#I don’t think I’m ever going to be over it actually

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: oral sex both ways

masterlist | next

John Price thrives on routine. His days are filled with meetings and bloodshed, negotiations and betrayal. Routine keeps him sane.

Unfortunately, that resolution crumbled the moment he gained a wife. It’s getting harder and harder to leave in the morning, to ignore the fluttering of your eyelashes as you feign sleep. That’s what he blames for this break in routine.

The morning after, he stays for ten minutes instead of five. Counts the ticks of the old clock in the corner of his room as he memorizes the scent of your skin. You always end up with your head in the crook of his neck, legs tangled around his torso. He’s never been much of a back sleeper, but now it’s the last thing he cares about. It’s the sound of your breathing, the plushness of your skin, the brush of your chest against his. When he eventually gets up, he doesn’t look at the bed until he’s ready. If he glanced back at your eyes in half-slits, shifting closer to his pillow to soak up the remaining warmth he left in the bed, he would never leave the room. 

At night, though, he succumbs to his weakness. He creates a new routine.

It’s the start of a new week after the getting-off confession. John had business in Glasgow over the weekend, lonely and cold in his hotel bed, but now he’s back.

“So Laswell sent me the contract. I definitely have enough to pay in full, but I’m thinking of paying half and then doing installments for the rest so I can have enough for immediate repairs. What do you-John?” John’s nodding along to your rant, disappearing under the covers to the place he’s been thinking about all weekend. The blanket’s a bit heavy, limiting his breathing, but it’s worth it for the sight of your clothed cunt, waiting for him.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.” Instead of following his orders, you peel back the cover until his head peeks out. “What are you doing?” He rubs circles into your thighs, reveling in their softness. John moves upwards, teasing the fabric of your pajama shorts. “You miss me this weekend?” He murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to his wife or her cunt. Both seem happy to see him, if that’s any consolation.

“No, I actually got the best sleep of my- hey!” He shoves his face into the triangle of your lap, sniffing with wonder. “Fuck, I missed ya.” You’re silent at his admission, but your hand finds a hold in his hair. “You did?” It’s soft and unsure, forcing him to rip his focus away from your pussy. “I did.” You bite your lip adorably. You tug him forward, gripping his scalp hard, until his face is in front of yours. 

“Maybe next time, you take me with you.” Absolutely not. He was meeting with a new prospective manufacturer, shady and dangerous. He was not putting you in any sort of danger. John shakes his head, heart clenching as your face falls. “Not the kind of place fer you, baby. Gonna let me eat you out now?” You nod, but your face is still hard with repressed emotion. He kisses your forehead, trailing down to your cheek, then nose. “Give us a kiss then.” It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed him first, the notion sending blood straight to his cock. The kiss is short and sweet. Can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten him under your spell. Two bloody weeks. He pulls away, a final kiss laid to your jaw. “Keep talkin’. Don’t mind me.”

The new routine continues for weeks. He gets you off a different way every night, from fingers to tongue to plain old grinding. And then he goes to sleep with you tucked to his side, taking care of himself in the morning. John needs you to be the one to ask to fuck, to reciprocate. The alternative leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Plus, every time he gets you off, you fall asleep immediately, like it’s the only way you’ll go to bed. It’s terribly endearing.

A month in, he starts noticing changes. The furniture in the sitting room, for one. They used to be 18th century relics, designed to make sure a guest didn’t overstay their welcome. Except now they’re eclectic, blue and green against the cream walls. The couches look comfortable, like you could spend a whole day there. The paintings change as well, from Rembrandt to Monet and Picasso. The impressionist works, blues and greens and yellows, work well with the new furniture, making his flat seem like a home. When he asks you, all you do is shrug and say something smart about updating his old man apartment. He leaves bite marks on your thighs that night. 

It’s a beautiful Friday night when John gets home early, around 9. He usually gets text updates from Terrance, your commandeered security guard that Price assigned to you full time, about your movements. You’ll usually get home at 7, but nothing yet. Two hours late. He calls Terrance and gets his voicemail. Highly unusual. Calmly, he presses on your contact's name, and it goes to voicemail. Three times.

Fingers shaking, he calls Kyle.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My fuckin’ wife, Garrick.”

“Isn’t she with Terrance?” “No one’s answerin’ their goddamn phone.” Gaz sighs on the other end, like this is an inconvenience and not his wife they’re talking about. Keys click, then a mouse, before Gaz answers. “They’re at the bookstore. Been there since this mornin’, sir.” John drags a hand down his face, then grabs the keys to the car he barely uses. 

“Garrick, this is the last time you take more than three seconds t’ know where she is. I want a full team on ‘er at all times. I won’t hesitate t’ assign someone else as my Head of Security, someone who isn’t lettin’ their judgement take over their goddamn job. Copy?” He hasn’t dressed down one of his men, especially Kyle, but he’s tired of the man’s judgement on this marriage. What’s done is done. “Yessir.” John hangs up, too miffed to say goodbye. He’s got a wife to find.

-

Your bookstore is coming along well. It’s been over a month since you’ve been married, a month of John’s fingers and tongue loosening you in more ways than one. You swear you’ve developed stronger thigh muscles, simply from the orgasms he coaxes from you night after night. And then he just goes to sleep. You’ve felt his cock in fleeting touches, brushing against your thigh or hard in his lap as you grind on him. He never takes it out, never drags your hand in that grueling way men do with shady eyes and slimy smirks. Every night, he asks you if you hate him, and every night, your lie convinces him less and less. 

And every night, you think of how adamant he was against you joining him. His insistence that it “wasn’t the kind of place for you.” Your old problem with him has faded, a mess of childhood fears rolled into new ones. In its place are your insecurities, the word bastard floating through your head every time you think of his rejection. The clause in the marriage contract. It rolls together into a simple thought: he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s barely let you in on his business, content to stick with late night chats and orgasms. It should be fine, it should be what you wanted, but instead you feel a hollow hole in your heart where the word ‘friends’ lives. Even friends should share their secrets. 

But back to the bookstore. Your new baby. This first month was full of cleaning, dusting out odd corners and greasing creaky door hinges. You listed a hiring notice on online job boards, looking for an assistant to help with the grunt work. Which landed you Phil, a wonderful addition to the team. He was around your age, an American with sandy blond hair. Handsome in a basic way, something you noted and never thought of again. Terrance ran a background check on him, something you gladly consented to, and insisted on helping you interview him. It took a week of recon, but he was officially your new assistant as of two weeks ago. An amazing help around the store, handy with tools. You’d told Phil that you were the daughter of a lord, a minor lie to explain the bodyguard. He shrugged it off, the ex-pat seemingly used to the oddities of London.

Now that the space had been cleared, it was finally time to paint. Terrance insisted that he couldn’t help too much, his main duty too important, but with the help of Phil, you convinced him to paint the walls with you. You all left your phones in the half-fixed office, donning plastic sheets to protect from paint splatter. Your business plan, formed from your downtime during the day and shaped by your late-night conversations with John, was to have a store section and a community section. The community section would be at the front, with a beautiful light blue accent wall, perfect for book influencers. It would be surrounded by comfy couches and warm lighting, complete with a cafe space you intended to build out. Your idea reminded you of the library waiting hours away, with its own fireplace and furniture. You decided to recreate that cozy feeling and bring it to the public.

Farther into the building there would be bigger shelves for rows and rows of books, organized by type. The color scheme was influenced by the one in your home, as you decided to hand paint metal shelves light blues, greens, and yellows. Most would be bought, but you were planning a book drive far out for people to donate old books and get discounts on new ones. It’s an idea you had wanted to do in Manchester but never got around to.

Now that the front of the store was cleared out and bare, it was time to paint. The hours fly by as you paint the light blue wall while Phil and Terrance work on a cream wall on the other side. When you blink, the sun is already down, and your watch is flashing 10PM at you.

“Guys it’s almost ten! I think we ought to lay down the brushes for tonight.” Phil opened his mouth to respond but is cut off by a harsh pounding at the locked front door. It was supposed to be clear, but there was newspaper on all of your windows to prevent the glass from getting paint on it. Frowning, you moved to open the door, but Terrance stopped you with his arm out, his other hand reaching for his gun. “Go into the office, ma’am.” You followed his command reluctantly, Phil following on your heels as you went into the back office. It didn’t have any windows, so it was a space you did not want to be in for a while. Phil looked nervous, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the ground.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Phil. Probably one of the neighbors complaining about our music.” You insisted on a jam session as you painted, blasting music from a speaker you stole from the Castle. “Shady things happen in London no matter what time, boss.” You shrug, picking up your phone to quell your nerves. A glance at your notifications explains everything.

Oh no.

You burst from the office, phone already returning one of your many missed calls. That’s when you ran into your husband, face hitting his hard chest with a harsh oof. “Christ, sweetheart, gave me a near heart attack.” John steadied your shoulders with his large hands, anchoring you in his grip. His brow was furrowed, eyes crinkling in worry as he scanned you up and down like he was looking for injuries. “You didn’t answer-” “Everything good out here?” Fuck. Phil.

“Who are you?” It was a tone you’d never heard come out of John’s mouth. You imagined it was his mafia man voice, gruff and short like he had a better place to be. John shoves you behind him, reaching for his gun. You rolled your eyes, hand covering his to stop a potential shoot-out. 

“John, he’s my-” “Assistant, sir. Good to put a name to the face, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You could practically hear Phil winking, laying on the Southern charm. You wrestled out of John’s grip, stepping out from behind his back. Phil’s hand was out for a handshake, but John hadn’t taken it, scanning the man up and down with suspicious eyes. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve never heard about you.” John tore his gaze away to catch yours, eyes slanted in anger. “I don’t have to tell you everything, John. I’ve got my own life, you know.” He looked almost hurt at your words, which couldn’t be true. Sure, you were fucking, but it’s not like this was a normal marriage. You knew he wouldn’t have wanted Phil working with you, just on the basis of him being a man. You didn’t want to be micromanaged by your own husband, so you simply hadn’t got around to telling him. 

“C’mere.” John tugged you towards the office, his grip hard. You could hear Terrance telling Phil to go home and wait for an update. Probably for the best. You imagined Terrance following him out, then debriefing with John’s driver about how much of an asshole their boss was.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” John asked, arms crossed and face red. He’d shut the office door but remained standing since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “Because I knew you’d get like this.” You spit out, crossing your arms to mirror his. “Fuckin’ concerned fer the security of my wife? Tha’s a bad reaction?” You took a step back from him, crossing your arms tighter so you could pinch your waist, a reminder to stay strong.

“Controlling and caveman. This is my place of work, John, and you’ve embarrassed me in front of my coworker.” He doesn’t meet your eye, staring at the door so hard it might burst into flames. He looks like a predator ready to pounce, muscles trembling from restraint. “Ya don’t realize how many enemies I have. Every person needs t’ be checked.” Did he think you were stupid? “I had Terrance check him out. I know you don’t want me around your work, but I’m not an idiot, John.”

His rejection of your offer to travel with him weeks ago had stung more than you cared to admit. He clearly didn’t trust you, only seeing you as someone to fuck around with. You didn’t realize how far that lack of trust went.

“He should’ve reported it to Gaz.” John mutters. “He did. I know that for a fact.” John ran a hand through his hair, then dipped down to tug at his tie. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me. Christ, he’s worse than I thought.” You wanted to ask what that meant, but you bit your lip instead. He obviously didn’t want to tell you.

“Look, I know I’m a bastard and you had that goddamn clause in the contract, but you can trust me. I’m not running around behind your back.” That got John’s gaze to snap back to you, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Tha’s wha’ ya think this is about?” You nod, suddenly unsure. “Sweetheart, that was Gaz’s idea. T’ see if you’d argue. I intended for you to ask fer another cheatin’ clause fer me, but ya didn’t so I let it go. ‘S nothin’ like tha’. Plus, I didn’t know ya then. I know ya now.” Oh.

“So you trust me?” What about the trip? You wanted to ask, but you figure that would show your hand too much. John nods slowly, uncrossing his hands to put them on his hips. “Don’t care tha’ yer a bastard. ‘M not fuckin’ anyone else, either. I’m just concerned fer yer safety.” He takes a few steps towards you, gauging your reaction to see if you step back. You don’t, uncrossing your arms and praying they don’t shake. He grabs your hands in his own, blue eyes swimming with openness. There are so many things you want to ask him about: your childhood, his father, the future. They all fall to the wayside when he leans down to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “If I didn’t trust ya, ya wouldn’t sleep in my bed.” He kisses your forehead, then cheek, before pulling back. “I need ya t’ believe me.” He demands it seriously. A sudden rush of affection hits your heart. He looks so truthful, so concerned, and you want to show him that same care back.

You lower to your knees. John steps back, unsure. “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to.” You shake your head, beckoning him to come near. “I want to.”

John tugs off the blazer he’s wearing, folding it into a light pillow. He squats down on his haunches, eyes on yours. A warm hand brushes your knees, urging you up so he can slip the blazer under them. He then stands; blue eyes dark as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Go’on, baby. Take whatever you want.”

You reach for his black belt, unfastening it with trembling hands. It unclips with ease, and John’s hands, hairy and veiny and strong, cloud your vision as he unfurls it from his belt loops. You continue downwards, undoing the midnight black of his button. You unzip slowly, licking your lips in anticipation. His fingers brush back the creases on your forehead, trailing down to brush the shell of your ear. “Feel ok?” You nod at his question, cupping him through his boxers. John releases a sharp exhale, a heady sense of power coming over you. You work the pants down fully to give you room, petting him this way and that.

Finally, you peel down the dark fabric of his boxers. He’s hairy but well-maintained, similar to his fuzzy torso you’ve felt in bed. His cock is thick and heavy, wet with precum as it slaps against his upper thigh. You tuck his boxers down to give you room, then start exploring. Kitten licks to the base of him, his hair tickling your nose. Your hand joins you to squeeze his balls, eliciting a sharp groan. John tugs on your hair, more out of instinct than control. “You feel ok?” You throw his words back at him, a cheshire smile growing as he moans again.

“Christ, those fuckin’ hands.” He responds. You move to start stroking, licking him from base to tip. He tastes like salt and musk, but clean with the scent of pine. It’s the most addicting scent on earth. After he’s wet and leaking, you steady yourself with a hand on his upper thigh and the other on your husband’s cock.

You finally take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. You hum and his grip on your hair tightens. “‘M gonna fuck yer mouth sometime.” You let go of him with a pop, leaning backwards. “Not tonight?” He shakes his head, reaching down to pump his cock in your absence. “I’m a few strokes from cummin’, sweetheart. You look too goddamn good on yer knees.” That earns a grin from you and a renewed sense of vigor.

You suck him hard this time, your hand making up the length you can’t cover. You work yourself into an easy rhythm, up and down as he cradles your face. It’s much softer than you’ve ever experienced from a man, careful and protective. He wasn’t kidding about how close he is, harsh pants emitting faster and faster from his chest. “Where d’ya want me, baby?” You don’t respond, keeping him in your mouth. All you do is blink sweetly, willing your eyes to look bigger than usual. “Fuckin’ perfect, my wife.” That sends a jolt to your heart, and you have to stop yourself from accidentally biting down. Instead of responding, you stroke faster and faster. His abs tense, and you pull back just slightly, letting him coat your tongue and lips. It’s salty but not bitter, a marker of how fucking healthy he is. You lick your lips, swallowing thickly. His thumb brushes off a bit from your nose, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck hard, like you did the night he first fingered you. He continues cleaning you up, careful and quiet in his movements. John tucks himself back into his pants and offers you a hand to help you off the floor.

“Your knees sore?” He whispers. You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed despite not having taken your clothes off. “C’mere.” He tugs you into his arms, tucking you under his chin. “We good?” He asks. You want to say no, want to ask him all the questions swirling around in your head, but all you do is nod and hold him closer.

-

In the car, John’s hand on your thigh, your phone vibrates. It’s Phil.

Everything ok?

Yep! Marital problems, all good.

Your husband is intense.

He’s a sweetheart for me, all that matters 🙂

Good to know. See you tomorrow.

His tone is odd, but you shove that thought from your mind. John squeezes your hand, and you tuck your phone away, content to focus on your husband. Phil is the farthest thought from your mind.

-

um. smut. now they're like friends with problems? idk enemies got boring.

-

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[goldsbitch]

Kiss with a fist

To his twins, the world is ending. To Lando, it’s another exhausting reminder that parenting might actually be harder than racing.

or - No boys allowed near the girls from now on, especially not his rivals' son.

warning: dad! Lando, none, fun, domestic 3k word count stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

//

There is a loud crying sound coming from the room the seven year olds share and Lando has never felt so old in his bones. He'd just come back from an exhausting race and those don't exactly get easier with age. In times like these, he longs for the days when he was in his first years in F1, blissfully unaware of just how capable and seamless his body was. Anyway. No time to sulk in. One of his daughters is in distress and the day he does not respond to that will be the day he willingly puts himself up in jail.

He gets up from the couch and rushes over to the kids room. The crying is not stopping and when he enters it somehow starts clicking all in. He kneels down and hugs Maya, who looks like is determined to cry her eyes out. Meanwhile, Olivia is sitting on her bed, exceptionally quiet and has never looked more suspicious in her life, ever.

"We need to keep a closer eye on Liv, I think she's teasing Maya too much these days" he recalls Y/N saying over the phone one late evening. It was an early morning call for him, due to the timezones, but he remembers it clearly. He brushed it off, telling his wife that it's getting late over back home and that she should go and get some sleep while she can. But right now, assessing the current situation, he is not so sure about his previous judgement. Long gone is the time he was scared of being a bad parent, of fucking up. He's come to realization that he will inevitably fuck up - not in the same way as his parents, but in a completely new and original way. The fact they were blessed with twins making it that more likely to happen. He's hugging and caressing one daughter, while eyeing the other. Olivia has this look in her face and his stomach sinks down deeply, because he has seen this look before. In the mirror, many times. He was what most would consider a peaceful quiet child. Unless it was him and his sister alone. He'd tease her mercilessly, wait for her to start crying and then play innocent. His parents fell for that so easily.

And now, he's looking at his own daughter, who stares right back at him, and they both know. He shakes his head, making sure Maya does not see and while it does make him mad, it makes him less mad that it should. Because ultimately, he knows that him and his sisters grew up just fine and this teasing eventually stopped. Still, his other daughter is wallowing in his arms and he can't ignore that.

Maya is the first one to speak. "Daddy...I don't want to have a baby," she leans back from his embrace and pouts at him in a way only seven year old know how. So raw, honest and unfiltered.

Lando must have misheard her. “Come again, sweetheart?”

He brushes few tears away. At least she’s not sobbing anymore and is focused on trying to get the words out. “I don’t want to have a baby, I’m too young for that”.

It’s hard not to agree with that. She is seven years old.

He smiles gently, trying to somehow untangle this. "Why would you have a baby?" Another stream of tears and cries follows and she wraps herself in his arms again. He sighs, as it is does not get easier with time to hear your little daughter cry and he looks up to Olivia, who's still sitting on her bed. He's not mad per say, but he's silently asking her to help him find an answer to this all. This is the first time that Liv's expression shakes up and cracks away, hinting on either guilt or at least a sorrow she feels at the sight of her own twin crying. Good, Lando thinks. He tries as much as he can to avoid automatically blaming her for anything without having enough information about the situation. But, his it's hard to ignore his intuition.

He turns to Maya again. "Sweetie, why would you have a baby? You're so young?"

Maya's voice trips over her own sobs, but she finally speaks again. "I...I kissed a boy today."

Now - hold on. First of all, why is his seven year old daughter kissing some boys? He feels himself tense up. Of course he knew this days would come, but he was silently hoping for ten more years of keeping his little angels as they were. Just young, tiny kids running around playing tag. Not kissing boys, girls or whomever. "Who did you kiss?" he can't stop himself from asking, silently hoping he does not know the parent of said boy, because there is no way of preventing himself from making the "concerned parent phone call". Monte Carlo is small, there is only few nursery schools around here. It's an everyone sort of knows everyone kind of situation. "Maya, don't worry - you're not in trouble," he adds, trying to make sure he keeps up on having his daughter willing to tell him stuff like that. She is not in trouble - the boy is. Lando used to be a boy. He knows what's up.

Maya's lip is trembling and her eyes are wet. He can't bear that sight. "Sweetheart, you're not pregnant. I'm sure of that," he consoles her and after few moments of deep thought, she seems to believe him. She ask once more for confirmation. His answered is interrupted by his other daughter, who now looks equally concerned as Maya was just a minute ago.

"But she is pregnant. That's how it works. Boys at the playground said so," she speaks, oh-so-sure of her claims. He face is serious and has a sense of fatality around it. He begins to understand how other children would fall so deeply under this spell.

Ah, Lando thinks and the penny drops. He runs his hands through his hair and has to chuckle just a bit. He doesn't want Maya to think he’s making fun of her, but the absurdity of the situation is too much. He leans back on his heels, looking between his two daughters. Maya’s face is still flushed from crying, and Olivia is sitting with her arms crossed, looking like a pint-sized prophet of doom.

He clears his throat, trying to sound as serious as possible. "Okay, let's get something straight out of the way. Kissing someone is not how you get pregnant," he speaks and his mind briefly flashes to the panic he and Y/N felt the moment they found out she was pregnant with the twins. It's been a long time ago and enlightening journey since, but he can somewhat understand the sentiment. He tries to ground his children down some more. "Look at me and Mommy. We kiss all the time and she is not pregnant, right?"

Olivia seems intrigued. "So, how do you get pregnant?" He looks at her and curses himself for walking right into that one. It's clear in her face and maneurism that she is going to be a very difficult teenager one day. "Ask Mommy when she comes back," he blurts out, not at all prepared for that talk. He's also already mentally ordering apology bouquet for his dear wife for throwing her under a bus like that. He turns to Maya again. "Anyway, you don't worry. You're not pregnant," he caresses her cheek and once she really does seem more calm, he asks. "Now - who kissed you?"

Maya glances at Olivia, and Lando notices his other daughter watching with laser focus. Olivia’s lips are pressed tightly together, her expression that of someone who knows something and is dying to spill it.

“Do you want me to tell him?” Olivia asks suddenly, looking unable to contain herself any longer.

“Liv,” Lando says with a sigh, shooting her a warning look.

“What? I already know who it was,” Olivia says, folding her arms across her chest with a dramatic flair that only a seven-year-old can pull off. He averts his gaze to Maya, who looks like is ready to fess up.

"You're not in trouble," he says and hopes he can keep up on his promise.

She tenses up and something tells Lando he actually does not want to know. "It was Lucas." Too late. “Lucas,” he repeats, his voice carefully neutral.

Maya nods slowly, her cheeks flushing pink. “Lucas Verstappen,” she specifies. Lando feels his stomach drop. Max Verstappen’s son. Of all the boys in the world, it had to be Lucas, the mini version of the Verstappen gang and what one would call a true heir of their infamous blunt approach to life. If this is true, it marks the beginning of a lifetime of headaches. His poor, sweet little daughter - one he'll have to protect until forever.

"And she kissed him too!" Olivia nearly screams out, letting her opinion on this known by the judgy tone.

Lando eyes grow wide and he silently thankful for Olivia spilling it like it is. Maya's guilt ridden face gives it away all. "Maya, honey, aren't you a little young to be kissing boys?" he asks rhetorically, because of course - his little angel should definitely not be doing that.

"I would never kiss a boy! They are gross and annoying," Olivia blurts out, ever-so-competitive. He's not sure what scares him more, Maya who's running around kissing boys or Olivia, who reminds him of himself more each passing day. Let's see about that, Liv, when in ten years I'm warding off boys from your window, he thinks, but does not say it out loud.

"He kissed me first!" Maya defends herself and snuggles into Lando's embrace more. He sighs. It's not been the quiet chill down he expected to return to.

"Okay, ladies. Let's all calm down. How about some ice-cream?" he offers, hoping that cheap bribing will buy him some time to think. The sudden cheers confirm it and he's adding another five flowers to the bouquet for Y/N, knowing she won't condone this.

//

He's watching his daughters munch on the impromptu ice-cream sundae, both of them sitting silently on the kitchen counter, apparently dead set on destroying their pajamas with colorful stains.

The name Verstappen still rings in his ears. They're suppose to have a little family get together tomorrow and for some reason, that's starting to increasingly bother him.

He excused himself for a moment and goes to the balcony, making what he fears is one of the first distressed "my daughter kissed someone" call in his life - and not the last one. Headache. That's what it is.

The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his voice sounding tired and politely annoyed.

“Lando. What’s up, mate? Is it urgent, I'm kind of dead tonight.”

Lando takes a deep breath, trying to sound calm. Oh, you and your son will be dead very soon.

"Hi Max, yeah, it sort of is," he murmurs, trying to think his strategy through. "We have to cancel tomorrow, something came up." Genius. That's who he is. Now, he just has to move his family away from Monte Carlo and make sure Maya never meets Lucas Verstappen ever again. Problem solved.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. "Cancel? What do you mean cancel? Lucas has been talking about seeing the girls all week." Of course he has. Lando groans internally. Of course Lucas has been excited. This wasn’t just any hangout. This was apparently the next chapter in their little playground romance.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, mate," Lando insists, leaning on the balcony railing, running a hand through his hair, overlooking at his dearest angels, who will need his infinite protection. "We can’t do it. Something came up. Okay, bye."

Max is quick enough to speak before he manages to hang up. "Wait, what? If it's a problem for you and Y/N, we can just take care of the kids, no problem."

Is it the whole Verstappen family that wants to take his precious daughters? Lando knows he might be overreacting, but he is a tired man with a resposibility over two seven year old. Cut him some slack.

"No. Canceled. Bye," he says and kills the call. There, all sorted. He immediately goes on figuring out some back up activity for the family, something that will sound so exciting that they will all forget about the Verstappens.

Max calls him right back and he does not pick it up.

The young father goes on putting the girls down, everyone is now calm and there are no more pregnancy scares. He is good at this. Everything is great. Just as the girls are tucked into bed, eyelids drooping and calm finally restored, Lando’s phone buzzes once more. He glances over at it, expecting Max to be trying again. Instead, he sees Y/N’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hi, love,” Lando answers, trying to sound casual. He winks at his daughters, who are always excited when Mommy's around. “How’s dinner?”

“It’s nice,” Y/N replies, but her tone has an edge, the one where he knows she’s about to interrogate him. “How’s everything at home? The girls okay?”

“They’re fine,” Lando says quickly and decides to leave the kids bedroom, so that he can pace around, as he always does when Y/N sounds like that. “All good here. No problems.”

There’s a beat of silence. He can feel her narrowing her eyes through the phone. He can hear the rush of the restaurant she's at, so her calling him must have a pretty good reason.

"Mm hm. So why did you cancel tomorrow’s hangout with Max and his family?"

Lando rolls his eyes, his brain scrambling for an answer while cursing Max mentally. Ugh. “Uh… something came up?”

"What "something," exactly?" Y/N presses, her voice filled with wonder.

"Just… things," Lando says vaguely, mentally kicking himself.

"Things," Y/N repeats flatly. "Lando, Max is suspicious. He just called me, distressed, asking what was going on, and now he thinks you’re mad at him."

This fires him up again. "Well, I am mad at him! So he got that right." Saying this makes him feel like the child in this scenario. Headache. Again.

Y/N sighs. "Did something happen on the track?" he asks patiently.

"What?" he asks, confused. He shakes his head. "No, no, it's um...The girls don't want to meet Lucas tomorrow, that's all."

Even he can't believe his tone.

"The same girls that spent the whole of yesterday excited about the bouncy castle they have at home?" she speaks with almost annoyed tone now. Lando groans, resting his forehead on the cool countertop. He does not have an answer. Just as he's about to fill her in on the whole kissing debacle, he continues. "Look, unless they're sick or something, can you please call Max and talk this out? I'm at the dinner and I can't just spend it all on the phone with my husband and his friend. Call him and talk it out."

Why is life so hard on him? "Do I have to? Can’t we just-"

"Lando," Y/N interrupts firmly. "You canceled without an explanation. You absolutely have to."

"Fine," he says, defeated. "Have a nice dinner, honey. I miss you," he concludes genuinely.

"Me too," Y/N says, her tone softening slightly. "I’ll check in when I’m on my way home. Love you."

"Love you too," Lando mutters, hanging up. He stares at his phone for a moment, then reluctantly dials Max’s number again.

It rings twice before Max answers, his voice dripping with faux innocence.

"Hey man. What the fuck?" Verstappens - always the pleasure.

"Max," Lando starts, rubbing his temple. "How are you? All good?" he asks politely, like the Brit he used to be once.

"What the fuck do you mean, how am I. You cancel out of nowhere and now Lucas won't talk to me, so yeah, great night off for me," he hears unfiltered tone coming through the speaker. He can't say it does not please him a bit.

"Well, it's late, he should be sleeping anyway," Lando let's out of his mouth before he thinks that through, ragging Max even further.

"You stop giving me instructions on how to raise my child and act like an adult for a moment, would you?"

"If someone should act more adult, it's Lucas," Yeah, Lando. Great comeback. Wow. The eight year old should act more like an adult.

Max manages to brush over that. "Did he do something to the twins? You need to tell me these things, how am I suppose to fix it if I don't know what happened? Or if something has even happened?"

It's hard to fight that logic. Especially after the evening Lando has had today. Lando sighs. There’s no way out of this, so he decides to just rip off the band-aid. "Maya told me… that Lucas kissed her. The silence on the other end is deafening. "And she kissed him back," Lando adds, cringing.

Max’s response is immediate: he bursts into laughter. "Oh, my God," Max wheezes. "Lucas and Maya? That’s amazing."

"It's anything but amazing, Max,” Lando snaps, pacing around again. "She thought she was pregnant because of something the kids on the playground told her! Do you know how much emotional damage I’ve endured in the past hour?"

Max is still laughing, clearly delighted. "Mate, you’re overreacting. They’re small. It’s harmless."

"This is the first boy she’s kissed, Max!" Lando argues. "Your son is now part of her origin story!"

"Oh, please," Max says, still chuckling. "What do you think is going to happen? They’ll run away together? They’re kids, Lando. Relax. It's normal for the to do this."

"I can’t relax," Lando grumbles. "And what’s worse, Olivia is now convinced she’s never falling in love because, and I quote, "boys are gross.""

Max cackles again. "Honestly, that’s probably for the best. Liv’s smart."

Lando's cup of patience, small one to begin with, is truly overflowing.

"Alright, alright," Max says, finally calming down and sensing that teasing Lando is not the way to go about it tonight. "Look, Lucas is a good kid. He probably just thought Maya looked pretty and didn’t know how else to say it. I’ll talk to him, alright? But you don’t need to cancel tomorrow over this."

Lando hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He knows they would all team up against him anyway. He lost this one. "You’re sure he won’t try anything else?"

Max snorts. "What, like propose? No, Lando, I don’t think so. He’s seven."

Fine.

//

The sound of children’s laughter fills the Verstappens’ backyard, the air warm and bright with sunlight. Like it's all mocking Lando specifically. The infamous bouncy castle stands in all its glory. Lando leans against a chair at the patio table, his arms crossed as he surveys the scene with the intensity of investors watching their car getting overtaken on track.

Maya and Lucas are bouncing together, grinning ear to ear like they’ve completely forgotten the events of yesterday. Meanwhile, Olivia stands off to the side, arms crossed and nose wrinkled in distaste, looking like she’s silently judging the entire scenery. She’s probably drafting her manifesto on why boys are, indeed, “gross.” Lando feels proud. At least one of his daughters is strong enough not to fall for cheap boy's tricks. Not even Y/N seems to understand the gravity of the situation. No matter how long Lando spent trying to explain it to her. Cute, that's what she called it. He hopes this is not a precedent. For now, he stands alone.

"You’re watching them like a prison guard," Y/N comments, nudging Lando gently as she sits down beside him.

"And for good reason," Lando replies, narrowing his eyes at Lucas, who’s apparently successfull at making Maya laugh. "He’s already made a move once. I’m not letting it happen again." He will sit happily sit in every playground they happen to encounter each other at.

Y/N hides her smile behind her coffee cup. "I think we’re safe for now. They’re just kids, Lando. You don’t have to treat Lucas like he’s some F1 rival trying to steal pole position from you."

"He is trying to steal something," Lando grumbles under his breath. Max strolls over, holding a plate of snacks, like the responsible dad he pretends to play, and looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Enjoying the show?"

Lando gives him a side-eye glare. "You think this is funny, don’t you?" Max smirks, popping a grape into his mouth and just nods.

"Your son traumatized my daughters yesterday," Lando fires away.

Max rolls his eyes. "And now they’re bouncing around like best friends again. Kids bounce back back. In this case, literally." Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

As if on cue, Lucas lands a little too close to Maya, sending both of them tumbling onto the floor of the bouncy castle in a fit of giggles. Lando tenses, halfway out of his seat before Y/N grabs his arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "It's fine." "For now," Lando protests, settling back reluctantly. From across the yard, Lucas suddenly stands up and calls out: "Mr. Norris!" Lando freezes, his eyes narrowing as the devil child approaches him. "What?" Lucas grins, holding up a flower he’s picked from the garden. He's rushing over to his and hands it to Lando, eyes filled with expectation and anticipation. "This is for Maya!" Speechless Lando accepts the flower, albeit confused as to why he's handing the flower to him and not to Maya, if she's the supposent recipient. Lucas flashes one look towards his father and in the corner of the eye, Lando can see Max nod approvingly. They really have all teamed up against him. Everyone is watching them and waiting for something exiting to happen. Olivia, the only one having Lando's back, lets out an audible groan loud enough to be heard across the yard.

"Oh, come on," she says, throwing her hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. I’m never falling in love. Ever!”

Y/N snorts into her coffee, Max doubles over laughing, and Lando buries his face in his hands. Meanwhile, happy Lucas runs back to the bouncing castle.

"Why is my life like this?" he wonders, looking up the sky for answers. None come. Y/N pats his shoulder affectionately. "Because you’re the dad of two amazing girls. And one of them might have a little crush. It’s not the end of the world."

"It’s the beginning of the end," Lando mumbles dramatically. Max grins, leaning closer. "You know, if Lucas and Maya end up together, we’ll officially be family. Imagine that, Lando," he pauses dramatically. "Maya Verstappen."

Lando's stomach turns upside down, he groans and turns to Y/N. "We're moving to another continent."

The domestic afternoon continues, adults laughing and talking - apart form Lando, who sits in his observant position, regularly sighing, back leaning and forth in his chair. It’s going to be a long, chaotic road ahead. And it looks like he's the only sane person around - in his opinion exclusively.

----------------------- note: fire up them ideas for this pseudo series!!! love you all

[yutarot]

cozy. n.jm

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ childhood bff!jaemin, snowboarding au, fwb, sfw

synopsis. you and jaemin have been inseparable since you were children. when you and a few of your friends go on your annual mountain ski trip, the air grows tense when they find out that you and jaemin have been sleeping together. so what happens when an overnight snowstorm extends your trip, bringing a sudden change of plans and a very unlikely guest to your vacation: jaemins crush. will your friendship survive within the cold presence of snow or will it melt away once the sun rises.

wc: 6.8k

warnings. implied sex, suggestive, language, jaemin sucks, miscommunication (sorry), yn is wayy too nice in this

notes — ty to the anon who gave me this idea hehe i immeeediately thought of jaemin so i had to write it. i hope u enjoy this it was fun to write (also ended up being way longer than i expected butttt oh well)

the trip started 4 days ago. 

you always loved your winter ski trips. you loved the way the snow glistened under the sun, illuminating the sky line in a crisp peach orange. you loved the way you could become carefree, no worries of college or having to pick up extra shifts at the cafe. it was always perfect, a spirited culmination of a frosty vacation. 

like usual, you unpacked at lightning speed, occupying the room directly between jaemin and jisung and opposite chenle. as kids, you and mark used to argue over who got the room that you stay in, it being the only room in the cabin with a double bed, but after many years of relentless fighting, you always managed to beat him.

the five of you have been friends since before you could remember, constant pranks and silliness as kids soon became reliability and comfort as you grow into your late teens. but now that you all attend college together, you’re closer than ever.

admittedly, you’ve always been closer to jaemin than the rest, your childhood homes being next to each other, serving as a reason for you to play out in the street each evening after school. even as you entered high school and eventually college, you stayed close, despite jaemin’s tendencies to sleep around with girls and eventually ghost them soon after.

you would be mad at jaemin’s exploits, but you can’t exactly say that being mad at someone’s past actions is entirely justifiable, especially since his playboy behaviour has recently become less frequent.

the air in the cabin is surprisingly warm, a crisp layer of frost encasing the windows and blocking the breeze of snow as it falls upon the mountain that the cabin rests between. the sky, once blue, is now an iridescent hue of orange, reflecting off the snow on the ground and pulsing through the window and onto the wooden walls around you, making them glow. it is an utterly beautiful place, and you thank chenle’s parents for letting you stay here each winter unsupervised.

as you walk through the walkway and into the main room, you spot chenle upon the sofa, browsing the old vintage tv for any channels that don’t bore him profusely. mark and jaemin are playing a game of chess on the floor, resting themselves upon fluffy white cushions and muttering snarky comments to each other under their breaths. noticing your presence, chenle clears his throat, causing mark to look up at you, and eventually, jaemin to spin his body round in your direction.

“i’m bored.” you say, “that tv looks way too old to function and i don’t know how to play chess.” 

chenle speaks first, “well, i mean, maybe if you actually spend some time with us, you might have some fun.”

“sounds like a blast.” you say sarcastically, “i just think we should go out and do something in the snow instead of just being all cooped up in here for the third day in a row.”

“it’s too cold.” jaemin utters, “usually it’s not this bad.”

“and? just put on an extra layer.” you reply, looking to mark for help.

sighing, mark speaks up to agree with you, and with his help, you eventually manage to convince chenle and jaemin to go and wake up jisung, before layering up and grabbing your snowboards from the shed behind the cabin.

as you all walk across the mountain to the ski area, occasionally partaking in a small snowball fight on the way, you hurl yourselves onto the ski lifts.

you sit in between jaemin and mark, ignoring mark’s teasing as you struggle to get yourself seated.

once the lift begins to climb, you feel an immediate sense of calm. you’ve always enjoyed these trips, a moment of relaxation away from home, all with your favourite people. it is true that you wish you could bring your girl friends along, but they all hate the boys with a passion for multiple, various (and valid) reasons, and so, with their permission, you go without them.

lost in your own thoughts, you don’t notice as you suddenly begin to slip from the ski lift, the bar doing absolutely nothing to keep you in place.

