you walk over to the passenger side, opening it and sitting down. soonyoung gets into the driver's side and he glances over at you, waiting for a moment as he looks at you, but you’re too busy digging for something in your bag to realise. so soonyong takes action and he leans forward, leaning towards you. you turn your head, confused, before you see his hand reaching out for the seatbelt and for a moment everything seems to slow down.before you can react, he's slowly pulling it across you, his arm brushing against your side as he secures the strap. the sudden closeness is unexpected, and your breath catches in your throat. he’s close and his eyes flicker up to yours as he buckles the seatbelt, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. "gotta be safe," he says, his voice warm but light, as if the moment was as ordinary as any other.

you blink, the sudden closeness making your cheeks flush. "right," you mutter out and the air between you both seems to crackle with something unspoken, something that wasn’t there before. soonyoung leans back into the seat, his eyes briefly meeting yours again before he turns the key in the ignition. the soft hum of the car engine fills the silence. the car pulls out of the driveway and soonyoung drives smoothly. there’s a subtle tension in the air between you both, but neither of you address it. soonyoung’s hands are steady on the wheel, his posture casual, but every so often, you catch him glancing at you, as if he’s trying to gauge your reaction, trying to decipher what you might be thinking.

as the car rolls up to the wedding venue, you’re pulled away from your thoughts by the sight of the grand building in front of you. the lights are bright, illuminating the entrance where guests are already gathering. soonyoung parks the car with a smooth turn, his hands steady on the wheel and you both glance at each other at the same time. 

“so...” soonyoung begins, glancing over at you, but his words trail off as he looks back at the venue. his hands stay on the wheel and he shifts in his seat. the reality of the night is here. you’re about to pretend to be a couple in front of all these people. a feeling of unease stirs in your stomach, but before you can overthink it, soonyoung speaks.

“ready?” he asks, his voice light. you nod, though there’s a small flutter of nerves that you can’t seem to quite shake off. “let’s do this”, you say and you both step out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you approach the entrance. he glances over at you again and for a moment and there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. you both walk toward the entrance, but soonyoung’s not sure what to do. his movements are slow, and he glances at you, his eyes searching for a sign—some kind of cue. should he offer his arm? should you take the lead? he almost seems out of place and you can’t help but smile at how genuine his confusion is. you both stop a few steps from the entrance, and he looks at you again, his hands shifting nervously at his sides.

“you know we’re supposed to look like a couple, right?”, you say, giving him a light teasing look. soonyoung blinks at you. “right, of course,” he says, but his voice still carries that light tone of uncertainty and suddenly, he’s nervous. there’s a moment of silence before you take a small step closer to him. you look at his hand and then back up at him. “maybe we could link arms?”, you ask and soonyoung pauses for just a moment, the question lingering in the air. his eyes flicker toward your hand, and without thinking, he offers it to you, his palm open and waiting.

there’s something so endearing about how awkward he seems, how genuinely unsure he is, despite being so confident in other areas. with a reassuring smile, you reach out and take his hand, your fingers brushing over his in a soft touch before you link your arm with his. “perfect,” you say. “now let’s go in”.

as you and soonyoung step into the venue, the soft murmur of voices fills the air, the clinking of glasses and gentle laughter of people bouncing off the walls. you walk side by side with soonyoung and the natural warmth of his hand in yours is comforting in a way. the two of you navigate through the crowd, occasionally stopping to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances you knew while soonyoung stands beside you, offering them friendly smiles. after a while the whole charade is a little more seamless now, the act of being a couple not feeling so foreign anymore. as you reach the main area where the newlyweds are standing, a few of your friends spot you from across the room.

“yn! over here”, one of them calls out and mina spots you too, smiling when she sees you. you walk towards them with a smile and you let go of soonyoung’s hand as you envelope mina in a hug, congratulating her. all your friends seem to coo over soonyoung, who offers them friendly smiles, and he congratulates mina and the groom too. 

you decide to go grab a drink and ask soonyoung if he wants one too, but he declines. you walk over to the bar counter and reach out for a glass of champagne when you hear someone call out your name. you turn around and your stomach drops at the sight of jaehyun—your ex.

“yn, hey”, he says, walking up to you and all you want to do is run away, but you don’t. “jaehyun, hi”, you say with a neutral tone. “it’s nice to see you”, he says after a moment and you only nod, because you clearly don’t reciprocate the same feeling. 

“are you here alone?”, jaehyun asks. “no, i’m here with my boyfriend”, you say as you glance over at soonyoung, who’s watching the both of you intently. you give him a small wave and soonyoung makes his way towards you. your hand instinctively wraps around his, and jaehyun glances down at where your hand is linked around soonyoung’s before he looks back up at you.

“this is my boyfriend, soonyoung”, you say. “this is jaehyun…a friend”, you say, leaving out the ex part because soonyoung didn’t need to know that right now.

you head back to the hall and the first dance commences between the bride and groom. you sit and watch with the others. mina and her husband take the center stage and dance and it’s so sweet. you smile as you look at mina and take a picture of them too, one for the books. then it ends and you can see mina calling everyone else to join. the soft melody of a love song drifts through the reception hall, wrapping around the slow moving couples already on the dance floor. you’re sitting at the edge of your seat, your fingers toying with the stem of your champagne glass, unsure if you wanted to join. your mind is busy thinking about jaehyun, and somehow, the sight of him seems to irritate you more than you thought. just at that moment, soonyoung’s shadow falls over you. “dance with me?”, he asks and you look up to see him standing in front of you. his one hand is outstretched, the other tucked casually in his pocket. his expression is easy and there’s a certain warmth in his eyes with the way he looks at you. 

“i’m not sure”, you say, trailing off, but then you glance up and see mina calling you over with a hopeful expression. she mouths a ‘please’ and you can’t seem to say no to that. “okay fine, just five minutes though”, you say standing up, puting down the glass of champagne and taking soonyoung’s hand. he holds your hand, his fingers curling around yours—warm, steady and reassuring. he gently leads you onto the dance floor and then his other hand comes up to rest on your waist, while the other holds your hand in his. you move your hands to rest on his shoulders as soonyoung slowly moves. but then you spot jaehyun at the side, looking at you and there’s something in the way he looks at you that sends your stomach twisting. you glance away, stiffening and you don’t even realise that you’ve stopped moving.

your muscles tense, and suddenly, you’re not really dancing anymore. and then you’re moving, but too fast, too rigid, completely out of rhythm with soonyoung. you step out with the wrong foot when you’re supposed to sway, rush when you’re supposed to follow and all your movements are erratic and clumsy, a stark contrast to the easy flow of the song.

soonyoung notices this instantly and his hold on your waist tightens a bit, just enough to anchor you back to him. his head tilts to the side slightly, concern flickering across his face as he watches you, his fingers brushing against your skin in a silent attempt to steady you. “hey,” he murmurs, his voice low. “what’s wrong?”, he asks and you blink up at him. you shake your head quickly. “nothing, i just—”, you trail off, the words falling flat.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything, but instead he shifts slightly, adjusting his movements as he gently guides you along with him this time. “be in the moment, breathe, listen to the music”, he says and you nod, but your body is still rigid, and soonyoung can feel it. you don’t want to admit that your mind is elsewhere, that your thoughts are tangled up in things you wish you could ignore. he can tell you’re distracted, that there’s something on your mind. but soonyoung is patient and he doesn’t press or doesn’t demand an explanation. he just watches you silently, his eyes searching yours before he speaks again.

“i’m going to dip you if you keep doing that”, he says and that makes you snap your head up to look at him. you narrow your eyes at him as you speak. “don’t you dare dip me kwon soonyoung”, you say and he chuckles at the mention of his full name.

“still don’t trust me huh”, he asks. “no”, you deadpan and he smiles softly. 

then leans in slightly, lowering his voice as he speaks. “well that’s too bad because if you keep dancing like a robot, i’m going to have to dip you, that’s the rules”, he says, making you furrow your brows.

“what rules? that’s not a thing”, you counter. “oh it is actually”, he says. “i wrote it myself and rule number one is if your dance partner is too stiff, you must dip them”, he tells proudly and you scoff. but then you notice the mischief in his eyes and the alarms start ringing in your head. “soonyoung, no, do not dip me”, you say.

“why not?”, he asks. “because!”, you lower your voice, glancing around. “we will become the center of attention at a wedding that is not ours”, you say and soonyoung blinks, and then slowly, that mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“oh, you’re right,” he repeats. “that would be so dramatic”, he says, holding your gaze as you glare at him. “exactly so no dipping”, you repeat.

“but then it would be really iconic you know”, he says, like he’s trying to convince you. “no”, you say, but a soft laugh escapes you at his antics. soonyoung smiles because that’s exactly what he wanted. his smile lingers as he watches you and he notices the way the tension in your shoulders slowly eases, the way your body starts to relax under his hold. he wanted you to relax and let go and now you’re moving much better now, there’s no rush anymore. soonyoung watches you carefully, taking in the way your breath evens out, the way your fingers rest more comfortably against his shoulders. he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just lets the dance continue, letting you find your own pace. 

“we still could, though”, he says and you blink up at him. “could what?”, you ask. “steal the show”, he says, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “one big dramatic dip and the crowd would lose their minds”, he says and you groan softly, rolling your eyes at him, and then you laugh again when you picture it in your head and that’s enough for soonyoung. he grins. mission accomplished.

“no soonyoung, we are not going to steal the show, it’s not even our wedding”, you say, the words slipping out of your mouth casually, but soonyoung’s ears perk up for some reason. 

“so…you’re saying if this was our wedding you’d let me dip you?”, he asks, looking at you intently. his tone is playful but there's an underlying hint of curiosity in it. you shrug lightly. “i mean, hypothetically, if it was our wedding, then maybe”, you say and his heart seems to almost skip a beat at your words. his usual easy grin falters for just a heartbeat, just enough for you to notice the way his breath hitches and the way his eyes flicker with something unreadable. you hold soonyoung’s gaze as they draw you in. you could kiss him you think and you gulp at the thought. 

the realization comes crashing down on you all over again, the weight of the moment making everything seem too much, too fast. you clear your throat, taking a step back, pulling yourself away from him and the intensity of his gaze. “i-i need to use the restroom,” you say quickly, suddenly needing to escape the unexpected tension. “okay,” he says softly, his hands dropping from your sides, but you can still feel the warmth of his touch. “i’ll be here when you get back”, he says and you nod before you step away from him and turn around, walking to the washroom, your heart still racing.

you stand in front of the washroom mirror and look at yourself. what was wrong with you? you could not be going around, thinking these kinds of thoughts about soonyoung. you shake your head, getting your thoughts back together before you exit the washroom. you are about to take a turn to head back to the dance floor where soonyoung is, when jaehyun comes walking through the corridor. you freeze for a second when you see him, but then continue walking, deciding to ignore him, but he stops you.

“yn”, he says and you hate it, hate the way he says your name, but you still turn around. he looks at you for a second before he speaks. “you look good tonight”, he says and you want to scoff, you want to roll your eyes but you don’t, keeping your face neutral. “thanks”, you mumble out.

“i’ve been thinking about you recently, so i’m sort of glad we bumped into each other here”, he says and you clench your jaw. you did not need to be hearing this right now. you don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s talking to you like nothing happened between you both, or the fact that he’s so damn casual about it, and his words feel like a punch to the gut.

“listen jaehyun, i’m not—”, you start but he cuts you off. “can we talk perhaps? would you be willing to give me another chance, i just miss you so bad”, he says and you scoff at the audacity he had to be saying that.

“you miss me?”, you repeat, and you can’t hide the disbelief in your tone. “after everything you did you think you can just waltz back into my life, tell me that you miss me, and i’ll forget all the shit you put me through?”, you ask, trying not to get upset.

outside, soonyoung waits for you like a puppy in the wedding hall, sitting on the chair looking around, hoping to see you soon. but it’s been fifteen minutes now, almost twenty and you haven’t come back yet, and he’s starting to get worried. so he gets up and makes his way to the building on the other side, hoping to find you. 

jaehyun’s expression falters for a second, but he tries to close the distance between you, stepping forward. “yn please just—”, he starts off, but before he can reach you, you take a sharp step back.

“no, i’m not doing this,” you say firmly. you turn to walk away, your body tense, but jaehyun grabs your wrist, stopping you. his grip is firm, and for a second, you freeze, caught off guard.

“yn please,” he says again, almost pleading. “jaehyun let me go”, you say, but he doesn’t. “let go”, you repeat, trying to pull your hand away. “let’s just talk yn”, he says but you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. 

“she said to let her go”, you hear a third voice— soonyoung’s as he stalks forward, grabbing jaehyun’s hand and yanking his hand off you. he looks directly at jaehyun, his gaze steady and unwavering. jaehyun huffs and walks away, leaving you and soonyoung alone in the corridor.

soonyoung’s eyes flicker briefly to you, his eyes softening with concern and he immediately notices the way your hands are trembling, how your breathing is shallow. you look up at him, and that’s when you realize your eyes are wet with tears you're trying to hold back. soonyoung’s brows furrow in worry. “hey, are you okay?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm. you blink rapidly, trying to clear your head, trying to blink back the tears.

“i'm—i'm fine,” you whisper, though the words aren’t true and soonyoung knows it, but he doesn’t press you for details. soonyoung doesn't know what comes over him, but he reaches out for your hand, intertwining his fingers in yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, as if he was trying to ground you back to reality. his touch is warm and you don’t want to let go.

“come on,” he says gently. “let’s go outside for a bit and get some fresh air yeah?”, he asks. you hesitate for a moment and you look at him, only to see nothing but quiet understanding in his gaze. there’s no judgment, it’s just him, waiting patiently, holding space for you. you nod slowly and soonyoung slowly leads you outside. his thumb moves in slow circles against your hand, in an unconscious attempt to soothe you as he walks with you outside to the quiet garden area behind the venue. you let go of soonyoung’s hand as you cross your arms over your chest and watch from a distance—watching everyone dancing, having fun, drinking and talking. you can hear the faint echo of the music and the faint chatter of people and the cool night air wraps around you as the sound of laughter and music fade into the background. a shiver runs through you and you rub your arms for warmth, though it does little to nothing against the cold night air. a moment later you feel something warm and soft being draped over your shoulders.

you glance down in surprise, fingers brushing over the fabric—soonyoung’s jacket. it’s oversized on you, the sleeves falling past your hands, but there’s the lingering warmth of his body heat still clinging to it. you blink up at him, and he shrugs, a small, lopsided smile playing at his lips. “this will keep you warm”, he says and you mumble out a small thanks before you look back ahead.

soonyoung doesn’t say anything right away and instead he watches you for a moment, taking in the way your shoulders are still tense, the way your jaw clenches ever so slightly, the way your breathes are just a little too controlled—like you’re trying to hold something in. soonyoung can tell that whatever happened back there was something more and you clearly didn’t want to talk about it. 

instead, he steps beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tilts his head up, looking at the sky. the stars are scattered across the dark sky, shimmering faintly. “you know,” he murmurs after a moment, “this is kinda nice”, he says. you blink, glancing at him. “what is?”, you ask and he nods towards the sky. “the stars, the quiet, just being here with you”.

something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. just being here with you. for some reason that makes your throat feel tight and you swallow, turning your gaze back to the stars. “yeah,” you murmur. “it is kinda nice”, you say before you feel the weight settle on your shoulders again. your fingers clutch onto his jacket as if you’re trying to ground yourself, but it’s not working and soonyoung notices it instantly. 

you take a step forward, not really thinking—just needing to move, but the soft grass catches onto your heel, tilting you off balance. you barely get a gasp out before you trip. but before you can even register what’s happening, a pair of strong hands grab your waist and soonyoung catches you, pulling you up against him with ease. your hands clutch onto his arms instinctively, “whoa—”, he huffs out. his voice is low, close to your ear. his grip on you doesn’t loosen, his hands staying on your waist, hot and unmoving, holding you close—closer than before—closer than you should be and your breath stutters. you’re pressed up against him, chest to chest, your noses barely a breath apart. it’s like he doesn’t even realize how close he’s holding you, how there’s barely any space left between the both of you. you can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt and the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air between you.

your gaze flickers up to meet his and the world seems to slow down at that moment, and neither of you move. soonyoung watches you carefully, his lips parting like he wants to say something, but the words never come. his gaze drops, just for a second to your lips and your heart skips a beat. soonyoung’s eye’s flicker back up and he holds your gaze, his fingers instinctively pressing into your sides before he finally loosens his grip, but he doesn’t let go completely. he stills holds onto you, staying right where he is, holding you close. and then he speaks, his voice soft, careful, gentle. 

“do you wanna go home?”, he asks lowly and his breath is soft against your skin as he speaks. his nose brushes against yours ever so slightly as he speaks, just the faintest touch, but it’s enough to send sparks flying. you blink, surprised, because you weren’t expecting him to ask that. whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. he’s so so close and you gulp. you can barely form any words with how close he is, with the way he’s looking at you, with the way he’s holding you. you open your mouth to speak, but soonyoung beats you to it.

“it’s okay if you do,” he adds. “we don’t have to stay if you’re not comfortable”, he whispers and you swallow hard. “maybe going home would be good”, you manage to muster out softly, feeling like you were melting under his gaze with the intensity that he was looking at you with.

he slowly loosens his grip on your waist and eases his hands, his touch lingering just for a second longer before finally pulling back completely. you exhale, stepping back slightly, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment before they fall down by your sides. the cool night air rushes between you both and you look away. you don’t know why, but maybe it’s because this all feels too much—too raw, too intimate and too real. you try to distract yourself, so you smooth your hands over your dress, clearing your throat. soonyoung watches you carefully. “come on,” he finally says, his voice softer than before. “let’s get you home”.

when you reach home, you bid soonyoung goodbye, and you offer to drive him home, but he declines, saying he’d take a cab. you’re quick to peel off your heels when you enter and sigh in relief as you walk barefoot to your room. you toss your small hand bag on the bed and plop down, letting out another heavy sigh. you fall back down on the bed and you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about soonyoung. 

you can feel your heart pick up its pace at the thought of him and you groan. you think about how close he was, how his nose brushed against yours ever so slightly, and how if you had just leaned in slightly, you could have kissed him. you shake your head at the thought again and you seriously think there’s something terribly wrong with you. you could not be thinking about kissing your best friend's younger brother because that was just wrong. there’s no way you could be falling in love with soonyoung, right? somewhere along the line, you had started seeing him as a man, not just as your best friend's younger brother and the realization hits you hard, making you curse under your breath. this was just supposed to be casual, not real.

when soonyoung goes home later that night, he’s confused. he finds himself laying wide awake in bed again. his heart is racing, still, hours later, and he has no idea why. there’s a strange unfamiliar tug at his heart at the thought of you. he presses his palm flat against his chest, like that would help steady his beating heart, help him stop whatever this feeling was, but it doesn’t work. soonyoung frowns at the ceiling instead, frustrated. what the hell is wrong with him?

soonyoung doesn’t understand what’s happening to him. he doesn’t understand what he’s feeling and it’s driving him crazy. he stirs and grabs his phone, opening the browser, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a second before he types the first thing that comes to mind.

“how do you know if you’re falling in love?”

the search results load instantly and soonyoung squints at the screen as he scrolls though them. his heart thuds uncomfortably as he skims through the first few answers in the article clicked on.

you think about them all the time.

you want to be around them constantly.

your heart races when you see them.

you feel nervous and excited around them at the same time.

you find yourself drawn to small details about them 

you miss them when they’re not around.

soonyoung’s stomach flips as he reads and he swallows hard. he scrolls faster, clicking on another link, his fingers trembling slightly as he types in a new searches, hoping to find some more answers within them.

what does love feel like?

why does my chest feel weird when i think about someone?

can you fall in love by accident?

what to do when you fall for your fake date?

he exhales sharply as he reads the through the articles and all the answers and he drops his phone onto his chest, rubbing a hand over his face. soonyoung’s heart is racing and his head is spinning. his emotions are tangled into a mess he can’t begin to unravel and he’s now he’s even more confused.

and the worst part is he knows, he now knows what this is, what this feeling is. soonyoung is falling for you, hard, and that was never part of the plan.

it’s been a week since the wedding, since soonyoung held you so close, since you felt your heart race in a way you hadn’t felt in a while. you think you’re going crazy, that there’s some sort of bug that’s bitten you that’s making you think all these stupid thoughts. in all this, the one person who seems to be on your mind is jaehyun. fuck, ever since you saw him, the past, all the memories, the way he left you feeling all comes flooding back and you hate it. since it’s friday, the weekend, you decide to indulge yourself and decide to drown your sorrows down with alcohol. maybe if you drink enough, the ache in your chest will dull and all the thoughts will quiet down and you can forget—at least for a little while.

which is how you find yourself slumped at the bar, staring at the rim of your third bottle of soju. your fingers trace circles against the cool glass as you sit. the bar is dimly lit, the low hum of chatter and clinking glasses buzzing around you, but you barely register any of it. the warmth of the alcohol spreads through your veins, making everything feel just a little slower, just a little heavier. your vision blurs slightly as you fumble for your phone, unlocking it with shaky fingers and you squint at the screen, scrolling through your contacts.

you were meaning to call jihyo, you swear you were. but in your tipsy state, your finger presses on the contact just below hers instead—soonyoung's.

soonyoung is no doubt surprised when you call him, but he picks up nonetheless. “hello?”, he says, his voice filling you ear and you don’t even register that it’s not jihyo’s voice. you sit up, blinking lazily. “hi babe”, you say and there’s a beat of silence as soonyoung furrows his brows, wondering if he had actually heard you right. did you just call him babe?

