#I know this is hard to read but that adds to the humor to me lsdkjflkjdf

[meowdei]

i adore you (can’t you see you’re meant for me?) — ft. sylus

sylus likes to sleep late in the mornings, and you like to admire him. the two are just a series of steps that bring you to where you are now: on top of him

word count. ❤︎ 4.7k words — it’s literally all pure filth with no plot idk what to say atp

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; sleepy sylus ; banter and teasing ; reader rides his abs (do not look at me) ; praise kink (it goes both ways tbh) ; blow jobs ; cum eating ; reader has an obsession with his veins (it is her not me okay?) ; sylus wraps his hand around her throat (but no choking) ; body worship + one clit kiss ; nipple play ; morning sex ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; do not be fooled it is all pretty soft i promise

commentary. ❤︎ i am new to this game and i haven’t gotten too far go easy on me for this one :( i dedicate this to all my sylus loving nonnies in my inbox thanks for helping me figure out this game LOL. and kass. ily kass

Sylus sleeps more when the sun is out than when it’s not. You don’t mind it so much—not when the view is what it is.

(He’s pretty, and so is the sun. The two combined make for an even prettier picture. You think, if you weigh your options, there are certainly worse things out there than sitting beside your sleeping boyfriend and waiting for him to wake up.)

It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself, though. His hair is too tempting not to brush away from his face. And while your hand is right there, it’s a little impossible not to cup his cheek for a moment. And, well, if you’re already touching him, you might as well let your hand slide down to his chest and rub circles against the skin. He leans into your touch subconsciously anyway—it’s not hurting him. It’s helping.

(You like telling yourself plenty of things to justify your hand and his skin having an early morning rendezvous.)

“Bored, sweetie?” His voice is always deeper when laced with sleep than it usually tends to be. You stiffen, moving to pull your hand away, an apology already prepared on your lips for waking him when he catches your wrist, eyes still closed. “I didn’t say to stop, did I?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you huff, letting him guide your hand back to his bare chest. It rises and falls slowly, so warm and firm under your palm that it’s a little dizzying.

“Am I?” He cracks an eye open, “I was just enjoying a little tenderness. I wonder why I can’t ever seem to receive something so sweet when I’m awake.”

“Precisely this reason,” you say flatly. He raises a smug brow. Just to humor him, you add, “Your ego can’t handle it when you’re awake.”

“What, that you find me too irresistible not to touch?”

“Sylus, go back to sleep,” you grumble, shuffling away from him with a face that feels unbearably hot under his half-lidded gaze. “You’re easier to get along with that way.”

“I don’t know,” he all but purrs. In a swift motion—swift enough that you let out a shrill squeal—his hand tugs at your arm and pulls you close enough that he can hoist your body to sit on his lower belly. “We get along pretty well when we’re wide awake, don’t you think?”

His hand hikes up your (well, technically his) shirt and rests on your hip, nothing but the thin fabric of your panties separating you from him as you’re seated on top of him. You shiver lightly when his thumb caresses your hip bone, a satisfied hum pulling from his throat at the feeling of goosebumps rising against your skin. 

“Sylus,” you breathe, squirming over him—but you can’t say much else because you cut yourself off with a soft gasp when you hear the distinct sound of something tearing. 

Fabric. 

More specifically, your fabric. Your underwear—which was a rather nice pair too, you think woefully—is torn into two pieces, one held in Sylus’s hand like some form of victory, while the other falls against his belly with nothing holding it together around your hips. 

You blink. He gives you a large Cheshire grin.

“Sorry, sweetie,” he says, not so apologetically, “They were just in the way.”

“I liked those!” You hiss, glaring at him, “They were nice!”

“What, you don’t think I can buy you more? I could buy them faster than I could rip them, I’m sure.”

You have your doubts about that last part—but it’s still persuasive enough that you’re no longer as mad as you were just a moment ago. But you’re still petulant, pouting as you huff, “You ruin everything.”

“Mmh,” he hums, closing his eyes, voice still a low drawl from sleep as he says, “Are you sure? Because I can feel you dripping already, sweetheart.”

Shame floods your system quickly, but lust is faster. Stronger, too, perhaps—because you don’t have it in you to be ashamed for too long before you grow impatient. With a deeper pout, you press your hands against his chest, leaning lower until your mouth hovers over his. 

“Can you blame me?” You breathe against his lips. “Just look at you.”

He stiffens. Just barely, of course. Just enough that you can hardly even detect it, but you do. You do because you know him. And you know that when Sylus teases, it’s really just to deflect from his need to shift the attention to yours—like he doesn’t want you just as bad. Like he’s not just as hard as you are wet in his boxers. Like he doesn’t need to feel you just as badly as you need to feel him. 

But he likes to keep the upper hand. It starts with two hands on your hips, firmly squeezing them before slowly rocking them against his abs. Your bare cunt (courtesy of him destroying a perfectly good pair of panties) glides along the ridges and indents of his muscle. Very well-defined ridges and indents of muscle, too. You tense, letting out a shaky gasp as your clit rubs against his hard-planed physique. 

“If you like it so much, why stop at just a look?” He chuckles, “You’re more than welcome to feel, too, sweetheart.”

He’s so sickeningly proud of himself, you can’t help but think bitterly as soon as your hips start grinding against him of their own accord. He’s so pleased and amused and deeply content with the sight of you falling apart over him. His eyes are hungry, and they don’t stray away from you for a single second. They don’t miss a single twist in your expression, nor do they have the decency not to stare shamelessly at the image of where your pussy meets his midsection, where your slick pools and coats his skin and makes it glisten as you make a mess on him. 

He hums, large hands leaving your waist buried in their frames as they guide you at a slow, steady pace. “Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” He grins—and oh, he’s aggravatingly happy as he laughs breathlessly, “You look like you’re about to fall apart. Don’t worry, I’m right here. You can’t fall far.”

You would say something smart if you could. Maybe even reach back and palm over his crotch that’s rudely tight against his boxers. But you can’t. Not when your clit rubs against his warm, heated skin and leaves jolts along your spine. All you can manage is a pathetic, “S-Sylus, please—”

“Oh? Please what? Please more?” He coos.

Something of a dull ache builds into this deep, throbbing need to feel your walls hug around something. To constrict around and latch onto something warm and big and full—something like him. Something like the way he fucks you into the mattress and makes you feel like he’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat. 

That’s what you want—but of course, you’re naive if you think that’s what he’ll give. For now, at least. For now, he’ll tease, and tease, and tease until he can watch you crumble just the way he wants to witness. And you’re close to that, too—you know it, and so does he. He can tell by the way your wetness drips onto him in a messy pool, making your cunt drag against him easier, smoother. He can tell because he can all but feel the quiver of your walls clenching around nothing, empty and desperate for some sort of building friction. And he can especially tell because of your face—that devastating look on your face when you’re so close to the edge you can just practically cling to it with the tips of your fingers as it dangles teasingly in front of you. 

“More,” you plead, “Want you. Want to feel you.”

“Oh, but you’re almost there,” he says in faux sympathy, soothing you with a sleepy, smug little grin. “Surely, you can take it just like this, can’t you? You’re better than that—I know you are.”

His words take you to the edge. You plummet off of it, in fact, practically collapsing against his chest as he holds you upright with a firm, strong grip and guides you through your orgasm. You gush around nothing, making a wet, sticky mess on his skin as you cum against him, grinding your clit as much as you can along every indent along his hard, built muscle. 

“Sylus,” you whimper, “oh—f-fuck.” Your body quivers for a few more moments before you slump against him, burying your nose into his neck. “You’re despicable,” you bite the skin lightly.

He laughs. It’s low from the sleep that’s still clinging to his voice but boyish enough that your heart skips a beat. “Am I? You seemed to enjoy it.”

You shuffle to curl into him more, but your leg brushes against the bulge in his underwear—a small, barely-there sound pulls from his throat. Something caught between a gasp and a moan that makes you pause before you grin against the crook of his neck.

“Guess I should pay you back, hm?” 

He watches, pupils dilated and eyes half-lidded as you pull away and kiss from his collarbone to his pecs. A rise of goosebumps litters his skin, too—just like they did on your skin earlier. You silently revel in that victory, making your way lower, lower, lower. But it’s painfully, obnoxiously, ridiculously slow. 

“Don’t be a tease, sweetie,” he hisses, grunting as you kiss down his torso, the well-defined muscle of his abs flexing under every touch of your lips. 

“Who, me?” You blink, batting your lashes sweetly, “Oh, I’d never, baby.”

Your lips graze over the skin that’s still marked with your essence as you kiss and suck along his torso, a trail of marks left in your wake and declaring him yours. You can taste yourself from just a few moments ago—the moments when you rocked your hips into him and fell apart, when he held you through it with a sleepy smirk. The image of his smug face makes you glance up at him with a flustered look, and almost as if he already knows, his gaze is on you. Waiting. Smug here in person just as much as he was in your memories.

“What a naughty thing,” he drawls, teasing glint in his eyes. “Did you get a taste of yourself? I’m sure now you have an idea of why I find it so…addictive, don’t you?”

He’s filthy. Cocky, too. And more often than not, he’s absurdly prepared with smart comments. Just to even the playing field a little, you decide he could use a little relentless teasing of his own. 

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two just as addictive,” you smile innocently—and just like that, you lean in to kiss against a pale, blue line across his porcelain skin, pulling away to admire the veins that mark his body. Something in you aches for him all over again—something that you don’t like to admit happens from just the sight of something like his veins. But you pay careful attention to them anyway, leaning down and pressing soft, feather-like kisses against his lower belly, feeling him stiffen tightly underneath you as his breath gets labored and slightly erratic.

He’s impatient. You glance down at him, cock hard and strained against his boxers, the beginnings of a wet patch dampening the skin from pre cum dribbling from his tip. You almost feel bad. 

Almost. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of your games?” He grits, involuntarily twitching his hips to chase some friction. 

“I could ask you the same question,” you snort. 

“Yet, it seems I’m always the one spoiling you,” he retorts. 

There’s some bit of merit to that, you suppose. So you give in, humming as you kiss along his v-line, one finger looping under his waistband while giving a small tug downwards. He lifts his hips instantly, letting you pull off the offensive piece of clothing that separates him from your touch. 

It’s flushed, his cock. Swollen, flushed with a pretty rosy shade at the tip, and glistening with leaking pre cum. You lean and give the thick vein along the underside a series of kisses tracing upwards before pressing a delicate one to his tip. He groans, and his cock twitches at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip. 

“Pretty,” you observe, smiling softly at the sight of him. 

He scoffs, lips almost a pout as they curl into a frown. “Then do something about it,” he insists. 

You think you’ve sufficiently teased him enough, so you do—you take him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, as your tongue and the wet heat of your mouth envelop him and make him tense for a moment before his body goes slack. A deep, throaty groan rings through the room, the sound making something do a flip in your lower belly. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, breathing heavily. “You…you’re so good at this.”

The praise does something to you that you’re not proud of. Some flash of an ache deep in your core that you don’t want to focus on, so you pay closer attention to him instead. Your tongue swirls over his tip as your head bobs up, tracing down that pretty vein of his as you take him down your throat once more. What you can’t fit in your mouth—because there is enough of him that you can’t fit in your mouth—you pump with your fist, wrapped around the base of his shaft. 

Sylus has a lot of veins. You admire them long enough to know them all by heart. The ones along his hands that you love to trace when you hold them in yours. The ones along his arm that you love to eye when he’s working out. The ones along his abdomen that you trace every once in a while with the tip of your finger when you have him to yourself in private. And the long, pretty one along this inner thigh—the one you see only when you’re like this: between his spread-out legs with your mouth around his cock. 

Your free hand moves to lay over this thigh, gently rubbing into the skin as if to anchor him as he throws his head back and groans. Your eyes are trained on him, staring up at the twists of pleasure in his expression and the crinkles in his eyes as he closes them tightly and moans. But you don’t have to look at your hand to know your thumb is tracing along that vein. You know it better than you know yourself, you think—his body is so easy to memorize. So easy to get to know and keep ingrained in your brain forever. 

His thigh flexes under your touch, and you hum around him, the vibrations around his length making his breath hitch as he curses under his breath. 

You pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you to him, his eyes glancing down at you sharply for the interruption. But you smile, equal parts soft and equal parts smug. Gently, you press a wet kiss to his thigh, right over the same pale blue line you traced just moments ago, as you murmur, “You’re so pretty. You know that?”

“I’m flattered,” he says tightly, warily staring down at you with hungry, desperate eyes. “I’m sure you can save the flattery for later, though, can’t you?”

“But what if you think I’m just using you for your body?” You gasp dramatically, “Can’t have that, you know. I have to appreciate you more.”

“Teasing can easily be reciprocated, you know, sweetheart,” he grits, “Or have you forgotten that so quickly?”

“Oh, I’m aware. I’ll take my chances.” Your lips trail up his thigh until it reaches the base of his cock. You press another kiss against it, murmuring a quiet, “I love you.”

His cock twitches—it’s like it responds to every soft word of affection and every littlest bit of praise. For all the denying and for all the impatience, too, Sylus loves the attention. Thrives under it, even—it does something to his ego that you know you probably shouldn’t help stroke, but you can’t help it. 

You press one more kiss to his swollen tip before murmuring, “Mine,” and then you take him down your throat once more—faster this time. Your head bobs up and down his length, lips wrapped around him as you swallow every now and then. 

His hand flies to his hair, tugging at the soft, silvery strands as he groans deeply, hips pushing up to meet your pace and thrust deeper into your mouth. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, “Just like that, sweetheart—shit.”

He spills down your throat not too long after. Warm, sticky ropes of cum that paint your mouth with every twitch of his cock, filling you enough that some spills from the corner of your mouth, dripping along your face and collecting at your chin. You swallow what you can, working him through his orgasm, listening to the sweet, lust-hazed sounds he makes as pleasure burns through every nerve of his body. 

He slumps back when he’s finished, panting with an arm over his eyes while you wipe your chin and swallow before climbing up his body and slumping on top of him. He wraps an arm around your waist instantly, humming lowly as his large, warm hand rubs into your lower back. 

“Had your fun?” He raises a brow. 

You grin cheekily, kissing his jaw as you murmur, “I think you had more fun than me, but what do I know?”

He chuckles. It’s low, and the sound vibrates through his chest so that you can feel it under you. There’s a small bead of sweat along his temple, and his face is flushed a soft shade of scarlet that you admire—it brings out the deep crimson of his eyes even more from here. 

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper. 

“How many times will you remind me of that?” He asks, bringing a hand to your chin, tilting your face up, and inspecting you carefully. “You’re making me feel bad. I haven’t reminded you how stunning you are nearly enough times.”

“You could always start now,” you wink, “It’s never too late.” He laughs again. Deep, genuine, soft. Sylus is a lot of things. You think your favorite is in love. 

“Do I really have to remind you?” He whispers, voice husky as he slowly shifts your body to lay under his, flipping you over as he hovers over you. “You don’t already know how beautiful you are—how you drive me insane?”

“A reminder wouldn’t hurt,” you blink innocently. “What if you’re secretly getting tired of me?”

His eyes flash with something dangerous at that. You only meant it as a joke, of course—he loves deeply. So deeply, you don’t think you’d escape him even if you wanted to. (Not that you do, of course. You’re quite happy knowing your place is beside him.) You know he’s never tired of you—quite the opposite, in fact. 

But you like teasing him. Getting under his skin enough that his hand moves to your throat and wraps around it firmly—not quite tight enough to block your air flow, but enough to serve as a light warning. 

“You think I would get tired of you?” He challenges. Offended. In disbelief. “Tired of this?”

Just like that, the familiar sound of fabric tearing rings through your ears again. It’s a sound you seem to be getting more and more used to the longer you date Sylus. And yet, every time, it pulls the same sound of disbelief from your throat as you gasp at his audacity. But before you can speak, before you can scold him for ripping your (his) favorite shirt straight off of your body, his hands curve around your tits, molding against them perfectly as if they were made to cup them. His thumbs roll over your nipples, humming in approval as you whine softly at the feeling. 

“Sylus,” you pant. (Regretfully, you think that’s the only collection of syllables you can manage anymore on this fine morning.) “W-wait—”

“Wait?” He pretends to gasp in shock, “But we’re just getting started. I was just about to show you all my favorite parts of you—they never get old. Would you like to see?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he leans down, latching his lips around one pebbled nipple, sucking and nipping lightly at it as his thumb rolls over and pinches the other one. Your back arches into his touch, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he grins against your chest. 

“Here’s a favorite, for starters,” he murmurs. “And here—” he kisses along your belly and makes his way to your hip bone, biting lightly at the flesh and making your breath hitch, “—this is certainly a memorable place too, isn’t it? Can’t keep my hands off of it.”

Finally, his hands slowly pull your legs apart, exposing the wet, dripping mess that is your cunt, folds puffy and waiting for him. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to your clit, smiling at the small whimper you let out from the sensitive touch before he says through a low, breathy whisper, “This, however…this has to be my favorite part of all.”

“Okay,” you whine, pulling at his arms with a plea, “I get it, okay? I need it, please.”

“Well then,” he huffs out a soft laugh, “Who am I to deny?”

He’s level with you before you can blink—mouth on yours with a heavy, heated kiss that sends your brain into a fogged state as you kiss back. All you can register is soft flesh, pressure against your mouth, the taste of his tongue on yours, and hot and heavy breath seeping into your lungs while he inhales yours. It’s slow, the way he kisses you—but still undeniably needy. He chases after your mouth as soon as you pull away to breathe, a soft gasp pushing past his throat at the loss of contact. As if it might kill him. As if he might die without your breath down his throat, keeping him alive. 

“Do you want it, sweetheart?” He breathes erratically, “Because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“I want it,” you practically beg, “I want you.”

He’s hard again—stiff between his legs and throbbing at your words enough that his cock does a little jerk on its own, like it’s responding to you itself. He drags it along your entrance, rolling slow circles against your folds and coating his tip in your slick, earning a sharp inhale from you as he groans at the teasing friction against the head of his cock.

“I always want you,” he breathes. 

He pushes past your folds as he speaks the words against your mouth, letting you swallow up the low moan he lets out as your walls wrap around him little by little. It’s painstakingly slow. Inch after inch after inch until the blunt head of his length presses deep into you, nudging against a soft, sensitive spot in your walls that makes your whole body react with a quiver. He curves into you perfectly, thick and deep and so, so full. 

“Ready?” He smiles tenderly, gripping the fat of your thighs and hooking them around his waist, leaning to kiss one of your knees as you melt into the mattress and nod. 

“Please,” you whine, “Need it—need you.”

There’s a sharp thrust of his hips at that—he pulls out until he’s almost completely left your warm cunt before slamming back in past your folds, pressing mercilessly against your sensitive spot. It’s partly because he has your body memorized but mainly because his body is practically made to mold into you. It’s like he fits you perfectly, curves into the shape of your body like the shape of his was hand-made to pair with yours. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you see past his exterior the most. When his eyes hold the most emotion, staring at you like he can’t believe you’re his. When his hands shake for once because he doesn’t know if he deserves the weight of you in his hold. When his breath is the most labored and uncontrolled because you steal every breath from his lungs, and selflessly, he gives up air for you. When sweat coats his skin and makes his hair cling to his forehead because when he loves you is when his body is most responsive, most affected. 

When Sylus fucks you is when you love yourself most. Because how could you not when he pays such close attention to you? Thumb finding your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles just the way he knows drives you crazy, watching your face closely for every reaction? How could you not when close is not nearly close enough, when he presses his chest against yours and buries his face into your neck to all but melt under your skin? It makes you feel desirable. Beautiful. Lovable. 

So easy to want.

So easy to lose control to.

So easy to need. 

“You feel that, don’t you?” He mumbles, panting harshly as he grunts when you squeeze around him at the sound of his labored voice. “Feel me? How badly I need you? How crazy you drive me? Feel how hard I am for you? Don’t tell me you think I’d ever get tired of that.”

“I know,” you whine, “I know, I know, baby—I promise.”

You let out a small squeal when he angles your leg higher, thrusting deeper into your cunt, pressing harshly where you need him most with his tip in a dizzyingly punishing pace and a harshly rough deepness that makes your vision blur. Almost go blank, even.

“Tell me you love me,” he demands.

“I love you!”

“Tell me you need me,” he adds, so selfish and needy for your approval. To know you’re nothing without him like he’s nothing without you. 

“N-need…fuck, I need you,” you stumble over your words as your orgasm comes closer and closer, creeping up on you enough that you can’t catch your breath fast enough to keep up with him.

“Tell me you’re mine.” This time, it comes out as almost a plea.

“Yours,” you sob, body on the precipice of breaking all over again, “Yours, yours, yours.”

You cum as soon as you say it. Harder than maybe ever—it’s like being reminded that you’re his makes your body react tenfold. You fall apart with a shrill cry of his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a bruising kiss as your nails press indents into his skin. 

He groans in pleasure at the slight pain, melting against your lips, an open-mouthed, wet kiss working him up to his own orgasm. His first one was a slow build-up—but this one happens quickly, coming out of nowhere and hitting him full force, his hips stuttering for a moment and losing rhythm as he sloppily thrusts into you. 

Yours. Yours. Yours. 

Your voice rings in his ears, aiding him through his pleasure as he fucks his thick, sticky release deep into your folds, sharp thrusts that match the harsh twitching of his cock. 

“Ngh,” he grunts, “Sh-shit, sweetheart.”

Finally, when you’re both done, breaths frenzied and harsh as you try to make up for the lost air in your lungs, he slumps over your body and hides his face into the crook of your neck, practically purring as your shaky hand buries into his sweaty locks and strokes the soft, silvery strands. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing eventually shifting from heavy to slowed as you finally catch it, the quivering of your body dissipating, too. Your fingers journey their way from his scalp to the back of his neck, lightly making a feather-soft trail along his bare back as he shivers from the touch.

“Don’t fall asleep after I showed you a good time,” you pout, “It’s rude.”

“You were the one that woke me for a good time,” he mumbles, amused. “That’s equally as rude.”

“I did not,” you huff, “You were the one who escalated it. I just wanted a peaceful morning.”

“I don’t know,” he grins against your skin, pressing a chaste, warm peck where it's closest to his lips, “I’m feeling pretty at peace, wouldn’t you agree?”

so uh..........basically i got the card where u measured him for clothes and i saw a vein in his abs and lost my mind. so. here is the product of that. i REFUSE to be told this is not a completely totally normal reaction. thank you!

[fallenbratfiction]

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed. 

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket. 

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant. 

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues. 

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock. 

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole. 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room. 

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face. 

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you. 

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back. 

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true. 

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

 “Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him. 

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed. 

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you. 

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well. 

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

[sincerelybubbles]

hotch x shy!bau!reader <3 fem content: slight age gap implied. reader is new to the team and more on the introverted side! not proof read, as is my hubris.

Tired, nerves buzzing from a night spent up and chasing sleep that was not welcoming, you throw your bag down on your desk and go off in hunt of coffee. You usually try to curb your caffeine intake, especially with the travel associated with your new job, but this morning is a happy exception to your new rule.

"Here," Emily says, watching you scan the cabinets of the kitchen. You hadn't heard her walk in, but she's offering you a mug with a sympathetic smile. "Long night?"

"Yes," you say, tone thankful, and spin to figure out the coffee machine.

"Three weeks and i haven't seen you use that once," she comments, sipping from her own warm mug and watching you settle the filter in place.

"I've stayed away. it's harder to sleep when I get back because of the jet lag, anyway, don't need to add coffee at all odd hours to the list, too."

It's the most you've said in casual conversation like this. To say you've been shy with your new team would be an understatement. You're good at your job, you were pulled from the academy early to do this for a reason. You fit well into the team, generally. You like listening to Spencer ramble, especially on the longer flights. Rossi's dry humor reminds you of one of your old professors you grew up admiring. JJ is a constant breath of fresh air, Morgan's consistent strength has built up your own moral. Garcia took no getting used to, lifting you up and settling into your life easily. Hotch is intimidating but kind under the colder-tones, long glances sometimes distracting but oterhwise comforting. Emily is easily one of your favorites on the team, friendly and whip-smart. But, at the core of it, you're shy. Painfully so, even.

The team caught onto this quick, settling into the truth that your observational nature that makes you so adept at noticing the smaller details is bound to weep into your social life as well. So, despite your comfort levels rising with the team, you find these situations hard. Do you explain your nightmares to Emily? Share that you're a diagnosed insomniac who spent the night watching FRIENDS reruns after chasing sleep that pranced beyond reach?

"You're better than me, then," Emily says, smiling over her mug. Her eyes tell you she's pleased at the little crack into your life that you've let her see. They're all like that: insufferably kind and polite with your introverted nature but greedily sipping up everything they can learn about you.

"It's a new development," you admit, clicking start on the machine and settling back against the counter facing her. Something about your sleepiness makes it easier to talk, your tongue looser, your ache to let loose around the team more profound. "I'm sure most of us are insomniacs, though."

"Not me," Emily says, chuckling. "I get home and feel like I don't wake up until I get back here."

"Ah, well, I'm sure it can feel like a curse no matter what way you fall," you say with a shrug. Emily lifts her coffee in cheers to that.

"Morning," Morgan says, turning into the kitchen and giving you a surprised smile. "Hello, sunshine, you're looking bright eyed today."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I know, I know."

Emily points with her chin at you, "She's making the coffee this morning."

"Ah-ah, remaking it because you and pretty boy always get here first and finish the first pot." Morgan teases her with a slight shake of his head, grinning and opening the fridge to pull out the creamer.

"Well, you snooze you loose. Or," she sends you a smile, complete with a little nose wrinkle and a tilt of her head, "you don't snooze and still loose."

"Clever," you say, voice dry with humor, hiding your laugh by turning around as the pot finished brewing. "I'll remember this later."

"Careful, she's got teeth," Morgan warns Emily, reaching around you to grab the coffee before you can and filling his cup.

"Hey!" You call in protest, voice raising louder than usual and a pout hitting your lips. Morgan laughs, white teeth on display, eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Here, here," he says, placating, tipping the pitcher to fill your cup as well. "Any sugar or cream to placate the beast?"

Before you can answer, a laugh on the tip o your tongue, Hotch walks in and settles his watchful eyes on you, interest sparking them. You shrink, not in fear but in self-awareness, and send him a closed lip smile. Stepping away from Morgan, you turn quickly to fix your own coffee.

"Good morning," Hotch says, nodding at Emily and Morgan, answering Emily's question about Jack's recent sickness (he's recovering well, thank you) and trying to catch your eye.

You duck away, cowardly and regressing back into your shell, deciding it's time to get to work and stop indulging. You catch Morgan tease Hotch as you leave, though, "Aw, you've scared her off."

You try not to think about it as you duck away, pushing all thoughts of your boss away.

You're unsuccessful.

The problem isn't that you're afraid of him because you think he's mean or unkind in any way. He's done his best to welcome you to the team, allowing you to take investigations in your own direction and listening to your insights since day one. There was a brief moment in your first week where you felt tested, like his questions weren't to gain your insight but to see if you were up to the task, but you slipped past that easily. you have the credentials to back yourself up. you're quiet, yeah, but you're always right on track to where you need to be. pulled early from academy to jump into investigating was hard but it made this easy. a few years of experience under your belt and the job feels natural and, even with the shift in teams to join the big guns in Quantico, you feel like you're exactly where you're meant to be.

No, embarrassingly, this has nothing to do with you not liking your boss or being afraid of him. Rather, he makes you too comfortable. He ducks his head to hear you speak as you walk and talk, settling deep eyes on your face. He's sturdy, dependable, and exactly everything you're all too interested in.

You hate it, harboring a school crush on your boss like you're a teen pining over your teacher. You know it's normal, you know it's perfectly reasonable and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being attracted to him, but you still slink away from him more than the others because of that attraction.

Because it's more than physical.

He listens when you talk. Granted, so do the rest of the team - they're profilers, of course they catalogue everything everyone is saying for future reference. But, beyond that, you catch him paying attention. He complimented your new blouse earlier in the week and it caused air to catch in your throat, suffocating you. It looked new, bright white and without wrinkles, but you knew he must have been looking, noticing, to remember you not wearing it before. He's kind, remembering details about you and the team and using them to aid in everyone's comfort. He knows Spencer can't handle dairy and you've heard him reminding an intern to stock the dairy-free alternatives for creamer in the jet. He brought you a neck pillow on your second flight because you didn't have one.

That gift you accepted with stuttering thank-you's and a flushed face. It hadn't flared this crush, but it definitely aided in your ability to accept it when you finally got around to no longer avoiding how he made you feel with every kind smile and gentle good morning.

You settle down at your desk, putting your steaming mug on a pile of paperwork you really need to sort through, and try to physically push the thoughts out of your head by ranking your hands through your hair, lifting it from your forehead and squeezing your eyes shut. Today isn't the day. You're too tired, sure that the team will be flying out today, and really need to be on your A-Game.

"Everything okay?" A calm voice asks from your elbow. When you look up, you decide the universe hates you. Hotch is leaning on the desk adjacent to yours, holding his own travel cup full of fresh coffee, chin tilted down to check on you. His gaze is kind, light on your face, and his eyebrows are lifted slightly. You get the feeling that he's doing everything in his power to present himself as less imposing.

"Yes, of course," you answer automatically, heart thudding in your throat.

"You know, you shouldn't lie to profilers," he says, tone teasing, voice still low. "If you're tired, it's okay to admit it to me, too."

You're about to brush him off when something in your brain freezes before clicking into place.

He's looking at you, pleading, expression open. He's usually guarded, professional. Caring, but with a guard up. Rare are these moments of genuine asking, especially rarer so are the moment of pleading hidden behind a mask of gentle humor. You think, briefly, about how it must seem to him. He heard you, Emily, and Morgan joking in the kitchen. You haven't been here long, you're shy, but slowly thawing to everyone but him. He doesn't know your reasons, he couldn't, you've made a genuine effort to hide them, and you force yourself to see it from his perspective.

"Sorry," you say, softly, slowly. "I didn't sleep well. First nightmares and then insomnia. Hence," you gesture toward your mug. You shrug, heart beating out of your chest, eyes searching his. Nice, be nice, be open and kind and yourself. "At least I have FRIENDS reruns to keep me company."

You see something relax in him at your gentle offering of the information. He sends you a not-quite-smile, nodding once and pushing himself off of the desk he was lightly leaning against.

"Take a few minutes, I'm sure JJ will call us in soon." He scans your face for a moment before looking down at your desk. He reaches forward, slowly but with purpose, and lifts a file that has been nagging you for days. The new computer system is hard to get used to and the paperwork load is heavier than you've experienced before. "I can help you with this to ease some of your load, too."

He's walking away before you can protest, tucking the file under his arm and ducking into his office. He moves swiftly, leaving no room for argument, and you're left at your desk, mouth agape and heart in your mouth.

"Wow," Spencer says, jolting you in your chair to spin around and face him. His desk is near yours, across a walkway, and you hadn't registered him sitting there. You think he was nose-deep in a book when you walked in but you hadn't been paying attention. "I don't think I've seen him warm up to someone that fast," Spencer admits, leaning back in his seat and giving you a confused look, eyebrows lowered. "Actually, he's never offered to help me do my paperwork. Ever."

"That's because you read far too fast for it to actually help you," you offer, mind racing, words hollow as your thoughts are elsewhere.

Eyes trained on the windows of Hotch's office, you take his advice and relax for the few minutes before JJ comes to gather you all in the conference room. Coffee on your lips, you let yourself smile behind the rim of your mug. You can't imagine how you could think of anything other than that, really.

[neowinestainedress]

wave | lee donghyuck (part two)

part 1 | masterpost | full fic not split in two

pairing: lee donghyuck x fem reader genre: college au, academics rivals to lovers, kinda fake dating, forced to work together on a project, smut, fluff, humor (idk), music major!haechan, music major!mc | not really requested but thank you 💌 anon for the inspo summary: your indifference toward Lee Donghyuck, also known as Haechan, becomes rivalry when he decides to sabotage you. The battle turns into a war, the war turns into a plan, and the plan, well, the plan fails miserably... or succeeds wonderfully. After all, it’s all about points of view. Or, Haechan thinks he found a way to distract you and be better than you, but doesn’t think it thoroughly and screws it up. warnings: smut, weed/alcool consumption, thigh riding, oral (receiving, giving), unprotected sex, teasing, etc | inclusivity notes: reader wears different hairstyles (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type (but haechan lifts her a few times), no mention of skin color, no use of y/n wc: 20.3k (out of 42k)

a/n: here’s the second part. please if you liked it leave feedback (comments, reblogs, asks), i love knowing your opinions and it keeps me motivated to keep posting my writing. enjoy!

After too many dates, too many studying sessions together, and in general too much time spent together —even with his group of friends— you feel like this is a relationship that simply hasn’t been named, yet. Something about everything doesn’t feel like just sex and hate.

You’re fine like this, for once believing you can let loose a little and still do well in your studies.

Haechan, instead, thinks his plan is going amazingly. He knows he has you distracted, he knows he takes away your time, and he knows everything is technically perfect. But the plan is not the best made of his life, and the more time passes, the more he forgets about it, and the more he thinks about you.

He never planned to use you, that had to be clear. He just wanted to distract you with sex —something you both wanted to have— and give you a boyfriend experience so you could write the song in the best way possible. But in doing all that, he is more caught up in you —and not only because of the plan, he is just caught up in you— than in his studies.

It’s nine pm on Sunday after he dropped you home around four pm this afternoon. He made you meet his girl friends too for lunch and then you went back to his place to stay together for a while. But even if you spent almost the entire day together, he still misses you.

He rolls on his back as he goes into his contacts to text you again, he doesn’t have to scroll down, you’re second on the list since he last annoyed you forty minutes ago but you still haven’t replied. 

haechan: can you answer me?

haechan: i miss you : (

haechan: you didn’t even let me eat you out

haechan: you looked so pretty in that skirt i think it looks better with my head underneath it

haechan: fuck and now i’m hard thinking about you

mortal enemy: the only hard thing should be the books you should be studying on, remember we have a test tomorrow?

“Fuck,” he screams, sitting up. “What?”

He never forgets these things. He always writes them down in his agenda that he maniacally reads every day to make sure he’s always on time with his studying schedule. He can’t have forgotten about it. But, apparently, he did.

His thumb quickly wipes to call you and your answer doesn’t let him wait.

“I’m studying,” you huff annoyed as you pick up his phone call right away.

“Why would you go out with me if tomorrow we have a test?”

Your chuckle reaches his ear through the phone before he gets to hear your voice again. “Why not?”

“Don’t you want to be the top one? What about your grades? This adds up for the finals.” Panic fills his voice, he’s hoping you remembered just now and haven’t been studying since you went back, but you’re too relaxed for that to be true.

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, too calmly for his liking. Was his plan working? No, because you knew about it. And he completely erased the test, too busy thinking about you.

“And you go out?” He asks again as anxiety starts to take over him.

“Why would I lock myself up before a test? It’s not even that serious. There’s the topic you pick, and then like four questions that will surely be the main things we discussed in class, Professor Kim only knows one way of making tests.”

He groans, he can’t believe you’re always so ahead of him. “How do you know these things?”

“I use my brain,” you reply nonchalantly.  

“So you started studying… when you got home?”

“Last week.”

“Last week? Are you kidding me?” He screams so loud that he’s sure you have to move the phone from your ear.

You sigh, rubbing your temples, Haechan knows it, you always do that when he pisses you off somehow. “You didn’t open the book at least once until now?”  

“I…” I would usually read through the notes at least once a week, but I’ve been too busy. “I’ve… I read the notes, until some weeks ago. I got busy, okay?”

“Were you perhaps distracted by something Hyuck?” You ask teasingly, and he can see you twirl the end of your hair in your fingers while your tongue pokes at your cheek.

“Nothing distracts me,” he mutters, frowning even if you can’t see him.

“Then hang the call and try to read the notes at least, I’ll send you the recordings of the lessons, play them all night maybe something will stick to your brain.”

“Okay, bye. Wish me good luck, please,” he says, and you chuckle. “No seriously, don’t manifest against me, I need all your good energy.”

“I will, Hyuck. Just give it a quick read and then try to get as much sleep as possible. You have a brain and you’re smart with it, it’s better for you to be active tomorrow than force information that just won’t get in, alright?”

He hums, weirdly feeling a bit calmer at your words. “’kay, goodnight, babe.”

“Goodnight.”

