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puckinghischier · 5 months ago

Text

Crowded

Luke Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader gets nervous in the crowd, but luke is right there to help her out of it

notes: i’m once again throwing a luke fic out into the world. i saw this request in my inbox and immediately thought of the zach bryan concert the boys just went to. i would literally give anything to attend a concert with them. i just KNOW they’re great concert buddies. sorry it’s kinda short, i just didn’t know how to drag it out any longer. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: from my 400 follower celly - Character A can tell Character B is getting nervous in a big crowd, so A slips their hand into theirs to help them calm down.

[2.8k]

You had been looking forward to tonight for months. From the second Luke surprised you with the tickets for your birthday, you immediately started planning an outfit, making a playlist, and anticipating the trip.

When he told you his brothers and a few friends were tagging along, it only made you more excited, enjoying every moment you got to spend with your boyfriend’s brothers and their hockey friends.

After the concert, everyone was driving over to stay at the lake house for a few weeks, enjoying as much of the summer together as they can before pre-season training starts. You couldn’t wait to have a few weeks of fun on the water, but also wanted tonight to last as long as it could.

Your excitement grew even more when you found the perfect outfit for the occasion, even buying a matching light-up cowboy hat off of Etsy. You were especially excited for the chance to wear your boots again, not having many excuses to wear them in Jersey.

Luke had his hand planted firmly on the small of your back, making sure not to lose you as you weave through the crowd. You had bought Luke a new shirt for tonight, the orange t-shirt matching the burnt orange color of your dress.

He leads you over to the crowded merchandise stand, telling you to pick whatever you wanted. You struggled, loving every item tacked onto the display board. When you told him you couldn’t decided between a t-shirt and a hoodie, he bought you both before you could even open your mouth to protest, buying himself a hat and t-shirt as well.

“Luke, you just spent over $300 without even batting an eye,” you barked at him, crossing your arms to try and look menacing.

You know Luke could’ve afforded to buy you the entire stand and still not make a dent in his bank account, but you don’t like when he spends large amounts on you for no reason.

“Yeah, so?” he shrugs, taking your elbow and leading you away from the cloth covered table, slinging the clear bag of merchandise over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes and huff at him, unfolding your arms and taking his hand, letting him lead you through the sea of bodies.

“’So?’”, you mimicked his response. “You didn’t have to buy half of the merch stand just because it took me more than three seconds to choose which shirt I wanted.”

He glances back at you over his shoulder. “The fact that you didn’t have your mind made up the second you saw the options means you clearly wanted both, so I bought you both.”

You reach over and pinch his side, mildly annoyed with how well he understands the way your brain works.

“Quit pinching me you little gremlin,” Luke hisses out, the nickname being one he uses when you’re being stubborn or annoying.

“Quit spending all of your money on me, you giraffe-man,” you fire back.

You can see his shoulder’s shake, your impromptu nickname for him amusing him.

He doesn’t respond right away, the two of you having made it to the entrance to your seats, walking up to the worker standing under the numbered sign.

The usher instructs you to show your tickets to one of the workers at the bottom of the set of stairs.

When you walk into the arena, you notice how large the space feels, the open floor and mostly empty seats creating the illusion of size.

Luke has to nudge you a bit, reminding you to keep walking, too in awe of the fact you’re actually here.

“Not so unhappy with me spending my money on you now, huh?” he leans down to whisper into your ear, making sure you can hear him over the roaring chatter.

You hit him lightly in the chest, a smirk on his face as the two of you walk down, showing your tickets to the usher once you reach the bottom of the stairs, a bright colored wristband with bold letters spelling out VIP FLOOR printed on each one.

You make your way over to a small, sectioned off area near the main stage, seeing the rest of your group already waiting for the two of you.

Jack is the first one to notice you approaching, his eyes lighting up and arms being slung into the air.

“It’s about time! We were starting to worry the two of you got lost!” he calls out, causing the rest of the group to turn their heads and call out greetings.

You smile, having missed those in the group that didn’t live in New Jersey.

Walking over to Quinn first, you give him a long hug, the last time you saw him being when he played his brothers in Jersey months ago. The frequent facetime calls the two of you share not being enough to scratch your Quinn itch.

“Quinnifer! I missed you!” you squeal as you squeeze him as tight as you can.

You can feel his chuckle as he squeezes you back. “I missed you too, Munchkin” he leans back, ruffling your hair.

Although you see Jack nearly every day back home in Jersey, Quinn is the brother you’re closest to. You and Jack are literally two peas in a pod, but there’s something about Quinn that made you feel comfortable with him from the moment Luke introduced the two of you.

He’s like the big brother you never had, always calling him when you need advice or need to complain to someone about Luke.

Anytime you have a particularly nasty argument with Luke, Quinn is the one you call. He always allows you say whatever you need to get out of your system before breaking the problem down and agreeing that his brother is an idiot, but that he also loves you with everything he has in him.

At first you tried to go to Jack with problems surrounding your relationship with Luke, but he clearly didn’t know how to help you. He either told Luke about your conversations, causing the argument to grow worse because Luke claimed Jack had no business knowing about what’s happening in your relationship, or he would shrug his shoulders and say “just don’t yell at him when I’m trying to sleep. I need my beauty rest.”

You swat Quinn’s hand away, trying to smooth down your now tousled hair.

“I see you dressed the goon, tonight,” he points out Luke’s orange shirt.

You turn your head to see him talking with Cole.

“Believe it or not, it was his idea,” you think back to after you bought your dress, trying it on for Luke once you came home from shopping with your girls. He loved the way you looked in it, his eyes widening the second you emerged from your walk-in closet.

He swallowed thickly, his gravelly voice choking out a “Did they happen to have a matching shirt? Because if you’re wearing that, I’m going to need something to match so everyone knows you’re there with me, not up for grabs.”

You blush at the memory, looking back over to Quinn.

“I always knew he was whipped, but damn you’ve got him down bad, huh?” he shakes his head, smiling in amusement.

“Wrapped around my little finger,” you hold up your pinky, wiggling it at Quinn with a giggle.

You feel a pair of arms snake their way around your waist, a heavy object resting itself on top of your head.

“What’s wrapped around your little finger?” Luke asks, his chin bumping against your scalp as he talks.

“You, duh,” you reply, moving your head forward and craning your neck to look up at him.

He looks between you and his older brother before uttering out a “Oh one hundred percent. Couldn’t unravel myself if I even wanted to,” he lets go of you, stepping up to stand beside you.

Quinn just laughs, bringing Luke in for a hug.

After you make your way around to greet everyone, the lights are dimming and the atmosphere inside of the arena changes.

You love the hum of excitement in the air, finding Luke and standing in front of him. You hear the first notes of Overtime as Zach Bryan comes onto the stage, screaming as loud as you possibly can.

Luke has a content, amused smile on his face as you scream out the lyrics, jumping and dancing around as the beat allows.

As the concert goes on, you make the switch from dancing with Luke to dancing with Jack, attempt to get on Quinn’s shoulders to get Zach’s attention, and slinging your arm over Cole’s shoulder to sway back and forth with him during one of the slower songs.

When it comes time for Zach to sing Revival, your favorite song of his, you beg Luke to leave your secluded area to get closer to the stage, wanting to experience being in the crowd for this one particular song.

He looks at you apprehensively, eyeing the large sea of people on top of one another, barely any room between the bodies pressed together. He worries about losing you in the crowd, your small frame allowing you to get swept away easily.

You tug on his arm like a little kid, repeating “please, please, please,” over and over again, assuring him you’ll be fine.

Luke eventually gives in, letting his brothers know where you two are going, claiming you’ll meet back up with them after the concert.

Grabbing your hand, Luke leads you off of the small platform and into the crowd, pushing his way as far up to the front as his large body will allow him.

You stop just a row or two of people away from the stage where Zach had just climbed onto, adjusting his guitar and microphone before starting the song.

As the song rang out around you, you sang along to every word, joining the rowdy crowd as the chorus starts.

You start to jump around in the small space you have, enjoying every second, until Zach walks his way over to the small portion of stage in front of where you stand.

As soon as his figure stands over the crowd around you, bodies start pushing against one another, everyone trying to get as close to him as they can. You feel yourself being shifted towards the metal barricade, not being able to fight against the rush of people.

You start panicking, whipping your head from side to side to find Luke. All you can see around you are strangers, not being able to move your body to look behind you. You have absolutely no control over your own body anymore, being stuck in-between a girl slightly taller than you and a man that has at least a hundred pounds on you.

Squeaking out a “excuse me,” and “can you let me out please?” you try to make your exit from the suffocating situation. Your eyes turn frantic when you realize that no one can hear you or cares to hear you. Your breath picks up, heart pounding in your chest.

You can feel the tears pricking in your eyes, not being able to regulate your breathing anymore, gasping hot air into your lungs as fast as you can.

You’re about to let out a scream, begging someone to pay attention to you and let you out of the mess you’re in, when you feel a familiar hand slip its way into yours.

Whipping your head around, you catch a glimpse of curly hair behind you, not realizing that the body pressed against your back has been Luke this entire time. You figured you had lost him when you were surged forward, unable to see him anywhere around you.

Your breath starts to slow slightly, knowing you’re not alone in this crowd easing some of your nerves. The feeling of your heart pounding is still present, not wanting to be in this situation one second longer.

Luke attempts to tug your body back towards him, but the impenetrable wall of people around you prevents him from doing so.

You manage to wiggle your way in a circle somehow, now facing Luke.

He takes one look at your frightened face and knows he has to get you out of here, now.

Pulling you towards him, he cages you in with is arms, your cheek pressed to his chest. He starts walking backwards, his hockey roots coming in handy as he all but body checks people out of his way. The two of you finally make it to the back of the large crowd, Luke not letting go of you until you were back over in your original section.

Quinn was watching the whole thing from the small platform he was stood on, about to walk over and fish you out himself before he noticed Luke’s head slowly moving backwards, away from the stage.

He can see you’re still shaken, walking over to meet the two of you at the top of the ramp.

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Quinn asks, concerned about how frightened even Luke’s face looks right now.

“No, she’s fine. Just shaken up, I think. She got trapped between a random girl and some dude at least triple her size,” he tells Quinn, running his hand down your hair in soothing motions. Your hands were still clutching his t-shirt, not wanting to let go of him just yet.

Quinn stares at your trembling figure the whole time, knowing you don’t want to leave Luke’s embrace but wishing he could do something to help you.

“Let’s get her out of here and to the car, yeah?” Quinn suggests, picking up yours and Luke’s bag of merchandise off of the floor of the platform.

Luke just nods, leading you back down the ramp.

Quinn steps over and let’s everyone know to just meet them in the parking garage before following yours and Luke’s intertwined bodies towards the nearest exist.

Luke manages to get you up the stairs and out into the outer ring of the arena without letting you go. Both pairs of your feet moving in tandem, not once risking tripping over one another.

He leads you out of the doors and into the cool night air.

You finally allow yourself to leave his embrace, instantly feeling better in the openness of the outdoors. Never letting go of his hand, you continue to let him lead you to the large garage.

Luke’s BMW sits right where he parked it, the loud beep echoing in the dark garage as he unlocks it.

He opens the passenger door, lifting you slightly to sit you down on the leather seat. His hands come up to your cheeks, his thumbs wiping the stray hairs that were sticking to the damp skin under your eyes.

“All good now?” he asks you, the frantic look of your eyes now gone.

You nod, looking into his concerned eyes. “M’alright. Just got scared. Too many people,” you mumble out, leaning into Luke’s palm slightly. “Sorry I made us go out there. Just wanted to have fun.”

Luke leans his forehead against yours, shaking it back and forth slightly. “No, it’s not your fault. Just bad timing is all,” he assures you, knowing how upset you’re going to be when you realized you missed most of the last song.

He pulls his head back, standing back to his full height outside of the SUV.

You notice Quinn standing a few feet away, letting you and Luke have your space.

Frowning, you call out to the eldest Hughes. “You didn’t have to leave early too, Quinny.”

Quinn looks over when he hears you address him, walking closer to the vehicle.

“Ehh, show was almost over anyways,” he waves you off. “Had to make sure my favorite little munchkin was okay,” he shrugs, telling you its no big deal.

You smile at him, thankful you not only have your boyfriend to look out for you, but Quinn as well.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. Both of you,” you look between the two brothers, only ever seeing how alike they look when they’re standing in front of you.

They both tell you it’s not necessary, the main priority being that you’re safe and sound outside of the arena.

“Fine, I guess that means neither of you want to stop for post-concert pancakes on the way to the lake, then?” you tease, watching both of their heads snap up. All three brothers’ secret love of sweets is something you use to your advantage, only ever having to mention how good ice creams sounds before Luke and Jack are ushering you out of the door and driving you to the nearest ice-cream shop.

“Well, I guess if you really just feel the need to do something nice for us…” Quinn trails off, making a smile break out on your face, unable to hide the laugh at the sudden switch up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you continue to laugh at the pair, Luke leaning in to buckle your seatbelt for you as Quinn climbs in the backseat, sending a quick text to the rest of your group, telling them if they want to join in on the pancake outing, they need to be making their way out of the arena, and fast.

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ellecdc · 8 months ago

Note

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLBnwGM5/

Hi there again! I saw this tiktok and it immediately made me think of the boys. Do you think you could write something with Sirius or Remus coming home drunk and just being completely drunken lover boys and just r trying to hold back their laughs but also blushing and completely over taken by adoration of their boy. Hahah any way hope you have an amazing day!

omg babes this is so funny and cute. and I clearly didn't read your request carefully enough because you asked for Sirius or Remus but I gave you both 🫢 terribly sorry, please do forgive me. side note: I'm so pissed because I was going to tag this one poly!marauders fic that had the same premise and James comes home going "I hope she does wake up I missed her so much I think I'm going to throw up" all in the same breath and Sirius just abandons him and Moony in the kitchen to snuggle their girl and I can't find it! I actually scoured all my faves master lists to try to find it for you and I can't 😭 update!: a few followers did some sleuthing and found it, it's this fic by @luveline!!

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader when the boys come home drunk [and in love]

CW: mentions of drinking and drunkeness

You woke to the feeling of the bed dipping gently once, and then much less gently a second time.

“Pads, for fuck’s- Hi dovey.” Remus began hissing at Sirius before you opened your eyes to see him lying before you.

“Oh! Is she up now?” Sirius said approximately three decibels louder than necessary as he threw his heavy arm over your waist and roughly pulled you into his chest.

“Missed you s’much.” He slurred as he shoved his face into your neck.

“Mm, was boy’s night fun?” You asked through a stretch, sleep causing your words to tumble inelegantly out of your mouth.

“No.” Sirius harrumphed quickly as Remus moved a clumsy yet gentle hand to the side of your face.

“It was fun.” He conceded, earning him an indignant “was not” from your neck.

“Why didn’t you have fun, Sirius?”

Sirius scoffed as if you had asked a particularly ridiculous question. “Uhm, because my best girl wasn’t there?” He muttered into your hair, pulling you impossibly further into his chest.

“You’re gonna squash her, Sirius.” Remus admonished.

“Fine. Roll over babydoll.” Sirius ordered, pulling his arms away only to paw at your shoulder in an attempt to encourage you onto your other side.

You weren’t awake enough for this.

“Siri.” You whined petulantly. “What time is it?”

“Almost three.” Remus answered readily.

“Roll over.” Sirius asked again.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I wanna see your- your beautiful face.” Even through his slurring and hiccups, he still managed to be an incorrigible flirt.

“No, leave her. I’m looking at her right now.” Remus argued. You had to smother a laugh at how un-Remus-like he sounded when drunk, and made a mental note to tell him in the morning how petulant he was just to be rewarded with that beautiful blush you knew he’d wear.

“Tough; you’ll just have to look at me.” Sirius countered.

“I had to look at you all night!”

“Had to? Just what is- is that s’posed to mean, Moons?”

“Sirius, knock it - ouch!” Remus reached over you to return a mean pinch to Sirius’ side, causing an all out war to break out between the two.

“Fuckin’ hell.” You muttered as you extricated yourself from the bed. You barely made it down the hall before you heard a painful sounding thump and footsteps chasing you.

“Dovey! Wait!” Remus called, a little more out of breath than the few feet from your bedroom really called for. “You can’t go into the kitchen.”

You felt your face scrunch up in confusion. “Why not?”

“Because Remus broke a glass!” Sirius called, limping over from the bedroom.

“Squealer.” Remus muttered at Sirius as he teetered slightly into the wall beside him. “M’sorry dove. I dropped it in the- in the sink and will clean it tomorrow when, uhm…”

“When the world’s not so spinny anymore.” Sirius finished for him, nodding sagely at his own decree.

“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” You asked, looking carefully at his hands for any signs of blood.

“That’s so nice of you to ask.” He whispered in awe, allowing you to manipulate his hands in yours.

“Don’t act so surprised, Moony.” Sirius slurred. “She’s literally the nicest girl in the world.”

“She really is.” Remus agreed.

You blushed furiously and continued into the kitchen, mindful of any potential broken glass on the floor - though you were happy to note that it did appear all damage was contained within the sink - to grab three bottles of water from the fridge.

“I actually love her so much.” You heard Sirius whisper to Remus from around the corner.

“Me too.” Remus whispered back.

“I am so in love it’s actually a little bit embarrassing.”

“Me too.” Remus agreed again.

“Do you think she loves us as much?”

“Impossible.”

“Yeah I don’t think so either.”

“Well that’s not fair.” You interrupted as you rounded the corner again. “No one asked for my input.”

“Sorry, dollface. It’s just, I’m so far gone for you and Remus here is a certified simp so I already know it’s im- impossible for you to love us nearly as much.”

“It’s not a competition, Siri.” You admonished lovingly, handing him a bottle of water before passing one to Remus.

“You got these for us?” Remus whispered, sounding alarmingly close to tears. You chuckled at him and touched his cheek.

“‘Course I did, handsome.”

He shook his head as he stared at you in awe. “No; I definitely love you the most.”

“You do not!” Sirius argued quickly.

“It’s not a competition!” You reiterated.

“Fine.” They chorused as they followed you obediently to the bedroom.

“But if it was, I’d win.” Sirius proclaimed as he fell face first into the mattress.

Remus snorted before chugging almost half the bottle of water and dribbling some onto his sleep shirt.

“Did you break the glass trying to get a drink, bubs?” You asked him as you took the water bottle from him to recap it and he fought to catch his breath.

“Yeah.” He admitted looking terribly shamefaced. “I gave up on having water after that.”

You smiled and kissed his forehead before climbing into bed to situate yourself between the two boys.

You pressed your back into Remus in order to face Sirius who was already out cold and snoring lightly.

“You should’ve seen him tonight.” Remus started through a yawn. “Some girl tried hitting on him and he started screaming and asked me to ‘take him home to the most beautiful girl’.”

You held your hand to your mouth afraid that your beaming smile would somehow wake up Sirius for being entirely too bright.

“Yeah? What’d you do?”

You could tell Remus was nearly asleep when he finally answered you, sleep dragging out the syllables as he whispered them into your hair.

“I brought him home to you.”

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hoseoksluna · 7 days ago

Text

THE BALL OF LIGHT, ii. | jjk

pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc

genre: angst

word count: 4.2k

summary: inside jeongguk's apartment is where you meet the possibility of life.

pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run

cp: ao3 / wp

warnings: mentions of smoking and vaping, described nudity, oc feels a lot of emotions and she's overwhelmed, guilt.

note: i really enjoyed writing this chapter and it opened my eyes actually to where it's going. i hope you like the chapter as well. writing about jungkook is my biggest comfort. i feel at home. i love you, guys. happy reading. don't forget to tell me what you think. i'd appreciate it if you tell me ur expectations. <3

side note: i also want to update my taglist because i feel like most of the people i tag haven't allowed themselves to be tagged on this app. if you want to be tagged in my works, let me know. in comments below or my askbox.

It seems as though Jeongguk is still turning your words over his heart once you arrive at his apartment and the sullen grayness of his personal space greets you. A certain pensive look, embellished with a wrinkle between his brows, paints him in the shades of stark reclusiveness, the unapproachability of that façade the blue highlights that make the current inertia of his usual hyperactivity uncannily animated. It’s an oxymoron, the stillness of his being, despite the fact you very vividly sense the turmoil happening inside his chest.

Turmoil must be second-nature to him. Almost like a friend.

