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hoonstrology · 2 days ago

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"i promise myself, while drinking a glass of water in the morning, to tell you. i'll confess what has been on the tip of my tongue tomorrow. you are pretty." — pretty u by seventeen.

୨ pairing ୧ : park sunghoon x fem!reader.

୨ synopsis ୧ : he wouldn't necessarily call himself talkative. sunghoon is just a normal college boy with normal hobbies and interests, so of course he likes talking about those, and he especially likes talking about you— but talking to you? it's an entirely different challenge. and he knows he has to man up and speak up before you get sick of his silence.

୨ genres ୧ : college!au, classmates!au, slow burn-ish, strangers to lovers, lowkey loser!sunghoon, romance, very fluffy, light angst, but a whole lot more comfort, a bit of jealousy, sunghoon is a stupid dumb idiot lover boy. ✮ featuring: enhypen's 02z + heeseung, ive's gaeul and liz, and seventeen's jeonghan. ୨ warnings ୧ : suggestive content, making out, swearing, pet names, alcohol consumption, parties, brief mentions of blood, unintentional self injury, poor attempts at humor, sunghoon is kind of emotionally constipated but in a good way. sunghoon's taller than reader. lmk if i missed anything!

୨ word count ୧ : 18.3k words.┆read the teaser here.

୨ from ! 🐰 yan ୧ : my first written work !! i normally write smaus so writing a full oneshot has been daunting. this is my literal brain child so i hope you guys love it as much as i do. i would love to get feedback via asks/replies !! (pls be nice) ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 ✾ 𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙎 are appreciated.

TODAY MARKED THE FIRST DAY OF YOUR FOUR YEARS IN COLLEGE. you walked past your university’s gates, chin tipped up and proud with a book held close to your chest, thin silver glasses framing your face, and a smile that you spent an entire hour practicing in the mirror yesterday.

you wore the best outfit you could, but not in a trying-hard overdressed kind of way, just enough effort to make you memorable. you wanted to make a good impression, after all.

if you could look lost enough, maybe a senior would notice you. maybe he’d ask for your schedule, walk you to class, make light gossip about the professors you have and in a few years, he’d propose to you in the same spot by the gates, and you’d say i do, and live a happy married lif—

clank!

you get snapped out of your sweet little daydream as pain shoots through your shoulder, down your left arm. “fuck.” you whisper, head snapping up to shoot a frustrated glare at the thick pole in front as if it’s the one who bumped into you.

the impact was hard enough to have your book and glasses falling to the floor with a thud, and definitely hard enough to leave a bruise tomorrow because even merely moving your arm makes you wince.

thankfully, the area was mostly empty— which meant your dream of being a college cool girl was still in play —save for a tall guy just a foot beside you.

shit.

he’s already kneeling down to pick your things up and before you could even bend over to help, he just looks up and gestures to you to stay still by pointing to your outfit. “skirt.” is all he says, his voice deep and quiet.

you’d normally blush at the gentlemanly gesture but instead, you do it out of pure embarrassment.

god, this wasn’t the meet-cute you imagined.

he hands you back your book and your glasses, freshly wiped of dirt from the hem of his faded black hoodie. you slip it on your face again and bow your head out of shame, stepping aside to escape this nightmare of an embarrassment, but before you could even attempt to, he tugs on the sleeve of your cardigan, showing you his open palm like he's telling you to stop.

and against your better judgement, you do.

the stranger slips one of his backpack’s straps off his shoulder, fishing a box out of it and begins scribbling away with a pen cap trapped between his teeth.

you took this time to look at him— really look at him. tall, lean physique, sharp features, fair skin. he wore a pair of black thick-rimmed glasses that framed his kind-looking eyes really well. he’s stylish, no question about that.

and painfully handsome, too.

the pen is closed with a faint click and he slips it back into his hoodie’s pocket and you take that as a sign to stop checking him out lest you embarrass yourself further.

his lips purse into a straight line and his thick eyebrows furrow closer as he gives the box an intense stare, the soft eyes from a while ago turning more serious and stressed as it turns to you, back to the box, and back to you again.

the suffocating silence is shattered by two men shouting from a distance, the shorter one of them comically jumping and waving his hands in the air.

he turns to look at the source of the noise and lets out a small grunt, handing you the box and before jogging away without another word.

you stand there dumbstruck, watching the three boys interact for a while before turning on your heels, slipping the box between your chest and the book. that was odd.

you walk to class with a sore shoulder and cheeks that still feel warm from the whole ordeal. upon finding your room, new faces give you polite smiles or nods of acknowledgement and you do the same. once you're seated and settled, you put the book down on top of your desk.

the forgotten box falls on your lap, urging you to take a closer look at it.

menthol pain relief patches.

you flip the box around and you're greeted by a pastel yellow post-it note stuck on the back.

“for your shoulder. please be careful next time.”

he probably thinks you're a loser with no depth perception. and he wouldn't be wrong for thinking that, but it doesn't stop your cheeks from heating up for the nth time this morning.

you convince yourself it's okay. that your university is big, and you surely you won't meet him again. the fact disappoints you a little bit, but at least you're saved from having to face him after what happened.

you press your fingers against your forehead in stress.

first day in and you’ve already made a fool of yourself in front of a man. not just any man but a handsome one. a very important distinction.

developing a crush feels on him feels pathetic. he just gave you muscle relief patches, an act of kindness that was just a little bit above the bare minimum. and he only said one word to you, for gods’ sake. but you’ve never been one to think logically, so while your lecture starts, your head starts drifting off and it’s already incorporating the good-looking, tall stranger in your romantic fantasies.

turns out, the man in your dreams wouldn’t be a senior, nor would he be gossiping with you about your professors.

instead, you’d be sharing them.

during your third class of the day, the handsome stranger walks in the lecture hall with his two friends in tow and you immediately recognize him because of the glasses. his hands are stuffed into his hoodie as he settles on a seat a couple of rows in front of you, still as intimidating as he looked like when he gave you the box.

you learned of his name when the professor called him to read a passage in the book.

park sunghoon.

you think it’s a pretty name— fitting for a pretty boy like him.

sunghoon’s voice was steady while he read, smoothly pronouncing every word, clearing his throat after a mistake and resuming with the same composure. the speed at which he spoke was just right, slow enough to enunciate every syllable but not too much to bore whoever chose to listen.

"mr. park, care to share your thoughts on what you just read?"

sunghoon only stood straighter, his natural confidence in his voice making you swoon in your seat.

“i don't believe the fable's moral lesson to necessarily be applicable in real life where businesses and industries have become fast-paced. should the readers need to have a takeaway, they should focus on what the hare lacked— humility. his over-confidence is the ultimate reason for his downfall, being a creature that has already been given natural talent and an advantage on the terrain—”

just like that, your small happy crush turned into full-blown attraction. his voice? his eloquence? damn. it’s like he’s trying (and succeeding) to make you want him.

you wish you had sat in front so you could look at him more. you could only imagine how stern he’d look, how his thick brows would meet together making him look even more gorgeous when he’s focused. but for now, you could settle for the view of his back while trying your best to listen to your professor, and not to the voice that suspiciously resembles sunghoon's playing in a constant loop inside your head.

he’s in the rest of your classes today too, which makes the task of focusing twice as hard. you feel like a creep with the way your eyes naturally gravitate to him every time you hear his voice, or when you see a tiny bit of movement from the corner of your eye.

so when it’s almost time to go home, you do the most un-creepy thing you can think of: wait outside the door.

a student, and another, they all step out one by one. then he finally walks out, laughing at something his friend said before freezing mid-sentence as he catches sight of you standing with a familiar box laid out on your palm.

he looked surprised for a moment, before gripping on the single strap hanging on his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably before raising a brow like he was waiting for you to speak.

“oh! i, uh.. i already put some on my shoulder and on my arm a while ago. there’s too much in the pack and i figured i could give it back to you since i don’t really have any use for it.” you explain, pushing it towards him.

one of his friends gasps at the sight, quickly throwing a punch to sunghoon’s shoulder which he receives with a quiet hiss.

“what the fuck, hoon? i was looking for that! you know i have try-outs later!” the boy shouts, his australian accent thick and evident as he snatches the pack from your palm. “tch, can’t believe you lied to me.”

sunghoon gives him a cold stare, taking the patches away again before whispering something to the other boy which resulted in the rowdy blonde getting dragged away by his collar. he flipped the box over once, twice, and raised an eyebrow, seeming to notice that the post-it note was not there anymore.

“is this what you’re looking for?” taking the neatly folded paper from your pocket, you place it on top of the box. “i’m sorry for taking it. i thought it was for me. unless you also have other friends who regularly bump into poles while actively daydreaming and you actually meant to give that to someone els—”

sunghoon cuts you off with his index finger pressed on his own lips. he gives both back to you before flashing you a small smile, one that causes your poor little heart to thump faster.

“for you. keep it.” his words are clipped but you can feel the kindness behind them.

say something, anything, to keep the conversation going.

“i’m y/n, by the way.” you hold your hand out.

“i know. i’m sunghoon.” he murmurs, looking at the hand extended towards him before shaking it.

you sense the slight hesitation but the contact makes you giddy nonetheless. it’s as sweet as it is short lived because sunghoon quickly lets go, hands returning to the safety of his hoodie’s pocket.

“huh? how’d you know? i don’t remember the professor calling me. wait- did he take attendance? shit, i forgot to say present—”

the chuckle he lets out is low and breathy, making the words halt in your mouth. sunghoon shakes his head and his eyes do a quick scan of you before pointing to the small sticker that reads 'yoon y/n's!' on the book you've been holding.

"oh."

another beat of awkward silence.

“uh.. what’s your schedule?” you ask with a kind smile, following sunghoon as he starts walking towards your building's exit, trying not to dwell on how he started walking slower, at the perfect pace for you to keep up with his long strides.

he fishes for his phone to show you the picture and you do the same, eyes looking at your screen then his. “we share most classes! all the ones in the afternoon.” you smile victoriously, and sunghoon releases another quiet chuckle, nodding along.

before you know it, you’ve reached the gate where his friends are waiting. he pauses, squinting his eyes at the duo who suddenly stopped talking to look between you and him, teasing grins plastered on their faces which just made sunghoon rub his temple.

“oh? who is this? a new friend?” the black-haired friend asks, a smirk on his lips while raising an eyebrow at sunghoon.

“y/n.” sunghoon says, pointing to you. “jake.” he points to the blonde boy with an aussie accent, before turning to the tanner friend with a jawline so sharp you’re convinced you’d need more than menthol patches if you touched it. “jay.”

sunghoon must have told them about what happened this morning because they looked at you, eyes scanning you up and down with anflash of amusement showing in their eyes.

“hi.” you give them a shy wave and they return it with a welcoming smile, their hands gently shaking yours.

jake pulls sunghoon away, huddling on one side while whispering, their heads occasionally turning to you every now and then with synchronicity.

“what do you mean that’s her?”

“jake, pipe the fuck down!”

“are they… talking about me?” you turn to jay with raised eyebrows and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's grown familiar to this scenario. “looks like it. please forgive jake. he’s normally more… discreet when he’s curious about someone.”

yeah, there’s nothing discreet about jake pointing his finger at you with a wide smile. sunghoon, on the other hand, is insistent on pushing jake's hand down with a pretty pink flush on his cheeks, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. very cute.

“do you guys share all your classes?”

“yeah, we share an apartment so we were together when we chose our classes.”

“so i’d take it that you guys are close?”

jay gives you a nod, eyes fond while he looks at his best friends. “met in middle school— and we’ve unfortunately been inseparable since then.”

“that's cute. must be nice to have people you can rely on already. college is kinda scary.”

“you have us!” jake whispers from beside you, making you scream in surprise at his sudden presence. sunghoon shoots him a sharp glare, tugging on your cardigan for the second time today to pull you by his side.

the golden retriever looking boy presses his palms together, whispering a small apology before handing you his phone.

“sunghoon told me you have afternoon classes with us! so you can give me your number and just reach us whenever. not to brag but i’m the most popular in this trio. i'll text you whenever there’s a party. i'll getcha connected to people in no time.” he adds with a wink, pulling a laugh out of you.

“i think i’ll stick to texting you for home work.” you reply with a roll of your eyes, punching your number in jake’s phone nonetheless.

a few more friendly words are exchanged before they wave you goodbye because jay and jake are going to your college’s basketball try-outs. sunghoon isn’t interested but is supposedly "required by law" to go because he’s their moral support.

you laugh and give both of them a fist bump for good luck before walking away, failing to catch sunghoon’s lingering stare as he watches your figure disappear.

that night, you buried yourself under your duvet, congratulating yourself for surviving your first day of freshman year and making three new friends on top of that.

just then, your phone vibrated.

💬 from: unknown number — this is sunghoon. :)

your friendship with park sunghoon slowly blossomed from that day onward. though your first meeting was full of chaos, the following months were anything but.

much like him, it was calm. respectful, even.

you would give each other a smile when you passed by one another in the mornings, he’d shoot you a text to let you know he reserved the seat next to him when you were running ten minutes late in the afternoon, or you'd remind him of tasks due the next day.

he even offer to accompany you to the university’s library when your friends weren't available, headphones on and only taking it off to tap on your shoulder when he notices you dozing off.

one day, you asked him to grab lunch with you under the pretense of not having anyone to eat with, and then it became routine.

usually it would be just you and sunghoon but the boys would tag along every now and then. he would be noisier during those lunches, and you relished it because that’s the only time you get to see him be so comfortable and rowdy.

you pondered what the cause could be, and eventually landed on a theory during one of your sociology classes.

deindividuation, as your professor called it.

she said being part of a larger group can lead to a sense of reduced personal responsibility and accountability which then causes individuals to feel less inhibited and more likely to engage in behaviors they might not otherwise, including speaking loudly or interrupting.

she basically described sunghoon to a perfect t.

because your friendship with him is quiet. his half of the friendship, to be specific.

you mostly got to know him through mere observation– his habits, things he enjoyed and things he disliked. if you didn’t discover things yourself, his friends would be the one offering sunghoon's information to you like when jay told you he has a younger sister he adored, or when jake told you that he once wanted to go to antarctica, a dream that he left behind after he took an interest in photography.

if you were to type out every word he's said to you for the entirety of your friendship in a continuous line, you’d probably be able to fill four pages of a document in arial 11. maybe five.

if you remember correctly, his longest running sentence is “please walk on the inside part of the sidewalk next time, angel— it’s dangerous.” a yet-to-be defeated record of fourteen words. it was also the first time he called you by a pet name and it had you screaming into your pillow as soon as you got home.

initially, you thought it’d be better to converse with him through text. and it was an improvement, yes– but only by a few notches. you’d be able to make twenty pages with the words he said through the phone, but there were still days where he’d just reply with one word.

or a single emoji.

but sunghoon isn’t nonchalant. far from it, actually.

he laughs at your jokes— he even giggles when it's done to his type of humor. if he sees you stressing out during a pop quiz, he’d slyly push his paper towards you to let you copy his answers. and he already knows to take his sweater off and hand it to you before history class because the heater doesn’t work well in that classroom.

almost always, he’d walk out of the classroom with his bag slung on one of his shoulders and yours on the other with the finesse of someone who's used to being reliable. you’ve never had to open your own water bottles or push through doors either because sunghoon would be the one doing it for you. all of that while wearing a proud smile.

and barely any noise.

when you ask him questions, he’d either hum to affirm, shake his head no, or shrug if he didn’t know the answer. if he’s the one asking you questions, he just gestures with his hands or fingers to get his message across.

one morning when you went to class in a new hairstyle, he pointed to it with raised brows. “ah, just wanted to try something new.” you explained. his reply was a smile and a measly thumbs up.

all that to say, he's an acts-of-service rather than a words-of-affirmation type of guy.

you always try to fill that awful silence between the both of you with endless rambles, and like the reliable person he is, he always listens with a hum here and there to let you know that he was still following your story about how your neighbor scared you shitless by trying to open your door in the middle of the night.

"—he shook the knob so hard i had to call an emergency locksmith. it’s literally the second time he did that this week! and he doesn’t even have the decency to pay me back for the fee!”

by the time you end your tirade, you’re slumped over the café’s table, cheeks squished flat on the smooth surface. he just chuckles and taps on your head with a finger and you raise it slightly. sunghoon places a sheet of tissue down and leans back, allowing you to press your face against the table again, but hygienically this time around.

“you care for my skin more than i do.” you grumble, blowing the stray hairs away from your face.

he does it like it’s routine— because it is.

the first time you did it, he shook his head in slight disappointment. “you’ll get acne.” he said, voice flat while pointing to his cheeks. so after months of it happening, he learned to always have tissues in his bag just in case you decided you wanted to have another ranting session.

a few minutes pass and you hear him groan before reaching over to show you his watch. two thirty-seven pm. “man. fuck history class.” you sigh, starting to pack up your things while sunghoon's already a few steps past the cafe door.

“hoonie, wait for me!” you whine, running to catch up and he pauses, looking at you over his shoulder.

he only resumes his strides when he hears the familiar taps of your footstep beside him, making him smile to himself as he shoves his hands in his pocket, walking back to class with the cold autumn wind that pushes leaves of gold and orange past his feet.

this is what he does. if he wanted to go somewhere, he’d guide you to the destination by walking instead of telling. sometimes, because you moved at the pace of a snail, he would need to tug on your shirt or on the end of your jacket to help you keep up.

he never actually touches you. not intentionally. the usual skinship he’d initiate is a tap on your shoulder, or on the back of your hand. if he was feeling extra touchy, the most he’d give is an affectionate pat to your head.

if you remember correctly, that has only happened seven times so far.

there was also that one time he touched your cheeks for a brief moment, but you don’t think that counts because he only did it to push your head away when jake jokingly leaned towards you with a kissy face.

“sunghoon!”

two heads turn around to see heeseung, a sophomore, approaching with a basketball pinned between his hand and hip. he’s a good friend of jake and jay, and by association, sunghoon’s.

“mind if i take him away for a bit?” heeseung asks you, the usual charming smile on his face as he taps on sunghoon’s shoulder. you nod and shoo them away, but not without sunghoon pointing to an empty bench first.

you head over there, one leg crossed over the other as you observe the bright smile on sunghoon’s face. words like “girls” and “after party” are thrown, and you already know it has something to do with the boys’ basketball match this weekend.

but their words translate more like faint buzzing because you’re too busy dwelling on the way sunghoon interacts with heeseung. it’s something that has been bothering you for a good while— the way he becomes much more animated when he talks to someone. the way sentences don’t sound strained leaving his mouth.

it’s like everyone has access to a button that activates talkative sunghoon.

everyone else but you.

the theory of deindividuation didn’t apply to him anymore. maybe it never did.

he wasn’t technically popular, no. he was still an introvert who preferred staying on the sidelines but from what you’ve seen, anyone who was brave enough to go up to him and make friends, he accepted without protest.

weren’t you already friends with him? so why can’t he be like that with you?

your mind reels back to the time you caught him talking to a senior on the way to your next class. they were having a conversation about the cameras he liked and his history with photography, and it made you wonder for a second whether he had an identical twin his friends forgot to tell you about. you could hear the childlike fascination as he talked, voice practically dripping with enthusiasm.

so when you asked him about cameras later that same day and all you got was a simple 'i like them', it simply broke your heart.

you've spent days thinking about why he couldn’t open up to you the same way he did with others. you’d scroll through your texts with sunghoon and it's always polite. always curt. always “how’s your weekend?” but when you ask him the same question, he’d reply with “just okay.” before turning the conversation to something about you again.

maybe he wasn’t interested in you. not in that way, at least. because why would he? he, who would make people stare whenever you walked the hallways together. he, who made every student in class stop whatever they were doing just to listen to him whenever he recited.

he, who hugged acquaintances yet can’t seem to stand the thought of his hand grazing you, his friend.

it made you overthink whether you truly were a friend to him or just another overzealous classmate forcing your unwanted presence.

you don’t even realize you’ve started tearing up until you see sunghoon kneeling in front of you, eyes full of worry as he looks into your glassy ones.

“angel? w-what’s wrong?” he asks, a hand reaching up but he bites his lips and brings it back down to his side.

you turn your head to the side and force out a laugh. “where’s heeseung?”

“he left. tell me what’s wrong.” he says, placing a hand on your knee. he doesn’t need to tell you, because you could tell how uncomfortable he was from initiating that simple touch.

“it’s nothing. just… i think some dust got into my eyes.” you rub your eyes with your curled fist, exaggerating a few blinks before you gently push his hand off your knee. not even a second passes and you already miss the warmth of his touch. it's pathetic.