Haechan sighs, slumping on the bed, boner long gone and anxiety on his chest, until the screen lights up again and a few messages from you show up.

mortal enemy: 10 audios + 10 files ‘music theory notes’ sent the audios anyway but my *perfect* notes should be enough to not make you pull up an all-nighter also don’t stress too much, I appreciate the act of chivalry to make me top this class grades again :;

He forgot about an exam, he didn’t study for it, yet he’s smiling like an idiot because of you.

Haechan’s screwed.

“So, how did it go?” You ask, blocking Haechan as soon as the bell rings and Professor Kim dismisses the class, letting you know the results will be in next week.

Haechan glares at you, and you suck your teeth. “Come on, it wasn’t that difficult,” you say, sitting on his desk, as he looks for something in his bag.

“I did great, I just don’t want to admit your notes are perfect and were enough to save my ass,” he says, and you can’t hold back the smile.

“You’re welcome,” you say, standing up and kicking him playfully with a swing of your hips.

“Hey! You could’ve made me fall,” he jokes, grabbing his bag before taking a step back so you can lead the way out of there. “And thank you.”

You chuckle, lowering your head to hide that dumb grin on your face. “You know, I wanted to ask you why we never revisited music theory but I thought you wanted to do it on your own, maybe you were scheming something against me.”

“What? I would never scheme against you,” he says as you start walking to lunch.

You stare at him with a raised brow, and he huffs. “It was in the past and you did it too. Also, what would I scheme?”

“I don’t know, maybe you sneaked into his office and stole the test to already know the answers?”

“That would be cheating, not beating you. There’s no fun in that,” he says, holding the door of the cafeteria open for you.

“You’re such a fair rival,” you joke as you head to the buffet to grab something to eat.

“Wait,” he stops you when your plates are full. “Why don’t you sit at our table? I hate seeing you eat alone.”

“Have you ever considered I can’t stand how loud your friends are?”

“Oh come on, you already deal with them when you come to my place.”

“Exactly.”

Haechan huffs, standing in front of you to stop you from going toward your table. “We can go to yours today.”

You furrow, lightly tilting your head to the side. “We don’t have anything to study.” You try to decipher his expression and think if you could get so distracted to forget something you had to work on or revisit.  “The song?”

He shakes his head. “I might…” he pauses, trying to find a way to say what he wants to say that’s not so humiliating, but then he gives up with a heavy sigh that rolls from his lips. “Okay, I need help.”

“You?” You scream, attracting some attention on you, and Haechan glares at you, pulling you to the sides so that the curious gazes can linger away from you.

“Yes, me,” he replies through gritted teeth. “It’s just a small thing, but I don’t get it.”

You smirk smugly and he rolls his eyes. “Fine, I can’t wait to tutor you,” you reply, starting to walk to his group of friends’ table.

“Why can’t I ever win with you?” He whispers, shaking his head and following you.

You’re not sure Haechan told you the truth. He is smart but he isn’t the best actor ever, and when he came to your place to try to understand that small thing he didn’t understand in sociology, you were pretty sure it was just an excuse. You explained it in less than five minutes, he got it too quickly and immediately started messing around.

You don’t mind it, though. You enjoy spending some time with him. He’s a good distraction. Surely you would’ve fixed some notes or listened to some lessons instead of… well, instead of being on his lap with your fingers in his hair and his hands on your ass, grinding on him.

You hold in a moan when he concentrates on your neck, kissing, biting, and sucking the spot that makes you shiver. And you’d like to go on like this, but you need more. So you shift on top of his thigh, while yours presses against his hardening dick and makes him growl.

“What are you do—”

“Shh,” you shush him quickly, pressing your thumb on his lips before replacing it with your lips. “Ouch,” you gasp when he bites on your lower lip. “Why did you do that?”

Haechan chuckles, shrugging before leaning close to you again. “Why not?”

You frown but have no intention of carrying it any further. You can feel your panties stick to your skin and you just want to come, not really caring if it��s just like this.

But the moment of intimacy, if you could call it that, gets interrupted by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.

“God, just answer,” you yell when Haechan ignores the third call but whoever is on the other line has no intention to stop trying.

Haechan rolls his eyes as his right hand leaves your ass to search through his pocket and huffs annoyed when he sees the name on the screen.

“Jaemin, what?” Haechan groans as you keep moving on his thighs, ignoring his deadly glare. “No, I’m busy.”

You faintly make out an angry reply from the other side, but you don’t care enough to understand what Jaemin’s saying.

“No, I can’t go out with you.”

“We can,” you reply loudly enough so that Jaemin can hear while Haechan scowls at you again, muttering a scold under his breath, but his anger is quickly addressed to his friend on the other side.

“Yes, I’m with her,” he huffs, rolling his head back, trying to stop your movements but failing. “Don’t ask questions. And yes, fine, fine.”

When he hangs the call after mumbling a quick, annoyed goodbye, you chuckle. “Thought you didn’t want to hear my annoying friends?” It’s all he asks, leaving a small, teasing slap on your asscheek.

“What were we supposed to do? Stay inside all day?”

“Yes, we have everything here,” he says, spreading his arms to point around. “And you’re still grinding on me.” He looks down, eyes narrowing as he stares at your hips. 

“I’ll finish and then we’ll get out,” you wink, starting to move faster but he has no intention to get back into the mood, not yet, at least.  

“You’ll stain my pants and where do I come?” He huffs, and you’re sure he’s trying to find an excuse to don’t go outside rather than one to don’t fuck with you. He would never say no to that, especially when you two are already in the middle of it. 

“Take them off,” you urge, jumping off him, waiting for him to get undressed as you do the same, your panties the only thing staying on.  “Come on. You don’t want to be late.”

Haechan groans, “you’re so… so greedy. You just want everything.”

“Yeah, am I allowed to have one flaw?” You bat your lashes at him, grinning when his eyes roll in the back of his head. “Oh, will I stain the underwear, too?” You ask when his lower half is completely bare to your eyes.

“Honey, I’m not coming inside my boxers, can’t wear your panties to hang out with the boys,” he says annoyed.

You chuckle, climbing on his thigh again, watching him whimper when your bare leg brushes against his dick and you press on him to be as close as you were before.

He doesn’t know why you didn’t take the panties off, but he knows he doesn’t want them there. He wants to feel you on his skin. As hot as this is, he wants to feel your pussy drip down his thigh, and your panties are stopping the full experience.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Donghyuck!” You scream when the sound of the fabric ripping hits your ears and the chill air of the room hits your warm core.

He groans. “It’s so hot when you say my real name with an angry tone, makes it hard to hold back fucking you.”

“You need to stop ripping my stuff,” you complain, trying to hide how hot you found that, the ripping of the panties and that fucking smirk on his face now that he lays back against the headboard of your bed, so proud and snotty that is hard for you to hold back fucking him.

“Shut up, you love it,” he says, pulling you into a rough kiss, pushing your body closer while his hand rests on your hips to guide you in the movements. “Also they weren’t a good pair, if you were in lingerie I would’ve asked you politely to take them off.”

“You will never see me in lingerie,” you retort, pulling away as your hand sneaks down and starts moving up and down on his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, “at least warn me?”

“I’m half naked, grinding on top of you and I have to warn you when I grab your dick?” You ask. “If you don’t want, I won’t make you come.”

“No, just —fuck,” he glares at you when you concentrate on the tip, “don’t be a bitch.”

“Sorry, sorry,” you chuckle but still move your hand quickly, following the steady rhythm of your thighs. Your head rolls back when one of his hands creeps under your shirt and cups your boob, his thumb brushing against your hard, sensitive nipple.

Haechan sucks in a deep breath when your thighs start shaking around his and your cum drips down his thigh. “Fuck,” he moans, eyelids fluttering as he looks at you, head reclined back as you hold onto him with only one hand, the other still busy taking care of him. “This is so hot, you are so hot.”

The compliment pushes you closer to reaching your high and when he lifts your shirt to wrap his lips around your sensitive nipple, you lose it.

You whimper and quiver, hips moving messily as you keep riding your high, breath getting stuck in your throat when he accidentally bites you as his orgasm washes over him unexpectedly.

“Fuck, sorry,” he mumbles, and if you weren’t still so lost in your pleasure you would let him know you liked it.

When your hips still, and the dizzying sensation calms down, you lay your head against his shoulder for a while as his arms wrap around your waist.

“Can we stay in?” Haechan pouts when you try to get away from him, reaching for your hand to keep you next to him before he rolls over when you shake your head and jump off the bed. “Please.”

“We can’t always fuck and study and study and fuck,” you reply, cleaning yourself up, holding in a sigh when you realize he stained the cover of your bed with his cum.  

“Who said I want to do either of those things?” He says, looking up at you with puppy eyes, pushing his lower lip out to pity you.

“I know you,” you reply, glaring at him before pulling your pants back on, not even caring about putting on another pair of underwear, you would’ve had to wash all those clothes anyway after taking a well-deserved shower, but for now you only had to pick some clothes to go out with the boys.

“No, let’s stay in and, I don’t know. Should we sing?” He proposes, jumping on his feet and putting his discarded underwear on.

You laugh, staring at him in shock. “You want to sing?”

“Yeah, you have a guitar, right?”

You nod, turning around the corner where your guitar is.

“Don’t you want to hear my angelic voice?”

You take a deep breath at his brag and then exhale loudly. “But Jaemin?”

“Fuck him, I don’t care,” he says while a small victory grin already starts widening on his face. He knows you’re about to give in.  

You huff, rubbing your temples and giving up fighting him when his fingers are already typing on the phone to tell his friend you two can’t come anymore.

When he puts the phone away and smiles at you in anticipation, you sigh. You really are stuck with him, aren’t you?

“Why don’t we prepare biscuits?” You suggest. You wanted to bake something for a while now, but you never really find time to dedicate to the kitchen.

“Biscuits?”

You nod, stealing his sweatshirt to wear on top of your shirt before walking to the kitchen —that space you consider the kitchen. 

“I’m a mess when it comes to cooking, you know, right?” He confesses as he leans against the countertop, watching you move around to grab all the ingredients and tools you need.

“You? Admitting you’re bad at something? To me?” You ask with a teasing tone, but you’re genuinely surprised he let you know without turning even this into a competition.

He fakes a laugh. “Very funny,” he says. “I just don’t want to hear you complain if I make some mistakes and ruin your perfect biscuits.”

You chuckle. “Can you weigh the ingredients and then put them all in a bowl?”

“All at the same time?”

You nod, handing him what he needs and showing him where the scale is. “Is not that hard, even you can do it. Plus, it will be another thing I teach you today,” you wink.

“Careful, baby. Don’t start thinking you’re so much better than me,” he says, starting to weigh the ingredients and putting them in each separate bowl.

You scoff. “Honey, I won’t start thinking that,” you say, resting your head on his shoulder, “I already think that.” You leave a teasing kiss on his cheek before he hits you with the flour and you gasp.

“Oh, no, we’re not doing that,” you warn, taking a step back, seeing how he’s ready with another handful of it.

“Then take it back,” he says nonchalantly.

“I never take back the truth —oh, Jesus Christ, Donghyuck!”

He laughs loudly, bending forward as he glances at you, flour on your face and well, his sweater. “Don’t call my name like that again, though. I won’t resist this time,” he says when he finally stands up and stands right in front of your face. “Now, will you take it back?”

“Never —Ah!” You scream when he lifts you up without a warning and sits you on the table before he starts tickling you. “No, no, please,” you babble, shaking your head and trying to stop his hands on you but he’s faster. “Okay, fine, I’m not better than you — I’m not better than you!”

“Good,” he says, stopping his torture and smiling proudly. “I love it when you listen,” he jokes, kissing you again.

You should hate it —or at least don’t like it so much— when he kisses you like this, out of nowhere, for no reason at all other than wanting to shut you up, or maybe to feel you. But you truly don’t mind. Actually, you lean in for another one, and another one and another… until you feel this is once again going in another direction and, as much as you’d love to indulge in the moment, you want to prepare those biscuits.

“Enough,” you say, pushing him away and jumping off the table. “No more food waste and we’re doing this together.”

You discover you and Haechan work better in the kitchen than in other fields, maybe because there’s no tension pushing you to do better but you are listening to each other, teaching tricks, and simply having fun. And this atmosphere stays with you even when he grabs the guitar and starts playing the tune of your song, you sing some bits of the lyrics and then jokily propose to add some about baking cookies on a cloudy spring afternoon, expecting him to laugh at it but he just smiles and tells you to go on. And you do, mumbling something about being in the kitchen, humming, baking, and laughing. You think it’s too cliché, and you will surely go back to it obsessively until it comes at you like you want it, but he loves it.

Then the oven rings, signalling the biscuits are ready and none of you can believe they came out good, nothing burned, and they’re tasty. Somehow, those cookies, feel like the biggest achievement you two ever made together.

“Maybe we should stop fighting each other,” he mumbles, after chewing his last bite. “We make a pretty great team.”

You smile, cleaning your lips with a napkin, crumbs falling on the table. “Hate to agree, but we do,” you say. “I mean… we kinda teamed up months ago, don’t you think so?”

“We want to kill each other, and you call that teaming up?”

“It’s our way of teaming up,” you reply, handing him a clean napkin so he can clean himself, and he takes it. “We just like to keep the flame alive, if we stopped bickering at all, it wouldn’t be so funny.”

Haechan shrugs, he guesses so. “Not like anybody else ever stood a chance with us on top.”

You chuckle. “Imagine if someone is using our rivalry to get to the top and we never noticed them.”

“Honey, trust me, I would’ve noticed.”

Once you’re done eating, you push him into the shower. There’s flour, and dough on all your clothes, and you still need to wash off the sex of before. You’d opt to shower separately but you’re tight on water and you have to make the best out of the confined space, reason why his plan to fuck another time fails.

“Why are you wearing my pink robe?” You turn around two seconds to grab the towel you prepared for him, and he betrays you. “This was for you,” you say, holding up the white towel as you stand there naked.

“I already put it on, it’s wet,” he says. “Come on, it’s pretty.”

“Yeah, that’s why is my favourite robe,” you pout, but still wrap the towel around you because you don’t want to freeze.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and, before you can even think how, you don’t feel the ground under your feet anymore. Your arms immediately wrap around his shoulders for more safety as you let him carry you outside. You have no idea what is going on today, but you like this, how he’s taking care of you —in his way, of course— and how this feels good.

“You have to change it anyway,” he says when he drops you on the bed and, as soon as you open your mouth, he knows you’re about to complain about the wet towel on the dry covers. “I’ll help you change it later.”

While you change into your new clothes, your pink pyjamas with small black hearts as a pattern, you watch him walk around as if he’s so familiar with the place —not that it would take much for anyone to know where everything is, considering how small it is— but something about it makes a feeling of comfort and warmth spread in your heart. Nobody else had ever been inside that place.

But then you snap out of it and realize he’s naked, and his clothes are dirty, so you rush to the closet to find something to give him.

“So, mhh,” you say, making the things you grabbed fall in front of him, who’s sitting at the table. “I have those sweatpants and a sweater, or these pyjamas if you want it, it’s pink, but it doesn’t look like you care much,” you note, looking at how much he’s rocking your robe.

“Pink pjs! We’ll match,” he says, eyes lighting up as he wastes no moment getting out of the bathrobe.

“Out of the kitchen!”

“There’s not even a wall?”

“Still, get out,” you say, pushing him with force away from there. “Better.”

He rolls his eyes but still grabs the shirt and pulls it on him, blinking when he sees a pair of clean boxers. “Why do you have these?” He still studies them, thinking he has seen them before.

“Because they’re yours,” you say nonchalantly while fixing your hair in a braid.

“They’re mine? I left them here?”

“I might’ve accidentally dragged them with me once,” you confess, looking at him with a big, awkward smile.

“When?”

“When Jaemin almost pushed the door down and we had to rush to get dressed. I just stuffed everything in my bag and your underwear was next to mine so, ta-da,” you say, stretching your arms and shaking your hands to complete the sound effect.

Haechan sighs, nodding. “Of course, it must have been because of Jaemin, somehow.”

“Well, it turned out useful, just put them on. I don’t want to see your dick more than necessary.”

Haechan scoffs and bites back a comment as he finishes getting dressed. “You have to admit I look really good in pink.”

You look at him up and down while he twirls, and you smile. “You would be my favourite Barbie at the mall if they sold you in boxes.”

“God, you’re so annoying, can’t ever make normal compliments,” he complains. “Come on, help me with the bed. It won’t clean itself.”

Making the bed with him is tiresome. His weird way and theories about making it lead you two to bicker more than you should and remake it twice to see who is right —you, obviously. So, once you’re done with it, laying on it with him by your side, you know not even God himself will make you stand up to cook dinner. You don’t need to say a word, Haechan already has his phone out ready to order, and you couldn’t be happier.  

You spend ten minutes deciding what movie to watch and another five bickering because you don’t want to eat on the bed, but he insists you won’t make a mess, and if you do, he will help you clean up. It ends with you giving up and the bell ringing with your order ready.

You never have nights like this. You always try to cook on your own and don’t waste money on eating out, and you also never finish the movie or the series you start, either too tired halfway or with something more important to care about, for example, some notes to copy, or lessons to listen.

But this is nice.

You two joke, laugh, eat, and then you start to feel the sleep take over you, and you don’t think about sending him home or falling asleep on the pillow.

And as you rest your head on his shoulder, Haechan’s more and more sure that his plan failed.

“You’re playing with me, right?” You ask when Haechan messes up for the nth time. The end of the year is approaching, and you two are getting ready for yet another test, the last before the finals, but right now he’s testing your patience not getting a single answer right. You’ve been stuck in his room for hours now.

“I wish I was, my brain is fried,” he huffs, throwing his head back on his chair.

You’re speechless and you shake your head. “It’s super easy, you were better than me in this class, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You snap.

“Hey! Why are you so pissed? Shouldn’t you be happy you’ll beat me even in this?”

“Be serious,” you say, sending him a deadly glare. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m…” he huffs, shaking his head, and turning around in his chair to avoid you. “I’m just stressed for a lot of things. I’m tired, I didn’t sleep tonight.”

“You struggled even last week. And when the Professor asked you something in class you gave an answer that is just not you,” you say, cutting off his bullshit, grabbing the armrest of the chair, and forcing him to face you with a rough tug on the chair.

“There are too many things to remember,” he says, after frowning at how harsh you have been. “It’s not that I don’t know, it’s that I mess it all up.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Do I have to motivate you?”

He lifts his head, staring at you with a furrow. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s play a game,” you say, sitting better on the chair, and Haechan gulps when doing so your skirt —short skirt, incredibly short skirt— rises. He will never tell you, but the way you show up on your dates is another reason why he can’t concentrate. It’s May, it’s so hot. It’s your excuse, but he would bet you’re also doing it to mess up with him.

“No,” he replies, already fearing your proposal.

“Why not? You didn’t hear it, yet.”

He sighs but signals you to go on with a quick movement of his fingers.

“So, we’ll revisit once again, I’ll try to explain all your doubts. Then, I’ll ask you a question, if you get it right, I’ll take off one piece of clothes, if you get it wrong, you’ll take off one, and vice versa.”

“How studying with you butt-naked would make me learn more things?” He almost screams in a high-pitched voice.

“See!” You say. “You’re already starting with the idea you’ll lose.”

“Because I can’t get anything in my brain, and if I get it right then you’ll have to take something off and all I’ll think about will be… you.” I already only think about you, he’d like to add, but that’s too humiliating. Just like the grin on your face. He hates how weak he is. He hates how easy it is for you to win battle after battle. And he hates even more that his plan is showing flaws with each passing day. He doesn’t want you to be his Waterloo, but he’s not sure he can come up with another strategy soon enough to beat you. 

“Fine, then no study-strip-poker,” you give up, but the smug smirk on your face doesn’t drop when you start to think of something else that could motivate him, it only grows bigger when you finally get it. “If you answer right to at least ten of the fifteen questions, I’ll suck your dick.”

Haechan gulps. His eyes immediately fall on your lips as his brain starts to wander on lands he shouldn’t think about, not now at least, not when he has a bigger obstacle to face if he wants to get there.

“Hey,” you call his attention, snapping your fingers and waving them in front of his face. “It has to be motivation, not distraction. Do you want me?”

He huffs, throwing his head back. “Can’t we just fuck and then we’ll start again?” He pouts like he does every time he wants something from you.

“No,” you reply sternly, stealing his sweatshirt from his chair and putting it on you. “You don’t get the prize if you don’t win.”

“That’s not fair. And why are you covering up?”

“So you can’t distract yourself,” you say. You might like to tease him with more revealing clothes, but your intent is never to get him to be this distracted. You don’t want to be the reason he will fail this last test.

“You’re not my distraction,” he scoffs, diverting his gaze, and moving closer to his desk.

You decide to ignore him, you know the truth, and as much as the idea of him starting to lose because he’s too busy thinking of you, sends you on cloud nine, you also don’t want him to do terribly, especially in a class you know he loves and is good at.

“I know the theory,” he says, stopping you from going back to the start. “I wouldn’t be able to produce songs if I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but you just failed to explain how you create and add effects, and you forgot the basic difference between the dry sound and the wet sound, so revisiting some theory won’t hurt.”

Haechan sighs but soon gives up as you hand him your notes. He always thought you were crazy for also having printed pictures of how the software works but now that he needs it, he couldn’t be more grateful that you’re so precise with everything.

You start explaining things once again, cutting short about the most basic notions and diving deeper into the last lessons, as you try to stop as much as you can to make sure he’s still following you. And, after almost an hour, you’re done.

“What are you doing?” He asks when you take off his sweater again. “What about my concentration?”

“I needed your focus while I was explaining, now you have to answer even if you have distractions.”

He huffs loudly, throwing his head back. “But don’t play dirty, you can’t touch yourself or anything like that.”

“I’m not that cruel, I just want you to answer me,” you say. “So, let’s start with an easy one, should we?”

Haechan answers the first questions with ease, not like he usually would, but it’s still better than the mess of before. And he would be so close to getting the last one that keeps him on thin ice, he only got five wrong...

“No, no, no, please,” he begs, trying to stop you in place. “Please, give me one last chance. Ask me just one last question.”

“You got six wrong, babe,” you reply, loving how he’s almost on the verge of tears as his big brown eyes look up at you.

“But it was hard, I will never remember all the types of old reverbs unit,” he whines, coming closer to you.

“Then why do I?”

“Don’t lie, you don’t remember them either, I can’t even pronounce some of those names.”

You chuckle. “Oh, it’s really funny when the lack of a good fuck gets in your brain.” It’s not about sound design anymore. It’s about the desperation behind his eyes; knowing he wants you so much even if you’re the biggest reason for his despair gets your body hot and your pussy wet.

He groans, slumping back on his chair as he gives up on you. Or so he thinks because when he doesn’t pity you enough and you’re still packing your things to leave, he’s back again with his complaint.

“Please, one last chance? I didn’t mess the others up, I just made some tiny mistakes.”

“And you didn’t answer to two,” you say, ignoring him, trying to keep a serious face to not show your true emotions.

“Do I have to get on my knees?”

You snicker. “You look good on your knees,” you taunt but you don’t expect him to do that. “Get up!”

“Not until you give me another chance,” he retorts. “Please.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Fine, but just one.”

He nods enthusiastically, almost looking like a puppy being teased with a treat before he sits up in front of you.

“The differences, all the differences, between the shelving equalizer and the peaking equalizer.”

“Okay, I know this one, I know it,” he says before he starts explaining without missing a single detail. “So?” He asks with eyes full of hope as if he doesn’t know he just gave you a perfect answer.

“It was… great,” you tease him but you can’t keep a straight face when you see the pout on his face. “Kidding, kidding, you answered perfectly. So, I guess you deserve your prize.”

“Yes,” he screams, and in a second he throws himself on you but you shake your head and push him back on his chair. “What?”

“You sit there and let me handle this,” you say, placing your hands on his thighs. “Take them off,” you order, tilting your head to point at his grey pants. You see he’s confused about where you want this to go, but he obeys you anyway. “Everything,” you add when he’s still in his boxers. “Good boy, come here,” you say, patting your lap.

Haechan frowns. “You said you were going to suck me off.”

“I know, and have I ever break my promises?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just trust me and come here,” you order, waiting for him to follow. “Can’t believe you’ve been this hard all this time,” you say, wrapping your hand around his hard cock, starting to pump the pre-cum that leaked.

“You teased me,” he huffs, trying to keep his composure as he watches your hand moving on him delicately.

“I know, babe. I’m sorry,” you pout, one hand sneaking under his big white shirt to tease his nipples.

“Don’t,” he mutters, but you only laugh.

“Don’t, what? Let me take care of you, you’re stressed.”

He doesn’t reply, his head falls back as your movements on his dick quicken. He feels so small in your hold and he should find this more embarrassing but he doesn’t care. He loves the way your hand wanders delicately on his body and your lips leave pecks on his neck while the movements on his dick are fast enough to give him what he wants but not too fast to ruin this moment.

Your hands keep moving while your lips kiss his neck and jaw.

“Feels so good,” Donghyuck hums, shifting in your lap.

“I told you,” you chuckle, watching him roll his head back on your shoulder as his eyes close. “The others will hear you,” you say when his whimpers get louder.

“Don’t care,” he moans. “Feels too good.”

You smile and shrug. If he doesn't care, who are you to worry about it? It’s not like they don’t know what happens between you two.

So you quicken your hand, sliding up and down his sensitive dick so fast you make him tremble in your hold.

“You’re so cute like this, you know?” You say. “You look so small and delicate.” You expect him to get mad but instead, he moans and nods swiftly. And you know that stress got him good. Donghyuck, admitting to be vulnerable in your hands? You can only thank the weight the University is putting on his shoulders. But if that’s a way to make it go away, you can’t complain.

“I’m gonna — gonna come,” he whimpers when you start rubbing your thumb on his tip. “Fuck.”

You trap his scream with your other hand, staring at him as he slumps against you as his orgasm washes over him, squirting white strings of cum on your hand and his crumpled shirt.

“Get on the bed,” you urge while lifting the shirt off his body, leaving him naked. He barely has time to put himself together, but you don’t care and you know he needs more too.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair that you’re still all dressed up?” He asks, still sitting on top of you.

“Do you want me to suck your dick, or do you want me to leave?” Is the only thing you have to say to make him obey with no more complaints. “Good. You should be thankful I gave you another chance. Right now you would be masturbating all alone and have no knowledge of sound design, so… what do we say?”

“What do you want me to say? You didn’t—”

“What do we say?” You shut him up, pulling his hair back harshly as your body weights on his lap, eliciting a broken groan.

“Tha — thank you,” he mumbles, cock throbbing right against your thigh. “Thank you but, please, do something, I’m… I need you.”

You snicker, letting go of his head and crawling back on the bed. “You’re so pathetic,” you mock, grabbing his dick again. “Begging on your knees just because you wanted my mouth.”

Haechan groans, throwing his head back but the harsh slap on his thigh makes him snap his eyes open.

“Why?” He squeaks.

“Eyes on me when I’m talking to you,” you order before lowering down so you can tease his tip with your tongue, making him bite back a loud moan.

“Please,” he pleads, and you finally give in. When you take him in your mouth, the broken breath that rolls from his lips makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“Shit,” he moans, fists clenching in the sheets as you suck harder, moving your head up and down in quick movements. He wants to look at you, knowing it will be even harder to not come on the spot, but he’s fighting with so many parts of him, he doesn’t know what to do.

When you pull away to look at him, he whines, hips bucking up in search of physical contact. You snicker, “and then I am the greedy one?”

“You’ve been teasing since you stepped inside the house,” he whines, trying to grab your hand but you don’t let him. “Come on, I’ve been good.”

It’s true, he has been good, but you don’t want him to come yet. “You can’t come, not yet.”

“Fine, just — just don’t tease me. Please,” he cries, begging you with his eyes.

You start taking care of him seriously; bobbing your head up and down while your hand wraps at his base to touch him where you can’t reach. Your movements are quick, but not too messy, since you’re trying to avoid creating a pool of spit and pre-cum all over his lap.

“Your mouth, fuck,” he groans, involuntarily fucking into your throat and uttering a slurred apology. “You’re just so good. God,” he curses, and you catch him rolling his eyes. “Even at — even at this you’re good.”

You snicker to yourself and keep focusing on his dick, heavy on your tongue as you suck with force.

You might be too good, cause it doesn’t take a lot for him to explode in your mouth; a brief warning for you to choose if you want to pull away and then the pleasure runs through his body for the second time.

You barely have time to clean your chin from the cum that dripped down that Haechan pulls you close to him, kissing you intensely while his hands are all over your body. “Want you, please, please fuck me,” he begs against your lips.

You slip out of your panties, quickly grabbing the base of his cock to line it with your soaked entrance because you can’t wait anymore.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so wet,” he hums when you sink, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.

“Want to take merits for this, too?”

“Well, yes,” he retorts. “Shit, don’t move, it’s not fair.”

“Everything is fair between us,” you say, starting to pick up a rhythm that makes him struggle to come up with a snarky reply. “Loss of words?”

He groans, throwing his head back and tightening the hold around your waist. “You can —mmph— you can talk all you want but —ugh— I am the reason why you’re soaked.” Somehow the way you’re bouncing on his dick it’s not enough to wipe away that smug smirk off his face, and you can’t stand it.

“Just shut the fuck up and enjoy this, will you?” You snap before kissing him roughly, cupping his chin with force before nibbling his lower lip, making him hiss. “I like it when you moan, so please, just fucking moan. The only words I want to hear are my name and begs.”

Your “threat” is effective because he doesn’t dare to open his mouth again.

“Good boy,” you praise without ever stopping to kiss him and moving your hips at a quick but regular speed.

You quickly realize that stress has gotten to you, too. You love to pretend it doesn’t affect you, and that you don’t need to let off steam, but you do. You are desperate to feel carefree for a few moments, put all the books and papers behind and have fun. And worst, you need him.

Donghyuck is what makes you feel good. It doesn’t matter if it’s mostly physical, he takes you to another world every time. He makes you feel wanted, he puts you through the test, but he makes everything worth it.

You’re so sure of it as you let your body crush against his, your fleshes meeting in a messed-up tangle of flaws. The kinds of flaws you both grew close enough to show each other.

In a few minutes, waves of pleasure hit you both and your bodies collapse into each other as you keep lazily riding that sensation; muscles on fire, lips meeting in messy kisses, moans panting the room, and your hands looking for each other.

When you lay on the bed side by side, you feel disconnected, and, truly, the only thing you’d like to do is to close your eyes and fall asleep, but your eyes fall on the clock against the wall and remind you why you went to his place.

“Five minutes and then we’re revisiting again,” you say, knowing the only way to get up is to say that thought out loud.  

Donghyuck groans, pressing his face against you and mumbling, “can I eat you out if I make no mistakes this time?”

“We’ll see.”

You’re woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of the piano playing from the living room. The other side of the bed is empty, and the sheets are crumpled up, signalling you Haechan got up somewhere during the night.

You two went on a trip the whole weekend. Not like you had a choice when he passed by your place and told you to get in the car without giving you any information. You got mad at him when he told you it wasn’t a one-day thing, but you were too far from town to even think of going back. And even if initially you were angry because your plans for the weekend were different —studying all day for three days— your anger disappeared quickly.

This is the second night out; you spent the entire day wandering around a town you didn’t even know before and got closer to each other. You love the thrill with him, but you soon realize you also love it when there’s peace between you. It’s impossible for you to don’t bicker, but you learned how to balance everything. And the more you get to know him, the more you like him.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, watching his features being lit up by the faint moonlight and a small lamp at the side of the piano. It’s an old one, almost left abandoned in the living room of the small, cheap house you’re staying in for the night.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Got a tune I couldn’t get off my mind so… here we are.”

You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you sit next to him. You don’t talk, you only watch his fingers move on the notes looking like ballet dancers. You’ve never seen him play the piano before, you weren’t even sure he could. But you’re amazed at how many things he’s talented at, the guitar, the piano, production, singing, dancing —and making your days less grey.

You don’t tell him, you only lean in, resting your head on his shoulder as he keeps playing the sweet melody.

“It’s…” he huffs, stopping for a second. “Doesn’t it sound messy?”

“Not at all,” you reply. “It sounds upbeat. Happy.”

“Out of all the ways you can describe music,” he chuckles, looking at you.

You look up, shrugging. “I’m describing how it’s making me feel.”

“Yeah? And what does it feel like?”

“Play it again,” you say, closing your eyes and letting the tune lull you. “It feels like spring. Like a field full of sunflowers, the ones you see at the side of the highway, passing by so fast before you can even get lost in their beauty.”

Haechan chuckles, holding back the big smile on his face. “It reminds me of those late summer evenings, when the heat dims a bit and the sky is pale pink and purple and blue, and time is frozen.”

“Yeah, when you’re ten and you don’t want summer to end because it means you have to go back to school,” you smile. “When you would stay out all day and come home with the smell of your favourite cake that your mom just baked.”

“Really? Your mom would bake that too?”

You nod. “Chocolate cake, basic and too messy for the heat of summer. But my mom loves me too much to don’t bake it for me, even if it’s 30° outside.”

Haechan chuckles, and his fingers start moving faster, starting the melody of what could be the chorus of the tune.

“In this part, it feels like a wave. I’m picturing running on the beach as the waves crash at your feet and the wind blows against your face.”

“Why are you smiling?” He asks.

You shake your head. “I — I can… it feels oddly romantic, a bit tormented, maybe confused, but in love,” you whisper. He gives you a weird look, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re not using technical words to describe it or because you’re just weird. But there’s a reason you’re not being technical, you’re saying what it makes you feel, the vivid pictures in your mind. And, somehow, there’s you and him.

You two on the beach, walking on the sand before he starts running, teasing you to follow him. There’s the scent of the sea filling your nostrils and your lungs burning up as you reach him and then fall in his arms and feel your heart explode.

“It’s an unexpected feeling, something that wasn’t supposed to happen and then… changed everything. It’s thrilling. Scary, but satisfying.” You avoid his gaze but hear him hum in agreement, and wonder if he’s thinking the same, if he can feel this tension.

“So, something that sweeps everything like a wave,” he asks, and you nod. “Sunset,” he adds, smiling at you, slowing down the rhythm of his fingers. “I can also see the sunset colouring the scene. The kind that makes you look up and stare in awe like a child.”

“The one we saw yesterday,” you reply shyly. “It made your eyes look even more brown,” you confess, watching his cheeks tint up of rose.

“The kind that leaves you breathless,” he whispers. His fingers are still moving but they’re playing the same notes, he’s too busy staring into your eyes, leaning closer to you.

“And speechless.”

And a bit closer.

“And grateful you’re on earth.”

And closer.

You move back, coughing and lowering your head because you feel on fire. Is he making fun of you? Does he feel this? Why is he so confusing?

“It feels like a road trip with nowhere to go,” you say to fill the silence, and your words make him play again. “The calm while everything outside is falling apart.”

“Like running to your safe place?”

You nod. “It feels like… home.”

He smiles, looking in your direction while his fingers still play that sweet melody. “I always believed home is a person, even people, but not a place.”

You swallow, staring at his lips before your eyes meet his. “I’ve forgotten that feeling quite some time ago,” you whisper, feeling your head spin. You left home and never looked back, eager to chase your dreams, the ones you’ve been fighting hard to achieve since you were a child, but in that marathon to success, you’re starting to realize you lost something.

“You just need to find the right people, and then never let go.” He leans closer to you, hands falling from the piano as he leans in completely to trap your lips in a kiss. His hand cups your face while the other moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer and moving his thumb in small circles. You feel like your lungs are on fire, and your legs are weak, but your heart never pumped harder than this. And when he slowly pulls away, you’re staring into each other’s eyes.

You know all the words to your song.

It’s true you’ve tried to avoid Donghyuck’s group of friends as much as you can —mostly to preserve your brain from early injuries— but it’s also true that the end of the second academic year is tearing you apart and you need to do something to don’t go insane.

So here you are, it’s Friday night, at their place, and you’re surrounded. Haechan has left you alone for a moment, busy talking with Mark. Jeno is trying to set up the table in the living room, while Renjun runs after him because ‘things are not perfect enough.’ Yangyang —no, he doesn’t live with them, but for some reason, he is always around— is in the kitchen doing only God knows what.

For your luck, you have Jaemin and the girls by your side. Ningning, who apparently has something going on with Mr Loverboy at your side. Yeri, who is there just to bully Haechan, Mark and Yangyang  —an old tradition that goes on since high school, and you love her for that. And Minjeong, who’s the nicest and yet smartest person you know, you are relieved she is in creative writing with Jaemin. You met them all before, one of the thousand times Donghyuck dragged you around with him, and the four of you got along right away, quickly becoming friends.

