#I was just talking about these last night

[navybrat817]

Where Worlds Collide - Intro

Pairing: Silver Fox!Sugar Daddy!Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Female Reader

Summary: Your boss forces you to be eye candy for an alpha at a gala, but things take a turn for the better when you meet another alpha. Does it matter that you don't belong in his world?

Word Count: Over 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, v. fingering, possessive behavior, dirty talk, instant connection, A/B/O dynamics, talk of bonding, misogyny, unspecified age gap, insecurities, world building, choking (not our reader… yet), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: I'm pretty proud of the intro to this world, lovelies! @whisperlullaby, @targaryenvampireslayer, @tavners, here it is! Ant thanks to @queenoftheworldisdead as well. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Soft music drifted from the ballroom as you stepped into the lavish venue. You’d never been to a gala before. Your family wasn’t wealthy enough to receive an invitation, nor did your last name carry any influence. The only reason you were there tonight was because of the alpha on your arm, all thanks to your boss’s insistence that you accompany him.

It was an evening of style, grace, and luxury, and you didn’t belong.

You held your breath as you walked deeper into the ballroom, the glittering chandeliers casting a refined glow over everything. A mix of alphas, betas, and omegas socialized and gossiped, their glamorous evening wear glittering under the lights. You had designed a few of the dresses and suits, but none of the people wearing them would recognize you. The alpha you worked for always took the credit. Complaining about it wouldn’t help. After all, you’d only sound like an ungrateful omega and hundreds of other omegas would beg to take your place.

You couldn’t wait for the day you quit.

Chet’s grip on your arm brought you back to the present. “Keep quiet and smile,” he ordered, a haughty expression on his face as he led you through the place. You didn't want to judge all men named Chet, but you had pegged him as a douchebag the second he went in for his fitting and he was proving you right. You couldn't even enjoy that he was objectively handsome since his personality made him less attractive.

“I am smiling,” you said. Wrinkling your nose at the overwhelming mix of scents and expensive colognes and perfumes, you did your best to make your smile look natural. The servers looked like they were doing the same as they served everyone. It was strange how a room so enormous could make someone feel so small.

“Then keep smiling,” Chet ordered through his grin. “What you do or don’t do is a reflection of me.”

“I know,” you muttered. Because it was all about him and you were just his omega arm candy. You really should’ve demanded overtime pay from your boss, but that conversation wouldn’t have ended well.

“As it stands, perhaps I made the right choice by bringing you,” he said, nodding to a few older gentlemen. “I can smell their envy.”

You did notice a few more men looking your way. A few women as well, not hiding that they were whispering about you. Trying to hide your vulnerability, you held yourself the way you thought a goddess would. You also held yourself with pride since the dress you wore was your own design. A sleeveless black dress with a middle slit, it was bold and alluring. The glitter throughout the fabric made you shine like stars in the night sky. The finishing touch was the matching collar, a tasteful way to protect you from any alpha who even thought about marking you.

Reaching up instinctively to run a hand over your collar, you felt your heart ache. Your inner omega wanted a mark, but the thought of being tied to someone was somewhat terrifying. You respected omegas who wanted to go the traditional route by staying home and being submissive, but you didn’t want to be submissive outside of the bedroom. You wanted a partner who would view you as an equal.

Your false confidence didn’t last long when Chet’s grip on you tightened, your body immediately going stiff. You’d have to take a long shower and dry clean your dress just to get rid of his scent. “Loosen up,” he ordered.

“Maybe I’d loosen up if you weren’t digging your fingers in,” you whispered.

“You’re my date. It’s my right to touch you,” he sneered. He had no right. It didn't matter if he was an alpha and he was rich. The urge to slap him across his face was so strong your palm itched. “So, get the stick out of your ass.”

A shiver rolled down your spine when you heard a low growl come from another alpha. Glancing around, you didn’t see anyone looking directly at you. It probably had nothing to do with you because why would anyone care if an alpha was bossing you around?

Chet’s hold on you loosened nonetheless. “And just so we’re clear, you have no intention of sleeping with me?” he asked as an omega in a revealing dress sauntered by. Your date didn’t bother to hide how he was undressing her with his eyes.

“That’s right,” you said. You made it clear to your boss that sex wasn’t an option, and he was oddly on your side. Maybe he thought Chet could sway you if he tried hard enough. If he even thought of using some sort of alpha command on you, nothing would stop you from lashing out and making him sorry.

“Then you’ll have no problem finding your own ride home should I choose to leave with someone else,” he said.

“So, I can’t make you look bad, but you can leave with another omega?” you asked.

“You got it. You’re smarter than you look.” He tapped your nose with a condescending grin. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

The prick was pushing his luck. “Listen you-”

“Chet, my boy! Good to see you!” A man interrupted, uncaring that you were speaking.

“Shane,” Chet smiled. “Always a pleasure.”

The bulky alpha shamelessly looked you over, his scent almost making you choke on your next breath. “And who might this be?”

“Pretty, isn't she?” Chet cut in before you could answer, puffing his chest out. “Doesn't say much, but I’m not exactly interested in her conversational skills, am I?”

You bit your tongue when they chuckled. Be seen and not heard. It was insulting.

“Come join me, but leave the omega,” Shane said unapologetically, taking another look at your chest. What would happen if you threw a drink in his face? “As entertaining as she would be, we have business to discuss, and we don’t need the distraction.”

“Of course,” Chet smiled, turning you toward the bar as Shane walked away. “Since he doesn't want you around, why don't you take advantage of the free drinks until I get back?”

“I’m not-”

“And not that you’d have any extra cash to tip, but it’s taken care of,” he continues, your face hot at the assumption that you couldn't afford to tip the staff. “Just behave and try not to make a fool out of either of us, you got it? Wouldn’t want your boss to hear about it if you do.”

Biting back a retort, you freed yourself from his grip. There wasn’t enough liquor at this party to get you through the rest of this evening. “Don’t worry about me, alpha. Go have fun,” you said, your eyes burning as he walked away. A few heads turned your way when your scent soured. It wasn’t enough that you had to attend an event where you didn’t belong, but your date just had to rub salt in the open wound by reminding you of such. “Fucking asshole,” you muttered, making your way over to the bar to order a drink.

Plastering a smile back on your face when you got the bartender’s attention, you ordered a whiskey on the rocks. You wanted something that would go down smooth but leave a little burn. You also preferred opting to watch the bartender make a drink in front of you instead of grabbing a glass of already poured champagne. The drinks were likely fine, but better safe than sorry. And like hell would you accept a drink from your sorry excuse for a “date” if he offered you one. He was lucky you-

An intoxicating scent hit you out of nowhere, making you grip the bar as you inhaled. Plums, whiskey, sandalwood. The blended aromas had your mouth watering, and a whimper threatened to slip out. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Desire burned in your stomach. As quickly as the scent excited you, it seemed to wrap itself around you in a soothing embrace. How could a smell leave you hot and bothered and also feel like a hug?

No… It couldn’t be your mate.

You caught a small movement out of the corner of your eye, and you stopped breathing when you found a pair of blue eyes fixed on you that belonged to a devilishly handsome man. He leaned against the wall, his wool-blend black suit fitting his thick body like second skin. Streaks of gray lined his luscious brown hair and peppered his beard, too. He looked like the kind of alpha who would have omegas kneeling at his feet, and it frightened you how badly you wanted to get on your hands and knees and crawl toward him.

His. Mine.

Lifting his tumbler to his lips, he kept his eyes on you as he sipped the expensive liquor. You wanted to look away but couldn't as the air crackled between you. He had you under some sort of trance you couldn't snap yourself out of. As frightening as it was to have a scent hit you so strongly, a feeling like this hit you square in the chest, the thought of him staring at another omega that way nearly made you hiss because you didn't want anyone else on the receiving end of those blue eyes.

He smirked like he read your mind and pushed himself off the wall. You did whimper out loud when you realized just how large he was. Dominant, assertive, yet there was something almost playful in his smirk when he finally broke his gaze. You greedily inhaled with the hope of catching more of his scent when he strode toward the nearby balcony, smooth and fluid as a server quickly took the empty tumbler from his hand. The men at the gala were all posturing, but no one could match the confidence of that alpha.

So how were people not surrounding him, begging for a scrap of attention? Was he untouchable among those who deemed themselves untouchable? He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man who chased after anyone. No, people went to him.

He wanted you to follow him, right?

Downing your drink in one gulp, your feet moved before you could stop yourself. “I don’t need this alpha,” you whispered, the words bitter in your mouth as you followed his path. If you were smart, you’d walk the other way and not look back. Yet the thought of never seeing him again made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to examine.

Does he know?

Studies over the years showed that not every bound pair was the same. Some couples felt the bond instantaneously like a firework exploding. Others felt it like a small burn that slowly consumed them over time. For a few, the spark took a long time to ignite. You couldn't ignore this burn if you tried.

You welcomed the slight chill in the air as you stepped onto the large balcony. It was lit up with sparkling lights, yet it didn’t take away from the stars that shone in the sky above. The alpha who caught your eye stood by the railing, alone, like he was looking over a kingdom. You felt foolish for going out there to bother him.

Steeling yourself with false confidence again, you walked over to stand beside him. You weren’t close enough to touch him, wanting to leave him a respectable amount of space. You could always use the excuse that you just needed some fresh air if he asked what you were doing.

Stealing a glance at him, you didn’t want to believe that you had a true connection with this man, that he could be your mate. No way would an omega like you be his match. Would he even want an omega like you? One with dreams to do more, be more?

“Beautiful,” he said, his voice thick like honey and the whiskey you drank. Of course, his voice would be a powerful weapon. But he wasn’t scenting you, or trying to tear your collar off, or doing anything to indicate that he felt the sort of spark you had. Maybe that was for the best.

“It is,” you sighed, looking out at the view. You couldn’t deny the beauty and how much easier it was to breathe since you weren’t surrounded by the suffocating bodies and scents. “It really is something.”

“I was talking about you.”

You whipped your head toward him so quickly you nearly hurt your neck. The flare of heat in his eyes hypnotized you again, but this time you didn’t want him to draw you in. A man of his stature, his power, he could chew you up, spit you out, and leave you a shell of yourself. But seeing him up close, his laugh lines, and the touch of softness in his gaze, you wanted to know all about him and the life he lived.

You were in so much trouble.

“Thank you,” you breathed.

“I don't think I’ve seen you at a gala before. I would've remembered you,” he stated. You weren't sure what to say to that. “I’m James, but you can call me Bucky if you’d like.”

You blinked a few times. “You’re James Barnes,” you whispered, not having to belong in the inner circle to know who he was.

James Buchanan Barnes. One of the wealthiest alphas in the city, his family came from money and it was no secret that Bucky, as he liked to go by, wasn’t bound to anyone. People assumed that he didn't want to share his wealth with anyone beyond his charitable donations, or that he was either extremely picky in choosing a mate. And here he was talking to you. This was the man you thought could be your mate.

You were in way over your head.

“I am,” he said, looking at you expectantly.

It took a moment, but your name tumbled from your lips as you shifted toward him. He inhaled when a breeze rolled in and you hoped your scent got to him the way his scent got to you. The way his eyes darkened, it had. Your inner omega wanted to purr with delight.

Time stood still when he took your hand and brought it to his lips. “It’s a pleasure,” he whispered, his lips brushing your knuckles. “I hope you don’t mind me being forward, but…”

“But what?”

You held your breath when he turned your hand and ran his nose along your wrist with a small growl. It was bold, intimate, possessive, and you got impossibly wet from the action. Had Chet or another alpha done that, it would've been a different story. “You smell divine,” he whispered against your skin.

You whined before your inner hackles went up, making him pull his mouth away immediately. He at least had some level of respect and sensed the shift in your stance. “How many omegas have you said that and done that to?” you asked when you had no right to feel jealous.

He didn’t look put off by your question, and he didn’t let go of your hand either. “I’ve come across a few delectable scents before, but I don’t think I’ve ever described anyone as divine,” he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. An intense longing behind his eyes had your knees weak. “I haven’t smelled anyone like you.”

This alpha was telling the truth, but he wasn't a boy scout either. He knew how to fuck, you could tell, and he likely broke hearts without intending to. You didn’t want to be the next victim if a quick fuck was all he was looking for.

“I haven’t smelled anyone like you either,” you admitted, grudgingly pulling away. His heady scent made it hard to concentrate. And standing close to a man who wore a suit that cost more than half a year’s rent was another reminder that you were a girl playing dress up, nothing more. “I should go. I shouldn’t be here.”

Bucky stopped you from turning away, his grip on your arms tender so you wouldn’t feel threatened. “And why is that?”

“Because I don’t belong here, and I don’t expect you to understand that,” you replied.

It was bad enough to let your guard down by following him out there, and you couldn’t let him seduce you more than he already had. You were lucky the very presence of him didn't trigger your heat. And how would your story end? He was a rich alpha, and you were a struggling omega. Was happiness really in the cards?

Your eyes widened when you heard the rumble in his chest, his scent producing a soothing aura that wrapped around you. Your lip trembled slightly as the rumble faded. Bucky could’ve let you walk away, yet he was comforting you. It made you want to cry.

“I may understand better than you think,” he whispered. Did he? Did he feel alone in that crowd of people there? “But help me understand why you feel that way.”

You rapidly blinked to keep the tears at bay. What was there for him to understand? “Okay,” you whispered back. The fact that he wanted you to talk to him meant something. “For starters, that crowd is kind of… well, awful from the short time I observed and interacted with them. They think they’re better than everyone else because they have so much, but they have no right to look down on others.”

The people in the gala simply flaunted what they had without a second thought. Being there made you appreciate your friends and their genuine interactions more. They worked hard for everything they had. They wouldn’t have anything against people born with a silver spoon in their mouths if they showed a little humility.

Bucky's chuckle surprised you. “Money doesn’t equal class, and believe me when I say they aren’t worth taking up any space in your beautiful mind,” he said, giving you a small smile. “To be honest, I came out here to get away from them because, save a select few, they're fucking assholes.”

You found yourself smiling, too. No wonder he has been standing by himself. “Is that the only reason?” you asked curiously, reaching up to touch his perfect hair simply because you could.

He looked at you, a mixture of lust and something soft. Standing like this you felt like a couple. “I may have wanted you to follow me, and I’m glad you did,” he said, his tone calm and casual as butterflies filled your stomach. “You’re the first person I’ve considered approaching in a long time, but you looked a bit upset when you went to the bar. I didn’t think bothering you would win me any favors.”

You exhaled. Was he the alpha who growled when Chet gripped you too tightly? “I…” you shivered when another breeze rolled in.

He shrugged his jacket the moment he spotted you shivered. “May I?” he offered.

You hesitated. Bucky had a powerful scent, and how would it look to Chet if you wore another alpha’s jacket? Chet wasn’t your alpha, but he could run his mouth and get you in trouble with your boss. It didn’t matter that you wanted to quit one day. Today wasn’t that day because you financially weren’t ready. That was the excuse you made up in your head.

But your inner omega wanted Bucky’s scent to surround you and you replied in a small voice, “Yes, please.”

Bucky carefully placed the warm jacket around your shoulders. “I know the crowd bothered you for good reason, but who specifically upset you and how can I fix it?”

“My date,” you answered. You didn't have it in you to lie to him. It also wasn't up to him to fix it.

Bucky hummed, running his hands up and down your arms. It helped warm and relax you. “What’s his name?” he asked, his eyes landing on the collar around your neck. You wondered what he would do if your mating gland was exposed, and you had to push that thought away.

“His name is Chet and he’s discussing business with some alpha.” The change in his scent was subtle. He seemed too confident to be jealous, but he didn’t seem pleased either at the thought of you being with someone else. “They were extremely condescending, and I couldn’t exactly throw a drink in their faces or put them in their place since I’m just an omega.”

Bucky snarled quietly, his eyes blazing. “You’re not just an omega,” he said. He was upset on your behalf. Was he not like other older alphas who wanted omegas to be subservient? “Maybe I should have a chat with them.”

You purred before you could stop yourself. Bucky offering to stand up for you felt better than you wanted to admit. “You don't have to do that,” you said, running your fingers through his hair again. You wanted to soothe him the way he soothed you. “Besides, I’m not really on a date with Chet. He just wanted me to be eye candy for the night.”

Bucky almost snarled again, but raised an eyebrow instead. “And you agreed to that? I have the feeling you aren’t the arm candy type.”

You giggled. He was right about that. “Didn’t really have a choice thanks to my boss,” you told him.

“Your boss? What exactly do you do for work?” he asked carefully.

He asked a lot of questions, but you didn't mind since he seemed genuinely interested. Maybe he assumed you were an escort. “I'm a designer,” you answered, smiling to yourself. “At least, I want to be. I’m just an assistant at the moment.”

“Let me guess. Your boss is an alpha, makes you do the grunt work, and takes the credit?” he mused, humming when you solemnly nodded. “And he convinced you to come here tonight because Chet is a client?”

“Something like that. It was either that or I get fired,” you laughed bitterly. “And if he fired me I’d get blacklisted, then I’d have no job, no money at all, and I’d lose my tiny apartment and…”

His nose wrinkled when you trailed off. You were so embarrassed, and you couldn’t stop your scent from souring. Talking to one of the richest alphas ever about your problems wasn’t something you thought you’d experience tonight, but that soothing rumble and smell came out again to help you breathe easier.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” he said with a touch of firmness so you knew he didn’t pity you. You could take a lot of things, but not pity.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said, smoothing out some of the fabric on your dress and not wanting to dwell on the topic. “I actually made this,” you told him. It was silly, but you specifically wanted to hear something nice from Bucky to make you feel better, which was bad. You shouldn’t want compliments from him or want him period.

He parted his jacket so he could look you over. Unlike Shane leering at you earlier, Bucky seemed to take in the details of your design with a careful eye. “You made this? It’s stunning,” he said with pride that rivaled yours. You lost your breath when he ran the back of his finger along your torso, heat spreading through your body like a wildfire. “Like you.”

Your mind raced, the heavy weight of his gaze pinning you in place. The longer you stood there, the more you wanted him. You had to snap out of it. “You’re dangerous,” you whispered, shaking your head as his hand fell away. “I should go inside.”

He stepped back, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you replied honestly. Some of his actions were forward, but he wasn’t pushy. He was the sort of predator who probably gently played with his food before he sank his teeth in, yet you weren’t completely afraid of the bite. “Though I’m wondering why you don’t have a date tonight. Keeping your options open?”

Maybe he really did want to live the bachelor life.

The corner of his lip tugged when you narrowed your eyes. “I come to these things to make a short appearance. That’s all,” he explained. Even the wealthy had obligations. “Unlike some alphas my age, I’m not interested in having a date for the sole purpose of eye candy. And because most of the people here are fucking assholes, I don’t usually find anyone to take home.”

“So, you aren’t interested in taking me home?” you tried to tease. If he said no, you could lick your wounds later since you’d likely never see him again. If he said yes, you… Well, you didn’t know what you’d do.

He reached out and placed his hands on your hips, pulling you close enough that you felt just how big he was. A shudder wracked your body, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you. “I’m very interested in taking you home,” he breathed.

You lifted your eyes to him, his desire matching yours. “I-”

A young giggling couple stumbled out to the balcony reeking of booze. They took a few steps forward and Bucky moved you out of the way before they could crash into you. The ferocious growl he let out made the laughter cease, but it had you purring like a bitch in heat. “Leave,” he ordered, keeping his arms tight around you. The underlying threat in that single word had the couple rushing back inside, but they had effectively ruined the moment.

“I think that alpha almost pissed his pants,” you teased to cut through the tension.

“He’s lucky he didn’t tumble over the railing,” he said, loosening his hold on you and taking in your expression. You felt naked under his stare. “You aren’t ready to leave with me just yet.”

“I’m still here with a ‘date’,” you reminded him to cover up any feelings or doubts in your mind.

Other than Bucky being wealthy, powerful, and smelling like a sinful kind of heaven, you didn’t fully know him. Something within you felt like you did, but going home with him for the night… What if you disappointed him? What if he decided he didn't want you?

He gave nothing away as he stared at you while you felt like your eyes told him everything. It wasn’t fair how in control he looked when you were close to spiraling. “Let’s go sit inside,” he suggested, finally cracking a smile when your face scrunched up. “No one will bother us, and I’d like to keep talking to you even if you don’t decide to leave with me.”

“I guess it wouldn't hurt to sit with you for a few minutes,” you said, especially if he would keep others away from you.

His hand on your hip felt like it belonged there as he guided you back inside. The scents and mindless chatter didn’t bother you as much now, likely because all you could really smell and concentrate on was Bucky. Did his kisses taste like plums or whiskey? Both?

He brought to a corner near the bar, far enough away from the mingling crowd that you still felt a bit of privacy. You kept his jacket around you though the room was considerably warmer than it was outside, not quite ready to give it back to him. “Drink?” he asked, angling his chair so that his knees were touching yours. There was no table in front of you. Anyone looking would see how close you were.

“No, thanks,” you said. You already downed a glass of whiskey and your head was spinning thanks to him.

You felt his gaze on you for a full minute before he spoke again. “Your ‘date’ isn’t the reason you’re hesitating to leave,” he said, scratching along his beard. You bet it would feel wonderful between your thighs. “Is it me? Am I too old for you?”

You had to laugh. “You’re a gorgeous silver fox, so that isn’t the problem,” you said. Beneath the suit you knew he was in great shape, too.

He smiled a gorgeous smile, appreciating the compliment. “So it isn't my age. Do you think I won’t treat you well?”

“I know you’ll treat me well,” you answered, avoiding his gaze. You knew that in your core. “But I’m afraid of what happens in the morning.”

He forced your gaze back to him with a large hand. “What are you afraid of?” he asked, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Everything.

“I’m afraid if I get a taste of you it won’t be enough for one night,” you said, your heart pounding as he stared into your eyes. Like he was staring deep into your soul. “And it isn’t fair that you have that kind of power over me.”

He looked almost impressed with your answer. “I appreciate your honesty,” he praised, his thumb sweeping over your lips this time. “And it won't be enough. Once I get a taste of you, I won’t let you go.”

It wasn’t a matter of if with him, but when. “You couldn't possibly want me for more than one night,” you said. He knew you were just a struggling designer’s assistant and didn’t run with this crowd. You lived in different worlds.

“I’m going to want you every night.” He tilted his head when you shifted in your seat. “You feel it, don't you?”

You feigned innocence when he held your gaze, your heart racing. God, he had felt it. Was it an explosion, a slow burn, or something else? “Feel what?”

Bucky smirked, not at all fooled. “That you’re my-”

“Don’t say it,” you begged. Speaking the word would make it real and it wasn't something he could take back. “Because if you don’t want that or me, we can just go our separate ways and ignore it.”

He hadn’t marked you, and you hadn’t claimed him either. You didn’t know what it would feel like to have his knot, so you couldn’t possibly miss it. And neither of you would have to depend on the other. You could walk away with as minimal damage as possible, and you’d find a way to remain whole. So would he.

The low growl Bucky emitted made the nearby guests move away, but you weren’t afraid. “Ignore it? I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else. I would've fucked you right out there on the balcony if that couple hadn't interrupted us,” he said, your body hot and needy at the thought of him fucking you while you looked out at the view. “I’m lucky finally finding you didn’t send me into a rut.”

You thought the same about your heat. “Bucky-”

“Our scents call to each other. We call to each other,” he said, placing his hand on your chest. How did your heart feel fuller from his touch? “Tell me you didn't feel a connection when you caught my scent and looked at me.”

“I felt something,” you admitted.

“And it compelled you enough to follow me outside, to open up to me,” he said. You couldn't deny that. “You may say you don’t belong here, but something inside you says you belong with me.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Scare you?” you asked. Having mates could be wonderful, but what if he wanted that pull with someone who wasn’t you?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. There wasn't even a whiff of fear, likely because he had nothing to lose. “In fact, I think you should quit your job and move in with me.

You looked at him like he suddenly grew another head. “Quit my job and move in with you?”

“Yes. Your boss doesn't deserve to have you as an assistant, and you wouldn't have to pay rent if you stayed at my place.”

You didn’t attempt to laugh off his request since he was completely serious. “You realize that sounds insane, right?” you added. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary though. Some couples who took their time building their bond still moved in right away.

“Insane would’ve been marking you the moment I saw you and dragging you home the way some alphas do,” he said.

You bristled. “It’s too soon for you to mark me,” you said, even as your mating bond throbbed.

“Don’t worry. I won't mark you tonight,” he assured you. Hurt crept up for a split second before he ran a finger along your collar. You visibly trembled and realized that he did want to mark you. He just wasn’t doing so tonight out of respect for you. “But you can still be mine in every other way until that day comes.”

You opened your mouth to argue. He hadn’t marked you, but you still felt owned. “You really think people want you with an omega outside of your tax bracket?”

“You think I give a fuck what they think?” His handsome face twisted in a scowl as he looked around. “And if they even think about insulting you, I’ll ruin them. It’s that simple.”

“It isn’t that simple,” you said.

“Why not? I know you're meant to be mine and you know it, too.” He touched your collar again, your mating bond throbbing almost to the point of pain. “You won’t need to worry about money or a roof over your head because I’ll give it to you. And a space to design your own clothes and make your dream come true.”

It sounded too good to be true, and nothing in this world was free. “I have my rent. If I break my lease-”

“I’ll pay what you owe.”

Your rent was probably pocket change to him. At least you didn’t have a roommate you’d have to worry about. It was always too risky to rely on someone else to help with bills and utilities. “And all that in exchange for what? Being your whore?”

He snarled, and you were delighted to hear that sound. “Trust me, doll, you may want me to fuck you like a whore, but I’ll treat you like a goddess. Like my equal,” he replied, his promise touching something deep inside you and drowning out most of your fear.

You just wished the remaining would fade away.

“I want us to be equals, but do you realize that you’d have all the power until I get my designs off the ground, right? I’d have to rely on your money, your roof over my head,” you said, swallowing the small lump in your throat. Did he realize what he was asking of you? To push aside the small amount of pride and independence you had? “I’ve done fine on my own and to have to depend on you is something else altogether.”

You hoped he at the very least realized how vulnerable you were right now by opening up more.

He looked vulnerable, too, as he moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to have to depend on me, but with me you wouldn't have to do this on your own. My finances don’t mean I have power. You’d have power, too,” he said. You wanted to believe you would. “In fact, I think you’re the only person in this entire city who could bring me to my knees. That’s power.”

You smiled a little. Could you really bring him to his knees? “As flattered as I am that you want to take care of me, do I have to decide tonight?” you asked. He was saying all the right things, and it was tempting, but there was so much to figure out beyond the living arrangements.

“We can discuss it more tomorrow if you’d like,” he said, looking around as you let out a breath. He had no doubt in his mind that you would spend the night. “Have you seen your date?”

You looked around, too, not at all worried when you spotted him. A complete contrast to how you felt at the beginning of the evening. “He’s…” You gestured to the bar where Chet was flirting with the loosely dressed omega from earlier and staring right down the front of her dress.

Bucky growled and swept his eyes over you, no doubt catching how you pressed your thighs together from the sound. A growl really shouldn't be that sexy. “Not a very faithful alpha, is he?”

“Well, he isn't my alpha, remember?” you pointed out. Someone like Chet would never be. “My boss only ‘suggested’ that I go with him tonight, and I made it clear I wasn't going to sleep with him.”

There was another hint of a growl before he smiled. “Wait right here. I’m just going to tell the young pup that you’re going home with me.”

You gripped his arm as he tried to stand. “Easy, old man. I didn't say I was going home with you,” you teased, knowing full well you were in fact leaving with him.

“Old man?” he smiled.

You shrugged. “You called me ‘doll’, which sounds like something an old man would say.”

“I think an old man is exactly what you need.” His eyes flashed with a deliciously dark promise that he was right and you’d enjoy every single inch of what he’d give you. “And you didn’t explicitly say you'd go with me, but we both know I’ve swayed you to go to my place.”

“You alphas are so cocky.” You refrained from rolling your eyes since he was right in this instance. “But maybe I should just stay here a bit longer and make you work for it since you want me so badly.”

He chuckled. “You’d rather stay here? Fine by me,” he said, leaning in close. “I’ll just slide my hand up your dress here and now and feel just how wet you are for me. I doubt anyone would notice if I made you come on my fingers. They’re too caught up in themselves.”

Your eyes closed when he touched your thigh. “You think I'm wet for you?”

“I know you are. I can smell it. Can practically taste it. You’ll let me taste you, won't you?” he purred, and you could only tremble as his hand moved higher, your legs parting to give him more access. “In fact, why don't I drag your ‘date’ over and let him watch while I lay you out and feast on your cunt? Show him what you'll never give him a taste of?”

You weren't sure if the pool of arousal was from the thought of Bucky eating you like a starved man, making that sad excuse for an alpha watch while he got you off, or both. You wondered what it would be like to taste yourself on his lips. “And why would you let him see what I look like when I come?”

He seemed to consider your question. “That’s a good point. He shouldn't see how you look when you come.” Bringing his hand to your face, your breath hitched when he caressed your cheek with such care. “But you’ll never have to hide that beautiful expression from me.”

“Hey!”

You pulled away from Bucky in time to see Chet storm over. “Shit,” you whispered when he furiously looked between you and Bucky. You were shocked smoke didn't come out of his ears.

“What the hell are you doing? I said enjoy the free booze, and do not embarrass me. You can't even follow a simple instruction,” he snapped. You refused to bare your neck when he showed his teeth. He wasn’t going to embarrass you either. “The only reason you can even step foot in this place is because of me. You fucking sl-”

Bucky was out of his seat before you could blink, his hand wrapped tight around Chet’s throat and cutting off the remainder of his insult. A few patrons gasped and stopped to watch as Chet clawed at Bucky's hand, but no one stepped in to help. The anger that poured off your alpha was enough to deter anyone from getting involved. And you were loving every second of it.

“She’s my mate,” Bucky said through his teeth, making Chet’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Biology may say you’re an alpha, but you’re nothing. And I’m tempted to crush your windpipe for insulting her.” He squeezed harder and smirked when Chet wheezed. “When her boss asks how the gala went, you’re going to sing her praises. If you don't, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you can never knot anyone ever again. And that’s just the start of what I'll do to you.”

It was almost humiliating how turned on you were by Bucky's dominant display. You thought you’d be an omega who wouldn’t want an alpha acting like, well, an alpha, yet his defense of you meant a lot. “Bucky.” You stood up and smiled when he looked at you, his anger shifting to something softer. “You can let him go.”

Chet fell to the ground and coughed once Bucky released him. Your alpha bared his teeth with a snarl and Chet showed his throat like an obedient dog. It was clear who the top alpha was.

“Apologize,” Bucky commanded. Not only did Chet cough out an apology while avoiding your gaze, a few others said “sorry” as well. That was how powerful this man was. And you wanted him more than anything.

“Thanks for the free booze, Chet. And don't worry about me getting a ride home. I think you should worry if that omega still wants you after your… performance,” you smiled, linking your arm with Bucky’s. “Have a great night.”

There was no need to fake your confidence as you and Bucky walked out together. It didn't matter at the moment what they thought of you. All you could think about was how Bucky defended you, and how he called you his mate. It was out in the open. He…

Oh, God.

“Thank you for defending me, but you do realize you just told everyone that I’m your mate, right?” you whispered. That gossip would spread before the night was over.

“Is that what I did?” he asked, smirking when you hissed and glared. “And you don’t need to thank me. He had it coming.”

The smirk was still on his handsome face as the valet brought his car around. What the hell were people going to say? He didn’t care what they thought and neither should you.

“Listen, Bucky, just because you…”

Bucky held your face in his hands, leaning in so close you felt his breath against your lips. His mouth barely grazed yours, carefully teasing you with the promise of what was to come. “Just because I what?” he rasped, and you swear you felt more slick stain your already ruined panties.

“You better get me off before we get to your place,” you said instead of finishing your original statement because you truthfully forgot all about it when his lips touched yours.

Your insides tinged with more heat and desire when he nipped your bottom lip. “You better say my name when I get you off.”

“Should I say Bucky or James?” you smirked.

“Bucky. Reserve the name James for when you’re upset or extremely serious,” he winked, thanking the valet before helping you into his vehicle. You had never been in a car this nice.

“And you won’t mark me tonight?” you asked once he got up, touching the back of your collar to make sure it was still secure.

“We still have a lot to figure out before I mark you,” he said, leaning over as you sighed in relief. “But before we go…”

His mouth landed on yours, both strong and soft as he took possession of yours. The entire gala could've gone up in flames and you wouldn't have noticed since all you felt was him. You tasted his hunger when his tongue plunged inside, and there was a hint of desperation, too. He was starving for you and you moaned, deepening the kiss to show that you were just as eager.

You panted when he broke the kiss. “Don’t make me regret trusting you,” you breathed, your eyes once again giving everything away.

His nose bumped yours affectionately as he dragged his lips to your forehead. You didn't expect such a fond gesture from him, and you had to bite your tongue so you wouldn't blurt out how nice a kiss to the forehead felt. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, sealing the promise with a kiss against your skin.

Your heart felt full, and your inner omega wanted to shout with joy. “Take me home then.”

Bucky sped off a moment later, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. Your core ached as you looked at him, giving you a chance to once again take in his profile. The saying of aging like fine wine probably rang true for him. You imagined he was always good looking, but he was both rough and refined thanks to his age. People who said perfection didn’t exist clearly never saw him before.

“You like what you see?” he asked.

“I do, but you know that,” you answered, his jaw clenching when you pulled your dress up to reveal your legs. “And didn’t you promise to get me off before we got to your place?”

The sexual tension that had been building up spiked, and you sensed his need to claim you in some capacity was rising to the surface. “Give me your panties,” he ordered, giving you a sharp look. “Now.”

“You’re bossy,” you smiled, pushing your dress higher. He swore under his breath when you gripped your underwear and slid it off, your slick practically dripping from the flimsy fabric. No one ever got you that wet before. “But I kind of like it.”

He chuckled, licking his lips. “You like it because it’s me,” he pointed out, snatching the underwear out of your hand once it was within reach. You watched with a whine as he brought it to his nose and deeply inhaled. “Fuck…” he growled, bringing the fabric to the tent growing in his pants next and rubbing all over it in a filthy display. Watching him ruin his pants with the scent and slick of your pussy had you soaking the seat beneath you. “Spread your legs and show me that pretty cunt.”

You trembled when he took his eyes off the road. Pulling your dress over your hips, you obediently spread your legs and let him get a good look at what would soon belong to him. “You like what you see?”

“Just wait until I tie you to my bed and get a real look before I fuck you. It’ll be a shame to wreck something so pretty, but you’ll thank me for it,” he replied, looking back at the road as he sped up. Oh, you’d thank him over and over. “Touch yourself, but don’t put your fingers inside.”

Bringing your hand between your legs, you gasped at how sensitive you were. It was like you were in heat, but fully aware of your surroundings. “Like this?” you asked, moving your fingers along your folds.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his gaze darting between you and the road. You hoped one day he’d fuck your throat while he drove. “Now give me your hand.”

You presented your glistening fingers to him, giving him the opportunity to grip your wrist and suck the wet digits into his mouth. You felt his mouth water from your taste, the groan of arousal in his throat making you shake. He didn’t stop until he licked your fingers clean. “You taste just as divine as you smell,” he said, releasing your hand and reaching over to cup your mound. “And I need more.”

“I need more, too,” you moaned, his palm rubbing your clit and building that ecstasy within you. He teased your dripping hole with another finger, but didn’t push inside yet. You arched your hips, trying to get him to breach you. “Please.”

“That’s a good girl saying please,” he praised, finally pushing a thick finger inside. You clenched around him so tight, your body wanting more. “Fuck, you’re tight. And wet. Made just for me. Imagine how good you’ll feel once you’re stretched around my cock.”

“Want your cock,” you moaned, opening your legs wider. “Want your big cock inside me.”

“Yeah, you do. You want my big, bare cock in your soaked cunt,” he said, pushing another finger in, your slick coating them. You didn’t let anyone fuck you bare before, but you’d let him. “You want my knot, too.”

You moaned, an image of you on your hands and knees flashing in your mind, Bucky’s strong hands pulling you back to meet every thrust until he locked your bodies in place. You could practically feel his teeth sinking into your neck to fully seal your fate. Or would he make love to you, linking your fingers together and kissing you with care as he tenderly pushed his knot in? It didn’t matter. He’d give you everything, and you wanted it all.

“Are you hard just thinking of fucking of me raw?” you moaned, the need to rip the top of your dress open to reveal your breasts strong. No… If your dress was going to get torn to shreds, he could do that himself. “Coming so deep inside me you’ll drip out of me days later?”

The next growl he let out was inhuman, his fingers curling until you cried out. “My good little omega has a dirty mouth on her,” he smirked.

“I do have a dirty mouth. You should fuck it sometime,” you smiled sweetly before your mouth fell open, his expert fingers fucking you deep. Talking dirty to him helped stamp down your emotions a bit, but they were threatening to surface the more he touched you. “Bucky.”

“That’s it. Say my name. Tell me who you belong to,” he demanded. Your back arched, gripping the leather seat until your hand ached. Your body certainly knew who owned you. “Tell me who’s going to take care of you.”

You bit your lip to hold back your whimper, your heart pounding out of control. No one took care of you. No one wanted to until tonight, and you hadn’t wanted that either.

He stopped moving his fingers, keeping perfectly still as you hissed in frustration. Was he really going to build you up and not let you finish? “Tell me,” he demanded again, gentler this time.

Your eyes burned, but you swallowed your pride. Again. “You, Bucky,” you whispered, trusting that he’d be an alpha of his word. “You'll take care of me.”

He cooed when you whimpered, slipping a third finger in and moving them again. “That’s my girl. My good omega. I know that wasn’t easy for you to say,” he praised, so proud of you. Part of you was proud of yourself, too. “Do you need to come?”

“Yes!” you cried out, desperately trying to ride his fingers as the pressure grew. You were so close. Just a little more…

“Then do it. Get that slick all over my hand and seat,” he said, pushing against your bundle of nerves once more as your body locked up. “And say. My. Name.”

Waves of pleasure rolled through you, colors blurring your vision as you cried his name. Your eyes rolled back as the squelching sound of your cunt filled the car, his fingers helping you ride it out. You were drowning, unable to breathe until you broke through the haze. You felt ruined already by his fingers. Oh, his cock was going to destroy you.

“Fuck, that’s it. Give it to me. That’s my good girl. Can’t wait to feel that all over my cock.”

He only removed his fingers when you whined and licked your essence away with a low moan. The beautiful bastard still looked so put together, and hadn’t swerved once while he drove. “Holy shit,” you exhaled, your walls still fluttering. The orgasm took the edge off while leaving you wanting more. “Did I… soak your hand?”

“You did,” he confirmed, your face hot. “Fuck, I’m going to need an entire weekend to eat your sweet cunt just to start,” he said, flashing you a smile. “And you make very pretty sounds when you come.”

You managed a smile as you slumped in the seat, your dress still bunched around your waist. “What do you sound like when you come?” you asked breathlessly.

“You’ll find out,” he promised.

You trembled again when he put his hand back on your thigh, your hand immediately covering his. You needed his touch to ground you, but didn’t want to say so. “I just realized something,” you said once you fully caught your breath.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“If you’re my mate but you haven’t marked me yet, and you plan to pay for… well, everything for me for the time being,” you said, a laugh bubbling up when you saw that your window was fogged up. You drew a little smiley face, making you laugh more before you glanced at him. “You’re kind of like my sugar daddy.”

The look on his face before he laughed made him look younger, the sound affectionate and happy. How many managed to make him laugh like that? “Does that mean you’re going to call me ‘Daddy’?”

“Don’t push it, old man,” you giggled. Though if anyone could sway you, it would be him. “Why don’t we just stick with ‘alpha’ for now?”

“That and Bucky,” he suggested, turning his hand so your palm rested against his. “I like hearing you say my name, doll,” he added in a whisper.

“I like saying your name, Bucky,” you said, your brows furrowing. “But who came up with that nickname?”

He chuckled again, your skin tingling when he lifted your hand to kiss it. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“Yes, I do,” you said.

He stole a glance at you. Through the heavy scent of your orgasm, you detected joy seeping from him. It made you feel happy, too. “Okay,” he smiled, running his thumb along your hand. “I got the nickname a long time ago…”

You twisted more in your seat to face him as you listened, lost in his voice and smile. There was so much you had to learn about your alpha. His likes and dislikes. What he would be like before, during, and after his ruts. He had a lot to learn about you, too. You wouldn’t give up on your dream of becoming a designer, and accepting his help may not be such a bad thing.

And maybe accepting the fact that you had a mate to depend on wouldn’t be such a bad thing either.

So, what do we think so far? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[cacoetheswriting]

i am weak for shy and nervous eddie munson who fumbles when around his crush. imagine him pining over this girl who he’s never even talked to, (maybe they have different social circles) and he just sees her around with her friends and he is smitten and then one day they accidentally bump into each other and she’s like “you’re eddie right?” and you know he’d be so flustered.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader word count: 2.2k

content warnings: lovesick eddie, pining, a little self-deprecation and self-doubt, mostly cheese and fluff, adult language - wildly unedited, oops.