“yn?”, you hear jaemin’s voice beside you, a weird sense of distress lining his voice as he quickly grabs a hold of your arm, attempting to lift you back onto the seat.

but it’s no use, the snowboard beneath you weighs you down and you slip from his grasp.

“mark, she’s slipping.” jaemin urges the other boy beside you.

“shit.”

they both try to bring you up, but as you get higher and higher to the top of the slope, the ground begins to find your feet, pulling you down with it.

you stumble before landing upside down into the snow, luckily not sliding anywhere, but unfortunately feeling a sudden frosty chill as piles and piles of snow seep into your clothing and down your back.

noticing your discomfort, jaemin bends down, lifting your face to his and, with a gentle smile, he brushes your snow-covered hair from your face.

“it’s… everywhere.” you shiver.

“everywhere?” jaemin asks.

you roll your eyes. “not the time for jokes.”

it takes you a while to notice mark standing behind jaemin, but when you do, you tell them both to continue on without you and that you’ll find your own way back to the cabin to change your clothes.

nodding after making sure that you’re okay, mark leaves to snowboard down the slope, leaving you and jaemin as you sit, still shaking, covered in ice and snow.

“i’m gonna-“ you say, getting up.

jaemin interrupts. “let me help you.”

“i don’t need help.” you reply.

there is a moment of silence before jaemin speaks again, as if he is choosing his words carefully.

“i know a better way to warm you up.”

your face lines in an expression of shock.

“we promised we wouldn’t do it here.” you say, “what if one of the others see something?”

“they won’t.” he smiles at you before pointing in the direction of the others, all enjoying themselves drifting down the snow, swerving in all kinds of directions.

it doesn’t take much for you to give in. so when you get back to the cabin, eventually changing into some fresh clothes that will eventually be pointless, jaemin turns out to be right.

he does know a way to warm you up.

his request didn’t surprise you, and you’re unsure if the others finding out that you and jaemin have been secretly hooking up for the past year is an all too bad thing. but at the thought of them having a little bit too much fun potentially teasing you both, you decided to keep it on the down-low.

it was never supposed to happen; you and jaemin are best friends. but after jaemin’s vow to stop playing with girls’ hearts and your fresh break up with your ex, you both decided that the logical thing to do is to use each other when you need it. it was simple.

over the past year, you have established 3 main rules for your ‘friends with benefits’ situation. number 1: you and jaemin can both sleep with other people if you so wish, number 2: no feelings are involved, if one person begins to feel anything for the other, then you must break it off. (this one isn’t and never will be a problem for you two, but you need to add it there anyway; you’ve heard the stories about jaemin the ‘serial heartbreaker’, and you definitely don’t want to be a victim of that) and number 3: no sleeping together during the winter ski trip. right now, you are breaking a rule, and neither you, nor jaemin, seem to care. it does scare you a little, however, considering how easily jaemin was willing to break it, and it has you wondering how strong the other rules even are.

after cleaning yourself up, you make your way to the kitchen to make yourself and jaemin a hot chocolate, sprinkling far too much powdered chocolate on the whipped cream and having to clear up all your mess soon after. jaemin follows you into the kitchen, pulling his shirt back over his head.

“can i ask you something?” jaemin says, reaching his arm past you to scoop his finger into the whipped cream and swiping it onto your nose. you push him away, watching as he giggles at you frantically wiping the cream off your nose in annoyance.

“sure.” you reply, and he leans on the counter beside you.

“when was the last time you slept with someone else?”

if you say the question doesn’t surprise you, you’d be lying. jaemin knows you can sleep with other people, it’s part of your rules. so why do you feel as though you’re in trouble?

“last saturday. that party on joomi’s street. eric sohn.”

jaemin’s face is unreadable. you continue, “if you’re worried you have competition, i wouldn’t worry. it was just one night.” you laugh.

“oh, i’m not worried.” he replies, “especially after the way you were saying my name back in there.”

his head tilts to the side to point in the direction of your room and you look over on instinct, memories of the past 30 minutes flashing in your mind and causing you to forget what you were even about to say.

but when you look over to the doorway, something else catches your attention.

or someone else.

standing at the front door, snowboard in hand and ski mask pulled down to his chin, stands a mortified, and astonished mark lee.

you freeze up, and no longer from the cold chill of snow.

he has heard everything.

you’re completely fucked.

❆ ❆ ❆

pacing around the kitchen and watching as mark looks between you both, you begin to attempt to redeem yourself.

“look, mark, that wasn’t what it sounded like, me and jaemin would never.”

mark looks at you, skeptical, before turning his attention to jaemin, who stands in the back corner of the kitchen, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed as if none of this is bothering him.

mark looks back at you. “yoooo, i mean, i guess i always knew there was something off about you guys.”

you rush towards him, clutching his shoulders. “i promise you, mark, it’s not like that-”

“we’re fucking.” jaemin finally speaks, and yours and mark’s heads both whip towards him in shock. jaemin shrugs, as if it isn’t a big deal.

“jaemin.” you say sternly, “what are you doin-”

“what? he caught us, there’s no point in denying it.”

“this is unbelievable.” mark chuckles, “i gotta go tell the others.”

“no you don’t.” you say, grabbing a hold of his arm.

he rolls his eyes. “alright, but at least give me details, man. how long? when did it start? why?”

you look to jaemin, not wanting to answer for yourself.

“about a year,” he says, “and why not?”

“why not?!” mark exclaims in disbelief, “i don’t know, maybe the fact that you’re best friends? what if you end up catching-”

“not gonna happen.” says jaemin, “we dont see eachother like that, never will.”

mark only continues to laugh, “this is nuts. you guys haven’t been doing it all weekend, have you? i don’t think i wanna hear it if you guys end up getting busy while we’re all meant to be asleep.”

“nope,” you reply. “this is the first and only time we’ve done it here. we sort of made it a rule so that this wouldn’t happen.”

before you can finish your conversation, chenle walks through the door. “so what wouldn’t happen?” he says, scanning his eyes between yours and jaemin’s lack of outdoor wear compared to mark’s.

“nothing.” you reply.

“nothing?” he asks, studying mark and jaemin’s expressions.

there is a second where no one speaks, but that seems to be enough for chenle, because the next thing he says is: “you guys fucked, didn’t you?”

mark can’t keep in his smile as he tries not to laugh and give it away, but jaemin’s stern expression speaks volumes.

chenle shrugs before taking off his coat and making his way to the fridge, “ehh, was sort of obvious anyways.”

“what?” you exclaim, “how?”

his eyebrow raises as he takes a bite of the donut he had taken out its packet, “jaemin swearing off girls the same time as you breaking up with your ex, you constantly ditching our movie nights to ‘hang out with your cat,’ and jaemin suddenly changing from being an insufferable prick to actually being half nice.” jaemin lets out a laugh at the last comment. “i have more if you want me to continu-“

 “thats okay, no thank you,” you speak up, “first of all, jaemin is still an insufferable prick.”

“thanks.” jaemin butts in.

“no problem.” you turn your head to him quickly before you continue, causing the others to laugh. “and secondly, i do actually go to hang out with my cat. i love her.” you say, offended.

“whatever.” chenle replies, a judging expression on his face.

they both took the news a lot better than you thought, so you decide to let them tell jisung, who is undoubtedly the most surprised at the revelation. but jaemin’s silence throughout the whole conversation annoys you. you don’t understand why he was being so quiet about it. but when you hear mark and jaemin whispering amongst themselves while you were meant to be in the shower, your confusion peaked.

“this isn’t like you, man.” it sounded like mark’s voice.

“i know.” jaemin replied.

that’s all you heard.

for the rest of the night, you all wrap yourselves in blankets on the sofa to watch some movie that jisung wanted to watch, the fireplace emitting a radial heat and deep hue of ember, softening you into a state of tiredness, drifting off as your head rests on the hard sofa next to you.

it’s only after you wake up that you realize it is certainly not the sofa that you were lying against, but instead, jaemin’s shoulder.

you hear the melodic birdsong as it fills the air outside, the white of snow lighting up the room. or is it chenle’s hideous singing in the shower that you hear? it’s hard to tell.

breaking yourself from jaemins sleeping grasp, you get up to look out the window. you’re meant to go home today, this is supposed to be your final morning of the trip.

but as you peek your vision out the window, around 3 feet of snow covers the floor all around the cabin, the four wheels of marks camper van not even visible.

“uhm, guys..” you call out, grabbing the attention of a freshly showered chenle, a mid breakfast-making mark, a book occupied jisung and a half asleep jaemin. they all stop their various activities at the urgency in your voice, coming over to you and looking out the window for themselves.

it takes each of them about 5 minutes to process what this means; your trip is going to be extended. you are trapped.

and you may be trapped but yours and jaemins secret is very much free.

it finally hits 3pm and you realise that you have all spent the entire day enveloped in boredom, watching as the snow falls and continues to form on the ground. there is no way all this snow will clear in just a few days.

you are lucky that chenle had brought nearly double the amount of food that you needed originally, meaning all you had to do now was to sit and wait it out. 

lounging on the sofa, you listen to the smooth rhythm of chenles jazz vinyl playing on loop across the room. you’re bored, and you can’t even go outside. you can tell the others are bored too, that same expression of ‘i just want to go home now.’ plastered on all of their faces. 

but their expressions quickly flip when a knock rattles from the front door.

you all look at each other in question before collectively jumping up in sync, running at inhuman speeds to the door. you were about to be saved, removed from the shackles of dullness and provided passage back home. 

being the first to get to the door, you grab a hold of the handle, struggling in attempts to only slightly crack it open to keep the snow outside.

but when you open the door and poke your head through the crack, you’re met with a very familiar face.

hayun. also known as, jaemins long-time ‘secret’ infatuation: his crush. 

your mind shatters in disbelief as you pull the door fully open to let the other guys see who it is, no longer caring about the snow as it comes piling in.

all because the look on jaemins face is priceless.

the others all look to him to see what he’s going to say, and unsurprisingly, all he has to say is ‘hi.’ you wouldn’t expect more from him, he’s never spoken a word that exceeds a greeting to her before.

following jaemins poor attempt at an introduction, you take over.

“what are you doing here? are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern for the girl lining your voice. 

“well, i was here on a ski trip with my friends but, they all abandoned me.”

“what?” you ask. 

“and i remembered seeing a few of your guys’ instagram posts saying you were here so… i thought i’d knock.”

“wow.” mark says, “your friends suck.”

“i know. so, any chance i can stay here? i would go home but the weather isn’t exactly drivable.”

you turn to the rest of your group, concluding the pity in their faces before turning back to hayun. “of course! we don’t have a spare room and the sofa gets cold at night but i have a double bed if you don’t mind sharing.”

“thank you so much!” she grins before stepping inside and pulling you in for a hug. you cringe as you come into contact with the cold casing of her coat, the ice cool against your skin as you try not to push her off of you. 

in all honesty, you feel bad for her and you know that jaemin is about to get relentlessly bullied by the rest of the group. this was about to make your extended trip a whole lot more interesting.

it hasn’t been a long time since he developed a crush on hayun, spotting her across the other side of his lecture hall. he always gives you some excuse as to why he’s somehow never gotten a chance to speak to her, so you presume that he’s happy that he finally has. either that or completely terrified. either way, you’re happy for him.

yes, you are. you’re happy for him.

❆ ❆ ❆

a few hours pass as you show hayun around the cabin, making space for her things in your room. letting her unpack, you make your way to the front room, finding jaemin and mark on the sofa, seemingly midway through a conversation. 

“oh, don’t let me stop you.” you say, urging them to continue their talk after they cease talking at your arrival.

mark turns back to jaemin. “i think you should go for it, dude, what harm could come out of it, huh?” he says.

you’re curious, “you’re gonna ask her out?” you say to jaemin.

he smirks, “maybe, maybe not.”

somehow, something in your heart doesn’t like the idea of jaemin asking out hayun. you’re not sure if it’s the idea of you and him ending this whole ‘friends with benefits’ situation, or the fact that you’re probably going to have to step back from being his best friend, because, let’s face it, there’s no way she would ever let you stay as close as you now are if they got together.

you slap the idea out of your head; he hasn’t even asked her out yet. 

mark notices the internal battle you have with yourself. “something wrong with that, yn?”

if jaemin wasn’t here right now, blocking you from mark by sitting in between you, you one hundred percent would have punched him at that.

jaemin looks over to you, a questioning expression on his face. 

“uh.. no…” you reply, apprehensive.

“oh come on, i saw the face you just made. you’re jealous that he’s gonna be fucking someone else, aren’t you?” mark continues.

you don’t know what to say, caught off guard by the truth in marks words and the cold presence of jaemins gaze on you. 

“im not jel- “ you begin, but jaemin interrupts you. 

“yn.” he says. it’s just your name but it holds so much meaning. “am i not allowed to have a girlfriend?”

“‘course you can.” you reply, shrugging.

mark raises his eyebrow at you and you seriously consider getting up and kicking him. 

jaemin continues, “good. it's decided then. i'm gonna ask her out.” 

mark pats him on the back, laughing, “good luck, dude.”

you smile in acknowledgement as jaemin thanks mark before chenle comes in, completely changing the subject when he starts complaining about hayun’s infiltration of his ‘well organised fridge.’ 

you zone out their conversation to reassure yourself that you truly don't care that jaemin was going to try to get close to hayun, but you can't help but feel like you're about to be replaced. you always knew it was going to happen, that one day jaemin would want to settle down with a girl. but you're just so used to his playboy personality that you just never expected it to be so soon. 

amongst the endless drill of chatter, you feel a sudden glance in your direction, and as you look up, jaemins eyes suddenly divert away from you, as if he got caught looking. you want to ask him what he wants, but the silence in his demeanour tells you that you shouldn't. it's bittersweet; the end of his situation with you, marks the start of one with hayun. its a trade in which you don't want to be part of, but you fear you have no choice – only time can decide.

the rest of the day went by quickly. maybe it was because of your new addition to the vacation or simply because chenle found a cupboard full of dusty boardgames that you decided to occupy yourselves with. naturally, it was you and mark that beat everyone else at your very long, grueling game of monopoly, but that quickly flipped to jisung when you took your turns at scrabble. 

the entire time, you and mark teased jaemin relentlessly, catching glimpses as he (unwilling) took his seat next to hayun, pushed there by chenle and jisung and ending up on her team. you could tell that he was getting annoyed at you both giggling at him, but you didn't care; it only made the entire thing so much more fun. 

by the end of the night, it was time to sleep, so you and hayun took your rightful sides of the bed. it isn't the best sleeping situation, but you’d much rather sleep beside her than have to experience mark’s sweaty feet ever again. (that experience was not one that you want to remember.)

before you can switch the light off, though, you hear hayun sit up. 

“wait, yn, before we sleep…” she says, and you look at her expectantly, “can i ask you something?”

“sure.” you reply. 

she looks down, fiddling with her fingers. “Its jaemin. is he.. single?”

as if you hadn't heard her, you take a pause, processing her question. 

“yeah.” you let a laugh slip, “why? you like him?”

at your question, she giggles and her voice makes you cringe a little. 

“yes. a lot actually, it's sort of the reason why im here..”

you furrow your brow. “what do you mean?”

she takes a deep breath. “my friends never kicked me out.. i just saw that you guys were also here and, well, i thought it'd be a chance for me to get to know him.”

it's as if your ears are deceiving you, the late night tiredness of the conversation urging you to hallucinate. but it's all real, every last word of it. 

“wait, so, you lied?.. to get us to let you stay?”

she nods, and you don't know if you should pity her or hate her guts. 

because you know what it's like to be in love; you know what it's like to like someone so much to the point where you allow yourself to do stupid things. you understand. 

but that doesnt mean that you like her for it. 

“i know you probably think i'm a horrible person.” she says.

“no.. no, not at all.” you reply, and she smiles at your words. 

“thanks yn.”

you laugh back, “so, jaemin huh?”

she looks back down at her fingers, “yeah.. embarrassing right?”

you smile, not just to her, but to yourself. 

“totally.”

❆ ❆ ❆

all night, you debate with yourself over what hayun had told you. on one hand, you can't agree with what she did: lying like that. but her crush on him means that jaemin would be happy, and as his best friend, you can't take that away from him. therefore, amongst your deep pool of thought, her confession swimming in the depths of your mind, you decide that the best thing for you to do, is to hold off telling him that she lied; not only would it ruin their chances of getting together, but therefore, jaemin would only be upset that he never got the chance.

but just because you can't tell jaemin, doesn't mean you can't tell mark. 

“i really don't know what to think about her.” you say, standing in the kitchen over three pans of eggs. mark had asked you to have the task of cooking them, resorting to focus on the rest of the group's breakfast. you know it's because he can't cook eggs to save his life, but he'll never admit that.

“honestly,” he replies, “who cares if she likes jaemin? she’s a sneaky little liar.” 

you laugh, “i don't know, mark. maybe she's just really in love with him.”

“i’m not so sure about that. how could anyone ever be in love with someone who wears a hoodie saying ‘orgasm donor’ in public.”

you roll your eyes and mark continues, “well, i guess we all know who he's donating to now..”

you slap him around the arm, causing him to cackle at your rash response. 

“anyways,’ he continues, “i wont tell jaemin about it if you don't want me to.” 

you nod, “thanks, mark. oh, and you're burning the bacon by the way.”

“oh shit.”

❆ ❆ ❆

deciding that the weather still wasnt good enough to attempt to make the journey home, you all decided to stay another day. although the day was full of indiscriminate party games and full fledged boredom, you somehow managed to make it through to nightfall. 

you’re nearly drifting off to sleep when you hear a tap at the door of your’s and hayun’s room. turning over to see hayun fast asleep, you get up to see who’s there, wondering what idiot buffoon decided to wake you up at 4 o’clock in the morning. 

by means of absolutely no surprise, it’s a disheveled jaemin, hair sticking up in about seven different directions and a crumpled tshirt that rises ever so slightly above his pyjama pants waistline, exposing skin that you do not have the energy to be fawning over. although, that’s exactly what you’re doing.

assuming that he’s here to finally break the news to hayun in some twisted, sensual late night confession, you turn your back to jaemin to call her name. in noticing what you’re about to do, jaemin reaches an arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to him that the palm of his other hand can cover your mouth. 

“will you shut up?” you don't need to see his face to know he's rolling his eyes, “this isn't exactly something i want her to see.”

oh.

he lets go of you, spinning you round to face him by your shoulders. he’s done this before: knocking on your door in the dead of night when he needs you. but you never expected him to do it here. not after your conversation with mark a few days ago, and certainly not whilst his crush was staying in your room. it all seems so bizarre. 

but you weren't going to say no. 

❆ ❆ ❆

the next morning, you realise that you had completely and utterly fucked up. 

the warmth of jaemin next to you remains, his arm slung lazily over the front of your stomach. you expect to open your eyes to jaemins ceiling back at home, but to much avail, you are very much still on vacation.

and you had four pairs of eyes staring down on you both to prove that. 

you jump out of jaemin’s hold immediately, causing him to slowly stir before mumbling something incoherent into the sheets. when he finally realises the situation you’re in, he takes the pillow beside his head, pushing it into his face. 

“you promised you wouldn't do it here, man.” mark starts. but your focus isn't on him, it's on hayun. 

and she's livid.

you turn the attention of your words to her. “im sorry. i should have told you.”

jaemin finally gets up, picking up his discarded shirt off the ground and pulling it over his head before sitting back on the end of the bed. 

hayun eyes him for any form of an apologetic sense, but he gives off nothing, and you fear this only makes her angrier.

your fear is proven correct when she suddenly snaps at you, “you knew i liked him and you still went and did this behind my back?”

at her words, the mood in the room suddenly shifts. what was an atmosphere of laughter and mischief at them catching you and jaemin together, is now suddenly a room of tension, a room that you no longer want to be in. 

but it's jaemins reaction that formulates the world's most unfortunate predicament. 

his head turns to you, a look of disappointment and what seems to be hurt, plastered on his face. “she likes me? and you hid it from me?”

you don't know what else to say, so you just tell him the truth. “yes, but it's not that simpl-”

“i don't care, yn.” he gets up, pushing past chenle to the bathroom before shutting the door behind him. 

fuck. you’ve messed up.

but one thing is nagging at you: jaemin seems to care far more about the fact that you hid the truth from him than what the truth actually entailed. you tell yourself he’s probably just embarrassed. either that or just completely and utterly in denial about it. either way, he’s acting strange; he should be happy, not angry. 

the entire day, jaemin didn’t utter a single word to you. as for hayun, she had been hidden away in your room, not speaking to a single person and avoiding any opportunity to accidentally bump into you. you did feel bad, you should have told her about it the second that she confessed her feelings for jaemin to you. but you had assumed from jaemin’s previous conversation with you, that you were calling it off, jaemin seeming pretty aware about the fact that she was now here. how were you supposed to predict him rocking up to your room at 4am?

anyhow, you spent the day with mark, discussing the ending of titanic and eating way too much chocolate to be healthy. when night came once more, you decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to go back to your room, scared about facing the wrath of the girl who resided in it. instead, after washing up in the bathroom, you make your way to the sofa in the front room. 

your actions are halted when you hear voices coming from the other side of jaemin’s door. you know you shouldn't eavesdrop on a private conversation, but you can’t help yourself. 

you register the second voice as mark as you get close enough to hear them clearer, just enough until you can hear what they're saying.

your heart hurts in your chest when you do. 

“i'm still going to ask her out, even with things the way they are.” you hear jaemin whisper. 

it's like a sudden shot to the chest. this is exactly what you feared from the very beginning, this is exactly what you trusted jaemin enough not to do. 

he’s choosing her over his best friend; he’s choosing her over you. 

trying to remain as quiet as possible, you continue your journey to the sofa, pain causing you to wince with every footstep – he's leaving you behind.

as you lie on the sofa, the chill air of the cabin surrounding you despite the presence of the fireplace, forcing you to wrap the blanket around you tighter, you struggle to bring yourself to sleep. but when you hear footsteps from the kitchen, you peek your head over the back of the sofa to see who’s there. 

at your movement, the culprit looks up from their snack-making and their eyes meet yours.

“jaemin?” you whisper, “why are you awake?”

“hungry.” he turns back, working on spreading the peanut butter onto his bagel. “what are you doing sleeping out here? it's way too cold.”

you stand up, making your way to the kitchen to stand behind him, blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you shiver from the frost. “i don’t think hayun likes me right now.” you say.

jaemin turns to face you, biting into his bagel. “i wonder why.” he says sarcastically, mouth half-full. you hate to admit it, but he looks incredibly alluring, he always does in the middle of the night. 

you hate the fact that he’s acting this way with you, dismissive and persistent, but he has every right, you hid so much from him, and you hurt him in the process. 

you’re at war with yourself, but in all honesty you know that you were in the wrong; for your friendship to work, you need to tell him everything. everything.

“actually,” you start, taking a deep breath, “there’s something you don't know.”

jaemin’s interest in the conversation suddenly spikes, looking for you to continue. 

“hayun… she.. wasn’t actually abandoned by her friends.”

“what?”

“the night she told me she liked you, she also told me that she ditched her friends because she saw that we were here. she lied about them kicking her out so that we would feel bad and let her stay, so that then she could finally get her chance to talk to you.” you pause, attempting to read jaemin’s face but failing, getting nothing from his expression. “i should have told you, but i didn't want you to get hurt. instead… i did exactly that. i'm sorry, jaemin, really.”

when you finish speaking, you notice as jaemin’s lips slightly curl into a smile before dropping back to his cold demeanor, and it makes you question whether you really saw it or if it was just your mind playing tricks on you. 

“yn..” he trails off, whatever he wants to say interrupted by your sudden panic in not wanting to embarrassing yourself.

you ramble, scared that he won't accept your apology. “but like you said to mark earlier, if you still want to ask her out, that's fin-”

“wait, what?” jaemin says, moving from his position leaning against the counter to stand upright. 

“i, um, heard you and mark talking earlier about how you were still going to ask her out despite everything..” you say. 

jaemin laughs to himself and you grow confused. “oh, yn.” he says. 

“what? what’s so funny?”

“you never did get my hints, did you.”

your heart freezes in your throat, the cold weather no longer chilling you but instead the bitter taste of jaemin’s words as they formulate in your brain. 

he continues, noticing your confusion. “it was never her that i had a crush on. it was never her that i was planning to ask out.”

you’re struggling to breath, each intake of oxygen getting caught in your chest. 

“yeah, i thought she was kinda pretty when i first saw her across my lecture a few months ago, but that was long before i fell for who i really wanted.” he smiles, inching closer to you. “and after everyone found out that i was sleeping with you, i decided that there was no longer an excuse for me to hide my feelings.” he takes a hold of your hand, looking down at it as he plays with your fingers. “i was starting to get pretty pissed that you wouldn’t pick up any of my hints, you know? you can’t even imagine how embarrassed i was to find out that it was because you were trying to play cupid for me and someone else.”

your mind is vacant, filled with the epiphany of his words as they resonate in your head, playing a tune of melancholic rhythm as it twists into an allegro.

“but… the rule.” you say. 

jaemin chuckles, “i think we stopped caring about those rules a while ago, yn. i know i did. ”

you’re no longer cold, jaemins warmth radiating against you like the blissful aura of a flame, attracting you and drawing you closer. 

it was then that you realised that you haven't said anything to equate his long speech, but words can do nothing to describe the way that you’re feeling. its as if someone had approached you with a mirror, brutally displaying each of your own hidden thoughts and projecting them back at you. because every single word that jaemin muttered, you found deep within yourself. it all clicks, perfectly and irrevocably, into place. your jealousy, your embarrassment, your stupidity. 

your love. 

instead of attempting to sum up all of your feelings into words, you do the one thing that will live up to the emotions that reside within you. taking not a single moment to prepare yourself, you lean closer to him, his eyes finding your lips. you nod, its small but the gesture means so much. it's an agreement, a sealing of mutual understanding. it's slow and it's incredibly gentle as his lips greet yours, soft in a way unlike ever before. kisses between you and jaemin were always the result of lust, of stupidity. but now, it's the result of something far greater. 

it’s love. 

❆ ❆ ❆

when the sun rises above the horizon, you leap from jaemin’s bed, him giggling at your eagerness. 

“oh my god, it's finally clear!!” you yell, waking up each of the boys with your burst of excitement. you could finally go home. 

the morning consisted of three major revelations. one: you all contacting hayun’s friends, watching as they dragged her into their car to drive her home. two: discovering that chenle had only showered once throughout the entire vacation (you all started placing bids as to who gets to not sit next to him on the journey back) and three: witnessing the boys’ reactions to your’s and jaemins new secret. 

“i knew you’d do it, dude.” mark said, attempting to fist bump jaemin in the most cringe-worthy interaction you’ve ever seen in your life. jisung and chenle however, were completely baffled, and it took about thirty minutes of explaining for them to understand that it was you that jaemin had a crush on, and not hayun. you’re still convinced that jisung doesn't understand.

once you had all packed your things, you grabbed your suitcases, standing in the porch as chenle locked the front door for the final time. 

“im going to miss this place.” mark says, exaggerating an act of sadness as he clutches his chest. 

“im not,” chenle replies, “i’ve never been so bored in my entire fucking life.”

“it’s been fun.” you say, smiling.

jaemin’s voice comes from next to you. “eh, could have been better.” 

you turn to him in offence. 

he continues, “i'm just saying, i never got to actually snowboard.”

“are you suggesting what i think you’re suggesting…?” mark replies, looking around the group and meeting similar grins and looks of hopefulness. 

jaemin shrugs, “i dont know, am i?”

as if on cue, you all drop your suitcases in the snow, laughter and coils of happiness springing between you as you run to the shed behind the cabin for one last time. 

no other winter ski trip ever got near to living up to that one. 

not even close. 

[wolvietxt]

𝓢ILENT 𝓣REATMENT.

pairings : frank castle x fem!reader warnings : argument, crying, hurt / comfort, happy ending, established relationship au, shouting, implied size diff (like my fav trope if you can’t already tell) silent treatment  summary : after an argument with frank, you both end up giving eachother silent treatment, until the tension gets too unbearable for you in the car. wc : 4.5k a/n : i got a req for this a few days ago but i think i deleted it or something i can’t find it now💔 but it was from an anon so thank you for this one because i loved writing this ALSO!! thank you to everyone who leaves feedback + little comments on my frank fics i notice it happens more when i write for frank and it’s the absolute sweetest

the air in the apartment felt heavy, charged, like a storm was brewing right there in the middle of the living room. frank was pacing now, his big hands flexing at his sides, his jaw tight enough that you swore you could hear his teeth grinding.  

you didn’t fight - not like this. not with him raising his voice and you trying so hard not to let yours crack. it wasn’t how things usually went. frank was tough, sure, rough around the edges in a way that didn’t really go away even when he was at his gentlest. but with you, he was softer. he made an effort to rein it in because he’d told you once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that he didn’t want you to ever be scared of him. and you never had been.

but tonight, he was angry. angrier than you’d ever seen him at you, and the worst part was you weren’t sure how it had even escalated to this.  

“so what?” frank barked, spinning on his heel to face you, his broad frame taking up what felt like the entire room. “you think i’m just gonna sit back and let this slide?” his voice was sharp, cutting, and it made you flinch, even though you knew deep down that he’d never in a million years actually hurt you. “you think that’s who i am?”  

you held your ground, even though your heart was pounding against your ribs. “it’s not about letting it slide, frank,” you said softly, your tone calm, measured - a stark contrast to the heat in his voice. “it’s about not making it worse. escalating doesn’t fix anything.”  

“escalating?” he repeated, his voice rising, almost incredulous. “this isn’t escalating, this is handling it. you don’t just let people treat you like crap n’ walk away. you should know that’s not how it works.”  

“sometimes it is,” you said quietly, refusing to match his volume. “sometimes walking away is the only thing you can do. not everything has to be a fight.”  

“bullshit.” the word came out harsh, and the bite in it made your chest tighten. frank rarely swore at you, and when he did, it was never like this, never with this kind of edge.  

your hands trembled slightly, so you folded your arms across your chest, not in defiance but as a way to steady yourself. “frank, please. i don’t want to argue about this.”  

“yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and tried to handle this on your own.” he threw his hands up, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking. “you didn’t even tell me, and now i’m supposed to just sit back and be okay with it?”  

“i didn’t tell you because i knew this is how you’d react,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.  

his face twisted, a mixture of disbelief and something else - hurt, maybe. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a hard, almost cold expression. “damn right this is how i’d react,” he shot back. “because i give a shit. because i don’t want you getting hurt or screwed over or whatever the hell else might happen if i’m not there to step in.”  

“i know you care,” you said, your voice still soft but firm. “but you can’t control everything, frank. sometimes things happen, and you just have to let them go.”  

he let out a sharp, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “letting it go gets you hurt. letting it go gets you walked all over. i’m not gonna let that happen to you.”  

his words were loud, forceful, like he was trying to hammer them into your head, but they only made your throat tighten more. “i can handle myself,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts.  

“can you?” he snapped, and the doubt in his tone stung worse than any of the yelling.  

you flinched, your eyes dropping to the floor. “that’s not fair,” you whispered.  

“yeah, well, life’s not fair,” he shot back, his tone still razor-sharp.  

silence fell between you, heavy and suffocating. you could feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but you refused to cry - not in front of him, not when he was like this, which he never had been before. you’d seen flashes of it occasionally, never once directed at you. so instead, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, your steps quick but steady, your back straight even though every part of you felt like curling up into yourself.  

you didn’t look back, but you could feel his eyes on you as you left.  

the door clicked softly as you shut yourself in the bathroom, leaning back against the cool wood as you tried to pull in a steadying breath. it felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs back in the living room, and now the weight of it all was crashing down on you.  

you stared at the tiled floor, your arms wrapped around yourself like that might somehow hold you together. your chest felt tight, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, but you bit down hard on your bottom lip, refusing to let them fall. not yet, anyway.  

you weren’t used to this - not with frank. he could be sharp, blunt, even infuriatingly stubborn sometimes, but he was never cruel. not to you. in the years since you’d met him, since the whirlwind of your relationship had gone from cautiously circling each other to something real and steady, frank had always been your safe place. he was intense, sure, but his intensity had always felt protective, grounding, like you could lean on him no matter how bad things got.  

so why did it feel like he was the one knocking the ground out from under you now?  

you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. it wasn’t fair to pin all the blame on him, you knew that. this argument wasn’t entirely about frank’s temper, or his need to protect you - it was about your own unwillingness to let him.  

the issue had started small, just a casual remark you’d made earlier in the week about someone you worked with - someone who’d been taking advantage of your kindness. you hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but frank had picked up on it immediately, and the more you’d tried to brush it off, the more his protective instincts had kicked in.  

at first, it had been sweet, his quiet grumbles about how people didn’t deserve to treat you that way, how you needed to stand up for yourself more. but somewhere along the line, it had turned into this - a full-blown argument where neither of you seemed to be able to see the other’s side.  

you weren’t blind to why he was upset. frank had been through more than most people could even imagine, and the idea of someone hurting you - or even disrespecting you - lit a fire in him that he couldn’t always control. but the way he handled that fire was what made your chest ache. it felt suffocating, like his need to protect you was overshadowing the fact that you didn’t want - or need - him to fight your battles for you.  

you let out a shaky breath, the first tear slipping free as the weight of it all settled heavier on your shoulders.  

frank had always been larger than life to you - not just physically, though his sheer size and strength made you feel small in comparison, but in the way he carried himself, the way he seemed to command every room he walked into. it was part of what had drawn you to him in the first place, the quiet confidence that bordered on intimidating until you saw the softness he tried so hard to hide.  

he’d always been gentle with you, even when his hands were so calloused and rough, even when his voice was so gravelly and low. it made the harshness of his words tonight cut deeper, the sharp edges of his anger something you weren’t used to being on the receiving end of.  

you wiped at your face quickly, straightening up as you tried to pull yourself together. you hated crying - especially over arguments like this. it made you feel weak, even though you knew it wasn’t, and the last thing you wanted was for frank to think he’d broken you. he’d never stop beating himself up over it.

still, you couldn’t bring yourself to go back out there yet. not with the way his words were still echoing in your mind, the frustration in his voice still ringing in your ears.  

you stayed there for a while, letting the quiet of the bathroom wrap around you like a blanket, giving yourself the space to breathe and feel without the weight of frank’s presence bearing down on you.  

meanwhile, in the living room, frank was pacing again. his hands were on his hips, his brows drawn together in that way they always did when he was deep in thought - or pissed off.  

he knew you were upset. hell, he wasn’t an idiot, and he’d seen the way your eyes were brimming with tears before you’d turned and walked away. it wasn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard, but it was the first time it had been directed at you, and it was eating at him in a way he didn’t want to admit.  

but the anger was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, and he couldn’t seem to let it go. it wasn’t directed at you - not at all. it was at the situation, at the asshole who’d made you feel like you had to handle everything on your own. but frank wasn’t exactly good at untangling those things, at separating his frustration from the people he cared about most.  

he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a low growl of frustration as he dropped onto the couch. his mind was running in circles, replaying the argument over and over again, each word sharper than the last.  

the silence in the apartment felt deafening, and for a moment, he considered going to find you, to try and talk this out. but he stopped himself, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to stay put. you needed space - he knew that much, even if it went against every instinct he had.  

he sat there for a long time, the tension in his body refusing to ease as he stared at the spot where you’d been standing just minutes before.  

the car keys sat on the counter, untouched, while the clock crept closer to the time you were supposed to leave. it had been a whole thing - this charity function a few towns over. someone important to frank had invited him, and even though it wasn’t the kind of event he’d normally go for, he’d said yes because it mattered to them.  

you had said yes because it mattered to him.  

but now, with the argument still heavy in the air, the thought of sitting next to him for almost four hours felt like trying to breathe underwater. the quiet that lingered between you wasn’t the natural kind you often enjoyed. it was thick and suffocating, and neither of you seemed ready to cut through it.  

you stood in the bedroom doorway, watching frank tie his boots like the act itself had wronged him. his movements were sharp, jerky, and his mouth was set in a grim line. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or frustration written in his expression, but either way, it left your stomach in knots.  

he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, yanking it on with a force that looked like it made the seams strain. his head turned slightly toward you as if he was about to say something, but then he thought better of it, his eyes dropping to the floor instead.  

you didn’t move, didn’t speak, just hovered in the doorway as he brushed past you toward the front door. the weight of it all - the argument, the way he hadn’t looked at you since - pressed down on your chest like a boulder, and your throat burned with more unshed tears.  

when he held the door open for you, you walked through it wordlessly, your gaze fixed on the floor.  

outside, the crisp night air felt sharper than it should have, like even the weather was conspiring to remind you how raw everything was. frank locked the door behind you without a word, and the sound of the lock clicking into place made you flinch.  

he didn’t notice.  

the car ride loomed ahead of you like a punishment, the thought of sitting in that confined space together for hours making your palms sweat. but there was no way out of it, not without causing more problems.  

frank climbed into the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. he started the engine without looking at you, the low growl of it filling the space where words should’ve been.  

you slid into the passenger seat, keeping your hands in your lap and your gaze fixed on the window. the city lights blurred into streaks as the car picked up speed, but you weren’t paying attention to where you were going. your mind was stuck on everything that had been said - and everything that hadn’t.  

he’d been angry. louder than usual, harsher, the words tumbling out of him like he didn’t know how to stop them. but you knew frank. you knew the fire in him wasn’t because he didn’t care - it was because he cared too much, and it scared him sometimes.  

still, knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.  

the silence in the car was unbearable, the kind that made you want to fill it just so you didn’t have to sit with the weight of it anymore. but frank wasn’t giving you an inch, his eyes glued to the road and his shoulders hunched up like he was trying to shield himself from the world.  

you stole a glance at him, your chest aching at the sight of his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. he looked tired - angry, yes, but tired too, like the argument had drained him in ways he didn’t want to admit.  

your own emotions were bubbling up, threatening to spill over no matter how hard you tried to keep them in check. your hands trembled slightly in your lap, and you clenched them into fists to try to stop it, but it didn’t help.  

you didn’t even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, cool against your flushed skin. you brushed it away quickly, hoping frank wouldn’t notice, but you doubted he’d even glanced your way.  

the road stretched on, dark and empty except for the occasional glow of headlights from oncoming cars. the longer the silence dragged, the heavier it felt, like it was wrapping around your throat and making it hard to breathe.  

eventually, the ache in your chest grew too much to bear. you didn’t know what you wanted - comfort, maybe, or some kind of reassurance that everything would be okay - but the urge to reach out was overwhelming.  

your hand hovered hesitantly over the center console, your fingers trembling as you debated whether or not to do it. it felt like crossing some invisible line, like putting yourself out there in a way that left you completely vulnerable.  

but then you glanced at frank, at the way his brow furrowed and his jaw tightened, and something in you broke.  

with tears brimming in your eyes and a small, helpless pout tugging at your lips, you let your fingers reach up to grasp at his. the touch was so light it was barely there, but it was enough to draw his attention.  

he glanced down at your hand, his gaze softening instantly as he took in the way your fingers trembled and the sheen of tears in your eyes, the wet tracks of tears that’d already fallen etched on your face.