“They’re so loud, I would have a constant headache living here,” Yeri huffs loudly, rolling her eyes and falling backwards in Ningning’s arms.

You raise a brow as a ‘told you’ moment.

“They’re not that bad usually,” Jaemin defends, looking at his friends, now all too interested in something that regards what they are supposed to eat.

“Pfft, please, Jaem,” you say, glaring at him.

“How would you know?” He says. “Oh, no, yes, actually you would, you’re always here.”

“See, so stop defending them,” you say before becoming aware of the three sets of eyes boring holes into you. You turn around meeting your three friends and lift a brow in a questing look.

“Why would you always be here?” Ningning teases, nudging you.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t wander too far with your brains. I’ve got a project with Hyuck.”

“Hyuck? You used to go around calling him by his stage name just a few months ago and now it’s Hyuck?” Yeri points out, smirking smugly.

You throw a pillow at her. “He’s always attached to my hip, of course, we got closer,” you explain, frowning.

“Sure, sure,” she laughs. “Not even the boys call him Hyuck.”

“They do,” you retort.

“Of course you know, you’re always here,” Minjeong giggles and you gasp.

“You traitor!” You say, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her as you both laugh.

“Move your asses over here, motherfuc—” Yangyang screams before Renjun slaps a hand on his face.

“I will kill you all one day,” Renjun says, storming into the kitchen to bring more drinks as you sit down around the table.

“Please leave us out of it,” Yeri screams loud enough so he can hear.

“Sure, you can even help me get it done if you want to,” he says, sitting between Jeno and Yangyang, handing the bottles around.

“I’m in,” the four of you say simultaneously, raising your hands and they all gasp as they glare at you.

“Guess we better sleep with our eyes open tonight,” Yangyang mutters.

“You should always sleep with one eye open,” Yeri threatens, smiling creepily.

You chuckle at their antics, but your attention is caught by Donghyuck who sits by your side. “Would you kill me?”

You smile, caressing his hand on his thigh. “Honey, what are you saying? You would be the first that has to go.”

The smile on his face drops and you laugh, turning to the table to grab something to eat.

“You know,” he whispers, leaning in so only you can hear, “no dick tonight.”

You lower your head, trying to hide the embarrassment, but then lift it up and shake it, fixing your hair behind your ear, and turning to him. “Not like something could’ve happened tonight anyway.”

“Period?”

“People,” you say and he chuckles, opening a can of beer before taking a sip.

“As if that ever stopped you.”

You roll your eyes, stealing the beer from his hand, “as if that ever stopped you.”

He smiles, resting his head on his palm as he looks at you. “You never said no, though.”

You wave him off, returning your attention to the table, but it doesn’t last much, they’re deep in a heated conversation and you’re missing something. “Why are they bickering… again?”

Haechan chuckles, shaking his head, grabbing a spring roll, dipping it in the soy sauce before taking a bite. You roll your eyes because you need to be updated right away but when you look at him munching happily you can’t hold back a smile.

“So,” he says, cleaning his lips after he swallowed, “Jeno wants Renjun for a project, but Renjun has war traumas of the last time they did a shooting together and doesn’t want to.”

You giggle, grabbing a spring roll too, and dipping it in the same small cup of Donghyuck, while you both pay attention to the conversation.

“But you’re perfect for it,” Jeno insists, shaking Renjun from his shoulders, not caring about the pissed-off expression of the older.

“I’m literally not, ask anybody else but me,” Renjun repeats, a deep crease visible on his forehead.

“But you look like an angel,” Jeno pouts, finally stopping his movements and batting his lashes to gain some pity.

“I might look like an angel, but I feel Satan rising in me every time you talk,” he says, making everybody laugh before he glances, and the room goes quiet.

“Come on, how bad can it be?” Minjeong says, and you see her shift closer to Mark, but you don’t say anything.

Renjun groans, throwing his head back. He can’t believe he might be convinced into this by the end of the night. “He’s too much of a perfectionist, and I’m not comfortable in front of the camera. Also, he’s not rich enough to have a studio and he always takes ages to put the light boxes in their place once he’s done.”

“Oh, I won’t annoy you, I promise,” Jeno begs again.

“We can rent a studio,” you say, all eyes on you. “I mean,” you cough, placing the small bite of the roll left on the plate in front of you, “me and Hyu— Donghyuck have to shoot the cover for the songwriting project, I don’t think we can wait any longer since we also have to record the song and then come up with an advertising strategy.”

“Then rent a studio?” Renjun says, coming out colder than he intends to. “No, wait, I just don’t get why you have to drag me in this.”

“Jeno proposed to be our photographer, but I doubt we can do it at home. And since we wouldn’t be paying for his job. Sorry,” you mouth quickly glancing at Jeno who shrugs and smiles at you. “We can at least put the money for the studio.”

“And where do I fit in this,” he cries, shoulders slumping as he knows there’s no way out of this, no matter what you say next.

“Well, since you pay the studio per hour, I don’t think Jeno will torture you much. He takes two hours with you and two hours with us and in a day, we are done. Also, if there are four of us, we can be quicker,” you finish explaining, hearing some hums of agreement from your other friends.

Jeno doesn’t say a word, he’s only smiling widely with his face close to Renjun’s as the latter regrets all the life choices that brought him here. “Fine, I’ll do it,” he exhales, groaning when Jeno hugs him and screams a cheer in his ear. “Step away before I change my mind,” he warns, slapping Jeno’s arm and glaring at him when he does as told.

Yeri sighs deeply at your side, rolling her eyes and muttering, “children.”

You chuckle, finishing your roll, and stealing Donghyuck’s beer again before talking to him. “So, I guess we’re almost done.”

“Almost done? You still didn’t show me the lyrics, have you even written them?”

“Hey,” you scold. “Are you doubting me?”

“I don’t know, last time I checked, you were the one struggling. I offered you four bases, and all the words I’ve read from you ended up crumpled in the bin.”

You sigh. “I’ve got the song,” you reassure him.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I also picked the production. I mean, I… I wrote it because of that production.”

Haechan’s smirk widens when you start stuttering and looking away, trying to look unsuspicious in your friends’ eyes. “Really? And why are you shying away?”

You almost jump when you feel his hand on your thigh, resting on your bare skin under the skirt. “I’m not,” you whisper, trying to keep cool.

He snickers. “You know I’ll have to see it and you can’t keep it a secret from me, right?”

“I know, I don’t want it to be a secret. You’ll read it.”

He squeezes your thigh, and you glare at him. “Not now.”

“Right, later, under the cover when we’ll watch a movie,” he jokes.

Yeri coughs beside you and you see your entire life pass in front of your eyes, but you fake nonchalance and turn to her. “Need something? Some water?”

“Some tea, honey, some tea,” she says, raising a brow and pointing at the man at your side, now busy talking with Yangyang.

“I can make some.”

“Stop playing me,” she whispers, sending you a deadly glare. She can be scary at times, you’re not surprised the boys listen to her in the blink of an eye.

“He’s just being stupid, he flirts even with walls,” you say.

“Does he touch their thighs?”

“No, he’s not,” you say, only to gasp when she looks down and his hand is still on you. You push it away but he puts it right where it was and you can only sigh.

Yeri snickers. “Ah, l’amour.”

Your head rolls back as you let out an annoyed sigh. “Love my ass.”

Yeri shrugs, sipping from her small bottle of soju. “Don’t care, there’s still something going on, and I’m interested.”

“I’d love to mock you with somebody but you’re more closed than an unopened can of beans.”

“You are so bad with words. How do you write songs?”

“I don’t write about beans, clearly,” you say seriously before you both laugh.

“You two, mind to share what’s funny with the class?” Ningning calls you out.

“Sorry Professor Ning, we’ll be even more annoying next time,” Yeri retorts.

“Why do I feel you’re quoting something we can’t understand?” Renjun says.

“Because you’re right,” Yeri replies.

“Yesterday Yeri almost got us expelled,” Ningning says with a forced smile on her face, making you all gasp.

“What happened to sharing information?” Mark screams, leaning in with interest.

“Why do you care so much?” Yeri shrugs, grabbing a bowl of tteokbokki to eat.

“Mh, hello? You got your asses out of Uni,” Minjeong says.

Yeri only rolls her eyes, resting her head on Ningning. “If a tteokbokki falls on my clothes you’re dead,” the blonde-haired warns before bringing her gaze to all of you. “In her defense, it wasn’t her fault. Not at the start, at least.”

“No,” Yeri retorts, sitting up straight again, and placing the bowl on the table, “it wasn’t my fault, period.”

“Here she goes again,” Ningning sighs, puffing and shaking her head, making you chuckle. But Yeri is not paying her attention, too busy telling the facts right.

“Professor Choi hates us and treats us like kids. Not only his lessons are boring, and I would like to add, useless, but he also thinks we’re in kindergarten.”

“Did you fight with him?” Jeno questions, frowning, already fearing a positive answer.

Yeri gulps, looking around to take time to answer.

“Oh, God, tell me you didn’t,” you say, staring at her with a worried expression.

“He asked for blood,” she says, getting fired up.

“You fought a Professor?” Jaemin gasps loudly.

“She didn’t,” Ningning intervenes when Yeri is about to open her mouth again. “Just because I was there to babysit her, but she didn’t.”

“I didn’t come here to be treated like a child,” she says, crossing her arms on her chest. “We weren’t even being loud. We were sitting in the back of the class, minding our business and he called us out. There was a group of boys in the middle row watching fucking porn and he called us out.”

“Ew,” it comes out collectively.

“But unless the headphones weren’t connected how would he know?” Yangyang asks.

“I don’t care! He hates us,” she groans.

“So you decided to make him hate you even more? Smart move, Yerim, smart move,” Renjun says sarcastically, and she glares at him.

“I just decided to drag her out when things got a bit heated,” Ningning says.

“Not in a Beyonce way I guess,” Haechan jokes, and Yeri slaps him as you move back to give her space to hit him.

“Hey! Why are you helping her bully me?” He asks offended.

“Cause you deserve it?” You shrug.

Donghyuck looks around in disbelief, groaning when everybody agrees. “Fake ass friends, can’t even trust your own shadow in this group.”

“Back to what matters, safe to say you won’t pass the class,” Renjun says.

“We will, there’s only one lesson left, and we’ll pay attention,” Ningning says and Yeri raises her brows. “We will pay attention. He might hate us, but, you know, a bit of boot-licking and we’ll be fine.”

“Fine,” Yeri gives up. “But only because I don’t want to see him ever again.”

“We once fought so hard we got kicked out,” Haechan confesses, bringing the attention to him.

“You and?” Jeno asks.

“Dumbass, Miss Better than him, thought you heard them bicker every two seconds,” Renjun replies instead, pointing at you with his index finger.

“Hey!” You say. “I mean, thank you for acknowledging I’m better than him but it wasn’t so bad.”

“Oh, trust me, it was,” Mark comments before drinking his beer.

“And you were teaching us a lesson, uh?” Yeri teases, eyebrow raised at you two.

“We didn’t insult the Professor,” you explain. “We were just at each other’s throat.”

“Why?” Minjeong asks.

“Honestly? Can’t remember, we fight about everything,” Donghyuck replies.

“We don’t fight,” you clarify. “We discuss. And sometimes things take a bad turn. Not anymore, we learned how to survive with each other.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” giggles Yeri and you kick her knee with yours, making her groan.

Haechan sends you a look you ignore, and you go on explaining. “We were just stating our thoughts, but we weren’t exactly agreeing, and we couldn’t stop, so the Professor told us to take it somewhere else.”

“And you did? You simply could’ve stopped,” Renjun asks in disbelief. He can’t believe he thought you were normal.

“We had business to settle, okay?” You explain.

“Oh, and we sure did,” Haechan chuckles under his breath or so he thinks because the room goes quiet, and you think you want to strangle him.

You have to come up with something.

“You only won because I gave up,” you say, looking into his eyes, seeing the devilish glint behind, warning him to not say a word more.

“You always give up if there’s a prize you can take,” he clicks his tongue and you gulp.

“Oookay, weird tension in the room, it’s clear the only one not getting laid is me,” Yangyang cheers, bringing you two out of your competitive stare. You’d like to complain, saying it’s not what he thinks about, but you’re still stuck, brain busy thinking about something else.

“This night it’s boring, if we don’t do something funny, I’ll act out my plan of killing you all,” Renjun says, standing up.

“I still don’t know whether you’re joking or not,” Mark says.

“Because I’m not.”

“Caught you!”

“Hyuck!” You scream, turning around, holding a hand over your chest as his arms wrap around your waist and his chin rests on your shoulders. “You could’ve killed me.”

“You’re eating cake without me, that’s the crime,” he says, pulling your hand to his face to take a bite.

You roll your eyes. “Jaemin told me he had to store it away because Jeno and Minjeong were eating it all.”

“So, you were hiding, uhm?”

You hum, cutting another piece and diving it in two to give it to him. “He said I could eat it. Also, I think I had too much alcohol and I need to put something in my stomach.” You sit on the countertop and he takes his place between your legs.

“Am I allowed to eat it?”

“I guess so, I’ll take the blame if he says something,” you giggle.

“Don’t think he will notice, too busy dancing with somebody,” he says, hinting at Ningning.  

“They look cute together,” you say, smiling fondly.

“Oh, they do. If only he could grow some balls and confess,” he says.

“Do you confess, Casanova?” You tease.

Donghyuck smirks. “How does it look like?”

You shrug. “Don’t know, you tell me.”

He rolls his eyes before he realizes you two are not together. “Wait, are we… no, never mind,” he says, pulling away, and turning to the door.

You grab his hand, stopping him. “What?”

“Jeno called,” he lies, trying to escape your hold.

“No, he didn’t. He’s sitting with Yangyang passing the blunt around,” you jump off the top and face him. “Are we?” You’re not sure what you expect him to say.

Donghyuck gulps, struggling to keep his eyes on you. “Are you fucking somebody else?”

Whatever you were expecting, that wasn’t it. “Are you?”

“I asked you first,” he retorts.

You blink. “Oh, really?

“Yeah, really.”

“Do I look like I know somebody else besides us?”

“Jeno likes you, and he told me you two are texting.”

“As friends, Hyuck. I already told him I’m taken — I’m not, I’m… I’m taken by other things in my mind. Uni, fighting you, especially fighting you.”

Donghyuck snickers, not really what he expected from you, but deep down —not even so deep, truly— what he wanted to hear. “Yeah, I agree, you’re taken, mostly by me.”

You’re about to retort but he slips from your hands too soon, leaving the small kitchen to reach the others. But you’re smiling. It’s a dumb, small smile that lights up your face in the dark of the night, and your heart pumps. You two didn’t name any of this, but —bickering aside— you objectively know you acted like a couple. It’s not about the sex, it’s about everything else. He started to pick you up before lessons so you could go to class together and sit next to each other —while he did everything he could to distract you. You ate at your friends’ table at lunch, went out for dates, and occasionally even slept over. You are taken and probably for longer than you even realise. Donghyuck started filling your days months ago, and even your life.

You’re still caught up in your thoughts that you don’t hear Ningning enter the kitchen.

“I spy with my little eyes something suspicious,” she sings while pouring herself a glass of water, leaning against the countertop where you were before.

“First Yeri, and now you?” You ask, a small smile curling your lips while you walk to lean next to her.

Ningning gasps offended. “She knew before me? Is this how you betray me? After I helped you style your hair?”

You laugh, resting your head on her shoulder, and inhaling deeply; she always smells nice. “I didn’t tell her,” you confess. “Honestly, I don’t even know myself.”

You can’t see her, but you know she’s smiling when her arms wrap around your body.

“So, what is that, love?”

You hum. “I don’t know what it is, but I know I like it.”

“I knew you were a romantic at heart,” she jokes, pulling away to squeeze your cheeks.

“I’m just happy. I don’t think I need to put a name on this… on this happiness.”

A big smile spreads on her face and her eyes crinkle, her hand softly caresses your cheeks. “It’s not only Donghyuck, is it?”

You nod, pressing your lips in a flat line because something about this feels too emotional for you. It’s 11 pm and there’s faint music playing in the living room while people laugh, and joke, sharing a blunt or bottles of alcohol. And you’re in the kitchen talking about a boy you want to kiss and strangle with who, you’re sure, can now consider your best friend. It’s the stupid fun of the early 20s. It’s the sense of something you’ve been missing for too long since you only let yourself be absorbed by your studies, leaving friendship behind.

And when a lonely tear rolls down your eyes, Ningning coos, gently wiping it away. “I’m happy,” you say, nodding.

“I know,” she replies, cupping your face.

“I’ve been on my own since I came here and I never regretted believing in my dreams even if it meant leaving the ones I loved the most behind, but now I realize what I’ve been missing,” you confess. “I love that they’re so loud they give me a headache.” You both chuckle and your hands intertwine. “And I love that we all sit together at lunch even if most of you have to run from the other side of the building. I love how none of you hesitated one moment to consider me part of your group.”

“I’m so happy you’re with us,” she says, smiling. “I guess Donghyuck does something right sometimes.”

You both laugh.

“Yeah, he definitely made my second year less boring than the first one,” you admit.

“Come here, I guess we both could use a hug,” she says, not giving you time to reply before you’re into her arms. You stay like this for a while, and you know more than before that this is what you missed the most. This is what college means. It isn’t in the loud parties, the sex, and the drugs, it’s in the people you do things with. Nine young people like you, trying to survive this craziness by being each other’s strength. You can still look at your goal right in the eye even if you have fun, even if you date, even if you have someone to walk down this road with.

“You know, I knew you were a good one when you slammed your fist on the table at lunch when he made you fuck up the essay,” Ningning confesses when you pull away.

You laugh, wiping away another tear. “I’m glad he did, I wouldn’t be here today if he didn’t.”

“You and Ning disappeared in the kitchen before,” Donghyuck says, searching in his closet to find something to make you wear for the night.

“Yeah, we talked about us. I know I might not show it, but I’m glad I found this,” you sigh. “I like them.”

Donghyuck smiles, sitting next to you. “They all like you just as much.”

“It’s like I finally have a place where I belong. I have people to rely on, so maybe I’ll learn to stop wanting to deal with everything by myself.”

“I told you life doesn’t have to be lonely,” he says. “I know that coming from me sounded like sabotage but I meant it. Having someone by your side makes everything easier.”

You smile and nod, grabbing the shirt he’s handing you. “I hate to say it, but you were right,” you chuckle. He doesn’t reply and you don’t drag the conversation, simply enjoying the thousands of words you two should be telling each other, but are not ready to face, yet.

“Can I use the bathroom? I need to freshen up a bit,” you say, breaking the comfortable silence. Most of the others are crushed in the living room, you think you saw Ningning sneak into Jaemin’s room but you were too caught up in Donghyuck to be sure of that, Renjun and Jeno might still be awake but you’re sure that all the weed they smoked won’t make them pay attention to you.

“Sure, if you need towels they’re in the cabinet under the sink,” he tells you, and soon you’re out of the room.

It doesn’t take you long to clean yourself up; you wash your face and steal someone’s products to get rid of your make-up, quickly get rid of your dress, put on some perfume —you’re pretty sure it’s Donghyuck’s cause you smell like him— and then wear the shirt he borrowed.

Once you’re done, you quickly make your way to the kitchen, and, passing in the living room, you see your assumptions are right; there’s no sight of the two love birds, and the only ones awake are Renjun, Jeno and Yeri, while the others are crushed on the sofa. You expect a remark from the girl, but she barely notices you, too busy playing —trying to— something with the other two.

After a few minutes, you’re back in Donghyuck’s room, and you notice he’s changed into something comfortable, too. He’s lost folding his clothes, and you let yourself get lost in his beauty. Too busy fighting him and trying to prove something, you realize you never noticed the smallest details that make him so handsome. The bridge of his nose, his soft lips, the moles on his cheek, his soft brown hair falling around his face.

“You alright?” His voice brings you out of your daydreams and you nod shyly, feeling embarrassed for being caught staring.

“Yeah, everything fine,” you reply, quickly walking to the bed. You see him staring at you with a confused expression, but avoid any awkward moment by reaching for your phone and pretending to be busy. But you’re not busy, you’re confused. You’re not used to this, any of this. Your nights have always been filled with yourself and books (whether for school or your entertainment), and if you felt wilder a movie, rare were the occasions when you would go out with your friends. And regret is creeping on your back. You feel like you lost a lot, you feel like you’ve punished yourself to get where you are now. And you think about love, how you treated your relationships, how little weight you gave them. And when you think about what you felt in these past months you wonder if you have ever even been in love.

“Remind me to never make you drink again if you get this sulky.” Once again, Donghyuck’s voice brings you back to earth, and when you turn toward that sound, you see he’s sitting next to you.

“I’m not sulky,” you chuckle. “I was just thinking about what I said before.”

He hums. “And?”

You shrug. “Nothing. You can’t change the past, I was just… having some bittersweet emotions.” It’s the truth, but you know that deep down your brain is trying to make you focus on the friendships because you don’t want to think about your biggest problem: the man you have by your side. This wasn’t supposed to be whatever it is. It wasn’t supposed to happen. And you don’t hate that it did, but you don’t know how to feel and act about it, cause you didn’t plan it. You couldn’t study this, you couldn’t put this on a PowerPoint and have it all laid out for you to understand it, it’s not logical, it’s not a theory, a study, a thesis, it’s emotion.

“You seemed happy before,” he whispers after a few minutes of silence passed. His hand gently rests on your stomach and you feel your heart race.

“I was,” you reply. “I am. I just wish I found this sooner, I always focused on my studies and career, and looking back at it now, it was lonely. And…” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “I’m jealous of you, ‘cause you managed to be at the top with all of this.”

He chuckles, but it’s a tender sound, and then smiles at you. “Well… I managed until you came around. You…” he coughs, struggling to confess, “you distracted me a bit, so I think you’re better than me at this socializing and rocking your career at the same time thing.”

You laugh. “I distracted you?”

“Just a bit, don’t get too excited,” he warns, falling deeper into the mattress and laying in silence. You have your thoughts tormenting you, but for him, it’s no different. He knows his plan failed. You’ve been filling his thoughts, days and seconds for a few months now. Even when he was studying or recording, somehow, you were always there. At first, for spite, surely, but then, it turned into something else. Hate turned into teasing, teasing turned into lust, and lust turned into something more. He knows he doesn’t just simply want you or need you. He craves you and your company, your study sessions together, your smart talks, your witty words, your annoyed eye-roll when he’s right, and the soft eyes when you listen to him. He craves you and your laugh, the suppressed one during lessons and the loud one when you are alone, or your hidden smirk when he makes you smile even if you don’t want to.

He constantly comes back to you.

“Are you listening or are you avoiding me?” You ask when he doesn’t reply to your question and he shakes his head, mumbling an apology.

“Sorry, I was thinking.”

You chuckle. “It’s alright, it was a bitter question anyway.”

“No come on, ask me again.”

“It was just for fun. I wanted to know if I was the reason why you’ve been doing a bit worst than me lately,” you say. There’s no mockery in your tone, instead it’s light and hides a timid blush as the words roll down your tongue.

Donghyuck’s body shuffles next to yours and only then you realize how intimately close you are, with your legs almost intertwined, his hand still on your stomach and his face resting on your chest. “Well, yes, you were an unexpected presence in my life, so…”

“So…?” You laugh. “Am I so hot I got you horny all the time?” You joke but he doesn’t crack a smile, instead he furrows and stands up to sit on the bed with his arms crossed.

“I’m not that horny,” he murmurs.

Your body mirrors his, and then your hands lift his chin up. “Sorry, I was kidding. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t think you thought about me that much. I wanted to be on top but not like this.”

“Technically, you’re not on top of everything, but anyway, we just spent a lot of time together, you know? So different studying methods and so on, shocked me a bit.”

You raise a brow, not because you’re so pretentious to think you distracted him that much, but because you think you learned to read him a bit and he’s not being honest at all. “Sure, and you weren’t busy thinking of me after our… dates? Coming home and texting me, and telling me how you should’ve been between my thighs instead?”

He blushes, and you can’t believe your eyes. “It only happened once, and either way I never study at night, my pretty brain can’t handle it.”

You laugh. “Your brain is pretty, now?”

“Yeah, of course, everything about me is pretty.” He shrugs.

“You’re a bit of a liar, you know? First telling me I distracted you and then taking it back, but it’s alright, I think we settled this war. We’re equal now, right?”

“I guess you could say that.”

You huff rolling your eyes. “You’re so competitive, God.” You fall on the mattress again. “But maybe it’s good, we can keep this healthy and competitive.”

He hums, thinking about it and then nods. But you don’t expect him to cage you with his body as he sits on top of you and reduces the distance between you. “Doesn’t sound bad, we could try.”

You smile, trying to act nonchalantly, but it’s hard when he’s so close; hair a mess, face tired but still so fucking handsome, and plump lips so temptingly close to yours.

“I want you,” you whisper, looking straight into his eyes even if they make your knees buckle.

“I want you, too,” he replies before diving in and kissing you.

The last weeks before finals are hectic. You and Donghyuck spend all the time studying together. When you’re not locked in the library you’re either at your or his place, and most of the time you end up sleeping over with the excuse of “spending just a few minutes together without thinking about exams.”

Yet, none of you confess anything. Your relationship lingers in that limbo.

In all that chaos, what takes you more time is the songwriting project. You spend days in the studio to record and mix it. Then when you are done, you move to the studio with Jeno to shoot the concept photos. And it would been enough for the exam, but you and Donghyuck just have to go an extra mile, making an entire booklet with the photos and the lyrics inside, the physical CD with the track, the instrumental, and an acapella version.

Even if the shooting is long and tiring, since you have to style and do each other’s make-up, and the only help is from Renjun, you have a lot of fun.

If at the start you feel a bit insecure with the poses, Donghyuck is the perfect partner to have to feel at ease. And Jeno knows how to do his job, making you feel like a queen after the first awkward shots.

“I love how the photos turned out,” Jeno cheers happily on your way to their place. “The three of you are the perfect models. I will annoy you again to build my portfolio.”

Renjun rolls his eyes as his head slams against the bus window.

You chuckle. “Come on, Jun,” you say, pinching his cheek. “You had fun too, you can’t deny that. Also, you got so many beautiful photos for free, I wouldn’t complain.”

“Free? I’d like to remind you I helped you pay for the rent,” he retorts, sitting straight again. “But yeah, I had fun,” he admits, making Jeno clap happily. “But, I will do this again only if she comes with us.”

Jeno bats his eyes at you and you snicker. “Yes, if I am what he needs to be dragged into the studio, I will come with you.”

“I love you,” Jeno screams, hugging you tight. When you hug him back, you make eye contact with Donghyuck, but he swiftly turns his head. Not quick enough to hide he’s not enjoying this so much; jaw tense, fingers closing in a fist.

You find his jealousy of Jeno quite interesting. Even if it’s true you got very close to him, it’s hilarious how Donghyuck thinks anything would happen between you two when Jeno is clearly taken by someone else; someone too busy plotting his murder to realize his feelings, but that’s another matter.

And Donghyuck shows his jealousy even more when, once at home, you sit around the table to watch Jeno post-produce the photos and create the mock-up for the entire project with your supervision.

His arm wraps around your shoulder as he keeps his leg pressed against yours, and you have to hold back a chuckle. Yes, it’s obvious there’s nothing between you and Jeno, but this makes you feel wanted, and you let him show it.

You know you’ll have to deal with other menaces tomorrow; a hangout is already scheduled in the group chat with the girls after a quick text sent right away by Yeri. You love her, you do, but without that, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have four other pairs of eyes set on you — Jaemin and Yangyang are very curious when they want to.

“Are you listening?” Jeno’s voice brings you out of your thoughts.

You blink twice and then mumble, “what?”

He shakes his head. “Do you like the font?”

“Oh,” you whisper. Your eyes adjust again on the screen that you were mindlessly staring at and focus on the project. “Yeah, I love it.”

“We were thinking of not putting our name on it since it’s more trendy lately,” Donghyuck says.

You nod. “Yeah, I think it’s better like this. I also love the picture, I think it would be more powerful without the name on it but we’re not that famous, yet,” you joke making them laugh.

“That’s why I didn’t make it too big, so the focus would be on you two.”

“Love it, that's perfect,” you praise. “Honestly, seeing it all almost done, I feel guilty for not giving you anything.”

Jeno shrugs. “It’s alright. I’m having fun doing this and can put it in my portfolio anyway. I did much worse and less fun for some courses.”

“We will offer you a dinner,” Donghyuck says. “Somewhere cheap, though.”

After a few hours, everything is almost done. Jeno still wants to double-check everything tomorrow before sending it to be printed but the final results won’t differ much.

“So, I think we should celebrate the project that brought you two so close,” Ningning says, winking at the last words, before raising an empty cup.

You chuckle, trying to escape Donghyuck’s hold, but it’s still firm on you. “It’s just a Uni project, there's nothing to celebrate.”

“Well, mine and Mark’s is not that good,” Yangyang snorts. “I don’t understand why you two always want to do so much extra work but whatever makes you happy.”

“We love the song,” Donghyuck replies. “And we’re proud of it so we might as well fool ourselves it might get more than 30 listens on SoundCloud.”

“For me,” Ningning says, “this is huge. One day you’ll be famous and we will get to say we were here from the start, so we need to treat ourselves and party.”

“Yes, let’s treat ourselves to the cheapest pizza on the block. Oh, how I love being an adult,” Yeri huffs, slumping on the couch. “No, but really, this is something to celebrate.” She then moves closer to you so that only you can hear. “And maybe if we get you drunk enough we’ll get juicy info before tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Fine, order these pizzas and let’s celebrate.”

The girls don’t get you drunk enough to spill anything but get themselves drunk enough that Jaemin has to drive them back to their place. Truthfully there’s nothing to say anyway. You and Donghyuck still didn’t talk, you didn’t even have sex lately. Too busy with everything, that was the last of your thoughts. But you did sleep together and basically lived in symbiosis. So?

You should feel happy about this project. Academically it will be another success, and honestly, one of your best works so far. So why do you feel this emptiness in your chest now that you’re sitting on a chair in Donghyuck’s bedroom?

This is the end. Now nothing holds you two together, and you fear that what you built over these months might not be strong enough for you to still hang out with you. You wonder if this meant anything to him. Sure, he likes you, but how much? Sex means nothing, and even if said between the lines, he got you to try out romantic things to make you come up with the song. And he succeeded. You have the song, the lyrics you tried so hard to put down. Fake dates, fake flirts, fake everything, but everything you put down is real. And it’s terrifying.

So absorbed by your torments, you don’t see Donghyuck stare at you, standing in front of you changed into fresh clothes.

“Hey.” His voice makes you flinch in surprise and quickly look up at him. There’s a frown on his face. “What’s with that face?”

You shrug, diverting the eye contact.

“Are you not happy with the result?” Donghyuck asks, grabbing the closest chair so he can sit right in front of you.  

“No, I love it. I loved everything so much and that’s why I’m sad.” There are many reasons why, and you’re not a master at dealing with too many emotions at once. Subjects? Books? Essays? Projects? They can fall and pile up on you and you won’t feel the weight of it. But real life? Feelings? Not where you excel.

“Cause you won’t have any excuses to spend time with me and see me?” He teases, chuckling. He’s still the same person you met one year ago but behind his playful voice and acts there’s something tender, at least you like to see it this way.

“Uhm, I hope we will keep seeing each other,” you confess shyly, doing everything in your power to not meet his warm gaze. His hands on his lap are a beautiful view now. “But no…”

His teasing smirk turns apprehensive. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shrug. This should be the easy thing to confess. A bit humiliating considering showing some weakness to him still feels like letting your mortal enemy pour salt in your open wounds, but you’re hiding more vulnerable things from him.  

“Nothing but… I was so sure I didn’t want to be a singer, and I was more and more sure of working in Pr, and now… I don’t know. I loved writing the song, like I always do, but this time felt different, as if… that’s what I’m supposed to do in my life, you know?” You look up because even if you can’t take a mocking look you have to see his reaction.

He smiles, caressing your cheek. “I think you’re good at it so yeah, you should.”

You’re taken aback by that reply. Deep down you wanted him to shred your dreams cause you feel like all of this is insane, and if you have nobody supporting you maybe you won’t indulge in it. But it’s clear that Donghyuck is not an enemy anymore and has your back now.  

“Yeah but… I loved singing and doing it with you. Being in the studio, recording, but even before when we were working on the melody and everything. And working on the concept? We did all that with just one song, can you imagine what working on an album feels like?”

He smiles and nods. “Well, yeah, I fantasized about it a lot, so yes. But why is it a problem? Why can’t you pick this as a career?”

You can see in his eyes that he’s confused. Not by your change of path, but by your sudden insecurity. Deep down you’re shocked by that too. You have changed goals a few times in your academic career but somehow this feels so different.

“Cause it’s rare to make it,” you mutter, nervously playing with your hands. Truth is, the chances of failure are so big, and you’re not sure you could take it. You and your perfectionism and your need to succeed on the first try.  

“Can’t say you’re wrong, it’s hell out there, but… you’re good, and beautiful, and I’m sure that with your songwriting skills and your voice, someone will notice you.”

He had tried to make a name for himself longer than you, he knows it. During some vulnerable night conversation where you showed him your songs, he told you how many demos he had sent, and how hard he tried to build something at least on the socials. So you don’t care if his words are driven by sympathy, he could discourage you, but instead, he’s supportive, and that’s all you need.

“And what am I without your production? Will you be my Jack Antonoff?”

Donghyuck laughs. “I’d prefer to be your Aaron Dessner.”

“Yeah, fine. I like that Haechan,” you say, highlighting that name that now sounds foreign.

“I don’t want to hear that name roll from your lips anymore,” he chuckles and you hum laughing.   

“Talking about lyrics,” he says after a few seconds, the phrase lingers in the air… “this song was interesting.”

“Interesting? What do you mean? Is it bad?” Your eyes widen and the anxiety that left you jumps at you again.

He shakes his head. “I said interesting, not bad. You should know the difference.”

“It’s not funny, interesting means nothing.”

He chuckles. “Some phrases are interesting… that’s it. They look familiar.”

You feel your body burn up in flames and you have to shift your gaze from him. You should’ve scrapped that, he isn’t dumb. (You believed he was up until two seconds ago, but apparently, he was just waiting for the right moment to trap you.)

“I wonder if something, or someone,” he winks, “inspired you.”

“The sea. When we went there together. The sea inspired me,” you whisper swiftly, nervously biting the inside of your cheek. “That’s why I called it wave.”

Donghyuck laughs. “I’m not talking about the title, and you know it,” he says, resting his hand on your knee. “Flow that I’ve never felt before? Meeting you through distinctive distraction is a miracle?”

“You told me you liked it,” you say, playing innocent.

He rolls his eyes. “I do. I love it, actually. I just wanted to analyse it with you.”

You gulp when his fingers start rubbing on your skin. “We should’ve done it before recording it, don’t you think?”

He clicks his tongue. “Nah, I want to do it now. I think I already know who inspired you.”

“The sea —”

“Drop it,” he retorts sternly, squeezing your knee. “I think our plan worked. Well, unless you found someone else who inspired you to write a love song.”

“It’s barely a love song,” you stutter, body heating up.

“Right, some lyrics felt sexy,” he giggles. “You’re such a master in holding me here and there and going up and up down and down again.”

You try to scoot away, but he blocks you by putting his feet under the leg of the chair. “So what? Also, you’re dirty-minded, that’s not what it means…”

He snickers, rubbing his thumb on your cheek. “Why are you so flustered then?”

“Cause you’re too close to me, I can barely breathe.”

“Mhh… it reminds me of something.”

You roll your head back and mutter a curse under your breath. “Isn’t it what you wanted? To inspire me? I did it. I romanticized everything and we got the song.”

“Romantized everything,” he hums. “In this wave called you that’s pushing in, I fall in love. You are the center of my heart. Feeling new, feel now. The wave that started because of you, babe. Dive into the world called you. Damn, your creativity is so good, you are talented.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No, I…” he sighs annoyed. “If you wrote it down in a song, why can’t you say it to my face?”

You gulp. “I have nothing to tell you.”

He raises a brow. “So you’re still confused. Should I satisfy you to hear you say it?”

You hide your face in your hands and groan. “Fine,” you snap. “I — I wrote that about you. And I, God, this is humiliating. You heard the song, you sang it. Do you want me to say it out loud? Was that not enough?”

Donghyuck smiles, and, for a moment, you fear he will break into a mocking laugh, but instead, his smile gets bigger. “Yes, I knew it,” he screams.

“Oh… of course it’s funny to you, maybe this is what you wanted all along, make me fall in love and then make fun of me.”