“I hate this fucking school.”

The group exchange knowing glances as Eddie sits at the table with a grumble. His lunch tray lands with a low crash, nearly colliding with Gareth’s juicebox and therefore spilling its contents all over. A huff and quick reflexes on Jeff’s part save the group from catastrophe, more importantly, save the homework the boy had yet to finish ahead of next period. 

Eddie however, doesn’t notice the mess he has almost created. Frankly, he’s not paying attention. Even when Gareth tells him to, “Watch it, dude.”. The metal-head flicks his hand to say he’s sorry for whatever it is that his friends are chastising him for, but his eyes are fixed ahead, on the sole reason he’s in such a grumpy mood.

You.

Or rather Steve the dick Harrington, who’s got his arm draped shamelessly around your shoulders, as if he wasn’t just publicly humiliating Nancy Wheeler — since up until mere twenty-four hours ago, Hawkins High thought the blue-eyed girl was the King’s girlfriend, not you.

Eddie’s miserable. When did this happen? How did this even happen?

Last night, Steve and Nancy were all over each other. Eddie knows this to be fact since he saw them together at that party he wasn’t invited to as a guest, but to work because the popular kids always need a fix and he needs to make a living if he’s ever going to leave this shithole town. Anyway, that’s when Eddie saw the “it” couple and yet, now Nancy is nowhere to be seen and you’re snuggling into Harrington.

“I hate this fucking school,” Eddie repeats, sticking his fork into today’s cafeteria lunch. “Everyone is so two-faced and fake. No one has any integrity.”

The guys don’t need to follow his line of sight because they know very well who and what the metal-head is talking about.

“Maybe if you just talked to her, then you wouldn’t be so miserable today.” Jeff notes without looking up from his homework. “Plus, I overheard Charmaine tell Julie that Harrington is continuing to hold a candle for Nancy. This thing over there, that you’re obsessing over, is just friends being friends.”

“Doesn’t look like just friends to me,” Eddie grumbles, then looks at Jeff. “And I tried talking to her. It’s just, every time I do, my mind goes blank.”

Gareth rolls his eyes. “Dude, she’s not some superbeing. She’s a girl from our school. You’ve got no problem talking to other girls?”

Eddie doesn’t say anything because how does he go about explaining to his friends that to him, you’re more than a girl from school. It’s embarrassing enough how he’s never talked to you and yet, you occupy his entire mind and soul. The guys think it’s just another crush. Eddie knows it’s not. He can’t tell them though because they’ll laugh him out of it. Eddie the freak Munson is very much pining after a girl who doesn’t know he exists. Pathetic.

So, as any respectable guy in his situation would, Eddie continues to wallow in his own self-pity. 

He stares at you throughout the remainder of the lunch break, narrowly avoiding your gaze here and there by simply looking away. His downcast humour continues throughout the rest of the day. Since he doesn’t often engage in class anyway, the teachers pay him no mind. Although, their reasons are different: a quiet Eddie Munson is better than one who causes various disturbances. After the final bell ring, he hurries out of the building and blares music the entire drive home, to fizz out his thoughts.

Called into work. Here’s some cash. Go to the diner. 

Wayne

Eddie sighs. The one thing he was hoping for were his uncle's words of wisdom, although it seems that will also have to wait. Eddie slides the note into the pocket of his denim jeans and he is out the door again.

The diner is about thirty minutes away from the trailer, by foot. The metal-head decided to walk it anyway, hoping the fresh air would knock some sense into him because he’s got no business feeling this emotionally shattered. 

Maybe if he wasn’t such a bitch boy around you, things would be different. Unfortunately, for some reason, ever since he first laid eyes on you, Eddie’s default is shy.

Okay, maybe you and Harrington are a thing now, so what? Eddie’s got no claim on you, unspoken or otherwise. You can date whoever, even if it’s Steve the asshole. It’s also not like you and Nancy are friends. Everyone at school knows you two run in different circles, meaning no girl-code is being broken. There is also the possibility of what Jeff overheard from Charmaine and Julie being true: you and Harrington are nothing but friends. Very friendly friends. Touchy, feely. And Eddie would have noticed earlier if it were simply the case of friendship, therefore, he concludes that you are in fact dating Steve the douche Harrington and he somehow has to come to terms with it.

Eddie pushes the door open and makes a beeline for an empty booth. He orders a burger with fries and a soda from the middle-aged waitress, then whips out a notebook from his backpack while he waits. The only one he carries and it’s not for any schoolwork. The numbers scribbled hastily in the margins are easily mistaken for maths, but that’s just business. He focuses instead on the latest D&D campaign he’s working on.

For a moment, the metal-head forgets about today's events. He gets lost in the fictional world he’s creating. The made up monsters replace any harboured thoughts of you with Steve the turd, although one closely resembles Harrington's famous head of hair and he smirks, proud of himself for the immaturity. He figures if girls can write about their demons in journals, he can bring them into D&D. Bring them, then kill them.

He’s just about finished marking a big cross over the doodle of monster Steve when a figure steps in front of the light, creating a shadow over his notebook. Eddie sighs, foot tapping underneath the table in frustration. He’s about to make a rude remark, but when he looks up to meet the eyes of the perpetrator, he’s met with your wide gaze and naturally, he freezes.

“I like your drawings,” you say.

“Uhm, t-thanks,” he fumbles.

“You’re Eddie, right?”

All he can do is nod in response and you smile. Small and charming. Enough to make the brunette’s head spin and pinch his leg because he can’t believe this is happening. Surely, this must be a dream of some sort. He came home and passed out on the sofa. The only logical explanation for why you would be talking to him, complementing his stupid little doodles. The only logical explanation for why you know his fucking name.

“We’ve never officially met,” you begin and reach out your hand. 

Eddie glances at it and without really thinking, he utters, “I know who you are.”

It comes out a little more mean than he intends it to, he knows because you retreat your hand as if you’ve been burned. Eddie’s heart stings. Now he knows it’s real since only he’d be stupid enough to ruin a good thing before it even began. He’s an asshole.

“Sorry,” he mumbles quickly, then straightens in his seat. “Do you wanna sit? I-I have fries.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek for how incredibly pathetic that sounded; fries. You however, don’t notice and you’re also kind enough not to point out how he’s stumbling about his words like a little schoolkid.

“I love french fries.”

And with that, you’re sliding into the booth, across from him.

Eddie watches in disbelief as you help yourself to his food, not just the potato side, as if the two of you have been friends a lifetime. Then, probably to confuse him even more, you start telling him about how your parents locked you out and how it’s nice to see a familiar face, while he’s sitting there in silence, taking it all in, wondering whether perhaps this was some cruel joke Harrington and his band of losers were playing on him.

He wants to ask. Save himself the embarrassment if this does end up being a prank and tomorrow’s gossip: Eddie the freak Munson thought he had a chance. You keep talking, only taking small pauses to take bites out of his food or a sip of his soda, and to Eddie’s surprise nothing happens. No one jumps out screaming, laughing, pointing at him. This is really happening and he is truly baffled.

“Can we get another burger meal and the same soda?” You order from the waitress when she comes around to check the tables and afterwards, turn to look at Eddie, smile ever present. “Kinda ate most of yours.”

“It’s fine,” he manages to say.

For the first time since you sat down, it’s quiet. Now you’re the one staring at him, head tilted slightly to the one side. The smile on your face transforms into something more thoughtful, as if you were trying to read his mind — which is exactly the same thing Eddie was trying to do to you.

“So,” you begin again, “What were you scribbling intently before I crashed the party?”

“Just some stuff for an afterschool thing,” Eddie answers with a shrug, voice a little shaky.

“Mysterious.”

The sparkle in your eyes screams that you want to know more, but the metal-head is hesitant to share. Even though this wasn’t part of some scheme by Hawkins’ finest, it didn’t mean there wasn’t a different underlying reason as to why you were taking interest in him and he didn’t like when people made a fool of him.

Eddie clears his throat.

“Did your parents really lock you out?” He questions.

A brow goes up, it seems you are surprised at his push back. 

“Yes,” you say matter-of-factly, then add, “They do this sort of thing from time to time. They’re big hippies, so it’s not like neglect or anything. It’s weed. They don’t want me home when they’re high because they think it would make me undermine their authority.”

Eddie smirks and you tell him it’s not funny, but he can’t help the chuckle leave his throat. When you throw a fry at him across the table, smiling wide, he’s no longer feeling the nervous bubble. In fact, he’s suddenly quite relaxed.

“I’m sorry that I’m a good daughter. Next time I’ll be sure to pick a less judgemental table” you say dramatically, although the grin doesn’t leave your features.

The brunette lifts his hands in front of his chest in a defence motion.

“No judgement here. My social status requires me to second guess reasons people have for talking to me. I had to make sure your boyfriend wasn’t going to jump me the second we stepped outside.”

“Boyfriend?” You seem genuinely taken aback by the assumption.

“Harrington,” he clarifies, although he’s not sure why he should be.

Until you laugh. It’s soft and tender, but it’s a laugh nonetheless.

“Steve’s not my boyfriend,” you state in between giggles, “He’s madly in love with Wheeler. God, does the whole school think we’re dating? He’s gonna hate that. Poor Nancy.”

Eddie blinks. Seems Julie’s information was correct, but it still doesn’t explain the closeness and the banter the entire cafeteria was witness to. He feels weird for letting this bother him so much and even though he usually has difficulties keeping his big mouth shut, he doesn’t want you thinking he’s some sort of pervert, so he doesn't say anything, simply bops his head.

Although, his silence doesn’t seem to deter you.

“I noticed you staring,” you admit, half a decibel lower. 

A fresh burger and fries land on the table, followed by a large Coca-Cola. The waitress mutters something along the lines of enjoy, then walks away to tend to another table.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do next: admit or deny. He’d rather go back to fifteen minutes ago when you were eating his food and he wasn’t talking. Therefore, he slides the burger closer to himself and in one swift motion, lifts it to his lips, taking a bite too big for his mouth. He doesn’t care what he looks like at the moment, he just needs to keep himself quiet before saying something else he’s going to regret.

Across the table, you’re all smiley again.

“Do you think, when you’re done eating, you could walk me home?” You ask, offering him a napkin. 

As he nods, he reaches for the paper cloth and his fingers brush yours delicately. There’s a zap of electricity, but if you feel it, you don’t react. Eddie’s continuing with the shyness, so he looks down at the burger in his hand and pretends nothing happened to him either.

It’s not until you lean over the table, index finger stretched and inching forward to touch his face, wiping leftover ketchup from the corner of his mouth, that the metal-head thinks maybe, just maybe, you feel some type of way about him too because that’s not what a person does for someone they only officially met minutes before.

Afterwards, you say, “I’ll tell you all about how I’ve been watching you too.”, and Eddie nearly chokes on his food.

thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

[sosasturns]

1 new voicemail - m. sturniolo

blurb, in which after having a long day matt sends you a needy 5 minute voicemail to relieve some tension before bed.

Transcription

0:06

“hey baby, it’s me… i know it’s pretty late… you’re probably asleep right now… i had a long day.. m’so tired…”

[yawn]

“wish you were here… wanna feel you next to me… miss having you in my bed, s’cold without you. you always run warm, y’know that? love cuddling up next to you… always smell so sweet, too… mm, like vanilla… n’ that lotion you put on before bed… makes me crazy.”

0:39

“miss you… wanna see you…”

[he sighs, the mic picking up the shift of his pillow as he turns, pressing his face into the cotton]

“was lookin’ at pictures of you earlier… the ones from last weekend, when you wore that little dress… fuck, sweetheart, y’looked so pretty. had me stuck—my girl’s so fuckin’ beautiful. kept thinkin’ about it all day. like—fuck, couldn’t get you outta my head… ‘was s’bad… mmh, missed you so bad…”

[there’s a long pause, the softest rustling as he settles further into the sheets. then, a slow inhale, like he’s breathing you in even from miles away]

2:30

[the rustling picks up, his tone still steady, but there’s a faint hitch in his breath, a quiet exhale like he’s getting a little too comfortable]

“been hard all night, baby… fuck, just thinking about you. can’t help it—your fault, y’know that? always do this to me. just wanna feel you…”

[his voice dips lower, his breathing heavier, but he keeps talking, working himself up as if you’re really there listening]

“mmf, baby… can practically… hmm.. feel your mouth on my dick—ohmygod.”

[his breath stutters, a low whine muffled into his pillow]

“fuuuckfuckfuck, been so hard f’you all night… couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout you—fuck, hon, your mouth… s’wet, so warm, takes me so good—mmm, my perfect girl, yeah?”

3:37

[the sheets rustle again, his hand moving slow, teasing himself like he’s imagining it’s you instead. his voice is lower now, thick with need, murmuring between little grunts, shifting as he works himself up]

“wish you were here t’help me, princess… wanna give you my load, wanna nut all in that pretty mouth… oh, mmmh, m’little cum slut, hm? you’d take it so good f’me, wouldn’t you? all of it—ahh fuckfuckfuck, baby, baby, m’so close, gonna make such a mess—”

4:11

“gonna—fuck—come for you like i always do… mmh… y-y’gonna let me, hm? mmm, you always do—ohmygod, want you to take it all f’me, hm, pleasepleaseplease—please… oh,”

4:21

[a sharp inhale, then a breathy moan, long and drawn out as his movements slow. the receiver picks up the shudder in his breath, the sticky wet sounds before it all settles into silence. just his heavy breathing now, coming down, fucked out]

4:48

[the mic barely catches the rasp in his voice when he speaks again, quiet, spent]

“love you… love you so much… m’so fuckin’ gone for you, baby. can’t wait to see you… call me when you wake up, okay?”

5:12

[silence]

5:13

“night.”

[voicemail ends.]

Was this transcription useful or not useful?

@ sosasturns

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[luvyeni]

XO ( IF ONLY YOU SAY YES ) 𝕼. ( 심재윤 )

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 심재윤 x fem!reader )  ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. pinning, down bad jake, needy reader, oral ( f ), unprotected sex word count. 2k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

synonyms. jake waits for you by your door each night hoping you give him a chance , all you need to do it say yes …

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ i got inspired by a clip of jake from the behind the scenes of the xo music video.

as you walk down the dingy dim hallway of your apartment building to your door ; you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the boy standing in front of your door. “jake what have i told you about standing in front of my damn door?”

he smiled ; that damn smile that you hated , but secretly loved so much. “that you love it and i should do it everyday?” he smirked , you rolled your eyes. “that it’s annoying as fuck and makes you look like a stalker.” he put his hands up to his chest , like he was hurt. “you hurt me princess.” you glared at him. “stop calling me that , you know i hate it.” you could’ve put your pin in and walked into your apartment , but deep down you think you liked the attention. “jake go into your apartment.”

he pouted. “but i want to talk to you.” you scoffed. “i bet you said the exact same thing to the girl you brought over last night , where you then proceeded to put through your mattress?” his face turned red , he scratched the back of his neck, you laughed finally opening the door. “you forgot i can hear you , your bedroom is right next to mine.” you said , now standing half in the hall , half in your apartment. “what if i wanted you to hear? give you a preview of what could be you if you’d stop playing these cat and mouse games.” now smirking. “like i’d ever get inside your bed , don’t know what kind of fluids are on those sheets.”

“i don’t mind coming over to yours.” he was now standing in front of the door. “go home jake.” you said. “it’s late and i have to work , i don’t have time to deal with you.” you said closing the door. “good night yn!” he screamed through the door , you laughed , rubbing your temples.

the next night it was the same thing; walking to your door, the boy waiting for you. “hello the love of my life.” he smiled. “you look tired.” he said, noticing the sinking look in your eyes. “it was a long day today.” you unlocked your door. “you should let me come over and help ease your stress.” he said , you sighed. “jake.” you stared at him , breaking out into a smile , because you just couldn’t help it. “see i got you to smile.” you shook your head. “jake , go home.” you said walking into your apartment. “this isn’t over!” you shook your head , the boy was crazy , but he was cute.

even when he couldn’t be there he still made a way to bother you; coming home one day to a posted note taped to your door in his words. ‘had to work and couldn't be there to see you today, my love. take a nice bath and think of me while you’re in there’ you scoff , taking the letter into your apartment , sitting it on the table.

jake came home after a late night of work; dragging his bag behind him ready to unlock his door when he got distracted by a bright pink note. he picked it up to read it , smiling ear to ear when he realized who it was from. ‘in your dreams sim jaeyun.’ he looked back at your door , smiling as he made his way back into his apartment.

“you’re in a flirtationship with your neighbor.” your friend said over the video call. “girl what the hell is that?” you laughed , you had randomly explained it to her while you both painted your nails. “it’s so obvious you both want to fuck each other , but one of you , aka you is being a pussy.” she said , you scoffed. “you sound just like him.” you said , she shrugged. “he’s a smart man , is he cute?” you thought for a second. “extremely.” you said. “like one of the most attractive men i’ve ever seen.”

“so clearly you’re attracted to him , what’s holding you back?” she said. “i literally hear him fucking different girls almost every night.” you said. “what do they sound like?” you looked at your friend like she was crazy , that’s because she was. “do they sound like they’re enjoying it.” you thought about it for a second , they did genuinely sound like they were enjoying it , you could often hear their screams of pleasure as you covered your ears. “you know what , i can’t lie they do , he seems to be very good at what he does.”

“see now that should make you want to jump him even more.” she said. “you clearly won’t be disappointed if what you hear from your side of the wall is true and he is some sort of sex god.” she said. “think about it , when’s the last time you’ve gotten a really good fuck?” she said. “yeah it’s been a while.” you scoffed. “you didn’t have to say it like that.” she laughed , throwing her hands up. “maybe your neighborhood will be the one who takes you out of this obvious dry spell you're in.”

you thought about what your friend said all night ; and the entire day at work, and she was kind of right. besides , who were you to judge if jake had different girls spend the night? if you were as good looking as him , you definitely would have your fair share of ladies in your apartment. he was a single man , in his 20s. did you want to hook up with jake? you sighed at your desk. you did want to hook up with jake.

after your long day at work; you leaned against the elevator as you rode up to your floor; the door opened , revealing the boy who was on your mind the entire day. “jake.” he smiled. “you must’ve been thinking of me , because here i am , at your service.” he said , letting you step off the elevator. “are you not getting on?” he shook his head. “told i was waiting for you.” you turned to him. “okay fine , i was on my way out , but you’re here now.”

“i know how to get to my door , you don’t have to walk me.” you said , still smiling at the sweet gesture. “but i want to my love.” he responded softly , you both stopped at your door , a note waiting for you. “told you i was on my way out , couldn’t forget to grace you with my presence even if im not here.” he said , smiling as you picked up the letter , reading it — the blood draining from your face as you re-read the words. ‘i can fix that dry spell you’re under’

“how the fuck— you think i can’t hear you; you’re friend is pretty loud when she talks.” he smirked , his arms folded. “my friend is nuts.” you try to say. “is she? or are you just trying to say that so you can deny that what she said is true.” you gulp. “wh-what do you want jake?” you stutter out , trying to get your key to go into the hole , but your hands were too shaky. “i think.” he said , standing behind you , pressing against you , grabbing your hand to keep your hand steady , helping you put the key in the hole. “you already know what i want.” he said, leaning against the wall again. “and now i know you want it too.”

you were at your limit and your hot neighbor was just standing there, basically waiting for you to give him to go , you opened your door , once again half way in and halfway out. “just say yes , so i can finally kiss you.” he said. “ye-yes.” he wasted no time , pulling the door all the way open , grabbing the sides of your face , pulling you into a heated kiss.

he didn’t break the kiss , just guiding you back into your apartment , closing the door behind him; finally pulling away , his forehead pressed against yours. “your room.” he whispered breathlessly; you grabbed his hand , guiding him to your room , he bit down on his lip watching you from behind , he dreamt of this day countless times. “let’s get you out of these clothes.” he said , pushing the door open. “jake.” you whined as he bent down , unbuckled your pencil skirt , pushing it down your legs ; thank the lord you decided on the wear your good underwear to work. “so fucking sexy.” he kissed your thighs. “want these wrapped around my head , now.”

he pushed you down on the edge of the bed; grabbing the waistband of your panties, pulling them down your legs , pushing your legs apart. you moaned as the air hit your cunt. he cursed under his breath upon seeing how wet your were. “look at that.” he kiss in between your thighs. “poor neglected pussy.” he was dangerously close to your core. “so pretty.” he kissed your folds. “so sweet.” he licked your folds , you moaned , your legs definitely wrapping around his head , nose brushing against your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.

jake on the other hand was in heaven; the taste of your sweet cunt on his tongue, he’d often wondered what it would be like to finally taste you. “jake i’m gonna cum.” your hands tangled up in his hair , yanking it. “fuck i’m cumming!” you screamed out as you came , he kept going , until you were pushing his head away. “m’sorry.” he said , finally coming up for air. “got carried away , your pussy is just too sweet.” he smirked , his lips glistening. “i need you to fuck me.” you said , pulling him up. “please.”

how could he say no? stripping himself of his clothing , you took off your shirt , leaving you in your bra , which he took upon himself to reach behind , undoing your bra with one hand. “you-you’re awfully good at that.” you said. “like you’ve done it a hundred times already.” he pushed you back against the bed. “you talk too much.” he said , pinning you down to the bed , pushing your legs apart. “but i get it now.” he said , using his other hand to guide his fully erect cock to your hole. “it’s just because you need to be fucked probably.”

before you could even come back with a snarky rebuttal , he slid right inside of you. “ugh fuck!” he cursed , your mouth dropping open as his cock stretched you open. “ja-jake.” you whined as you felt him fully seethed himself inside of you. “please go faster.” he began to pick up the pace. “faster? deeper?” he said , his cock kissing your cervix over and over. “finally get to feel you wrapped around me.” he groaned. “fuck you’re so tight.” he grunted. “so fucking wet , it’s like you needed this more than i did.” he began to move at a inhumane pace. “jake !” you repeatedly shouted ; you’d be worried about your neighbor if he wasn’t the one plowing into you right now. “fuck jake i’m gonna cum!”

he gave you a few deep thrusts; using his thumb to rub your swollen clit. “cum for me.” he felt his own orgasm approaching. “fucking cum for me.” he let out a deep moan feeling your cunt fluttering around him as you came hard around him. “oh shit.” he pulled out just in time, cumming all on your spent pussy. “fuck.” he said coming down from his own high. “definitely worth waiting outside your door everyday.”

“does this mean you’ll stop hanging outside my door each and every night?” you asked the boy who was laying inside your bed. “like a stalker.” he rolled his eyes. “of course.” he said , you were shocked , he sounded serious. “really.” he nodded. “yeah , there’s no need to.”

“now that i know all i have to do is knock and you’ll let me in”

©️LUVYENI

[backtothefanfiction]

First Impressions | Joaquin Torres

Summary: the first time Sam introduces you to Joaquin

Warnings: flirting, fluff, playful banter

A/N: I fell in love with this man during Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Completely forgot about him until I watched the new Cap the other night. So here’s this little before going to sleep drabble. As you will quickly be able to tell I love the idea of a Carol Danvers niece reader given the whole air force thing. Hope people enjoy. May write some more in the future.

Joaquin was smitten the second you walked into his house. When Sam said he was headed over with “some new recruit” he hadn’t expected you. A roughed up baseball cap on top of your head, faded baseball jersey, baggy oversized jeans and sneakers, dripping from head to toe and almost shivering.

“What happened?” Joaquin asked Sam as you tentatively stepped through the sliding door, not wanting to drip too much on this strangers carpet.

“He dropped me in the lake.” Your voice blurted out, completely unamused, shooting daggers at the still newly appointed Captain America.

“Yeah, well, still better that than a 40ft drop onto hard ground.” Sam retorted.

“Or you could have just not dropped me at all?!” You stressed, hands raised in the air, still in complete disbelief over this turn of events. “That’s the last time I’m ever flying with you.” You muttered and you saw Joaquin let out a little chuckle over the situation.

That’s when you really took him in. The guy who Sam sung the praises of. His supposedly best recruit, not that he would actually tell him that.

“Come on, I’ll get you a towel.” Joaquin said, leading you upstairs and to the bathroom.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything I could change into, do you?” You asked him, as he handed you a couple towels.

“Umm, yeah, of course, I’ll just go find you something.”

You didn’t wait for him to return before you whipped off your clothes and immediately jumped in the shower to wash the murky lake water off of you. You were grateful that it was an old tub and shower curtain situation and not one of those see through glass cabinet shower situations, not that it didn’t stop Joaquin from blushing when he came back into the bathroom a few minutes later with some clothes in hand.

“Oh, sorry- I didn’t realise you were- I’ll just leave these- uh- yeah.” He rushed out before quickly shutting the door again.

He hesitated a moment as he stood with his back to the door, his brain fixated on the small glimpse he got of your naked back from behind the shower curtain. He could feel the flush in his cheeks. The smile that threatened his lips. He fought to hide it as he went back down to Sam in the kitchen.

“So who is she?” Joaquin asked as he grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and passed it to Sam before picking up his own previously discarded mug to finish.

“She’s a Danvers.” Sam said, as if the surname alone held a lot of weight, but Joaquin still didn’t bite. “As in Carol Danvers… Captain Marvel.” Sam said, walking him through it slowly until Joaquin’s face began to flicker with recognition. “Carol’s her aunt. Before she became Captain Marvel she was one heck of an Air Force Pilot. Kid saw what her aunt did and decided to pick up the mantle.”

“And she’s good?” Joaquin fished, a flame for the woman upstairs really taking hold as Sam kept adding more fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, she’s fucking great. Best female pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“So you looking to set her up with a pair of wings?” Joaquin asked, even though he had a hint of jealousy to his tone. He enjoyed being the only person other than Sam who had access to the now not so secret military wings, but he also couldn’t deny the new found need to go flying with you on a sunny afternoon and treat you to a picnic on the top of a mountain or something.

“We’ll see.” Sam said sceptically, but Joaquin knew from the way Sam had even brought you to meet him he thought you had what it takes.

“What are you two girls talking about?” You asked as you came striding back into the kitchen in a pair of Joaquin’s joggers and his old air force T-shirt. You were using a towel to squeeze out your hair and Joaquin couldn’t deny you looked right at home in his house, wearing his clothes.

“Lover boy here was grilling me about you.” Sam joked, taking in the way Joaquin looked at you.

“Was he now?” You asked feigning interest and playing up to the little bit in order to embarrass him, but as you sat across from him at the table and really took him in for the first time, you couldn’t deny he was handsome- and if the T-shirt he gave you had anything to say, you definitely had a lot in common to bond over.

“Uh- um- no- I-“ Joaquin began to stutter bashfully.

“It’s all cool dude,” you reassured. “I know he’s just messing. You really shouldn’t let him rile you up like that.”

Joaquin sighed before he leaned in closer to you, “How do you stay so calm around him?” He asked as if Sam wasn’t there and you had all the secrets.

“Eh, when you grew up being told about your badass aunt with actual super powers, some guy in a read white and blue bird costume is nothing.” You joked.

“Hey!” Sam pointed at you, “don’t you dare turn him against me or I’ll drop your ass in the lake again.”

“So you admit it! You did it on purpose.” You said, slamming your hand on the table animatedly.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. What are you gonna do about it?” He asked back, but you didn’t say anything more. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You rolled your eyes at him before fixing them on Joaquin instead as Sam’s phone began to ring. You both turned your eyes on him as he checked the caller ID. “I need to take this.” He said, before getting up and dismissing himself, stepping out the back door to take the call outside.

“Would you like coffee?” Joaquin asked to break up the silence the two of you were left in.

“Umm, yes, that would be great.” You said with a smile and he got up to pour you a cup full from the pot.

“It looks good on you.” He said as he came back over a moment later and handed you the mug.

“What, now?” You said confused.

“Uh, my shirt,” he said with a shrug, as he committed to the statement. “It looks good on you.”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly under his gaze. He was cute and confident and oddly endearing. “Thanks.” You smiled, as he sat himself back down. “I guess I’ll keep it then.” You joked.

“The only way you’re keeping that thing is if you were my girlfriend.” He replied, half as a joke, half as a way of informing you just how much that shirt meant to him.

“Well I guess you better ask me on a date then.” You smirked playfully as he took a sip of his coffee and he almost choked as he spat it back into his cup. But before he could say anymore, Sam came back through the sliding door.

“Alright lovebirds, you can stop having your meet cute moment now, we gotta go,” he said to Joaquin.

“And what about me?” You said indignantly, feeling a little put out.

“He’ll be back in time to take you out on a proper date later.” Sam retorted, marching back through the house to get his shit from where he’d left it by the front door.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” You asked, completely brushing over the rest of what he’d said. “I don’t even live anywhere near here!” You stressed. “You just brought me here and now you’re gonna up and leave me here!” You said indignantly.

Joaquin froze in the middle of the hallway next to you, looking from his mentor and back to you as he tried to keep up with what’s going on. He felt conflicted. “I mean, can’t she just come with us.” He offered. “I mean, you brought her out here because you wanted to see what she could do. So I say let her.”

Sam looked between the two of you slowly, before he conceded. “Uh, fine. But if anything happens with her it’s on your head.” He warned but you were both smiling.

“So, is this technically our first date?” You ribbed him as he began to usher you out the door so he could lock up.

“We’ll see. Depends if you like it or not.” He mused and you had to admit, his cheeky smile did make you swoon.

“And if I don’t?” You asked with a playful twinkle in your eye.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured you with just as equal playfulness and innuendo, “you will.”

[harrysfolklore]

speed of sound - ln4

summary: in the busy city of monaco, you and lando fell in love at the starlight bar. your story, mixed with fast cars and your favorite coldplay song, became as special as the city itself. as time went by, would your love last as long as the song that brought you together? word count: 5.8k

folkie radio: HELLO IM BACK WITH A LANDO STORY!! this one is heavily inspired by the black dog by taylor swift, so it's ANGSTY AS HELL (dare i say my angstiest fic ever???) anyway, grab the tissues and enjoy the ride

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

Monaco, 2019

The Monaco nightlife is just kicking off as you weave through the crowded streets, dodging tourists and locals alike.

Max had practically begged you to come hang out during his week off, and who were you to say no to a free trip to the playground of the rich and famous? Plus, you missed your best friend a lot, and you were dying to finally catch up with him.

As you round the corner, the Starlight Bar comes into view. Max promised that it was one of the best bars in Monte Carlo, with the best music and drinks. Your eyes scan the crowd outside, searching for your best friend's familiar face.

Suddenly, you hear Max's voice cutting through the noise of the street. "YN! Over here!"

You spot him waving enthusiastically, his grin wide and infectious. As you make your way towards him, you can't help but mirror his excitement. It's been far too long since you've seen each other.

"Max!" you exclaim, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

Max pulls back, holding you at arm's length to look at you properly. "God, I've missed you," he says, his eyes twinkling with genuine happiness. "How was your trip? Are you ready for a proper Monaco night out?"

"I've missed you too, you goofball," you laugh, the sound light and carefree. "And yes, I'm more than ready. You promised me the best bar in Monte Carlo, remember?"

"Oh, trust me, you won't be disappointed. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone."

He leads you into the bar, his hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

As you approach a table in the corner, you see a group of people gathered around it. You recognize a few faces from the paddock, but there are some new ones too.

"Everyone," Max announces, his voice carrying over the music, "this is YN, my best friend I've been telling you all about."

You wave, slightly overwhelmed by the sudden attention. Max starts pointing out faces, rattling off names of other drivers and team members. You try to keep up, smiling and nodding at each introduction.

"And this," Max says, gesturing towards a young man with bright eyes and an infectious grin, "is Lando Norris. He's just joined F1 this year."

Lando stands, extending his hand with a charming smile, "Nice to meet you, YN," he says, "Max has told us a lot about you."

"All good things, I hope?" you say, raising an eyebrow at him

"Oh, only the best," Lando's grin widens. "Though he failed to mention how beautiful you are."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and you glance at Max, who's watching the interaction with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

"Alright, alright," Max interrupts, though his tone is playful. "That's enough flirting with my best friend, Norris. YN, come sit down. What's your poison? First drink's on me."

As the night progresses, you find yourself increasingly drawn into conversation with Lando. He talks about his experiences as the brand new Formula 1 rookie, you tell him about your job and that rom com you watched last week. Talking to him feels extremely easy, like you were meant to bond together.

Suddenly, a familiar melody fills the air. Your eyes light up as you recognize the opening notes of "Speed of Sound" by Coldplay. The song has always been a favorite of yours, and you never expected it to be played at a bar in Monaco out of all places.

You glance around, expecting to see others reacting, but to your surprise, only Lando seems to share your excitement.

"You know this song?" you ask, unable to hide your grin.

Lando's face breaks into a wide smile. "Are you kidding? I love Coldplay. This is one of my favorites."

Without thinking twice about it, both of you starting singing to the lyrics. You're off-key and uncoordinated, but your voice is full of joy.

As you sing, you can't help but steal glances at him. He's beaming, eyes crinkled at the corners as he grins widely. There's something incredibly endearing about seeing this professional racing driver let loose and simply enjoy the moment.

The song finally comes to an end, and you both collapse back into your seats, breathless and grinning. The rest of the group erupts in laughter and applause.

"Well," Max says, raising an eyebrow and looking between you and Lando with a knowing smirk, "looks like you two have found your song."

Monaco, 2020

The Starlight Bar looks different tonight. Maybe it's the way the lights seem to shimmer a little brighter, or how your heart races with anticipation. You smooth down your dress, checking your reflection in the window one last time before stepping inside.

You're not here to meet Max tonight. No, this time you're waiting for Lando. The past few months have been full of late-night calls, inside jokes, and a growing anticipation that's led to this moment – your first official date.

You've replayed your conversations in your head countless times, analyzed every text, every laugh shared over the phone. But nothing could quite prepare you for the nerves you're feeling now.

The door opens, and there he is. Lando walks in, looking dashingly handsome in a blue button-down shirt that brings out his eyes. When he spots you, his face lights up with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Hey, you," Lando says softly, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His familiar scent envelops you, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him. "You look beautiful."

You feel a blush creeping up your neck, your skin tingling where his lips touched. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Norris," you manage to reply, proud of how steady your voice sounds despite the butterflies in your stomach.

As you settle into a cozy booth, your knees touching under the table, you feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. This is Lando, your friend, the guy who can make you laugh until your sides hurt. But it's also Lando, the man who's been occupying your thoughts more and more lately, the one whose smile makes your heart race.

The conversation flows easily, picking up right where you left off in your last call. Lando tells you about his recent race, his eyes shining with passion as he describes the thrill of the track. You share stories from your week, relishing in the way he listens intently, hanging on your every word.

He reaches across the table, intertwining his fingers with yours, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact.

"I'm really glad we're doing this," he says softly, his thumb tracing patterns on your hand. "I've been wanting to ask you out for ages."

You squeeze his hand, feeling a rush of affection. "Me too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was starting to think you'd never make a move."

Lando grins sheepishly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Well, I had to make sure I had the perfect wingman first." He nods towards the bar, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize the opening notes of "Speed of Sound" filling the air.

You can't help but throw your head back with a huge smile. "You remembered," you say softly, your eyes meeting his.

"Of course I did," Lando's grin widens, pride and affection in his eyes. "How could I forget our impromptu duet?"

As the familiar melody fills the air, you both start singing along, just like you did that first night. Your voices blend together, slightly off-key but full of happiness. People turn to look, some smiling at your enthusiasm, but you barely notice. In this moment, it feels like you and Lando are the only ones in the world.

As the song comes to an end, you find yourself breathless, not from the singing, but from the intensity of Lando's gaze. He's looking at you with such warmth and adoration that it makes you melt.

"You're a charmer, Lando Norris," you say, your voice soft and full of affection.

"Only for you, love," he replies, his thumb gently caressing your hand.

The air between you feels charged, filled with unspoken words and growing anticipation. You glance at his lips, then back to his eyes, seeing your own desire reflected there.

"Want to get out of here?" Lando asks, his voice low and slightly husky.

You nod, not trusting your voice. Lando quickly settles the bill, and then you're both heading for the exit, his hand warm and steady on the small of your back.

You've barely made it a few steps from the bar when Lando stops, turning to face you. His eyes search yours, asking a silent question. You answer by closing the distance between you.

The kiss is soft at first, a gentle press of lips that sends shivers down your spine. Then Lando's hand comes up to cup your cheek, and the kiss deepens. You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer.

The world fades away as you lose yourself in the kiss. It's everything you've imagined and more – tender yet passionate, familiar yet thrilling. When you finally pull apart, you're both grinning like lovesick teenagers.

"Wow," Lando whispers, his forehead resting against yours.

"Yeah," you agree, unable to stop smiling. "Wow indeed."

As you stand there in the Monaco street, wrapped in each other's arms, with the neon sign of The Starlight Bar in the background, you can't help but feel that this is the start of something beautiful.

Monaco, 2021

Max Verstappen was turning 24 and that could only mean one thing. A celebration at The Starlight Bar was in order.

The place has been transformed for the occasion. Balloons in Red Bull's colors bob against the ceiling, and a large banner with "Happy Birthday Max!" hangs behind the DJ booth. The usual ambient lighting has been replaced with pulsing, colorful lights that give the place a more club-like atmosphere.

You're right in the middle of it all, your arms wrapped around Lando as you sway to the music. The past year has been full of love and excitement, and nights like these remind you how lucky you are.

You're both more than a little drunk, riding the high of good company and great drinks. The room spins slightly as you move, but Lando's arms around you keep you grounded. You've lost count of how many toasts you've made to Max, each one accompanied by a shot that burned pleasantly on the way down.

"You're so cute when you're drunk," you giggle, pressing a sloppy kiss to Lando's cheek. His skin is warm under your lips, and you resist the urge to pepper his entire face with kisses.

"Mhh, I love you," Lando whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The words still send a thrill through you, even after months of hearing them. They never fail to make your heart race and your stomach flutter.

Max appears suddenly, throwing his arms around both of you. "You two are disgustingly adorable. I'm starting to regret introducing you."

You stick your tongue out at him, feeling playful and uninhibited. "You love us, Verstappen. Admit it." The words come out more garbled than you intended, but you're too happy to care.

Suddenly, Lando's head snaps up, his eyes wide with an idea. "Babe! We need to hear our song!"

You know exactly what he means, and the thought fills you with giddy excitement. Without hesitation, you both stumble towards the DJ booth, Lando leading the way. You giggle as you watch him try to walk in a straight line.

"Excuse me," Lando says to the DJ, trying his best to sound serious despite his drunken state. He leans on the booth for support, flashing his most charming smile. "We need you to play 'Speed of Sound' by Coldplay. It's very important."

The DJ looks amused but obliges, probably used to strange requests from drunk partygoers. As the familiar notes start playing, you and Lando cheer, much to the confusion of everyone else in the bar.

"This is our song!" you announce to no one in particular, your voice carrying over the music. You grab Lando's hand, spinning him around in a clumsy twirl that nearly sends you both tumbling to the floor.

You sing at the top of your lungs, not caring how off-key you sound. The lyrics, so familiar now, flow easily even in your drunken state. Lando joins in, his voice blending with yours just like it did that first night two years ago.

As you sing, memories flash through your mind - that first meeting, your first date, countless happy moments spent in this very bar. Each one is tied to this song, to the man singing beside you. Your heart feels like it might burst with happiness.

Your friends watch from the sidelines, shaking their heads with fond exasperation. You see Carlos filming the whole thing on his phone, no doubt planning to use it as blackmail material later. But you don't care. In this moment, you and Lando are in your own world.

As the song ends, Lando pulls you in for a kiss that tastes of tequila and happiness. It's messy and uncoordinated, your noses bumping together as you both grin too much to kiss properly.

"I love you," Lando says again, his forehead resting against yours. "So much. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Your heart swells at his words. Even in his drunken state, the sincerity in his eyes is unmistakable. "I love you too, Lando. More than I ever thought possible."

The night continues in a blur of laughter, dancing, and more drinks. You vaguely remember challenging Max to a dance-off, Lando cheering you on from the sidelines. At some point, someone suggests karaoke, and you find yourself on a makeshift stage with Lando, belting out an off-key rendition of "Don't Stop Believin'".

As the party winds down in the early hours of the morning, you find yourself curled up in a booth with Lando, pleasantly exhausted. Your head rests on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around you. The room is still spinning slightly, but you've never felt more content.

"Hey," Lando says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Move in with me."

You lift your head to look at him, wondering if you've heard correctly. "What?"

Lando's eyes are bright, a mix of alcohol-induced courage and genuine emotion. "Move in with me," he repeats. "I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to come home to you after races. I want… everything. With you."

Your heart races at his words. It's a big step, one you've thought about but haven't dared to bring up. "Are you sure?" you ask, searching his face. "This isn't just the tequila talking?"

"No, it's not the tequila," Lando laughs, shaking his head. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I just… I love you, YN. And I want to build a life with you."

Tears prick at your eyes, happy ones. "Yes," you say, your voice choked with emotion. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

Lando's face breaks into a wide grin, and he pulls you in for a kiss that's full of promise and future plans. As you melt into the kiss, you think about how far you've come since that first night at Starlight.