You don’t know what to say. The downturned corners of his mouth are so engraved into your vision that when you look away, you can still see them. Sad and pouty, caused in most probability by the truth you uttered. War happens, Jeongguk, if Yoongi and I see each other outside of the walls of our home. Those were the most heart-felt, authentic words that were flung out of the chambers of your heart because—yes, if Yoongi were to know that you smoke one cigarette a day with a boy with a nicotine-addiction, a motorcycle and a tendency to go back to people who have spread agony down his lungs like the white fumes of his cigarettes, he would get up from the kitchen table and grab the nearest knife, start a war for your dream that, according to him, got interrupted by temporary, meaningless things.

But Jeongguk isn’t meaningless. You thought for the longest time that he was temporary, but his lingering presence through high school and now through uni convinced you of the opposite. You believe now, now as he bends at the waist to place a pair of pink, fuzzy slippers with a yummy fried egg on top in front of your icy-cold, socked feet, that he has more shape—the eyes of an angel born wrong, born human, the mouth of a saint that fears to say the wrong thing—than your dream does.

Your dream doesn’t have a face.

Your dream doesn’t have a meaning, either.

Yoongi knows this, pretends he knows the contours of that dream when he tells you to go study. Pretends he knows the color of its flesh, all the greens, purples and blues, when the only words he throws your way are of commanding nature. Come eat. Go shower. Go study. Don’t. You can’t recollect the last time you had a genuine conversation with him that did not include those very words.

It’s exhausting. Your bones are burdened by it—by being treated as a student and not as a human being. But you ignore this because you respect him, hold him in high regard because of his own burden, laid heavy across the length of his shoulders that have become too thin, too skeletal, that have once been broad, beautiful and ogled by those, who had the luck to encounter him.

He doesn’t go to the gym anymore, to fill the mass of his muscles with exercise. He works long hours doing food delivery to fill your tummy instead.

And it’s hard—balancing your respect for him and your ostensibly inner desire to go in search of the things you read about in your books. You can’t help but expect to dig them out, selfishly, in Jeongguk. The kind, now somber, boy who has been by your side for so long. With words and simultaneously without.

Would Yoongi understand? Doesn’t he, also, have a need for company?

You push those thoughts away and focus on the clandestiny. On Jeongguk’s frown, on his adorable pout, on his emotions. Because perhaps in it you shall find your destiny.

Jeongguk walks forward and you swell with the guilty need to fix what you’ve broken, to glue back the pieces that put together his traditional cheer. The tree in you shivers in cold. Your own bones are still frosty like that bus stop you both escaped from. But glancing at the span of his shoulders, drooped and rolled forward, the guilt expands, making you think that maybe you shouldn’t have said something, despite the fact the truth made a dent in the birdcage you have been dwelling in since the death of your parents.

He empties out his pockets. Wallet, keys, phone, a pack of cigarettes, lighter and a pink, fat vape that you’ve never seen him smoking before. He places those essentials on the kitchen counter, stretching his hands backwards and ridding himself of his beige hoodie. The T-shirt he wears underneath rides up, exposing the smooth and muscled skin of his back, and your throat dries up at the sight. The tree stills, pacified by the movement of his shoulder blades. It puts a spell on you, this innocent yet consumingly heated view of a male’s body, one that continues burning down your body even when he grabs a hold of the hem of his T-shirt and pulls it down.

Somehow, the act made it hotter.

Your fingers wrap around your throat, a habit of yours that helps you compose yourself, ground yourself in the severity of the moment. Jeongguk reaches his hand towards the kitchen counter again and as you swallow with great difficulty, he fills his lungs with that scented fume before discarding it.

It isn’t until your breath comes out in pathetic staccatos that he turns around. Large eyes heavily lidded, clouded by that white smoke as he exhales. He purses his lips, dimples on full show, in order to make the smoke thinner. And that, the eye contact while blowing out the fumes, his full attention on you, the element that you’re here—in a boy’s apartment, all alone, for the first time, that warms up your bones, the frost melting away. You feel your body form little pearls of perspiration, overwhelmed and so suddenly overheated by his boyish beauty.

He’ll never know—just like Yoongi. He’ll never know what he does to you.

“I’m gonna make you some tea so you can get warm,” he says, softly, and shuffles his feet towards the brightly lit kitchen. You hear the water running, the clapping noise of the kettle being shut and then the boiling bubbles, but you’re frozen—red-hot and frozen—in the place you’re standing, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to be a normal human being. “You’re free to take a shower if you want.”

A headache pierces through your undeveloped frontal lobe. Nothing about this is normal to you—being over a guy’s place, using his shower and his towel, drinking his tea. Being at home all the time never prepares you for this and while you feel so out of place, it also evokes the feeling of thrill.

This is thrilling.

And it should stay feeling that way, but your guilt eclipses it so quickly. Your guilt and your self-pity. Due to Yoongi, due to the fact that this should feel normal and that you should act normally. How many girls must’ve been in your place and how well they were able to talk to him and accept his kindness and hospitality without being weird about it.

You run a hand down your face. Feel like crying. Feel like screaming. Feeling like slapping yourself so you snap out of it and act normal. Yoongi flickers in your chest, however, and you’re reminded that you should let him know where you are. Usually, at this hour, you’re settled in your cage. Right there in the corner, the only warm spot because you sit there all the time. But you’re not there. You fit your body through the slivers, your feet rubbing against the different, more warmer floor than the one inside your birdcage, while your wrist remains chained to the center.

Your bus, the number 59, never came. Jeongguk’s, number 60, was the last one that came due to the thickness of the snow and he said that you should get on with him so you don’t freeze on the bus stop. I’ll drive you home on my bike, he promised. I got a helmet for you. And you agreed, despite the fact your thumb was ready to dial Yoongi’s number, because it came natural to you to follow a male’s order.

You scratch your fingernails through your scalp, waking yourself up from the stupor, and you take a deep breath. You’re here and you’re safe. Jeongguk is the safest person you can go behind Yoongi’s back with. These are the words you internally repeat to yourself as you lift one leg and the other, watching where they take you.

You wind up at the very edge of the counter where all of Jeongguk’s essentials lay scattered. You go to study all the charms hung over his keys when your fingers, somehow instinctively, take a hold of his pink vape. Light and pink, fitting just right in the palm of your hand. Your clandestine habits are invariably seen by Jeongguk, however.

“Don’t puff on that,” he says, pouring the boiling water inside the kettle over your cup of tea. A Christmas-themed one, evidently for adults only. The taupe Gingerbread man has a raging, bare boner that sticks out to the side whilst his hands are lifted, cheerfully, in the air. Your mouth parts, blush coloring your cheeks in dusty pink, and your brain, bizarrely, connects the Gingerbread man’s emotion to Jeongguk—both emotions, in fact. So bizarrely that anger begins to grow in you because a picture of Jeongguk’s own happy boner pops up before your eyes. Big, hard, leaking. Your stifling heat descends to your lower regions and you have to rub your eyelids in order to stop seeing it, your cheeks scalding, embarrassingly hot. “It’s not good to mix it.”

Without asking, he places one spoon of sugar inside that obscene cup, stirring it diligently. And the clinking noise rams a clapping monkey inside your brain.

You’ll die. From this headache, from the heat, from how irresistible this boy is.

You’ve never felt this way before towards him. Never seen him in this lustful light before. And you don’t know what to do—it’s towering you, so much bigger than you and you have very little strength to stand up to it.

It’s not good to see your so-called friend like this.

Jeongguk brings the cup over to you, placing it before his stuff. The Gingerbread man faces you, smiling ever so gleefully, and the blush of your cheeks deepens within this proximity. Jeongguk takes his vape from your hand and puffs on it—and your brain remembers what he just talked about.

“But you mix it,” you say, your words dripping with confusion, and Jeongguk places the device back into your palm, the tips of his fingers brushing against your flesh. You regard it as intimate, that brief physical contact, and it speeds up your heartbeat.

That touch-starved you are.

“I shouldn’t, but I do,” he responds, his pretty eyelashes static, unblinking, those macadamia chocolate pools of his penetrating your pupils. “I try to stick to just one from time to time, but my nerves are asking for more.”

You look down at the pink device, imagine it’s his hand that you’re closing your fingers over. Think his explanation has zero backbone, and so your confusion drips on.

“Nerves?” you inquire, a wrinkle appearing between your brows akin to his, even though his has been smoothed out. It seems his act of service to you is slowly easing his sombreness.

Jeongguk doesn’t want to elaborate, though. He flicks his eyes towards the cup and nods, just once, encouraging you to drink. You let out a quiet huff of a scoff. Consider it strange that he’s so unwilling to expand on this matter when he has shared with you in the past the reason behind his smoking habit. Trauma from his relationship with Ka-eun and the difficulty of his field. What else is behind those nerves of his that you can’t know about?

You follow the trace of his gaze towards the cup, feeling smaller than you are. Incompetent, inexperienced for the vivacity, immensity of his life that looks nothing like yours. Your pointer finger pokes out, clicking against the emerald green handle.

“Am I supposed to really drink from this?” you murmur, meaning it as a joke that would fix what you cooked in this situation, but it comes out much sadder than you planned, the hollowness from all of your lacks coating your vocal cords.

Jeongguk scowls and turns the cup around, his brows springing upwards as he glances at the naked and aroused Gingerbread man. You begin to anticipate his laughter that would make you feel worse about yourself, but it never breezes through.

Actually, Jeongguk apologizes. Makes a big deal out of it.

“My God,” he sighs, adding your name, running his fingers through his hair before he puts the cup away, but you stop him by enveloping your fingers across the warm, naked skin of his forearm. His eyes widen en route to yours and he holds the misting cup in his hand, immune to its hot temperature. The good ones don’t get burned, your mother would say with hatefulness whenever your fingers would get burned by steaming cups and hot running water in the sink, and she proves you right in this moment. You bet she smiles in her grave, seeing from the afterlife that you are indeed bad while the others are good. “I didn’t notice. I have one just like this, but he’s dressed. I thought I’d pulled out that one. I’m sorry.”

But you’re not scandalized by it. As a matter of fact, you like the little Christmas man—there’s something oddly comforting about his own comfort in his sexuality, smiling as gleefully as he is. What you said was a stupid joke, one that shouldn’t have left your mouth.

“No, I don’t mind. It’s fine. It was just a joke,” you say, hurriedly, sweeping your eyes over his in the same pace whilst he remains calmly staring at you, a steady stream of thoughts filtering through those features of his that you wish you knew the contents of.

You always said you’d die for knowledge, and right now you’d die to discover what he’s thinking about, looking at you the way that he is.

He flattens his lips. “I’ll make you another one.”

He turns around and you yelp your disagreement, cupping your hands around his. And the greater intimacy of this physical contact consumes you whole.

The heat grows, your spine wet with perspiration. Jeongguk swivels his head back, the shorter pieces of his hair swooshing past his forehead, landing on those pretty, pretty eyelashes. And it’s his turn to part his mouth, for blush to creep up his pale cheeks, and your heart—it melts.

You’ve never held hands with a boy before. And right now, you’ve come very close to doing it. In fact, the tender grip bears the resemblance of hand holding and you can’t take it.

A pained, indistinct pout quivers on your lips. A characteristic expression of yours, which conveys that something has hurt you. Your mother would give you a hard time because of it and that’s how you learned that you do it. That’s how you learned how to fleetly hide it, too.

This is the closest you’ll ever get.

Tears rush to your waterline. You blink it away, stretching your lips into a little, neutral smile. The scent of cinnamon and cloves from the tea hits your nostrils and from the edges of your palms, you feel how hot the cup really is. It sobers you up quite rapidly.

“It’s hot, set it down,” you breathe and don’t let go of his hands until Jeongguk complies, the pensiveness back to shadowing his face, but he’s not unapproachable, not at all. The entirety of his dispirited and contrite aura is welcoming, pastel blue instead of that grayish undertone, and he looks at you as if you held the entire world in your palms and he was content with just being near it, silently hoping you show him grace and give it to him.

But that’s not you. You’re too small to cup this world. Too stupid, too unfledged.

It’s him who’s flown around it, deeply acknowledged with it. Who’s smart, who’s a full-fledged bird, unlimited and unhindered.

It’s you who should be looking at him like that and drinking from his vulgar cup.

And you shall.

“I’ll drink it, it’s cute.”

He doesn’t trust it, though, and that’s the scar Ka-eun carved into the flesh of his mind. You brush the pads of your fingers across it, however, when you take the scalding cup to your lips, blow on it and take a small, hesitant sip of it. And the wintry taste of cinnamon and cloves, it is the sap to your tree.

You hum in delight, taking another sip, even though the temperature burns the tip of your tongue. You watch as Jeongguk’s brows twitch and as a certain glimmering glint of endearment laced with unbelief fills his eyes with the canvas of stars. He straightens his spine while you swallow, his lungs inhaling and exhaling slowly but surely.

It is a sight to behold, the entirety of his boyish beauty. And you hate that you regard him this way, that your forced visit caused this because you’ll walk out of this door with a longing entwined around your heart.

A longing for him to be yours.

You set the cup down, cradling it in your palms, your sweat clinging to your body. Jeongguk averts his gaze and rubs his chest, roaming his eyes everywhere but on you, landing on the pink vape you placed on the counter before almost-holding his hand.

But he doesn’t take a puff of it. Not this time.

And you want to heal that scar of his even more. Only because he pushed you very close to the things you read in your books and always wanted to experience.

“I think the tea tastes so good because you made it in this cup,” you chirp, tenderly, giving him a genuine smile, one that Jeongguk doesn’t reciprocate. That one corner of his mouth doesn’t lift, the long cleft of his dimple doesn’t appear. Your heart trembles for a brief moment. In a foreign kind of emotion that feels like fear but isn’t because the turmoil in him rages on and you’re useless. Completely and utterly useless in your efforts.

His stare is deadly, marked by the depth of his thoughts.

“Why did you say war happens if you and your brother see each other outside?” he asks, his tone low and grumbling.

A frightening question. Because no one has ever asked you that. Because you’ve never had the chance to answer such an intimate, personal question. Because no one has ever cared about your home situation.

The trembling of your heart reaches your entire body and you hide your hands behind your back. Lament that you can’t cradle the cup. Lament that you can’t drink it and postpone your response. Lament that you don’t have a normal life. One worth talking about happily, that is.

You don’t know what to say. How to begin, how to string the words together in a way that he would understand. And it’s not that you fear that he will judge you; it’s that you fear that the way he looks at you, regards you will forever change.

You were never the cool girl and you never were the weird girl, either. Somewhere in the middle you stand, solitary and detached, regardless.

You open your mouth, willing the words to spring out of you on their own, without any careful thoughts to cover them.

“Yoongi wants me to live a life that doesn’t look like this,” you start, mirroring his tone, unable to look him in the eye. You sense the demons of your guilt and your ungratefulness cornering you, coming closer and closer—and you can’t walk away, you can only speak.

Jeongguk, however, is quick and curt with his following question.

“Like what?”

The pearls of your perspiration thicken on the planes of your throat, which constricts. You blink, thinking that you don’t wish to offend him with any formulation of your sentences. So you go around it, hoping he understands. The demons inch closer—and you can’t breathe.

Jeongguk doesn’t blink, focused intently as he is on the emotions written on your form. It creates a delicate, yet protective ring around you that keeps the demons outside. And he lessens your strange fear owing to that.

“He wants me to focus on school and focus on my dream while he takes care of everything else. It was a deal he made between us. I study, he works. Nothing else,” you continue, and Jeongguk bites his lip, nodding in understanding as he glides his eyes down your face to your sweat-coated neck. For some reason, that little act of his acknowledgement dispels those demons—and you no longer feel guilty, you no longer feel ungrateful because Jeongguk validated those emotions, didn’t scrunch his nose at them. And that heals, little by little, your wounded, flightless bird wings.

“What does your dream look like?” he asks once again, and you wonder at the formulation of his question. It’s not what’s your dream; he’s asking for a description of the biggest mystery of your life.

And you chuckle, humorlessly. Jeongguk flicks his gaze back to your eyes, seemingly not knowing what to expect.

“That’s the thing,” you say. “I don’t know what it looks like, and Yoongi doesn’t know either.”

The roundness of his eyelids spasms, as if the truth you just uttered irks him. The validation grows and buds of blossoms sprout open, in the middle of this sunless winter, upon the twigs of the tree within you.

“He doesn’t know what your dream is and yet he decided how you should live,” Jeongguk scoffs, shaking his head, and you marvel at the light bursting in your sternum. It is the sun to your growth, to your tree’s growth.

A moment of bliss that is too brief, for you begin to sense an uncompromising responsibility to stand up for your brother. He means well—he’s doing it out of the love and kindness of his heart as the root of this declared problem is literature.

And literature is your life. It’s all you know.

You begin to say these words, but Jeongguk interrupts you.

“I understand, but you need to live a life that you want to live,” he rasps, standing taller than he was a minute ago, greater and powerful than he ever was. That confident and assured he is in his opinion and you gawk at him as if he were a cult leader, about to change the course of your life. Maybe, just maybe, the cinnamon tea was the kool aid—and you want to drink again, but you’re ashamed of the trembling of your hands. “And if you feel like you’re indebted to him, you shouldn’t. You’re an adult. It’s your life, it’s not his just because he’s older.”

Your throat dries and you risk it all, enveloping your fingers around the cup. Jeongguk’s all seeing eye notices your movement and his powerfulness drops. He sighs, rubbing his eyes.

Bare, bare you are all for him to see. For anyone for the first time in your life—and at this point, you don’t even know how it makes you feel.

Where light and so many emotions were inside you, emptiness falls like fine dust. You’re reminded of that one sentence in White Nights and, quietly, you reflect on it while your fingers tremble on.

My God, a moment of bliss. Why isn’t that enough for a whole lifetime?

Jeongguk makes space, like the ring of protection he created around you, by taking a few steps back and leaning against the counter. He crosses his arms over his chest and simply looks at you, reads your body language, and lingers at your hands. At the fact you don’t drink. At the fact you don’t speak. At the fact that nothing will ever be the same after this conversation.

When he asks his last question, he softens his voice. His demeanor, too. Allows his arms to plummet down to his sides. Sags against the counter.

“He doesn’t know we’re friends, does he?”

Something that resembles a cry leaves your mouth and you’re so shocked by the freedom of your emotions that your hand leaps to cup your mouth, as if to hold back any more outpouring. That is your reaction.

Jeongguk’s is more earth-shattering.

By his instinct, he lengthens his spine and his hand… his beautiful, strong and veiny hand jerks towards your direction, as if to catch your hand, prevent it from hiding your outpouring—or as if to catch your outpouring alone.

And it is so heartbreaking to you that you mutter the first thing that comes to your mind and run away.

And you don’t realize where you are until you get a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. A mascara tear stains your cheek in blackness, and the smallness of the bathroom encloses around you.

You want to wash it away. Feel like the decision is yours to make, a right one at that. Feel like it’s the first step in the new way Jeongguk bestowed over your life by his wise words. And so you undress.

And you don’t lock the door.