“Fall in love?” He whispers, stopping in his tracks to look at you, and only then you realise you said it loud and clear. And it’s worse than saying it in a song. “You love me seriously? Like it’s not just attraction and maybe liking me?”

You feel like choking up on tears but try not to show it. “So you can laugh at me more?”

“Why would I laugh at you? I just want to know if what you feel is real,” he replies, and somehow he sounds even more annoyed than before.

You hum and nod, no words can leave your mouth.

“Did you really think I would use this against you? Don’t you trust me?”

“I — I… I don’t know, okay? I do, but also, this was… this was all fake, just to write that song and now it’s real. And it was never supposed to be real, and maybe you never wanted me, cause I’m not your type and you hated me and we both wanted this to be over and now I feel like I can barely breathe without you, and I know that in the song I said I would’ve left the decision in your hands but the idea of you not wanting me back makes me sick and I —”

Your words fall into a void as he kisses you with no hesitation. Hands cupping your wet face and holding the back of your neck to keep you close.

“You’re so fucking stupid. So, so smart and yet such an idiot when it comes to feelings,” he chuckles when he pulls away. “You said I was an unexpected thing that completely changed your flow but do you have any idea of what you were to me? You ruined my second year,” he confesses, and your face quickly shifts into a worried expression, but he clears your doubts right away.  

“I thought I could beat you, I thought I could have the upper hand and… you messed up my days and nights. I thought you couldn’t fill up so much of my time when I already had so many friends but, fuck, I was wrong. And instead of distracting you, I let you distract me.”

“But I — I didn’t plan it, I didn’t want to —”

His thumb shushes you as his eyes crease in a smile. “You didn’t do anything, I just miscalculated. I didn’t know the amazing person you are, and let jealousy consume me before love took its place without me even noticing.”

You almost gasp. “Love? So, you do love me back?”

He nods. “Strong word, I know. But goddam, you were ten times cheesier in the song.”

You laugh and he does the same.

“But I am hurt, though. I can’t believe you thought I was playing you.”

“What were the chances you were going to fall for me, too? Nobody ever falls for me.”

“Good thing you only needed me to fall for you,” he says, kissing you. “So… did you fall for me at the beach?”

“I was confused back then. I knew I felt something but I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was only attraction, but at the same time, I felt like I needed you, you know?”

“And to think I wasn’t even sure of taking you there,” he giggles.

“Really?”

He nods. “I wanted to study, I already felt like I was falling behind and I thought I could use those three days to catch up, but then you crossed my mind and I forgot about the rest.”

You look down to hide the big smile on your face. No, you’re not happy you almost made him fail his second year in this war, but you love knowing how much he cares about you. The old Donghyuck would’ve never confessed this, he would’ve never shown how weak you make him. But now he’s proudly telling you how you genuinely occupied his thoughts.

“I know I didn’t show signs of failure, but you did succeed in your plan just a bit.”

He snorts. “Don’t need fools gold.”

“No, I’m serious. I mean, maybe you’re right, you didn’t, but I think you succeeded in something better. You showed me I can achieve my academic goals and still live life. You showed me so much. I had fun on my own, and I loved it, but I also only had myself and nobody to count on, and that sucks.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Yes you did, you pushed me out of my comfort zone and trust me, I did panic sometimes. I just hide it better. But you gave me the chance to meet seven amazing people allowing me in your friend’s group. Some of you have known each other for so long, that’s probably when I should’ve put my heart at ease and realised you truly cared about me.”

“You fail to understand how likeable you are. Everybody loves you, you just don’t pay them attention.”

You shrug. He’s probably right. You never cared about that, but you won’t start caring about it now. You found your people, you found your place.

Staying at his place for the night is tempting, but, truth be told, you two want to be on your own on your first night as lovers. So, with the excuse of wanting to eat an ice cream (not an excuse, you will eat ice cream), you slip out of the place.

The others don’t care. Honestly, it’s clear that everyone except you two was expecting this ending, but you will deal with this tomorrow at lunch with the girls. For now, you chuckle at Jeno’s wink before he rests his head on Renjun’s shoulder again, who barely waves goodbye before going back to the movie they’re watching. Mark seems to be the only one confused at the way your arms are linked when you walk through the living room, but you’re sure that Yangyang, who has a teasing smirk on his face, will fill him in as soon as you’re out of the door. Jaemin will sneak at the girls’ hang-out tomorrow, his face lets it all known.

“I love this place,” Donghyuck says when you enter your apartment.

“Really? This hole?” You chuckle, leaving your bag at the door and getting rid of your shoes.

He nods. “It’s cosy and quiet, and I get to have you all to myself.” Before he finishes the phrases he pulls you in his hold, almost making you lose your balance and you scold him.

“Can you be less clumsy?”

“Mhh... no.”

“Also, it’s not like not being alone ever stopped you from being the clingiest man on earth.”

He huffs, throwing his head back as he slowly starts walking backwards to reach the bed. “As if you don’t like it.”

“You got us many suspicious looks,” you complain.

“Girl, everybody knew about us,” he says, falling on the bed with you. “I fear they were betting on a situationship but well, we didn’t do anything to keep this on the low.”

You shrug. “Whatever,” you say, caressing his face to move the hair on his eyes. “I don’t care. Tonight I just want to think about us.”

“Now you’re talking,” he hums happily. “Can I get a chocolate-less kiss?”

You laugh. “You can get all the kisses you want.”

Your lips connect to his to start a sweet kiss that lasts for a while. You never truly pull away as your hands start moving on each other to get rid of the clothes and leave you half-naked on the bed.

“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs, rolling around so your back is on the mattress before he starts going down. His fingers hook with the band of your panties and pull them down. “A bush?”

You huff. “I was just a bit busy, and didn’t have time to shave.”

“Good. I hope you don’t find time to do it ever again,” he says making you laugh.

“You like it?” You ask.

“I love it,” he replies.

You don’t have time to react because his lips are on you as soon as he's done talking. Your hips buck up and you fail to hold back the moans.

Donghyuck takes his sweet time, licking up stripes to get you wet before he starts sucking on your hardening clit.

Your head rolls back against the pillow and your hands can’t help but tangle in his hair to pull him closer. The groan of pleasure that comes out of his mouth at your gesture makes you tremble.

“So fucking sweet for me,” he mumbles against you. “My sweet girl.”

A dumb grin curls your lips and your eyes try to open to get a glimpse of him. You regret that action cause his pretty face smashed against you as he eats you out as if you're his last meal sends shivers straight to your core.

“Please,” you whimper, making him open his eyes to stare at you. Your throat tightens and you feel like you might pass out from that, but still force yourself to finish the phrase. “Don’t stop, you’re so good. I — I never felt like this.”

He grins, pulling away only to reply. “Yeah? Am I that good?”

You groan. He’s still so competitive and always has to prove a point. But you don’t care. That’s fun. That’s what you love about him. “Yes, you’re that good. Just please, keep doing it.”

“Never planned of stopping.”

When his mouth starts moving on you again you see stars. Your neck falls behind, enjoy the softness of the pillow, and you stop trying to keep it together, moaning loudly and chanting his name.

His hands wrap around your thighs, keeping you close to his mouth. And each flick of his tongue pushes the climax closer, making you see stars.

Your breath gets messier as you hit your peak and pleasure takes over your body as you let go to that blissful sensation running inside you.

You’re still gasping for air when you feel his fingers prodding at your entrance, slowly entering you.

“Hyuck, what are you—?”

“I want you to be ready for me,” he says. “I won't make you come another time, I promise. Just getting you wetter.”

You mumble a sound that makes no sense before you decide to relax and enjoy the sensation. It’s not like you would ever complain about his fingers, you simply don’t want to be too sensitive already. But he’s true to his words, his two fingers fuck into you, curling up right on your sweet spot, turning you on more and coating them white.

“Always so good for me,” he praises when he pulls out, sucking them harshly before he leans in to kiss you. Your hands wrap in his hair as you pull him closer, letting your legs wrap around his waist to pull him down. “Damn, calm down,” he chuckles close to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, but I want you close.”

Donghyuck smiles. “Unhook your legs for a moment and I’ll be as close as possible.”

Reluctantly, you do as ordered, knowing that as soon as he’ll slip in, your legs will be exactly in the same place.

You barely pay attention when he does, too focused on the gentle kisses he's leaving on the crown of your head, cheeks and neck. Your eyes only open when he bottoms in and brings your legs around himself.

“Happy now?” He asks, brushing behind a few strands of hair that fell on your face.

“More than happy,” you reply smiling. Your body moves on its own when your hips buck up against him, eliciting a deep moan to slip past his lips.

That’s the sign he needs to know he can start moving. One hand places on your waist to keep you in place and the other supports his body as he starts dragging his hips out.

You can feel your heart skip a beat when he leans down and hides in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. “You always smell so good, that’s what tricked me to always be close to you,” he mumbles, nibbling your skin.

You chuckle, shaking your head. Even now he has something to say. Still, his words don’t distract him from his actions. With each stroke, he hits deep inside of you, hitting sensitive spots that make your toes curl and your fingers close into fists on the sheets.

After finding the perfect angle, Donghyuck starts speeding up, his thrusts not harsh but fast enough to build up a steady rhythm. And, with each one, you feel a wave of pleasure invading you.

“Come here,” you whisper, cupping his face to pull him close. “Wanna kiss you.” Your lips are on his right away and you both let go to a long passionate kiss as the hold of your legs around his waist tightens. One hand leaves his face to run on his back, feeling his muscles flex.

Your moans get louder with every passing second but they end up muffled in the messy kiss you’re still sharing.

When his hand sneaks between your bodies, so he can touch your clit in quick circular motions, you know you won’t last much longer. Your walls clench hard around him, and more wetness coats him as your hips buck up for more friction. And the last drop comes from his lips, leaving yours to wrap around your sensitive nipples.

“Hyuck,” your voice trembles as you call for him. Pleading eyes looking up at him. You should say something sex-related, maybe praise how good he’s making you feel, or how close you are, but even if those are the thoughts on the tip of your tongue, the words that come out are completely different. “I love you,” you whisper in a hush, feeling the weight disappear from your chest. Saying it clearly is like finally coming to the real realization.

Donghyuck smiles, kissing you repeatedly on the lips. “I love you, too.”

And soon after, you both reach your peak. The pleasure shoots through your bodies like fireworks in the sky.

You stay like that for a few minutes, kissing each other as you wait for your bodies to calm down.

When he slips out of you gently, putting his shirt under your body to avoid a mess, you still have a dumb, but content, smile on your face.

You don’t have the energy to move, so you lay there as you watch him move around to grab new clothes and two glasses of water. Just the time to pull yourself together, and you’re once again under the bedsheets, cuddled up against each other. You relax at the feeling of his fingers rubbing circles on the back of your neck and let his heartbeat be a sweet melody.

Mamma Mia is playing on the TV, but none of you has much energy to sing along to ABBA’s songs —he has a bit more than you as he hums the words.

When he chuckles, you look up at him.

“What’s so funny?” You ask, staring at the tv with a frown on your face. The SOS scene not being exactly one of the funniest one.

“I was thinking about us,” he says.

“I do hope we won’t end up like this.”

“Yeah, no, but you ended up being my Waterloo, I guess,” he whispers, looking at you. And then you get it, remembering when he sang it to you.

“I told you,” you reply, making him gasp offended. “What? You expected me to say something nice? You mocked me, you bragged and I cursed you with eternal love for me.”

Donghyuck laughs and then wraps his arms around you to pull you flatter against him, resting his chin on your head.

“You know this doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to beat you, right?” He chuckles, but when you lift your gaze, getting a glimpse of him, you see his serious expression. And you hope he's true to his intention and that that spark set by your ambition will never die.

You smile smugly before relaxing against his warm embrace. “Yeah, but we’ll see if I’ll let you.”

YEARS LATER

“Is everything alright? Why are you looking at us like this?” You ask, shifting on your seat on the couch, looking at the girl in front of you.

“Is it true?”

“What?” Donghyuck says.

“Is it true that you two couldn’t stand each other?” She says, big brown eyes staring at you with curiosity.

You quirk a brow, giving your full attention to your daughter. “Why this sudden question?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing to see tweets of people going insane over you two, but also I think it’s unfair how these strangers seem to know more about my parents than me.”

You and Donghyuck laugh. “And what do they say?"

She rolls her eyes. “That they can’t believe you hated each other and that you started dating her to distract her but ended up falling for her?”

You look at each other smirking before a tender, nostalgic smile takes its place.

“Would it be so terrible?” He asks, tilting his head.

She thinks about it for a moment and then replies. “It would be a bit embarrassing for you, Dad. But also... cute. So?”

“I’d say it’s true,” he replies, shrugging.

“Wait, so you really started dating because you hated each other?” She screams, sitting straight on the loveseat, leaning toward you with her body.

You chuckle. “We didn’t hate each other. We believed we could outdo the other. And your father did too much, as always.”

“You were miserable before me,” Donghyuck replies, tightening his hold around your waist. “I had a plan, and it would’ve worked.”

You roll your eyes. “Imagine thinking you could make me fall in love and not fall in love with me,” you say to your daughter. “I was a real heartbreaker back then.”

“You still are,” she replies, smiling. “My friends go insane every time they realize who my parents are.”

Your daughter never brags about being your child. The famous singer, producer, and dancer Haechan, and you, who had a good launch as a singer before you realized that wasn’t your world and decided to stick to be a choreographer and PR manager (well, mostly Donghyuck’s choreographer and his manager). But everyone close to her knows who she is, and it’s not easy to act nonchalantly about it.

She has heard many stories about you two. The gossip about your story running wild since you broke into the industry. But you never sat down and explained it to her, not until now.

“We still have our charm,” Donghyuck laughs.

“I think the most important thing is your love and that you might be the best parents in the world. But I’m saying it officially only if you don’t turn it into a race.”

“Us? Turning something into a competition? We would never,” Donghyuck jokes.

She rolls her eyes, huffing loudly. And you can’t help but smile thinking how similar to your husband she looks right now.

“Honey, forgive us. How do you think we’re still having so much fun after all these years? That’s how we thrive, we learned how to push each other healthily.”

“Yeah, fine, I’m glad your love story is still perfect, but seriously, no competition when it comes to me. I love you both so much.”

“Come here,” you say, patting the space in front of you on the couch. Hugging her when she sits down between you two. “You are the only thing we won’t turn into a competition.”

Donghyuck hums in agreement, wrapping his arm around you two. “We both won with you.”

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[achilles-rage]

NSFW Alphabet

word count: 2.0k

A/N: hi besties<333 this is my first time writing so pls don’t absolutely tear me to shreds (just a little bit is acceptable though). i’m planning on making a SFW alphabet for buck soon as well but some of the letters had me drawing a blank lol. also, although there’s not really much mention of it, this is with a plus size reader in mind. as a plus size girly myself, it sucks to read x reader stories and knowing in the back of your mind that it wasn’t written with your body type in mind (although there’s nothing wrong with writers that do that of course). i just thought i would add to the plus size reader community because there are barely any buck fics and i believe in my heart that he loves plus size women. anyway, enjoy <3

warnings: smut (obviously lol), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ Only

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

When y’all finish he’ll wait a few minutes before pulling out, head buried in your neck as his breathing gets back to normal. He’ll kiss your neck and tell you how good you were for him, before finally getting up to clean you up. After that he wants to lay with you and talk, just enjoying each other’s company, maybe y’all will make some food if you feel like it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: Probably his arms. He’s worked hard to be as fit as he is and he enjoys using his arms to move you/lift you while you’re having sex. He takes pride in his appearance, he knows he’s hot, but it’s an added bonus that he can lift you up and do whatever he (or you) wants.

Yours: I am of the firm belief that Evan Buckley is a thigh man. He loves how they feel in his hands, he loves how they look when you straddle him, he can’t get enough. He loves to see them jiggle when you move, or when he playfully smacks them. He loves thick thighs and I will die on this hill

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This man has a BREEDING KINK OKAY!!! He loves to cum inside you, fucking deep into you and feeling his cum fill you up. He loves watching it slowly dripping out, so he can finger it back in. If that’s not your thing I think the next best place would be on your stomach, watching your face as he lets go, seeing the way he marks you up. He loves your little tummy, how it moves as he ruts into you, so he loves it when you let him cum all over it.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I only call this a dirty secret because he would never tell anyone about this after the last time it happened and he got fired. He wants to fuck you in the fire engine SO BAD. He can’t help but think of the way you would look as he fucked into you quickly, trying not to get caught with your dress up around your waist. He knows it’s not gonna happen, he’d never hear the end of it from anyone in his life if it did, but god he wants to so bad.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Girl have we watched the same show?? This man FUCKS!!! We all know (and love) Buck 1.0, and we know he knows what to do. Buck 3.0 might mean him changing into, well, not a sex addict, but that doesn’t mean he forgot his training (🫡). I think he understands that every woman is different, and while he might not get it exactly right the first time, he’s a fast and eager learner, watching what exactly makes you squirm and moan the most for him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Canonically, Buck LOVES when you ride him, and I agree. He loves to watch you move yourself on him, able to grab at your thighs, and your hips, and your chest. He also loves to move you on him, squeezing your hips tightly as he sets the pace if you start getting tired or if he just feels like it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

I mean, he’s Buck, he’s truly a golden retriever of a man and cannot stay serious for long. I think he’s a bit of a mix, he can be serious in the moment, but at the end of the day, he’s still Buck, and Buck is silly goofy.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it nicely trimmed, carpets match the drapes. In terms of his partner, he really doesn’t give a fuck. He’s seen it all and could not care less as long as he feels the way you wrap around him so perfectly.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Buck 3.0 is a man of TASTE, but that being said, I think he only really pulls out the romance during special occasions. Most of the time this man wants to freak nasty, but sometimes when he’s tired, or just feels especially in cuddly/clingy, he’ll be more romantic.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it pretty often, of course not when he has the option to fuck you instead (and you’re willing, of course), but if you’re not with him and he needs a quick release, he getting right to it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding: I will scream this till the day that I die, this man wants a family more than anything. Whenever he’s inside of you, he can’t help but think about how pretty you’d look with your belly all round with his babies.

Praise: Look at this pathetic little guy, he needs to be praised, he thrives on it. He loves to hear how good he feels, how good he’s making you feel. This goes both ways. He’s in your ear immediately telling you how good you feel, how well you’re taking him, how pretty you look.

Spanking: HEAR ME OUT!! While I’m not sure he would actually bend you over his knee (but honestly the more I think about it he might) he would LOVE to give your ass a nice little swat as you’re riding him. He loves the sound it makes, and the sound you make because you’re not expecting it. I don’t think he’d ever do it hard enough to hurt too much, but I think enough to make your ass a little red would definitely be something he could get behind (lol).

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He doesn’t have a ring cutter in the kitchen for nothing<3

I think he likes to have sex at home the most, on the bed, on the couch, on the kitchen counter. You name it, he wants to fuck you there. His favourite is the counter because he loves seeing you being so domestic in the kitchen. Making dinner, cleaning up, whatever, he wants you right then and there and cannot wait. He’ll come up behind you, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses your neck before slowly turning you around to face him and lift you onto the counter to have his way with you.

While he’s moved on from having sex in public places that could (will) get him fired, he’s still into it, but in less obvious places. If y’all are in his car and you’re looking a little too good in his passenger seat, he loves an empty parking lot quickie. Front seat, back seat, whatever you want, he’d be pulling you onto him as soon as he puts the jeep in park.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Girl ANYTHING gets him going, it would take one look, one touch, one word and this man would be ready to go. I think what really gets him going though is seeing you with kids or getting along so well with the 118. This man truly just wants a silly little family and someone that can get along with the 118fam, so seeing you like that has him making up a stupid excuse to leave a little early so he can take you home and have his hands all over you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Like I said before, I don’t think he would do anything to hurt you too much, other than the occasional light spanking or biting. He would also not be into any kind of age play or pet play, he’s pro kink but it’s just not for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

This man is a giver and I stand by this. Dear god he loves nothing more than having you spread open for him, hands tangled in his hair as he makes himself at home between your thighs. He loves having his hands gripping your thick thighs, feeling them on either side of his head. When you start to get squirmy from the overstimulation he’ll place a large hand over your lower stomach, holding you still as he pushes you over the edge again.

With all that said, he will definitely not say no to getting head. He loves seeing you look up at him while you’re on your knees, trying to take all of him. He’ll keep a hand in your hair, pulling it softly every now and then, and he can’t help but moan and whine as he gets closer and closer, eventually cumming down your throat as he squeezes his eyes shut.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the day, but most of the time he likes it rough and fast. He loves a good quickie, meaning it kinda has to be more fast paced and rough, and he’s pretty easy to get riled up, so when you drop any sort of hint, he’s on you immediately and ready. On other days where he’s feeling extra clingy and lovey, he’ll be more of a slow and sensual guy, but I think for the most part he loves to fuck you deep and rough.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Like I said, he loves a good quickie. A lot of the time he craves a quickie before work, needing to feel you before his long shift. I think they happen pretty often, but he’d much rather take his time with you, using his fingers and mouth before he fucks you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as there’s clear communication he’s down to try pretty much anything, he’ll do anything to make you happy (within reason). I think he’s also a risk taker (also within reason, he has to think about not getting fired again, of course). Buck 1.0 is still inside him somewhere when it comes to sex so he definitely loves a little risk, but he’s grown enough to know where the line is.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

While he would love to go as many rounds as possible, I think it would realistically be 2-3, lasting about 10-15 minutes each round. I think he would be the type to like having some time between rounds, tension still high as you talk and lay around before he's back on you again.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Once again, he doesn’t have a ring cutter in his kitchen for nothing<3

He likes them, he definitely owns a few toys of his own. Vibrators, cock rings, some handcuffs or restraints, he’s very open to anything that increases y’alls pleasure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He does it sometimes not really meaning to, like he does something and you’re like….dear god…and maybe he doesn’t notice the first time but the second time he does and WILL keep going until you snap. He loves the way you get all squirmy and whiny and desperate for him, knowing you want him as much as he wants you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

So vocal!!!! Literally that meme thats like “y’all afraid to make noise in the bedroom?? i be in my girls ear like…” He loves dirty talk (on both ends) and he can’t help but let out low moans when you’re clenching around him. He also loves hearing your breathless whimpers, making him feel like he’s doing a good job, and encouraging him to pull more sounds from your lips.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

If he was in a relationship during the whole sperm donor thing, it would be the longest few weeks for both of y’all. I imagine the first time he has an appointment, you make sure you’re waiting for him in a cute little matching set, knowing how excited he was to finally be buried inside you again, hearing you whine as he fills you up. He’s so frustrated when his appointment doesn’t work out that he doesn’t let you know how it went, instead being unpleasantly surprised when he sees you sprawled out on his bed when you get home and unable to do anything about it. He wants nothing more than to rip your pretty little set off your body and run his hands up and down your soft curves, but he can’t, and it’s torture. You apologize (but he will hear none of it because it was a lovely surprise, just shitty circumstances), and instead you change into an oversized shirt and sweatpants to enjoy a completely normal (and not sexual at all) night on the couch.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8 inches, thick, no complaints <3

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH!!! This man is thinking about sex 24/7, and if he could, his hands would be on you at all times.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Most of the time I think he stays up for a while, just hanging out and talking to you. But if he comes home after a long shift he’s fucking GONE in 5 minutes tops.

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[cherry-leclerc]

so long, london ☆ ln4

genre: angst, toxic relationship traits, fluff, humor, established relationship, one-sided, smut

word count: 7.3k

You've never been read so easily by someone until he entered your world. All is good, all is true love, but realistically, that all comes crumbling down. Leaving you with a series of doubts. The kind you ignore because why not?

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+...penetrative sex, m!receiving, f!receiving

inspired by london boy, taylor swift , so long, london, taylor swift !

To be completely fair, the accent wasn’t all that familiar to you. It’s odd, then alluring, then it makes you curl a brow. Australian? British? Irish—no, that’s too far off, ridiculous, really. 

It’s the end of spring, which means it’s also the start of summer, which also means your job is in full force. Which is good if you’re still considering transferring to London to study abroad. You were, thank you very much, which is why you needed a shit load of money. 

Being a waitress isn’t all that bad; the view was breathtaking. Laguna Beach has always been and always will be. It’s impossible to take away its charm. 

The diner is small, yet crowded, so it’s hard to get through with a stack of breakfast plates atop one another. A piece of bacon slips past you as you let out a curse, mentally noting to clean it up on your way back. “An order of pancakes, french toast, two hashbrowns, bacon, four freshly squeezed orange juice—shit. I forgot, it was grapefruit, wasn’t it?”

Setting down the plates as carefully as you can with their assistance, you let out a sigh. “I’ll be right back—”

“It’s fine, mate. Orange juice is just as good.” His voice is soft and rough, all at once. 

You halt, fixing your apron, awkwardly. “No, it was my mistake, I’ll fix it—”

Mmm, delicious, his friends chime in as they take a sip from the fresh beverage. The blue eyed boy signals with his dark brows. “Told you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Cool,” you mumble. “Enjoy. Oh, and let me know if you need anything.”

They don’t, which is quite upsetting since you were slightly curious to find out if you were right. Smoking a joint, you hear a loud cough. The mysterious brunette waves. “Tough shift?”

“Of course not, I love it.”

He nods. “I’m sure you do, but I’m also sure that’s not the complete truth.” He sits. “You’re on your break, I presume, which means you're not on the clock, which means I’m no longer a customer, but rather just a stranger. A stranger whom you will most likely never see again, so…”

A puff expands through the blue sky and yellow sun. You squint. “I’m worn out. Down. Worn down? Both.”

“You’re good at hiding it.”

A chuckle. “But you were able to notice which obviously means I’m not much of an actress.”

He motions over to the cigarette. You hesitantly hand it over to him as he sucks sharply and releases. Bemused, you make a face. “I was because I go through the same thing, oftentimes. More like all the time.” Another hit. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel seen or scared…” Humor laces your soft voice as you quirk a brow. He laughs.

“Seen, definitely.” A beat. “I’m Lando. Foreign visitor.”

Shaking his hand, you ease up, smiling, gently. “Nice to meet you, Lando—foreign visitor.” A pause. “Resident.”

“Really, now?” He plays along, teasing. You can hear it. 

“Lucky, I know. Been here my entire life. Can’t complain.”

“I bet.”

“Yourself?”

Lando winces. “England. Bristol, specifically. Ever been?” Nope. A toothy grin. “Don’t—rains all day long, gloomy all year. It’s depressing, but…” He relaxes. “It’s home.”

Staring off into the waves, you cover your face from the strong breeze. Salt air splits your tongue in half as you wipe your mouth. “Your accent. It’s captivating. As soon as I heard it, I grew jealous.”

The Brit frowns. “Your accent is much better. Clean,” he adds and you let out a snort. Accent—what accent? He rolls his blue eyes. “That one. You might not consider it one, but it is. Very…pretty.” A rosy tint flourishes onto his cheeks. Summer heat, summer breeze, perhaps. 

Retreating the roll from his hand, you stomp on it, letting the light die. “Thank you, Lando from England. You made my day.”

-

That’s the end, really. Just a nice encounter that still doesn’t make much sense, but you’re glad it happened. Normally, after a tiring shift, you borrow Benny’s surfboard and rush towards the killer waves. The soothing water releases a lot of the built up tension that lies between your shoulder blades. 

Today isn’t much different. After getting yelled at for— “getting the fucking order wrong, bitch” —and— “my toddler just threw up, yes, oh, nevermind, had a…teensy accident” — you don’t second guess it. As soon as your skin connects to the warm temperature, you sigh in sweet relief. 

“I need to get out, I need to get out, I need to—”

“You just got here, though. Plus, the water feels nice, don’t you think?”

Startled, you sit up on your board, rocking back and forth. With what looks to be a painful tan, Lando smiles, sheepishly. “Hello…again.”

“Are…” You look around, but the ocean is practically empty. “A-are you stalking me?”

His smile drops. “W-wh—no! Of course not! I saw you from afar, and I just thought…” He grimaces. “I should go.” Except he can’t. Every chance he tries to tread away, the waves only push him back. It’s comedic. “One sec…crap. One more—shit. Okay, two, two sec—”

“Ah, forget it, stay. Land of the free, no?” Rubbing your nose, you pull his paddle closer. “What brought you out here?”

“Heard it was a good day to attempt to surf. Tell you what—it’s not.”

A giggle escapes, then lessens. You furrow your brows. “Hold on a minute; are you teaching yourself? As in, no instructor? Just you? Alone? Solo?”

“Yeah, what about it?” he grumbles. “I can do it.”

You’re wheezing at this point, stomach clenching. “That’s nearly impossible! I’m mean, sort of, sort of not.” When his eyes don’t switch from being offended to getting the joke, you quickly snap your lips shut. “Can I teach you? It’s not that hard.”

He gapes, curls grow more and more. They’re cute, the way they bounce when he shakes his head. “And if it’s so easy then why can’t I just do it myself?”

“How long have you been trying?”

He burns up. “That’s not the point.”

“No, that’s exactly my point. You need a mentor, and lucky for you, I’m a surf instructor on the weekends. Come on.”

The twenty-four year old is not sure he even wants to be here, suffering from an overdose of embarrassment. Every single attempt ends up with him splashing straight into the clear water. He groans for the millionth time, clutching into his board. “I think I’m done for the day.”

You don’t fight him on it. His bruised nose makes you feel bad, and his chipped lip makes you want to giggle, so yeah, that’s enough. He can taste the salt water as he smacks his lips, trying to get rid of it. You click your tongue. “That doesn’t really do anything. Not until you bathe and brush your teeth. Or rinse. Either or.” 

He invites you to the mansion he’s rented for him and his friends, declaring that there would be endless amounts of alcohol, but when you decline, he rubs his jaw and grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood, either. Craving tacos?”

So, that’s what you two do; converse over an amazing meal. You can already note his skin shedding, but for some reason, it’s endearing. You even spot a couple of moles. Chewing rapidly to try and forget about the spice, he pants. “London, eh?”

“England,” you correct. He deadpans you.

“That’s basically the same thing. It’s along the same lines. Just like Monaco and Paris.”

You shrug. “London—yes.”

Sniffling, he reaches for his can of Coke. Gasping left and right, he winks to the best of his ability. “You’re a smart girl…I think. And you’ll get in…I think.”

“Gee, thanks, I think.”

He laughs. “I hope you get in. I really do, Laguna Resident.” You roll your eyes. “You won’t miss all of this, though?” The warmth, the people, everything. A bittersweet feeling runs through your veins, momentarily, before you wave him off.

“Nothing is holding me back, forcing me to stay. I’ll be just fine.”

Finally, he calms down, occasionally sneezing. The way he excuses himself makes him look very polished. Lando licks his lips clean, drumming his long fingers against his lap. Later you would find out this would be his nervous tick. A teller. A good one, at most. 

“Call me? When you get there, I mean—if you want to, of course. No pressure.”

And while you may not have a reason to be a part of SoCal anymore, something else seemed to tug you to the other side of the world. “Might have to take your word for it.”

“Good.”

You grin, looking down onto your lap. Later he’d know this was your way of avoiding his stare. Butterflies, for the meantime. “Good.”

-

“No, no, no! You were supposed to—forget it, nevermind. Did you at least—” The stream flatlines and Lando is left speechless, headset drooping down, inch by inch. The way his eyes furiously twitch is enough for you to peck his cheek. 

“It’s late anyways. Come on, let's go to bed.”

There’s utter nonsense, and mumbo-jumbo that he spills as he reluctantly follows. If Max had done this, and if Max had done that. Pouting, you cradle his face, forcing him to look at you. “You’re telling me you wish you would still rather be playing than spend time with me?” You gently slap his face and he smiles, sheepishly. “I’m hurt.”

“No, no, you’re right. Of course I want to spend time with you.” When you peck his nose, he sighs. You can faintly smell the cheap beer, courtesy of said Max, so you let out a screech, creating a distance. 

“Never mind. I don’t want to spend time with you, you reek.” His smile drops and you pinch the tip of your nose. “Reek, I tell you. Go brush your teeth!”

The McLaren driver snarls, then makes his way over to your shared bathroom. “I remember when you used to be fun. Seems like a decade ago.”

“And make sure to floss!”

-

If you’re able to remember, you could openly admit that you did make that call. Actually, text. You got cold feet and sent a text last minute. You met up at the pub just around your dorm, the one that is only busy during the weekends, so is practically empty during the week. Hence, Wednesday night.

Wow. Your tan is gone, is the first thing he says when he sees you. It’s true. Being away from the California sun has completely changed you. A bit, but it did. Giggling, you accept his hug, finding warmth. London weather. “How was the move? I want to hear all about it.”

Oh, the move was as good as it could get. The airport lost two of my luggages, but it’s fine, I didn’t really need many dresses, because yes, you were right, it’s always gloomy. I miss Benny like a baby, but we always keep in touch—I’m actually going to visit him for his birthday. Which is in January? Yes…yes! January third. 

“What about you? Work?”

First of all, can’t really consider it work when it’s fucking fun. Second of all, it’s quite swell. I’ve got a new teammate, which sort of sucks, but he’s nice. The car is a bit wonky, but I’m sure that’ll change throughout the course of the year. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see. 

Conversations switched from having them on a steady stool in the pub, to having them in the comfort of his flat. Plus, you two were more open and honest with one another. 

Benny, yeah, it’s pancreatic cancer, and no, I’m not okay. 

The team is fucking shit. My arm still hurts from last week's crash, but I’ll be fine. Please, don’t you worry, love. 

Lando is an absolute angel. He pays for your tickets back home, along with Benny’s treatment. He declines the help at first, but as soon as he meets your smiley boyfriend, he accepts. I’ll pay you back. Once I’m better. Lando laughs with a muppet dive. Of course—of course, Ben.

You take care of him and his injuries. Follow doctors orders. Ice at least twice a day. Don’t forget to take your pain meds. No, for the love of God, they’re not candy, sweetheart.

It’s the best and the worst. And it’s all yours.

-

He’s very much obsessed with Mila as soon as she’s born. He congratulates his brother and his sister-in-law once, and off he goes, straight to the newborn. It makes you fall in love even more, which you didn’t know was possible, but here you were. 

“I say give it a year or two.”

“More like five. Come on, honey, be realistic.”

“I am! Can’t you tell he adores her?” Oliver scoffs. “He’s my brother. I would know.” His wife rolls her eyes, then moves on to snap a few pictures of Lando and Mila, then a thousand videos. 

“Crap. I want one,” he mentions on the drive back home. He gently rubs his thumb over your leg; you shudder. “You saw me, you were a witness, I was a good enough babysitter!”

“Babysitter? You’d be a dad, not a babysitter,” you retort, though your wobbly grin is a dead giveaway. A long finger pokes at your ribs as you laugh, scooting as far enough away as the McLaren allows you to get. “One day. Just not now.”

And he knows that’s true. He’s busy with racing, you’re busy with school; it's irresponsible. Your confirmation was sweet though—it was enough. The Brit hums, continuing the drive with a bright smile. 

“One day, then.”

-

Baby talk was a fun thing to dream about. To think, daydream. Marriage talk? Now that’s serious. 

It started on a Sunday morning; a non-race week. He’s finally back home and you're ecstatic. He was too, but that slowly goes out the window when you rush him to the room. I like where this is going, he starts when you drag him along. You bite back a smile, waiting for his noise. “What the shit?” he yelps, pulling on his curls. Spinning to face you, your boyfriend groans. “Where’s all my gaming—sweetheart,” he softened his voice, softened his eyes. “Sweetheart…”

“It’s gone! Bye-bye, adios!” You twirl around the empty room. “You don’t need it, Lando. It was rotting your brain.”

The color from his vibrant face fades, leaving him to let out a delirious laugh. “No, no, it wasn’t. Wh-why would you do that?” He doubles over. “I’m going to be sick.”

After a while of letting him drown in a puddle of self-pity, you snicker. Blue eyes look up at you; furrowed thick brows. What? “They’re in the guest room. I just needed us to paint the walls.” Releasing a scream, Lando plunges for you, picking you up and spinning you around until you flop against his arms. 

“Asshole!” you yell, smacking his arm. After a series of instructions, you both fall into a pattern. He focuses on the left side of the room and you focus on the left and the right. It just makes sense.

“Stick to your side,” he mumbles, pushing you away. You burn a laser to the back of his head. “I can feel you killing me—stop it.”

“Then quit drawing, you’re ruining it!” There’s a cat, a dog, a house, his racing car, you—you presume— and Mila for good measure, but he serves her no justice as she appears to be more of a blob. Going over it with a thick layer of paint, he curses to himself. As soon as he picks up the thin brush once again, you immediately set your foot down. “No, Lando, think before you commit.”