“there. it’s gone now.” you hum, pulling him up by his bag’s strap. “let’s go? mr. shin will kill us if we’re late.”

he looks like he wants to say something. but he doesn’t.

he never does.

instead, he strips off his white hoodie and hands it to you, looking at you with expectant eyes. he just stands there, your bag in his hand with the same expression until you relent and throw his hoodie over your head while rolling your eyes.

you walk to your history class warm and smelling like a pleasant mix of sunghoon’s cologne and laundry detergent.

your exit plan hasn’t even started yet and you’re already failing.

three weeks.

three cruel and agonizing weeks of sunghoon missing your presence.

he thinks it started that weekend. like heeseung suggested, he texted you an invite to the frat party to celebrate the boys’ win. he never really got a reply but he did see you arrive safely which put him a little more at ease.

you greeted him with a breathtaking smile and the same little wave he started looking forward to receiving everyday— his biggest motivator to attend and do well in class despite the hell that it is.

you wore a short ivory white dress, blessing him with far more skin than he usually saw within the confines of yours classrooms, your hair done up to show the smooth curves of your neck and the sharp angle of your shoulders.

all he could think about is dirtying your exposed skin with marks so the annoying boys in your class would get the hint to stay away from what's his, and he hated it. you don't even know it but you make something deeply covetous stir inside him.

you’re already beautiful in his eyes, but that night you truly looked like an angel, and he wanted nothing more than to kneel and follow you towards the light.

jiwon and gaeul snapped him out of his trance by dragging you away to the other side of the house before he can even get a word in, and all sunghoon could do is pray that you don't leave with someone else.

the after party went on. drunk people leaning against the kitchen counter, a random couple sucking each others’ faces off on the recliner by the entrance, and jay crying “foul” when he lost another round of beer pong. for the sixth time.

sunghoon looked at his phone, brows almost meeting together as he stared at your conversation. still left on read, still no reply, but he decided to send you another one anyway.

💬 to: angel y/n. — your dress looks nice. :)

“why’s my y/n-ie not here?” jake approached him, red solo cup in hand.

“first of all: she’s not yours. second: you’re already slurring your words, jaeyun. sober up before we get to the car, i beg. i don’t want my car to smell like vomit again.” sunghoon grunted, trying to push the boy off as jake leaned against him for support, face pressed on his shoulder while whining about how much he wanted to see you.

“why? you gonna try to kiss her again?”

“if it’ll annoy you. like it always does.” jake snaps back, a drunken smirk on his face.

sunghoon rolled his eyes, taking jake’s cup and pushing him with enough force to make him land on the couch.

“you didn’t even get to kiss her sober. what makes you think your wasted ass can do it this time?” the laugh he let out is light, yet traced with a bit of venom.

looking at jake all sprawled out on the couch and giggling like a man without a care in the world made sunghoon sneer. even thinking about that memory makes him want to knock jake out. but he knows his best friend’s teasing is only done to get a reaction out of him, to press on a particularly sensitive bruise— the bruise being his feelings for you.

“hoon!” he turned, seeing jay from the kitchen pointing to a girl. he approached them with ease, flashing the stranger a smile. “he’s my friend who wanted to get something done.” jay said, charming as ever, palm pointed to sunghoon.

“this is the minha, the artist i told you about. let me know when you guys agree on something, yeah?” he pat both their backs and made his exit, probably to tend to jake who was wasted and still trying to dance.

the girl turned to him with a gasp, excitedly showing the jewelry on her hand and fingers. they talked about the bracelet he wanted to be made, noting colors he did and didn’t want to include, even passionately showing her reference pictures.

in the middle of his conversation, he raised his head to look for jay but caught you instead, unreadable eyes moving from him to his new-found friend. he took a step back from her and one towards you but you vehemently shook your head, raising a hand to make him stay in place.

you gave him a smile, one that looked a little forced, a little too disingenuous and foreign in a kind face like yours.

you mouthed ‘i’m heading home', thumb pointing to the door before waving goodbye. “wait. i— i’ll be back.” he says to minha, running and pushing his way through the crowd of bodies. when he stepped out of the front door, gaeul's car had already sped off, leaving nothing behind but a cloud of dust.

💬 to: angel y/n. — i didn’t get to say goodbye. :(

the three bubbles popped up on his screen. after a few minutes of watching it appear and disappear, you replied.

💬 from: angel y/n. — it’s okay, sunghoon. enjoy the party! 👍

and so ensued the twenty one days of sunghoon’s torture.

the absence wasn’t loud. it wasn’t immediate. it was a gradual pull, like flowers in a vase slowly losing their petals and vibrant color to their unnatural environment.

you were gone, but not entirely.

though a part of him thinks it would have been more merciful if you just left outright, because the moment he starts noticing things, it’s like he can’t stop. it's the type of cruelty only you could do to him.

you didn’t sit beside him anymore, opting to return to your previous spot behind him during classes. no more loud cheering by his side when he attended the boys’ basketball practices after class. and just to rub salt to his open wound, you made gaeul and jiwon replace him in your usual lunch spot.

that was the final straw— the thing that let him knew he somehow, some way, truly fucked up.

now he can’t even use classes as an excuse to see you because of course, of course, it had to happen right before the holiday break. not only was there an emotional distance, but a physical one, too. he can’t text you either— not without looking stupid or desperate. the last message he sent read “okay. good night, y/n.” which was a reply to your dry “i think i'll sleep, sunghoon. night! :)”

no more lunches, no more affectionate reminders of homework deadlines, and no more nicknames. things changed. and the shift, though unnoticeable to others, was strong enough for his best friends to speak up.

“i swear to god if you sigh one more time, i’ll actually mix bleach in your coffee to put you out of whatever misery you’re in.” jay grunts, throwing the couch pillow to sunghoon, unfazed and still busy fiddling with his phone despite getting hit square on his arm.

jake takes a peek from behind the couch, a plate of their shared dinner in hand, laughing as he sees sunghoon pathetically typing and deleting different variations of 'how was your day?' into his phone without actually sending anything.

“is our y/n-ie still not talking to you?” he teases, moving to the sit on the floor, right between his best friend’s legs. the nickname rolling off jake's tongue makes sunghoon's brow twitch in irritation.

“still? i thought they were okay? didn’t she visit us during a game?”

sunghoon’s head snaps up to look at jay. “she did?”

they nod. “the one we did before break.”

“without me?” he says this time, voice pitched up in disbelief.

they give him another nod.

“said she just wanted to drop by and watch us. sat with a long-haired blonde guy.” jay mumbles, giving him a shrug.

“yeah. he seemed awfully close to her if you ask me. arm around her everything. i’m surprised they weren’t making out.” jake adds, making the other laugh as he creates horrible slurping sounds with arms wrapped around himself.

sunghoon takes the pillow from earlier and smashes it across the side of jake’s head. “you’re disgusting.” he huffs, storming to his room, feeling his heart drop lower and lower with each stomp of his feet.

he hears nothing but static, clouded eyes burning holes on the framed photo atop his bedside table: a candid shot he took using his favorite film camera of you laughing so brightly that your eyes turned into crescents.

the mere thought of someone else seeing you in that light has dinner rushing back out his mouth.

you’ve made peace with your friendship with sunghoon.

you've long accepted that it won’t turn into anything more. at some point, you were able to tune out the girls that hang around him, not caring whether they'd confess. he rejected every single one of them anyway, and you know you wouldn't be any different than those pretty crying faces if you tried.

you only cared when people approached him to have a friendly conversation because sunghoon would happily give them a memorable one. that's what made you jealous.

hell, he even got your friends. gaeul mentioned natto once and sunghoon yapped about the delicacy like a day-one fan. he shared his favorite fashion brands with jiwon too– complete with a detailed explanation on his preferences and favorite collections.

granted, he wasn’t on the best terms with them right now because they were the ones who had to pick up the pieces of your heart when you started crying halfway through the drive back to your apartment after that cursed party.

you stood there long enough to see him laugh and giggle in amazement at whatever amazing thing the amazing girl was showing him on her phone, stood long enough to see how casually he held her hand and raised it to his face to look at her accessories. your eyes read his lips, 'you’re so cool', right before he saw you.

gaeul held you in her arms as soon as you curled up in your bed, jiwon on the other side shushing you while stroking your head. “i just— i don’t get it.” you grunted, brashly wiping your wet cheeks with the back of your hand, the mascara-stained tears staining your bedsheets as they dropped freely.

“why he’s– why doesn't he doesn’t talk to me like that? but.. he looks at me like he likes me and— and he does things for me he doesn’t do with other people!”

you were inconsolable, hiccuping in between sobs and screaming more words that your friends don’t understand anymore because you’re crying too much. they just exchanged tired looks while rubbing on your arm until you were exhausted enough to sleep.

the morning after, while pressing frozen spoons on your swollen eyelids, you were determined to treat him as he did you— sweet and kind, but from a safe distance. close enough to keep your friendship with him together, but far enough so you wouldn’t have to feel your heart get stomped on when you hear him ramble about his passions to someone else.

he still attempted to ask about you through texts, tried to talk about the weather, or your progress on a project. he never brought up the topic of this weird drift in your relationship and neither did you.

at first, you replied within the same hour, then the same day, then after three days and so on.

ignoring him became easier when you went back home because you couldn’t see him, couldn't feel the hairs on your nape stand straight whenever his inspecting gaze was stuck on you. you could put your notifications on mute and pretend you fell asleep when he shoots you another text to ask what's keeping you so busy.

half-way through the holiday, the ringtone you set specifically for sunghoon stopped ringing and you knew he stopped trying to reach you.

were you sad? were you relieved? you didn't know.

but what you do know is that you have to keep up this act. so even after the second semester started, you diligently stuck to your new routine. nods in the hallway, civil hi’s and ‘hello’s in the classroom, hoping and praying that your feelings would slip away the same way you were slipping from him.

you marked today’s date with another x — thirty six days since the rift, twenty nine days since the texts stopped.

ten days since random letters started appearing.

you didn’t think he was trying to hide it. and if he did, he was doing a shit job because you were able to recognize his penmanship with just a glance— sunghoon had an odd way of writing the letter y, after all. a different kind of neat with a little flick at the end.

some days, the letters would be slipped in through your locker, and on busier days, it would be on your desk accompanied with food. the drinks varied, but the pastry stayed the same. an almond croissant from your favorite café— the one you used to hangout with him.

“i don’t know what i did, but i hope you know i’m sorry.”

that’s the first letter he wrote. written in a plain piece of yellow pad, contrasting the way it’s elegantly wrapped — in an ivory envelope with a small heart sticker sealing it. you made your friends read it, too. and gaeul cackled loudly, teasing you for immediately turning soft and wanting to run back into sunghoon's arms.

“you’re seriously folding as quick as he folded that half-assed letter.” she said in amusement, chopsticks roughly poking through the seaweed roll on jiwon’s lunch box. the blonde just rubbed your shoulder in understanding, shooting the older girl a glare. “don’t blame our y/n! she’s just a girl in love.”

"hopeless romantics, the two of you." the other girl replied with a shake of her head.

since that day, the letters have improved. still in the same off-white envelope, the same red heart-shaped sticker. the content was different each time, but they made your heart race all the same.

“your hoodie today looks comfortable. i hope you’re staying warm.” “i’ve been thinking about how you're the only one that who understands me even when i don’t say a lot. i'm grateful for that.” “i saw you crying today behind the bleachers. you said it was just from a yawn. it must have hurt a lot if you couldn’t tell anyone. next time you want to yawn again, just call for me, okay?” “i look at you a lot, but i think of you even more. what do i do with you?”

you push the small calendar inside your locker and sigh softly as you peel the heart sticker off, eyes reading through today’s letter.

“it was drizzling today and i felt so much more sullen. it made me realize how much i keep searching for the voice, the presence that made everyday brighter. i miss you, y/n.”

you hate how your first instinct is to look around. to check if you’ll see the same annoyingly handsome, glasses-wearing face that’s been haunting you for the past month. but of course, he isn’t there. so you fold the letter again.

another one added to the collection of the letters that you keep safely in your room so you can read it again later tonight.

away from the crowd of students flocking to their lockers, sunghoon stands with a soft smile on his face as he watches you slip the envelope in your bag. when you close the metal door shut, he takes it as a sign to walk back to jay and jake, hands in his pocket, grinning in victory.

“she didn’t throw your corny letter away this time?” jake howls and sunghoon’s smug expression falls into one of panic, making him smack the boy in the back of his head.

“she never did, idiot. and keep your voice down.”

jay raises his eyebrow. “i don’t understand why you don’t just talk to her. surely it’s easier to just do that rather than… writing all this extra shit every night. who are you? shakespeare?”

sunghoon just sighs and shakes his head, his thumb reaching up to scratch his adam’s apple. “you don’t understand, and pray that you never do. because this shit? it ain’t easy.”

too much projects still left in your to-do list, too many passive-aggressive comments from useless group mates that you chose to ignore for the sake of keeping the peace, and one-too-many snide remark from a stranger in the women’s bathroom about how ‘interesting’ your shoes are.

needless to say, it's been a rough week.

most of the students have gone home by now. your girlfriends bid you goodbye an hour ago and you stayed behind, opting to work on your essay in an empty classroom because your head wouldn't work if tried to finish it at home. the fact that you'd have a meaningful rest tomorrow gave you the last push you needed to press submit.

tired footsteps echo down the empty hallway as you use your remaining energy to trudge towards your locker. it opens with a bleary rattle and you find a square box laid atop an envelope.

it’s been a while since sunghoon left you one.

you push the heavy books inside before reaching for the black suede box, the fuzzy material tickling your fingertip as you push the top open.

inside, a bracelet. fine silver chains alternating with four round glass beads– pink and green blooming from the center like ink dropped in still water. a flat silver rectangle hangs in the center with the corners of it smoothly rounded out, and embellished with detailed carvings of flowers around the edges. on the back, an engraving of your name.

why would he do this?

you carefully return the bracelet inside its case and reach for the envelope with pursed lips. you close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale.

you need to prepare yourself for what you're about to read. if this one's as sweet as his past letters, your resolve— the tiny amount left of it —wouldn't be able to hold you back, especially considering how worn out you are.

"you must have been having a hard time lately— the y/n who’s precious to sunghoon. i hope we can talk again because i want you to tell me that today was tough. i want to be the one you lean on— and the one who tells you that you’re doing a good job regardless. i know you’ve been suffering through a lot, and i want you to know that i’m here.”

the corner of the paper crumples in your tightening fist as you tilt your head up to keep your tears from smudging more of the black ink. you stand in place, trying your best to control your breathing, teeth biting down on your chapped lips as your eyes run over the last words.

“you’ve worked hard, angel. i'm proud of you.”

your shaky hands close the locker door, forehead leaning against it as you hold the letter close to your chest, quietly sniffling with your head hung low, hot tears falling directly on the dirty tiles. “he saw me. he always sees me.” you whisper to yourself, shoulders shaking as your pained cries begin to overtake your body.

there's a faint warmth radiating on your back and your nose picks up notes of sandalwood and leather cutting through the sterile scent of alcohol mixed with floor cleaners.

sunghoon.

he towers over you, body trapped in between his and the cool metal of the lockers as if to hide you from invisible prying eyes. his sturdy arms flip you around, one hand moving to your head to carefully guide it towards his chest, and the other wrapping around you to give your back gentle soothing pats.

as always, he doesn’t say anything. just wraps you in his arms while his fingers comb through the ends of your hair.

the two of you stand there until your loud cries are replaced with small hiccups.

there's a small, shameful whine that leaves your lips when sunghoon pulls away from the hug, but he leans in again, long legs slightly folding to match your height until his face is just a couple of inches away from yours. behind the thick black glasses, his dark orbs gaze into you with worry written all over his face.

you can’t help but feel irritated at how good he looks despite the cheap fluorescent lights hanging overhead.

still as handsome as the first day you saw him— just a little rugged this time around. he looks tired. frazzled. perhaps just as exhausted as you. the dilated vessels turned the whites of his eyes pink, and there’s a faint blue tint on his under eyes that make him look like he’s been losing sleep.

a selfish part of you hopes you’re the reason for it.

“i wanted to comfort you, and yet i still managed to make you cry.” he says with a sad smile, both hands cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to your lashes. “i’m sorry, angel.” he whispers before hugging you again, making you sigh in comfort.

you missed hearing that nickname. you missed his voice, his face, his scent, even his stupid glasses.

you just missed sunghoon in general.

the days you stayed apart drove him crazy too. it gave him the courage to hug you tighter, foregoing his fears and anxieties as he squeezes you in his arms. “i missed you. i think i still do, even now.” he whispers, lips brushing on the crown of your head.

sunghoon held your wrist as he walked outside your department's building to an empty bench.

the pink and peach tones in the sky have disappeared, replaced by the artificial neon orange from the street lamps. the trees are starting to grow their leaves back too, but the cool breeze still nipped at your skin like leftover air from winter trying to leave.

it was cold, but not painful nor unbearable. just enough to keep you alert, aware of how warm your side is from how close sunghoon is sitting beside you. aware of how he made more room by throwing an arm behind and casually resting it on the bench’s backrest so he could cuddle closer.

it feels like whiplash, the way he can’t keep himself from playing with your fingers when a month and a half ago, his obvious choice would be to hold the ends of your shirt like touching your skin would burn him.

and it does. it still does.

but who could blame sunghoon? he was an addicted man who got a taste of your touch and firmly decided he’d rather get simultaneously run over, stabbed multiple times, and be set on fire than spend another moment without him holding you or vice versa. kick him too while you’re at it.

he doesn’t care as long as he can feel you.

“i’m sorry.” he says again, voice as gentle as the way he’s squeezing your index fingers’ knuckles, both pairs of eyes looking at everything else but each other.

you let out a bemused laugh. “do you even know what you’re apologizing for?”

he's stays mum, tongue running across his lower lip and you catch the faint pink color tinting the shell of his ears.

“i don’t. b-but… i do know that whatever i did was enough to push you away from me." he says eventually. "i hope you know it was never intentional. i— i wouldn’t ever ever do anything to hurt you. i understand if you don’t want to tell me what... wrong i did, but i can promise that if you do, i’ll do my best not to do it again.”

his shy mumbles contrast the way he bravely pushes his fingers between yours, the now-interlocked hands resting on his thigh moving up and down as he anxiously bounces his leg.

laughter shatters the solemn atmosphere, causing his head to snap to its source, the evident frown on his face growing deeper. “are you— did you just laugh at my apology?” sunghoon asks with an incredulous expression, making you laugh even harder. still, he can’t help his lips from quirking up at the sight.

he likes this. he likes holding your hand and hearing you laugh.

“it’s just— 'm sorry.” you pause, trying to swallow down another fit of giggles trying to burst out. “i just think it’s funny. that’s a new record.”

“what record?”

“the record of most words you’ve said to me at once. the previous one’s fourteen words, i think.”

sunghoon stares, head tilted to one side in confusion.

“think about it, sunghoon. classes and group lunches aside, you’ve never actually spoken to me properly. it’s never a conversation, it’s almost always just single words.” you let go of his hand only to lay yours on top of his and giving it a couple taps. “or stuff like this.”

“—it’s like... like you have a word limit. but only when it comes to me.”

the muscle on his jaw twitches as he sees the little smile on your visage falter, the slight crack in your voice mirroring the one growing in his heart. he wants to object, to defend himself but he knows he wouldn’t have anything proper to say.

“at first i thought it was just because you were shy— but i’ve seen the way you talk to your friends, to my friends.. everyone. everyone loved talking to you, and you seemed to have fun talking with them too. i just don't get why you treat me so different."

sunghoon's hand grips on his own thigh to execute a punishment upon himself. until it hurts, until it stings. but he bears it because he knows it's too light compared to the hurt you've had to silently carry throughout your time with him.

"it sucks that you don’t like me enough to share your hobbies with me, sunghoon. that i have to know you through our mutual friends rather than getting to know you from what you say to me. i—” a pause. “i just gave up because i knew i’m not worth your time, or your effort to speak. that's why i stayed away.”

“y/n… angel, it’s— it’s not like that. i swear.” he cups your cheek to make you look at him. you were still smiling, and yet he saw the sadness in your eyes. the uncertainty.

he hates himself for being the cause of it.

“then what is it, sunghoon? why don’t you talk to me?”

“because—” sunghoon takes a deep inhale and purses his lips before finally confessing. “because i don’t know how to.”

just as the weight is lifted from his shoulders, he feels an even heavier one get dropped back down. he knows there’s no going back. not when you’re looking at him with dissatisfaction in your eyes.

“there’s a reason why i resorted to writing letters instead, y/n. it’s just that… just— y-you— i’m— fuck!” exasperated, he pulls his hand away from you, using it to rub on his temples instead.

then one travels down and you see as his fingers starts to scratch the base of his neck, nails digging deep into his skin.

it's one of sunghoon’s habits you’ve noted— an ugly one. the first few times it happened, you tried to talk him out of it, told him how scared you were that he’d hurt himself, but he told you it was to help ground him when he feels frustrated.

like the stubborn man that he is, sunghoon continues to scratch harder and harder, half of his face scrunched up irritation. and true to your fear, he lets out a wince when a thin red gash on the space between his collarbones started to bleed red.

“sunghoon, stop.” you sigh, his wrists tightly trapped in your hold.

when he turns his head to look at you, he looks like his world has collapsed in itself. he's devastated. broken.