“ah, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache.  

his hand moved to cover yours completely, his fingers curling around your smaller ones in a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. his thumb brushed over the back of your hand in slow, deliberate strokes, and the tension in your chest eased just a little.  

you sniffled, blinking quickly to clear your vision as you looked up at him. his expression had shifted, the hard lines of his face softening as he met your gaze.  

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.  

frank let out a heavy sigh, his grip on your hand tightening slightly as he pulled the car off to the side of the road. the tires crunched against the gravel as he put it in park, and before you could ask what he was doing, he was out of the car.  

your breath caught as he rounded the front of the vehicle, his movements deliberate but not rushed. he opened your door, the cool night air rushing in as he crouched slightly to meet your eyes.  

“c’mere,” he said softly, his tone a stark contrast to the anger that had been there earlier.  

you hesitated for only a moment before unbuckling your seatbelt and letting him pull you into his arms. his embrace was warm and solid, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel small and safe all at once.  

“’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your hair, his voice rough with emotion. “shouldn’t’ve yelled. shouldn’t’ve made you feel like that.”  

you buried your face in his chest, your own arms slipping around his middle as you let out a shaky breath. “i’m sorry too,” you whispered.  

“you don’t gotta be sorry, you did nothing wrong. my sweet girl’s just nice to everyone, isn’t she?” he cooed, his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently against your temple as he peppered hard kisses over your face. “we’re okay?”  

you nodded against him, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips. “we’re okay.”  

he pressed another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than before. but instead of pulling back completely, frank’s lips trailed down, brushing lightly against your temple, then your cheek.  

your breath hitched, your hand tightening around his shirt as he hesitated, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. when your eyes flicked up to meet his, there was something unspoken between you - an ache, a pull that neither of you could ignore.  

“frank…” your voice was barely a whisper, and it only made him lean in closer.  

his hand moved to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips finally found yours. the kiss was slow at first, soft and careful, but there was a heat behind it, a depth that made your stomach twist in the best way.  

he kissed you like he needed you, like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how tightly he held you. his other hand slid to your waist, pulling you against him just enough to make you feel the strength behind every touch, every movement.  

when he pulled back, it was with a low, rumbling breath, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to steady himself. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he murmured, his voice rough and tinged with something deeper.  

your cheeks flushed, your heart racing as you tried to find the words, but all you could do was nod, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.  

he pressed one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before stepping back. “c’mon,” he said, his tone softer now, his thumb brushing your cheek one last time before helping you back into the car.  

as he slid into the driver’s seat, his hand found yours again, holding on tightly. this time, neither of you let go.  

the rest of the drive was quiet, but not in the same way as before. frank kept one hand on the wheel, the other holding yours firmly in his grasp. his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles over your knuckles, a silent apology with every stroke.  

you felt the tension melting bit by bit, your chest no longer tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. instead, there was this warmth - a softness between you that hadn’t been there earlier. it was unspoken, but it was enough to ease the ache in your heart.  

“we’ll stop soon, yeah?” frank broke the silence, his voice low and softer than usual. “get you somethin’ to eat.”  

your lips curved into a small smile, your first real one since the argument. “i’m okay,” you murmured. “we don’t have to stop.”  

“nah.” he glanced over at you, his eyes lingering for a second longer than they should’ve. “you didn’t eat much earlier. ain’t lettin’ you sit through this thing hungry.”  

the tenderness in his voice made your cheeks heat, and you squeezed his hand lightly in response.  

it wasn’t long before frank pulled off at a small diner on the side of the road. the neon sign flickered against the night sky, casting a warm glow over the parking lot.  

“c’mon,” he said, cutting the engine and stepping out.  

before you could even reach for the door handle, frank was already there, pulling it open for you. his hand was outstretched, waiting for yours, and when you slipped your fingers into his, he gave them a gentle squeeze.  

inside, the diner was quiet, the hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filling the space. frank led you to a booth in the corner, his hand never leaving yours until you slid into your seat.  

“what’re you in the mood for?” he asked, his eyes scanning the menu even though you both knew he’d end up ordering the same thing he always did.  

you shrugged, your fingers playing with the edge of the napkin in front of you. “maybe just some fries.”  

frank frowned, lowering the menu to look at you. “you need more than that.”  

“frank, i’m fine - ”  

“i’ll get you somethin’ else too,” he cut in, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

you bit back a smile, knowing better than to push him when he got like this. instead, you let him order for both of you, his gruff voice somehow softer when he spoke to the waitress.  

when the food arrived, frank nudged the plate closer to you, his eyes narrowing slightly when you hesitated. “eat, sweetheart,” he said gently.  

you rolled your eyes but grabbed a fry anyway, earning a satisfied grunt from him.  

as you ate, the tension from earlier felt like a distant memory. frank had a way of grounding you, of making you feel like no matter how bad things got, everything would eventually be okay.  

after the meal, frank walked you back to the car, his hand settling on the small of your back as he guided you outside. the night air was crisp, but his touch was warm, steady, and it made you lean into him just a little.  

“y’alright?” he asked once you were back in the passenger seat.  

you nodded, looking up at him with a soft smile. “yeah. i’m okay.”  

his eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and then, without a word, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. it was quick but tender, and when he pulled back, his hand cupped your cheek for a second longer.  

the drive to the function was quieter this time, but it wasn’t the heavy silence from before. it was comfortable, the kind of quiet where words weren’t necessary because you both knew everything was okay now.  

as you pulled up to the venue, frank cut the engine and turned to you. his expression was softer, his usual rough edges smoothed out in a way that made your heart ache.  

“you look beautiful,” he said, his voice gruff but sincere.  

your cheeks flushed at the compliment, and you glanced down at your dress, suddenly feeling shy. “thank you,” you murmured.  

he leaned over, his large hand settling on your knee as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “‘m gonna keep tellin’ you that all night,” he added, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks.  

the warmth in your chest grew, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him. “you don’t look so bad yourself,” you teased, your tone light.  

he chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, and you swore it was the best thing you’d heard all day.  

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he said, opening his door. “let’s get this over with.”  

as you stepped out of the car, frank was already by your side, his hand finding yours once more. he held it tightly, his grip firm and reassuring, and when he glanced down at you, there was something in his eyes that made your breath catch.  

it was love - raw and unfiltered, the kind that didn’t need words to be understood.  

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what, you and frank would always find your way back to each other.  

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[downbad4sylus]

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

synopsis: You and Sylus visit a coffee shop and unexpectedly run into Doctor Zayne.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; pre-relationship; zayne cameo; just, so much fluff; mostly proofread

word count: ~2k

a/n: see guys, i’m capable of writing not-angst. also can you tell i have a headcanon about them holding hands while linked or what lol. anyway, i love exploring the dynamics of sylus with the other LIs, i have another one brewing ft. our resident doctor (NOT ANGST) and i’ll probably do some with the others in the future. if anyone has anything they want me try and write for them, please feel free to ask, im happy to do so :)

Dragging Sylus out in Linkon City during the day was never easy, but when a certain energy linkage was keeping you locked to each other’s sides and you just had to have your morning coffee, Sylus was a bit more agreeable.

So there you both stood, waiting in line to order. You’d developed a bit of a habit of holding hands as you’d long since grown used to the linkage binding your wrists. Sylus’s hand dwarfed yours, something that took time to get accustomed to, but now the feeling of his fingers laced with yours was a comfort, and admittedly something you often craved without the linkage.

“Will you let me pay for you this time?” you asked Sylus, peering up at him.

He breathed a low chuckle. “Don’t think so, sweetie,” he replied.

“You never let me pay for anything,” you grumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

You tugged Sylus along as you stepped up to the cashier. After placing both your orders (and begrudgingly allowing Sylus to pay), you waited off to the side for your names to be called.

“I’d like to go for a walk after this, if that’s okay,” you said to Sylus. It was overcast today, weather Sylus was more comfortable to be in during the day, you’d noticed.

“That’s fine,” Sylus said. “Where would you like to go?”

You beamed at him. “Actually, there’s a park not far from here, and since the leaves are starting to turn the scenery should be perfect for a—”

“Y/N?”

You whirled around at the sound of your name, spoken by an all too familiar voice.

“Zayne?”

Sure enough, there was your primary care physician, standing with his brow slightly furrowed and his gaze locked on yours and Sylus’s intertwined hands.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you here,” you commented, drawing his attention from your hand to your eyes.

“This coffee shop isn’t far from the hospital, I stop here in the mornings quite often,” Zayne said. His hazel eyes flicked to Sylus. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Right, Doctor Zayne this is Sy—uh, Skye, he’s…” you trailed off, panic seizing your mind as you fumbled for any explanation as to why you were here with Sylus, holding his hand, that wasn’t the actual truth.

“Her boyfriend,” Sylus lied smoothly, sticking out his unoccupied hand at Zayne. “It’s nice to finally meet you, doctor, Y/N’s told me a lot about you.”

You missed the nearly imperceptible flare of Zayne’s eyes at Sylus’s answer, too busy short circuiting over the fact that Sylus had just introduced himself as your boyfriend. When had you gone from “besties” to “boyfriend?”

“Nice to meet you too,” Zayne said politely, shaking Sylus’s hand. “Y/N, you never told me you were seeing someone.”

Sylus laughed. “We only just became official.”

You finally managed to regain your composure. “Right, and I haven’t been by for an appointment since then, otherwise I would’ve told you,” you said, bolstering the lie.

Zayne nodded, as if satisfied by your answers. “Well, then I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, Zayne please, that’s not necessary,” you insisted. A barista called for your orders, which Sylus grabbed and handed to you before taking his own. “Zayne, why don’t you come sit with us? Unless you have important doctor business to take care of.”

Zayne’s lips tilted ever so slightly at your teasing remark. “Sure, I have some time before I have to get back.”

Once Zayne received his coffee, the three of you found an unoccupied table and sat, with you and Sylus on one side, hands still clasped, and Zayne on the other.

“So, how long have you two been seeing each other?” Zayne asked with clinical precision, his stare just as sharp.

“Quite a few months now,” Sylus said. His bright red eyes focused on you. “Y/N practically fell on my doorstep, and I guess you could say the rest is history.”

You snorted, though your cheeks were as red as Sylus’s eyes. “That’s one way to describe it,” you muttered.

“What, sweetie? Would you explain it differently?” Sylus asked, raising a brow.

You shook your head. “No, yours was fine,” you quipped.

“How kind,” Sylus drawled.

You glanced at Zayne and found him watching the two of you with his head tilted. Mirth danced in his hazel eyes, as if observing the “happy couple” was amusing.

“How’s work been, Doctor Zayne?” you asked.

“Fine, the usual,” he answered. “And you? Any injuries you haven’t told me about either?”

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ve been very careful.”

Zayne’s lips curled. “I have a hard time believing that. Skye, has our Hunter been careful lately?”

Sylus’s fingers twitched around yours but his expression didn’t falter. “To everyone’s surprise, she has. No secret injuries to report.”

Zayne made a satisfied hum. “What do you do for work Skye?”

You stiffened. Nothing caused you more anxiety than when someone asked Sylus too many questions. He was a practiced smooth talker, able to craft a believable lie without a second thought, but you still couldn’t help worrying. The last thing you wanted was for him to be recognized, for him to be taken away from you.

Sylus rubbed his thumb along yours soothingly. “I own a few small businesses here and there,” he told the doctor.

“He runs a fruit stall!” you chimed in excitedly.

“That’s one of the few,” Sylus chuckled.

“I had some of his watermelon once at a work function he happened to be catering,” you continued. The very same work function Sylus had called you “besties.” Sylus really was your best friend though, you realized so suddenly your heart practically skipped a beat.

“Well, I’m glad that business is good then,” Zayne said.

You and Zayne then slipped into a casual conversation, catching up on the recent happenings in each other’s lives, while Sylus remained more of a quiet observer.

Actually, Sylus was debating on whether or not to kill (or seriously maim) your primary care physician.

Sylus would never admit to being jealous, but his chest tightened watching you speak to the doctor, hearing the way you laughed at his eerily similar dry humor. He knew you’d been childhood friends and had a long history, but it certainly didn’t help that the way Zayne looked at you was the exact same way Sylus looked at you. And he hadn’t missed the flash of longing in Zayne’s eyes when he’d first spotted your clasped hands at the counter. It was why Sylus had gone out of his way to introduce himself as your boyfriend, even if it meant speeding up his timeline with you a little.

However, Sylus couldn’t deny that Zayne’s role as your primary care physician was an important one, crucial even. He was a renowned cardiac surgeon and an expert in Protocore Syndrome, making him perhaps the only person equipped to help with your heart condition. So Sylus would let him live, because you would be upset with him if he didn’t, and because he was a valuable asset.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Zayne flipped his wrist, checking the time on his watch. “I’m afraid I have to get going now, my break is almost over,” he declared, rising from his seat. “It was nice meeting you Skye, and I’ll see you for your next check up soon, Y/N. No getting hurt in the meantime, okay?”

“Hey! I told you I was being careful!” you exclaimed.

Zayne gave Sylus a withering look. “It’s good to know there’s someone else who understands Y/N’s penchant for danger.”

Sylus recognized the comment for what it was, a white flag thrown at his feet.

Brow cocked and mouth tilted, Sylus picked it up. “Her recklessness knows no bounds.”

“Since when did this become a gang-up-on-Y/N session?” you questioned.

Both Zayne and Sylus chuckled.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Zayne said. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

“I’m sure,” Sylus replied.

“It was nice seeing you Doctor Zayne!” you called after him as he swiftly took his leave.

You and Sylus left shortly thereafter, going to the park you had mentioned to walk amongst the multicolored trees. The linkage dissipated on the way over, but Sylus never let go of your hand.

And now alone with him, your thoughts spiraled.

You couldn’t deny that you had feelings for him, you had for quite a while. You two had been spending a lot of time together recently, whether it was you frequenting Onychinus’s base and ruining your sleep schedule, or him staying over at your apartment and ruining his sleep schedule. But even so, you weren’t sure if Sylus felt the same about you, and now that he’d so casually introduced himself as your boyfriend, you didn’t know what to think.

“I think I see steam coming out of your ears, sweetie.”

You whipped your head toward him. “Why would you say that?”

He smirked. “You’re thinking very loudly. Tell me, what is it?”

It was hard to deny him when he spoke so softly, something he reserved for you and you alone.

“Why did you say you were my boyfriend?” you asked quietly, averting your gaze.

“Because it was easier than explaining our actual relationship,” Sylus said simply.

“And what, exactly, is our actual relationship?”

His brow quirked. “I was under the impression we were something far more than just boyfriend and girlfriend, unless I’ve misread the situation.”

You pulled him to a stop, gaping at him. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Of course I’m being serious, when have I ever not been?” Sylus tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Have I misread the situation, sweetie?”

It was rare to see Sylus nervous, if that was what you could call it.

You shook your head. “No, I just—I had no idea you felt that way.”

Sylus huffed. “Y/N, I told you that I adore you, that there is no love purer than mine, what else could I have meant by that?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured.

He brought your entwined hands up to his lips, kissing the back of yours. “Talk to me, kitten.”

“Are you saying you love me?” you blurted.

Sylus grinned. “I am,” he said.

“Then say it,” you demanded.

He tugged your hand and you fell into his chest. His free hand threaded into your hair and tilted your head up to look at him, into those mesmerizing red eyes.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, his deep voice so tender it made your heart flutter.

“Sylus,” you breathed. You reached up and cupped his cheek, tears welling in your eyes. “I love you too.”

He huffed a disbelieving chuckle before pressing the most gentle kiss to your forehead. “We should’ve run into your doctor sooner,” he murmured against your skin.

You reared back, slapping his chest. “Don’t ruin our moment!”

Sylus only laughed in response.

Finally letting go of your hand, he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you impossibly closer. Your own arms twined around his neck, stretching on your tip toes to better maintain eye contact.

“So where does this leave us?” you asked.

Sylus shrugged a shoulder. “Where do you want it to leave us?”

You smiled. “Well, I guess you’re my boyfriend now, even though you never formally asked me to be your girlfriend.”

His lips twitched. “Would you like me to perform a grand gesture?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“All right, kitten, then I hope you look forward to it.”

[revelboo]

Would Thundercracker's human friend from Better Open the Door ever be able to convince TC to let them go home? (Their actual home lmao)

Or would he just plain refuse to see reason forever?

Like, he seems reasonable enough, if a bit... Clingy. And lonely. And sad.

I mean, I'd gladly be his friend, and talk about movies with him. But being kept in his room like a glorified pet is a bit much.

He would when the guilt kicks in hard enough, wanting to prove he cares and listens, even if he hates it. That said, he’s absolutely going to spend every free minute he has stalking you from above in his alt mode to keep you safe.

Better Open The Door Pt 15

Thundercracker x Reader

• Drowsing sprawled on him, it’s strange to feel so comfortable. One of his hands on the small of your back and the other on your butt. Resting your chin on him you study that handsome, alien face that’s become so familiar to you. Knowing you’re falling for him despite still being unhappy with him and you’re tempted to ruin it all. Trying to gather up the nerve to ask again, because if he really cares about you, he has to understand he has to let you go eventually.

• Optics brightening when he feels you move on him, he tucks his chin to see you. And you look so lovely sprawled on him, servos flexing on you when you yawn. “Sleep okay?” He asks and you lay your cheek back down against him. This moment. He wants to keep it forever. The way you look waking up in his arms, hair messy and eyes sleepy. “I’m probably not a very comfortable bed, am I?”

• “You’re warm.” Painfully aware of your own nakedness when the servos of one hand slides up your spine and his other hand gently flexes on your butt. And there’s his spike hardening against your hip. “Already? It’s hard to have a conversation when you do that,” you protest. And he smiles crookedly at you, expression almost boyish and not at all ashamed.

• “You have that effect on me,” he admits, cupping your chin and tipping it up. Venting when you lean up on him, mouth brushing his in a much too brief kiss. “Not so fast.” Servos threading through your hair to cup the back of your head, he tugs you back to him, mouth lazily exploring yours.

• Laughing as you break away and his servos lazily comb through your hair, you push up to straddle him and his servos skim up your body and then back down to rest on your hips. Remembering his words from the night before. That he’d said he loved you when he barely knows you. Even if the way he looks up at you is almost worshipful. “Can we talk?” Does he even really understand what love is or is he just fascinated with those love stories he watches?

• Servos wandering to cup soft skin, he rumbles at you. Do you think you really need to ask? That there’s anything he wouldn’t do for you? “Of course.” Servos stroking over you, he wonders if he can bond you. What it would be like to feel you tangled in his spark, touching him intimately. Why are you frowning at him? “Is something wrong?”

• “No, it’s just- It’s nothing,” you say, one of your hands covering his as it wanders and squeezes. And he’s frowning at you now, reaching up to tap a servo against your bottom lip. Waiting expectantly and you cringe. “You know you can’t just keep me here forever. Right? I have family and they must be worried.”

• Expression closing off, he catches your wrist when you start to pull away. Upset with him. Hasn’t he taken care of you? Protected you? “You’re not a prisoner,” he says, voice flat. Empty as his spark constricts. Was it only fragging to you? Nothing more? “I just want you to be happy. Safe.” And if you don’t want him, he’ll let you go. He’ll watch over you even if you don’t want him. Set you free and protect you from a distance as it kills him. You’re everything to him. “Is that what you want? To leave?” If so, he’ll stay as close as he can, let you have your freedom while you can, because as soon as the war starts up again, he’ll bring you back home to him no matter what you want. Can’t lose you.

Previous

Probably a good idea to add a warning to the first chapters of it and TFA Blitzwing’s fic

[almostfoxglove]

ALI FAKHSDJGKH okay it's taken me 100 years to reblog this but I WANTED TO QUOTE SO MANY PARTS IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE TO NARROW THEM DOWN. holy shit. this was??? EVERYTHING. like, this is the canon I needed - redemption for what could have been with Helena and fulfillment of every delusion I've ever had about this man. it felt so true to the world of the show and to javi I'm actually announcing this as Canon. sorry folks!! I don't make the rules!!

gonna pop some favorite bits under the cut :,) AH

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

lord help me I would not survive this I am NOT god's strongest warrior I am a puddle on the FLOOR this is him holding the secretary's finger and complimenting her nail polish all over again DSDKFHJK

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

this is SO HEARTBREAKING ALI like what the FUCK oh my god. I feel like I can hear her and see her scared face and I'm going to cRY ABOUT IT

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys. “Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

sdhkfjhaskjhgfa

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

OHHHHH, to take javier pena apart with a massage!! HOW I YEAAARRRN

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

I love them so much. she's so charming and brings out the CRINKLY EYES and I would die for them both ok ANY DAY ANY TIME

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately.

this is so !!!!! JAVI. saying it without saying it, ya know? that he sees her. I'm gonna cry brb

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently. “There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

MY HEART POUNDED SO HARD AT THIS PART I DONT THINK YOU UNDERSTAND

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely. Tell me where he touched you.

*screams heard in the distance* *more wailing* *barking* *hollering*

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

THE URGENT IN THE MOMENT NOT THINKING "BABY"??? MY PERSONAL KRYPTONITE?? ALI THIS WAS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

oh my god the pain of this realization fucking SLAPPED ME I just!! was there!! feeling her fear!! my chest is so TIGHT the angst is so GOOD

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special. A code, a message. A lifeline.

this was such a perfect ending. hopeful and soft but also still so javi!! and I'm obsessed with it. I've read this three times, oops. AND WILL DO IT AGAIN <3 all the ways you wove in the moodboard (THEIR LITTLE CODE PHRASE AHHHHH) are so fucking perfect and seamless. ugh. so good. thank you soso much for joining the challenge and sharing this fucking masterpiece with us, WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED. you are a talent and a gem and I adore you <3

𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 | Javier Pena x reader

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summary | Javier's a creature of habit, a man of opportunity, and you were unlucky enough to find him when he's at his most desperate.

author's note | written for @almostfoxglove angst challenge, i really hope i did this moodboard justice ghjfkd. thank you @amanitacowboy for reassuring me while writing this behemoth + translations are at the end.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, informant!reader, set through beginning of season 3 narcos to end, angst, smut, involvement with the cali cartel, paying for info and sex, javier's a gentleman i swear, gratuitous smut, jealous!javi, protected/unprotected piv, creampies, oral (f receiving), some vague violence toward the end, happy ending

word count — 10k

The new influx of customers has been an adjustment, used to the elder regulars with orders that never changed and people who were grabbing a bite after a late night shift, it left you flustered as you reached for the pen and paper shoved into your apron, smoothing out the cloth as you approach the group of men, carrying on their conversation without a care.

“El envío llega el domingo,” It was Friday, which meant whatever was coming in would be here in a couple days—they never said what, but it was always something.

And their eyes always eat you up, hair pulled back loosely as you greet them with a smile, taking down their order as they keep their sights locked on you and commenting on the swing of your hips and the curve of your ass as you depart. 

Like rabid dogs, feral and hungry.

You’ve learned to catalog their conversation, catching onto a regular pattern of when things were coming in and out, knowing that whatever nefarious business they are involved in couldn’t be good—but they tipped well and that wasn’t lost on you.

It was almost a month of daily interaction when a new customer pops in, nearing midnight as he settles into his booth quietly, thin button-up stretching over his shoulders as he removed his jacket and tossed it into the space beside him, yellow tinted sunglasses tucked into his shirt, catching the ashtray with a single finger and lighting the cigarette already settled between his lips.

You attempt to greet him, lips parting before he interrupts you, barely acknowledging your presence as he spits out the order for a coffee, black. Dickhead, you think. The pen and paper is shoved away in your pocket and you swing your hips around the counter to fulfill his order with a side of spitefulness.

When you approached again, it was with a nauseatingly sweet smile.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask, catching his eyes briefly as they flicker up before he shakes his head, a roar of laughter and slaps coming from the booth a few feet away, perking your eyes up at the subtle information they were sharing, scooting out of the both as they slapped a bill on the table, passing by with a vicious smirk that had your blood running cold, the graze of fingertips brushing against your ass that had you biting down on the inside of your cheek to steady yourself, nearly falling into the table as they pushed by.

The stranger perks up at that, his eyes trailing over your body with the same robotic motion as them, but with an air of curiosity, like he was examining you and your reaction. 

“No—no, just the coffee,” He assures you, both of you watch as the group of men climb into their shared truck, “those your regulars?”

“Unfortunately,” You let slip without thinking, “I’m sure their boss would hate to hear how loud they talk about all transfers and shipments—can’t imagine it’s anything good.”

His eyes drag to your breasts, more pointedly toward the nametag pinned in your shirt. 

He speaks your name before introducing himself, “Javier,” He addresses, turning to dig into his jacket before he pulls out a leather wallet, opening it to flash off his credentials, “DEA.”

“Oh–I’m…I’m not…involved with them, if that’s what you think…” You don’t know why the revelation has your nerves shot, but the fingers that wrap around your wrist ground you.

Javier has spent weeks—not a single lead or piece of evidence to follow. You were his saving grace, a goddamn miracle. He tugs lightly, pulling your attention to him.

“How often do they come in here?”

“Uh,” You blink rapidly, trying to think, “Um—three or four times a week, usually every other day.”

He speaks your name gently, his demeanor changing as he releases his hold on your wrist before he motions for you to sit, looking around briefly to assess how busy the restaurant was.

At this hour, it was only you and him.

You slide into the booth and place your palms against the table, fiddling nervously with your fingers, watching as he puffed at the cigarette a few times before placing it in the ashtray, followed by a generous sip of his coffee. 

“Everything they’ve told you,” Javier begins, pointing his finger vaguely in your direction before he points down, fingertip pressing against the table, “tell me—not a detail spared.”

You swallow the lump in your throat as your mouth opens, tongue dragging against your bottom lip as you try to access the memory stored in the back of your brain before you remember the small, mostly indecipherable notes you had been taking.

You rip the wrinkled paper from your notepad and pass it over, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher the information and to your surprise, he does.

Unknowingly, you had captured a loose schedule they seemed to follow when they shipped things in and out, the day trading off as weeks passed, constantly changing to throw off suspicion, but eventually things overlapped and repeated.

Quietly, Javier pulls his wallet from his pocket and tosses over a wad of bills in your direction.

You stare at it blankly, eyes dragging up to his face as he nods toward the money.

“Should cover the coffee—and a tip.”

You reach for the money, pulling it apart to count, suspicious of the amount.

Prying the bills apart you count, eyes widening as the number rises.

“Sir—uh, Javier. This is…too much.”

“Not for the information,” He clarifies, peering cautiously over his shoulder, “If I come back every week can you promise more?”

You scoff lightly, pocketing the money regardless, “I can’t promise anything—besides, it’s always the same stuff. Just when things are coming and going, nothing more.”

“Can you get more?” Javier asks curiously, an eyebrow raising as he taps the ash off the cigarette and brings it to his lips, “Like, names—anything?”

“I can try, but—”

“I’ll pay.”

Unfortunately, waitressing was a shitty job.

And you were more than willing to allow Javier to turn you into his little informant.

You nod quietly.

-

His order changes depending on his mood.

He never orders food, usually coffee or whiskey.

Nothing less, nothing more.

And you do dig deeper, giving in to the absurd attempts at flirting and playing it up, allowing the occasional touches that make your skin crawl, returning them with fervor. Luckily, you had a strong stomach and handled it with ease, catching the names of the four that frequented the restaurant often, curiously asking about work and life, giving them vague or fake answers for your own when they pried.

“Three are single,” You tell Javier as you slide him a glass of whiskey neat, “desperately.”

Surprisingly, he chuckles at that. You’ve never heard it before.

It’s a nice sound.

“One is married, two kids.” 

You pass him a piece of paper with names and information, trading off for the cash he transfers in return, pocketing it inconspicuously. He’s never there at the same time as them, so the weight on your shoulders is lifted, but the creeping feeling of being watched stays put.

“You switched your hair up today,” Javier notes one night, sipping his coffee and flicking off the ash of his cigarette, his eyes following the way your hair is pulled up loosely and framing your face, “looks good—good, I like it.”

“They like it down,” You retort with a forced smile as a customer passes by with a nod, “so—up it is.”

Conversation was always easy with Javier, his charisma oozes out without even trying. It was natural for him, casually taking your hand into his during a slow shift, examining the lack of jewelry.

“Could get you a fake one, if it would help,” Javier suggests.

Unless you already had one, of course. His eyes flick up in a silent question.

“I don’t think it would matter,” You admit, “If they want something, they’re going to get it.”

The routine continues like this for a while, until eventually, it doesn’t.

A new group of men come in one Friday, the other, and another, throwing you off kilter.

They started rotating them, keeping you on edge as the information is becoming harder to obtain despite your attempts to dig and frustrations arise in Javier, but never with you.

Sometimes they don’t even speak at all, hushed tones at the table unless you’re needed—but, occasionally they get messy. It’s usually the younger guys, inexperienced, fresh-faced, eager to please the big boss but riding on an uncapped power high.

One of the men gets particularly ostentatious, always coming in on a drunken stupor and slurred words, eyeing you like a piece of meat that he was eager to sink his teeth into. He slips you his number more than once, ignores your polite attempts at a subject change when the rest of the men are hyping him up, and rarely takes your refusal into consideration. 

Eventually the fear that has built in you overflows, suspicion arising when you leave work a night after Javier had long departed, a night of very little information exchange outside of casual talk—and even that was forced, understanding how frustrated Javier had become. 

One of the men had stuck around, only a brief crossover as Javier had stepped into the restaurant, his eyes tracking you the entire way out before you’re pulled in by Javier’s voice ordering his drink of the night, squeezing his shoulder gently in response.

You should have known better, you should have spoken up.

Javier would’ve done something then, but instead, you convince yourself to forget about that uncomfortable feeling that crept in. You knew what would help, biding your time until Javier left for the night, ignoring how he seemed to eye you too, but with a glazed over expression of worry.

There was a car you barely noticed, swallowed up by shadows and turning on as you drove down the road when you finally clocked out, the minutes dragging before you pulled into the parking lot of the chapel you had sped towards with a weight on your chest and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You couldn’t recall that last time you had visited, but you were desperate now more than ever.

You needed solace.

Prayer comes naturally, dedicated to begging for protection over yourself, allowing the silence of the space to consume you as soft footsteps of other patrons walked by, just raising your chin as a hand clasps over your shoulder, nearly falling to your ass as you turn to connect the owner of the hand to a body. 

“Javier?” You ask quizzically, “Did you follow me?”

“No?” He looks confused, answering with full honesty.

That twisting feeling in your gut sinks further, looking around briefly.

“I can provide protection,” Javier tells you, “if you need it.”

You stay quiet, chewing gently at your bottom lip, scanning the room for familiar faces.

“Something is wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it, back at the diner.”

There was only Javier, still mostly a stranger.

“Are you really DEA?” You ask, his expression urging you to lower your volume as he takes a seat beside you, “Is that a lie?”

“I spent a long time trying to take down Escobar, I find that kind of insulting, chiquita.”

He’s met with silence, understanding your need for reassurance. 

“Yes, I am,” He tells you, his gaze unwavering, “I should’ve offered a protection detail to you from the jump, but I figured me being around often enough would work—did someone follow you here?”

“I don’t know, I kinda lost sight of them.”

You fall silent, staring at a crease in the denim of his jeans as you speak. 

“Should I be worried?” You ask quietly, turning your body toward him, “Like—are they going to kill me?”

“They’re getting uneasy,” Javier responds vaguely, before assuring, “Not because of you.”

“I should…I should tell you,” You take a breath, “One of them invited me to a party, I have his number. I told him I would have to work some things out, but I never…”

“Was it this weekend?” Javier asks suddenly, the lines in his forehead creasing at the mention.

“Yeah—yeah, why—”

“Say yes,” Javier urges, “I’ll keep you safe.”

It was a big promise, but Javier’s pleading eyes worked like a spell.

“This is gonna cost, Javier.”

“Name your price, hermosa.”

–

Javier’s touch is white-hot, cigarette tucked between his lips as he brushes your hair behind your ear and presses the in-ear monitor inside, hiding it behind the gaudy jewelry attached to your ear and adjusts your hair back over, stepping back and raking his eyes over your frame casually, pinching the cigarette from his lips with his thumb and pointer finger as he blows the smoke out.

“It’s small enough they won’t notice but try and keep it covered,” He tells you, his free hand shoved into his front pocket as his presence fills your apartment, moving around sheepishly under his gaze, “I’ll be a few minutes away, if anything goes south I’ll get you out.”

You stumble slightly slipping on your heels, caught by his tight grip as he steadies you. 

“Sorry—I’m freaking out,” You admit, looking away nervously as his grip loosens but doesn’t leave, firm around your bicep as you sleep your other foot inside the hell, “Th—thank you.”

“You smoke?” Javier asks causally as you stand.

“Not really,” You respond, “Occasionally, I guess. It’s probably more social, if I’m being honest.”

He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and offers it to you, placing it between your lips as you take a small puff without thinking or being told, an effective way to calm your nerves as you focused on the action as he points toward the cigarette, “Don’t drink or smoke anything they give you tonight,” Javier warns, “communication works both ways, I need you coherent.”

He pulls the cigarette away and places it between his own lips again.

The nicotine stings your throat and chest, giving you a noticeable distraction that calms your mind. “How do I look?” You force a tight smile, twirling on your feet as the dress clung to your curves, a soft, velvet red, “Fuckable, I hope. Otherwise I’m not getting anything out of them.”

Javier snorts at that, brow creasing at your crudeness.

“I don’t think you want my opinion,” He answers vaguely, swiping the counter for his keys.

“Just admit it,” You tease him with the words tossed over your shoulder as you grab for your jacket, “It’s fuckable.”

“Yeah, sure,” He mumbles around the cigarette between his lips, “fuckable.”

The way the word rolls of his tongue is visceral, ignoring the pulse between your legs at the vibrato in his voice and the chuckle that follows—regardless, it helped ease your nerves. 

–

It’s loud, sweaty, and overwhelming.

You thought they would choose something less…obvious.

But, it was becoming more and more clear how much of the town was under the Cali Cartel’s payroll, learning more and more information as Javier shared it with you in bits and pieces, your curiosity getting the better of you.

The idea was to mingle, drifting far enough away from your date that you might happen upon one of Javier’s more meaningful targets, not going as far as to infiltrate the heads, but someone damaging if you sunk your teeth in. 

You quickly come upon the realization that most of the men are confusing you with entertainment, rather than being a guest, quickly side-stepping the hands that reach for you as you squeeze your way toward the bar, sliding into an empty seat with a breath of relief.

“They are animals,” The voice beside you speaks—belonging to a man who was scientifically handsome; oddly perfect, hair perfectly coiffed and mused into place, a perfect set of teeth hidden behind plush lips and piercing green eyes—you had memorized the face in the picture Javier had shown you, “¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?”

You almost forget he’s talking to you for a moment, staring up at him distractedly before Javier’s voice speaks softly in your ear, “Answer him, chiquita. He’ll get suspicious.”

“Oh, yes,” You answer quickly, moving in closer to converse over the roar of music and the heavy buzz of strobe lights flashing overhead, “I seem to have lost my date, though.”

“Don’t worry,” He smirks, “I will keep you company.”

It does take a few drinks and you nursing your own, but you play into the act of being a mere accessory on the mysterious man’s arm, allowing him to drag you around the club with no real path to follow, eventually ending up with a smaller group of men huddled away in a corner, standing dutiful and quiet as the men talk amongst themselves in obscure words, almost like a code. 

“I can’t—I can’t hear them,” Javier’s speech is garbled, drown out by the music as you squint at the pain of the feedback in your ear, “can’t—hurry—”

Eventually, you find an opening to excuse yourself.

“Hermosa,” The voice freezes you in place, but the touch is gentle, surprisingly, “I would like to see you again, outside of here—”

You quickly ramble off the name of the diner, attempting to pull away, but not before a kiss is pressed against the front of your hand, feeling the heat burn through your skin like a brand before you’re slipping through the crowd, unable to take a deep breath until you’re outside.

You walk the distance to where Javier had parked originally, finding him buried deep in a conversation with someone who had pulled up in another car, hands curled around the driver’s side window, his head turning as he heard the distinct click of your heels.

“Fuck,” He curses, approaching you with his hands hovering around you—not touch or prodding, almost hesitant to cross that boundary unless it was absolutely needed, “are you alright?”

“Yeah,” You answer confused, nose scrunching up as you peered around him at the unknown agent, his window rolling up before he drove off, “what’s that about?”

“We think someone might have jammed the comms—there’s no way to know, it could have been the club itself, one of the agents is going to look into it—”

“Can you drive me home?” You interrupt suddenly, rubbing at the spot on your hand that the man had kissed, feeling dirty, “I’m full up on being felt up tonight and I want to change.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Javier replies after a moment of hesitation, “let’s go.”

You rip the device from your ear the moment the passenger door closes.

–

Javier places your heels against the floor as you walk barefoot into your apartment, a simple but kind gesture as your belongings scattered against your kitchen counter, fingers dragging through the front of your hair and back as you smeared your makeup in the process.

“Oh, the uh—the code,” You remember suddenly, “something about a bridge, as the sun rises…something with water. The guy, the picture you showed me. He approached the four you told me were important. I don’t think they liked me being there, but I also think they assumed I was too ignorant to remember a few words.”

Javier pauses, hands digging into his hips as he paces near your door.

“Do you want a beer?” You ask curiously, the furrow in his brow sinking deep as he attempts to decipher the code, he nods silently.

You figured with the information bestowed he would leave, but instead he stays, sipping at his beer for over an hour as you watch him move, his brain working things out in real time.

He’s beside you know, hands pressed into the counter as he pushed his body away, staring down at his feet as he repeated the words aloud, but quietly, like a murmur. 

“Are you sure they aren’t distributing right under your nose?”

Javier’s head tilts to the side as he looks at you, confused by your analogy.