But he must not hear you—or ignores you—because suddenly he’s drawing something unrecognizable. You almost laugh when you guess it must be a donut, but when he draws the familiar rock, you come to a halt. “Stellar, no?”

“Hardly. Looks like more of a neck guard—next!”

But he pushes you away as soon as you reach over to cover it up. “I’m being serious. I’m mean, not now, but someday. Are you…” His voice drops, slowly, and he drums his fingers onto his thigh. Your lips turn upward. “...open to it? Getting married?”

“Well,” you start and his breath hitches, nervously tapping, awaiting for your response. Pressing your lips against his, you breathe out, and he groans. “I love you, Lando. I’m more than open to it.”

He sighs in relief, kissing you harder this time, with more emotion. “Good.” A beat. “Thank you.”

-

Slowly, but surely, you’re celebrating your three year anniversary—in Japan, a race week—but still. Yuki specifically gives you two a list of places to visit, so it makes everything a thousand percent easier. Fifth, he grunts, throwing his helmet onto the tiny bed in his motorhome. Screw it, I’m blowing my brains out.

“Hey now, quit talking like that.” A kiss. “I don’t care if you’re upset, I happen to be super duper proud.”

“It’s Super Trouper,” Oscar yells from the other side of the wall. “Don’t disrespect ABBA like that.

“Yeah,” Lando hums, pulling you in. “Don’t.”

“I’ll pull the trigger,” you warn. 

He gasps, theatrically. “You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me.” 

“I already have—sweet.” His dirty implications makes you heat up and the Australian groans as he turns up his music. Lando snickers, changing quickly. “Happy Anniversary. It’s not everyday, you know?”

“I know,” you cheer, playing with your promise ring. You beam up at the bubbly Brit. “I just wish we were home. Celebrating in the comfort of our own place.”

He doesn’t mention it, but you considering London your home—despite not growing up there—makes him crush on you harder than ever before; it's sickening. Clapping loudly, he stands up, reaching for your hand. “Then let's go back home. What’s keeping us here?”

“Yuki,” you grunt, taking his open hand. “We’d be breaking his heart, Lan. We need to do these twenty-one things.”

“Ah, he’ll understand.” A pause. “If he doesn’t then we’ll just buy his next meal to make up for it.”

Cackling, you peck his face, over and over until he pushes you away in a jokeful manner. “This is why I love you, Lando Norris!”

And he’s content, admiring the way you pack happily. He’s never seen someone so giddy to spend fourteen hours on a plane just to curl into the comfort of their bed. He’s just never seen or met anyone like you. 

It was perfect.

-

As soon as he picks up his own digital camera, he’s in love. Part of you would be jealous, definitely, if it weren’t for him stopping to take a thousand pictures of you. One in the McLaren garage, next to his car. One where you balance yourself on a swing, eventually falling straight onto your face. One of your newly bruised nose, due to the fall. One where you’re sleeping, drooling like a—

“Delete that, I don’t even want to see it!”

Shaking his head full of curls, he runs away. “No! I happen to love it!”

“Lando!”

“You look adorable.”

“Fuck you, I’m leaving. Spend the night alone, loser.”

You don’t end up keeping your word. You get your revenge, eventually, when you pie him in his sleep. He nearly chokes, but it’s all in good fun, according to you. 

But neither of you would have it any other way. You just happen to be his muse. 

-

His greediness starts to show overnight, nearly. It catches you off guard, leaving you like a lost dog. The worst part is that it’s not directed directly at you, per se, but it felt like it. Most of the time, you’d deal with this by talking to him until he calms down, by making him a cup chamomile tea, because—

“It doesn’t help!” He paces the small room, throwing his gloves harshly against the wall. 

“Studies prove—”

“Studies my ass.” An angry huff. “I just need to be alone. For a while.”

And it also catches you off guard how you don’t fight him back on it. Instead, you’re glad, fleeing out the door, straight to God knows where. Strolling, you twist and turn the thin band. 

Where are you going?

“You said you wanted to be…” Except it’s not Lando. George quirks a dark brow. You gulp, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry. I thought you were…” A painful pause. “I thought you were Lando.”

“Must be the accent.” He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Carmen actually made me chase you down. Said she wants your opinion with something about the wedding. You know her—perfectionist.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Throwing your hair over your shoulder, you beam brighter this time, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I have plenty of time.”

He’s rude when he finds you. Well, not really, but even your friends notice it. I’m telling him to wear a simple black and white suit. A bow or a tie, he can decide, but he’s insisting on wearing white and I’m like hello? You giggle, orbs moving to find George with a playful glare. 

“Why can you be the only one wearing white? It’s this some kind of rule or?”

“No, but it’s weird!” Carmen turns to face you, desperate eyes begging for backup. “Come on! Tell him it’s weird.”

Plump lips flicker upward. “I don’t know, George, it is a b—”

“Awful. You’re going to steal all the attention away from Caren and you’re going to look horrible. Just go with a traditional suit.”

The Mercedes driver doesn’t pay any attention to what was just said to him, but you and Carmen do, and that’s probably worse. You can tell she’s bothered by your boyfriend's unwanted opinion and for him going after her fiancé, so you briskly stand up. “Sweetheart, are you, um…ready to go?”

The Brit nods, fixing his bag that lays over his shoulder. “That’s why I’m here, no? Could have let me know you were leaving, too.” There’s tension in his voice; annoyance. “Also, I forgot your bag. I’ll wait for you here.”

His implication makes you queasy. You blink hastily. “Of course.” Turning to the older couple, you smile politely. “Um…text me, yeah? Let me know what you two decide on.”

Once you rush off, Carmen narrows her usually kind eyes, hard. George is quick, placing a steady hand onto her lap, and clears his throat. “You know, just because you didn’t place a podium for once doesn’t mean you get to act like a jerk. Seriously.”

Lando chooses to ignore his comment, bidding goodbye, and strolls over to find you, flustered. “Now I’m ready,” you confirm with a weak smile. The Brit laces his fingers through yours and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss. 

“You know I love you, right?”

“I do. I do know.”

-

He’s trying to be more gentle, you can tell. With his words, with his actions. It reminds you why you chose him. He had apologized after a quiet night, settling with what he had done. How he had treated you and his friends. George is quick to accept his apology, and you were too.

“I didn’t mean it,” he groans quietly, chest pressed against yours as you ride him. “I s-shouldn’t have—fuck.” The way you clench around him tightly makes his head spin. A whine escapes your swollen lips as you nod, fast, then slow, then staggered. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you pant, finally opening your eyes to find him already looking up at you. He squeezes your hips harder, keeping you firm. “You were upset, that’s all. I get it.”

She gets it, he remembers thinking, considering himself lucky for having a girlfriend who understands. His highs. His lows. His wins. He loses. This—this is why you were the one. 

But once again, his lack of display is what reluctantly pushes you away.

Then back in.

-

It’s been three months of him not even picking up his camera. Maybe he’s just too lazy to develop his pictures, so you do it for him. There’s really no excuse. That’s what you say with light humor when you push it towards his chest, but he only cocks his head to the side. “I never asked for you to do that.”

Your stomach churns. You lick your chapped lips. “You don’t need to. I just…did it. Thought it might help get you out of your slump.”

This pushes something in him as he narrows his brows like a set of sharp knives. “Slump?” A scoff. “What? Because I haven’t been able to get a win?”

“What?” You’re dazed. “No.” You’re confused. “No, why would you say that?” 

“I don’t know—why would you?”

“I mean it because you’ve been down, that’s it. Not because…” When his eyes don’t change, and your heart continues to pound, you flip him a smile. “You’re right. My choice of words weren’t the best. I’m sorry.”

The blue eyed boy clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth once, then sets the camera to his side. “Whatever, it’s fine, I guess.” And suddenly he’s making his way to his gaming room, leaving you with wide eyes and a bruised heart. 

“Wait!” Carefully, you pick up the small camera, extending it out towards him. “Wh-what do you want me to do? Should I pack it into your suitcase? Or maybe I could—”

“Pack it, yes, but into a box and put it in the attic.” He continues his march. “I lost interest a long time ago, either way.”

You’re not dazed. You’re not confused. 

You’re broken hearted.

-

You would think that you would have learned by now. He loves you, damn it. He’s just having a tough time proving it, but it’s fine, stuff like this happens all the time.

“Hello, darling,” Carmen greets, pulling you away from your trance. The camera  pans over to Lance, Carlos, and Lando. She gingerly takes the spot next to you. “Feeling alright? Lost a bit of weight and color.” Her concern can’t be hidden behind even the tallest mountain. 

Been working out. London is gloomy all day long. Haven’t gotten proper Vitamin D. Looking down onto your lap, you twirl your fingers. Over and under, over and under, over and un—

Her hands feel warm against yours and you can’t help but flinch, instinctively needing to pull away, but she holds on tighter. Not even your boyfriend's hands have felt as warm as hers; not in a very long time. “You can talk to me. Anytime.” Eyes remain downward, watering, so, like most nights before bed, you blink them away. Hard, fast, and cruel. 

“Have you chosen the song you want to be for your guys’ first dance?”

She remains still for a second, focuses directly into your soul and you blink faster before she has a chance to decode you. She always did. “We have. My Funny Valentine. Hear this, Daniel wants to sing it. With a band and the whole thing. Nightmare.”

And you’re glad for having her stories to distract you from your feelings, because silly is what they are. Childish. False. It’s only until the end of the race where you two realize you hadn’t been paying attention. As soon as George walks in through those doors, he jumps up and down. “Hey. Top five!”

“That’s my boy!”

You feel like a creep watching them kiss with sweet emotion you can’t help but miss and crave. Your eyes flicker over to the flat screen T.V. and you’re shooting up from your seat. “Shit! I have to go!” 

He’s in the middle of a speech of some sort when you rush in gasping for air. Sheepishly, you wave, then scoot closer to Zak who gives you a quick side hug. Everyone claps and then he’s making his way to—

Not you. 

First it’s Zak, then he squeezes by. Then it’s his entire team. Then it’s Oscar. Then it’s Carlos, which is the last straw because he’s not even supposed to be here. “Mind if I squeeze in?” you squeak. The Spaniard shakes his head.

“Be my guest. I should leave anyway.” “Are you sure?” Lando quips. “Why don’t you stay?”

Brown pity eyes dance over to where you look down, then settle with a wobbly smile. “I, um…I actually have a few emails to respond to. Stay, Carlos.” It’s pathetic and embarrassing how he’s the only one who convinces you to stick around. Not even your own boyfriend. Though his hand remains by your side, it feels all for show, which it is because as soon as a few fans take a couple of pictures of you two, he finally retreats his arm.

Once the Ferrari driver finally jogs away, Lando turns to face you. “Where were you?”

“I was watching the race.” Your heart beats faster.

“Liar. Your lips just did the thing.” A halt. “What thing?”

“There! There it is again! You didn’t watch it, did you?”

Taking his palms into your own, you kiss them, feverishly. “I was, but then Carmen came over, and we started to talk, and then one thing led to another and…” Blue eyes stare down, empty. You grimace. “I’m so sorry, Lando. You got second place and I wasn’t there to celebrate. I’m so sorry.”

And perhaps he feels he already made you suffer enough with his ignorance, or maybe he was still high off his accomplishment, but it surprises you when he leans down to peck your forehead. “Just don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

You let out a breath of relief. “Pinky swear.”

He laughs, ruffling your hair. “Ah, see, I don’t believe in pinky promises.”

“Take my word for it then.”

He winks. “Good enough.”

-

I can’t believe we haven’t had a sunny day in weeks! Flipping over to face him, you pout. Weeks! That’s bonkers.

The Brit hums against his blankets, against you. It’s officially been a year since you two have been dating and it honestly felt surreal. Especially in moments like these. The kind where he was just yours. 

I tried to warn you.

You groan, pressing your cheek against his firm chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady, indicating he’s half asleep, indicating you were too awake. Indicating you should probably go to sleep, too. 

Guess I’ll just have to learn to live with it. 

Guess so.

You know…I sort of love it.

You say so because you haven’t lived here your whole life.

I could easily, you want to confess. If it’s with you, then yes, I can. But it’s too soon and you don’t want to scare him off. Not when things were a dream. Cloudy, sunny, rainy, sunshine—I don’t care. I have a good enough reason to stay. 

He vibrates due to his chuckle and you giggle due to his chuckle. Look at you being all cute.

Not trying to be cute, just speaking my truth. 

In one motion, he flips over you, hovering. You love it? Like truly? 

I love it. I truly love it.

Make me believe it.

Are my words not enough?

He grins, eyes crinkling. I’m more of a pinky promise type of guy.

You lift your small finger and he’s fast to wrap his own around it. Pinky swear. I love you and London.

And it was true. It was true for a while.

-

It all came crashing down on you, really. It was alarming, yet you had expected it. It was lonely, but survivable. It came in phases. You first noticed the doubt a bit after your third year anniversary, but no, he loves me. I know he does. 

But you were good at pushing it all away; far, far, and further. Until you couldn't think about it anymore, even if you tried. His acts were a suck punch, though. Everytime you started to heal and stand up, he only sent a new one. A stronger one. But, hey, no—he loves me. He only says it every night.

Like last Monday night. When he fucked you in his hotel room.

Or last Thursday. When he went down on you under the table.

Or Friday. When you sucked his cock in the shower.

All right before bed.

God, I fucking love you so much. Hot cum shoots down your throat and he groans like a madman. Love you so, so much. You can’t even begin to imagine. 

So, when your friends ask and check up on you, that's what you say. Yes, he reminds me everyday. He means it. Don’t worry, we’re doing better than ever.

The second comes in like a slap to the face. He had just done what you consider a low blow, but no—he’ll make up for it. He always does.

“Bullshit.” You blink your hot tears away. Carmen never—ever—curses. She’s too classy for any of that, so it’s almost funny to hear it now. But it’s not, not really. She sighs, rubbing her temples. You and your problems were stressing her out, God, how could you be so selfish?

“Forget I said anything. I’m being a fucking crybaby—”

“No. You’re not.” It seems like she’s choosing her choice of words, delicately. “You have every right to be upset. Every. Single. Right.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel completely seen. Heard. Understood. And that was a lot, but it must have been what you needed, because suddenly, you were spilling the ugly truth. The reason why you didn’t attend the last race. Or the one before that one. 

The reason why she and George found you clutching onto your chest that night in Vegas. Forgot my keys, you giggled. You two have fun! Don’t worry about me. 

Carmen is older, wiser, and so fucking mature. You love it. But you hate it because now that you sit here with more of an open mind and less defense, you blink like a lost kid at the grocery store. “You love him.”

A whimper. “I adore him.”

“A lot?”

“Infinitely.”

“But?”

Another whimper, louder this time, more wet. “He makes me sad sometimes. Is that normal?” “It is—” And it’s the delusion that always makes you stay. You’re quick to swallow it down, eager and fast. It’s all you need to hear. Carmen shakes her head. “But not to this extent. You get sad over them forgetting your favorite drink order, or when they forget to pack your heels.” An unwanted pause. The kind that gives you the room to overthink. “Not because they locked you out. Or because they forgot your anniversary.”

And she won’t admit—not when you were already so broken—but Lando hadn’t forgotten. 

She likes wine, fuck, she’s obsessed with that sparkly shit. Wine testing! We could go wine tasting and I could do it there. He twidles with the ring box. Is that good?

George raises a playful brow before releasing a laugh. It sounds great. As long as you have a nice place to take Instagram pictures, then you’re set to go. Chicks love that. Isn’t that right, love?

But she pinches her lips, forcing a smile to the younger Brit. Lando lets out a shaky breath. It’s about to be our four year anniversary—it’ll be perfect. I’ll make sure.

So, yes, she knows he loves you. But that still doesn’t make the way he treats you right. What kind of love was that? Sobbing loudly, you push your hair back. “But you don’t get it! When he’s good…” Her eyes soften and yours grows more glassy. “...he’s so good.”

“Is it worth the pain, though?”

-

The third one is the breaking point you had been avoiding for so long. The day started out gray, either way, and not just because of the dark London weather. Dragging your feet to the end of the bed, you tremble. You got the call at four a.m. and those are never good, so why were you shocked to hear from Benny’s son?

“Oh, baby…” He pulls you atop his lap, kissing your temple. “I know how much he meant to you.”

“I still owe him a surfboard. The expensive kind, too.” He quirks a confused brow, but you continue staring off into space. “They stole the last one. The one he always lent to me. His mom had gifted it to him.”

“When did this happen?” he questions, trying to keep you talking because that sounds like a good idea. To get your mind off things. 

You hum. “Last January; his birthday weekend.”

“Birthday weekend? I don’t recall—” “You weren’t there.” He doesn’t have to remember to know that’s true. It's become a habit of his nowadays and now he’s feeling guilty. Another hum, this time sadder than the prior. “He was going to teach you how to grill steak, just the way I like it.”

His stomach churns. “And how do you like it?” A beat. “I don’t remember. Ask Benny.” Then you’re crying like a newborn.Worse, actually. But he holds you through it all. So maybe this was do-able. He was nice, after all. You could stick with him forever and you’d be grateful. After what seems like a decade, you finally calm down, though your nose keeps runny. “The funeral is later this week. Are we going?” You were, with no fucking doubt, but you just wanted him to say it. There— on the tip of his tongue. You can spot it and he could taste it.

“Sweetheart…you know I have a race.” You didn’t expect him to drop everything and venture off with you, but this cut deep. Still, you understood. Plus, the proposal was ditched the moment you got the eerie call. So, yes, everything was unbalanced, but it wasn’t your guys’ fault. It was just a twist of fate. Nothing you couldn’t handle; you’ve dealt with worse.

“Right. I can go by myself.” He feels bad—you know he does—but anything, really? “You can write a letter, maybe? Just a couple of words for his family. I know it’ll mean a lot.”

He chuckles. And you should have known at that very moment because it wasn’t one you’ve heard before. “Why would I? I barely even knew the guy.”

“Excuse me?” 

The Brit continues tracing shapes onto your thigh. “I’m just saying! It sounds a bit weird coming from someone who spoke to him once. Twice at best.”

And you’re no longer dazed, no longer confused, no longer heartbroken. 

You’re just angry.

Pushing yourself off him, you glare coldly. “Barely even knew…the guy? We Skyped with him over dinner! You paid his bills! You fucking attended his sons wedding! How could you be so…fucked.”

“Sure… He was a sweet lad, but do you really think they want to hear from me?”

“Maybe not, maybe they don’t give a flying fuck, but I do. Remind me why I loved you!”

He’s up now. His heart quickens, pierces through his skin. “Loved?”

You sigh, clutching your chest. “Love. I said love.”

A huff. “No, you definitely spoke in past tense—do you not love me anymore?”

“Lando…” “No. Just be upfront with me, I can handle it. Tell me now so I don’t waste my time any longer.”

Every uncertainty you ever had, every word of advice Carmen has given you comes crashing down. She was right. He’s keeping you around for good fun. For his benefit. “Your time? What about mine? You’re the one who’s been blocking me out these past couple months!” “That’s not true—”

“Fuck, you’re right—this past year. God Lando! Haven’t you noticed how good I am at apologizing now? My zombie appearance? You left me out in the hallway! All because of what? Because I didn’t tell you I was going out with the girls?” A sour laugh. “Wake up—it’s 2024. Since when are you a shitty masochist?”

His jaw clenched. “I was worried about you! It was fucking Vegas, what was I supposed to do? And for the love of God, this again. I. Didn’t. Hear. You. Knock.”

A peach seed forms onto your chin. Skin is flushed and tears stream down your face. But he’s fine. He’s tall and firm Hard headed. Without an ounce of regret. And you want to do it. You want to make him feel what you’ve felt.

“I got my degree…”

“Woo-fucking-hoo, we’re not talking about that right now.”

“I lived a few good years, filled with pure happiness.”

He pauses. 

“But I see it now. Past all the gray clouds, I see it.” He can feel it coming and he’s desperate for you not to say it aloud, but you shrug it, face downward. “Nothing is holding me back to stay.”

His tone washes away like the Laguna waves as he gets closer to you, cradling your face. “Yes. Yes you do. You have me…”

“Lando, quit lying—I haven’t for a while now. I was just a trophy you didn’t want. One you got bored of.”

“That’s not—” “True?” A beat. “It is. And you know what also is? I don’t love you anymore.” The light in his eyes gave out, pitch black. He feels as if he’s going into cardiac arrest and you…you look at ease. Peaceful. Free. With a soft smile, you push his hands down. “I don’t think you love me anymore, either.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads. “Please, don’t say that. Of course I love you.” Rushing over to his nightstand, he pulls out a box you only ever dreamt of. “You want proof—here! Take it! It’s yours anyways.”

“Where was this a year ago?” Opening the velvet box, you’re left with an inaudible gasp because of course it was gorgeous. And he feels a gist of hope when you place it onto your ring finger, but he slowly pales when it doesn’t fit.

“No. No. That’s your size. I know it is.” He takes it from you, analyzing it in an accusing manner. “I swear it was, I pinky…” The heater kicks on. “I swear.”

“It’s alright. This is the right ring…just not for me.” It shouldn’t affect you to see his cheeks grow splotchy, to hear his voice tremble like a kid who just skinned his knee against the pavement. But he was once your other half, so it does. 

“I don’t want you to go…”

“I don’t either. I loved being here.”

“Then stay.” You purse your lips, then scrunch your nose. “It doesn’t love me, though. And I can’t go unwanted.”

If we start saving enough money then we could buy the house—you know—the one close enough to drive to your parents? Sweet, no?

Won’t they hear us fuck? 

Ew, gross. No. I’d tape your mouth before I let that happen. You pinch his ear. This is your home.

And SoCal is yours, so why don’t we move there?

Because I don’t want to. I want to be with you and the people you love, in the place you love. Because I love you and I love the people you love, and I love London. 

You’re quite literally perfect. I hope you know.

You make it clear everyday. 

And I won’t ever stop. Because you deserve to know.

“This place is cold, the way you said it was. This place is gloomy, the way you said it was. But this place isn’t a home to me anymore…the way I once thought it was.”

Should he have been more careful—more caring—then he wouldn’t be here. This wouldn’t be happening, but it is. And it’s no one’s fault but his.

Sniffing, you rub your swollen eyes. “I’m going to pack my things and go to Benny’s funeral.” It's a declaration. He nods, attentively. “And I’m not coming back. Is that okay?”

No. It wasn’t okay. You’re tearing him in half, you’re stabbing his heart over and over again. You’re telling the truth and putting yourself first. Something he was awful at doing. What brought you two to this very moment in time.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I treated you the way I did.” I love you. “But if that’s your decision, then go on. Do what you need to do.” I love you. 

“Good.” I love you. But I can’t say it aloud if not I’d stay forever. 

You smile and he smiles back.

“Good.”

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[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Didn’t Know, But Never Forgot

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: One night stand, implied smut (fade to black), alcohol, strong emotions, surprise baby, heartbreak, soft reunion

Author's Note: I had read a fanfiction that inspired me to write this, but it was with Simon instead I can’t remember who it was that wrote the fanfiction of someone knows what fanfiction I’m talking about. Please go ahead and tag the person in the comments or find the fanfiction and link in the comments or DM it to me so I can add it on here!

Summary: Soap never expected to see you again after your one-night stand. He definitely didn’t expect to see you holding a baby… that looks just like him.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The door chimed. Warm air rushed out to meet him as Johnny stepped inside. Soft jazz played over low conversation, the smell of espresso thick in the air. He had no reason to be here—just a random stop on a morning walk during leave.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

Because there you were.

By the window, sunlight haloing your face. Your hair was a little longer, your features more mature, more tired—but you were still you.

And in your arms… was a baby.

His heart stalled.

You looked up. Eyes met. Your smile faltered. And the moment cracked like glass.

Flashback – That Night, 10 Months Ago

The bar was dim, noisy, crowded. One of those places with sticky floors, neon signs, and cheap whiskey. Johnny had come out with Gaz and a few others, blowing off steam before deployment.

He hadn’t expected to meet anyone. He’d told himself he wouldn’t.

But then you laughed.

It cut through the noise like a melody—full, free, just drunk enough to be careless. You stood at the far end of the bar, holding a drink with a cherry in it, talking with friends. And when your eyes met his, it wasn’t shy. It was bold. Curious.

He gave a crooked smile. You raised a brow, challenging.

He made the first move.

"Can I buy you another one of those?" he asked, nodding to your glass.

"Only if you promise to tell me what kind of accent that is," you said, smirking.

The conversation flowed like whiskey. You were sharp. Funny. Gorgeous in that magnetic, too-good-to-be-real way. He couldn’t stop looking at your lips. You told him your name—he gave you “Johnny.” Not “Soap.” Not MacTavish. Just Johnny.

Hours blurred.

Laughter in a booth. Sharing fries. Sitting too close. His knee brushed yours—and neither of you moved away.

One drink turned into two.

And suddenly, you were in his lap in the backseat of a cab, fingers tangled in his short hair, your lips tasting like cherry and sin.

Flashback – The Apartment

He remembered your place. Tiny, warm, a little cluttered. You kicked off your shoes and pulled him inside like gravity itself was on your side.

Clothes scattered. Breathless laughter. Kisses that landed too hard.

In your bed, he memorized every inch of your skin like he was afraid it would vanish by morning. It wasn’t just sex. Not with the way you held him afterward—or the way he couldn’t stop brushing your hair back, staring at you like he’d found something he didn’t know he needed.

He’d almost told you.

Almost said, I’m leaving tomorrow. I want to stay. I wish I met you sooner.

But you were asleep.

And before dawn, he slipped out.

A note on your counter: Didn’t want to wake you. You were perfect. — J

Back to Present – The Café

“I didn’t know how to reach you,” you said quietly. “Didn’t know if I should.”

He swallowed. “I would’ve come back if I’d known.”

“I didn’t even find your last name until after she was born,” you said, glancing down at the baby. “Then I found some records. Photos. Your name came up next to Soap. That’s when I figured it out.”

His gut clenched. “Christ…”

“I wasn’t going to track you down and throw a baby in your arms, Johnny. I just wanted to know. For her. For me.”

You looked away then, blinking fast. “You left before I woke up. I thought it was just one night to you.”

“It wasn’t,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond.

Isla—that’s what you called her—babbled gently, nestled in your arms. Johnny looked at her like she was made of glass and gold. All the fear, the guilt, the regret—it swirled inside him, heavy and choking.

“I want to hold her,” he said.

You blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I need to.”

You carefully transferred her into his arms. He held her like she was the first good thing he’d ever touched.

“Hey, wee one,” he whispered, eyes wide. “I’m your da.”

Isla cooed, reaching up and catching a fistful of his hoodie.

He laughed, startled and breathless. “You’ve got a grip on you already, don’t ya?”

You smiled for the first time in the conversation—soft, but real. “She does that when she likes someone.”

“She likes me?” he asked, and even he could hear the wobble in his voice.

You nodded. “She should. You’re her father.”

Johnny swallowed, emotion thick in his throat. “I want to be here now. In her life. In yours. If you’ll let me.”

You looked at him for a long, long time.

“She deserves to know her dad,” you finally whispered. “And… I think you deserve to know her too.”

Johnny reached across the table with one hand, gently resting it over yours.

“I’ve been to hell and back, lass. Thought I’d lost the only good thing I ever stumbled into. But you’re here. And she’s here. I won’t take that for granted.”

You blinked back tears. “Then stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Flashback – One Week Before This Day

Johnny stood in front of your building. He’d been back from deployment for a few days, and the memory of your face wouldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t even know what he was searching for—maybe closure. Maybe hope.

But he hadn’t knocked.

Not yet.

Now, sitting across from you, with his daughter in his arms, he silently promised he’d never hesitate again.

The Park, Later That Day

The three of you sat on a bench under the first blue sky of spring.

Isla giggled as Johnny held her above his head, making silly faces. You watched him, hand wrapped around a coffee cup, heart in your throat.

He looked over at you.

“What?”

“You’re good with her.”

He shrugged with a grin. “She’s brilliant. Gets it from her mum.”

You flushed. “She’s stubborn. Gets that from her dad.”

You sat in silence for a beat.

Then he leaned toward you and whispered, “Do I get a second date? One that doesn’t end in deployment?”

You bit your lip. “Only if you promise to stay for breakfast this time.”

He smiled. And for the first time in months—you smiled too.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[7seas-of-ryy]

The Bet | Part 2

Author’s Note: I really wanted to make a Part 2 for this!! I have MANY wips right now so hopefully I'll have more for you guys soon :) also I absolutely LOVE all of your comments and will reply to them as soon as I can! <3

Summary: You won the bet but exactly how funny are you??

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: none, let me know if I need to add any :)

---

The bet you made with Cass and Rhys was the best thing to ever happen to you. A few days after you won, the entire inner circle went out for a night at Rita’s. Rhys and Cass had stayed true to their word and bought your drinks the entire night but the best part was Az had admitted his feelings to you.

The two of you went on a couple dates and eventually he asked you to be his. It was the happiest you had ever been.

You were currently sitting with the shadowsinger, each reading your books in silence when you spoke up.

“Ya know…I once heard a joke about amnesia… but I forgot how it goes!” You told the male with a grin on your face.

He gave you a loud laugh and pulled you closer, kissing the side of your head.

“When did you come up with that one?” He asked with a grin still on his face.

“Oh I just thought of it.” You said with a smirk, satisfied you made him laugh.

“You’ll have to tell Feyre that one, I think she’ll like it.” Az told you.

You nodded your head in agreement and you both went back to reading your books.

---

You were currently in the Summer Court with the rest of the inner circle for some business. You were all looking out at the sea, enjoying the view when you spoke up.

“What did the ocean say to the beach? ...Nothing, it just waved!" You said, stifling a laugh.

Az began to laugh immediately, Feyre joined him soon after. What you didn’t see was Feyre elbowing Rhys and Cass, forcing them to laugh at your joke. Mor just chuckled, seeing everything go down.

The spymaster pulled you in close to his side, resting his hand on your hip. He gave his brothers a quick glare over your head when you weren’t looking and they held up their hands in defense.

---

You were sitting with Cass and Rhys, waiting for a chance to tell them the new joke you learned.

“Hey, did you guys hear about the guy who got hit in the head with a can of soda??” You asked them, feigning a look of concern.

“What, oh no! Is he ok??” Rhys questioned.

“Yeah, he was lucky it was a soft drink!” You told them with excited eyes.

The two males sat across from you with blank faces, not budging even a tiny bit.

“C’mon you guys!! That was funny! Az would’ve laughed.” You huffed a breath.

“He only laughs because he’s getting some from you!” Cass stated, causing Rhys to hit his shoulder.

You gasped and placed a hand on your chest in offense.

"I'll have you know, Az loves my humor!! You're just upset because he thinks I'm funnier than you!" You smirked at Cass.

"She's got you there, she is waaayyy funnier than you." Rhys added, also smirking at the male.

"I hate both of you." Cass deadpanned.

---

A few days had passed and you were walking through the house trying to find the spymaster. You were passing by Rhys’ office when you heard him speak.

“It’s not that serious.” Rhys spoke.

“Yeah, just relax.” Cass added.

“It is that serious, I will not relax, and I will hurt you if you don’t listen to me.” Az threatened.

You gasped, not sure of what they could be discussing that was so serious. He sounded so upset with Rhys and Cass, you were about to burst through the door to figure out what was going on when you heard Cass speak again.

“I won’t laugh at Y/N’s jokes if they’re not funny!” Cass whisper shouted.

“It's really just the puns, they're awful!! I can’t fake laugh at those.” Rhys said in the same tone.

There were a few beats of silence before you heard Az sigh.

“Listen I know how bad the jokes are, but she loves them. You guys know how much I hate puns but do you see how happy she gets when she tells us a new joke? So I don’t care how hard you have to try, you will laugh at her jokes and tell her you like them.” He told his brothers.

You left to go to your room and didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. You felt conflicted. On one hand, you were hurt that he never actually liked your jokes but on the other, your heart melted at the lengths he was going to for you. But if he was lying about something as simple as liking your puns then what else was he lying about? Before you could continue to spiral, the male in question walked in.

“Hello my love, what’re you up to?” He asked you with a sweet smile, pulling you in for a kiss.

You turned your head last minute so his lips landed on your cheek. He gave you a confused look and tried again. This time, you put your finger on his lips to stop him, looking up into his face.

“What’re you doing?” His voice muffled by your finger.

“You don’t like my puns.” You stated simply and pulled your finger away.

“What?! Of course I do! They make me laugh so hard!” His voice got higher the longer the sentence went on.

“Az, stop. I heard you threatening Cass and Rhys.” You admitted.

His face dropped, shoulders slumped, and he looked genuinely devastated.

“Let me explain-” He started but you were quick to cut him off.

“Don’t…I’m not mad. Maybe a little sad that you don’t think I’m funny but when I heard you saying all of that…I think I fell even more in love with you.” You told him as your cheeks reddened.

“Really?” His eyes brightened instantly.

“Yeah, no one has ever gone through that much trouble just to make me happy.” You beamed.

“I really do love you so much… Also I do think you’re funny. I just really hate puns.” He told you.

“I love you too,” You spoke as you wrapped your arms around his neck, “And just so you know, you are o-fish-ally off the hook for pretending to like my puns.”

Genuine laughter came out of the male in front of you this time. He pulled you in closer and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Alright that one actually got me.” He whispered as he laid his forehead on yours.

He slowly leaned in and brushed his lips against yours, a soft exhale leaving him. A few blissful moments passed before he began to whisper.

“Just so you know, I would’ve endured and laughed at your puns for eternity.” Az confessed.

“Would’ve? No you definitely will be doing that.” You retorted.

Az just let out another laugh and pulled you back down for more kisses. A lifetime of puns didn’t sound so bad, as long as they were coming from you.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

You should 100% write a viktor x reader fic, doesn’t matter if it’s long or not just Fluff after these last episodes 🙁🙏

Viktor didn’t need to even look up from his book that he had been reading to know that you had something concealed within your jacket the moment you opened the door, drenched in rainwater but yet smiling down at whatever you thought you had snuck in so effortlessly. It was humorous to say the least and didn’t fail to bring a smile to his lips but still the question remained that he finally spoke aloud.

‘What’s hiding in the jacket my dear?’ He asks, seeing you stiffen almost immediately.

‘Nothing.’ You replied but you knew Viktor wasn’t someone so easily fooled, especially not when he could easily read you like the book he had in his hands, he knew your heart far too well to be duped now.

‘If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be smiling so hard down at it, whispering sweet nothings and walking through this kind of downpour with a half zipped jacket.’ Viktor then said sarcastically as he sets aside his book to look at you with his amber eyes, filled with a familiar playfulness and warmth that you loved so much, and a small smile played on his lips. ‘You are hiding something, so why don’t you let the poor thing free and roam its new accommodation.’

‘Fine. Let’s get you out of here little buddy.’ You pouted as you gingerly brought out a cat from your jacket and setting them on the floor.

The poor cat’s chestnut fur was completely soaked to the bone as though it had been left out for some time in the downpour before you had got to them, the cat also looked to be slightly on the malnourished side also, meaning it had possibly been neglected for long periods of time as the poor thing could hardly stand on it own legs. However that wasn’t the only thing Viktor noticed about them as his sharp eyes were quick to spot that it was missing its left leg.

The cat was clearly abandoned due to its missing limb by their previous owner and Viktor couldn’t help but see himself in the cat as it got to familiarise its new home, yet it still looked back at you frequently to make sure that you were nearby, for you were the one thing the cat could consider as safe in unfamiliar territory. ‘It’s okay sweetheart.’ You said to the cat as it waited for you to finish hanging up your jacket and join it as you gestured towards Viktor. ‘Viktor’s friendly, I’m sure you’ll grow to love him more than me but I can’t blame you, he’s impossible not to love.’ You then add as you gave him a wink.

The cat only mewled at you before looking over at Viktor, who only looked back at the cat with a looked he hoped was warm and welcoming. This wasn’t the first time you had brought a stray home, you hated leaving a defenceless animal on their own, especially in weathers such as this but you hated the people who abandoned them even more as you cradled them to your chest. You didn’t care if you were soaking wet or had gotten hurt trying to reassure the animal you were rescuing that you were safe, you would do anything in your power to get them somewhere warm and dry for the time being.