“i.. i want to explain. i swear, i just—” he closes his eyes tight, hands curling into tight fists under your hold as his chest puffs from how heavy he's breathing. you gently pry each finger open to see deep crescents on his palms. a frown is etched on your lips at the sight, and you know sunghoon’s not faring any better with the way he slumps against you, head rested on your shoulder.

“they won’t come out..” he finally says after prolonged silence, his voice thin and raspy.

“what won’t, hoon?”

“... nothing. please let me—” his breaths are trembling, and though you don’t see it, you could feel him holding back from scratching at his neck again.

“whatever it is can wait. just.. don’t. don't do that again.” you mumble, letting go of one of his hands so you could wrap your arms around his shoulder, your palm running up and down his tensed arm while he messily wipes the bleeding scar with his sleeve.

he waits until his breathing turns even before he speaks again.

“are you.. doing anything tomorrow, angel?”

“hm. no. why?”

“i… missed you. it’s been so long since i last talked to you.”

“that’s weird. i clearly remember that i was the only one doing all the talking.” you reply with a nudge to his shoulder, hoping your teasing voice is enough to lighten the atmosphere.

“hey! don’t be a smart-ass. you know what i mean. it’s been.. what? like, forty one? maybe forty two days since we hung out properly.”

you lean away from his side.

“you’ve been counting too?”

“too? so you also did it?” he raises his brow, the previous frown growing into a teasing smile as soon as he sees your expression, like you're glitching between the choice of fight or flight.

“would you look at that. seems like the misery over winter break was mutual.” he says, tone a little too proud for your liking, so you choose fight. you take the soft skin of his cheeks in between your fingers, pinching and stretching it with a whiny sunghoon trying to push your hand away.

you succumb to his pained pleads to stop.

you lean in closer to soothe the skin with your thumb while laughing under your breath and sunghoon’s eyes slowly flutter close at the touch, head tilting closer to your hand as if to encourage you to continue.

“this is nice.” he whispers, raising his hand and laying it on top of yours to keep it there.

you want to ask him what stopped him from asking for your touch because it wouldn't even take a heartbeat for you to say yes. you wanted to know why you weren’t given the privilege of seeing him this needy, this vulnerable and bare. yet you kept your mouth shut.

“the university is a place for learning, kids. not dating.”

the sweet little moment is interrupted by an older man, a security guard, pointing his plastic baton at the two of you. “and it doesn’t look like you’re in grad school either, which means you’re not allowed to loiter in university grounds.” he adds, making sunghoon stand straight, head tilted forward to give him an apologetic bow.

“we’re sorry, sir! w-we didn’t notice the time. we’ll be heading home. i promise.” his taller body instinctively steps once to the side, covering you like shield.

the guard tilts his head, brows raised at the odd couple in front of him but his eyes soften as soon he sees the dopey smile on sunghoon’s face when his hands blindly reach out behind him in search of yours. “i better not catch you staying here after-hours again, alright? now go. scram!”

sunghoon turns around and smoothly slings your bag over his other shoulder like he always used to, your hand held firmly in his as the both of you run to the exit gates giggling like children.

“girls. he just texted me. said he’ll pick me up in an hour.”

you set your phone screen-down on your vanity. jiwon’s behind you, scrolling through pinterest in search for a proper hairstyle inspo and gaeul’s lying on her stomach on top of your bed, busily typing away as she tries to cram her essay.

thank god you had the foresight to finish it yesterday because one, that meant you got to reunite with sunghoon— who apparently waited for you by the lockers that day —and two, because he was serious about hanging out today.

he double, no, triple checked that you actually wanted to go with him while he walked you to the bus stop, refusing to let go of your hand until you safely got in.

“i can’t believe that doofus finally got the courage to ask you out. we were wondering how long he’d take.” gaeul chirps up, fingers still busy tapping on her keyboard.

“finally? what do you mean finally? and what you do mean we?” your hands pause from applying your blush, head craning towards your bed to stare at your dear friend who just stares back with a straight face.

“oh, y/n. don’t be dumb."

"i'm serious!"

"jake and jay? us? we’ve all seen it since we started hanging out. you’re the only one who gets mister congeniality all nervous and speechless. now look in the mirror before i accidentally burn your cheek.” jiwon says, carefully taking your curling wand and a section of your hair.

“it’s so cute, it’s almost pathetic. but i’m still mad at him for making you cry like that, you know. he better make it up to you today, or else i’m gonna drag his stupid ass through the school field. by his ears.” gaeul says with a face that let you know she intends to follow up on her words.

jiwon continues to hum whilst curling your hair and you try your best to keep your hands from shaking as you apply your gloss.

when you look in the mirror, you can't help but ponder how much your body knew you needed sunghoon because you’re glowing. you look well-rested despite only catching three hours of sleep because of how badly you anticipated this date.

meanwhile sunghoon, alone in his car, is practically vibrating in excitement. or nervousness. he doesn’t know, really. he thinks he stopped being able to differentiate which feeling is which since he saw you that day.

he spent those thirty minutes routinely checking his rearview mirror: is something stuck between the gaps of his teeth? he flossed again just in case. is his hair styled correctly? didn't prevent him from running his fingers through it a few more times. should he put on his coat or would that look too much? fuck, what if he over dressed and you think he’s cringe?

god, he wasn't even this jittery with his exes.

it's different because he's never actually hung out with you without the excuse of classes or other university-related events. it's different because he's never actually seen you outside the usual café you spend free periods in or under the flashing strobes of the college frat house.

it's different because it's his first date with you, and he's adamant not to make this the last.

ding.

💬 from: my angel. — hoonieeeeee ! i’m almost done. :D

he glanced at his watch.

fifteen minutes left.

enough time for him to drive once around your block, get out of the car, walk to the passenger’s side and coolly lean against it while pretending he wasn’t an inch away from having a mental breakdown a few moments earlier.

and when sunghoon finally sees you walk out in a satin dress, he’s convinced he might actually have one.

“hey there, big guy. you look handsome today. well.. you always do. but today especially! i really like your fit!” you say, adorning that bright smile that sunghoon found so captivating.

the plan to look cool immediately got crushed.

he tried to stand up straight, he did. but he ended up leaning again on his car— not to look charismatic. rather, he needed to, because he was barely feeling his knees. his heart was racing, his breathing turned short, and he began feeling the all-too-familiar prickling sensation in his throat.

“don’t go quiet on me again, or i’ll ignore you. forever this time.”

he looks more made-up, different from the usual hoodie and jeans combo you always saw. still knee-buckling attractive, but clean. khaki trousers adorning his long legs, thin black belt around his hips and a loose blue-colored polo with thin stripes, the sleeves folded to accentuate his forearms.

there’s a small sense of satisfaction that comes to you when you realize your outfits make you look like a couple. it seems gaeul made the lucky choice of getting you to wear a baby blue today, but you’ll just thank her for that later.

“your hair’s.. n-nice.” sunghoon says, a bashful smile growing on his face. “o-oh! and– and i have this!” he opens the rear door of his car, and you hear it slam again before he turns around to present you with a bouquet of flowers.

white petals with vivid yellow blooming from the center, wrapped in crumpled iridescent foil and pastel blue paper.

“daffodils. the lady at the flower shop said it symbolizes new beginnings. and— a-and i want that. a new beginning. with you.” he stammers awkwardly, nibbling on his lower lip as his hands push the bouquet towards you.

you can only coo at his words, fawning over how cute and small he looked right now despite his height. so fucking adorable, this one.

pushing past the bouquet, your arms find purchase around his torso and you squeeze him in your arms. it takes him a second to return it and you feel him release a sigh, one done out of relief and longing, before leaving a gentle kiss on your hair as he lets you go.

sunghoon opens the passenger seat of his car for you with his signature shy smile, tipping his head to the side.

“get in, angel. i have a lot of making up to do.”

he takes you driving around first, wanting to spend a little more time together with you in the privacy of his car before he shares you with other people. one hand on the wheel and the other keeping yours warm, he aimlessly drove around while narrating how he spent his winter break with his family.

his dad took him and his two honorary siblings, jay and jake, to a skiing resort. his mom bought him a new camera as his holiday present, and he casually slipped in wanting to test it out next time with you.

in between those stories, sunghoon admitted that his younger sister was the one to suggest the idea of leaving you letters. the confession leaves his lips in between sheepish laughter, resulting in both your cheeks turning pink.

your heart felt full listening him be so engrossed in his stories, at one point even letting go of the steering wheel to imitate how jake wobbled in his snowboard. sure he still stuttered every now and then, still held himself back from cussing too much on the off chance you’d get turned off, but those are tiny details you’re determined to work through with him.

he asked about you too, and you talked about the boring train ride back to your old little town, how the place looked like it was frozen in time with the same faces, same remarks about how you look like a carbon copy of your mom. sunghoon just listens intently, a smile on his face as he steals glances of your face from time to time.

you also talked about how you spent a week trying to get dye stains off your hands when your older brother painstakingly made you dye his blonde hair to black in preparation for the new season.

sunghoon’s hand tighten around yours. blonde.

“what about.. uh.. dates? did you go out with anyone while we weren’t in contact with each other?”

“hm. not that i recall? there were a few boys in my town, but i know they’re just messing with me.”

sunghoon’s right hand leaves yours to grip on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white and lips turning into a straight line as he stares at the road ahead.

perhaps he’d been mistaken. maybe this is just how you get when you’ve grown closer to someone. maybe the hand holding or the comforting touches you gave him were ones you also gave to other people. maybe you had taken his invitation as a hang out rather than a date and that’s why you agreed despite having someone else waiting on you.

“the boys saw him, you know. if— if you’re still talking to him then… t-then what are we doing right now?”

the change in his tone isn’t lost on you, nor the hardened expression he wears. from the side of his eye, he catches the befuddled look on your face like you genuinely cannot remember the accusation being true.

“him? who? i— hoon, what are you talking about?”

the mere memory of his friends’ words, of that man, urges sunghoon to pull over to the side of the road so he can face you because when call him an presumptuous loser and friend-zone him, he at least wants to see your pretty face do it.

“jay said he saw you come to their game with a guy. long hair. blonde. said he was clinging on you like a damn shirt.”

when you laughed at his confession yesterday, he’ll admit he found it cute. but when you do it today, it does nothing else but make his scowl look more sour.

“is this little laughing-at-sunghoon thing a habit you’ve developed over winter break? because this isn’t funny to me.” he glowers, brows furrowing as your laughter increases in pitch, palms repeatedly slapping against your knee.

“you—” your fingers point to him with a snicker, face looking pained as you try your darndest to hold back a laugh but it comes out anyway.

sunghoon crosses his arms over his chest, thick eyebrow cocked up while gazing at you with an unamused expression. “y/n. i’m serious. if you have a guy back home, you can tell me. it’ll break my heart, yes, but i don’t want to take part in whatever open relationship you guys hav—”

“sunghoon, that was my brother.”

“what?”

“tall guy. long hair. blonde. my brother.”

“that was... jeonghan hyung?”

“yes, dummy. jeonghan just wanted to take see at how the basketball team was keeping up now after he graduated. he’s an alumni, remember? you know he had blonde hair. you even hogged my phone all to yourself when he facetimed me that one time.”

it’s your turn to have your arms folded on your chest, tilting your head with a little sass, lips curled in a smirk. wordlessly, his body snaps to the front and he attempts to start the engine again, but you clutch his wrist just in time.

“no— you can’t just say that and ditch the conversation. you’re gonna explain yourself right now, park sunghoon.”

the sound of his full name said in such a stern voice makes him squirm in his seat.

“i– i was jealous, okay? what more do you want me to say?” he grumbles, looking out the window while weakly attempting to shake your hold off of him, letting out a grunt that barely sounds like your name as you refuse to back down.

he sighs in defeat, and you can see the sharp tic of his jaw tensing up.

“you weren’t talking to me. barely even looked my way. of course i was worried when my friends started talking about how you went to their practice without me. with a new guy, at that. it just.. the thought didn’t make me feel good. c-can we leave it now? this is embarrassing.”

a satisfied smile pushes your cheekbones up as you turn the keys, giving his shoulder a pat.

“drive, big guy.”

sunghoon made a reservation for the restaurant you mentioned months ago in passing. it’s nothing upscale or expensive. no wines or steaks. just the regular korean food you’re used to, but elevated just a little bit to make it taste more contemporary rather than home-made.

but you didn’t really care for that. the sole reason you wanted to go was their aesthetic: the dining area looked like the inside of a greenhouse with its sunroof ceiling, leaves and flowers hanging from wooden beams, and the lighting was just warm enough to set the ambience.

a hand on the small of your back courteously guided you towards your seat, and you’re too enamored by the interior to notice sunghoon staring at you with eyes full of admiration, his elbow resting on the table so he could comfortably continue to look at you in silence while you take in every detail of your surroundings.

true to his words, sunghoon makes up for his shortcomings.

he refills your drinks, debones the meat for you, constantly fills your plate before your food even runs out, and he apparently even paid for the meal in advance.

throughout the meal, sunghoon indulges you in short stories, letting you take on the role of the listener rather than the yapper this time around. he's telling you about penguins in antarctica and you hum, taking a sip of your drink when you notice one tiny, yet very clear difference in him today.

he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

you know he has a collection of them, and he switches things up every now and then. from thick boxy clear glasses, to the trendy ones you’ve seen models rock on social media.

your favorite pair would have to be the rimless silver ones he wore during your department’s post-exam party because they make him look unreal— like a real-life manhwa character. but he usually wore the good ol’ reliable thick black ones to lectures.

the glasses had their charm but without them, he’s a different kind of handsome. his features look sharper, especially with the warm lighting casting shadows from his tall, unobstructed nose bridge. his eyes look clearer and more expressive too.

on the side of his chin, a tiny mole. and then another one. black dots mapped out across his fair skin, all varying in size and but your eyes lock on the distinct one under his eye, and one on the side of his nose, right below where his glasses’ nose pad would sit.

no wonder you didn’t see it.

“you’re checking me out? so blatantly?” sunghoon pipes up, and you notice how the mole under his eye moves when he raises an eyebrow at you. it makes you giggle, reaching forward to poking the round dot under his eye.

“i didn’t know you had moles.” you mumble, rubbing on the skin with extra gentleness before leaning back. “kind of reminds me of someone i met when i was a kid.”

“hm? do tell.”

“ah, it’s nothing. there used to be this kid in my hometown who had moles like yours. god, that was years ago. i was really young— around eight or nine years old, i think. i met him at a playground where older boys were making fun of him for it.”

“let me guess. you defended him from the big bad bullies and he fell in love with you?”

“defended him, yeah. jesus, they were assholes. the memory is hazy, but i tried to comfort him by chasing him around and stuff. i tried to go back to the playground again the next day after my classes, but he never came back.” you poke at your left overs with your fork, the distant memory making a grin dance on your lips.

“but falling in love? highly doubt it. told him my name but i never got his back. all i remember's his cute moles. he might as well have been an imaginary friend.”

“i say defending a kid like that can definitely make them fall for you.”

“are you speaking from experience, mister?”

"partly."

you smile, cupping your hands behind your ear, making sunghoon chuckle as he wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“when i was a kid, i used to be so timid— waaaaay way worse than i was with you.” he says, and the way his eyes widen when he extends his words make you giggle.

“never talked to my classmates, always stayed at home. even my cousins who visited can’t get a word out of me. my parents tried making me do hobbies to get me out of my shell. you name it, i did it. and it helped, but only by a little. then they thought maybe going to the city might help my introversion. my little sister was growing up, too, so they started looking for a place here in seoul.”

your elbows perch on the table, chin resting above your interlocked fingers as you give him a dreamy nod. “mhm. and then?”

“and then the day before we moved, i decided i’m gonna try playing with the kids from my town. just to give it a last shot. except they teased me a lot because i wasn’t talking. they made fun of my moles, too. but then—” sunghoon pauses.

“this strange girl came shouting. i’ve never seen her before. think she went to a different elementary school, but she fought the boys off even though they were taller than her. she threatened to throw rocks at their heads and pull their hair out. and you know what? they looked scared. i think that was the first time i saw genuine fear.” he says, breaking out in a fit of giggles.

“picture this: i was half a foot taller than her but she was reprimanding me and pushing me to stand up straighter, saying i should learn how to speak up and fight back. that no one would fight my battles for me but me. since then, i started doing it— practicing my speech skills and self confidence. eventually, i stopped cowering whenever strangers approached me and i learned how to speak without my voice shaking. it's all thanks to her.”

when his monologue is over, sunghoon just grins at you like reminiscing alone was enough to comfort him. you feel a little irritated, jealous of the way he speaks so affectionately of her memory.

but at the same time, you can’t help but smile back. that's how you feel about your own little friend after all.

“so you fell in love?"

"i wouldn't be so hasty to call it love. perhaps admiration. deep admiration."

"don’t tell me you never told her your name like my old friend?”

his chuckle is mirthful as he shakes his head. “oh believe me, i did. swear on it. either she didn’t hear me, or she’s deaf because she just started calling me ‘pengoo’ instead of my name.”

pengoo.

it’s familiar.

you squint your eyes once more as you see the dimple on his cheek appear, the indentation becoming deeper as he flashes you a knowing smile.

pengoo, pengoo, pengoo.

wait.

“his shirt. that was the shirt he was wearing...” you trail off in a whisper, the words barely audible as you point your hands at sunghoon, and he just smiles even wider, nodding his head slowly.

you sit there in stunned silence, hands crossed over your mouth as you stare at the sunghoon whose look of pride turned into concern, nervous of the crystal clear shock on your face. he's cautious as he offers his open palm on the table, skittish and biting his lip when you still refuse to hold his hand.

he calls out your name with such gentleness that you’re transported back to that day— to the little, but still taller boy who had tears in his eyes, looking ridiculous and snotty while sporting a white shirt with a penguin patch.

the one who you affectionately called 'cookies and cream' for the specks of black splattered across his face, whose tears you wiped using your special barbie handkerchief, whose arm you scribbled your name on with your glittery purple pen that he wanted to taste because it smelled like grape juice.

though the memory isn’t as clear as it was to you years ago, he was a constant in your life. whenever you encountered people who leaned more towards timidity, it's him who appeared in the back of your mind. the nameless friend who you never saw again after his worried mom fetched him from the playground.

except he's not nameless anymore, and he's sitting right in front of you.

the salty tears burn when you try to hold them back, but they're insistent on coming out so you hang your head low and attempt to contain your sniffles. panicked, sunghoon gently holds on your arm and guides you outside of the restaurant to a more secluded spot in the front lawn.

“y/n.” he calls out again, pale hands gently squeezing on your hips as he bends down, trying to take a peek of your face that you insist to cover. “angel… did i make you cry again?” he sighs and you shake your head, quickly taking him in your arms, hugging him like how a mother would her child who’s come back from war.

“my pengoo.. my pengoo.” you choke out in between stifled sobs, stroking his head. his arms wrap around your waist, lifting you off of the ground for a moment as his face settles on the crook of your neck, nose brushing against the skin as he whispers back.

“it’s me. pengoo’s here. you're okay. i'm not leaving.” his words do nothing but make you cry harder, tears staining his shirt and fists crumpling the fabric on his back.

“i can’t believe it’s you. i–”

"do you want to talk about this somewhere else, angel?” sunghoon asks in a soft voice, a tone he reserved only for you, carefully wiping your damp under eyes.

a nod is all he needs.

the travel is silent aside from the small little sniffles you do and the faint melody from the car’s speaker. your eyes blankly stare outside, the view of the buildings just as blurry as the thoughts and memories running in your head. meanwhile sunghoon’s trying his best to console you, his thumb lazily rubbing the skin on the back of your hand while stealing glances every now and then.

“where are we?” you croak out when the car comes to a halt. sunghoon opens the car door, his fingers nimble as they take your seatbelt off for you. “a park near my neighborhood. in one of my favorite spots to rest my head which you need to do.”

his hand return to yours so he can pull you towards the picnic area.

sits down on a bench and you elect to sit on the wooden table itself, head craning as you take in the new environment. the place is beautiful. quiet, serene and full of trees that it looks like a modern glitch in the middle of a forest.

“you’re not gonna kill me for knowing your secret, are you?” you sniffle, feet gently nudging the side of his thigh with a soft chuckle.

“no people, no witness. i’m sorry, y/n. can’t have people knowing i was a loser back in the day.” he says in a gurgled voice after looking around, playfully pinching your arm which makes you squeal and swat his hands away.

in the middle of play fighting, your eyes catch the swing set nearby and you remember him again. pengoo.

the flashback is so clear you could almost see a younger version of yourselves: you, pushing him on the swing, and him using his voice properly for the first time to scream ‘stop!’ when his seated body lifts too high off the ground.

you turn to sunghoon, the real, grown sunghoon, and he’s already looking up at you with one hand resting on your covered knee, giving it languid strokes with his thumb.

"penny for your thoughts?"