And you don’t hear your phone ringing ten minutes later.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights

BACK to masterlist | BACK to series masterlist

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holllandtrash · 1 year ago

Text

in you, i trust | mick schumacher social media au

pairing: mick schumacher x reader

after the it couple of formula 1 go months without any interactions, the fans start to speculate what's going on. there's no way mick and you are over...right?

wagupdatesf1

liked by jemmaf1, formula1wags and 23,403 others

tagged: dbook & yourusername

wagupdatesf1 (ex?)Girlfriend of Mercedes Reserve Driver, Mick Schumacher seen with a man during her Cabo trip - pictures taken 14 hours apart

view all 315 comments

orangelando "with a man" YOU MEAN DEVIN BOOKER

44hamilton how does she go from f1 driver and certified lover boy mick to a phoenix suns basketball player HOW DO THEY EVEN KNOW EACH OTHER

mickisbabyboy so does this mean her and mick are over...? 🥺

michschumacher added to their story

yourusername

liked by riabish, lissiemackintosh and 54,203 others

yourusername i'm doing better than i ever was

view all 59 comments

schumyys only here to see if mick commented

boxboxpls remember when mick used to comment 500 heart eye emojis i miss those days

sebbymick am i reading into the caption too much or is this her fr announcing she's single

liked by mickschumacher, mercedesamgf1 and 580,024 others

f1 Mick Schumacher is going to drive father Michael's @mercedesamgf1 W02 from the 2011 season at the Goodwood Festival of Speed! ✨

Now this, is special 🥹

view all 892 comments

mercedesamgf1 can't wait to see it!!

formulafanclub sooo exciting!!! complimentary tissues better be given with each ticket purchase

wtf1jemma so if yn doesn't show up to the goodwood festival of speed then we know something's up

mercedesamgf1

liked by yourusername, lewishamilton and 312,384 others

tagged: lewishamilton & georgerussell

mercedesamgf1 Blimey! It’s British GP Race Week at Silverstone. ❤️🤍💙

view all 975 comments

freepracticespls Y/N LIKED THE PHOTO THIS IS GOOD RIGHT

lewishamilton ❤️

lightsoutmick if y/n isn't there this weekend i will actually throw myself onto the track at lights out she HAS to be there

yourusername

liked by landonorris, mickschumacher and 36,024 others

yourusername good vibes good friends good city

view all 236 comments

whoislewis it has officially been 5 months since we got any mick content from y/n

formulanever no i think it's been 6

samgoesracing BESTIE ARE YOU STILL WITH MICK OR NOT

mickschumacher added to their story

yourusername

liked by mickschumacher, dbook and 76,203 others

yourusername As many of you know, I spent majority of 2021 and 2022 traveling the world with Mick for formula 1. Because of that, my life was put on hold. While I cherish those days, I lost sight of who I was.

Six months ago, Mick and I amicably decided to take a break. While the decision wasn’t easy, it was what was best for both of us as we both were in transitional points in our lives. During this time, I have traveled the world, for myself, and started to journal what I learned from locals, friends and strangers. Early on into this journey, I realized that my experiences were something that should be shared as I know we all go through times times when we feel lost and unsure of who we are.

‘In Me, I Trust’ is available now and is a collection of my stories, thoughts and advice. I hope you take what you need from it ♡

view all 728 comments

dbook 10/10 stars

yourusername dev you're only saying that because there's a whole page dedicated to you dbook only a page??? i thought i had a whole chapter

slowdowninthepits SHE WAS WRITING A BOOK THIS WHOLE TIME!! sneaky sneaky

kissformick wait so does this mean her and mick are officially over 🥺🥺🥺 we really are children of divorce

mickschumacher

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo and 414,500 others

mickschumacher worth the wait

view all 1,303 comments

paddockbabes THE BOOK WAS WORTH THE WAIT OR SHE WAS

hamilgrussell IS THAT AN OLD PICTURE OR A NEW ONE I CAN'T TELL

0304mclarenss stop did y/n really send him a personalized copy im sobbing

ricciardoscafe "much like this book has found its way to you, i know my love will too" THAT MEANS THEY'RE GETTING BACK TOGETHER RIGHT?? RIGHT???/ SAY YES RIGHT NOW

yourusername

liked by mercedesamgf1, dbook and 73,22 others

tagged: mickschumacher

yourusername in you, i trust

view all 833 comments

mickschumacher did you re-name your book?

yourusername no that's the sequel, limited copies though, probably just for your eyes only

mcnorris all is right in the world!! mom and dad are reunited!!!

lovelylewis only y/n would write a book on being single and how to grow while being alone and then go right back to mick

formulanever i don't blame her

haven't done a smau in a while, hope ya'll liked it ♡

#mick schumacher x you #mick shumacher imagine #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher smau #mick schumacher instagram edit #mick schumacher social media au #mick schumacher instagram au #f1 smau #mick schumacher x reader #holllandtrash #mick schumacher x yn

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uncouth-the-fifth · 7 months ago

Text

good morning, charlie - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: domestic fluff with the tiniest dustings of background angst, married life, hugging, kissing, and snuggling. Words: 3k (yes, I'm capable of keeping something this short) Notes: read this in a WWE announcer voice: THAT'S RIGHT! UNCOUTH HAS COME CRASHING BACK INTO THE RING AFTER YET ANOTHER MONTHS-LONG HIATUS. i'm magical, truly. here is the first Leon fic I promised last month! There's so much I want to say about this little drabble, but I'll save that for my curious ppl on Ao3. this is going to be a big 180 from my spn content, and I sincerely hope that's okay with the public 😭 for my RE people: enjoy domestic Leon bullshit!

At two in the morning, Washington D.C. is pouring everything it has into crafting the coziest atmosphere of all time. A pleasant window-tapping storm had rolled in right around when you resolved to stay up working. Some late-night radio host is making soft, fizzing chatter in the next room, and coupled with a stellar view of the city from fancy floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a prime opportunity to pass the fuck out.

Unfortunately, you have made some spectacular life choices that don’t mix well with a full night’s rest. Nope, no sleep for you. Despite all of fate’s attempts to stop you from being a cop, (including throwing a city-wide outbreak at you on your first day), you are still here, gripping your job with both hands. At two in the damn morning.

Since scrubbing your eyes hadn’t woken you up the first five times you tried it, you give it another shot as you pace the length of your living room rug—from the coffee table you’ve stacked with files, then back to the whiteboard pasted top-to-bottom with pictures of missing young women. The whiteboard had been Leon’s idea. After the fourth time you’d transformed a flattened cardboard box into a morbid case-board for work, he’d cajoled you into letting him buy one for the apartment.

But I won’t be able to stab the tacks into it, you’d pouted.

Oh, the agony, your husband had drawled. He was a master of delivering a good, dry look.

You’d propped your fists on your hips and tried your best to look serious. The red yarn connecting everything isn’t just a detective-movie thing, y’know! It’s actually really useful. And I need my tacks to stick the yarn in—

Leon had cut cleanly through your building sass with another look, this time one glimmering with humor. Then I’ll get you magnetic ones, detective. Don’t you use whiteboards at the precinct anyway?

You’d grumbled. Because, yes, you did use whiteboards at the station, and they did have the little tacks with the magnets on the bottom. But you’d refused to deal with Leon being all smug (he was unbearable pretty when he was right), and had teased back instead, Whatever, nerd. Why don’t you and the other two angels go call Charlie already?

The reference had gone clean over Leon’s head. Of course, he hated being left out of a joke, so he’d roped you over by your wrist and pinched an explanation out of you until you were squealing with giggles.

Summarizing Charlie’s Angels to Leon had been a lot like offering a paper rocketship to an aerospace engineer. But, hey, picturing him running around in skimpy outfits and escaping action movie explosions on a motorcycle is a whole lot more fun than… than the real deal.

You don’t want to think about what his missions are really like. Not that you’re even allowed to know in the first place. Being Leon’s wife permits you a government-issued phone with his handler’s number, and on antsy days you can push Ingrid for details if you want. But after so long you’ve learned it only hurts both of you—for her, in the inability to answer, and for you, in the excruciating pain of being unable to know. Where is he? That’s classified.

She can’t always tell you when he’s coming home, either. So much of your life is hinged on her check-ins, and even more is forced to live off a simple, He’s okay.

For the seventh time, you scrub at your tired eyes and suck in a deep breath. You’d gotten that fabled text from Hunnigan—he’s okay—earlier today, and like always you crawled through the rest of your shift roiling with anticipation, waiting for Leon to materialize back into your life.

You force your gaze back to the whiteboard, littered with notes and pictures hung up with magnetic tacks. The faces of five missing women bore back. The ten-ton weight of your caseload slams down in full, and again, you scold yourself for floating back into comforting memories of your husband. These girls have lost all comfort in the world since they were taken. Your Captain gave you the responsibility of finding them, and after all you’ve been through, after all the other cases you’ve closed, there can’t be any room for failure. Think.

Your legs ache from being on your feet all day, chasing leads, but dropping into Leon’s armchair for even an instant will just have you nodding off again. More pacing it is, then. This is your pattern for the next half-hour: pace, re-read witness statements, turn, sip your coffee, pace, cross-reference alibis. He’s okay. Two of the girls were taken from Queen’s Chapel, two from Takoma, one from Woodridge. He’s fine. The last victim breaks the profile. What’s different about her? Why take her? Think think think— You know what Leon would do. He was the kind of person you could put in front of a problem, and no matter what he would find a way to shoulder his way through. With physical force, sure, but mental force too. He would sit and just look at the puzzle, and sheer willpower would lead him to some kind of answer. But you’d been pushing and pushing for days now, pursuing every lead, pressing every witness, yet nothing will give. The whole thing feels like a punching bag you’re beating at over and over again, knuckles raw and bloody—

Keys rattle just outside the front door.

First the big deadbolt scrapes open, unlatching with a heavy thud, and that sound alone is enough to shock you awake. More than any coffee could. Then comes the doorknob. Leon hasn’t even turned his key before you’ve twisted the lock open, yanked the door out of your way, and sent it whipping into the jamb with his keyring still swinging from its slot. You give him one full blink to register that it’s you before you’re throwing yourself on him without a single lick of shame, legs and all.

Of course, Leon bears your weight with grace. He grunts out an oof! when you come in for landing, and the living, breathing sound drains into one gruff laugh. You’re scooped up under the thighs and teddy bear squeezed against him. He reeks of cheap motel soap and something faintly coppery—then mint, a whole world of plush, wet spearmint when he nudges your face up with his nose and lays a hello kiss on you. The taste of his gum and the scratch of his stubble on your chin make your skin feel like it’s fizzing, inside-burning-out, every inch of you stood on end by his static charge. Jesus, this guy. He feels like fucking magic, and you’re confident that the laws of physics don’t quite apply around him. Everything in the room, in the too-big apartment that’s painfully empty without him in it, tilts toward Leon.

You shove your face nose-first into his neck and clutch the back of his jacket in both fists. Swallowing hard, you manage, “Hey, angel.”

“Good morning, Charlie,” Leon says.

If you had any resolve for today left in you at all, the wash of his sizzling butter voice would squash the last of it. You’d been trying to be sweet, but your husband has to be funny about fucking everything, of course. Even after weeks spent apart. You love him so fucking much.

“Don’t tell me you found time to watch that stupid movie.” Your voice is muffled by his coat, and you’re grateful for an excuse to hide.

You’re moving. Leon carries you inside, his wedding band pressing into your leg and his other big, warm hand spooned around your back. “Boring plane ride. I wanted to get your jokes.”

Your front door is toed shut, and with all the efficient maneuvering of a proper agent, Leon gets the place locked up behind you. Somewhere in all the commotion he’d dropped his go-bag by the welcome mat, and you hear the dramatic thunk, thunk, of his fancy work loafers being kicked off beside it. Only then does he slip you onto your own feet again.

Your hands slide down his arms as you make contact with the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware that he’s damp from the rain, but that fact hangs in the little alternate universe he’s made in your front hall. Standing there and being able to look at him straight-on, Leon doesn’t feel real. It’s like your constant thoughts of him have manifested a ghost in his shape, mimicking the smiley rookie you remember.

He greets you with a quiet, beaten-down smile, and you understand immediately that the world has thrown its fair share of punches at him, too. You’ve both had a shit week. The Kennedy surname just brims with good luck, huh?

Your hands work on autopilot as you take him in, slipping under the fabric of his jacket and lingering over his thudding heart. His warm blue gaze swims over your face, and you can almost hear the clicking mechanisms in his head as he forces himself out of operative mode and into home mode by looking at you.

“It’s a really bad movie,” you say, choked up.

Leon’s jacket hits the floor with his shoes. There’s a swath of ugly, purpling bruises crawling up his bare arm, old enough to be greening at the edges, and your stomach churns when you see it.

He taps your chin up, pulling you away from the damage and back on him. His voice rolls over you like bourbon in a glass. “Absolutely. So-bad-it’s-good, even. We should watch it, make fun of it together. Like, why the hell does…”

Leon flawlessly falls into an analysis of the movie’s poorly-written espionage elements. The movie you made one offhand joke about several weeks ago, mind you. He’s pulling at straws, saying whatever the hell comes to mind to make you laugh, so exhausted he’s literally swaying on his feet. You can’t believe he’s trying to distract you with something so trivial, but this is your husband. One flash of that weary closed-mouth smile, one brush of those callused hands down your wrists, and your whole world resumes its orbit around him.

You laugh at the jokes he’s obviously crafted for your benefit, a weak chuckle your heart isn’t in. With his hands looped around your wrists, he guides your arms around his neck and welcomes you back into the toasty bubble of his touch. Leon’s even warmer from being tucked underneath his coat. Pure goodness and safety glows off him like a fucking nuclear reactor, and it dawns on you that you haven’t felt safe at all since he left. Anyone can be plucked off the streets here.

One more scratchy kiss and then he’s leading you deeper into your apartment. No one on Earth would believe that he’s a chatty guy, but he talks the whole way through. Too often he’s left to sit in his own mind on missions, and you’re treated to two week’s worth of his backlog in the next ten minutes. All the little things he wanted to say to you. The streams of smart-mouth commentary he was famous for at the academy are all inner monologue now, but you’re confident the Leon radio show still runs twenty four hours a day. He chatters so much in his head that it slips out of him like water sometimes—

“…that close to an explosion would disintegrate you, but fuck physics I guess—“ Leon interrupts his own flow of thought to squint at you. “Quit looking at me like that. It’s unfair how pretty you are when you’re tired. What was I—not like the laws of physics apply to that movie anyway, but…”

—and you’re stupidly charmed by it. He talks to comfort himself, and because the two of you are one unit, one person to him, he does the same for you.

With your hand tethered in his, he clicks off the radio in the kitchen. One of Leon’s side-stories replaces the random late-night station that’d been playing, floating over the din of the rain like bass over relaxing drums. He pours out the dregs of your coffee. He closes the files full of gruesome crime scene photos on your coffee table, and you watch, barely able to keep your head up, as he flips your whiteboard over to its blank side. You’ll get his second opinion on the case tomorrow.

Leon sweeps the place with you in tow, and once the security system’s armed and you’re almost sagging against him, the lights come off. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the Leon that returned home from training, you’ll never get used to the little alien ticks it’s given him. He navigates to your bedroom in complete blackness. He avoids the creaky floorboard just outside your door without seeing, deathly silent. The broad presence of him looms in the dark.

One wall of the bedroom is nothing but paneled glass, throwing a long square of dark blue moonlight over your rumpled comforter. While the view of the Potomac and Capital Hill is stellar from up here, you’ve always felt out of place among the things Leon’s generous salary has earned the two of you: a flat with a private elevator in the nice part of town, fresh-off-the-press sports cars, a getaway cabin up north. So much of it you end up enjoying by yourself. It only ever feels worth it when he’s here, smacking his elbow into the digital wall-panel that controls your A/C.

“—s’ supposed to be a touch screen,” he sidebars himself for the tenth time. Softer, Leon adds, “Brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

You rope your arms around his middle and press your face into the heart of his back, careful of the bruises he’s doing his best to hide. “Wanna wait for you.”

Leon doesn’t protest. There’s more little beeps as he screws with the temperature of your mattress or something, deciding, “We live in a damn spaceship. Are we too good for plain old-fashioned buttons now?”

Apparently you are, since old man Leon fails to figure out how to crank the heat up. You let him play with it for a little while longer (it’s not his fault he’s rarely home), and then intervene with a few quick taps when things get dire. The heater hums to life under the floor a beat later, and he turns in your grip to scoff, mystified by your vast and incredible knowledge.

“My smart girl,” he hums.

Just that is enough to chip off a piece of your strength. Had he said that to you over the phone, a million miles away in god-knows-where, your knees would buckle. He is the only one who talks to you like that—with so much simple, uncomplicated love. Too tired to put your thoughts into words, you flatten a hand over his heart and kiss the sun-freckled nape of his neck.

“Clingy,” Leon mutters. You’re pretty sure it’s supposed to sound dry and funny, another one of his jokes. But then he’s smoothing both of his palms down your arms in two long handsy swaths, and the gesture tells you everything about just how clingy he’s feeling, too.

His stories make getting ready for bed an even slower affair. You couldn’t mind if you wanted to. As you help him out of his starchy dress-shirt button by button, he surprises you with a rare explanation of where he’s been for the last weeks. The UK. Truly, your husband is the special secret agent to end all special secret agents: he talks around his job as if it was a bump he’d hit on the way home, entertaining you instead with his Leon-ified vision of London. Touristy as shit. Loud as shit. Smelled like shit.

“Just like DC,” he chuckles, and then a second time when your fluffy head pops through the collar of the sleep shirt he’s dressing you in.

It’s too much rough, cinnamon spice laughter for one woman to stand. You duck away to brush your teeth and groan into your palms like a schoolgirl over him, but sure enough, Leon trails you, fingers chasing the hem of your shirt (his shirt) in a sleepy daze. He always keeps you in view. Nervous, maybe, to have you out of his sight.

This tradition continues when the two of you crawl into bed. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and so has your body, able to sense him on the stupidly expensive mattress beside you. He thinks you can’t tell, but his gaze roves over you again and again—down your back when you flop face-first into the plush bedding, over the slope of your shoulder when you wiggle under the covers. Leon draws you into the glorious halo of his body heat with a gentle hand on your belly. If you could bottle this feeling, the whole world would be sick and stupid for him in hours. Minutes even.

You feel so safe that the word doesn’t even come to mind. Just vague, peaceful shapes of things you know, home, sleep, cologne, cozy. His work-rough palm with his body-warm wedding band slips under your tee to sweep over your ribs. Then comes Leon’s face, just on the right side of stubbly as he shoves it between your shoulder blades without a single lick of shame. The breath he takes of you is so heavy that his whole frame shudders with it, top to bottom.

You remember how you’d burrowed into his jacket the second he got home and think, You are me and I am you. We’re always on the same page.

With that, the stage is set. DC’s faraway glittering cityscape lights up all the raindrops on your window, and you watch them run as the two of you melt into one another. Leon’s warm breaths slow across your neck. Time for you to deliver your line.

You wet your lips and murmur into your pillow, “Do you want to talk about your mission?”

Legally, he can’t say yes. Government secrets, bureaucracy, yadda yadda. Leon isn’t always emotionally ready to crack open a coffin he’s just finished sealing, either, but while it is his job to close your case files for the night, you’re his wife. You’re the only person who can knock on that door. With how little choice he has left in his life, you try to give him options whenever you can. Regardless, you know the man you married—strong-willed on a mythical fucking level, and just as self-sacrificing. He’ll always try to spare you.

Sure enough, Leon says, “Tomorrow. Do you want to talk about your case?”

You shake your head at him, exhausted to the point of dizziness. “Tomorrow.”

A tender kiss is pressed to the nape of your neck, and the whole world goes silent for the perfect, husky whisper you’ve ached to hear. You feel his wry smile against your skin. “We’re always on the same page, baby.”

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy/reader #resident evil #resident evil four #re4 remake #leon kennedy drabble #uncouthre

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spideystevie · 4 months ago

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bad for business

summary: steve’s good for your heart but he’s really bad for business word count: 4.5k a/n: me every time i post after being mia for months: who’s missed me! this was technically supposed to be inspired by bad for business by sabrina carpenter and then suddenly it wasn’t. not even sure there’s much of a plot but alas! also feel a little rusty at this right now, it’s been a while since i’ve really written anything but i’ve missed steve a crazy insane amount. love you, miss you, hope you all enjoy this <3

You’re late. You’re never late.

The bell above the door to Dottie’s jingles as you hurry inside. Your fingers work on muscle memory to tie your apron around your waist as you slide through the mismatched seating arrangements inside the diner to get to the back office.

You’re not sure if the way your stomach flips is from it being full of a single gulp of coffee or because it’s more than an hour past when you should’ve been here. The time punch on your card reads 9:07 am and your stomach lurches. Definitely not the coffee.

It’s a Sunday, arguably your busiest day in the diner and arguably the worst day for you to show up like this. No doubt Dottie has noticed but you’re hoping against hope that she didn’t. God, what are you going to tell her?

Sorry Dottie! My super hot, super charming boyfriend wouldn’t let me out of bed this morning! Won’t happen again!

Your face feels warm, like you’ve just spent an extensive amount of time in the sun in the middle of July. You knew you shouldn’t have stayed over last night, but you were so tired and Steve’s couch is way more comfier than yours. It really doesn’t help that his bed isn’t any different.

“Lots of traffic this morning?” you jump, notepad falling out of your hand. Susan starts to snicker as you drop down to pick it up. There’s a smirk on her face when you rise to full height. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her name tag is crooked on her apron. You’re not sure you’d consider Susan one of your closest friends but you find yourselves pulled together considering she’s the only other young person working here.