Viktor couldn’t help but love this part of you deeply and wish that there were more people like you to do similar things. He still remembers the injured bird that you both had nursed back to health months ago when it had fallen out of the nest that had been destroyed during the fall. It still came back now and then and whenever it did, Viktor would only stand back and watch you beam with happiness when the bird showed you the family it made during your time apart. It only served as a reminder of the kind and gentle heart that you possessed, a reminder that unconditional love and compassion did exist and Viktor found it in abundance when he was with you, and he couldn’t be happier to have found such a person who saw him as perfect and worth the admiration within your eyes.

For to be cradled within your appreciative hands as though he was the most precious being in all of existence to you was a blessing Viktor would never give up for the life of him. You saw him as something more then he saw in himself, looking at him as though he was your god given solace as you pressed kisses into his skin, all the while praising every aspect of him; you called him beautiful beyond compare, for to you nothing could compare to your beautiful and more important than your Viktor.

Viktor was then brought out of his mind when he heard a cat’s mewl before then feeling the cat carefully being put onto his lap, and sure enough he was face to face with the chestnut cat with the three legs with you sitting on the arm of his chair, looking down at them with a softness he’s seen countless times before but could never get enough of how ethereal you looked. ‘I think they like you.’ You lightly teased as you kissed the side of his head, eyes never tearing away from the cat, who had now made his lap their personal resting place as Viktor saw the relaxed rise and fall of their rather small body as it began its descent into peaceful sleep.

‘Where did you find them?’ Viktor asks softly as not to disturb the cat.

‘On the outskirts of Piltover,’ you replied, ‘poor thing was crying out when I came across them-‘

‘Calling out to their owners.’ Viktor adds and you only hum in agreement as you leaned into him, both of your hearts ached for the cat but also raged against the people who dared left this beautiful creature alone in the worst circumstances possible. ‘I couldn’t leave them Viktor.’ You told him as you reached to hold his hand in yours for strength. ‘I just couldn’t I-‘

‘I know my love, I know.’ Viktor shushes you as he raises your joint hands and kissing the back of yours, hoping to give you some comfort and peace. ‘You did a good thing, a very good thing in gifting them shelter.’ He tells you. ‘Your heart is pure as the purest gold and I couldn’t be more proud of my lover.’ He adds with a smile as he moves his hand from yours to the back of your neck, gently guiding you to pressing your forehead against his, an act of affection amongst the people of the Zaun.

You breathed out a sigh of relief before felling a laugh fall effortlessly for your lips, leaving Viktor a tad confused as to what he had sad to make you laugh, only to not have to wait long as you looked back at the cat on his lap. ‘You’re now not allowed to leave this place unless you want our little buddy to wake up grumpy at you.’ You say barely above a whisper and Viktor finds himself smiling down at the chestnut cat, reaching out to gently stroke its back, before looking back at you with a glint in his eyes.

‘Then that means you must accompany me in keeping them well rested.’ He then said playfully as you shrugged. ‘More time with my beloved Viktor and our little guest?’ You rhetorically say with a face of faux thought, mind having already been made up the moment you saw the poor cat lost and scared amidst the heavy downpour. You then stole a kiss from Viktor’s lips, lingering against them even as you pull away to murmur, ‘it would be an insult to ever reject a piece of heaven when it is offered to me like this?’ And stayed like that you and Viktor did as the rain only lulled you both into the easiest slumber either of you ever had thus far.

[laikabu]

re: my thoughts on laios’s sexuality (long post ahead lol)

let me start this post with this. first, this contains a lot of references to the new adventurer’s bible world guide book released last february. i can read japanese, but i’m sure they’re translated somewhere. general spoiler warning in case. also… i am ESL, so sorry for any grammar errors

second, if you’re on the team that insists laios doesn’t care about humans enough to form relationships, either read the manga again or at the very least read this thread.

last, please don’t chime in with your acearo headcanons on this post. there’s already a majority of posts here that insist laios is acearo and that anything else is impossible. i don’t like it the same way i don’t like when someone declares they hc marcille as bisexual to a poster who reads her as lesbian. i already have enough people here who declare he’s ace on my own art. at least people on twitter of all places don’t do this sort of thing to me. nothing in this manga is canon, you can headcanon anything i won’t get mad if you hc him as bi or something. just. don’t be weird on my post.

okay. trust me, i love women, and i love the idea of making my favs women lovers but the idea of laios being gay really appeals to me because of his background. this isn’t fueled by yaoi since i don’t even ship the only m/m relationship i bring up here, i just think it adds a nice layer to his disconnect with his own humanity

i do think laios has a very abstract relationship with his sexuality for a multitude of reasons. he grew up in a very conservative backwater village. he has a hard time recognizing his own feelings towards others just as much as vice versa. i don’t really care for the “laios is a monsterfucker” agenda people are pushing but i do think he’d engage in sexual thoughts in his own weird way, i won’t deny his deviantart fetish shit

as an autistic person myself, i relate to how he’d prioritize his special interest over social interactions. after all, he was fixated on monster food so he’s distracted from dark thoughts. he’s not an actual glutton

he’s shy around women, but i don’t think it’s out of attraction. i just think it’s because he’s awkward and doesn’t want to be seen as a threat. there’s a couple of times when, out of armor, he deliberately tries to make himself look smaller and nonthreatening.

he didn’t show any interest towards ashivia (the hubby hunter girl marcille replaced) and just humored her because she wouldn’t leave him alone. his other party members thought he was giving her special treatment so he had to tell her he “doesnt want to give her special treatment anymore”(even though he never did), so she left

ashivia did her best to butter herself up to laios and he didn’t care, but laios thought shuro was his bestest friend in the whole world because he was too much of a pushover to reject him. ironically… what ashivia did to him parallels what he was doing to shuro

also… yeah sorry i keep bringing up that one comic of laios saying if he were falin he’d marry shuro and then begging him to take him back to his country, or that comic of laios wondering why he doesn’t like him(and then the first two questions he asks the magic mirror was what if he or shuro were women). i don’t even ship them! but it’s not a reach to assume that he likes men because of this, even if it’s kinda played like a joke(after all,a lot of people like chilshi even though their ‘shippy’ interaction was played as a joke)

of course, given the setting, i don’t think knows he’s gay, he wouldn’t have the vocabulary to label himself. i do want to dance around with the idea of him forcibly confronting his own sexuality after years of yaad pressuring him to produce heirs lol. laios might not be cishet but he’s a king so he rdgaf about that right now. i’m open to him having female consorts for political reasons, but i don’t think he’s into women, is all.

before anyone brings up his succubus… god forbid an author makes hetbait. a part of the plot twist was that not-marcille wasn’t the only succubus enticing laios, his other party members were copied too. she was the only one who approached him. also… succubi aren’t always inherently romantic. once it realized marcille didn’t work, it switched to appeal to his desire to be a monster.

[ttdamian]

Hold on till may

⸺ summary ; How would Dick react to his lover being in a vulnerable state?

⸺ Authors note ; Dick Grayson x gn ! reader. Mention of alcohol, reader is drunk here, depressive thoughts, angst with comfort. english isnt my first language. feel free to send req while i figure out how tumblr works. Wc : 1,1k drabble. Not beta read.

The bottle was almost empty.

Your fingers were frozen around the neck of it, knuckles pale, like letting go might break you. The wind tugged at your clothes as you sat slumped on the edge of the balcony, one leg over the side, the city yawning open beneath you. You weren’t thinking. Not really.

Or maybe that was the point.

The streetlights blurred. Neon halos. Your eyes burned.

Something inside you was splitting down the middle—loud and quiet all at once. You didn’t want to die. You just didn’t want to be here anymore. In this skin. This life. This body that held too many memories and too little love.

Glass clinked against metal as you tilted the bottle, watching the last few drops splash onto your knee. Then the door behind you opened.

You didn’t turn around.

You didn’t have to.

You could feel him in the shift of air. In the stillness. In the presence.

Dick.

Of course, it would be him.

He always showed up when you were your worst. When you looked like the version of yourself you swore no one would ever see. But he never turned away. That almost made it worse.

He didn’t say your name. Not at first.

Didn’t scold. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t storm.

Just stepped closer.

He was careful with the way his boots hit the floor. Not daring to make a sound.

You’re curled sideways, one knee up, body propped against the railing. You’re trying not to fall—but you’re close. Teetering.

he's seen this before. The sight was not unusual to him. He pretends he doesn’t see it

But he sees you.

He always does.

Your voice is slurred when it breaks through the silence.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

He blinks once. “Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna pick up the pieces.” You turn your head slightly, and even in the half-light, he can see how glassy your eyes are. “I’m not broken. I’m wrecked. There’s a difference.”

The words land with a hard finality. Like you’ve rehearsed them.

You shift, and the movement is clumsy. Your elbow slips off your knee. You catch yourself with a laugh that makes his stomach twist.

“Don’t,” he says softly, stepping closer, crouching down a few feet away.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t move like that. You’ll fall.”

“Maybe I already did.”

Dick exhales slowly through his nose. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m free.” You smile without humor. “Same thing.”

He doesn’t answer. Not yet. Just watches you. Because this isn’t about him. It never has been. This is about whatever pain brought you here—again.

“I didn’t call you,” you add, almost accusing.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?”

He pauses. “Because I was scared you wouldn’t.”

That hits you somewhere deep. Somewhere behind the alcohol and the exhaustion and the fake smiles you’ve been wearing for weeks.

He sees the shift in your expression.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, eyes flicking to the bottle again.

“You’re on the edge of a twelve-story building.”

You let out a dry laugh. “So what? You gonna scold me?”

“No,” he says, almost instantly. “I’m not here to scold you.”

“Then what?” You shift to face him better, legs still dangling over the drop, your weight still leaning toward the open air. “You think you can save me? Is that what this is?”

“No.”

You laugh again, too sharp. “Then what do you want from me, Dick?”

Silence.

The city hums beneath you. A siren in the distance. The whistle of wind between buildings.

Finally, he stands and takes one step closer. You tense—just enough that he notices. So he stops.

He lowers his voice.

“I don’t want anything from you.”

Your expression flickers. He presses on.

“I just want you to stop looking for answers in places that only ever hurt you.”

You blink.

And then, before he can stop you—you ask the question.

The one he’s been dreading.

“Then where the hell do I look?”

He doesn’t have a clean answer.

Instead, he steps forward slowly—deliberately—until he’s beside you. Not reaching for you. Not dragging you away. Just being there.

Letting you feel the weight of his presence.

“I don’t know,” he says after a long beat. “But not down. Not off the edge.”

You glance down anyway.

You always do.

The city looks different from up here. Like it might catch you if you fell. Like the air would wrap around you and hold you softly on the way down.

You know better.

He knows you know better.

And yet—

You murmur, “It’s so quiet up here.”

He nods. “I know.”

You close your eyes. “Sometimes I wish I could just… fall asleep and stay in the silence.”

He doesn’t respond with platitudes. He doesn’t tell you it’ll get better. He doesn’t try to force light into your darkness.

He just… waits.

And when he speaks again, it’s so soft it almost disappears into the wind.

“Can I sit with you?”

Your eyes flutter open. You glance at him.

He’s not asking to pull you inside. He’s not asking to fix you.

He’s asking to sit beside your pain.

You nod.

He lowers himself to the concrete slowly, legs crossed, hands resting in his lap.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Then, your voice comes—raw, barely there.

“Why do you keep showing up?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Because you matter to me.”

You scoff. “Even like this?”

“Especially like this.”

That’s the one that cracks you.

The tears come so suddenly, you almost choke on them.

You turn away, ashamed, but he’s already leaning forward—arms gentle, body warm. Not holding you. Just offering.

You lean in.

And this time, you let him.

Your head finds his shoulder. Your fingers cling to the fabric of his shirt.

He doesn’t say anything when your body starts to shake.

He just holds you.

Lets you be small.

Lets you be real.

After a while, when your sobs fade into hiccups and silence, he speaks again.

Quiet.

Steady.

“I know it’s hard. I know some days feel like a trap. Like you're walking through glass barefoot and everyone else is dancing on clouds.”

You nod.

He runs his hand slowly along your back.

“But you’re still here.”

A pause.

“You’re still you.”

You close your eyes.

“Just… hold on,” he whispers. “Even if it’s ugly. Even if it’s quiet. Even if all you can do is breathe.”

You don’t say anything.

But your breathing slows.

Later, he brings you back inside.

Covers you with a blanket.

He sits on the edge of your bed while you sleep, eyes flickering toward the balcony now and then.

The bottle’s still out there. Empty.

But you’re not.

You’re breathing.

You’re here.

And that’s enough—for tonight.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[lovckett]

someone dent my head in pls i cant stop thinking about vampire tfone orion except he doesn't know he's a vampire i cant stop WONT STOP CANT STOP WONT STOP UAAAGHHGHHGHHGHHHH

yes writing these are ok . credit is nonmandatory but it'd be pretty neat to have it

TFONE 5 times orion pax looked stupid without context and one time everyone sees his plan in full action and realizes Oh he's kinda smart he just LOOKS stupid

TFP twisted beauty and the beast au . sacrificial lamb orion who's gifted to megatronus either for killing or eating but orion is Not willing to take that shit and keeps plotting to escape in the most unconventional ways . megatronus is trying and failing to explain that No he does Not eat the sacrifices and please get down from the chandelier he doesn't want orion hurt himself and spilled energon is really hard to clean from the carpet . they get along eventually with literature .

TFONE Whatever Job Isn't Really That Bad Until The One Person You Absolutely Do NOT Want Finding Out Finds Out Not Because It's Illegal But It's Really Kinda Embarrassing orion . he picked up the gig because he realized dee was willingly taking punishments by darkwing meant for him and he's given less and less energon rations each day so orion agrees to work for as long as he needs to . many repercussions like drowsiness and dee growing more and more concerned because Why is pax so tired and is pax giving me Extra energon ???? is he starving ??????

TFONE secret orion job but it Definitely Is Very illegal . he sells crack ( synthesized energon ......... hi tfp ratchet ) . orion needing to come up with the weirdest lies to save his aft .

TFONE/TFP orion finds a sparkling and decides You Know What I Can Totally Handle This . suspicious d-16/megatronus until the eventual Oh Shit Got Caught . humorous misunderstandings (" where is the sire?! does he not have the grace to even stay by your side ?!!!? ") (" oh my god you got sparked up???!? pax????? i thought— how didn't i— when?????? ") . no the sparkling isn't b-127 that is a grown man with huge balls .

TFONE orion misusing a word and the aftermath dragging out longer than it should've been .

TFP optimus x MTMTE lost light . after optimus jumps into the well of allspark he appears in the shadow zone with soundwave . theyre very wary and by soundwave's pov especially hateful but learn to get along . lost light suddenly appears to pick them up . i don't know enough about lost light to add anything but it'd be cool to see them both progress . someone give me fics to read pls anything

TFONE orion pax gets cybertronian equivalents to piercings and tattoos . or he USED to wear piercings and he now hides his tattoos . i dunno i just want to see d-16 jaw drop because What What Do You Mean Orion Pax Has Tattoos Excuse Me Did I Hear You Right Hello Repeat That Again Where Even Are They I Need To Know .

TFP extremely ticklish orion pax . except it's the kind of ticklish where megatronus keeps poking him and he slowly descends to the ground clutching himself each time and it happens so much that he grows paranoid of being tickled again so he goes to drastic measures to get Away from those horrifying servos . he somehow ends up on top of one of the archival shelves and can't get down . (" come now, little archivist, i swear on my servo that you will not be deceived! ") ("YOU CANNOT FOOL ME MEGATRONUS. YOUR SERVO WAS ON MY FRAME JUST MOMENTS AGO . I THINK I AM INCLINED NOT TO TRUST YOUR SERVO . ")

TFONE d-16 convinced that orion pax is doing something suspicious and each time he stumbles on orion it's either seemingly incriminating or seemingly innocent .

TFONE orion being a secret fanboy . he laughs at d-16 for his very open admiration toward megatronus but he's so much worse than d-16. he hoards pictures and figurines and posters and drawings of prima prime . he has a body pillow . he knows he can't hide it forever but the secret he will keep to the grave is that he's written fanfiction of him . he is either found out by dee stumbling on his collection of things or orion immediately getting into an argument with someone that hates prima .

TFONE miners knowing about the cybertronian equivalent to birthdays and orion having zero clue what that is . dee asks him when his birthday is and orion's reaction is that he sort of has this slightly horrified look because he has this extremely misconstrued idea of what's birthday sounds like it would be. Um . Dee , What The Frag Is a Birth Day . Is It like When You— vague motion OR he nods very stiltedly and roblox man face smiles and is like Ah Yes the Birthday the Birthday For me Hm yes that's i ah uh haven't decided yet !

[a-babe-without-a-name]

Sit Next To Me

Chapter 4: Viktor, Give It To Me.

You had created two rules for yourself.

Rule One: You could do whatever you wanted. Get the degree you want, party when you want, cancel plans when you want, love who you want. Whatever you really wanted to do, you were going to do, anxiety and guilt free.

Rule Two: You could do whatever you wanted, except for have relationships with classmates. No sex, no dating. If they were on the same course roster as you, they were off limits.

Easy enough, right?

…Right?

Viktor x Female!Reader - 18+

CW: Blood. Spoiler details in the End Notes on AO3

A.N. Christ on a mf cracker, this took me forever and it's way longer than it should be. Thank you so so so much to everyone who has left such kind comments and encouragement on the other chapters. It means the world to me. It's 1 am and I'm incredibly tired, so short author note. If I think of anything else to add, I will put more author notes in the replies.

Read on AO3

By the time Wednesday morning rolled around, you had practically pushed all thoughts of Viktor from your head. You had to, there were so many things you needed to get done and what felt like negative time to do them. You were barely halfway through week two of the semester and you were officially drowning. In retrospect, three STEM classes at once was probably a bad idea. Not only was the course load for each class borderline crushing, but it was getting hard to even keep the classes straight. The jargon between each was so similar, two of them shared a textbook, and each one had hours of homework each night. 

Right now you were hunched over a table in Heimerdinger's classroom, staring down at your schedule and notes and attempted organization of the three classes, your hands buried in your hair. You were trying to decide if the page numbers scribbled into the edge of your notes with ‘4 EnviSci’ under it was for your Oceanic or General Envi-Sci class. Your focus, paired with the headphones you were wearing, prevented you from noticing when Viktor took his seat next to you. It took a moment, but when you finally did notice his movement out of the corner of your eye, you flinched hard.

“Sorry,” He laughed, eyes wide as you clutched at your chest, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Christ, you’re quiet,” You tried to joke, shaking off the startled moment and dropping your headphones onto the table.

“I said good morning and your name,” He told you, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh…” You felt your cheeks go red, “Goodmorning, sorry.”

“It is fine,” He shook his head, then craned his neck to look at the papers in front of you, “What are you so focused on, anyway?”

“My schedule from hell,” You groaned, dragging your hands down your face, you slid the papers over to show him, “I’ve fucked myself.”

“Not in the fun way?” He smirked.

“Ew, shut up,” You scoffed, swatting at his arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” He chuckled, halfway dodging away halfway taking the hit, “What is wrong with your schedule?”

“It’s just so hard to keep straight,” You sighed, “Like, yesterday I gave my Gen EnviSci homework to my Oceanic EnviSci professor and didn’t realize until it was way too late.”

“Hm, yeah, that's not great,” He agreed, “But you wanted to take both classes, no?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“And your advisor approved you for these classes, correct?” He cut you off.

“Well, yes, but-”

“Then, your advisor thinks you are more than capable of taking these classes,” He interrupted again, his force was only encouraging, “Why are you doubting yourself?”

You sighed as you looked down at you. The question was one hundred percent genuine. He was waiting for an answer.

“I…I don’t know,” You picked at the edge of the table, chewing on the inside of your cheek, “It’s just harder than I thought it was gonna be.”

“Ha, that’s what she said,” Jinx snorted as she slid into her seat across from you. Ekko rolled his eyes as he took his seat.

“Good morning Jinx,” You scoffed, “Thank you for your seven A.M. humor.”

“Anytime,” She blew you a kiss as she pulled her laptop out of her bag.

Your conversation with Viktor died as class started. You did your best to focus on the current lecture instead of dwelling on your tangled schedule. 

----

You were grateful that Heimerdinger had planned a lab for the second half of class today. Heimerdinger had reasoned that it had been many months since most of the class had even stepped foot into a lab. He planned a simple titration experiment as a warm-up to the more complex projects that were to come. The groups shuffled into the crisp white lab, following Hiemerdinger as he reminded everyone about lab safety and personal protection equipment. He explained that the experiment would be straightforward but most likely take the whole two hours. He instructed the groups to split into pairs or trios to ensure that everyone took a hands-on role in the experiment.  As he set everyone loose, he encouraged people to take their time and ask for help if needed. 

You were glad this was a low stress lab, it gave you the perfect opportunity to assess Viktor. For as long as you had been studying science, from highschool to internship settings, it was these moments where you could tell alot about a man. You couldn’t count the amount of times a guy who seemed incredibly kind and respectful showed you how truly misogynistic and vile he really was during a lab. It wasn’t like you wanted Viktor to do something wrong, but it would definitely be easier to rid him from your thoughts if he turned out to be a dick. 

“Hey, are you going to Cait’s house tonight?” Jinx asked you as your group headed to don PPE.

“Yeah, I was planning on it,” You told her, picking out a lab coat from the rack, “Are you?”

“Jayce is cooking, of course I'm going,” She snorted, and then jabbed Viktor in the ribs, “I’m assuming you’ll be there, too. Ya know, since it’s your house.”

He just nodded and hummed as he pulled on his own lab coat and safety glasses.

“Listen, I’m voting for a horror movie tonight,” Jinx told you, then pointed between you and Viktor as she walked away, “And you two should back me up on that.”

You shook your head, watching as she retreated back to the table with Ekko.

“So, partner,” Viktor said, looking down at you, “Do you wanna set up the burette or get the liquids?”

“Hm, I’ll set up the burette, if that's okay?” You asked as you reached the table.

“Perfect, I’ll be right back,” he grabbed the list of materials from the table and went off to gather what was needed. 

Luckily - unfortunately?- the lab went perfect. Viktor was an incredible lab partner. He told you everything he was thinking, asked for your ideas and opinions, stepped in when you seemed hesitant about something, and let you help him when he was unsure. You two worked together perfectly, completely in sync as you worked through the lab and moved on to the equations. In the end, you and him ended up being the first pair to finish. 

“No fair,” Jinx whined from across the table, four flasks of bright pink liquid spread between her and Ekko, “How are y’all done so fast?” 

“Probably because they didn’t purposefully add too much titration because it made a pretty color,” Ekko groaned, rubbing his forehead on the back of his wrists.

“Well, there’s no point if I’m not gonna have fun, “ Jinx defended herself, picking up an oversaturated flask and swirling the bright pink liquid around, “Besides, only the first two were on purpose.”

“Good job, Partner,” You said, holding out a fist to him as you both started cleaning up the experiment.

He tapped his knuckles against yours, amused, “You too,”

You grinned at him as you gathered glassware to wash. When everything was cleaned up and put away, the area was nearly better than how you found it. Before you finally packed up to leave the lab, you caught a glimpse of the notes Viktor had taken to turn in and froze.

“Oh, uh hey Viktor?” You asked, tilting your head down at the paper and squinting. His handwriting was completely and utterly unintelligible. 

“Hm?” He asked absentmindedly, putting his things away in his bag.

“Actually, I don’t think we should leave just yet,” You blurted out, trying to think of a way to do this nicely, “Would it be cool if we stayed to type up the notes? Uh, you know, just in case something happens to these ones.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, seeing right through the lie, “You think my handwriting is bad.”

“What? No!” You squeaked, “No,I just think it’s a good idea to have a backup, just in case.”

“Okay, well if it's not about my handwriting,” He stood and pushed the paper into your hands, “You can go ahead and type them up if you want.”

He walked away as you stared down at the pages. It wasn’t that his handwriting was bad, it was that it was too good. His words were in a sweeping and slanted cursive, written fast enough to smear the pen ink. HIs equations were crystal clear and everything else felt like trying to read a letter from the 1800s. Before you knew it Viktor was already out of the lab. The tapping of his cane got fainter as he moved farther away.

“Wait!” You yelped, walking as fast as you could through the lab without getting in trouble, trying to follow him into the main classroom. He was nearly out the door when you caught up to him, hissing, “Viktor, wait!”

“Admit you think my handwriting is bad, and I’ll help you,” He said, turning and looking at you calmly.

“I…ugh, fine,” You dropped your head sheepishly, giving in, “Listen, it’s not that your handwriting is bad, I just… can’t read it.”

He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you, searching for a lie.

“Really, I swear,” You told him, “If anything, your handwriting is actually gorgeous, I am just inept.”

“Okay okay, calm down,” He waved off your flattery, “Fine, I’ll read it, you type it.”

“Thank you,” You sighed, following him to your table in the empty classroom. 

You pulled out your laptop, swiping away the pages of scheduling notes you had closed in it earlier that day. Viktor picked one of them up, glancing over it.

“You know, I didn’t get to tell you earlier,” He said, catching your eye and giving a small smile, “But I think you are very intelligent, and also very capable.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” You fumbled as your entire face went red.

“I mean it,” He told you, in all honesty, “You’re very smart, and I think you are causing yourself undue stress over your classes.”

“Viktor, it’s fine, really,” You tried to stop him, feeling exposed by his adulation.

“All I’m saying is,” He sighed trying to find the right words, “I haven’t known you for very long, but you seem like the type of scientist who wants to do real good in the world, but you can’t do that if you burn yourself out in the first two semesters of junior year.”

You stared at him with wide eyes and swallowed hard, hoping he couldn’t tell that you were willing tears not to well, “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he nodded and then turned away to look down at his paper, “Ready to type?”

  “Uh, yeah,” You opened up a document, “Yeah, go ahead.”

As he began reading, you shook your head slightly, trying to shake the feeling he left you with. Stupid perfect lab partner.

----

After classes, the drive to the Rune Street house was quick. Luckily, your last class ended in time for you to get through the neighborhood without having to wait in school zone traffic. An old BMW wagon was sitting in the driveway next to Jayce’s Pruis, you didn’t recognize it. 

You didn’t bother to knock when you went inside, “It’s me!” you shouted as you dropped your bag into the hall closet. The house smelled like spices and chiles.

“In here!” Jayce called back from the kitchen, you found him practically up to his elbows in masa.

“Starting already?” You leaned your back against the counter, watching as he tried to wrangle the dough into the bowl.

“Hey! Yeah, full house tonight. Wanted to get a jump on it, ” He shrugged, washing the dough off his hands and wrists.

“Ah, smart,” You nodded, looking around the kitchen for something to do, “Hey, who’s Beamer is out front?”

“It’s V’s,” He nodded behind you, you turned your neck to see the aforementioned roommate walking out of his room and towards the kitchen with an empty mug in his hand. He was wearing a pair of narrow wire rimmed glasses, a new addition since you last saw him this morning.

“Ha, makes sense,” You smirked at him, trying not to react to the way he looked in the glasses that would look lame on anyone else, or the fact that he drives a manual. Both of which made you feel a very particular sort of way. 

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Viktor scoffed, tossing a tea bag into the trash and slotting the mug into the dishwasher.

“Nothing, it’s just very European of you,” You teased, moving to lean your hip against the counter so you could see both men, “that’s all.”

Viktor settled on the other side of the kitchen peninsula, opening up a book that was sitting there, “Hm, I’m not going to hold back on the American jokes if that’s how you’re going to act.”

“I dare you,” You narrowed your eyes on him, hoping he would take the joke as it was. 

He returned the look, chewing on the inside of his lip before huffing and rolling his eyes. 

“When did you two meet?” Jayce asked with a laugh, reminding you he was there. 

“We’re in the same-”

“Friday night at the party-”

You and Viktor spoke at the same time. You couldn't help the shocked way you looked at him, Jayce did not need to know that.

“What?”

“We met at the party,” You jumped in, throwing a pointed look at Viktor, then laughed, “Shared a joint, but not names.”

You hoped Viktor would stick to the half lie. 

“Mhm, and she transferred into my OChem class this week,” Viktor nodded, luckily not elaborating on your explanation, “Connected some dots.”

“Oh cool,” Jayce beamed, his puppy dog energy not catching whatever tension might be showing, “Sorry I didn’t get to introduce you guys, it’s cool you have class together.”

“Yeah, we’re in a group with Jinx and Ekko,” You told him, feeling in the clear about your secret not getting out. You flipped the subject anyways, just in case, “Is there anything I can help with?”

“Hm,” Jayce looked around the kitchen, thinking, “Filling is cooking right now. I was planning to make rice later and pico, too. I’ll need help putting everything together later, though.”

“Okay, cool.” You figured you could get your homework done before everyone showed up.

“Yeah. Did you get the husks, by the way?” He asked, wiping down the counter.

“Uh…” You narrowed your eyes at him, searching through your memory, “I would have if you had asked me to.”

“I did ask you to!” Jayce huffed, looking at you disappointed.

“Dude, when?” You didn’t even know he was planning to make tamales until you had walked in.

“Last night,” He crossed his arms over his chest, you resisted the urge to call him your mother, “I texted you.”

“Bro, no the fuck you didn’t,” You insisted, then turned to Viktor, “Do you know your roommate is delusional?”

“Do not drag me into this,” Viktor said, glancing up over the top of his glasses.

“I did,” Jayce argued, pulling out his phone, “You just never check your messages.”

He wasn’t wrong, you weren’t the most reliable at checking your text notifications, but you were sure he hadn’t texted you last night….well mostly sure. Jayce opened up his phone, tapping through it with purpose. Out of the corner of your eye you could tell that Viktor was poorly pretending to not care. When the smug look fell from Jayce’s face, you cackled. Without saying anything, Jayce grabbed his keys from the counter and walked towards the front door.

“I fucking told you.” You called after him, wiping a tear away as you laughed. You turned to Viktor,  “He’s such a brat.”

“Eh,” He shrugged, trying to act like he wasn’t biting back his own grin. 

Before you could tease him as well, your phone rang. Jayce’s photo on the screen.

“Have you even left the driveway?” You asked, rolling your eyes.

“Make the pico please,” Jayce told you, you could picture the defeat on his face, “And keep an eye on the chicken.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like an apology,” You pulled a cutting board out of the cabinet anyways, “But! If you get me and Viktor drinks on the way back, you’ve got a deal.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow at you, you exaggerated a wink in response. 

“That is exploitation, but fine.” Jayce huffed, “text me if we need anything else from the store.”

You laughed to yourself as he hung up, sure you’d never get tired of bickering with Jayce. He made you feel like you had a sibling sometimes. You gathered what you needed for the salsa. Jayce had made it with you enough times now that a recipe was unnecessary. When you were sure all the ingredients were present and you wouldn’t need Jayce to pick anything else up, you started to put everything together. You stood at the kitchen peninsula so that Viktor was sitting almost directly across from you. Taking advantage of the moment, you let yourself stare at him. The glasses were a…good look, for sure. The harsh black lines of the frames stood out against his pale skin. They were slid down the ridge of his nose, the edge of the frame rested just under the mole on his cheek. His eyelashes brushed against the top of his cheeks every time he blinked. He scrunched his nose just slightly as he read a sentence, eyes not moving from where they were focused as he read the same sentence again. And again.

“So, what’re you pretending to read?” You asked as you began cutting the chiles.

“Hm, interesting accusation.” He snorted without looking up, flipping the page.

“Viktor, honey, that’s the first time you’ve flipped the page in 10 minutes,” You raised an eyebrow.

He squinted at you, “I’m a slow reader…”

“Uh-huh, sure you are,” You smirked at him, teasing, “If you wanted to hang out with me you could've just said so.”

“You’re…” He narrowed his eyes, you wished you could see the list of things he wanted to call you, “somewhat self-obsessed, aren’t you?” is what he settled on.

“Yeah probably,” you shrugged, scraping the chile seeds into the trash, “gotta be sometimes.”

“Interesting philosophy,” He closed the book anyway, leaning towards you on his elbows. 

“You could call it that, sure,” You rinsed your hands in the sink, trying to ward off the sting of the chile seeds, “Hey, text Jayce and tell him to get me an iced strawberry matcha, yeah? And let him know what you want, too.”

“You’re gonna hold him to that?” He pulled his phone out anyway.

“Yeah of course,” You started chopping again, “Honestly, I’m rarely right when it comes to Jayce. Gotta take advantage, ya know.”

“Huh, very big of you to admit that,” He muttered, tapping away on his screen.

“And you said I was self-obsessed,” You scoffed and then leaned over the counter, trying to peek at his phone screen, “What’d you ask him for?”

“Eh, same thing,” He shrugged, setting his phone to the side and focusing his attention back on you, “You and Jayce are close friends?” 

“Yeah, of course,” You told him, nodding firmly, “One of my closest friends.”

“How’d you meet him?” He asked.

“If you’re gonna interview me, at least help,” You gathered up a second cutting board and knife, sliding it across the counter to him with an onion, “We met freshman year. We lived in the same hall. That’s how most of us became friends.”

“Ah, makes sense. So your living situation is what made everyone friends?,” He picked up the knife, and chopped the onion into quarters.

“Kinda,” You shrugged, “Jayce and Cait knew each other before coming to Piltover, so they roomed together, and Me, Lest, and Mel were put in a triple next door. Vi didn’t live on our floor, but her and Cait started on and off dating pretty quick.”

“Hm, I didn’t realize Cait and Vi’s relationship was like that,”

“Yeah, key- word was,” You told him, “No one will admit or talk about it, but their relationship started off pretty toxic. It got better after freshman year, thank god.”

He nodded, thinking about it.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that, yeah?” You asked, “It doesn't matter now anyways, they’re better, clearly.”

“Said what?” He raised an eyebrow at you, then, “What about the others?”

“What do you mean?”

“So, you lived with Mel and Lest, Cait and Jayce lived next door, and Cait started dating Vi,” He waved the knife around slightly while speaking, “How do you know Sky? And Jinx and Ekko?”

“Jayce had a class with Sky and just ended up dragging her along, she’s always been a bit of an outlying friend in the group. Not because we don’t want her around, she’s just a little more introverted than the rest of us,” You explained, “She seems to be breaking out of her shell a little bit this semester, though, which is nice to see.”

“She is very nice, I do like having her around,” He mused, you bit back a jealous comment. You turned him down, you didn’t get to have an opinion on who he liked having around.

“Yeah, she’s great. And Jinx is Vi’s sister, she’s two years younger but graduated highschool early.” You dumped the first handfuls of diced chiles into a bow, “She was a little hesitant of us at the beginning of last year. She wasn’t a huge fan of Cait, but she came around. Honestly, I probably spend more time with Jinx than I do with Cait at this point. Ekko, too. Him and Jinx grew up together, they’re practically attached at the hip.”

You stopped talking, staring down at your hands for a moment as you realized how long you had rambled.

“Ha, and you didn’t really ask for all that information,” You laughed awkwardly, “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind the details,” He assured you, you felt his eyes on your face until you looked up, no sarcasm when he said, “besides, I like listening to you talk.”

You hid your burning face by looking back down, intensely focused on the task in front of you. 

“Don’t tell me that,” You tried to joke, but it was weak, “I’ll never shut up.”

He hummed quietly to himself, pleased with your reaction to him. You half expected a teasing remark, instead he asked, “What about you?”

“What?” You asked, not looking up at him.

“What about you?” He asked again, “You’re telling me about the others, but not really yourself. Where are you from?

“Why do you want to know?” You went back to cutting, eyes focusing on your hands.

“Because I do,” He shrugged, “I’m a scientist, I like to know things.”

“Huh, that’s a fair enough reason I guess,” You didn’t necessarily see the harm in telling him, but the more he knew about you the harder it would be to create distance, “I’m from here, and Maine.”

“You’re from two places?”

“I lived here when I was kid and moved to Winter Harbor when I was, like, 11,” You explained, “So, two places, yeah.”

  “Why’d you move?” 

“Why does anyone move at 11?” You laughed, “Because my dad did.”

“Your parents are divorced?” He guessed, pulling the bowl of chile’s towards him to scrape some of the onion in.

“Aren’t everyones,” You joked, hoping it watered down the bitterness, “I don’t mind it really. I had to go back and forth a lot until I was 16, which is really the only part that sucked. When I was old enough to work, I stopped having to go for summers and it was better.”

“Ah, so you live with…your father?”

“Yep,” You started in on the tomatoes, trying to find a serrated knife to use with no luck.

“You don’t like your mother?” The invasive question didn’t feel so invasive when he asked it.

“I love my mom,” You said, not meeting his eyes.

“Love her, but do not like her,” He concluded.

“That sounds so awful of me, but…”

“I don’t think so,” He shrugged, “You don’t get to choose your family, it makes sense not to like them 100% of the time.”