You stare out your window for a moment, curtains pushed open, the gray luminescence of the moon illuminating the inky night sky, “I mean, they’re obviously paying people off, always partying at clubs—wait, the bridge and water,” A thought pops into your head, grabbing Javier by the hand before you’re pulling him to your apartment window, “what if they’re meeting on boats? I mean, not to say that’s how it’s getting it in, but—”

“That…makes sense,” Javier says, void of any distinct emotion as he takes a long chug of his beer before placing it on the ledge of the window, rubbing at the shoulder of his opposite arm.

“Annoyed you didn’t think about it first?” You tease, turning to tilt your head at him like he had earlier.

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, we’re still trying to put the pieces together,” He grimaces at the tightened muscles, rolling his neck as his hands settle back against his hips, “that’ll help, though.”

“Sit down,” You urge him, pointing toward your couch and Javier looks at you with dull amusement before you’re urging him again with your insistent finger, eventually he relents.

Immediately, you round the back of the couch and allow your fingers to dig into his shoulder, working out the soreness with deft fingers, “Shit—you don’t have to,” Javier begins to protest before your hand is curling around the back of his head and pushing it forward, molding him to how you needed him positioned as your fingers dig in deep, “that’s, fuck, that’s…shit, right there.”

His voice is pure erotica, but it makes your lips curl in amusement. It was that pathetic desperation you heard so often from the men you served daily—that slight pitch to their tone as they tried to grab your attention, but with Javier, he’s completely detached.

His hands were tucked between his legs, head resting forward as you dug in with a strong, pointed touch, his groan reverberating down his spine. 

“Mierda, your fucking hands—” He doesn’t even mean it in a sexual context, but the pressure you apply is perfect, pinpoint even, knuckles rolling against the base of his neck as his mouth opens, an embarrassing sound slipping beyond his lips as you chuckle softly, watching as he lifted his head in shame, “okay—okay, you’re done.”

“Oh, come on,” You tease, “I was just getting started.”

Javier shakes his head and stifles the laughter in his chest, resting against your couch as his hands circle the beer in his grasp, looking up at your face, tilted down toward his own as your fingers curl around the back of the couch, straps slipping down your shoulders in your relaxed state.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Javier checks, given you’ve had a proper amount of time to wind down from the adrenaline of being inside the club surrounded by dealers and potential kingpins.

He’s worried. He barely knows you and he’s still worried.

“It’s a rush,” You admit candidly, “But, I’m pretty resilient, Javier. Work is work. I’ve dealt with worse assholes on the job, I’m good at putting on a face when I need to.”

“What about now?” Javier asks curiously, eyes exploring your morphing expression of amusement to bashfulness, the way he’s staring at you outright, words unspoken.

“Yeah, pretty difficult,” You jest at his expense, his smile lines creasing as he grinned slightly, “I have this asshole in my apartment—annoyingly cocky, hates massages. God, the worst—”

He doesn’t like the way this job winds him up, the tension taught in his spine and unrelenting, staring up at you with a tinge of a buzz from the alcohol and the sight of your sloping breasts spilling out of your dress.

He’s used to driving miles and miles for peace of mind and a nice body to sink into, but you’re here, you’re smiling at him and he’d be damned to refuse the opportunity you’re presenting to him, leaning down as his hand comes up without thinking, twisting in your hair as his head turns to meet yours at the same angle, placing his beer down in the same instance.

“The fucking worst,” He echoes, his hands crawling up the edge of your dress as you climb over the couch with his guidance, speaking through rushed exchanges of lips, his hot, beer-tainted breath against your skin as he situates the dress up at your hips, straddling him without a second thought, “you were right about the dress—”

“Fuckable,” You both agree in unison, sighing audibly at the kiss he places to your chin, neck, shoving his face between the valley of your breasts as you work silently at his jeans, the clang of his buckle, metal against metal as you loosen it enough to free his straining cock, his breath catching as you wrap your fingers around the velvety skin of his shaft.

“M-My wallet,” He chokes out, muffled as your tongue dips into his mouth, stop briefly to savor the touch as his hands cups your face, eventually drifting into your hair in a similar manner to earlier but then he’s tugging, “got—got a condom.”

“Of course you do,” You snort in merriment, “is that—is that what we’re doing?”

Javier nods eagerly, never separating more than a millimeter from your lips as you stare at him, his eyes staring right back, searching your expression for any minute twitch of deception.

When Javier fits himself inside of you it is with a broken grunt, a curse under his breath, and a hand squeezing tight at your hip, fingers digging into the bunched up cloth as he wraps his opposite arm around your back, pulling you toward him with a sharp snap of his hips.

You gasp, falling over the back of the couch as your hands grasped at the surface in desperation, the start of a quick but all consuming pace of his hips, his lips mouthing at your skin; arms, fingers, even over your ribs, biting gently through the velvety fabric of your dress, stifling his shaky moans, attempting to avoid the glaringly obvious fact that he hasn’t been able to release his stress like this in weeks.

A willing participant, a body, convenience. 

Deep down, you know. 

But, you found yourself in the same mix of issues.

Regardless, you both ignore it.

–

Javier is gone by morning—or, what is left of it. 

The exhaustion of the night and the sex catching up to you, coming undone on his cock as he gripped your ass, feeling the bruises he’d left in the process and remembering the soft, filthy words of encouragement he had whispered against your skin as you came.

He even locked your apartment and slipped the key under the crack in the door, stumbling toward the glinting gold piece on the ground and the folded up note on the ground, eyebrow creasing at the sight as you kneel to the ground, adjusting your dress hastily. You squint to read the hastily written note.

Got a lead. Money is for last night.

You peel the paper open and spot the money inside, eyes widening as you slowly realize that this was far more than he’s given you before, nearly double the first time, slowly you fold the paper back over and check the back, inspecting the item as a whole before you notice the writing on the back.

We should do it again sometime, chiquita. 

You look up at the door slowly, at the cash, before peering over your shoulder at the couch, still indented with sleep and a blanket strewn carelessly over the cushions.

He paid you for sex. He’d made it transactional. 

There’s a brief moment where you’re stricken with offense, half the mind to track him down and chew him out, but you remember how your exchange started and ultimately how it would end.

Plus, it was half your rent paid for from the result of the type of sex you haven’t allowed yourself to have in far too long, disconnected from feeling and fully freeing. 

Besides, it must be a regular thing for Javier and you couldn’t even blame him.

He was only doing his job.

–

A protection detail does work for a brief time, at least, it eases some of your worry.

It was a younger agent, Javier had told you, little to no responsibility outside of keeping his eyes on you and reporting back when necessary. As some of the leads start to blossom, Javier appears less and less, but still follows through on his payments when you have information to exchange, even if it’s only a name or time of day for something.

You do find the boldness to ask him about the money he’d forked over for sex, flowing lightly into conversation as he gives you a recount of his time with Escobar after a night of curiosity and lacking customers drags you into the booth beside him.

Always taking careful note of any personal tidbits he would offer. You knew he wasn’t married or that, at the very least, he was an expert at hiding it. No kids, no spouse, no baggage.

“Is it hush money?” You ask bravely, counting through your tips for the night as he sips gingerly at the glass half full of whiskey, “Because if so, I wasn’t going to tell anyone anyways.”

His brow creases, confused for a brief second before you mouth the words.

My couch, the sex.

“Didn’t want things getting confusing,” Javier admits, “If it’s any consolation, the sex was good.”

“You’re too complicated for me anyways,” You snort softly, separating the bills accordingly as you glance over at him briefly, a soft hum in his throat as his lips wrap around the edge of his glass as he downs the rest of the liquor, “Was it a one time thing?”

“Doesn’t have to be,” Javier admits, “figured I should draw the line early—you aren’t offended are you? Because if you need me to remind you how good it—”

As you finish, dragging the money into one pile, you shrug, “I’m off in thirty.”

The sway of your hips as you exit the booth and head toward the back of the restaurant is enough to have Javier suffering half-hard in his jeans, legs widening as he inconspicuously rubs his palm over the denim to adjust himself, awaiting the small nod of your head around the corner that comes half an hour later. 

–

Javier is efficient, you learn.

What first starts off as a casual trade turns into pure, unrestrained stress relief. 

It bleeds into work for both of you, finding time to drag him off into the back office when you knew it was available, fucking over the desk with any empty kitchen and diner as the hours waned into the early morning and everyone was either on break or asleep.

You never offer up much about yourself, very little about your life before moving to Colombia or why you’ve stuck around for so long—but he does know you’re disconnected from your family almost entirely, completely alone.

He has a huge family back in Laredo, people that clearly care about him, catching him on the phone with his father one night as they bickered lightheartedly, something about Javier needing to find time to vacation sooner rather than later.

When you have sex at your apartment, he always smokes afterwards, whether in your bed or by the open window in your living room, always careful about the barrier of clothing that remains, never entirely naked in front of one another.

He doesn’t look at you either, won’t kiss you further than something quick—a wet, sloppy exchange of tongues as he fucks into you from behind, pulled back tight to his chest as his hand strains and squeezes around your neck to turn your head toward him.

And he never stays, doesn’t stay hung up on goodbyes. 

He waits until you’re asleep, places the money at your bedside, and leaves.

But, there is a moment when you hear the tone in his voice switch, almost offended.

You’re both naked from the waist down and he’s thrusting into you lazily as his lips latch onto the section where your neck meets your shoulder, recounting the details that you’ve learned today, easily killing two birds with one stone.

He mentioned something earlier that night about a bust gone wrong, chewing frustratedly at his bottom lip as he spoke more with his eyes than his words before you had dragged him toward the back.

“Benny offered to take me on a date,” You address lightly, voice hitched as Javier used his palm against the inside of your thigh to spread it wider before it curls around the back of your knee and pulls up high over his lip, “he bought me an outfit and everything.”

He racks through the catalog of names in his brain.

Benny. Benny…Benito?

He wasn’t aware he’d spoked the name out loud until you’re responding with a soft acknowledgement as the desk bangs against the wall, your hand flattening out behind you for support, “Yes—same thing. I’m sure it’s for the—”

“The gala, yeah.”

He had spent the past few weeks trying to approach a way to get inside, knowing that this would be an opportunity to track the ever-expanding tree of sellers and suppliers, a front for the obvious drug trade that was happening, as you phrased it, right under his nose. 

The boat lead had only gotten them so far, knowing that there was much more nefarious shit going on that he was grasping at straws to collect off of, using you as his main source of information.

He knows it’s dangerous, but damn were you good at it.

“When did that c—come up?” Javier asks, grunting into your neck as his orgasm creeped in, his fingers drifting expertly over your clit as they had a dozen times before.

“Couple weeks ago,” You reply casually, both you falling into your eventual orgasms and only hearing him speak as he’s already disposed of his condom and was buttoning his jeans up.

“When were you gonna tell me that?”

It feels like a heavy weight on your chest, the clear betrayal in his voice coming from absolutely nowhere, immediately forcing you into defense mode as you sneer at him, adjusting your top back into your jeans as you tie your apron around your waist.

“I’m telling you now,” You retort, “I wasn’t even sure he dropped the clothes off here yesterday.”

It couldn’t have been that crucial of a detail, given that the gala wasn’t happening for another week according to the information that had been figured out.

Javier looks stiff suddenly, shoving his wallet into his back pocket before your hand is twisting around his bicep and shoving him back until he faces you.

“Is there something you need to say?” Your eyebrows raise slightly, expectant of the harsh words that were bound to be slung your way.

“I’m paying for information—honesty, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re also paying to have sex with me.”

Javier isn’t sure why he feels it—it isn’t jealousy, necessarily. Just betrayal, that over the last few months you didn’t feel comfortable enough to share the information with him immediately, weary of the temptations of the cartel and the idea that they could pull you in, flip you against him.

He worries for your safety and well-being, knowing that he would be the one living with that guilt if anything happened to you. You were a friend at the very least, something few and far between for Javier after Steve had left. If he wasn’t at work or his own apartment, he was with you.

Javier forces a breath through his nose and huffs, eyes flicking toward you intensely. 

“It’s important to know this shit, so we can prepare.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, alright? It’s not like I’m keeping secrets. I’m sure you could do your research on me if you wanted, if you haven’t already. I have nothing to hide and nothing to gain, Javier.”

His shoulders relax slightly, widening as he puffs his chest out and takes a breath, “Yeah, but they have plenty to gain from you—we have to stay ahead.”

Always one step ahead.

–

The gala comes and goes without much preamble—and you know you’re serving as mostly arm candy, dressed scantily as you hand on the arm of a man you barely know, paraded around as a prize he’s won and showing off to his friends, but he’s surprisingly respectful.

Or, biding his time. You couldn’t tell. 

You don’t force off his small advances, a gentle touch or something too close for comfort as he lips pressing against the shell of your ear, whispering something you don’t pay much attention to as you survey the event, spotting a flurry of faces familiar and unfamiliar, picking up on names and information as it arises.

Javier could still hear everything on his end with the small, nearly invisible communication device shoved into your ear, hidden underneath your hair similar to last time, careful of which side you allowed Benny on.

“My boss is sending us on vacation soon,” You didn’t pay much attention, but Javier was, “could be fun, if you wanted to go—I could talk to him, he’d like you.”

Perfect. Useful. You can already hear the words that would float around if the opportunity arises. You prayed it would never get that far.

“Change the subject,” Javier says tensely, knowing you were traversing into dangerous territory.

“I’m sure your boss won’t mind, I’ll talk to him, too,” You can feel the smirk over your shoulder before you turn, wondering if he had ever met the owner of the diner or he was purely assuming, regardless, you laugh it off quietly.

“I have to stick around and keep things going, they wouldn’t survive without me,” You switch gears easily, “I don’t see you often, just your friends—why don’t you come around more?”

He’s only appeared a couple times and both were brief, first to ask you to the gala and then to give you the dress, almost like he’d rather avoid the place entirely. You were careful of giving him any personal information outside of where you worked, knowing that it wasn’t already accessible information.

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t think it’s about what I want, is it?” You retort playfully, a smirk growing on his face as his thumb slides over your chin, careful how deep of a jab you make, “It’s up to you.”

Benito’s hand rubs over the back of your dress and down, fingers modeling against the loose wrinkles in the fabric as he moves over the curve of your ass and squeezes, a small squeak escaping your lips as you bite down at the inside of your cheek, ignoring the knee-jerk reaction to elbow him in the stomach.

“Not much longer, chiquita,” Javier reminds, seeming to hear your discomfort immediately. 

The next hour drags painstakingly slowly, but eventually Benito drops you off at the diner at your insistent request, despite his pressuring you to invite him back to your apartment.

When you step into the threshold of your living room, Javier is already opening up the dinner had ordered at your subtle request earlier that evening, a smug smile on his face as you shake your head in exhaustion, sleeping over you hills in and instant and half-way stripping out of your dress before you even make it to your bedroom.

Javier grins in amusement as you thrust the device that you rip out of your ear into his chest, quietly tucking it away on the table as he prepares the food.

You’re dressed for comfort when you return, a shirt reaching beyond your thighs as you settle the bare skin against the barstool, underwear peeking out as you sit, immediately shoveling the food into your mouth.

You ramble out the names you caught onto, watching as Javier scribbled them down, rubbing at your temples to soothe the growing headache as you finish up your food and shove it aside, eventually slumping against the counter as you groan weakly.

You can feel Javier’s hand graze your knee, squeezing gently at your thigh, a silent invitation.

“I’m so tired, Javi,” You admit, “You can keep your cash, don’t worry. The whole thing was a bust, anyways.”

The chair creaks as Javier leans toward you, whispering against your ear, “Ven aqui,” He beckons as he pulls at your arm, guiding you silently to your room, half-expecting him to tuck you into bed and leave, but then he’s guiding you backwards toward the mattress and spreading out between your legs on the duvet as he removes your underwear, your lips forming into a subtle pout until he’s splitting you open with his tongue, a gasp escaping at the sudden sensation, fingers twisting into his hair roughly.

“Javi, what are you doing?” You inquire—it was new, a careful line drawn between you both earlier on that it was strictly sex, disconnection, but now he was trying to leave the impression of his tongue against your cunt as he devoured you all at once, squeezing at your thighs to spread them open further, a sated expression on his face that had to be a mix of his own exhaustion, delirious with want.

“Where did he touch you?” Javier asks casually, eyes closed as he pressed gentle kisses to the inside of your thigh, pushing your shirt up higher as you guided his hand over your hip and down toward your ass and squeezing gently.

“There,” You admit before guiding his hand further up, alongside your ribs and around your back, another gentle squeeze before guiding his hand around and over your breasts, “and there—here,” You squeeze down tightly as your eyes fall shut, his mouth sucking over your clit as your back arches off the bed.

You come faster than you expect and had you known his mouth was so talented, you would have suggested this earlier, but through the waning of your orgasm you feel his tongue drifting over your skin in the wake of his previous touches, lapping at the salty skin before his tongue eventually finds the way toward your breast, swirling around the sensitive skin as your nipple hardens against his mouth, innately curious of his actions but not voicing them.

There was never any predicting with Javier, figuring that maybe he needed a little more distraction tonight, but as your orgasm dissipates and the hand in his hair stays, he never moves, only a low rumble to his breathing as you attempt to catch your own breath before you’re slowly leaning up and realizing his eyes were shut and he had fallen asleep.

Whatever was ailing him had finally taken hold, able to squirm away through his heavy sleep before you’re draping a blanket over his frame, still dressed from the day.

You can’t find the courage inside yourself to disturb him as he took up half of your bed, opting for the couch in the off-chance he woke up in the middle of the night to you beside him, stirring up another list of issues you didn’t feel like dealing with.

–

Surprisingly, you wake before him. The sky barely fading out of night as you stir, rising from the couch as the bulky phone on the counter—it was Javier’s, you knew that.

But still, you answer it. It couldn’t hurt, just tell them to leave a message.

Instead, as you hear the familiar voice on the other end, you find yourself pulled into an unsuspecting conversation with his father that drags into the morning hours as the sun rises, meandering over breakfast before you here him stirring in the other room, trying to ignore how pleasant but telling the conversation with Javier’s father was as you place the phone down on the counter and begin cooking breakfast, silently, still half-dressed in the clothes from the night prior, minus your underwear strewn somewhere on your bedroom floor.

He’d asked how Javier was doing when you told him your name, surprised that he was familiar with you, learning that Javier had spoken about you to him, though briefly.

Probably in passing, maybe. You try not to dwell on it.

“He seems fine,” You told him, “Busy, though.”

He’s always busy, he tells you. Cuidar a mi hijo.

He was worried, rightfully so. But, Javier was an adult, his own person. 

He wasn’t your responsibility and you weren’t his.

And you try to ignore the strange sensation in your chest at the immediate elation from his father hearing your name, like an old family friend hearing from you for the first time in years, even though you knew very little of his father.

You’ve learned enough about Javier, at least. His likes and dislikes, vague interests that he commented on, the grimace in his face that would grow deeper the harder he got stuck on something, a thought or idea.

Javier clears his throat as he enters the kitchen, avoiding your gaze as you slide the meat and eggs onto two separate plates before passing it to him.

“You could have woke me up,” He said, looking up at you briefly with mused hair, his shirt wrinkled from sleep.

“Your father called,” You ignored his comment, “you should call him back.”

“You talked to him?” Javier asks blankly, no distinct emotion shining through.

“For, like, half a second,” You lie, “I just told him you were asleep.”

He didn’t need to know his father’s worry or how much he’d given away about what he knew of you, secrets that were obviously meant to be kept between them, but as Javier chews with thought, eager to break the lingering silence, he asks.

“He mentioned it, didn’t he?”

You shrug your shoulders cluelessly, “I think you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“That I’ve talked about you, or at least, he knows who you are.”

“It’s none of my business, really.”

“He hears you, at the diner—he’s nosey. I’ve mentioned you in passing. I just…I know how he gets, I don’t want you thinking anything is going on,”

“I’m not paid to think, Javier,” You tell him.

It’s disparaging, his nose scrunching up slightly at your words and the emptiness with which you throw them. This is where he always seemed to fuck up, distinguishing work from his life but somehow maintaining the balance of peace and humanity.

Do you want to explain last night? You mind screamed, but instead you offer him his coffee, the usual black with minimal or no sugar, giving him the option as you slide the mug and container in his direction. He fishes blindly for his wallet but your hand stops him.

You sigh, “That’s not—I wasn’t implying you need to now. I—I just think we should maybe reframe what we’re doing, given that things have…progressed,” The word lingers on your tongue while you bite at your bottom lip. “I’m worried they might find out where I live or about you—or the fact that I’m literally helping the DEA catch them and praying can only do so much and I’m here alone—”

“Hermosa, slow down,” Javier urges, shoving his wallet back into his pocket at your guidance and avoiding the obvious domesticity of having slept overnight in your apartment and ate the breakfast you cooked him. 

It was in his nature to care, to a degree. It was his downfall sometimes, to a devastating fault. He striked while you were vulnerable and roped you into his own mess, now paying for it with guilt that had seeped into his personal life, spending the entire night prior picturing how Benito was handling you, how he could step in—how it could have been him instead.

“She doesn’t sound like work,” His father had told him a week ago, returning a flirtatious quip as you had passed him his usual coffee and offered him a light for his cigarette after his hadn’t worked, that sort of boyish tone in his voice that his father picked up on in a second.

The lines had blurred with Helena after a while, a similar circumstance that he continued to find himself in—paying for info, paying for sex, attempting to make it impersonal. But, here you were, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes, and he didn’t know how to fix the mess he had made. 

He couldn’t see you hurt or send you into danger like he had with Helena, the helpness he’d felt as he discovered her near lifeless body, covered in blood and bruises after she had been beaten and traded around—it couldn’t happen, it wouldn’t.

–

Javier returns with a phone later that day, similar to his with his number attached to a piece of paper he shoves into your hand as he directs you to pack a bag in the case of an actual emergency, something quick to grab that you wouldn’t have to second guess about. 

“You’re making it seem like I should be leaving now,” You tell him, taking the items he passes into your hand as you fold a stack of clothes and toiletries into the bag.

Javier shakes his head, “It’s better be safe,” He explains, “I…doubt—I don’t think they would be. We have someone listening around the clock, people on the inside, there haven't been any red flags.”

“What if something does? What if I can’t reach you?”

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” He tells you simply, your face contorting in confusion. “It’s a code—a phrase only you and I know. If you use that, it means danger. Through a note, or that phone. I just have to hear it.”

You zip the bag up in silence, feeling the weight of the web you had tangled yourself in finally settling, curious if you would be back at square one, fleeing to a different country to escape your problems.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Javier promises, suddenly closer than you’ve ever known him to allow himself outside of sex, his finger drags along your chin and forces it up, looking at him, “¿Entiendes?”

You nod, a subtle motion but Javier sees it.

“Javier, we should talk,” You echo once more, though with different meaning, “about last night.”

“I’ll still pay, hermosa—that isn’t a problem.”

You could handle the way it was eating at you.

“No, I mean—I mean why did last night happen? Why is your dad telling me to keep you safe?”

His face hardens at the mention of his father.

It’s just sex, you can hear the words before they roll off his tongue, ignoring your second question entirely.

Tell me where he touched you.

“You started this, you know?” You remind him, “You made this transactional.”

Was he scared of you?

Eerily silent he remains, you speak for him.

“I’m not a whore either, so if that is how you view me—I really don’t want your help at all.”

The keys in hand are gripped tight as you chance a glance toward the floor, his body entirely unmoving, his eyes downturned and staring in a similar direction, almost like he couldn’t find the words.

I”m not asking you to give a shit about me, but—”

His answer is a kiss, searing and intense, keys tossed to your bed as his fingers dive into your hair, curling around your head as you make a sound of surprise, steadying yourself as you grip his biceps and stumble backwards, tripping over the dress you had stripped yourself of last night.

You still hadn’t dressed from earlier, his hands flattening against your hips as he molds the soft flesh under his grip, his teething biting into your bottom lip as he murmurs, “Belt, get my belt,” without question, your fingers go to work, ripping the leather away in a practiced motion as you continue to unbutton his jeans, “—think I don’t give a shit, are you fucking insane?”

“A little,” You jest, “I mean—I’m helping you, aren’t I?”

This felt strangely vulnerable, his fingers pulling at your shirt with a deliberate endgame.

Naked in the natural lighting of your room, his fingers reaching for his own shirt as you work his jeans down his hips, appreciating his tanned skin as it shines with a thin layer of sweat. Despite the sticky heat that permeated throughout your apartment, his touch is cooling, comforting even.

“Another freebie?” You tease him further, hearing him snort as he reaches for his wallet and crowded you on the mattress, opening the tight leather before he grabs a wad of cash and shoves it into the sheets before tossing his wallet aside and diving between your breasts.

“Making me a poor man,” Javier retorts, peeking up through your tits as he squeezed them in his grip, mouthing delicately along the skin, “shit—but this, s’fuckin’ priceless.”

“I’m—fuck, I’m kidding, Javier. I don’t want your money. Never wanted it.”

It had always been about convenience, never expecting things to end up like this.

It was a mess, both of you were.

He’s seeing all of you, for once, and you him. 

And you know he needs, wants, without saying.

He fucks you slow, legs hitched around his hips as buries his head into the space beside yours, only rising as your noises grow with intensity, the bluntness of your nails digging into his skin.

“Inside,” You beg, “inside of me, Javi.”

He moans pathetically, lips squished against your cheek as his hips falter.

“Yeah?” He grunts, “Can I?”

You giggle airly at his question, nodding fervently.

“Mierda,” He curses brokenly, groaning softly into your skin as he pumps himself inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you to the brim, oozing out as his hips slow, his hands kneading into your skin as he rests, breathing rapidly against your chest.

“We should—should talk, Javier.” You tell him again, after a moment of silence. “Like, really talk—you know?”

Javier hums in acknowledgment, “Tonight—give me until tonight, okay?”

Tonight was good enough, for now.

–

The first thing you feel when you rouse from sleep is pain.

White-hot and persistent, restrained by your hand as they’re tucked behind your back. You feel more hands, the sound of stiff leather and the smell, overwhelming as it invades your senses.

“I see why he keeps you around,” The voice comes from behind, eyes bleary as you blink before the hand in your hair grips tight, only catching the fist coming at you from your peripheral before your world goes dark.

When you wake again, you’re upright and in a chair, head slung back uncomfortable as you attempt to stretch, feeling heavy and groggy as you move, remembering the moment from earlier you become alert within seconds, eyes searching around frantically as you spot two men.

They were strangers, faces covered, but obviously sent here for a reason.

“Benny thought he could get it out of you,” The man says dismissively, “you foreigners—stupid, messy, predictable.” He grabs the fabric of your dress and plucks the small, miniscule device from the fabric that you missed, squinting to see it before the man breaks it between two fingers and tosses the dirtied fabric aside.

“We got her to ourselves, plenty of time to—”

“No,” The other man replies sternly to the obvious subservient man, “her boss—that’s what we came here for.”

“My boss?” You croak eventually, “At the diner? What do you want with—”

The gun he pulls from his back silences you in an instant. He reaches for the phone on the counter, the yellow sticky note still attached, “That him?”

“It’s mine,” You reply with ease, “I’m forgetful and—”

Your throat swells as he ignores you, dialing the number.

You hadn’t let the reality of the situation settle until you heard Javier’s voice on the other end, careful to not give anything away as his voice comes across more energetic than usual. They didn’t seem upset at the lie, but the finger on the trigger squeezed slightly as his voice came through, a silent order to play along.

“Hola, chiquita,” Javier greets smoothly, “¿Todo bien?”

You laugh softly, “Yes—yeah.”

You know what they want, what they need.

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.” You beg, voice unwavering as you stare the two men down, both of them seeming satisfied by your ploy to get Javier to the apartment without much argument.

The line falls dead without a response, the phone tosses aside to the floor as it shatters into pieces. 

Unfortunately, they weren’t going to get it easily.

–

You wished you could warn him.

One wrong move and the blade at your throat, the gun to your head—they would be your undoing.

You stared blankly at the broken lock and hinge of your door, footsteps approaching as you whimpered, the sharpness of the knife pressing against your skin as Javier whips around the corner and into the apartment.

The white-hot pain returns as you’re met with the butt of the gun, slumping from the chair as chaos whirls around you, curled up on the floor and crawling desperately away from danger as someone screams, gargling as it sounds, probably on their own blood. 

You couldn’t look back, breathing panickedly as you hid behind the couch and huddled in on yourself, a gun going off unexpectedly as your ears ring, gasping as you hear the sound of a blade puncturing skin once, twice, before it clamers to the floor.

You wait a moment, although it feels like eternity, expecting the cold press of a gun against the back of your skull, but instead it was a hand and eventually another, the faint smell of a familiar cologne that brought you comfort and warmth.

“Baby, we have to go,” Javier urges, “I have to get you out.”

Out?

You look up, his eyes wild but lacking any indicators of violence.

“It isn’t safe here.” He reiterates, “Can you walk?”

You nod weakly, feeling his hand wrap around your waist as he assists you in rising to your feet, still discombobulated and wobbly, he sticks by your side as you grab your things, silent as he eventually, alongside the crowd of presumably agents and police that pass by, invading your apartment, Javier is a guiding light of reassurance before you’re barricaded in the safety of his car.

“It was a tracker,” You mumble eventually, “when he was feeling me up that night—it was because he was trying—well, he—he did, he put a—”

You blink, feeling the sting of tears as you look up at Javier.

“Things are getting worse. It isn’t safe for you here, not anymore.”

“Here? What—what do you mean?”

–

Here meant Colombia.

Which is how you ended up in Texas two weeks later. Laredo to be specific. 

Javier had a place close to home. His family.

And you had talked extensively, it was the only thing that kept the panic from consuming you that night as he drove you to the embassy, tying up some loose ends before he drove you to the airport without any explanation until he was shoving the ticket into your hand.

His father had been waiting for you, as somber in expression as his son. 

They were so similar it made your heart swell, an unfamiliar feeling. 

Javier couldn’t explain what he was feeling for you and you could accept that, but he was careful and adamant in the idea that you would spend your time at his home, already setting you up with a similar job in town, a seamless transition that felt strange, but oddly easy to settle into.

“What if I just left?” You tease him one night, hearing his desk creek as he head slumps into his unoccupied hand, “Would that be easier for you?”

“No,” Javier says sternly, “I’m—this…I think I might be done. Feels like I’m fighting a battle that I’ll never win, feelings fucking pointless.”

It had been months now, curled up on his couch as you stared out the window and toward the empty road, wondering if the chill of fall was creeping in as the cool breeze hit your skin, “No more waitresses to help you out down there, huh?”

Javier snickers at that, though it was quiet.

“Stop that,” He chastises, “It’s not funny.”

You giggle in return, “I know, I know—just remember who’s keeping your bed warm every night, yeah? Oh—and your dad, he keeps asking when you’re gonna call.”

You hear him huff at that, clearing his throat awkwardly as he mumbles an apology to someone on the other end, the faint hum of the office around him feeding through the receiver. 

“I hope you’re okay, please come home.”

It wasn’t a cry for help this time, but still a phrase that was special.

A code, a message. A lifeline.

Javier was barely surviving amongst the cartel as tensions had pulled taut and drug trade seemed at an all-time high, nearly unstoppable anymore. 

It was beyond him, out of his control.

And for the first time in a long time, he has a reason, a want, to come home.

“Soon, chiquita. Soon.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice and it worried you immensely. 

“Don’t let it consume you, Javi. You’ve done enough.”

On the other end, his brow furrows. Disgruntled and annoyed at how right you were, echoing the similar sentiment his dad had told him a thousand times. 

He was done, he wanted out.

-

"El envío llega el domingo." / The shipment arrives on Sunday.

"¿Cómo te va? ¿Lo estás pasando bien?” / How are you doing? Are you having a good time?

"Cuidar a mi hijo." / Take care of my son.

[maeedrg]

What are we ?

part 2

fake dating trope Gojo X fem reader

ᯓ★

MASTERLIST of the series

part 1 part 2

Synopsis : Now everyone thinks you are dating the great Gojo Satoru. You are sent on a mission with him in the mountains, and realize that it’s actually a sweet honey trap made by the elders to hope you will come back with a ring on your finger, or a possible heir. What is wrong with them ?! And what is wrong with this sexual tension ? He is your best friend, for fuck’s sake !

Words count : 7.6k.

Warnings : fluff, romantic comedy, blood, sexual tension, slight smut, some dry humping (kinda), slight angst.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : I’m back with part 2 !!! I wrote it in less than a week after the part 1, I hope the part 3 will be out soon as well. Enjoy <3

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Against your will, Satoru and you were stuck playing pretend. Being his fake girlfriend for one night, became for another day, and then a week, and then already two weeks. Since the gathering, the gossip went faster than you thought, and quickly EVERYONE in the jujutsu society knew that The Strongest had a partner, to the point that even your own students were curious about it. Hearing Nobara saying she couldn’t believe that someone would ever want to date her obnoxious professor was somewhat funny, and embarrassing at the same time.

Because now, you have to lie to their face, and the worst is that Satoru was amused, and actually took pleasure in these shenanigans. He claps his hand with yours, kissing it in front of a disgusted Megumi, a shocked Nobara and an impressed Yuji.

“Is he even treating you well, L/n ? Blink twice if you are dating Gojo against your will !” exclaims Megumi, stepping closer, meanwhile Yuji tries to muffle his laughter.

You look at the teenager, and intend to not smile at his panicked expression. If the poor boy knew… You agreed, but didn't expect that dating Gojo would last more than a night. He wasn’t even your real boyfriend. So, deciding to tease the white haired professor, you blink. One, twice, and Megumi gasps loudly.

“I knew it !” he says glaring at your supposed abuser, but Gojo puts his hand over your eyes to stop you from blinking again, bringing you against him.

“Hey, she’s lying ! Y/n, don’t be mean like that…” whines the so-called Strongest, and you squirm, laughing.

“Professor, I believe you ! You both look very much in love !” insists Yuji innocently, and you can’t help but flutter at him saying that. You couldn’t see the facial expression Satoru did, his hand still covering your eyes. But you wondered if the pink haired student said that because you both acted well in front of everyone, or if because your real feelings were slowly showing a bit too much. Fuck, you thought you weren’t obvious. You hoped Satoru only saw it as you being good at pretending, and nothing more.

“Well, I know she is head over heels. I mean, who wouldn’t ?” Gojo scoffs playfully, being fakely arrogant in his tone of voice.

“You say that, but you are the one that admitted you had a crush on y/n since you were 15,” adds Nobara, but the moment she started her sentence, the hands of Satoru left your eyes to instead cover your ears. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the chance to hear what the brown haired one said.

“Uh ?” you mutter, confused, and Satoru looks down at you with rosy cheeks, shaking his head.

“Your amazing professors need to go now, kiddos. We have a train to take, so get up, go study or something !” exclaims Satoru, freeing your audition and sliding his arm around your shoulders to make you follow him. They all grumble before saying goodbye, and you wave at them as well. Indeed, you had an unexpected mission with Satoru to attend to. One that was located 3 hours away by bullet train from Tokyo. The higher ups were sudden when ordering the two of you to go there, resulting in having to stay sleeping at the location in a hotel. Not that it bothered you, just that it strangely was… out of nowhere. 

“Kids these days…” he sighs, and you glare at Satoru, side-eying him. He looks back at you, raising an eyebrow.

“Ok, you grandpa. And why did you stop me from hearing what Nobara said ? If she said something embarrassing about you that I don’t know, then well… I want to know !” you protest, and he looks away sheepishly, which makes you frown at his unexpected behavior.

“Ahahahah…. nahhhh. Nothing, don’t worry about that,” he replies, acting nonchalant and shrugging off what happened as if it was nothing special or interesting. 

“Satoru, don’t bullshit me,” you sigh, getting even more curious now as you lean closer to him. But he keeps a poker face, before sliding his sleeve and looking at his expensive watch.

“Oh my god, look at the time ! Quick, we’ll be late at the train station !” he says panicked, but you knew better than to believe him, because last time you checked, you still had 2 hours before you. Yet, he doesn’t let you really protest as he grabs you again, and makes you dash with him in the corridor of the campus.

“Hey, we aren’t even late !”

“Time is just an illusionnnn !” he answers with what looks like a mysterious voice.

“This doesn’t even make any sense !” you retort, exasperated.

Satoru dragged you with him, forcing you to run, get your bag and rush towards the car of Ijichi, the poor black haired man startled to see the two of you dash in his direction. It didn’t take longer than two minutes for the car to rumble and then it engaged in the road. 

Once you arrive at the station, finding where your train was located and then entering it, sitting down after putting both of your bags with your necessities for the night in the right compartment, you can finally breathe. Satoru and you were alone in the wagon of the bullet train, but too shaken from this supposed race against time, you don’t question it more. You sigh deeply, looking at the sun setting and then at the person sitting next to you. His long legs were kind of cramped, so you somewhat feel bad for him.

“So it’s some upper grades in the mountains ? Maybe once we arrive at the hotel, even if it will be already late, we should go see around the forest to do some scouting,” you propose, breaking the silence as Satoru turns his face to look down at yours.

“Agreed, but believe me, this mission will go quicker than you think,” he affirms confidently, shrugging before taking off some candies from his bag and opening it, munching on one.

“Why are you so sure about it ?” you ask as he gives you some candies as well that you gladly accept and eat. Oh, way too sweet… Satoru looks at you and even if his blindfold is covering his eyes, you see how his facial expression changes.

“Y/n, be for real. The higher ups are sending us together to this mission on purpose. Now that they think we are dating, they have a new goal in mind,” he explains as if it was logical, and you swallow before dusting your hands from the sugar.

“Which is ?” you pressure him to elaborate more on the matter, not sure about what he was implying. 

“Probably making us have babies as fast as possible, since they think I’m some kind of dog ready to breed,” he spats, rolling his eyes and munching more aggressively on the candy. You almost choke on your saliva.

“What the hell- and how can they even plot this when sending us to fight some curses ?” you answer, not believing it. After what happened at the gathering two weeks ago, you quickly understood the expectations the elders had for Gojo. Some of them are marriage and heirs. But here it was backfiring on you. At first, you thought they would stop pestering him with questions of arranged marriage. They did stop, nonetheless it’s a matter of you now ! You just were supposed to act like his girlfriend for one night, not to be questioned about becoming his wife and starting a family !

“Did you even check the location of the hotel ?” he asks, turning more on his seat to face you better.

“I did, so what ?”

“There is an onsen, many places to sightsee, and overall, it’s a touristic place that a lot of newlyweds go to for their honeymoon. Very romantic, if you know what I mean. So they basically send us on a date to hope for something to happen,” he explains, looking at you before trailing his gaze on the window.

“Are they serious right now ?” you question deadpan. 

“Yep. I mean, it’s nothing cute. They don’t care if we enjoy it or not, they just hope that you either come back with a ring on your finger, or pregnant,” he sighs, shrugging. You don’t answer, your eyes not leaving him as you assimilate what he just said.