“Oh you know…,” your voice rises in pitch and you clear your throat, hitching one shoulder up to your ear in a shrug. “Sometimes you just hit every red.”

Susan’s eyes narrow. There’s only one working light on your usual route to work. Coming from Steve’s adds only two. Not to mention, you didn’t drive yourself today. Steve dropped you off, promising to pick you up at 4 on the dot when your shift ended. Susan pops her gum in her mouth, not convinced with your fib.

“Right.”

“Yeah. Now if you’ll excuse me, Cliff is waiting for me in his usual booth,” you hurry past before she can ask you anything incriminatory. You hear Dottie before you see her, on your way to grab the coffee pot.

“You feeling okay, sweetie? You’re normally here right on the dot. An hour isn’t like you.”

Dottie’s older than most and she’s been running the diner outside Hawkins for a whopping 30 years now. She hangs out behind the counter and loves to chat with the regulars and get to know those just passing through. With rosy cheeks and gray streaked hair almost always pulled out of her face in a bun, she’s almost like another mom with how long you’ve been working here.

You snag the excuse she basically throws you out of the air.

“Had a bit of a rough night, but I’m feeling a lot better now, Dot. Didn’t realize I had overslept until I heard the birds chirping outside. It won’t happen again,” you say.

You didn’t oversleep actually. Whatever natural circadian clock inside of you wakes you up at almost the same time every workday but Steve can be quite convincing when he wants to be. Your heart does a little sigh of his name. Steve. You swallow and try to blink away the image of him.

Dottie gives you a sympathetic smile with a concerned tilt of the head, taking your flustered mannerisms and the way you wipe your palms against the sides of your jeans as lingering symptoms of whatever she thinks ailed you last night. She squeezes your bicep, the press of her mixed metal rings cool against your skin.

“Take it easy today, okay? You let me know if you need anything.”

“Course, Dottie. Thank you,” you give her a smile and grab the coffee pot.

Cliff sits at the same spot every morning. A little booth along the window wall, three down from the door to the diner. He looks a bit rough around the edges, his coat well loved and worn and his hands weathered from years of hard work. He’s worn the same baseball cap every time you’ve seen him and he’s always got a copy of the morning paper open and propped in front of his face.

He spots you out of the corner of his eye and scoots his empty mug closer to the table’s edge. You smile and pour the coffee, leaving enough room for his two packets of Sweet ‘n’ Low to be stirred in.

“Anything new this morning, Cliff?”

You’ve only known Cliff on his own, but you know he used to come with his late wife Winnie for coffee every morning before she passed. He’d summarize the big news and events and she’d do the crosswords on the back. Now, you let him summarize to you and he leaves the paper on the table for you. You do the crosswords on your break.

“Same old, same old. They’re thinking about rebuilding the mall that burned down in Hawkins a few summers ago. You hear anything about that?” He sets the paper down to the right of his coffee mug and grabs two pink packets of sweetener. You watch him tear the paper and pour them in. When he looks at you, you shake your head.

“First time I’m hearing of it. My boyfriend used to work there before it…you know,” you mention, unable to stop the morsel of information from slipping out. A twinkle sparks in Cliff’s eye, a small smile on his face as he diverts his attention back to his mug. The spoon he’s stirring with clinks against the coffee stained ceramic walls.

“Are you ever gonna bring this boyfriend of yours around here so I can actually see that he’s real?” He’s teasing, tapping the handle of the spoon against the rim of the mug and setting it in the gap between the coffee and the newspaper. You roll your eyes but a smile lifts your cheeks.

“I don’t know if that’d be too good for business around here,” you joke.

“And was he the reason you were late giving me my coffee this morning?” He's quick to cover his smirk with the coffee mug as he takes a sip. Your mouth falls agape and you fluster, shaking your head and laughing shakily.

“Ha ha, very funny, Cliff. No, he was not. There was traffic!” Cliff makes a face at this and you don’t blame him. Has the traffic excuse ever worked for living in a small town, you wonder. “And I had a rough night and accidentally overslept, is all.”

He grabs his morning paper again and opens it up. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The rest of the morning starts to fly by in a blur. You recite your favorites off the menu to a couple passing through from Chicago. Refill Cliff’s coffee twice, each time dodging whatever he tries to insinuate about your tardiness this morning. Sneak an extra pancake onto little Sofie’s plate with a wink. The early morning breakfast rush blows through and things start to quiet down.

You’re wiping down the table adjacent to Cliff’s booth. His mug is empty and he’s left the paper for you like usual. The bell rings as he opens the door to leave.

“See you tomorrow, Cliff!” you call after him and he raises a hand in a wave as he walks through the door, thanking the young man that holds it for him.

You have to do a double take as you swipe the paper off the table. It’s not just any young man in passing holding the door, no it’s Steve coming inside Dottie’s. It’s Steve standing at the entrance in his usual Levi’s and a white tee with sleeves that seem to strain around his biceps with windswept hair and a bright smile when he sees you.

There goes your heart again with the sigh of his name. Steve. Though maybe this time you think it was your voice instead, airy and soft. You can’t believe he’s here. It’s nowhere near 4’o’clock. You’re aware of Dottie’s eyes on you behind the counter and Susan’s from across the diner and nearly every regular scattered about as well.

Your knees wobble at the sight of him, the disbelief fading away and giddy smile falling into place as he meets you next to Cliff’s booth. Cliff, who’s standing outside the diner and staring and you worry he might come back inside to hound you and insist you introduce him, but he doesn’t.

Steve wraps an arm around your waist, fingers hot against the side of your stomach through the layers of your apron and shirt, and dips to press a kiss to your cheek in greeting. There’s a rush of a swoon that goes down to your toes, the bulk of it getting stuck in your abdomen and swirling like crazy.

You’re in the middle of a greasy old diner but Steve’s somehow tucked you away from prying eyes and into your own little safety bubble. He’ll be the death of you one day. Your heart’ll just keep expanding until it can’t fit inside your ribcage anymore and has no choice but to explode from adoration and kill you.

“What are you doing here?” you wonder aloud, eyes scanning all around his face, taking in every freckle and crinkle and mole. You pause for a minute on his lips and then you blink and find his eyes. He’s smiling at you, in a way that tells you he caught that and you feel struck by that feeling of being caught in the July sun again. He looks around the diner and everyone’s attention goes back to what they were doing before.

“Thought I’d surprise you! Also, it’s supposed to rain later and you didn’t take a jacket so I brought you one.”

Only then do you notice the gray fabric in his other hand and your heart twists and flips and oh god, you think this might be the moment it explodes. He presses it into your hands, the newspaper crinkling against it.

“What’s that?” he asks as you go to thank him. Your brow cinches for a minute before it smooths in comprehension.

“Oh! Cliff,” you point towards the door he’d just walked through, “one of the regulars, leaves the paper behind for me every morning so I can do the crosswords. A little tradition we’ve got going on.”

“A tradition? Should I be concerned?” He jokes and you laugh.

“Oh, definitely. Cliff’s your biggest competition,” you throw back and now it’s his turn to laugh. A glittering light fills your chest. You glance over to where Dottie is engaged in conversation with a middle aged woman just passing through. She can’t hear you from this far but you drop your voice nonetheless. “No but, he did give me a bit of a hard time about his coffee being almost an hour late this morning.”

At your pointed look and sly smile, Steve winces, fingers pressing a quick squeeze against your side. An embarrassed blush blooms on his cheeks, bridging across his nose. “Right. Sorry.”

“Forgiven,” you lean up to press the quickest flash of a kiss to his cheek. You wrap your arms around the newspaper and jacket, holding them to your chest. “Do you wanna sit for a minute? I can get you some coffee? Although be warned, Dottie might come up and talk to you.”

His arm drops from around your waist and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, coffee sounds great.”

You smile and motion him into Cliff’s booth. When he sits, he insists on holding onto the jacket and newspaper for you and you let him. He watches you take Cliff’s mug away and walk to Dottie behind the counter to get him a fresh one.

Dottie bumps her hip with yours as you pass and you give her a look. The pot’s nearly empty and you wait the few minutes it takes for it to fill, eyes catching on Steve while you wait. He’s stopped staring and has instead taken interest in the comics in the paper.

“He’s handsome,” Dottie’s voice snaps you back into your senses. You glance at her and she’s got a special look in her eyes to match the smile on her face. You check the coffee pot that’s filling up quicker than normal. But your focus drifts back over to Steve, who senses your gaze and looks over to you and flashes a big grin.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he is.”

Dottie looks between the two of you and then takes a look around the diner. It’s not the usual Sunday hustle and bustle, post early breakfast rush and the impending rain could be the indicator for that. She's got Susan and Judy’ll be coming in any minute now and Pam right after at 12. When she looks back at you, you’re watching the last few drops of coffee fall into the pot.

“Take the rest of the day,” Dottie says. Your eyes snap up to meet hers over the coffee pot between you.

“What?”

“Go sit and have coffee with that boy of yours and then go home,” it doesn’t sound like a suggestion, more like an order but you look around the diner and hesitate.

“Dottie, it's Sunday. I can’t just leave this early on our busiest day of the week.”

“There’ll be other Sundays busier than this one. And you need your rest after the night you had. We’ll be okay, now go,” she pushes. You bite back a smile as you relent, kissing Dottie on the cheek as you pass with the full coffee pot and two mugs gripped tightly in your other hand. She shakes her head watching you cross back to the third booth from the door.

Steve lights up when you enter his line of sight but his brow furrows at the two mugs held in your left hand. You set them on the table and fill them both with the fresh coffee before setting the pot down on the table. He watches you slide into the empty spot in front of him. The same place you assume Winnie occupied when she’d come here with Cliff.

“Dottie’s letting me off early,” you say, grabbing an almost obscene amount of Sweet ‘n’ Low packets and dumping them into your mug. “Can you hand me a creamer?”

Steve finds himself staring at you, doctoring your diner coffee to how you like it, hearts for eyes and a wistful smile taking permanent residency on his face. When he doesn’t hand you the creamer right away, you look up, only a little confused but mostly amused at the blatant and overwhelming display of admiration across his features.

“Steve?”

He blinks in quick succession and clumsily reaches for a creamer while you giggle and god, it’s killing him that he hasn’t kissed you right yet since he’s been here. You hold out your hand and he sets the mini pod on your palm, your fingers brushing his as they enclose around it with a thank you.

He watches you finish stirring in the creamer, the coffee in your cup now a light shade of brown. You take a sip, both palms wrapped around the mug and your eyes on his when you set it down on the table.

“You look nice,” you say, eyes dropping down to the simple white tee he’s wearing. When you look back up at his face, his smile is cheeky and his cheeks are flushed. It takes an incredible amount of self restraint not to kiss him across the table.

“Yeah? The plain white tee is really doing it for you?” he leans closer over the table, voice dropped just the slightest bit. You mirror his movement almost like there’s a magnet pulling the two of you together. Steve pulls one of your hands into his, weaving your fingers together across the table.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” there’s a flirtatious thrum in your voice that makes Steve grin. His mouth opens to respond, another silly flirty quip back when Dottie appears at the side of the table.

“You kids want anything to eat?”

The sound of her voice sends Steve jumping back against his seat, like he’s 15 and getting caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You lean back slowly, amusement clear on your face and a question in your eyes. Do you?

Steve looks from you and up to Dottie who watches with a knowing gleam in her eye. He starts to shake his head but then his eyes fall back to you and he’s repeating the question to you with his eyes. You consider it for a second and then shake your head slightly which Steve repeats to Dottie.

“No, we’re alright, thanks,” he says and Dottie nods. She grabs the coffee pot but doesn’t move.

“Heard a lot about you…” she trails off and Steve’s eyes widen just a tad.

“Oh! Steve. Harrington. Steve Harrington,” he fills in the blank for her, even reaching out his hand for her to shake.

“Dottie. She talks a lot about you, Steve. Sometimes I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it.”

You try to cover your face with your one free hand and groan, “Dottie.”

Steve lets out a small laugh and squeezes your hand, always finding it endearing to see you flustered. You slowly move your hand away, to which Steve gives you a quick wink which only makes you want to hide away again like you’re 16 with a crush.

Dottie pulls him into an easy conversation. How is Hawkins? Where’d you both meet? And: Do you have a job? I expect only the best for my girl here, you know. And: you’ll have to come back and have something more than just coffee next time.

By the time she’s finished and gone off to engage with the newest patron in the diner, your coffee’s finished and Steve’s has gone cold. You watch Dottie walk off and when you look back, Steve’s staring at you, soft and kind. His gaze makes you squirm.

“I like her,” he says.

“Uh oh, do I have to worry about having competition now?” you joke and Steve shakes his head with a laugh.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone else, you’re the only one for me,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb against your hand. There’s that feeling like your heart might explode again with a sigh of his name, Steve. Though this time, you’re positive you’ve said it outloud.

“Steve,” you tilt your head, voice soft. He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles and if you don’t kiss him in the next minute, you’re going to have a problem. As if he can sense it, Steve sticks a five on the table and grabs the jacket he’d brought for you as well as Cliff’s leftover newspaper.

He holds his hand out to you to help you out of your side of the booth and you take it, his palm soft against yours. You make it to the door and then pause.

“Oh! Gotta grab my bag from the back,” you lean up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Meet you at the car?”

Steve nods, squeezing your hip briefly. He watches until you’ve disappeared into the back office before he walks out to his car. You come out not even a minute later, apron off and over your arm and bag hanging off your shoulder. There’s a slight skip in your step.

The air smells like rain, an earthy petrichor that makes things somehow feel lighter. Steve’s leaning against the passenger side, the door already open and waiting for you. When you’re close enough, he hooks a finger through your bag strap to pull it off your shoulder. It gets caught on the crook of your elbow when you reach up to cup his cheeks with your hands.

He’s confused for the briefest of seconds and then your lips are on his and he forgets about the bag on your shoulder. His hands fall to your hips, one of his arms wrapping tight around your waist. Something inside both of you is cheering, finally.

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing Steve. Both of you fit perfectly into the empty spots of each other, as if you were carved from the same stone upon creation. It’s a kiss almost far too explicit for outside Dottie’s diner midmorning on a Sunday but you can’t bring yourself to care. That is, until you need to come up for air.

You pull back, Steve chasing your lips and winning. You’re almost smiling too much now for it to work, your hands sliding from his cheeks to the sides of his neck. This time, he pulls away and your chests rise and fall in sync.

“Been needing to do that since you first walked inside,” you breathe out and Steve lets out a laugh that you can feel reverberate through you. He kisses you again, quick and soft and his hand moves to take your bag off your shoulder again.

“And why didn’t you?” he jests, stepping back enough for you to get into his car. One of your hands rests on the top of it, the other hanging loose at your side. Steve wishes he had a camera on him just to capture you in that moment with the sun hitting you in just the right way, playful adoration in your eyes.

“Because,” you shrug, stooping to get inside the car, holding a hand out for your bag when you’re situated. Steve passes it over and closes your door, jogging around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Because…?” he pries, sticking the key in the ignition but not yet turning it. You’re pulling your seatbelt across your chest, turning your head to smile at him as you click the buckle into place.

“Because Dottie might’ve gotten suspicious as to why I was so late this morning,” another pointed look his way and Steve shakes his head, turning the engine over and quickly buckling in his seatbelt. He shifts into reverse, checking his rearview mirror and then slinging his arm across the back of your seat.

It’s like a feast for your eyes. The stretch of his arm, a long expanse of muscle right by your head that carries a strong whiff of his cologne. The swift, smooth, one handed feel on the wheel. You’re staring unabashed, only getting knocked out of your reverie when he responds.

“I’m never living this down.”

He glances at you, his arm dropping from your seat to shift into drive. You lean your head against the headrest and shake it with a smile.

“So what was your excuse then? For being late?”

He pulls onto the street to take you back towards Hawkins, his right hand leaving the wheel and dropping to find your hand. You take the liberty of slotting your fingers into the spaces between his.

“Oh you know. Rough night being sick. Oversleeping. Like something out of Steve Harrington’s playbook for getting out of work,” you tease. He scoffs, sparing you a quick amused glance. You lift your hands to your lips in response, your smile hiding behind the kiss you press to his knuckles.

“And did it work? Did she buy it?”

“Oh, of course. Why do you think she let me off so early?”

Steve looks over at you again and sees the slight smirk on your face. He shakes his head with a slight laugh.

“Wow, you’ve been hanging around me too long. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Like that’s such a bad thing,” you roll your eyes, turning your head so your cheek rests against the leather of the headrest. A gooey softness melts into your gaze. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

Steve smiles, his cheeks blooming with a slight twinge of pink. He doesn’t say anything, just takes his turn lifting your joined hands to his lips to litter kisses along your knuckles. Your heart goes mushy, such has been the case since you started dating Steve. The mush liquefies, seeping through your body with a shiver when you notice the picture he’s got propped on his dash.

He’s had to have just added it recently. A grainy film capture of the two of you, you think Max must’ve taken it if you remember correctly but you haven’t seen it before. You’re both leaning against the hood of his car, Steve’s arm around your shoulders and your hand lifted to hold his hand that hangs there. A big toothy grin is spread across your face, your head tilted slightly against Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s not looking at the camera though, he’s looking at you with a lopsided smile, adoration spilling out of him clear as day.

“When did you add that?” you ask, pointing at the picture with your free hand. Steve glances down at it and immediately breaks into a smile.

“Just the other day. Surprised it’s taken you so long to notice it,” he replies, looking over at you and then back at the road. You’re about to ask if you can somehow get a copy of your own when he says, “I have a copy for you at home, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get it before you go back to your place.”

You smile at him, one that’s soft around the edges, a perfect mirror of how you feel. It feels so wonderful to be known and seen by somebody the way Steve knows and sees you. Making sure to get two prints of that picture of you. Bringing a jacket to work for you for the rain that doesn’t arrive until that afternoon as you’re about to leave his house to go back to yours.

He uses it as an excuse to keep you with him for another night, something you weakly protest against because the roads aren’t completely slick yet and you can get home just fine. But he insists, his eyes round and pleading and really you can’t deny that you’d rather stay with him anyway.

Even if it means you’re tired again in the morning and rushing to work. You think being with Steve is a worthy price to pay, you never thought you’d be so glad to be so tired.

And, at least you’re not late this time.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #📝: a writes!

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sahisan · 2 months ago

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— ooh, i still have your lighter.

featuring . chuuya nakahara.

tags . sfw. swearing. exes who can't get over each other. unhealthy coping mechanisms (mostly for reader (alcohol)). mention of smoking. a lot of alcohol. angst. a lot of angst. more angst. could've been 5+1 typa thing but it's not that, just small drabbles. gn reader. wc 1.9k.

author note . this is like actually very rushed because i really want to sleep but i needed to finish this before going to sleep so yes. maybe i'll beta read in the morning. maybe. also almost died writing this bye why do i love suffering. also guess what the name of this one is taken of.

"i still have your sweater."

chuuya hears how your voice is a bit quieter and more slurred than usual due to the effects of alcohol in your blood, and he can't really tell if he likes it or not with how you'd woken him up at nearly 2am to talk. again. sure, alcohol and all that, but he doesn't know if his current, sleepy comprehension of what's going on is better than your drunken one.

he intakes a breath at your words.

"the grey one," you continue quietly, and chuuya can hear you shifting your head on whatever you're laying it on through the speaker. "i haven't even washed it yet. it still smells like you."

in that very moment, he wants your drunk ass to just shut up and go to sleep.

but then there's your voice. intoxicated and quiet and soft, almost as soft as it was when you'd talk to him when you were together.

chuuya hates reminiscing.

he remembers that sweater. just a plain, grey sweater, but he also remembers you taking a liking to it very quickly. he still remembers you walking around in it, still remembers how he had to force you to take it off because you wouldn't budge.

he remembers a lot.

"just how drunk are you," chuuya mumbles as if scolding or complaining or both, but he can't deny that he tries to mask the shakiness in his voice with the sounds of his bedsheets' shuffling.

"mmmaybe two sake bottles in," you tell him then.

"jesus," he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. he's trying to remain composed, but god, is it hard. not only is he pissed off due to your drunk phone call, but a mix of bitterness and sorrow also runs through him at the realization that you still have a bit of him in your life and you still keep these bits.

well, he isn't any better, actually.