As you leave the bar, leaning on each other for support, "Speed of Sound" plays one last time. You and Lando share a smile, both thinking the same thing - this song, this bar, will always be a part of your story.

Monaco, 2022

The Starlight Bar has become your second home over the years. Tonight, you sit at your usual booth, Lando's arm draped comfortably around your shoulders. The familiarity of it all brings a smile to your face – the way the bartender knows your order by heart, the slight dip in the leather seat where you always sit, the faded marks on the table from countless nights of laughter and conversation.

The bar hasn't changed much since you first stepped foot in it three years ago, but your life certainly has. You've moved in with Lando, your belongings now intermingled with his in a cozy apartment overlooking the Mediterranean. Your relationship has deepened, growing stronger with each passing day.

You take a sip of your drink – a cocktail the bartender created just for you, named "YN's Starlight Special" – and lean into Lando's warmth. He's fresh off a podium finish, his second of the season, and there's still an aura of excitement around him. You couldn't be prouder.

"What are you thinking about?" Lando asks, pressing a kiss to your temple. His voice is soft, intimate, meant only for you despite the bustling bar around you.

"Just how much has changed since we first met here," you reply, tracing patterns on the back of his hand with your finger. "And how much has stayed the same."

Lando hums in agreement, his chest vibrating against your side. "Yeah, who would've thought that awkward kid who couldn't believe his luck singing Coldplay with a beautiful girl would end up here?"

You laugh, the sound mingling with the ambient noise of the bar. "You weren't awkward," you protest, then pause. "Well, maybe a little. But it was cute."

"I'm still cute," Lando pouts, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated manner that never fails to make you smile.

"The cutest," you agree, leaning in to kiss him. It's a soft, sweet kiss, full of familiarity and comfort. When you pull back, you can't help but marvel at how this feeling – the flutter in your stomach, the warmth in your chest – hasn't faded even after years together.

As if on cue, the opening notes of "Speed of Sound" start playing. You both laugh, the sound mingling with the familiar melody. It's become something of a tradition now – rarely does a night at Starlight go by without this song playing at least once.

"Do you think we'll ever get tired of this song?" you ask, looking up at him.

"It's our song, baby," he kisses your temple softly, "The one we'll dance at our wedding."

Your heart races, sensing the weight of his words. "Lando," you breathe, pulling back to look into his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying… I want to marry the fuck out of you," he says with a smile, "Not right now, not tomorrow, but someday. I want that to be our next step. If… if that's what you want too."

Tears prick at your eyes, happy ones. This isn't a proposal, not yet, but it's a promise. A glimpse of the future you both want. "Yes," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. "Yes, that's what I want too. Someday."

Lando's face breaks into a wide grin, and he pulls you in for a kiss. You melt into it, the final notes of "Speed of Sound" fade away, but the melody continues to play in your heart.

Little did you know, the harmony of your relationship was about to turn sour.

Monaco, 2023

The tension in your shared apartment is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You stand in the living room, arms crossed defensively over your chest, watching as Lando paces back and forth. The past few weeks have been a struggle, filled with arguments and cold silences. Tonight feels like it could be a breaking point, and the thought terrifies you.

Your eyes drift around the room, taking in the life you've built together. Photos from happy times line the walls - you and Lando at various races, on vacations, with friends. But right now, those memories feel distant, overshadowed by the growing rift between you.

"The guys are heading to Starlight," you say, your voice tight with barely contained emotion. You're desperate to break this cycle, to find a way back to the couple you used to be. "We should go. It might do us good to get out."

Lando stops pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The gesture, once endearing, now just serves as a reminder of the tension between you. "I don't feel like it, YN," he says, his tone clipped. "You go if you want."

The dismissal stings, cutting deeper than you want to admit. "Lando, come on," you plead, taking a step towards him. "We barely spend any time together anymore. This could be good for us."

You reach out to touch his arm, but he flinches away, and the small rejection feels like a knife to your heart. Lando's eyes, once so full of love when they looked at you, now seem distant and cold.

"What would be good for us is some space," Lando snaps, his words sharp enough to make you step back. "Just… go. Have fun with your friends."

You flinch at his tone, hurt and anger bubbling up inside you. "Fine," you say coldly, grabbing your jacket from the back of a chair. "I'll go. Enjoy your 'space'."

As you storm out, slamming the door behind you, you fight back tears. The walk to Starlight is a blur, your mind racing with thoughts of where things went wrong. When did the love of your life become a stranger? When did your home start feeling like a battleground?

The bar, once a place of joy and fond memories, now feels hollow as you step inside. The familiar sights and sounds that used to bring comfort now just serve as painful reminders of happier times. Your friends greet you enthusiastically, their faces lighting up when they see you, but their smiles fade when they notice Lando's absence.

"Everything okay?" Max asks, concern evident in his voice. He knows you well enough to see through any facade you might try to put up.

You force a smile, but it feels fake even to you. "Yeah, Lando wasn't feeling well. He stayed home." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you can't bring yourself to admit the truth.

That your relationship is falling apart and you don't know how to fix it.

As the night progresses, you try to lose yourself in conversation and drinks. Your friends do their best to keep your spirits up, sharing funny stories and making sure your glass is never empty. But your phone burns a hole in your pocket, silent and accusing. No messages, no calls.

Then it happens. One of your friends, oblivious to the situation, posts a story on Instagram. Your heart drops as you see it – Lando, out at another club, surrounded by people you don't recognize.

You stare at the screen, unable to look away. Lando is smiling, his arm around a girl you've never seen before. He looks happy, carefree. Everything he hasn't been with you lately.

As if to twist the knife further, "Speed of Sound" starts playing over the bar's speakers. The opening notes of the song wash over you, and suddenly you're transported to Lando. The two of you, singing along at the top of your lungs, not caring who heard. The song that once symbolized your love now feels like a cruel joke.

You excuse yourself, rushing to the bathroom where you can break down in private. The world blurs as tears stream down your face. You lean against the cool tile wall, trying to catch your breath.

How did you get here? The happy memories of singing this song with Lando feel like they belong to someone else now.

You stay in the bathroom for what feels like hours, trying to piece yourself back together. When you finally emerge, makeup hastily fixed, you find your friends looking at you with sympathy. They know. Of course they know.

"Want us to kick his ass?" Max offers, only half-joking. He pulls you into a hug.

You shake your head, forcing a weak smile. "No. I just… I need to go home."

Your friends exchange worried glances, but they don't try to stop you. They know you well enough to recognize when you need space.

The walk home is long and lonely. Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of your broken relationship pressing down on you. By the time you reach your apartment building, you're exhausted, emotionally and physically.

The apartment is dark and quiet. Lando's shoes are missing from their usual spot. He's still out, probably at that club. You sink onto the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing in on you from all sides.

As you sit there in the darkness, you realize that this might be the beginning of the end.

And across the city, Lando dances on.

They don't play "Speed of Sound" at the club he’s at, but he doesn't even notice.

Monaco, 2024.

The apartment that once felt like a warm, loving home now stands cold and empty. Boxes are scattered across the floor, each one a painful reminder of the life you and Lando built together - and are now dismantling.

The breakup wasn't sudden or dramatic. It was a slow, agonizing process of trying to salvage what you both once had. Countless tearful conversations, promises to do better, even a desperate attempt at couples therapy. But in the end, you both had to face the harsh reality: the love that once burned so bright had faded to embers, and no amount of effort could rekindle it.

The day Lando moves out is etched into your memory. You watch as he carefully wraps the framed photo of your first podium celebration together, his hands trembling slightly. You both agreed he should keep it - a bittersweet memento of happier times.

"What about the Starck lamp?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lando looks up, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before darting away. "You keep it," he says softly. "It was always more your style anyway."

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. The process of dividing your shared possessions feels like cutting your heart into pieces. The art pieces you bought together on your trip to Italy - you get the abstract painting, he takes the landscape. The set of Le Creuset pots you received as a housewarming gift - split down the middle, just like your relationship.

But there's one thing you never settle - the Starlight Bar. Neither of you can bring yourselves to claim it, to deny the other person access to a place filled with so many memories. So it hangs there, an unspoken agreement to share this last piece of your history.

As Lando carries the last box out, he pauses at the door. For a moment, you think he might say something - maybe even change his mind. But he just gives you a sad smile and walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click that echoes in the now-empty apartment.

You collapse onto the floor, surrounded by the remnants of your shared life, and let the tears flow freely.

Monaco, 2024.

It's Saturday night, and the silence in your apartment is deafening. A few months ago, this would have been unthinkable. Saturdays in Monaco were your special time with Lando away from busy schedules and race weekends.

You glance at the clock: 9:37 PM. By now, you'd usually be curled up on the couch, Lando's arm around you as you debated what movie to watch. Or maybe you'd be in the kitchen, playfully bickering over what to make for late night dinner, the air filled with laughter and the aroma of cooking food. On particularly good nights, you might have already been in bed, tangled in the sheets, breathless and giddy with love.

But tonight, you're alone. The TV remains dark, the kitchen untouched. The bed, when you look at it, seems vast and empty, a cruel reminder of what you've lost.

You try to distract yourself. You pick up a book, but the words blur together, meaningless. You open Netflix, but every show seems to remind you of something you watched with Lando. Even scrolling through social media backfires when you see mutual friends posting about their weekend plans.

As the loneliness grows, you find yourself reaching for your phone. Your thumb hovers over your contacts, muscle memory almost making you call Lando before you remember you can't do that anymore.

Instead, almost unconsciously, you open the location sharing app. You've kept Lando's location, unable to bring yourself to delete it. It's a digital string to him, one last connection you can't bear to delete.

You tell yourself you shouldn't look. That it's unhealthy, that it will only bring you pain. But the need to know, to have some idea of what he's doing without you, overrides your better judgment.

With a deep breath, you tap his name. The map loads, and your heart stops as you see the familiar location pin.

The Starlight Bar.

Your mind races, coming up vivid images that feel like daggers to your heart. Lando, sitting in your booth, his arm draped casually around another girl. Is she pretty? Funnier than you? Does she make him laugh the way you used to?

You imagine them ordering drinks, maybe even your special cocktail. The thought of Lando introducing it to her - "You've got to try this, it's amazing" - makes you feel physically ill. It was your drink, your little inside joke with the bartender. Now it's just another piece of yourself you've lost.

As you curl up on the couch, clutching a pillow to your chest, the worst scenarios play out in your head. What if they're dancing? What if, in a cruel twist of fate, "Speed of Sound" starts playing?

The idea of Lando sharing your song with someone else sends a fresh wave of pain through you. You can almost see it - Lando's eyes lighting up as the familiar melody fills the air, turning to this new girl with a grin. "This is a great song," he might say, conveniently forgetting or deliberately omitting its significance. Would he sing along? Would he pull her close, swaying to the rhythm that once belonged to you and him alone?

Or worse - what if he's already told her about the song's importance? What if he's trying to recreate your memories with someone new, effectively erasing you from the narrative? The thought makes you gasp, a sharp pain in your chest as if your heart is literally breaking all over again.

Through your tears, you dial Max's number, desperate for some comfort. When he answers, your voice cracks as you speak.

"He's at Starlight," you simply say.

Max doesn't need to ask who 'he' is. There's a pause, then, "Want me to come over?"

Max has been your rock these past few months, always there with a shoulder to cry on or a distraction when you needed it most. He was there to pick up the pieces when Lando told you he was leaving, and he had been there the other times your heart broke over him.

He’s the best friend you could ever ask for.

"No, I… I just needed to tell someone. God, why do I even care? It's been months."

You can almost hear Max's sympathetic smile through the phone. "Because you love him," he says gently. "It's okay to still hurt."

"I hope it's shitty at that stupid bar," you spit out, anger taking over you, "I hope he's miserable and he hates every second of it."

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel childish. But Max doesn't judge. "I'm sure it is. Nothing's the same without you there."

"I just... I can't stop thinking about him there. With someone else. In our place."

"I know, YN. It's not fair," Max says softly. "But you can't torture yourself like this. Have you thought about maybe... I don't know, turning off his location? Or deleting the app?"

The suggestion makes your stomach churn. "I can't," you whisper, your voice cracking. "It's stupid, I know, but it's like... it's the last connection I have to him. If I delete it, it's really over."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "YN," Max says gently, "it is over. I'm sorry, but holding onto this isn't healthy. It's keeping you from moving forward."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You know he's right, but hearing it out loud makes it real in a way you're not prepared for. Tears start flowing freely down your cheeks.

How does one let go of Lando Norris?

Across town, at the Starlight Bar, Lando sits in what used to be your favorite booth. The leather seat feels familiar under him, but everything else feels wrong. He's there a girl he met a month ago. She's pretty and kind, with a bubbly laugh that turns heads. But as Lando looks at her, he can't help but see the ghost of you in every corner of the bar.

The bartender recognizes Lando, giving him a knowing look. Lando orders his usual drink, pointedly avoiding your special cocktail. He can't bring himself to share that with anyone else.

The DJ, also noticing him, puts on "Speed of Sound." The familiar opening notes fill the air, and Lando immediately perks up, muscle memory kicking in as he scans the room. For a split second, he expects to see you, to hear your voice joining in with the chorus.

But you're not there.

His date looks at him quizzically, not understanding the significance of the song or Lando's reaction. "Do you like this song?" she asks, trying to make conversation.

Lando forces a smile. "Yeah, it's… it's a good one."

As the song fades out, Lando feels a piece of himself fading with it. He realizes, with a pang of regret, that he might have lost more than just a relationship. He's lost a part of himself, a part that only existed when he was with you.

The night drags on, each moment in the bar a bittersweet reminder of the life he used to have. And across town, you cry yourself to sleep, both of you haunted by the echoes of a love that once seemed unbreakable.

In the end, the Starlight Bar stands as a silent witness to your shared history - a place where memories linger like ghosts, where a simple song can bridge the gap between past and present, and where two hearts, though separated, still beat in time to the speed of sound.

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Falling Behind

Synopsis: The Prefect has ADHD and was medicated for it back in their old world, but when they go to Crowley for help getting a diagnosis here, he brushes them off. They proceed to struggle until finally breaking down. (+ Crewel basically steps up as a father figure)

TW: Pretty descriptive with the negative effects of The Prefect's ADHD, Talk of medication, The Prefect cries, Crowley says the usual things people who deny/downplay ADHD say, Crewel has the "Help me help you talk" with The Prefect, The Prefect cries and is overall just GOING THROUGH IT

NOTE: I went off of my experience as a person diagnosed with ADHD and medicated for it. My experience with it won't apply to everyone else with it, but rest assured this won't be a fic that portrays ADHD like a silly, goofy little quirk. (This is a pretty self-indulgent fic, tbh)

Many people who are diagnosed with ADHD and medicated accordingly have the thought cross their minds every once in a while of "Do I really need the medicine?" When you're on ADHD medication for long enough, you forget what it's like to not function at the level you do when taking it. The memories of the difficulty focusing can slip away with time and leave you doubting. You were no exception.

Key word is were.

When you got thrown into Twisted Wonderland you learned pretty quickly that the medicine in fact does help and that you in fact do need it.

But how would you even go about getting it here? You'd need a diagnosis and for that you'd need a psychiatrist and for that you'd need money (and an official identity which you did not have as an alien to this world).

You tried bringing it up to Crowley, but he brushed it off. He said the same lines you had heard 100 times before, many of which you found yourself thinking from time to time: "You just need to make yourself work. You're unmotivated." and, while he didn't say it out loud, you could clearly tell that what he was really saying was that you were lazy.

You suppose you should have expected as much. No headmage that gave two hoots about mental health would be running a school that has no student counselor.

After that interaction you had resigned yourself to the fact that you'd have to come to terms with being a student and doing schoolwork with no relief to your condition.

You tried your best, you really did. You sat at your desk for hours on end as you tried to finish a simple homework sheet, but hours passed with virtually no progress being made. You couldn't force yourself to focus. When you did your body protested. Your brain refused to allow a single proper thought to form and your eyes wouldn't focus. If you forced the issue further, it only got worse. Your brain and eyes felt somehow heavier than usual and sometimes you swore they were slowly liquifying to a goo in your skull.

You didn't bring it up to your friends. You felt weird talking about it with them. One too many times being told you were faking or doing it for attention you suppose.

Your grades began to slip. Deadlines popped up when you could have sworn you had more time. You made little mistakes you chastised yourself for. You knew the material. You knew you knew the material.

. . .so why were you messing up.

Assignments piled up and slipped through the cracks. It's not like your teachers could notice how out of character this was for you. They didn't know how well you typically functioned when medicated, and it's not like you told them about the disorder in the first place.

Each night you held back tears of frustration as you tried desperately to get any work done. You weren't one to cry easily. In fact, you hadn't cried since you got to Twisted Wonderland, and even before that it had been a while since you last allowed tears to drip from your eyes.

But everyone has a breaking point.

You had gotten so far behind on your assignments that it was decided you needed more than to simply stay in the classroom to work during lunch and you were put in after school tutoring (although it felt more like detention).

The first few weeks you managed to keep it together. You taped over the holes that chipped away into your composure and did your best to hold down the storm of emotions that thrashed violently inside of you.

Another day of after school tutoring came around. By now not even Grim was having to stay for these sessions. There were other students that were in them, but they were in a separate classroom. You knew what was happening even if nobody outright said it.

You sat in Crewel's empty classroom for the second week in a row. The clock on the wall ticked impossibly loud. Every sound around you was amplified tenfold and you could feel it wearing on you. Your arms shook in a sick combination of frustration and exhaustion as you tried in vain to get one question done.

You could feel the ugly jaws of your pent-up emotions gnashing away at your already tattered walls of composure.

Crewel sighed as you once again failed to answer the question: "Look, I really do want to help you, but in order for that to happen I need you to cooperate and listen to me. Right now, it feels like you aren't doing that."

You had had this conversation with him before; with all your teachers for that matter. You used to it. YOU WERE USED TO IT.

You chanted the phrase in your head over and over again.

"What do you not understand."

He didn't say it in a malicious way. He sounded genuine, just. . .exhausted.

He didn't know. He wasn't aware of the storm in your stomach slowly making its way to your eyes. He didn't know.

You don't blame him, but when he said those words you finally broke.

It wasn't anything grand or dramatic like you see in movies. A small catch of your breath in a short-lived attempt to hold it together and then tears. You choked on your sobs as you tried to quell them. The only thing worse than crying is crying in front of people.

Your knees curled up onto the bench, up to your chest, and you hugged them: trying to hide your face and muffle your sobs.

It was no use. Crewel already saw the tears.

He was momentarily stunned at how suddenly you seemed to break down and could only watch as your whole body shook with the sobs you were trying so desperately to hold in.

When he finally snapped out of it he was still unsure of what to do, so he did the only thing he could.

You felt his large, fluffy coat be draped over your shoulders before he somewhat awkwardly sat a comfortable distance away from you as he waited for you to calm down.

When your sobs finally quieted to small whimpers he apologized for making you cry.

You explained it wasn't his fault and, after a bit of silence, you explained to him what was wrong.

He sat with you and listened patiently as you told him about your ADHD, the trouble you'd been having since you got here, and finally recounted your interaction with Crowley.

He led you to the infirmary not far from his office, telling you he'd be back soon and to rest for the time being.

Luckily for Crewel, the headmage's office was just about as far away from the infirmary as it could be.

He could scream as loud as he wanted without disturbing you.

By the time he returned to the infirmary it was late. He was about to apologize for leaving you there so long but stopped himself.

There on the bed was your exhausted form curled up in his coat and sleeping peacefully.

The next day he asked you a few more questions, and the day after that, he accompanied you to the doctor's office. (you didn't bother asking how he managed to get you registered as an actual person)

You went through suspiciously less steps than you had back in your old world to get the diagnosis, but you just chalked it up to the fact that it was clear by your appearance that you had been going through it.

You got your medicine the same day. Wait. . .did Crewel just tell the pharmacist he was picking it up for his child?

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Found You 3

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part two ⋆ Part four

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 4.369

Warning: violence, domestic abuse

Summary: Chaos enters Spring

The clock was ticking and your eyes were on it. He was late - again.

You and Amias had been waiting for Azriel, he should have arrived hours ago. It was already ten past twelve.

“Mama, is Daddy coming?”

“Yes, darling. He is probably just busy for a bit longer.”

Azriel’s visits had been irregular over the past few weeks. Sometimes, he sent letters explaining that work was keeping him away. 

Nine days had passed since Amias had last seen him.

You could see the sadness in his eyes. He tried to hide it, but you saw the unshed tear.

His toys laid forgotten around him, his small wings were drooping on the floor and his shadows curled around him, just like Azriel’s always did.

He could barely sleep the night before, too excited about training with his father and spending time with him. At dawn, he had woken you up just to gush about how cool his father was- how tall, how strong.

You had smiled, glad that Azriel had been a good father since getting to know Amias. But still, you remained cautious. The irregular visits were starting to wear on you.

Where is he?

He could have at least sent a letter?!

A knock echoed at the door.

“Come in,” you said, hoping, for your son’s sake, that it was news of his father.

Instead, a servant stepped inside, bowing slightly. 

“My lady, the Autumn Court heir has arrived and requests an audience. He says it is of utmost importance.”

You exhaled sharply. 

What now?

Nodding, you rose to your feet, silently praying this had nothing to do with Azriel’s disappearance.

“Nara, take care of Amias,” you instructed.

But before you could take a step, Amias stood up, his small frame trembling. Tears spilled down his red cheeks as he ran to you, clinging tightly to your leg.

“Mommy,” he whimpered.

“Baby, it’s okay. I promise I’m coming back,” you whispered, running a gentle hand through his dark curls.

But he only sobbed harder, his little hands gripping your blue dress with all the strength he had.

“D-Dont… please. Daddy is already gone… please don’t leave too,” he hiccuped, his voice breaking, as he sobbed louder.

Your heart burned. Kneeling down, you cupped his tear-streaked face.

“Amias, listen to me. Mommy is just going to talk to Uncle Eris and see if he knows something about Daddy, okay? I won’t gone long.”

He kept crying, though and guilt sank deep into your chest. This was your fault. You should have been more attentive, should have reassured him more, should have…

You swallowed hard. Now he thinks you’ll disappear too and that also because you were busy with work.

Something tugged at you, an uneasy feeling.

“Nara, please take care of him,” you said, forcing yourself to step back.

She gently tried prying him from your arms, but he would not let go. 

“No, mommy p-please d-don’t”

His hand stretched out to you as he tried getting out of her arms.

You were sick seeing your son like this. Anger burned beneath your skin, you were angry at your self, at Azriel, at life and your duties.

You turned on your heel with a heavy heart, storming toward the room where Eris was waiting, your patience long gone.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Stepping into the room, you froze, stunned by what you saw.

What in the abomination is this?

Your jaw clenched, eyes narrowing as you glared at Eris.

“I left my son alone for this?” you bit out, tilting your head toward the older Archeron sister standing beside him. Her head was ducked down and you could only see the mop of light brown hair she shared with her younger sister. It fell in a messy low bun. The resemblance between them was striking.

“Let me explain,” Eris said quickly, positioning himself between the both of you.

“You have five minutes. Do you understand?” Your voice was sharp, edged with barely restrained fury.

Turning you glared at Nesta Archeron, adding, “And you’d better not cause trouble in my court, like your sister”

Without waiting for a response, you turned. Eris followed you to your office, a space where no one could overhear or interrupt.

The moment the door shut behind you, you crossed your arms.

 “Talk.”

“She needs to stay here, she can’t stay anywhere else,” Eris said, his tone clipped.

You arched a brow, then let out a sharp laugh, slow-clapping your hands. 

“Are you serious, Eris?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. 

“Having an Archeron in Spring started this whole mess in the first place.”

“It’s different this time,” he said, but you only laughed bitterly.

Walking toward him, you raised your voice, pointing your finger sharply at his chest, pushing him back. His jaw clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching, he hated when you did that.

“She’s mated to the Night Court’s general, for gods’ sake. Have you lost your mind. Hiding her here, kidnapping her, will bring war to both our doorsteps. I have Amias to think about for Gods sake.”

“I know but I swear, it’s not the same,” Eris insisted.

“It is.” Your voice sharpened. 

“Have you forgotten what happened the last time? When the night court whore, her sister might I add, was here?”

Eris hesitated. “That’s… different.”

“How the fuck is this different?” Your brow furrowed.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled red hair.

“Because Rhysand wants her dead.”

Your confusion deepened. “What? What do you mean he wants her dead? She’s his mates sister?”

“I know. It’s just things have been happening,” Eris muttered, his frustration evident. He licked his lips before sinking into a chair. For the first time, you truly looked at him, his usually pristine clothes were wrinkled, his hair an unkempt mess.

“What the hell is going on?” you demanded.

He sighed. “We’ve been exchanging letters for a while. And that brute she’s mated to-let’s just say he hasn’t been kind to her.”

Your stomach twisted. “Be specific, Eris. I’m going to live with her, I need to know how I’m gonna take care of her.”

You meant your words, your mother had been through abuse in her first marriage, before she met your father.

His amber eyes met yours, filled with something between anger and sadness. 

“They’ve kept her locked in that house, forced her to work with him, train against her will, to endure his verbal abuse.”

You exhaled sharply. “Eris, if your feelings are involved he could challenge you to a blood duel, and what if she changes her mind and wants to go back?”

“She doesn’t want to go back, he’s been cruel, they’ve been cruel. He wants children, he tried impregnating her, guilting her into not drinking the potion. She was miserable there.

She left them a goodbye letter saying she fled to the Continent and found a man while working. No one knows she’s here. No one knows I’m involved. She covered her tracks. Lucien is taking care of the rest.”

You leaned against your desk, rubbing your temples. 

“She won’t be safe in Spring if they find out.”

“Then hide her in your manor, just until I figure something out.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You mean until you figure out how to deal with your father which, might I add, Night is supposed to be helping you with.”

Your voice dropped into a harsh whisper.

“Eris, you need them as your ally. I’ve been talking to Helion, but he hasn’t been responding well to this plan of ours. He’s worried about your mother’s life and now with Nesta in the game,” you said, your voice firm, as you crossed your arms.

“He is not supposed to be involved, he’s at fault for her misery in the first place. I have everything under control,” Eris snapped, frustration evident in his tone.

You laughed bitterly.

“You just showed me how much control you have. Helion needs to be involved because your mother is his mate, just like Nesta is Cassian’s mate. Do you see how many problems this might cause?”

His glare was sharp, his jaw clenched in anger. “And what about your mate?” he seethed.

Your powers flared to life, vines curling slowly behind your back, twisting with an almost dangerous grace. 

“That’s a new low, Eris,” you said coldly. “Mind your tongue.”

The room pulsed with the intensity of your anger, your gaze locked with his as the vines continued to unravel.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have.”

Eris clenched his jaw and he didn’t argue further.

You exhaled. “ She can stay, under the condition that she follows my rules.”

“She will,” Eris said.

 “She won’t be harmed. She’ll be treated with dignity and respect. I promise”

Eris stood up, stepping closer. His expression softened as he placed his hands gently around you.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he hugged you. It was hesitant at first, as if he was afraid you might still push him away. But when you didn’t, he tightened his grip, pulling you tighter.

 He needed the reassurance and to be honest you needed it too. You were touch starved. 

The last time this had happened, you were both sixteen, young, reckless and untouched by the burdens that now were weighing on you. 

That night, in the quiet of the woods, you had made a bargain to always protect eachother and be loyal to one another.

Now, years later, everything was different. And yet, for the briefest moment, as you stood in his arms, it felt like nothing had changed at all, like it was before the duties and the wars that had hardened you both.

But for just a second, you let yourself rest in the warmth of his embrace.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“You know I still owe you Amias’ life and mine,” you murmured.

Eris nodded, understanding in his gaze.

“Tell him I love him,” he added softly, “and that I’m sorry I brought no presents this time.”

“I will.”

You exhaled, stepping back. “Now go, before I kick you out.”

Eris smirked. “Fine. I’ll come back later tonight.”

With that, you turned and walked out, making your way back to Amias.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

As you entered the room, your heart clenched. He had fallen asleep on the floor beside his toys, his small frame curled up, his wings enveloping his body as if he was hiding. His eyes fluttered open as he sensed your presence, his shadows slithered toward you, wrapping around your wrists as they tugged you closer to him.

“Has his father arrived?” you asked Nara quietly.

She shook her head. “Not even a letter, my lady.”

You swallowed the frustration rising in your throat.

Kneeling beside Amias, you gently brushed a curl from his damp cheek.

 “Amias,” you whispered.

He stirred, slowly sitting up, his puffy, red-rimmed eyes locking onto yours. He must have cried himself to sleep.

Guilt twisted in your chest. You cupped his cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Mommy had to talk with Uncle Eris.”

He blinked up at you. “Uncle Eris?”

You smiled faintly. “He’s sorry he couldn’t stay and he loves you very much.”

Amias nodded, rubbing at his tired eyes. Then, hesitantly, he asked, “Where is Daddy?”

You winced.

“Your father is coming later tonight,” you assured him.

“But he’ll make it up to you. He loves you very much, angel.”

Another small nod. But this time, there was hesitation in his expression, doubt creeping in.

“Will he come back?”

“Of course,” you said gently. “It’s just work.”

He nodded again, but sadness lingered in his gaze.

You pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, my sweet boy.”

He curled into your arms and as you held him. The thought of leaving him again, even just to deal with your new guest made your chest tighten.

But there was no choice.

You had a mess to clean up.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Before you even reached the room, you could hear the shouting.

Multiple voices clashed over one another, servants hurriedly rushing away and power crackled in the air like a brewing storm.

Azriel was back.

Eris didn’t know about your bargain. You scolded yourself for the oversight, for not anticipating this. 

Heart pounding, you pushed forward, stepping into the chaos.

The scene before you was nothing short of a battlefield. The eldest Archeron sister stood behind Eris, half-hidden. Meanwhile, Lucien and Azriel were locked in a furious shouting match, their magic glowing.

Without hesitation, you slammed the heavy door shut.

Silence.

All heads snapped toward you, the tension thick enough to suffocate. The only sound left in the room was the sharp clack of your heels against the marble floor as you strode forward.

Azriel was a mess. His leathers were torn, his face bruised and bloodied, his normally pristine hair disheveled. He looked like he’d been in a fight, a bad one. But none of the others bore a single scratch. Whatever had happened, it had been before he came here.

You came to a stop in front of him, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. His massive wings were flared wide, casting a dark shadow over you. His golden-hazel eyes, now looking like liquid gold were locked onto Eris, his shadows writhing around him like vipers, ready to strike.

“Azriel,” you whispered.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on Eris, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Turning away from him, you addressed the others. 

“How the fuck can he enter?” Lucien demanded, his voice sharp.

“I will explain it later,” you promised, exhaling through your nose. 

“That was an oversight on my part.”

Eris stood firm, Nesta’s hand clasped tightly in his. She pressed herself further behind him, looking fragile, she was too thin, to small. Your gaze flicked back to Eris, searching his face for the anger you knew was brewing beneath his carefully controlled expression.

“I will take care of it,” you said, voice steady.

 “I promise you, nothing is as it seems right now. She is safe and welcome here.”

The bargain between you pulsed, a reminder to Eris of the vow you had made. 

Eris’s jaw tensed, his features hardening for a moment before something in him relented. He believed you. Even if his body remained coiled tight with tension, his grip on Nesta’s hand loosened just slightly.

“Lex will see that you are accommodated, undisturbed and left in peace,” you said evenly. Your voice left no room for argument. “No one will harm you in my home.”

The three walked out and Azriel moved to follow, but you grabbed his wrist gently.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice firm yet soft.

His jaw clenched in frustration. He didn’t pull away, but his posture stiffened, as if he were ready to break.

When the door clicked shut behind them, Azriel’s eyes focused solely on you. His wings were still spread wide, his golden eyes locked onto yours, intense and piercing.

You felt small in front of him, towering over you like a giant, but you felt no fear. His presence was overwhelming, yet strangely comforting. His shadows reached out, enveloping your body in a cool, almost soothing embrace. They were like a second skin.

“Sit,” you said, motioning toward the chair opposite you.

He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself into the seat, his body still tense as if every muscle was on alert.

Your gaze scanned his body as you took in the damage. His knuckles were swollen, the deep bruises darkening his skin. His body was covered in cuts and bruises.

Kneeling infront of him you softly took his hand, gently healing it with your magic. You moved slowly, deliberately, feeling the power flow through you, soothing the pain in his injured hand.

“Where were you?” you asked quietly, focusing on his hand, avoiding looking into his eyes for a moment.

His voice was rough as he answered, his gaze never leaving you. 

“Searching.”

“For the eldest, I presume?” you asked, your fingers intertwined with his.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours as you worked, your touch soft but deliberate.

You bent his hand gently to assess the damage.

Azriel liked the quiet, how quiet his head was with you right now. His heart began to pound, a realisation dawning on him. He liked the way you touched him, how soft and careful you were, just like you used to be.

Bending his hand back, you asked, “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head, though the faint wince in his expression suggested otherwise.

Your face softened, but your words were anything but gentle. 

“The next time you come like this into my house, I will skin you and string you up for everyone to see.”

Azriel’s breath caught at the sharpness of your tone, his chest tightening. Before he could respond, you interrupted him, your voice cutting through the moment.

“Let me heal your face,” you said quietly, your voice softer again.

You reached up to touch his face, your magic cold against his burning wounds. As your fingers grazed his skin, he closed his eyes, the sensation both soothing and unsettling. He shouldn’t feel good about this, about the way your touch calmed him, about the way it made something stir deep inside him. He had thought of you as someone who had wronged him, someone he should stay away from. But now, something about your presence made him feel a pull that he couldn’t explain, like he had to tell you everything.

“Cassian,” he said, his voice rough, barely a whisper as his mind swirled with confusion.

“What?” you asked softly, focusing on his face as your magic worked.

“It was Cassian,” he said again, this time his voice strained. 

“He’s the one who did this to me.”

“Why would he…?” you asked, still working on his face, your fingers lingering near his lips.

Blood was dripping down his chin, he must have bit it open again.

Azriel’s breath was shallow as he struggled to make sense of his emotions.

“He’s going mad,” he murmured, his voice tight.

“Because of Nesta?” you asked.

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed, his tone bitter, almost defeated.

Your fingers lingered a moment longer, pressing gently to his lips, trying to heal the blood that still trickled from the cut. His heartbeat quickened, every nerve responding to your touch. His eyes met yours and for a split second, the world seemed to fall away. Desire stirred deep inside him he just hoped you wouldn’t notice. He wanted to kiss you, feel your lips against his once again, to stop pretending everything had been fine. But that would complicate everything. You would kill him if he tried.

He had been dreaming of you since the moment he saw you again, after four long years. And now, as your touch lingered on his skin, it felt like he had been pulled back in time

Before everything went wrong.

His thoughts were interrupted by your words, cutting through his thought. 

“That your High Lord said he would execute her?” you asked, your voice bringing him back to the present.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely audible, breathless.

“Azriel,” your voice was soft, a gentle whisper that seemed to draw him in, your words wrapping around him like a siren’s call. He shut his eyes, groaning quietly, hoping you wouldn’t notice how his body reacted to your closeness.

“It was Rhys, not Cassian,” he responded, his voice hoarse.

“I don’t think a mate would leave another if they felt safe, right?” you pressed, your gaze steady, a challenge in your voice.

Azriel’s eyes met yours again, his breath hitching. He noticed the way your fingers glided over his skin, tenderly healing the cuts Cassian had left. His face was swollen, bruised, luckily, his jaw wasn’t broken and it seemed most of the wounds would heal fairly easily.

“He’s been kind of an asshole to her,” Azriel muttered, his voice rough as he tried to explain. “He’s been working and stressed a—”

“Would you have treated your mate like this?” you interrupted, the question almost too soft, too easy for him to answer.

You cradled his face gently, the light from your magic casting a soft blue glow around the room, healing his injuries as you continued to hold him. His eyes stayed locked with yours as you worked, his breath steadying despite the chaos inside. He felt lightheaded with how close you were to him.

“Never,” Azriel whispered, his voice tight. He licked his dry lips, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Then why would it be okay for him to?”

Azriel swallowed hard, his thoughts racing. You weren’t wrong. Everything inside him wanted to defend Cassian, to defend the bond between mates, but the truth was hard to deny. He had failed to protect Nesta.

“I know your brother is in pain, but so is she,” you said softly, you almost had him.

Azriel’s jaw tightened beneath your touch, his breath quickening. His scarred hands moved to gently hold your wrists, as if to remove them from his face, but he winced at the pain.

Gently, you moved your hand over his chest, your fingers tracing his worn leathers. With delicate care, you unbuttoned his jacket, exposing the bruised skin underneath. His broken ribs made it difficult to breathe, you could see his discomfort. You began to heal him, the cool light of your magic glowing softly against his injured skin.

As the adrenaline slowly left his body, the pain seemed to hit him all at once. His eyes closed briefly, but when they opened again, they locked onto yours. 

“You won’t tell them where she is,” you whispered, your voice unwavering.

His breath caught as your hands continued to work, moving to the buttons of his clothes, carefully unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

“Our son needs to be safe in his home,” you said meeting his lidded eyes.

“And you’ll make sure that nesta location wont be revealed either, just like you promised, right?”

Azriel let out a soft whimper.

“Yeah,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as your hands continued their work.

Your hands moved carefully across his skin, over his chest to his throat. You stood up, now almost taller than him, tracing the handprint left on his throat.

“You’ll keep Nesta and us safe, right?” 

Azriel nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a promise in them.

“It’s a bargain then,” you said softly.

“Yes” He said without hesitation, you felt a small burn behind your ear, you would check it out later.

You continued to heal him, your fingers gently brushing across the scarred surface of his hand. Something inside you stirred, something small, but it was there. You would deal with it later.

“Good,” you said, your voice returning to its usual firmness.

Standing straight, you broke the moment, your voice sharp and composed once more. 

“Button up your pants. I’ll send another healer to take over.”

“I have to talk to the others,” you added, your words cold once again, as if nothing had changed.

Azriel looked up at you in confusion he wa so confuse about . “What?”

Azriel felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs.

His fingers twitched where they rested on his thighs, his mind still catching up to what had just happened. The warmth of your hands still lingered on his skin, but it had been a lie. You had just guided him exactly where you wanted, let him believe he was safe with you, that he could be vulnerable, just for a moment.

But you had never meant for it to be anything more than a transaction.

A bargain.

His stomach twisted, he felt sick. He should have known better. He should have seen it coming. 

His jaw tightened as he watched you pull away, as if nothing had happened. The warmth in your voice was gone, replaced by that same cold, detached authority you always wielded so well.

He had been played.

And the worst part?

It wasn’t just anger that was coiling in his chest. It was something else, something darker, more dangerous.

Because for the first time in years, he had felt something real with you again. And he had no idea if he hated you for it… or if he wanted more.

“Amias has been waiting and crying all day,” you said, your eyes narrowing slightly. 

“He’s been missing you. We’ll also need to have a conversation about that.”

Azriel’s face softened, guilt flashing in his eyes.

“Rest,” you said firmly. “You need it.”

He hesitated for a moment before standing up. His face, though no longer bruised visibly, still held the exhaustion and pain of the day. 

“Let me see him first,” he requested quietly.

“You’re still hurt,” you said, pointing at him. “He’ll notice.”

His jaw clenched. 

“Let me see him. Do I always have to beg you?” His voice was a mixture of frustration and hurt.

You didn’t flinch, your eyes locking onto his with a coldness that was never this vicious.

 “Careful,” you said, your voice icy. It was a warning, a sharp reminder of the boundaries you’d set.

Azriel gulped, his posture stiffening before he slowly sank back into the chair, visibly deflated.

“You’ll see him when the healer allows it,” you added, your words leaving no room for argument.

With one final glance, you turned on your heel and walked out, the door closing behind you with a soft click, leaving Azriel to wrestle with his frustration and the worst day he might have had in a long century.

⋆ ♡ ⋆

Walking past the open window, you reached out and grabbed the white cat by the scruff of its neck. It let out a terrible, loud meow, its green eyes glaring at you with all the rage it could muster.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, you little shit,” you muttered, holding it up to eye level.

The cat hissed, its tail lashing in irritation, but you didn’t let go. You simply kept walking, its tiny body dangling from your grip as it continued to yowl at you.

Taglist for Found you is closed!

Please leave some comments 💜

Also Anon I’ve thought about Eris and Nesta and this is for you✨ I hope you like it 😘

Still working on their story

[kimberlychapman]

Agreed. I just wrote a group scene for SpaceDad Book Four last night and I realised near the end that one character hadn't been mentioned since the start, so I simply had her do what one of the other characters was doing but in a meaningful way. (In this case, because the main character was frightened and backing away from the potential explosive, and this side character has deep admiration for the main character so I had her also back away slowly on the other side of the room.)

Also, one of the best tips I got during my professional writing life was when my most excellent editor lectured me about "no head-hopping". She was a stickler for one POV per scene unless there's a clear handoff, and even then that should be used sparingly.