“i’m at the bar we usually go to downtown,” you continue, your words slurred but carrying a familiar warmth, as if this were any normal conversation with jihyo. “and i’m so wasted right now, but i can’t stop thinking about stupid jaehyun”, you say and soonyoung sits up straighter, his fingers tightening around his phone. but you don’t even give him a chance to interrupt as you go on, the words tumbling out of you in your tipsy state.

“jihyo, wait…did i tell you what happened at the wedding?”, you ask and that’s when it clicks for him. you had meant to call jihyo, but you had called him instead. he thinks that he should probably interrupt and tell you that it’s not jihyo that you called, but he doesn’t, something stops him. maybe it’s the slight wobble in your voice, or the way you sounded so tired, but he keeps the phone to his ear, listening to you.

“it’s so stupid really, i don’t know why i’m–i’m wasting my time over him”, you slur out, the words coming out in a rush, softer, more vulnerable, and that’s when soonyoung realizes how drunk you actually are and his heart tugs with worry.

soonyoung knew which bar you were talking about because he’s gone there with jihyo and his friends before. he’s already getting up without hesitation, worried and you continue to speak. “he came up to me and—”, your voice cuts off, the call hanging up and soonyoung is confused. he pulls his phone down from his ear and calls you again, but you don’t pick up and it goes straight to voicemail. he calls again but the same thing happens and he realises your phone must have died.

“shit,” he mutters under his breath and now soonyoung is really worried. he doesn’t waste another second as he opens the door to his room, throwing on his jacket as he practically runs out the door, ignoring seungkwan yelling at him as to where he was running off to so late. his mind is racing, heart hammering in his chest as he speed runs toward the bar you mentioned. he just runs, trying to make his way to you as fast as possible. thankfully the bar was closeby, and if he ran, he could reach you in ten minutes. by the time he pulls up to the bar, his hands are trembling and his breathing is heavy from all the running. his chest is rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. the neon sign of the bar flickers above the entrance, casting a dull glow around him and his legs move on their own as he pushes the door open and steps inside. 

his eyes scan the dimly lit room, and the dull music that plays in the background fills his ears. he moves past tables and clusters of people, his heart pounding as his eyes try to find you—and then there you are. you’re sitting at the corner by the window, slumped forward, resting your chin on your hand, your elbow resting on the table as you stare into space. your fingers lazily trace circles on the table and three empty bottles of soju sit in front of you.

soonyoung lets out a quiet sigh of relief when he sees you and his legs automatically move on their own, making his way towards you. “yn” he says, his voice urgent and worried. “are you okay?”, he asks, looking at you. you blink slowly, lifting your head to look at him, your eyes hazy and unfocused, and for a second you just stare, like your brain is trying to process the fact that he’s here—that he’s in front of you.

“soonyoung?” you murmur, blinking again. your lips curve into a lazy, tipsy smile. “oh, hey! did jihyo send you?”, you ask and he only blinks at you. he sighs again. “you’re okay,” he breathes, more to himself than anything.

his eyes sweep over you and take in the way you’re swaying slightly in your seat, the way your fingers fumble clumsily with your empty glass, the way your shoulders slump like the weight of the world is pressing down on them.

“what happened?” he asks, his voice softer now. “why didn’t you charge your phone? you scared the shit out of me”, he says and you pout slightly, looking at him, confused. “my phone died?”, you ask and soonyoung runs a hand through his hair, sighing again. “yeah, it did”, he answers.

you giggle lightly—like it’s funny—but soonyoung doesn’t laugh, because underneath the drunken haze, there’s something off about you. you’re not just tipsy, you’re sad.

soonyoung takes a seat beside you, because you were sitting at a table with two seats beside each other. he’s close but not too close, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours and he’s quiet, watching you carefully. and before you can stop yourself, the words start tumbling out. 

“it’s so stupid soonyoung”, you say, frowning.“i saw jaehyun at the wedding and it was like everything came rushing back to me, you know?”, you say, your tone carrying a hint of sadness in it. “i thought i was over him, i should be over him, but seeing him again, hearing him say he misses me like it meant something—”, your voice cracks and you let out a sharp humorless laugh. “like he didn’t leave me when i needed him the most”, you finish and exhale shakily, dropping your gaze. soonyoung doesn’t interrupt, he just listens to you.

“we dated for four years, and he just broke it off like it was nothing”, you say drily. “he broke up with me, dumped me actually, because he said i was boring, that i was no longer the same person he had fallen in love with. and it hurt, it hurt so bad. i spent so long thinking something was wrong with me, that i wasn’t enough for him. that maybe if i was more fun, if i could just change something about me, then maybe he would have still loved me, that he would have stayed”, you say, your voice shaking as you speak. 

the words hang in the air, heavy and soonyoung shifts beside you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for yours but isn’t sure if he should. “i just—i don’t know why i let it get to me,” you mumble, your voice quieter now. “it’s pathetic.”

“soonyoung,” you whisper his name after a moment, your voice small as you look at him, your eyes wet. “do you think i’m boring?”, you ask and his eyes widen slightly at your question, caught off guard. “what?”, he asks.

you swallow the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly, but it’s useless—the tears are already welling up and a shaky laugh escapes you. “maybe he was right, maybe i am boring”, you say and you sniff, willing yourself not to cry but it doesn’t work. your vision blurs and your shoulder shakes as a quiet sob slips out.

soonyoung’s chest tightens at the sight of you breaking down. “hey, no—” he says softly, shifting closer, his hand hesitating before he reaches for your face. he cups your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away a tear, but another one follows immediately after and his heart clenches.

“you’re not boring,” he says, his voice firm but still gentle. “not even close”.

his hand lingers on your cheek, warm and grounding, and when you finally look at him again, his gaze is so soft, it makes your breath catch because it’s so achingly tender. soonyoung watches as more tears slip down your cheeks and he wipes them away with his thumb. “don’t cry over him, he’s not worth it”, he murmurs, his voice low.

you sniffle, swallowing down another sob and his hand tilts your face up just a little more, his thumb tracing along the curve of your cheekbone. “you are enough, more than enough,” he says, like he needs you to believe them. “and if he couldn’t see that, then that’s his problem”, he finishes. you let out a shaky breath at his words, your lip trembling as another tear slips down and soonyoung catches it before it can fall too far, this thumb caressing your cheek gently. 

you take another shaky breath as you look at soonyoung, your voice barely a whisper as you speak. "i—i think i want to go home", you say and his face softens and without another word he nods in understanding “alright,” he says gently. “let’s get you home”. 

soonyoung helps you gather your belongings and holds onto your handbag before he stands up. he offers you his hand. you take and rise to your feet, your legs are still a little shaky. soonyoung notices this and immediately moves to support you. you don’t know what it is, but being close to him feels like the most natural thing in the world right now. he leads you out, supporting you as you walk. his hand on your lower back, his steps matching yours, making sure you’re steady as you reach the bus stop.

he bus ride is quiet, the hum of the engine and the soft flicker of streetlights outside the windows the only sounds. you sit beside him, a comfortable silence stretching between you. without thinking, you shift closer to him, your body seeking the warmth and comfort he offers. his arm instinctively wraps around your shoulders as you lean into him, his presence grounding you like nothing else. the slight bump of the bus makes you instinctively grip his shirt, your fingers curling onto the fabric as if it’s the only thing holding you together. soonyoung’s body stiffens at first, but then he relaxes, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he holds you. he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t need to. 

you’ve fallen asleep and soonyoung gently wakes you up when your stop is near. you stir awake and blink in confusion before you realise where you are. the bus slows to a stop, and as the doors open, soonyoung's hand instinctively intertwines into yours, guiding you off the bus. you feel a little unsteady, and the alcohol making your legs feel like jelly, still tipsy, and soonyoung immediately notices, his arm going around your waist to steady you.

“i’ve got you”, he murmurs, his voice soft as he helps you step down onto the sidewalk. he’s watching you closely, his gaze gentle but full of concern. “you okay?” he asks and you nod, though you’re still a little out of it. slowly, you take a step forward, and soonyoung stays right there, just close enough that you can lean onto him if you need to. you try to keep your balance, but with each step, you feel the world spinning just a little bit more, the alcohol still clouding your senses. soonyoung is quick to catch onto this and immediately shifts, now holding onto your waist with more purpose, his grip tightening just enough to make sure you don’t lose your footing. “it’s okay, i’m right here” he says softly again, his voice close to your ear. without realizing it, you find yourself leaning into him, your body instinctively trusting the comfort he provides. soonyoung walks beside you in quiet understanding as he leads you to your house, his steady pace matching yours and you can feel him subtly adjusting his steps to ensure you’re not struggling, walking with you slowly.

as you reach the door of your building, soonyoung helps you up the stairs, his hand never leaving your side. he’s so in tune with you, watching you closely for any sign that you might stumble. with each step, he remains right there, supporting you, not letting go. when you finally reach your door, soonyoung gives you a soft smile, one that’s full of care and warmth. "you’re home," he says quietly, still holding onto you.

“thank you soonyoung”, you say, giving him a small smile and he smiles back. “call me if you need anything,” he says softly, his tone filled with unspoken understanding and you can tell that he genuinely cares. you nod again and he watches as you unlock the door and walk inside, making sure you get in safe before he leaves.

when soonyoung wakes up the next morning, he’s a mess and perhaps a little lovesick.  he can’t stop thinking about you, can’t stop thinking about the way you clung onto him, the way you seemed to so naturally fit in his life. he gulps as he sits on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair and thinking about how fucked he is. he was never supposed to fall for you, he was never supposed to catch feelings. he didn’t even know how it happened. this was all new to him and he was falling in love for the first time—with you.

he heads out of the room and walks to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy. he grabs a bowl and pours in some cereal and milk before he pulls out a chair and takes a seat at the dining table. soonyoung shovels the cereal in his mouth like a robot, his mind wandering, his thoughts a mess, his feelings in chaos. “did you break up or something, you look like you’re about to cry”, seungkwan cuts in, looking at the soonyoung who looked like there was a grey cloud looming over his head.

soonyoung only sighs as he shovels another spoonful of the already soggy cereal in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he speaks. “i screwed things up”, soonyoung says. In defeat. “did you guys fight or something? you know flowers are always the answer, rose specifically”, seungkwan adds.

“no we didn’t fight….i just…fuck….this whole thing is so confusing”, soonyoung says, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “i think i’m in love”, soonyoung finally says and seungkwan looks at him like there’s something wrong with him. “you’re making a fuss because you think you’re in love with your girlfriend? are you drunk?”, he asks, giving soonyoung a look.

“but that wasn’t part of the plan!”, soonyoung almost yells, frustrated at seungkwan, and frustrated at himself mostly. he never in his wildest dreams thought that he would find himself in this situation, and yet here he is.

“what do you mean that was never part of the plan? were you guys not exclusive or something? was this a situationship kind of thing?”, seungkwan asks, confused, having no idea that soonyoung was only fake dating.

“ugh it’s complicated man”, soonyoung says before muttering something about how he needed to get ready for work and gets up, leaving the table, leaving seungkwan even more confused. soonyoung doesn’t know what to feel, doesn’t know what to think. so he does what he thinks is the easiest thing to do—he avoids you.

you wake up that morning and last night’s events come crashing down on you. you curse under your breath but your heart also flutters at the thought of soonyoung. you shake your head, hoping to get your thoughts back in order. no, you can’t be falling for soonyoung, you just can’t. so you decide to avoid him. the week goes by fairly easily, with you managing to not bump into him anywhere thankfully. but every once in a while, you find yourself thinking about him, thinking about the warmth of his touch, the softness in his gaze, the way his eyes would turn into little crescent moons when he laughed or smiled and your heart aches—because you miss him. 

when jihyo calls you to meet up with her at a cafe to catch up, you jump at the opportunity. you push the door open to the cafe, the scent of coffee and buttery pastries welcoming you. your eyes scan the room and you spot jihyo. you walk a few more steps inside, making your way to the table and that’s when you spot soonyoung there too, and you freeze. what the fuck. why was soonyoung here too? jihyo spots you and waves over to you and you break your trance and walk ahead. soonyoung seems to finally notice you too and his eyes widen in surprise before he looks away in a hurry.

“there’s my baby girl”, jihyo says as he pulls you into a hug and you smile, hugging her back. you pull away and glance at soonyoung, giving him a small wave to acknowledge his presence and he gives you a small “hi” before looking down at his hands in his lap. you sit down opposite them. “i brought soonie along since he said he was in the area, so i invited him too, i hope you don’t mind”, jihyo asks. “it’s fine”, you say, giving her a small smile, but you were dying on the inside. 

you glance at soonyoung and you catch him already staring at you and the both of you look away at the same time. soonyoung seems too busy arranging the tissues on the table. then jihyo tells soonyoung to go fetch the order and he glady gets up. he comes back a moment later with a tray of drinks— a iced latte for jihyo, an americano for himself and a hot green tea for you. you had also ordered two pastries, a strawberry cream cake and an almond croissant for soonyoung. 

“how was the wedding by the way?” jihyo asks casually, taking a sip of her iced latte and soonyoung nearly chokes on his drink. you freeze mid bite, your grip on the spoon faltering for a second and across the table jihyo raises an eyebrow at the both of you. soonyoung desperately coughs into his sleeve, trying to regain his composure.

jihyo frowns and reaches out, thumping soonyoung firmly on the back. “jeez, slow down man, the coffee isn’t going anywhere”,  jihyo says when he stops coughing and he clears his throat. 

you quickly look down, pretending to focus on your cake, your heart hammering in your chest. you and soonyoung haven’t really talked since the wedding, or since he dropped your drunk self home—not about that moment, not about how close you were, not about the feelings that were bubbling up and slowly simmering inside. instead, you both did what mature adults do—you both ignored it, completely.

“it was fine,” you say too quickly, shoving a piece of the cake in your mouth so you don’t have to talk anymore.

“yeah, it was totally fine, just normal wedding things”, soonyoung says and you glance at him, noticing how he looks equally uncomfortable and frazzled. jihyo’s eyes the both of you suspiciously. “just fine?”, she asks as she turns to soonyoung, nudging him. “you always go on about the food at weddings, and you didn’t dance? that’s like your entire personality, you live for wedding dance floors”, jihyo says to him. soonyoung, who had just reached for his fork, panics at the question and moves too fast, knocking the fork right off the table with a loud clang. 

soonyoung looks like his entire life is flashing before his eyes and he scrambles to pick up the fork. “nothing! that was nothing! i’m just clumsy”, he says and jihyo gives him a look, as she narrows her eyes at him. “uh-huh”, she says and then she turns to you. “you’re being suspiciously quiet”, she says as she looks at you and you try to stay calm.

“i’m just eating my cake,” you say, voice a little too high pitched. “nothing weird about eating cake”, you say, shoving another spoonful of the cake in your mouth. jihyo looks between the both of you, the gears turning in her brain. “you guys are being weird”, she declares. “we’re not being weird”, you say, taking a big sip of your tea. jihyo looks at you both again before she suddenly gasps, smacking the table so hard that soonyoung flinches. 

“oh my god”, she says. “you guys hooked up at the wedding, didn’t you?”, she completes and you mid sip, nearly spit out and choke on the hot tea and soonyoung makes an unintelligible sound of horror. “WHAT?!” you yelp at the same time soonyoung practically shouts, “NO”. 

“what the fuck jihyo, we did NOT hook up oh my god”, you groan out, covering you face in embarrassment. soonyoung just looks baffled, at a loss for words. “we didn’t do anything, stop being gross”, soonyoung whines, nudging jihyo, who looks between the both of you, clearly enjoying this.

“right”, she says and decides to leave it. she’d grill out about this later. you gulp down your tea and soonyoung chugs down his americano while jihyo sits back and watches this unfold, eyeing you both, while you try to act normal. 

later that week, soonyoung is a mess—a pathetic, sulking mess. he drags his feet wherever he goes, sighing dramatically at least twenty times a day. all his friends and colleagues at the dance studio notice this of course, because how could they not? he barely reacts to any teasing and barely fights back when seungkwan steals his food, so it’s bad. in an attempt to not feel like a heartbroken puppy, soonyoung does the only thing he knows how to do—he dances. he spends more time at the dance studio, dancing it out, trying to get his mind off things, his mind off you. but he can’t because you seem to have taken over his mind and heart. he groans and collapses onto the floor, breathing hard as he tries to catch his breath from exerting himself a little too much. no matter what he does, he just can’t get you off his mind.

after that week, you end up ghosting jihyo too, only because you didn’t know how to face her. how could you admit that you were falling for her younger brother? that would just be crazy and you’d sound insane, you couldn't do that. so, like a completely mature adult, you ghost her for almost two weeks before she puts two and two together and decides to turn up at your apartment. you don’t expect to see her, so when you open the door to her, your eyes widen in surprise. 

“jihyo, hey, what are you doing here?”, you ask, stepping aside and she gives you a knowing look. “do i need a reason to see my best friend?”, she says, stepping inside and you let her, because it’s not like you can shove her out. you turn around and walk inside, asking if she wants anything to drink or eat, but she just raids your fridge and pantry like she always did, and finds a pack of chips, opening it. you pray to the gods that she doesn’t bring up soonyoung, or the fact that you’ve been ignoring her, but you know she will— because she’s jihyo.

“so, care to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”, she asks finally and you take a big gulp of water instead, hoping to buy some time while she bores her eyes into you. you let out a nervous laugh. “what do you mean? i’m not avoiding you”, you say and she raises an eyebrow at you.

“right, so you haven’t been ignoring my calls or leaving all my texts on read on purpose?”, she asks and you nod. “i’ve just been really really really busy, work picked up, we got new clients and it’s just been really hectic”, you say. but you knew jihyo and you knew that she wasn’t buying this bullshit excuse you were giving her. 

“so you hooked up with soonyoung then”, she says and your eyes widen in horror again. “JIHYO NO, oh my god”, you groan. “why do you keep thinking that”, you ask, looking at her. “because if you don’t start spilling the beans and tell me what’s going on, i’m just going to believe that you and soonyoung hooked up”, she says as she chomps down on a chip. you scoff at her and clear your throat, trying to gather your thoughts. one thing about jihyo was that she didn’t take bullshit from anyone—not even you. so you knew you had to come clean, otherwise she would quite literally haunt you about this.

“fuck”, you say under your breath looking down at the floor before you look back up. how were you even going to say this? 

“just don’t kill me”, you start off as jihyo looks at you, chomping down on another chip, waiting for you to continue. “i—i think i’m falling for soonyoung”, you finally say, the words finally out, hanging in the air between you both. you expect jihyo to gasp, to throw the bag of chips at you, to say that she wasn’t going to be your friend anymore, but she doesn’t. she only shrugs and nods. “yeah, that makes sense”, she says.

you blink at her, confused. “that’s it? that’s all you have to say about what i just confessed”, you ask and she shrugs her shoulders again.

“if you want my permission, then i approve, you guys are cute together anyway”, she says and you give her another confused look. you stare at her, utterly bewildered. “i—what—excuse me?””, you stutter out because whatever reaction you were hoping for, this wasn’t it at all.

“honestly, i already knew something was up between you guys.  the way soonyoung looks at you? the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching? soonyoung’s been acting so different lately, so anyone who knows him could tell. sso babe, this has been so obvious for weeks”, jihyo says and you jaw drops.

“and then you guys were acting so weird after i asked about the wedding”. “we were not,” you argue, but the heat creeping up your neck says otherwise and jihyo gives you another flat look. “you both nearly choked to death when i brought it up that day”, she says and you scowl. “that doesn’t mean anything”, you say and she scoffs. “oh please, anyone could tell that there’s something going on between you both”, she says and you feel heat creep up your cheeks at her words. there’s no way you both had been that obvious. 

“sooo… are you gonna do something about it?”, she asks a beat later and you look at her. “so you’d be okay if i date your brother?”, you ask and she nods. “yeah, like i said you guys are hella cute together, and soonie is like head over heels in love with you”, she casually says and your blush more. “stop it, he’s not head over heels in love with me, i don’t even know if he likes me back”, you counter but she just gives you a look.

“girl, trust me, that boy is in love”, she says, popping another chip in her mouth. “so i think you should tell him how you feel, because he’s been moping around like an idiot”, she adds and you perk up at the mention of that.

“what do you mean?”, you ask. “that stupid idiot is walking around sulking all day, acting heartbroken and it’s pissing me off. but it’s also his first time falling in love so i’m cutting him some slack, otherwise i would have knocked some sense into him long back”, she tells.

jihyo glances at the clock on the wall. “okay, i’ll take this as my cue to leave, i have to get to a meeting, but please go tell that boy how you feel before he evaporates off the face of the earth with the way he’s sulking”, she instructs, popping one last chip in her mouth and dusting her hands. she walks towards the door, slipping on her shoes. “and if you guys do hook up, please use protection”, she says and you gasp in horror, your soul nearly leaving your body.

“JIHYO!” you screech and she just cackles. “get out, get out”, you say, playfully shoving her out and she laughs. “what? i’m being serious, i’m not ready to be an aunt yet”, she adds, her eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“oh my god, shut the fuck up”, you say exasperated, but your face is burning and she laughs as she waves at you. “mhm, sure, sure, i’ll call you later”, she says before turning around and giving you a serious look. “just don’t break each other's hearts”, she says, giving you one last look before heading off.

hours later, you lay in bed thinking about what jihyo said and thinking about soonyoung. was he really moping around? there’s no way he actually liked you back that much…right? so you get up, throw on a jacket, grab your phone from the nightstand and make your way to him. the receptionist doesn’t even blink when you walk right in, seeming to recognise you and she only yells out which room number soonyoung is at. you stride forward like you’re on a mission, but as soon as you reach the door, you freeze for a moment. 

you reach for the door handle, just at the same time soonyoung pulls open the door from inside and it takes you by surprise. before you even have the time to react, a startled gasp leaves your lips and you find yourself stumbling forward—right into a solid, warm chest—right into soonyoung. you crash into him, your hands instinctively gripping his arms as you try to steady yourself, but the force of your fall sends him stumbling back a step. his hands fly to your waist, catching you before you can completely lose your balance, fingers pressing against your sides in a firm yet gentle grip.