“why, hoon? i mean.. if you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me?” you reach for his cheek and his eyes close at the contact, letting out a soft sigh of comfort. he holds it in place, tilting his head to leave a light kiss on your palm.

“i’m sorry. if you want me to be honest, i had no plans to let you know. i wasn’t even aware you remembered that day. for all i knew, i was just one of the strangers who got bright little y/n’s help.”

“you… you grew up so well.” salty tears blur your vision again as you lean down to press your lips against his forehead.

“i couldn’t have done it without you. that was a significant event in my formative years— i seriously can’t imagine what kind of life i’d live if i hadn’t met you that day.” he stands up so he can tower over you, looking down to wipe the wetness from your eyes.

“you're my savior. my angel in every sense of the word.”

you walk around the area holding each other’s hand, going over your first meeting— the actual one — the one you had before you met again as grown ups.

he tried talking his parents out of moving, and though they were surprised at his sudden enthusiasm, they ultimately refused because the new house in seoul was already paid for. he waited for you that morning, until the last second— until his parents were yelling at him from the car. 'i think i left a piece of my heart in that playground.' are his exact words.

his search didn't stop there. night and day he bothered his parents to contact anyone they could from their previous town, to ask if anyone had a child with your name. but because his parents were like him— aloof and private, nothing really turned up.

but he was a kid determined to keep you alive and present in his mind so when he met you again that fortunate morning in university, he immediately knew it was you without even hearing your voice.

every day he stayed by your side was spent in awe, marveling at the woman you’ve become.

there wasn’t much difference, physically nor emotionally. obviously you’ve matured and grown into your features— but you still talked in the same cadence, spoke your mind with just as much enthusiasm, and still cared for people the same way you did to the young boy in the playground.

still the same girl who’d get him too flustered to talk properly.

“so jay and jake knew about me the whole time too?” you ask after arriving at the parking area and sunghoon lifts you up to sit on the hood of his car. he nods, comfortably settling between your parted legs as his hands rest on your thighs.

“of course. they were the first to know about my childhood crush after all.”

“childhood crush, huh. what about now? am i still a crush?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him and he rolls his eyes, the cute little dip on his cheek becoming more evident.

“you know the answer to that already, angel.” he replies, pulling you closer to him by your hips and your arms naturally loop around his neck like they were always meant to be there.

you don’t know whether it’s the long day you’ve had, or the insane revelation of who sunghoon has been this whole time, but your head’s starting to spin.

perhaps it’s his cologne, how it’s starting to smell is stronger and stronger as his body leans closer to yours. or maybe it’s the way you feel too warm in your own skin whenever his eyes drop to your lips, and how he his sharp fangs poke out when he bites his in return.

it’s like the air turned heavy in a matter of a few seconds and the cool breeze is doing nothing to thin out the tension in the wide empty space.

from this close, you could hear his breath get slower, thicker, eyes never leaving your mouth. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek and your breath hitches when his thumb brushes over your lower lip.

sunghoon closes the distance first.

the kiss is sweet and gentle but filled with yearning and just a little bit of hesitation. your lips are the softest too, practically erasing any memory left over from the other irrelevant girls he’s kissed before. and you’re so damn sweet.

despite every inch of his body wanting to have more, he does the gentlemanly thing to do and breaks the kiss but not without biting on your plump lower lip first. when his eyes finally focus, your cheeks are flushed, tinted a rosey color like your slightly swollen lips that reflect the distant street lights.

sunghoon's grip on you is as tight— just a hair above bruising. it’s taking everything to hold on his self-control, to not take you for himself right then and there.

he just had you back. he doesn’t want to scare you away by being so forward with his need and indecency.

but it’s so, so hard to behave when you’re like this, so small and flustered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lower lip trapped between your teeth.

so when he feels you attempt to press your thighs close, his instinct tells him to pull you even closer to keep them open, the movement making your dress ride up, the slit on its side exposing more of your skin.

and you whine—either from his touch or from the cold air— but sunghoon doesn’t care. not anymore.

the noise you make is more than enough to snap whatever’s left of his restraint and he leans down to capture your lips again. but it isn't soft this time.

it's sure.

it's hungry and handsy.

still full of yearning, but mixed with the raw, physical need to be closer to one another.

your heads tilt to opposite sides, lips weaved together while letting out small whispers of sweet nothings in between.

sunghoon takes your lower lip in between his again, sucking on the flesh while his hand slip underneath the slit of your dress, palm rubbing up and down the skin of your upper thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

while his lips keep your mind fuzzy, he busies his hand by trailing it higher and higher beneath the loose fabric of your dress until you feel his thumb graze your bare hips, just a fraction of an inch below where your panties are resting, making you gasp against his mouth.

a chance opens up for sunghoon to snake his tongue past your lips, and he greedily takes it, determined to explore every possible inch. you taste like decadence. like the coffee ice cream you had for dessert combined with something celestial.

it's fucking heavenly.

you try to fight him back with your tongue, and for a while, he lets you. convinces you that you’re winning when you try to push your tongue against his, pink muscles twirling together in a dance full of lust and wanting, but sunghoon eventually grows tired of it and he gives your thigh a reprimanding squeeze, making you moan again, providing him the perfect opportunity to take over the messy liplock.

you take the small bit of revenge you can by threading your fingers through the jet black locks on the back of his head, tugging on it once, twice, until he’s growling your name against your open mouth.

his lips wrap around yours, your tongue graze on the sharp end of his canines, his fingers wander near the plump of your ass, and you kiss until both of you are literally seeing stars.

you part, heaving oxygen back in your deprived lungs and your foreheads meet with eyes still in steady contact as your heavy breathing mingles.

sunghoon’s hands never leave your thigh or your cheek. rather, he gives them a final brush with his thumb before stealing a quick peck, damp lips brushing against your skin until it reaches your jaw, giving the spot a kiss as well.

“perv.” you say, raising your thigh a little just so you could push sunghoon’s hand away. “first kiss and you’re already feeling me up?”

“okay, y/n. let’s pretend your eyes weren’t my arms the entire time i was driving. i know you like how veiny they look.” he replies after leaning back, the same canines that were grazing on your tongue a while ago now in full display as he flashes you a cocky grin.

“i.. you noticed that?”

“i did. i notice a lot of things about you.”

“like what?”

he's quiet for a moment.

“like how you’re starting to shiver.” his muscular arms lift you up and safely bring you back down to the ground.

“i think it’s time to get you home, angel.”

a cacophony of cheers erupt in your classroom as the announcement blares from the speaker. an early dismissal due to seniors needing several classrooms to prepare for something you didn’t care enough to pay attention to.

all you knew was you needed to get out as soon as possible so you can see sunghoon again.

from: pengoo. 🐧— heard the announcement yet? :) to: pengoo. 🐧 — yep!! i'll just grab a few things from my locker and head there. see u! ♡ from: pengoo. 🐧 — see you, angel. :)

the two of you made the university garden your official hang-out spot. specifically the one near the big ginkgo tree where the both of you have spent hours under either people-watching, eating or reviewing.

and stealing kisses from each other, of course.

so when sunghoon asked to meet you there this morning, the answer was an automatic yes.

just as you sit down on the picnic mat, you see him appear from behind a tall shrub, bag slung over his shoulder and a big plastic bag hanging from his hand.

“did i take too long? i'm sorry, angel. it was lunch rush and there was a line in the restaurant and jake was arguing with a girl and—”

“hoon. i just got here. it’s okay.” you say, chuckling at his never-changing nervous demeanor.

he leans forward to give your lips a chaste peck, an apology leaving his lips again before he busies himself by taking your lunch out of the plastic and making sure your bottle is uncapped and your utensils are cleaned before tending to his own food.

a fond smile creeps on your lips as watch him try to talk about his morning in between bites. he really has improved since that date. gone is the boy who shied away from your touches, and replaced by one who openly asks for a hug and whines when he doesn’t feel your hands on his whenever you walk together.

his hand is always in yours when he drives both of you to school (despite the fact that he has to drive 20 minutes earlier to do so.) his arm consistently curled around your shoulder or your waist when you walk to class together. you always tease him for it too, but he just takes it with a smile because he knows it’s true.

he’s whipped for you.

after you eat and clean up, you offer to keep the picnic mat in your locker but sunghoon mentions he wants to stay for a bit more, and you appease him, letting him lie down with his head comfortably laying on your plush thighs while you lean back, palms pressed on the mat to support yourself.

silence envelops the both of you, but it doesn’t make your head run through a million thoughts anymore. it isn’t tense this time.

your eyes wander to him again— your not-quite-boyfriend boyfriend.

your finger pokes at the mole at the side of his nose out of habit, the glass beads in your bracelet reflecting bright spots on his smooth skin. you go from one mole to the next, moving it down the sharp bridge of his nose, then to his jaw, and you giggle upon feeling sunghoon shiver under your featherlight touch.

you move your middle finger down his neck, choosing to poke at the peak of his adam’s apple before noticing the pink lines on his neck.

again?

before you can even point it out, sunghoon’s voice cuts through the silence.

“i feel like pengoo whenever i’m with you.”

you sit up properly. “pengoo?”

he gives you a nod and you stare, giving him a look that spells ‘i don’t know what you mean’, making him smile.

“whenever you’re around… it’s like i become that kid again. the one that can’t speak or think properly. i don’t know, it’s weird. the same girl that gave me the confidence to talk being the same one i can’t be around without making a fool of myself? i can’t even give you a proper compliment for god’s sake.”

that’s true. he always compliments your outfits, or your accessories, or compliments you through implications. things like “you’re making everyone stare.” or “that cute puppy looks just like you.” but nothing that’s actually a straight forward compliment.

you never had the courage to bring it up to him, partly because you’re afraid he might find you too needy, but also because deep down, you know the words he did say already took a lot of courage from him.

“i don’t.. really mind. not that much.”

“don’t lie to me, angel.”

“i’m serious!” you laugh, fingers forcibly pushing the edges of his frowned lips upward. “i do have a question though.”

“what is it?”

your fingers ghost over the exposed skin on the base of his neck, fingers gently pressing on the spot between his clavicles, tracing over the faint red scratches over it.

“have you been scratching your neck again? why do you do it when you know i don’t like it?”

“angel… i just—” he sighs softly, reaching for your hand. “i get frustrated.”

“you always say that. but there has to be a way for you to release your frustrations without scratching? the scar from last time isn’t even healed yet.”

below you, sunghoon releases a soft sigh and raises a hand to poke at the same spot on your neck. “what is this?” he asks.

“my neck…?” you reply cluelessly, to which he just shakes his head, poking at the skin again flinch from the ticklishness of his touch. "what's inside here?"

“my throat?”

he finally nods, pointing to his own. “they get stuck here.” he opens his mouth, tongue sticking out and points to it as well. “and here.”

“they? hoon, you have to stop talking in riddles. you know i’m stupid.”

sunghoon runs a hand over his face and sits up, moving behind you until you're settled between his legs, back comfortably leaned against his firm chest.

“okay. i’m doing this.” he whispers mostly to himself before squeezing you in his arms as if to reassure himself. “don’t interrupt me, okay? because if i don’t get this out completely, i might not be able to say it at all.”

you press your palms on the arms wrapped around your waist and nod.

“you see those those?” sunghoon asks, and your eyes follow the direction of his finger pointing at the different florae.

the green leaves of the bushes look even brighter next to different bundles of spring-born tulips— colors of white, red and vibrant yellow scattered throughout the garden.

you're unsure of where this conversation is headed, but nod anyway.

“it’s like i have that inside me. a garden— of words.” he says slowly, taking pauses between every words.

“at least that’s what i started telling myself after i left years ago to aid me in my quietness and it helped. a lot. i realized that i don’t really have to give people anything of value, and it made talking easier. if i don’t like someone, i can give them dead leaves or even weeds. but if i do, i can give them grass or the most common roses and it’ll do. maybe even an arrangement of better flowers for the people i want to keep in my life.”

he stays quiet for a beat, and you can feel his nose poke on your skin as his lips press on the exposed skin of your shoulder. “but you… you know you mean a lot to me, right?”

you reply with a hum, eyes glued to the leaves and petals swaying in the wind.

“i'm slow to speak because i take so long walking through the garden. because it's so difficult to choose what to give to you. because i want to pick and gather only the prettiest flowers— the prettiest, kindest words —for you. i want them to be neatly arranged and looking just as beautiful as the way you appear to me. because you’re precious to me... and you deserve nothing less.”

the words tug on your heartstrings in a way you’ve never felt before. to be adored and admired so much to the point of speechlessness wasn’t something you’ve ever experienced, or frankly, ever expected.

so when he speaks of you in such a way, it overwhelms your chest with a sense of safety— of knowing your heart is safe with him.

and the way he says it too: voice low, shaky, and starkly different from the composed sunghoon you usually hear in classes.

it's then that you realize the apprehension you saw you wasn't done out of malice.

sunghoon only did it because he wanted to protect something dear to him.

he shifts and pulls his hands away from your waist only to sit cross legged in front of you. it seems like you aren’t the only one feeling vulnerable because when you see him, he looks just as flustered.

his cheeks are rosy and his ears are in an even deeper shade, almost matching the petals floating above the grass.

“don’t laugh at me for this, okay?” a defeated chuckle leaves his lips and he reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours before looking you in the eye. "jake and jay know about how much i've been rehearsing."

"hm?"

“i’ve dreamt of meeting you again, you know? so when i saw you on our first day, i told myself that i’ll do it. i’ll show you my gratitude. i’ll show you i’ve changed. that i’ve grown. that i’m not the sickly and shy kid in the park anymore.” sunghoon pauses. “so every night in front of my mirror, i rehearse the different ways i could talk to you— and it worked. it always goes smoothly.”

“but i’ll see you again in the morning and it’s like the hours i spent practicing rush out the window— because.. b-because i’ll hear your voice, and you’ll laugh, and you'll smile. and you’ll look at me the way you are right now… and it’s like all the bouquet of flowers get stuck here.” sunghoon explains, finger accusatorily pointing to the still-healing scar on the skin above his throat.

“it feels like their thorns are piercing me from the inside, angel. it sucks and it’s frustrating. and the only way to relieve it is to scratch, but they won’t come out even if i do. and then i’ll beat myself up over it, go home, and the cycle will repeat itself. and— you’re doing that smile again. s-stop it!” he stammers, finger now angrily pointed to you.

you chuckle because you don’t even know what kind of smile he means and sunghoon just sighs, reaching for his neck again, palm over his throat like he’s trying to relieve the itch without scratching.

he looks annoyed and irritated, nose scrunched up as he clears his throat one, two times.

“i— i love you, y/n.”

the three words he’s been itching to confess for months, now breaking free from the tip of his tongue.

both of you freeze in your spots.

you can’t believe the words he just said, and he looks like can’t believe it either.

“i love you.” sunghoon repeats, gnawing on the flesh on the inside of his lip while his hands squeeze on the base of his neck as if physically forcing the words out. “i think you’re so cool. and you’re pretty. but even that isn’t enough. beautiful is the closest i can get, but i hope you get what i mean a-and… fuck, i should’ve just written a letter.”

an intense battle of eye contact ensues, his free hand curled tightly atop his lap as he takes a deep breath in.

“i— i’ve admired you since i was a clueless kid in the playground. liked you s-since you talked to me on our first day. and i’ve loved you since our first kiss, but i was too much of a pussy to say it then because i didn’t want you to think i only loved you because of it.” he grunts, knuckles pressing on his temple. “and i’m sorry that i don’t talk much because every time i do, it just makes you cry and i don’t want to see you crying because it breaks my heart too—”

the speed at which his words come out begins to pick up, making it barely understandable so you call out his name in an attempt to slow him down but he just looks at you with determination in his eyes.

“no! listen to me. i know i’ve had my moments, and i’ll probably keep having them, but i want you to know that i love you. sincerely. you’re precious to me, y/n. and i don’t want you to doubt what i feel any longer so believe me when i say i’m trying my best right now, even though i’m babbling.”

he pauses just to take another inhale, and when he finally speaks again, both his voice and his eyes turn softer. so soft you can't hear his words.

"i'm sorry, hoon. i didn't quite catch that."

"y/n. will you please be my girlfriend? you can say no, o-of course. i'm just throwing the idea out there but if you think i haven't proved myself yet then i'll be fine just waiting, i swear i c—”

you swallow the rest of his words in your mouth as you press your lips against his, eyes closed while you grab sunghoon’s hand by his wrist and guide it to your nape.

he lets out a meek sound of surprise but you can immediately feel him melt into you, fingers tightly holding on the neckline of your shirt as his soft, pillow-soft lips locked against yours in a slow but passionate kiss.

when you pull away, sunghoon’s eyes are glassy and you can see love pouring out from the way the beautiful chocolate brown orbs gaze into yours.

you leave a gentle peck on the mole under his eye— a thing you’ve picked up after multiple make out sessions —and lean back to appreciate the full view of a flustered sunghoon.

“i love you too.” you finally reply with an elated smile. “and i’d love to be your girlfriend.”

if humans had the chance to have heart-shaped eyes, you’re convinced sunghoon would have it at this moment.

his cheekbones are pushed all the way up, pearly whites flashed at you before he tackles you down into the picnic mat with a tight bear hug making you giggle loudly as he rolls the both of you from side to side while pressing kisses all over your face.

“hoon!” you squeal while wriggling in his hold and he relents, standing up to run in a wide circle around the garden, arms spread out wide while yelling.

“she said yes! y/n’s mine! my girlfriend!”

thankfully, the few people meters away only flash the two of you confused looks before going about their business.

"can't believe you're my girlfriend now." he giggles breathlessly as he ends his run in front of you, only to wrap his arms around your figure once more, lifting you off the ground and spinning in place while professing his love at the top of his lungs.

it’s dizzying to be his, literally and figuratively. but you wouldn’t have it any other way. you're his, and he's yours.

you love park sunghoon.

from the thorns, to the long stems and rough leaves, up until the prettiest petals that are finally able to leave his soft lips.

but sunghoon is determined to spend the rest of life growing his garden until he can find the words that'll convince you that he loves you more.

BONUS SCENE:

"let me get this straight. you're telling me that you got jealous of me.. so you made my little y/n cry three times?" jeonghan's voice is low, face void of any emotion as his arms cross over his chest across the both of you.

"technically it's seven, if we count the times i cried over winter break too." you mumble, meekly raising seven fingers.

sunghoon turn to you with wide eyes in disbelief. why would you throw your boyfriend under the bus? during his first time personally meeting your brother, no less.

"y/n, what the hell?"

jeonghan's hand slammed on the table, making the both of you flinch. "don't look at her. look at me. i was asking you a question, and now you're going to explain."

he thought jeonghan was cool— and he still does— but he reminded sunghoon so much of you whenever you get stern, and it's like deja vu of the time you got serious with him during your first date.

"no, i— it wasn't necessarily because of that, hyung. i just so happen to have made her cry after i got jealous so it isn't really a cause-and-effect scenario—"

"love, you're getting a little off track..."

"he said he wanted me to explain—"

your brother's giggles echo throughout your family home's dining area and he shakes his head, leaning over to tap on sunghoon's shoulder. "nah, man. i'm just fucking with you. but you knew i had blonde hair so you really should've known better."

"i.. y-yes, sir! i mean hyung! sir— i.. i mean... yeah." he sighs in defeat, head hanging low in an apologetic bow while jeonghan just nodded in acknowledgement.

"but if you make my little y/n cry again, i'll make sure you really won't be able to use that throat of your ever again, got it?" the way your brother's able to make those words sound sweet make even your heart race, your hand finding sunghoon's underneath the table to give it comforting pats.

"and you're sleeping in my room. no nicknames or pda as long as you're under the yoon household."

your boyfriend's eyes travel between you and your brother and he only grips your hand, nodding.

he can't wait to go back to seoul.

୨ from ! 🐰 yan ୧ : aaaaaaaaaaa!! it's finally done. i'm gonna cry. ૮₍˶ ╥ ‸ ╥ ⑅₎ა i saw the video of i-lander sunghoon dancing to pretty u again and i just had to. if you can't already tell, this is heavily inspired by the song and the confession part is heavily inspired by it! i'm thinking of writing shorter drabbles of other members so just shoot me an ask if you have an idea. < 3

⌗ taglist — @neozon3nha @zerocoded @firstclassjaylee @yuyita-rosier @chiiyuuvv

#₊⊹⁀➴ fic — e404 #sunghoon oneshot #sunghoon x you #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon fluff #enhypen sunghoon #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon #enhypen #₊⊹⁀➴ yannouncements !

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sugugori · 19 hours ago

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I MDNI 18+

Jason prides himself in knowing he managed to snag the heart of the sweetest girl in Gotham. You’re always so soft with him, so kind. When he sneaks into your place early in the morning and wakes you from your sleep, you don’t scold him for it. Instead, you blink away the sandstorm behind your eyes and tend to the new bruise forming alongside his jaw. You ask no questions, you never push him for answers- and you’ll never know how much he appreciates it. Appreciates you.