That's tricky when you're doing fanfic based on a TV show that often starts a scene focused on one person but then ends focused on another (and boy howdy is Trek bad for that!), so my personal rule has become that I don't head-hop in a given scene at all if I can avoid it, and if I absolutely need to do it I either a) cut the scene or b) have a physical hand-off that carries the reader along just like a visual one would on the show.

So for example, let's say I need to start a scene in Geordi's POV and end it in Data's. I could either start in Geordi's POV, cut to a bridge scene, and then come back to engineering starting with Data's POV right on sentence one so the reader knows the POV has changed, or I could have Geordi already present in the scene, have Data enter and talk to Geordi, then Geordi hands a PADD to Data and leaves, at which point Data's POV can take over because he's physically taken over the scene.

If your scenes have multiple POVs, not only is it tricky to write but it's frankly painful to read. Pick a POV and stick with it as much as you can.

Tips from a Beta Reading Writer

This one's for the scenes with multiple characters, and you're not sure how to keep everyone involved.

Writing group scenes is chaos. Someone’s talking, someone’s interrupting, someone’s zoning out thinking about breadsticks. And if you’re not careful, half your cast fades into the background like NPCs in a video game. I used to struggle with this so much—my characters would just exist in the scene without actually affecting it. But here’s what I've learned and have started implementing:

✨ Give everyone a job in the scene ✨

Not their literal job—like, not everyone needs to be solving a crime or casting spells. I mean: Why are they in this moment? What’s their role in the conversation?

My favourite examples are:

The Driver: Moves the convo forward. They have an agenda, they’re pushing the action.

The Instigator: Pokes the bear. Asks the messy questions. Stirring the pot like a chef on a mission.

The Voice of Reason: "Guys, maybe we don’t commit arson today?"

The Distracted One: Completely in their own world. Tuning out, doodling on a napkin, thinking about their ex.

The Observer: Not saying much, but noticing everything. (Quiet characters still have presence!)

The Wild Card: Who knows what they’ll do? Certainly not them. Probably about to make things worse.

If a character has no function, they’ll disappear. Give them something—even if it’s just a side comment, a reaction, or stealing fries off someone’s plate. Keep them interesting, and your readers will stay interested too.

[cuteandhughesy]

Tripping, Falling With No Safety Net | Matt Rempe (part 2)

summary: four weeks has passed since your adventure in the elevator, and you haven’t stopped thinking about the attractive stranger since then. just when you think you’ll never see him again, you run into matt in the most unattractive place.

[word count] 7.8k

warnings: NSFW! kissing | masturbation (f) | sex toys (reader and matt use a vibrator) | smut | brief oral (f receiving) | mentions of blowjobs | unprotected p in v intercourse | cum play if you squint | mature dialogue and themes | read at your own discretion

a/n: the much requested and anticipated part 2 of no sex in the elevator! I hope I did this justice and you all enjoy the blooming story of matt and y/n :)

🎵 safety net by ariana grande (feat. ty dolla sign)

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

you see matt rempe everywhere. okay, well no—not really. the physical, almost 7ft tall man who rocked your world on the carpet of an elevator almost two months ago was nowhere in sight…physically. but his name, well you see it and hear it everywhere.

the last name you've since become well aware of is sprawled across the back of jerseys—haunting you as you walk around new york—his name is heard on the tv at work, all your male co-workers raving over how much a savage matt rempe is.

if only they knew.

that night, which somehow feels like forever ago but simultaneously feels like yesterday, has yet to leave your head—or your body. matt practically destroyed you, splitting you in two with his length until it felt like you were going to cry. the hours trapped with him really had you feeling somewhat fond of giant man, and growing enamoured with his little quirks and giggles.

not only did you learn so much about him, but matt learned so much about you. but that evening, as the maintenance finally rescued you from the hot, sex smelling metal box, you were both in such a hassle that you forgot to exchange numbers.

you didn't realize the mistake until you finally got back to your apartment, nearing 3 in the morning, crawling into bed already dreading your morning shift—still fluttering between your legs—when it dawned on you. you have no way of contacting matt, and he has no way of reaching you.

you're just two strangers who fucked in an elevator.

although neither you or matt disclosed the full extent of your professions—you knew he worked in sports. but the shock you felt when you saw him in an nhl highlight reel, over your middle aged colleagues shoulder at work nonetheless, had your jaw dropping. I mean, you should've expected it just based on the muscles underneath his soft skin, and the stamina he displayed when he was pounding into—you need to calm down.

you went home that night and found him on instagram, sending him a DM before you could overthink the situation. you've started to catch feelings for him for fucks sake, you can't allow him to slip through you fingers that easily.

but you never got a response. I mean, with the amount of DMs a young, attractive professional athlete must receive, yours was bound to get lost in the abyss—but there was still a small part of you that has hope. but that hope was started to get crushed when you were meet with radio silence for weeks.

almost 4 weeks to be exact, which in hindsight isn't that long, but when the only thing you can think about or focus on is seeing matt, or talking to him one more time—4 weeks feels like a lifetime.

4 weeks of pent up sexual frustration stemming from matt damn rempe. worst of all, not even your fingers or shitty bullet vibrator are doing the trick—you can't even make yourself cum because he’s ruined you for life.

which brings you to now, 7 p.m on a thursday night. the soft blanket strewn loosely across your bed rubs your shoulder blades soothingly as you shuffle around, brows furrowed in concentration as you slide the slick, gray vibrator through your folds.

your jaw goes slack as you bump your clit, your back arching of your bed as your nerves ignite. the humming vibrations tickle your core just right, and you're getting increasingly more wet and slippery as you hold the bullet to yourself. you're not close yet, but it feels good enough—which seems to be the new motto of your lacking sex life: good enough. a breathless sigh escapes you, legs spreading impossibly wider as your body naturally searches for more—for him.

the vibrator stutters oddly, and your eyes widen at the feeling. pushing yourself up onto your elbow, you eye the slick device. it stutters again, more frantically this time before completely quitting. you whine, body falling back in defeat. you feel like you could cry, removing the device from your folds and hastily plugging it into its charger.

it's a long shot, considering you just took it off the charger, but maybe it's battery life has decreased since you purchased the toy—in fucking college. you pump your fingers in and out of your dripping entrance while you wait, but it does nothing to soothe the burning in your loins. much like you suspected, the vibrator isn't charging. it's completely dead. garbage.

"stupid piece of shit." you roll your eyes and toss it across your bedroom. it hits the lipgloss you left on your vanity before falling into the trashcan—along with the brand new tube of rhode lipgloss still in the box. you're too horny to even worry about that right now, so you get off your bed and slip on the pair of sweatpants you'd discarded the night before.

you're feeling flushed, and the white tank top you’re wearing is doing nothing but sticking to your dewy skin uncomfortably. throwing on a zip up is the last thing you want to do, but walking to the drug store in just a tank top will have you regretting not wearing one—so here you are. just before you walk out of your apartment, you grab a pair of oversized sunglasses. the last thing you need right now is getting caught by a co-worker or a friend while trying to buy a new vibrator.

as soon as you step into the pharmacy, you slip the glasses down, shielding yourself from the fluorescent lights. you make a beeline to the hygiene aisle, darting past the tampons and adult diapers until you're at the correct section. you’re so horny and determined you can’t even care how crazy you look.

"okay," you sigh, peering through the options on the middle shelf in front of you. there's more options that you were expecting, and it's making your brain go a little fuzzy. it doesn't help that you can feel your arousal dripping down your inner thigh—but you digress.

you opt for a new version of what you already had, your nimble fingers grabbing it off the shelf and quickly tucking it against your chest. you let out a breath of what feels like relief, turning on your heels and walking out of the long aisle.

about a mater away, lingering at the end of aisle 8, thumbing through body wash, stands matt rempe. your steps falter, and your stomach swoops with something you can't decipher—whether it's excitement or nerves, you’re too shocked to tell. your face pales and flushes all at once, and the grip you have on the sex toy box tightens.

matt hasn't seen you, so before he has the chance to, you turn around and dart back into the aisle. you’re fumbling, bumping into the shelf of tylenol beside the pregnancy tests, and you curse as some of the medicine clatters and falls to the ground. you can feel him moving—your body igniting like a magnet.

"shit." you curse hurriedly, gathering the medicine off the floor and hazardly throwing the bottles back onto random shelves—you’re pretty sure one even ends up with the ultra thin condoms. out of the corner of your eye you see a large pair of sneakers walk by the aisle—matt walk by the aisle. you freeze, breathing catching and hands stilling on a bottle of extra strength.

but matt doesn't stop—oh fuck, never mind, he's doubled back. you've definitely been found, you think. you clear your throat in hopes to act natural, getting off your knees and placing another bottle of medicine back onto its proper shelf, attempting to appear small and nonexistent.

he slows to a stop right beside you, large frame towering over you and casting a shadow. but you don't look. instead you pretend to rifle through the shelves like you work there or something.

matt lets out a small breath of laughter, and the sound has your heart leaping. he reaches out towards you and plucks your sunglasses off your face. fuck, you think—he's got you know. slowly, your eyes flicker up to meet his familiar brown gaze. immediately your knees feel weak.

his lip quirks up in a smirk that makes you flush. "thought that was you." matt says casually, sliding the oversized glasses back into your hair, revealing even more of your blushed skin.

"it's me." you swallow.

you feel a bit dumbfounded. you can't decide if you want to turn heel and sprint out of the store, or sprint into matt rempe's arms. he looks so good, all cozy in a hoodie and matching sweats—light gray nonetheless. subconsciously your eyes trial down to matt's crotch, and yeah, you can see his dick print. your vagina clenches pathetically—it remembers the man in front of you all too well.

you tried so hard to get in contact with matt, hell you prayed for it. and now here he is, all 6 foot 9 inches of him. standing with you in front of the tylenol and condoms in a random new york drug store.

matt's smirk deepens, and a splash of pink dusts over his cheekbones. "it's you. hey." he's got one of the body washes in his hand, the same brand he'd been looking at when you spotted him—some old spice scent that probably smells like heaven. "how are you?"

it has you remembering what you've got in your arms, and your eyes widen comically. it’s no use because matt has already seen the vibrator, but he lets you panic anyways—smirk still on his face nonetheless—fumbling with the box until it's behind your back. "i'm okay."

he nods his head, amused. "I bet."

you blink, swallowing roughly as you tilt your neck back to look up at him. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you've spent so much time thinking about what you'd say to matt if you ever saw him again, and now he's here and your mind has gone blank. "I dmed you..." you start lightly, trailing off, taking a shaky breath. "on instagram. I didn't know your last name but my co-worker, dylan who's a total jerk by the way—he had highlight reels on and I saw you. on the ice. matt rempe."

you laugh breathily like you can't believe what's happening—because you truly can't believe what's happening. matt's heart flutters fondly at your rambling admission and the small laugh that bubbles from you. his brows shoot skyward in surprise.once he focuses on what you said, rather than how you looked when you said it. "wait, really?"

you nod pathetically.

he hums. "damn, I should check my messages more often, huh? i'm sorry, I had no fucking idea. If I did I would've..." matt trails off, tongue swiping along his bottom lip as his eyes dart over your face. slowly. your eyes are bright and lustful, cheeks pink with embarrassment and something else, and he can see your pale purple lace bra through your thin white tank top. "I would've answered."

your breath hitches, fingers tightening on the box still hidden behind your back. "oh."

he runs his free hand through his messy, damp hair. you wonder if he had an afternoon game today, and his hair is wet from his postgame shower. or maybe matt has started his shower at home and then was out of body wash—leaving him with no choice but to come here and get some. whatever it is, you're glad matt rempe is here.

and in some sick way, you're glad you decided to masturbate tonight, and even more so that your old, shitty vibrator died.

matt's smirk is back, and for a moment you’re back in that broken down elevator, starring at him through the haze of red light as he dares you to sit on his lap. matt’s eyes dart past your shoulder for a moment, "you need help with something?"

you just know he's referring to the sex toy you'd been trying to buy, and your skin burns so hot you feel like you could ignite in flames. hesitantly, and to honestly save yourself some dignity, you bring it back around to your front. you laugh dismissively, "it fell. actually, I was just putting it back." you shove the vibrator box between a rabbit toy and some lube.

matt's brows furrow, but his small amused grin doesn’t wavers. "no need to be embarrassed, y/n. i've been inside you, remember?"

you squawk like a parrot, looking around frantically to ensure nobody is in hearing distance. matt doesn't care though, and he picks the vibrator right back off the shelf and tucks it between his bicep and forearm.

"matt." you say, looking between his face and the sex toy nestled in his arm. "you really don't need to-"

"-I need to grab deodorant and some candy, come on." he interrupts, walking further down the aisle, vibrator in his grip. you blink once, then twice, and before you can register what you're doing, you're following him. matt slows his long strides as he hears your feet slapping against the tiles quickly to catch up, a fond grin on his soft face.

matt is itching to reach out and touch you in some way—he's missed you so much it's honestly embarrassing. you look so soft and warm, looking up at him all bright eyed and long lashes, following him blindly. matt has no excuse for being turned on…it’s simply just you that does it for him.

he comes to a stop in front of the deodorants, looking through the various brands. "so, were you just coming here to get this?" matt questions without looking at you, grabbing an irish spring aerosol. he smells it through the cap, and then puts it back.

"ummm, yeah." embarrassment is lacing your words, and you clear your throat once again. but matt doesn't seem bothered, picking up some name brand deodorant that apparently smells like fresh wood and the ocean.

"really? you loose your charger or something and have to buy a new one?" he asks, popping off the cap and taking a sniff. it actually smells like shit, not wood and ocean—matt puts the lid back on and slots it on the shelf.

"ummm, yeah." embarrassment is lacing your words, and you clear your throat once again. but matt doesn't seem bothered, picking up some name brand deodorant that apparently smells like fresh wood and the ocean.

"really? you loose your charger or something and have to buy a new one?" he asks, popping off the cap and taking a sniff. it actually smells like shit, not wood and ocean—matt puts the lid back on and slots it on the shelf.

the absurdity of it all makes you laugh gently. his seemingly casual demeanour is rubbing off on you, and although matt rempe is technically a stranger, he's also not. you run a hand through your hair, which is no doubt tangled from when you'd be rolling around in your bed trying to make yourself cum. "worse, actually."

"oh yeah?" he grins curiously.

you nod. "yeah, 30 minutes ago it literally broke down in the middle of using it. so here I am."

his eyes gloss over, and matt looks right at you, deodorant forgotten. "you were touching yourself 30 minutes ago?"

you nod again.

matt shudders out a breath, a small hushed curse following. his eyes quickly dart to your boobs because he can’t help himself, and then they travel further down, briefly landing on your covered pussy before he finds your face again. he can feel his dick twitch uncomfortably in his sweats. "you're killing me."

his admission is so quiet that you're not even sure if he meant to say it out loud. you swallow your anticipation, watching as matt hurriedly grabs an old spice deodorant without smelling it, adding it to the growing pile in his arm before looking back at you. "come back to my place, y/n."

your stomach swoops, and then a shaky please follows matt's words and you're nodding quickly—desperately. his grin widens, "okay, let's go. fuck the candy." and he's dead serious.

you giggle, and it has matt joining in. one of his large hands wraps around your waist, pulling you in front of his body as you begin to walk towards the checkout. "stay in front of me," matt mumbles, leaning down and brushing his lips against your ear. "i'm half hard and if you move everyone is going to know what’s going on.”

that gets you both moving, lining up in the check out lane to purchase the collection of items—and yes, matt buys you the vibrator. the teenage boy behind the cash eyes matt and the sex toy curiously, but matt doesn't seem bothered. if anything, he seems proud, wrapping his long arms around your waist and tugging you back against his semi.

matt's place is a bit farther than yours, and you know that because you could've walked to yours in the time it takes matt to drive to his. but you don't mind—how could you when the entire drive is filled with soft conversation, and matt's thumb rubbing your knee as he grips your thigh.

there's a unspoken tension on the ride up in the elevator that lingers between you and matthew, slinking between you both and reminding you of what happened last time you were in an elevator together. kissing, laughter, breathless moaning and lewd wet noises.

your vagina is fluttering again, and it doesn't help when matt steps closer to you, gently grabbing your face between his hands and tilting your head backwards—leaning down and kissing you.

his lips are as soft as you remember, and they work yours just the way you want them too. your body is falling apart in his hands, swaying into his chest and sighing into his mouth. as you attempt to deepen the kiss and swipe your tongue along his bottom lip, the elevator doors slide open.

matt snickers when you whine, hands sliding down your body until he's grabbing at your hips. "c'mon."

matt's place is actually really fucking clean. it's a typical new york apartment, all white and modern with crisp furniture and counters that look so expensive you're scared to not use a coaster. there's small touches of matt throughout the space though. a framed photo of what looks like his family on a kitchen shelf, as well as snacks not yet put away but instead, left on the counter. it's all mostly healthy shit that makes you pull a face.

there's a few loose throw blankets on the couch and a fake plant on the coffee table. there's spare hockey sticks in the corner of the room next to a tall lamp—although you're sure if matt stood next to it, it would look miniature. there's shoes by the door, and coats on the chair. it smells like hockey puck and cologne, and matt must've left the tv on before he left, because you can hear madagascar playing.

you've been gawking at his apartment long enough for matt to have already unpacked the drugstore bag—his deodorant, body wash and your fucking vibrator lined up on his counter.

he grins, balling up the fabric tote bag and shoving it in the cupboard beside the fridge. matt's dark eyes flicker to your form, still standing in the threshold between the kitchen and living space. "you look pretty in my apartment."

his voice has you blinking out of your unapologetic stare, looking over just as matt grabs your waist, gently bringing you into the kitchen and up against his torso. "just in your apartment?" you tease—you're too horny and too touch deprived to feel embarrassed any longer.

"everywhere." matt corrects himself, his words whispered in the minimal space left between you. his large hands slide down and over your ass, giving the flesh a firm squeeze before he's lifting you off the floor and sitting you down on the counter.

your breath hitches in surprise, but soon enough you feel yourself stop breathing completely—because now you're at the perfect level to be in proper eye contact with matt. instinctively your hands slide up his shoulders before wrapping your arms around his neck, holding him close. matt's eyes flicker down to your lips, and then in a blink he's kissing you again.

this kiss is slower and more messy than the chaste, hurried one in the elevator. it's like matt's taking his time with you, his hands alternating between sweeping up and down your spine and squeezing the flesh of your ass, each time pulling you closer to the edge of the countertop—closer to him.

you moan pathetically into the kiss, fingers carding through matt's hair and squeezing the roots firmly.

reluctantly, matt pulls away from the kiss, his lips all swollen and slick. you chase his mouth desperately, but he doesn't give in. matt sighs, the sound shaky and desperate as he takes his hand off your ass—instead placing it flat on the counter just next to your hips.

"matt," you pout, eyes flickering to his in a way that has his cock hardening. "please."

you don't have to say what you're begging for, because matt knows exactly what you want. he wants it to—he wants your warm, sweet walls squeezing around his length the same way they did a month ago. but he also wants you in every other way, not just sexual—which is a surprise to him too, trust me. "I know." he says, pecking the corner of your mouth quickly.

matt watches as your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, only to snap back open when he pulls away. he continues, "but I missed you too much, and i'm fucking starving."

"what?" you blink.

quickly, matt's eyes darken until they're almost black. he reaches up to your face, taking your sunglasses off your head and placing them on the counter—next to a fruit bowl that's only full of bananas and oranges. your hair falls in your face, but matt tucks it behind your ear before you get the chance. his hand lingers on your face when he says, "first we're going to eat, maybe watch a movie and then im going to take this new vibrator and hold it against your pretty pussy until you cum. understand?"

your mouth falls open in what can only be shock. you nod dumbly, speechless as you digest matt's dirty words—anticipation bubbling low in your belly.

he kisses your cheek and then completely pulls away from you, turning around and opening the fridge. "what do you want to eat? i've got stuff to make pasta if you want that."

you're gripping the edge of the counter so hard that you're knuckles are turning white, looking at matt's back as he stifles through his fridge. you blink again, still feeling the aftershocks of the shock that you have from matt's filthy promise. "what?" you finally speak.

it makes matt pause, looking back at you over his broad shoulder. your expression has him flattering, "are you okay?"

your brows furrow. "am I okay? no, i'm so wet it’s not even funny. god, you've turned me into a slut, matt. i'm fucking banging one out every night because of you and what you did to me in that elevator....and you want to cook for me? also yeah, I love pasta."

his lips tug in a smile at your pathetic, whiny tone. you're not actually mad, that much is seeable. sure, you're confused and so horny it's not even laughable, but matt wanting to cook for you....it just turns you on even further. there was a part of you that was worried he'd only want sex again, and as much as you hated to admit that, it would've crushed you.

you'd never had more fun or felt more comfortable than you had with matt in that broken down elevator. when you ran into him again tonight, all those feelings came rushing back, and if he only wanted to fuck you and kick you out, you don't think you would've recovered.

but here he is, all tall and handsome with ground beef in his hand, looking at you softly with an amused smirk. "I haven't seen you in a month and I didn't think i'd ever see you again. so yeah, I wanna talk for a bit before I get you naked, y/n. I missed your voice and snarky comments too much."

you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding. his words providing the relief and conformation you were hoping for. "I missed your voice too."

matt smiles then, a real smile that you can't help but mimic. he nods once, almost shyly, and tosses the ground beef on the counter—a firm smack echoing throughout the kitchen knook. "get over here so I can feel you up while I start this meat."

you laugh and slip of the counter, pushing yourself next to matt and begin help him start making dinner. and like promised, matt smacks your ass appreciatively. 

you hadn't realized how hungry you'd become until the smell of seasoned meat sauce hits your senses. when you got home from work you hadn't even eaten anything, too pent up with sexual frustration to do anything but strip your pants off and get to business.

you're stirring the curly noodles in the boiling water when matt's soft voice filters through the kitchen. "you know after you and I were rescued in that elevator…I realized I forgot to ask for you number when I was halfway home—I made my cab driver turn aorund and take me back. there was a part of me that was hoping you were still there for whatever reason, but you weren't. I was so mad at myself."

you frown gently, looking up at matt. his brows are furrowed as he drags a wooden spatula through the sauce, still bubbling on the stove next to you. you clear your throat, "I remembered when I got in bed that night, and I was so angry at myself for forgetting. I thought id never see you again—but when I saw you on tv, all sexy and famous, I had a feeling that I'd run into you again. somewhere...somehow."

he meets your eyes, and in the most deadpanned voice he mumbles, "i'm so glad I was out of body wash." you smile, and matt presses a loud kiss to your temple, making your grin grow.

once dinner is finished and plated, matt chooses to sit next to rather than across, and that really shouldn't melt your heart as much as it does. light conversation and flirtatious glances are exchanged between chews and swallows, making the coil in your stomach clench and throb pathetically.

matt begins talking about his last game, and about the fight he'd been in—which explains the small split on his eyebrow that you noticed when you were sitting on the counter top. it makes you think back to when you first saw matt on your collages computer screen. you finish your bite of pasta, "my co-workers called you a savage."

he snickers, eyes twinkling with amusement as he swallows his mouthful of food. "did you tell them that you know me?"

"no." you breathe a laugh, stabbing some noodles onto your fork. "then i'd have to tell them how I know you." matt's brows quirk in further curiosity while you take the pasta off the utensil, chewing it quickly before continuing. "my one co-worker, the one I mentioned earlier, he has some weird hard on for me, so I don't think he'd appreciate me talking about his favourite athlete pounding my shit."

it doesn't make matt laugh like you expected. instead his gaze hardens and jaw ticks as he looks at you. "want me to punch him in the face? because I will." it's only after he says it, does matt allow his lips to slide upwards into a grin.

you snort, rolling your eyes with a fond smile. "no, matt oh my god. you're crazy."

he shrugs, taking another bite of food. "for you." matt mutters through a mouthful of curly saucy noodles, waggling his eyebrows in a playful manner.

you look away. "cheesy."

"but true."

"but cheesy." you reiterate softly, gaze flickering back to matt's.

he breathes and lets a beat pass. "...yeah." and when matt's eyes flicker down to your mouth and his hand runs up your leg, your face falls—looking at matt with a soft, yet hopeful expression. your own eyes fall down to matt's lips, watching his tongue slide along his bottom lip to moisten the plump skin. you blink and he's leaning in—slowly—to not startle you.

you put down your fork, the sound a small clink against the ceramic plate—echoing in your ears. matt had already put down his utensil, you note, because both hands are on your face in an instant. despite his grip on you, he doesn't bring you in for a kiss, but rather meets your mouth exactly where it is.

he taste like pasta and the strawberries he'd been sneaking when you were making dinner—and you taste the same, because he'd been feeding you the fruit like some kind of hallmark boyfriend. you moan into his mouth, and matt's long fingers slide through your hair smoothly, eliciting another breathy sigh from you.

you've turned into complete pudding, and he knows it too. the way you let matt move your face and touch your body—the sighs and groans passing through your mouth—they're all tell tale signs. an after dinner movie is long forgotten as matt lifts you up and off the small kitchen chair, back into his strong arms. your thighs tighten around his torso, and your arms wrap further around his neck as matt brings you back to the kitchen counter-top, sitting you on the surface like he did almost an hour ago.

the kiss never stops, and if anything it deepens. there's more heart and passion in this kiss—you need him and he needs you, and your mouths are doing a good job at telling that.

"what were you thinking about? when you were touching yourself?" matt barley pulls back from the kiss as he asks, lips brushing over yours slipperily.

you moan loudly, too loudly for simply just dry humping and dirty questions. "you." you admit breathlessly, your control and filter out the window. "was thinking about you."

matt doesn't answer, but instead leans back in and resumes the kiss. this time it's more messy and hurried—clashing teeth and tongues like they're in competition. his hands slide down your back, pass the elastic waistband of your sweats and over your ass.

matt groans when he realizes you're not wearing panties and that it's only your smooth, soft skin under his calloused palms. he squeezes your ass firmly, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter. "lift your hips."

you do without question, and matt takes the opportunity to pull your sweat pants down, all the way down your thighs, past your knees and over your ankles. matt's jaw goes slack at the sight of your bare, glistening pussy—the pussy he hasn't stopped thinking about for a month.

you're so wet it's not even funny. you can't help it, you've been turned on since before you got home from work—an interrupted solo sesh combined with matt's filthy words and kisses have you feeling on the verge of combustion.

his eyes finds yours again. "you're so fucking beautiful." he spreads your legs further apart with his hands, manoeuvring your limbs until you're perfectly exposed and positioned—exactly how matt wants you. the counter is cold under your feet and ass, but you don't care. all you can focus on is matt as he reaches behind you, grabbing the vibrator box and ripping it open.

your breath hitches and matt smirks. you swallow roughly, walls fluttering around nothing as his long fingers pull the toy out of the plastic holder. "matt...please, I need it so bad."

"take your shirt off." matt demands, ignoring your whiny pleas and pouty lips. he watches through hooded lids, toying with the bullet between his fingers as you lift your tank top off, revealing the pale purple lace bra he'd seen peeking through your shirt earlier. he falters slightly, groaning at the sight of your nipples pebbled under the lace. "I thought the animal print bra killed me...but this one? fuck."

your hips jerk, buts matt's quicker, pushing you back to the counter with one hand—while the other flicks the vibrator to life. the sound of rhythmic buzzing fills the room, and your pussy recognizes the sound and begins fucking dripping. "tell me you want it."

this matt is different from the one in the elevator. he's more sure—more dominant. and maybe it's because you're too wound up to form proper sentences, but unlike the time in the elevator, you're speechless. no quips or remarks, only pure burning need. you're submitting, and it's so hot.

you nod dumbly, pushing up onto the tips of your fingers so you can nudge your nose along matt's. he presses a chaste kiss to your puffy lips simply because he can't help it, and then he smirks when it makes you whine.

"I want it." you mumble, "I want you to touch me. with the vibrator...push it through my folds and hold it on my—oh fuck." you're interrupted as matt does exactly what you need, running the expanse of the toy up your slippery lips and finding your puffy, needy clit.

you mewl loudly, arms giving out underneath you and leaving you no choice but to fall back on your elbows.

"that's it, fuck, that's my girl." matt praises softly, running the vibrator up and down your folds. the feeling is heavenly, leaving your walls clamping and fluttering as your juices spill out your entrance.

"matt." you say his name helplessly. you're close, and you've been close for hours.

he hums, licking his lips. "I know baby, let me just have a taste." matt doesn't wait for your response before he’s dropping down to his knee. he keeps the vibrator solely on your throbbing clit, and like the kind, sweet, perfect man he is, thrusts his tongue into your entrance.

you moan loudly. "oh my god! don't stop."

and he couldn't even if he wanted to. you taste delicious, and matt's lapping at your juices like he can't get enough. the way he's got you spread open with his free hand on your inner thigh, combined with the vibrations on your clit and the feeling of his smooth tongue dipping in and out of your hole has you snapping.

"i'm cumming." you moan, your body tensing as your orgasm flushes through your nerves and muscles. matt doesn't slow his pace, fucking you through the high of your climax like a starved man.

you sigh loudly, falling back against the counter top as your body goes limp. it's only then that matt takes the vibrator off your clit, his tongue slowing in thrusts as your walls clamping dies down. he kneads and squeezes your thighs comfortingly, hushed praises falling from his slack jaw as you come back to reality.

"you okay?" matt questions softly, rising back to his full height. he helps you sit back up, and your arousal is cold against your skin—but your body is still hot and desperate for more.

you nod quickly, hands dipping beneath the hem of matt's shirt and feeling up his abs. his muscles contract and jump under your touch, and when you pass over his pecks—graze his nipples—he curses lowly. "I wanna suck your cock, matty."

one hand drops down, brushing over his hardening length beneath his gray sweats. matt's lashes flutter against his cheeks, a rough groan vibrating through his chest. "oh fuck—another time baby, I need to feel your pussy."

and who are you to object that?

matt's grabbing you again, wrapping you around his torso like you’re a koala and blindly walking you over to the sofa. you giggle happily into his warm neck, pressing a few lingering kisses against his pulse point that make his dick twitch—poking your ass.

he sits down with you on his lap, and matt is instantly attaching his lips to your jaw—kissing, nipping and sucking along you skin. automatically your head tilts, giving him the access he needs to continue a path down your neck. his hands are all over you—grabbing the meat of your ass, squeezing your waist and brushing your tits.

you're grinding against his clothed core pathetically, soaking his sweatpants like you're in heat. "you're wearing too many clothes," you breathe, already tugging on the hem of matt's hoodie. he leans back, watching with a soft smile and lazy eyes. he nods leisurely and you pull off his hoodie, revealing the expanse of soft, smooth skin and muscles that is matt rempe's torso.

you grin happily, squeezing his biceps and then his shoulders. you take your lip into your mouth, shamelessly letting your eyes wander his body. it's makes matt chuckle lowly, "forgot what I looked like?" he teases, brushing your wild hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ears.

you shake your head. "mhmm, could never forget." you lick your bottom lip, meeting matt's eyes. "was just admiring."

matt's pupils dilate and then his gaze turns dark. he leans into you, kissing you roughly, one of his large hands sprawled across your neck. you didn't think that any kiss would ever beat the ones matt gave you in that broken down elevator, but here he is now, outdoing himself.

"what do you want?" matt asks you, licking into your mouth once more before you can answer.

"what do you want?" you parrot, pushing your needy core down against his.

he groans loudly, slapping your ass quickly—so quickly you don't even have time to react properly before he's speaking again. "no, it doesn't matter what I want right now. i've been replaying everything you said in that elevator for a month. every. single. thing. fuck, you've been making me hard for a damn month without even being here. I've been dreaming of pleasing you...touching you. so once again, what do you want, y/n?"

your heart jumps, and your hips still against his momentarily. you think matt must be trying to kill you with words, because it feels like you're about to die. he says your name again, spoke quietly into your neck as he licks a strip up your skin. you gasp, hands flying to matt's hair.

you're breathless and fidgety, but still you manage to say — "I want to ride you." he curses shakily, and he thrusts his hips upwards, sending you crashing into his chest. you laugh, wrapping around matt like its second nature as he uses the leverage to pull his sweats and boxers down to rest just above his knees.

as soon as matt sits back down against the cushions, you're moving, reaching behind yourself and sliding your hand down matt's hard, warm length. you feel the two prominent veins against your palm, teasing you more than they have in the past month. you both sigh at the feeling of you slowly jerking his cock in your hand, teasing his throbbing slit with a swipe of your thumb.

matt tugs your bra down, revealing your heavy chest. "missed these." he says, already fondling your boobs with his hands, attaching his mouth to one puffy nipple. your body rolls instinctively, and matt's cock nestles hot and heavy between your ass cheeks.

"yeah?" you question knowingly—teasingly—lifting your hips just enough to guide the head of matt's cock close to your entrance. you're dripping again, so wet that it feels impossible to even breathe.

matter releases your nipple with one more sloppy kiss. "fuck yeah." his hands find your hips, lifting you higher to allow his dick to perfectly prod your hole. your breath hitches, hands falling to matt's broad shoulders to steady your legs—which have already started to tremble.

the head of his tip slips inside you comfortably, and your walls begin clamping in an attempt to suck him in deeper. you whine, trying to grind down, but matt's hands tighten on your hips—stopping you. "go slow, baby. you're shaking."

"shaking with need." you retort playfully. yet you're out of breath, small hands digging into matt’s trapezius muscle as you attempt to calm your eager, adrenaline filled body.

he gives you a teasing but knowing glance before he's helping you onto his length. slowly and inch by inch he fills your needy pussy, stretching you like putty. he's more endowed than you remember—thicker and longer. you gasp, stilling halfway down his length. "you're so big. I don't know if it'll fit."

matt pouts, although you're pretty sure it's condescending. his hands squeeze the meat of your hips again, a momentary distraction from the fullness between your legs. "it fit before baby, you can do it."

you mewl like a cat at his words. this time matt lets you sink down the rest of the way, going at your own pace as you take the rest of his length. he shutters, "that's my girl." then presses a kiss to your shoulder.

you've completely taken him, clit hitting matt's pelvic bone as your walls reach the base of his cock. matt's balls twitch against you, and you've never felt more stuffed in your life. "oh my god I think I can feel you in my stomach."

matt moans, fingers flexing on your body. "yeah? shit baby."

you sigh dreamily, and slowly begin lifting back off his member, rising only half way before sinking back down. matt curses, hands firmly sliding down to your ass and giving it one quick smack. you whine, picking up the speed of your movements just enough to have your toes clenching.

"just like that." he mutters, leaning in and sucking the pulse point on your neck. his nose nudges your skin, and he inhales, moaning at your sickly sweet scent. "you smell so good." matt grunts, nipping your skin—it stings but it's also delicious.

"today, before I even saw you, I knew you were there. I could smell your fucking perfume—that floral scent i've been longing for."

you moan, picking up your speed further. "oh my god!" your legs are starting to burn, and they've begun to shake more intensely. it has your movements faltering slightly, quick bursts of air leaving you as you try and control your breathing.

you go for another minute, desperate to try and reach your climax. your fingers dig into matt's chest and arms hard, leaving small crescent moon indents along his skin. your pout comes in full force, a tired and disappointed cry leaving your parted lips. “I can't-ugh, I can't do it."

matt knew it was only a matter of time before you became exhausted, and he's honestly surprised you lasted the 5 minutes you did. he can feel your walls squeezing and fluttering around his painfully hard cock—a sign that you're close.

he coos, scooping around the backs of your thighs so you're completely held up by his hands. "you tired baby?"

"mhmm." you whine, tears beginning to prick the edges of your eyes. you're so frustrated and horny, and all you've been thinking about for the past month is jumping on matt rempe's cock, and you're too fucking weak to do it.

reassuringly, matt kisses you—firm and sweet. "that's okay, baby. I'll help you." with that, he begins moving you on his cock, slowly at first. "you've been such a good girl, y/n—fuck." soon enough you're back at the perfect rhythm, matt's cock hitting the spongy spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back.

the springs in the couch are squeaking relentlessly as matt thrusts up into you, making everything feel that much more erotic and satisfying. you slump against matt's chest, "oh my—yes." the coil in your stomach is on the verge of snapping, and matt can feel it. the way you're nothing but a whining, borderline sobbing mess—walls squeezing him rhythmically.

"you feel so fucking perfect." he grunts, thrusts increasing to an unfathomable speed as his own release approaches. one of his hands leaves your leg and comes around to your front, swiping along your neglected clit. "my little slut to ruin."

"oh shit." you shout, body freezing as your orgasm hits you at full force. the feeling of your body cumming around matt's length as him reaching his own peak, and he pulls from your warm, gooey walls. he pumps his dick three times before his load spews over your stomach, painting your skin with his cum—all while his other hand rubs your clit softly as you come down from your high.

matt's moans are like music to your ears—little breathless gasps and deep rumbling groans in his chest.your take your bottom lip between your teeth, looking down at the mess sprayed over your belly. before you can decide against it, two of your small fingers swipe over the cum, collecting it on your digits before bringing them up to your mouth and sucking it clean off.

matt watches the entire thing, breathless and jaw slack. you smirk around your fingers as his lip begins quirking up, and before you can blink, matt pulls your hand away from your mouth and kisses you.

you giggle into it, wrapping your arms around matt's neck as his lips caress yours. his hands slide up your back tenderly, pressing against your spine firmly and rhythmically—hitting your pressure points and making you melt.

his fingers slide up the base of your neck and into your hair, threading your locks through his fingers and giving them a firm tug. for a moment you're back in the elevator, matt untangling rings from your messy hair. who would've thought it would've lead to the best sex of your life.

matt smiles against your mouth before pulling away. "i'm getting your number this time." his voice and face is full of determination and love. he grabs your hand and kisses the back of it, eyes never leaving yours.

"I'd hope so." you grin.

and when matt guides you into the shower, where you blow him and then he takes you from behind—treating you to another orgasm, you don't think you ever want to leave.

[whor3ing]

𝑺𝒂𝒚 𝑰𝒕 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 2 | 𝑪.𝑺

Chris Sturniolo! x f!reader

WARNINGS : part two of three, build-up for part three!, lots of dirty talk and degradation, sexting, guiding you through touching yourself, edging, on camera, usage of slut & good girl, “not gonna let you come until i fuck you in every position you wrote about”

╭────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╮

IN WHICH.. You meet Chris Sturniolo at a meet-and-greet, where a seemingly innocent interaction quickly turns into something more backstage. Later that evening, you post about the experience on your Tumblr blog, never expecting that Chris would find it.

╰────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────╯

part one -

word count : 4.2k ♡

03 : The Lines We Cross

Chris loved to watch. He always had.

There was something about seeing people’s reactions, their faces when they saw him, how their eyes lit up or how they’d nervously glance away when they thought he wasn’t paying attention.

But it wasn’t just that. It was hearing what people thought, the things they whispered to their friends when they thought no one else was listening, the conversations they had always thought were private. He loved finding those stray comments left in corners of the internet, the ones meant to be secret, buried in obscure threads or hidden behind quiet profiles.

Those were the ones that had always turned him on the most.

The raw, unfiltered thoughts. The fantasies that people felt safe sharing in the quiet anonymity of a post or a comment. The way they imagined him, how they saw him, how they wanted him.

It was a kind of power, knowing how much he affected people without even trying. And it turned him on like nothing else, feeding into a part of him that thrived on attention, even if it was just the private thoughts of strangers.

It was late, and Chris had just finished editing a new video they’d posted. He always liked to check what people thought, maybe it was simply just part of his curiosity, but to him, there was something about seeing how others reacted to him that got under his skin in the best possible way.

He leaned back in his chair, phone in hand, his messy brown hair falling loosely around his face, eyes still bright from hours of work.

His dark hoodie was pulled over his head, the sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos creeping down his arms. His jawline was sharp, barely shadowed from a day’s worth of stubble, and he ran a hand over his face, rubbing the exhaustion away.

Chris sighed, his thumb already drifting through the familiar apps. He knew these platforms like the back of his hand—each one a rabbit hole he could fall into without thinking twice.

Maybe that was the excitement of it all, the root of the exhibitionist streak he had, the way he could get lost in the endless scroll and always find something new that pulled him even deeper, that exposed parts of him even further.

As he scrolled through Tumblr, he was looking for the usual conversation about the triplets—reactions, gifs, the fiction that people always posted after something new dropped.

He loved that feeling. the way his name popped up all over the place, the way people shared their thoughts with each other in their own little world. It was all intoxicating to Chris, knowing that people were thinking about him, imagining him, even when he wasn’t around.

But what he craved the most was the raw, unfiltered content. The things people didn’t say to his face, the fantasies they kept hidden behind screens.

That was the real goldmine.

His thumb moved lazily as he skimmed through the posts, eyes flicking over the familiar reactions, the endless stream of comments. He’d seen it all before—people gushing about him and his brothers, the usual fanfics filling up the tags.

But then, something caught his eye.

A post buried among the rest, a fanfiction published just last night.

“Say It Again | C.S”

It wasn’t the title that stopped him, though. It was the synopsis :

❝You meet Chris Sturniolo at a meet-and-greet, where a seemingly innocent interaction quickly turns into something more backstage.❞

He stared at the words, his breath catching in his throat. Backstage?