“whoa—what the—”, soonyoung breathes out, his voice a little strained as his back hits the edge of the doorframe, but his arms stay wrapped around you, keeping you from toppling over entirely. you blink up at him and your face is just inches from his, close enough to see the way his lips part in surprise, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath against your skin as his hands still hold onto you. “s-soonyoung,” you stammer out, trying to pull back, but his grip lingers for just a moment longer, as if his body reacts before his mind does. then, as if snapping out of a daze, he lets go quickly, clearing his throat. you take a step back, creating some distance between you both and your gaze flickers to the sides of the room before landing back on him, nervous.

“what are you doing here?”, he asks, thinking something might have happened with the way you practically fell on him moments ago. you blink up at him. “i—uh—came to talk to you”, you say and soonyoung blinks back at you. “you did?”, he asks, his voice soft, almost uncertain and you nod.

you take a step inside the room and soonyoung closes the door behind you. “yeah”, you say. the dance practice is room lit, the glow from the overhead lights brightening the room and polished wooden floors and mirrors. there are no chairs, just a wide open space.

“uh—sorry, there aren’t any chairs,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “but the floor’s not too bad, i sit here all the time”, he says and you can’t help but smile a little at that. “yeah, i figured”, you say. soonyoung smiles nervously and then gestures toward the corner of the room where his bag and water bottle are. “let’s sit?”, he asks and you follow him to the corner of the room. you both sit down and he sits beside you—not too close, but not too far either. the silence between you both stretches, thick with unsaid things. soonyoung fidgets with his fingers, tapping it restlessly against his knee. 

“hi”, he finally says softly, breaking the silence and looking at you, his eyes holding a tender gaze. you smile lighty. “hi”, you say, looking at him. “what did you want to talk about?”, he asks slowly after a moment, although he thinks he knows why you came. soonyoung is looking at you—uncertain, nervous, but hopeful. you hesitate, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating. you take a deep breath. “i…”,you start but pause and swallow, before speaking again.”i’ve been thinking about you…a lot”, you say and soonyoung stills. his fingers stop their nervous tapping on his knee and his posture straightens.

“me too”, he admits after a moment. “i… i don’t really know how to say this,” he says, letting out a small, breathy laugh. “i mean—i do know. i’ve been thinking about it for weeks, but now that you’re here, i just—i’m sorry if i messed things up between us and ruined the whole fake dating plan”, he says in a rush as he exhales sharply, shaking his head. his fingers fidget in his lap again, his knee bouncing slightly with the nervous energy around him. you open your mouth to say something but he speaks up again.

“but i think—”, he says, inhaling sharply. “i think i’m falling in love with you”, he confesses softly, the words coming out of his chest and now hanging delicately in the air between you both. he looks nervous and his eyes are filled with vulnerability and hope. the moment the words are out, he immediately looks away, his eyes flitting across the room like he’s searching for some sort of escape, his fingers tightening in his lap. he waits for you to say something, anything.

you swallow hard, feeling your heart hammering against your chest at his confession, the one he beat you to. “soonyoung” you whisper and his jaw clenches slightly with tension. “i know this probably isn’t what you expected and i understand if you don’t feel the same way. i just—” he lets out a breath, clenching his palms into fists on his lap. “i just couldn’t keep pretending, couldn't keep it in anymore”, he says and his voice is so genuine that it tugs at your heartstrings. 

“you didn’t mess anything up”, you say, and he furrows his brows slightly, like he’s not sure, like he’s not convinced. “i didn’t?”, he asks and you shake your head. 

“because i think i’m falling in love with you too”, you finally confess and his eyes widen in surprise as silence engulfs the both of you. soonyoung stares at you, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right. “wait,” he breathes out. “you— you do?”, he asks and a small, shy laugh escapes you as you nod. “yeah, i do”, you confirm and he blinks at you again. you can see the way a slow smile starts to spread across his face before he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. he turns his head away for a second, blushing fiercely, trying to collect himself. 

“i thought i was going crazy when i thinking about you all the time, wondering if you maybe felt the same way”, he says. you smile, a hint of warmth blooming in your chest. “you weren’t going crazy”, you assure and he shakes his head. “i mean, i actually was  kind of going crazy”, he admits with a small laugh and you laugh too.

the walk home feels surreal almost, as if neither of you can quite believe what just happened. the cool night air brushes against your skin and there’s a comfortable silence in the air, peaceful almost. you both can’t seem to stop smiling—especially soonyoung. he walks beside you with hands stuffed into his pockets at first, but every few moments, he glances over at you, his face flushing whenever your eyes meet. you can’t help but notice how much more nervous he seems now that things are real. it’s sweet and endearing, and it makes your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect.

his plucks his hands out of his pockets and they brush against yours as you walk together. you glance at him and he’s trying to keep his composure, his fingers brushing against yours again. so when you reach out and gently close your fingers around his, soonyoung’s eyes widen. he stops walking for a beat, like he’s processing the softness of your touch, the warmth of your hand in his. he looks over at you and gives you a shy smile. it feels so natural, holding his hand, and there’s something about they way they fit together so perfectly that makes your heart swell. you give him a small smile and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, like he’s trying to make sure this is actually real.

when you reach your building, neither of you immediately lets go. you stand there for a moment, the quiet hanging between you both as you just enjoying the warmth of each other’s touch, of each other’s presence. you look up at him. “thanks for walking me home,” you say softly. soonyoung’s smile is sweet. “anytime,” he says, his voice just a little hushed, like he’s holding onto this moment just as tightly as you are.

you finally pull your hand away from his and look down at the ground before you look back up at him. “i guess i’ll see you later then”, you say and he nods. “yeah, okay”, he says, stuffing his hands back in his pockets. you take a few steps backwards and lift up your hand to give him a wave. “bye”, you say and he gives you a small wave too. you walk inside your building but after a few steps you halt. you think for a moment before you turn around and jog back outside and see soonyoung walking away, his back turned to you. 

“soonyoung wait!”, you call out and he turns around immediately, confused for a second as you run up to him. you stand in front of him, and with a sudden rush of courage you lean in, going on your tip-toes and you press a soft lingering kiss to his cheek. soonyoung freezes, his eyes widening in surprise. you pull back and glance at him. “goodnight”, you whisper and take a step back, seeing the tips of his ears turning red, caught completely off guard by your action and it’s like the world seems to pause.

after what feels like an eternity, he swallows and he stammers out a response. “g-goodnight”, he says, his voice softer than usual, tinged with surprise. you give him one last shy smile before you turn, walking back to your building and before you step inside, you glance back at him one last time to find soonyong still standing there, dazed, watching you and he rubs the back of his neck nervously, like he was trying to ground himself, make sure what happened was real and you smile at how cute he is before finally slipping inside.

1 month later

the room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm, golden hue over everything in your apartment. you sit on the couch and notice soonyoung and how nervous he seemed to have suddenly gotten. he was restless for some reason and you were quick to notice it.

“you okay?”, you ask, your voice soft as you look at him. “yeah, just nervous i guess”, he says, his voice small. 

“nervous? why?”, you ask as you lean in closer to him, putting down the lego blocks with the half built flower on the table. soonyoung had gotten you one of those lego flowers to build, so you called him over to do it together. but soonyoung only shrugs at you, tearing his gaze away from you. you tilt your head, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “come on, what’s up?”, you ask as you look at him. this time, he doesn’t answer right away. his lips part as if he wants to say something, but he hesitates, his throat bobbing with an anxious swallow. when he finally looks at you, there’s something unspoken in his gaze.

“it’s stupid”, he says as you look at him, “i’m sure it’s not”, you assure.

“i…i really want to…”, he trails off, feeling the tips of his ears heat up and he looks away. “soonyoung”, you say, laughing softly at the way he was acting. 

“i just really want to kiss you but i don’t know how”, he says, almost too quickly that if you weren’t listening you wouldn't have caught it, but you hear every syllable.

for a moment, there’s silence between you both and the world narrows down to just you and him. you can see his nervous energy with the way his hands curl into his lap, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. you watch as his gaze flickers down to your lips before quickly darting away. a small smile tugs at your lips. “soonyoung,” you say softly, amused but undeniably endeared by him. you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “then how about i teach you?”, you say and he blinks at you.

you slide closer to him and your legs brush against his. you slowly shift so you’re straddling him, knees on either side of his waist as you settle on his lap. he freezes, caught off guard by the closeness. you place your hands on his shoulders, your touch light and delicate. "is this okay?" you ask, softly. he swallows, his throat tight and heart racing as he nods slowly, though his voice barely comes out. "yeah, it’s okay”.

you had dated before, so you knew what this moment was supposed to feel like—gentle, unhurried. but for him, this was all new. it was his first kiss, his first real kiss, with you.

you move your hands to cup his cheek, your thumb gently brushing along his jawline, tender and light. you don’t rush, you take your time. you lean in slowly, teasingly almost, your face just inches away from his and he waits patiently. you lean in more and his eyes flutter close, waiting in anticipation. your lips brush against and his breath catches.

you press your lips to his gently, as if you were testing the waters. his body goes still, the touch of your lips so soft and warm, but different. it was new, so new. there was so much happening in his chest, an overwhelming mix of excitement and nerves and something tender. you pull away slightly, just to make sure he was okay and his eyes flutter open. “relax baby”, you mutter softly, looking at him and he nods ever so slightly.

you lean in and kiss him again, pressing your lips to his, cupping his cheeks and you can feel him relax into you a bit this time. when he doesn’t pull away, you whisper against his lips, “now part your lips just a little”, and he does, his breath shaky as he follows your instructions. you tilt your head a little, deepening the kiss ever so slightly and his hand moves instinctively to your waist, pulling you in a little closer and you can feel the warmth of his body against yours. your lips move slowly against his, but just as gentle. all that mattered in this moment was him and his first kiss with you. he kisses you back and you go slow, giving him time to adjust, letting him slowly take the lead as you let him find his own rhythm, letting him figure out what feels right. his hands rest on your waist, holding onto you and your hands move to rest on his shoulders. 

he kisses you back, clumsily at first like he was unsure, but slowly as if he was learning the movements of a dance, he becomes a little more confident. his lips follow yours and his one hand comes up to cup your cheek, pulling you into the kiss even more. your hands slide up into his hair, your fingers threading through the soft strands of his blonde hair, pulling him closer as you deepen the kiss even more. the kiss grows more intense, slower now, as if neither of you wants to pull away, and his lips move with more of a certainty now, matching the rhythm of yours.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his, both of your breaths coming out in soft, uneven gasps and you watch the way his chest rises and falls as he catches his breath. his lips are plump and pink and slightly swollen from the kiss, his cheeks flushed, and there’s an unmistakable glow in his eyes.

“you’re a quick learner,” you say, your voice breathless from the intensity of the kiss and he gives you a shy, almost bashful smile, biting his lip as he looks at you. 

“i didn’t expect it to be like that” he trails off, his voice a little low and rough from the kiss, but there’s an undeniable softness in the way he says it.

“you mean good?” you tease, tilting your head slightly, a playful grin forming on your lips as you look at him, your arms resting on his shoulders, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.

“i think i want to learn more,” he murmurs and you blink at him, the words sinking in, and once they do, you can’t help but laugh softly. soonyoung’s smile grows, his eyes twinkling with both a hint of mischief and something much deeper—something warm. he leans in, kissing you again but you giggle into the kiss and he can’t help but smile against your lips, the warmth of the moment sending a flutter through you.

“kwon soonyoung”, you say his name, your lips brushing against his and he hums in response, capturing your lips in another kiss before you pull away again. you look at him, your fingertips trailing up to his jaw, your thumb lightly brushing over his cheek. he watches you with that soft, adoring gaze, but there’s something playful lurking just beneath it. you catch it and you’re about to say something, but before you can get any words out, he moves.

with a quick, almost effortless motion, he flips you over on the couch. a surprised squeal escapes you, which is quickly replaced by laughter as you land on your back with a soft bounce against the couch. soonyoung grins down at you, his hands on either side of you, his body hovering just above yours. you huff, but the warmth in your chest betrays you. “soons”, you start, looking up at him.

“yes?”, he says, his voice is teasing, his nose brushing against yours, his grin widening when you roll your eyes. his smile is so full of sunshine, of laughter, so infectious and so sincere, so full of everything bright and dizzying.

you sigh dramatically, letting your fingers trail up the back of his neck. “you have a lot learn”, you murmur and he hums, pressing another kiss to your jaw. “then teach me”, he whispers. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close and he lets out a quiet laugh, burying his face in the crook of your neck. the two of you stay like that, tangled together, his body pressed against yours. his fingers absentmindedly trace little circles on your waist as he holds you. when he lifts his head and looks at you again, there’s something softer in his gaze, something deeper.

“what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper and a smile blooms on his face. “just thinking”, he says. 

“about what?”, you ask and his grin widens. “that i really really like you”, he says, and warmth blooms in your chest at his words. your smile softens. “good,” you whisper out. “because i really really like you too”.

and as he holds you there, you realize that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be—wrapped up in his warmth, his laugher. you think that maybe this, right here, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

END

EXTRA SCENE because i went a little insane over him

soonyoung is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits in the arrivals area to pick you up from the airport. his leg is bouncing with restless energy. three weeks. almost three whole weeks since he had last held you, kissed you and seen you. it was only supposed to be a one week trip. and that one week he would have survived. but there were delays and complications in the project you said—and one week turned into three.

he spots you walking out of the terminal, dragging your suitcase behind you, exhaustion evident in the way your shoulders are slumped, your eyes tired. he’s on his feet in an instant and he comes up to you. you don’t even get a chance to get a word out before his arms are wrapping around you, pulling you into a bone crushing hug. "you’re finally back," he murmurs into your neck. you let out a soft laugh against his shoulder. "i’m back”, you say as you hug him back.

soonyoung pulls back just enough to cup your face, eyes scanning every inch of you as if making sure you were real. "three weeks baby, you almost killed me”, he says dramatically.

"sorry," you tease, smiling softly as your fingers brushed through his hair. "i barely survived without you," he mutters before grabbing your suitcase with one hand and lacing his fingers through yours with the other, pulling you toward the exit. the ride home is filled with him sneaking glances at you every five seconds, his hand still intertwined in yours, a soft grin playing on his lips whenever he catches you watching him back.

when he finally pulls into the driveway, he barely lets you step inside before his hands are on you again, like he couldn't bear to stay apart from you any longer. you enter your apartment and soonyoung trails behind you as he carries you suitcase, placing it to the side and you walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, incredibly thirsty from the flight. 

“god, it’s good to be back”, you say as you chug down a glass of water and put it down on the counter. soonyoung stalks forward, his gaze sharp. “i got you something by the way, it’s in the suitcase and—”, you’re cut off by the way soonyoung walks forward, cupping your cheeks before his lips are on yours. your back hits the wall as he walks you backwards and pins you there, kissing you urgently, hungrily. his hands grip your waist, pressing you into the wall as if he is trying to make up for every second you’d been apart. you gasp softly into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer and his lips move against yours with desperation.

"soonyoung—" you try to speak between kisses, but he only hums in response, lips trailing down your jaw to the curve of your neck.

"missed you so fucking much," he whispers against your skin, his voice low with need. "i’m never letting you leave for that long again," he murmurs against your lips. his hands tighten around your waist and your bag slips from your shoulder, forgotten on the floor as he captures your lips in another dizzying kiss. his hands slide under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your bare skin, warm and possessive. he grabs your waist, lifting you up effortlessly as your legs wrap around his torso. his lips move down to your jaw, finding that sensitive spot beneath your ear and you let out a soft gasp.

“fuck”, you whimper out softly as he moves, his grip firm as he walks the two of you toward the couch. the world tilts slightly as he sits down, settling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him now, your knees resting on the soft cushion. his hands find your waist again, his thumbs tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin, and when he looks at you, his gaze is dark. 

you smirk, tilting your head as your fingers comb through his hair. "what happened to the boy who was absolutely clueless about dating?", you tease, letting your hands slip under his hoodie. your fingers skim over his abs and torso, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his breath stutters at the contact. soonyoung groans softly, his grip on your waist tightening as his body melts into your touch, his head tilting back slightly as he recovers from the sensation. 

“i’m a quick learner”, he says after a moment, a small smirk playing on his lips and you chuckle before you lean in. “oh? is that so?" you murmur, your lips brushing against his but not kissing him yet. his lips chase yours, closing the distance as he kisses you again, slower this time—deeper. the way he kisses you is intoxicating—slow but full of purpose, like he’s savoring every second. your fingers tangle in his hair and his hands roam over your body, sliding up your back, down to your hips, squeezing your waist as he pulls you closer until there isn’t any space between the both of you and the warmth of his body seeps into you. 

he pulls away, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls, his gaze locked onto you as he tilts his head back on the couch. soonyoung looks absolutely wrecked. his lips are pink, swollen, kiss bruised and slightly parted as he catches his breath. his usually sharp features are slightly softened by the dazed expression he wears, his pupils blown wide, his hair messy from where your fingers had tugged at it. his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, as if he’s debating if he can survive another kiss or if it might just be the end of him. 

then a slowly, a lazy, lopsided grin tugs at his lips—the kind of smirk that’s cocky, but still soft. "besides”, he says, voice low, "you’re the one who taught me everything”.

you chuckle at his words and your fingers ghost over his jaw before you brush your thumb over his bottom lip. “i guess i’m a pretty good teacher then”, you say softly, tilting your head as you watch him and soonyoung huffs out a soft laugh, but his eyes never leave yours.

his hands tightens around your waist, like he’s deciding something, and he leans in again slowly, his lips ghosting over yours as he speaks. “the best”, he whispers against your lips, before kissing you breathless again.

taglist: @joshuaahong @paindivinemp3 @itsveronicaxxx @frankenstein852 @weird-bookworm @mirxzii @naaaaafla @gyubakeries @wheeboo @fxstpace @ylangelegy @lvlystars @kyeomyun @icyminghao @ihrtboo @n4mj00nvq @imujings @alsktudy @d-i-y-a-n-a @binnielovie @fancypeacepersona @karynnonna @alyssa19123456 @diamonddaze01 @minhui896 @yoozuku @hyunyin @blue-jisungs

[pellucid-constellations]

Yes!! Bucky drabble pleaseeee. Soft!bucky!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 800

Warnings: Broken bones, this is just fluff and a fave trope of mine

a/n: Here's a little fun one <3

~~

“Yeah, thanks,” Bucky grunted out, bending his knees as you hung off his neck and giggled to yourself. The doctor was talking so much and you clearly needed to sit down. “I think we got it, doc. I’ll bring her back next week to check the break once the swelling’s gone down.” 

He said a few more things about pain medications and infections and Bucky fought an eye roll because there was no way in hell he’d let you get an infection. 

“Right, and how long is she going to be like… this?” Bucky asked when there was a pause in the never-ending surge of information. You gasped into his ear, standing straight up. 

“That was rude,” you chastised. You attempted to unwind yourself from him, but the cast on your arm impeded your ability to dramatically cast yourself away. 

Bucky turned from the doctor to catch your bleary, narrowed gaze. “Didn’t mean it in a bad way, honey.” 

You scoffed, bringing your hand up to his jaw. “I want a smoothie.” 

Bucky returned his gaze to the doctor, brows raised. 

“Should only be a couple of hours at most. If you get her sleeping, it will wear off faster.” 

Bucky appreciated the good news from the doctor, but as he attempted to shove you into his truck, the few-hour estimate was excruciating.

“Please. I love you, but you have to listen to me and get in the car. I can get you a smoothie once we leave, sweetheart.”

“Are you married?” you asked in an accusatory fashion, eyes once again narrowed. 

Bucky paused at that, hands on his hips as you stood your ground in front of his car. “Uh, yeah,” he answered. “My wive’s a real piece of work sometimes, I’ll tell you that much.” 

You laughed at him, the sound sardonic and curt. “I knew it. You keep calling me sweetheart and honey and you had your hands all over me.” You threw your hands up. Bucky winced as your broken one flung in the air. “I’m sure your wife wouldn’t appreciate that very much, would she? But what can I expect from a man?” 

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, his expression softening as you continued to glare at him. “Thank you for looking out for my wife. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure she would,” you seethed. 

“Yeah, I love her a whole lot. Nice to know other people appreciate her.” 

“Nice way of showing it, you creep.” 

Bucky fought back a smile, not wanting to mock your sincere anger. He stood a few feet away from you in the parking lot as you stared him down, your back pressed against his truck in defiance. You wouldn’t get in because you thought he was trying to cheat on his wife. You were his wife, but he couldn’t blame you for not making the connection. He always considered you way out of his league. 

“Do me a favor?” Bucky asked, a laugh lodging in his throat at the way you scoffed. He slid your phone from his front pocket and held it out in front of him. He didn’t miss the way you eyed his wedding band in distaste. “Call your friend for me—Wanda, I think it was. She can pick you up.” 

You ripped the phone from his hand, making a show of pressing your finger to the screen aggressively (which Bucky again flinched at because—broken arm), when you abruptly paused. You looked at your phone screen and back at Bucky several times, the disorientation more prevalent on your face without the anger taking over. 