Before he found you, Jason rarely slept a full night if he could help it. Too anxious, too angry, he rarely woke feeling well rested anyway- so what was the point. But your hands, soft and understanding, handle him in a way that has his eyes fluttering against his will, and sleep finds his easily. You’ve been nothing but patient with him the entirety of your relationship. His sweet girl. So, in his own ways of many, he does what he can to return the favour.

You’ve learned early on that Jason has a scarily accurate way of knowing when you’re upset. Call it sixth sense, call it boyfriend intuition, maybe it’s his really good people-reading skills. You just don’t know how he does it. Some nights when you’re frustrated because you can’t sleep, you lay on your back and weep so softly- careful to not disturb him. But it’s no use. When he awakes, he’ll take you in his arms, tuck your head under his chin and rock you gently. Back and forth, quieting your cries until you’re finally lulled to sleep. He just knows his baby. He knows what you need even before you do, he loves quietly like this.

But there are nights when you need to not think. Nights when your thoughts are little mean, telling you not so kind words. And maybe you start to believe them a little bit. So when you push through the front door of your apartment, he’s already there- standing big and strong in your kitchen. Waiting like he knew, because he did. In these moments, he doesn’t have to ask. To anyone else, you look like you just had a long day- but he knows you. He knows his sweet girl. So he takes one look at you and knows exactly what you need.

Which is how you find yourself like this, splayed out beneath this 6 foot brute of a man. Completely surrounded by him. Large hands moving up your hips to gently push you further into the mattress as he lays his full weight on top of you- he’s everywhere. Usually, you’d feel overwhelmed but this is exactly what you needed. And he begins to move, the slow drag of his cock already has you burying your face into the pillow, tears prickling your eyes. It’s so good, so so good. You’re so full and he’s panting in your ear, “yeah baby, I know.. I know- it’s good, huh?”

At some point, it becomes a bit too much. He can’t help it, just wants you feeling good again. He’s fucked you through your third orgasm before you’re reaching a hand back to push at his abdomen, silently pleading “too deep, please”. You need to catch your breath, but as much as he is soft and compliant for you, Jason knows you need this. And a selfish part of him needs you too. So he gets a bit mean when he’s whispering, “I know it’s deep, hun. Let me fuck you, just like that.” And “No, baby. You can take it.” You know it’s no use putting up a fight, once he sets his mind on something- he won’t stop until he’s satisfied. He gets this tunnel like vision in moments like these. All he can see is you, you, you. So instead, you reach back around to play with the soft wisps of hair at the back of his neck.

Fingers lightly scratching at his scalp, he buries his face in your neck and purrs. Cold nose pressed to the underside of your jaw- such a contrast to how he’s fucking you. But it’s all worth it when you turn your head and press a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist. His sweet girl.

#eh #not really polished but I’m lazy #anyway #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd #red hood x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #Jason Todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #jason todd dc #dc smut #dc x reader smut #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x reader smut #Jason Todd x fem!reader smut

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abyssyby · 3 days ago

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thinking abt the twins eating watermelon and one of them eats the seed by accident…cue emotional distress from both of them because the big twins told them that a watermelon will grow in their tummies

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OH NOOOOO poor babies. i see we all agree that luke and kieran are enemies number 1&2 😂 thanks for sending this, it made me laugh a lot!

sylus & his family | sylus x reader | very lost sylus, mentions of choking, distressed children, PAPA, HELP!! HELP!! (˃̣̣̥△˂̣̣̥)

"ah! aaa!" kyros exclaims as he begins to choke on his food.

sylus is already standing, nearly knocking the table over with the speed at which he moves. every nerve in his body electric as he panics. "kyros?"

he continues to cough—spitting, choking. "eughe! kkkkgh!" his father panics, grabbing him and prying his mouth open with his fingers.

and in an instant, kyros whines, pushing at the large hand. "oww, papa."

sylus freezes. speaking. speaking is good—it means breathing. "are you okay?"

"i eats a deed." he says, fine, completely breathing. sylus sighs in relief, but gives him a pointed glare.

he calms. wipes the corners of his son's mouth. until—

another choke. a gag. he gasps, "kyros!"

"eughh—" kyros rasps, clawing at his throat. "papa, the deed!"

"the seed?" sylus echoes in exasperation. still scrambling with his hands, wondering whether or not he should be performing some kind of maneuver right now to his aspirating (or not?) toddler.

"i eats it!" in agony, his face morphs into a crumpled mess of distress. sylus is at a loss, too stuck on the question of if he was choking or not.

and it seems to translate on his face, because kyros stares his pathetic expression and cries out for his brother instead. "woosian!"

sylus winces the sound, but isn't detered from his internal panic. "kyros, are you chokin—"

"—woosian—!" from quick pitter patters of bare feet yell back, "i comin'!"

sylus seethes in frustration, "ky—"

lucian arrives. kyros's voice breaks as he reports, "woosian, i eats a deed!"

lucian drops his own bowl of watermelon slices and gapes at his brother. "oh no."

sylus's gaze ping-pongs between his twins in confusion. distress. absolute bewilderment.

lucian clumsily places his bowl on a surface he can reach and begins to climb his papa's legs to get to their level. tugging his pants, clawing at his shirt. "'pit it out—'pit it out!"

"i tryin'!" kyros sobs.

sylus snaps. "someone tell me what's going on!"

it's a wonder how his sons can look exactly like him, but still emulate you in every single way. how they turn to look at him slowly with wide, menacing eyes like wildlife predators in the night.

sylus feels the exact shivers he does in that moment when you look at him that way. when he's crossed a line. when he's played the audacity he apparently had no right to play.

"papa." lucian says sternly. suddenly, he's Mister Composed. "no yell please."

sylus's gaze shifts downwards briefly. "i'm sorry." then he fixes his tone. "i want to help. what's wrong?"

and finally, finally the child in his hold explains, "biggies say if—if we eats wodameyn deed— wodameyn goo-wou inside."

"grow inside?"

"in da tummy, papa." lucian supplies. then shouts, "keero gonna to espode!"

kyros whines. contrary to them scolding sylus, he screams now too, "'m too little to espode! papa, help!"

but sylus is too stunned now to speak. he stares blankly into space as the thought processes; grinds between rusted gears in his head. he is reduced to a waterlogged deadhead, wobbled by the tides of his two panicking toddlers, pushing and pulling at his limbs.

luke and kieran. he concludes. marks their names in red in his mind.

"papa, papa!" his boys cry. his body moves on its own accord to grab his phone from his pocket. his fingerprints imprint on your contact. he barely hears the ringing. only you through the haze. "sy?"

you hear sobbing on the line. then, your husband's voice.

"luke and kieran."

understood. you are on your way home.

hehehe thanks for reading! ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

#they share one braincell these three #and currently it is with u @ the grocery store #this was so silly i loved writing this #re: little twins #sylus x reader #sylus #answers #lads sylus #love and deepspace #sylusmc #sylus x mc #urs writes ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ #sylus qin #dad sylus #boy dad sylus #luke and kieran #the loveliest of dividers by @saradika-graphics!!#sylus fluff

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kanako257 · 2 days ago

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STRAY KIDS reaction you kiss him for the first time ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 스트레이 키즈 ՞

PAIRING: stray kids x fem!reader

GENRE: fluff, Romance

WORD COUNT: 1,615 words

WARNING: None

DISCLAIMER: All fictional scenarios, personalities, and relationships portrayed in this work are the product of imagination and are not intended to reflect real-life events, actions, or people || Masterlist

Bang Chan

You're sitting next to Chan on the floor of his studio, both leaning against the wall, surrounded by scattered notebooks, empty coffee cups, and the gentle hum of music playing softly in the background. The room smells faintly of cologne and fresh paper. You’ve both been talking for hours — about music, childhood memories, the pressure he sometimes hides from the world.

At some point, the conversation dies into a soft silence. He turns to you, head tilted, a quiet smile on his face.

"You really listen to me," he says, voice low.

You don’t say anything, just smile back. And then, almost without thinking, you lean in and kiss him. Soft. Brief. Barely a whisper.

His eyes widen slightly. Then he lets out a breathy chuckle, as if he’s been holding it for hours.

"Wow," he murmurs, his hand reaching up slowly to brush your hair behind your ear. "That felt… right."

He doesn’t rush to kiss you again. Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, letting the moment settle, grounding both of you in quiet, real affection.

Lee Know

It happens while you're helping him with his cats. You're both sitting on the floor of his apartment, laughing as one of them tries to swat at a feather toy. The air smells like fresh laundry and his citrus-scented shampoo. He’s more relaxed than usual — eyes soft, sarcasm toned down to a low hum.

You watch him carefully as he tries to coax Soonie out from under the couch, and something about the moment just… tugs at your heart.

“I like you,” you say plainly.

He glances at you, expression unreadable for a beat. Then, as you inch closer, you kiss him. No warning, no preamble.

When you pull back, he’s blinking. Then he laughs — a small, disbelieving kind of laugh.

“I was going to do that first,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.

His fingers find yours, lacing together slowly. He doesn’t kiss you back right away, just leans into your shoulder with a small, content sigh.

“I’m glad you did, though.”

Changbin

You’re walking back from a late-night convenience store run, carrying hot ramen and bottled drinks, the city quiet around you. He’s teasing you about something — probably your choice of snacks — and you bump into him playfully.

At a stoplight, the two of you wait, and in the quiet moment, you glance up at him. His face is relaxed, his eyes soft under the orange streetlights. Without thinking too much, you rise on your toes and press a quick kiss to his cheek… but just before you pull away, you shift — and your lips meet his instead.

It’s brief. A little clumsy. You both freeze.

“…That was… unexpected,” he says, blinking rapidly. He scratches the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool, but his ears are turning pink.

“I didn’t mean to make it weird,” you say.

He looks at you, smile slowly blooming like it’s catching up to his heart.

“It’s not weird,” he says. “I liked it. A lot.”

And then, after a small pause, “But next time… I want to be the one who starts it.”

Hyunjin

It’s late at night, and you're sitting on the roof of the dorm building, sharing a blanket, trading stories about the most random things — childhood injuries, embarrassing auditions, your weirdest dreams. The city lights twinkle behind him like a painting.

Hyunjin is quiet, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger.

“Do you ever feel like something beautiful is about to happen?” he asks, eyes not quite meeting yours.

You nod. “Right now.”

And then you lean in. Your kiss is soft, almost hesitant, like asking a question.

When you pull back, he doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then his smile blooms — soft and stunned, as if he’s looking at you for the first time again.

“You always surprise me,” he whispers.

He turns, kissing you again, slower this time, his hand lightly resting on the back of your neck. Then he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m going to remember that for the rest of my life.”

Han

You’re sitting in his room, working on lyrics together, notebooks and snacks spread across the bed. Han’s focus is chaotic but endearing, jumping from topic to topic, cracking jokes, humming melodies mid-sentence.

You’ve been stealing glances at him all night, heart fluttering for reasons you don’t fully understand — until he says something particularly sweet, not even realizing how deeply it lands.

“I always feel better when you're around.”

You don’t respond. You just reach out and kiss him, short and instinctive.

Han freezes. Then stares. “Wait… did you just—”

You nod. A small smile. “Yeah.”

He breaks into a grin, wide and a little stunned. “That was—wow. Okay. Give me like… three seconds to process this.”

You laugh.

He suddenly gets shy, hiding his face in his hands. “Okay, but also — can we do that again? Just so I know it wasn’t a hallucination?”

Felix

You’re baking together in his kitchen, flour on your cheeks and vanilla in the air. Felix is giggling over something you said, his deep laugh echoing warmly around the room.

He offers you a spoonful of frosting, and you take it — then impulsively lean forward and kiss him.

It’s not dramatic. It’s gentle. Natural.

He freezes for a moment, spoon still in hand, eyes wide. Then slowly, he sets it down.

His smile grows, slow and glowing. “That… was really sweet.”

“No pun intended?” you tease.

He laughs. “Only a little.”

Then he reaches out, brushing your cheek with the back of his flour-dusted fingers.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while. Just didn’t know if it was the right time.”

You shrug. “Felt right to me.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

Seungmin

You’re at a park, sitting on a bench with coffees in hand, watching dogs pass by and talking about nothing and everything.

Seungmin’s humor is dry as always, but there’s a softness in the way he’s looking at you.

At some point, you set your drink down, shift closer, and kiss him.

He blinks, stunned — mouth slightly open.

“…Huh,” he says. “That’s… not what I expected you to do after calling me a ‘coffee snob.’”

You laugh, a little nervously. “Was that okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Then he smirks, but his eyes are sincere.

“More than okay.”

He rests his arm behind you on the bench, casually, like it’s no big deal — but you see the way he bites back a grin, his thumb brushing your shoulder gently.

Jeongin

You’re in a bookstore, wandering through quiet aisles, the smell of paper and rain in the air. He’s flipping through a graphic novel and doesn’t notice at first when you stop walking.

You watch him, heart racing. And before you can second-guess yourself, you step closer and kiss him.

It’s quick. Soft. A flutter.

He blinks up at you, book still half-open in his hands. “Did… did that just happen?”

You nod. Nervously.

He doesn’t say anything for a beat — just stares. Then, his ears go red, and he laughs in that shy, breathy way of his.

“I, um… wow. Okay. I wasn’t ready, but like… in a good way.”

You both smile. Then he nudges your shoulder, still flustered.

“Can I try it again sometime? When I’m ready?”

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deepspace-scenarios · 2 days ago

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[scenario/drabble] exclusive care package

Summary: LIs react when you pamper them - they indulge you and let you do their skincare/nails, then show it off the next day at work. (From a submitted prompt! edited: typos+ g/n reader for all)

Genre: Fluff <3 TW: suggestiveness

SYLUS

You corner him in his study, walking up to him and spinning his chair to face you with a bright, innocent smile that tells him you're up to no good.

You expect resistance when you pull out the nail polish. Instead, Sylus extends his hands with a smirk. “Ah, good. Something to keep me entertained while I go through these transaction records.”

"Better than that," you purr, moving his hand onto the armrest as you sink to your knees.

He arches a brow. "Kitten, as tempting as you look right now… take a seat with me. Or else your knees will match the shade of the polish."

You end up sitting with your back against his chest as you unscrew the cap. "Alright, time to transform you into my hot goth boyfriend."

He chuckles but surrenders his hand, watching with amused fascination as you paint each nail with meticulous care. When you blow gently to dry them, his free hand sneaks up to your midriff from behind and presses you closer against his chest. "Why don't we have some time to ourselves while we wait for the paint to dry?"

“We can't- because you'll get paint everywhere,”

You jump when you feel his lips brush against the side of your neck. “Oh, kitten. I don't have to use my hands at all. Not if you stay still for me.”

You find out what exactly he means- him, leaving a litany of marks along your neck, and you, a blushing, breathless mess as he continues his way down to your shoulder. “You said I shouldn't use my hands,” he murmurs when you protest.

The next day, Luke and Kieran freeze mid-report when they notice his gleaming black nails.

Luke clears his throat. “Sir. Your hands.”

Kieran nods. “They look… new.”

Sylus chuckles, flexing his fingers. His lips curl when he recalls what exactly he did with you after the paint dried. “They are.”

_____

ZAYNE

Zayne tenses when you place the vitamin C mask over his cheeks, eyes squeezing shut. "This is… moist. And cold."

"Shhh," you whisper, massaging his temples and smoothing out the corners of the mask. "Doctor’s orders."

He exhales a laugh, leaning into your touch as you gently drag your fingertips over the softness of his cheeks and the slopes of his nose and jaw.

"…Your hands are warmer than the mask." He observes.

You bring his hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. "That’s the point."

By the end, he’s nearly asleep, his usual sternness melted away. He stirs when the mask is peeled off, his sleepy gaze focusing on you.

When you leave a quick peck on his lips, he wraps his arms around you and nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. The cool moisture smears on your skin, drawing out a giggle from you. Seeing your reaction, his arms tighten around you as he watches you squirm with amusement glittering in his hazel eyes.

The next morning, Greyson squints at him during rounds. “Did you… moisturize?”

Zayne’s pen pauses. “It’s called hygiene.”

Greyson whispers to an intern. “That’s not hygiene. That’s the power of love.”

_____

XAVIER

Xavier stares at the tiny bottle of magnetic nail polish like it’s alien technology. "It does what?"

You giggle, dragging the wand over his ring finger, watching the moonstone effect swirl to life. "Magic," you declare.

Xavier watches with fascination, as you paint his ring and pinky fingers with magnetic polish, swirling the metallic veins with a magnet. “It reminds me of stars and asteroid belts,” he observes.

When you lean in to blow on his nails, he tilts your face up instead, kissing you softly. “Thank you, my starlight,”

He moves his hand to your waist, but you pull away from the kiss with a yelp. He freezes, then looks at you with wide eyes.

“The paint will smear if you move your hand,” you explain sheepishly.

“Mm, I promise not to move it if you kiss me again,”

(He repeats the same request each time you finish painting a new nail)

At the Hunter's Association briefing the next day, a junior Hunter notices and blurts, “Sir, your- uh- nails?”

Xavier, holding them up to the light. “Ah. A gift from my beloved.”

The junior nods, unsure of how to continue but busies themself with tidying documents, and excuses themselves quickly when another Hunter enters the room to prepare for the next meeting.

(Xavier spends the afternoon tilting his hand to watch the polish shift colors, smiling to himself.)

______

RAFAYEL

Rafayel gasps when you tweeze his brow. "This is torture! I looked fine to begin with- ow!"

You shush him, pressing a cool wet cloth to his skin to soothe it. "Hush. Just a touch-up for the handsome genius."

He pouts but leans into your hands, sighing dramatically. "Fine. But only because your fingers feel nice."

When you finish, he grabs a mirror, perfect brows shooting up towards his hairline. "Wow, cutie. That's… impressive.”

You hum knowingly, then begin dabbing rice water toner over his face with a cotton pad. He lets you do your work with much more compliance now, sighing contentedly at the cool sensation on his skin and enjoying the way your fingers brush over his face gently.

Once you're done, though, he smothers you in a flurry of kisses, grumbling that he had to sit still without getting to touch you back.

You try to scold him for wasting skincare that was meant for him, but he gives you a dazzling grin. “I gotta share some of the good skincare with my cutie.”

The next morning, Thomas pauses by the door. “Your face.”

Rafayel preens. “My skin glows, doesn't it? Fruits of my muse’s labor-”

“I was going to say suspiciously moist.”

He scoffs at Thomas. “I hear the jealousy. Now, spare me the boring details and tell me what you need from me. And it'd better not be a new schedule this afternoon- I'm booked for another appointment with my muse.”

______

CALEB

Caleb grumbles as you spread clay over his face. "Is this just mud?"

"Hush, Colonel," you tease, applying the paste with featherlight strokes. “Your skin will thank me,”

He closes his eyes and leans back. “Alright, alright. We'll see how good it really is,”

Later on, after the mask is washed off and replaced by serum, he maneuvers you onto his lap, facing him. He claims that “his personal beautician needs a proper seat”- and he wasn't wrong, but you can see the way his eyes drag over you while you fuss over him.

As you put on the lip mask, your thumb grazes his lower lip. His eyes snap to yours, then down to your lips.

“Nuh ‘air,” he mumbles.

“Not fair? Then you can do my skincare later,” You pat his cheek. “And- just five minutes. Your lips will be extra kissable after this.”

(He does put that claim to the test after five minutes- and successfully proves the mask effective.)

The next day, when Caleb sets off towards his jet with his co-pilot, the man turns to him. “Ahem, Colonel. Your skin.”

Caleb, rubbing his face. “What about it?”

“It’s… glowing? Did you polish yourself?”

Caleb grins. “Nah. My partner did.”

Note: HELLO lmk what yall think!! this was based on an anon prompt and it was a pretty cute idea HeEHE. i took a 1 week hiatus bc i felt a bit tired from writing but im back and have a few ideas now!! And also got some lovely submissions from yall too. THANK YOU FOR READING AS ALWAYS! <3 Comments and reblogs truly appreciated <33

✨️

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thatonegrimm · 2 days ago

Note

Last request- I’m sorry I know I have already given two but I needed to send this one. Playing a horror game with the saja boys, you can include what game they are playing too like FNAF or others. Thank you

Thank you for the request! I'm taking this additional one on as an honorary one for (Horror anon)—and me i really wanted to do this. Here you go!💌

🌙Saja Boys x Reader – Playing a Horror Game Together

-------------------

🧿 Jinu – FNAF

You were only on Night 2.

Jinu was already sweating like he was in a war film.

“Why are they still moving?” he asked, voice high with terror, watching Chica creep down the hallway.

“It’s the whole point of the game.”

“That’s a terrible point!” he cried.

You reached to close a door just as Foxy sprinted into frame.

He screamed.

You screamed because he screamed.

Then the office went dark.

“Why did the power go out?” he whispered.

Bonnie’s face filled the screen.

He didn’t scream that time.

He just… silently closed the laptop.

You turned to look at him.