"you still got my sweater, huh?" chuuya blurts, trying to ignore the ache in his heart.

he scoffs, a frown on his face. his tone is harsh but his actual feelings still somehow manage to show through the way he speaks; he's hurting more than he's angry.

"...i still have your stupid fucking lighter," he ends up mumbling after a beat of silence.

there's more silence from you as he says the words, and chuuya exhales a breath through the lump in his throat, wishing for it to just disappear.

he hears you hum. "the silver one?" you ask, and it's his turn to hum in reply. "...you still use it?"

"yeah," he ends up breathing out.

"every fucking day," chuuya responds, words much softer now somehow despite the curses, his eyes now fixed on the ceiling above him.

and it hurts, it really does. to know that you, despite having a new life, still call him when drunk, still own his sweater, and now the realization that he still holds a piece of you as well.

he never told you that, never said a word about how the lighter never left his pocket ever since you left him, and he wasn't planning on, but chuuya, in fact, had started smoking much more since after you left.

he hopes the lighter will never break.

—

chuuya hadn't answered your calls for a month.

"where the hell have you been?" you throw at him instantly the second he picks up on the fourth ring.

"in france, idiot," he points out with a scrunch of his face, plopping down on his bed and exhaling a near groan-like sigh, the memories of the recent overseas mission creeping up his mind.

fucking city of love.

he hears you hum, and then sound of rustling, as if you're shifting in your own bed. you're not drunk this time—thank god—but you do sound a bit more... melancholic, if he compares to your voice during the latest calls.

"mm, and how was france?" you ask, voice slightly quieter like you're focused on something else besides the call. he hopes you aren't.

chuuya scoffs. he takes in a breath, turning to lay on his side and press his phone to another ear, "ça aurait été bien mieux avec toi," he mumbles out at an exhale, using the harsher tone of voice to make it sound like he'd said something bad about his trip—and not like he'd said something about you. no. not in a century.

and you laugh. you actually laugh, and, at first, he doesn't understand why—at what are you laughing? did you somehow understand what he said? were you secretly learning french all these years away to catch him saying something like this? could be possible, knowing you, but the sound of your laughter literally interrupts all his thoughts and he can't focus on anything—

"at least translate, come on," he hears you say, voice still a bit breathy from the recent laughter. "don't tell me france was that bad."

chuuya has to move his phone from his ear for a good few meters away to exhale a loud, relieving breath through his mouth.

"not translating you anythin', i'm not your personal translator," he says once he brings the phone back to his ear, scowling and huffing. "you're gonna struggle with trying to understand what i said for the rest of your life now, that's what you get."

he still has to get over the sound of your laughter. perhaps it's the first time he's heard it in years.

("would've been much better with you.")

—

it's nearing half past midnight, and chuuya, somehow, already knows you're drunk as hell as he picks up the call.

he's in the middle of a trip back home from work when he does, leaving a single hand on the steering wheel as he answers.

yeah, you're definitely drunk.

"enjoying yourself?" he mutters dryly, huffing out a breath as he hears your nearly incoherent mumbling on the other line.

he listens to it nearly a minute, stuck on a red traffic light.

"hey," chuuya calls out quietly, exhaling a sigh, he's really gonna have to do this now, isn't he? "be a dear 'n pass the phone to the bartender, will ya?"

it's a miracle you do as told, as intoxicated as you are.

once he hears the shuffling sound of that said bartender picking your phone up to their ear, he asks for the address, and once he gets it, the traffic light turns green and chuuya goes for a quick "u" turnabout, making his way towards the bar, not before asking the person on the other line to watch over you so you won't wander off before he arrives.

you're already slumped on the bar counter with your arms under your head and a finished glass of—clearly—something strong beside you as chuuya comes through the door.

he thinks of if you try to silence your desire to call him every time with alcohol and if it—alcohol—almost always makes it worse. it certainly does, he catches himself thinking.

he thanks the bartender for the address, paying for you and carefully swinging your hand over his shoulder to safely exit the bar and carry you over to his car, listening to your drunken babbling all the way through.

chuuya sighs once he gets you into the passenger seat, and you seem to almost immediately slump into the leather.

so you've had that much.

he can work with that, now that you're already fast asleep as he's back to starting the car.

once him and you in tow are at your doorway, he fishes the keys out of your pocket and lets himself in.

your apartment has remained as he remembers it—there are some minor changes, but the little details are the ones that he notices first and they're still there, even throughout the years.

at least you have some sort of stability in your life.

chuuya ends up shrugging off your outerwear and shoes and bringing you over to your bedroom, contemplating about whether or not you would like to wake up in fresh clothes im the morning, but he realises thay you two aren't that close anymore for him to go through your closet and, moreso, change your clothes. he lets it stay like it is.

before leaving, chuuya makes sure to place a glass of water and a pack of hangover pills on your nightstand.

he leaves using that same spare key you made for him years ago.

his forehead finds the steering wheel as soon as he collapses into the driver's seat.

—

"we should stop doing this," you tell chuuya quietly during one of the next calls, and chuuya can tell you loathe the words coming out of your mouth.

you're absolutely sober this time.

"we should," he confirms just as quietly, staring up at the ceiling above his bed.

there's silence on both ends for the next five minutes. after that, you wish him good night and end the call.

chuuya doesn't try to bring his phone away from his ear for two more minutes.

—

tuesdays are always shit.

chuuya does not want to receive any phone calls on a fucking tuesday night while he's buried in paperwork and stupid reports, but he ends up receiving one.

from you.

he nearly snaps his phone in two once he picks it up in his free hand, stopping for a moment as he sees your contact popping up on the screen.

he hesitates for a moment, the hand holding the pen he was previously writing with halting.

chuuya exhales a breath, eyelids closing. he presses "accept".

"what now?" he snaps as soon his phone touches his ear.

a moment before he did so, he could hear you intaking a breath as if you were preparing to speak. as if you were excited to propose something.

you're silent on the other end after that. he can tell you were taken aback, but he was really just too tired to care. maybe.

"...you, me, chateau latour 1977?" your voice is quiet; quieter than it was supposed to be before he snapped, and he can actually feel it, because your voice actually falters in the end, but he can trace the bits of hope remaining in it.

something in chuuya's chest squeezes at that, and then he registers your words.

...oh.

you're inviting him over to drink.

...oh.

chuuya is actually silent as the gears turning before in his head and the flow of his thoughts literally stop—they just stop. there's nothing in his mind except for your voice offering to drink together. he unintentionally drops the pen from his hand.

and then his eyes shift towards the two incomplete stacks of papers on the table in front of him.

you over work? his ex over work? his ex the thought about whom he can't seem to be able to get rid of as much as he wants, over work?

what an easy choice.

unfortunately, today is one of the days when chuuya ends up speaking before he thinks.

"i'm busy," he ends up barking in the end, ending the call barely a second later.

he stares at the now lit screen of his phone, showing the earlier message from you, containing a single photo of the wine bottle you'd offered him just a minute ago.

he stares at it, and stares, and stares some more, before he throws his head back and clenches his eyelids as hard as he can, because his eyes suddenly start watering with tears.

chuuya is an idiot.

—

"i'm sorry."

chuuya doesn't remember which of you two said this. he hopes it was him.

"i know."

he doesn't remember who replied.

call ended.

—

#chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #nakahara chuuya x you #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x y/n #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x gender neutral reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bungou stray dogs x you #x reader

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 4 months ago

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title: cuddles are better than parties

pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader

synopsis: you’re getting ready to go out with grayson but really really don’t want to go…

warnings: crying?? (help I’m so bad at warnings)

a/n: thanks for reading… this is honestly one of the most random things I’ve ever written, but I hope you enjoy nevertheless

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @zoyaaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @f4iry-bell

I’m stood in the mirror, putting on a pair of teardrop earrings. My dress is beautiful but I’d rather not be in it right now. Actually I’d rather not be going out at all. Today had really taken it out of me, but Grayson always seemed to be in his element at these gatherings so I choose not to tell him.

“What’s the matter?” Grayson asks, walking in adjusting his tie.

“Nothing,” I reply trying to sound nonchalant so he can’t see through my mask. I turn from the mirror and gaze at him. He carries a suit well, always has. But this tailored one was really quite something.

“What’s the matter?” he repeats, face contorted with concern.

He’s noticed. Of course he’s noticed. He’s Grayson, how was he not going to notice? But I can hide it, I convince myself, I can hide it.

“Nothing,” I say again, offering him a lopsided smile to prove I was okay.

“Tell me,” Grayson says, his tone serious and almost stern, yet I can see the worry line rippling all over his face. Seemingly my smile didn’t work as well as I’d hoped.

“There’s nothing to tell,” I shrug, focussing my attention back onto the earring.

“Tell me,” he says again, his voice more urgent.

“Gray stop it!” I force a laugh.

“Tell me or I will never kiss you ever again,” he threatens.

And I know he means it. Once I had a headache and I didn’t tell him but he noticed something wasn’t quite right, so he refused to kiss me until I did. It lasted three whole days before I finally gave in. I didn’t even have the headache when I told him. Sometimes the two of us are both too stubborn for our own good.

“Will you be able to resist,” I tease, a smirk dancing on my lips.

“For as long as you don’t tell me,” he challenges, arms folded.

“But there’s nothing,” I exhale.

“You’re lying,” he states, “I can tell.”

He can always tell. Sometimes I don’t even know how.

“No I’m not,” I protest. I would not give up this easily.

“Lie number…” he pauses, “hang on I’ve lost count.”

“Gray!” I groan, throwing my head back, “it’s nothing!”

He doesn’t even bother to respond this time, just stares at me and waits. The confession is churning in my brain. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me and he knows it.

“Okay so there’s something,” I mutter, not meeting his eye.

“What is it?” he rushes, coming towards me, “what’s making you upset?”

I hesitate, the words not wanting to come out of my mouth, like it was superglued shut.

“You can tell me anything,” Grayson reassures me, touching my arm gently.

“I know,” I tell him, “I know.”

“Then why do you look scared to,” he murmurs softly, sounding almost hurt.

“Because I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” I explain, “or disappoint you.”

His eyebrows pinch together and he suddenly looks on edge.

“You’re not going to,” he says, his eyes shining.

“I beg to differ,” I scoff, looking away from him quickly.

“What’s wrong? Just tell me,” his voice is so thick with desperation it hurts me to hear, “I need to know.”

“I…” I sigh, “I just…”

I falter, getting a little shaky. I feel tears well up in my eyes and a lump forming in my throat. Why was I so upset? So anxious?

“I’m not going to get mad,” Grayson murmurs, tucking a few strands of loose hair behind my ears.

“I really don’t want to go tonight,” I say, as my bottom lip wobbles. I try and bite it to keep it still. Grayson’s face contorts into care and that’s when the tears flowing down my face, ruining the make up I’d just done, “I’m sorry I just can’t.”

“That’s fine, we’re not going,” he says immediately, putting his arms around me.

“But you wanted to go and I don’t want to ruin it,” I sob, ugly and loud, into him.

“You’re not ruining anything,” he soothes, pulling me closer into his chest.

“But-“

“No buts, it’s you first. Always. I would never make you go somewhere you didn’t want to,” he tells me, taking my hands and taking me gently over to the bed. He sits down and pulls me onto his lap. I curl up into a ball and carry on crying.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, “I’m so so sorry.”

“Hey,” he mumbles into my hair, “stop with that.”

“But I am sorry,” I blubber, “because you wanted to go and now you’re not going because of me and-“

“I don’t care about it, love,” he tells me, so softly I want to melt into a puddle, “it was just about party that I was asked to attend but I don’t need to. I’d much rather be here with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, the tears still failing to stop falling.

“And I don’t want you to feel like this,” he says gently as he rocks me in his arms, “I hate seeing you like this, it hurts me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t apologise for your feelings,” he whispers to me, our noses now touching, “never apologise for your feelings. To anyone.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply, automatically. It’s like the word has been scorched into the side of my skull and it flashes up every time I feel like I’ve done something that offends someone.

“Y/N,” Grayson sighs, brushing the hair out of my face.

“Sorr-“ I begin to say, “oh…”

I trail off and fall silent, crying quietly in his arms. He never let’s go of me, never grows tired, never asks me to get off. I’m sure both his legs are numb and his arms ache but he doesn’t say a word.

After a longe while he checks in with me, quietly asking, “you okay?”

“Can we just stay like this for a little bit?” I mumble, a bit too comfortable where I am. I feel too safe and secure to move.

“Of course,” he whispers, “whatever you need.”

He holds me close and tentatively rubs up and down my arms in a soothing rhythm, occasionally kissing the top of my head or whispering something comforting to me. I close my eyes and just breathe. It’s easy to forget that the people who love you can do anything to make you feel better.

“Can I ask you one question?” Grayson asks, after I don’t even know how long we’d been there for.

“Hmm,” I hum in reply.

“Why?” he says, “why didn’t you want to go… was it the people? The venu? The dress? Me?”

“No,” I sniff, sitting up, “I just feel so drained and tired and I just want to cry and sleep and eat and I can’t think of anything worse than standing around in heels and a fancy dress talking to people I don’t even know, only to come back even more exhausted that I started and-“

I sob loudly. I don’t even know why in this emotional. Guilt just wracks me from inside out. I’m still worried I’ve ruined the night for him, that secretly he really wanted to go and now I’ve forced him to stay here. I’m just so conflicted by my feelings and thoughts, everything is an out of control whirlwind that seems to be pouring from my eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers, brushing away my tears with his thumb and pulling me close to him, “it’s okay.”

He strokes my cheek delicately as he cradles me again. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so small and helpless yet so comforted and safe at the same time.

“I’m sorry to make you upset again,” he says gently, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not your fault,” I reply, now feeling even worse for making him feel guilty, “it’s just me being stupid.”

“You are not stupid,” Grayson tells me, looking straight into my eyes,

“I feel stupid,” I murmur, playing with the loose thread on his jumper to avoid eye contact.

“Trust me, you’re not stupid,” he says, “I was only asking because next time I thought I’d it was something in particular I would just turn it down before it even happened.”

My eyes snap to meet his and this time the wave of emotion that hits me is full of a euphoric sort of love.

“Oh Gray, you’re so good to me,” I exclaim, “what did I do to deserve you?”

“You deserve a lot more than me, love,” he kisses my temple, “why didn’t you tell me sooner, that you didn’t want to go?”

That had been bugging him, I could tell. He thinks I don’t tell him how I’m feeling because I’m too scared or too worried and that makes him doubt himself. If only he knew…

“I thought I’d be able to manage it, I thought I’d be fine but every second I was getting ready I was feeling worse and worse,” I explain, getting a little worked up again, “god I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, we don’t have to go, you don’t have to be sorry,” he says, “but next time just tell me okay, never be afraid to just tell me.”

“I promise,” I nod, still snivelling.

“Do you want a tissue?” Grayson asks me with a half smile.

“Yes please,” I reply, not having the energy to smile back quite yet.

He leans over and grabs the box and places it in my hands. I take a tissue and wipe my face and blow my nose, making me feeling insanely disgusting.

“I’m gross,” I groan.

“I think you’re adorable,” he counters, putting the box back away.

“Even when I look like this?” I raise my eyebrows.

“Like what?” he questions, “you’re gorgeous.”

My cheeks heat up suddenly, red creeping back into them and I smile slightly.

“I love your smile,” he says, noticing it too, “I missed it for a minute.”

I let out a small giggle before a sniff again. He kisses my forehead, then the tip of my nose and then finally ends on my lips.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he murmurs, “you’re going to get into some comfy clothes and pick out a movie, whilst I run to the store and grab some snacks. Then we’re going to cuddle until you get bored of me and want to sleep.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

a/n: when I was reading this back Grayson was giving me crazy Aaron Warner vibes I can’t lie… also I have no clue why I wrote this but it’s defos something I would do, idk if anyone else can relate but oh well

credit to @aquazero for the divider 🤍🤍

TIG masterlist

#bella writes 🤍#grayson hawthorne #grayson hawthorne x reader #grayson hawthorne x you #the inheritance games #the brothers hawthorne #the final gambit #tig #the hawthorne legacy #tig fic #love to write

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bvidzsoo · 4 months ago

Text

Love Me Like A Rockstar (10)

ー☆ Chapter 10: Sugar

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cursing, usage of the word bitch ー☆ Word count: 13.7k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I am so-so sorry for making you wait for so long for chapter 10, but I am finally DONE with university and have been heavily focusing on my works since, so hopefully I'll get to update this series a lot more often! ^^ This part is the longest so far, and I think you all deserve it after the long wait. I feel like it isn't the best I have written for this series so far, but I'll let you be the judge of it. I can't wait to hear your thoughts about chapter 10 and please leave feedback, you always make my day when you do so! <3 Listen to Sugar before or while reading this chapter, it's actually really important as it's the song they are performing hehet. The outfit Mingi wears is the one in the moodboard, with a little change to his hair color mhmm. I hope you enjoy this, and happy reading! ^^

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @scarfac3 @juicy-red @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @mjlbn01 @xhexy @tmtxtf @hwashiningstar @thatfavouritesong @ateez-atiny380 @xciiiomwliah @vixensss @catchingskzzzs @tesssaurrr @ginger-mingi

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

The doors of the cab slammed shut behind us, the voice of the driver wishing us a good time cut short as I grimaced, looking up at the sign of Outlaw. Well, here I was again, under much different circumstance than the first time. Now, I was here willingly, having agreed to come myself, unlike the last time, when I tagged along with Seulgi just because I felt bad for her having to come on her own to woo her crush—turned boyfriend now, thankfully. Seulgi’s heels clicked loudly against the pavement as she came to stand next to me, the cab finally driving off, and when I threw her a quick glance, I caught her smirking at me again. I groaned and crossed my arms in front of my chest, the leather jacket crippling under the action, making a quiet sound that was drowned out as a few guys exited the pub, laughing loudly about something.

“Stop giving me that look, Seulgi.” I groaned as she just chuckled, pursing her lips.

“I didn’t think you owned clothes like that,” Seulgi’s teasing was relentless, she’s been at my throat the second she stopped by my house so that we’d ride to Outlaw together, “Who was your inspiration for tonight? Letty from Fast and Furious?”

“I swear to God, Seulgi, shut up!” I exclaimed, pushing her shoulder playfully as she stuck her tongue out at me before she grabbed my arm to drag me towards the pub’s entrance, “You don’t hear me making fun of your outfit for looking like you’ve come straight out of Scooby-Doo or something!”

“Scooby-Doo?!” Seulgi exclaimed, throwing me an offended look, “You’re being foul now, Y/N, my mother bought this dress for me and I think the colors are lovely!”

“They are, I’m just playing with you because you deserve it.” I chuckled, opening the door for her as she shook her head at me, adjusting the hem of her short dress. Seulgi looked like a character straight out of the seventies with her orange and brown patterned dress, the sleeves loose at the end and the skirt a little ruffled as it reached just below her thighs. She matched some white high heeled boots with it that reached up to her knees, and her small shoulder bag was white as well to match her boots. She ruffled up her black hair even more, the curs tighter as she pulled half of it up in a ponytail, and I gave her some white winged-eyeliner, blushing up her cheeks and painting her lips a pretty coral color. She looked absolutely lovely and she was very excited to see Wooyoung, who apparently, wore similar colors. They have agreed to match their outfits for tonight, and as much as I hated admitting it, I thought it was rather adorable, and found myself pondering whether I’d do it too if I had a boyfriend.

As for myself, not wanting to feel like the last time I was here, out of place and as if everyone was ogling me, I wore something that I deemed rather fit for a rock show, something more from the twenties. My jeans were a dark grey color, low rise and flared out below the knees. I wore black boots with it that didn’t have too high of a heel as I knew my feet would hurt quite fast because of them. It took some time until I finally settled on the simple white tank top that I wore now, just about reaching my belly button as I wasn’t keen of showing too much skin. And the dark leather bomber jacket that I wore to keep me warm from the cold night is actually my mother’s, and I totally stole it from her closet without her noticing—hopefully. Accessories had always been an important part of my outfits; therefore I threw on a thick dark brown belt, which perhaps drew the attention onto my exposed lower belly, but I didn’t ponder enough on the thought in order to prevent feeling uncomfortable about it, and as my black nails were painted in a haste, they definitely didn’t look as neat as I would have preferred them to be. My fingers, per usual, weren’t left bare as I wore my favorite rings, only my left pinky and right ring-finger missing the jewelry. Not wanting to leave my neck bare either, I threw on a black choker that had a moonstone pendant, and two more silver necklaces that hung at different lengths around my neck, and some smaller silver hoop earrings that completed the look altogether. I left my hair alone mostly, gave it a few large curls as I didn’t like the way it looked straight with the outfit, and for once, I didn’t feel the need to do any strong makeup. Similar to Seulgi, I rosed up my cheeks a little bit and applied a dark red lip-gloss that would certainly come off the second my lips touch a glass to drink water. I would like to think I totally slayed this outfit, and ignore Seulgi’s incessant teasing that I was all dolled up because of someone. But she’s wrong—like she is almost always—because I did not have Mingi in mind when putting together this outfit, I merely didn’t want to look out of place again.