“Is this me?” you asked, words more slurred. 

Bucky began inching forward, eager to get you in the car as your body started catching up to the mind-numbing pain medications you were currently on. He spoke as you kept your eyes glued to your phone.

“Uh huh. You married me. Crazy, isn’t it?” 

“Huh,” you breathed out. “Sorry, then.” 

Bucky didn’t hide his laugh this time. He caught your waist as you started to sag further into the truck, guiding your head into his shoulder, the lovesick expression on his face only for the side view mirror to see. 

“S’alright,” he comforted. “Still mad at me?”

“Probably not. You’re my husband.” 

“Guess you can decide when you wake up.” 

You hummed in response, Bucky taking the opportunity to unlock the car and slide you into the passenger seat. Once the seatbelt was firmly across your chest, he kept his hand on the headrest and leaned closer to your mused face. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and then your cheek, sharing a private smile with no one as you scrunched your face up. “Sorry, sorry—forgot you just met me.” He gave your chin a soft tap and shut the door, jogging to the other side before mumbling to himself. “Married for five years but whatever.” 

[sinstear]

happy valentines 🍫💐💌

vi notices the way you’ve been distant for the last couple of days with her, barely talking to her, glancing in her direction when she practically wraps herself around your body when you’re in the kitchen making breakfast, or doesn’t even let her on your phone. you never had a problem with that before, but that’s suddenly changed. she doesn’t even get a smile from you. at first she assumed you had enough, maybe you didn’t love her anymore, found someone new, someone else to be obsessed and utterly in love with. then she tried to recall the last week, had something happened and you were just figuring it out? did she say something that made you upset? if so, why weren’t you talking to her.

she doesn’t have much time to figure out why, not when there’s an abrupt groan and scuffle at the front door then a loud bang that has her sitting up on the couch, blinking repeatedly until she can hear you cursing under your breath. “stupid fuckin’ thing,” or something like that. if she didn’t feel so upset over something that had she no idea about, then she would have laughed, ran to help you, but she didn’t, she just sat there in; clad in one of your hoodies and slumped deeper into the couch. 

pathetically, like a lost puppy, she perks up at the sound of your voice again. “vi, baby, are you awake?” 

“yes,” she mumbled back, more like scoffed but you weren’t paying attention. “m’in here.”

“okay, uh, can you close your eyes for a second, please?”

doing as you asked, vi closes her eyes, takes her hands out of her lap and nervously fumbles with her fingers. the sound of you cursing and grumbling got louder yet closer the longer she sits here and waits for you to do whatever it was that you were doing, and it’s only when you stumbled, almost tripping over your own feet, into the living room, you find her slumped there, chewing at her bottom lip and sniffling. “don’t open them, just give me like 2 minutes, don’t peek, i know what you’re like.” you warned playfully.

she has no idea what you’re doing, but her only thought in her mind right now was that you’re breaking up with her, this is it. you’re going through all of this just to tell her you’re not in love with her anymore, that you’ve found someone else, that she doesn’t make you happy and maybe she could handle that, but not when she loves you so much—

“you can open them now.” you murmured exactly 2 minutes later.

when her eyes flutter open, violet finds you standing in the doorway, looking somewhat nervous, the living room covered with dark and light pink balloons, rose petals scattered over the floor, a huge bouquet of red roses sit on the coffee table, accompanied by a big box of chocolates, ones you know she loves, one of those giant teddy bears, looking at her like it was trying to read all her secrets, and a gift bag on her lap. light pink with a card taped to the side. “happy valentines day!” 

“y…you’re not breaking up with me?” is what comes out her mouth first, blinking. taking in the sight before her. had she gotten all her worries wrong?

the question catches you off guard and you blinked too, then frowned and shook your head quickly. “no! my god, why would i break up with you?” you rushed over to her and sat beside her before taking her hands into yours. “hey, no, don’t cry, why would i break up with you?”

“you’ve been distant, so i thought—”

“it’s very hard to keep surprises from you, you know?” you laughed softly and wiped away the tears that ran down her cheek. “but no, m’not breaking up with you, you’re my world, and i love you, so much.”

“i’ve never had valentines before” vi admits sadly. 

“i know, i wanted your first to be special,” you admitted softly and smiled. “if it’s too much, we don’t have to open them yet, we can just leave them until—”

“no! i just, i haven’t gotten you anything yet so,” vi suddenly becomes quiet and fumbles with the gift tag nervously. “m’sorry—”

“i have you, don’t i? that’s all i ever need. if i have you, i don’t need anything else,” you admitted and kissed her temple. “it’s your first valentines, it’s not about me, it’s about you, and i want you to know how much i love you, and how much you mean to me. even if there is a creepy teddy bear looking at me.”

vi giggles and wipes away her tears, a blush creeping up on her face. “how did you even get that in here?”

“i carried that thing up 7 flights of stairs, it was a struggle, i admit.”

looking up at you, vi smiles shyly and is quick to bury her face in the crook of your neck. “thank you,” she sniffled and gripped your arm tightly. “i love you so much.”

“i love you more, baby,” you smiled and kissed the top of her head. “how about we make breakfast, take a walk, and when we’ll sit down and you can open your gifts? when you’re not as overwhelmed?”

“i’d like that, but that teddy needs to be turned around, as much as i love it, it’s creeping me out”

“agreed. remind me to not bring it into the bedroom tonight.”

[tangerineastronaut]

can you do how they would be when your pregnant ot8

ATEEZ during your pregnancy ❤︎ ot8

Pairing: ot8 headcanons Genre: fluff, mentions of smut Requested: Yes w.c. 2.5k Warnings: pregnancy discussion, talk, sexual bits (not a whole lot of smut I promise) A/N: This took a surprisingly long amount of time I'm sorry!! I'm not sure if you meant ateez or not, I assumed so since that's what I've been posting recently. If not please send me an ask and I will do this for another group! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

Taglist: @baby-stay92 @cozypaint If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please DM me or click here.

🔞Content Below the Break🔞

Hongjoong

The absolute worst (best)

Scolds you for "doing too much" aka walking up the stairs or picking up a gallon of milk.

Buys you the most expensive brand of prenatal vitamins despite your doctor insisting the cheap ones are fine

Checks on you via text every hour when he's not with you

^ and when he is with you

Is lowkey afraid of failure as a father, reads parenting articles

Sends you decaf coffee at work

Wants to feel your belly but won't unless you invite him to

Teary eyed when he feels the baby kick for the first time

Sampled the heartbeat at the ultrasound visit to use in a song

Writes letters to you and the baby and keeps them in a memory book for you to read later (but you don't know this)

Nursery is fully decked out and the baby already has a full wardrobe

Your crying makes him panic, he hates seeing you cry and will frantically try to soothe you every time

Is grossed out by your cravings but will get them for you anyway—why do you have to crave vegetables?

Sex is soft and lazy in the best way

Side sex (think sunday morning sex except any day) >>>

Like imagine his chest against your back, his cheek against yours, one of his hands keeping your leg up so he has room to fuck you, asking if it feels good and if you're comfortable, except he's kind of whining and breathless ~

No pregnancy kink but thinks you're breathtaking, as always

^ even when you haven't showered, your legs are hairy, etc. He thinks you're a work of art

Plays music for you and the baby, asks what he/she responds to and makes note of it

Overprotective, does not like it when people touch you in general, let alone when you're pregnant

Visibly dies inside every time someone's hand goes to your belly without asking you first—would scold people if you'd let him

Posts photos of you each month documenting your pregnancy and leaving a words of appreciation for you

Keeps a copy of the ultrasound photo with him

May not have his hands on you 24/7, but he makes sure you know you're loved as well as the baby

Seonghwa

So freaking soft for you both

Loves babies anyway but your baby??

Him leaning against the headboard so you can lean against him, he'll curl his arms around you and rub your belly while you talk

Talks to the baby, even when you're asleep

"I can feel you kicking in there. Let's let mommy sleep, hm? She gets cranky at daddy when she's tired."

Watches parenting videos

Loves showering with you since you can't take baths

When you joke that there's not much room anymore he'll say he knows that and pulls you closer

Shaves your legs for you when it gets too difficult, even if you're too shy to ask him

Buys you gifts every time he gets something for the baby

"The mom group says it's important for me to make you feel as loved and wanted as the baby."

^ has joined mom groups on social media, because "dad groups are just full of men complaining"

Calls him/her 'the little one'

"How are you? How was the little one today?"

Isn't overprotective but has moments when he hovers

You don't mind

Sex is always slow and full of giggles and him reassuring you when you're out of breath

He likes you on your back so he can kiss you and keep pressure off of you, arms on either side of you to support his weight

Likes taking naps with you even though you're always napping due to exhaustion

^ rarely actually sleeps, just wants to be near you and the baby

Knows your cravings by heart

"Pickle juice and french fries? That's a new one."

His nesting is as bad as yours if not worse; you both frantically clean the house months before the baby arrives

Loves when you send him selfies/belly pics

Isn't fazed by your emotions, helps you work through them and validates you

"Being pregnant doesn't mean you aren't allowed to have feelings, pretty girl. I'm here."

Yunho

Probably the most excited externally

Loves rubbing your belly and watching the baby kick his hand

Unironically purchased the "I'm proof daddy doesn't play video games all the time" onesie

Brings you ice cream even if you don't ask for it

"I'm telepathically linked with our baby, he/she said they want ice cream. I don't make the rules, y/n."

p r e g n a n c y k i n k

"Look at you, so fucking pretty and full."

Sex is unbelievably gentle despite his filthy words

Won't put you on your back, likes to have you in his lap so he can do all the work

Likes taking you out and showing you off, even when you feel like a mess

Posts pictures of you constantly to the point where people joke he's running a y/n maternity account

Foot rubs

Sympathy pains

"Our heartburn is bad today. I want a cinnamon roll. With sprinkles."

Teases you relentlessly

"I'll race you to the kitchen—oh yeah."

Handsy af but you don't mind

Walks up behind you to hold your belly

Sits up at night to rub it when the baby won't settle

He/she loves Yunho's voice and they begin kicking when he speaks

^ he uses this to his advantage

"Mommy's calling herself ugly again, I'm gonna need some backup from my internal ally."

Already 2 v 1 and the thing isn't even here yet

His google search history is worse than yours

^ "can pregnant women eat carrots"

"how long does pregnancy really last"

"how to make pregnant woman stop crying"

"why is my pregnant girlfriend crying"

"why am I crying"

"how to stop crying when your pregnant girlfriend cries"

Loves when people ooh and awe over you; beams and grins like an idiot bc you're his and he put the baby in you.

Yeosang

Seems calm

Is not calm

Is just as protective/concerned as Hongjoong but is so quiet about it you don't even notice

You haven't lifted a grocery bag since he found out about your pregnancy

Has the dates of your appointments memorized

No one touches the belly. He doesn't even say anything to anyone. They just don't.

Does little things to make sure you're extra comfortable, bought you a pregnancy pillow

Whispers to your belly

^ "I'm afraid my voice will scare the baby. I'll just whisper."

Pouts if the baby won't kick for him

You: "Please, Yeosang, for the millionth time fetuses cannot choose favorites! Our baby loves you, I promise!"

King of pregnancy cravings

2 a.m. runs to the convenience store because you want some strawberry milk

Forehead kisses with a hand on your belly >>>

Will literally get on his knees for a chat with him/her

Like imagine looking down and seeing this man smiling up at you, both hands on your tummy with so much love in his eyes I just—

His calm facade dissolves when you cry

It physically hurts him to see you break down and he will do all he can to help you

Talks about you nonstop and your symptoms, experiences, etc literally to anyone with ears

Signs you both up for a parenting class

Cannot believe how horny you are, but is happy to help

^ a little afraid of you tbh but still very much in love

Like Hongjoong, prefers side sex so he can still be close to you

Also loves foreplay/eating you out even more now because of how sensitive you are

Ultrasound visits/pics make him choked up though he tries to hide it

His brain has not processed the fact that his baby is literally inside of you

It isn't going to fully sink in until there's a baby in his arms

^ is never going to put him/her down

San

Proud Dad™

Is excited, but calm

Similar to Yeosang but not as intense

^ still protective, but doesn't mind when people touch your belly as long as they ask first

Buys two copies of baby books for you both to read at the same time

Posts pictures of your pregnancy journey with quotes or long paragraphs about how beautiful you are

lowkey pregnancy kink?

Cautious

Armchair sex/you in his lap - super slow and soft

Loves showering with you after to hold you and massage your back/shoulders

Doesn't necessarily treat you like you'll break but is still very gentle with you

Hugs are softer, he doesn't squeeze as tight, likes to hug you from behind and look over you to see what you're doing

Touches your belly in a reassuring way, likes to brush his hand against it and feel the baby's reaction

Does it in public probably the most of the members, though it's not really intentional

His hands used to go to your waist and now they go to your bump ~

Doesn't talk to the baby as much as he sings to him/her

Is way too excited to take maternity photos

Gets caught staring at you by literally everyone

Does not care

Thinks you hung the stars

Loooooves being snuggled in bed with you with your bump between you, rubbing your belly and whispering as though the baby is sleeping

Is very expressive about his fears/doubts and wants you to be as well

Blushes when people call him daddy

Blushes harder when you call him daddy

Pretty calm when it comes to your emotions, will just go with the flow and give you what you need, whether that's space, affection, or food

secretly hopes you want another one

Mingi

When I tell you this man is terrified

Does not think he can care for a baby despite your reassurance

Asks all the questions

"I mean, how do we know when it's done? You know, like, cooked all the way?"

Oddly protective despite his fears

Does not like anyone touching your belly

Any time someone comments on your size/roundness/etc he's ready to throw hands, does not care if it's the ajumma two doors down from you

You: "Mingi for the love of god, I have told you, you cannot threaten people."

"She threatened you first!"

You: "She just said I look ready to pop??"

Horny af and has a pregnancy kink but will not initiate sex

You have to beg, and even then it's like ~

"No I mean just stand there, and I'll hold you and put it in. Yeah don't move at all."

Will still eat you out daily

Treats you like a glass doll

Belly kisses >>>>>

Buys baby books, gets one page in and declares this is too much to remember and you both should get a refund

^ shrugs at your look of horror "obviously I meant a refund for the books..."

Raps??? at your belly? Like nursery rhyme raps????

Also talks. A lot. Not cooing or baby talk

"Today at practice I slipped and it sucked, kinda hurt my knee. I'm still a good dancer, definitely better than Yunho. I'll show you. But I mean like after you can walk and stuff, or maybe you'll dance before you can walk and we can win money or something. Do they have baby dance competitions?"

Doesn't post the pictures he takes of you and your belly, looks at them when he misses you and won't let anyone else see them

Unironically refers to himself as your baby daddy and changes his contact in your phone [proudly]

When you cry, he cries, so please don't cry

Asks if he can attend his own child's birth

^ is excited when you say "...yes, Mingi. You can attend the birth of our child."

Wooyoung

Knows all there is to know about babies??

Is not concerned at all

Reassures you constantly

You ask him questions

Will lay on your thighs and absentmindedly rub your belly while watching tv or scrolling on his phone

Actually, will rub your belly anywhere, and usually does it without realizing it

Refers to you as mama and himself as dada even out of context

"Do you want a drink, mama?"

Is completely unfazed by your weird cravings and will get them for you as long as it's not harmful

"No, y/n, you cannot have sushi with your oreos. Mercury levels..."

Not overprotective in the slightest

Your biggest advocate

The only member who would fuck you properly while pregnant, as he knows it's safe within reason

Does not have a pregnancy kink, but loves how sensitive you are, the changes to your body, etc and thinks you're a goddess

Loves going shopping with you

Will absolutely argue with you over nursery themes

Finds you adorable when you're emotional, but will still try to calm you down and comfort you

Loves talking about you nonstop

May not praise you to your face as much as the others but tells everyone else he's so incredibly lucky to have you as the mother of his child

He was so clingy before

It's worse

His camera roll is full of selfies with him and your bump

Imagine woo making bunny ears over your belly (and telling your unborn child to say cheese)

Has full on conversations with him/her

Baby talks and coos and informs them they have the best parents ever

Jongho

Probably the most genuinely calm member when it comes to your pregnancy

Still very excited

Does not know as much as wooyoung but is fairly confident, not terrified or anxious like some of the others

Touches your belly from day 1, even without a bump

Sings and hums to it

The baby LOVES his voice and always kicks when he's near

He finds this adorable and loves talking to him/her while touching your stomach

Massages >>>>

Your pregnancy aches are afraid of him

Is a little shaken by your emotions but handles them well

Not too overprotective but really hates it when people touch you

Won't say anything though unless you're uncomfy

Sex?

Dear god

2ho breeding/pregnancy kink is my headcanon and I am sticking with it

Do not make eye contact for more than a few seconds

Is unbelievably horny for you

Doggy style with pillows underneath you >>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Is extra gentle despite how badly he wants you

Takes care of you first also ^ he knows it helps you relax so that's always his end goal

Loves the way you look while pregnant

Thinks you're beautiful anyway but something about the fact that you're literally creating a brand new human being

When you wear his t-shirts and nothing else because your clothes don't fit anymore it makes him melt ~

^ he complains for the fun of it but would probably cry if you stopped

Brings you snacks/drinks/whatever without you having to ask

Is willing to try your cravings with you as long as it's nothing vile (frito chips + peanut butter)

Wants to do every social media pregnancy trend with you

*buys your unborn child soccer cleats*

Doesn't post photos of you often but when he does, they're tearjerkers

Wants more kids but knows how difficult pregnancy/motherhood is so ultimately it's up to you

He's the cutest - kissing your temple while snuggling on the couch and rubbing your belly

"Our baby bear"

[kissforyouu]

i love you — a compilation !

warnings : suggestive content + explicit language + mention of substances

authors note : i had so much fun writing the Roblox part lmfao (from personal experience unfortunately😅😅) I hope y’all enjoy the rest of the fic :)) HAPPY V DAY MY LOVES!!!! ❤️❤️

｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ giving him a note saying “don’t smile if you want toe curling sucky sucky tonight”

You excitedly giggle over the folded piece of paper held in between your fingers, thinking to yourself of what your boyfriends reaction would be.

You saw people on TikTok do this trend, and here you thought, yeah why not try this on Jungkook. You were gonna give him sucky sucky anyways^^

“Get back in bed…”, Jungkook groans from his room, patting your side of his bed. Your back is turned to him and bent over as you write the little text on the paper. “Nevermind, stay there bent over and you’re getting instant backshots, okay?” He laughs.

You snort, turning around now. You don’t say anything, stay fully silent, but walk towards him.

“Mmf, finally.” Your boyfriend sighs in pleasure from just having you close to him. He blinks rapidly, breathing heavily. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t geeking a little right now, having already smoked some weed earlier. So he was a little a high, perfect setting for the little bomb you’re gonna drop on him.

You don’t speak, but hand over the neatly folded piece of paper to him. Jungkook looks at you confused, eyebrow raising a little. He adjusts himself on the bed, sitting up to read it. You try holding in your laugh.

Jungkook, high, tries to read the text on the paper. He giggles, reading out loud, “If…you want…toe curling?” He looks at you with a smirk “—sucky sucky? …tonight, don’t…smile…”

He smiles, what I had written not registering in his head yet. He takes a few seconds to process it, and suddenly, his big giddy smile drops. Jungkook’s entire body turns stiff and he straightens himself. He clearly his throat, eyes landing somewhere else in the room.

He sucks in his cheeks, attempting to make a serious face.

“My love, you look like handsome squidward when you do that”, you giggle, holding his face by both of your hands.

Jungkook cracks out a laugh, immediately breaking his composure. It wasn’t even that funny, but he’d always find everything funny when he’s high. He giggles his way through, crumbling the piece of paper in his hand.

“Be for real, that was not funny”, you laugh at the geeked out man in front of you. “You lost the game though. You’re laughing.”

Suddenly, Jungkook stiffens his posture and clears his voice. He’s back to acting serious again, which made you slap his face jokingly.

“You’ve lost already!” But he shakes his head in deny. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh uh.”

“Nuh U”— you shut him up with a kiss.

“I’ll still give you sucky sucky because you’re my good boy, okay?” You palm his hard on through his boxers.

“Hey, I’m the dominant here!”

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ JK getting mad at his girlfriend whenever she buys things with her own money.

“I missed your cute ass room.” He said with a beaming smile on his face.

“You were here last week, idiot.” You slap the back of his head.

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“I miss you even when you’re with me, I miss you always, you know that.”

“Corny.” You laugh at him.

“I know you like that shit.” Jungkook pokes your waist, then a small kiss on your shoulder.

He examines your room as if he’s never been there. But then, pauses.

“Where’d you get this from?,” he walks over to your newly bought expensive white fur caught hanging in your closet.

Jungkook had almost each and every single clothing piece of yours memorised. Mainly because he’s bought almost all of them for you. But this one, certainly, he did not buy.

“Uhh, the store…” you bite your lip.

“What store?”

“Heh.” You knew where he was as going with this.

“Heh? Yeah? What store?” He questions again.

“‘Kay, I’m sorry.” You frown.

“I hate when you don’t use my card. I’ve given you my BLACK card, Y/n. You really can buy anything, big or small. Don’t piss me off.” His eyebrows are furrowed as he leans against your wall, staring at you with a big mean glare. You felt like a child being scolded for taking candy.

“I’ve told you about this already—“

“And I’ve told you about this already too.” He cuts you off. “My card is yours, your card is yours, okay?” He examines my face for expressions of defeat, acceptance. But finds none.