No way, no fucking way… Do they really want this ? First of all, Satoru is not even your boyfriend, so this situation was way more embarrassing. But even if he was, that still was wrong. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that ! I didn’t choose it either,” he whines, defending himself as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“God… why is their mindset so old fashioned ?!” you groan, taking your face in your hands, exasperated.

“Y/n, don’t worry. We deal with the curses and just enjoy the place like some free weekend, or some break from their annoying faces, yeah ?” he proposes, his hand gently ruffling your hair to sooth you down and lighten the mood.

“Alright, I wanted to relax anyway, so this is good, I guess,” you finish to answer, trying to stay positive. Satoru smiles at you, and like that, the train starts to move.

You were stuck here for three hours. Either you were listening to the yap of Satoru, or you were laughing with him. Yet, you grew tired. Today was a long day, and the night was already up in the sky. You lay more comfortably against your seat, and plug on your earphones. You decide to listen to some music, and Satoru notices that. He doesn’t even need to ask, you already are offering him one of your earphones. He grins and puts it on his ear. As the song starts, you look at the scenery.

Your eyelids grow heavy, and Gojo looks at you, before softly pressing your head against his shoulder. You relax, feeling more at ease in this position, and close your eyes. The movement of the train lulls you to sleep, and Satoru takes your phone, knowing the password, and changes the playlist to something more calm.

He stares at you as you soon fall asleep, and gently, the back of his fingers caress your cheek. He smiles to himself, taking his own phone carefully to not wake you up, and then he snaps a picture. Here it goes in his gallery and folder of pics he has with you for years. Something he valued to keep, and enjoyed looking at whenever he was feeling lonely, far away on a mission overseas.

It would be a lie to say that Satoru wasn’t excited at the idea of this mission, curious to see how it will unfold. Yeah, curious, that’s what he told himself.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

As you arrived, the first thing you both did was to register in the hotel. A reservation was already made, and you look around the luxurious place while walking inside the elevator. Satoru leans against the wall, looking down at you.

“What do you think the room will look like ? There is only one bed, you know,” he starts to ask, taping his finger against his bicep when crossing his arms.

“We sleep in the same bed everytime we hangout, don’t make a big deal out of it,” you shake your head, too tired to indulge his weird antics for the rest of the evening. After all, last time, you both ended up sleeping in a hotel room, and Satoru even had to give you his shirt so you wouldn’t be butt naked. The aftermath of the hangover was special… but you were used to chaos with him. 

“You’re no fun, come on, I’m sure the room will be decorated with roses and shit,” he taunts you, getting closer as he balances himself on his other leg. You look at him through the mirror.

“No, they will not go that far,” you chuckle nervously, and now, he stands behind you, looking at you too through the mirror. 

“Well, if the reservation is made under the idea of us being newlyweds…” he muses playfully.

“We don’t even have rings on our fingers !” you reply, and the doors of the elevator open. Satoru steps back, you follow suit and roam through the corridor.

“You think they care ?” he scoffs, taking the keys they gave you earlier, and he slowly opens the door of your assigned room. You enter first, searching for the light.

“Well, it’s just some logic- oh lord,” you cut yourself the moment you manage to illuminate the room. Eyes wide open, you stare at a big king sized bed with flowers creating a heart on the sheets, and some romantic decorations in the spacious place, on the walls, the floor, etc.

“Told ya, sweetheart,” whispers Satoru smugly in your ear. You shiver head to toe and enter quickly, looking around dumbfounded. He takes off his blindfold to look around better. 

“What the fuck ?” you say, narrowing your eyes and not believing what you were seeing. You laugh, taking some of the flowers in your hands. You feel bad that they took the time to arrange a romantic room, all that to not be used in the end. You would lie too if you didn’t feel flustered at the idea of actually doing something with Satoru. No, you should snap out of it.

“Fuck is the right word to say,” jokes your best friend, walking around and then stepping in the corridor of the room to see where it leads.

“I’m not having sex with you on this bed, Satoru,” you correct, looking at him entering somewhere and turning on the lights.

“Why not in the bathroom ? Check it out !” his face pops and then he disappears again in the so-called bathroom. You follow him and open wide your mouth when seeing again flowers scattered on the floor, with a whole jacuzzi next to the shower, and bottles of alcohol in a bucket beside it, with many candles ready to be lit.

“A jacuzzi ? Wine ?!” you almost scream of surprise.

“So, maybe we should fuck. I mean, the atmosphere is perfect,” he trails, lifting his blindfold to give you a seductive glance, even winking at you. And oh, the butterflies in your stomach start to move again, moving quite a lot actually. You roll your eyes, ignoring this growing feeling inside your gut, and he steps closer.

“What ? We already made out, this is the natural next step-,” he starts, before you slap the back of his head, “ouch ! I’m just joking with you ! Can’t even recognize the teasing of your own best friend !” he whines, pouting, and massaging his nape. Of course, it didn’t hurt, he just wanted to make you feel bad.

“I can’t know if you are really joking because you tend to sometimes be serious, like last time at the gathering,” you say as you step out of the bathroom, continuing to inspect the place. You wouldn’t be surprised if you saw sextoys somewhere in the drawers. At this rate, nothing could surprise you anymore.

“You accepted to make out with me,” he justifies, behind you.

“But at first you were joking about it, and it came true. So just in case, I’m not letting you joke about fucking. Annnd, I will not let you touch one drop of wine. You lightweight ass will not handle it,” you warn as you sit down on the bed, and notice how comfy it was just by taking a seat on it. At least, you will sleep well.

“Fine, fine, geez ! Then you don’t drink any drop of wine too,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why ? I hold well my liquor,” you defend yourself, frowning.

“And what if you end up drunk and jump on me trying to take off my clothes ? I’m innocent, you know ?” he scoffs, putting his hands in front of his torso as if he was shy, and you can’t help but laugh. His smile grows wider when he sees you enjoying his joke.

“Ah yes, very innocent… Alright, I won’t touch it too. But I will be bringing it home, it looks expensive and it would be a waste to not open the bottle,” you shrug, grinning slightly. Maybe you’ll share it with Shoko.

“You do as you please. Come on, let's check the forest before it’s too late, I’m starving and I don’t want to take too long,” he ends up saying as he grabs your hand to make you stand up, impatient, as he puts back his blindfold on.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

You roam through the big trees, in alert, trying to sense any type of curses that could be lurking around the forest. Each time you breathe, some fog is created because of the cold weather, in contrast with your warm mouth. Satoru was some meters behind, using his Six Eyes to spot any danger, and even levitating above the mountains to have a better vision of the environment. You reach the top of the hill, the wind caressing your skin. You stop walking, the sound of the snow cracking under your feet dying in the silence.

It was oddly calm, and as you raise your head to see where Gojo was, you end up impressed by the galaxy above your head embracing the sky. Your gaze lightens, staring at the infinity of the stars, murmuring a tiny ‘woaw’ to yourself. It truly was a sight to see, a beautiful piece of nature. You understood better why some people had their honeymoon taking place here.

“We can see the sky perfectly clear, here,” says Satoru, suddenly appearing next to you, hands in his pocket and his blindfold down his collar to allow his eyes to be out. You gaze at him, his hair slowly moving from the wind. He stares at the emptiness of the sky and the horizon, and you can’t help but feel some melancholia and loneliness emanating from him.

“You’re here… yeah, it’s amazing,” you answer softly, still bewitched by the stars.

“Did you sense anything ?” he asks, stepping now in front of you, the moon illuminating his white hair. It should be illegal how ethereal he is. 

“Nope, only animals. And you ?” You shrug.

“It was faint, so hard to know exactly where,” he explains vaguely.

“Are the curses hiding from us ?” you joke, turning slightly to look behind, but there is nothing in the darkness of the night. Only the moon reflects on the snow, illuminating the area.

“They should be. I would be scared too, if I was them,” he teases arrogantly, and you turn back towards him wiggling your eyebrows.

“They should shake in front of us !” you exclaim, intimidating, and he explodes of laughter, you too. After some seconds, your laughs die down slowly, and you take a deep breath, smiling. It wasn’t going so bad for now, you thought. Satoru quietly stares at you, his eyes twinkling with something intimate and what seems like vulnerability.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it ?” he murmurs oh so gently, his gaze never leaving your face as if he simply couldn’t look away. You look into his irises, not answering for a second as you are caught back by his saying. You then lift your head, and look at the moon above the two of you. Your lips stretch in a soft smile, and your eyes fall back on Satoru.

“Very beautiful,” you insist in a sweet voice.

But then, a strong presence makes itself known, and two curses appear from the sky, rushing towards the two of you. You directly step back, in a fighting stance, your back pressed against the one of Satoru to have a peripheral view of the new opponents. You groan, ready to strike.

“Oh, we have some company. Interrupting our date like that, man… read the room, damn !” whines Satoru, a cocky smile stretching his lips, before easily avoiding an attack. You don’t wait any second longer and rush towards the curse in front of you and activate your cursed energy.

It dashes on the side but you follow suit. In the background, you hear Satoru fighting as well, and from what you can understand, he’s toying with his enemy, surely bored even though it was a grade 1 curse. You rolled your eyes, used of his antics during battles, and threw a cursed punch to the jaw of your own opponent. It screams and falls back on the ground, blood splashed everywhere on the once white snow -now an ugly green- as it struggles to stand back up. You decide to achieve it in one last blow, panting. Suddenly, it’s gone. You turn around, catching back your breath to see if Satoru was alright. But then you notice the curse attacking him from behind. As a reflex for his safety, you scream :  

“Look out !” Satoru grins and before you can even blink, the curse just exploded from the technique of your best friend. You step back, the blow creating a strong wind than then dies down as quickly as it came.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he chuckles, saying it as if it was even stupid of you to dare worry for him in a battle. You don’t mention his arrogant tone, dusting your hands as he steps towards you.

“Well, that was way too quick…” you whisper. He stands in front of you, using his thumb to wipe some blood from your cheek. You look intently at him, the softness of his gesture in duality with the gruesome liquid he just took off.

“Don’t say that too fast,” he taunts, his smile growing wider.

“What do you mea-” you get interrupted by his arm swinging around you, and suddenly pressing your body against his. His hand is quickly on the back of your head to protect it. At the same moment, he raises his other fingers, and you can only sense the presence of a third curse jumping towards you from behind, soon getting annihilated by the red of Gojo.

Once it’s gone, you feel your heart beating fast in your throat, staying like that against the white haired male. You didn’t dare to move, still surprised from what happened, and surely because you didn’t want to step away from him.

“Thank you,” you end up whispering, before feeling his fingers caressing the sides of your face tenderly.

“Be more careful next time, y/n,” he says, more serious than usual. A facial expression that you weren’t used to see on him.

“You’re right,” you sigh, looking up at his eyes. His seriousness disappeared, now a fat grin is plastered on his handsome face.

“Our mission is done. Let’s go enjoy this arranged date, what do you think ?” he proposes, his thumb sliding down your neck, a lingering trail of fire on your skin, before he steps back.

“Dinner would be nice,” you accept, following him as he walks back down the hill. 

“You read my mind. I could eat for ten !” he exclaims hungrily, and as if the world heard him, his stomach growls of hunger. You chuckle at the sound, thinking it was cute.

“The restaurant of the hotel looked good,” you shrug, and he swings his arm around your shoulder to bring you centimeters closer so he could share some warmth with you in this snowy forest.

“As long as I can eat, I’ll go anywhere,” he comments, winking at you.

“Then let’s go, I’m starving too” you finish.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Eating at the restaurant felt like a blessing to your starved bodies. Least to say, Satoru did eat for ten. Not to add the desserts he ordered. Long used to his appetite of an ogre, you didn’t comment and enjoyed watching him eat easily pounds of food. Obviously, Satoru being Satoru, he insisted on acting like boyfriend and girlfriend even though the two of you were far away from the elders. His reason why : who knows, maybe they are secretly watching ? Yeah, right. You didn’t buy any of that, and ended up having to spoon feed him his dessert, and let him spoon feed yours, or else he’ll throw a tantrum. A damn tantrum at his old age.

Exhausted, the two of you came back to the hotel room. Nothing changed since you left : the romantic atmosphere was still present. As you both wash your hands in the sink of the bathroom, you look at the jacuzzi. You already were picturing yourself relaxing in it, surrounded by hot water and warm bubbles. Some wine in your hand would be good too. No, wait. No wine. The both of you agreed on that earlier. Seeing you eying down the tube, Satoru leans on the sink once his hands are dried.

“Should we try the jacuzzi ?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest and glancing at it, doing a motion with his chin to show the tube.

“We ?” you ask, drying your hands on a towel, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you and me. Who else ? Santa ?” he mocks, rolling his eyes. You huff at his teasing.

“I got it the first time. I mean, we’ll enjoy the jacuzzi, but not at the same time,” you explain yourself, more slowly, to emphasize what you mean as you look at Satoru to make sure it’s what you were thinking about. But the grin on his face says otherwise.

“No, at the same time,” he corrects.

“I don’t have a swimsuit,” you retort.

“Me neither,” he adds, shrugging, not caring about this issue.

“I will not go naked with you in the jacuzzi, Satoru,” you shake your head, warning him. Your best friend could be bold with his requests sometimes.

“Why not ?” he asks as if it was a genuine logical question.

“Seriously ? I don’t want to see your dick !” you exclaim, getting flustered. I mean, you did want to see his dick. But, not like that, in this situation. It would be too embarrassing. It was better if it only stayed as a fantasie of yours, anyway.

“Hey, you just hurt it’s ego !” He points, faking hurt as he puts his hand over his chest like he got damaged.

“Poor guy. Well, I’m not flashing you my coochie,” you laugh nervously when answering.

“I won’t mind-” you cut him off by giving him a warning glare. He flashes you a fake apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I mean, if you want I can put on my blindfold. I only can see cursed energy with it, no flesh or bones. Like that I would respect your privacy,” he suggests, stepping closer towards you, leaving the sink. You look at him approaching you.

“But on the contrary I would be seeing you naked,” you add, narrowing your eyes and staying straight on your feet when he looms over you. Why did he have to be so tall ? Damn.

“I don’t mind, you can look. I have nothing to hide from you.” He flashes you his playful smirk, showing his white teeth.

“You are shameless,” you sigh, shaking your head. 

“Ok, so what about our underwear ? No, wait, it’s gross, they are dirty… hum, then.. We are naked, buuuuut, we wrap a clean towel around our bodies, and go inside the jacuzzi with it. It will not be very comfortable, but better than nothing. What do you think ?” he ends up asking, tilting his head to the side. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking about it, hard. You would lie if you said that you didn’t want to try the jacuzzi with Satoru. And this idea of the towel wasn’t so bad. You take a deep breath before nodding slowly.

“That’s actually not a bad idea…”

“Perfect ! Then let’s go,” he muses happily, beaming at the idea as he suddenly throws over his shoulders his shirt, revealing his toned torso. Quickly, his hands are on his belt that he swiftly takes it off, and you turn away as you grab a random white towel and rush out of the bathroom.

“Wait, don’t change in front of me ! Geez !” you exclaim, flustered. This man had no shame ! You only hear his laugh, as he seemed proud of himself. You sigh and sit on the bed, taking off your clothes, thoughtful. You fold them, before wrapping the towel around your body. Ok, that shit was tiny… It barely reached under your ass, and you couldn’t move too much or else it would fall. Alright, you had to work with that.

You try to be brave, feeling oddly nervous at the idea of being like that with Satoru, before stepping towards the bathroom. The door was still open from earlier, and as you carefully look inside, you see him already inside the jacuzzi. He was sitting lazily, head tilted back, his Adam apple to your seeing. The bubbles reached his middle, and you saw the tiny towel around his waist, hiding any private areas. His arms were spread out on each side of the tube, and he slowly moved his gaze towards you when sensing your approach. Holy fuck, he looked temptingly hot. Way too hot. No, that was bad. This whole atmosphere was bad. Since you started this fake dating thing with him, your fantasies grew wilder, and it got harder each time to hide your feelings and desires for your best friend.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he teases, smiling cheekily. And God, that infuriated you so much. You glare at him as you carefully enter the jacuzzi, being awfully aware that the towel was way too small for you.

“Shut up,” you say, scouting away from him once you are completely inside the water. You sigh of comfort and pleasure, enjoying the bubbles against your body. It felt relaxing, your muscles needed that. 

“Why are you sitting so far away ?” asks your best friend, suspicious. You gaze at his half naked figure, his wet hair being slicked back, some drops falling down his face, neck, arms, chest. Ok, you should stop staring. And clearly, you felt like a dog. Why were you so tempted to just pounce on him ?! 

“Because you stink,” you reply, trying to hide your smile as you turn your head away and cover your nose. That obviously was a lie, Satoru always smelled something sweet, just like he got out of a bakery or a candy store. 

“Me ? Stinky ? I beg to differ ! Come here,” he scoffs, frowning, obviously offended, before suddenly grabbing you. He brings you towards him at light speed, making some of the water move around and splash. His arms wrap around your waist and squeeze you against his torso. You are now sitting in between his legs, your skin rubbing his. Holy shit, you swallow your saliva, looking up at him as you shift awkwardly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, his blue eyes boring into yours, and you bat your lashes nervously. You wished you could act like everything was ok, back to normal, but it was almost impossible.

“Like what ?” you mutter back. Suddenly, your throat is dry. You were thirsty, and not only for water. Ok, the romantic atmosphere wasn’t helping at all, not to add the proximity. You move a bit, but Satoru doesn’t let you squirm away, resulting in your face getting closer to his.

“Like you want to kiss me,” he murmurs, and your stomach drops. You look away, at his shoulder instead. 

“You’re just projecting,” you end up answering, like you were just joking around. But the wavering in your voice betrays you instantly. Satoru narrows his eyes, and his thumb starts to softly caress your thigh, right below the towel. Your heart starts to beat incredibly faster.

“So you say I’m the one that wants to kiss you ?” he muses, smug. His eyes search yours for any truth, but you continue to look away.

“Kinda,” you simply say, and try to gather your courage to look back at his face. It would be weird if you stared away for too long, right ? Wrong, the moment you turn around, your lips are only a few inches from his. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Don’t tempt me,” he ends up saying, his breath caressing your lips. You look at his, pink and moisturized. Tempting, and you knew from the gathering that they tasted sweet.

“I didn’t,” you simply answer, and his thumb draws a circle on your thigh.

“You are.”

“You’re dumb,” you chuckle nervously, not knowing what to say. He smiles, like an idiot that just won the lottery.

“Love makes you dumb,” he says, kissing your cheek. You open your eyes wider, not sure if what you heard was correct. Did you ? Is he serious or just joking around like usual ? No, Satoru is your best friend. FRIEND. Get that in your head. You both loved to tease each other, so it was nothing new. Yeah, just the usual joking around, exactly. You take a deep breath and inhale a laugh, trying to not sound too nervous.

“You take your role of pretending to be my boyfriend very seriously,” you say, and his arm loosen a bit, allowing you to get more comfortable. You back away, leaving slightly his warmth, getting on the opposite side of the tub to face him. Even if the jacuzzi wasn’t very large, your legs tangling together, you at least could breathe better. Hoping to clear your clouded horny mind.

“I’m serious,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. You stare back, not answering, because at first you didn’t know how to react to his words. Some seconds pass, the tension still present as ever. You bite your lower lip, and then play with the hem of your towel, before sighing.

“Satoru…,” you start to say, in a soft voice.

“Hmmm ?”

“Do you think it would be that weird if we really started dating ?” you ask, looking into his eyes. He holds your gaze. Wait, why did you ask that ? You actually blurted this question out of your mouth without realizing. But you were dying to know his answer. It was vital.

“No,” he says, as simple as ever.

“Why ?”

“We’re basically acting like an old married couple all the time,” he explains, flashing you a teasing smile, chuckling. You chuckle back too, and then gently look away at the candles.

“True. But you don’t do commitment,” you say, more bitterly than you wanted. You hated yourself for saying the words Naoya said back at the gathering. It made you feel nauseous. Yet, you couldn’t help but know a part of what he said was true. Satoru didn’t give his heart like that. The risk of doing that was too high. Walls were all around him, making it almost impossible to reach his heart. 

“I… do,” he answers awkwardly. Oh no, did you make him uncomfortable ? But it was too late now, you couldn’t stop from speaking your mind. It was weighing heavy on you, after all. Could he really blame you for that ? Maybe. Or maybe not. It was too complicated.

“I know, you don’t have time for real relationships,” you say vaguely.

“Y/n, being The Strongest means…” sighs Satoru, frustrated.

“A lot of responsibilities, and you aren’t allowed to be vulnerable. So committing to someone is a no for you,” you cut him in his sentence. There is a pause where he stares at you longly, silent, frowning.

“I guess…”

“But I’ll always be here for you, you know that, right ?” you whisper, looking back at him, feeling bad for this change of mood. His lips stretch in a small smile, and you feel like you can breathe again. 

“I know.”

A second passes. You don’t talk, him either.

“Me too. I’ll always be here for you.” You smile at his words. You melted a little as well.

“I know,” you whisper. He looks at you like he wants to devour you.

Before you can understand what is happening, he suddenly looms over you, grabs your face, and kisses you. Tenderly. Oh, you think you just died and came back to life in a matter of a heart beat. Talking about heart, it’s hammering widely now. You shiver, as his hot and heavy breath is heard, mixed with the feeling of his hands cradling you with care and softness. You can’t resist, and answer the kiss. What was happening ? Why was he kissing you ? It wasn’t like at the gathering. No. It felt different. His lips move against yours, tilting his head to the side as he leans closer, impossibly closer.

“Don’t mind me,” he whispers in between a new kiss, his left hand sliding behind your head to hold you. “I’m just…” he continues, his lips more passionate, needier at each breath he takes, “... practicing,” he ends up saying, his knee sliding in between your thighs. Holy fuck, your towel suddenly feels suffocating, making you want to take it off. No, rip it off.

“Practicing for what ?” you ask in a short whisper as he cuts your breath by claiming your lips all over again. It was fierce, impatient. His right hand slides under your towel, reaching your thigh, inching towards your butt.

“If we need to put on a show in front of the elders, again,” he explains, before smashing his lips against yours, not allowing you to answer or utter a word aside from a moan. Your body feels like jelly, his knee dangerously close to your heat, his tongue caressing yours.

He sucks on your lip before devouring your mouth with so much want, like you were the last meal of this poor starved man. His fingers grips your hair, his other hand squeezing the fat of your inner thigh now. He opens more of your legs to slide them around his waist, as he stands up. You gasp, but he drinks it, his arm supporting you and grabbing your ass to keep you steady. Your body feels like it’s on fire, the water rushing down your two bodies as the kiss gets more intense. 

Not only the water got you wet, and you moaned against his tongue. Your breast is about to spill out of the towel, pressed on his torso, your nipples getting hard. He feels it. It’s making him crazy.

Satoru steps out of the jacuzzi without any difficulty, carrying you in his arms, and puts you down on the sink to continue kissing you. Even if the air around felt colder as you left the warmth of the water, your bodies are simply heated to the bone. He grabs your waist, bringing you closer, and you swear you just felt something hard. You glance down, and open your eyes wider when you notice that under his towel, Satoru is hard. Hard like a rock.

Lord have mercy. 

It grinds against your clothed cunt, and you can’t help but moan. It twitches, and his hands dig dipper in your fat. His tongue caresses you sensually, and you hear him groan. He then suddenly parted his lips away from yours, breathing heavy, panting like a dog, forehead falling on your shoulder.

“Y/n, push me away,” he suddenly says, catching back his breath.

“What ?” you ask, confused, still shaken from what happened.

“Or slap me, if you prefer,” he adds, his wet hair sticking to your skin as his hands roam up your back. You shudder, his touch feeling electric.

“Slap you ? Satoru you’re talking nonsen-” you start to answer.

“Please,” he cuts you, tilting his face to the side so you could look into his eyes. You gulp.

“Why ?” you whisper.

“Because I need to get away from you before we cross a line, and I don’t have the will to stop. So please, make me stop,” he begs. Satoru is begging you, looking weak, about to snap, about to crumble completely.

“And what if I don’t want to stop ?” you dare answer. 

“Y/n, please,” he insists. You stare into his eyes, and see all the self restraint in his gaze. You take a deep breath. You wanted more, but Satoru was right, it would be crossing a line. A line that maybe you weren’t ready to cross yet. Not now. So, reluctant, you push him away. Satoru steps back, putting his hand in his wet hair. You fluster, crossing your legs. He grabs a dry towel, and throws it at you. You catch it as he takes one too, wrapping it around his waist to take off the wet one and put it to dry as well.

“Let’s dry ourselves and go to sleep, yeah ? I’ll bring your pajamas so you can change in the bathroom,” he announces without waiting for an answer. You stay like that, unmoving, not knowing how to react, and he is already back, giving them to you. You barely notice him kissing your forehead, like an apology, before he turns around and closes the door to leave you the intimacy you needed to get changed.

… Ok. What just happened ?! 

Like a robot, you take off the wet towel and dry yourself with the other one. You don’t know how long you took, but once you are finished, you are stepping in the bedroom. You see him already under the covers, the flowers that formed the heart on the sheets are now down on the floor. His arms are crossed behind his head, and he glances at you when you arrive. Only the light of the moon outside was illuminating his face. You felt shy after what happened. There wasn’t the excuse of alcohol or annoying the elders to explain this steamy hot kisses session. The two of you knew that “practice” was a terrible lie. You sigh as you slide under the covers, and turn your back to Satoru as you try to calm down.

“Good night,” you end up saying.

“Good night, y/n,” he says, and God, it was awkward. You felt him shift slightly, his body brushing against yours. Some minutes passed in silence, only the sounds of your breathings in the quietness of the night.

“Do you hate me now ?” he suddenly asks out of nowhere, and you turn around, looking at him surprised.

“What ? Why would I ?”

“For kissing you like that,” he explains, and you look away, recalling his lips on yours. You fluster and sigh before answering “no, Satoru. I don’t.”  He smiles and then scoots even closer before wrapping his arm around your body, snuggling your back against his chest.

“I thought you were mad,” he whispers in the crook of your neck as he inhales your scent.

“I’m not, I promise,” you say gently.

“So… if I did it again, you wouldn't be mad, right ?” he teases.

“Don’t push your luck,” you chuckle softly.

“At least I asked,” he hums.

“Sleep, Satoru,” you order him. God, it felt good to talk back normally with him. The tension slowly died down. Because if it stayed like that, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep.

“Yes ma’am,” he ends up answering before kissing your cheek in a giggle.

It took you longer to fall asleep than usual, but at least, you managed to.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ  

The next day, the two of you didn’t talk about what happened, not even once. The rest of the day was full of the two of you being busy strolling around the city and the mountains, before having to go back to Tokyo. Later in the afternoon, after eating at a small local restaurant, you went to take your bullet train. Again, you had three hours to kill. Satoru decided to pester you, which ended in you wanting to kill him, but that only amused him more. He eventually calmed down when you both shared your earphones to listen to music, slowly falling back asleep against his shoulder.

It’s in a sigh that you stretch, done with the report you just had to do to the elders about the mission. Satoru grins, crossing his arms against his chest.

“Their faces were hilarious ! They were so mad that their little plan didn’t work !” exclaims Satoru, laughing, proud of this outcome. The plan did kind of work, actually. But not like the elders expected. You decide to not mention it.

“If they want new sorcerers so bad, why don’t they try to have kids themselves ?!” you sigh, walking next to him in the corridor, and Satoru glances at you.

“I think their sperm is like ashes, so probably it won’t work even if they tried,” he jokes, even though what he said had a big part of truth. You choke on your saliva, your face distorting with disgust.

“Ewwww, I just imagined it !” you cry out, Satoru explodes with laughter, and you soon do too. When he was laughing, it was impossible to not follow. It was way too contagious.

“Ahhhh… Sometimes I just wish I could annihilate all the elders without the consequences,” he suddenly says, looking at the sky.

“What ?” you ask surprised, not sure of what you heard.

“What ?” he repeats innocently, as if he didn’t say anything. You chuckle, shaking your head.

Everything was just fun and giggles (and hot make out sessions) for now. But going against the wish of the elders meant business. They didn’t care about your happiness as a couple with Gojo, -even if it was fake-, nor even cared about him as a person in the slightest. All they wanted was for him to work himself to the bone as The Strongest, and carry his duty as the head of the Gojo Clan, meaning marriage and heirs. If you weren’t able to give him that, then they would soon need to… get rid of you. And find a better suitor for their goals.

Fake dating Satoru brought you more problems than you originally thought. 

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ

Part 3 coming soon !

[jaredpadonlyyyy]

𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐, 𝙄𝙈 𝙎𝙊𝙍𝙍𝙔

• 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏

• 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 𝘿𝙉𝙄 𝙄 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆 𝙔𝙊𝙐

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙐𝙉𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝙀𝙓 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆, 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙀, 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝘽𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉, 𝘿𝙊𝙂𝙂𝙔 𝙎𝙏𝙔𝙇𝙀, 𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙈𝙐𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙄𝙊𝙉, 𝙎𝙌𝙐𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂.

You walked up the stairs to your boyfriend’s room as his father had let you in. You and Rafe have been together since before he graduated high school and you were a junior. Now you were a senior and he had come back from school with no plans but drugs in his future. You opened the door to his room to find him in the middle of about to sniff a line off his desk. Your jaw clenched as he looked at you. “What are you doing here?” He asked you as he stood up from his chair leaving the cocaine behind. “How could you?” You asked him as he walked over to you. “How could I what?” He asked as he narrowed his eyes at yours. You’re not gonna lie and say you didn’t do drugs as well, but you knew when it was the good time to do it and when not to do it. “Did you forget something?” You asked the Cameron man. He looked at you as he tried to think what he was forgetting and then his expression fell. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry I forgot.” He said. “Yeah, clearly.” You said as you look behind him.

“Rafe, baby, what’s going on?” You asked him as you walked closer to him. He shook his head as he looked away. You could see the turmoil that was going through his head. Something happened and it was fucking with his head. You walked over to him and placed both of your hands on both sides of his face, making him look up at you. “Babe, what’s going on?” You asked him softly as his blue eyes watered as he looked into your own eyes. “You don’t love me anymore?” He asked you and you frowned as you look at him. “What? Where is this coming from?” You asked him as a tear fell down his ocean blue eyes.

He just shrugged as he took your hands away from his face as he turned around. “Rafe, what’s going on?” You asked him as you started to worry about him. “I-I’m not good enough for you.” He said softly. You looked at your boyfriend confused as to why was he thinking the way he is. So, she walked over to him putting both of her hands on his head to making him look at her. “I love you, Rafe, you, the imperfect, I never want you to change for me, baby, I love you, the way you are.” She softly said as his watery cobalt eyes looked into yours. “I love you, Rafe don’t ever forget that.” She leaned down and kissed him softly on his lips. The Cameron boy sighs as he didn’t even hesitate to kiss her back, hugging her from her waist.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against her stomach as she runs her fingers through his hair. “It’s okay, baby, I got you.” You whispered, glaring at the wall knowing who must’ve been the one to put things into his head in the first place. Ward always hated her and her family. They never got alone and he hated that his son was dating his enemies daughter and she actually did love him. He always try’s to mess with Rafe’s head, telling her that he’s worthless and that he’s not good enough to have such a rich girlfriend.

Her parents loved Ward’s children, but they hated him and they hated Rose. Rafe pulled you on to his lap as the kiss started to get heated, passionate but heated. And you wanted to take his mind off him trying to prove to his father he’s worthy. So you reached to the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head tossing it to the side and he did the same thing with you, except you were wearing a dress, leaving you in only a pink thong. His mouth immediately attracted onto your nipples making you moan as you threw your head back, grinding your hips to get some kind of friction, moaning as you felt him get hard.

Rafe made you lean back as he let his eyes wonder your body, his hands running down your body as your eyes closed enjoying the feeling of him praising your body. “So beautiful, so perfect.” He whispered as he got to your pink thong, moving it to the side as his finger grazed your folds, before he entered his pointer finger inside your pussy making you gasp as he looked at you. You didn’t care about Rafe used your body, as long as his mind wasn’t anywhere else.

Rafe entered his middle finger inside of you and he started to pump them in and out of you, with his other hand he unzipped his pants, pulling them down with his boxer shorts making his dick spring up as he started to pump himself as he kept on fingering your pussy. “Fuck, Rafe.” You moaned as you grips your sheets hard, as your legs lifted up shaking as you felt your orgasm come quicker than you expected, the way he was just jerking off by watching you, was a major turn on for you, you were loving every moment of it. With the curl of his fingers you gasped as he grazed your sweet spot making you let out a loudly scream as your walls fluttered, your orgasm getting on his fingers. “Rafe! Rafe! Fuck!” Your body shook.

Letting go of his dick, Rafe kept on fingering you as his other hand played with your clit, making you stop breathing as it was becoming way too much for you to handle. Your toes curled as your body violently spasms as you felt your second orgasm approach.

“You like that? Huh?” He asked, but you couldn’t answer him. So he slapped your pussy and that’s what threw your over the edge, making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you held onto his wrist rolling your hips as you finally let yourself breathe as you moaned over and over and over again, and he still kept on going. “R-Rafe! I-I can’t.” You said gasping for air as your body jerked around but his arm kept you in place. “One last time, baby.” He said.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, ooh fuuu—.” You gasped so loud as Rafe took out his fingers playing with your clit as you squirted, your vision going dark for a moment as you soaked your bed. Slumping on your bed opening your eyes. You looked up at the ceiling breathing hard as your body still kind of twitched from the feeling.

“Damn, that was seriously hot.” Rafe said making you look over at him. “That was amazing.” You giggled at him. “Yeah?” He said smiling and you nodded as you smiled back at him. “Get on all fours.” He told you and you didn’t hesitate to listen to the Cameron man.

Once you were on all fours. He pushed your head down on the bed, getting in between your legs as he slaps your ass a few times, getting a handful of it as well. With that he lines himself up at your entrance and slowly enters, getting a moan out of both of you.

Once he bottomed out he began to slowly thrust as your moans started softly along with his grunts. “Fuck, so good.” He whispered as he gripped your sides, the head of his dick hitting your spot over and over again, making you see stars. Rafe just watched as his cock disappears inside of you, his hand went over pulling you up from your hair as he started to pick up his pace. “I’m gonna fill you up.” He said into your ear as your head leans back against his shoulder

The only thing being heard inside the room was the moans of the couple, the way the skin clapped as Rafe fucked her hard. How his hand had reached for her throat chocking her, but not to the point of her passing out. She was loving every second of what was going on. The way his thrusting was becoming more intense, he was most likely taking his anger out on fucking you, but you didn’t mind one bit of it at all.

If anything you were encouraging him to be harsher and he didn’t hesitate as his nails dig into the soft skin of your hips. The way he was gripping them as he just slammed into your walls. With that Rafe pulls you up again as you orgasmed all over his dick. His hand around your neck as he lets out one final grunt his cock twitching as he filled you up with his cum.

After you were both done, both of you ended up in the shower, you on your knees as you bobbed your head, making him groan, moan, grunt and that’s how you both spent your night. Fucking and caressing each other’s bodies until the next morning came.

ENJOY! 😏🫶🏻

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I'd love to know how the cover date with A-Town actress Ash Lewis and Tom went down. What did they talk about? Were they friends by the end, do they stay in contact? Did they and their partners meet up before or after? What does Ash think about her role and meeting the inspiration for it?

[For those of you just tuning in: A-Town is the shitty postwar sitcom inspired by the life of Jake Berenson, to the eternal annoyance of Jake Berenson. Ash Lewis plays the main character's older sister Daisy, a dumb blond lacrosse player controlled by a yeerk named Zeptron 420.]

This whole thing felt like going to senior prom.

Not that I’d ever actually been to senior prom.  There'd been a show of sending me, Essa 412 giving Mom and Dad the runaround even to the point of getting the yeerk inside Vi Alden to show up in a dress.  30 seconds out the door, the formalwear had been swapped out for jeans and dracon rifles; our bodies had spent the night clearing wildlife out of a build site in the hopes of giving the “andalite bandits” nowhere to hide before the new community center opened up.

But I’d seen enough movies to know that this was how prom was supposed to work: A limo out front, a flower in my hand, a terrifyingly beautiful woman standing at the end of my parents' driveway.

Ashleigh Lewandowska wore a shimmering strapless gown in a color somewhere between gold and silver and lilac and rose, depending on how it caught the light. The silky fabric could only have been custom-sewn for her body, from the perfect way it hugged her curves and cut high enough in front to show one knee before trailing down in the back to an inch above the ground.  Jessica Rabbit come to life, and then melded with Jessica Alba.

"Hi," I said, smiling awkwardly. “You look amazing." I handed her my sprig of lilies, feeling like I was putting a Pokemon sticker on a bottle of champagne.

“You clean up pretty nicely yourself,” she said.

I glanced down at my own attire.  We’d gone for a deep purple button-down and a charcoal gray suit, but skipped the tie and cuff links.  Allegedly this was the fashion right now.  “Thanks,” I said.  “I should hope so, since my cousin spent the last week using me as her personal Ken doll.”

She laughed.  “Welcome to Hollywood.”  She stuck out a hand, silvery bracelets jangling.  “Call me Ash.”

I shook gently.  “Tom.  Nice to finally meet in person.”

There was a blinding flash; I flinched in surprise, but Ash turned automatically toward the light.

“Wow,” I said loudly.  “After all your whining about paparazzi, you go and join them.”

Jake stepped up next to me, stuffing the disposable camera into his hoodie pocket.  “It’s not paparazzi-ing if I don’t publish the photos,” he said.  He stuck out his own hand.  “I’m Jake.  Big fan.”

Ash laughed, taking his hand.  “Ash.  And I’m a big fan of yours.  Besides...” She looked over at me.  “Aren’t photos the whole point of the evening?”

“Yeah.”  I smoothed down my jacket, even though I had Rachel’s assurances it hung perfectly.  “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Shall we, then?”  Ash gestured to the limo.

“Uh.”  I lunged to open the door for her, although I could tell from her laugh that that wasn’t what she’d meant.

Ash slid into the limo, scooting down the seat so I could perch next to her.

“Have him home before nine,” Jake called after us, “and don’t drink the jungle juice!”

I flipped him off before pulling the door closed behind me.

In cool interior of the limo’s passenger compartment, Ash’s presence was even more overwhelming.  She was stunningly beautiful with her delicate updo of blond curls, her full figure accentuated by the dress’s curves, her flawlessly smooth skin.  But there was an untouchability, a faint unnaturalness, about her beauty.  It was less like being on a hot date, more like being in the presence of an alien goddess.