Chris wasn’t new to fanfiction. He’d seen his fair share of wild scenarios, from sweet and fluffy to downright ridiculous.

But something about this one felt, different. A thousand times more personal.

His finger hovered over the post. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t.

But then again, he always had a habit of doing things he shouldn’t.

With a quick glance around the room—Nick still deep in his own world, Matt’s voice carrying from the kitchen—Chris tapped the post.

Immediately, the fic opened with a familiar scene.

❝The moment you’ve been waiting for, dreamed about, counted to, has finally arrived. Those words echo through your head, but they do nothing to calm the anticipation curling tight in your chest. The feeling is overwhelming, almost suffocating, as you stand amongst the crowd, your eyes scanning the room, your heart hammering harder with each passing second.❞

His heart did a weird little stutter.

Okay. That was normal, right? His fans got nervous around him all the time. He knew that, he was used to it.

Chris continued to scroll, but the next lines made his grip on the phone tighten.

❝So…” he starts, the word drawn out like he’s savoring it. “Why you so nervous all of a sudden? You were calm enough to follow me back here.” His voice drops, quieter now, almost too casual, like he's testing you. “Came all the way back here with me, no hesitation. But now you’re acting like I’m gonna bite your head off or somethin’.❞

Chris inhaled sharply through his nose.

That was real. He had said that.

He remembered the interaction now, the same girl he hadn't been able to stop thinking about for days—the way you had laughed, the way his hand had brushed against yours when he took their phone for a picture.

His pulse thumped as he scrolled further.

❝His voice drops even lower, more deliberate now, like he’s trying to draw you in further with his velvety tone. "You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t expect something to change." You didn’t follow me back just to sit and chat.❞

He leaned forward slightly in his chair, running his fingers through his tousled brown hair, his breath catching as his eyes darted over the post.

His fingers twitched, itching to scroll, but something made him hesitate, his eyes flicked back to the screen, the words sinking in.

He’d read the post over twice, and it still felt too real.

Too familiar.

The way the writer had described it—the setting, the way he touched her, the words he whispered against her skin—it wasn’t just fantasy. It was a memory.

This wasn’t just some random fanfiction about a random encounter backstage,

It was about him,

And it was about you—the girl he had taken backstage with him.

His chest tightened as his mind replayed those moments: the look in your eyes when you followed him, the way your body had responded when he had leaned in just a little too close.

He swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears.

He thought about that night more than he’d ever admit. How things had escalated in a way he hadn’t expected, until it was already far too late and his fingers had already slid inside of you.

It was as if he could feel everything again, now, through your writing.

The feeling of you against his fingers and the taste of you on his tongue, the words he had whispered in your ear, the way your breath had caught in your throat when the voices of both Matt and Nick had gotten too close behind the closed door.

The post was an exact reflection of that energy, only this time, it was laid bare for anyone to see. The casual mention of everything that wasn’t supposed to happen—it was a perfect summary of how it felt to be backstage with him, how it felt to be his for just a few moments.

But it wasn’t just the words that were affecting him.

It was the way the whole thing had been written, the details that only someone who had been there could know.

And damn, it turned him on. The way you had captured it all, the tension, the rawness, the way you made it sound like he was desperate, wanting more from you than he would ever admit.

He could practically feel the heat of your body next to his, it felt like he was with you all over again, his fingers buried deep inside of you and his tongue against yours.

Every word pulled him further into the scene. And the thought of you putting it all out there, writing it for the world to see, it made him ache for you all over again.

His grip on his phone tightened, his breath coming quicker.

He shouldn’t be this turned on by it, but he was. The way you wrote about him, about that night, about what he had done to you, it was overwhelming.

Chris licked his lips, shifting slightly in his chair, he could feel his erection growing with every word, every piece of dialogue you had written.

His mind raced with the possibilities—had you written this for yourself? For your followers?

Or had you known, deep down, that he would find it?

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he exhaled sharply, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. He could ignore it, pretend he never saw it. But that wasn’t going to happen.

Instead, he clicked your profile. And started reading more.

Your blog was a mix of reblogs, random thoughts, and text posts that made him smirk. But beneath all that, there were more. More fiction. More posts. More words that you had written—about him.

Some posts were vague, little snippets of thoughts, things you wanted, things you imagined.

Others? They were just like the first one. Detailed. Explicit. And all about him.

Fuck.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

The way you described him, the things you wanted him to do to you—it was like you had cracked open his skull and pulled the thoughts straight from his own head. It was addicting to him, the way you saw him, the way you wrote about him like he was something to be devoured.

Chris dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as he felt his body fill with absolute heat. His chest was tight, his jaw locked.

The worst part, or the best part—was that you had no idea he was reading this. That he was sitting here, taking in every filthy word you had written with his name on your tongue.

And he wasn’t just reading. He was remembering everything about you.

Chris let out a low breath, his pulse hammering in his ears as he scrolled further, devouring every little piece of you that you had left behind.

Did you have any idea what you were doing to him?

Did you know how badly he wanted to ruin you all over again?

His cock throbbed at the thought, pressing hard against the fabric of his sweats, his other hand drifting to hold the outline of his bulge with his hand.

Fuck. This wasn’t supposed to get to him like this, but it did.

His grip on his phone tightened, fingers flexing against the cool metal as he exhaled sharply. He could keep scrolling, keep reading, keep getting lost in the way you saw him, how you imagined him. But that wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Chris wasn’t just some idea in your head. He wasn’t just a fantasy to be written about and reblogged.

He was real, and you had already felt that once.

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, jaw tightening as his free hand dragged over his thigh, a slow exhale leaving him.

He needed more.

His thumb hovered over the message button, pulse roaring in his ears.

This was a line he shouldn’t cross. He knew that.

But he had already crossed it, hadn’t he? That day, backstage, the moment he had slipped his fingers inside of you. Besides, he wasn't done with you—not even close.

And now, after reading all of this—seeing how much you wanted him, how much you still thought about him—how the fuck was he supposed to stop himself?

04: Anonymous Desire

You were lying in bed, the soft hum of traffic outside the window blending with the distant sounds of the city night. The warmth of your comforter cocooned you, and your body felt heavy, unwinding after the long, tiring day.

You were in an oversized T-shirt, the fabric soft against your skin, and a pair of cotton shorts that barely brushed the tops of your thighs. It was comfortable, casual—exactly what you needed to relax. Your feet were bare, the cool sheets brushing against your skin.

Your phone rested in your hand, the screen lighting up briefly as you scrolled through your Tumblr feed. A few reblogs, some random posts, the usual stuff.

The low sound of a car engine echoed through the window, mingling with the distant beeps of a passing horn. You were half-zoning out when your phone buzzed with a notification.

You didn’t expect much. Probably just a random follower or an anonymous ask.But then you saw the message.

No name, no profile picture—just a strange, anonymous account.

You almost didn’t open it, figuring it was a bot. But your curiosity got the better of you, and you swiped to reveal the message.

Anonymous: I can’t believe you fucking shared this with the world. Couldn’t get me off your mind, could you?

Anonymous: Guess you just had to tell everyone how bad you wanted me.

Your stomach dropped as your eyes flew over the words, your heart skipping a beat. You couldn’t believe what you were reading. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your fingers frozen.

What the hell?

Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of it. The words were rough, almost familiar, but that was impossible.

You felt a cold shiver run down your spine.

There was no way.

No fucking way he would have seen it.

You took a breath, almost too afraid to reply; but your fingers moved before you could think it through.

Who is this? you typed, your heart hammering in your chest.

You: "Is this some kind of joke?"

You stared at your phone, waiting for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, your pulse quickening with the uncertainty of it all.

You thought about ignoring it, maybe blocking the account, but something in the back of your mind stopped you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this message, rough and degrading as it was, meant something more.

Finally, the screen lit up again.

Anonymous: You really don’t recognize me? Been thinking about me so much and still can’t figure it out? Fuckin' pathetic.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you froze, reading the words over and over, trying to make sense of them. The message felt so real. Too real. Your stomach churned as the pieces started to fall into place.

No. It couldn’t be.

You swallowed hard, trying to calm the racing thoughts in your head. This is insane, you told yourself. It’s not him. It can’t be. But the more you read, the more familiar it felt. The way the words twisted, the tone, no one else had known that this was real. No one but Chris.

Chris: Couldn’t stop thinking about me, could you? Had to share it, let everyone know how bad you wanted me, huh?

Your mind was racing now, his touch, the way he had tasted you on his tongue, the way he’d made you feel. It wasn’t that you hadn’t already thought about it before—it was just that now, with his words hanging in the air, everything felt different.

You: Chris?

You typed the name quickly, pressing send before you can even second guess yourself.

It felt almost like a whisper, though you were alone in your room.

You stared at the screen, waiting. Your heart racing in your chest, each second feeling like it stretched on forever. The silence in the room was suffocating, the hum of the traffic outside almost drowned out by the pounding of your own pulse in your ears.

Your phone lit up again.

Chris: Took you long enough to figure it out. Thought you’d be smarter than that.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, a wave of heat rushing over you as the realization settled in. It was him. Chris.

He had somehow found your post, found you.

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or just throw your phone across the room. Your fingers hovered over the screen, unsure of what to type next.

What do you even say to this?

But before you could stop yourself, another message popped up.

Chris: You think I wouldn’t see it? You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted me to see how badly you were thinking about me.

Your fingers hovered above the screen, your heart still hammering in your chest. You knew now.

It was Chris.

The way he spoke, the words he used, the way he knew exactly what had happened, there was no denying it.

You swallowed hard, trying to compose yourself.

You: How did you find it?

The question left your fingers without thinking, the curiosity mixed with fear and something else you didn’t want to admit.

You waited, staring at the screen, unsure of what to expect next. The seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an eternity. Then, finally, his reply came through.

Chris: How? You really didn’t think I’d find it? Thought you’d be smarter than that, huh? You’re not the only one who knows how to look around.

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could process his words, the next message hit you like a wave.

Chris: You have no fuckin' idea how turned on I am right now. God, you’re still fucking mine, my fucking slut

Chris: I bet you're soaked right now, aren't you? You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?

Chris: Well, if it’s eating at you that much, I think I should help you with that, shouldn't I?

His words dripped with a dangerous kind of confidence, making you even more soaked. He knew exactly how to make your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just him, giving you a choice he knew you couldn't say no to. Chris' next messages came through quick, each one more demanding than the last.

Chris: I want you to tell me what you’re wearing right now. I need to know.

You: I’m wearing a shirt and shorts...

Chris: A shirt and shorts? That’s cute, baby

Chris: I want you to take them off. Now, do it for me and tell me when you have.

You feel your heart race as you pull your long, over-sized shirt over your head, letting it fall onto the floor over the edge of your bed, doing just as he asked. You sigh leaning back into your pillows and resting your phone onto your tits as your fingers trail down against your body, your fingertips finding the waistband of your cotton shorts,slowly pulling them down to your ankles.

You slide them off of your body, leaving them at the edge of your bed as you reach your hand back up to your phone, texting him to let him know that you have.

Chris: Good girl. Take off your panties.

You bite your lip, a rush of excitement flooding your body as your hand slides down to your panties. You slide your fingers along the elastic waistband, slowly pulling them down your legs. As they hit the floor, you quickly text Chris to let him know you've done as he asked.

Chris: Now, show me. Send me a picture of yourself, just like that.

You feel a thrill run through you as you grab your phone again, your fingers trembling slightly with excitement as you open the camera app.

Laying back down, you position the phone just right, your legs parted slightly as you trace your fingers over your bare skin, your soaked pussy on full display for him. You make sure the shot captures just enough, from your hips, to your breasts, to your slick folds, the soft glow of the light accentuating your exposed body.

Your breath is shallow as you press send, waiting for his response.

It's been less than a minute when your phone buzzes with a notification. You hesitate for a moment before opening the message, your pussy completely soaked with anticipation and desire, all for him.

Chris: That’s what I like to see. You’re such a good fuckin' slut for me, always listening so good..

Chris : Fuck..ma, that sloppy pretty pussy—god I should've just filled you up with them right outside that stupid fuckin' door.

Chris: You're such a slutty tease. Now play with those pretty tits for me.

It's almost like you can hear him groaning in your ears again, like you can hear him whispering all of this filth straight in your ears all over again. The memory alone has heat pooling in your stomach, has your breath coming out uneven as you reach for your phone with shaky fingers.

You prop it up in front of you, angling the camera just right—just enough to put your body on display for him for when you send this to him.

Your skin is flushed, your lips slightly parted as you hesitate for only a second before pressing record. The red light blinks back at you, and it feels dangerous, feels dirty, but you don’t stop, you've wanted him for so long now, that you can't.

You reach up, slowly pulling down your shirt, revealing your perfect breasts to the camera. You cup them both in your hands, gently squeezing and massaging them as you watch yourself on the screen, pretending he's watching you, live.

The texts on the other end of the phone fall silent for a moment, Chris' words coming to a halt, probably because his hands are occupied, rubbing against his bulge as he closes his eyes, imagining you.

You can't help but let out a small moan as you continue to play with your own tits, your fingers slick with your own saliva tracing circles around your hardened nipples.

You know if Chris was there he would massage them too, his hands pulling at your skin, rubbing against their shape as he looked up at you.

The thought sends shivers down your spine. You can almost feel his breath on your neck, his other hand roaming lower, cupping your ass, maybe gliding along your hips all while his tongue twirls around your nipples.

Your fingers continue to tease your nipples, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as you imagine Chris' touch, while you watch yourself in the reflection of the camera.

Your phone buzzes with a notification, the sound making you glance up to the top of your screen.

Chris: Are you fuckin' doing it for me..? hmm... my pretty writer?

Chris: Rub that pretty pussy for me baby, cmon show me how needy you are, all for me, think about how it felt when it was my hands on that clit.. when it was my touch driving you insane instead of your own.

Your heart races as you obey his command, sliding your fingers down your stomach slowly, feeling every inch of your own body.

Whimpering, your hands move down your body, gliding against your inner thighs, skimming along the skin of your abdomen.

You gasp as your hands dip lower, feel the wetness of your pussy against your fingertips. You start to rub your clit, circling it gently at first, then harder and faster as your hands explore your slick folds.

You moan loudly, your back arching as you push your hips forward, seeking more contact with your fingers as you watch yourself on the screen.

Chris: God I wish I could hear you ma.. slip those fuckin' fingers in there and rub that slutty pussy at the same time for me..

You feel yourself whimper as your fingers push into your cunt, the walls of your soaking wet pussy convulsing around them, squeezing your fingers tight.

The slick sounds fill your quiet room, mixing with your ragged breaths, the camera catching it all.

Your free hand grips the sheets, knuckles turning white as you slowly fuck yourself open to his instructions, curling your fingers just right to skim along your g-spot, just the way you imagine he would.

Your eyes flutter shut, and in your mind, it’s not your fingers—it’s his. His long, thick vein-covered fingers stretching you open, his voice low and taunting in your ear, just as it was when he fucked you with his fingers backstage that day.

Your fingers continue to fill up your cunt when your phone vibrates again, Chris' anonymous profile filling the top of the screen with his next message.

You close out of the camera app, ending the video as your eyes scan over his messages.

Chris: So fucking desperate for me, huh?

Chris: I should've fuckin' made you suck this cock when I had you, could've left all of my come on your tongue, on your tits.. I fuckin' need you again, I need to fuck open that sweet pussy of yours ..

Your phone buzzes beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You don’t stop—can’t stop—your fingers still buried deep inside yourself as you reach for it with your free hand. The second you open it, a sharp gasp slips past your lips.

Chris fucking Sturniolo.

The picture loads slowly, teasingly, and when it finally appears, your breath catches in your throat. His hand—those hands—are the first thing you notice.

Big, veiny, the tendons flexing as he holds his phone, his fingers curled just enough to remind you of how they’d feel wrapped around your throat, gripping your hips, stretching you open.

Your eyes drift lower, taking in the his chest—bare, toned, his skin smooth except for the faintest dusting of hair trailing down his stomach. His abs are sharp, defined, every muscle visible under the dim lighting.

Chris: This what you wanted?

Your fingers falter, slowing inside your dripping cunt as you stare at the message, at the picture. Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, but you can’t look away. His hands, his chest, his abs—he looks so fucking good, and he knows it.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, mind racing for something to say, something that won’t make you sound as desperate as you feel. But before you can type a response, another message pops up.

Chris: Fucking slut

A shaky breath leaves you, thighs instinctively pressing together, your hand inside of your pussy slowing, barely moving inside of you.

He’s right. He has to know he’s right. Because you are—dripping, your fingers slick and sticky from how turned on you are.

Your free hand tightens in the sheets, frustration and need burning under your skin. He’s teasing you, making you squirm uncontrollably, and you hate how easily he does it, how easily he gets under your skin, makes you fall apart with just a picture and a few words.

But two can play at that game.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as you scroll through your camera roll, your thumb hesitating for only a second before tapping on the video—the one you’d recorded earlier, the one where you had put yourself on full display, fucking yourself to his directions.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly.

And then—

Chris: Fuck.

A smirk tugs at your lips, satisfaction curling in your stomach. You type back, fingers still trembling.

You: This what you wanted?

Your body is on fire, as your fingers move inside of you faster, your walls tightening around them as you fuck yourself to the thought of him, to the way you know he’s watching that video over and over, stroking himself to the sight of you falling apart.

Your phone vibrates again, another message from him lighting up your screen.

Chris: Bet you're close..huh? my naughty fuckin' girl.

Your fingers slow, your body trembling on the edge, so fucking close it hurts. You’re right there, so close to falling apart when your phone buzzes again.

Another message.

Chris: Don’t fucking cum.

Your breath hitches, a frustrated whimper slipping from your lips. Your body protests, thighs clenching, every muscle screaming for release.

Chris: Unless you wanna do it alone.

Fuck.

Your fingers freeze inside yourself, your chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

He’s toying with you, toying with your soaking pussy, dragging this out, making you suffer—and you hate how much you love it.

Chris: Be a good girl and stop touching that pretty pussy unless you want me to make you wait even longer, unless you never want me to help you recreate all of those fucking stories, baby.

Another buzz.

Chris: And if you keep touching yourself like you don’t belong to me, I'll know and i'll never let you fuckin' come.

Chris: That would be such a fuckin’ shame, that sweet pussy all pent up and i won’t let you come until we live out all of those posts—until i fuck you in every scenario you wrote about while i read them to you.

Your blurry vision shifts to your phone, your fingers sliding out of your clenched pussy, your stomach flipping as a new message appears. But it’s not words this time.

It’s a location, an invitation.

An address.

I'm so sorry for adding another part but I got another idea & wanted to incorporate more smut in the next part

𖧧 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

thank you for reading ! ♡

lowkey might rewrite, feeling emo asf rn & rushed this

taglist - @chriss-slutt @55sturn @chrysiie @il0vey0um0st @trustinsturniolos @v4lsturn @shitttttypoet @mattsplaything @emely9274 @pip4444chris @whore4mattsturniolo @sweetshuga @courta13

@lilyloveschris @kat-m-syd @sturniolo101 @iwantchristopherowensturniolo @starzinasblog @weron1ka @ellssturn @ifilwtmfc @sturnispider @matts-girlfriend @spinninnn @urfavvbilliemunch

[moody-alcoholic]

Ex-boyfriend

The block is back with a vengeance, writing a little bit of angst to try and break it. It kind ends weird, I think I'll make a smut follow up for this something along the lines of; 'let us fuck away the thought of your ex.'

Summary: Ghoap x reader. Neighbors to lovers??

CW: domestic abuse, violence, alcohol, description of injuries, angst, little hurt/comfort.

___

Another shouting match, another night listening to him plead through your front door. This time it’s different though. He hit you, it still doesn’t feel real, you can’t even remember what you were fighting about. 

Your face throbs though, a sick reminder that in fact it did happen. You didn’t even flinch, when his fist crashed square into the side of your face. 

“Please babe, it won’t happen again.” He calls. He’s right, it won’t happen again because you’re never going to see him again. 

“Go away!” You shout through your sniffles. You didn’t want to cry, you didn’t want to look weak but you couldn’t help yourself. As soon as you saw him with his fist raised, the person you thought you loved, there was no stopping the tears. 

You hear a door open in the hall. “Alright mate, maybe you should go. She clearly doesn’t want you bothering her.” You hear Johnny’s familiar Scottish accent fill the halls. Great now you’ve bothered your neighbours.

“Not really any of your business is it.” Your boyfriend snaps back. You put your head in your hands. This is all your fault, you don’t want to cause a scene, you just want him to leave. 

“It is when you’re shouting in the hall while I'm tryin’ to relax.” Johnny replies. You need to stop this, this is your fault. You pull yourself up to your feet. 

“Wouldn’t be in the hall if she would just let me in so we could talk.” Your boyfriend says banging on the door again. You look through the peephole, you see Johnny leaning in his doorway, your boyfriend is almost squaring up to him. 

You let out a breath to compose yourself, quickly wipe your tears away and open the door. They both turn to look at you. Johnny straightens up and your boyfriend comes towards you but you step back. 

“Go home. I’ll call you.” You say, your voice cracks. You feel the confidence you had slip away. You can’t tell if he’s angry or sad, you don’t care, you just want him gone. 

“I’ll call you.” You repeat, anything to get him gone. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t try to come in. He just lets out a sigh and turns to leave, shooting once last glare at Johnny on the way out. You let out a shaky breath looking over at Johnny. 

“I’m sorry about the noise.” You say, you’re barely holding it together, you need to get back inside so you can throw yourself in bed and just cry. Johnny steps up to you with a concerned look on his face. 

“Screw the noise, did he do that to ya lass?” He asks. You don’t know what to say, you open your mouth but words don’t come out, instead you just sob throwing your head in your hands again.  

Arms wrap around you and he squeezes you against him. Johnny’s hugged you before, he’s a very friendly person. He would throw his arm around your shoulders and walk you back to your flat when you would both run into each other. 

This hug is different though, maybe it’s the embarrassment making you over think things but this feels like a proper hug. 

“Si!” He calls as he starts to rub your back with his hand, the sobbing is relentless now, it feels like you can’t get a breath of air.

“What?” You hear Simon say. Johnny breaks from the hug moving to the side and you look up at him standing in the doorway. You don’t see Simon as much but he’s always there. You remember when you moved in they helped carry boxes for you. Then they both bought you a homemade shepherd's pie and bottle of wine to welcome you to the building.

You watch as Simon’s jaw clenches he lets out a sigh then crosses his arms. You feel sick, embarrassed. You just want this night to be over. You hang your head sniffling and wiping the tears. 

“How about a cup of tea?” Johnny asks his hand comes to your waist and you look up at him. You nod and he smiles guiding you back into your flat. You expect Johnny to go into the kitchen but he doesn’t he takes you over the sofa and Simon goes into the kitchen.

“What happened?” Johnny asks as you sit down, he sits next to you with his hand your back. 

“We were fighting.” You sniffle feeling more tears come. You don’t try to stop them. Johnny pulls the box of tissues over and you take one. 

“I can’t even remember what it was about. Something stupid.” You say blowing your nose.

“Has this ever happened before?” You look up at him and shake your head. 

“I think maybe we had too much to drink.” You say trying to find some kind of reason. You look over at the dining room table, the half drunk bottle of wine and the half eaten food. You hear the kettle click and you look over at Simon in the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry to have bothered you. I know it’s not the first time he’s been shouting in the hall.” You say, Johnny squeezes you tighter. 

“Not a problem.” He says smiling. Simon comes over and places a mug down in front of you. 

“Thank you. He’s not always like this.” You say looking up at Simon. He hums looking round the flat then comes to sit next to you. You keep your eyes on him as he looks round your face, his hand brushes your cheek. Even his soft touch has you gritting your teeth, it’s going to leave a nasty bruise. 

“Johnny, go see if there’s any ice in the freezer. Or a bag of peas.” Simon says, dropping his hand. Johnny moves instantly, bouncing into the kitchen, you don’t have time to tell him you have no ice. 

“Will mixed veg do?” He asks, sticking his head round through the door holding up the bag. It makes you smile, he smiles too when he sees you then goes back into the kitchen. 

“Do you want to call the police?” Simon asks. You swallow, dread rises in you. You hadn’t even thought about that, you feel more tears come and you look over at your mug of tea. 

“You don’t have to press charges, just get it on the record.” Johnny says as he comes back with the bag of veg wrapped in a tea towel. You look up at him, the last thing you want to do right now is talk to the police. You don’t get time to answer them though, the lock turning on the door makes your breath catch in your throat. 

Shit, you forgot he has a key. 

Simon stands up as the door opens and your boyfriend walks in. He freezes looking over at you for a second before scoffing and shaking his head. 

“I fucking knew it.” He says. You can’t breathe, your whole body tenses. “Couldn’t even wait five fucking minutes.” 

You stand up. “It’s not what you think.” You plead, the sob coming back. You feel Johnny’s hands on your shoulders. 

“I always knew you were a fucking whore.” He snaps, there’s a slur in his voice.

“Hey!” Johnny calls, squeezing your shoulders. Simon tuts, turning to look at you both quickly then walks round the sofa. You can see a bottle of something in his hands. Where did he even get that from? He was always a mean drunk.

You always told yourself it was the alcohol though, it wasn’t really him. He would never be like that with you when he was sober. Until now. 

“What do you want then?” Your boyfriend asks, throwing his arms out as Simon walks over to him. He looks tiny compared to Simon, his hulking figure almost blocks out your boyfriend. 

Ex, ex-boyfriend. 

“Let's have a chat, outside.” Simon says with a low tone, nodding at the door. 

“Na mate.” Your ex says, moving to look around Simon and points at you. “How long huh? How long have you been fucking them?” 

“I’m not.” You say, fresh tears blur your vision. 

“I won’t ask again.” Simon says, moving back in front of your ex. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He snaps. You almost miss your ex swinging at Simon. A gasp leaves your throat as you watch him dodge it. A split second later Simon drives his fist into your ex’s stomach. He drops the bottle of liquor and you swear you can hear the air leaving his lungs as he grunts doubling over. 

Simon grips his shoulders, almost carrying him out the flat and into the hall. “We’re going to have a quick chat.” It sounds like Simon’s growling. A second later the door slams closed. You turn to look at Johnny. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think..” You slump back down on the sofa. Johnny reaches over, picking up the bag of veg wrapped in the tea towel. He presses it on your head and you wince, you takeover for him, replacing his hand with yours. 

“He’s a mean drunk.” You say. 

“He’s an arsehole.” Johnny says his hand lands on your thigh. You look over at him and smile. The door opens and you both look over to see Simon coming in. He walks over to the coffee table and puts down a set of keys. You stand up dropping the bag on the sofa and walk round the table over to him. 

You wrap your arms around him, for a second it's like he’s not quite sure what to do. When his arms wrap around your back you let out a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you.” You say into his chest. 

“It’s okay.” He says. You feel Johnny behind you, his hand landing on the small of your back. You break from the hug looking up at Simon. 

“I’m sorry he tried to hit you.” You say. He smiles, you haven’t seen him smile much, he has a nice smile. 

“Don’t worry, I've dealt with worse.” Simon says, his hand comes up to your cheek he brushes the tears away. 

“Sit down, drink your tea.” He says, you nod sitting down on the sofa next to Johnny. His hand lands on your thigh, you reach over for the mug. It’s lukewarm at this point but you don’t care, you drink it down while your head throbs. 

“Do you want one of us to stay the night?” Simon asks going over to the front door picking up the bottle of vodka.

“No, it’s okay.” You say, you don’t really want to be alone but you don’t want to come between them.

“I’ll stay.” Johnny says, Simon nods going into the kitchen. 

“I don’t want to take you from Simon. I’ll be fine, honestly.” You say turning to look at him. 

“Is that his only key?” Johnny asks, gesturing at the one on the table. You could so easily lie, you don’t want to be a bother. You shake your head. 

“Then I'm staying.” He says pulling your chin up to look at him. Christ, he has nice eyes too, deep and blue, they make you think of the ocean. 

“Thank you.” You say, you’re going to have to make it up to them at some point. Simon comes out into the living room and Johnny lets your chin go. 

“You know where I’ll be if you need me.” He says heading for the door. 

“What no kiss?” Johnny calls after him. He stops and walks back over Johnny who’s sat with a cheeky grin on his face. You evert your eyes when they kiss, it feels like you’re invading their privacy. Why are the hot ones always gay? 

“You alright?” Simon asks you, you look up at him feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. 

“Yeah. Thank you again, for everything.” You say smiling at him. He nods and heads to the door. You watch him leave, listening as you hear their door open and close. You turn to Johnny who's now laid back on the sofa with his arm over the back.

"C'mon lass, I'm nice and warm," he says gesturing for you to lean up against him. You hesitate for a second then lay against him. He wraps his other arm round you and you let out a sigh.

"He's never gonna hurt you again." He says, you smile. No he won't, you never want to see him again.

____

[xylatox]

Cinnamon, a Kim Mingyu fic :)) I wanted to read this for a while and I finally got to it today!!!

Immediately loving the relationship between reader and hannie and moreso how they reacted to Gyu having a girl over😭, it does make me feel bad for reader because she has such clear feelings for Gyu it actually hurts, like — You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby — this is actually so darn sweet???

I do appreciate that seeing the momentd with Daeyoung is actually really sweet especially since he more cared about knowing reader than the bowling :(

Loving thst amidst the chaos with Hannie, Wonwoo is like the voice of reason to not encourage so much teasing and it's so sweet that despite his plans to go home for the holidays he still offers to stay in the apartment with her :(

The difference in the reader's reaction to the flowers from Daeyoung vs Gyu omg :((( —Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you — in so much pain oh my god.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake — this expression is so beautiful what the hell???

It hurts how much the dream affected her and eventhough Gyu was the main person in said dream she still went to him :(

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?” — Hannie looking out for her constantly (and Wonwoo too even if he hasn't particularly voiced it).

It hurts how sweet Daeyoung is too but reader is so into Gyu I'm not sure if she can let go and fully give herself to him yknow.

God, Daeyoung is actually insanely sweet and understanding??? like to an extent that I'm shocked actually, he really does like reader.

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch. — absolutely love Wonwoo, he really is that guy.

I actually super love reader's relationship with Daeyoung like it's actually so sweet , he's reaction to the Sunny Baby nickname is so real and valid

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”— Jeonghan is so evil I love it.

It's so insane that even in June reader still dreams of Gyu — The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy. — this is an insane response, Gyu's jealousy is showing waw.

Daeyoung was so sweet and nice, his reaction is valid imo, like, it does suck that the person reader was getting over she lived with. He does deserve better though, but, I'm glad thet talked about it, I feel like it's just hindering the inevitable though.

The fight with Gyu, the breakup with Daeyoung:( ugh

I do think Gyu calling reader by her name and not all the nicknames shows how much he was affected too :((

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night. — this is so beautiful wtf.

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon. — oh my god.

This entire piece was so beautiful, I'm so glad I finally got to read it😭 it was such an emotional Rollercoaster

Cinnamon || KMG

banner by @sailorrhansol

Written for the Lonely Hearts Cafe Collab!

Cinnamon mingyu x fem!reader (nicknamed Sunny), reader x male oc for a while fluff smut angst best friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, idiots to lovers all apply NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: You finally decide to try and move on after years of waiting for Mingyu to return your feelings. But when you start bringing your new boyfriend around more often, things with Mingyu get... difficult.

WC: 19k

Warnings: language, recreational drinking and overdrinking, a brief mention of throwing up from a hangover, angst and hurt feelings, not miscommunication but definitely refusal to communicate, kissing (some with mg and some with a male oc), arguments, reader and mingyu are both imperfect people who make mistakes and do things wrong... theyre not bad or toxic people but their choices can be hurtful... theyre humans who mess up have to just do their best to do better going forward, quick and prosey smut scene with piv penetration

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-inggggg iluuuuu

--

December

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

You grumble in response, eyes still mostly closed, as you make your way by muscle memory to your apartment’s barely-functioning coffee machine. Only once you’ve poured a mug, stirred in everything you need to make it palatable, and taken your first sip, do you speak actual words.

“Morning. You’re up early.”

Jeonghan, one of your three roommates, nods solemnly. “I have a nine o’clock meeting today, but I need to get some files together first, so I’m trying to be there by eight,” he tells you. You glance at the clock on the microwave - it’s already 7:20.

“You might want to get moving,” you warn him.

He makes a face that says, I know, but - and cocks his head towards the bathroom the four of you share. The door is closed and the light inside is on, which means it must be occupied. It’s not usually a problem, even with four of you - your schedules are just different enough that it works out.

You frown. “Wonwoo isn’t gone yet?” He’s usually the first one out of the house on weekdays since he’s got the longest commute.

Jeonghan shakes his head, but then the light clicks off and the door opens. A girl you’ve never seen before steps out cautiously, then pauses when she sees the kitchen isn’t empty.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Hi. Good morning. I’ll just -”

She gives you each a polite nod and slips quickly back through the nearest door - Mingyu’s bedroom.

You face Jeonghan again and roll your eyes. He gives you a bit of a grimace and gets up, hurrying into the now-empty bathroom.

You take his seat at the table, sip slowly at your coffee. Having three guys as roommates means this happens with relative regularity, though usually the guys keep their conquests to weekends and holidays. Mingyu must have really liked this girl to bring her home on a weeknight. You glance back at his closed door; you can faintly hear their voices, but not what they’re saying. She was pretty.

You tuck away whatever feelings you might have about this, just like you always do, wipe your heart as clean as a classroom chalkboard at the beginning of a new day. Jeonghan vacates the bathroom, clearly in a hurry, and you take his place, turning the shower on and praying that there’ll be enough hot water left to get you through. (There’s not.)

Later, as you sit on the train amidst a sea of other morning commuters, you check your phone.

Roomies 💕

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: i would like to issue a formal complaint

[8:07 am] wonuuu: i left plenty of coffee bro

[8:07am] (jeong)Han Solo: not that

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: if this is a noise complaint… i’m sorry but also no i’m not

[8:09am] You: you’re disgusting

[8:09am] Cinnamingyu: you love me

[8:10am] You: 🙄

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: so does the girl whose presence in our one (1) bathroom made me late this morning

[8:10am] (jeong)Han Solo: if i get fired you’re covering my part of the rent

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: have fun defending that in small claims court

[8:11am] You: i am happy to be a witness on your behalf

[8:11am] Cinnamingyu: et tu brutus?

[8:11am] You: my shower was lukewarm at best

[8:12am] You: you will be hearing from my counsel

[8:12am] You: thanks in advance wonwoo

[8:14am] wonuuu: for the millionth time… I cannot be your counsel. I’m not qualified yet.

[8:14am] You: yet ☝️

[8:17am] Cinnamingyu: let’s not ignore the real problem here… we need another bathroom

[8:21am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok great, tell me when you win the lottery so we can move out

Chuckling, you slide your phone back into your coat pocket as the train pulls into your stop. You hurry through the train station, tucking your chin into your coat collar as you speed through the icy December morning. It’s one of those dry cold days, where the air around you feels frozen, almost hurts to breathe. Everything is grey - sky above you, buildings around you, ground below you. Fast steps take you the three blocks to your office building, where you sigh in relief as the heated air hits your face, chasing away the chill.

You check your phone again as you hang your coat on your chair in your cubicle. As usual, Mingyu has texted you privately, away from the group chat.

[8:31am] Cinnamingyu: sorry about the hot water :(

[8:38am] You: you should be. i shivered through my whole conditioning routine.

[8:38am] Cinnamingyu: poor sunny baby :( :( :( will you ever forgive me?

You roll your eyes, but you’re fighting a smile. You hate that Mingyu can just charm you right out of a mood, and you hate it even more than he knows it and weaponizes it. He’s the one who gave you the nickname Sunny (or Sunshine depending on how cranky you were at the given moment) back when you were a college freshman. Your other roommates picked it up, but Mingyu was the only one who ever turned Sunshine or Sunny into Sunny Baby.

It’s absolutely horrendous, unfathomable, deeply unfair that it works, that it makes you melt into goo when he uses it. Still, you try to hold strong.

[8:38am] You: don’t you Sunny Baby me Kim Mingyu, you have crimes to answer for!!!

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: ill cook for you tonight as penance. and then maybe a movie?

You frown. You wish you could take him up on the offer. Mingyu’s a great cook. One of the many things you love about him.

[8:39am] You: rain check. i won’t be home for dinner

[8:39am] Cinnamingyu: what’s this? did you manage to bag a man????

[8:39am] You: i hate you so much

[8:39am] You: yes you absolute scrambled egg, i have a date

Mingyu sends you a gif of an old man suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, and you laugh out loud. Then you stash your phone behind your keyboard and get to work. But when you check it again a few hours later, after your first meeting of the day lets out, he’s texted you again.

[8:40am] Cinnamingyu: is it the same guy as last week? date number TWO?? 😮

[10:51am] You: yeeeeees 🤭

[10:51am] Cinnamingyu: wow, big moves for you. a second date! do we need to have The Talk?

[10:51am] You: blocked and reported

This is an ancient song and dance for you and Mingyu. When you’ve been friends as long as you have, some things just become routine. Like you, gracefully ignoring the handful of girls that you never see a second time. Like him, acting like it’s monumental when you actually give someone a chance.

He’s used to you giving no one a chance, ever. He knows it doesn’t happen much.

But you had a good first date with Daeyoung last week. A really good first date. You’d been texting a lot since then, too. He was funny - witty. And cute. So you’d thought to yourself… what the hell. Why not? Why not go out a second time? What else were you going to do tonight?

(Stay home and eat the food Mingyu cooks for you. Watch a movie together on the couch.)

And, sure, you do want to do those things. But going out with Daeyoung tonight won’t change a thing between you and Mingyu. He’ll grill you about it when you get home, maybe tease you a little, and you’ll do food and a movie another night.

Daeyoung takes you bowling. You weren’t sure how you’d feel about it, not having been in a bowling alley since you were a kid, and remembering them as vaguely sticky places. But it ends up being kind of cute, maybe even nostalgic. Daeyoung buys a pitcher of beer and sets it on your - yes - sticky table, and walks with you as you select a pink ball that is definitely meant for children. 

“You know that’s only six pounds, right?” he asks you, smiling playfully.

“Bold of you to think I could lift a heavier one,” you deadpan, and he laughs. You like his laugh - it’s easy, light, like he’s wholly uncomplicated. You could use some uncomplicated in your life. 

You're terrible at bowling - you score a 42 on your first game, the ball finding the gutter more times than it stays on the lane. Even so, you manage to have fun. Daeyoung doesn’t make you feel weird about it - in fact, he barely pays attention to the actual bowling. Instead he talks to you about your day, asks about your family, doesn't seem like he's freaked out that you live with three guy friends. He doesn’t even ask the very common, “so, has anything ever happened there?” for which you’re grateful. 

He’s got three sisters, you learn, and grew up with cats but still wants a dog someday. He graduated two years before you, has never traveled outside the country. 

You offer back your own resume of sorts - an older sister and a younger brother, no pets growing up and allergic to most mammals (perhaps humans included, as has been pointed out by Mingyu on many occasions, usually in the same conversation that he’s calling you Sunshine and pinching your cheeks like your attitude is cute). Graduated with Honors and haven’t traveled much either, though you’d love to when you have some money saved up.

Your phone lights up on the table every so often, and you check it while Daeyoung takes his turn on the lane. A few are Jeonghan and one of your co-workers, and one is your little brother asking how to get blood out of laundry which is super alarming - but the rest are from Mingyu.

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: just know that you are missing one of my best creations

[7:19pm] Cinnamingyu: but dont worry i will save you some ☺️ because i’m the best roommate ever

[7:31pm] You: thank youuuuu! I might not have any tonight but you know i’ll eat the leftovers!

[7:31pm] Cinnamingyu: hows the date?

[7:36pm] You: i am very bad at bowling actually!!!

[7:36pm] Cinnamingyu: aim for the pins

[7:43pm] You: have i mentioned that i hate you?

[7:43pm] Cinnamingyu: guess i’ll throw these leftovers out then

[8:12pm] Cinnamingyu: what time do you think youll be home?

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: sorry i didnt mean that like WHEN WILL YOU BE HOME YOUNG LADY

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: i was asking bc i was deciding if i want to start a movie or wait for you i wasnt trying to

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: you know

[8:15pm] Cinnamingyu: anyway. aim for the pins. wear protection. etc. see you later lol

[8:38pm] You: young lady 🙄 go away mingyu!!! 

[8:38pm] Cinnamingyu: you dont mean that

[8:38pm] You: i don’t 😘

[8:47pm] You: if you wanna save a movie for me… i should be home by 11

Daeyoung drives you home after the date, and you note that his car is clean, but not serial killer clean. A green flag. 

When he asks if he can see you again soon, as he's pulling the car up to your building, you tell him yes without hesitating. It’ll be your first third date in maybe ever, and you make a little note in your brain that you should probably talk to him about this, make sure he can be on the same page - that this is fun and you’ll keep going out as long as it’s a good time, but you aren’t really looking for serious.

When he pauses, leaning in a little closer, you feel yourself smile, and you let him. It’s a nice kiss.

He’s a nice guy.