“I don’t want to spend your family’s hard earned money. And yours. It just doesn’t feel right. Plus, what am I going to spend my own money on?” Jungkook rolls his eyes at your question, probably finding it utterly stupid and insane. Who wouldn’t accept free money? You, you wouldn’t.

“Don’t give a fuck. Use my card from now on or I’ll get your card disabled.” He shrugs it off and walks out of your room.

What! WHAT!

“What do you mean you’ll disable my card?!”, you shout, “Jungkook!! Stop!! What the fuck!!” You scream.

꩜ .ᐟ ⋆˚࿔ Secretly recording Jungkook who loves to get baby talked

You scroll on your phone absentmindly (lies), while secretly keeping an eye on your boyfriend. His head rests between your thighs, laying there comfortably as he enjoyed whatever anime on the tv.

You think of how you’re going to secretly set up your phone and record him. Hm. Biting your lip, concentrated, you hide the phone behind your pillow and made sure that the camera would be peaking out.

Okay, perfect.

You start by slowly caressing his hair, running your fingers down his locks and massaging his scalp. You made sure to scratch his scalp with your new set of nails, which he paid for. You know he likes that. Like, a lot.

Jungkook moans, his head’s weight fully dropped down to your thigh. You hum back, hands now moving from his scalp to his face. You trace his cheekbones, his nose, his eyebrows, his lips—you even teasingly put a finger in.

Sometimes, you remember he’s your boyfriend and that you could touch him however you wanted and that makes you the happiest girl in the world.

You go on to trace his eyes, his eyelashes then ears. Jungkook hums in relaxation, giving his full body control to you. He looooves when you did this. You go on to pull on his cheeks a couple times, and then ;

“Come up.” You tap his head with the tip of your nail.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything back, but raises himself up from the position below and turns around to lay in between your arms.

Let the fun begin, heh.

“I love you.” You tell him, with a wet kiss on his cheek.

He flashes his boyish smile at you, eyes fully locked on yours as he traced your lips, “I love you more, baby.”

“But you’re my baby.” You soften your voice a little bit, squeezing his nose teasingly. “No, you are.” He argues back. “No, wrong, you’re my baby.” Jungkook cracks a smile again, a small giggle escaping his lips, “Fine. I am.” He finally surrenders.

You squeal, beginning to place kisses all over his sweet face. Lips, nose, cheeks—everywhere. You shut his eyes, just so you could kiss his eyelids.

“I love you so much, my little baby.”

Jungkook groans into your neck, overwhelmed with all the affection as his cheeks took a sudden colour to red.

“Awh, you’re blushing! Who’s making you blush, hm?” You squeeze his cheeks really hard. I know that hurts.

“Ywu.” He manages to say one word.

“What’s my name?”

“Y/n—mmph”

“No. That’s not my name.”

“Mwomwy.”

Wait, LMAO— you weren’t expecting him to call you that right away. You thought it would have to take a lot of convincing, I guess not.

You kiss his glossy lips as a reward, finally letting go of his cheeks. You suffocate the man from hugging him really really tight, chest pressed right to his face. I don’t think he’s having a bad time though. His face was right on your boobs, fully dived in.

“Baby, you’re making me feel less of a man”, he says on a serious note, hands travelling down to rest on top of your booty shorts.

“It’s okay, nobody’s gonna know anyway. They don’t have to know that you’re my babyboy.”

“Stop.” He groans, arms how fully around your waist as he avoids eye contact. He’s shy.

“My baby star candy.” You kiss his hair again. “Look up to me, baby.” You tap his face, raising his chin up. Jungkook hums, making eye contact with you now.

“Who’s mommy’s good boy?”

You are trying so hard not to laugh. It’s so hard. Fuck. You stiffen your face, take in a big gulp and stay still. Jungkook looks at you weird, almost like he’s going to call you weird, but then, he just lets out a big massive gigantic groan and says—

“Uugghhh, me.”

You could see the visible disgust in his face, but also you could tell that he kind of liked it. LMAO. You can’t hold it in anymore, so you burst out laughing. You laugh so much you have to hold your stomach in.

“Yeah, you like that?”

“Maybe—HEY WHAT THE FUCK!”

The idiot finally spots the camera hiding behind the pillow, screaming as he jumps off your body. You can’t stop laughing. You’re still laughing. Holy shit. You hold your stomach tighter, trying to breath.

“Haa—haaa, fuck, I can’t breath, AHAHAHAHA”

Jungkook screams too, grabbing the phone. He clears his voice before speaking.

“What the actual fuck, Y/n? What the fuck?” He stops the recording and throws the phone away. “Not funny.”

You’re still laughing, eyes closed tight with a big smile on your face. Jungkook thinks you look the prettiest like this.

“Never do that ever again. You are also not posting that anywhere.” He says with a stern voice.

“Okay, but you were into it, right?” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“…maybe.”

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 “you’re spinning me around, my feet are off the ground!^^”

You shiver because of the extreme weather (it’s just snowing), hands tightly wrapped around yourself as you squeeze yourself into your boyfriend’s body.

“It’s cold.” You’re shivering.

You tug onto your skirt—yes, skirt in the damn cold—and pull it down to cover your thighs as if it’s going to do anything.

“No shit”, your boyfriend laughs, warm hands rubbing your waist under your shirt. But his hands leave you for a brief moment and sneaks under your skirt and hooks his fingers onto your underwear right on your asscheeks and pulls the stretchy material down. You shriek, hitting his stomach as a reaction.

“This barely covers your ass. Why are you wearing a shortass-barely-a-skirt-skirt in winter? You dumbfuck.” He flicks your forehead.

“It’s for the fashion, Jungkook. At least I look good.” You huff.

“Yeah, sure, you look good but you’re freezing your ass off in this snow. I even feel bad to throw snowballs at you because you’re shivering already.” He squeezes the back of your thighs that were cold as fuck, like meat put in the freezer.

“Let’s do the thing now! The video!” You remind Jungkook, hitting on his chest as a signal.

He nods his head with a groan, placing your phone on the car so that it stands up right.

“What do I do again?” He looks at you with a slightly nervous lip bite.

“Follow the lyrics and then pick me up when it says my feet are off the ground, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You giggle and press the little red button—record—so that the video would start playing.

“ you’re spinning me around ”

Jungkook giggles, pulling you to him by your waist so that your body would smash against his. He grabs your other hand, intertwining it with his and his other hand on your hip, yours on his shoulder, he dances with you, spinning you around along with him.

“ my feet are off the ground ”

With a laugh, his face fully scrunched up, the beautiful man whom you’re in love with hooks his strong arms under your thighs and lifts you up, completely effortlessly. You squeak, feet wiggling and hanging while your upper body clinged to his. You smile at the camera, face heating up fully.

“ I don’t know where I stand

do you have to hold my hand ? ”

He puts you down quickly, hand patting the top of your ass as a way of saying “good job”. You stand next to him with a big smile as the lyric plays. Then he holds your hand really tightly, swinging it back and forth to great lengths.

“ you mystify me

you mystify me

you mystify me ”

As the lyric switches, he pulls you in again and kisses you, hard. Lips smacking against eachother, he pulls you into a deep kiss full of love and passion. At the second mystify me, Jungkook bends you back by your back, deepening the kiss. He put his hand on his cheek, thumb on your jaw as he lifts his face up to kiss you even deeper. By the last mystify me, Jungkook pulls back, a string of saliva connecting your lips together still.

Your cheeks were flushed red, quite literally, and so were his. His lips were glossy and his eyes twinkled like stars. There was a big cheesy smile on your face, you felt like a child who’s just had her first kiss ever. You love him so much.

You shyly take steps forward to stop recording the video on his phone. Jungkook looks at you, proud, because he’s just made his girl shy again.

“Shy? What? Like you weren’t sucking my balls off last night?”

Why does he have to ruin everything.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ calling him “daddy” as a prank (right in front of your dad)

It took a while for Jungkook to earn your father’s trust. He had to work for it. Bring you home on time, show up and talk to him, engage with the rest of your family—he had to learn to express his love for you really loud in front of your family. Once he fully gained your father’s trust, he was automatically invited to every event your family hosted.

And, that’s no different from right now. Your family was hosting a barbecue. A lot of your family was there, your cousins, uncles and aunts, almost everyone. It was always fun to spend moments together as family. Jungkook was practically family at this point :).

; Which was perfect! For your prank! Of course!

As of now, you were waiting for your boyfriend and dad to end up in the same place.

You were in your kitchen, snacking on some strawberries while being a little bent over on the kitchen isle. Without getting noticed, your boyfriend slithers behind you and creeps his dirty hands up your dress to squeeze your ass cheeks hard. What the fuck! You scream!

“Ack! Jungkook, you scared me!” You whine.

He snickers, places kissing on your shoulder blade while his hands made their way around your waist. “Mmhhhm,” he inhales in the scent of your perfume, letting his full body weight fall onto yours. You ruffle his hair and feed him a strawberry. Jungkook watches the way the juice of the fruit falls onto your neck, so he just lols his tongue out to lick it off, with a smirk of course.

“No, they’ll see.” You warn him.

“Mhm, no.” He murmurs into your neck. His voice was almost inaudible, just audible enough for you to hear it. It was so small and breathy, so needy.

Jungkook breaths into your neck, still kissing you there, leaving light wet pecks on your flesh. “You’re going to get us caught, mh, Jungkook.”

He shakes away your thoughts, fingertips moving lower and lifting up your dress. He taps your clothed clit with the back of his fingers, sending a shiver down your spine.

“No, not in public,” you place your hand on top of his, but don’t move it, and let him do whatever. Jungkook chuckles at your submission, which he expected, of course. But just as he was about to put his hand inside, your little sister screams as she runs into the kitchen.

You both flinch, terrified, screaming! Jungkook withdraws his hand back, covering his actions by just coughing really loud as if he was trying to scratch his throat.

“I want strawberries!” She shouts.

“Yeah, baby? Okay, wait.” You begin cutting up some strawberries for her. In the meantime, your father enters the room, suspiciously eyeing you and Jungkook.

“Daddy, sissy is cutting me strawberries.”

Your dad nods in approval, lifting up your sister and placing her on the kitchen isle.

Now, you never used the nickname “daddy” as much in the bedroom. But whenever you did, Jungkook would be obsessed. He’d beg you to call him that again frequently, but you never did, often finding it ‘cringe’ and ‘weird’. Therefore, you weren’t quite sure whether he would follow the command or not. But heh, worth the try.

“Daddy, can you grab me a bowl?”

In instinct, your father turns around to grab a bowl from the cupboards. But another thing catches his attention, it’s how Jungkook’s reaching for the exact same bowl he was reaching for. They both pause in the moment, looking at eachother’s faces with absolute horror plastered across theirs.

“What the fuck—” your dad exclaims before your sister cuts him off, “—daddy, bad word!”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He apologises to your sister, swatting Jungkook’s hand away as he grabs the bowl and places it in front of you.

He’s glaring at the two of you as of now. Jungkook is left flustered, and startled, and sort of angry in a way because he knew you planned this. He darts his eyes at you very sharply.

You give him a small smile. Jungkook tries to escape the situation by walking away, but—

“Jungkook, stay.”

Oh fuck.

Your dad was always a strict man. He wasn’t a crazy type strict, but still very much protective over his daughters.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea, you just knew you were going to receive a good scolding from Jungkook later.

Your sister finally walks away, munching on her sweet strawberries. Your father, however, taps his fingers on the table, looking between both of you. You’re both silent, like 2 children having caught doing something really sneaky.

“I’m going to pretend like I didn’t hear and witness that.” He darts his eyes at Jungkook.

“Secondly, I hope you are using protection.”

Then he just leaves.

Fuck, you are so embarrassed. You look at Jungkook with a small smile, while he gives you a death glare.

The thing is, dad, we are not using protection either. #rawnextquestion.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 ༘⋆ ִ ₊⊹ dream blunt rotation

You sigh, watching your boyfriend roll another blunt. You observe each and every one of his moments carefully. The way he rolls his filter paper, the way he licks the end of the paper to seal it all together. He did it so precisely. He always did. Your boyfriend was, like, the master blunt roller. You in the other hand could never master it. He always rolled your blunts for you.

Jungkook taps the almost completely rolled blunt on the table about 10 times so that all the weed would be inside the rolled paper, then fills it to the top with a bit more weed.

“Hm.” He hands the blunt over to you, “you want me to roll more, baby?”

You shake your head, “this is enough.”

You light up the blunt with—heh, your super cute hello kitty lighter which, by the way, Jungkook decorated for you. Yeah, he bought all the little charms and decorated the lighter for you. You’re in love with this man.

You light the end of the blunt, and put the other side in your mouth to take a small inhale. You exhale the air out, snuggling into your boyfriend’s couch. You were staying over at his place, no way in hell would you smoke at yours. Only in your room, that too if your parents weren’t home. Jungkook’s parents didn’t care. They knew he did all sorts of things. They didn’t really care as long as he did his academics well, which he did.

Jungkook takes an inhale out of his joint, head thrown back as he sighs, eyes closed. Suddenly, he starts giggling.

“What?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“I love you so much. I get emotional when I’m smoking, I don’t fucking know why, but I love you, you know that.” His cheeks take a shade of light pink.

You’re cheeeeeeezzzziiinnnnggggg. There’s a small giggle out of you, and you scoot closer to kiss his cheek and drag a smoke out of your joint as well.

“I love you more, you know that too. And you’re forever going to be my blunt roller slash plug.” You laugh.

“Jesus, I should start making you pay.”

“That’s so odd for you to say.”

Jungkook laughs, agreeing.

“Jungkook?”

He hums, taking an inhale.

“What’s your dream blunt rotation?” You ask, taking another hint.

“Dream what?” Jungkook laughs, finding the question absolutely ridiculous.

“Like, if you could share your shit with anyone, who? Like, a group of people, mhm?”

He laughs again and grabs your hand that was placed on your thigh and kisses the back of it, “you. Why would I wanna be smoking with anyone else besides you?”

“You smoke with your friends.”

“Well, yeah”—he groans, “but like, you’re my dream, you know? You’re my…dream blunt rotation? Whatever you call it.” He declares his love for you again in rather a more romantic way.

“I’m your dream?,” you giggle, lashes batting. Now it’s your turn to kiss the back of his hand. You stare at your boyfriends big doe eyes as he hummed in response. You take another hit of the joint, keeping the smoke still in your mouth, and pull him into your body. You kiss Jungkook with passion, your saliva mingling together as the smoke transfers down to his mouth. Your boyfriend groans and breaks the kiss to inhale and exhale the smoke.

Both of you were starting to sweat despite the A/C, and the weed was starting to take a toll on you as well. You take another inhale, eyes batting to shut down. “Oh my god,” you moan, head falling against Jungkook’s shoulder.

“What’s your dream blunt rotation?” He asks back.

“Well,” you begin, “Robert Pattinson, Lee Jong-suk, Woo Do-Hwah—”

“Actually shut the fuck up.” Jungkook shuts you up with a harsh slap to your thigh, making you wince, followed by a giggle.

“‘Kay, sorry. They’re hot though.”

“What about me?” There’s a big fat pout on his face.

“You’re hotter, you’re my husband.” You give him a big fat smile, and a big fat wet kiss on his forehead.

“I think I’m hard.”

And you look down and see a big fat monster tent staring right back at you.

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Roblox with your boyfriend / headcannons

Jungkook never played Roblox until you forced him to do so. He first laughed at you and called you childish for still playing Roblox, fast forward sometimes he begs you to play it with him.

You got into Roblox through your little sister Evie of course. She’d always ask you to play dress to impress with her, and who are you to say no? That’s when you felt like dragging Jungkook into this.

He would always supply you an endless amount of robux. You and Evie, of course. His account however would only have like 5 robux left, whilst yours was like 10k all the time. You had access to his Roblox account, so you’d randomly log into his account and change his avatar a bit here and there.

He also only had two friends on Roblox, that would be you and Evie. For some reason, he had a bunch of followers on Roblox. He always wondered why, since he never even played like that. You had about 200 friends on roblox though. And like a bunch of followers. LOL.

Moving onto the games you play, it ranges from cute girly games to horror games. Most of the time, it’s always dress to impress. Jungkook would always call it boring but also yell whenever he doesn’t place.

You’d play arsenal, mm2, doors, mocker, dead silence, hello kitty café, royale high—likewise.

Also, don’t tell anyone, but sometimes whenever you guys are hanging out, you’d ask him “hey, wanna have e sex?” and go on LifeTogether on Roblox and do it there for shits and giggles. You always found it funny, and he just did whatever would make his girlfriend happy. happy wife = happy life. Oh, and of course you have real sex after^^.

Everytime another headless gets deleted, Jungkook would just spend like 800 robux to buy you another. He’s so cute, you love him so much.

You and Jungkook would have cute matching Roblox fits. His would be all pink and cute, he didn’t care since it was Roblox. You guys would deffo get labelled as a “corny Roblox couple” LOL.

Jungkook’s favourite game though, as corny as it sounds, unfortunately, is dahood💔. You hate that game passionately from the bottom of your soul but he loves it. He logs in and starts fights with randos. Sometimes he would kill you and carry you around the place. He’s done some cute things though. Like once, he planted dahood flowers all over the place and wrote ‘I love you’ on the wall using dahood graffiti.

outfit inspo 4 u guys + dti sneak peak :

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ^ྀི the topic of kids !

“Jungkook?” You ask your boyfriend, who just hums at you. He’s sleepy.

“You ever think of kids?” Your voice is sleepy as you sleep.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, “with you? Yeah, all the time. Why do you ask?”

It feels nice. It feels really nice to know that he feels the same way about you. He also wants to have children with you. Not now, for sure, but one day.

“I fantasise about our future a lot. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I’ll make chop suey out of your dick and feed it to the sharks if you do.” You threaten him, followed by a yawn. Jungkook just laughs, the sound of his soft laugh echoing from one year to another. You love the sound of it. So, so, so incredibly much.

“You’d have to kill me to make me leave you, my beautiful baby Y/n. Even so, I’d come haunt you as a ghost. ‘M never leaving you alone.”

“You’re gonna make me cry.” You say as your fingers fondle with the gold chain around his neck. “How many kids do you want?”

“Hmm,” he thinks for a moment, “how many does mommy want? I’d like to have as many as you’d want to pop out” ; he ends his sentence with a laugh.

“Mommy wants at least 3.”

He nods, hand patting the crown of your head. “‘Kay, daddy agrees too.”

“You think…I’ll be a good mom?” Your words are a tad bit slurred as the drowsiness is getting to you really bad, but you still ask your question.

“Is that a question? You’re the most patient person I know. You’re the most genuine and kindest person I’ve ever met. Sometimes I don’t understand why you’re still with me because I can be such an asshole sometimes. You’re like, the angel that I was blessed with. You’re the light to my life, the sun to my moon, I don’t know brah”—he pauses and holds you tighter and murmurs, “you know how I feel about you,” into your neck.

You giggle, your grip tightening around your plushy as you blushed. “What are you? A poet?”

“For you, yeah.”

“You’re making me horny. Let’s make a football team.”

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | taking away their food - tiktok trend

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri (comment if you'd like to see other drivers or feel free to drop into my inbox!) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested) : taking away their meal while they are still eating to see their reaction...

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 3490

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : when i tell you i love these tiktok trend requests, i love them...! <3

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max were on vacation at a beautiful beachside resort. unlike max, who preferred to stay offline, you were chronically online and had seen the recent trend of taking away people’s food while they were eating. what better way to have some fun than to try it on your husband?

max had a relatively short temper, but he was always patient with you. that’s why you couldn’t wait to see his reaction when his food was suddenly taken away…especially in an expensive restaurant.

after placing your orders, you excuse yourself. “i’ll be right back, babe, just have to use the restroom.”

instead, you hurry over to your waiter, who isn’t too busy at the moment. slipping her a generous tip, you ask, “while he’s eating, can you take away his food?”

she laughs, immediately catching on. “i’ve seen the trend! i’d love to do it—especially to max.”

trying to contain your excitement, you make your way back to the table, casually setting up your phone to record. the food arrives, and you both dig in.

as you eat, you casually chat about the upcoming f1 season. “are you excited?” you ask between bites.