The air was rather warm inside the pub as Seulgi and I walked inside, then down a flight of stairs as today’s performance would be on the lower part, an after party following it. Different smells mixed in the air, mostly those sweet elf bars everyone seemed to be smoking, and the not so pleasant smell of cigarettes, the two smells mixing with the perfume and cologne of the people down there. I wondered when it became alright to smoke indoors, especially in a confined space underground, but before I could say anything about it to Seulgi, we were greeted by a familiar face. We have barely walked inside the room, Seulgi’s boyfriend was stood in front of us, grinning from ear to ear. I stepped aside as Seulgi released my hand and I watched as the two grinned at each other widely, going in for a tight hug as Wooyoung buried his head in Seulgi’s neck. And they certainly didn’t joke about matching their outfits tonight, Wooyoung wore brown jeans that were ripped at his knees, showing off a tattoo that I didn’t know he had, and his top was an orange mesh fabric with white streaks, leaving little to imagination, and I was taken aback upon seeing it. But Seulgi seemed to be enjoying it `as she fiddled with the fabric at his arms and even leaned down to whisper something in his ear, something I certainly didn’t want to hear as Wooyoung’s cheeks instantly tinged red. I snorted and stepped up to them, raising one eyebrow.

“If you’re done devouring each other, love birds, should we go sit down somewhere upstairs until you are next to perform?” I spoke up, Wooyoung’s eyes falling on me as he grinned widely, Seulgi sticking to his side as her arm went around his shoulders.

“Hi, Y/N!” Wooyoung greeted enthusiastically, blinking his eyes innocently at me, “I didn’t see you there.”

“Of course,” I snorted, smirking at him, “you were too busy checking my bestie out, which is cool since you’re her boyfriend, but I certainly would’ve broken your nose if you weren’t…”

“She’s only joking!” Seulgi exclaimed, a nervous laugh bubbling up her throat as she pressed her cheek against Wooyoung’s, “Well…mostly, she did punch a guy once because he was bothering us…”

I grinned, placing my hands deep in my jacket’s pocket, Wooyoung’s expression falling as he took me in, “Don’t worry, I was only joking, Wooyoung. With you…not with that other guy.”

“Yeah, cool.” Wooyoung laughed, but it sounded rather fake and I grinned satisfied, making Seulgi narrow her eyes at me. Wooyoung had to know I liked him as long as Seulgi did and as long as he treated her right. If he breaks her heart, I break his nose…simple as that, “Uh, if Mingi finally decides to stop fixing his hair in the bathroom and joins us, we could go upstairs, although I don’t know when it’s our turn to perform.”

Mingi, right. It seemed like after hanging out things were back to normal between us, no more ignored messages and awkward tension that drove me up the wall. He was back to his old and annoying self, texting me—more like spamming me—about anything and everything that came to mind, and I finally felt relaxed around him again. Well, as relaxed as I could be given the fact that my whole body jumped whenever I got a text from him and my heart would pick up its rhythm and make me blush like a stupid schoolgirl. I hated it, this feeling where I knew something was brewing deep inside, but I opted to ignore it. I wanted to ignore it. I was scared that if I stopped ignoring it, then it would become very real, and for that to happen, something even very small could trigger it. I desperately wished nothing more would put our friendship to test and that we just continue blissfully ignoring the lingering stares and the accidental touches that somehow have stopped feeling so accidental or uncomfortable lately.

“Ah, there he is!” Wooyoung exclaimed loudly, snickering at someone behind me, “The princess himself, is your highness ready at last? Or should I go with you and help you fix your boxers too or something?”

Wooyoung’s loud cackle didn’t manage to mask the low giggle behind me, and upon hearing the familiar sound, all particles of my body decided to heat up at once, making me whirl around almost frantically, blood freezing and body going cold at the approaching sight. Whoever that man was…it looked like Mingi, but at the same time it felt like a different person. A much hotter and sexier Mingi than the one I have known for a little over a month now, and I gulped, feeling my jaw about to drop open at any moment. I didn’t know at what to look first, his face, his body—outfit—or his hair? The sight of Song Mingi suddenly was too much to take in at once and I gulped, eyes settling on his outfit that was…revealing? Vulgar, perhaps? But it concealed everything in the perfect percentage, as if he purposefully wanted to tease the audience—me?

But at the same time, due to the innocent look on his face, he made it seem like he had absolutely no fucking idea of how hot and ravishing he looked, and suddenly, I couldn’t recognize my own feelings as my stomach coiled upon seeing Mingi’s sexy, all denim outfit. His jeans were a light colour and looked almost washed out with darker coloured patches strewn around the fabric, tightly ripped starting from his thighs, stopping just barely above his knees. But the fabric was long and loose, and it pooled around his ankles, this boots thick and tall, helping Mingi out from having to step on the ends of his jeans. Its waist was high and he wore no belt with the jeans, but a chain hung around his right pocket, concealed by the very similar denim jacket that he wore on top of his low-cut black tank top, positioned perfectly over his pecs, barely hiding his nipples. And perhaps the outfit wouldn’t have looked that crazy or provocative if it weren’t for the jacket, which was made out of the same material as his jeans, the front parts of its sleeves entirely ripped up, exposing his toned arms, teasing at what he’d usually hide with long sleeves as it was cold outside now. Mingi wore a beige fingerless glove on his left hand, and his right hand was adorned by the rings he liked most, all his fingernails now completely black with a hint of silver on a few of them. The long silver pendant sitting against the dip between his pecs definitely drew attention to the exposed skin, and two heavier looking silver chains clung snugly around his neck. And as he came closer, almost having reached us, I noticed the same little black scribble that I have called dirt the first time seeing it, was high on his right cheekbone again. It was his signature, apparently.

“Stop being an ass, Woo,” Mingi spoke up as he reached us at last, having stopped right in front of me—as I was still stupidly gaping at him—but he only looked past me, “my hair wouldn’t stay in place and I asked Hongjoong to help me fix it.”

“So that’s where he disappeared to,” Wooyoung chuckled, and I caught my jaw drop more open, so I quickly coughed and closed it as Mingi’s eyes briefly fell on me, “Seonghwa’s been looking for him desperately.”

“Those two need to learn how to live without each other, I swear to God, they are worse than you and Seulgi—”

“Hey!” Wooyoung scoffed and threw his best friend a glare as Seulgi chuckled, meanwhile me…yeah, I was malfunctioning. Completely and most certainly struggling to accept that the Mingi that stood in front of me wasn’t just simply conjured up by my mind, but was real, “Seulgi and I are lovely, thank you very much. But Seonghwa and Hongjoong are downright disgustingly in love with each other, even I can’t handle them anymore, and that’s a lot coming from me.”

Mingi chuckled and nodded in agreement, his eyes falling on me again, but this time they stayed on me. My muscles tensed and I gulped—my throat having gone too dry—trying to formulate one coherent thought. Mingi’s hair…it was still long, but it wasn’t black anymore. It was—this platinum blonde that sharpened his features so much more than they already were, and the way the front strands were jelled back highlighted his cheekbones, eyes, and even his tall nose.

“Hi, Y/N—”

“You’re blonde.” My mouth, once again, worked before my brain could agree to what was being said, “Like…platinum blonde.”

“Yeah, I’m blonde.” Mingi grinned, touching the back of his hair gently, eyes widening curiously, “What do you think…do you still hate blondes?”

Stupid mouth and stupid brain for not being able to synchronise when I most need them to, “No, not this blonde, not you.”

Silence settled around us and my cheeks flamed up, and I knew Seulgi was on the verge of bursting out laughing, and I wished for the Earth to swallow me up completely, but I refused to show any of those emotions as I forced my expression to become blank, and then cursed at my heart as it was hammering against my ribcage, my eyes fixated on Mingi’s flushed cheeks.

“Thanks,” Mingi cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he looked down, “I went ahead and took your advice, Seonghwa was eager to help me out.”

“Good, cool.” Tonight wasn’t my best night when it came to communicating, and I sighed loudly, much to Mingi’s amusement as he grinned then stepped even closer, throwing his arm around my shoulders and making me jump in the process. He veered us around to face Seulgi and Wooyoung, and I knew my whole face was red as I tried to keep my eyes ahead and not on Mingi’s exposed chest or arms, while also trying not to take a deep breath and inhale his scent—which was intoxicatingly sweet, yet somehow spicy at the same time. Good Lord, if I was a smoker, I’d definitely excuse myself and probably finish the whole package at this point.

“We’ll grab some drinks; do you want anything?” Mingi asked Wooyoung and Seulgi, who were both giving us looks that I rather ignored as Seulgi’s stare became insistent as she searched for eye contact.

“Nah, we’re good, right, baby?” Wooyoung kissed Seulgi’s cheek and she giggled nodding, shooing us away with her hand. What a traitor, I knew she wanted something to drink, but she thought she was playing matchmaker if she left me alone with Mingi.

Mingi shrugged and looked down at me, “Let’s go then.”

And before I could tell him that I wasn’t drinking tonight, he was veering us towards the bar, smiling from ear to ear. I rarely saw him so enthusiastic and smiley—happy—and I found myself unable to resist the need to ogle his profile as we arrived to the bar, finally releasing his hold on me. He pursed his lips as he held onto the surface of the bar, leaning a little over it. From this angle, and because I stood close to him, I could finally read what was written on his cheekbone, fix on. Well…that was peculiar, but at this point nothing really surprised me about him, not with a band name like Noir Zenith. Was it fair that Mingi looked handsome even from the side?

I realized his lips were moving, but I wasn’t focusing on what he was saying, and so, when he turned his head and smiled at me a little unsure, my eyes widened.

“Huh?” I found myself dumbly asking and Mingi giggled, the sound deep and making my palms ball up into fists because of how cute he sounded.

“I was saying that I hope you like sweet things.” He clarified as he leaned against the bar, tilting his head with a devilish glint in his dark brown eyes. I gulped and ran my hand through my hair, looking anywhere but at him. The shoes he wore made him tower over me, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. I should have worn higher heels to minimalize the sudden height difference between us.

“As long as they aren’t too sweet, I can handle them.” I muttered, and Mingi grinned as the bartender pushed a tall glass with something pinkish inside it towards me. I raised my eyebrows as the bartender went to take an order from someone else, pointing at my drink, “Is this for me?”

“Sure is.” Mingi smiled, and my eyebrows furrowed.

“Where’s yours? And why did he leave if we didn’t pay for it?” I mused as I grabbed the glass rather reluctantly.

“I don’t like to drink before the performance, and I already paid for it—”

“Mingi.” I deadpanned, cutting him off as my eyes narrowed at him, “This is the second time you pay for something that is mine. I don’t like it when guys do that—”

“But I’m not just any guy,” He leaned down, a little too close to my face, making my breathing halt in my throat, “I’m your bestie and if I want to spoil you, I certainly can and will do so.”

“That’s not how—” I took a deep breath and gave in at last when he started bating his eyebrows at me, making me huff, “Fine, thank you, Mingi.”

“You’re very welcome,” He grinned and poked my cheek, making me yank my head away as I threw a glare at him, “Now taste it so that I know you like it.”

“And if I don’t?” I teased as I took the straw between my lips and took a tentative sip.

“I’ll order something else, then.” Mingi pouted, watching me closely as I took a longer sip, humming at the strawberry-like taste of the drink. It wasn’t bad, and I couldn’t exactly taste the alcohol in it, so that was good.

“It’s tasty, so you don’t have to order anything else for me.” I tried to hide my smile as I took another sip, and Mingi looked pleased with himself as his hand glided across the bar slowly as he bit his lower lip and looked down. It was a rather unusual reaction from him, and as he cleared his throat, he suddenly touched the sleeve of my jacket, making my grip tighten around the glass.

“You look really good tonight.” His voice was low, and thus deeper, and I felt my breath get stuck in my throat for a second before I took a sip way too big of my drink, nodding at Mingi, and averting my eyes.

“Thank you,” My voice sounded a little raspy, and I quickly cleared my throat, “You—you look good too. Like…way too good.”

Mingi bit his bottom lip as his eyes bore into mine, almost making me choke on my sweet drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped rather loudly. He opened his mouth to say something, but someone appeared to our left, thankfully saving us from saying anything else that would make everything even more awkward than it already was.

“Mingi,” The tall man touched Mingi’s shoulder while offering me a soft smile, it was Seonghwa, “five minutes and we’re starting. Let’s go, and hi, Y/N, lovely seeing you again!”

I forcibly gulped down the drink and nodded at Seonghwa, albeit with my cheeks still tinged red, “Hello, good to see you too.”

Seonghwa grinned, looking rather happy, and then he turned around and waved someone over. I watched curiously as a man shorter than both Mingi and Seonghwa—even myself—walked over, looking rather expensive and high-class for a place like Outlaw, “Hongjoong, dear, mind staying with Y/N? I don’t want you to stand to the side alone, again.”

“Whatever you wish for, my love.” My eyebrows rose unintentionally as I looked at Mingi, trying to gulp down the laughter that threatened to bubble up, the exchange between the two lovers cute, but a little too much for my liking. Mingi looked almost sick as he rolled his eyes, and then grabbed Seonghwa’s arm and waved at Hongjoong.

“We are going.” He stated, and then sent a wink at me, “See you later, doll.”

And the way my cheeks started burning again wasn’t just a trick of the dimming lights as Hongjoong looked curiously my way, coming to stand next to me as he leaned up against the bar. His hair seemed to be a mixture of a light brown and deep purple, quite the hair colour, but it looked exceptionally good on him. He wore light coloured jeans and vinyl boots with small heels, his nails painted different promiscuous colours. The black shirt underneath his very expensive looking black blazer, decorated with silver dragons, had an intricate design on its right side, the fabric coming around his neck as a thin strap, probably sleeveless too on his right side. I knew an artist when I saw one, and I smiled at him widely as I extended my hand for him to shake.

“My name is Y/N.” I said, and despite the intimidating expression on his face, he smiled at me.

“I’m Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s boyfriend.” My smile turned into a grin and I hummed as I finally spotted Seulgi running over to us, her eyes lighting up when she noticed I was standing with Hongjoong.

“Oh, Hongie!” She exclaimed and I almost choked on my drink as Hongjoong’s face fell, “Haven’t seen you in so long! Everything okay? You and Seonghwa haven’t fought again, right?!”

Seulgi sounded like a scrutinizing mother as she narrowed her eyes at Hongjoong, coming to a stop in front of him with her hands on her hips, “No! We’re fine, I’ve been busy with the company and couldn’t come, is all.”

“That better be true,” Seulgi huffed and leaned closer to the man, “I’ll be quizzing Seonghwa later too, and if your stories don’t match up…you’re in for an earful.”

“I feel like I missed out on a few chapters or something.” I butted in with a chuckle, and Hongjoong heaved a long sigh as Seulgi giggled.

“You should ask Seonghwa to tell you their little love story.” Seulgi suggested, and then raised her finger when Hongjoong went to interject, “It’s actually really cute and romantic, shut up, Hongie.”

“Stop calling me Hongie, Seulgi. I could be your father.” I coughed as I choked on the drink, which I have almost finished by now, and my eyes bulged as I stared at Hongjoong. How old was he?!

“He’s just joking, Y/N, don’t worry,” Seulgi rolled her eyes, “He could be our older brother or something, definitely not our father. Seonghwa wouldn’t date a wrinkly ass grumpy dwarf—”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from a dwarf herself.” I said underneath my breath, but both heard me, and I jumped when Hongjoong burst out laughing, flipping Seulgi off as she gaped at me with betrayal written all over her face.

“Suddenly, I understand why you and Wooyoung are together,” Hongjoong said once he had calmed down, “You’re even worse than him.”

“She really is a handful once she gets going.” I threw back the rest of the drink as Seulgi slapped my shoulder, making me sway. The lights suddenly started to further dim and Seulgi gasped, whirling around with excitement dancing all around her face.

“We have to go to the front!” She exclaimed as I placed my empty glass on the bar, and offered my arm to hook with hers as she looked back at Hongjoong and me with a wide grin, “Let’s go!”

As she started pulling me after herself, I felt a warm hand gently latch onto mine, and I looked back to see Hongjoong giving me a sheepish look, almost as if he was asking for permission. I grinned and held his hand back firmly, the three of us making it to the front, but not to the first row as it was already occupied by quite a handful of people. That wasn’t a problem, I feared I would’ve passed out if I had to stand right underneath Mingi and stare up at him as he sings his heart out.

“Thanks,” Hongjoong muttered once we let go of each other’s hands, “I know Seonghwa would’ve been disappointed if I didn’t tag along with you two.”

“You seem like a really lovely couple.” I didn’t feel like myself when I said such things, but it was the truth, they did look lovely.

“Thank you.” Hongjoong’s cat-like features softened, and I grinned back at him, “We met when he was interning for my company…”

“Oh,” I hummed, and then my eyes widened as it finally clicked why he looked slightly familiar, “Wait, you’re Kim Hongjoong?”

“Yeah, of Kim Enterprise.” He clarified, and my jaw hung open just slightly for the nth time tonight.

“Oh, my God, that’s—so cool?!” I tried to find the right words, but suddenly I realized that the sweet drink was stronger than it seemed so at first, “You’re an icon in the fashion industry, Mr. Kim, I’m an arts major myself and I have nothing to do with fashion, but I do look up to your work.”

“Call me Hongjoong, please, or else you make it sound like I’m a grandpa or something—”

“A father, really, you said it yourself.” Seulgi chimed in with a shit eating grin on her face as she crossed her arms over herself, looking up at the dark stage as movement was hearable. Hongjoong groaned and threw a glare at the side of Seulgi’s head, making me snort in amusement.

“Maybe I’ll stop giving Wooyoung cool clothes to perform in,” Hongjoong narrowed his eyes at Seulgi, who swiftly turned back, gaping at the older guy, “He can thank his lovely girlfriend for it then.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

Trying to deescalate an unnecessary argument, I turned to give Hongjoong an amazed look, “You design the clothes they perform in?”

“Well, not really,” Suddenly, he looked quite proud of himself, “It’s mostly Seonghwa, I only give him advice here and there and supply him with the fabrics and whatnot that he needs for production.”

Oh, that was…quite the thing to do. Suddenly, I felt myself yearning for a relationship where both parties raise the other one up, teach each other how to get better, and support each other’s dreams. It was healthy, mature, comforting. A secure place, a safety net. Something I never had with Yunho, albeit understandably so as we were both teenagers while we dated, but it would’ve been nice if he didn’t almost completely break me while making me mistrust everyone and question their motives towards me, side effects that lingered even after all those years.

“You’re a good man, Hongjoong.” I found myself muttering as there were faint voices coming from up the stage, making me look over. Hongjoong hummed next to me, and then I felt him bump his shoulder against mine.

“Did Mingi finally ask you out?” Something in my system halted hearing Hongjoong’s question, brain short circuiting. Where did that question come from?

“I, uh, he—we’re just friends.” I tried to look nonchalant as I turned to face Hongjoong again, forcing a smile on my face. Yeah, we were good friends at that, besties as Mingi likes to call it. But…ignoring the fact that I’d be dating my ex’s best friend, would it really be so bad to give in to my curiosity? Lately, I failed to see the negative qualities I have first judged Mingi for, and I have realized I didn’t even hate him anymore. I don’t think I have ever actually hated him, I was blinded by my prejudice and held onto it for as long as I could. But the walls were rapidly crumbling, even more so after the day we spent at the café and at the Citadel, where Mingi—once again—proved to be a nice, understanding, funny, and yet calm guy, full of life. We were friends, but was that all that I wanted from him at this point?