There’s no reason you couldn’t follow through with this. There’s no giant problem with him, no personality quirk or inherent difference that makes him ineligible.

But. 

You push the thought away. “Thanks for tonight,” you tell him. “I had a good time.”

“You’d have a better time if you listened to my advice and used a heavier ball,” he says seriously, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes that tells you he’s teasing. “You can’t expect to knock down pins when they weigh more than what you’re throwing at them.”

“Sounds fake,” you joke, and hop out of the car. Before you shut the door, you pause. “See you next weekend?”

His smile unfurls, pleased. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll text you.”

You practically skip back into the apartment. You pause at the closet by the front door, pulling off your boots and hanging up your puffy winter coat. You can hear the tv on in the living room and water running in the kitchen.

You step into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. Mingyu stands at the sink, his back to you, up to his elbow in suds. You bump him with your hips as you pass by, and he kicks at you and misses. You open the fridge and grab a can of seltzer. Mingyu smiles at you from the sink, and just like that, Daeyoung evaporates from your mind.

He calls you Sunny, but he’s the sun. Has been that way as long as you’ve known him - since undergrad. 

You’d met in your freshman year - he was puppy-dog cute, back then, not the chiseled sculpture of a man who takes up half your kitchen now. You’d been in the Arts and he’d been in the Sciences - something mathy - but you’d bonded in one of those godawful general requirement classes, and somehow the friendship had taken hold.

Mingyu holding your hand - metaphorically and literally - through your two required math classes and two required science labs was the only reason you’d even managed to graduate. Of course, you’d also written every single formal paper he had through the whole four years, so it evened out.

You complement each other that way, in every area. He’s outgoing and friendly, you’re cranky enough to be given the nickname Sunny in pure irony. Mingyu likes puzzles and problems he can work out, you like to turn the brain off for any and all hobbies. Mingyu is sunshine and big smiles, you are made of salt and sarcasm. 

But you love each other - have been best friends since almost the moment you met. There is nothing in your life you’d be willing to lose less than him.

You wander up to him and lean against his arm, mostly to be funny because he continues to wash dishes even as it jostles you around, and it becomes a little game of him trying to shake you off and you refusing to be shaken.

“How was your night?” he asks finally, reaching to turn off the water. You automatically pass him a dish towel to dry his hands. He takes it, drying, and then reaches around you to hang it back up near the oven. 

“Not as good as yours,” you snicker, noticing a purple blotch near his collar.

He flushes dark, slapping a hand over the spot. “Yah,” he complains. 

You laugh. “She was cute!”

“She’d be cuter if she spent less time in our bathroom!” Jeonghan’s disembodied voice floats from the living room.

“Alright, we get it!” Mingyu calls back hotly. “You’ve only been complaining about that for fifteen hours!”

Cackling, you follow him out into the living room. Jeonghan is sprawled sideways on the two-seater, a show you don’t recognize playing across the tv screen. Down the hallway, Wonwoo’s door is open about a foot, casting the hallway in flickering blue light that tells you he’s gaming and you probably won’t see him for the rest of the night. 

“So,” Jeonghan says dryly, without peeling his eyes from the tv, “I noticed your boyfriend’s car idling outside for quite a while before you came in. Were we necking?”

“Necking?” you splutter. Beside you, Mingyu is biting on his lips, trying not to laugh at your expense. “What year is this, 1950? And he’s not my boyfriend. You know that.”

You can’t help the defensive edge that creeps into your voice. From where he’s plopped on the couch, Mingyu reaches up for your hand, tugging. You let him pull you into the space next to him and he rubs a soothing hand across your shoulders before taking his hand away. It’s a silent, quick moment - easy to miss if you aren’t looking. But you are looking, always, and you wonder if he even knows he does this - reads your moods, rushes to fix you. 

Unbothered by your ruffled feathers, Jeonghan asks lightly, “So, are you seeing him again, or…?”

The bastard hasn’t even looked away from the television screen.

“You’re such an ass sometimes,” you grumble at him.

Now he looks over at you, smiling beatifically, innocently. “There’s my Sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Mingyu asks from next to you, eyebrows raised. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound casual. You can tell the jackals are in a mood tonight.

Jeonghan’s face splits into a delighted grin. “A third date? My goodness.”

“We all know what happens on a third date,” Mingyu says sagely, and you punch him in the thigh, extra hard since you can only reach him and not Jeonghan too.

Wonwoo’s voice comes from down the hallway. “Leave Sunny alone, you guys.”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “Leave Sunny alone.”

Mingyu stretches over your lap to reach for the remote. It brings his torso almost flush against yours and you feel your face heat. 

“I was watching that,” Jeonghan complains before Mingyu even presses anything.

“Sunny and I are watching a movie,” Mingyu says flatly. “Go watch on your laptop if you care so much.”

Jeonghan reaches towards your couch lazily and slaps at the air like he can’t be assed to work any harder to hit his roommate. “You’re cranky today,” he observes, the arm not trying (sort of) to slap Mingyu’s leg folded behind his head. “Why might that be?”

Mingyu doesn’t answer him, just settles back next to you, his arm against yours, and starts scrolling through movie options.

He still hasn’t picked one when Wonwoo appears in the living room’s doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his LED headset looped around his neck and his eyes on his phone.

“What are we watching?” he asks absently.

“Nothing, apparently,” Jeonghan quips.

Beside you, Mingyu growls a little.

Unphased - this is so normal for them, it would be more alarming if they weren’t pissing each other off - you look up and Wonwoo and say, “I didn’t think you’d emerge tonight.”

“I’m heading right back in,” he admits. “Hydration break. Anyway - question. What’s everyone’s plans for the holidays?”

Mingyu stops scrolling, pausing to think. 

“I’ll be home,” Jeonghan says, meaning his hometown.

“Me, too,” Mingyu adds. “I’m leaving on Sunday. Next Sunday, I mean.”

Wonwoo lets out a little sigh. “Okay. My folks were asking when I was coming. Sunny, you’re going home, too?”

“Uh, no, actually,” you admit. “I was staying here.”

You feel rather than see your friends share a glance. 

“I can stay, then,” Wonwoo says, a bit tightly - you can tell that wasn’t the plan. “So you aren’t alone.”

“No,” you protest. “I’m perfectly fine being here by myself, you know that.”

“Sunny Baby is an indoor cat,” Mingyu notes, and you bump him with your elbow. 

“It’s fine,” you insist. “Plus, I think Daeyoung will be around, so I won’t be alone the whole time anyway.”

Mingyu’s eyes bore into the side of your face, but you don’t look at him; if it’s pity he’s leveling at you, you don’t want it. 

“If you’re sure,” Wonwoo says, and when you assure him you do, he vanishes into the kitchen and then back into his room. Mingyu clicks on a movie and you settle in, eventually getting sleepy and shifting sideways, your head resting comfortably on his unfairly sculpted shoulder. He shifts to let you get more comfortable, and the night passes as simply and pleasantly as hundreds before.

When the movie ends, you pick up the bottles and cans from the coffee table while Mingyu does a quick lap of the apartment, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. You meet outside the bathroom - occupied by Jeonghan - both waiting your turn to brush your teeth and whatever else before bed. 

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says softly, something tentative in his voice, and you look up at him, heart suddenly thumping. He’s looking at you earnestly in the dim light from the bedrooms down the hall, something you’re not sure you can name on his face. It’s almost pleading, but that doesn’t make sense. “Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me for the holidays? My family would love to have you - they’re obsessed with you, you know that.”

Your heart calms. “It’s really okay,” you promise. “But thanks for checking.”

The bathroom door opens and Jeonghan slips by, leaving a wave of toothpaste-mint in his wake. 

“You go ahead,” Mingyu says.

“You were in line first,” you argue.

He rolls his eyes but knows how stubborn you are, so he disappears into the bathroom. You lean your butt against the kitchen table and check your phone for the first time in a while.

Daeyoung had texted shortly after he drove away - probably as soon as he got home.

[11:24pm] Daeyoung: I had a really good time tonight. Looking forward to next week :]

[12:51am] You: me too ☺️

The bathroom door opens and you turn off your phone screen with a click, bidding Mingyu goodnight as you slide into the bathroom’s light.

–

January 

New Year’s Eve

Roomies 💕

[11:13pm] (jeong)Han Solo: sunny where’d you end up tonight?

[11:13pm] You: i’m with the girliesss!!! where are you guys

[11:13pm] Cinnamingyu: sunnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy baby baby baby

[11:13pm] You: yyyeeesssss??

[11:14pm] (jeong)Han Solo: we’re downtown. mingyu cant come to the phone right now but i think he wants you to come hang out with us

[11:14pm] You: lmao nooooo he didnt even make it to midnight??? thats sad, kim mingyu

[11:16pm] Wonuuu: u ever think about that phrase “can’t come to the phone”… from an era in which you had to walk to the family’s landline phone in the kitchen or whatever… none of us were even alive for that

[11:16pm] You: wow apparently you guys are having a much better time than me

[11:16pm] (jeong)Han Solo: only wonwoo lol ok be safe and have fun!! see you at home

–

[11:14pm] Cinnamingyu: come out!!

[11:14pm] You: i am out! Lol

[11:15am] Cinnamingyu: you know what i mean

[11:16am] You: im sorry :( but we’re across town and by the time we got there we’d miss the countdown

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: ok 🙁

[11:16am] You: don’t pout!!! i’ll see you at home tomorrow and we can hang out all day

[11:16am] Cinnamingyu: not the same!

[11:17am] You: ok lets take a shot together!!

[11:17am] Cinnamingyu: ???

[11:17am] You: go order one and tell me when you’re ready!!

[11:18am] Cinnamingyu: lmao on it 🫡

[11:28am] Cinnamingyu: ok im ready

[11:28am] You: ok when you get this count to three and take your shot! 

[11:29am] You: geonbae or cheers or salute or whatever

[11:29am] Cinnamingyu: or whatever 🙄 

[11:29am] You: 😘

New Year’s Day

Roomies 💕

[12:00am] You: HAPPY NEW YEAR LOVES OF MY LIFE LET THIS BE THE BESTEWT YEAR FOR US EVER EVER EVR!!!!!

[12:00am] Wonuuu: happy new year sunny 🙂

[12:00am] (jeong)Han Solo: happy new yearrr 😽

[4:09am] You: home safe ♥️ 

[10:33am] Wonuuu: i’ll be home tomorrow sunny

[12:42pm] (jeong)Han Solo: i’ll be back tonight but probably not until after dinner

[12:42pm] You: ok! i’ll be here

[3:17pm] (jeong)Han Solo: is mingyu alive???

[3:17pm] You: lol yeah he’s home. he’s just… not in the best shape asfjkasfhaio

[12:00am] Cinnamingyu: happy new year sunny baby 🩷

[12:01am] You: happy new year best friend!!!!!!! ily ily ily!!!!

[12:32am] Cinnamingyu: you kno you could still meet us out nw

[11:23am] Cinnamingyu: can u open the front door… my head hurts too bad to make the keys work

You stagger to the apartment’s front door, eyes squinting against the harsh daylight streaming into the living room and kitchen area. When you unlock and pull open the door, Mingyu almost collapses on top of you.

“Get up,” you groan, shuffling backwards. “You’re too heavy, I can’t hold you!”

“Shhhh,” he whispers, but rights himself to standing. 

You stand there for a minute, both of you just grappling with the horrible reality of being awake and upright and, god, very hungover.

“I need to lay down,” Mingyu says finally, very clearly, like he’s had a sudden burst of self-preservation.

“Come on,” you wave at him vaguely and make your way back to bed. You collapse right into the spot you’d vacated when he texted, pulling the blankets up to your ears and closing your eyes, waiting for the bed to dip beside you. 

It doesn’t.

You open your eyes again. “Mingyu?”

He appears wordlessly in your doorway, then makes his way over to his side of the bed. The empty side of your bed. Not his. You have to stop thinking that way.

You’re puzzled, but then he leans over and presses a cold water bottle into your hand. Despite his whining, he was still trying to take care of you. 

“Did you take any pain killer?” you mumble. 

“Probably more than was actually advisable,” he admits, twisting his own water open and drinking noisily. You don’t see a problem with this - Mingyu is gigantic, and you can imagine his dosing needs would reflect it.

“Okay,” you say with a little sigh. “We’ll sleep for a while and then maybe we can try to eat.”

“God, don’t talk about food,” he moans, taking one of your extra pillows and covering his face.

You chuckle lightly, and then roll to hide your face somewhere near his bicep, breathing in his familiar cinnamon scent and matching your breaths to his until you slip back under. The millionth time you’ve fallen asleep next to your best friend, and you’re already eagerly looking ahead to a million and one.

You’re awakened by the sound of someone retching in the bathroom, clear on the other side of the apartment. You scrabble for and glance at your phone - hours have passed. The light in your bedroom has slipped closer to golden as mid-afternoon begins to wane. You sit up tentatively; this time there’s no wave of dizziness as a punishment for being vertical, though your head still pounds. 

You drink some of the water Mingyu brought you, answer a text from Jeonghan, then decide to go make sure Mingyu’s alive.

“You need anything?” you call through the door. You can hear the sink run, and the door opens. 

“A lobotomy,” he deadpans. He looks miserable, frown pronounced and eyes puffy. 

“Get back in bed,” you tell him gently, and he ambles off towards your room. You detour into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. It might not save him, but you could use some caffeine. 

While it brews, you poke your head into your bedroom. Mingyu is back in your bed, curled up pitifully, that pouting frown still prevalent on his face. 

“What time did you take something?” you ask him.

“Like ten thirty,” he mumbles into your pillow. 

You glance at the clock. “You can have more,” you tell him, and head back across the apartment to pilfer through the medicine cabinet. 

With the pill bottle in hand, you stop in the kitchen long enough to pour yourself a cup of coffee. Carefully balancing so as not to spill, you bring it into the bedroom, placing it carefully on your nightstand and then nudging Mingyu’s shoulder. 

He whines a response. 

“I have drugs for you,” you tell him, and he holds up an open palm without lifting his face.  

You drop the medicine into his hand and get comfy back in your spot, even though you think you’re done sleeping for now. Beside you, Mingyu takes the pills and settles back into sleep. He’s snoring before you can even choose a show to watch on your phone. 

You look over at him fondly, disaster that he is. Then you settle in deeper, content to let his warmth radiate over to you, content to be by his side.

–

[12:02am] Daeyoung: happy new year! wishing you luck and happiness ☺️

[4:23pm] You: thank you!!! to you as well!!

–

February

Valentine’s Day is an emotional minefield. You don’t know if you want to lean into the bitter and single thing, or if you want to go all Gal-entines and pamper your friends, or if you want to just keep your head down and treat the day like any other fuck-ass Tuesday in winter.

The universe surprises you with a secret fourth option. Or, rather, Daeyoung does. 

You’ve lost track counting your dates with him at this point - you are simply dating. Neither of you has pushed for a what is this conversation, and you’re relieved. You like Daeyoung, you like the time you spend together, and you’d be sad if things ended. But at the same time, you don’t feel things getting deeper, and if he pushed you to make this serious, to put parameters on it, you’re not sure how you’d feel. 

Something inside you keeps it light - enough so that you don’t even think of doing anything for him to celebrate the holiday.

Apparently, you’re an asshole. 

Sometime after ten, your office’s secretary calls you, asking you to come up to reception for a minute. You’re suspicious, but you don’t do the mental math about what day it is until you turn the corner and see the small vase of roses - three of them, arranged with some baby’s breath and a few other fillers you can’t name - sitting on the reception counter.

“These got delivered for you,” she tells you, and it’s clear on her face that she’s dying for you to spill. “Are they from that guy? The tall one who looks like a movie star?”

This would annoy you if you weren’t so used to it. Everyone asks you if you’re with Mingyu - they never understand why you’re not when you two are attached at the hip.

It had happened once - just a kiss at a frat party, in the middle of the dance floor. You’d both been drinking, of course, and pressed close together to dance, his chest against your back and his hands on your hips and then you’d turned and tipped your chin up and his sparkling eyes had gone molten before he’d kissed you and your whole world had been swept away -

And you’d been interrupted, had been literally pulled away to deal with some drama happening in the kitchen, and somehow… you’d never talked about it. It never happened again.

Sometimes, you wonder if you only dreamed it. It wouldn’t surprise you.

But, no. Your imagination is good, but it’s not good enough to come up with the minute details of how his pecs had felt under your hands, how his fingers had felt pressed into the small of your back, how he had almost sighed into your mouth when it opened for him, how he had tasted a bit like cinnamon, courtesy of the fireball shots the frat was giving out like candy.

Anyway. Life goes on, right?

“No,” you tell the secretary quickly, because you know the roses aren’t from Mingyu. Even if he’d done something today, as your friend, he knows you aren’t much of a roses girl. “We’re just friends.” You will the words to leave your mouth without leaving ashes in their wake.

You reach for the small card tied around the thinnest part of the vase to see who did send them. 

Thought you deserved something pretty today. Don’t freak out. :] - Daeyoung

The secretary is still watching you, harmlessly curious. 

“It’s just a guy I’ve been seeing,” you say. “It’s not serious.”

“Wow,” she says, eyeing the simple arrangement. “Looks like he thinks it’s a little serious - or that it could be.”

“That’s probably true,” you muse out loud, taking the arrangement back to your own cubicle and setting it on your desk. You snap a photo and text it to Daeyoung with a thank you and a row of sobbing emojis. Then you stand behind your chair, eyes on the red petals, your hand pressed to your mouth, processing.

You didn’t expect to feel like this. A fluttering, a rush of excitement. Even though you aren’t into roses, specifically, the thought is very nice. And no one has thought of you, not like this, in a very long time. 

When you get home, the apartment is dark and empty. You wonder if any of the guys have dates tonight, or if they’re working late, or with family. You set the roses on the kitchen table, hang up your coat, and then shoot the grouptext a quick “where is everyone?”. Then you head into your room, eager to take a quick shower and change into something comfy.

You freeze when you flick on your bedroom light.

The clutter on your small desk has been pushed to the side, and a clear vase holds a thick bouquet of sunflowers - your favorite. 

You hear yourself gasp, the sound echoing through your head on a loop as you stare at the bright, yellow blooms. You step forward on shaky legs, reaching for the tiny card that’s slipped under the vase.

Sunny flowers for Sunny Baby. Love you. - M

The tears come with such unexpected force that you almost laugh through the third sob. You can barely see through the sudden stream of tears, can hear yourself struggling to inhale. You hurry to shut your bedroom door, locking it for good measure, and then those shaking legs of yours give up, and you sink to your knees and weep into your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, just in case anyone comes home.

You cry so hard it makes your abs hurt, makes the muscles in your face feel stretched, nearly makes you gag. You haven’t cried like this since undergrad.

Because he loves you, but he doesn’t love you, and even though you’ve been pretending for so long it’s as unconscious as breathing, it doesn’t shatter you any less. 

Because he’s perfect, and he’s yours, but somehow you still don’t have him, and in the meantime no one else will ever be enough -  just for not being him.

Because being thought of earlier by Daeyoung was nice, but it is so much better to be known, like this. Mingyu knows you don’t like roses. Mingyu knows your favorites. Mingyu knows you. 

And it’s a waste. It’s all for fucking nothing.

When the tears start to settle and you can breathe a little better, you push yourself back to your feet. You listen at your bedroom door and don’t hear anyone, so you hurry across the apartment and into the bathroom, where you blow your nose and splash your face with cold water. 

When you come out again, Jeonghan is in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, his back to you. When he turns, he freezes, his face dropping. You must be puffy and red, still.

“Hey,” you reply meekly. 

“Oh, Sunny,” he says mournfully, stepping closer. “I told him he shouldn’t, but he asked why not, he’s your friend, and I couldn’t say -”

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

He watches you carefully, probably trying to gauge if you’re lying. Then he spots the roses and lights up. 

“Well, well,” he says, a sly smile showing up on his face. “Those are nice.”

“Yeah,” you say again, the only word in your arsenal. “They are. I, um, I think I’m gonna shower. Do you need the bathroom first?” 

Under the spray of hot water, you cry a little more, like an aftershock hit you. It’s quiet this time, and you try to shoulder through it as you condition your hair, ready to put this whole episode behind you once you step out into the chilly bathroom air again.

When you emerge, Jeonghan is on the couch. By the sounds coming from down the hallway, Wonwoo has just gotten home and is dumping the contents of his life onto his bedroom floor. Jeonghan opens his mouth to say something, but you lift a fluffy-bathrobe-clad arm and silently shush him. 

“It’s fine,” you say again, firmly. 

Jeonghan had been your friend first, back in undergrad. You’d brought him into the friend group the same way Mingyu had brought Wonwoo. The four of you had worked cohesively as a friend-and-roommate unit for a long time, but sometimes those old alliances seemed to matter more than others. Jeonghan would never cross the line without your permission, would never tell your secrets if you weren’t willing to tell them yourself. Wonwoo, on the other hand, was much more likely to open his mouth - especially if he thought he was helping. 

The front door bursts open, and Mingyu enters the apartment in a cacophony of noise and dropped items, oranges spilling from the bag in his arms and rolling across the floor. You move to pick a few up as he puts the bag of groceries down and pulls his boots off.

“Sunny!” he says, all excitement, eyes shining. “Did you like my gift?”

You can’t even look at Jeonghan, turning your back to him completely as you hold out the oranges you’d collected. Mingyu takes them, but watches you eagerly, waiting for your answer.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “I loved it.”

His smile triples.

You were wrong when you said Mingyu was the sun. Mingyu is an avalanche. Rushing, rolling, thundering over and through you until there’s nothing left but a glinting field of ice and silence. Nothing else matters - nothing else exists - in his wake.

“You better watch out, Mingyu,” Jeonghan says from the couch, and your blood runs as cold as that field of ice, because you know he’s about to start some shit. “Sunny got flowers from her lover today. That guy’s coming for your woman.”

You’re opening your mouth to reprimand him - tell him to shut up, or something - but Mingyu beats you to it.

“Sunny’s not mine,” he says simply. 

All that ice evaporates in an instant like it was never there.

“My lover,” you echo with a frown, when you can speak again. “Don’t say it like that, you weirdo.”

“Well, isn’t he?” Jeonghan asks innocently.

You head for your bedroom with a roll of your eyes. “Goodnight, Jeonghan.”

“That means yes,” he sing-songs, and you slam your door shut.

Wonwoo’s voice floats through the door. “Who pissed off Sunshine?”

Mingyu’s grumble responds, “Who do you think?”

–

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unspooling with cricket song and a smattering of flickering stars above you. His arm touches yours and you can feel his chest shift as he breathes deeply.

You feel content - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those blinking stars. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your light goes out, just like theirs. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You startle awake, heart pounding, and you’re immediately furious. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, punching your mattress once. 

The pathetic truth is you dream about that night in undergrad all the time - you and Mingyu on one of the last nights before summer break, leaving a party together and laying in the grass behind the advising department building watching the constellations rotate above you. 

The pathetic truth is the dream never follows the script, always turning the scene sideways, making it something different than what it was.

The pathetic truth is that Mingyu had been blacked out, more fucked up than you’d ever seen him, and you’d laid in the grass because you physically couldn’t keep him upright any further than that and you’d had to text Wonwoo to come help you. 

You hadn’t said anything to Mingyu - at least not something meaningful. You might have said please don’t puke on me, or god, you weigh a ton, or how many jaeger bombs did you do? 

He had said he loved you - had slurred it, eyes closed. 

You had laughed, even though it had sent a dagger through your chest. “Okay, Romeo,” you’d teased, and checked your phone to see if Wonwoo was on his way to help. 

“I do,” he’d insisted, one hand patting the grass next to him like he was trying to find you. “Sunny, I love you.”

You didn’t know how he meant it - still don’t know, to this day, because you don’t think he even remembered saying it and you’d been too afraid to bring it up.

What were you supposed to say? Hey, when you were blacked out last night, you said you love me… do you mean like… platonically… or…? 

God. The idea of it is just as humiliating now, years later, as it had been in the weeks that followed that night. And though he’s said it regularly since then - like on this fucking card with the sunflowers - he never said it like that, and you never pushed it. 

Now, awake and furious and sad at three in the morning, you grab your phone and climb out of bed. 

You know you shouldn’t. You know it’s only making this worse for you. But you make your way on light steps through the dark and silent apartment to Mingyu’s door and push it open.

Is it mithridatism, this thing you do? Microdosing on the poison so that a full dose won’t kill you? No, that isn’t right. A full dose of Mingyu wouldn’t kill you. It’s an absence of Mingyu that you need protected from.

You climb into his bed and poke at his calves with your toes until he grunts as he wakes. Then, as he gathers his senses, he rolls to look at you over his shoulder.

“Bad dream?” he asks, voice kind of breathy with sleep.

“Mhm.”

He rolls the rest of the way, lifts his arm so you can scoot a little closer. You breathe easier immediately. It makes no sense that the thing that hurts you is also the only thing that makes you feel better. 

“Won’t your lover object to you getting in bed with me?” he asks, and you can hear the edge in his voice as clear as day.

You let out a single, wry ha. He’s got a point, but Daeyoung isn’t your boyfriend, you aren’t exclusive, and what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Nah,” you say easily. “I’m not his.”

-

March

March can’t make up its mind if it’s winter or spring. Warm days lull you into a false sense of security, and then a blistering cold rushes in just to call you a fool.

You’re the last one to get to the bar on Friday night after work, and you have to stand awkwardly next to the booth the guys have staked out and unwrap yourself - hat, scarf, gloves, puffer coat, big heavy sweater - before you can actually slide into the empty spot next to Mingyu.

“Hi bestie,” he says, immediately draping his arm behind your shoulders, resting on the back of the wooden bench. “How was your day?”

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” you answer.

“Fuck Marcus in Accounting,” your roommates all answer solemnly, because this is a common gripe. 

“Fireball and ginger ale it is, then,” Mingyu says, and climbs over you to head to the bar, his own empty beer glass in hand. When he slides the cocktail glass in front of you and scoots back to his original spot, you fill the guys in on Marcus’s Bullshit of the Day. 

“And then,” you finish the story, “I was like yeah, I know you did, Marcus, because she blind-copied me on her reply and you should have seen the color his face turned so I think it’s fair to say I won this round.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all scared of you,” Wonwoo remarks. 

“Marcus is,” you say, glowering at your now-empty cocktail glass. “That’s why he’s such a dick. He hates that he’s intimidated.”

Mingyu’s arm has slid down from the back of the bench and rests lightly across your shoulder by this point, and he gives you a playful squeeze into his side as he laughs. 

He starts telling a story next, and you listen as you slip your phone out and check your texts. Daeyoung had texted you a while ago, and you shoot him a quick answer that you’re out with your roommates for Friday drinks, and then dial back into the conversation. 

When Mingyu’s glass is empty again, you rise, taking the empties up to the bar and signalling for another of each. While you wait, elbows on the bar, you check your phone again. Daeyoung had texted back, asking where you guys were drinking.

You hesitate. The idea of incorporating Daeyoung into the group makes you nervous. Behind you, you can hear Mingyu yapping a thousand miles a minute, and Jeonghan’s distinctive heh heh heh in answer. It’s not that you don’t think the guys will be nice… it just feels like a big move. 

It might be nice to have him there, though - someone on your side when Jeonghan and Mingyu gang up on you and Wonwoo is too in his own world to be effective back-up, someone to hold your hand and get your drinks, someone to be in your own private little bubble with when the conversation ebbs and flows away from topics you can engage with. 

You send him back “just a little place by the apartment!” which is technically true, and then grab the refreshed drinks for you and Mingyu. 

The guys are getting up, making noise about a just-vacated darts board, so you swivel and turn to follow them, a cold drink in each hand.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu tells you, half an hour later, bending down low so he can talk close to your ear over the loud music, “you have to put more muscle into it. You have to throw it like you want to pierce it.”

“I don’t think it’s that serious, actually!” you tell him cheerfully, and down the rest of your drink, pushing the empty glass into his giant hand. His turn. 

He shoots you a grin so sharp and devilish that it makes your whole body fight a shudder, and then he disappears off to the bar. 

You heckle Jeonghan through his turn (unsuccessfully - he’s way better at this than you) and then glance at the bar to see if the bartenders have gotten to Mingyu yet in the crowd. He’s facing you, his arms crossed, that same devilish smile on his face. He leans sideways on the bar, where your drink and his own beer sit sweating, forgotten. 

The girl he’s smiling at has her back to you, which is a miracle, because if she’d been able to see your face fall, she probably would have back-pedaled out of the conversation immediately - it would be impossible for her not to see that she was walking into a flashing neon sign screaming this situation is a mess!!!!

When she laughs, throwing her head back, and reaches a hand out to touch his forearm, you feel the whole bar swoop sideways around you. You’re fumbling for your phone, even as you hear Mingyu’s answering laugh cut through all the loud music and conversations filling the space, even as you watch through your periphery as he gives her a return nudge to the shoulder, playful, that smile only growing.

You’re going to be sick.

You shoot Daeyoung a text - sorry, I should have told you which bar. I’m leaving now though. Do you want to come get me? We could chill for a little? - and then you push your way through the bar, not even bothering to tell Jeonghan and Wonwoo goodbye. You make an extra effort to skirt the opposite wall as the bar, hoping you get out without Mingyu spotting you. 

There’s no way you could fake it right now. Zero chance. If he came after you, it would all be out in the open.

Daeyoung answers you almost immediately - no worries! sure, send me your location. you want to hang at my place? 

Outside, the cold air assaults you. You immediately hesitate, wishing you’d grabbed your coat. You’ll get pneumonia waiting for Daeyoung without it.

You’re saved the trouble of going back in - the door opens and someone comes out after you. But it isn’t Mingyu - it’s Jeonghan, giving you the heaviest side-eye you’ve ever seen from him, your coat in his hands.

“Thank you,” you breathe when he’s close enough, taking the coat and sliding it over your arms. “It’s freezing.”

“Sunny,” he says, and something in his voice makes you pause. “I think we should talk.”

You cover your face with one hand, embarrassed and spent and tired. “About what?” you ask flatly, just to buy yourself a second. You know the answer. Of course you do.

He levels you with a look. “This can’t continue,” he says firmly. “For you, or for him, or for me and Wonwoo.”

You scoff. “What do you two have to do with it?” 

You’ve never seen him this serious, and it scares you a little. “Do you think it’s easy for me to watch you get hurt?”

You lower your gaze to the ground and don’t answer this; it feels rhetorical. 

“But you’re right - it’s not about us. It’s about you. Something has to give,” he says gently. “Either face it and get your answer, or let it go.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue.

“Yes, it is that simple,” he retorts. “It’s just scary. But that’s not the same thing.”

“I can’t tell him,” you say, because it’s true. You can’t. You can’t. “What if it messed up everything for all of us?”

What if you lost him completely? What if he moved out? What if he stopped talking to you? 

Jeonghan doesn’t reply to this at first, he just watches you carefully, then tucks a long strand of dark hair behind his ear. 

“You can,” he says finally, still gentle. “But… if you won’t… then you have to let him go.”

Your stomach drops at the words, even though this is a truth you’ve been aware of for ages, have been doing your best to avoid. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper. And it’s true - loving Mingyu feels as instinctual as your heartbeat, intrinsically part of who you are. How can you separate it out, shut it down? 

“Stop sharing a bed with him,” Jeonghan suggests, and it’s so simple and straight-forward and correct that you can’t think of a single argument. “Quit texting him but ignoring everyone else. Stop cuddling with him on the couch after work. Quit-”

“Alright, I get it,” you snap, the defensiveness rising up again like muddy waters. 

“I’m not sure you do,” he says, and the gentleness is gone from his tone; you’ve moved into the Tough Love section of the lecture, apparently. “You can’t keep playing house with him, pretending you’re together, and then falling apart every time he makes it clear that it isn’t real. You’ll never feel better like this. It will never change, Sunny. You’ll be like this, forever. Is that what you want?”

Your throat is tight and sharp, and you blink quickly, eyes on the ground again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it like he aches. Maybe he means it. “You could talk to him, you could at least see what he says -”

“No,” you interrupt. “No. I can’t do that.”

He shrugs, big and exaggerated. “Then move on. There are other people in the world who’d be happy to love you the right way. You can’t give any of them a proper chance if you’re holding it against them that they aren’t Mingyu.”

Like the one you ignored all night, who is still on his way to pick your ass up right now… 

You push your hands against your eyes like you can block out the truth of what he’s saying, but you don’t say anything.

Jeonghan reaches out and rubs your shoulder. “I’m gonna go back in,” he says, gentle again. “It’s freezing out here. Just… think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” you say dryly. 

He nods, then disappears back into the bar, the wave of sound crashing and fading as the door opens and closes. 

You stay outside and wait for Daeyoung’s car, your hands going numb from the cold. You run the whole thing over and over in your head, replay Jeonghan’s words, daydream a hundred conversations with Mingyu each with different endings. 

You think maybe you should take Jeonghan’s advice - put some physical distance between you and Mingyu, just as a starting point. 

You hate the idea of it. But you know he’s right.

When Daeyoung pulls up, you slide into the passenger seat and tell him thank you, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He smiles at you, all sweet, and then whisks you away. Halfway to his place, he glances over at you.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and then instantly feel bad for it. “Just… argued with my roommate. I’m kind of cranky.”

He reaches out and squeezes your knee once, reassuringly. “Well, you’re welcome to stay with me,” he says, and when you whip around to look at him, he laughs. “I wasn’t being presumptuous. I just meant if you needed some space from them, you’re welcome. That’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” you repeat, settling back against the seat. “We’ll see.”

You keep your eyes on the window for the rest of the drive. 

You wonder if Mingyu brought that girl home, and then you shove that thought away, because you’re letting him go, starting tonight, and those thoughts aren’t going to serve you anymore.

And then you wonder the same thing again five minutes later.

–

April 

Winter softens, the temperature sturdies itself, and the season forms solidly into rain-logged spring. 

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu sings. Even on the greyest, soggiest days you turn to him like a plant turns to sun. “I’m bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem,” you quip. 

He drapes himself over you in retaliation, long arms and legs hanging heavy towards the floor as his torso smothers your face, drowning in you in his cinnamon-tinged scent.

You protest wordlessly and shove at him, and he laughs, his abs working near your chest with the motion.

“Entertain me,” he whines.

Things have been different - weird different, sometimes even bad different - for a few weeks now, all because of Jeonghan. You choose to blame him, anyway. 

What he said to you plays in your head on loop all day every day, and suddenly you don’t know how to act right with Mingyu, causing you to overcorrect and swerve wildly. Sometimes you’re spending the entire day with him, touching and talking and leaning into it - then you think about it too hard and you spend the next two days icing him out. 

It’s confusing for both of you. You can tell he notices, can tell he’s baffled by the change. More than once you’ve caught him looking at you like you’re a problem to solve - that face he makes when something isn’t working, or he’s got an equation of some sort to work out. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make you feel bad about it, doesn’t confront you, just takes what you’ll give him with a smile.

You haven’t gone to his room in the middle of the night since your talk with Jeonghan, either. It feels like quitting something. The withdrawal eats at your nerves, the cravings taking over until you can’t focus on anything else. More than one night since then you’ve laid awake, staring at your ceiling, heart pounding as you argue with yourself - just go, you’ll sleep and you’ll feel better waging war against Jeonghan’s you can’t keep pretending you’re together and then falling apart when he makes it clear that it isn’t real. 

Each time, you’d ended up staying in your own bed. Jeonghan is right. You knew it when he said it, and you know it now. You have to let go if you’re ever going to be happy. You can’t keep living in the shadows of Mingyu’s life, waiting for him to come give you just a slice of himself and pretending to be sated by it.

“I can’t entertain you, you pain in my ass,” you say, as he allows you to roll his heavy body off of yours and onto the other side of your bed. “I have a date with Daeyoung in like an hour. I need to go shampoo.”

“Booooo,” he complains. Then he props himself up on one elbow and gives you that familiar look again - the math problem look. Not calculating, exactly, but definitely evaluating. “You’ve been seeing him for a while,” he remarks, and you can hear the effort to keep his tone casual, which makes you wonder what he’s hiding.

“Like four months,” you say, not sure if this is agreeing with him or not.

He nods, then rolls to face your ceiling, arms behind his head. It does disgusting things to his biceps, and you look away, sitting up and reaching for your phone to check the time.

“How’s that going?” he asks, still all casual. 

“Good,” you say airily, still not looking at him.

“Sunny,” he says, a bit more seriously, and it’s enough to make you glance his way. He’s facing you, arms still behind his head, but watching. “Why won’t you talk to me about it?”

Ice flows through your veins so quickly that you have the urge to blow on your fingers to warm them. Talk to me about it. You take a calming breath, remind yourself that he’s asking about Daeyoung, not about your feelings in general.

“I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Just feels weird.” 

“It didn’t used to,” he says, and you know exactly what he means. You’d always talked to him about anything - including boys and crushes. 

He doesn’t ask so what’s different now, but you know the answer anyway. You’re afraid you’ll say anything, and Mingyu - who knows you better than anyone else - will hear everything you aren’t trying to say. How you feel about him, how you’ve been trying to create distance and boundaries, how it’s been unsuccessful because you have no sense of consistency, how you can’t seem to accept that you don’t get to have him, how Daeyoung is so nice and fun and cute but still can’t silence the urge behind your ribs that screams for Mingyu.

“Yeah,” you sigh, acknowledging that he’s right - that you used to tell him everything. “I don’t know, Mingyu. It’s good. I like him. Like… I don’t necessarily think he’s The One or anything, but I’d be upset if we broke up?” 

Mingyu nods, something complicated on his face. “Well,” he says finally, “That’s good. I’m glad it’s going well. You deserve it.”

There’s something flat in his voice, and you stand because you can’t just sit there next to him right now. 

“Thanks,” you say, because you don’t know what else to say. “Well… I’m gonna go shower so I’m not late.” You grab the few things you need from your room and pause in your doorway. He’s pulled out his phone, his thumb swiping slowly and his eyes on the screen, and you carry on across the hallway, leaving him behind.

The way you need to. The way you’re trying to. 

Daeyoung takes you to dinner, making you laugh so hard you have to wipe under your eyes, and listening intently when you bitch about work (and, yes, Marcus in Accounting). 

After, as you walk along the river, looking out at the lights, Daeyoung reaches for your hand, and you link fingers. 

This is what you need - to lean into it with someone, to really try with someone. Maybe that will ease this process of shifting Mingyu to the background. Maybe you just need to try.

Like he can read your mind, Daeyoung slows, turning to look at you. He says your name hesitantly, and you match his slowed pace, waiting.

“We’ve been doing this for a while,” he says, kind of hesitantly, “and I kind of wanted to see if we’re on the same page.”

When you just look at him, he forges ahead, the words rushing out of him now. “I really like you, and I really like this… and I was wondering how you’d feel about… maybe being more official?”

You feel yourself flush, a smile tugging at your lips. “Are you… asking me to be your girlfriend?”

He smiles back, relief washing over his face. “Yeah,” he says, much more confident now. “Yes, I am.”

You lick your lips, suddenly unsure. “Daeyoung,” you say, and you watch his face fall. You hurry to amend - “No, I’m not saying no! It’s just… I don’t know… I feel like we’ve kept things pretty… light. And I just worry that if we get more serious and you see more of me… you might…”

You trail off. He watches you intently, and then finishes for you, “Change my mind?”

You nod meekly. What if you can’t do it - what if you can’t push Mingyu out of your head and heart, what if you can’t start fresh with someone? Daeyoung has been wonderful to you. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt. He doesn’t deserve to be second choice, doesn’t deserve to be a consolation prize. 

You can’t say yes if that’s what this will be. You need to be sure you’re all in, you need to be sure you want him and not just the fresh start he represents.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you say instead, quietly. 

He considers this, watching you carefully. “Why do you think you will?”

It’s a fair question. “I’m… trying to get over someone,” you force yourself to say. He deserves to know what he’s walking into. 

You watch his face for any change in expression. His expression does ripple a little, and then he licks his lips and asks, “And how’s that going?”

You scuff the toe of one shoe absently along the pavement. “Goes better when you’re around,” you admit. “But I don’t want to be… like… using you, I guess? It feels… unfair.”

He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says, looking away from you, at the river. He’s quiet for a while and then asks, “Are you into this? With me?”

“Yes,” you say emphatically, because despite the Mingyu of it all, it’s true. “I just don’t want you to end up with regrets.”

He smiles kind of ruefully. “Thanks for being honest,” he says, brushing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask in a whisper. You really hope you aren’t breaking up right now, but you wouldn’t blame him if he called it off.

He lets out a long breath, very slowly, measured. “I’m thinking that no one can make promises at the beginning of a relationship.”

Your stomach jolts, terrified, at the word. He continues, oblivious.

“But,” he says, “you just take it a day at a time. That’s all I’m asking for - just a day. And then maybe another. We can go from there.”

You consider this, that tiny smile returning. He waits for your answer.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Yeah. If you’re sure you want that, then… yes.”

“Yes?” he repeats, like he needs to be sure. He’s already grinning, despite the turn the conversation had taken on the way here.

You laugh, feeling suddenly shy. “Yeah. Yes.”