“I guess…” You frowned down at your hands, struggling to cut through the vegetable with the flat knife, “Still feel guilty about it, though.”

“Can I ask why you don’t like her?” This question was more hesitant, clearly curious to know but not expecting you to answer. 

“I shouldn’t talk bad about her, she tries, ya know. But she’s just never….” You searched your brian for the right word to describe your mothers behaviors, “content.”

“Hm, how so?” He took the bowl again.

“Nothing is ever good enough for her,” You tried to explain, “My dad wasn’t enough, the east coast wasn’t enough, her second husband wasn’t enough, I’m not enough.” You laughed, not able to hide the acid in your voice, “Honestly, I’m sure she’ll decide that her new husband isn’t good enough for her either in a few years. And, yes I understand that people should have what they want and shouldn’t settle for less or whatever, but she wants too much and when you give it to her she just wants more.” 

You struggled to saw through the tomato as you spoke. Your voice and irritation both raised until finally the knife slipped and skidded across your skin. You gasped, rant dying mid breath as you watched blood spring from the slice in your hand. 

“Ah, you should have used a serrated knife,” Viktor pointed out absentmindedly, leaning over to look at your hands.

Your whole body tensed, frozen in place as your breathing became short and harsh. You wanted to move, to stop your blood from spilling over your skin and onto the cutting board, to do anything, but you were stuck. Fully paralyzed as more and more covered your fingers, your ears began to ring.

“Hey” Viktor waved a hand at you, calling your name as he tried to get your attention, “Are you okay?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t register that he had moved, but suddenly he was next to you. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you towards the kitchen sink. The splash of cold water against your skin ripped you back to earth.

“Ah, fuck,” You hissed, trying to pull your hand away. The cut in your skin burned under the sink faucet, but he didn’t let you go. 

“Stop, let me help you,” He scolded, hands still gentle.

“Ow, god, fuck that hurts,” You whined, pressing your face into the side of his arm, not wanting to look at your own hand. You fisted her hand around the back of his shirt, holding on to him like you would fall through the earth if you didn’t.

“Shh, it’s not that bad, just breathe,” His voice was soft and reassuring as he pulled your hand from under the water. You could feel him pull it closer to his face to inspect the damage. 

Your eyes were screwed shut, face still pressed into him. You did as he asked and pulled in a deep breath, trying to level yourself out. The scent of him filled your head, black tea and citrus and honey. You took another breath, focusing your attention on him instead of your own body. You could feel his muscles move where your forehead was pressed to him, his shoulder blades under your fingers. Solid and strong and sturdy next to your shaking body.

“Yeah, there you go, just keep breathing.” He put your hand under the water for a few more seconds, then shut it off, “I’m gonna put pressure, okay.”

You nodded, sucking in a breath and bracing against him as he pressed a towel against your skin. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pathetic whimper it forced out of you. You were hyper aware of the tightness of your skin where the cut was, working yourself up again.

“Hey, you’re doing fine,” He told you, holding the cloth tight to your skin, “It won’t even need stitches, I promise.”

You nodded, timing your breathing with his. Neither of you had heard the front door open or the commotion of Cait and Vi coming into the house.

“Woah, what’s going on here?” Vi laughed awkwardly, unsure what they had walked in on.

“She cut her hand,” Viktor told them, not moving from where he stood, “Cait, is there a first aid kit somewhere?”

“Yes, one second,” You heard her hurry away.

“You good?” Vi asked from outside the kitchen, unsure of how to help.

“Yep,” You squeaked out, unmoving aside from throwing Vi a blind thumbs up.

“Here it is,” You heard Cait come back into the kitchen, “How bad is it? What do you need, Viktor?”

“It’s not too bad,” He told her, you flattened your hand against his back, feeling him move when he spoke, “Just some butterfly strips if there are any, and maybe a roll of gauze”

“Yeah, here,” Cait rustled around in the kit for a moment, setting out what Viktor asked for, “Do you need any help?”

“I can handle it, thank you,” Viktor assured her.

“Sure, shout if you need anything, okay?” Cait told him, voice retreating.

You were glad she didn’t insist, already embarrassed enough by your reaction in front of Viktor. More witnesses weren’t necessary. Viktor adjusted, moving so his arm was over your shoulder to get a better grip on your hand. You let him move you around, pressing your cheek to the back of his shoulder, still breathing him in as he pinned you to his side. 

“I’m sorry,” You told him, letting out a shaky breath.

“Hm, you don’t need to be sorry,” You felt his thumb rub gently against your wrist, not to help the wound on your hand, just trying to calm you down.

“This was over dramatic,” You scoffed, pressing your nose hard against him, trying to hide, “...I just don’t like blood.”

“Clearly,” He laughed gently, “lots of people don’t. I’m gonna put the bandaid on it, okay?”

You nodded, grateful for the warning. His hands were gently as he secured the cut and wrapped the gauze around it. 

“There,” He said, pulling away from you, “All fixed.”

“Thank you,” You said, stepping back and examining his handiwork. The gauze banded around your hand was laid perfectly, smoothly hiding any evidence of the incident. 

“You’re welcome,” He nodded, “Does it feel okay? It’s not too tight?”

“No, it’s perfect,” You smiled weakly up at him, still red in the face.

“I’m glad I was here,” He joked,“Seems like you would have bled out otherwise.”

You shook your head with a laugh, “Yeah, probably,”

He took a step over, putting himself between the counter and you, “Don’t panic, but there is blood on the counter. Do you want to go sit down while I clean it up?”

“Oh, gross,” You cringed, “No, I can clean it up.”

“Are you sure?” He held a hand out to the side, as if to catch you were you to faint.

“Yeah,” You assured him, “I’m good now, I’m okay.”

He let you step past him to get to the counter. There was less blood than you had expected, which did nothing to ease the embarrassment of your dramatics. Carefully you dropped the knife into the sink and scrapped the mutilated tomato into the trash. Viktor, unable to not help, grabbed a rag and wiped down the counter. You turned the hot water on, rinsing away the tomato seeds and drops of blood. It wasn’t until you stepped away from the counter that you noticed the smear of blood across the bottom of your t-shirt.

“Aw fuck,” You pouted, pulling the fabric away to look at it. The stain wasn’t huge, but it was obvious against the light colored fabric. It made your stomach turn to see your own blood so bright on your clothes.

“You have bad luck with stains in this house,” He told you, taking a second to pick up on your unease, “Do you want to borrow a shirt?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” You admitted, chewing on your bottom lip, “If that’s okay.”

“Wouldn't have offered if it wasn’t okay,” He told you, already grabbing his cane from where he had rested it against the cabinet and heading out of the kitchen.

You followed him to his room just off the main living space. It was your room from the summer. Except it wasn’t your room, not at all. You had been living awkwardly out of a pair of suitcases for 4 weeks. This was Viktor’s room. 

You hadn’t known him long enough to even think about what his room would be like, but you were sure you would have been exactly right. It was very him. Tidy and warm, posters and art on the walls placed perfectly, bed made, shoes lined up by the door. The only part of the room that wasn’t neat was his desk and what seemed to be a work table. Both covered in papers and books and pieces of machines.

You stood there awkwardly in the middle of his room, watching as he dug through his dresser to find you something to wear. He pulled out a navy t-shirt and brought it to you.

“If I let you borrow this,” He said, pulling it just out of reach, “You must promise to bring back my other one.”

“What?” You narrowed your eyes at him, hand frozen halfway to the shirt.

“The other night, it wasn’t Jayce’s shirt that you took,” He teased, biting back a smirk when your jaw fell open.

“Dude, what the fuck,” You felt heat creeping up your cheeks again, your shoulders curled up as you shrank away from him, “Why didn’t you say it was yours?”

“Eh, you looked good in it,” He shrugged, holding the shirt out to you.

You rolled your eyes with a huff. Then, deciding you wouldn’t let this be a one sided game, straightened your shoulders and looked Viktor in the eyes. 

“So, you like seeing me in your clothes?” You asked, tilting your head and furrowing your eyebrows slightly at him. 

He practically took a step back, startled by your change in demeanor. Before he could respond you pulled your shirt over your head, staring him in the face as you shook your hair out. He sucked in a hash breath, eyes wide and mouth open as he looked at you. He swallowed hard, gaze traveling across your torso and face turning pink. You couldn't help the childish pride as you watched him falter. 

“So the braless look this weekend was a style choice?” He joked with a nervous laugh, following the lines of your plain bra.

“Yep,” You reached out, trying to take the shirt from his hand, but he pulled it away again.

You followed, stepping closer as you tried to get it. Your hand followed it past his shoulder until he was close enough to land a hand on your bare waist.

“Viktor, give it to me.” You warned, as he kept the shirt out of your reach.

“Was this from me?” He breathed, completely ignoring your request as he brushed his fingers across the bruises on your hip.

“Duh, who else?” You snarked, freezing under his hand, “Very rude to leave marks on someone without asking, by the way.”

He scoffed, and pulled the collar of his shirt down to show a matching bruise on his collarbone, “You are one to talk.”

“Not my fault you bruise easy,” You shrugged, trying to keep your voice steady as he traced a line between each mark on your body. You shuddered when he pressed into his own teeth marks on your shoulder, deciding that was enough. 

You gave one last reach and snatched the shirt out of his hand, taking a few steps away from him. You squeezed your eyes shut with your back to him, willing every feeling in your body to stop. You focused your attention on the t-shirt, unfolding it to see it was an old camp shirt. Poradce was in small white letters on the left chest of the shirt, and the back had a logo of an atom and Sýkora printed across the back. You pulled it on, doing your best to hide any reaction to him giving you a shirt with his last name on it. 

“Science camp?” You asked, pulling your hair out from the neckline as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I was a counselor,” He told you, seeming to recover from whatever had just occurred, “Paid well and looks good on applications.”

“Fair,” you nodded at him, also feeling the tension ebb away.

“Plus, teaching children how to make small explosives is entertaining,” He admitted with a smile.

You laughed at the mental image, “You’ll have to tell Jinx about that, she will demand you teach her.”

“Hm, I believe that would make me an accomplice in whatever she decides to do with that knowledge,” He cringed, laughing with you.

“Uh, thanks again for the shirt,” You said,trying to fill the almost awkward silence.

“Of course. Sorry for making you talk about your mom, by the way,” He twisted his cane on the ground, “I feel bad about that.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” You placed your hand on his wrist, stopping his movement, “Really, it’s fine. Not your fault that I get a little crazy whenever I think about her.”

“Yeah, well now I know not to ask you about things like that when you have a knife in your hand,” He laughed, “I’m lucky you didn’t stab me.”

“Next time I will,” You raised your eyebrows with the light threat. 

You wondered if you were looking up at him the way he was looking down at you, pupils blown, cheeks dusted a pretty pink, lips slightly parted. You opened your mouth to say something, not anything in particular just something to keep him looking at you. Before you could think of something to say that wouldn’t make you sound unintelligent, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. 

“Is that a snake?” You gasped, stepping around him to get a better look. 

The large tank was set around the corner of his L shaped room, just out of sight from where you were standing. A small pink snake was moving across a branch leaning against the glass. You crouched down, looking at her through the glass. She was young and a pale pink color, her eyes the bright red that animals with albinism have. 

“That’s Rio,” He said, walking up next to you and crouching down to look at her.

“She’s gorgeous,” You smiled at the snake, moving to get a better look at her, “Is she young?”

“Yeah, she hit four months a couple days ago,” He told you, you could see him watching you in the reflection, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Can I?” You felt like a kid.

“Yeah, of course,” He laughed, straightening up and moving to the front of her tank, “She’s very sociable, likes to be held.” He opened the tank from the front, sliding the glass open. 

Slowly he reached in, “Pojď sem,” He muttered, coaxing her out and into his hand. She moved calmly across his hands, looking around as he brought her to his chest. He smiled down at her fondly, as she moved across his shirt. He motioned you closer with a free finger, using his other hand to steer her away from his face.

“She’s so pretty,” You marveled, taking a closer look at the pattern on her back, “Is she a corn snake? I’ve never seen a snake this color before.”

“Yeah, she’s a salmon snow corn snake. It’s a gene mutation,” He explained, pulling her off his glasses, “A homozygous red factor that makes her very pink, she’ll probably get more color as she gets older. You can pet her, she’ll probably crawl into your hands when she realizes you're there.”

“So cool,” You breathed, reaching out for her. 

Gently you brushed your hand against her back, her smooth scales were warm under your fingers. She turned her head towards you, slowly moving to your palm. Viktor helped her into your hands, holding on until she was cradled against you. She immediately wrapped herself around your wrist, and wriggled up the borrowed shirt.

You laughed, letting her move towards your face. She bumped against your cheek, tongue flicking out curiously, “Sorry Rio, no glasses to chill on.”

You pulled her away from your face, watching as she moved between your hands and around your arms. 

“She likes you,” He told you. You raised an eyebrow at him not convinced, “No, really, she has a lot of personality for a snake. Very selective on who she decides to like.”

“Yeah, I’m sure me wearing your shirt has nothing to do with it,” You rolled your eyes, grinning up at him.

“Just let me compliment you, okay?” He huffed, reaching out to pet Rio.

“Fine, I’lll accept that I’m your snake’s new favorite person,” You joked.

“Hey, I don’t know about favorite,” He backtracked with a laugh, smirking down at you. 

He was as close as you could be to you without squishing Rio between your bodies. Hand under yours, to support the pet of course, no other reason. In this moment - wearing his t-shirt, in his room, holding his pet, sharing his space - you knew for a fact that he was going to cause a lot of trouble in your life. 

The sound of people arriving in the house pulled you away from the thought

“Viktor!?” Jayce shouted from the living room.

“In here!” He called back, not looking away from you. You looked back down at Rio, watching her in an attempt to hide the heat in your face.

“Oh, hey guys…” Jayce said, a hint of confusion in his voice as finding you arguably very close to Viktor in his room.

“She’s meeting Rio,” Viktor told him, taking a step back so you could turn to face Jayce.

“She’s so cute,” You told him, turning to show the small snake in your hands.

Jayce grimaced, “Yeah, sure.”

“No fucking way you don’t like her,” You gasped a his distaste.

“I’m sorry,” He shrugged, “I don’t understand the appeal of a predatory reptile.”

“Did you just call this actual angel a predator?” You gawked, carefully holding Rio up towards him.

“That’s exactly what it is,” He affirmed, “Your tea is on the counter, did you finish making the pico?”

“Rude,” Viktor muttered, gently taking Rio from your hands, holding her up to his face and telling only her, “You are not a predatory, moje malá princezna.”

“Not yet,” You waved your bandaged hand at him as Viktor placed Rio back in her tank, “Little mishap.”

“Jesus christ, are you okay?” He asked as you and Viktor walked out of the room.

“I’m fine, just dramatic,” You admitted with a laugh, grabbing the matcha Jayce had brought for you and handing the other to Viktor.

“Very dramatic,” Viktor agreed, side eyeing you as he took a sip of the tea.

“Hm, wanna finish it up while I get everything else ready?” He said, eyeing the lack of space between your shoulder and Viktor’s.

“Yeah, for sure,” You took a step away, hating yourself over the fact that you missed the  rush of being close to him.

“Cait’s home, by the way,” Viktor told Jayce, hanging his cane on the counter and settling back into one of the stools where his book was, “With Vi.”

“Oh cool,” Jayce pulled what he needed out of the fridge to assemble the tamales, “Mel said she’s on her way with Lest and Sky.”

“Good,” You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek and reminding yourself that Sky was a friend that you loved very much and you weren’t allowed to have an ounce of animosity towards her, “Should be done pretty quick.”

You pulled the bowl of chopped chiles and onion out of the fridge and gathered tomatoes to cut. One short.

“In the dishwasher,” Viktor said, watching you from across the counter.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“The serrated knife is in the dishwasher,” He told you, more caring than mocking when he said, “Don’t use a flat blade.”

“Thanks,” You pulled the knife out of the dishwasher and hand cleaned it in the sink before starting to dice the tomatoes. A much easier task with the proper tool.

You were normally more than comfortable in Jayce’s presence, but right now you felt less welcoming. You wanted to be around just Viktor. You wanted to talk to him however you wanted, about whatever you wanted. You didn’t want to create space between you and, for a moment, you resented Jayce for making you feel like you needed to.

All bad signs. You turned Viktor down. You didn’t want to date him. You didn’t want to sleep with him. You didn’t want to kiss him. 

All lies. You could do all those things right now if you let yourself. You wouldn’t though. Letting yourself get tangled in relationships with a classmate caused nothing but problems for you in the past. It was the one agreement you made with yourself, you had to be strong enough not to break it.

“You’re going to cut yourself again,” Viktor’s calm voice pulled you out of thought, he was barely even looking up at you over the rim of his glasses, eyes flickering down to the knife dangerously close to your fingertips. He raised an eyebrow, a silent question. You hated how readable you apparently were.

You set the knife down on the cutting board, staring down at the seeds and flesh. You heaved a sigh, picked up the board, and moved to the other side of the kitchen. Facing away from Viktor. You couldn’t see him, he didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on your back. You swallowed hard, hating the feeling of being pulled in two conflicting directions.

---

You kept your distance for the rest of the evening, deciding that the acceptable quota of time to be close to him in one day had been used up. Viktor didn’t question you aside from a few narrow eyed looks that you ignored, opting instead to ask Jayce to play music while you and him started the cooking process.

When the girls showed up, it was easier. Lest took up your attention, excitedly telling you about a baseball player she was paired up with in her history class - dumb as a rock, but pretty as all hell - and worried over your hand. Sky squeezed herself into Viktor’s bubble, sitting close to him at the counter. You heard her apologize for being drunk on Friday night, he laughed it off. Called it cute. Luckily, Sky did her best to absorb all of his attention. She made awkward small talk with him, not wanting their somewhat boring conversation to end. It kept you from thinking about him all afternoon…clearly.

At the very least you had managed to avoid his physical presence until after dinner. He sat between Jayce and Sky on one end of the table, while you were at the other. He washed dishes in the kitchen and you wiped down the table in the dining room. You helped Cait set up the living room and he helped Jayce connect his laptop to the TV.

It wasn’t until the movie was decided on and everyone began settling down into the living room that an afternoon of self restraint came to an end.

Of all the space in the living room, Viktor decided the only place he wanted to sit was directly next to you. Something that seemed like nothing to anyone else, including Sky who took up his other side. You didn’t miss the look Lest gave as she sat down on your other side or the way Viktor knocked his knee against yours with controlled force. 

“You like horror movies?” He asked you casually, as if you hadn’t kept him at farther than arm's length for the past couple of hours. 

“Yeah, good ones.” You told him with a shrug as the opening credits to The Descent started. 

“What constitutes a good one?” He raised an eyebrow, closer to you than you had planned to let him.

“If I like it, then it’s good,” You shrugged, pulling your foot under you.

“Hm, interesting criteria,” He laughed, rolling his eyes at you as everyone else settled into their seats 

He didn’t push. Didn’t rest a hand against you or move an arm over your shoulder. He let you exist in peace, your bubbles pressed close but not breached. You managed to reach out to Lest during jump scares, holding on to her hand when your heart jumped. A few times when he flinched you saw his hand hover near yours, just for a second, before he placed it against his braced knee. He picked at the fraying edge of one of the velcro closures, fingers flexing whenever the tension raised on screen. 

It wasn’t until a climbing rope was ripped through one of the girls' hands on screen that you gave in. The shot of blood spurting dramatically from her palm made your stomach turn. You gasped and instinctually looked away, pressing your closed eyes against Viktors arm as you cringed. He grabbed your knee then, squeezing gently.

“It’s over,” He whispered close to your head after a moment.

You took a deep breath and looked back up, the image gone from the screen. He retreated his hand from your knee as you relaxed back into watching. Not long after this, Jayce paused the movie, standing up and stretching his back.

“All right, intermission or I’m gonna piss myself,” He said, leaving to use the bathroom.

“Booo,” Vi whined, chucking a pillow at his back as he left. Cait giggled and placed a hand over her girlfriend's mouth.

Lest leaned her head on your shoulder, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, “Grab me my water bottle?”

“Brat,” You pushed her off, but stood up anyways, “Where is it?”

“In my bag on the hook,” She called after you as you went to get it. 

A few of the others hopped up to grab things or readjust how they were sitting. When you handed Lest her water bottle and settled back down into your seat, you felt like you had less space. You couldn’t tell if the cramped feeling was in your head or not, and you decided to ignore it. You pulled your leg back up underneath you and ended up resting the edge of your knee on Viktor’s thigh. 

“So, is this a good horror movie based on your criteria?” He asked, not reacting to the contact.

“Eh, hard to say,” You told him with a shrug, “So far it’s good, but it definitely loses points for that rope vs hand situation. Plus, it’s not over. The last, like, twenty minutes are make or break for a horror movie.”

“You’ll have to give me your official opinion at the end,” He said, tapping your knee.

“Don’t worry, Viktor,” Lest said, leaning over you towards him, “She’ll give everyone her opinion when it’s over, she always does.”

“What?” You gasped at your roommate.

“It’s true, you make your opinion very known,” Cait said, standing in front of the couch with her digital camera, “now, smile!”

You flipped her off when the camera flashed. When Jayce got back, everyone settled back in to finish the movie. At some point, you weren’t sure exactly when, but Viktor’s hand found yours in the space created by your knee propped against his thigh. He didn’t react at all, there was no outside sign to anyone else that he was sliding his cold fingers against your palm. You weren’t sure he even knew he was doing it, not until you laced your fingers with his. He took a deep breath, easily playing it off as a reaction to the movie, but you could feel his pulse quicken when you squeezed his hand gently. You stayed like that the rest of the movie, hardly able to focus on anything that was happening on screen with the weight of his hand in yours.

---

On the drive home, you were sure lest was going to explode. She sat in the passenger seat of your tiny pickup truck, practically vibrating as you drove back to campus. Sky leaning against the window in the backseat sleepily. A few times she almost asked. You could see her from the corner of your eye, leaning in, biting at her nail, mouth opening to say something and closing it before she could. 

As soon as Sky was out of earshot, up the steps towards her own dorm building, Lest stopped holding back.

“Did you fuck him again?” She hissed, throwing you off balance as she latched onto you

“Jesus Christ Lest,” You grimaced, shoving her off, “No, why would you think that.”

“Because he wouldn't stop looking at you like you’d given him the best head of his life,” She told you matter of factly.

“Okay, first of all, no he wasn’t,” You scoffed, “And second, I told you I turned him down. I’m not planning to go back on that anytime soon.”

“Okay, so you're blind, good to know,” She said, tapping her ID and holding the door open for you, “And does not anytime soon mean sometime in the future?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” You pulled your ears to your shoulders, stomping up the stairs.

“Whatever you say,” She sang as you reached your room. You groaned and dropped yourself face down into your bed, “But I’m not the one wearing his last name on my back."

You stiffened, forgetting about the shirt you were wearing. She had you there, for sure. You realized you hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. You wondered what they thought. If anyone even noticed. You hoped that they had come to the correct conclusion that your shirt was a casualty in the hand accident. Jayce and Cait and Vi were the only ones that knew you were alone with him. The two girls did find you clinging on to him like your life depended on it, and Jayce had found both of you in Viktor’s room. You debated if it was worth it to clarify to the three of them that you and Viktor were not fucking. Then again, if they weren't already thinking that was the case, it would sound very suspicious for you to bring it up.

“I’m gonna go shower,” She told you, gathering her things, “No masterbating while I’m gone.”

   “Ew, lest shut the fuck up,” You groaned, flinging a pillow at the door as it closed. 

You rolled over in bed, staring up at the ceiling and rubbing the hem of the shirt between your fingers. You had two of his shirts, and now that you were thinking about it, he had two of yours. You gave in to the urge and pulled the neckline of the borrowed shirt to your nose. Unsurprisingly it smelled like him. When you closed your eyes you could picture yourself standing back in his bedroom, as close to him as you wanted to be. The smell of honey and black tea and orange filled your head, an underlying scent of something that was just him. Human and warm and soft. 

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, willing away the thoughts of him. You grabbed your phone, hoping for a distraction. You had barely even unlocked it when an Instagram notification sprung up. 

kirraman.cait has tagged you in a post 

You opened the app to see that Cait had posted the photos she took on her digital camera. They were cute, all time stamped from just a few hours ago. There was a barely focused selfie of Cait and Vi with their cheeks pressed together, and a picture of Jayce, Ekko, and Jinx in the kitchen finishing the tamales, and a few other cute ones that you were going to ask Cait to send you. The last one was of You, Lest, and Viktor sitting on the couch. It was the moment that you had flipped her off, an unamused look on your face as both Viktor and Lest laughed. 

He was tagged as well. You stared at the little its_viktor hovering over his head in the photo. You chewed on your lip, debating. It was just social media. It would be weird if you weren't friends online, honestly. You click on his profile, grateful that it was public. Only ten posts and about as many followers as accounts he followed. You clicked on the newest one, a mirror picture of him in his bathroom holding up Rio, no caption but the photo was also his profile picture. 

You kept scrolling, there was at least four months between posts, sometimes even a whole year, and most were captionless. One of the few to have a caption was him in a hospital bed, looking fresh out of a surgery and giving a weak thumbs up. The caption read ‘Žil jsem, děvko.’, you snorted when the translation told you it said ‘I lived, bitch.’ in english. The rest were fairly simple. Photos of landscapes, the university he transferred from, a highschool graduation picture, some harmless device he made as a camp counselor, decorated with stickers and plastic gems by whatever kids he was working with. 

The very first one was your favorite. A selfie of the 17-year-old versions of Viktor and Jayce. Jayce was holding the camera with one hand and the other arm slung over Viktor’s shoulders, squeezing him close. Both boys beamed at the camera, looking younger than you could even imagine them being. You could tell they were wearing matching t-shirts, probably from the Young Innovators Program they had met in so many years ago. Jayce’s current instagram was tagged in it, and you were a little surprised that you had never come across Viktor’s page before. Maybe you had and just didn’t realize it. The blush across Viktor’s cheeks was endearing, seeing them so close together was sweet. Until today you hadn’t been in the same room with both Jayce and Viktor at the same time. It was a little jarring how different they were, both physically and in personality. In a way, it made sense that they were such good friends. 

You double tapped the photo without thinking. A white heart popping up over the photo for half a second. In the other half of that second, your heart dropped. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” You muttered, unliking the photo and closing out the app. You dropped your phone on your chest and slung an arm over your eyes, “Fuck!”

Only a second went by before your phone vibrated. You were borderline crushed to see a text from Viktor. His number wasn’t saved in your phone yet, you had been putting it off after Jinx added you to the group chat, but you knew it was him

I saw that.

You debated blocking him, or maybe moving to another state.

I don’t know what ur talking about

You were never going to hear the end of this from Lest. 

Ya, sure you don’t.

Only a moment later and a new notification popped up on the top of your screen.

Its_viktor liked your photo

You clicked on the notification. It brought you to one of your posts from almost 3 years ago. It was one from your trip to Greece right after graduation. You were in the ocean, holding onto the side of a paddleboard with one hand with a small red octopus tangling around the other. Your cheeks were red enough to match the cephalopod, but you were smiling wide anyway. Aside from the notification there was no evidence that Viktor had liked the photo. 

You opened his profile back up, hit the follow button, and turned your phone off. You laid there staring up at the ceiling and wishing he had been rude about the incident. Of course he wasn’t. He was the perfect fucking lab partner, and he was going to haunt you all semester.

[asahicore]

hometown - pjs (teaser)

teaser wc: 1.8k don't ask me about the expected word count or release date. that's knowledge only the higher powers of this universe have access to just a little extract from the exes to lovers, small town au Jay fic i'm working on because I feel like I haven't posted in eons... hope you guys like it and are looking forward to it, I was going thrrooooough it writing this for some time but now it's getting better and i'm enjoying the process... let me know if you'd like to be tagged when it comes out!! enjoy!!

You stay behind. Jay doesn’t know if the three women are exceptionally good at reading the room, or if he missed some silent signal of understanding between you and them, but they don’t question your not following them. The sudden quietness makes Jay feel like a giant in a too-small space, a room that can’t possibly contain the two of you.

And yet. You sigh and head back to the living room, going for the couch rather than the cushions on the floor, but Jay can’t bring himself to join you, and so sits back at the same spot from earlier.

“Seriously, Jay?” you say, chuckling, but he detects an actual trace of annoyance in your voice. Unable to hide your thoughts as always, you are. You pat a spot on the couch next to you. “Come here.”

But Jay doesn’t move. Can’t. All he can do when he looks at you is search for traces of grief. He had five years to work out all of his feelings around your breakup, and he thought he had sorted through everything, gone through all the phases. Seeing you again, he feels like he has to start over. The past week hasn’t felt real, he thinks. He thinks it so hard, he says it out loud, only realizing what he did when he sees your expression soften.

“It’s been weird, hasn’t it?”

“Weird is one way to put it, yeah.”

There’s a pause, of which he spends every second worrying about what sort of turn this conversation will take.

“Is this a good time to talk about the elephant in the room, then?” you finally say.

He looks around, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “There’s an elephant in this room?!” he whispers.

You burst into laughter. “I see your humor hasn’t improved over time.”

“Seeing as you’re laughing, I’d say yours hasn’t, either.”

“Touché.”

Silence settles between the two of you again, creeps inside Jay, makes him wait for your next words with bated breath. 

He had a feeling that all the skirting around the subject you’d been doing would come to this. It’s not that you’ve pretending it didn’t happen, that would be impossible, for him, at least—he looks at you and he’s transported back to Seoul five years ago, at school, in one of your apartments, in the streets after dark. But you haven’t been actively tackling it either and with every passing day, the weight of unspoken words grew, making every conversation, every look at you harder and harder to navigate. This is new for the two of you, who in your six months of being together, had mastered your communication skills—you never didn’t speak to each other. You especially were good at saying what was on your mind without ever being hurtful, and you’d helped Jay stop bottling his feelings up when he thought he could get over them himself and not have to trouble you with them.

Nothing you say could ever burden me, baby, you’d told him. I want to know everything that goes through your head. 

And many things have changed since then, but maybe this hasn’t—the look you have in your eyes now is the same one as then, soft and inviting, aware that conversations aren’t always as easy as they are necessary. 

“You’re here,” you say after some time. Jay was so caught up in his own thoughts, entire minutes could’ve passed without his noticing. You spoke so quietly, he wonders if he imagined it until you add, “You’re in Sojuk-ri.”

He smiles, stops himself from replying with something annoying like “What an astute observation, Y/N,” it would only be stalling. So, for lack of a better alternative, and because he assumes you have more to say, he whispers, “I am.”

“We used to date.”

Jay isn’t sure where you’re going with this. He nods, unable to suppress a grin. “We did, yeah,” he replies, louder this time.

“Then we broke up.”

A chuckle escapes his lips. “You’re on fire this morning,” he says, because he can’t help himself, and warmth envelops his heart at the sound of your laughter.

“I just want to recontextualise.”

“Wow, big words.”

“Big word, singular. And shut up. I’m trying to be serious, here,” you chide, still smiling.

“Sorry.”

A sudden shadow passes over your face, making your eyebrows furrow, your smile disappear. Jay’s heart drops, his feelings, as always, a mirror of yours. You rise from your seat on the couch and make your way to him. Every step you take echoes inside of him and grows louder as the distance separating you decreases. Then you’re standing in front of him, and he looks up at you, and there’s something like a magnet under his skin, desperately reaching out for yours, that makes his hand wrap around your ankle. His eyes stay trained on your face as you lower yourself to the ground and cross your legs. If you mind his touch, you don’t say or show it. 

“It doesn’t feel real,” you say. Your eyes sweep his face, focus on one part at a time. You simply stare at him for a moment as though trying to convince yourself that it is, indeed, real, that he is really there, not a figment of your imagination but a person whose flesh and bones used to be as familiar as your own. He lets you look to your heart’s content, because it allows him to look at you, too.

His loose grip around your ankle tightens ever so slightly and you look down at his hand as if suddenly noticing its presence there. After a second of what seems to Jay like hesitation, you place your hand atop his. “Would you still have moved here if you knew this was where I lived?”

“I would’ve come here years ago, had I known,” he says with a small smile.

You furrow your eyebrows. “You didn’t even try calling.”

This takes him aback. Was that what you’d wanted? “I texted you, and you blocked me right away.”

The crease between your brows deepens. “I know.”

“You also didn’t try calling.”

“I sent you a letter.”

For some reason, it astonishes Jay that in all of five years, communication between the two of you amounted to one unanswered text and a letter with no return address. “You did. That was nice of you.”

Finally, this gets a smile, albeit subdued, out of you. “I know.”

“If I’d managed to call you somehow, would you have picked up?”

“Yes,” you say immediately. Then, “No. I don’t know.” Then, in a smaller voice, “It hurts too much to think about the other ways it could’ve gone. The better ways.”

Jay sighs, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Then let’s not think about them. It won’t do us any good.”

Your eyes meet. The sadness in yours tugs at his heartstrings. “Are you mad at me?” you ask, the tremble in your voice making it sound like you’re on the verge of crying, and it’s all Jay can do not to take you in his arms and hold you tight against his chest.

“No. Not at all,” he says, and he hopes his tone alone is enough to convince you. 

This magnet under his skin is uncontrollable. It raises Jay’s hand from where it was resting on your shoulder to your face, makes it cup your cheek, makes his thumb swipe slowly across your skin, right where tears are threatening to fall, as if preventing them.

“I tried being mad at you,” he says. “I tried a bunch of emotions. Sadness. Indifference. Nostalgia. But anger made things so much worse. It didn’t feel right, because I’d never been angry with you before. And it felt… It felt like admitting things could’ve gone differently. It felt like grieving a version of us that never existed because it never got the chance to. I decided to focus on the actual memories we had, and remember them fondly, instead of wasting my energy on being angry.”

A single tear falls from your right eye, wetting the top of Jay’s thumb. “I understand why you did what you did, baby,” he continues. “You had your reasons. You handled everything the best you could. It hurt like hell, but I can’t be mad at you for that.”

Jay doesn’t have to hold himself back from embracing you; you do it for him. Arms wound tightly around his neck, face in the crook of his neck, you quite literally cry on his shoulder. He hadn’t realized how close he himself was to crying until tears start falling freely from his eyes, mouth trembling as they gather at his jaw before dropping down the back of your t-shirt. Between sobs, you say, “I’m sorry. Even if you aren’t angry, I’m so sorry, Jay.”

He has never expected, and to this day doesn’t expect, anything from you, least of all an apology. Yet hearing those words from you heals some of the fissures in his heart, puts the pieces back together like superglue. He doesn’t need or want a repeat of your break-up conversation, and he doubts you do. He doesn’t want to hear how staying together wouldn’t have been a possibility, how you’d both have too much going on, how you were too young to hold each other back, how the distance between France and South Korea was too substantial to dismiss.

He wraps his arms around your waist and brings you closer to him. Closing his eyes and trying not to let your proximity overwhelm him, he strokes your hair, rubs your back, tells you it’s all okay. “Don’t apologize, baby,” he says, the nickname unwittingly slipping from his lips a second time. “We’re here now, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” He feels you nod against his shoulder, but your sobs don’t relent.

Would it be very wrong if Jay said he missed having you like this? Of course, he hates to see you unhappy, but there’s a part of him that has always been endeared by the sight of you crying. If he could, he’d destroy the thing making you so upset in a heartbeat, but it’s him that you go to for comfort, and he can’t help but selfishly rejoice in that. It’s in his arms that you find what it is you need to get over what’s troubling you; under his touch that you slowly calm down.

He doesn’t know how long the two of you stay like this, nor does he care, but at some point, you lean back and take a deep, stabilising breath. Jay feels a page turn when your eyes meet—there might be no way to change the past, but the future is a blank canvas, the blinking line at the start of a computer document, and it’s up to the two of you how you want to write it.

You smile, and so does he. “I missed you,” you say.

“I missed you, too.”

There are more things to be said, but you’re both talked out. You have so much time ahead of you anyway.

[bellisima-writes]

Some Rebellious GO Fanfic Recs

Hey there fandom fam,

It’s been an absolute wretched couple of days. I had expected many different outcomes to Tuesday, but the decisiveness with which my country elected a convicted criminal to its highest office left me shocked and numb.

And I know we all don’t come here for politics and real life. We come here to escape. But if you’re like me, and you have this itching need to fight, to organize, to lift up the vulnerable and protect those most at risk, then it’s hard to be here and escape right now.

And that sucks.