“yeah, but testing is gonna be interesting. new regulations could change a lot,” max replies, focused on his food.

then, right in the middle of a bite, the waiter swoops in and takes his plate away.

max freezes. you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“what the hell?” you say, feigning confusion.

max blinks before his expression shifts. “yeah, what the hell? i want to speak to their manager. what are they, fucking idiots?” his voice rises, his irritation clear.

that’s it—you can’t hold it in anymore. not wanting the staff to get in trouble, you call the waiter back, who quickly returns with his dish. “my apologies,” she says, trying to keep a straight face.

before max can get another word out, you burst into laughter. “it was just a prank, my love. an extremely funny one at that.”

max sighs, shaking his head. “you know i was hungry…”

you roll your eyes. “we had a snack before coming here. don’t lie.”

he huffs, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching. “you’re lucky you’re my wife and not another driver.”

you grin. totally worth it.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

“are you excited to see the family again?” you ask lewis as you adjust your dress, glancing at him through the mirror.

lewis nods, holding out his tie. “always excited,” he says, smiling as you step closer to help him fix it.

you both make your way to the family dinner, where you're greeted warmly. everyone loves lewis so much that they always prepare a vegan-friendly meal just for him—without making a fuss about it.

at the gathering, you and lewis naturally drift apart. he’s with your father and uncles, deep in a discussion about sports, while you join the women in the kitchen, chatting and catching up.

your cousin pulls you aside, giggling. “have you seen that tiktok trend where you take their food mid-meal just to see their reaction?”

you smirk, already plotting. “oh, i have an idea.”

once everyone is seated and eating, conversation flows easily. then, mid-meal, you casually get up, walk over to lewis—who’s completely engrossed in a conversation with your uncle—and, without a word, take his plate away.

you turn on your heel and walk straight to the kitchen, leaving him staring after you, utterly speechless. the entire table falls silent. the women bite their lips, trying not to laugh, while the men exchange confused glances.

lewis clears his throat, placing his napkin down. “if you all will pardon me for just a second.”

he follows you into the kitchen, where he finds you at the sink, rinsing a plate. his brows furrow, but there’s amusement in his voice. “love… what are you doing?”

you don’t turn around just yet, keeping up the act. “what do you mean? i thought you were done.”

lewis tilts his head, his expression both concerned and affectionate. “darling, i’d barely even touched my food.”

you finally turn to face him, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “i know,” you admit, pulling his plate out of the microwave with a grin. “i just wanted to see your reaction.”

lewis exhales a deep sigh, crossing his arms. “and what exactly did you think was going to happen? that i’d sit there, starving, while you pranced around with my dinner?”

you shrug innocently. “honestly, i thought you’d be more dramatic. maybe throw a little fit, demand justice, give a speech about how a man’s meal should never be taken from him.”

lewis raises a brow, lips twitching with amusement. “oh, so you expected a whole performance?”

you nod. “at the very least, i thought you’d stand up on your chair and make a passionate plea for your food’s return.”

lewis chuckles, shaking his head as he steps closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

you hand him back his plate with a cheeky smile. “and yet, you married me.”

he takes it, setting it down on the counter before pulling you into his arms. “mm, don’t remind me. i think i should’ve put ‘no pranks’ in the vows.”

you gasp in mock offense. “excuse me? that would’ve been a dealbreaker.”

lewis laughs, resting his forehead against yours. “then i guess i really am stuck with you.”

you grin. “lucky you.”

he shakes his head, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before picking up his plate. “lucky me, indeed. now, if you’ll excuse me, i’d like to actually eat my food before you come up with another ridiculous idea.”

you smirk, watching as he walks back to the table. “no promises.”

ʚ・george russell

george loves your home-cooked meals. after a long day of racing and testing, he always comes home with an empty stomach, ready to devour whatever you’ve made.

and lucky for him, despite spending most of your day rotting in bed on tiktok, you still managed to cook one of his favorite meals. so, when he walks through the door, you greet him with a warm smile, already setting the table.

“smells amazing,” he sighs, dropping a kiss to your forehead before heading off to freshen up.

once he’s cleaned up and comfortable, you both sit down and start eating. conversation flows easily as he tells you about his day—mostly car talk that you only half understand but love listening to anyway.

then, mid-meal, right when george is in the middle of a big bite, you casually grab his plate and stand up.

“i’ll just be right back,” you say nonchalantly, walking toward the kitchen.

george freezes, fork in midair, watching you disappear with his food. at first, he just blinks, processing what just happened. then, he calls after you.

“love?”

you stay silent, waiting.

another second passes.

“babe?” his voice is a little more confused this time.

still nothing from you.

now you hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up, followed by hurried footsteps coming toward the kitchen. you grab a spoon and take a big, dramatic bite of his food just as he walks in.

he stops in the doorway, hands on his hips, staring at you like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal.

“love,” he says, slow and measured, “what are you doing?”

you make a big show of chewing, eyes closing as you hum in satisfaction. “mm. wow. this is really good.”

george blinks, looking between you and his stolen plate. “yeah, i know. that’s why i was eating it.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “honestly, i don’t think you appreciated it enough. i just had to double-check how good it was.”

he folds his arms. “by eating my dinner?”

you nod, taking another bite just to test his patience.

george lets out a long, dramatic sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “after everything i’ve done today—hours of training, media, testing—this is how you treat me?”

you smirk. “think of it as a lesson in patience.”

“oh, i’m very patient,” he argues, stepping closer, eyes narrowing. “but i will be getting my food back.”

before you can react, he lunges for the plate. you try to dodge, but george is quicker. he snatches it back, holding it above his head like a trophy.

“ha!” he exclaims victoriously.

you pout. “that was rude.”

george smirks, taking an exaggerated bite right in front of you. “oh wow. this is really good.”

you gasp. “now you’re just mocking me.”

he winks. “just had to double-check how good it was.”

you groan, swatting at him as he laughs and walks triumphantly back to the table, plate in hand.

“love you,” he calls over his shoulder.

you huff, crossing your arms. “yeah, yeah. enjoy your stolen dinner.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

carlos thought of you as a saint—you could do no wrong in his eyes. and honestly, you could probably count on one hand the number of times he’s gotten mad at you… actually, scratch that. it’s zero.

this man loved, and he loved hard.

one of your favorite things to do together was cooking, but nothing beat grilling outside when the weather was hot. it became a little tradition—firing up the grill, making burgers, and just talking about the most random things.

today’s topic? trying to convince carlos to leave formula one so he could stay home with you every day.

“mi amor, that sounds like a great idea, but…” he gestures dramatically toward your beautiful backyard, “we would not have a home if i did that.”

you sigh dramatically. “we could live a simple life. maybe raise some chickens, grow our own vegetables…”

carlos gives you an amused look as he flips a burger. “you scream when a bug lands on you. you think you’re ready for farm life?”

“fair point.” you nod solemnly, making him laugh.

once the burgers are ready, you both sit outside on the deck, enjoying your food and the warm evening air. conversation flows as usual—lighthearted, full of teasing and laughter.

then, mid-bite, right when carlos is at peak burger enjoyment, you casually reach over and take the burger straight from his hands. not the plate. just the burger.

you don’t even wait for his reaction before standing up and walking into the house, taking a big bite as you go.

carlos blinks, completely caught off guard.

“amor?” his voice is laced with confusion and betrayal.

you don’t answer. you just keep walking.

then he snaps out of it.

“amor!” he calls louder, pushing his chair back as he stands. “come back here!”

you hear his footsteps on the deck as you disappear into the house, stuffing another bite into your mouth just as he reaches the doorway.

“oh, you’re in trouble now.”

you sprint toward the kitchen, but carlos is faster. within seconds, he wraps his arms around you from behind, tackling you onto the couch as you let out a squeal.

“no! carlos! it’s mine now!” you laugh, trying to take another bite, but he pins your arms, shaking his head.

“i trusted you,” he says dramatically, his face hovering inches from yours.

“and you love me,” you counter, mouth half full.

he sighs, looking at the last pathetic remains of his burger in your hand. “that was my best one yet…”

you pat his cheek, swallowing. “it was amazing, really.”

carlos groans before flopping off of you, lying on his back on the couch with a pout. “now what am i supposed to eat?”

you sit up, stretching. “i guess i could make you another one.”

he side-eyes you. “you guess?”

you grin. “fine, fine. i will make you another one.”

carlos huffs but follows you back to the kitchen, watching as you start grilling again. after a moment, he walks up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles.

you smirk. “i know.”

carlos laughs, kissing your cheek before finally getting his fresh, non-stolen burger.

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles leclerc is the definition of polite. he treats everyone with kindness, never raises his voice unnecessarily, and avoids causing a scene at all costs.

so he definitely wasn’t prepared for what was about to happen to his dinner—at his favorite restaurant, no less.

before walking to your table, you quietly slipped the waiter a generous tip and explained your plan. the waiter grinned, fully on board, and assured you they’d pull it off perfectly.

by the time you sat down across from charles, you had to bite back a smile.

as you waited for the food to arrive, conversation flowed easily. you leaned in slightly. “do you think i should start traveling with you during the season?”

charles’ eyes lit up. “of course,” he said immediately. “i would love that. and we could bring leo too—he’d love it.”

you laughed. “leo on a private jet, living the life.”

charles nodded. “exactly. he’s already spoiled, but this would make him impossible to deal with.”

the food finally arrived, and as always, charles looked delighted as he took his first bite. you chatted here and there, but you were mostly just waiting for the moment.

then, just as charles lifted another forkful of food and put it into his mouth, the waiter swooped in and—without hesitation—took his plate away.

charles froze mid-chew, blinking in confusion.

you clenched your jaw to keep from laughing as his brows furrowed, his eyes following his plate as it disappeared.

“amore,” he exhaled, swallowing his bite as he turned to you. “what the hell just happened?”

you shrugged, pretending to be just as confused. “i have no idea.”

charles sighed, rubbing his forehead before muttering something in french. you caught bits of it—something about karma for not finishing his meal last time.

still holding back your laughter, you watched as he looked toward the waiter, debating whether or not to say something. charles wasn’t one to cause a scene, but this? this was testing his patience.

“excuse me?” he finally called out, voice still polite but definitely stressed.

you couldn’t hold it in any longer. letting out a laugh, you waved the waiter back over, who immediately returned with his plate.

charles looked between you and the waiter, realization dawning. “no…”

you grinned. “oui.”

the waiter set his plate down. “désolé, monsieur leclerc, but it was a request.”

charles turned to you, eyes narrowing. “baby…”

you beamed. “it’s just a prank!”

he stared at you for a moment before shaking his head, exhaling through his nose. “you…” he pointed his fork at you, squinting. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you leaned forward on your elbows. “i know.”

still mumbling in french about betrayal, charles picked up his fork again and resumed eating while you giggled, already thinking about what prank to pull next.

ʚ・lando norris

lando loves eating out with you—especially at small, lowkey urban spots where no one bothers him and the food is always good.

tonight was no different. after placing your order, you both slid into a booth, and lando immediately started rambling about something completely random.

“so i was thinking,” he said, gesturing animatedly, “if we ever get, like, really lost somewhere—like, no signal, no gps—do you think i’d be able to navigate us out just by looking at the stars?”

you snorted. “lando, you can’t even navigate a grocery store.”

“that’s different,” he argued. “they put all the good stuff at the back on purpose. it’s a scam.”

before you could argue further, your food arrived—a fresh, steaming-hot pizza.

“finally,” lando sighed happily, grabbing a slice immediately.

you both started eating, chatting between bites, until suddenly, just as lando reached for another slice, the cashier you tipped earlier casually walked over, picked up the entire pizza, and walked away.

lando froze, mouth slightly open, staring at the now-empty table.

“hey, i was eat—” he started, but before he could finish, the guy was already gone, disappearing into the back.

his head turned slowly toward you, utterly confused. “what… just happened?”

you glanced down at your own half-eaten slice, pretending to inspect it. “do you think they took it away because the pizza was bad?” you asked, struggling to hold in your laughter.

lando frowned, tilting his head. “i mean… maybe? but we already ate some. wouldn’t they have warned us first?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized it too late—maybe it’s, like, radioactive or something.”

lando blinked, deep in thought. “well… i feel fine. for now.”

then, shaking his head, he pushed his chair back. “i’ll just go talk to them—”

before he could stand, the cashier reappeared, grinning as he placed the pizza right back on the table. “enjoy your food.”

lando just stared at the guy, then at the pizza, then at you.

“were we not already…?” his brows furrowed.

that was it. you couldn’t hold it in anymore. you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach as lando continued to sit there, completely lost.

“what?” he asked, blinking. “what’s so funny?”

still laughing, you managed to get out, “i—i told them to do it. it was a prank! for tiktok!”

lando’s jaw dropped. “you set me up?”

you nodded, still giggling.

he exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “wow. betrayal. right in front of my pizza.”

“i had to,” you grinned. “your face was priceless.”

lando grabbed his slice, taking a big bite while still glaring at you playfully. “i hope tiktok enjoys this, because i’m not sharing my pizza with you anymore.”

you gasped. “lando—”

“nope.” he turned away, holding his slice protectively. “find another victim.”

you just kept laughing as he ate, shaking his head at you—but deep down, you knew he’d totally get you back for this.

ʚ・oscar piastri

there’s nothing better than a good pasta, so while you and oscar were in italy, you decided to have some fun. recently, you’d been seeing the tiktok trend where waiters take food away mid-meal, and what better place to pull it off than in the land of pasta itself?

tipping isn’t really the norm in italy, but you still managed to sneak the waiter a little cash. using your very broken high school italian, you did your best to explain the prank. it wasn’t easy—your italian was atrocious—but thankfully, after showing him the tiktok, he got the idea. with a knowing grin, he agreed.

when you and oscar sat down, you could barely contain your excitement. the pasta finally arrived, steaming hot, and you both eagerly dug in.

as always, conversation flowed easily between the two of you. oscar was rambling about something—probably a weird f1 fact or a debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza—when you glanced at the waiter and gave him a small, knowing smile.

that was his cue.

without hesitation, the waiter swooped in, grabbed oscar’s plate, and walked away.

oscar froze, fork still mid-air, a single strand of pasta dangling from it. his eyes followed his plate as it disappeared into the kitchen.

“did… did my food just get stolen?” he asked slowly, turning to you with the most genuinely confused expression you had ever seen.

you pressed your lips together to keep from laughing. “maybe… do you think something was wrong with it?”

oscar frowned, looking down at the pasta still on your plate. “but we’re eating the same thing…” he blinked. “was mine poisoned or something?”

you shrugged. “maybe they realized too late and saved your life.”

oscar squinted at you. “so they just left yours?”

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop from laughing. “maybe they don’t care if i get poisoned.”

his jaw dropped. “that’s messed up.” he started shifting in his seat, glancing toward the kitchen. “i should probably go—”

just as he was about to stand up, the waiter returned, placing his plate back down in front of him with a grin. “buon appetito.”

oscar looked at the waiter, then at you, then back at his pasta. his face was priceless.

“wait, what?” he looked genuinely lost. “was i… not supposed to have it? were we not already eating?”

that was it—you burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

“oscar,” you wheezed between laughs, “it was just a prank! for tiktok!”

he blinked. once. twice. then, realization hit.

“oh, my god.” he groaned, rubbing his face. “you set me up? in italy?”

you wiped a tear from your eye. “yes, and it was so worth it.”

oscar shook his head, sighing dramatically before twirling some pasta onto his fork. “unbelievable. i thought i was actually banned from eating for a second.”

“you should’ve seen your face,” you giggled.

he rolled his eyes, taking a bite. “you’re lucky i love you.”

you smirked. “i know.”

oscar chuckled, pointing his fork at you. “but just so you know, you will pay for this.”

you shrugged, twirling your own pasta. “looking forward to it.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[goldsbitch]

Home is where Dad's car is

One of Lando's twins dramatically announces she's running away from home. This turns his afternoon into a Monaco rescue mission.

this is inspired by a comment from @ynbutbetter on the Blink Once story and me completely misreading it

warning: none, domestic, light-hearted stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

Jumping back into work again has been a relief and burden at the same time. The ten-year-old twins are relentless and Y/N, with all the help she had due to Lando's comfortable financial situation, wanted to be part of both motherhood and career as much as she could.

She's received a lot of strange emails in her life. This one is about to rule them all.

From: Olivia Norris To: Mom & Dad CC: (no one, because traitors exist)

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Dear Mother and Father,

by the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr. Please do not be sad (I know this will be difficult).

I have thought long and hard about this decision—at least ten whole minutes—and I have realized that I can no longer stay. I love you both (most of the time but Dad you really made me sad this time) but I have to follow my own path now

Do not try to find me.

Tell Maya that she is now the oldest child. This is a great responsibility. I hope she is ready.

Stay strong in my absence. -Olivia

Speed dial - Lando - and then two times more, since the Husband of the Year can't seem to pick up his phone. A text pops up after Lando reclines the call.

We're streaming, is it urgent?

Y/N knows this automatic message all too damn well. No matter how many years him and Max F. managed to pile up, streaming video games time stayed like a sacred constant. It's great when the husband has a hobby. It's not so great when it ends up in him losing one of the kids in the meantime.

She texts him back. Headache. That's what being a mother of two kids and married to an overgrown child is on a typical Wednesday afternoon is.

//

Lando is having a great time. Snack in front of him, controller in hand, headset on—he's in his zone. He's been carrying Max Fewtrell through a game for the past hour, and despite his teammate's absolute lack of skill, it's been a solid session. A nice off season afternoon.

"Bro, you're literally throwing," Max groans through the headset as his in-game character spectacularly fails to complete a simple task.

Lando snickers, eyes glued to the screen. "Nah, mate, you're just bad. Hold on, I gotta—oh, for f—" His phone vibrates on the table, lighting up with Y/N’s name.

He glances at it, sees the call, and immediately ignores it. Another call. Decline.

Third time. Decline again.

He hits the automatic reply. Y/N's reply is instant. CHECK YOUR EMAIL NOW

Lando frowns. What could possibly be so urgent that it requires an email check? His brain cycles through possibilities:

-Y/N booked them another family trip he forgot about. -She ordered something expensive and wants to justify it. -The school sent one of those "Just letting you know" emails about how the twins "express themselves too boldly" (which, in Lando’s opinion, is code for being just like him).

Still, an email? Seems excessive. Whatever. He'll check it.

"Oi, Max, gimme a sec," Lando muttera and opens his inbox app. He scrolls past junk mail, a McLaren PR update, some random sponsorship inquiry—ah, there.

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Lando snorts. Classic Olivia. Then he reads the first line.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr.

…Okay. He keeps reading. His eyebrows start to furrow.

I love you both (most of the time, but Dad, you really made me sad this time), but I have to follow my own path now

His stomach drops.

Wait. What?

Do not try to find me.

Lando launches forward in his chair, suddenly wide awake. Is this for real? He just saw her few minutes ago in their bedroom. Well, might have been like an hour at this point.

Panic is setting rent free in his brain. "Oi, Max—stream's over," he blurts out, shutting the game down.

"Huh? What? We're in the middle of a match!" is the last he hears of him. Lando kills the stream without another word. Email...His daughter has reached the point of sending him emails now. Parenting, it never stops surprising him. His hands fly over his phone as he immediately calls Y/N. She picks up before the first ring even finishes.

"Lando," she says, already exasperated.

"Remember when I said the girls are too young for emails?" he starts, trying to wrap his head around this.

"Lando, they need one for school, this is not up for discussion. But don't get sidetracked - any clue where she is right now?"

He's already on his way to the kids bedroom, wishing they'd bought a smaller apartment. "I'm checking now," he blurts out, trying to keep as much of his anxiety locked in. It's fine, probably nothing.

"I though you brought them home directly after school?" his wife asks and Lando is grateful that there is not a single drop of blame directed towards him. Team players. It was part of their vows and one of the most important aspects of their relationship.

"I did, we just made a quick stop at the mall to get some sweets and then we were off. No spoiling!" he retortes before Y/N has a chance to go on her usual don't-buy-them-things-just-because-they-ask rant. The fact that his wife does not laugh or comment suggests she's had enough time to bury herself in doubts about Olivia already.

Finally, he's at the girl's door, which eerily half-open. A rare instance since the time the twins managed to win over the right to owning a key to their own bedroom few months ago.

He steps in, carefully, phone still at his ear. "Maya?" The objectively calmer and less hot-headed daughter is sitting on her bed, unbothered and uninterested.

"What?" she replies without looking away from her game. It makes Lando bit infuriated, but he knows he's hardly the one to say anything about this topic.

"Maya, where is your sister?" he asks, loudly enough so that Y/N can also hear him.

Not even a glance. "Dunno."

Lando stares at her. "What do you mean, dunno?"

"She said she was running away." Tap, tap, swipe. Maya shrugs. "So I let her."

"You LET HER?!"

Maya finally looks up, confused and surprised by the change of tone. "Yeah? She was being dramatic. Again."

Lando runs fingers through his hair. "Maya, you’re supposed to STOP her from doing stuff like this!"

Maya shrugs. "She was really committed. Packed a bag and everything."

Lando’s brain short-circuits. His ten-year-old daughter ran away. And he didn’t even notice. He hears Y/N sigh heavily over the phone. "I’ll start calling around. You start looking for our child."

Lando, still in mild shock: "Right. Yes. Good plan."

First, he searches the whole apartment, every cabinet, every spot he remembers the kids using during their plays of hide and seek. He's not sure whether he's more mad at Liv, for bolting, or at Maya for being so chill about it. After few minutes, it's obvious, Olivia is not home. He calls the concierge. Nothing. How could they possibly miss a child strolling around with packed bag?

He retraces their steps back. Pick up at the school—short ride over to the small mall—they stopped at a bakery, looked in few shop windows, Lando had them give their opinions on few bracelet designs (The plan is to get everyone in the family one with a different stone color. It's a surprise for Y/N and the girls know it. A family gift, so technically not spoiling anyone.)—then they got home and Lando started streaming. What exactly made Liv run away? Flash of guilt washes him over. Did he say something mean? Maybe he should have called off the stream today. Is he being a bad father? Well, he is, he figures. His child ran away and sent an email specifically mentioning his name. Oh, god. Suddenly, he's regretting being the one to shut down the idea of having their kid's location on at all times. At the time, he argued since they're in Monaco, there wasn't a big probability of anything bad happening to them. Everyone knows everyone. He forgot to count in the fact his kids might one day have a mind of their own. He just wanted to give them some form of freedom.

Lando grabs his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts, heart pounding. Okay. Where would Olivia go? Who enables her nonsense? Who has snacks?

Who would let her rant dramatically without asking too many questions? He dials the first name that makes sense.

Max Verstappen pick up immediately. "Nope, she's not here, Y/N already called. Nice one though, how can you lose a child that loud?" Lando groans, this being the second time he's been beaten by one his family members today. "I didn't lose her, she left."

"Ah, so you’ve been out-parented by a ten-year-old?" he comments, like it's no big deal at all.