He kisses you next to the singing river, and later you take a selfie together beside a food cart. You post it to social media with a blue heart emoji for the caption. 

You swallow hard and swipe roughly to remove the notification when Mingyu likes the picture minutes later. 

–

May

“Kim Mingyu!” you bellow, scooping up an armload of shirts and socks from the living room floor. “Get your gross, sweaty clothes off of our shared couch! The hamper is like three feet away!”

“Yah,” he complains, coming to take the offending pile from you. “You never cared before!”

“Well now her boyfriend is coming over,” Jeonghan says, somehow making the word sound sleezy. “She wants it to be pretty in here.”

“I hate you both,” you say. “I only like Wonwoo. He’s my only friend. Wonwoo, you’re my only friend.”

Wonwoo gives you a very deadpan finger heart from his spot on the couch. 

Unfortunately, Jeonghan is kind of right. 

You’ve mostly spent time out with Daeyoung or at his place - mostly because he lives alone and you live with a cast of clowns. But he has come over a handful of times. Sometimes he’s only there long enough to stand awkwardly by the front door while you finish putting on jewelry and shoes before whisking you away; other times he’s stayed to eat take-away and watch a movie as the aforementioned clowns filter in and out, leaving snappy comments like use protection in their wake. 

Tonight’s the first time that the plan is for everyone to hang out. To say you’re nervous is an understatement, as evidenced by the uncharacteristic way you pace the house, adjusting items Daeyoung has already seen out of place as if it makes any difference.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu finally says, coming up and putting his hands on your shoulders, trying to still you. You pull back from his touch as gently as you can, trying to make that space with some subtly. “Why are you freaking out? He’s been here before.”

“Yeah, you’re right, why would I be nervous?” you ask sarcastically. “Why would I be nervous to have my boyfriend come over for games and movies with three notoriously very nice people who never make trouble?”

“Rude,” Wonwoo remarks from the couch.

“Not you, Wonwoo, you’re my only friend,” you tell him without even turning your head. You hear Jeonghan snort.

“You said three,” Mingyu points out seriously, stepping back from you like he silently got the memo about space. “That includes Wonwoo.”

“Fine, I retract my statement. Two people who make trouble, and then one person who knows how to be normal sometimes.”

A knock on the door interrupts you before anyone can push your buttons any further.

“Be nice,” you tell them sternly as you head to open the door. “Be normal. For the love of god, at least try.”

“She has no faith in us,” Jeonghan says sadly behind you. 

“We probably shouldn’t try Monopoly tonight,” Mingyu remarks, and you hate that he’s right. 

You all almost broke up over Monopoly, once. You never played again. 

“Yeah, put that one away,” you agree, as you pull the door open.

Daeyoung greets you with a smile and a small bouquet of flowers - nothing too fancy, just a little something. You pay for them with a smile and a kiss, lifting onto your tiptoes to reach his lips.

“Awwww, so cute,” Jeonghan coos from across the apartment.

“Jeonghan,” you say sharply. “What did we talk about?”

Daeyoung feigns a pout. “You don’t think we’re cute?”

You slap at his arm playfully and step back to let him in. You head to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers, listening as the men all exchange heys and how’ve you beens. 

You all settle for a variation of Rummy, sitting around the kitchen table with a smattering of snacks and drinks, chatting easily as you play.

At the end of the second hand, you ask, “Wait, what does that put me at?”

“Sixty-two,” Daeyoung says, just as Mingyu says, “Sixty-three.”

You look at them both blankly. You and numbers don’t vibe. 

Jeonghan looks at the little note on his phone where he was tallying scores. “Sixty-three,” he confirms.

“Whoops,” Daeyoung says apologetically. “I wasn’t trying to short you on points, sweetheart.”

All three of your roommates stiffen, and you feel your face heat. “No worries,” you say quickly, reaching to cut the deck for the next hand. “Whose turn is it?”

Be normal, be normal, be normal, you mentally beg the clowns. 

“I think it’s mine, sweetie-pie,” Jeonghan deadpans. You kick him ferociously under the table, not even trying to be subtle, and he swears.

“Knock it off,” you growl.

“You’re upsetting pookie, hyung,” Mingyu says somberly. 

“I hate all of you,” you whine. And then, on instinct, “Not you, Wonwoo.”

Daeyoung looks around the table, amused. “Is this always how it is around here?”

“Basically,” Wonwoo admits. “Just usually with a lot more -” He stops short, coughing, and reaches for his drink. You all wait, your heart thrumming nervously. You’re sure he’d been about to drop a crack about you and Mingyu’s physical affection. “A lot more yelling,” he finishes. “This is everyone on their best behavior, because Sunny threatened us.”

Daeyoung laughs, and you pray that the moment went unnoticed. You can tell Mingyu is a bit still on your other side, and if it was a month ago you would have reached over to him already, soothed a hand down his arm or pressed your cheek to his shoulder until he untensed. You rest your hands in your lap, instead, eyes on your cards.

After Rummy, which Jeonghan wins by a landslide, you all head to the couches for a movie.  Your roommates and you have always had unspoken “spots”, but Daeyoung’s presence throws the balance off entirely. Normally you’d be next to Mingyu but he takes Jeonghan’s spot, leaving the other guys to buffer as they try to figure out a new arrangement.

“Here,” Daeyoung says, tugging on your wrist until you settle on his lap, legs hanging just off the side of his own, “we can make room.”

Jeonghan tosses you a small blanket and a wink and settles in on the far side of your couch, giving the two of you lots of room. Wonwoo flicks off the overhead lights and settles next to Mingyu, the two of them awkwardly squished on the two-seater. But, blessedly, no one complains as the opening score emanates from the sound bar. 

As the movie begins, you relax, leaning sideways against Daeyoung’s chest, his arms looped around you. You stomp down on the intrusive thought that wants to compare how comfortable this is to how comfortable you’d been with Mingyu for past movie nights, internally hissing at your own brain for the unwelcome thought. 

“You good?” he murmurs, voice low, only for you, one hand rubbing the small of your back lightly.

“Mhm,” you assure him, reaching up to kiss the edge of his jaw, the only bit of him that you can reach comfortably. He smiles down at you, endeared, and then turns his attention to the television again. You can feel someone’s eyes on you, but you refuse to look, refuse to give attention to whoever is trying to heckle you right now. They can’t just let you live, huh?

Halfway through the movie, Mingyu stands, moving out of the way of the screen quickly and heading to the kitchen. You don’t lift your head from Daeyoung’s check, just watching him go through the corners of your eyes. 

“Anyone need a drink?” he calls from the kitchen. “Hyung? Sunny Baby?”

Daeyoung physically recoils, his head snapping back so he can look at you, wide-eyed. You look back at him the same way, feeling like you’ve been caught at something. 

“It’s just habit,” you say, quietly, and Jeonghan turns away, shifting awkwardly next to you two. “Old nickname from a million years ago.”

Daeyoung nods, but his face is still a bit stricken.

“Hello?” Mingyu calls from the kitchen. “Beer? Anyone?”

“No, thanks!” you call back, trying to force your voice to come out cheerful. 

When he returns, flopping unceremoniously into his spot next to Wonwoo, Daeyoung’s arms tighten around you. 

You close your eyes, frustrated. You hope you can salvage this. You’d been afraid from the jump that the Mingyu factor - even with the changes you’ve been purposely making, all that space - would damage what you have with Daeyoung, as effective as a drop of ink in a bucket of water. 

When the movie ends, Wonwoo gives a polite goodbye and vanishes into his lair and you lead Daeyoung back towards the front door. Behind you, you can hear the tell-tale clicks of bottles as Jeonghan and Mingyu start picking up the food and drinks. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, as soon as you have some semblance of privacy in the entryway. “I knew hanging out here was going to be a mess.”

Daeyoung manages a smile. “It wasn’t a mess,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how close you all were.”

He’s being too nice. You feel terrible. 

“I think we might get less close very soon if they can’t get their shit together,” you grumble, which makes him laugh, some of the tension alleviating. 

“Well,” Daeyoung says, suddenly turning conspiratory, “while your place was very fun… what would you say to some fun at my place now?”

You giggle. “I wouldn’t hate that plan,” you say coyly, smiling up at him. “Quieter, there. Fewer clowns.”

He laughs again, even as he reaches to tilt your jaw up, shuffling you backwards against the entryway wall as his lips find yours. 

As the kiss warms you, your hands finding the front of his shirt and bunching it into your fists, heat beginning to trickle out of hiding in your belly, you hear footsteps and an abrupt, “Oh - shit - sorry - my bad -”

“Your place,” you say against Daeyoung’s lips as Mingyu retreats back to the kitchen. You can practically feel through the wall how red his ears are. 

Daeyoung lets you out of his embrace and you hurry to your room to toss a few things together - toothbrush, phone charger, clothes - and come to get your jacket. 

“Bye, idiots!” you call through the apartment. Then, “Not you, Wonwoo!” and you close the door behind you with a giggle, following Daeyoung down the stairs.

On the other side of the wall, safely hidden in the kitchen, Mingyu stands staring blankly at the pantry, one hand over his mouth, still as a statue. What is this feeling churning in his gut? He feels sick, and he can’t put a name to it but he hates how it crawls through his system. 

Jeonghan appears next to him, placing two more dirty cups in the sink. He lets out a single, wry laugh when he sees Mingyu standing there.

“Yeah, dude,” he says easily as he leaves again. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

–

June

You and Mingyu lay side by side in the grass, a late spring night unfurling with distant thunder and a smattering of fireflies lazily drifting through the trees beyond the garden. His arm brushes yours and you can hear his breathing as he exhales slowly.

You feel happy - you feel infinite - you feel like one of those distant cracks of ferocious thunder. You feel like you could lay here next to him in silence and be happy until your joy has to burst from you, just like the clouds on the horizon. 

“Mingyu,” you say, turning to look at him. The grass tickles your cheek. 

He turns to look at you, too. It’s dark, here behind the university’s main hub, most of the lights on the far side of the building. Still, there’s enough light to see his eyes, steady on you, his gaze serious.

“Sunny Baby,” he responds, voice low, like he’s telling you a secret. “I love you.”

You wake up with faint tear-tracks on your cheeks, and you growl out a frustrated breath. 

“I need a lobotomy,” you grumble, wiping at your cheeks and trying to get comfortable again, hoping to go back to sleep - with less ridiculous dreams. 

It doesn’t happen. You flop from side to side over the course of half an hour, and then give up. You reach for your nightstand to see if you have any water, but there’s nothing but your phone and the lamp. With a sigh, you push yourself out from under the blankets and pad into the kitchen.

You’re letting a glass fill with tap water when you hear one of the other doors down the hallway open. You turn, peering through the moonlit living room, to see who else is up. The clock above the stove says it’s four in the morning.

“Sunny Baby,” Mingyu says, his voice rough with sleep. His hair is sticking up in the back. Your stomach lurches with the sick desire to smooth it down. “Why are you up?”

“Had a bad dream,” you lie. It was a good dream. Nothing bad about it until you wake up and feel guilty because of Daeyoung, and angry because your brain and heart are holding you fucking hostage. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.” That part’s true. 

“Poor Sunny Baby,” he croons, coming closer, the darkness making his form seem even bigger. “Come on - we’ll get comfy.” Just like we used to, he doesn’t say.

Your heart slams against your chest. “Oh,” you say softly. Because, yeah, a few months ago you wouldn’t have even needed him to invite you - you would have been there already, snuggling into the space next to his ribs, breathing him in until sleep returns to you. “Mingyu, I can’t.”

The blanket of darkness makes him bold. He scoffs, not even trying to hide it. “Why not? Because of that guy?” Like he doesn’t know Daeyoung’s name, like the last five months never happened. That guy. 

“Because I want to respect my relationship?” you correct gently. “Yes, that’s why. It wouldn’t be right, and you know it.”

You stand in silence for a moment, barely able to see each other across the darkened space, at an impasse. Then, he scoffs again, lighter this time. 

“Fine,” he says, moving past you towards the bathroom - probably the reason he was up in the first place. “Suit yourself.”

When he passes back through the living room on his way back to bed, you’re curled up on the couch under one of the blankets, the tv on with the sound turned low. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns down the hall and shuts his bedroom door behind him. You hear the lock click. You press your hands to your face and will yourself to breathe deep. Crying over him while asleep is one thing. Doing it while awake feels like a betrayal. 

Just one more you can add to your list.

–

“Hey!” you yell across the noisy room. Mingyu turns from where he’s standing near your bedroom door, talking to a few guys who you’ve seen around here but whose names you forget. Seok… something. The other one might be a Chan, you’re not sure. Mingyu lifts an eyebrow, waiting for whatever request you’re going to shout at him. 

“Can you get the door for me?” you call, trying to be louder than the music and chatter. Your apartment is bursting with people as Mingyu’s annual summer bash is well underway. You’re at the pong table - your kitchen table, shoved halfway into the living room - a slightly sticky plastic ball in hand. “Daeyoung is here, I can feel my phone going off.”

Mingyu gives you a wordless salute and shuffles off towards the front door, and you close one eye, lean forward as far as the others will let you without calling a foul, and line up your shot.

You sink it just seconds before you feel someone’s hands on your hips. You straighten up and turn to greet Daeyoung with a kiss, firm and confident courtesy of many drinks. The party’s been going for a few hours already, and you and the guys pregamed before the guests started showing up.

“Hi!” you chirp when you part. “Glad you made it!” 

“This is a lot of people,” he says back, looking around your living room and kitchen a bit incredulously. “You said you guys do this every year?”

You nod seriously. “We bribe our neighbors. I mean, they’re all invited of course, but we also try to do something nice to make up for the one night of noise. Last year I baked cookies. This year we just went straight to cash.”

He laughs, and you lead him through the throng of people into the kitchen for a drink. 

“I’m glad you came,” you say again, as he stands before the open fridge, scanning beer bottle labels for something palatable. He sends you a smile over his shoulder, then picks a bottle and turns. You place the opener into his waiting hand.

“You look good tonight,” he tells you, all glinty, looking at you sideways. You pretend to preen.

“Sunny always looks good,” Jeonghan asserts, breezing in behind you holding a bowl full of chips. 

“Are you sharing those?” you demand. “You can’t gatekeep the good ones, Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this.”

“Gatekeep, girlboss, whatever the third one is!” he replies, zipping back out of the kitchen as quickly as he’d come. 

Out in the living room, you hear the familiar sound of the karaoke machine booting up. There’s a telltale scraping - the pong table being shoved against the far wall to make more room for jumping around while aiming for that perfect score. 

When you and Daeyoung make it into the living room again, Mingyu and one of the friends whose names you forgot are singing together. Mingyu’s all irony, eyes closed in mock passion as he clutches his mic with both hands, but his friend is actually good, voice sailing over the higher notes without error.

“Wow,” you say. “That guy can actually sing.”

One of your friends, a girl you lovingly call Ethel because of the style of grandma glasses she favors, stops in front of you, pushing little plastic shot glasses into your hands.

“Are you the boyfriend?” she asks Daeyoung, somewhat breathlessly. “I’ve been dying to actually meet you. She’s been keeping you a secret.”

“I have not!” you reply hotly, as Daeyoung laughs, introducing himself. 

“It’s nice to meet her other friends,” he says, and she rolls her eyes. 

“I know, it’s hard to separate her from these guys,” she says. “They deserve a sitcom.”

“I’m standing right here,” you protest. 

Jeonghan appears behind you, too close. “We have a little problem in the kitchen,” he whispers.

You excuse yourself, leaving Daeyoung with Ethel - who will hopefully say nothing too incriminating about you and Mingyu’s blurry-lined friendship. 

In the kitchen, Wonwoo is kneeling on the floor, his upper body hidden in the cupboard under the sink. When he shuffles back out, the front of his shirt is wet. You can see a bit of water starting to pool on the boards below the cleaning supplies.

“Uh oh,” you say.

Mingyu appears to your left, solid and warm against your arm. Then he crouches, peering under the sink. 

“Can I have someone’s phone?” he asks, and you pass him yours. He turns on the flashlight and shines it at the pipes. You watch his face do that thing - that calculating look, the problem-solving look. 

“It’s this one,” he says, pointing to something you can’t see under there. “Where’s our toolbox?”

“Great question,” Wonwoo says, mouth twisting as he tries to remember. “Laundry room?”

“I think so,” you say. “I think it’s on the shelf in there.”

Mingyu scoots out from under the sink and disappears into the little nook you all graciously call a laundry room, since it does have a functional door, then reappears with two tools in hand. You don’t know what they are - you’ve never needed to.

You and Jeonghan and Wonwoo stand around him, worried, like you’re waiting for a doctor to emerge through hospital doors to report on the status of a loved one. When Mingyu backs out of the cabinet again, it’s with an air of smugness. 

“All set,” he says, one side of his mouth quirking proudly. 

“Our hero,” Jeonghan deadpans.

“This is why we keep you around,” you tell him.

“Get the man a shot,” Jeonghan says, swiveling to the collection of bottles on the counter. 

Daeyoung finds you on the kitchen floor, using a rag to wipe up any bits of water. Wonwoo and Mingyu both disappeared to change into dry shirts, you think. 

“Everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, wiping one last spot and leaning up on your knees to look around for any areas you might have missed. The last thing you need is for someone to slip in here. “The sink broke. It’s okay now, Mingyu fixed it.”

“Well, thank god for Mingyu,” he says, and you look up at him, not sure if you’re imagining the edge in his voice. Are you? Did you project that?

“Well,” you say, “kind of! Because four of us live here, and only one person could solve the problem.”

He laughs reluctantly. “I can fix a sink,” he says, a bit of a pout in his voice.

You stand, returning the rag to the counter. “I’ll make sure to ask you first next time,” you say, leaning up to brush your lips teasingly across his. “I just thought the rent-payer should handle the problem before the guests.”

“I guess that’s fair,” he allows, smiling bigger. 

A while later, you find yourself in Wonwoo’s room, leaning against the wall watching somewhat absently as he and one of his friends play a POV shooter game, their brows furrowed in concentration and fingers flying on the controls. 

Daeyoung had been with you only moments ago, reporting into your ear on the game’s happening like a sports commentator to make you laugh, but he’d gone to get you each a new drink. Mingyu appears in his absence, and you can tell immediately that he’s sloppy.

“Sunny Baby,” he sings, draping an arm over your shoulders. 

You can’t help but smile, even as you try to shift out from under his arm. “Yes?” you sing back teasingly. “Can I help you?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “You can stay just like this.” He wraps his other arm around you, and you laugh, pushing very gently at his chest.

“Mingyu,” you protest, laughing. “Get off me.”

“I will in one second,” he says, smiling cheekily. “You haven’t let me hug you in a hundred years, I have to take advantage now that your defenses are weakened by cheap vodka.”

“Mingyu!” you laugh again. 

And then you see Daeyoung in the doorway behind him, face unreadable. 

“Mingyu,” you say again, deadly serious now. “Let go.” 

Daeyoung slowly reaches to put the two beers on Wonwoo’s dresser and turns, wordlessly retreating down the hallway.

“Damn it, Mingyu,” you hiss, extracting yourself and hurrying to follow him. Daeyoung makes it clear outside and down the front steps before you catch him.

“Daeyoung, wait!” you call, and he finally slows, turning to face you. You jog to catch up, a bit breathless. You’ve had way too much to drink for this kind of confrontation, but you try to get your shit together enough to defend yourself. Or apologize. Or both.

He doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits.

“Don’t -” you start, and then switch tracks quickly. “That was nothing. He’s like that when he’s had too much to drink. He’s just being silly.”

Daeyoung laughs once, sharp and sarcastic. “Don’t lie to me,” he says flatly. 

“I’m not!” you protest. “It’s true.”

He shakes his head, swipes his thumb across his phone screen and taps around. 

“Don’t leave,” you beg. “I’m sorry. I was trying to tell him to let go.”

He twists his mouth, refusing to look at you. At the far end of the street, you can see approaching headlights. He’s ordered a ride home. 

“When you said you were trying to get over someone I didn't pry,” he says flatly, “but I guess I should have. You could’ve had the decency to tell me that you live with him.”

The slam of the car door feels final, the sound passing over you like shrapnel. 

The blink of red taillights has just vanished around the corner when strong arms wrap around you. Mingyu must have followed, must have been watching from the door, must have seen it happen. 

You’ve been trying to make space, you’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re buzzed and you’re sad and you’re weak. So, you turn in his arms, burying your face in his shirt and letting yourself cry. 

He holds you through it, doesn’t say anything to you, just holds on tight until you can breathe again. 

“I don’t want you to see this,” you sniffle finally, and he lets his arms drop, stepping back so he can look at you. “This shouldn’t be you.”

“That’s fair,” he murmurs, sounding much more sober than he had inside. “But I’m the one who’s here. Tell me you want me to go, and I will.”

Your heart cracks. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you whisper. 

“Okay,” he says, wrapping you up again, leaning his chin on the top of your head and swaying you a little bit. “Then I won’t.”

Eventually, you both lay in the grass. You don’t want to go inside, and Mingyu says he doesn’t want to leave you alone in the front yard. Instead, you lay side by side, far enough away that you’d have to stretch to touch. It feels like that night in undergrad, but also completely opposite. In your memories of that night, you felt warm and good like your place in the universe was guaranteed, your cog in the great machine fitting perfectly and spinning without difficulty. Tonight, you feel off, cold and angry, like your piece has been displaced and can’t fit anywhere anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, breaking the silence. “I didn’t mean to make problems for you guys.”

“I know you didn’t,” you allow. 

“It was just us being us,” he says, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “I think that was the problem.”

He has nothing to say to that. 

Daeyoung calls you, much later, when you’re back inside and tucked in your bed. 

“Were you sleeping?” he asks.

“Of course not,” you say. “I’m lying awake agonizing over you storming out on me.”

He laughs quietly, and you feel hope bloom behind your ribs. Is this salvageable?

“I might have overreacted,” he admits. “It’s easy to be intimidated by that guy.”

That guy again. What is it with these two? 

“You shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “He’s an idiot.”

Daeyoung laughs again. “So am I,” he says.

“You don’t need to worry about him,” you say. “I’ve been really trying to adjust the boundaries of our friendship, and it’s a big change from how we used to be. Usually we do better… Like I said earlier, he was drunk. He just forgot himself, went back to how things used to be.”

Daeyoung is quiet for a second. “I should have let you explain yourself before I left,” he says evenly.

“I’m sorry I put you in that position in the first place,” you counter. “I didn’t mean to. I’m in this with you, Daeyoung. I promise.”

“I know,” he admits. “I know you are.”

You smile into the phone. “Our first fight.”

He laughs again. “Hopefully not one of many.”

“Eh,” you say. “It’s normal. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I would have been a mess waiting to hear from you. Might have embarrassed myself blowing your phone up.”

“Maybe I should have let you embarrass yourself,” he teases. 

“It’s like that, huh?” you joke.

“Yes,” he sniffs. “Until I feel better.”

When you finally hang up, you creep through the apartment to pee before trying to sleep. You notice Mingyu’s light is on, though his door is shut. You pause, looking at that sliver of light, and then continue on back to your own bed. 

–

July

“Move over!” you giggle, using your hips to scoot Daeyoung out of your way, a wooden spoon in your hand. The simmering stew on the stovetop smells delectable, and you give it a stir, make sure nothing is stuck to the bottom of the pot. 

“Ask nicely!” he retorts, but he’s smiling. 

Mingyu watches the scene covertly from the couch, trying to keep his face neutral, trying to keep his face tilted towards the tv so he doesn’t get caught watching. Or worse, caught sulking.

You and Daeyoung eat and wash up most of what you used to cook, offer the leftovers to anyone around to hear you (so, just Mingyu), and then leave, giggles and flirting dissipating and leaving Mingyu in a quiet that he absolutely can’t stand. 

When you return the next day, trying to look nonchalant with your overnight bag clutched in your hands, Mingyu is at the kitchen table, eating some of the leftovers and watching videos on his phone. 

“Hey,” he greets you, pausing the video.

You give your overnight bag a light toss; it lands with a thump over near the couch. “Hey yourself,” you say, heading into the kitchen for a drink. “The food’s good, right?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “Your man can cook, huh?”

“Hey!” you object. “I did most of the work!”

“Hmm,” he says, rising and coming into the kitchen to rinse his plate. 

You cross your arms, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm what?”

He shrugs teasingly. “We’ve lived together a long time, Sunny. I have a hard time believing you’re the chef in that relationship. You never helped me cook anything.”

Your eyes narrow even more. “You never asked me to,” you retort, suddenly defensive. “There’s a lot of things I do with Daeyoung because you never asked me to.”

Silence falls on the kitchen like a rockslide. 

Mingyu takes one very careful step backwards. “Because I never asked you to?” he echoes, his voice shaking just slightly.

Your pulse races, and you fight a wave of nausea. A Freudian slip if there ever was one. 

“That you never asked me to,” you amend firmly.

Mingyu hesitates. Then, “I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

That defensiveness moves inside you like a thing alive, your temper flaring in an effort to protect you. 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, suddenly pissed. 

Mingyu doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t match your temper at all. Calm and steady, he says, “So then you tell me. How do you feel, Sunny?”

That rockslide hits you. You can’t breathe, too bruised by the onslaught. All the years of secrets and feelings and broken rules and truths that you knew but pretended not to spill around you, impossible to escape.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” you hiss at him. “Not now. That’s not fair.”

His calm cracks, just slightly, his tone going hard. “What are you talking about?”

“Why now, Mingyu?” you demand. “Why now, when I have someone? Why not any of the years before now, when I was only yours?” 

You’re breathing hard, having spat the words like they’re venom, and you wait him out. He blusters, splutters, has nothing to say to this.

Your temper pulls you like a wave, a momentum you can’t fight.

“You don’t know the answer?” you ask sarcastically. “That’s fine - I can tell you: because you had me. You had me, and you didn’t need to share me, and you could still do whatever - or whoever! - you wanted and I’d still fucking be here afterward.”

You know exactly the moment you start crying through the words, because Mingyu’s body jolts, like he instinctively moved to touch you but remembered to stay back.

“And now?” you continue, because you’re on a roll, everything you’ve held in for years finally bursting from you with the fury of a cracked dam. “Now that’s changed. So, what is it? You want your toy back now that someone else is playing with it?”

“Of course not-”

“Fuck you, Mingyu! You sat me on the shelf for too long. I don’t deserve that.”

“Sunny, no,” he tries again. “It isn’t like that. I lo-”

“Yes, it is!” you shout. You’ve never shouted at him in your life, and it actually shuts him up. Tears are still streaming down your face, but you ignore them. “It is, and until you see that, I can’t expect you to change it or fix it.”

You start to storm past him, but you whirl on him, a finger pointed in his direction. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you love me!” you add furiously. “No you don’t. Not the right way, not like this.”

And then you slam out of the apartment, barely remembering to grab your keys off the hook as you go.

–

[5:22pm] You: if i send you a list of what i need, can you please put a bag together for me and leave it in the hall

[5:22pm] (jeong)Han Solo: :( sunny

[5:22pm] You: hannie please??? i can’t go inside. i really can’t.

[5:23pm] (jeong)Han Solo: he’s a fucking wreck 

[5:23pm] You: i don’t care

[5:24pm] You: i mean of course i fucking care that’s the whole problem

[5:24pm] You: please? my things?

–

August

August 3

[10:02am] Mingyu: sunny please talk to me

[12:17pm] Mingyu: please let me apologize to you

[12:17pm] Mingyu: i dont want to do it over text but you wont answer my calls and no one seems to know where you are

[12:22pm] Mingyu: you were right. about all of it.

[12:22pm] Mingyu: and you were right that you dont deserve it

[12:22pm] Mingyu: please call me back or come home so i can say this to your face

[5:38pm] Mingyu: there’s one part you were wrong about

[5:38pm] Mingyu: i do love you. the right way. maybe it took losing you to someone to get my ass moving but i loved you way before he was in the picture

[5:38pm] Mingyu: dont ever question that again

[11:04pm] Mingyu: god, sunny, answer your phone!

August 4

[7:43am] Mingyu: you’re killing me

[7:43am] Mingyu: are you happy sunshine???? KILLING ME!!!

[1:36pm] Mingyu: come home

[1:36pm] Mingyu: please

[8:02pm] Mingyu: we HAVE to talk about this, sunny

[11:51pm] Mingyu: i’m not going to give up

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: are you staying with daeyoung for a while?

[10:23am] You: no. my mom’s. 

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: ok. im glad you’re with someone who can care for you.

[10:23am] (jeong)Han Solo: we miss you :(

August 5

[8:00am] Mingyu: fine, i’ll say everything over text like an asshole

[8:00am] Mingyu: just know you made me do this!

[8:04am] Mingyu: i fell in love with you in undergrad when you had to take that statistics class that you almost failed. when you saw your midterm score was passing you told me i love you for the first time and i swear to god i almost proposed to you right there. And it never went away. It was never less.

[8:08am] Mingyu: i love you because you wield your attitude like both sword and shield. I love you because you can barely count but you make me feel so stupid sometimes with how clever you are. I love you because you’re beautiful and funny and empathetic and you make me want to be better than i am. I want to be more competent for you, to be able to take care of you and provide for you when you need it. I love you because when i’m sick you take care of me and you let me take care of you when you’re down too. I love you because when i’m with you i feel like someone’s GOT me, someone understands me and has my back. 

[8:09am] Mingyu: i cant believe youre making me say this all in TEXT i hate this!

[8:10am] Mingyu: i have more. I have a hundred more reasons. 

[8:10am] Mingyu: come home so i can tell you

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunny baby. Please come home soon.

You show up to Daeyoung’s unannounced. His face is grim when he opens the door; you haven’t answered his calls or texts in a few days, either. He probably knows what this is. 

“Hi,” he says, stepping backwards to make room for you in his doorway. “This is a surprise.”

“I’m sorry I vanished,” you tell him. “Something happened. I’ve been at my mom’s.”

He eyes you warily, like he’s not sure if this is a I got in a car accident kind of something, or a I cheated on you kind of something, and he doesn’t want to react for the wrong one. “Okay…” he says slowly.

“Daeyoung,” you say, after taking a breath to steel yourself, “I care about you, and I like you, and I have real feelings for you.” 

“I sense a but,” he says dryly. 

You smile sadly. “But I dont think this is fair to you. I shouldn’t be with someone - anyone - until I’m over him or he’s out of my life… and I can’t seem to make either of those things happen.” You don’t need to say which him. You both know. “I wanted to. I wanted to do it right and I thought I was… but I was wrong.” 

He shrugs, face blank. “Okay.” 

“Daeyoung.” 

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, frustration seeping into his tone. “I can't argue with any of that. I can’t change it for you. I can’t be better than him, I can't become him. You’re right, you shouldn’t be with someone else if what you really want is that guy.”

That guy. Again.

“You’re right,” you whisper, looking at your feet.

He lets out a breath. “So, it’s done then?”

You nod miserably. “Yeah. I’m sorry, Daeyoung. I hope someday you can believe that this isn’t how I wanted it to go. You deserve better.”

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t let you go out with any optimism. You and your misery trudge back to your mother’s, fall asleep in your childhood bed.

August 6

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i have more things to say today

[8:00am] Mingyu: i will give you two 2️⃣ minutes to respond or you get it all thru text AGAIN

[8:00am] Mingyu: and you know how i feel about that.

[8:03am] Mingyu: fine.

[8:03am] Mingyu: you’ve always been so fucking stubborn sunny. just let me apologize to you!

[8:05am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i kept you on hold

[8:05am] Mingyu: you’re right. that’s what was happening. but i didn’t MEAN it like that.

[8:05am] Mingyu: idk if you believe me bc i can’t see your face 🙄

[8:06am] Mingyu: but its true. I just… liked how things were. Youre right… i counted on you always being there waiting for me. 

[8:06am] Mingyu: i thought it was okay though… i thought if you wanted it to change you had the power to change it

[8:07am] Mingyu: like, you could have said something to me.

[8:07am] Mingyu: and i dont mean that like its your fault or anything, it was just how i rationalized it to myself. Like if you werent complaining then it must be fine?

[8:09am] Mingyu: i’m an idiot

[8:14am] Mingyu: but i’m an idiot who loves you, and misses you, and wants to do better

[11:59pm] Mingyu: please come home

[12:32pm] You: i broke up with him.

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: are you okay???

[12:32pm] (jeong)Han Solo: come home so we can take care of you!!

[12:58pm] You: i cant face him. not yet. im not ready

August 7

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: i’m sorry i took you for granted. even if we walk out of this only trying to repair the friendship, i swear i’ll never let it happen again.

[11:58pm] Mingyu: goodnight sunshine. I love you.

August 8

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny ☀️

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont work too hard today

[8:00am] Mingyu: dont take any shit from marcus in accounting

[12:12pm] Mingyu: having lunch. call me if you want? it doesnt have to be heavy. Just hello.

[12:39pm] Mingyu: i need you back sunny. in whatever capacity youll let me have.

[11:57pm] Mingyu: hope you had a good day. Goodnight, i love you.

August 9

[8:00am] Mingyu: good morning sunny

[11:58pm] Mingyu: please. Please come home.

–

When you return home, a week after you left, it’s nearly dawn, the light from outside the living room just turning blue enough that you can see the outlines of the couches as you close the door as quietly as you can.

You step lightly, avoiding the spots you know will creak and groan when you step over them. You peer down the hallway to see that the guys’ doors are all shut, no lights on - not even the blues of Wonwoo’s computer monitor. 

You open your door and look around; your room looks exactly how you left it, down to the glass of water on the nightstand, now nearly empty. Except… the blankets on the bed are wrong. You set your bag down gently next to your dresser and creep closer, squinting through the dimly lit room.

A dark head of hair peeks out from under your comforter.

You can’t help it - you smile to yourself. For all the things Mingyu is - intelligent, funny, athletic, competent - he’s also a big baby. And he’s sleeping in your bed, because he misses you, and it comforts him.

It makes you want to forgive him for every wrong, press your lips to his sleepy forehead, listen to him lisp out Sunny Baby. 

He hurt you, it’s true. But you believe it that he was lying to himself, pretending things were fine. Weren’t you doing the exact same thing? You can’t hope Daeyoung will forgive you for your mistakes if you aren’t willing to do the same, too. 

You close your bedroom door and approach your bed. Mingyu stirs, making cricket legs under the blanket and stretching one arm towards the empty side. Towards you, though he doesn’t know it yet.

Then he freezes. His voice comes out paper thin. “Sunny?” he asks, pushing himself to sitting.

“This is not your bed,” you tell him, and he launches himself across the mattress, scrambling to reach you.

You allow him to wrap his gangly arms around your middle, pulling you to him as apologies pour over his lips so fast that he’s nearly babbling.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pushing at his shoulders. You back away and he follows like he’s tethered to you, clambering from the bed and standing before you.

For a moment, you just stare at each other through the thick blue of encroaching dawn.

And then he says your name.

Not Sunny. Not Sunny Baby. Your real name.

“I am so sorry - for everything,” he says, the ache in his voice clear and open. Then he drops his voice to a pained whisper. “Please. Tell me I can fix it.”

You press your lips together, looking at him. He looks awful - like he hasn’t slept much, or been eating well. You feel a little bad that you stayed away for so long, but you’d needed the time by yourself. You’d needed the clarity of being alone to figure out what you want.

“I think we can,” you whisper back, since the rest of the apartment is still sleeping. We, because this was on both of you. 

He crushes you in a hug, surrounding you in the smell of cinnamon, his cheek pressed to your head. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into your hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please let me try and do better.”

“I broke up with Daeyoung,” you respond, and he snaps his mouth shut, stepping backwards to stare at you. 

“Why?” he asks finally, hoarse, like he can barely get the word out. 

You look up at him. “Because it wasn’t right to be with him. It wasn’t right to be with him when I’ve been in love with someone else the whole time.”

He closes his eyes, his whole body seeming to sag. 

“I forgive you,” you say quietly, “and I do believe that things will be better now. If we talk about it - if we’re working together to make it better.”

“Yes,” he says quickly, desperately. “I will - I’ll do whatever I need to -”

“Both of us,” you say again, emphatically. “You were right, this wasn’t just your fault. I let this go on for… years. I counted marks against you but I never once spoke up.”

“No,” he protests, shaking his head. “It was my fault, Sunny, I took it for granted and I should have been loving you, spoiling you -”

You laugh. “I mean, maybe,” you say. “But if I’d talked to you… maybe you would have been.”

“I want to now,” he says. “Can I? Will you let me?”

You smile up at him, and he grins back, taking your smile as an answer.

You reach up and touch his eye-tooth gently with a fingertip. “Your stupid fang is so fucking cute,” you whisper. “It is truly unfair how cute it is.”

He pretends to scowl at you. “We’re having a serious moment, here, Sunshine.”

You smile again, gentler this time. “I love you,” you tell him. “If you want to prove you can do this right… then I’m all in.”

He whispers your name again, then looks at you.

His eyes are molten again, the way they were the night you’d had your only kiss. It’s almost hypnotizing, the strength of his gaze on you, pulling you in wordlessly until your body is flush with his. You look up at him, breathless. 

“I’ll start proving it now,” he murmurs, so low you barely catch it, and then his mouth snags on yours, forceful, his hands cupping your jaw gently, a juxtaposition.

He touches you so tenderly, his fingers feather-light against the skin they uncover as you undress each other in hushed silence. It feels holy, somehow. 

He licks spices and heat into your mouth, trails calloused fingers down your bare arms, pulls your hips into his as his teeth trace down your jaw, makes sure you feel his want for you.

You slide your hands from his waist up his stomach and over his pecs, revelling in how he hisses and leans into the touch. 

“Wanted to do this for years,” he grumbles, like he’s complaining, before lowering his lips to your chest, sucking on supple skin to see how you like it, then doing it harder when you dig your fingers into his shoulders, gasping at the sensation.

“Should’ve,” you scold, even as your eyes close and your head tilts back. “Could’ve been.”

But you aren’t thinking about your wasted time when he kneads both hands in the meat of your ass, or when you slide a flat palm up the length of him, delighting in the weight and heat you find straining against his Calvins. You’re thinking about how his hands are searing, about how you want to taste him but maybe not yet, not this first time. You’re thinking about his fingers sliding between your legs and the belly-deep rumble he makes when he feels how ready you are for him.

And when you finally come together, his mouth pressed to yours as he lays you back on the bed you’ve shared countless times, you’re only thinking about him and his beautiful smile and molten eyes and infectious laugh and empathetic heart. When he’s pushed as far into you as your bodies will allow, his hips tight against you and a whine slipping between his lips, you’re overcome with emotion. As you adjust to him, his eyes trace your face, and he reads what’s there with perfect clarity.

“Love you, Sunny Baby,” he whispers into the crook of your neck. 

You swallow against the thick rise of feelings and run your fingers through his hair. “Move for me,” you beg. And when he does, it’s just as perfect as the rest of him. 

You press your forehead to his when you come, his thumb rough on your clit and his mouth gasping broken breaths against your lips, pulsing around him in waves so dizzying you think they trigger even more. His hair sticks to his forehead as he presses deep inside you, and he shelters you between mountainous arms as he finally lets go.

Mingyu is sunrise, leaking orange and pink and yellow and white and chasing away a world of purples and blues. He’s so bright you have to squint, a promise of a fresh start, an end to the darkness of night. 

He’s perfect. He’s perfect, and you love him, and finally you can have him. 

You lay in his arms, heartbeat slowing bit by bit, and feel wholly at peace - like everything finally settled into place, everything landed exactly as it was meant to. Your cog in the universe, spinning correctly at last, grooves fitted perfectly to Kim Mingyu’s. 

The peace lasts…. until you check your phone. 

[8:26am] (jeong)Han Solo: when you two are DONE…. we went out for breakfast if you want to join 🙄

—

November

“Baby,” Mingyu says, but it’s stern. “Quit fixing the pillows.”

“It has to be perfect in here!” you whine. 

Mingyu wraps his arms around you like a cage, squeezing until you’re laughing too hard and drop the throw pillow from your hand.

“They lived with us for years,” he says, entirely too rationally. “You can’t fool them.” 

He releases his hold on you so you can turn and pout at him. You’re about to protest - argue that it’s Jeonghan and Wonwoo’s first time visiting you and Mingyu’s new place, that this is momentous, a special occasion - but you’re cut off by an obnoxiously outlandish knock on the front door. 

“I’ve got it,” Mingyu tells you. “You just try to relax.” 

You will, in just a second. But first, you lean over to the candle you have burning on the coffee table and adjust it just slightly to center the label, which reads Fall Harvest and Cinnamon.

--

thank you so much for reading!!!!

[xitsensunmoon]

Moon was never the one to use more words than needed.

Short, restrained and stingy. It didn't take long to get used to it. Truly, his soft glowing presence meant more to you than he'd ever know.

Sometimes, in the most deafening of nights, you had the honour to hold your breath and listen. Every syllable falling out of his voicebox left a strange weight on your shoulders you couldn't quite decipher. Yet, you treated his offerings like gold.

But mostly, he preferred to mimic the pale celestial body he represents. The silent, but attentive observer, always burning a hole in your back with its eyes.