He whispered, “Do you think they know my name now?”

-------------------

💪 Abby – Outlast

You thought he’d be the brave one.

Big muscles. Confident energy.

Instead, Abby screamed so loud during the title screen, the neighbors complained.

“You didn’t tell me I’d be playing as a journalist with no weapons!” he said, scooting back until his legs hit the wall.

“That’s the whole horror.”

“I don’t DO defenseless!” he yelled, holding the controller like it might betray him.

You had to physically stop him from dropkicking the console when the ghost priest showed up.

But when you reached over to comfort him, he grabbed your hand tight and didn’t let go.

He absolutely insisted you leave all the lights on that night.

Including the fridge light.

Just in case.

-------------------

📚 Mystery – Limbo

Of course Mystery picked something like Limbo.

Minimalist. Creepy. No music. A small child wandering through a black-and-white nightmare of physics puzzles and death traps.

“Are those bear traps?” you asked.

He nodded.

“You’re about to step in one—”

Snap.

Mystery blinked.

You winced. “That was brutal.”

He tilted his head. “The boy reforms. Strange.”

You kept playing.

Then a giant shadow spider appeared.

You nearly threw the controller.

Mystery just paused the game and whispered, “Unacceptable.”

“…The spider?”

“No. That it’s following me.”

You watched him calmly yet aggressively murder the spider with a rolling boulder.

He said nothing else.

You never played that game again.

He finished it quietly at 3 a.m.

-------------------

💋 Romance – Phasmophobia

“Okay, we’re ghost hunters,” you explained as the game booted up.

Romance immediately grabbed the spirit box and announced, “This is my mic now. I’m the favorite.”

“You have to ask the ghost questions.”

He clicked the radio. “Hello? Are you single?”

You facepalmed.

He wandered into the dark alone. “Ghostie, are you into tall boys with confidence issues?”

The lights flickered.

“Oh my god it’s jealous,” he said, delighted.

Then the ghost whispered directly in his ear.

He shrieked and ran into a closet.

You found him five minutes later, hiding behind a digital trash can.

“You know,” he said breathlessly, “I might be into being haunted. As long as it’s a hot ghost.”

You left him there.

The ghost didn’t kill him.

You think it liked him.

-------------------

🔥 Baby – Resident Evil 7

“Okay,” you said. “This one’s gross. Body horror. Cannibal family. You sure you’re okay?”

Baby leaned in. “Does it let me use fire?”

“…Yeah?”

He snatched the controller. “Let’s go.”

You watched in awe as he sprinted through the house, knifing ghouls and throwing molotovs like he’d been born to it.

“Don’t you want to check that room—?”

“Nope. Mold monster. Guts everywhere. Kill it. Burn it. Move on.”

“Baby—”

He blew up a wall and cackled.

But the moment the dad burst through the hallway with a chainsaw, Baby paused the game.

“…I need a moment,” he said softly.

“A moment?”

He sipped his soda. “To process the trauma of that guy’s face.”

He unpaused.

And lit the whole house on fire.

-------------------

You turned off the console after hours of screaming, running, and near-death virtual experiences.

The room was dark. Quiet.

You looked at them.

They looked at you.

“…Next time,” you whispered, “we’re playing Stardew Valley.”

Everyone agreed.

Except Baby. “Only if I can light stuff on fire.”

-------------------

M-List

#kpdh x reader #saja boys x reader #baby x reader #jinu x reader #romance x reader #mystery x reader #abby x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh

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recent-rose · 3 days ago

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ive seen some ppl sort of misinterpreting og hikaru's role in the series. hgsn isn't a tragedy because death and an eldritch entity ripped two young lovers apart. hikaru was probably not in love with yoshiki. like everything we know about hikaru points to a straight guy (or at the very least someone not struggling with his sexuality/identity/social acceptance in a conservative small town) who loved his best friend but was not IN love with him. and that's... that's the point.

yoshiki is struggling because as early as the first few chapters (or episode 1) yoshiki confirms for himself that hikaru never would have said that he liked him (romantically obviously). that's (partly) what that confession scene was. it was him acknowledging to himself that hikaru did not have a reciprocal crush on him in lieu of being able to confess while hikaru was still alive.

thats part of what makes this series so sad. yoshiki was already facing this mental health crisis BEFORE hikaru died. hikaru living would not have solved all of this for him. he would still be a gay teen in a backwater village with antiquated views about sexuality. he would still feel isolated and alone and like a monster. would he have found camaraderie with og hikaru if he ever confessed or admitted to being gay? idk, maybe. assuming he ever gets brave enough to do so instead of just running away, which... there's reason to believe he never would have. but with all the information we have, it appears that hikaru was neither gay nor interested in yoshiki that way. so yoshiki would still perceive himself as fundamentally alone in that sense. hikaru living would not have 'saved' him from this struggle. again, that's the point. yoshiki was alone, that's the reason he relates so hard to 'hikaru', who is also fundamentally alone.

and then of course the rest of the series is largely about determining what love actually is/looks like/feels like. a LOT of people seem to think 'hikaru' isn't capable of loving anything, which could be true. love is subjective, and 'hikaru' starts out the series very immature and selfish, wanting the comfort of yoshiki for himself at any cost. but in more recent chapters, he's actually willing to put yoshiki's well-being wayyyyy above his own. he splits himself in half to make yoshiki feel safe, even at the cost of his own. he feels immense guilt and self-recrimination when he does something to hurt or disappoint yoshiki (or even his other classmates re: asako crying in front of him), even when it's not explicitly addressed. he's willing to exile himself back to the mountain, to condemn himself to an infinite lifetime of loneliness, now knowing what it's like to not be alone. just to prevent yoshiki from facing any more hardship. if that's not love, then what exactly is?

#anyway more 2 cents aka undisciplined rambling #dont take this too seriously overall but like #everyone's free to have their own interpretations... however #this is a pretty big like... theme. thing. imo?#idk somehow i feel like the main focus of this series (the relationship between yoshiki and 'hikaru') gets undermined by some folks #who just want a straightforward childhood friends bl series happy ending. more so lately with the anime finally airing #idk man #.txt #hikaru ga shinda natsu #the summer hikaru died #spoilers #kind of

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sevikalvr · 1 day ago

Text

— 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐔𝐄𝐒 —

summary!; bodyguard!sevika x pr!reader > mistakes were made, problems get solved, headlines smooth out, and you end up making the same mistake again.

wc; 10.1k — cw; sub!reader, dom!sevika, hair pulling, oral sex (r!receiving), scissoring, slight fingering (r!receiving), biting, slight degrading, overstimulation to the point of fainting, and of course aftercare. MINORS DNI!!

note; I didn’t realize how long I had made this chapter but I hope you all enjoy it! let me know if you want something similar with another arcane character!! happy reading 🌸

part one here!

Your eyes flutter awake from the warmth you’re embraced in. Legs draped over Sevika’s waist as her arms were slung low across your waist, the weight of it casual and terrifying all at once. Her breathing is steady. Deep. Like nothing happened last night.

Like she didn’t spend most of last night making you forget your name. You didn’t even know you could even last for that many rounds, but you learn something new everyday right?

Anyways, you don’t move. Not yet. The hotel room is dim, the only light coming in from a crack in the blackout curtains. The AC occasionally makes a sound that fills up the room for the second as it turns on. You're half-curled against her chest, one of your legs tangled with hers, a thigh muscle twitching every now and then beneath your skin. Your actual clothes are nowhere in sight.

Jesus Christ this was such a mistake.

You should get up. You should be taking a shower. Responding to the twenty-something unread emails, and starting to prepare a revised crisis plan, responding to your texts, seeing if either of the sisters had contacted you in any form. You should be working. Or worrying. Or literally anything else but letting your bare thigh brush hers and thinking about round five. Or six? You don’t even know.

You freeze, staring at the ceiling.

Bad idea. You glance at her instead. Worse idea.

She’s awake. Of course she’s awake.

Sevika blinks slowly, the same unreadable look on her face she wore last night—right before she had you gasping into her shoulder. Her voice is low and maddeningly casual when she says, “You always bite when you’re stressed?”

You shove at the blankets and swing your legs over the side of the bed like you weren’t just perfectly comfortable two seconds ago. Her morning voice wasn’t helping either.

“You always talk after sex?”

“Only when I want someone to panic.”

You spin around. “I’m not panicking.”

She tilts her head. “You’re standing there in my shirt and one sock. Want to try that again?”

You glance down.

Fuck. You are wearing her shirt. And her sock..? When the hell did that happen? Christ you must’ve been a mess last night.

You groan and start digging through your duffle bag like it might magically fix your life, but a clean pair of clothes would help a little right now.

Your phone buzzes. And keeps buzzing.

17 messages. 5 missed calls. 1 text message that notifies you right as you look at your phone, from your assistant; “Are you alive??”

That’s when the knot of dread sinks into your gut and stays there. You unlock your phone and immediately wish you hadn’t.

“Rumors Swirl: Vi Walking Away From Faultline?”

“Mystery Woman Seen With New Band Security After Hotel Check-In — Who Is She?”

You stare at the blurry shot—you, checking in last night. Sevika behind you. The caption reads;

“Hotel Hook-Up or Security Breach? Fans React to Spicy New Theory.”

You slam the phone facedown on the desk, groaning out. “We’re screwed!”

Sevika’s still lying in bed— still naked, arms behind her head like this is just Tuesday. “You’re screwed,” she says. “I just stood near you.”

“All we did was just check in!” you say exasperatedly with your hands flailing, “what do they mean ‘hotel hookup’” you say quoting hard, imitating the title with a deeper voice.

All Sevika did was just shrug. Which made you groan in annoyance.

“I specifically booked two rooms!” you say glaring at her.

“Clerical error,” she offers. “Or fate.”

You throw a sock at her. “Fate? Really?”

She catches it with one hand. “Worked out, didn’t it?”

You freeze again. Because yeah—it did. And that’s the problem. And unfortunately, you are one to heavily deny things like there's no tomorrow.

“Like hell it did, it was a mistake” you pause before looking at yourself in the mirror, wiping at your neck as if it will magically erase the damn marks she created on your from last night, “Do I look like I got railed in a hotel room last night?”

“Yes,” Sevika says, completely unbothered. “Fix your hair.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she says. “You’re just panicking.”

You zip up your bag with too much force. “I have to go back for another crisis meeting in thirty minutes and I am trying very hard not to think about the fact that I orgasmed three times and now I have to sit across from Vi’s manager! Who never listens to me!”

Sevika finally gets up—pulls her jacket off the floor and tosses it your way as she mutters under her breath, “Could’ve been four..”

You whip around. “Do you want me to combust?”

“Little bit,” she admits, with a shrug.

You just balled up her jacket— or attempted too and threw it at her face. But of course she caught it, this time with a knowing smirk. “Ridiculous..” you mutter under your breath as you grab your clothes from your bag to go and change in the bathroom. You leaned against the bathroom counter as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

“This was just a one time thing!” you call out from the bathroom as you glanced at yourself in the mirror. You get no response back. Yeah. Quitting seems like a great option right now.

──────────

The car is silent.

Another crisis meeting that didn’t even go as planned. But what’s new?

You’re slouched in the passenger seat, hands shoved under your thighs to keep from texting something stupid—or worse, scrolling Twitter to see if anyone’s figured out the whole one room, one bed situation. Even though that’s just you panicking and overthinking about a nonexistent situation… right?

Regardless, you don't even look professional. You’re wearing a hoodie, trying to hide the marks she had created on your neck from last night. Your baggy jeans make you look just as shabby. You two left a little late from the hotel just because you had done a full face of makeup today to make up for the shabby outfit. But at this point, who even cares.

Sevika drives like she fights; calm, steady, no hesitation. One hand on the wheel. The other resting near the console, fingers tapping idly like she’s tracking the rhythm of your breathing. The silence is getting too loud in your head.

You try to look out the window to avoid looking at her hands. Although, you couldn't help but steal a glance at her, fingers twitching. She’s got that same unreadable expression she always wears—like the whole world’s just background noise she’s already calculated a way through.

It's like you want to say something but you have a strong feeling that if you do, it’ll make things awkward. Again. But considering you two still have at least half an hour of the ride left till you two get back to the makeshift office for now, you couldn’t help but think back to articles you found about Sevika when you had searched her up. And before you knew it, your mouth spoke before you could even think.

“..Was it really a Medarda?”

She doesn’t even blink. Her jaw shifts, just slightly.

“I mean,” you add, suddenly wishing you’d kept your mouth shut as you mentally facepalm yourself for being stupid, “That’s what the forums said. The article. I didn’t even know who she was at the time, but now I keep seeing her face next to yours on old paparazzi leaks and—”

“You looked me up.” Her voice cuts in, not surprised. Not mad. Just confirming what she already figured.

You hesitate. “Yeah. After the VIP room… after the office. I was curious.”

A long beat of silence stretches between you.

Then finally, Sevika exhales. The kind of breath that sounds like she’s almost amused.

“Maybe,” she replies evenly. “Does it matter?”

“It does,” you press, heart thudding. “Because if it was—”

She cuts you off with a soft chuckle, the first real sound she’s made all morning.

“Last time I mixed business and pleasure,” she says, eyes glancing briefly in the rearview mirror, “it ended in blood and a lawyer.”

You blink, as you stare at her profile, stunned by the flat delivery.

“Is that supposed to turn me off?”

Her mouth twitches, just barely.

“Did it?”

You cross your arms and look out the window. “Not answering that.”

“Didn’t think so.”

And just like that, the silence returns—but now it crackles with everything unsaid. Until your phone rings. You were quick to pick it up from the cupholder in the middle, glancing at the caller ID. And surprisingly—

It’s Vi. Sevika sees the name flash across the screen and raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

You answered the phone call, with your voice stern as if you were scolding your own child, which at this point— you kinda were.

“And where the hell have you been?”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before Vi responds, voice dry. “Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t you ‘good morning’ me. I’ve been juggling a PR disaster, your sister almost lit the stage on fire, sponsors are on my ass, and no one has heard from you or Jinx for two days.”

Vi sighs. “I needed space. That not allowed anymore?”

You rub your temple, suddenly aware of Sevika’s silent presence beside you as she drives. She hasn’t looked over, but you know she’s listening.

“Space doesn’t cancel contracts, Vi. Space doesn’t fix headlines. You dipped in the middle of a damn hurricane, and I’m the one mopping up your fucking wreckage. Again.”

Vi’s voice softens a notch. “I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.”

You exhale through your nose, still wound tight. “I can’t keep this whole band from burning down if you just leave out of nowhere, Vi. You were supposed to stay. Now the whole damn internet is speculating if you’re going to leave the band after the shitshow you had pulled on stage!”

Were you being a little extra? Yes, but she deserved it. You are going through absolute hell right now trying to fix the band’s image.

She’s quiet for a second. Then, “You sound exhausted.”

You glance toward Sevika’s hands on the steering wheel. Steady. Sharp-knuckled. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Vi mutters, tone unreadable. “You always are.”

Vi ends the call before you can respond. You quickly send text message to the sisters;

[9:22] “your asses better be at the office before 10.” “if neither of you two are there I'm cancelling the next promo run.

…No replies. Typical.

You then drop your phone onto your lap, jaw clenched, chest tight. Letting the phone slide off your lap, tension still burning under your skin. There's a thick beat of silence in the car.

“She's got great timing” Sevika mutters as her eyes are forward, only casting you a short glance, “Right when you’ve nearly bled yourself dry fixing shit she walked away from.”

You just sighed in response, your mind spinning from all the stress you’re going to be met with the minute you step into the makeshift office.

“…At least I took my anger out yesterday.”

She doesn’t answer right away. But you see her grip shift on the steering wheel. Like she remembers. All of it.

Her voice is lower when it comes this time. “Yeah. You did.”

And fuck, you shouldn’t like the way she said that. You just crossed your legs, leaned against the arm rest as your gaze shifted out the window. Silently praying that this will eventually be smoothed out. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

The venue looks different in daylight — like seeing a nightclub with the lights on. All the makeup smeared, all the wires were exposed. The glamour is gone, and what’s left is business. You push through the back entrance with Sevika in tow, your phone still warm in your pocket from the texts you sent earlier.

The makeshift office is barely a room, folding tables, scattered paperwork, coffee that tastes like regret. But it’s quiet. Too quiet. Until you open the door and there they are.

Jinx is perched sideways in a chair, legs dangling, spinning a pen like she’s on trial for murder and still thinks it’s funny. Vi’s got her arms folded, leaning against the wall like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her hair black on the roots as it slowly fades to her original pink hair color. They're on opposite ends of the room — not speaking, not looking at each other. The air between them is thick with something old and ugly. Of course it is.

You stop just over the threshold. Sevika stands behind you like a shadow, silent, observant, not even pretending not to be watching everything. She stands against the closed door, typical bodyguard style.

“Great,” you say, voice flat. “You both showed up. That’s progress. Maybe next time you can do it without trying to kill each other on livestream.”

Neither of them speaks.

You exhale slowly through your nose. You’re tired. You’re still sore in places you shouldn’t be thinking about in a room like this. And you don’t have time for theatrics — not theirs, not yours. No bullshit today.

“Sit.” you mutter, pointing towards the couch in front of you.

Vi doesn’t move, but her jaw flexes. Jinx huffs something under her breath that sounds like “bossy” but sits anyway. You raised your eyebrow at Vi.

Reluctantly, she sat down. Keeping her distance from her sister.

You drop your bag, slap your clipboard down, and fix them both with a look that would flatten lesser egos. “We’re going to fix this,” you say, “because I am not about to spend another twelve hours scrubbing your mess off social media with bubblegum statements and fake bribes.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jinx smirks.

Vi rolls her eyes.

You feel your blood pressure spike. Sevika still hasn’t said a word — just leans against the door like she’s weighing exactly when to step in. You’re not even sure if it’s to keep them from each other, or to stop you from exploding.

Eventually, you’re mid-rant, pacing like a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown held together with concealer and sheer rage.

“This tour is not a playground. It’s not a therapy session. It’s a contract. You two don’t have to love each other, but you will show up, stay civil, and stop throwing goddamn microphones in front of sponsors.”

Jinx kicks her feet a little where she’s perched. She tilts her head looking at you, probably not even listening.

“Huh.. You look different today.” she says, almost as if she was assessing you.

“You’re glowing. Like—really glowing. Skin all dewy. Little post-apocalyptic zen in your walk.” She gestures vaguely. “Did someone get laid or am I just having a stroke?”

You pause, hand still half-raised with your notes. “Excuse me?”

You literally wore makeup for a reason. How was it still obvious?

She grins slowly, eyes raking over you like a bratty little sister clocking something no one else has dared to say out loud. You open your mouth to deflect, but—

“Jinx.” Vi’s voice is low, warning. A sharp look thrown sideways. “Don’t.”

Jinx glances at her. Then back at you. Then, slower—her eyes slide toward Sevika, who’s leaning against the far wall, impassive as always.

A pause.

“...Oh.”

“Jinx,” Vi repeats, this time firmer.

“I didn’t say anything,” Jinx says, smirking. “I just connected a few dots, and they happen to spell ‘mystery muscle.’”

You stare at her flatly. “You done?”

“For now,” she sings with a knowing smile, kicking her feet up.

Vi doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t look away from Sevika for a while. You don’t know what she’s thinking—but it’s not nothing. Sevika doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny. Doesn’t move. She just raises one eyebrow, subtle and slow, as if she’s daring them to push it.

No one does.

You clear your throat and slap your notes on the table. “Okay. Let’s talk about the trainwreck of this week’s press coverage.”

Jinx sighs, dramatically. Vi exhales through her nose. And Sevika stays quiet—but you can feel her eyes on the back of your neck, steady and unshakable. And right now, that’s the only tension you’re willing to deal with.

“First of all, would you two please tell me why the hell you two fought like that on stage?” you ask, looking at them expectantly.

“It was a family mom—”

“—say that one more time Jinx I’m leaving this for the both of you to clean up by yourselves.”

You were met with silence. That's what you thought.

Until Jinx mutters, barely holding it back, “Vi actually wants out.”

The words hit like a punch. Vi’s face drains of color, her jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone.

“Fuck you,” she spits, venom dripping from every syllable. “You don’t know shit.”

Jinx sneers back, eyes blazing, voice low and harsh, “Oh, I know more than you think. You want to run away like everyone else who’s ever left us, sis.”

Vi’s fists curl into trembling balls, rage and pain warping her expression. “Why the hell can’t you ever stay in your goddamn business!”

You jump in, voice cutting through the storm like a blade. “Stop this before you destroy everything. You two are breaking apart in front of everyone, and I’m supposed to fix it all?”

Both sisters glare, breathing heavy, hurt raw and exposed. But neither speaks. The silence now heavy with everything unsaid — old wounds ripped open, barely held together by brittle threads. Your heart skips.

You force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Is that true, Vi? Do you really want to leave?”

Her eyes flash, defiant, maybe angry, but then something shifts. The fire in her demeanor dims just enough to reveal a flicker of doubt, of exhaustion. She exhales slowly, almost too quiet to hear, “I don’t know.”