Maybe it was just that I knew for a fact she had no interest in men.  Lack of attraction was always going to be a turn-off.

“So.”  She shifted to sit across from me, leaning forward to brace both hands on her knees.  “Some ground rules.”

“Yeah.  I’m listening.”

She shook her head.  “I mean we both set ground rules.  This is improv, but improv never means anything-goes.”

“Improv?”

“An improvisational performance.  We have the outlines of what we’re doing, and we’re making it up as we go.”

“Ah.”  The car lurched as the driver pulled away, causing me to slide sideways on the seat when I didn’t catch myself in time.  Ash put out a hand as if to steady me, but pulled back when she saw I was good.

“Sorry.”  She shrugged.  “No seatbelts in limos.”

“All right, I’ll start there.”  I shifted in my seat.  “My reaction time is complete crap.  I assume you’ve done a fair bit of reading about zombies for the role?”

She twitched a little at zombies.  “I’m not claiming to be an expert.”

“Sure.  What you should know is that that much of the stereotype is true, at least for me.  I’m slow to respond to pretty much anything sudden, and one way that shows up is I’m terrible with facial expressions.”  I gave her an apologetic smile.  “I’m going to do my best to sell this, but you’re going to be carrying most of the weight.”

“Ah, so you’re a bad actor.”  Ash nodded with mock solemnity.  “That, I can work with.”

“Cool.  Just think of me as your extremely well-dressed cardboard cutout,” I said.

She laughed again.  “Okay.  And I’ll keep in mind that I shouldn’t necessarily check on your face to see if you’re interested in something.”

“Yeah.”  I made an open-palm gesture to her.  “‘preciate it.”

“For me...”  She held up a perfectly manicured finger.  “No touching of boobs, hips, or butts—”

“God no!” I blurted.  “Uh, no offense, but...”

“Goes both ways, good, got it.”  She held up a second finger.  “Closed-mouth kissing on the cheek or maybe the neck is okay with me, if and only if it’s okay with you.”

I thought about it.  “Let me ask Bonnie?”

“Totally.  And for the record, I already ran all this by Sierra.”

“Cool.”

I tapped out a text as Ash rummaged in the giant handbag that sat next to her minuscule purse on the seat, finding her own phone.

“Bonnie’s fine with that,” I said when I got a reply.  “But I’ve been told not to fall in love with you, and also called a ‘narcissist’ three times in four texts.”

Ash gave a tinkling little laugh, one hand coming up to cover her mouth.  “I’ll have to meet this Bonnie.”

I glanced up at her.  “Totally incognito double date, next weekend at Shake Shack?”

“Let me text Sierra,” she said.

Sierra was in, it transpired.  And we hammered out most of the rest of the rules: arms around the shoulder or waist were okay, sitting in laps a no-no.  Splitting a dessert was fine, putting two straws in one drink a little too far.  Holding hands was encouraged.  We’d tell anyone who asked that we were friends, and if pressed to elaborate would say we were friends getting dinner together.  We’d tell the truth about our names, and the fact that we’d met through Ash’s research for A-Town.

I was allowed to make jokes about dating my double, but strongly discouraged from expressing an opinion about A-Town or about Ash’s character Daisy.  If all else failed, I should claim I had never seen the show but I’d heard a lot about it and was planning to check it out in the future.  If anyone planted the suggestion that we were at dinner because I was helping Ash with her research, I was to encourage the idea without confirming it.

Also, whenever possible, I’d be letting Ash do all the talking.

“You ready?” Ash asked.

I glanced out the window, surprised to discover the limo had pulled up at the curb.  She was easy to talk to, for a superhero princess in an outfit that cost more than my car.

“Will there be photographers right away?” I asked.

She nodded.  “Probably.  This place publishes its guest lists, which is part of why I made the reservation here, but it also keeps in business through requiring a level of respect from the hangers-on.”

“Cool.”  I smoothed my hands over my pants.  I was so glad we’d cut off my hair down to its usual buzz; trying to mess around with the loose poof of curls I wore it in at college would’ve given me too many opportunities to fidget. Same reason I'd left the glasses at home.

“Hey.”  Ash put her hand gently on mine.  “Thanks for doing this.”

I smiled up at her.  “What, pretending that I’m in any way desirable enough to attract a Hollywood A-lister?  Yeah, the impact on my reputation is gonna be a real hardship.”

“‘A-lister’ is definitely overstating it.  And you know what I mean.”

I did, of course.  Ash was aspiring for fame, anyway, and she’d attracted a good few offers for small film parts through her work playing fake-me on A-Town.  But if she had any hope of a film career, no one could know about her quiet long-term relationship with another woman.  There couldn’t even be rumors.  Not in that direction, anyway.

There were rumors already, as it stood.  Which is why Marco had texted us both to set up this little pantomime.

We were here to make a new batch of gossip.  Through manufacturing a story too odd, too delicious, too ridiculous for the press to pass up: the actor who played a fake version of Jake Berenson’s sibling on TV, entering into a fling with Jake Berenson’s real-life actual sibling.  In reality Ash’s character was only loosely inspired by yours truly, there having been no actual research involved in the construction of Daisy A or Zeptron 420.  But the fact that Ash played me on television was going to be too delightfully ironic for most tabloids to pass up.

“Good to go?” Ash asked.

I nodded.  “Just like we practiced.”

“Something like that.”

She leaned to the far side of the car and swung the door open.  I expected her to get out right away, but she made a whole production of swinging one leg out the door and planting her foot on the ground.  She left it there for a few seconds before she curled a hand around the door frame and slowly pulled herself out of the car, posture careful and head high.

“It’s Ash Lewis!” Someone called from outside.  And then there was an explosion of overlapping sound.

Ash turned, making eye contact where I still sat.  She winked.

Swallowing, I scooted over.  She put out her hand, and I took it.

My own exit from the car wasn’t nearly as graceful, but Ash made sure we were gazing at each other the entire time.  The lightning-strikes of flashes were already going off around us, people with everything from cell phones to full news cameras crowding forward at a barely-respectful distance.  Now I understood why she’d taken her time — it gave the bush-lurkers time to realize just who was climbing out of the latest stretch limo amidst an entire fleet of them.

“Ash, any comment on the rumors of a film contract?” someone shouted.

“Hey Ash, who’s—”

“Ash, smile for us!”

“Ash, who are you wearing?”

“Over here, Ash—”

“—your new beau?”

“I love you, Daisy!”

I suppressed a wince at that one.  Hopefully she didn’t mind no one being able to tell the difference between her and her character.  Hopefully it wasn’t like when people —

“Visser Seventeen?” a voice broke through.

Now I did wince.  I’d stopped dead on the edge of the sidewalk, expression frozen.  I didn’t know if I could...

“Tom Berenson,” Ash said loudly, and the crowd fell silent for the sound bite.  “We’re going for dinner, it’s a Balenciaga, can’t say about the film, and I love you all too!”

With that, she slid an arm around my waist and started steering me toward the door.

I smiled.  I waved.  I tried not to look like too much of a fool.

Several people yelled questions to me. A few yelled questions about me to Ash. A few, apparently, addressed their questions to the dearly departed spirit of Essa 412. Ash fielded the entire gauntlet, half-shielding me with her body as needed.

“Thanks,” I muttered, as we approached the host stand.

Ash nodded.  “Think it’ll rain?”

That was another one we’d done in the car — either of us could drop the phrase blue skies at any time to mean get me the hell out of here.

“It just might, yeah,” I said.  Giving the all-clear.

“Ash Lewis and Tom Berenson.”  This time Ash spoke much louder, probably so the mics could pick it up.

The host ran his finger down the list, nodding.  “Here we are.  Right this way, ma’am.  Sir.”

We followed him out of the hard-bright spotlight outside, stepping into a velvet-muffled interior like sliding underwater.

“Oh,” I whispered.  There were dozens of little round tables, each tucked away into semi-enclosed nooks around the edge of the room.  “This isn’t bad at all.”

Ash tapped the side of her nose.  “Don’t worry, plenty of eyes and ears in here too.”

Ah.  So a fair percent of the other diners would be reporters or hangers-on.  Made sense.

But it was still far less overstimulating than the cacophony outside.  Our table was draped in a white linen cloth, the enclosing walls in burgundy velvet.  No one was going to hear us unless we raised our voices, and the only photographs possible would be low-lit and far away. 

“So,” I said to Ash, after pulling out her chair and helping her sit.  “Come here often?”

She laughed, head tossed so that her curls cascaded attractively.  Exaggerated, but warm.  “This is my first time with a date, anyway.”

“I’m honored.”

I was running a mental check: elbows off table, legs uncrossed, posture straight.  Eyes on my date, even when I heard a click of a muffled shutter somewhere off to my right.  

“Ms. Lewis.”  A different guy in a tuxedo had materialized where the host had been a second ago.  “What a pleasure to have you back.”

“Good to be back,” Ash said, smiling up at him.

“Will you be starting with some wine tonight?” he asked.

“The usual.  And we’ll take a few of those menus as well.”  Apparently, she had to request menus.

“Naturally.”  He held them out on top of a freaking tray.  Ash took one without comment.

“Uh, thanks,” I said, lifting the leather portfolio.  Feeling like a kid getting sticky fingerprints on my mom’s paperwork.  Wondering why I hadn’t done the math before now that generating trashy gossip would be so highfalutin.

The waiter bowed — I’m not kidding, he actually bowed — and glided away.

“We’re getting wine?” I asked in an undertone.

Ash lifted her head.  “You are over twenty-one, right?”

I nodded.  “Are you?”

She smirked, tapping a finger against her lips.  Got it, never ask a Hollywood dame her age — lies were a survival tactic.  And she did play the sixteen-year-old version of me on TV.  Wouldn’t do to imply she might be a day over nineteen.

Opening the menu, I skimmed down the column of French- and Italian-labeled food things.  And then I stopped, my eyes skipping to the right, and read that column instead.

“Are these...” I leaned in closer, squinting at the tiny font.  No sign of any decimal points, but I could see a few commas.  “Are these prices in dollars?” I hissed.

Ash brought her hand up to her mouth, not quickly enough to hide her smile.

I flushed.

“It’s already paid for, Tom.”  She reached across the table to put two fingers on my wrist.

“No, I...”

We’d agreed she’d be picking up the tab, but still.  What the fuck could they have possibly done to that pigeon to make it worth twelve hundred fucking dollars?  It was a pigeon.  They were free for anyone with sharp eyes and fast talons, all over the friggin city.

“I didn’t realize the schmoozing and boozing part of this could be so pricey,” I said at last.

“You said no major food allergies?”  She raised her eyebrows.

“Just pineapple.”

She folded her menu so that she could look across the table, making eye contact.  “Do you trust me?”

I considered, rather than giving her a knee-jerk answer.  Trust her with my life?  Not exactly.  Trust her with this?

“Sure.”  I smiled.  “Go wild.”

She did, in fluent French, when the waiter returned.  My life was really in her hands now.

“All right,” she said, turning back to me.  “It’s going to be a while, so go ahead and give me something.”

“Something...?”

“You’re coaching me on my acting, remember?”  She grinned.  “So, lay it all out.”

I laughed, glancing away across the restaurant.  “Oh, you don’t want that.  I’m not an actor.  Or anything close.”

“No high school plays?”  She was smirking now.  “Middle school pageants?  Elementary school musicals?”

“Not a one.”

“Look, just...”  She tossed her hair again.  It was sort of terrifying to watch.  “Tell me one thing the show gets wrong.”

I raised my eyebrows.  “What, just one?”

She laughed.  “Artistic license aside.  What about the performances would you change if you could?”

“Seriously, all that comes to mind is hiring a better lion-actor,” I said.  “Which I assume is off the table.”

“Oh god, that friggin lion.”  She groaned, just exaggerated enough you could still believe in it.

“Wait.”  I leaned across the table, looking hard at her.  “They put you guys on set with a live lion?”

Ash shook her head so hard her earrings rattled.  “No, no!”

“Good, because I was about to have to call, I don’t know, OSHA or—”

“You’re sweet, but there's no need.”

“I mean, after Siegfried and Roy, that would’ve just been..."  I gave an exaggerated wince.

“Yes, exactly.”

I leaned back in my seat, heart rate slowing.  Seriously.  As a guy who’d been mauled by a tiger before — and that’d been a tiger who was motivated to keep me alive — I really would’ve gone to the SPCA with a complaint if some off-prime show had been letting its actors in the same room as giant cats for attention.

“The lion's on the same set as the humans, but never at the same time.”  Ash sipped her drink, using the motion to glance around and then lean in closer to me.  “The trainers bring him in, toss a few of his toys on the floor, and let him do whatever he feels like until he inevitably gets bored and drops down for a nap.  Then they send him away, and the producers write the scene around the footage they managed to get.”

There was another click from somewhere to our left, but thankfully no flash.  For good measure I reached across the table, and let Ash put her hand overtop mine.

"Anyway, tell me something else," she said.  "What do you think of Daisy?  Or Zeptron, for that matter?"

I turned my head half-away from the room, speaking in an undertone.  "I thought I wasn't supposed to know too much about A-Town?"

Ash shook her head.  "Just don't answer any reporters' questions about it.  Otherwise we should be fine."

"Okay."  I blew out a breath.  "I mean, I love your work.  Zeptron is, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, the best part of the show.  I assume you've seen the fan sites and know that already."

"According to the fan sites," Ash said, "Trina's the best part of the show.  Followed by Gina, followed by Zeptron.  Not that anyone's counting."

"And Bonnie says I'm a narcissist," I said.

"Maybe she's right.  We all need friends to keep us humble."

Just a hair of emphasis, on the word friends.  Got it.  No talking about Bonnie where the microphones could hear, or at least no acknowledging who she was to me.  "Okay, you want feedback?" I said.  "On how to more realistically be fake-me onscreen?"

"I do," Ash said.  "That's why we're here."

I considered the question.  Obviously if I'd been casting myself I wouldn't have gone for a pouty-lipped blond chick, but that was beside the point.  "Okay, fine," I said.

"Uh-huh?"

"The..."  I raised a hand to my ear, poking at it with the end of my finger.  "What's with the going like this all the time?"

Ash laughed, definitely a real laugh this time.  I was imitating a gesture that she made three, five, sometimes ten times an episode.

"What," I said, laughing myself, "is Zeptron worried she's about to fall out?  Is that what it's supposed to be?  Like a..."  I mimed catching an object that was about to fall out of my own ear.

"Yes."  Ash giggled.  "Yes, I'm adding that to the show notes.  Zeptron is constantly on the verge of falling out, and that's why the..."  She did a much better job than me, of course, of getting across the subtly ominous way that we constantly saw Zeptron patting at Daisy's ear.

"Seriously, though.  Why?"

"Pizza effect, as we say in the biz."  She raised both hands, pressing them to her ears like worried they were about to fall off.  "If someone's pizza delivery arrives midway through the episode, you have to be able to answer the door, pay the driver, sit back on the couch, and pick up the episode without having missed anything important.  And that's not even taking into effect the people who stop channel-surfing and start watching midway through an episode."

"So..."

"So we have to get across the idea that 'Daisy'" — she made air quotes around the name, and I kind of loved her for it — "isn't just the world's meanest teenager for some reason.  We need the audience to catch onto the fact that Daisy isn't Daisy.  And we need to remind them of that fact as often as possible, in case they ordered a pizza before starting the episode."

"Huh.  So you..."  Again I did the ear-poking gesture.  "Okay, fine, that makes sense."  And I did approve of the goal of distinguishing Daisy from Zeptron.  Otherwise you ended up known as Visser Seventeen for the rest of your fucking life.

"Yeah.  Like I said.  We don't want the audience assuming Brandon's sister hates him for no reason."

"Fine, fine, I'll let you guys have the ear-poking thing."

"What else?" she asked.

I blew out a breath.  This was not my wheelhouse, at all, and to be honest I had never watched an entire episode of A-Town from start to finish.  Mostly I absorbed factoids about it from Jake's ranting.  "Uh, my cousin Jordan says that Trina should stop going back and forth between Liam and J.J., and just date them both.  But that doesn't apply to Zeptron."

Ash gave another real laugh.  "Oh, I wish," she said.  "But yeah, that'd be a note for the writing room.  I'm just a humble actor."

The food arrived then, on six different plates.  Which was fortunate, because each one had just a tiny spray of food amidst vast empty space barely broken by sauce.  I hoped we were allowed to eat the garnish as well.  Ash served us, thankfully, using tiny metal tongs to set portions of everything onto two dessert-sized plates.

"Sorry," I said, after I'd swallowed my first bite of... I don't know, maybe a grape leaf and some kind of soft meat?  It was pretty good, to be honest, but not $700 good.  "I'm not much use."

Ash smiled softly, patting her lips with her napkin.  How she was managing to get food into her mouth without smearing her lipstick was one of life's great mysteries.  "That's not true," she said.

Again, she got her meaning across with just a hint of extra emphasis on certain sounds, a tiny tilt of one eyebrow: I was being useful by being here, no actual insider information necessary.  Couldn't have told you how she'd conveyed it, only that she did.  Actors, man.

"Thanks."  I took a drink, and tried not to feel like a galumphing idiot because there was no graceful way for a normie like me to eat on camera.  "Is there anything else specific you want to know about— about Daisy?"  I'd almost said about me, but well.  Eyes and ears everywhere.

"Let's be honest," Ash said.  "I don't play Daisy, at least not 99% of the time.  I play Zeptron 420 pretending to be Daisy."

And if she kept saying shit like that, I really was going to fall in love with her.  "You know what?"  I pulled my napkin off my lap and dropped it on the table, pushing back my chair as if to indicate I was leaving.  "We're done, I can't add anything, you already understand the role better than anyone else on the planet, I cannot possibly hope to gild this lily."

"You're too kind."  Ash smiled, but she also nudged my napkin back toward me with a fingertip.

Got it.  Couldn't make any gestures that could be misinterpreted by the camera.  Whoops.  Dropping the napkin back in my lap, I scooted my chair closer to her and leaned in close to look her in the eye.  "Seriously, though," I said, in a low whisper.  "It gives me a lot of confidence in the show to hear you say that."

"Okay, here's a question."  Ash took another bite of... I don't know, some kind of tiny fresh fruit cubes and some kind of fish?  I hadn't dared try that one yet.  "If you were Daisy, living Daisy's life.  How would you feel about having Brandon as a little brother?"

What immediately came to mind is what it'd feel like to have D-cups as soft and round as hers, right there on my chest, and a push-up bra to put them in.  Almost certainly not what she'd actually been wondering about.

"Brandon," I said, trying to refocus.  "Okay, so.  I'm not Daisy, but.  From my point of view, he's... really annoying, to be honest."

Ash sighed.  "Everyone says that.  Poor Jared."

Jared Kincaid was the actor who played Brandon.  And yeah, if I was him then reading those fan sites would be rough.  I could only imagine.

Not that I had fan sites.  But there were very good reasons I never searched for myself online.  Or read my Wikipedia article.  Or dived too deep into Animorphs forums.  Now if I could only get Jake to follow my example...

"What I mean."  I held up a hand in a hear me out gesture.  "I can't comment on his acting or writing, but Brandon's... really lackadaisical about the war, you know?  And I get that the fictional empire-that-shall-not-be-named isn't nearly as much of a threat as the yeerks were.  But he keeps blowing off missions to play lacrosse games, or go on dates.  And he claims he's in charge of the team any time he's bossing JJ or Trina around, but he never seems to do anything with that power.  It's usually Gina and Liam, or Trina and Crystal, getting back from missions.  Brandon just hangs around his house all the time getting grounded by his parents and bickering with Zeptron."

"Bickering with Zeptron is advancing the war effort, if you think about it," Ash said, but she was smirking.

"In that case, he works harder than the rest of the fauximorphs combined.  I stand corrected."

"Foe-uh-morphs?"

"Oh, uh."  I winced.  Hopefully that wasn't actually insider information.  "What Jake calls the A-Town team.  Originally a Marcoism, I think."

Ash laughed, nodding to herself.  "Fauximorphs.  Works better than 'teen shapeshifter team we can't name onscreen for copyright reasons,' I'd say."

"Is that the only reason?" I asked.

She tilted her head in a question, earrings sliding against her cheek.  She had an ultra-intense way of listening, conveying with everything from the tilt of her eyebrows to her position of her hands that she was hanging on your every word.  Like I said, bright future ahead.

"You never say 'yeerk,' or 'Animorph,'" I said.  "Characters refer to 'those jerks' a bunch, which I assume is meant to imply something, and obviously you've got alien invaders played by eels, but... it's down to copyright?  You know Marco owns the copyright for 'Animorph,' right?  And he works for you."

"Mm."  Ash made a small gesture, raising the first two fingers of her right hand, a let me think, as she chewed another bite of food.  Finally she said, "It's down to taste, I suppose.  Because it is ultimately a fictional show."

"Ha!"

That'd come out too loud — I pressed a hand over my mouth — but it got another genuine laugh from Ash.  And oh, that untouchable goddess veneer was wearing off faster than I wanted it to.  She was acting all too approachable.

She's gay, I reminded myself firmly.  And taken.  And you have a hot girlfriend at home.

"I just..."  I looked down at my plate.  "That's what I keep saying.  It's not a show about the war, not really.  It's a show about a ridiculous version of the war that's not supposed to be realistic, and everyone knows that.  Jake keeps taking it too seriously, you know?"

"I would hope not," Ash said.  "And we aren't trying to depict real yeerks.  That'd be pretty disrespectful, don't you think?"

The whole show was disrespectful as fuck — Jake and I agreed on that much — but even without the cameras, I wouldn't have said that to Ash.  Disrespectful wasn't the worst thing in the world.  It beat valorizing the Animorphs for the purpose of holding them up in contrast to everything allegedly wrong with the current generation, which was the most common alternative I'd encountered.

"What about you?" I offered instead.  "What do you think Daisy thinks of Brandon?"

"Oh, man."  She blew out a breath.  "I think she's sad, mostly.  She probably misses hanging out with him, and it has to upset her how much Zeptron bullies him.  I also think she's proud of him being such a good lacrosse player, like maybe she used to look forward to them being on high school lacrosse teams together before—"

"Okay, okay!"  My hand was clenched around my fork; I forced my fingers open.  "Okay."

"It's nice filming in California, where the weather usually cooperates," she said.  Checking in again.

"It does rain here sometimes," I said.  And then, "You're very good.  You know that?  Whatever they're paying you, it isn't enough."

"Mmmm, can I quote you on that next time I'm talking to my agent?"  She smiled with her lips, but her gaze was searching mine.

"Oh, please do."  I did my best to smile reassuringly.  And then, because I sucked at nonverbal communication.  "I asked the question, dude.  You answered.  But go ahead, hit me with another one."

There was a click to our right, another camera shutter going off.  Knowing my luck, I'd managed to get food in my teeth or bunch up my pants at a weird angle.

"How do you feel about Zeptron and JJ's romance?"  Ash lobbed a lowball at me.

"She should've stuck with her banana slug boyfriend," I said.  "Would Daisy want to date JJ, in your opinion?"

Ash tilted her head, then shook it.  "He's too young for her.  And she's secretly all punk and alternative, if you've seen any of the episodes with her cameos.  JJ's kind of a poser, you know?"

"Plus, he cheats on all his girlfriends."

"Exactly."

"How's Marco feel about JJ, anyway?" I asked.  There were obvious differences, from the Italian actor and buzz cut to the inexplicable decision to have him use duck as his battle morph, but he was Brandon's best friend, the team's comic relief, the only one with an immigrant mom, and the one with the most girlfriends.  That, and his mom was either a homicidal sadist or else being controlled by a yeerk that bore a suspicious resemblance to Visser One.

"Have you ever," Ash said, "and I mean ever, gotten a straight answer out of Marco about anything?"

"Oh, hell no," I said immediately.  "I think Jake can — that's his superpower.  But me?  No way, Jose."

"Yes, he's very good at this kind of thing." She didn't mean acting, of course. Or at least, not the kind that one did on TV.

"Scarily good, some would say," I muttered.

"Oh?"

"Okay, you—" I lowered my voice. "You remember Tennantgate, right?"

Ash nodded, of course, even though she was frowning in confusion. William Roger Tennant, America's most beloved hippie, caught on camera trying to strangle a dog. The most-played news clip of the year, at least in California.

"What if I told you," I said quietly, "that Tennant was...?" I made that yeerk-falling-out-of-ear gesture again, to get her to laugh. "And that it just so happens Marco Alvarez's stepmom owns a white toy poodle?"

Ash choked on a sip of water, putting a hand to her chest in surprise. I exerted heroic effort not to follow the direction of that hand too closely. "But how?" she whispered, when she'd recovered. "How would you even engineer something like that? They'd have to know exactly where he'd be when, how he'd react, that it'd happen exactly as the cameras turned on..."

I held up both hands in an open-palm shrug. "You've got me. Like you said, he's very good."

"It's funny."  Ash glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot.  I leaned in close to her, and she leaned across the table to meet me.  With her lips an inch from my cheek — she didn't touch my ear, we'd covered that — she whispered, "I asked Marco on this date first.  He said no.  Said that actually, he's thinking of... you know.  Telling people."

I sat back, looking at her.  Hopefully that little moment had looked plenty intimate for the cameras.  She'd even managed a blush, how I had no idea.  The red wine, maybe.

And then it hit me.  Coming out.  Marco was thinking of coming out.  "I..."  I took a breath.  "I hope... Whatever happens, it works for him."

Because he wasn't untouchable, not really, but he was about as close as you could get.  Elton John famous.  Anderson Cooper, Ellen Degeneres, Rachel Maddow famous.  Famous enough that losing all sponsorships and acting gigs, getting dragged through the mud and spat on by former fans, wouldn't be enough to ruin his life or his legacy.  Famous enough to pave the way for other boys who dated boys, for people like Ash to maybe someday not have to lie.

It was the difference between Arnold Schwarzenegger taking a four-by-four to the face, and Carrie Fisher taking that same four-by-four.  The blow was coming no matter what, and it'd hurt like hell when it did.  The only question was if it'd leave you enough marbles to straighten up and keep swinging.

Ash smiled weakly, and this time it looked genuine.  "And you know what I hope."

Yeah.  Because if the four-by-four hit Marco, maybe it'd only be a two-by-four by the time it got to her.

"Ash, I..."

You know why I agreed to come on this date? I lied earlier, about not reading my Wikipedia entry. I did, just once, not that long after it was posted. The first two sentences were about Jake. The rest was about Essa 412.

For more information, Wikipedia suggested, I'd want to read the entry for Visser Seventeen.

Seemed kind of pathetic, when you thought about it. I'd agreed to this little farce to be slightly more famous, for something I'd done for once. Ash...

She was lying, right now, because she had to. Because there was no choice. Not if she wanted to live in peace, wanted Sierra to live in peace. She couldn't come here on a date, not a real one, not to any restaurant anywhere someone might have a camera. Her hand was resting on mine, and she couldn't do that with the person she actually wanted. Sure, a century ago Bonnie and I would've been illegal in California, if her parents had been allowed in at all, but a hell of a lot had changed since then. There was no comparison.

It made me feel small and shabby, to have it all laid out like that.

"I..."  There was nothing I could say.  Not in public, and not when this wasn't my fight. "I hope you go on more dates here," I said at last.

"And I..."  Now Ash's smile was definitely fake again, even to the point of being a little sarcastic.  "Hope you're with me when I do."

I winked at her.  That was unlikely, since we'd agreed we would be at most photographed walking around together one more time before slow-fading into tabloid mystery.  But for now... "Dessert?" I said.

"Dessert," she agreed.

[charmac]

Danny did a little interview for AARP Magazine in December. I haven't seen it copied anywhere past the paywall and I enjoyed reading it, so wanted to repost here

(Article is pasted as text below the cut)

Noisemaker I was born in Asbury Park, New Jersey. I was the baby, my sister Theresa was 10 years older, my sister Angie was 16 years older, my mom had two sisters, and none of them shut up, ever. It’s an Italian family, so the decibel level is out there. A little smart aleck I went to Our Lady of Mount Carmel School, because if your mother and father didn’t know what to do with you, they gave you to the nuns. … and still a smart aleck I remember when Peter, my nephew, was born. I was 7 years old, and I went over and looked into the bassinet, and the first thing he did was pee on me. It was great! I don’t think there’s a conversation I’ve had with the guy over all these years where I don’t bring up the fact that he peed on me. Also an old softie Do anything you can to keep on an even keel with your family and friends, no matter what happens in your life. That’s all we have. Don’t hide things. You’ve got to get up every day thinking about how you’re going to make it easier for the people that you’re working with or that you love or that you eat breakfast with. Because it’s infectious; everybody starts feeling good. Falling into the business Growing up, I’d spend the weekends at the movies, but I actually wasn’t even thinking about doing it. I got introduced to the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in a roundabout way, took a couple classes, and I got the bug. And I thought, I’m not like Cary Grant, but I got a feel for this thing. So I studied, and then I went and started looking for jobs in New York, like every other actor does. I didn’t care what the description was—“male, 6 foot 4, 250 pounds”—I’d go out for the audition. Once I got in the room, I’m going to do what I’m going to do. Becoming Louie I wanted that part, Louie DePalma [in Taxi]. I walked into the room to audition in front of the four guys who created it, and I said, “One thing I want to know before we start. Who wrote this shit?” And I threw the script on the table. And I had a nanosecond of, did I screw everything up? Then they fell on the floor. Louie walked into their lives. Sudden fame I went to the market the day after the first episode aired, and people are stopping me on the street: “Hey, Louie!” They weren’t calling me Danny. After a couple of days of this, I called my publicist, and said, “This is really crazy. People are chasing me down the street.” He says, “Danny, you don’t have to worry until that stops happening.” Now it’s all, “Frank, Frank, Frank!” because of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which is good. The fans are all you have. Still evolving I think I’m bolder than I’ve ever been—I don’t monitor myself as much. I do say things that are, like, pretty far out, that are really weird, and sometimes I’m inappropriate. But I am always respectful, and that’s because of my two sisters, I swear to God. You have to respect other people’s space.

My happy place Since my two grandbabies have been born, I am just in- corrigible. You gotta tamp me down in the joy department, you know what I’m saying? I’m just so lucky. Blessings have been showered down on me. I wish that for everybody.And the thing is to be aware of it. Don’t let it go. Rhea [Perlman, DeVito’s wife, from whom he is separated but with whom he still spends a lot of time] and I were always able to see those little, incremental changes when our kids were growing up. And I tell my kids that, with their babies: Don’t miss a thing, don’t look away. A sudden case of holidays I’m in the movie A Sudden Case of Christmas with my daughter Lucy, who plays my daughter. It’s just a real warm, wonderful movie, and I loved doing it. As far as the actual holidays go, we have family dinners. Basically we’re Italian, so you know, anybody who’s around, we grab. We get to celebrate all the holidays, because Rhea’s parents were Jewish, so we did all the Jewish holidays, and we do all the Catholic holidays or Italian holidays. My mantra It’s always a good thing to be positive about life, and always get out of bed thinking today’s the day you’re really going to kick its ass. That’s the way to do it

[drag-ula]

SO IT GOES

rockstar!matt x fem!reader

content warnings : smut (p in v), fingering, oral (fem!recieving), strong language,

being in a relationship with one of the most popular musicians was exhausting. the actual relationship was amazing but the package that comes with it? literal torture.

she could cope with the fans begging for photos and autographs, in fact she was happy that they did that because of how much it meant to her boyfriend.

the worst of it was the parties. matt was always invited to these big events where he talks with other stars and guests. she was used to her boyfriend being busy throughout the night but when she has to watch another woman try and flirt with him…she’d never felt to jealous.

this has happened lots of times before and of course it would, he’s in a band but those little giggles coming from her mouth and the smile on his face were enough to make her blood boil.

she didn’t want to cause a scene, especially in front of all these big names. it was hard not to go over there and confront them, so to distract her mind, she went off to get another drink.

after a couple more drinks, matt walked up behind her, giving her a kiss on the neck as she ever so slightly pulled away. he gave her a confused look, knowing something was wrong instantly.

“hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, lightly grabbing ahold of her chin so she’d look at him.

she gave him a harsh glare, “i don’t know, maybe ask your new friend.” her words came out with a hint of poison as she tried to avoid his gaze.

again, he was having none of it. “could you just tell me what i did wrong?” he practically begged, watching her start to walk away.

he took a step forward and pulled her back to him. matt held onto her hand as he took her through the crowd and into a quiet, empty room.

“who was the girl?” she questioned, crossing her arms, making matt let out a small laugh.

he shook his head unbelievably, “that’s what this is about?” matt continued to smile. “wow, i didn’t think of you as the jealous type.” he began to tease her.

she blushed at his words, embarrassed to admit that it was the truth but he saw right through her.

“c’mon, you got nothing to worry about. you’re it for me, okay?” matt stepped closer, making her back touch the wall.

his hands began to move from her waist, down to the end of her dress. she let out a gasp at the sudden movement, feeling her face heat up.

“but there’s people outside.” she said, gesturing to the party still happening.

“then we’ll just have to be quiet.” he shrugged his shoulders, his fingers reaching the bottom of her underwear and slowly going up until he felt her wetness.

she let out a gasp as his fingers pumped in and out of her. “fuck.” she moaned, her eyes already rolling back from pleasure.

“you like that?” matt leaned closer to her ear, feeling himself hardening in his jeans at the sight of her.

“i’m gonna-“ she began to say, only for him to pull away from her.

he began kissing down her neck, not caring about leaving marks. “not yet, baby.”

matt crouched down onto the floor and lifted her dress again. he pulled down her underwear and immediately buried his face into her wetness.

she moaned loudly as his tongue moved up and down repeatedly. “yes, right there.” her hands went into his hair, pulling at it.

her hips slowly grinded into his face, feeling even more pleasure than before. “yes.” her moans grew louder as she went into her orgasm.

matt looked up at her and smiled, her cum dripping down his chin. he pulled off his jeans and underwear, revealing his cock dripping with pre cum.

“go sit down.” he insisted, pointing at the couch in front of them. she did as he said and watched as he sat down next to her.

she took his cock in her hand and started to pump him. he leaned his head back against the couch and groaned under his breath. “fuck, you’re so good at this.” he panted, watching as her hand moved.

matt grabbed her hips and placed her on top of him. she lined her entrance up with his cock and sunk herself onto him. she started to ride him at a fast pace, moans and groans coming from both of them.

“baby, i’m gonna come if you keep doing that.” matt told her, his hands going up her dress and squeezing her breasts.

she rode him faster, watching as he came undone. “fuck, yes.” he whimpered, guiding her hips as she started to get tired.

her eyes rolled back, “god, you feel so good.” she almost yelled, feeling herself orgasm.

they both panted, trying to catch their breath. matt pulled out and kissed her on the lips. “you did so well, baby.”

[eveshsrramblings]

Hello. I just fought Sunday for what is hopefully the last time but I don’t think I’ll ever be fully convinced I’m not dreaming ever again. Here are my thoughts:

I can’t believe we hit him with the train

The music was actually insane. What the hell

Following the music thing, I preferred the religious vibe we had going over Robin’s pop track but Sunday was literally so upset about Robin showing up to help whoop his ass that I didn’t even mind

The camera work with Sunday asking for the last time “why does life slumber?” And the quick zoom and shock on Sunday’s face when the Trailblazer has an answer was really good. I liked that. I think I might like Sunday suffering lmao

We hit Sunday with a train

The Acheron flashback at the beginning of the fight was so long but the reveal that the old guy was a trailblazer was crazy. Like wdym that’s oomf

Having Robin dive after Sunday post-fight was actually diabolical work

Forcing me to watch a flashback about Sunday and Robin’s childhood promise immediately afterwards? Somehow even more diabolical. If they’d actually shown them as kids I may have lost it.

Idk who this guy is that Boothill is looking for but it’s so funny to me that Boothill has pulled a gun on every single character he’s met so far. You go diva.

We hit Sunday with the train.

[minkieater]

EIGHT FIRST DATES ꨄ︎

005 》 HAN JISUNG

you needed a night out, you needed to have fun— at least that’s what yunho told you. when chan invites your group to a music festival where his curly headed roommate would also be, will it be what you need to get you back on track? or will you start from square one, again?

wc 15.5k my bad y’all its getting serious now | drinking, smoking, kissing, suggestive, music festival vibes, sadness, tiny gets fucked up. vomit but not descriptive. hanjis sexy

“have you guys ever thought about your wedding?” 

of course you thought about getting married, your wedding, every little girl does— walking down the aisle next to her father, meeting the love of her life at the altar… all of it seemed so futile after your father passed, you haven’t thought about it as a true reality since then, more of a pipedream.

you didn’t know if you were simply driving yourself insane or if you really were obsessed with mingyu, but every single waking thought you’ve had since saturday was about getting married, knowing you were nowhere near that stage of your life but for some reason… questioning it. maybe even excited for it. 

everything with mingyu has felt meant to be so far… maybe it was.

the entire table looked at you in silence– eight pupils staring into your soul, wondering where the fuck that came from. yunho was quick to shut you down. 

“i don’t even want to ask, tiny.”

“i’m serious! have you even considered what you’d want in a partner? what your wedding would look like?” you were in dreamland, sparkles in your eyes and everything as you stared up at the high ceilings of your kitchen. yeosang and san had brought over dinner, which led to the five of you seated on barstools around your kitchen island in silence, up until now. 

“sexy and rich,” yeosang didn’t even look up, mouth full as he digged deeper into his meal. 

san nodded in agreement– “my wedding will be big enough to make everyone attending jealous, small enough to make others wish they were invited.”

“you’re both shallow,” you grumble, picking at your plate, moving your food around. you glance at your twin, “ace, what about you? do you think reia’s the one?” 

ace lets out a nervous chuckle, one that sounds exactly like yours, “i– uh, maybe. possible.”

you pop a brow, sitting back in your stool, straightening your back. you weren’t the only one that picked up on it, the entire table noticed his shift in energy, the change in tone. yunho asks, “what’s going on?”

ace groans in defeat when there was never an argument to begin with, elbows hitting the granite, palms digging into his eyes. “i think reia’s going to break up with me.” 

“why?” your voice is loud, surprised. you take it down a notch, “what happened?” 

he leans back, moving his hands away from his face and you notice that he looks tired. bags under his eyes, his skin looked dull, his freckles weren’t freckling like they usually did. you blamed it on school and the stress he’d been under– you didn’t think reia had anything to do with it. last time you checked, how ace felt about reia is how you felt about mingyu. 