But this is and will remain a fanwork blog, and so I offer you some solace - here are some GO fanfics that focus on fighting. On breaking a broken system and protecting humanity, no matter the cost. Because, as much as we love Aziraphale and Crowley, that’s what the original work was about. Love and connection and humanity as an act of rebellion, and we sure do need those themes right now.

So if you’re angry and in the mood for some more plot/action based fics, with a flaming sword and maybe a dash of BAMF Aziraphale, I got you.

I am going to start with my own here, because I've not found one as outrightly rebellious as this yet in my own reading.

The Last Angel by me - (E, 162K) A canon-divergent AU where Crowley and Aziraphale are never assigned to Earth, Hell wins Armageddon and Angels are all but extinct. The story follows Crowley, the Grand Inquisitor of Hell, and Aziraphale, the last Angel alive, as he is captured and brought to Hell to face his execution. But, Hell hath no fury like an Aziraphale scorned...

So, was he really captured, or does Aziraphale have a plan to seek revenge on the beings responsible for destroying everyone he ever knew? And how will the way the Grand Inquisitor makes him feel affect his plans?

Tether by @gingiekittycat - (E, 45K) - a post Season 2 story in which Aziraphale is summoned back to Earth by Crowley for reasons he doesn't understand. This one has all of the sexy goodness you come to expect from a gingikittykat work, with a heartwarming take down of Heaven's Second Coming plans.

What are you doing here by @alphacentaurinebula - (E, 68K) sexy and popular season 3 speculation fic that encompasses both the humor of the source material shockingly well while also providing a rebellious and on brand end to the conflict between Heaven and Hell. Because sides don't matter, working together matters, and this story delivers that theme beautifully.

The Beginning of the End (Again) by @addledmongoose - (M, 79K) a post Season 2 story where Crowley and Aziraphale work to convince Jesus to not go forth with the final judgment. This one stands out for its take on Aziraphale as a guardian angel, fierce, protective, and an ending where he shows his true colors and fights for everything he loves. BAMF Aziraphale in the best way.

Echo by @snae-b - (E, 52K) a story of waking up to find an invisible hand controlling your life, and fighting back to break it and create a new world for everyone.

And a current WIP that's not complete, but the last chapter left me with chills and I am SO excited to see how it will end - And I Did by @di-42 - a Season 3 speculation fic that has Aziraphale as Supreme Archangel in Heaven and Crowley as Grand Duke of Hell. The story is rich and complex, and the cast of characters (both favorites from the show and book as well as new additions) are wonderful. There are two chapters left and I can't wait to see how it all turns out!

Please add on to this list with your own works and favorite rebellious fics!

[aynavaano]

Sweet Treats

Kinktober '24 - size kink/praise kink

Wrecker× F!reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 7.5k whoops this was meant to be short

Summary: You're living on Pabu and can’t keep your eyes off Wrecker since he arrived. You’re a bit shy but you got the notice that you can move back into your rebuilt house in Lower Pabu so you ask him if he could help you moving.

Notes: Whoha, that was a long unintentional break. A few of my scripts for Kinktober were a lot longer than what I usually write and editing them kinda overwhelmed me. Then when I realized I was behind my self imposed schedule, I kind of beat myself up for it and abandoned all the fics. I didn’t allow myself to write something new cause I had a bad conscience, I felt like I had to finish the Kinktober fics and the asks before I deserved to write something new. I felt like I had failed and didn’t want to look back and it took all my joy of writing. But over the holidays I read through some of the scripts, realized that some of them were good and deserved to be finished. Also the world is a cruel place and we all deserve a bit of unhinged smut with our favorite clones to brighten the mood. So I guess we’re doing Kinkanuary now?! The first script that I finished was Wrecker and while it was obvious to pair him with a reader that has an undiscovered size kink it is important for me to add that he is so much more than just his size and I hope I managed to write it like that. Also I thought he deserved a girl that is good at baking, so reader is a baker on Pabu. As far as tags go we have: mutual attraction, idiots to lovers kind of, oral f! and m! receiving, vag.fingering, vag.penetration, wrecker has a big dick and we all know it, reader maybe enjoys choking on his cock a litte, mutual size kink, praise, lots of praise, Wrecker talks you through it, he’s the praise king, you can’t change my mind. Also no beta, otherwise these longer fics would never see the light of day.

You first noticed Wrecker the day after he and his family had arrived on Pabu. His sheer size made him impossible to miss, but it was his laugh that caught your attention—deep and warm, like the comforting roll of distant thunder. You were setting up your stall at the market that morning, arranging fresh loaves of bread and pastries on wooden trays, when his booming voice echoed across the square.

At first, it was hard not to admire him from afar. Wrecker had a way of filling a space—not just with his size, but with his energy. Whether he was hauling crates of supplies or chatting with the locals, there was an openness to him, a joy that made him stand out. Everything about him exuded warmth and strength—from the way he carried children on his shoulders to how he lit up the room with smiles and his easy humor. It was hard to believe someone that enormous could be so gentle, but Wrecker was all contradictions, and that only added to his charm.

You’d caught yourself staring more than once, your hands dusted with flour as you pretended to be busy with your goods.

The first time he approached your stall, he was grinning from ear to ear, his broad shoulders nearly blocking out the sunlight.

“Wow, that smells incredible,” he’d said, leaning in to inspect your display.

You’d smiled nervously, brushing off a bit of flour from your apron.

“Thanks. Anything catch your eye?”

“All of it,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth, y’know. What d’you recommend?”

That first exchange turned into many. Wrecker became a regular at your stall, always stopping by to buy something and chat. Sometimes, he’d stay longer than necessary, munching on a pastry while leaning casually against your counter.

“Y’know,” he said one day, his mouth half-full of a jogan bun, “you’ve got magic hands to make something this good. Ever thought of teaching someone?”

You’d laughed, shaking your head. “Not sure you’d want to learn—kneading dough isn’t as exciting as whatever you get up to with your brothers.”

He grinned.

“Hey, don’t knock it. Bet I’d be pretty good at it. Got the muscles for it, after all.”

You couldn’t deny the way his easy compliments and lingering glances made your heart race. There was something about the way he looked at you, his warm brown eyes soft and inviting, that made you feel special. But no matter how many times he came by, no matter how often he found reasons to linger, he never asked you out.

And you, a bit shy and unsure, didn’t dare make the first move either. So you stayed in this quiet, unspoken dance of stolen glances and friendly conversations, savoring the moments you got to spend with him and wondering if he felt the same pull.

But you often caught yourself daydreaming about him when you saw him around town or relaxing at the beach, how it would be to be held by him, how easily he could just scoop you up and carry you around, how it would feel to cuddle against his broad chest, how safe and loved you would feel in his arms.

****************

The late afternoon sun bathed Pabu in golden hues today, and the warm breeze carried the scent of the sea up into the town. Despite the sun slowly setting, it was still hot, and you started packing up your stall. As always, all your cakes and cookies were sold, but packing up took longer than usual because you were distracted.

You’d caught a glimpse of him on the on the other side of the town square—Wrecker, unmistakable, towering over the others at the bustling marketplace. His boisterous laugh echoed as he navigated the narrow stalls, his broad shoulders making him stand out no matter where he went.

It was Taungsday market, and he always came to your stall on Taungsday. But today you had almost given up hope. You glanced down at the small box you’d tucked carefully behind the counter. Inside was a meiloorun cookie, Wrecker’s favorite. You’d saved it for him, just in case.

As you started loading the last of your trays into the cart, you heard that familiar laugh. Your heart leapt, and you turned to see him striding toward you, his grin wide as ever.

“Hey!” Wrecker called out, his deep voice carrying easily over the market noise. “Almost thought I’d missed ya!”

You smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I thought you had, too but I saved something for you.”

His eyes lit up as you reached for the box, handing it to him with a shy smile. “One meiloorun cookie, just for you.”

He took the box, opening it with the excitement of a child.

“Aw, you remembered! Thought I was too late, been busy helpin’ out with the building of the new communal space.You’re the best, y’know that?”

He popped the cookie into his mouth, groaning appreciatively.

“Perfect, as always.”

The compliment made your cheeks warm, and you busied yourself with stacking empty crates to hide your nerves.

“I’m glad you like it.”

Wrecker noticed your cart piled high with boxes and trays.

“Need a hand with all this? Looks like a lot for one person.”

You hesitated for a moment, then decided to take a leap of courage.

“Nothing I can’t handle here, all the boxes are empty, but actually, I was going to ask if you could help me with some heavy lifting later.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Oh yeah? What kinda heavy lifting?”

“Well…” You glanced down, suddenly unsure how to phrase it.

“My house in lower Pabu—it’s finally been rebuilt after the sea surge. I just got the notification that I can move back in a few days ago, I’ve already brought some stuff over but I’ve got some furniture and boxes I can’t manage on my own.”

Wrecker beamed, his broad smile making your nerves melt away.

“Course I’ll help! Wouldn’t leave ya to handle that alone. When d’you need me?”

“Tonight, if you’re free?” you asked, trying not to sound too eager.

“Tonight works,” he said with an enthusiastic nod.

“Tell ya what—I’ll help you load up here, then I’ll get the fish to Hunter real quick and I’ll head over to your place. Deal?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his generosity.

“Deal. Thank you, Wrecker.”

He picked up two of your heaviest boxes like they weighed nothing, his muscles flexing under the strain.

“No big deal,” he said, winking at you. “Anything for my favorite baker.”

*****************

The small apartment had grown unbearably hot as the afternoon wore on, boxes stacked high against the walls, and the thought of finally spending time alone with Wrecker filled you with a nervous excitement. You smoothed your hands over your tunic, glancing at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time. Any minute now, he’d be here.

You’d been thinking about him all afternoon, replaying your conversation from the market in your head. He’d made you promise to teach him baking once you had your bigger kitchen back, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been teasing or if he really meant it. The way his grin had softened as he spoke to you, the way his golden eyes held yours just a little too long—it was enough to leave your chest fluttering.

A heavy knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts, and you scrambled to answer it, heart racing.

When you opened the door, there he was. Wrecker’s broad frame filled the doorway, the last light of the day casting over his shoulders. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt again, and the sight of his muscular arms had you biting the inside of your cheek to keep from staring.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice warm and cheerful. “You all ready for me to get you movin’?”

You nodded quickly, stepping aside to let him in.

“Yeah, almost everything’s packed. It’s just the big stuff now. Thanks for coming.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, shrugging easily.

“Course. Gotta make sure you’re all set up for bakin’. Besides,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck, “I like being around and helpin’ you out.”

That made your breath catch, and you busied yourself with stacking some smaller boxes to cover your flustered reaction.

“Well, I appreciate it. Especially since the couch is going to be a nightmare to move but it’s the only piece of furniture I could salvage after the surge so I don’t want to give up on it.”

Wrecker chuckled as he surveyed the space. “Couch, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll handle it.”

As he started lifting boxes onto the heavy-load cart, you found yourself sneaking glances at him. The way his muscles flexed with every movement, the easy way he handled the heaviest loads—it left you a little breathless. When the last box was stacked, all that remained was your old, oversized sofa, with it’s wild mix of colorful cushions, many of which you had made.

“Guess it’s just this beast left,” Wrecker said, turning to you with a playful grin.

“Yeah,” you said, fidgeting with your hands. “I’ve been dreading moving it. It’s so heavy.”

“Ah, not for me,” he said confidently, stepping over to it and giving the armrest an experimental tug. Then he paused, glancing back at you with a sly grin.

“You’ll still teach me bakin’, right? Once you’ve got that big ol’ kitchen?”

His question caught you off guard, and you blinked at him. “You really want me to teach you?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, his grin softening. “I think it’d be fun. You’re good at it, and I… y’know, I like watchin’ you do somethin’ you’re good at, spendin’ some time with you.”

Your heart skipped, and you felt your cheeks heat. “I—yeah. I’d like that.”

Wrecker’s grin widened, and he turned back to the couch with renewed enthusiasm.

“Alright, let’s get this thing outta here, then.”

He braced his massive hands under the couch, muscles rippling as he hoisted it up like it weighed nothing. Your jaw dropped slightly, watching the ease with which he maneuvered it toward the door.

“Maker,” you muttered under your breath, eyes trailing over his biceps and broad chest.

Wrecker paused, tilting his head toward you with a crooked grin.

“What’s that? Did you say somethin’?”

You shook your head quickly, heat rising to your cheeks.

“No! Just, uh… impressed, that’s all.”

He turned fully to face you, the couch still balanced effortlessly in his arms, and his grin widened.

“Impressed, huh? ”

Setting the couch down gently, he stepped closer, his golden brown eyes glinting with mischief. He towered over you, his presence filling the room as his grin softened.

“You’re blushin’,” he teased, his voice dropping an octave.

“I am not,” you shot back, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“You’re cute when you try to deny it,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you forgot all about the move, your world narrowing to the warmth of his smile and the steady confidence in his voice. Wrecker had a way of making you feel seen, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from his soft lips and as he leaned down just slightly, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking the same thing you were.

His gaze didn’t waver as he studied your face, a mix of amusement and something softer in his golden eyes. The room felt impossibly warm, and your heartbeat was echoing loudly in your ears.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost shy, “I’ve been wantin’ to spend more time with you. Not just like this—helpin’ out and all. But, uh, I didn’t know if you’d want that.”

Your breath caught. “You… really?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, his grin softening into something more tentative.

“I mean, you’re always real nice to me, and Hunter said he thinks you like me but I figured maybe you’d think I’m… too much or somethin’. Big guy like me, not exactly subtle.”

You shook your head quickly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Wrecker, you’re amazing. You’re sweet and funny, and you’ve been so kind to me. Honestly, I’ve been hoping you’d…” You trailed off, suddenly unsure how to finish.

“Hoping I’d what?” he asked, his voice low and full of curiosity.

You bit your lip, gathering your courage.

“Hoping you’d ask me out.”

Wrecker’s eyes widened slightly before his face broke into a wide, toothy smile that made your knees weak.

“Well, why didn’t ya just say so?”

“I don’t know,” you laughed nervously, “I guess I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Awkward? Nah. I like ya, and I’ve been thinkin’ about askin’ ya for a while. Guess I was just nervous too.”

The thought of Wrecker—this towering, confident, wonderful man—being nervous to talk to you was almost too much to believe. You smiled, feeling your chest warm at his words.

“Wrecker…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?” His voice was a low rumble now, and the intensity of his gaze made you feel like the only person in the galaxy.

“I guess I’ll have to take the first step, then.” you said softly, meeting his gaze.

Before he could respond, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a quick, tentative kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, the scar slightly rough under your lips, and you pulled back just enough to gauge his reaction.

Wrecker looked at you startled for a split second, then he leaned down and captured your lips with his. His mouth was warm, firm but gentle, and he tilted his head just enough to deepen the kiss. The world around you disappeared as you melted against him, your hands instinctively reaching up to grasp his broad shoulders.

The kiss quickly turned more heated, his massive hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against his body. You could feel the solid wall of his chest against you, the strength in his arms as he held you close. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, seeking entry, and you gasped, allowing him to taste you fully.

"Maker," he groaned against your mouth, his voice rough and husky, "feels so good."

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his hands roamed lower, resting on your hips and pulling you against him in a way that made your knees go weak. His sheer size, the way he enveloped you so completely, had your mind spinning.

"Wrecker," you breathed, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. His golden eyes burned with heat, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss.

You could feel the sheer power in his grip, restrained but ever-present, and it made heat pool low in your belly.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, concern flickering through the intensity in his gaze.

"Better than alright," you murmured, running your hands over his shoulders, down his chest, marveling at the sheer size and warmth of him. Your fingers trailed lower, brushing over the hard planes of his abdomen, and you felt him shiver under your touch.

"Careful," he said, his tone half-teasing, half-warning.

"You keep doin' that, and I might not be able to stop."

"Maybe I don't want you to," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darkened, and his grip on your waist tightened slightly.

"You sure about that? Don’t want me to take you out for dinner or somethin’ first?."

You shook your head, your breath catching as his gaze flicked back to your lips.

"I'm sure."

With a growl that sent shivers down your spine, Wrecker kissed you again, harder this time, his hands sliding lower to lift you effortlessly into his arms.

The strength in his grip made your stomach flip as he carried you toward the couch he had just moved and abandoned next to the door, laying you down gently before hovering over you, his hands braced on either side of your head and his massive frame blocking out the rest of the room.

"Tell me if you want me to stop, ya ?" he asked, his voice softer now, his concern evident despite the heat in his gaze.

“Yes," you said without hesitation. The way he said it with so much affection made your pussy throb and you had to press your thighs together for some desperate needed friction.

His grin turned feral, and he leaned down to press another kiss to your lips, this one deeper, hungrier. His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve with a reverence that made your heart ache.

"Gonna have to be real careful with you," he murmured against your lips. "Don't wanna break my pretty little thing."

The thought made your core clench, and you arched into him, your hands tangling in his shirt as you pulled him closer. You’d spend too many nights hot and bothered plagued by dreams of him touching you, making you feel good only to wake up feeling needy and empty. Getting yourself off hasn’t helped much, sometimes made things worse, it was him that you wanted. Now that you had him so close to where you wanted him, the last thing you needed was him to be overly careful.

"Don't be too careful," you teased, your voice a mix of need bordering on desperation.

Wrecker chuckled, the sound low and delicious.

"Careful, sweetheart. Keep talkin' like that, and I might forget my own strength."

His kisses trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He pulled back briefly, his gaze raking over you with such intensity that you felt like you were being consumed.

"Take this off for me?," he said, tugging at your tunic.

You complied quickly, your fingers trembling as you pulled it over your head. Wrecker's breath hitched as his eyes roved over your bare skin.

"Perfect," he said, his voice reverent.

His hands followed his gaze, calloused fingers brushing over your breasts, your hips, and finally settling on your thighs. He knelt in front of you, his massive frame making you feel even smaller.

"You're gonna let me take my time with you, aren't you?" he asked, his hands sliding up your legs.

"Yes," you breathed. "Please."

"Good girl," he said, and the words sent a shiver down your spine.

Wrecker's hands slipped under the waistband of your shorts, pulling them and your underwear down in one smooth motion. His touch lingered on your thighs, the heat of his palms searing into your skin. He let out a low, appreciative hum as he took in the sight of you.

"You're so pretty, even prettier than I’ve imagined" he said, his voice soft but filled with a hunger that made your cheeks flush.

"Gotta admit, I've been thinkin' about this for a while."

He leaned back, his hands working at the hem of his shirt. When he pulled it over his head, your breath caught in your throat. His broad chest and shoulders were a sight to behold —muscle stacked on muscle, his skin marked with faint scars that only added to his rugged appeal and a dusting of dark hair covered his chest, trailing down in a line that disappeared beneath his waistband.

Your gaze lingered on his powerful arms, his biceps flexing slightly as he tossed the shirt aside. You‘d seen him on the beach but to have him so close was different. You couldn't resist reaching out, your fingers brushing over the hard planes of his chest. His skin was warm, firm beneath your touch, and the contrast between his sheer size and your smaller hand was intoxicating.

"Maker," you murmured, your fingers tracing the line of his pecs and down to his stomach.

"You're incredible."

Wrecker grinned, his golden eyes alight with a mix of pride and amusement.

"You like what you see, huh?"

"Very much," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You hesitantly let your hand trail through the dusting of soft curly hair and over the big scar that went across his whole chest, that seemed fairly new as it was still raised and had a pinkish glow.

„Had to fight a Dryax to get that, when we rescued ’mega“ he said with a sheepish grin.

His large hand wrapped around yours, guiding it lower, letting you feel the strength in his abdomen and then further to the huge bulge in his pants.

“Look what you’re doin’ to me” he said enjoying the look on your face “but first, I’m goin’ to take real good care of you if you let me”

Your fingers brushed over the thick, firm ridge straining against his pants, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran through you. He was so wide, the sheer girth of him making your hand feel small as you tried to take in the size of him. The light linen fabric did little to hide the heaviness beneath, and your fingers traced along the outline, marveling at how impossibly thick he felt.

A surge of heat pooled low in your belly, the wetness between your thighs growing as you imagined what it would feel like to have him stretch you open. The weight of his cock, the thickness pressing against your palm, made your pulse race, every nerve in your body thrumming with anticipation. This was even better than your dreams.

Unable to form coherent words you nodded.

Wrecker leaned back over you, his hand cupping your face again while his other slid down your body, giving one of your nipples an experimental pinch and then lower between your thighs. His fingers, thick and calloused, parted your folds with surprising gentleness. He groaned as he found how wet you already were, his thumb brushing over your clit.

"Look at you," he murmured. "So soft, so ready. That's all for me, isn't it?"

"Yes," you gasped, your hips bucking slightly into his hand.

"Thought so," he said, his voice thick with pride.

After a few slow rubs over your clit he slipped one finger inside you, the thickness making you moan. He worked it slowly, his thumb circling your clit in tandem.

"Feel so tight around just one," he murmured, almost to himself. "Gonna have to relax you real good before you’re gonna be able to take all of me, sweetheart."

You whimpered, your hands gripping his shoulders as he added a second finger, stretching you even more. The delicious burn made your toes curl, and you couldn't stop the broken sounds spilling from your lips. You’d have to apologize to your neighbors tomorrow and hopefully not for the last time, but nothing a good cake couldn’t fix.

"Look at you, takin' my fingers so well," Wrecker praised, his thumb pressing down just enough on your clit to send sparks of pleasure through your body. He trailed kisses down your neck until he reached your breasts and let his tongue swirl around your nipples.

"Such a good girl."

"Wrecker," you moaned, your head falling back against the couch.

"That's it," he said, his fingers curling to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"Let me hear you, sweetheart. Don't hold back."

The pressure built quickly, your body arching into his hand as he worked you with a focus that made your head spin. When you finally came, it hit you hard, a wave of pleasure that left you gasping for breath.

Wrecker groaned as your walls pulsed around his fingers, his hand slowing but not stopping as he drew out every bit of your release.

"Beautiful," he said, his voice filled with awe. "You're so beautiful when you come."

He pulled his fingers from you slowly, bringing them to his lips. He sucked them clean, his golden eyes locked on yours as he did. The sight sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, leaving you aching for more.

"And you taste even better than I imagined," he said, his voice a low rumble.

"Wrecker," you said, reaching out for the bulge in his pants, your voice shaky but filled with need. "I want all of you."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you, his lips claiming yours with a possessiveness that made your heart race.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said against your lips, his voice low and rough. "You'll have all of me. Just hold on tight."

Wrecker leaned back, his massive frame towering over you. He pulled his pants down, his thick, hard length springing free. You couldn't help but gasp at the sheer size of him, your eyes widened in shock as they took him in.

"You okay, sweetheart? We…eh…we don’t have to…you know," Wrecker asked softly, his hand cupping your cheek.

The gentleness in his voice was such a stark contrast to his overwhelming size that it made your heart ache in the best way.

His cock, already fully hard, rested against his stomach, thick and heavy. You couldn't help but stare for a moment longer, your mouth going dry at the sight of him. He was enormous-more than you'd ever taken before-but the challenge sent a fresh pulse of heat through your core.

You slid off the sofa onto your knees right before him.

"What're you doin', sweetheart?" His voice was deep, a little rough, but the warmth in it softened the question.

You didn't answer right away, your hand trailing down to wrap around his shaft. Or at least, as much of it as you could manage-your fingers couldn't even close around him.

Wrecker sucked in a sharp breath at your touch, his head tipping back slightly.

"Maker, you don't have to _"

"I want to," you interrupted, your voice soft but firm.

"I want to make you feel good too, Wrecker."

The golden warmth in his eyes softened even more.

"Alright, sweetheart. But don't push yourself, yeah? Just... take your time."

You nodded and leaned forward, pressing an experimental kiss to his flushed, leaking tip. His cock twitched in your hand, and he groaned low in his throat. Emboldened, you parted your lips, licking gently along the sensitive head before wrapping your mouth around him.

The stretch was intense-almost too much. Your jaw ached immediately, and you could barely take his tip. Even then, it felt like your mouth was impossibly full.

Your tongue swirled tentatively against him as you tried to adjust to his size.

"That's it, just like that," Wrecker murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. He cradled your cheek in his big hand, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

You bobbed your head slightly, taking him a little deeper. But it was no use. The moment he hit the back of your throat, you gagged, pulling back quickly with a gasping breath. Drool slipped from the corner of your lips, trailing down your chin as you stared up at him apologetically.

"Hey, hey," he said immediately, his thumb wiping away the spit on your face. "You alright?"

You nodded, though your chest still heaved as you caught your breath. But despite your struggles, almost choking on his cock was incredibly hot in a filthy way you hadn‘t know you had in you.

"I'm okay," you rasped, your voice rough. Then, with a small smile, you added,

"You're just so... big, but I like it. A lot."

Wrecker chuckled, the sound low and affectionate.

“You’re not just sayin’ that, right? I don’t wanna hurt you.” he teased gently, though his concern remained clear in his eyes.

“No, really, I like it” you assured him.

"Don't push yourself, sweetheart. Just do what feels good for you."

Determined, you tried again, focusing on his tip and swirling your tongue around the sensitive ridge. Your hand worked his shaft, stroking what you couldn't fit in your mouth, and you tried to relax your throat as you took him deeper.

But it was impossible. He was too thick, too long.

Every time you tried to take more, you felt like you were going to choke. Instead, you focused on his tip, sucking and licking at him while your hand squeezed him firmly at the base.

"That's it," Wrecker groaned, his voice growing rougher. "You're doin' so good, sweetheart. Feels... stars, feels incredible."

His words spurred you on, and you worked him with more determination, drool slipping freely from your lips as you hollowed your cheeks. The taste of him, salty and heady, made your thighs clench together.

"You're somethin' else," he murmured, his big hand smoothing over your hair. "So sweet, so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Maker, you're perfect."

Your cheeks burned at his praise, but the heat only drove you further. You wanted to make him come undone. But as you tried to take him deeper again, you gagged once more, your hands trembling as you pulled back, gasping for air, but the throbbing between your legs betrayed you.

Wrecker's hands were on you in an instant, pulling you up into his arms and cradling you like you weighed nothing.

"That's enough," he said softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Don't push yourself, sweetheart. You're already drivin' me crazy."

"But I didn't-" you started to protest, but Wrecker silenced you with another kiss, this one slow and deep.

"Don't need anything else, sweetheart," he murmured against your lips. "Just you. Always just you."

His hands roamed down to your hips, his strong fingers kneading your skin. You could feel him pressed against your stomach, hot and heavy, and a thrill shot through you at the thought of taking him inside you.

"Let me," you whispered, your fingers trailing down his chest to the line of dark hair that went down over his abs.

"I want you, Wrecker. Please."

His golden eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he studied your face.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded, your lips curving into a small smile.

"I've never been more sure. I want to feel you inside me."

With a low groan, he lifted you effortlessly and carefully placed you on the sofa, lining you up with his cock. The tip nudged against your entrance, and you shivered as the thick head stretched you open. The sensation was overwhelming, but the way he held you, the way he looked at you, made you feel safe.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice soft and steady as he lowered you slowly onto him.

"Don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart."

"I will," you promised, gripping his shoulders for support.

Wrecker eased forward, the thick head of his cock slowly breaching you further. The stretch was intense, a mix of pain and pleasure that made you gasp. He froze immediately, his brows furrowing with concern.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"Yes," you assured him, your voice breathy. "Just... give me a second."

He nodded, his hands resting on your hips, holding you steady.

"Take your time, sweetheart. No rush."

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to relax around him. After a moment, you nodded, and he pushed in a little more, barely an inch, before stopping again.

"Maker," he groaned, his head falling back as he tried to keep still. "You're so soft and warm. Feels incredible."

You whimpered, the sound making his grip on your hips tighten slightly. "Wrecker, feels so-"

"Tight?" he interrupted with a teasing grin, his voice laced with pride. "Yeah, I know. That's why I'm bein' real careful with ya."

The burning of the stretch was so intense, pleasure mixed with pain but the pleasure was slowly taking over and you couldn't help but whimper softly, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

"You're perfect, it’s okay if you can’t take all of it" he said, kissing you softly.

After a few more moments of slow, shallow movements that didn’t get him further, you looked up at him, determination flickering in your gaze.

"Let me get on top."

His eyes widened slightly.

"You sure? I don't wanna_"

"I'm sure," you said, cutting him off. "I know it’s gonna feel incredible, I can do it. Please."

Wrecker stared at you for a moment before nodding, shifting so he could help you switch positions. You straddled him, your knees pressing into the couch on either side of his massive thighs.

"Alright, sweetheart," he said, his hands settling on your hips.

"Take it slow. You're in control now."

You nodded, your hands braced against his chest as you began to sink down onto him. The angle was better, letting you take him a little more with each inch. His fingers flexed against your hips, his jaw clenching as he held himself back.

"Maker," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch.

"You're takin' me so well. Look at you, sweetheart."

You whimpered, the stretch almost too much, but the heat in his gaze spurred you on.

"So big, but feels so so good," you whined, your nails digging into his chest.

"You're doin' perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with awe. "Just look at how you're takin' me."

You tried to relax around him and let the weight of your body do the work. With a final push, you sank down completely, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as he filled you to the hilt. You could feel every inch of him, the sensation overwhelming but so good, unlike anything you had ever felt. You were sure if he hadn‘t made you come already you would have exploded into a thousand pieces then and there.

"Maker," Wrecker groaned, his hands gripping your waist tightly. "You did it. You're takin' all of me, sweetheart. Can't believe it."

You moaned breathlessly, your head falling forward as you tried to catch your breath.

"Told you I could."

He grinned up at you, his golden eyes shining with pride and affection.

"You're amazin'. Absolutely amazin!

You started to move, slow and careful, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down. Each movement sent shivers of pleasure through both of you, and Wrecker's praise only made it better.

"That's it," he murmured. "You're so good to me, sweetheart. So damn good."

You rolled your hips slowly, letting Wrecker's thick cock stretch and fill you completely with every motion. The intensity of it all-his sheer size, the overwhelming fullness-had you gasping and moaning with each descent. His big hands never left your waist, steadying you as you moved, but he didn't push, letting you set the pace.

"You feel so good, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice low and thick with need. "So tight around me. Maker, it's almost too much."

"It's intense," you admitted, your voice shaky as you braced your hands against his chest for leverage.

"You're so big, Wrecker. It's-" You broke off with a gasp as you sank down again, taking him fully. "Kriff, it's so good."

His golden eyes were fixed on where your bodies joined, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"Look at you, takin' all of me," he murmured, almost in awe. "You're perfect, sweetheart. Absolutely perfect."

You whimpered at his praise, the heat in his gaze sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. The stretch was so intense, so delicious, that every movement sent sparks of pleasure skittering through your body. But as you started to slow, your thighs burning from the effort, Wrecker chuckled softly, his hands tightening on your hips.

"Let me help you," he said, his voice gentle despite the hunger in his tone.

Before you could protest, he easily lifted you, his strength effortless as he guided your movements. He raised you off of him slightly, then lowered you back down, filling you again and again with his thick cock. The sensation was overwhelming, the way he controlled your movements perfectly timed to hit every sensitive spot inside you.

"Wrecker," you gasped, your fingers digging into his chest as pleasure built inside you.

"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble.

"Let me take care of you. You're so good for me. Feels so good, havin' you like this."

The rhythm he set was steady but deep, each thrust making you cry out as the intensity grew. His cock stretched you in ways you'd never felt before, every inch of him filling you completely. You couldn't think, couldn't speak, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of him. All you could get out were pathetic whines.

"You're amazin"" he said, his golden eyes locked on yours. "Can't believe you're mine right now."

"Wrecker," you moaned, your voice breaking as the tension inside you reached its peak. "I'm so close-"

"I've got you," he promised, lifting you one more time before slamming you down fully, his cock pressing against your cervix, holding you there as you came undone around him.

Your climax hit hard, for a moment everything was dull before you slammed back into your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure rippled through you.

"Maker," he groaned, his grip on your waist tightening as your release triggered his own. He thrust up into you one last time, his cock pulsing as he spilled inside you.

You collapsed against his chest, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. His hands moved to your back, holding you close as his broad chest rose and fell beneath you.

"You okay?" he asked softly, his voice full of concern despite the hoarseness from his release. “Didn’t hurt you?”

You nodded, your cheek pressed to his chest.

"More than okay."

Wrecker shifted slightly, still buried inside you, his warmth filling you completely. He seemed hesitant, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back as he searched for the right words.

"Listen, uh..." He cleared his throat, his deep voice unusually tentative.

"I, uh, I really like ya, don't want this to just be... y'know, a one-time thing."

You lifted your head to look at him, his golden eyes avoiding yours for a moment before he finally met your gaze.

"I've never really had somethin' like this," he admitted, his voice softer now. "Never had the chance durin' the war. But I want it, with you. I don't just wanna fool around. I want... more."

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his usually confident demeanor making you fall for him even more. You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek.

"I want more too," you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity.

Relief washed over his face, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

"Good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your lips.

''Cause I'm not lettin' you go now."

He shifted beneath you, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you closer to his chest, his cock slipped out of you and with it a rush of your mixed juices. For a moment, you thought you could stay like this forever. Completely blissed out, safe in his arms, your head resting on his chest and his cum trickling out of you.

You basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking for a little longer, but then he softly tilted your chin up to make you look at him and chuckled softly.

"As much as I like havin' you on me, sweetheart," he said, his voice still deep and husky from earlier, "we're both a bit of a mess. How about we clean up?"

You hummed in agreement, still half-lost in the warmth of his embrace.

"You mean you don't want to sit here sticky all night?"

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest.

"As temptin' as that is, nah. C'mon, I'll help."

Before you could protest, he effortlessly scooped you up, cradling you against his broad chest as he stood. His strength still amazed you, the ease with which he handled you making your cheeks flush.

"You didn't have to carry me," you said, though you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

"Maybe I like carryin' you," he replied simply, his golden eyes meeting yours with a fondness that made your stomach flip.

He carried you into the bathroom, setting you down gently before starting the shower. As the water warmed, he turned back to you, his hands sliding up to carefully unclip the claw that held up your hair and set it aside.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his gaze roaming over you with unguarded affection.

You felt your cheeks heat at his words but didn't have time to dwell on it before he stepped under the spray with you, pulling you close again. The warm water cascaded over both of you, washing away the evidence of your earlier passion.

Wrecker's hands were surprisingly gentle as he lathered soap over your skin, taking his time as he worked. He made sure to check in with you, brushing his lips against your temple as he asked,

"This okay, sweetheart?"

"More than okay," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

When you returned the favor, your hands roamed over his muscular chest, tracing the lines of his scars and the soft trail of hair leading down his stomach. You allowed yourself to look at him openly, instead of just stealing glances. His tattoos caught the light, drawing your attention, and you couldn't resist brushing your fingers over one.

"Like what you see?" he teased, his grin widening when you bit your lip and nodded.

"You're gorgeous, Wrecker," you admitted, feeling your heart swell as he leaned down to kiss you, the water cascading over you both.

You both stepped out of the shower, the cool evening breeze brushing over your damp skin as you padded across the organized rows of neatly labeled boxes that Wrecker had stacked earlier. The faint scent of soap lingered between you, and the soft light in the room made everything feel warm and intimate. You opened a box marked linens and found a towel, wrapping it snugly around yourself before handing another to Wrecker. He grinned, his eyes lingering on you as he rubbed the towel over his broad chest and shoulders, water droplets glistening against his tanned skin.

Digging into another box labeled clothes, you pulled out an oversized shirt and shorts for yourself, slipping them on quickly as Wrecker stood there, still completely at ease in his nudity. His gaze softened as he reached for your hand, pulling you closer.

“You look happy,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

Your heart fluttered as you tilted your head up, your damp hair sticking to your cheek. Wrecker leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed, just full of quiet affection that made your chest ache in the best way. You smiled against his lips, your hands resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

"So, uh, I’m kinda hungry, I was thinkin'.." he began, his tone a little hesitant, "how'd you feel about dinner? With my family, I mean. We can eat and you can stay with me and then we get you movin’ first thing in the morning?"

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Dinner with your family?"

"Yeah," he said, his golden eyes flicking to yours.

"Hunter's probably cookin' the fish me and Cross caught today, and Omega's always wantin' to meet new friends. I think they'd love you. I mean, who wouldn't?"

Your chest filled with warmth, the sincerity in his voice making you smile.

"I'd love to, Wrecker."

His face lit up with the biggest, most genuine smile you'd ever seen, his happiness contagious.

"Really? You mean it?"

You nodded, brushing a hand over his cheek. "Of course."

He let out a laugh, spinning you around once in his excitement before settling you back against his chest.

"You've just made me the happiest man on Pabu," he said, his voice full of joy.