Were these thoughts actually mine or had the pink drink finally gotten to me? I didn’t feel tipsy, albeit a little jittery, but for my peace of mind, I blamed it on the sweet drink. It made you think about things you have pushed to the very back of your mind, buried so deep nobody should know about them—myself included.

“Mingi is a good person, I don’t think you’ll find someone like him again.” The smile on Hongjoong’s lips was almost brotherly before it stretched wider, cat-like eyes warm and comforting. I took a deep breath and nodded my head at him in thanks wordlessly, not very keen of speaking up as I thought my voice would sound shaky. I had to divert the subject, all this Mingi talk was sending my mind into an overthinking frenzy, however, before any of us could speak up again, the lights went completely out, and the spotlights turned on at once, coating the stage in white light.

The crowd cheered loudly for Noir Zenith, especially the girls in the front row, and I found myself clapping along encouragingly with the people surrounding me. The stage was higher up than us, but you could easily step up on it if you wanted to, and the spotlights switched from a bright white to a dimmer orangey hue. Seonghwa sat at the drums to the left of the scene, Wooyoung more towards the front on the right, guitar around his shoulders and a microphone placed in front of him. Mingi stood in the middle, close to the edge of the stage, a huge smirk on his lips, sharp eyes narrowed and skimming over the crowd. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the Mingi I knew, he looked like someone else…like a rockstar ready to sing his lungs out and wove anyone that watched their performance.

“Good evening, Outlaw!” Mingi’s raspy voice resounded in the underground room, and everyone cheered loudly again. Seulgi was jumping up and down, grinning from ear to ear as she waved at Wooyoung, who had a faint blush on his cheeks. Hongjoong, who was a lot calmer than my best friend, stood smiling with his hands in his pockets, no doubt watching Seonghwa as the drummer sat back and winked our way. And I, well, I had my arms crossed over my chest, trying not to hyperventilate when Mingi’s eyes searched the crowd, and ultimately settled on my form, “We’ve prepared quite a few songs for you tonight.”

The crowd cheered again, less wildly than before, and you could hear more people coming down the stairs to watch them perform as silence settled around us for a second. I gulped and looked away when Mingi’s intense gaze became too much, the smirk seemingly etched onto his lips for now, “Some older ones and some newer ones as we work on more songs to play for you in the future. I know these days it’s getting even colder, but I thought we could warm ourselves up ith a song we haven’t performed in quite a while. Seonghwa, Wooyoung, and I thought that perhaps we could charm the newcomers with the song that wooed some of our oldest fans, how do you feel about that, Outlaw?!”

The girls in the front row went crazy, their shrills piercing our ears, and I felt my eyes narrow as I looked towards them, a lump forming in my throat when I noticed they were Mingi’s fanclub from our university. The blonde girl stood out like a sore thumb, some banner in her hands, impatiently waiting for Mingi to look at her for her to show it off. I gulped as my eyes snapped back to Mingi, who licked his lips slowly, biting his lower lip and prolonging the charged silence, “Have you ever found a person so sweet you became addicted to them and never wanted to let them go? So sugary that you didn’t care if you got sick, because you’d still continue wanting them?”

The lights suddenly went out and everyone cheered, my heart beating so fast and loud in my ears, it made me fear that both Hongjoong and Seulgi would hear it. At last, the darkness remained as the soft tunes of a melody started playing, starting out quietly, almost as a whisper of a promise that your lover would tell you late at night in the confines of your bed. I could feel my heartbeat quicken from anticipation, and I couldn’t help but shuffle a little from left to right.

『You play a twisted little game

But I know in a way

You need to complicate』

The soft yellowy hue spotlight turned on just as the soft, siren-like voice flooded our ears, Seonghwa’s eyes closed as his lips were close to the microphone, drumsticks gathered in his hands as he sat on his stool, leaning forward to better access his microphone. His slightly raspy voice was pleasant to the ears, making it feel like a dream like flow. He was the only one you could see on the otherwise dark stage.

『Believe that though we never eat

We still know how to feed

We still know how to bleed, oh』

He articulated the words clearly, captivating the crowds attention immediately as his eyelashes slowly fluttered open, quickly finding Hongjoong as his lips twitched into a small smirk, his white teeth sharp as they peeked through his parted lips as he exhaled the end note, blending it into an airy whine that had Hongjoong gulping next to me as he was seemingly transfixed by his lover, unable to take his eyes off him.

『Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now』

The spotlights around Seonghwa went out as the chorus came, suddenly now on Wooyoung as the instrumental became louder, Wooyoung’s voice a lot sharper and stronger than Seonghwa’s sultry and enchanting one. Wooyoung’s nose was scrunched up as he held onto the microphone stand with both hands, his sharp jaw working hard as his lines were a perfect mixture of breathy and sharp sounds.

『My arms keep you in the room

Barely let you move

Show me what you do, oh』

Similar to Seonghwa’s style, Wooyoung’s voice remained soft too, but higher in pitch and breathier than Seonghwa’s has been, veins protruding in his neck as he gave his all. Seulgi had her hands clutched together in front of herself, hanging onto every single note her boyfriend sang, and I felt myself tap my feet along to the beat and melody, softly nodding my head as Wooyoung’s eyes snapped open and swept over the crowd.

『Tonight we're second-guessed again

Let me wrap the chains

Addicted to the pain, oh』

Seulgi quietly clapped next to me as Wooyoung gazed at her almost longingly, grabbing his microphone off the stand to walk closer to the edge of the stage, the spotlight following him as Seulgi quietly gasped next to me, mouthing the words back to Wooyoung, probably knowing each of their songs by heart.

『Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now』

The spotlight around Wooyoung went out again just as he leaned forward and over the of the stage, making Seulgi gasp loudly next to me as her hand shoot out to hold onto my arm. I gulped down the chuckle that threatened to escape as Seonghwa’s siren-like voice was back, wispy as he looked over the crowd with his big eyes, smirking much like Mingi had, making the chorus sound like it had been written for him, and him only.

『Do you wanna see how far it goes?

Do you wanna test me now, my love?

You must be crazy if you think that I will give in so easily』

The soft sound of the music now became rougher as the spotlight on Seonghwa went out, and instead, Mingi, in the centre of the stage was illuminated, his outfit and hair making the girls cry out in the first row as the air caught in my throat, taken aback as his eyes were set already on me, drinking me up, taking in my reaction. His raspy voice was perfect as it matched the intensity of the song, picking up in harshness slightly at the ends, his eyebrows furrowing as I gulped, feeling as if I was on fire and unable to look away, almost as if Mingi’s voice and eyes had me frozen to my spot. Suddenly, I understood why Hongjoong and Seulgi were so taken by their partners.

『Things we buried low

Coming to the surface now, my love

You must be crazy if you think that I will give up the game, oh』

Suddenly the yellowy hue light was back on the stage, illuminating all three as Seonghwa and Wooyoung joined Mingi, their unique voices creating a harmony that had my arms covered in goosebumps as Seulgi whispered out a woah next to me, having me agree with her as I found their voices combined together even more powerful. Wooyoung’s higher tone carried the melodic line well, Seonghwa’s harmony with both Wooyoung and Mingi’s voice having you in awe of how well they worked together, and Mingi’s deep and raspy voice had a power that didn’t overshadow his bandmates’ voices, yet was distinct enough to hear it. Suddenly, as they got to the end of the line, the lights flickered for a second and the background melody was cut, their voices echoing in the underground room and having everyone on their toes.

『Sugar, I've got a taste for you now

Sugar, I've got a taste for you now

Sugar, I've got a taste for you now』

And then at last, the lights flashed as the melody picked up, its build-up worth it every second as Seonghwa’s hands flew around fast as he played the drums, banging his head along to the beat, Wooyoung’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he played the guitar with a passion that matched his personality, and I found myself holding my breath as Mingi’s harsh and deep voice matched the instrumental perfectly, carrying every single emotion he felt. His nose was scrunched up and his eyebrows strewn together as he held the microphone tightly in his hand, leaning over as he sang his lungs out, gesticulating with his hands, having the crowd go wild for him and the boys. Without realizing, I was cheering along with everyone else, my veins burning with excitement as Mingi stood up tall, throwing his head back as his gloved hand was fisted, his sharp eyes closing and feeling the music like only he could when singing, his voice strong and defined when he needed it to be. And then, I felt myself grin from ear to ear as he faced the crowd again, looking straight ahead, our gazes meeting as I mouthed back the words without even realizing I was doing so.

『Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now

Sugar, I've developed a taste for you now』

Wooyoung joined Mingi again, his voice slightly more prominent as Mingi eased up his vocal chords, becoming less harsh and tense, carrying quietly alongside Wooyoung’s as Seonghwa continued passionately playing the drums, bottom lip between his teeth as he looked up and at his bandmates, a grin appearing on his lips as he watched them sing together. Mingi placed his microphone back onto the stand, cradling it in his hands still as he leaned close to it, barely whispering the words Wooyoung sang clearly, his volatile timbre offering a culminating end to the song as suddenly their voices cut out and the harsh instruments came to an abrupt stop, melody the same as at the beginning of the song. The lights flickered once again and as I gazed up at Mingi, a small smile formed on his lips, and the Mingi I know slipped through for a second, looking happier than a child on Christmas day. I chuckled and cheered along loudly with the crowd as the song came to a calming end, only now aware of how fast my heart was beating. Hongjoong and Seulgi joined in on the clapping, and I heard Seulgi chuckle next to me as Mingi thanked the crowd, the lights changing to a soft blue hue as Seonghwa set the rhythm for their next song.

“What?” I asked as I turned my head to look at an amused looking Seulgi.

“You keep lying to yourself about Mingi, bitch.” I gave Seulgi a look that very much so told her to shut up, and as I wanted to verbalize the same thought, she didn’t give me the chance as her body jolted along to the new song, “Oh, my God, this is my favourite song!”

As Noir Zenith continued to perform, I felt myself get thirstier and thirstier, throat burning and forcing me to excuse myself and head to the bar to drink some water, however, Hongjoong said he’d follow after me as he was getting tired of standing in the crowd and getting pushed around. Seulgi told us to go on as she’d stay there, wanting to stay close by as the performance was close to coming to its end as it’s been twenty-five minutes since they started playing. Much like when going inside the crowd, I allowed Hongjoong to hold my hand as we made our way over to the bar, apologising if we stepped on anyone’s foot, and I giggled when Hongjoong ran fully into a girl that seemed to be in a hurry to get to the front of the stage. Hongjoong shook his head and we let go of each other’s hands as we finally made it to the bar, him taking a seat on a stool as he groaned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“These fangirls are crazy; I can’t wear any fancy shoes to these performances because they keep stepping on me.” I chuckled as I leaned against the bar, waving at the bartender to come over when he was free.

“I know, you should see them at university.” I huffed as the bartender started walking over, “those crazy baboons swarm Mingi like he’s a God or something, it’s embarrassing.”

“Hi, what can I get for you two?” The bartender grinned happily at us; voice raised high to talk over Mingi’s deep voice reverberating in the speakers.

“Uh,” I looked at Hongjoong, not knowing what the pink drink was called, “I don’t know if you remember what Mingi ordered for me, but it was some pink drink and it was really sweet?”

“Sure, got it, Hongjoong?” I was rather surprised that the bartender knew Hongjoong’s name, “The usual?”

“Sure, throw in more ice cubes though, it’s sweltering hot in here.” The bartender chuckled as Hongjoong fanned himself with his hand, and I had to agree as I finally could take my jacket off. The relief was instant, and I sighed as I placed it around the back of the stool Hongjoong sat on, turning around as I leaned back against the bar to watch Mingi from back here. The lights were a soft pink up on the stage and Wooyoung was jumping up and down as he played his guitar, Mingi’s fingers playing fast as he played the bass, while Seonghwa’s voice was light but piercing as he finished up the song, standing up and raising his drumsticks in the air once it came to an end. The crowd cheered and I clapped from the bar as the bartender served us our drinks, and as I reached for my pocket to take out some money, Hongjoong beat me to it and paid for our drinks.

“Hongjoong.” I gave him a stare, but he quickly brushed me off and took a contemplative sip of his, probably, pricey whiskey, “You shouldn’t have.”

“Honey, if a man wants to spoil you, let him, you’re not losing any rights to your feminism.” My jaw dropped a little bit before laughter bubbled through my lips, and Hongjoong grinned as he turned halfway around to watch the band perform as I leaned against the bar again.

“I can’t believe you just said that.” I muttered as Mingi huffed into the microphone loudly, hyping up the crowd even more. His eyes searched the crowd for a second, and I raised my sweet pink drink in a cheers motion for him to spot me. He smirked and then he was focused back on singing, crouching down and letting the front row girls touch him. I snickered and took a long sip of the tasty drink, watching his every move as Hongjoong rhythmically tapped his foot against the ground.

“You are an open book, honey, it’s rather easy to read you.” Hongjoong said, sounding amused, and he snickered when I looked at him wide eyed. That’s certainly not something I hear often as people frequently call me unapproachable and off-putting, rather intimidating and irritating. To be fair, I do it on purpose so that idiots will leave me alone.

“You’re like…only the second person to say that, Hongie.” Hongjoong groaned, and I grinned as I looked back at the stage, watching as Mingi leaned a little more forward, reaching out and tilting the blonde girl’s chin up as he whispered the lyrics sensually, making my eyebrows furrow. If my grip tightened around my glass, nobody had to know.

“You can call me anything else but Hongie, please, that girl-friend of yours gives me nightmares, I swear.” I was too focused on Mingi and that blonde girl to react in any way to what Hongjoong said. Mingi was smirking triumphantly as the blonde girl screamed out his name, jumping up and down as she held the banner up for Mingi. I wished to see what was written on it, but at the same time I didn’t.

“Seulgi is the kindest and nicest person I know,” I said at last as I cleared my throat, trying to gulp down the sudden ball that seemed to clog it, “She likes you a lot and this is her way of showing it. If you let her know you don’t like it, she’ll never stop calling you Hongie, I fear.”

Hongjoong groaned and took a large gulp of his whiskey, prompting me to do so with my drink as well, jaw clenching when that blonde chick wouldn’t stop screaming. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, licking my dry lips to remind myself that Mingi has his baboons that would literally do anything he asked them to do, and that means nothing. Maybe he likes the attention and compliments, but I’ve never actually seen him give them more attention than was necessary. Perhaps he wasn’t even too keen of them, but I figured it must feel nice when someone supports your performances so ardently. I cleared my throat and pursed my lips, leaning back on my elbows as I rested them against the bar. Hongjoong raised an eyebrow at me curiously, but I ignored his eyes on me as my eyes bore into Mingi’s, who was suddenly looking over. I tried to control my expression as the lights were fully turned back on, their performance coming to an end for tonight.

“Outlaw, you were the best!” Mingi called out, grinning from ear to ear as he did a little jump, almost as if he was celebrating a win, “Your energy is always the craziest, thank you for your continuous support and I can’t wait to see you all here again! Tell your friends and cousins, bring them over next time! I was Fix On for the night.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung also joined Mingi at the front, Seonghwa’s arm going around Mingi’s shoulders as Wooyoung grinned and grabbed Mingi’s microphone out of his hand after he stuck his tongue out at him, “And this was your little Woo for the night, and don’t forget, only hot people listen to Noir Zenith!”

The whole room erupted into cheers and I snorted as Hongjoong groaned, holding his head in his hands as we both took sips of our drinks at the same time, “That guy is so embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I think he’s worse than Mingi.” Hongjoong and I burst into giggles as the microphone was handed to Seonghwa, who had a wide smile on his lips, his temples visible sweaty despite the off-shoulder blouse he was wearing.

“Thank you for your continuous support, we are forever grateful. I hope you enjoyed our performance tonight, and I hope to see your familiar faces at our next performance too, at which we transpire to do even better. I was Hwa for the night.” And then, he bowed deeply, prompting his two bandmates to follow suit. I hummed and looked over to Hongjoong, who was smiling proudly.

“You’re so into him, dude.” I chuckled, nudging him with my elbow, “But I get it why, he’s impossibly polite. You seem like a dude who likes order and whatnot”

“And he’s easily flustered too.” Hongjoong muttered under his breath as the crowd clapped and cheered for them one last time before they got off the stage, soft music playing in the background as other people went up on the stage to take off their instruments and to bring in the DJ’s table and mixers. I watched as the fangirls swarmed them at the foot of the stairs leading down the stage, and despite not being too many, they certainly made it seem so with how in the boys faces they got, giggling and squealing at everything they could. I watched as the boys signed whatever they were handed, and then I spotted Seulgi’s colourful retro dress as she sat down on the edge of the stage, close to Wooyoung, watching him converse with the girls with a smile on her face. Seonghwa, however, was the quickest to dip out and after swiftly engaging with the girls, he was already speed-walking off towards us, great relief visible on his face. Seonghwa wore a denim skirt tonight which reached just below his knees, cowboy boots covering his shins, a denim choker around his neck bringing the attention onto his long limb. He easily turned heads, both female and male. He was simply gorgeous with his long hair swept back by a black hair band.

“Thirsty, my love?” Hongjoong asked with a smile as Seonghwa reached us and waved at the bartender, who was quick to hand Seonghwa a bottle of water. He took it without a word and downed it quickly, groaning loudly as he patted his temples dry. I smiled and made space for him as I took another sip of my drink, eyes settling back on Mingi, who was the one swarmed most by the fangirls. The blonde was right by his arm, talking overly fast and gesticulating to him with her hands as Mingi nodded along and signed a few more things the other girls were handing him.

“I thought they’d never let me go.” Seonghwa’s voice sounded a little raw as he sighed long, looking towards the fangirls, “They are more tiring than the performances. I am grateful to them, of course, but I wish they knew how to keep their distance. I don’t know how Mingi keeps up with them without feeling bothered by them.”

“He thrives under attention.” My tone sounded bitter, and I quickly took a large gulp of my sweet drink and tried not to blush when I felt the eyes of both Hongjoong and Seonghwa on myself, looking curious but also amused, “I mean, he probably appreciates his fans—a lot.”

I knew my voice sounded strained as the blonde girl threw her head back and laughed loudly at whatever the hell Mingi was saying, and I couldn’t have felt more thankful for Seulgi and Wooyoung finally walking our way. I needed her by my side as I felt the alcohol slowly hit me, that pink thing stronger than a full-on Vodka shot. Realizing that I didn’t want to see Mingi and that blonde chick anymore, I turned my body sideways to face Hongjoong and Seonghwa instead, and was taken aback when I felt something bitter spring through my body. They had their faces leaned close together as Hongjoong had a protective arm around Seonghwa’s waist, fingers very apparently digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his off-shoulder blouse, and Seonghwa’s bottom lip was between his teeth as they seemed to be having a staring contest. I took the straw between my teeth and then gulped down almost the whole drink in one go, grinning fakely when Seulgi and Wooyoung finally reached us.

“Ey, hands off you horn dogs!” Wooyoung slapped Hongjoong’s thigh rather loudly, making my eyes widen and almost choke on my drink as Hongjoong’s head snapped in Wooyoung’s direction, glaring harshly at him. If I were Wooyoung…I probably would’ve dropped dead, but it seemed so he was fearless as he only grinned back challengingly at Hongjoong.

“Babe,” Seulgi chastised and gripped Wooyoung’s arm, yanking him a little backwards, “sorry, he’s still full of adrenaline, don’t mind him.”

Seonghwa chuckled and then turned towards the bartender as he held up two fingers at him. Seeing what I could only assume was him was asking for drinks, I quickly emptied my glass and motioned towards my glass with a wide grin. The bartender nodded in my direction, and then his back was turned to us as he started preparing our drinks. I placed the empty glass on the bar and faced the others again, plastering a smile on my face.

“You say that because you haven’t walked in on them when Seonghwa was getting—”

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa screeched, eyes bulging out as he sprung forward, muffling Wooyoung’s mouth with his palm, “Shut up!”

Wooyoung was still going off despite his mouth being muffled, and Seulgi looked mortified as she apologized quickly, punching Wooyoung’s arm.

“I’m going to break you in half one day, Wooyoung.” Hongjoong held a menacing finger out towards Wooyoung, eyes narrowed as our drinks were served. Seonghwa took one and handed it to Wooyoung, then gave me mine, and took the other one for himself.