“she’s been saying shit like how i’m not giving her enough attention, not seeing her enough, all i care about is school and when i’m not doing homework i’m with you guys,” he huffs, his voice sounding weak now that he’s finally admitting it. 

“why doesn’t she come hangout with us?” yeosang asked, but you were sure that’s what you were all thinking. “she’s usually here all the time, and your workload for school hasn’t changed.”

“i guess she’s been feeling this way for awhile,” ace stretched his arms over his head, lifting his eyebrows, expression saying he’s had this conversation already– with her. “we don’t have enough one on one time.”

yunho leans over the counter, palm holding up his baseball cap covered head, “get an airbnb for a weekend, take her somewhere nice, just the two of you. she’s probably feeling underappreciated and overwhelmed with her own schoolwork.” 

“that’s actually a good idea,” ace marvels, a semblance of light returning to his eyes, “you’re so good with girls, bro. incredible how you’re still single.” 

yunho smiles, “incredible how i manage to fight ‘em off me.” 

yeosang rolls his eyes, “can we circle back to why teens is asking about marriage?” 

“no,” the three boys say in unison, all eyes landing on yeosang.

“okay, fine, riddle me this,” yeosang sits a little straighter, index finger pointing to the air in front of him, “tiny, whose never gone on a date before a month ago, shows up to dinner with her prehistoric boyfriend and starts talking about marriage. no one wants to ask any questions?” 

you gasp, “yeosang! he is not—”

“that’s actually a good point,” san shrugs, “we haven’t talked about him yet.”

“how old is he anyways?” yunho asks, both elbows on the table now, long fingers folded over one another on the top of his palms. 

your cheeks flush, near mumbling as you redirect your attention back to the food in front of you, hoping no one notices the warmth on your skin. you were waiting for this question, scared of this question. “thirty.” 

“tiny.” ace’s tone is firm, disappointed even if he only said your name— the underlying message is clear to you. you break your staring contest with your plate to look up to him, there are a million words on his tongue, but he says none of them. 

your face burned in embarrassment, you were scrambling for something to say, small tuts leaving your lips instead. you didn’t know how to defend it, defend him— you were still debating it yourself. they didn’t know this was currently a sensitive topic, that you’d been non stop questioning your relationship with mingyu for almost forty eight hours, worried that it won’t work out because of that very reason. 

san giggles, “we knew you had daddy issues, teens, would’ve never expected you to fuck someone old enough to be one. props to you, actually.” 

your world went silent, the insult flipping a switch within you. your train of thought skipped right past anger to hurt, tears quickly filling your eyes. you fled from the kitchen— two palms flat on the granite countertop pushed you off of your stool, legs racing through your hallway. you only heard yunho scold san with a stern drag of his name as your legs took you to up your bedroom, locking the door behind you. 

that wasn’t the conversation you intended to open by asking that question. you were once again putting your foot in your mouth, regretting sharing your thoughts, it was as if san had that statement locked and loaded–– ready to hit its target. your boys had always said whatever they thought, feelings be damned, you forgot how much it hurt to be on the receiving end. 

it felt like you were younger when they’d tease you relentlessly, only stopping when ace made them. you haven’t felt that way in a long time, their teasing now was lighthearted, and you did it right back— it’s been years since you’ve been in tears in your bedroom over something one of the boys said. 

as you laid on your back, sprawled across your mattress, you began to think, and what san said started to make more and more sense as you thought about it. daddy issues— your tears dried without you noticing. mingyu’s age, his career, his stability, the pet names, how he took care of you already, his dominating nature that ‘only came out with you… you ate up every moment— you loved it, even. 

but it was all because of one thing, and as much as you hated it, san hit it right on the money. 

“teens?” he spoke before he knocked, three rhythmic taps of his knuckles against your door. 

“go away, yunho,” you frown, turning on your side with your back facing the door even if he couldn’t see you. 

“let me in,” he urged, you could see his scowl through the wooden slab that separated you. “i’m sorry for what san said– san is sorry for what he said. please let me talk to you.”

you sighed, you knew he wouldn’t go away, he’d sit there until you opened up whether that be in one hour or six. you got up, unlocking your door, but you didn’t open it. you let him open it himself as he followed you inside your room, you plopped onto your bed lifelessly, your body a dead weight. he followed you, sitting at the foot of your bed, resting a hand on your ankles that laid one over the other. 

“he shouldn’t of said that,” yunho started, “it was fucked up. he crossed a line.” 

“he’s right,” your throat constricted, words fighting their way through. your words become quieter, a strain on your vocal chords, “i thought mingyu was perfect.”

“what did i tell you?” yunho leaned across your legs so he could see your face that was laid on the pillow. you looked down at him as he said, “you deserve someone who’s gonna appreciate you, cherish you, you’re special and important.” 

you blinked, tears returning to you, filling up your waterline. “he does all of those things, he makes me feel that way, and now i’m supposed to be normal when i know the only reason i feel this way about him is because my dad is dead? because matt fucking sucks?”

yunho purses his lips, his body stiffening on top of your legs. “tiny, there’s eight years between you. he’s fooling around with you, it’s not right.”

“i know our age difference already!” your voice raises, “he’s done everything right, yunho. you don’t know him, you didn’t even try to get to know him when he was here, instead you sulked in your bad mood like a child. what was that even about?” 

“don’t get pissed at me because of something san said,” he sits up, his weight lifted from your legs, his eyes looking everywhere but at you as he continues. “i was just in a bad mood saturday, it wasn’t about anything.” 

“you’re lying, jeong yunho. you forget that i know you,” you sit up, too, facing him feet apart on your mattress. he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, he wasn’t expecting you to call him out.

“you’re missing the point,” he sighs, looking down at your mattress, reining in the topic at hand. “i don’t know him, but i don’t need to. eight years of life is longer than you think, he knows a lot more than you, you just started going on dates. you don’t know anything, tiny.” 

“i know enough,” you shake your head, “i know that i like him a lot and that’s enough for me.” 

“so what, you want to be married within the next two years?” he looked back up to you, his face was unreadable, but his voice was firm, truthful. he meant every word he said. “miss out on being in your twenties? miss out on dating? learning about people, experiencing life, trying out different things. learning how to be independent, how to support yourself, miss out on all of that because you have a rich husband? that’s your goal?” 

you blink, “is that why you’re single? experiencing life, dating around, fucking who you please because you can? sounds boring to me.” your words are curt, intended to sting. “i’d much rather learn and experience with someone, grow together as a unit.”

“be realistic, think like you’re twenty two, not like you’re still seventeen,” he bites, sending the sting right back to you. after a moment’s pause, he speaks, his voice soft. “i’m single because i’m waiting.”

“for what?” you ask, eyebrows knitted together, tears still dancing down your cheeks. “how do you know? …what you’re waiting for?” 

“it’s not for what, tiny— it’s for who.”

──────  ꨄ︎

“i have an idea,” chan was smiling ear to ear, you wondered if the two of you would ever pay attention to your lecture again, two weeks in a row spent talking the entire class. “me and my roommates are going to a music festival this weekend, you should come.”

your lips form a line, “chan, if this is about–”

“hear me out!” he interjects, a finger coming up between you, silencing you. you sit back in your chair, crossing your arms as he continues. “i know you’re seeing someone, but this will get jisung off my back and you can get a feel for him without making it an actual thing.”

seeing someone feels sour, you ignore it— “okay, let me hear your plan.”

“it’s a music festival, so it’s not like it’s some private, real date like going to dinner or something. you can bring your friends, i’ll be with mine, we can meet up and it can be a group thing so you have people to hangout with if you aren’t into hanji,” he raises his eyebrows with a smile as he awaited your response, “not bad, right?”

you think about it for a second– it’s not a terrible idea, and you did owe chan for your own date with him. you nod, “when is it?”

“saturday, i’ll text you the link for tickets. me and my three roommates are going, jisung jihoon and jeongin, everybody’s single,” he winks, “they’re all music people.”

“and all of their names start with J,” your eyebrows furrow, “how did you manage that?”

he shrugs, “me and jisung were roommates, jeongin and jihoon were roommates, we got an apartment together sophomore year and it just happened to be that way. i’m the only non-music major and the only one whose name doesn’t start with a J,” he brings his attention to his laptop, pulling up the website for the music festival. 

“it’s all weekend long, you probably don’t want to go all weekend so just come for one day,” he says, pulling up the lineup on the screen. you scan the list and you know several artists, it seems fun, and the idea was well thought out. it wasn’t necessarily a date, but instead a place you would just happen to be at together– you would barely have to talk to jisung if you didn’t want to. 

you didn’t have to tell mingyu, either— not that he’d have an issue if you did. being wednesday now, you haven’t seen him since sunday morning, and since monday night… there was no way he couldn’t tell something was off. where you were usually bubbly on the phone with him, over text, you’d turn monotonous without even realizing. the whole relationship began to feel stale after what san said, after your talk with yunho. you weren’t sure if any of your feelings were legitimate anymore.

chan texts you the link and you immediately send it to your groupchat, telling the boys to clear their schedules and to buy their tickets (you tell san to get one for you, too. he owes you). you were met with no pushback, all of the boys agreeing except ace— he was taking reia away for the weekend, using yunho’s idea. 

“i’m so excited,” chan beams, scrolling through the website, “it’s really cool, we’ve gone every year since we started here. tell your friends that my roommates are single.”

“i’ve never been to a music festival before, just random concerts here and there. you’ll have to show us etiquette,” you snicker when you realize exactly what he’s implying with his roommates— you didn’t think any of your three boys had gotten any in awhile. “i will definitely let them know.” 

as you walked out of class and into the brisk, october air, a certain car stuck out like a sore thumb in the parking lot. sitting idly and illegally was a BMW pulled up beside the curb, closest to the building of your class— completely blacked out, tinted windows with a gold seventeen decal on the back window on the driver’s side… that car belonged to one person and one person only.

he stepped out of his car as soon as you walked out of the building, dressed in all black business casual attire, sunglasses on his face. you bid chan goodbye without as much as a glance, feet drifting toward mingyu so fluidly and without thought you could’ve been floating all over again. maybe he did cast a spell on you.

mingyu stepped around the vehicle to open his passenger side door, greeting you with a smile, “hey, princess.” he kissed you on the head before you slid into the seat, the smell of his cologne and fresh leather hitting your nose as he shut the door behind you. 

“what are you doing here?” you asked as he got into the driver’s seat, putting the car into reverse. you began feeling awkward, confused, your talk with yunho came to mind again– mingyu’s presence made it too easy to forget all of your worries. 

“don’t sound too excited, i’m taking you to lunch,” he shot you a tight lipped smile as he put his car into gear, pulling out of the parking lot. 

“mingyu,” you breathed with a small shake of your head. you hadn’t even gotten all of your thoughts in order, you wanted to wait before you talked to him, you knew it was coming eventually— he did, too. 

“don’t say anything,” he kept his gaze on the road in front of him, the sun shining through his windshield, kissing his soft, golden skin. he let his hand fall to your thigh. “just… let me do this.” 

“okay,” you said, flushing as the weight of his palm hit your skin. electricity shot through you every time you were with him, every time he touched you— it had to mean something. 

or did you just want it to? 

he pulled into the parking lot of a diner, a small one near your campus. you loved diners, you used to go with your family growing up once a week— every sunday morning, stopping shortly after you turned twelve. your blood thrummed in excitement under your skin. 

you sat in a booth, a quietness consuming the two of you, you thought maybe he didn’t know what to say— you definitely didn’t. mingyu broke the silence first. 

“you want to tell me what’s going on?” 

“there’s nothing to tell, nothing going on, i mean,” you barely looked up from your menu when you knew what you wanted to order in the parking lot. how do you tell someone that the only reason you’re interested in them is because you’re wired to? 

he sighed, laying his menu down on the table. the waitress comes and takes your orders, leaving you to silence once again. 

“the only way this is going to work is if you’re honest,” his voice is more serious than it usually is. you have nothing to hold in your hands anymore— it feels like you’re back at that expensive restaurant when mingyu first brought you on an impromptu lunch date. you feel exposed.

you run a hand through your hair, “i don’t know, mingyu.” you pause, then internally said fuck it. “you said you won’t rush anything with me, but what if i’m just holding you back?” 

“how would you be holding me back?” his eyes were full of concern as he leaned forward, arms folding across the table. 

“you’re thirty, ready to get married, start a family,” you shake your head, “i’m not even close to being there yet.” 

“i met you two weeks ago,” a chuckle leaves his lips, trying to relieve the tension brought by your statement, “why is that on your mind?” 

“you shouldn’t be wasting your time, mingyu. you’re fooling around with a twenty two year old,” your own words weren’t leaving your lips— they were yunho’s. 

“fooling around?” his eyes were raised as if you insulted him. “if i was fooling around i wouldn’t have made so much of an effort. wouldn’t have cooked for you, met your family, i would’ve fucked you the day i met you and never spoken to you again.” 

the gears turn in your head, he said it so simply, you knew it was to help put you at ease— it hurt instead. he continues, “i’ve been serious about you since the day you met me for lunch. i like you.” 

“and what happens when you meet someone who’s ready?” you bite, your brain swirling with mingyu’s testimony but also the advice from your twin. “if your ex comes back to this side of the country, if you meet someone who doesn’t have a dead dad, someone actually meant for you.” 

mingyu laughs— the chuckle was not out of amusement, it was dry and venomous and knowing. “there it is.” 

“what?” you ask, shifting in the old leather booth as if you were in the hot seat. 

“they got into your head, didn’t they?” he shakes his head, a sarcastic smile on his face, “i knew they didn’t like me, your friends, your brother— you would never say that on your own.” 

“nobody ‘got to me’, mingyu,” you argue, your fingers twisting on the table between you because they did get to you and you know that, but you think they might be right. “how do you know what i would say and wouldn’t say? like you said, we met two weeks ago.”

his face hits his palms as he sighs, they slide over his skin in frustration, “was it yunho?” 

“what?” your back presses against the cushion of the booth, “was what yunho?” 

the waitress brings your food to the table, halting your conversation or argument. a part of you wanted to thank her for cutting you off, you didn’t know if you wanted him to continue— not when yunho was brought into the conversation. he did, though, as soon as she walked away from the table. 

he cut into his meal– “yunho doesn’t like me.”

“he has never once said that, mingyu,” you respond, cutting into your french toast. diners were best for all day breakfast.

“he doesn’t need to,” he was smiling again, not out of happiness, you couldn’t place his emotions based on his face. his words didn’t match it. “game’s game. this whole conversation is ridiculous, can’t you see that?” 

“what are you talking about?” your eyebrows blend together, so furrowed in confusion you were sure you looked animated, “what am i not seeing?” 

“it’s besides the point,” he pays attention to his food again, his tone laced with irritation. “i like you, i’ve been trying to be consistent with showing how much i like you— how much i want to do this the right way.” 

“i understand if you think we can’t be together because of our age, because of your past, things out of your control, but i want you to know that i don’t agree. i don’t think any of that should be used to factor whether we work or not because i think we work really well.” 

“i think we get along really well, too,” you said, sounding like you were the one trying to convince him now – you snapped yourself back into reality, what you felt, what you knew, not the bubble mingyu put you in. “in the long run i… mingyu i don’t know if i’m ready for all of this.”

“all of what?” he was getting frustrated now, furrowed brows and a tight jaw, “i haven’t tried to take this even one step further. are you scared of what it could turn into?”

“yes, it feels real,” you shake your head, “it feels really real.”

“in any other situation that’d be a good thing,” he takes a hand through his hair, sitting back in the booth, “maybe you’re right. too young, i guess.”

regret washes over you like a bucket of cold water, but you don’t falter in your words, reciting them from someone else’s mouth. “eight years is a lot longer than i thought it was, you know more than i do– i just started dating.”

he nods, lips pursed, but he says nothing for a few moments. you stare at him with flushed cheeks, an uneasiness sitting at the pit of your stomach. it was fight or flight, and there’s nowhere to run– literally. 

“finish your meal and i’ll take you back to campus,” you couldn’t read his tone, but it was definitely not happy. 

like you always did with mingyu, whether you wanted to or it was installed in you, you obeyed. you spent the rest of your meal wishing you could say something else, words at the tip of your tongue that you couldn’t find the voice to say. he paid for your meal, a gentleman until the end, and drove you back to campus. 

“before you go, can i just say one thing?” he says as he turns to you, flipping his sunglasses on top of his head. you nod. 

“you don’t have to listen to them,” he says and your mouth parts to speak, but he cuts you off. “you may think they know everything about you because you grew up with them, but they don’t know how you feel. they don’t know my intentions for you, they don’t know how much i like you.”

“i know you’ve been through a lot in your life and they were there for you every step of the way, but i’d treat you so fucking well. i would never pressure you into marriage, or having kids or whatever worries have been put into your pretty little brain. i’d do whatever you wanted– if you wanted to travel, i’d take you on trips, we could explore every little school on the opposite side of the world. if you wanted to open your own damn school, i’d do that with you, i’d help you. i don’t want you to walk away with the idea that i’m not the one for you— we both know this would’ve worked if you let it.” 

jaw slack and eyes filled with tears, you stared at him. you blinked once, twice, then your lips were on his before you could even process that you had moved an inch. 

you deserve someone who’s gonna appreciate you, cherish you, you’re special and important. 

isn’t that what this is? isn’t this what you’ve been looking for? your brain whirled, mingyu’s tongue licking into your mouth, his huge palms holding your wet cheeks. 

learning about people, experiencing life, trying out different things.

tears flowed down your skin, onto mingyu’s fingers, he just kissed you harder. 

learning how to be independent, how to support yourself, miss out on all of that because you have a rich husband? that’s your goal?

there was only one way this could end– you needed it to end, now, or else you’d never leave his car. you pulled away from mingyu, wide eyed and so fucking confused. you hated yourself in this moment– it felt like being pulled into your living room when mingyu was in your kitchen. being pulled towards comfort and familiarity, when what your future could be was waiting for you, missing you, hoping you’d stay.��

“i’m sorry,” was all you could get out before you were pushing the car door open and racing towards your own.

──────  ꨄ︎

figuring out an outfit for a music festival was hard to begin with, you had too many factors adding onto it that made the task a thousand times worse. you could barely get yourself out of bed this morning for starters, you hopped in the shower half past eleven when you needed to leave at one. because it was late october and most music festivals were held in the summer, even pinterest wasn’t helping you with inspiration. on top of that, having three men in your bedroom without a lick of a feminine fashion sense made it borderline overstimulating, they threw ideas at you while their outside clothes laid all over your unmade bed– it tipped you over the edge. the only good part was that it’s cold outside. 

you went casual– you needed to, you’d be outside for hours and alcohol can only heat you up so much. baggy jeans, a hoodie and an oversized jacket on top, you accessorized with a baseball cap and some sneakers and you were set. a mini purse with nothing but your ID and some lip gloss sat on your shoulder, sunglasses on your face, you’d be warm, comfortable and cute. 

when you walked downstairs to the three boys sitting in your living room, you realized you were all wearing different versions of the same outfit. you copied them without even realizing– naturally, they noticed, and had plenty to say about it. you didn’t care enough to change. 

the drive to the festival wasn’t terrible, little traffic until you got closer to the venue, yunho drove with loud music playing through the speakers and the other two singing along in the backseat. when you arrived, you immediately sent a text to chan letting him know you arrived.

“i want a drink,” you said as soon as you walked through security, yunho on your left and the other two on your right. “who’s paying for it?” 

“why can’t you pay for it? you should buy us drinks,” yeosang huffed, digging his hands further into his pockets. 

“you’re in the clear,” you moved a little closer to yeosang, bumping your shoulder against his. “i didn’t bring money, the other two are responsible for ruining my relationship with mingyu, so they get to buy my drinks all night.” 

san gasps, “i am not responsible–” 

“surfside?” yunho asks, eyes already scanning the area for the nearest bar, not wanting to begin that conversation again. his figure stood over the massive crowd already formed around you, your group definitely did not get there early. 

“yes, please,” a small smile sat on your face as you followed yunho towards the nearest bar, pleased with how quickly he agreed, he bought drinks for the two of you– leaving san and yeosang to fend for themselves. 

san grumbles, “you should buy me a drink for how mean you’ve been.” 

you point your eyes at him and he shrinks under your gaze, voice growing small as he said, “i’ll buy the next round.” 

you walked through the crowd, so many different kinds of people surrounded you. a range of ages, dressed in clothes much more appropriate for a music festival than yours. the energy of the space was so bright, so welcoming, it was beckoning your mood to brighten– you wished you could let it. 

you stayed close to at least one of the three, keeping your eyes peeled under your sunglasses for a blonde boy no taller than five foot eight. he was nowhere to be found, as you assumed since the venue was so massive. you walked up to the first stage, the main stage which was one you wanted to see, a small indie band. you knew some songs, but you wouldn’t know an entire setlist– the show you really wanted to see wasn’t until later. 

being after three and you hadn’t ingested anything other than your morning (afternoon) coffee, the surfside you had taken about four sips of was already going straight to your head. you wore a disinterested look even though the stage was good, the band was putting on a great show, you’ve been miserable since wednesday. you missed mingyu, even if your time together was short– you figured that you might be perpetually stuck between if your choice was right or if you regret it completely. 

“drummer’s hot,” yeosang comes to your side, bumping his shoulder into yours again. 

you shoot him a tight lipped smile, “he’s alright.” 

“bro, cheer up,” he frowns, “if you were normal you’d be drooling over him right now.” 

you roll your eyes, “cheer me up instead of complaining, then.” 

“where’s the whiskey date guy? aren’t we supposed to be meeting up with him?” yeosang asks and you pull out your phone from your pocket, four texts from chan filling your screen. 

chan: UR HERE!!!! chan: wya

chan: hello

chan: were going to the main stage meet us there

already being at the main stage, you typed back a quick response then looked around through your shaded lenses, the blonde nowhere to be found. you nudged yunho’s side, asking him to look for chan instead, he could see a lot better than you could. as he looked out into the crowd farther than your eyes could see, chan found you first. 

“hey!” you heard to your left, a voice that belonged to the one you were searching for. you whipped your head around, a genuine smile surprising you as it filled out your cheeks, waving him over. 

“you found me! i just texted you back,” you said as he wrapped you into a short hug of greeting. 

he stepped back, looking around you, “where are your friends?” 

“here?” you said with eyebrows raised, yeosang, san and yunho coming forward to stand at your sides. “this is san, yeosang and yunho.” 

“oh,” a questioning look grew on his face, then he stepped closer to you, speaking quieter so only you could hear. “when i said bring your friends, i was not expecting a bunch of…dudes?” 

you giggled, “surprised i’m not with a group of girls?”

“for some reason, it explains a lot,” he shrugs and you raise your eyebrows, asking him to explain without verbalizing it. “you aren’t… shy in the way a lot of girls are, i guess, i don’t know, you talk about your relationship problems with me. plus, we’re in the same outfit.”

you look him up and down, realizing he is yet another person you’ve stolen fashion inspiration from. you smack a hand over your mouth, “oh god, you too?” giggles threaten to slip through your palm, before you shrug and say, “i’m one of the guys, i guess.”

“ew,” he physically cringes, “never say that again.”

three guys approached behind chan and you first spot jisung, the one you didn’t meet at chan’s apartment. he looked the same, a mop of brown curls sat atop his head, big, thin frames on his face, a hoodie and baggy jeans on his body. he looked just as cute as the day you first saw him, like a chipmunk you’d spot outside of your living room window on a spring day. 

he wasn’t sexy, he wasn’t massively muscular, he wasn’t six foot three or thirty years old— he wasn’t mingyu. no one could be.

“these are my friends,” chan pointed to each friend as he said, “jisung, jeongin and jihoon.” 

“ah, the J’s!” you introduced yourself to the three of them, your groups quickly merging to create small talk. chan stood close to you, guiding your conversation with his roommates, you talked about the festival, what bands were playing, until you settled into a layer of comfort to speak freely. the surfside was definitely helping. 

you quickly realized the three boys were more reserved, unlike chan– or they were at least not comfortable enough yet to cut through san and yeosang’s voices, who were quickly dominating the conversation with chan. 

“the next band playing is really good,” jihoon finally interrupts, looking around the group with a gaze which didn’t seem shy, instead calculated, like he was waiting for the right moment to speak. he was shorter than everyone, long, black hair laid over his shoulders, you could see the muscles beneath the black tee he wore, nearly masked by the black jacket sat perfectly on his shoulders. he gave the vibe that he had his shit together– clean, healthy, confident. “do you guys want to stay? who are you here to see?” 

“jungle is playing later,” you reply, “on stage B i believe, at eight? i want to see them the most.” 

“TV girl is playing at six,” yeosang cuts in, warm brown hair that’s gotten noticeably longer was falling over his temples now, “still woozy plays in about an hour.”

“you like still woozy?” jeongin asked yeosang, as if hearing jihoon’s voice gave him the confidence to speak up himself. the two were just about the same height, yeosang was maybe an inch taller than jeongin. his face was insane, to say the least– sharp jaw, high cheekbones, almond shaped eyes that curved up ever so slightly at the edges. he was the other one out of the four that resembled an animal in the most gorgeous way, black hair laying across his forehead that made the shadows of his face deepen further. you wouldn’t be surprised if he was a model, if not a fox turned human– you wondered if he had any interest in you.

“where have you been keeping them?” you say in chan’s ear, leaning closely into his side. chan chuckles, looking down at the ground, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. 

“i keep them locked in their rooms, they’re only allowed out during feeding time,” he jokes, a wide smile on his face, voice turning to a hushed whisper as he says, “stop ogling them, jisung will get jealous.” 

“then jisung should do something about it,” you retort as you bring your gaze back to the group– jisung couldn’t see who you were looking at anyways, you still had your sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose.

“let him get a few more drinks in him, he will,” chan nods nonchalantly as he looks away from you. you rolled your eyes under the shades– you didn’t care either way, but the outright admittance of jisung needing alcohol to talk to you rubbed you the wrong way. 

your group travels to another stage, watching a different group play while waiting for still woozy to start their performance. jisung trailed behind the group with jihoon, the two seemed to be a pair so far, then yeosang, san and jeongin had split off to the side. you walked between yunho and chan, three quarters of your surfside had already heated you up enough to where the bite of the air was more of a light nibble on your cheeks. 

“i need another,” you said in san’s direction, wiggling your can that had little liquid left in it. 

san frowns, “already?” 

you threw the last bit of liquid back, swallowing it quickly, and handed it to san. “yes, please.”

he grabs the can from your hands and turns to the group, wearing a look of irritation even if he doesn't care at all– he’ll let the act go on for as long as he deems necessary. drama queen. “anyone else need another?” 

chan and his roommates hadn’t gotten drinks yet, and yeosang needed a refill– leaving you alone with yunho, where you stood watching the random band playing on the stage. 

“the curly headed one is interested in you,” yunho comments without looking at you, voice flat as he brings his beer to his lips to take a sip. it should catch you off guard how quickly he noticed without you and jisung having any interactions so far, but you were done with being inside yunho’s head. 

you let out a sound of amusement instead, “and?” 

“just letting you know,” he looks down at you, “it seems you know already.” 

you shoot him a pointed look before turning back to the stage, the two of you falling into silence. your stomach grows warm, the drink you’d already chugged down had begun fulfilling its purpose– warming you up first and foremost, helping you forget how miserable you’d become second. 

“i don’t know what to say to you to make things better,” yunho admits, keeping his focus on the band. his mouth twists to one side, discomfort sitting on his features, you two hadn’t really spoken since wednesday. 

you came home the day you ended things with mingyu in tears, anger replacing every atom in your body as if you’d become a pot overflowing with boiling water– you lost it, all of your feelings were directed at both san and yunho. they were sitting on the couches in your living room, completely blindsided when you decided they alone were responsible for how your relationship with mingyu ended. both boys had fought you on it.

ace didn’t have it in him to mediate your argument, he had his own relationship issues to work through, instead he and yeosang watched the three of you yell at each other for minutes until you fully broke down. not once did either of them tell you to make up with mingyu, to reconsider their words, but instead they consoled you for the two week long relationship you were clearly grieving– it pissed you off even more.

after you had time to process the argument, you realized all you wanted was their approval– you wanted them to tell you to get back with him, you wanted them to like him as much as you did, as much as you do. for three days now you've been sitting with your anger, only giving curt responses around your house, spending most of your time in your bedroom, you considered not even coming today. 

you needed to get out– you needed a boyfriend before thanksgiving. 

“there’s nothing for you to say,” you shrug, then cross your arms over your chest. “even if i reached out to him now, i don’t think he’ll ever see me as anything other than an immature twenty two year old. it’s done.” 

he sips his beer again. “you are an immature twenty two year old.” you snap your gaze up at him, ready to bite back, but he continues. “that’s what you’re supposed to be, this is how it should be.” 

a dry laugh escapes you, one that lets him know there was nothing funny at all. “how it should be? at a music festival waiting for a guy to get the balls to speak to me?” 

he speaks through an exhale, “at least this guy is your age, tiny.”

you step to the side, giving yourself space from him, not wanting to slip into a fit of anger and ruin the day for everyone, you know you will if you continue the conversation. your mind whirls as you keep your gaze locked on the stage, not hearing one beat of the drum nor a single strum of the guitar, ears ringing as you try to calm yourself down. 

“i’m sorry,” he says as he steps closer, his voice quiet, only for your ears. “i didn’t think you’d be this hurt, i guess.”

“i came home bawling my eyes out and screamed at you,” you said, baffled, not fully believing him. you hadn’t argued over anything more serious than what you were having for dinner in years. “you didn’t think it hurt?” 

“i’ll stop meddling,” he pulls his lips together, forming a tight line. you see the group of boys returning to where you stood from behind yunho, drinks in tow, you turn to face the stage again. 

“you won’t have the chance to meddle again, i learned my lesson for good,” you say flatly, and he sighs. the sigh was both long and loud, he was truly defeated– he didn’t know how to handle you. you couldn’t comprehend why he felt the need to in the first place. 

“we should head to stage C,” chan says as soon as he returns, san right on his tail to hand you your drink. you were grateful yunho didn’t have the time to continue the conversation. you slap a smile on your face and thank him for the drink before asking chan who’s playing at stage C. 

chan smirks, “weezer.” 

“oh, brother,” you laugh, “let’s go.” 

you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or if you were starting to have a good time, but the time you spent watching weezer while you waited for still woozy to come on seemed to break up the dark cloud looming above you. chan stayed close, he was bleeding positive energy that you didn’t know if he was pushing onto you on purpose, or if it was just him. either way, the smile that sat on your face became more and more genuine, less forced as time went by. 

by the time you made it to still woozy’s set, you were past the level of comfortably warm and leaning towards hot. you stopped at the bar again after weezer, you were just tipsy enough to buy all eight of you a round of shots– the plan was not to get drunk, but that seemed to be the direction the day was going in, who were you to stop it? 

just before the set began, jeongin and yeosang had pulled your group by the wrists to fight through the crowd and get as close to the front as you could. you let yunho and san guide you into the mass of people, two walls of muscle and height to give you a path, the crowd didn’t bother you one bit. your smile was more than genuine now, you couldn’t wipe it off your face– this was a music festival, seeing bands you never would’ve thought of buying tickets for, a group of people gathered in one place that enjoyed the same music as you. you were already thinking of going to more. 

swaying side to side, singing a song you’d heard on repeat in yeosang’s car at the top of your lungs, you almost didn’t catch the eyes that couldn’t leave you. attached to a mop of curly brown hair, behind massive lenses, a gaze of chocolate brown accompanied by a small smile seemed entranced by you. you smiled back when you noticed, then turned your head back to the band– jisung took that as an invitation. 

walking up beside you, jisung didn’t say anything at first. his head nodded along to the song, curls bouncing across his forehead, fingers wrapped around a plastic cup. with a stomach full of vodka, you were almost excited– you wanted to encourage him, give him the confidence, tell him to say something. 

but you didn’t– and jisung still said nothing after the entire song. 

after the song ended, there was a moment of silence amongst the crowd, the inbetween waiting for the next song to play. you glanced around for your friends– yeosang and jeongin were mid conversation, yeosang’s body leaned into jeongin’s but not quite touching, his body language saying you weren’t the only one who found jeongin attractive. damn. 

yunho and jihoon stood behind everyone, the height difference between the two almost made you giggle, where san and chan stood next to them. the four weren’t speaking, but holding their drinks and watching the performance instead, all shooting you a warm look when you caught their eyes. 

you turned to jisung, “can you do me a favor?” he nodded, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “can you hold my drink while i take my jacket off, please?” 

he nodded again and you handed him your can, slightly struggling to get your jacket off over your sleeves. when you got it off, you threw it over your forearm, and jisung handed you your can back. 

“do you, uh– want me to hold your jacket?” he asked, his eyes wide and sparkling– his tone seemed unsure of his own words, but he still said them. 

“no, no, don’t worry about it,” you beamed, “thank you.”

as the next song started to play, a few strums of the guitar woke up the crowd, screams erupting around you. one of the screams had come from yeosang, who had his hands shaped in an oval around his mouth, making his yell that much louder.

you giggled and turned back to jisung who was also smiling in yeosang’s direction, “he really likes still woozy.”

“i would’ve never guessed,” he says sarcastically, his smile never dropping. “you seem to like them, too.” 

“i do, but not as much as yeo. he should be up at the barricade,” you point your chin in the direction of the front of the stage. 

“i think jeongin should go with him,” jisung shrugs, “they seem to be a pair.”

“by the end of the night someone will have to rip yeo off of him,” you joke, and jisung laughs. a soft chuckle, but you sense a wall come down, another shred of confidence popping through his reserved demeanor. you smile. 

“what about you?” jisung asks, eyes still moon-shaped, as if he was scared to ask the question. 

your eyebrows furrow, head tilting to the side, “what about me?”

“chan said you had a boyfriend, he isn't here?” jisung’s lips form a line as if he was scared to hear the answer, your face immediately mimics his, but for an entirely different reason. you didn’t think jisung knew about mingyu, unless chan filled him in and didn’t tell you. you hadn’t filled chan in on the recent developments concerning mingyu, either. 

“i don’t have a boyfriend, i’m not seeing anyone,” you shake your head and turn to the stage. jisung felt the shift in mood, stepping forward, into your view. 

“sorry if i overstepped,” he shook his head, “chan said–”

“chan didn’t know, doesn’t know, you're fine,” you give him a weak smile, and the conversation runs flat. you took the last swig of your surfside– you needed this feeling gone, as if mingyu never happened in the first place. 

“do you want another drink?” jisung asks as soon as the can leaves your lips, “my treat.” 

you give him a singular nod, and before you could process it, jisung was leading you through the pack of people. you didn’t tell a soul where you were going, you walked right through the wall of boys as if they were waiting for you to run off with jisung. where the crowd was more condensed, jisung took a pause, making you stop in your tracks behind him. 

“gimme this,” he muttered as he grabbed your jacket and your empty can, then took your hand with his free one. “stay close to me.” 

your cheeks flushed as you nodded, the heat that was already consuming your entire being only grew in temperature. maybe he’s the type that’s only shy at first. your eyes stayed trained on your linked fingers, his hands were soft, calluses on the tips of his fingers that laid over your knuckles. 

“do you play guitar?” you asked as you made it to the outskirts of the crowd, jisung took a pause that had you flipping his hand over, inspecting the tougher skin atop his fingers. 

“uh— yes,” you glance up, his cheeks pink, the ends of his curls lying along the frames of his glasses. “i make music, i’m studying composing, songwriting, all that stuff.” 

“chan told me,” you smile as you let his fingers go, nearing the feeling of cuteness aggression the more you look at him. all you could muster was a breathy “that’s cool”.

his smile grew and he tugged on your hand again, rough fingertips laid on your knuckles once more as he pulled you towards the bar. behind it was a man who you, at first, couldn’t believe was a bartender— black hair that touched his broad shoulders, a slender figure with a muscular structure that seemed too curated for bartending to be his career. a black long sleeve shirt clung to every inch of him, baggy jeans that hung loose on his hips, an outfit you’d definitely be taking inspiration from. 

his face was nothing short of beautiful, plump lips, a white smile that sparkled when he asked what you’d be drinking. 

jisung turned to you with an eyebrow raised, a questioning look. you cleared your throat, “a surfside, please.” 

“miller, please,” jisung nodded towards him and the bartender shot you another smile before he was opening your cans. you were mesmerized as he grabbed the bar key with nimble fingers, cracking the tab with practiced movements, a speed that told you maybe this was his full time career. 

jisung paid as promised and you took your time making it back to stage C happily with small talk and a lazy stride, choosing to hang at the back of the crowd instead of fighting towards the middle where you stood before. 

jisung’s presence had enveloped your mind quicker than you thought it would, once you broke the ice it was easier to talk to him, speaking as freely as you would with someone who’d been your friend way longer than just a day. you didn’t talk of anything personal, not school, your family, your friends, your interests, your intentions, but instead small talk that came too easily, standing close while you swayed to goodie bag. 

it was comfortable— it wasn’t forced, it wasn’t staged, it wasn’t planned. it wasn’t even obvious that jisung was interested in you, there were no pickup lines, no quick-witted flirting, yet you knew and you might even like it. maybe what you need right now is simplicity. 

when your friends came out of the crowd in laughter and giddy smiles, you felt lighter, the energy around you felt brighter, the air felt clearer, you almost forgot you walked into the venue miserable. with TV girl playing shortly at another stage, there was no time to stand and talk, you and jisung quickly slipped into the crowd of your friend group mid-conversation as if you never ran off in the first place. 

“what’s your guys’ favorite song?” yeosang asked the group, bouncing on his feet as you approached the already formed crowd, jeongin at his side. 

“the whole french exit album,” you were first to answer. “birds don’t sing, louise, lover’s rock, the blonde.” 

“tiny’s a romantic,” you heard san announce, and it brings a smile to your face— whether it was sarcasm or a dig you didn’t care, maybe now you were a romantic. “i only know lover’s rock.” 

“tiny?” jisung asks, turning to you, an eyebrow raised. “that’s you?” 

“unfortunately,” you nod, “been tiny since the womb, practically.” 