You weren't alarmed. You were its favourite star after all.

Yet, secretly, it was something you deeply disliked about him. Part of you scraping at the back of your throat every time the room falls silent. And it's not that the calm bothered you. No. No.

You just wish you could hear his voice more often.

His raspy, rumbling tone scratching your brain so nicely, so right, your head snapping in its direction every damn time. Please, just one more word. The night is so much more beautiful when the moon is generous.

Sun said he wasn't always like this. Lullabies and storytellings, book readings and games, little ones falling asleep so swiftly under the gentle melody. Memories stored far away, tarnished with sorrow.

You wondered if there was anything to tug at the strings of his past self. To get him to talk more. To get him to want to talk more.

You wish you could take your words back. But the cost was too high, for him and for you.

...

Your hand cups the side of his faceplate, his voice, seeping into the air in endless vows and pleas, tirelessly infinite like the night itself. For the first time since you knew him, your ears could have him in his full glory.

You wish it wasn't so full of despair. So full of grief. So full of fear.

His hands cradle your body, so cold and sharp, like the gentlest of daggers. Your life spilling onto the bouncy floors in swirls of red.

You can't bring yourself to care. Your eyelids feel heavy, but his voice clings to your very soul, firmly holding onto you, snatching you from death's embrace. His voice, cradling you better than the fluffiest of graves.

His tears burn your cold face like acid. Your mouth moves as you choke on metallic tanginess, the words bleed onto your soaked shirt in language no one but ghosts can understand.

Please, don't cry. I love you. I love you. Your voice is so beautiful.

For once, you're the silent observer. For once, he's the one begging you to speak. He will not ask for forgiveness. Just keep your eyes on me.

Please, just one more word.

The sight of him, your world, fades into darkness. Your ribs nearly crack under the suffocating weight of his prayers. His voicebox whines and screeches, words inaudible but his.

It sounds like a song.

His last gift. Your last lullaby.

What a lovely sound to fall asleep to.

[finelinevogue]

request for harry since the hrought has gone far too long i fear. okay but have you seen the pap photos of dua lipa and callum turner at a restaurant or of them in paris and they look like they’re in a romcom? i just thought idea would be great 🫂

worth the wait

omg omg yes yes!!! thank you so much for sending this in eeekkk!!!

word count - 1.4k

pairing - harry styles x gf!reader

Is Harry Styles finally settling down with childhood friend Y/N L/N?

“What are you reading?”

Harry walked through the balcony doors and onto the small terrace where you were reading the morning newspaper.

The morning was beautiful.

You and Harry had woken up in the romantic city of Paris. Your hotel room was on a quaint Parisian street and was high up enough to see the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

The little balcony was only big enough to store a garden table and two chairs, along with a couple of decorative plant pots. It was the perfect place to have a slow morning with your boyfriend.

“The morning newspaper.” You said as you ate your way through a croissant. Your cappuccino was half drunk and your glass of orange juice nearly finished.

“The newspaper? They still make those?” Harry joked.

“Harry, love. You are so out of touch with the world.”

He carefully shoved your head away from him in retaliation for your teasing.

He smelt like coconut and something sweet after his shower. His hair was still a little damp on the top and his cheeks still rosy from the heat of the bathroom.

Harry took a pastry for himself and poured out his own coffee.

The hotel service was amazing here but the food was even better. Last night you’d gotten back late from having dinner out and you were both in the mood for ice-cream. So you ordered ice-cream and the next thing you knew there was a knock at the door with a porter delivering a build-your-own ice-cream sundae.

“So listen to this…”

Harry took a bite out of his pastry but looked at you to let you know he was listening.

“Harry Styles is finally settling down to childhood friend Y/N. After 10 years of being together will the city of love finally be where Styles pops the all-important question?” You read from the newspaper and showed him the pictures the paps had taken of you two from last night.

“Right.” Harry nodded.

You popped the newspaper onto the table and sat back against the chair with your cappuccino. You raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“So…?” You asked.

“So what?”

“The all-important question? You thinking about it?” You prompted.

“You know the answer to that.”

Yes, you did.

You and Harry constantly talked about the big future ‘what-if’s’. Would you get married? Are you having children? Where do you want to settle? All your late night talks consisted of these little questions that felt so big.

Getting married was of course one of them and it was something that you brought up more often now that you’d been together for a decade.

Neither of you had felt like you had to rush your relationship into the next stage until you were both ready. The timing had never been right with Harry’s ridiculously busy schedule, but now… Now you had all the time in the world and you wondered what might be next.

“Okay.”

That’s all you said and you both left it at that.

Which is why you had the shock of your life the next day.

<.><.><.>

“C’mon.” You laughed as you dragged Harry from the pavement and into the middle of the square.

The square was right beneath the Eiffel Tower, which was twinkling its lights every so often.

Loads of people had stopped to watch, clap along and even dance to this man that was playing the accordion. It was so very French.

Harry couldn’t say no to you of course.

You led him into the square and immediately started dancing with him. You stepped on his toes more times than you could count, and it was more of a swaying motion with some twirls rather than dancing.

It both made you laugh though.

You both kept smiling even when everyone banded together to form some formation and everyone started swapping dance partners. At one point Harry was dancing with an old man and you were dancing with a little girl.

Everyone cheered as the man finished playing.

It was late at night and the dancing had worn you out, but you still wanted a couple more moments to enjoy this happiness with Harry.

He led you to a set of steps that led down to a viewing platform for the Eiffel Tower. You sat near the top so you could see the twinkling lights of the city below. It was so beautiful.

The steps were wide enough for Harry to sit behind you on one, with you sitting between his legs against his chest. Harry’s arms draped over your shoulders to hold you close against him.

“That was so fun.” You were still laughing.

“I’m glad.” He kissed your cheek.

Harry hadn’t stopped smiling ever since you had started smiling, but that was usually the case.

“You feel inspired to make music like that?”

Harry laughed and you felt his body shake behind you, “I’ll never be half the musician that guy was.”

“Don’t be silly.” You pouter, turning to face him, “You’re the best musician I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re a little biased, my love. Hm?” He suggested.

You furrowed your eyebrows and shook your head in disagreement.

“You’re the best. End of.” You sealed your statement with a soft kiss to his lips, only quick because you and Harry were both super conscious about PDA. Not even just because of the paps, but more because you found overt displays of affection really cringe and awkward.

You turned back around to face the city.

Your hands went up to fiddle with Harry’s fingers. He had gotten into the style of taking off his rings recently, so his fingers were bare and bony.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm.”

“I have something to ask you.” Harry said, resting his chin on your shoulder so your cheeks were near each other. It was like he didn’t want anyone else catching wind of this conversation so he had to be as close as possible.

“Yeah? Oh, actually, if it’s anything to do with what to get me for Valentine’s day then no need. I’ve already added it to our Amazon basket, you just need to click buy.” You explained.

If Harry didn’t feel ready before then that comment of yours certainly sealed the deal.

“Will you marry me?”

Your head instantly shot around to face him, nearly taking him out in the process. Harry laughed when he saw the excitement on your face.

You just looked at him and locked eyes with his.

You wanted one final moment to look at him as you boyfriend before everything changed for the better.

Harry smiled at you apprehensively.

The city lights were reflecting in his eyes as he waited for your answer. He already knew - or at least hoped he knew - your answer, but hearing you say it was going to be even better.

You nodded your head softly before answering.

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat, “Yes! Yes! Of course. Yes I’ll marry you.”

You threw your arms around his neck in the twisted position you were sitting in. Harry chuckled against you as his whole body inflated with excitement and adoration over you saying yes. It was one thing to hear you talk about it hypothetically, but hearing it in the real moment was everything.

Your face buried into his neck and you left some kisses there, because you didn’t want to properly kiss him in the middle of Paris.

You untucked yourself after a minute or two.

“You finally asked.”

“Nearly ruined it yesterday morning when you were reading that ruddy newspaper.” Harry joked and you laughed in remembrance. You’d almost forgotten about that already, but now it would be part of the story.

“Did you always plan to ask me here?”

“Well you said you hated the dramatic proposals but you also didn’t want it to be just a passing comment. I thought Paris mixed with a quiet conversation would be kind of perfect?”

“It was. I mean it still is!”

“I love you. Thank you for being patient with me and waiting for me to ask.”

You’d had that conversation before as well. Harry was anxious that you’d grow tired of waiting for him and move on with someone else, but you would never. Could never. Your heart was always going to belong to his.

“You’ll always be worth the wait.”

“Likewise.”

You settled back into him, tucked against his body as you marvelled at the moment.

“We’re engaged.” You whispered, slightly in shock.

“I have a ring back at the hotel. Want to go get it?”

“No. Just a couple more minutes like this.”

Harry completely understood what you meant.

Both of your lives had been constant and rushed ever since the day you’d met, so when moments like this came along you both had learnt to appreciate to live in them a little longer. So you did.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN ━━ Best Friends Who Kiss

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 6.7K

❀ ━ warnings: not much like a make out i guess

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: guys i’m lowk getting tired of this fic sorry about the long awaited update

THE MORNING SUN filters weakly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across the bedroom, but Paige barely registers it. She’s awake, but she doesn’t move at first, lying still, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to make sense of last night.

The kiss.

Her mind keeps circling back to it, replaying it over and over. It had been Jo that had leaned in. Jo had kissed her first. She’d been hesitant, but then she’d melted into Paige, letting her pull her closer. She’d straddled her, and Paige remembers the smoothness of Jo’s thighs against her own, the feeling of Jo’s ass in her hand, and—fuck. It had all felt so right. Like this was always supposed to happen, like this was the inevitable collision they’d been building toward for God knows how long.

And then Mia had shown up, and everything had shattered.

Now, Paige turns her head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of Jo beside her in bed, curled up under the covers, completely turned away. The sight makes her stomach sink a little. This isn’t normal—not for them. They always sleep tangled together—legs twisted beneath blankets, arms thrown over waists, breath ghosting over skin. But now there’s distance between them, and it feels impossibly vast.

Paige swallows hard, guilt twisting through her. She had come back to their bedroom last night like nothing had happened, like she and her best friend hadn’t just made out, like she hadn’t run the second someone else had seen. She’d showered, letting the hot water consume her the way it had in the hot tub. By the time she’d gotten into bed, Jo still wasn’t there.

For a while, Paige had thought maybe she wouldn’t come at all. Maybe she’d stay with one of her sisters instead, avoiding her completely.

But Jo had come back.

Paige just hadn’t been brave enough to face her. So, she’d pretended to be asleep, keeping her breaths even, her body still, trying not to flinch when she heard Jo move around, when she finally crawled into bed. But she hadn’t reached for Paige, hadn’t curled up against her like usual.

And Paige hadn’t reached for her, either, unsure of where they stood and not wanting to overstep.

Now, Paige shifts carefully, trying not to disturb Jo as she slides out of bed. She hesitates for a second, staring down at her, waiting for her to stir, to turn, to do something. But Jo stays still, and Paige can’t tell if she’s actually asleep or just avoiding her the same way Paige did last night.

She’s not sure she wants to know.

So, she grabs her phone and steps out of the room, padding quietly down the hallway, down the stairs, into the kitchen. It’s still early, and the house is silent—no laughter, no movement, no sounds of Christmas morning yet. Just her, alone with her thoughts, which is exactly what she doesn’t want right now.

She sighs, unlocking her phone, tapping her dad’s contact. He answers on the third ring, his voice still hoarse, but better than the last time she talked to him a few days ago.

“Merry Christmas, P,” he says, and Paige closes her eyes, exhaling softly. Things would be so much easier if she was just with him and Drew in Maryland like usual.

“Merry Christmas, Dad.”

They talk for a little while, mostly about how he’s feeling—still sick, but not as bad. He promises he’ll make up for missing Christmas the next time he sees her, and Paige tells him it’s okay, because it is. She knew he wouldn’t have let her go anywhere else for the holidays if he had any other choice.

She talks to Drew next, who’s way too hyper for a.) still having bronchitis, and b.) for this early in the morning. It’s a short conversation—he gets distracted halfway through, yelling something to his mom, and then Bob is back on the phone, telling her they’ll talk to her later.

Paige hangs up, staring at her screen for a second before she presses her mom’s contact this time, FaceTiming her.

It barely even rings once before Amy answers, her face filling the screen. It seems as though she’s already at the beach, the early morning sunlight turning her blonde hair almost gold, her sunglasses perched on her nose. There’s an ocean breeze in the background, the soft sound of waves rolling in, and Paige kinda wishes she were there because damn, the Bahamas sounds like the perfect place to be right now.

“Paigey, hi!” Amy says, beaming, clearly thrilled to see her. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

Paige exhales a small laugh despite herself, because her mom’s excitement is kind of contagious. “Merry Christmas, Mom.”

“I miss you, I hope you and Jo are having fun! I’m so jealous you get a white Christmas, honestly. It’s so hot here.” Amy flips her phone for a second, showing off the clear blue sky and the sun in it. “Not that I’m complaining, but still.”

Paige smiles faintly. “Yeah, it snowed a little more last night. The mountains here are really pretty.”

“I’m glad,” her mom says, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Anyway, Ryan and Laur are off running around the water park right now, but I’ll call you again later so they can talk to you.”

Paige nods. “Sounds good.”

Amy studies her for a second, and that’s when Paige knows she’s in trouble. “You’re quiet,” the older woman says, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”

Well, shit.

Paige swallows. She should’ve known her mom would pick up on it immediately. Usually, Christmas is one of her favorite parts of the year—her inner child always seems to come out, and she tends to act like a giddy five-year-old. Clearly, that’s not the case today, because here she is, slumped against the kitchen counter, her face probably screaming something’s up.

“I’m fine,” she says automatically.

Amy lifts a brow. “Paige.”

Paige exhales slowly, looking down at the marble counter, her fingers trailing absently along the smooth surface. “It’s… I don’t know.” She hesitates, then finally admits, “I kissed Jo last night.”

Silence.

Paige’s stomach twists. She can’t read her mom’s expression because Amy’s sunglasses are back on, but she knows she’s being analyzed right now, picked apart like she’s under a microscope.

Finally, Amy sighs, soft but knowing. “I thought there was a little more to you and Jo than you let on.”

Paige groans, dropping her head into her hands. “God, is it that obvious?”

Amy laughs a little, which only makes Paige groan louder. “Not to everyone, I don’t think,” she says. “But I am your mother. And I know you. The way you talk about her—it’s different, P. Good different.”

Paige bites her lip, staring down at the counter.

It’s terrifying, hearing that out loud. If she’s truly not been as subtle as she thought, then maybe that means Jo’s noticed, too.

And if Jo has noticed, then what does last night mean?

“I don’t know what to do,” Paige admits, her voice quieter now. “I mean… it wasn’t just—it wasn’t just some stupid kiss. It was—” She swallows thickly. “It was a lot.”

Her mom hums in understanding. “And now you’re scared.”

Paige nods, shifting uncomfortably. “What if she regrets it? What if she doesn’t want—what if she doesn’t like me like that? I mean, I don’t know even know if she likes girls. She’s never said anything about it. And she just broke up with her boyfriend of, like, five years.”

Any gives her a knowing look. “Paige, do you really think Jo’s the type of person to kiss you like that if she didn’t feel something?”

Paige opens her mouth, then closes it. Because her mom is right—Jo isn’t the kind of person to just make out with someone, especially someone close to her, just because.

Paige wants to believe it meant something. That Jo really had kissed her because she wanted to, not just because it had happened in the heat of the moment.

But Jo had also taken forever to come to bed last night. And when she finally did—

“She wouldn’t even look at me when she got into bed,” Paige says, her voice smaller than she wants it to be. “She just turned away.”

Amy, expression softens. “Honey, she’s probably scared, too.”

Paige exhales heavily, raking a hand through her hair. It’s still messy from sleep. “I just—I really don’t want to lose her, Mom.” Her throat is tight. “She’s my best friend, and she’s been the only person that really understands me about, like, my knee and stuff. I don’t know what I’d do if I—if this ruined everything.”

Amy shakes her head gently. “Nothing’s ruined, P. I promise.”

Paige doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know that. What if last night was a mistake? What if Jo does regret it, and now their friendship is going to be weird forever, and—

“Take a deep breath,” Amy says softly. Paige does. “And stop thinking yourself into a panic, okay?”

Paige nods, a little shakily. “’Kay.”

“You and Jo clicked basically as soon as you met. I don’t think this is going to change that,” her mom tells her. “You just need to talk to her. And I know that’s scary, but I also know you. You’re not a coward, you don’t run away from things.”

Paige huffs. “I ran away last night.”

Amy snorts. “Okay, fair, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to keep running.” She pauses, then adds, “And maybe stop thinking so much and just let yourself feel for once.”

Paige is quiet, letting that sink in.

Amy smiles, like she knows she just got through to her. “I love you, baby,” she says softly.

“Love you, too,” Paige tells her, managing a little smile.

“Call me later?”

Paige nods. “Yeah. I will.”

“Okay.” Amy gives her a final, knowing look. “And talk to Jo.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh.”

Amy just laughs, and then the FaceTime ends, leaving Paige along in the kitchen, slumped against the bar stool, her chin resting in her hands, still so unsure of what to do next.

JO HAS BEEN avoiding Paige all morning.

Not in an obvious, duck into a different room every time she sees her way—but enough that her stomach clenches every time she catches a glimpse of the blonde in the corner of her vision, enough that she finds herself sidestepping conversations, pretending to be busy with her gear, lingering behind the others when they’re getting ready, taking an extra-long time tightening the straps of her boots just to not be near her. She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what Paige is thinking.

And she’s scared.

Scared that Paige regrets it. Scared that Paige didn’t like it. Scared that she messed something up, that she’s made things weird, that last night had just been some moment of stupid impulse for Paige that meant nothing, and now she’s going to sit Jo down and give her some speech about how they should just forget about it, about how it was a mistake, about how it shouldn’t have happened. Jo thinks she might actually throw herself off the side of the mountain if that happens.

But thank God for Mia, actually. Because Mia, in all her little-kid wisdom, had begged Paige to go on the ski lift with her, and—since each lift only holds two people—that means it’s just the two of them. And Paige, who never knows how to say no to a kid, had smiled at Mia’s pleading eyes and agreed, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Which means, thankfully, Jo doesn’t have to ride with her.

Instead, she’s on the lift just ahead, sitting next to Peyton.

Jo exhales, adjusting her mittens as the chairlift ascends, the cold air biting at her face. The resort is quieter up here, the only sounds the mechanical hum of the lift and the occasional rush of wind through the trees. It should be relaxing. Should give her a moment to breathe.

But then Peyton turns her head and smirks at her.

“Soooo…” the older girl says, drawing the word out in a way that makes Jo immediately suspicious.

Jo eyes her warily. “What?”

Peyton tilts her head, still smirking, like she already knows something Jo doesn’t want her to. “Mia told me about what happened last night.”

Jo groans, dropping her head into her gloved hands. Of course Mia had told her. Mia, who had no concept of discretion, who had walked outside at the worst possible time and just stood there, grinning.

Peyton laughs at Jo’s misery, completely unsympathetic. “So. You wanna tell me what’s going on, or… ?”

Jo sighs dramatically, tilting her head back to stare at the sky. “I have no idea.”

Peyton just grins. “Joey, I didn’t even know you liked girls.”

Jo stiffens slightly, her chest tightening. It’s not that she’s ashamed of the idea—it’s just that she’s never really thought about it. Not in a real, this applies to me way. But she supposes she’s gotta figure it out now, just like she has to figure out the shit with Paige.

“I don’t,” she says at first. But then Peyton raises her eyebrows, giving her a really? look, and Jo immediately feels her face heat up despite the cold. “Okay, maybe I do. I don’t know. I just—I just like—”

“You just like Paige?” Peyton guesses.

Jo hesitates. Then, quietly, she nods. “I mean, yeah.” She sighs, staring out at the snow-covered trees below. “I don’t know. I haven’t really gotten through all the technicalities of it.”

Peyton hums, considering that. “Well,” she says, “does Paige know that you like her?”

Jo scoffs. “I mean, I kissed her.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean you told her.”

Jo presses her lips together. Because, no, she didn’t.

Peyton shakes her head, amused. “Well, I have some good news for you,” she says, nudging Jo’s shoulder lightly. “She definitely likes you back.”

Jo immediately shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Josephine,” Peyton says, giving her a look. “Come on. Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

Jo swallows, shifting uncomfortably. She doesn’t want to think about the way Paige looks at her. She doesn’t want to let herself hope—and she doesn’t want to know what happens next, if that hope is real.

But Peyton is relentless. “She’s, like, obsessed with you,” she continues, counting things off on her fingers. “She’s always touching you, always staring at you, always acting like you hung the fuckin’ moon or something.”

Jo clenches her jaw, shaking her head slightly. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Peyton sighs, rolling her eyes as if Jo’s stupid. “Why would she kiss you if she didn’t like you?”

Jo shrugs, feeling her stomach twist all over again. “I don’t know. She kisses a lot of girls.”

Peyton snorts. “Okay, well does she kiss a lot of her teammates?”

Jo blanches at that. Because, no. No, Paige doesn’t.

Peyton smirks, satisfied. “Exactly.”

Jo exhales, her heart thudding too hard.

“I don’t think she would’ve kissed you back unless it meant something,” Peyton says, softer now. “And I don’t think you would’ve kissed her unless it meant something, either.”

Jo swallows hard, staring at the mountains in the distance, her fingers curling into the fabric of her gloves. She doesn’t know what to say. Instead, she feels her heart thud rapidly in her chest, her mind running in circles around everything Peyton’s insinuated. Paige likes you. Paige kissed you back because she wanted to. Paige wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t mean something.

Peyton doesn’t push. She just lets the quiet settle between them, lets Jo sit with it.

But then, after a while, she exhales and shifts in her seat. “I get it,” she says gently. “Why you’re freaked out.”

Jo closes her eyes for a second. The shift in tone, the look Peyton gives her. She already knows exactly where this is going. 

“You just got out of something,” Peyton continues. “Like, less than a month ago.”

Jo tenses, doesn’t meet her sister’s eye.

Peyton sighs. “I know how much Asher meant to you. I know how much you were planning on him. And I know it’s gotta feel—” She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Weird. To have feelings for someone else this soon.”

Jo swallows, forcing herself to keep looking forward. She doesn’t want to talk about Asher. Doesn’t want to think about Asher. But of course, it’s Peyton. Of course, she sees through her like she always does.

And of course, she’s right.

Because Jo did plan on Asher. She planned on forever with him. She spent five year (or, really, her whole life if she’s honest), thinking that was it, that they’d go the distance, that everything they’d built—everything they’d been—was unshakeable. That she’d never have to think about this—about feelings for anyone else, about wanting anyone else, about what it means to like someone new when the ghost of someone old still lingers in the back of her mind.

But here she is, less than a month later, having just made out with Paige Bueckers in a hot tub last night.

God.

“I just don’t want you to rush into something,” Peyton says, her voice careful, measured. “Not when you’re still—”

“Figuring my shit out?” Jo offers.

Peyton huffs out a soft laugh. “I mean, yeah.”

Jo exhales softly, running her gloved hands over her thighs. She knows Peyton’s right. She knows she’s not really emotionally available right now. It would be stupid to jump into something—anything—so soon after the end of a near six-year relationship. It wouldn’t be fair—to her, to Paige, to anyone.

But it’s also Paige.

Paige, who makes her laugh in ways she forgot she could. Paige, who takes care of her when she can hardly take care of herself. Paige, who looks at her like she’s something worth looking at, like Jo is worth knowing, like Jo is worth wanting.

Paige, who kissed her back last night and felt like something Jo had been searching for, even though she wasn’t supposed to be searching for anything at all.

“I don’t know,” Jo murmurs finally, shaking her head. “I just—I don’t know.”

Peyton studies her for a moment, then nods, like she understands. “That’s okay,” she tells her. “You don’t have to.”

The lift slows as they approach the top of the mountain, and Jo is more than ready for the conversation to end. She grips the safety bar, rolling her shoulders back, already shifting into action mode. As soon as they hit the snow, she pushes off smoothly, coasting to a stop a few feet away. She drops onto one knee, strapping into her board, movements quick and practiced.

She feels Peyton’s eyes on her.

“What?” Jo asks, snapping her goggles into place.

Peyton raises a brow. “What, are you just gonna leave without them?”

Jo knows exactly who she means—Paige, Mia, their parents. She keeps her expression neutral as she shrugs. “It’s fine,” she says. “If P or Mimi need help, they have Mom and Dad. Let’s go.”

Peyton doesn’t argue, but Jo can tell she wants to. She hesitates for a second longer than necessary, like she’s debating whether or not to call Jo out for clearly avoiding Paige. But in the end, she just sighs, pulls down her own goggles, and says, “Alright.”

And then they’re off.

Jo cuts through the snow carefully, the wind rushing against her face, the world blurring at the edges. When you’re snowboarding, there’s no thinking, no feeling, no space for over analyzing. Just movement. Just speed. Just the sharp, exhilarating rush of letting go.

So, that’s what she does.

JO’S SITTING on the bed in the bedroom, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. It’s the only thing she can focus on right now. Her thumbs move over the screen without any real intent, the blue light flickering, almost like it’s keeping her tethered to something—anything. She doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want to feel. Doesn’t want to worry.

The day has been a blur of distance. Too many spaces between her and Paige, though she’s the reason for most of it. But every glance felt loaded, every second stretched longer than it needed to. Jo told herself it was for the best, that she needed space, needed time to think, to process. But deep down, she knows that the silence felt more like a slow burn, a slow and uncomfortable ache that she couldn’t—still can’t—escape.

And then the door is opening and Paige walks in.

It clicks shut behind her, the sound final, and Jo’s stomach does a flip. She doesn’t look up immediately. She stays glued to her phone screen, even though she can feel the weight of Paige’s gaze.

Paige sighs, the sound almost too heavy for such a soft, small thing. It fills the space between them, and that’s when Jo finally looks up, her heart beginning to race.

She watches as Paige scratches the back of her neck, one of her nervous habits. Jo forces herself to breathe. She doesn’t know what’s about to happen, doesn’t know what to expect from this conversation. All she knows is that her entire body is on edge.

Then Paige asks, “Uh… can we talk?”

Jo swallows, the anxiety catching in her throat. She doesn’t even know how to answer, what to say, so she just nods. She scoots back a little on the bed, making room for Paige to sit. It feels like the most awkward thing they’ve ever done, like there’s too much space between them already. But she forces herself to breathe, forces herself to be still. “Yeah,” she says, voice a little too tight.

Paige sits down on the mattress, and then goes quiet, looking at the floor. Jo doesn’t say anything either, unsure of what should be said. She tries to form the right words, tries to form anything, but it all feels like it would just come out wrong, clumsy. So, she stays silent.

Paige is the one to break it. “We’ve been avoiding each other all day,” she says, stating the obvious.

“Yeah,” Jo murmurs, the word barely leaving her lips.

“I don’t wanna do that anymore,” Paige says, her voice softer now, almost a little uncertain. The words hang in the air between them, like a fragile promise.

Jo’s heart stutters in her chest. She wants to say something, something that won’t make this worse, something that will make Paige—and maybe herself, too—feel better. “Me neither,” is all she’s got, but it’s true.

Paige lifts her eyes to meet Jo’s. Her gaze is intense, a little searching, but also guarded, like she’s trying to read Jo’s expression, trying to figure out what’s going on in her head. And then Jo sees it—that look. The kind that makes her insides twist, that makes her want to curl into herself and die.

It’s the way Paige’s eyes linger on her face, the way she takes in the lines of Jo’s expression, as if she’s deciding whether or not she’s about to let Jo down easy.

Jo doesn’t want that.

She doesn’t want Paige to pity her. Doesn’t want her to give her some soft, carefully worded rejection, something that’s meant to ease the sting. She doesn’t want that look to mean that what happened last night didn’t mean anything, that it was a mistake.

So, Jo says it before Paige can get the words out, before anything else can be said.

“Hey,” she says quickly, too quickly, like she’s scrambling to control the situation. Which, she kinda is. “It’s fine. Seriously. We don’t have to, like, say anything or whatever. What happened happened. Let’s just not be weird.”

It’s a half-hearted attempt at sounding nonchalant. And maybe it’s a little too causal, a little too defensive, but Jo can’t help it. She needs the reassurance that nothing has changed—that this won’t ruin them. She needs Paige to tell her it’s okay, that they’re still them—that she hasn’t messed this up entirely.

But Paige doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares at Jo for a long, drawn-out moment. It’s as if she’s trying to figure out if Jo really means it, if this is what she really wants, or if she’s just saying it to avoid confrontation.

Jo starts to doubt herself, stars to wonder if she came off wrong, if Paige actually wanted the kiss more than Jo thought.

But then, Paige shakes her head. “Yeah,” she says slowly, like the word is almost twisting around her tongue. “Yeah, exactly.”

Silence falls over them again, like a blanket. Jo doesn’t like it. She’s tired of it. So, the words spill out of her before she can think better of it: “Do you want your Christmas gift?”

The question feels like it might be a lifeline, something to break the tension, something to shift the conversation away from all the uncertainty she’s feeling.

Paige blinks, caught off guard for a second. Her eyes flick to Jo’s, and then she straights up a little, her shoulders pulling back in a way that looks like she’s remembering something important. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, do you want yours?” she asks, voice lighter now.

Jo can’t help but laugh, just a little. It’s a short, breathy sound, but it feels like a small release, like she’s letting go of some of the anxiety she’s been carrying. “Well, duh,” she says, trying for playful, a smile tugging at her lips.

That seems to shift the mood some, and then they’re each standing up, going to their bags. Jo grabs the wrapped box, and sits back down on the mattress. Paige follows, sitting beside her, a much smaller box in her hands.

“Okay, open mine first,” Jo says, her voice more confident now, more sure of herself. She hands the box to Paige, feeling a flutter of nerves in her stomach.

Paige takes the gift, her fingers brushing against Jo’s hand as she does, and Jo’s heart skips a beat at the contact.

When Paige opens the box, her jaw drops a little, and Jo can’t help but feel a swell of pride. It’s exactly what she hoped for—Paige’s surprise and delight, the way her eyes widen as she takes in the gift.

The shoes are exactly what Paige had been obsessing over for months, the ones she had tried to get but had sold out before she could grab them. Jo, on the other hand, had been lucky enough to snag them before they were gone for good, and now here they are, right in front of Paige.

Paige’s voice is soft, almost in awe, as she stares at the shoes. “Joey…” she says, her tone slow and filled with something Jo doesn’t know. It’s more than gratitude, more than just being impressed. It’s like there’s something deeper in the way she says it.

“Do you like them?” Jo asks.

Paige’s eyes meet hers, a flicker of something there—something that makes Jo’s heart thud a little faster. “I love them,” Paige confirms, and the smile that spreads across her face makes Jo’s chest constrict. The blonde nudges her own small box toward Jo, saying, “Your turn.”

Jo opens it slowly. When she sees the necklace, her breath catches in her throat.

It’s a diamond-studded clover necklace—delicate, simple, but beautiful. Jo runs her fingers along the edge of the charm, feeling the smooth coolness of the metal. It’s perfect. On the back of the clover, the word steady is engraved, small but clear, and Jo’s stomach sinks just a little, the weight of the word—the weight of the gift—settling.

Paige watches her closely, her expression soft, as if she’s trying to gauge Jo’s reaction. “I know you get anxious before games,” she says gently, like she’s afraid Jo might somehow not like it. “I thought… maybe this could be your good luck charm. A reminder to stay steady.”

Jo’s heart hurts at the thought—how Paige knows her so well, knows the way her anxiety flares before a game, knows the way she holds herself together even when she’s not sure she’s capable of it. This feels like something more than just a gift. It feels like Paige sees her, understands her.

The knot in Jo’s throat tightens. “It’s perfect,” she says. And it is. More than she can put into words.

But at the same time, it stirs something in her, something she can’t quite control. The fact that Paige knows her this well, that she’s thought of something so specific and so meaningful—it makes Jo want her more, in a way that’s dangerous. The kind of wanting that burns slow, that builds over time, that’s impossible to ignore.

Paige smiles softly, and Jo’s heart skips a beat. “Help me put it on?” Jo asks, her voice a little shaky even though she tries for it to not be.

Paige doesn’t hesitate. She nods, and Jo turns slightly to the side, lifting her hair out of the way. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against the back of her neck as she secures the clasp, and the touch sends a shiver down her spine. Paige’s fingers linger there, just a moment longer than necessary, and Jo feels a heat settle in the pit of her stomach.

When she turns back to face Paige, she finds that the distance between them has closed just a little. Paige is closer now, her gaze intense, like she’s studying Jo with an almost unreadable expression. There’s something in her eyes—something that makes Jo’s pulse quicken, something that makes her wonder if Paige feels it too.

And then the blonde is shaking her head, the motion slow, like she’s trying to pull herself together, trying to sort through whatever’s going on in her head. “Okay,” Paige starts, and she sounds uncertain and shaky, so unlike herself, “I know you said that we don’t have to say anything—but I… I can’t not.”

Jo feels her eyes widen a little as she takes in the words. She looks at Paige, really looks at her—sees the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she’s holding back, the way Jo can see she’s biting the inside of her lip.

Paige swallows, her eyes not leaving Jo’s. “Because I liked it, Jo,” she says, her voice quiet but somehow steady. “I liked kissing you. And I was really glad that you kissed me. I—I don’t wanna just forget ’bout it.”

Jo feels her heart stop and stutter in her chest cavity. The words stab through her, consuming her like a virus. She’s still silent, still staring at Paige, trying to make sense of the words. I liked it. Her head spins at that, the sheer honesty of it.

“Really?” she manages to get out, her voice sounding strained, uncertain. She needs confirmation, needs to hear it again.

Paige nods, the motion slow but sure, her eyes still locked on Jo’s. “Really,” she repeats, and there’s something in the way she says it—like she’s laying herself bare for Jo, like she’s giving her this piece of her heart and hoping that Jo doesn’t crush it in the process.

For a moment, they just stare at one another, neither of them saying anything, neither of them moving. Jo feels the pull of Paige’s gaze, the way it tugs at her chest, her stomach, her being. It’s like they’re suspended in this moment, where everything is possible and yet nothing feels safe. She doesn’t know what to do with it—it’s so unfamiliar. Jo feels heat creeping up her neck, feels the way her palm have started sweating, but she can’t look away from Paige. She can’t stop herself from wanting this—whatever this is.

But then, her brain snaps into focus, a sharp reminder of everything they can’t do, everything that stands between them. “P, we… we can’t,” Jo says, her voice low, almost too quiet to hear. She feels her heart pounding in her chest as she says it, but she knows the words are necessary, knows she can’t just let this moment slip by without addressing the reality of the situation. “It’s not smart. We’re both dealing with our own emotional problems, and we’re teammates, and we’re roommates, and we—we can’t.”

The words feel like a sudden weight that’s fallen over the room. Jo’s stomach lurches as she watches Paige’s face fall slightly, the light dimming from her eyes for just a second before it flares back to life. It’s the look of someone who wants something—badly.

Paige shakes her head, her face resolute. “I know. I know that,” she says, sounding like she’s trying to convince herself. “We… we don’t gotta be anything more. We can just be… best friends who kiss?”

Jo feels a laugh bubble in her throat at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. But as she looks at Paige, she realizes that she’s not joking. She’s serious. She’s offering something—something that could make the ache in Jo’s chest go away, just for a moment, without any strings, any commitment, anything that could really ruin them.

“Is that the best idea?” Jo asks slowly.

Paige shrugs. “Prolly not,” she admits, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at her lips. But then her gaze sharpens a little, her expression becoming more focused. She leans forward just a fraction, her body language pulling Jo in, even as she tries her best to keep her distance. And then, quietly, Paige says, “But now that I know what it feels like, I just wanna do it again.”

Jo feels her lungs clench, her breath hitching slightly. Every inch of her body is screaming at her, telling her to pull away, to put some distance between them. But she can’t move. She can’t breathe. All she can do is watch Paige’s lips, watch the way she’s leaning closer, the way she’s asking without asking, the way she’s giving Jo a choice without giving her a choice at all.

Before Jo even realizes what she’s doing, she hears herself say, “Me, too.”

And just like that, Paige is kissing her again.

Jo’s brain short-circuits the moment it happens. It’s like she’s been set on fire, every nerve in her body lighting up at once. Paige is warm, solid, and everywhere—her hands gripping Jo’s shoulders, pulling her in, her lips moving against Jo’s with a kind of certainty that makes Jo feel dizzy. It doesn’t start hesitant like last night. This isn’t about testing the waters. It’s intentional—like Paige knows exactly what she wants, and she’s done pretending otherwise.

Jo lets her take the reins without even thinking about it. She likes the way Paige moves, the way she presses in closer, tilting her head just right to deepen the kiss further. Jo does her best to breathe properly as Paige shifts, her fingers skimming down Jo’s arms before settling on her waist, her grip firm but not forceful. The touch alone sends a shiver down Jo’s spine, makes her stomach flip in a way that should probably concern her but doesn’t, because all she can focus on is Paige—the way she smells like something clean and warm, the way she tastes like mint and something sweeter, something her.

Jo’s hands move on their own, sliding up the curve of Paige’s back, feeling the way her muscles tense and shift beneath her fingertips. It’s intoxicating. It’s too much and not enough all at once. She’s never felt like this before—like she could drown in a person and not even care. It wasn’t really like that with Asher.

The bed is suddenly shifting beneath them as Paige moves, pressing in closer, slotting herself more firmly against Jo’s body. Jo barely has time to register the shift before Paige’s hands are on her shoulders again, guiding her, pushing her gently until Jo’s back hits the mattress.

Jo inhales sharply at the change in position, a sharp thrill shooting through her chest as she feels the weight of Paige hovering over her. It’s dizzying, having Paige above her like this, her hands braced on either side of Jo’s head, her body caging Jo in but not in a way that feels trapping. No, it’s the opposite. It feels steadying, like Paige is something solid in the middle of all the chaos in Jo’s head.

Paige pulls back just slightly, just enough to look down at Jo, her breathing heavy, her lips pink and a little swollen. “This okay?” the blonde asks, her voice a little gravelly, a little breathless.

Jo can’t do anything but nod, can’t do anything but stare up at Paige and try to memorize the way she looks right now—hovering above her, hair falling into her face, lips parted like she’s barely holding herself back.

Paige makes a soft sound—relived, maybe, or just impatient—and then she’s kissing Jo again, pressing her back into the bed. And then she’s slotting a knee between Jo’s thighs, pressing down—not too much, not enough, but also just enough that Jo feels it everywhere. A slow-burning heat unfurls in her stomach, her breath stuttering against Paige’s lips.

Paige deepens the kiss more, her tongue sweeping against Jo’s in a way that makes her whole body tighten. Jo’s hands grip at Paige’s t-shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric like she needs something to hold onto. Paige’s hands skim up Jo’s sides, light and teasing at first, the touch barely there. Jo kisses her harder, leaning into the way Paige’s fingertips trace just beneath the hem of her sweatshirt, like she’s seeing just how much she can get away with.

It’s then that her hands slip beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, palms pressing flat against her ribs, and Jo nearly gasps into her mouth. It’s striking, the contrast of Paige’s warm hands against the cool skin of her stomach, the feeling of Paige touching her like this, in a different way than ever before.

Jo sucks Paige’s tongue in her mouth, their teeth clashing just a little, making Paige groan. Paige’s hands reach up further—and then they’re cupping Jo’s tits.

It’s not careful, the way she does it. Not uncertain. Not hesitant in the way it might be with most people. No, it’s instinctive. It’s like Paige didn’t even think about it, like she just needed to do it, like it was inevitable. Jo stills, her breath stalling in her throat, because this is just a little more than “best friends who kiss.”

Paige must realize it too, because she also freezes Her breath fans warm against Jo’s lips, her forehead pressing against hers, both of them unmoving now. Paige’s hands are still beneath Jo’s sweatshirt, still there, and neither of them are saying anything, neither of them are pulling away.

Jo’s chest rises and falls with deep, uneven breaths. She can’t think straight, can’t form a single coherent thought beyond the way Paige feels against her, the way Paige’s hands feel on her.

Paige exhales, slow and a little shaky, murmuring, “We should probably stop, yeah?”

Jo’s head spins, her body still thrumming. But she nods, because she has to, even though every single nerve in her body wants to just keep going. “Yeah,” she breaths out. “Um. Yeah, we should.”

Paige stays still for another second, like she doesn’t want to move, like she’s debating whether she even can. But then she finally pulls her hands away, rolling off of Jo, onto her back beside her. Suddenly, Jo feels cold. Feels the absence of her immediately. But before she can even process that loss, Paige is tugging her right back in, wrapping a firm arm around her waist, pulling her closer until their bodies are flush together again.

Jo lets her. This is familiar territory. She turns into Paige, burying her face into her neck, gripping at the hem of her t-shirt. She feels Paige’s lips in her hair and Jo sighs, melting into her further.

This is fine. This is good. This is normal. And maybe it’s none of that, maybe it’s entirely new and bad. But Jo can’t find it in herself to care. Because being here, like this—she could get used to it.