“Like you broke Seonghwa—”

“Enough!” Seonghwa cried out again, cheeks flushing a deep red, making me and Seulgi chuckle as I handed her my drink to take a sip. She scrunched her nose as she took a sniff and then ultimately gagged upon taking a sip.

“What is this atrocity?!” She exclaimed, grabbing Wooyoung’s drink to flush mine down with, traitor.

“It’s good!” I exclaimed, defending my sugary drink, “You just hate sweet drinks, idiot.”

“You could’ve warned me.” She mumbled, nuzzling up against Wooyoung as Seonghwa allowed Hongjoong to pull him in between his legs. I sighed and looked down as I took another sip of my drink, accidentally looking Mingi’s way. I gulped down the sweet liquid a little harsher then intended as I was greeted by the image of Mingi being alone with the blonde girl, the two of them giggling about something. The girl was twirling her atrocious hair around her fingers, batting her eyelashes at Mingi as she reached up with her other hand to touch Mingi’s platinum blonde hair. I scoffed under my breath and felt my blood boil as Mingi reached out too, touching her hair in a similar way, making the girl blush and push at his exposed chest in a flirty way.

“You think the DJ will play good music?” I heard Seulgi ask the others as my eyes remained on the two blondes, definitely trying to ignore the way my nose flared at each exhale of mine. I didn’t intend on finishing my third drink so fast, and the way my head started pulsating was a sign to slow down, but I couldn’t care less right now. The girl suddenly leaned into Mingi’s side and I placed my empty glass a little bit too harshly down onto the bar—okay, I slammed it down. If the others glanced at me curiously, neither said anything.

“Yeah, he’s an uprising DJ, he’s pretty talented.” Wooyoung said and offered Seulgi his drink again. I took a deep breath to try and level my voice because I knew otherwise everyone could hear I was pissed off.

“Where’s the bathroom?” I spoke up, voice still harsh and cold. Everyone froze for a second, Seulgi’s eyes looking at me with confusion written all over it.

“Right behind the stage.” Seonghwa explained with a soft smile, and pointed right past Mingi and the blonde chick. Great. Now I had to walk past them, what a fucking amazing thing to do. But I needed to go to the bathroom to get away from everyone and everything for a second. My cheeks had started burning from the alcohol and my jaw was tense as I tried to avoid looking at anyone for too long.

“Thanks, can you look over my jacket while I’m gone?” I asked Hongjoong and he nodded with a hum. I muttered another thanks and then squared my shoulders, willing my face to convey zero expression as I started walking towards the bathroom. The stage had been changed and set up for the DJ by now, the lights getting adjusted as more people gathered down in this smaller room, and I watched as Mingi and the girl got ushered a little more to the side of the stage. Yeah, that was completely fine, I had no issues walking past them. Why was I even reacting like this?

Mingi was just talking to his fan—flirting and flattering her, no doubt—and I was completely fine with that as his bestie. I was completely fine with the blonde bitch brushing up against him, or laughing loudly at whatever he was saying, or touching Mingi every other second, or throwing her hair back and pushing her breasts out for him to see better—yes, because I was his bestie, his friend, I was completely unbothered by it all and even managed to plaster a smile on my face as I walked past them, greeting them with a small nod and chuckle—yeah, no, perhaps I did that in a parallel universe, but in this one, I kept looking straight ahead as Mingi spotted me walking towards them. He very insistently kept looking at me despite me ignoring his and the blonde one’s existence as I stormed past them, feeling like I couldn’t breathe until I was inside the small bathroom.

I hurried over to the sink and turned it on, washing my hands with soap and then rinsing them off with cold water, then I pated my cheeks wet, hoping that the cold water would cool them off. I kept my head down and took deep breaths, finally aware of the way my body felt hot due to the alcohol that I have downed way too fast, and how my head was spinning a little bit now. The drinks were getting to me and they were making me act up—act out of character. This was certainly not me, at least not a very rational me. Mingi could talk to whomever he wanted to and he can do whatever he wants to. I gripped the edge of the sink and looked up in the mirror, finding my cheeks flushed and my lips now a darker red from the lip-gloss that had long come off, but its tint remained. I sighed loudly, shaking my head at myself as my heart kept beating fast.

“You can’t be serious right now, bitch.” I hissed at myself, frowning, “You must get your shit together and stop acting like…whichever way I’m reacting. This isn’t cool, I’m a grown-ass woman, and he’s my friend. God, I’m so pathetic, I can’t even. Get it together, woman!”

I huffed and pointed a finger at myself threateningly, realizing I haven’t checked if anyone was inside the stools. Oh well, what I did wasn’t so unusual or disturbing to happen in the girl’s bathroom. I jumped up and down for a few seconds, wriggling out my arms and patting my cheeks one last time as I readjusted my tank top as it had ridden up and I took off towards the door. However, upon opening it and stepping outside, I was greeted by Mingi leaning against the wall. I froze as the door closed behind myself, pushing me a little forward and I grunted, standing up tall as Mingi’s sharp eyes fell on me. Somehow, I got déjà vu due to our current predicament. Mingi’s face was unreadable and I took my bottom lip between my teeth before I decided to just walk off, unable to say anything to him. But, adding to the déjà vu feeling, he stopped me from leaving as he reached out, gently holding me back by my exposed bicep. I shivered at the contact, his hand oddly cool against my warm flesh, ring decorated fingers pressing into my skin.

“Doll, is everything alright?” His voice was soft and his unreadable mask slipped as his eyebrows furrowed in worry, and I gulped, trying to bite back the reproach sitting on my tongue, but the alcohol made that impossible.

“Do you call her doll too?” My tone was cold as I turned my head to look back up at Mingi, and he looked visibly confused as he came even closer, forcing me to turn around and face him. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek, waiting for his answer.

“Call who doll?” Mingi asked, sounding clueless, pissing me off even more as I rolled my eyes.

“The blonde girl, who else, Mingi.” I snapped and yanked my bicep out of his hold, Mingi’s visible confusion turning into befuddlement.

“She’s just a fan, I don’t call her anything—”

“Yeah,” I grinned fakely, cutting him off, “I know. She’s one of your baboons, the one who absolutely loves throwing herself at you. Really sweet, lovely.”

“Y/N,” Mingi lowered his voice, stepping so close our hands brushed together, and I gulped as I averted my eyes from his, not used to the platinum blonde sharpening his features so much just yet, “have I angered you?”

“Yes, you have.” I huffed out before I could stop myself, crossing my arms in front of my chest in a defensive way as I looked up in his eyes, “Because you ask me to come watch your performance and I come, and I even enjoy it. And you buy me a drink and then you sing all those songs like they were meant for me, written about me or whatever, but then—then you’re out there trying to—I don’t know where you’re trying to get at with that girl, but I—I—”

There was a lump in my throat and something tight squeezing around my lungs as I started breathing heavier, cheeks burning as Mingi’s face suddenly went blank. I hated it when he did that, when he didn’t let me read his emotions. I needed to know what he was thinking right now, and as I opened my mouth to call him out, he spoke up gently, “Doll, are you jealous?”

I huffed and stepped back, annoyed by his stupid assumptions of what I was feeling like. What did he know? And since when did he fathom, I’d be jealous because of him? Feeling jealous over such thing implied that I had feeling that were more than friendly, and I—was I jealous?

“No, I’m—why would I be?” I closed my eyes and shook my head, worsening the thumping of my head by doing that, “I don’t know.”

Mingi’s lips slowly slipped into an understanding smile, “It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” I snapped and ran my fingers through my hair as I turned my back to him, “I shouldn’t be jealous and I don’t even know if that’s what I’m feeling, I—Mingi, I always fuck up everything.”

“No, you don’t.” Mingi scoffed as his eyebrows furrowed and he didn’t approach me, but he reluctantly reached out and held my hand, intertwining our fingers as my heart started beating even wilder than before, “I won’t talk to her anymore tonight, and whatever you felt, you can take your time tomorrow and think it through, but right now, we’re here to have fun, okay?”

“Fuck, okay.” I groaned and squeezed Mingi’s hand before I released it, pulling the hem of my tank top down again, out of habit, and then I walked back to our friends with Mingi following closely after me, the first beats of the DJ’s mix dropping.

Somewhere along the night, the shots had gotten to a number I couldn’t care to count anymore and as it had passed midnight, I was positively on the fine line between tipsiness and drunkenness. The DJ played good music, a mixture of retro and newer music, playing hits loved by everyone and I found myself in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by mostly Seulgi and Wooyoung as Hongjoong and Seonghwa often came and went, excusing themselves to fresh air a little bit too often. Wooyoung would mouth a few times that they are definitely going for a quickie, but one sharp look from Hongjoong managed to scare the goofball into silence and Seulgi made sure to keep him busy whenever Seonghwa would grin shyly and motion towards the exit. And despite being invited by Mingi, the man in question was nowhere to be seen.

It bothered me—of course it did—but the buzzing underneath my skin and the swirling lights of the disco ball managed to preoccupy me as my head seemed to swirl similarly to the disco ball each time I looked up. I knew if Mingi said he wouldn’t talk to the blondie again he probably meant it, but I still couldn’t bring myself to fully believe it as I couldn’t catch a glimpse of neither whenever I squinted my eyes to look at the blurry faces in the crowd surrounding me. And Mingi stood out like a sore thumb with his platinum blonde hair now, so if I couldn’t see him, he probably wasn’t here. Which was fucking annoying and I didn’t want to party anymore, but this Chan guy that approached me probably an hour ago did a good job at keeping me put and entertained. He was slightly shorter than me, but I couldn’t find myself to care as he was funny and actually sweet, looking out for me and sending guys away if they knocked into me or tried to dance with me. At first, we bonded over our love for colour theory and I was quick to find out he was an arts major, a freshman, quite full with life and eager to experience everything our university had to offer. I didn’t want to crush his dreams, so I stayed silent about how shitty our professors could be or about the overflowing assignments and projects they’d regularly hand out to us. But sure, university is fucking cool!

Perhaps half an hour ago, or maybe twenty minutes ago or maybe only ten? —who know, my fuzzy brain couldn’t tell at that point—the goofy dance Chan and I were at had turned into rather…well, serious. The genre of music had drastically changed and the Latino beats allowed for us to put in our sexy moves, and all of a sudden, I found his arms around my middle and mine around his shoulders as we swayed our hips in sync, giggling and laughing whenever I managed to step on his toes. He was respectful and didn’t attempt to get closer than it was necessary, nor had his hands travelled lower than it was acceptable, and I was surprised to find myself comfortable in his embrace. Seulgi and Wooyoung had disappeared not long ago, apparently needing a breather and at the same time looking for Hongjoong and Seonghwa too—no word about Mingi, maybe he had gone home already. Who the fuck cares?!

“Have I told you your outfit looks good or am I drunk enough that I have forgotten all about it?!” Chan shouted over the music, lips close to my ear as I swayed my hips a little slower, a giggle bubbling past my lips.

“You have! Like—five times already!” I answered back, laughing louder when Chan’s cheeks flushed redder.

“I am officially drunk then!” He said back, looking really embarrassed, and I pinched his cute cheek without much thought.

“You’ve said that too before!” I said and Chan chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, “You’re cute!”

“Really?!” His eyes lit up and I nodded with a wide grin, pinching his cheek again as the beat became slower, our hips swaying together, matching the rhythm.

“Really!” Before I could say anything else to him, a figured towered over us from behind Chan, and suddenly, his body was pulled away from mine, making my eyebrows furrow. And when I looked up, I became even more confused as I stopped dancing and stared up at an unimpressed looking Mingi.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Mingi’s deep voice vibrated over the loud music as his grip tightened into Chan’s black shirt, and the poor guy looked quite alarmed.

“I was just dancing with Y/N!” He exclaimed, sounding rather small compared to Mingi’s booming tone.

His eyes suddenly snapped onto me and I raised an eyebrow in annoyance, “What are you doing, doll?!”

Chan seemed to freeze up, very clearly misreading the situation due to Mingi’s use of the nickname. This guy couldn’t real, he can’t be doing this! As Mingi’s eyes bore into mine, I glared up at him defiantly, crossing my arms in front of my chest as somebody from behind pushed me slightly forward.

“You can go on your merry way, buddy.” Mingi was suddenly looking down at Chan, releasing his t-shirt and tapping his shoulder way too harshly. My eyes widened as poor Chan looked embarrassed, and that was all I needed to step closer to Mingi and jab his exposed chest with my finger.

“What is your problem?!” I shouted over the music, my glare deepening when the usual blank expression slipped onto Mingi’s face, “You leave me on my own the whole night after you invited me here to come. You don’t even tell me where you are going so that maybe I don’t wonder the whole night whether you have left or not, and then you come over and try to send away the guy I’ve been quite enjoying myself with?!”

Mingi’s jaw clenched as he grabbed my finger and lowered it down from his chest, stepping closer to me before his sharp eyes were directed onto Chan, narrowing into warning slits. Chan gulped and scratched the back of his head, throwing me a glance that was apologetic before he stepped back, getting swept up by the crowd as Mingi turned to face me, still looking as menacing and intimidating as he had been when he looked at Chan. I rolled my eyes and stepped back, shaking my head as I had enough of the crowd and needed fresh air too. I wanted to find Seulgi and tell her what’s happened, and maybe grab another drink which would tip me over the edge of tipsiness, and then I could say I was officially drunk like Chan has been saying. Thinking of Chan made me only angrier, and I wasn’t too nice as I pushed my way through the crowd, oblivious to Mingi following after me swiftly. When I finally made it to the edge of the dance floor, out of the pushy crowd, I felt fingers wrap around my bicep—again—and hold me back from walking off. I huffed loudly and whirled around, glaring up at Mingi as he opened his mouth to speak—and positively piss me off more.

“You’re drunk, Y/N,” He started, his eyebrows furrowed and looking less irritated and more worried now, “You should probably go home—”

“I don’t want to go home!” I tried to yank my arm free but Mingi’s grip tightened around my bicep more, and I huffed, “And I don’t want you to tell me what to do after you left me on my own the whole night, asshole!”

“Then what do you want to do?!” Mingi exclaimed, eyebrows furrowing more as he leaned down to be eye level with me. I clenched my jaw and raised my eyebrows at him.

“I want to dance.”

“Then dance.”

“You made Chan go away and I don’t want to dance on my own.”

“Then I’ll dance with you.”

I opened my mouth to tell him off again for being an asshole, but paused as his words registered in my brain at the speed of a snail. Did he just propose to dance with me?

“Bet.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes, yanking my bicep free as I stepped back and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“Bet.” Mingi echoed and then suddenly, he was dancing to the Latino songs that were still being played, swaying his hips in a way Chan definitely couldn’t. I gulped and felt a little disheartened as I needed a second to start dancing, glaring at Mingi as I narrowed my eyes at him, unimpressed by his stupid behaviour. But since he’s an asshole, he ignored me and ran his fingers through his hair and twirled around, extending his hand for me to take. I rolled my eyes and turned around, throwing my arms up in the air as I let the music consume me, only to feel movement around me as Mingi magically appeared in front of me, hand extended again.

I groaned but gave in, placing my hand in his and was instantly yanked closer to his body, a ravishing grin on his lips, crooked front teeth peeking through as suddenly he was making us dance a lot more animatedly to the song, in a way Chan certainly couldn’t. Since we were by the edge of the dance floor, we had plenty of space to twirl around as we wished to, and Mingi definitely took advantage of that as he led the dance, mixing in moves that had me tightly holding onto his shoulders as I didn’t know the steps. It was hilarious and entertaining, and I soon found myself relaxed again and laughing as Mingi was grinning from ear to ear, holding me firmly and twirling me around every now and then.

But the moves started getting repetitive and I was losing the rhythm as my feet got tired, and without much thinking, I took my hand out of Mingi’s and instead flushed myself against him as I threw both my arms around his neck, smiling up at him as he froze. After hesitating for a second, he smiled back and I felt his big hands rest on my hips as I nodded in content and started swaying my hips to the rhythm. Mingi didn’t move much at the beginning, almost as if he was afraid of doing something or grinding up accidentally on me—not that I would have minded—but then the music changed and his eyes lit up, and I figured it was a song he liked, because suddenly his grip tightened on my waist and his hips were moving expertly, not so shy to grind up against me anymore. I chuckled and threw my head back as Mingi finally reciprocated my fun, not really having to watch each other to anticipate the next move. Somehow, it just came naturally, and as I looked up in his eyes, I felt drawn in by them, arms tightening around his neck as his own ones slipped around my lower back into a tight embrace, our bodies moving like that without neither of us wanting to pull away. And as the lights flashed against Mingi’s platinum hair, my eyes ran over his features again, completely taken by how gorgeous this man was. Involuntarily, my eyes stopped on his plump lips and my eyebrows furrowed as I bit my lower lip, suddenly reminded of that near kiss in my room, in my bed.

What would it have felt like? What does he taste like? Are his lips as soft as they seem to be? The breath I inhaled got stuck in my throat as suddenly Mingi was leaning down, his lips closer and closer to mine as I continued looking at him, throat dry from both the anticipation and the lack of water my body was crying out for. Out of pure instinct, my fingers had a mind of their own as they travelled up and tangled into the strands on the back of his head, pulling his head down and closer, our lips hovering close, but not quite touching yet. I gulped and swiftly looked up into Mingi’s eyes, which have significantly darkened and were focused onto my own lips. But as I raised my head, silently asking him to just finally kiss me, he did the same thing he did when we were watching Ten Things I Hate About You. Instead of his plush lips pressing against mine fully, they pressed against the corner of my mouth, making me shakily exhale as he pulled back, gazing into my eyes deeply. My fingers tightened in his hair and Mingi winced for a second before he exhaled too, clearing his throat.

“You’re drunk, I’m taking you home.” He said, and suddenly I felt really disappointed. I don’t know what I wanted to hear, but those words certainly weren’t it. It didn’t take much for me to understand why I was feeling suddenly so bitter.

“I don’t want to go home!” I told him and released him, detaching myself from his warm and comforting body.

“Doll, it’s late—”

“I’m not going home, Mingi.” I snapped and went to walk to the bar, but Mingi caught my wrist.

“Y/N, I only want what’s good for you, please.” He pleaded, eyes softening as I shook my head stubbornly, trying to pry my wrist out of his firm grip.

“No, Mingi.” I raised my eyebrows at him and groaned when he wouldn’t release me.

“Okay, I won’t take you home,” I narrowed my eyes, waiting for the catch, “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” And yes, I did, very much so.

“Then let’s go.” Mingi was suddenly grinning, and I felt giddy as he veered us towards the bar so that I could take my jacket from the bartender, Minseok, who promised to keep it safe and dry behind the bar. Mingi waved at Minseok and he grinned upon understanding what we needed from him, and then disappeared as he crouched, my jacket in his hands once he stood tall again. Mingi took my jacket from him and thanked him, then gave it to me as we started walking towards the stairs that led upstairs.

“I’ll text Seulgi that we’re leaving!” I told him as I wore my jacket, fishing my phone out of my jean’s pocket. Mingi walked behind me and steadied me when I almost missed a step up the stairs, and as we made it to the top, I unlocked my phone and clicked on the chat with Seulgi and I raised my phone with the intention of sending her a photo. Mingi noticed and quickly grinned as I puckered my lips at Seulgi, and then I took the photo and sent it to her, saying that we were leaving, and for her and Wooyoung to look out for each other.

The night air was chilly as we somehow wrestled our way out of the pub, and I swung our intertwined hands between each other as Mingi led the way down the lit-up street.

“Where are we going?” I asked curiously as I realized he was holding his car keys. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him drink tonight anything besides water and some blue coloured juice. Green apple, probably.

“It’s a surprise.” Mingi winked and unlocked his old Honda, opening the door for me as I giggled and quickly hopped inside, curious as to where we were going.

At least we weren’t going home just yet, the night is still young! And the moon is beautiful.

❱❱ Next chapter

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A/N: A quick last note to show you y/n, Seulgi, and Hongjoong's outfits I have used for inspo as Seonghwa and Wooyoung's were improvised by moi lol. Also, before I do that...by the time Mingi went blonde in this story, the real Mingi went back to having black hair and I'm SO tempted to let him dye it back in this story too, BUT it's already become part of our upcoming plot so I can't lol cries but it's fine! My bestie was sick of me yapping her ears off about me wanting Mingi to go back to his natural color lol, I just don't like blonde dudes no matter how good it looked on him, I missed my black haired Mingi<3, okkk bye

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