“fitting,” jisung smacks his lips together and flattens his brows in contemplation then quickly to understanding— you couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed. 

jihoon turns to chan, “you listen to TV girl a lot, right?” 

chan nods towards him, “you should know more than lover’s rock, i play their music all the time at home. better in the dark?” he glances around to empty stares, he raises his eyebrows with expectancy and sings, “the lighter makes a spark, but i look better in the dark.” 

jisung, jihoon and jeongin all simultaneously release a dragged out “oh” in remembrance, and chan rolls his eyes. he turns to you, “they don’t remember shit. too much weed, they smoke.” 

you giggle, then tilt your head to the side, an idea coming to mind. “did anyone bring any?” 

jihoon shoots you a lazy smile, “of course i did, you smoke?” 

you shake your head, “not particularly, but i’m down to.” 

jihoon reaches into his pocket, pulling out a black leather wallet, several joints tucked into one of the folds. he plucks one out, wasting no time as he holds it between his fingers, your group tightens its circle around jihoon as if he was holding gold. 

yunho eyed you from the opposite side of the circle, where you were standing between chan and jisung, he was between san and jihoon. his eyes were observing, debating, a pointed look that forced you to notice it. you shrugged him off, smoking at a music festival just felt right— you didn’t want or need him to parent you, even if you had been drinking already. 

jihoon was quick to light the twisted end of the joint, the red hot flame of his black lighter was enough to color all of your faces an amber hue. you stood like kids, huddled around jihoon like he had a secret to tell, where he took three puffs of the joint to get it burning. your eyes widened as you watched his technique, how he blew on the end of the joint to keep it burning evenly, pink lips tightened to a perfect O shape– a gorgeous sight. 

the circle opens up as you begin passing, a sweet melody in your ear and a pungent smell in your nose, forcing your body into moving to the beat. jisung, beside you, sways his hips in the same motion as yours, a fit of giggles erupting from your lungs as you move in unison. too focused on jisung, you didn’t realize chan was holding the joint out to you. 

you inhaled slowly, you hadn’t smoked since the last time you were at the frats, that had been months ago. you knew the basics, you kept your hits of the joint small, especially since you had a few drinks in you, you were never really a smoker. socially, in the kitchen of a massive frat house, or on the balcony of the only person you consistently hooked up with at school, that only lasted just shy of a month.  

the burn in your lungs and the cough that fought to break through your lips felt nostalgic, you felt so light you could float up to the clouded night sky. immediately immersed into a sense of calm, like stepping into a bath of warm water, you smiled as you passed the joint to jisung. every bone in your body told you you needed that. 

your ears perked to the conversation happening around you, yeosang, san and jeongin in some sort of debate, the joint had made its way to yunho by now. you could feel everything slow down, your eyes hooding, sitting at half mast just from two hits. 

“ah,” jisung tilts his head back in delight, “that strain fucks, hoon.” you couldn’t stop the small giggle from leaving you at fucks.

jihoon smiles, confident as ever, “right?” he looks around the group before he adds, “i grew it myself.” 

san’s jaw drops as he takes the joint from yunho, “you grow it?” 

“right in my backyard,” jihoon nods, “it’s better that way.” 

you check out of the conversation, your focus back on the crowd, not a thought in your brain, yet instead paying attention to the hues of blue and pink that lay over the crowd like blankets. you could see backs of heads and nothing more, shaded eyes not quite reaching the stage, but the light show that cascaded over the mass of people was enough. 

you almost didn’t notice the presence next to you, you hadn’t even realized you moved, as jisung planted his feet directly next to yours, your neck nearly snapped up in surprise. 

“so pretty,” he says, eyes glazed over as they stared out into the crowd, his thoughts probably matched yours. 

“the lights?” you asked, flipping your sunglasses atop your head so you could see clearer.

“you mainly,” he looks down to you and you meet his eyes, not missing the pink that kissed his cheeks, “but yeah, i guess the lights, too.” 

your own cheeks flush– this was the first he was showing interest. you smile through a giggle, “that was smooth, jisung.”

“wanna get closer?” he asks you, reaching for your hand again before you had a moment to answer. 

as he pulled you along, you asked, “are you sure you don’t want to keep smoking?” 

he looks over his shoulder and it nearly takes your breath away, he’s so cute you think you’d follow him around all night, especially if he keeps looking at you like that. as if he’d go anywhere with you, as if he didn’t care about anything else, you saw his feelings in his eyes. he was into you. he smiles, “do you?”

“let’s go,” you nod your head and pull your sunglasses over your eyes again, headed behind jisung into the crowd that was packed like sardines. mumbles of ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’ left him as he cut through people, keeping you close to him with a firm grip on your hand, you could feel the calluses on your knuckles so much more. 

when you made it somewhat towards the middle, a pocket of space amongst the crowd, jisung finally stopped and turned to you for approval. you put your sunglasses atop your head again, tucking your hair behind your ears, your view was so much better now. 

the music was louder, the lights were clearer, now it was just you and jisung– you weren’t sure if you were at the festival anymore or if you were up in the clouds. the only thing that could make this better would be if you could actually see the stage. you wish yunho had followed you.

as if he heard your thoughts, jisung’s voice was loud when he asked, “can you see?” 

you shook your head, “the lights are so pretty, it doesn’t even matter.” 

“you're going to think i’m crazy, don’t think i'm crazy,” he prefaces, bracing himself for rejection with a shy smile, “do you want to get on my shoulders?” 

you laugh in disbelief, loudly, looking at him with wide eyes and jaw slack. he raises his eyebrows, “you’re tiny, right?”

“i am tiny but not like that,” you wave your free hand in front of you, “i don’t want to hurt you.” 

he rolls his eyes with a cocky smile, “if you could see what was under the hoodie you wouldn’t be saying that.” 

your eyes widen impossibly further, that was the last thing you expected to leave his lips. a smirk appears on your own, “oh, now you’re confident, huh?” 

“is it working?” 

“maybe.” 

“then get on,” he squats down, your jacket still folded over his forearm but he’s careful not to let it touch the ground. you suck in a breath– this could go one of two ways, especially since you both drank and smoked, either you’ll have an incredible view or everyone will watch you fall to the dirt. 

fuck it. 

you swing a denim covered leg around his neck, slightly hopping up to straddle his nape. you giggle as you do, the action was almost sobering, the amount of focus it took you to balance. as he stood up your hands flew to his curls, the only thing you could think to grab onto to steady yourself, a slew of apologies leaving your lips after you accidentally tugged. 

“jisung!” you yelled, “i didn’t know what else to grab.” 

you could hear the shake of his shoulders as he laughed beneath your thighs, “i could make a terrible joke right now, but i’m not going to.” 

it takes you a moment to catch on, but when you do, you laugh. “nothing but a man.” 

“a man that has you on his shoulders,” he bites back, “enjoy the show.” 

you finally looked up and the stage was finally clear– shrouded in blue light, the members visible, the music so loud– it was nothing short of exhilarating. the thought crosses your mind that maybe this was what yunho was talking about, being in your twenties and experiencing, you don’t know if you would have ever made it onto mingyu’s shoulders in the crowd of a TV girl concert. you guess you’ll never know, and for the first time since wednesday, the thought didn’t fill you with dread - you supposed you have vodka and weed to thank.

instead you screamed– an excited scream, for the band, for the show, for how fucking good their music is. definitely high, more than a little drunk and nearly seven feet in the air, you were positive your night couldn’t get any better. there was nothing better than this. 

“hey!” you heard from beneath you, stealing your attention fully. jisung turns to the side, which turns you to the side, your entire friend group beneath you with wide grins and red, glossed over eyes. 

“hey guys!” you yelled back, your smile reaching ear to ear, “i’m up here!”

“we see you,” yeosang is smiling, “how’s the view?”

“incredible,” you’re gleaming, “this is so fucking cool!” 

san, yeosang and yunho all watch you with soft eyes, warmth in their bodies, you could read their emotions from their faces— superpowers only granted to those who have been friends for two decades. the other three boys stared at you with something like surprise on their faces, for that you could only guess what for, and you didn’t have the brain power to think that deeply about anything right now. you caught chan and yunho locking eyes, yunho shooting chan a dry nod as if to say ‘i told you so’.

you cocked your head to the side for a moment before the thought was gone. you take a sip from your surfside, this one going down much slower than the last ones, and ask the group, “do we have any more weed?” 

“i don’t think you need any more,” san says through an amused smile, with a small shake of his head. he was done being a drama queen. “you’ll fall off the boy’s shoulders.”

“yunho’s here,” you shrug, “he’ll catch me. did you guys know yunho is actually spiderman?” a fit of giggles slips through your lips, your head falling back in laughter. it throws your balance off, making jisung take a step back, and the whole six of them lunge forward. you grab onto jisung’s curls again, stabilizing yourself, “whoa, sorry, i’m getting too comfortable up here.” 

“you should get down,” yunho says with concern as the group walks forward, making something like a crowd around you and jisung without it being obvious it’s to catch you if you fall. “you’re fucked up, teens, you’ll fall.” 

“boo,” you frown, throwing a thumbs down in yunho’s direction. “i like it up here. did you forget you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore?” 

yunho’s jaw tightens, his eyebrows flattening. he chooses not to answer, instead yeosang steps in, saying your actual name in a warning tone. 

“what?” you ask, dumbfounded, “i just wanna watch the show.” 

you bring your attention back to the stage, one hand in jisung’s hair, mindlessly twirling chocolate covered curls around your finger as the other hand brings your surfside back to your lips. you missed the way yeosang, san and yunho shared a look, how the three of them began to realize where tonight was headed, none of them looking forward to it. 

when TV girl’s set ended you were back on the ground, staying close to jisung’s side as you walked toward stage B, excitement flooding you that jungle was next. 

“i can’t wait,” you bounced next to jisung, a wide smile on your face, “do you like jungle?” 

“love jungle,” he nodded, “back on 74? banger.” 

“my favorite is i’ve been in love,” you beam, “i know every word, i think there was a three day period where all i listened to was that song.”

“three days of one song?” he looked at you with raised eyebrows and eyes that looked like the moon hung above you, full and bright, “i would lose my mind.” 

“we listen to music differently, though,” you counter, “i bet you hear a bunch of stuff i don’t. how it’s made, background stuff, lyrics, i just like it when a song sounds good.” 

he smiles, “music’s heard differently by everyone, that’s the cool thing about it. i couldn’t live without it.” 

you groan, “a world without music?” you emphasized your words dramatically, hopefully to humor the boy who knew more about music than you ever would, “that’s called hell.” 

he laughs loudly, hunching forward a bit to catch his mouth with his hand, “i can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.” 

“i’m serious!” you laugh too, accidentally stepping over your foot and bumping into his side, “sorry. but i am serious, i couldn’t live in a world where music didn’t exist.” 

you step into the line for the bar without even thinking or discussing that you would, you didn’t know where everyone else had gone. something about the food trucks by the main entrance. 

“have you been friends with them for a long time?” jisung asks, moving in front of you, and your eyes glaze over his figure. his clothes fit him so nicely, his hoodie perfectly oversized, jeans lying over the laces of his sneakers at just the right spot. “you seem like you’ve been friends forever.” 

“ever since i can remember, they’ve been in my life,” you nod with a smile, head tilting to the side. your eyes felt heavy. “they’re my brothers, basically.” 

“i only have one older brother,” his lips form a tight smile, “must be nice to have three.”

“four,” you correct him, stepping forward in line, “i have an actual brother, he’s my twin.”

“and you’re all friends?”

“our parents are close friends, so naturally we are, too,” you nod. wanting to change the subject, with a devilish smile you ask, “should we get shots?”

jisung lets out a huff of amusement through his nose, “can you handle shots?” 

“i fear i might need shots,” you say through a breath, you felt like you were slowing down. if you slowed down any further, the sadness would creep back in. “i’ll get this round.” 

he looks at you inquisitively, like he wanted to ask but didn’t know if he should. instead he waves you off and says, “nah, i’ll get them, if you need one so badly.”

you smile and lightly slap his bicep, “now you’re making me sound like an alcoholic, it’s just been a tough week.” 

he nods as you step forward again, one group in front of you in line. “i can understand that, this is good timing, then. the festival, and me.” 

your head snaps up to look at him like a deer caught in headlights, fumbling over your words, “no– i–”

“don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head, “let’s just have fun.” 

you take a second to close your mouth, and nod with a weak smile. he orders you tequila shots and hard liquor drinks this time– go big or go home, his words. as you sipped through a tiny straw on your way back to stage B, you realized he was right, shots and a drink drink were much needed– go big or go home, indeed. your brain was even foggier as you approached the dark stage, jungle wasn’t playing just yet, but you could see small shadows of people setting up the stage from the back of the crowd. 

“should we go up there?” you ask jisung, referring to the crowd, slurring your words ever so slightly. 

the corner of his lips lifted up into a smile, his eyes glossed over just like your own, he’s keeping up with you. “i think we should definitely go up there.”

fingers linked again, pressing through bodies in the crowd, the rest of your friends weren’t a thought in your brain. a wide smile on your face, all you could think was jisung and jungle. he was the perfect person to rip you out of whatever funk you were in. 

jisung got you both closer than you’d been the entire time you were at the festival, it was condensed but not as packed as the first twenty rows of people– you still had wiggle room. he tugged on your hand to bring you even closer to the stage, but you didn’t feel like being a sardine, you had pulled his back to keep you both in the spot you deemed perfect. he’d pulled his phone out to take a picture of the stage, most likely to send to one of his friends to let them know where you were, but you kept your phone in your purse, selfishly hoping they wouldn’t find you. you just wanted to be, here with jisung, watching the show together. 

as the lights came on, screams erupted from around you, also from you and jisung. the crowd collapsed inward, pushing you into the people in front of you– a meek yelp left your lips as people behind you pushed into you. jisung was quick to grab your wrist and pull you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your front over your shoulders, laying one wrist over another in front of you. 

you tilt your head up, fear still lingering in your eyes from almost getting crushed, “thank you.” 

he gave you a tight lipped smile and you swooned. his hoodie was so soft, so warm, his arms wrapped around you made you feel safe, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. your back pressed to his front, your head laid back on his chest right under his chin, your fuzzy brain wouldn’t let you stop smiling. jungle opened with back on 74 and both you and jisung sang along with the rest of the crowd, swaying side to side, your heads tilted upward to watch the stage. 

you weren’t careful of how much you leaned into him, you couldn’t, that power left you a drink and a shot ago. you completely relied on jisung’s strength to keep you held up as you relinquished the little core strength you had, your fingers on one hand gripping your jacket laid on his forearm, the other holding your drink. his body was sturdy, strong, it felt good pressed against you. your lips stretched to one side, the alcohol was hitting you more than you thought it would– from how often you’d been getting laid, you’d worked up something like a routine with your body, and here jisung was. 

“you comfortable?” he asked in your ear, deep voice sending vibrations through your entire body. 

you answered with a mhm that came deep in your soul, you were more than comfortable– you wanted him. 

your mind travelled as jungle played through their setlist, three songs deep now, you began to wonder if jisung wanted you, too. you tested the waters, pressing your back into him a little harder, but he stayed solid. you rolled your head to the side, let your fingers travel up and down his cotton clad arm, humming along to the song playing. 

his hands finally moved, fingers traveling down to your waist, to your hips, moving with you. a smile grew on your lips as you kept swaying to the music, body still pressed against him– you should be embarrassed with the amount of people around you, they could be watching you, eyes glued to the way your hips were moving on jisung. the thought was fleeting, you didn’t care– jisung, wanted you, too, that’s all that mattered. 

jisung and jungle.

his head came down to reach your ear again, “you know what you’re doing, right?” 

you smiled, an innocent one that he couldn’t see, “you said let’s have fun.” 

he laughed from behind you, a quick chuckle that had your neck bending to look up at him. his smile was intoxicating if you weren’t already, his lips so pink and plump, you wondered what they tasted like. he caught your eyes, seeming like he could read your mind, but he caught your eyes as they dipped down to his mouth and back up at his own. that only meant one thing.

something unreadable crossed his face before he was leaning down, attaching his lips to yours. his speed took you by surprise, as if he mentally said fuck it, but you were even quicker to reciprocate. opening your mouth ever so slightly you deepened the kiss, warmth spreading across your body, momentarily giving you reprieve before the awkward angle and the urge to have more of him consumed you. 

your drink fell to the dirt before your hands came up to cup his cheeks, body completely turning to face him so that your front pressed to his instead. his hands came to your hips again, planted firmly against your jeans, the tips of cold pinkies slipping underneath your hoodie, the chill of his fingers making you shiver. 

it was electric– it was exactly what you needed. your favorite band playing in the background, kissing a boy you’d only met today, this is what yunho was talking about. this was being twenty two, living, experiencing, doing things for the fuck of it… you were starting to hate when he was right. 

“hey,” he said between kisses, making you pull away, catching your breath. a hand came up to wipe at your wet bottom lip as he pressed his curl covered forehead against yours, your breaths still coming out uneven. his eyes were darker, even more glazed over, you wondered how that was even possible. he smiled, that same smile that just did you in moments prior, “i like you.” 

you didn’t miss a beat as you said, “then keep kissing me,” and found his lips again. 

he took a hand up to your jaw, tilting your head back, tongue slipping through your lips. you moaned, not a care in the world for the people around you. you would’ve asked him to take you in a port a potty if you weren’t interrupted a moment after. 

“damn,” you wouldn’t have bat an eye if it didn’t come from a voice you recognized. chan was giggling as he got closer to you, “i don’t know how we even recognized you, if you got any closer you might’ve merged into one.” 

you literally jumped, cheeks flushing as if you were a child getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to. chan wore the widest smirk on his red cheeks and you couldn’t help but scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. a grumble left your lips, “cockblocker.” 

following him were the rest of the boys one by one, slipping through spaces in the crowd to take their places around you as if they’d been searching for you. out of breath, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed as you and jisung took a step closer to one another again. you caught his eye, he wore the same look you did– horny, frustrated, disappointed. 

after your shared look you bit your lip out of annoyance, then your eyebrows shot to your hairline as you brought your empty palms out in front of you. you looked up to jisung, “where did my drink go?!”

jisung threw his head back in laughter before he pointed to the ground, your now empty cup crushed and covered in dirt. you pouted, “i dropped it?” 

“you don’t even remember?” he was still giggling, hand covering his mouth, the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

“here,” chan said, pushing his cup into your hand– whiskey, neat. you stared at the cup in your hand, face immediately falling, eyebrows furrowing and not because you didn’t like whiskey. you looked back up to chan and his eyes widened, hand lurching forward to grab it from your hands. “my bad, i’m sorry, ohmygod.”

another drink replaced its spot in your hand, a surfside, freshly cracked, still cold. you looked up to yunho in front of you, the one who put it in your hands, and he gave you a warm smile. “better, right?” 

“much, thank you,” a smile replaced your frown as you took a sip, body whipping around to watch jungle again. a heavy hand rested on your shoulder, yunho standing directly behind you. 

he bent down to your ear, much like how jisung did minutes ago, his voice lowered as he said, “pretend we’re not even here.” 

you thanked him with your eyes, body moving before you could process it, skipping to your spot in front of jisung again, where he immediately laid his arms over your shoulders. you hung your head forward, looking around for your group, jeongin and yeosang were holding hands now, san and chan standing too close for that to be nothing, yunho and jihoon silently watching the band. 

you smiled to yourself– despite being annoyed by their interruption, chan damn near pulling you off of jisung, you liked this. you liked chan’s friends being with yours, a blend of people you never would’ve expected hanging out, and enjoying it on top of it all. you wouldn’t mind if you did this more. 

as the familiar tune of i’ve been in love reverberates throughout the crowd, you gasp. “jisung!” you exclaim, your smile massive as you look up at him, “they’re playing it!” 

he beams, eyes full of warmth as he looks down at you, “they knew you were here.” 

you start rapping along, head leaning back onto jisung’s chest. to your surprise, he raps along with you, the two of you going word for word with the band. you looked up to him with shock written all over your face, the two of you getting louder as realization set in, as the song continued. you couldn’t help the stupid smile that you couldn’t wipe off your face, not that you tried– not that you even wanted to try. 

as the song nears its end, you thought over yunho’s words again. pretend we’re not even here.

if they weren’t here, you never would’ve stopped kissing jisung– you already missed his lips on yours. you tilted your head up, doe eyes to doe eyes, jisung was already staring back down at you. you smiled as you glanced down to his lips, a question on your own, one you didn’t have to ask because he wanted it, too. 

warm and soft, already slick with his spit, you could focus on how he felt this time instead of your drunken need overpowering your senses. with newfound clarity, the outcome was just as damning, getting lost in jisung’s lips was just as easy as the first time. keeping a loose hold on your can, you swung your body to face him without breaking the kiss, your other arm wrapping around his shoulder. 

“you’re so hot,” he mumbles into your lips, hands traveling up to your waist, beneath your hoodie. a chill racked through you as a soft noise left your lips, too gone to answer, too lost in the way he made you feel, the temperature of his fingertips against your skin. 

“leave with us, stay over tonight,” a statement that was also a question, jisung’s voice was heavy, a depth to it told you he needed you just as bad. 

“maybe,” you kissed him again, your voice airy, not here nor there. your surroundings had left you— it was only you and jisung in that moment, that’s all you cared about. you couldn’t think about after, you couldn’t think about mere minutes from now, all you could think was how you never wanted his lips to leave yours. 

you missed how yunho watched from his peripherals, how his eyebrows flattened, how his lips formed to a thin line. he couldn’t focus on the band in front of him, he knew you loved them, which made him love them, too, yet you weren’t even paying attention. yunho was dumbfounded— with you, with himself, with his own emotions— he didn’t know what to do. 

after decades of knowing you, his bright eyed, favorite girl, he didn’t think there was this much of you left to figure out. he’s watched you grow up, he himself grew up alongside you, he’s seen you through every phase, every change, but nothing could’ve prepared him for this one. 

random hookups throughout high school, college, none of that actually mattered— you already consumed his mind day and night, but after you started dating, he picked himself apart piece by piece, hoping to realize what you didn’t see in him. 

yunho looked to his left, yeosang was kissing jeongin now. that didn’t take him by surprise. 

yunho looked to his right, san was looking at chan with a hunger yunho had never seen in his eyes before. that should've been more surprising than it was. 

in front of the two boys were you and jisung, that made yunho want to crawl out of his skin. he saw you kissing him moments prior, he even told you to do so in other words, for a moment yunho thought maybe he was a masochist. a glutton for pain, for torture, whatever this feeling was as he stared at you, eyes closed, fingers tangled in that boy’s hair. 

yunho had to let go. he’d already fucked up, he’d already let too many of his feelings slip through the reins of his self restraint, he’s already endured you screaming in his face once, he’d die before he hurt you enough to do it again. he told himself this is just another phase, another change, you’ll come out of it smarter, more experienced, different. he can’t help but be a little scared that you’ll actually succeed in finding a boyfriend. 

as your face detaches from jisung’s to take a breather, yunho can see your glazed over eyes, your expression that read all of nothing, you’d been drinking for hours now without a morsel of food in your stomach. he’s seen you drunk, hammered, hurled over a toilet for hours on end— but you looked happy, which you haven’t in days, yunho didn’t want to interrupt but he didn’t want you throwing up in the dirt, either. 

yunho was at a crossroads. as jungle wrapped up their set and you unwrapped yourself from jisung’s embrace, your face changed, the knit of your eyebrow told him something wasn’t right. he was quick on his feet, two long strides had him at your side, asking you what’s wrong. 

“i dunno,” you mumbled, eyebrows furrowing, your free hand coming up to your face, cold palm pressed against your hot cheek. even through your mask of inebriation, he knew that look, he could read it all over you— this wasn’t about the boy, this was about mingyu. 

“let’s go home,” yunho bent down, level with your face to look into your eyes, he could see the tears before they formed. it put a knot in his stomach. 

“okay,” your voice was strained, raw. yunho felt like he’d been punched in the gut. he should've told you not to smoke, especially after drinking so much, he shouldn’t have brought you that last drink— he should’ve warned you that drinking wouldn’t fix anything. 

he looked up to jisung whose eyes were wide, eyebrows raised in confusion and concern. his voice was raised in pitch as he asked, “is she okay?”

yunho nodded quickly, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed to say she’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. your face hit his chest and he wished he could physically stop his heartbeat from quickening. years of loving you, spending time with you, being close to you, touching you— he always reacted the same. 

chan bounced over, worry in his voice, “hey, hey, hey,” he placed his hand on your back and it took every ounce of strength yunho had to not pull you away, but since chan is your friend, he’d allow it. chan leaned closer, “you okay?” 

you picked your head up to look at him, yunho couldn’t see your face but the look on chan’s told him enough, his eyebrows furrowed even further with worry. “did jisung—”

“no,” you sniffed, “it’s not jisung, just needa go home,” you slurred, shaking your head, “drank too much.” 

chan, who had heard the whole story from san earlier while waiting in line for the bar, looked up to yunho in understanding. for only knowing you a short time, he seemed to know a lot about you. yunho didn’t have the time to dissect the thought. 

yunho lifted his head up, yeosang and san already looking at him, at you, concern living in the crinkle between their eyebrows. yeosang stepped forward and yunho shook his head, knowing you’d be mortified in the morning if this became a bigger deal than it needed to be. 

“you ready to go home?” yunho tipped his chin upward in the direction of his two friends, keeping you tucked under his elbow in front of him. 

san and yeosang nodded silently, he watched as yeosang pecked jeongin goodbye, as san began walking away without another word to chan. for you, they’d do anything, they’d drop anything— it didn’t matter. 

“will you guys be okay getting home?” chan asked yunho, shoulders back, chin tilted up. 

“yeah, you?” yunho answered, already turning on his heel, barely giving chan time to respond. he needed you out of here, out of the crowd, he needed to get you air.

“tell her to call me when she feels better,” chan calls behind you, and san responds, but yunho barely hears him. 

the group of them shuffled through the crowd— why were they so deep in, anyways?— tucked under his left armpit, yunho was basically dragging you through the dirt. you were slumped into his side, mumbling something, feet barely carrying you. he debated putting you on his back. 

“what are you saying, tiny?” yeosang asked, just a step behind you, closer to your ear than yunho was. 

“my jacket,” you said a little louder, strain on your voice, “jisung has it.” a sob leaves your lips and yunho almost smiles, the fact that your jacket was the icing on the cake is so you. even completely done up you stayed unapologetically yourself. 

“should we call ace?” san asked from yunho’s other side, his eyebrows still knitted together. 

“what the hell is ace gonna do?” yunho replied, his tone curt, “let him have his weekend with reia, he doesn’t need to know. tiny will be fine.”

as you got to the outskirts of the crowd, yunho was bending down in front of you, his arms reaching behind him to hoist you onto his back. you were a deadweight, head slumped over his shoulder, arms limp around his neck. he carried you through the venue towards the main entrance without a word. 

you groaned when you finally reached the parking lot, followed by, “yun, i don’t feel good.” 

“ah, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, coming to a stop. “can you wait until we get home?” 

“put me down now,” you said hurriedly, fear apparent in your tone, and yunho bent down right away, standing back up when your sneakers hit the pavement. you crouched down, yeosang had caught it before yunho did— he stood behind you, your hair wrapped into a ponytail in yeosang’s fist as you emptied the contents of your stomach where yunho had just been standing. 

the four of you didn’t say another word until you were five minutes away from your house, the drive spent in silence— you’d spent it with your head halfway out the window, your sunglasses halfway down your nose, eyes shut. if it weren’t for the tears that streamed down your face every now and then, yunho would’ve assumed you were already knocked out.

“should i call him?” you asked the car, everyone already knew who, eyes still closed as you sat back in the cushioned seat. “i miss him, jisung was nothing like him. i wish he was there.”  

yunho was lucky you couldn’t see him— he physically winced at your drunken words. san eyed him from the passenger seat, but he paid his friend no mind. 

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, teens,” yeosang said calmly from the backseat, sitting close to your side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. yunho watched as you laid your head on him, you didn’t answer him— maybe you fell asleep. he hoped you did. 

san carried you inside your house bridal style and laid you on your unmade bed, but yeosang was the one who had dressed you for bed. it became his responsibility the few times he’s had to do it— an unspoken rule amongst you. 

after a hot shower, yunho decided to check on you once more before heading to the guest room for bed. you were sitting over the side of your bed, eyes closed, chugging water from the bottle he’d placed on your nightstand. he only peeked his head in, but you caught him. 

“yunho?” you asked weakly, your voice small. 

he cursed under his breath, but he inched forward, coming into view. he looked around, clothes were strewn about your floor, clothes hanging out of the hamper— he didn’t realize until then how upset you really were. “you okay, teens?” 

you mumbled a mhm then laid back on your sheets, head falling onto your pillows. you turned your head to look at him, eyes crescents, “why can’t i find anyone that’s good for me?”

yunho sighed and walked forward, sitting at the edge of your bed. “you will.” 

“kissing jisung didn’t make me feel any better about mingyu,” you paused, yunho didn’t know if you’d continue. your lip trembled, “he was good for me.” 

yunho pulled his lips into a line— as much as he hated hearing it, if that's how you felt, he wouldn’t argue with you anymore. “why don’t you try calling him tomorrow?”

you whined, then closed your eyes, pulling your duvet over your body, up to your neck. “i’m tired of being mad at you.” 

yunho smiles at that— “i’m sorry i made you mad at me.” 

“will you stay with me tonight?” 

yunho’s eyes shoot open, his lips parting, his mind running a mile a minute. “what?”

“please,” you opened your eyes a little wider, they were still glassy— he was scared you might cry again if he said no, not that he wanted to say no. 

he couldn’t ask why, he couldn’t ask any questions at all. as you pulled up the corner of your duvet, in his tee shirt, all he could muster was “okay.” 

that was a lot, if ur still here i love u. tell me how u feel so i don't lose my mind pls

8fd masterlist | main masterlist

tags: @chimivx @emmxxsworld @alisonyus @livixcore @skzswife @dawn-iscozy @yusalterego @velvetring00 @minvxq @moonlightgrleric

[sikayeto]

Thanks Darling! So about that request? Could you write about one of the 141 boys, confessing their love to the reader? 😊

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ Lucky ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

[ kyle "gaz" garrick x reader ]

[tw: none, all fluff]

[requested: @/missvanta-xoxo]

[summary: Kyle is always there when you need him]

[a/n: The prompt kind of got away from me with this one, but I hope you still like it! Thank you for being my very first ever request <3 First ever work on tumblr, yay!]

⊹₊⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹ ⊹₊ ˚‧

“What are you starin’ at love?” Kyle asks with furrowed eyebrows, angling his body in front of you to focus on him. Sitting across from him at your favourite cafe, you spotted an elderly couple cuddled next to each other on a nearby bench that looks across a small pond. 

“That couple over there,” you raise a finger to point them out. “They look so sweet. I wish I had that.” 

If you had been paying attention to Kyle, you would have noticed a flash of sadness appear for a second on his face. Missed just slightly by your longing for what was in front of you. Turning back to look at him, instead you see the reassuring smile he’s placed on his face. You’ve gone through this song and dance for what seems like forever, it’s what made him such a great friend. You voice a concern, and you know what he’s always going to say next. That’s what you love about Kyle, he’s predictable, stable. He’s going to say, “Don’t worry,” next.

He places a hand on top of yours on the table, “Don’t worry love”, his thumb gently caressing your skin. 

After, he reassures you. Tells you it’s not your fault if you find yourself in conflict against someone. Provides advice on what you should decide or do next. Gives you compliments you don’t bother disputing anymore. Always, always on your side, no matter what. You think if you killed someone, accidentally or not, he would say that they probably deserved it. And offer to dump the body for you. 

“You’ll have that one day,” he says with such conviction, “Anyone would be so incredibly lucky to have you”.

His gaze feels intense and invasive during these moments. As if he’s been brainwashed and he’s trying to brainwash you too. You think that, to him, there is no conceivable reality or possibility in which you don’t find that kind of love. That anybody would actually be so incredibly lucky to have and hold you. The way archeologists hold artifacts so fragile, yet so full of mystery and wonder. How his hand still encompasses and caresses yours. 

Finally, you silently agree. A nod, a hug, a grasp of a hand. You don’t need to say anything for him to know that you listened, acknowledged, and agreed. Advice was asked to the devil, he responded. There’s no backing out of this deal now, or ever. 

Taking your hand back from his, and placing your palm on your cheek. Leaning your elbow on the table, you can feel the lingering heat from his hand. You look to Kyle, sigh, and smile. 

- - -

The door slams shut and your first instinct is to call Kyle. There’s pressure in your chest, you think it’s coming from your heart. It spreads from your chest to your throat, nose, and eyes. A dam about to burst. You can hardly breath, chocking on the sobs that break free from your mouth. Eyes welled shut in a poor attempt to stop the tears that are overflowing. You feel like a pathetic mess, and you want Kyle. 

With blurry vision, you reach for your phone and tap on Kyle’s contact number. First on your recent calls list. As it rings, you lie down on your couch, placing the phone on the cushion next to you. You want Kyle. You want him to take you by the hand and dance with you again.

Left foot forward.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with static, but you could still hear his concern. 

You cried. Couldn’t manage to say any words. Just sobbed over the phone. 

Right foot sideways to the right.

“Don’t worry,” it’s instinct for him at this point. “I’m on my way.” 

Any amount of time could’ve passed, you wouldn’t have known. All you do know is that suddenly a warm familiar presence is felt on your back, rubbing comforting rows. You force yourself to peek at the source of solace that blessed you with their presence. It’s Kyle. Of course, it’s Kyle. 

“Hello, dove.” He greets you with a small smile that’s just devastating. 

That was the smile that told you that everything was going to be okay. Kyle’s here. He has it taken care of. Don’t worry. Don’t worry at all. 

“You lied,” is the whisper that escapes from your chapped lips. Dry as the dessert, you become aware of how thirsty you are. All the fluid having left your body in sad sad rivets.

“About what, love?” Furrowed are his brows anew. Why haven't they gotten stuck like that with how often he worries. About you. Only you. “I can’t help unless you ask for it, my darling, much as I want to”.

The floodgates fill once more behind your eyes. Pressure building up and up again as it once did before. Salty droplets flow again, “You said that I would have that kind of love, but he’s gone, Kyle. He left.”

He lifts you from your depressed slump of a position into his arms. Strong limbs that encompass your fragile delicate frame. Body weakened by heartbreak, grief, and loss. All too sudden and too soon. But he’s here. Kyle is here. And in his arms, you’re protected. Picking up the broken shards, piece by piece until whole once more. He always does. 

Burrowing into the comfort that his torso provides. Would carve a home in his chest if he allowed it. Unaware that you already have. Notes of citrus and pine enter your senses. Synapses start to slow, and you reach Nirvana. Heaven is in the arms of this man. 

With angelic tones he soothes, “Oh love, I’m so sorry this happened. He’s a right prick, yeah? Wouldn’t know a blessing if it hit him in the face. I told you before, anybody would be so lucky to have you. If he can’t see that, then he’s a blind cunt”. 

Left foot to right foot.

You wrap yourself around him, arms reaching towards his shoulder blades. Clinging to his body with yours. With your own arms covering his back, it's as if he has wings. He's flying at this moment. Fear of heights be damned.

- - -

“Kyle-”

Left foot forward.

“Don’t worry, love”

Right foot sideways to the right.

“Okay, Kyle”

Left foot to right foot.

- - -

His lap is surprisingly comfy to use as a head pillow. The TV plays a mystery movie. Kyle loves to try and solve them before the big reveal. You love Kyle. 

When did you start to love Kyle? 

When did you fall in love with him?

Loving Kyle didn’t feel gradual or sudden. It feels like you’ve always loved him. Why now at this moment were you realising it. Why didn’t you see it before? 

Kyle has been there right there in front of you for years. The heartache you could have saved yourself if you weren’t so caught up in your own life. The time and effort wasted on pathetic men who weren’t Kyle. Sweet, perfect, stable Kyle.

Kyle, who's probably not attracted to you at all. Kyle who’s been your best friend for the longest time. Kyle, who you’ve been a terrible friend to. And you say it to him so bluntly.

“I’ve been a terrible friend to you”. Staring at his face for what might be the last time. Memorizing his smile lines, strong nose, the mole above his lip. 

“What do you mean, darling?”, the statement doesn’t even phase him. His attention is still focused on the generic mystery film displayed on the TV.

“I mean, you’re always there when I need you. But I don’t do the same for you. You must resent me at least a little bit. I’ve been such a burden. I’m sorry.”

This stops him. He grabs the remote and hits pause. He’s set on you now. Firm hands gently grasp the sides of your face. Brown eyes that seem to draw you in like a blackhole. 

“You’re wrong. I don’t think you ever really understood how so very lucky people are, to have you in their lives. How lucky I am, to be in your life. See, darling, it’s quite the opposite. In fact, I need you to need me. Having you need me means, I get to be with you, be there for you. And there’s nothing more priceless than that”. 

Slowly sitting up, you turn to face him properly. “Be the luckiest man alive then, and have me”.

His lips are on your before you even know it. Heated hands once again grasping and angling your face to fit his. Like two pieces of a puzzle finally together. Years of yearning, longing, and love pouring into your very being. Fireworks ignite across your nervous system and your vessel is lit aflame. Kissing Kyle is swallowing a supernova.

But humans needs to breath, and so you pull apart, sharing heated breaths across one another’s lips. Foreheads pressed together, nose tips a needle width apart. The rest of your life ahead of you, with the luckiest man alive.

[athetos]

A few other things I’m chewing on from severance s2e2:

Them needing Mark to do ‘Cold Harbor’, to the point that they actually re-hired the others, is pretty big. At first I figured they put Gemma near him just as a silly experiment but now I’m fully convinced it’s because he knew her so well that even as an innie he’s able to subconsciously retain a lot of that and thus is able to sort her brain better than anyone else. She might be the only braindead person they’re trying to revive right now just to prove that it works before they do the founders, so they can’t just abandon the project.

Cobel is going to inevitably team up with mark in the future, I think he’s going to track her down and they’ll have a heart to heart, she’ll reveal why she’s been so invested in his life and their work and team up to take Lumen down. I feel she could be swayed fairly easily into turning against them if the right things were said and she realized they’d never let her get what she wants anyway.

It didn’t occur to me that being severed fucks you over severely if you ever look for another job. Beyond the obvious “most people outside of Lumen think being severed is inhumane and would never hire someone who would agree to it,” you have no fucking job skills! You can’t tell what you did on the job, not because of an NDA, but because you genuinely don’t know. It’s like having a however many months/years long gap in your resume with nothing to show for it, but worse. No wonder Lumen must have a high retention rate for severed employees - you’ll probably come crawling back begging for a job because it’s all you have left.

I have a bad feeling something is going to happen to Devon. The one executive guy overheard them, and I have no doubt that they know she’s the one encouraging Mark to keep looking for Gemma and answers. However, she did also convince him to keep the job, so…

I need more info on outtie Irving so fucking badly. I need to know what he knows. How is he retaining information from his innie? Is it really from sleep deprivation (and Motörhead)? How did he have Burt’s name? What is going onnnn!