You notice the subtle relaxation in her shoulders, the way her hands unclench. For a second, it’s like the storm inside her has paused, as if your presence gives her a fragile kind of calm. You want to reach out, to say something that could fix this, but you hold back. You’ve seen how delicate this balance is. How easy it is to push too hard.

Jinx glares at you both but doesn’t say a word. Vi looks away, the fight draining from her like a slow leak, leaving an ache you don’t quite know how to soothe. You realize you’re standing on the edge of something, maybe the end, maybe the chance to hold it all together.

And somehow, you know it’s not just the band you’re trying to save. It's their family too. You groan inwardly as you run a hand down your face, fuck me, you thought. Didn’t think you’d be holding a therapy session today. Just perfect.

This was way worse than you thought.

You let the silence settle for just a beat longer, heart pounding, before you speak again. Softer this time.

“…Why?”

Vi doesn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightens, and you can see the war happening behind her eyes. She hates being seen like this—vulnerable, undecided. But she’s already cracked open a little, and you’re not letting this go without understanding.

“I just…” Vi finally says, voice low and rough, “I’m tired.”

Jinx shifts in her seat, eyes narrowing. “We’re all tired.”

“Not like this,” Vi snaps, her volume rising before she catches herself. She turns to you, not Jinx, like you're the one she can be honest with. “It’s always something. A fight. A fuck-up. Another fire to put out. I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“You signed up for a band,” you reply, not unkindly. “And then you stayed when it became more.”

Vi scoffs a little. “Yeah. And maybe I stayed for the wrong reasons.”

That hits something in Jinx—sharp and fast. “Oh, fuck off with that.”

“Don’t start,” you warn quickly, raising a hand.

Vi’s still looking at you, and her next words are so quiet you almost don’t catch them.

“I thought maybe if I held on long enough, it would start to feel like ours again.”

You blink. “Ours?”

She doesn’t explain. She doesn’t have to. You know she means her and Jinx. You know this was supposed to be something that tethered them to each other. But the tether’s fraying. Maybe it already snapped.

You inhale slowly. “So what—you’d rather leave than try to fix it?”

Vi flinches. And for the first time in this whole mess, she looks unsure.

“I don’t know what I want anymore,” she says, and suddenly she looks younger than she is. Tired. Raw. And somehow, still, that fragile peace in her posture only exists when she’s talking to you.

You nod slowly at Vi’s words, letting them hang in the air like the sting of alcohol on a fresh wound. There’s a beat of silence where no one breathes, and then your eyes flick to Jinx. She hasn’t said anything, but her knee is bouncing, her jaw tight.

“Jinx,” you say, not sharp—careful. “You want to tell me how you’re feeling about all this?”

She scoffs, looking away. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe betrayed, maybe a little stabbed in the back, maybe just great, actually.”

“Can we not?” Vi mutters under her breath, rubbing her temples.

“No,” you say, your tone firmer now, eyes on Jinx. “Let her talk.”

Jinx laughs, but there’s nothing light in it. “You want me to talk? Fine. I’ve been bending over backwards trying to hold this band image together. I’m the one always throwing myself into it. I give people something to talk about. I keep the fucking spark alive.” She turns to Vi, eyes burning. “And you—you just check out. You pull away. You don’t even try anymore.”

Vi exhales sharply, like she’s trying not to react. But Jinx isn’t done.

“You know what it feels like to keep showing up for someone who’s already halfway out the door? Who looks at you like you're a reminder of everything they regret?”

“Jinx—” Vi tries, but her voice falters.

“No, fuck that,” Jinx snaps, suddenly getting up and pacing. “You think I’m exhausting? Fine. You think I’m chaos? Sure. But don’t fucking act like I’m the reason this is hard when you haven’t been here in months, Vi.”

You watch her. And suddenly, it’s not about the press. Not the image. Not the next tour date or the PR crisis waiting in your inbox. It’s about two sisters who built something together, and are now quietly watching it rot from the inside.

“Jinx…” you say gently. She stops pacing but doesn’t look at you. “You’re scared she’s leaving. I get it. But you pushing harder isn’t going to make her stay.”

Her jaw clenches. “Then what will?”

You pause. Then quietly, “Letting her feel like she can stay without drowning.”

For a second, Jinx doesn’t say anything. Then she mutters, eyes fixed on the floor, “I just wanted it to feel like it used to.”

You nod. “Me too.. And I think I'm speaking for all of us”

A beat goes by. The silence hangs just long enough for the emotions to settle. Neither of them is looking at each other now—Vi with her arms crossed tight like she’s holding herself together with sheer force, Jinx like she might blow a hole through the floor with just her stare. You shift in your seat, take a breath, and ask the question that’s been simmering in the back of your mind since last night.

“...Should I delay rehearsals?”

They both look up at you.

“What?” Vi says slowly.

“I mean it,” you say, firm but calm. “We’ve got three weeks until the next show. Enough time to breathe, maybe remember why you even want to be on stage together. But if I keep pushing you two through interviews, shoots, rehearsals like nothing’s wrong? It’s going to explode again—and next time, the whole world will be watching.”

Jinx groans and throws her head back. “So we go dark? Just vanish for a bit?”

You nod. “Low profile. No press, no new footage, no forced hangouts. I’ll put out a statement saying you're ‘recalibrating after a high-demand tour leg.’ Leave the fans guessing just enough to keep them hooked. You two? You figure your shit out.”

Vi's eyes are on you now, thoughtful. She hasn’t said no.

“And what if nothing gets figured out?” Jinx mutters.

“Then,” you say evenly, “we go into crisis plan B. But I’m not pulling that trigger until I know for sure you’re both done.” pausing for a moment, “but I know you two better than that. And I'm not giving up on my girls.”

Jinx and Vi gave each other a look, unreadable, only something sisters that close would understand.

Then, surprisingly—Vi nods. Just once. Slow.. A breath escapes her like she’s been holding it since last night. “…Three weeks,” she says finally.

Jinx crosses her arms, defiant. Vi looks at her.

“And we try. Actually try. No more hiding.”

Jinx doesn’t respond right away—but she doesn’t argue, either. You meet both their eyes, serious.

“Use it.”

They say nothing. But for the first time in hours, the air doesn’t feel like it’s about to combust. You rise, phone already buzzing in your pocket.

“I’ll start writing the statement.”

You turn around expecting Sevika to still be standing by the door but— she's gone. You went to open the door as you heard Jinx and Vi silently talk behind you two before you were met with a voice that made you jump.

“Done?”

“Holy— God you fucking scared me Sev..” you mutter the nickname that comes out your name effortlessly without realizing it, with only her subtly raising her eyebrow at it but not commenting on it. You grab the door handle, giving the girls one last look before closing the doors looking back at Sevika.

“And yeah, I’m done. Let’s go.”

──────────

You close the hotel room door behind you and lean back against it like the weight of the day might finally fall off your shoulders if you just breathe deep enough.

It doesn’t.

The room’s quiet. No Sevika this time. No voices behind closed doors. Just the hum of the air vent and the soft buzz of your phone where you dropped it on the dresser.

You should feel relieved. The emergency statement is out—calm, clean, carefully vague. Fans are chewing it up like candy, dissecting every line with wild optimism. Headlines are smoothing over. The words “internal creative differences” are doing heavy lifting. You even got a thank-you text from the label. That should’ve felt like a win.

It doesn’t.

You sit on the edge of the bed, still in your hoodie, makeup scrubbed off, staring at the wall like it might offer answers.

Instead, your brain loops one thing; The way Sevika stood behind you earlier. Quiet. Solid. Unbothered while everything else burned. The eyebrow she raised when you accidentally called her Sev. The way she didn’t even bother to correct you.

You exhale hard and scrub your hands down your face.

This is bad.

Not the PR. Not the band. Not even the fan theories starting to bubble up about who you were seen walking into the hotel with last night. What’s bad is that all you want to do right now—after everything—is see her again. Hear her voice. Pick a fight just so she’ll push back. You hate that part of you is hoping she'll knock on your door.

Your phone buzzes once.

You blink. Lean forward. Grab it.

Unknown Number. The preview reads;

[11:13] “You still pacing the room, or are you finally breathing?”

You stare at the screen.

[11:14] “who is this?”

Even though you know who it already is.

“Guess.”

[11:16] “..how did you get my number?”

[11:17] “Your assistant gave up your number faster than I expected.” “Thought you'd be harder to get to.”

Great, now she’s in your head again, like she never left.

[11:18] “what do you want?”

This time she takes a few seconds.

“Just checking in “After last night.”

Your brain fills in the gaps. After last night could mean after you nearly lost your shit in the crisis meeting. Or after you screamed in the hotel room ranting about the two room bullshit. Or… after she had her hands on your thighs, her mouth on your throat, your fingers tugging her hair while you swore you didn’t want it again.

You bite your lip and type;

[11:20] “I’m fine. You don’t have to check in.”

A beat goes by.

[11:22] “I’m still thinking about it”

Your heart flutters.

“about what?”

“You.”

You cursed silently to yourself. You told yourself it was a mistake. Something you two should’ve never done.

[11:25] “that was a one time thing”

“You said that. I never agreed”

This time, you groaned audibly. Why the hell does she reply so fast! You set your phone down for a moment as you stare at the ceiling. This is wrong. She’s a bodyguard for Christ’s sake! She doesn’t deal with— PR people like you. Hell, especially not an unstable one. But before you know it, your fingers were typing,

[11:27] “what, you’re going to start quoting me now?”

“Only when you lie.”

[11:28] “thought you said when you mixed business and pleasure, it ends up with blood and a lawyer”

She leaves you on read for a beat. Just long enough to make you second-guess sending it. Then the three dots blink back in.

[11:30] “It does.” “I’m still thinking about you anyway”.

You blink. Then another message follows.

“So either I’m stupid.” “Or you’re worth it.”

Your breath catches. And just like that, your whole body feels too hot again. Goddamnit!

[11:31] “this is wrong sevika”

“Then stop thinking about it.” “I won’t text again.”

And that should make it easier. It should.

..Yeah no, you’re fucked. Literally. This is wrong. You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything in your mind screams no, while your body is screaming yes. Certainly your fingers had another idea, obviously.

[11:33] “room 723” “don’t knock”

You leave the door unlocked.

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, palms flat on your thighs, trying to regulate your breathing, your heartbeat, your common sense. The room’s too quiet, the buzz in your skin too loud. You still taste that chaos from earlier—meetings, headlines, lies. The heat of her hands, the scrape of her voice in your ear when she said, “Best one I’ve had all day.”

You swore it would be a one-time thing.

That was before she texted. Before you replied. Before the lock clicked behind her, and you felt her presence like the pressure drop before a storm. The door shuts with a soft thud. And still, she doesn’t say a word.

She just walks in.

You don’t move. Neither does she. The air stretches tight between you, thick with everything unsaid. And then—Sevika stops in front of you, boots echoing on the hardwood. Her jacket is already off. She looks down at you like she’s deciding whether to ruin you again.

You look up at her as if your eyes were pleading her to.

Her voice is low, rough. “You sure?”

No,” you say. “But I still texted you.”

There’s a flicker in her expression, approval, hunger, something heavier— but she doesn’t move toward you. Not yet. She waits. You don’t move. You just breathe out,

“I’m tired,” you say.

“Then say no,” she murmurs.

You can’t. She knows you can’t. And that's what you hate.

You reach up first. Just a hand on her shirt. A fistful of cotton. Needing something real to hold onto.

“Don’t talk,” you say quietly. “Not tonight.”

Her mouth twitches like she might argue. But then—she nods once. Sharp. Controlled. And she sinks to her knees in front of you, chasing your gaze to make sure you’re looking at her. Her hands come to your thighs first, strong and steady, thumbs dragging up through the tension knotted in your jeans. She doesn’t rush, just watches your face as she reaches for your belt.

You inhale sharply. And then, slowly, you start to lean back back against the bed. Your palms brace against the mattress behind you, elbows locking, your legs parting further in silent invitation. Your hips lift just enough to meet her halfway—offering yourself without a word. As if you’re giving her permission to do as she pleases.

You feel her fingers brush against the lower part of your stomach before she unbuckles your belt, slowly dragging your jeans off your waist, and soon meets the floor.

Sevika starts slow.

Her mouth brushes the inside of your knee first, barely there, a whisper of contact that makes your breath hitch. Then another kiss, firmer now, heat blooming through skin that’s already too sensitive. She trails her lips higher, deliberately slow, as if mapping every inch like it's sacred ground.

Her tongue grazes soft against your skin, rough enough to make you twitch, to leave a ghost of her behind. Her hands are steady, calloused palms pressing down on your hips, holding you in place like you might slip from her grip otherwise. Then—her lips part. She presses a kiss just above the tender curve of your inner thigh, and you feel it all, the heat of her breath, the slight drag of her lower lip, the hunger buried just beneath restraint. You can feel her smirk against your skin when you exhale too sharply.

Another kiss, higher this time. Slower. Hungrier. She doesn’t rush.

She’s savoring you.

Her teeth scrape lightly, not enough to hurt—just enough to make your stomach twist. And then her tongue follows, lazy and warm and wicked, painting slow circles that don’t go where you need them most.

You shift under her. She tightens her grip.

“Still think this is wrong?” she murmurs, voice low against your skin.

But you don’t answer. Not with the way she kisses you like this. Like she’s making a promise with every press of her mouth—one that ends with you unraveling in her hands. Her mouth lingers at the inside of your thigh, teeth dragging just enough to make you twitch. Her breath is warm, dangerous. You don’t dare move. Not when every nerve is already begging for more.

Then slowly and deliberately, Sevika starts to rise. She trails up your body with unbearable calm, every shift of muscle and shadow making your skin tighten. Her hands plant firm beside your hips as she looms over you, her face inches from yours, eyes locked in.

“I asked you a question,” she murmurs, voice like velvet stretched over steel. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You blink up at her, heartbeat skittering. But despite the heat rushing everywhere, your mouth moves before your brain can stop it.

“I’m thinking about it,” you whisper, smirking. “You kind of interrupted.”

Sevika huffs a single laugh, but it’s low and dangerous. Her eyes glance down to your lips, but she doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. Instead, her gaze flickers lower . One hand comes up, slow, carefully, and curls around the front of your hoodie. Her fingers tug at the hem, testing, like she’s asking a question without saying it out loud.

You don’t move.

Her thumb brushes against the skin just beneath it. Barely. Her knuckles graze your stomach.

Still, you don’t move.

Sevika tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly like she’s clocking every breath you take. “Gonna make me undress you too?” she mutters, almost amused. But there’s an edge to it, like she’s not exactly opposed to doing exactly that.

You raise your eyebrows, defiantly. “You’re the one who showed up uninvited.”

Her mouth twitches. Not quite a smile. “Text says otherwise.”

And just like that, she lifts the hoodie—slowly, like she’s giving you time to stop her, but knowing you won’t. Her knuckles graze higher, baring skin inch by inch until the fabric is up and over your head. You let her. It drops to the floor between you like a challenge. Then her hand slides up your jaw, rough and steady, tipping your face toward hers. She pauses, close enough that you can feel the heat of her breath.

“You’re not gonna kiss me?” you murmur, eyes locked on her mouth.

“No,” she breathes, right before her lips part ever so slightly. “I’m gonna take my time ruining you.”

Your breath catches as her fingers tilt your face toward hers. The space between you narrows, so close you can taste it. The air between your mouths is hot, electric. You lean in, just slightly, lips parting, finally giving in—

And she pulls back.

Just enough to make you feel the absence. Just enough to let your lips close on nothing but air.

You blink, startled. “Did you just—”

Her hand is still on your jaw, thumb brushing over your lower lip like she’s toying with the idea of giving it back. Her mouth is curved into the smallest, cockiest smirk.

“I told you,” she murmurs. “I’m not rushing this.”

Your body betrays you—shifting forward again, chasing her warmth before you can stop yourself. But she’s already straightened up, taking her time as she studies you like something she’s already unwrapped and plans to make beg for more. Pretty sure the both of you are now disregarding what you said earlier about ‘not talking’.

“I hate you,” you mutter under your breath.

“You will,” she says, voice low. “But not yet.”

And then, finally, she leans down again. But not to kiss you. Her mouth brushes the side of your jaw, your throat, down the line of your neck with a pace that’s maddening, just enough to make your breath hitch, but not enough to satisfy a damn thing. It’s as if she's almost admiring the marks she had made previously.

She’s not kissing you to please you. She’s kissing you like she owns the reaction. Like she’s staking a claim on every shiver.

“You’re not in charge tonight,” she murmurs against your collarbone.

And you know she means every word. But will you allow her to do so, is the real question. You let her kiss your neck.

At first anyways.

She’s thorough, teasing. Her mouth traces lazy patterns along your throat, just beneath your jaw, like she’s mapping every spot that makes you sigh. Her hands are planted firm on either side of you, keeping you caged where she wants you. You tilt your head back, exposing your neck more. Letting her. Encouraging her to do more.

But then your hand moves. Slow and deliberate.

You reach up and thread your fingers through her ponytail. She pauses for half a second, barely a flicker, but you feel it. That moment of stillness when she realizes you’re not going to stay passive. You tug the tie loose. Her hair falls in waves, shadowing her face, brushing against your skin.

You lean in this time, close to her ear, your lips almost brushing the shell of it as you murmur, “Let me see you.”

She pulls back just a little, enough to look at you through the veil of her now-messy hair. Her pupils are blown wide. That smirk is gone. What’s there now is sharper. Hungrier. Giving the look of wanting to completely devour you whole. It almost makes your brain short circuit. Almost.

You press your palm to the center of her chest, guiding her back—not pushing, just leading.

“You think I’m the one not in charge,” you whisper, your tone just this side of daring.

She huffs once, barely a laugh, but she lets you shift her. And for the first time, she lets you take the lead.

At least for now.

The next few minutes go by as a blur as her clothes start to slowly drop one by one next to yours till she's just left standing bare, in front of you. You watch her every movement, eyes slowly gazing down her body feeling that if you blink you’ll miss something special. Tracing her scars. Her muscles. Her curves. All while somehow managing to keep your hands to yourself instead of immediately going to grasp her into your arms.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

Eventually, as you two manage to settle on the bed you guide her back until her weight settles against your hands, and for once, Sevika lets you take the reins. She watches you, eyes half-lidded but sharp, like a wolf humoring its prey. You swing a leg over her lap, straddling her. Her hands slide down to your thighs, but she doesn’t grip, doesn’t move, she’s waiting. Testing what you’ll do next.

And god, it’s addictive. That flicker of restraint. The subtle submission from someone who clearly doesn't give it easily. And damn does it look good on her.

You lean in close, letting your lips ghost just shy of hers, and whisper, “Thought you said mixing business and pleasure ends in blood and a lawyer.”

Sevika’s lips curve faintly, amused, maybe, but she doesn’t answer. Not with words. She lets you kiss her first. You go slow, teasing. She lets you set the pace, her breath steady against your mouth, hands still resting on your legs like she's giving you space. But there’s tension coiled beneath her skin, ready to strike, should you fumble. Should you forget just who you’re sitting on.

Your fingers rake through her hair again, dragging her closer, deepening the kiss until it’s no longer soft. Until it tastes like need. Until she groans into your mouth—and that’s when it shifts.

Because you got cocky.

She grips your hips without warning and flips you beneath her in one fluid motion. The mattress bounces. You gasp, winded, arms flung above your head. And Sevika? She’s back in control. Her hair’s wild around her face, a few strands stuck to her lips. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk.

She just looks down at you like she’s already decided how this ends.

“Cute,” she murmurs, her voice low and rough. “But you forgot—”

Her hand wraps around your wrists and pins it to the bed.

“—I like to win.”

Then she kisses you again—harder, hungrier. With all the restraint gone. And you? You stop trying to pretend you’re not loving every second of it. Your wrist wriggling in her grip as her free hand trails down from your neck to your tit, groping it as if it’ll slip away from her forever. Her thumb brushing against your hardened nipple, the sensation erupting a gasp from your mouth.

And of course she’d fucking chuckle. “You’re so sensitive” she murmurs, trailing her kisses down your neck, “maybe tonight you’ll come more than three times.”

As you opened your mouth to retort something back— all that came out was a strangled moan.

Her mouth latching onto your tit, locking and sucking at your nipple as her eyes cast a glance at you. Her grip releases your wrists only to grasp your other breast in her hand, squeezing it roughly. Your hands went straight to her hair, tugging it harshly earning you a reaction from Sevika. She groans low in her throat, like she likes when it hurts.

Sevika doesn’t rush. She never does. Every movement is deliberate—measured like she’s memorizing the shape of your body with her mouth. Her hands are firm at your sides, grounding you even as your breath stutters. She kisses lower, her mouth dragging heat across your sternum, between the curve of your breasts, down the center of your stomach.

You twitch under her, muscles clenching with every pass of her tongue.