"Thanks Max, helpful as always. Let me know if you see her."

"Of course." Lando hangs up immediately.

He hopes he's the first one to call Oscar.

"Hey, Lando. What's up?" he's welcomed with moderately disinterested tone.

"Have you seen Olivia?" Lando blurts out, fighting the passage of time.

"Um. No? Not lately? Should I have?"

He figures that if she's been sitting on his couch right now, Oscar would probably not even notice. "Nah...She sort of ran away few minutes ago. She can't be far, but like..."

"Yeah, that's not good."

Lando thinks about finding new friends. "Excellent observation. Well, let me know if she shows up at your doorstep."

"Will do. Check the school? Maybe she went back?"

If Lando knows one thing, it's that wherever his daughter, his carbon copy, is, it's not back at school.

"Thanks. Once she shows up, I’m grounding her forever."

"Might not be the best way to convince her to come home, mate."

Lando hangs up after the unsolicited advice. He's getting desperate, so he starts dialing random people who are in Monaco. Carlos - does not pick up. His usual contacts end up being either completely useless or actively making the situation worse.

At this point, he's calling anyone in Monaco who might have even the slightest clue where Olivia could be.

And then - a message. Text from Carlos. Mate, drop everything and come by.

Eyes still glued to the text, his brain short-circuiting over Carlos’ cryptic message, and then the phone rings again. Y/N. He barely has time to process before he picks up.

"Tell me you found her." No greeting, no buildup—just straight to business. Lando rubs a hand down his face. "No. But Carlos just texted me. Told me to come over."

A pause. Then, suspicion. "Why?" "I don’t know." Lando waves a hand at the message like she can see it. "He just said ‘it's important.’"

There’s a beat of silence. He can practically hear Y/N narrowing her eyes. "That’s weird," she mutters. "I just called the school again—nothing. Also checked a few cafés, just in case."

Lando starts pacing the living room, running through possibilities. "And?"

"Guess twice." He hears her sigh. "She's not at her friends' houses either. At this point, unless she's living in the canals like some kind of feral child, I have no idea where she'd go."

Lando groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm going to Carlos'."

Another pause. Then, firmly: "Okay. But if Carlos doesn't have her, we're calling the police. What if...." She does not dare to finish the thought and it's just then when Lando starts properly getting worried. Many crazy people are obsessed with him and in extension, his family. He does not dare to even imagine what could happen.

Lando exhales. "Yeah. Agreed." They hang up.

He stares at his phone for half a second longer, then grabs his keys and rushes for the door.

//

He's putting his shoes on when Maya's voice cut through the hallways, her tone all shy and contrasting her previous sassy responses. "Is she going to be alright?" Lando turns around to see the image of pure innocence, worried little ten-year-old, who looks a little too small for this world. A smile forms on his face, even though it does not match his current mood at all.

"Come here, honey," he gestures and waits for Maya to run over to his embrace. She hugs his legs and in return, he pats her head. "Of course. We will find her and it will all be fine."

"I'm sorry I let her go..." she apologizes and Lando is surprised that there are no tears in her eyes, given the sorrow expressed in her voice.

"I'm happy you're saying that," he replies, grateful to be spared of one parent lecture today. "Do you have any idea where she might be?" He searches for any hint of a clue in her face, but it's all blank as she shakes he head.

"She said she's going home. And then left."

Even though this does not help him at all, he nods understandingly, slowly letting go of Maya and reaching for his jacket. "And do you know why?" Guilt must be written all over his face. He had been too reckless, too focused on other things and neglecting his kids.

Maya's soft voice provides an answer, that opens up more questions. "She was upset about the bracelet. Said it was too much."

This stops his actions. "What?" Lando frowns, trying to wrap his head around whether his daughter entering some sort of preteen leftist phase. Aren't kids suppose to like things? Maya simply shrugs her shoulders, her face mimicking her father's. "You know how she is sometimes..."

Yes, he knows. Stubborn, hot-headed and in a world of her own. Once again, like a sarcastic mirror he has to look at everyday, to get reminded of his own mishaps. Maya, the somewhat more innocent, less conniving one, stares at him, as if he has all the answers. He just grabs his keys, reassures her once more and orders her to protect the house. It's an old trick that still seems to be working on her. It's clear though his kids are growing up faster and faster. More complex tactics will be needed. In order to prevent future runaway moments.

//

He's making sure to scan every street he passes by on the way to his ex-teammate's house. It would make sense for Olivia to be at his place, since out of all their family friends, Carlos lives the closest. And, Maya mentioned she's going home. So, unless she's on her way all the way back to visit grandma in England, this seems like the next best thing.

Lando is on edge and the elevator is being annoyingly slow. His daughter is missing, his brain is on fire, and he has exactly zero leads.

And yet—Carlos Sainz opens the door like Lando just showed up for a casual chat session.

"Finally," Carlos says, grabbing Lando by the sleeve and pulling him inside without a single question. "I need your help with something."

Lando blinks. "Carlos, what—"

Carlos does not wait. He marches toward the kitchen, muttering to himself while swiping through something on his phone.

"This is serious. I've been trying to decide this all morning," Carlos continues, completely unaware of Lando's rapidly declining mental state. "I need an outside perspective."

Lando follows, confused, frustrated, and five seconds away from yelling. "Carlos, I don't have time—"

Carlos spins around dramatically. "Should I grow a beard?"

Lando stares. "What?" Carlos gestures at his own face. "A beard. Do I grow one? Or will it look stupid?"

Lando rubs a hand down his face. "Carlos, I do not have time for this right now—" "But it's an important decision!" Carlos argues, like his life depends on it. "A beard changes a man, Lando. I need to know before I commit! I've been craving some change lately and this seems like a good step.“

Lando lets out a deep, slow breath. "Carlos." He almost makes it sound like a threat.  Carlos finally notices something is off. His brow furrows. "What's wrong with you?" "My child ran away,“ Lando deadpans and crosses his arms. 

Carlos blinks. "Oh."

There’s a pause. Then, his eyes widen. "Oh!"

"Yes!" Lando gestures wildly. "That’s why I’m here! I thought maybe she came to you—" Carlos gasps, like he’s just uncovered a great conspiracy.

"She’s on a boat."

"...What?" Carlos nods, suddenly deep in thought. "Sí. It makes sense." Lando shakes his head. "No. It does not."

Carlos, ignoring him entirely: "When I was a small child, I often ran away when I was unhappy with my parents. I would go to the sea. The sea is mysterious. The sea is freedom. And Olivia knows that, I remember telling her.“ Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. Why, pray tell, would his friends instruct his children to ran away from home. "Well, thank you for that. Carlos, the sea is also full of very real dangers." Carlos waves him off. "Oh wait no - it was Maya," he says, like that solves the problem. "So, never mind."

"You do realize the girls talk to each other, constantly sharing bad ideas, right?" Lando snaps, unable to comprehend how quickly his calm afternoon had turned so sour. "Please, refrain from giving them bad ideas from now on, thank you." "Ay, cabron, come on. She’s just probably sitting on a yacht somewhere. You know how many boats there are in Monaco?"

Lando does, unfortunately, know. Too many. Way too many.

Carlos is nodding to himself now, fully convinced. "Come on. We go to the harbor, check a few docks. Maybe yell her name a few times—"

"I am not yelling my daughter’s name across Monaco like a lunatic—"

Carlos grins. "I will do it."

Lando groans. "We are not going to the harbor." Carlos tilts his head. "You sure? Because I think—" Lando’s phone buzzes, saving him from this tragedy of a conversation. He glances at the screen. His manager. Since he does not have a time for a lecture on not missing meetings just because they're on Zoom–just like he is missing one right now–he hits decline and puts this on future Lando to deal with.

Then—a text.

Lando. We found your daughter.

He freezes. Carlos immediately notices. "What? What happened?" Lando, staring at his phone in disbelief, exhales sharply. "They found her." Carlos claps his hands together, triumphant. "On a boat!" Lando glares. "Not on a boat!" Carlos snaps his fingers, looking genuinely disappointed. "Damn. That would’ve been so good."

Lando ignores him, already texting Y/N. Because wherever Olivia is, she’s about to get the lecture of a lifetime.

And if Carlos mentions boats one more time, Lando is never speaking to him again. One intrusive thought enters his brain before he gets to dialing his manager. A beard–there is probably nothing worse Carlos could do to destroy his look so quickly and efficiently. Lando turns towards him. "I think a beard is an excellent idea. You should do it," he says, pretending to take this seriously. A small revenge for his best friend feeding his kids ideas about running away from home. A wide smile grows on the Spaniard's face and he squeezes Lando's shoulder. "Knew it. Thanks, mate!" Lando nods a little too enthusiastically.

//

Home is where the heart is. Some say home is where your story begins. Others say it’s not a place, but a person. For Olivia Norris apparently, for her, it's a place where they sell luxury cars, keep a an endless stock of hoodies with her father's name and probably walk around her on eggshells. Because while most kids would run away to a friend’s house or a secret fort in the woods, Lando's child—his stubborn, dramatic, terrifyingly smart child—ran away to the McLaren showroom.

And honestly? He would have never seen that coming.

He's used to people rushing to take selfies with him whenever he's on the main streets of Monaco, so it's not much of a surprise that when he parks in front of the McLaren showroom, he's circled by enthusiastic fans immediately. Honestly, right now, when he's searching for his runaway child, having visual proof of this afternoon is the last thing he needs. Sadly, he understands that making a scene and refusing would bring even more attention online. Five photos later, he finally gets to enter inside.

It's not like Lando goes around to roam around McLaren stores on his free days, unless PR obligations order him too. His presence would raise eyebrows and freeze employees even on a regular day, without his daughter taking a refuge there. It's obvious from the moment he steps in - all the staff members are on edge, holding their phones like weapons to use to call supervisors and doing a bad job at pretending everything is fine. He walks in and awkwardly waits for the frontman to approach him.

"Mr. Norris," he speaks, barely hiding his nervousness. "I believe you'd want to speak to the manager?" Lando just nods and gives him one angry smile. If there is one thing he's not in the mood for, it's speaking in corporate codes.

"Sure," he says and swiftly walks away.

The front desk employee looks like he’s preparing for battle. Lando watches as the poor guy takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and puts on his best customer service smile before cautiously approaching. "Mr. Norris," the man greets, voice a little too high-pitched. Lando tilts his head. "Let me guess," he says, folding his arms. "You have a small, dramatic, ten-year-old hiding somewhere in here?" The employee lets out a nervous chuckle. "Well… we wouldn't say hiding, exactly."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She, uh…" The man glances at his coworkers for support, but they all pretend to be very busy. He clears his throat. "She told us she works here now. Said that Zak Brown himself approved it.“

Lando closes his eyes for a moment. Has this person never talked to a lying child before? 

Of course she did.

"And you… just let her?"

The employee start looking scared. "Um, well, we were not sure how to proceed. She was very convincing."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Where is she?"

The man gestures toward the back of the store, where the more exclusive merch is displayed. "She, uh… had us set up a 'desk.'" This is a new level, even for her. "She what?" The employee nods gravely. "Sir, she brought a clipboard." That actually stuns him into silence for a second. Then, before he can even process it, he hears it—

A tiny but authoritative voice from behind the display racks. "Excuse me, sir! Can I interest you in our new McLaren papaya collection?" Lando whips his head around. And there, seated behind a neatly arranged stack of McLaren hoodies, holding a clipboard and looking entirely unbothered…

Is Olivia.

His runaway daughter.

His child.

He watches her talking to a grown man, ignoring his minor confusion and doing what could be only described as skillfully pitching this specific line of merch. No shame or hesitance. Just as she almost has this man trying on a bright orange hoodie, Lando decides to step in and intervene. 

"This shade of papaya," she says smoothly, flipping a page on her clipboard for dramatic effect, "It is the best color, because it’s the brightest one. It will make you stand out like no one else."

The man, who clearly only came in for a casual browse, now looks deeply invested. He nods thoughtfully, holding the hoodie up to his chest. "You think it suits me?"

Olivia tilts her head, analyzing him like she’s Zak Brown finalizing a sponsorship deal. "Absolutely. You give off McLaren energy." The man looks genuinely touched. And that is when Lando decides enough is enough. "Olivia Norris," he calls out, voice firm, authoritative, and 100% Dad Mode. His daughter freezes mid-sale. Her eyes go wide. The poor customer looks between them, clearly confused. A second later, he’s got the star-struck face on, probably finally recognizing Lando, who steps forward, hands on his hips. Glances apologetically at the man and gives his full attention to his daughter. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Olivia plasters on a casual smile, like she wasn't just caught selling merch to a stranger in an attempt to start a new life.

"Uh, working?" she tries, tucking the clipboard against her chest like that makes it official.

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

She nods, fully committing. "Mhm. First day on the job. Big things happening for me." "Liv,“ he speaks a warning, the fact they’re out in public with interested witnesses working in her favor.  She holds up a finger, turning back to the man. "One second, sir, my old manager's here." Lando nearly chokes. "I'm your father." "Same thing," she shrugs. Lando blinks at her. Then, at the clipboard. Then, back at her. "Pack it up," he says, gesturing toward the exit. "Your shift is over." Olivia sighs dramatically. "Does this mean I don’t get paid?"

"Olivia."

"Fine," she huffs, setting the clipboard down like this is a tragic career-ending moment. Lando turns to the man, who still looks entirely too amused. "Sorry about that," he sighs. The man chuckles. "No worries. She’s good." He pauses, then holds up the hoodie. "I am gonna buy this, though." Lando groans. Of course she made a sale. As Olivia grins proudly, clearly aware she's the winner this afternoon, Lando grabs her by the shoulders and steers her toward the door, preparing for the conversation of a lifetime. He waves apologetically at the store employees, who are all trying very hard to pretend like they're not watching them.

They walk out from the store, calmly and collected. He's carrying the bag she must have packed and questions her planning skills, as the bag seems to be full of dresses and random selection of snacks. After all, even with the stunt he's just seen, ultimately. he is grateful that authorities didn't need to get involved in this. He guides Olivia to his car, opens the door and makes sure she’s locked in before he starts the car. 

He’s driving home smoothly, monitoring her face in all the mirrors available. Dark sunglasses she put on probably to prove a point hide her eyes, but the body language betrays her. She's upset and while he does share her emotion and has to fight his urge to start his lecture about safety, fans and most importantly, not running away from home, he decides to do the adult thing and sets his goal on figuring out the cause of this all. 

"So. Running away from home, huh?" he asks and tries to keep his tone as casual as possible. No reaction. Fine. "Your mom and I were really worried. Maya too, by the way," he tries to play it on the more emotional side. It's only when he mentions Maya, that Olivia shifts uncomfortably. Lando notices the slight movement immediately. A tiny shrug in her shoulders, like the weight of what she did is finally sinking in.

Good. She should feel a little guilty.

Still, she says nothing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, the ridiculous slightly oversized sunglasses making her look far too dramatic for a ten-year-old.

Lando sighs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"She thought you might be gone forever, you know," he adds, throwing a quick glance at Olivia through the rearview mirror. "She even got promoted to ‘oldest child.’ Big responsibility."

That gets him something—a twitch at the corner of her mouth. He presses on. "And I don't know if you realize this," he continues, keeping his voice light yet firm, "but your ‘home’ today was a McLaren store. Not even the factory, Liv. A store."

Olivia adjusts her sunglasses like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "Well. You always say that McLaren is your home. And if it's yours, why could it not be mine?“ 

Lando’s heart sinks and he’s not sure whether he's proud to know Olivia listens to what he says or if he's terrified of the strange, most likely unhealthy, relationship his kid is developing towards a global corporation. "I do say that, you're right. But there is a difference between a job and a home. It’s a...Different kind of home,"  he says it and wonders if anyone had ever told him that when he was young. 

Olivia seems to be deeply in her own thoughts. "I'm sure some of the employees would take me in."

Lando scoffs. "Oh, well, in that case—fantastic life decision."

A small huff. "Better than where I was gonna go."

Lando narrows his eyes. "And where exactly was that?"

Silence. If she says "a boat", Lando's going to convince Carlos to also shave his hair off. He waits, watching her in the mirror, not pushing—just letting the silence do the work. And after a few moments, Olivia finally caves, shifting in her seat.

Surprisingly, she ignores his question entirely. "You and Mom were gonna put braces on me so you could tell me and Maya apart."

Lando almost swerves into the wrong lane. "Wait, what?!" He glances at her, then back at the road. "Braces?"

Olivia nods solemnly. "I heard you. In the store. You said it will be easier," she says, sounding genuinely disturbed. Then, her childlike anger builds up. "But, I don’t even have all my adult teeth in! It sounds dangerous, dad! Also - why would you and mom need them too? Do you realize everyone is going to laugh at our family?"

Lando stares straight ahead, completely dumbfounded. For a second, his brain refuses to process this level of nonsense.

Braces. BRACES?!

Of all the things she could've misheard, this is what led to her dramatic escape?

"Olivia." He exhales, shaking his head. "I said bracelets. I was getting us bracelets. Matching ones, with different colors, so that other people won’t mix you and Maya up so much, I know how you hate it."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Olivia slowly lowers her sunglasses. "...Bracelets?"

"Bracelets," Lando confirms, dead serious.

More silence.

Then—a quiet, barely-there mutter:

"...Oh."

Lando lets out the loudest, most exhausted sigh of his life. "Oh?" he repeats, glancing at her in disbelief. "OH?! You ran away because of a bracelet misunderstanding?!"

Olivia slouches further into her seat. "I was not going to let that happen to me."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Liv. If you just asked—"

"You said not to tell mom!“ she interrupts, as if this is somehow his fault.

Lando groans. "That's not the point!"

"I panicked!"

"You panicked? So instead of clarifying, you packed a bag full of dresses and snacks and started a career in retail?!"

Olivia crosses her arms again, defensive. "It was a solid plan."

Lando lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Liv, it was the worst plan."

She pouts. "It worked for a while."

Lando tilts his head. "Did it?"

"...No."

"Exactly."

A long pause.

Then, softly: "Maya really thought I was leaving forever?"

Lando nods. "Yeah. She acted all chill about it, but I could tell she was worried."

Olivia twists the hem of her hoodie, suddenly looking much smaller than before. "...I didn't mean to scare her."

Lando softens.

"I know," he says, glancing at her in the mirror again. "And I know you like being independent, but Liv—" He sighs. "You don’t need to run away over stuff like this. Just talk to me, okay?"

She nods slowly, still fiddling with her hoodie. "...Okay."

"And maybe next time, instead of running away, just... go to your room dramatically like a normal ten-year-old?"

Olivia snorts. "No promises." Lando chuckles, shaking his head.

This kid.

They pull into the driveway, and Olivia takes off her sunglasses, letting out a deep breath.

"Hey, Dad?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" She smirks. "Did you bring my clipboard?" Lando laughs, unlocking the car. "You're grounded."

//

"So, you're telling me Liv ran away because of no reason?" Y/N asks for the third time, as she sits across from her husband and two suspiciously quiet children.

Lando's got his PR smile on, it's clear as a day. When and how he managed to teach both of the girls the same is the real mystery. Y/N cut her day at work short to rush home. Even with the news of Olivia being back at home, she found it hard to focus on anything else. She expected to walk into a battlefield, at least one of the girls crying and flustered Lando. But no—one would never have even guessed anything strange had happened that day. They're all sitting there, like some sort of picturesque scene from a school issued guidance book.

"Mom," Olivia speaks up slowly, accidentally looking at Y/N like she is stupid for repeating the question. "It was a bad decision on my part. I accept being grounded for a week. We will be able to explain everything in few weeks," Olivia says confidently at first, but still turns towards her father, as if for confirmation she said all the right words. It's hard to believe a single word she says. Still, he gives her a small, but proud, nod.

"We have a surprise for you and if we tell you everything, it will be ruined!" Maya's comment is cheerfully enthusiastic, like she's telling Y/N the best thing that has ever happened.

Without a clue on what to say, Y/N turns to Lando for any hint of answers. He looks at her like he's some divine angel. "It's a funny story, but we can't tell you now."

Y/N hands fly up at the weird logic of this all. "What?"

"Patience, love. It's a virtue," Lando says simply and it's clear none of them are going to spill anything about today.

Maya follows the lead with a comment dripping with excitement. "Yes, mom. Patience!"

Y/N exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. She stares at the three of them—her clearly rehearsed, suspiciously well-behaved family—then lets out a dry laugh.

"You know what?" she says, standing up. "Fine. But when this ‘surprise’ inevitably turns into another disaster, I am not the one handling it."

She grabs her bag and heads toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Behind her, Lando leans closer to his kids and ruffles both their hair. "That went well. Good job, she's going to love the bracelets."

Olivia, smirking proudly, follow his lead. "Told you we could sell it. I have experience now."

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Best Friend!Reader

Summary: The jocks decide to prank you with invitations to the Valentine's Day dance. But is it them? Or is your so-called best friend secretly messing with you?

WC: 2.1k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, bullying, best friends to lovers, fem!Reader, public make-out session (oops)

Based on an anonymous request I got. I hope I did this justice 💚

Divider credit to @saradika

Everything is pink. 

And it’s not that pink is a bad color—pink Starbursts are clearly superior to the other colors, for example. The Pink Ladies from Grease strutted with a badassery you could only wish to emulate. And the stuffed pig you won at the carnival as a kid—the one that you still keep on your bed—is pink, though you have to admit that its color has faded over the last decade. 

No, pink itself isn’t the problem. Even the abundance of it isn’t bad, from the paper hearts lining the school hallways to the streamers criss-crossing the ceilings. 

It’s that every flash of pink, particularly that Pepto-Bismol shade, reminds you of what you don’t have: an invitation to the Valentine’s Day dance. 

The events committee decided to “do things differently this year” and make the Valentine’s Day dance a couples-only event. Apparently, Hawkins High had no room for platonic love in their budget. 

Whatever money they’re saving by cutting the number of attendees seems to have gone towards invitations. Instead of buying tickets, one half of a couple fills out a slip of paper, and the committee delivers a personalized invitation to the partner’s locker. 

It’s absurdly cheesy and way over-the-top. And despite knowing how ridiculous it is, you can’t suppress the pang of excitement when you open your locker and a small, bright pink envelope falls out, face-down. 

Who would be asking you to the dance? 

There was only one person you wanted to ask you—but that would never happen. No, Eddie Munson was a lot of things: a Dungeon Master, a drug dealer, a senior year three-peat, but he was not a school dance attendee. In fact, you don’t think he’s been to a single one since you’d met him four years ago. 

You pick the envelope up tentatively, and though logic told you it wasn’t from him, your heart still sinks when you see the loopy script on the front:

To: Chrissy

Love: Jason

Why is Chrissy Cunningham’s invitation in your locker? Her locker is with the other cheerleaders’ down near the gym, a considerable distance from yours. 

“Oh my god, did you see that?”

The sound of muffled laughter catches your attention, and you look across the hall to see the President of the Events Committee, Gina Phillips, and her boyfriend, Andy Garber, smirking at you. Jason Carver stands beside them, his head thrown back in uncontrollable laughter. 

“That was so worth the five bucks,” he says to Gina, placing a crumpled bill in her hand. He strides over to you and plucks the envelope out of your grasp. Not that it takes much effort. “I’ll be taking that.”

“So sorry about the mix-up.” Gina fans a manicured hand over her heart in feigned sympathy. Andy slings a muscular arm over her shoulder as they walk away. 

You stave off the humiliation-induced tears until you find an empty bathroom stall. Pathetic. You had no date and you fell victim to a cruel prank in one fell swoop. 

Whatever—it was over and done with. Tomorrow is a new day, one where you can ignore Gina and Andy and Jason, like you’ve been doing for years. 

Except there’s another pink envelope in your locker when you open it the next day. This one is more crudely shoved in the slots, all wrinkled and creased. The paper tears when you yank it out. 

To: Nancy

Love: Jonathan 

Of course, neither Nancy Wheeler nor Jonathan Byers have anything to do with this—Jonathan just filled out the slip and expected the committee to deliver it to his girlfriend’s locker. And Nancy, though somewhat uptight, has always been nice to you. 

That’s why you stuff down your embarrassment and trek over to her locker, sheepishly explaining that her invitation accidentally got delivered to you. No need to tell her that there was nothing accidental about it. 

Nor is there anything accidental about the envelope marked To: Rebecca, Love: Patrick that sticks out of your locker after fifth period. Or the one Gina had manages to slip into your backpack while you’re changing for P.E. To: Ellen, Love: James. 

If you could carry around all of your books and avoid your locker completely, you would. 

By the end of Valentine’s Day, you’re no longer returning the invitations to their rightful owners. Any stupid pink envelope that finds its way into your life is promptly ripped to shreds and tossed in the nearest trash can, creating a heap of the saddest confetti you’ve ever seen. You’re not even looking at the names anymore—whatever arguments that causes between normally happy couples is their problem, not yours. 

You feel some of the week’s tension melt away as you walk into the drama club storage room, though it’s quickly replaced by a much different kind of tension. There’s a fluttering in your stomach when Eddie stops setting up the game to turn towards you and smile.  

“You’re early, sweetheart.” He crosses his arms over his chest and half-sits on the table. “Here to get some secrets out of me?”

“Nah. Just felt like bothering you a little extra today.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Never a bother. Especially compared to the freshmen.” 

He pauses for a beat before turning back to the game, suddenly very interested in adjusting the DM screen. 

“Found anything interesting in your locker lately?”

His question knocks the wind out of you. Eddie has been in on it? Your supposed best friend has been planting other people’s dance invitations in your locker?

It makes sense: He knows your locker combination and your class schedule. If he isn’t the one actually putting the envelopes in there, he’s at least helping Gina. 

“That was you?” You will your voice to not break, but your eyes are already glassy with tears. “Why would you do that?”

Eddie’s brows bunch together. “I…thought it might be fun?” 

“Fun?!” Is he serious? You know guys can be dense sometimes, but he must truly be an idiot to think this prank would be fun for you. “God, are you that desperate to keep the jocks buying from you that you’d do that? Because let me tell you–there isn’t a lot of variety around here as far as dealers go.”

He puts his hands out. “Whoa, hold on.” He starts towards you, but stops when he sees the anger in your expression. “That’s not why I did it.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know! I guess I figured you’d be okay with it, but you’re clearly not, so just forget it.” 

There are only two words you can think of to sufficiently convey your feelings.

“Fuck you.”

You slam the door behind you as you leave, not caring who might hear. It’s the least humiliating thing to happen to you this week, anyway.

What hurts more than the prank itself is that Eddie actually believed that you’d find it funny. Getting your hopes up that someone asked you to the dance followed by a walk of shame to deliver the envelopes to their real recipients–yeah, what a hoot.

You only make it halfway down the hall when you hear Eddie calling out your name. 

“Leave me alone!”

But he doesn’t; the sound of his sneakers squeaking across the linoleum faster as he jogs to catch up to you. His hand grabs yours before and pulls you into an empty classroom.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He jams his hands into his pants pockets. “Look, I never would have done it if I knew it would ruin our friendship. That’s why I waited until the last minute to ask–I kept going back and forth about whether you’d freak out on me or not.”

Wait…what?

“And, yeah, I was probably gonna do a few deals at the dance. But that’s not why I asked you, I swear.” 

You nearly choke on the breath that’s lodged in your throat. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes widen when he sees the shock that’s written all over your face. “What are you talking about?” He counters, taking a step back.

“I’m talking about the horde of other people’s Valentine’s Day dance invitations that have been shoved in my locker every day for the last week.” You force yourself to look at him. “You’ve been putting them there, right?”

“What?! No. No.” He shakes his head to emphasize his point. “I would never do that. That’s…brutal, sweetheart. God, now I just wanna kick some ass–”

“So then why did you ask if I found something interesting in there?” You try to ignore his flexing hands clearly itching for a fight. The way his veins are prominent against his skin.

Eddie scrapes a top tooth over his lower lip. “I was talking about the invitation from me. To you. Obviously. Not someone else.” He cocks his head. “You didn’t get it?”

It must’ve been one of the ones you’d tossed out without looking, and you tell him so. Guilt gnaws at you–not just for inadvertently throwing away his invitation, but for assuming he would take part in such a cruel prank.

He scuffs one Reebok against the floor, shoulders untensing. “If you had read it,” he says, “what would you have said? Like…would you have wanted to go with me? Or, like, same reaction as when you thought I was the culprit?”

You can’t give him an answer–not without getting one first.

“Did you really send me an invitation to the dance? Or was that something you said out of pity after you found out about the prank?”

Eddie sighs, his hand reaching out to yours. It’s different from when he grabbed it earlier; this is all tenderness and no urgency. “I really sent you an invitation. You can ask Gina–well, maybe don’t talk to her,” he adds quickly when he notices your grimace. “But there was no pity involved.”

“Do you swear on James Hetfield’s life?”

“I swear on James Hetfield’s life.” Eddie laughs softly. His thumb brushes your cheek, his ring cold on your skin. “And every other member of Metallica, for that matter.” 

You look up at him, at those deep brown eyes that always seem to soften around you. You spent the last four years convincing yourself that it was all in your imagination, that any extended glances or long hugs are things he would do for any other girl friends.

But now, as he slips his other arm around your waist, slowly backing you against the chalkboard, there’s no doubt in your mind that everything he’s done has been purposeful. 

“So?”

“So…” Your nose bumps his, but he doesn’t lean in and close the gap.

“So…will you go with me to that ridiculous dance?” 

Oh. Right. Every thought besides kissing Eddie Munson already fled your mind, but he had technically asked his question first.

You smile against his lips. “God, yes.”

His mouth is on yours in an instant, bodies colliding haphazardly, but neither one of you mind the clumsiness. Your back is almost certainly covered in chalk dust as he pushes you into the board. His tongue slips between your lips and you let him in, arching your body slightly so it presses to his.

You could do this forever, let him touch and explore you. Here, or at the dance, or on his twin size mattress with a metal mixtape playing in the background–

“A-hem.”

The kiss ends abruptly, the two of you coming back to reality when you see Mrs. O’Donnell standing in the doorway. Her arms are crossed against her chest, one foot tapping an orthopedic loafer impatiently.

“The term ‘get a room’ does not refer to my classroom, Mr. Munson.” She heaves an exasperated sigh and points an arthritic finger between you and Eddie. “Detention. For both of you. Separate days, before you get any ideas.”

You accept defeat, shoulders slumping, but Eddie doesn’t back down so easily.

“C’mon, Mrs. O. It’s Valentine’s Day. Have a heart–oof,” he grunts, rubbing his ribs where you not-so-subtly elbowed him. “I mean, this is the girl who’s been helping me pass your class so I’m not your problem for a fourth year in a row. Can you cut us a little slack, just this once?”

Mrs. O’Donnell isn’t exactly known for cutting people slack, so you’re more than surprised when she relents. Maybe it’s because you’re the living, breathing miracle who is keeping Eddie Munson from taking her class again.

“Fine. Just…take this little soiree elsewhere.” She flits a disgusted hand in your direction, glaring over her bifocals as you and Eddie slink away.

Eddie drapes a tattooed arm over your shoulder. “Probably better off,” he murmurs in your ear. “We got a dance to get ready for, sweetheart.”

--

[eintausendschoen]

POV: It is Valentines Day. You followed an invitation to a bar on Mount Helicon, for an event called "The Blue Hearts Club". A mysterious invite extended by a total stranger... with the promise of a relaxing night out. Some well deserved Me-Time.

At the door, the owner of the place greets you like she knows you. She says her name is Kalliope, one of the Muses, but you do not know her.

When she points you at a crowded table at the back of the room you follow.

There, of course, you realize what the invite meant by...

... "Me-Time. Uh-huh.... riiiiight..."

The Muse winks at you as she pases, distributing another round of drinks. "Welcome to Valentine's!", she laughs, and from across the table laughter joins: "Yeah, with yourself!!"

For @dxwart — sorry to spring this on you but ... ah... that WAISTCOAT just had to be shown around. 💜 (link to the artwork)

🤩Shoutouts to all the beautiful beautiful people who lend me their designs to play with to make this date happen. You are all AMAZING artists and THANK YOU for all the good vibes here and making Poseidonverse happen!!🤩

From left to right, top to bottom and then right to left again (in terms of order 🤌) because life in the sea is a circle: In purple and gold, Poseidon by @rin-sith - he is so much fun to draw it is riddiculous.

Next to him, the cheeky lil' king (who really isn't little at all, believe me, everyone else is just so enormous, there is a sizechart but it blew the scale) with the luscious hair and the prettiest scales: Poseidon in a more mortal-ish form by @ruthlessness69

Okay, you all know him and he's half across the table already. This king is having LA FIESTA tonight, because he got a list, and now he got more names. @messymoonmad - he did that all on his own, I swear by Styx. (I love him so much.)

Yeah, canon Poseidon. He was there first, and now he's having a hard time holding onto his drink. 😘

Seacreature at the back is the lower half of @tagzpite glorious Poseidon. He might have just lost a bet, but he is a good sport. Also, checking out that blue-haired devil across the table already. (I just borrowed him last minute, he got dragged along - hope it's alright. He'll be returned intact.) Next three... most chaotic throuple (if you can call it that) in the history of saltwater. Poseidon of @pink-noah tried to snatch the hand of @kamuch-kommandos hot dark menace. Got snatched in turn and poor him, Tall Dark and Handsome got a death grip. All just because Poseidon by @bigidiotenergytm went to win a dare and smooch the Big Gun at risk of ear-injury.

Guess @melodyartists Poseidon owe's him a drink now. (He squeezed in last minute when I stumbled upon your post where he introduced himself to the popular girls, and of course I had to bring him into this mess. Hope it's alright? :)) ) Poseidon by @anniflamma, but her awesome new design. He wanted a word with @neal-illustrator's (neals not active here afaik but tagging anyway), so they made an appearance. Mostly because...

...you know them, you love them, you windbaarrrghl. Is it Cloudysseus shlepping Cloudseidon in to steal grapes together? Is it Zeus spying on his brother's Valentines date? Nobody knows. @kdpartworks thank you so much for lending them - I'll return them safe and sound when Poseidon gets back home.

To his left... @wukyma - he did the vase-face again. Why is he so cute when he does that? I'm such a big fan this wet grumpy cat, especially with Polites. (And how do you draw his curls??? That was so hard!) Of course he'd sit next to Gorgeous by @arraunean and trade war stories. No armour for the bar, but these two are classic guys and this is Helicon, so the comfy draperies to go with the wine.

And last - your host's 'not-quite-boss': he's mine, :))

Happy Valentine's everyone <3

[tarotbyjam24]

What do they find sexy about you ? 18+ mdni

Pick a piles \masterlist

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗

Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️

Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️ Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

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Pile 1

read by @winisayswhat 🫶🏻

Dayum gworl , you're so self aware lmaaooooo, it's giving IAM SEXY AND I KNOW IT SONG VIBE , This is the pile that host a private victorias secret ramp walk for themselves every night loll! You might wear some really sexy lingerie , decked uo with greatttt hair ! I see lots of libido from both the sides , you like being worshipped damn , you might wear some really good perfume . Your future spouse just wants to merge his body with yours cause you look so damn alluring , you are giving 'Queen of heaven " vibes , the might go gaga over your melons and cherries , they will suck them like a ripe fruit , it'll be like a baby sucking desperately in their mums buds ! You are the prize gosh you're SO SEXY ! Some bondage or blindfold might be involved , you guyssss loveeeeeee foreplay ! Your spouse will never get enough of you, you somehow always manage to make their buddy erect , also omg your man will grunt and moan alot as you do the deed , they'll grip your dips tightly while leaving love bites and marks all over you, you'll whimper under their touch ! I see you having many orgasms , and the look you have while having orgasms turns on your man for a second round ! Your man will know how to do foreplay and turn you on, the type of man who'll worship the ground you walk on ! There might also be oral sex involved , your man might also be mighty bulky with beard , and you're a damsel in distress with a small frame compared to them ! Some kind of kink there ahhahaah!

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Pile 2

read by @winisayswhat 🫶🏻

I'm seeing a DEEP attraction between you and your future spouse. They're like sooo drawn to your SPONTANEOUS nature, your ability to light up the room with your presence and aura. Your warmth and energy are like a MAGNET, pulling them in and making them feel alive.You might be a virgin or atleats less experienced than them ! It's giving *i am gonna be your first and last one *They loveeee your personality, they look at you like a baby with sparkly personality that's got them hooked. They're als attracted to your INTELLIGENCE, your creativity, and your passions. They admire your strength, your resilience, and your leadership qualities. You're a TRUE BOSS, and they can't get enough of that.And let's talk about the chemistry between you two. It's like the universe itself is conspiring to bring you together. They feel a deep sense of trululu lmao and destiny when they're with you, like they've finally found their missing piece.Theyre gonna to be the one to initiate the deed , the type of guy who might like the thrill of teasing a girl who isn't often teased , you might get shy or freeze when they initiate proximity, they might like the view from behind 😉, when you bend or are doing house chores . If you're a working woman, you being focused and ignorant will piss them off! They'll do anything and everything to gain your attention. You might have a greatttttttt cleavage and lips, your eyes maybe very doe types , like an invitation for your spouse to *ahem ahem *. They love it when you're unaware about how hot you look ! It's like you're not being braggy about it . They'll like to hold and grab your waist time to time , in bed they live when you ride them, they're gonna be so intense ,gosh don't get me started , you get them possessed during the deed , your body and eyes make them go gaga , they love it when they make you loose control . The way your lips part , the shivers during orgasm , your eyebrows cocked, eyes half closed rolling back wanting to stop yet asking for more ! Gosh it's like badboy x innocent girl trope !

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Pile 3

Pile 3 : they find your silhouette sexy . They like your named body specially in the night light or like fairy lights . They find it sexy when you do some chores or work in body hugging tight dresses or suits . They may also find your love handles sexy like their hands will perfectly fit on your love handles. They find your open hairs sexy . They may also find you sexy when you act like hard to catch bird or when you get mad at them they gonna find it sexy . They gonna find it sexy when your cum flows out or just when your salivas mix with eachothers . They ofcourse gonna find sexual connection find you super attractive . They may also find it sexy when you let the intimacy build between eachother . They may also find sext when you let them dominate probably they have capricorn placements. Also this connection isn't just physical sexual intimacy it's far more stronger than that a soul level deep connection guided by divine.

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Pile 4

Pile 4 : I feel they find your curves sexy like the way you sit on couch the pillow position that makes you comfortable in while sitting. They may like to notice small details about you . They over all find your physical beauty sexy your hairs , your lips and lipstick on it , your eyes , your eyelashes. They're so in love with your beauty . They also find your dressing sense sexy . Like how your body fits perfect in the dresses you wear and how they make your curves highlight. They find your introvertness sexy . They find it sexy when you speak less and act like a old monk . They find it sexy when you act like old soul. You could be probably a old school typa lover or they could be like that too . They find it sexy when you give them advices on their important matters . They like to add your 2 cents too . They may also find it sexy when you're all covered up in those furry hooded dresses or like bear dresses thingy . They also find your dense nature sexy . They may also find it sexy when you get cold like it's their chance to make love or just cuddle with you .

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I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰

Loads of love , jam\gem🩷

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

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[girlbeatings]

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who you hooked up with during your experimental phase in college, giving you for sure the best orgasm of your comphet life, and yet you still fall for a douchbag guy that doesn't treat you as well as you thought he would. poor thing.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that helps you get ready for your wedding with said douchbag, forcing a smile and making sure you looked the part of a future lobotomised, white picket fence house wife. she felt bad for you, you had no idea what you were signing up for by accepting this ring as a sign of your 'love' and 'fidelity'. you'd probably realize way too late in life, maybe late 30s, that this is not what you wanted.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby that feels just so sorry for you, that she holds you close and tells you how pretty you look today, the happiest day of your life. "always knew you'd make such a pretty little bride.. i mean, look at you..." her voice trails off as she tilts your chin up to guide your attention to the full length mirror. you did look pretty, the fancy white dress, perfect makeup and hair. perfect.

⏦ﾟ♡︎ bff!abby who stares at you through the reflection and gets an idea. a trip down memory lane, before you walk down the aisle.

"this fucking dress... makes you look so cute," she mumbles, her voice slightly forced as she stares at the lewd scene in the mirror. you pant and tremble, white heels dangling off your toes and the dress bunched up at your hips.

abby groans as she watches your cunt leak around two of her thick fingers, sat between her spread thighs and your back against her chest as you struggle to keep yourself together. "does he fuck you this good, baby? bet his dick isn't as big as mine, huh."

it wasn't, you know that much. abby's fingers with girthy, just two of them made you writhe and squelch, and that fucking strap she whipped out a few years ago had your sexual fantazies in a chokehold. the way you were so soaked that it just slipped in and out of your pussy without any struggle at all, the faux veins rippling against your insides and hitting all the right spots until you couldn't take it— and what did abby do then? she held you down and made you cum over and over.

your fiancé couldn't compare even if he tried, which he didn't. you were lucky if he even looked at your clit, never mind the sort of tricks abby was doing on it now.

"my pretty little girl, all dressed in white..." she murmurs, her fingers tapping firmly on your clit before rubbing in circles, watching your face scrunch up and your hips roll against her hand. "he's such a lucky man."

there's jealousy clear in her tone, because god she wants you. not just your body, she wants your fucking soul. your dna intertwined with her own. but she can't have that, because you don't like girls.

though, your face says different when her fingers stuff you full again. your head's empty at this point, so there's no lame excuse as to why you were happily letting your best friend fuck you minutes before your wedding, your soon to be husband already stood at the altar.

her fingers curl up to find that spot, smiling when your body almost lurches forward off the bed at the singeing pleasure that spikes through you. luckily, abby's arm is locked around your waist, and you stay pressed against her as she finger fucks you just how you remember— maybe even better. she clearly had more experience now. are you jealous?

"gonna fuck every vow out of that empty head." she promises, her thumb starting to abuse your clit in time with her plunging fingers, tears starting to bubble in your eyes as you writhe.

"a-abs, i'm— mmph, abby.."

"i know, wifey... pretty pussy's missed me so much, hasn't she?" she whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck as her hand continues to work perfectly between your spread legs. you know you'd think about this on your honeymoon, you'd think about her when your laid next to your husband, unhappy and yearning for her to come save you. and who knows? maybe after a few glasses of wine with your old college friend, she fucks you until you ruin that marital mattress for good.

happy valentine's day !!

⏦ﾟ♡︎ taglist !

@uhh-lana @pearlcigs @abbyspup @sunrxxyz @graciedollie @starrrcane @lilyyx0 @444fernz @tqlepatia @nvr4getme @2012wannabe @jaywritessometimes @jinxedbambi @tohoko @sapphicloverwlw @shadowmythe @fict1onallyobsessed @pornoangelz @milanyas @powderpinkandsweeet @femmecannibal @aeroti @eatencupcak3 @lils-1979 @sobersonder @dozybunny @fawncritter @nahcala @lesbones @sapphicantichrist @ethereaally @ruelezz @90yearoldbear