But it’s when she gets lower, when her mouth ghosts over your hip bone, when her fingers grip your thighs and spread them apart—that something inside you snaps tight. She pauses.

Right there, in the space between your legs, her breath warm against you. She looks up.

And god— that fucking look.

Dark, calm, knowing. Her hair falls around her face in waves, her lips parted just slightly, and her eyes never leave yours. She holds the stare like a dare. Like she’s asking if you can handle her now that you’ve finally let her in this deep.

"You watching?" she murmurs, voice rough, barely audible. Her fingers press deeper into your thighs.

You nod. Or maybe you just breathe too loudly. You’re not even sure.

Sevika doesn’t break eye contact, “You look away, I'll stop.”

Your core twitched at her words. She didn’t even give you a second to even comprehend her words properly as her mouth finds itself on your soaked cunt, her tongue lapping at your folds, as if she belonged there. Her being precise and slow with her movements making sure you feel everything. Your hands tighten in her hair, as you let out desperate whine.

Worst part was she never broke eye contact.

You felt her lips curl against your pussy as she murmured, the vibrations making your body jolt, “You taste fucking delicious.”

Your hips buck into her mouth, forcing her to shut up. She compiled. Her tongue hot on you, dragging it up your wet pussy till she focused right on your clit. Sucking with the right amount of pleasure, flicking it occasionally as her hands grip your thighs tighter. Pulling you closer just to get her tongue deep in you. You writhe in her grip, eyes fluttering from the pleasure as you couldn't help the series of moans that left your mouth.

The moment your head was thrown back, feeling Sevika groan against your cunt which only made the vibrations shoot up against your pussy, that familiar pit feeling brewing in your stomach till—

She went still.

You felt two taps on your thigh.

Oh.. She actually meant it.

You slowly pick your head up, seeing her eyebrow subtly raised.

“You thought I was joking?” she asked, her voice slightly rough, “I wanna see your face when you come sweetheart.”

“Shut up” you huff, out of breath. The flush on your cheeks not going unnoticed by her.

“Make m—”

Before she could finish you shove her head back onto your dripping cunt, once again, silencing her as your hips moved in a rhythm against her mouth. Trying to chase your high, not moving your eyes away from the daring sight in front of you. You were pushing her head deeper against your core, her brushing at your clit with the right amount of pressure as her tongue was ruthless. Not giving you a chance to breathe, as the sounds coming out your mouth sounded like fucking music in her ears.

“Fuck sev..”

“Mmh— Close?”

“Yeah— right there baby!” you choke on a moan as your hips twitched into her mouth, your grip in her hair so tight that your nails scratch her scalp erupting a moan from her. Your orgasm being ripped out of you as your thighs squeeze around her head, trembling from the pleasure, back arching as you’re helplessly grinding against her mouth. You spew out incoherent words, riding out your orgasm with your walls clenching around her tongue repetitively.

This time your head fell back, eyes shut from being overwhelmed but—

She’s not stopping.

“Sev..” you whimper quietly trying to pry her away from your swollen pussy, being too sensitive. But she doesn't back away, no. She keeps going. Her tongue circled at your clit, as she brought her hand to spread your soaked folds apart.

“C'mon princess, I know you got another for me” she murmured hoarsely, watching your expression as your thighs trembled around her, easily getting overstimulated.

You shake your head no, but you knew you could. So did she. Her finger easily slides in making your hips buck into her touch. Her tongue lapping around your clit which only made you let out a broken moan. You tried to squeeze your legs shut but she held your thigh down— only adding another finger just to curl it in your sweet spot. Your cunt clenching around her fingers as you already quick to sputter out,

“Please—” your voice cracking as you let out a sob, your body twitching forward as your stomach felt tight.

Didn’t think you’d be begging today. But here we are.

“Sev— god you’re so good to me baby— fuck!”

And damn was she in between your legs eating your dripping cunt out like she fucking owned it. Her nails digging into your thighs, almost bruising the skin, with her fingers pumping at a rapid pace as she occasionally brushes at your g-spot. It felt so overwhelming but pleasurable at the same damn time, leaving you pleading more.

"Right there oh— please!" you breath out, not even knowing what you were begging for anymore. But all you knew that her mouth was doing fucking wonders.

You were cursing loudly as your body writhed against her, shamelessly grinding up against her mouth as you felt a sharp pinch on your thigh again. As if it was a warning to keep your eyes back on her or she’ll stop again.

You picked your head up again, this time your eyes being half-lidded from being overwhelmed as your body twitches in response. Your eyes meet hers again, with her tongue plunging deep in you as another orgasm just shot straight through you with your legs shaking against her shoulders. You felt her bite against your inner thigh, her teeth sinking into your flesh which makes you cry out in pleasure, claiming you as hers. Tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes due to the overstimulation, as she licked every drop from you. You were panting as you finally felt her come up, the cold air hitting against your used cunt like a slap.

You felt her hover above you, her fingers gripping your chin to face her.

Just staring at you for a moment.

“Take a picture.. It’ll last longer” you managed to mumble with her huffing, almost resembling a laugh.

“Just can’t help yourself can you?” she whispers, kissing your forehead.

Which only made you open your eyes and smile in response.

She leaned your forehead against yours as she stroked your cheek with her thumb, “You alright?”

“Fucking phenomenal”

Her mouth quirks. A sharp breath through her nose. And then—low and rough, a laugh slips out of her chest. Not a full one. More of a rumble. Like the kind of sound someone makes when they weren’t expecting to be amused but are anyway, and now they’re annoyed at themselves for it.

“Think you can handle a couple more?”

“A couple? You want me to pass out Sevika?” you say incredulously as your hand went up to wipe her chin that was coated with your arousal.

“What? If you could come three times last night, what's stopping you from a fourth?”

“My god I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I d— fuck” your words quickly dying off your lips as you felt Sevika’s soaked cunt lay right on top of yours. Your hands go straight to her shoulders, gasping from the touch.

Her hands next to your head kept herself up as her forehead remained against yours.

“You were saying?” she murmurs, having a hint of a smirk on her lips as she slowly moves her hips.

You just gave her a look that screamed, fuck you.

And she just gave one back as if she's saying, I am.

Regardless, your hands went to her hips only pulling her closer. Your legs parted more just so Sevika could lean back, her hands resting against your chest as her hips moved more frantically. As if she’s chasing her high and not being subtle about it. Almost as if she was using your body. You could give a fuck less having a view like this though.

Sevika’s breathing gets heavier as she starts to elicit more moans out of that pretty mouth of hers.

“So fucking gorgeous— and I bet no ones ever touched you like this before huh?” she spits, voice being slightly husky as she watches your reaction.

And you, being a fucking mess underneath her, could only just whisper out, “only you.”

She leans down to your ear to whisper— voice being husky, “If you can’t handle this, then you’re not ready for me to fuck you like the needy slut you are”

And that only made you moan pathetically against her. Only making you more aroused by her words as your hands trailed behind her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze in response. All she did was chuckle from amusement as you felt her hand wrap around your throat to keep you pinned like that against the bed, and fuck did you almost see white at that.

At this point you don’t even remember if you’ve orgasmed or not. You might have already, hell even twice at this point. The obscene noises that came from the both of you filled up the room, your hips grinding more eagerly against her just to see her expression be in pure bliss. She blurted out a few curse words, only indicating that she's close as your nails drag down along her back making angry red lines, only making her curse loudly in response. You leaned forward to capture your mouth around one of her nipples, sucking deliberately with your tongue lapping against her. Your eyes glancing up at her, meeting her gaze.

You felt her hand rake in your hair, only giving it a sharp tug off of her to capture your lips into a filthy and desperate kiss with a pressure that says you’re mine right now. You kiss her back like you mean it—like it’s a fight you don’t want to win.

“So fucking desperate, its pathetic” she murmurs against your lips before she crashes her mouth back against yours, as if she’s trying to prove her statement with you only parting your lips to allow her to slip her tongue in. Her hand cups the back of your neck, holding you there, deepening the kiss until you're gasping between touches. Your hands go to her waist, gripping tight. She tastes like heat and trouble and something addictive, something that’s going to fuck with your head long after this ends.

You don’t remember the exact moment your body gave out. Somewhere between her voice in your ear, low and commanding, saying things that made your spine arch against her—and the relentless rhythm of her mouth, her hands, both your chests being pressed together, her everything…you eventually shattered.

You must’ve said her name. Or maybe begged. Maybe cursed. Actually, most likely cursed. You don’t really know. Everything blurred into heat and static, and then—

Nothing.

When your eyes open, the room is dim, bathed in soft yellow light from a lamp you don’t remember turning on. Your breathing feels distant. Limbs heavy. Skin flushed. There’s a lingering ache in your thighs and the lower part of your stomach, and the sheets are a mess around you. Hell, you probably grew a six pack from this alone.

You blink. Disoriented. Raw. You don’t even know what time it is. And then you feel it, a warm, damp cloth dragging gently over your inner thigh. Careful. Focused.

“What the hell…” you say as if you’re caught in a daze.

You glance down—and there she is.

Sevika. Sitting on the edge of the bed, that familiar stoic look on her face softened by just enough concern to rattle you. Her hair’s still messy from your hands. Her lip has the faintest mark of where your teeth caught her. You realize she’s been tending to you this whole time. Her hand presses lightly against your hip when you shift, holding you still like she’s done this before. Like she doesn’t want you to overdo it. She’s seated near your thighs, wiping you down with slow, methodical care. Her face is unreadable, except for the tiniest twitch of amusement tugging at her mouth.

Your voice is rough. Barely a whisper, “…Did I pass out?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just folded the cloth then tossed it onto the nightstand beside an empty water bottle and your very-much-forgotten phone.

Then she finally looks at you. “For like two minutes. Real dramatic, too—went all limp on me mid-sentence.”

You groan and cover your face with both hands. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You were out like a light.”

There’s a pause. Then, with a maddening smirk,

“What was it you said earlier? ‘You want me to pass out, Sevika?’”

Your hands drop from your face to glare at her. “Okay, wow. You’re quoting me now? Again?”

“You handed it to me. I just did the work.”

You stare at her in half-mortified silence, and she stares right back, utterly unrepentant.

Then you mutter, “This is the worst day of my life.”

“You said that yesterday too,” she points out, rising from the bed to grab a water bottle, unhurried and bare-chested like she’s in her own damn apartment.

“And yet, you keep inviting me over.”

You flop onto your stomach with a groan, face half-buried in the pillow. “Oh my God. You’re going to tell people, aren’t you?”

“No.” She tosses the water bottle at you like a reward. “I’m gonna remind you. Every time you try to get mouthy with me.”

You peek up through the strands of your hair, already feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“You’re evil.”

“And you’re still here.” She sits at the edge of the bed again, hand dragging lazily down your back as you melt under her touch.

And yeah, you’re still here. Still aching. Still thinking about another round.

God help you.

“This is my room” you huff, reminding her.

“Yeah yeah— just sit up,” she sighs, rolling her eyes with her lips barely curled up as a small smile, while she picks up the water bottle to open it.

You reluctantly sat up, wincing just barely from your thighs still slightly quivering. She held the bottle near your mouth before you took it, drinking almost all of it in one go. She just chuckled quietly from amusement.

It wasn’t long till you two were back in bed, this time underneath the covers. You were laying on her chest as her hand was laying underneath her head. The TV flickers with the late-night glow of some old sitcom rerun—laugh track too loud, colors washed out. You’re lying halfway on Sevika’s chest, one of your legs lazily tangled over hers. Her arm rests behind your shoulders, fingers occasionally brushing absentminded circles into your back like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

You’re warm. Sore. Drowsy in that post-everything way. Sleep is pulling at your limbs, but your mind won’t let go. Not yet. Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

“What did you mean earlier?”

She shifts slightly. Doesn’t answer at first. You keep your cheek against her chest, hear the steady beat of her heart.

“About me being ‘worth it.’ After the whole thing with..” you trail off, knowing Sevika knew what you were mentioning.

A beat. Two.

Her fingers still for a moment.

“…I meant what I said.”

You lift your head just enough to look at her. “That’s not an answer.”

She exhales through her nose. A dry, humorless sound. Her eyes stay on the TV, but her focus clearly isn’t there. “It was messy. Dangerous. I swore I wouldn’t get close again. That I’d keep shit clean. Safe.”

A pause. Then, “But then you stormed in, yelling at that brat and saving a whole damn band in heels, and I—”

She breaks off. Shrugs one shoulder like the words aren’t worth finishing. You wait. Say nothing.

Finally, she glances down at you. Her voice is quieter this time. Lower. Honest, “You’re not safe.. But you’re worth the mess.”

Your breath catches. You study her face, the way she’s looking at you, all rough around the edges but solid. Intentional. Not playing. Not posturing. Just Sevika, stripped of everything but the truth. You blink slowly.

“That’s the nicest terrifying thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

She huffs a small laugh, and that seems to break the weight between you.

“Good. You terrify me too princess.”

You smile softly, then lean in to kiss the corner of her mouth—slow and sleepy and grateful. And when she pulls you back against her, hand resting over your waist, as her arm holds you close against her, you finally let your eyes close.

You don’t need all the answers tonight.

But damn, she gave you enough. For now anyways.

#sevikalvr🌸#zee on the keys!#sevika #sevika x you #sevika x reader #arcane smut #arcane #sevika smut #wlw smut #lesbian #bodyguard!au #bodyguard!sevika #pr!reader #security breach;prt 2

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monocaelia · 1 day ago

Text

thanataphobia.

-you grasped for his soul tightly in fear that, if you relaxed for even a moment, he would slip through your fingertips ; aka, tending to his wounds. feat. dan heng, gepard, mydei, phainon. genre : fluff, mostly angst. note : the voices won :sadge: i hope u guys enjoy my fall into hsr insanity. also having everyone be sad was not my intention TT mb.

❀ DAN HENG

a wanderer that wasn't meant to stay for this long, dan heng had tried to keep his distance from everyone aboard the astral express. the lone man never wanted to become someone so important and dear to everybody, and here he is building friendships and bonds near unbreakable with people he thought he would have left behind by now.

a man prepared for a life of solitude welcomed in with open arms and cheerful laughter as he once again boards the express; a life where he met you. you, one of the first people to climb over the walls he tried to build around his heart and one of the first to put trust in him despite being a newer face on the express.

a life where he would come to love someone in the midst of new beginnings.

so, dan heng shouldn't be surprised at the worried looks and panicked exclamations when he returns to the express in a state that's worse for wear. he shouldn't be surprised at all when, after being looked after by dr. welt, that he would be left alone in your care once everyone had been reassured that he was fine.

the futon laid on the floor of the archive room is soft but hardly provides any comfort for dan heng as he shifts uncomfortably under your scrutiny. a cotton swab soaked with disinfectant presses into the scraped skin of his cheek and he flinches at the familiar sting.

your lips part as you begin to speak, but dan heng beats you to it, much to your chargrin.

"don't say it," dan heng says, his voice curt and straight to the point. despite only being on the express for a short time, he's fully aware of what you're about to say to his face. and, of course, you ignore his words.

"i told you so," your voice is firm as you put pressure onto his face on purpose and you're satisfied when he winces from the pain. your brows furrow when dan heng looks away from you to avoid your scowl. a huff escapes your lips and a forceful hand pushes his face back to meet yours.

teal is a beautiful color. it reminds you of the soothing breeze that would blow in your hometown; comforting, yet brisk with a nip to your skin if you indulged too much within it. like the wind of your home, dan heng brings comfort to you as a pillar of support during your adventures with the astral express. but, regardless of how long you remain by his side, his past is shrouded in a mystery that you may never uncover, and maybe you never will.

dan heng is the wind, ever changing and always moving.

"...of course i'm upset and worried for you," you begin as you pull away the stained swab from his face. you dispose it into the pile of used cotton. "but i'm more relieved that you made it back to us in one piece."

your gaze falls as multiple thoughts begin to run through your mind, none of which dan heng could configure before you begin to speak again.

"why didn't you ask me to go with you? you would've been safer that way."

dan heng parts his lips, the answer just on the tip of his tongue but something prevents him from giving you the answer you wanted. instead, he gives you a reply that sets a clear boundary between the two of you.

“i’m sorry.”

he can tell you're hurt; he doesn't miss the aching look in your eyes and your lips caught between your teeth.

in his own way of comforting you, dan heng reaches over to hold your hand in his. it's smaller than his in comparison, and yet he finds nothing but solace in your touch. he should be comforting you and apologizing for hurting you by keeping his life private, and yet here he is basking in your warm touch.

he half expects you to pull away from him and effectively put space between you as he did just now... but you don't. you let his touch remain on your skin and dan heng feels relief knowing that you’re still putting your trust in him.

"it's fine; you don't have to tell me anything until you're ready to, dan heng. i'm just glad you're okay."

the archive room is silent, save for the quiet humming of the data bank that resides in it and the soft breathing between you and dan heng. the lone wanderer wishes he could tell you everything and indulge you in your inquires; he longs for the day that his past no longer haunts him and poses as a threat to both him and his loved ones.

but until then, he'll keep this to himself. for your sake and his own.

❀ GEPARD LANDAU

the lantern's warm glow illuminates the infirmary room that both you and the blond captain reside in, though its light is nothing compared to the cold silence shared between the two of you. the cotton ball absorbed with a disinfectant is pressed into the open wound on gepard's side; he makes a noise of discomfort but you don't care.

if anything, you press harder and hope that he truly feels your wrath masked in cleaning up his wounds.

"you're upset," gepard breaks the silence. you don't respond as you swap out the dirtied cotton ball and exchange it for some gauze. luckily, this wound wasn't as deep as the others and wouldn't require anymore stitches.

or it was unlucky if you wanted to enact your revenge on him through harsh and rough medical care.

gepard says your name and you curse yourself as your anger begins to waver just at the mere tone of his voice.

"you should be more careful," you begin with a stern voice. your fingers move skillfully around gepard's body, being attentive to wrap as much of the wound as tight as possible. your body moves on autopilot as if you've done this many times before.

"you know it's my duty to be the shield of belobog," gepard begins, his eyes never leaving your face as you continue to dress his injury. "if no one will protect the people, my own soldiers included, then who will?"

the flame in the lantern flickers just as your eyes snap to his. there's a fire in your eyes almost as if your anger had borrowed the embers of the lantern. you can feel the heat boiling within you and it nearly explodes out of you into words that you won't mean as a result of your strong emotions.

almost.

you know ultimately that gepard is correct; he has sworn his life to belobog and if that means he has to succumb to death in order to ensure the safety of the people within, then so be it. but you cannot stomach that reality. gepard, whose heart is pure and noble like no other, does not deserve to die even if he believes otherwise.

"and who will protect you if you're throwing yourself into danger like that?" your tone is strained as to not raise your voice any louder. gepard's expression doesn't waver, but his azure eyes soften at your words. you can feel his hand, large and calloused, encase your own and squeezes it gently; a silent way to comfort you in your distress.

you hate how gentle gepard is, you hate how loyal he is to belobog and as captain of the silvermane guards. you hate how it's written in his blood to protect those that need protection and how he's willing to sacrifice his life if it meant ensuring the safety of his city and maintaining his family’s honor.

you hate how all of his noble acts and promises are the exact reasons why you've fallen so deeply for him.

a familiar hand gently cups your face, a contrast to the rough texture of his palms, and a thumb wipes away the tears you didn't know you had shed.

"i don't want to lose you, gepard," you say in a broken whisper. "i love you so much, please don't be so reckless with your life."

gepard knows he cannot promise you that, but he offers as much as he can to you. your quiet sobs are comforted by his strong arms as he embraces you in a hug; quiet apologies fall past the captain's lips as he listens to your hurt cries. his heart aches seeing you this distressed over his wounds, and he so wishes that he could fulfill your demands so you're never in this state again.

but the both of you know better than to have hope for something that could never happen.

❀ MYDEIMOS

mydei is near indestructible, you know this quite well. the crown prince of kremnos is a fierce opponent to reckon with as any and all attacks are quickly regenerated on the spot before he counters with a force more powerful than a wave crashing against steep cliffs.

despite being well aware of this fact and even witnessing this phenomenon in person, it does not stop you from ever worrying about mydei's wellbeing and health. you know he is built for battle and that any sort of attack to him is exhilarating, even more so if his opponent manages to strike him.

and yet, here you are, hands frantically lifting mydei's arms and inspecting the warrior's body for any lingering wounds that may have not healed all the way. eyes of ichor follow your every movement even as your hands, small in comparison to the taller and more muscular man in front of you, cup his face and rotate it around to continue your examination.

your name leaves his lips and you meet his intense gaze. though most would be intimidated by the permanent fierce expression on his face, you can feel your heart flutter against your chest at the way he's looking at you. maybe it's because you can read his expressions well for being around him for so long, but the crimson lion before you is malleable in your touch; his golden irises, a gift from the sun, are nothing but warm and soft when directed at you.

"i'm not so weak as to let the black tide consume me so easily," mydei tells you, his voice low and cool. "you know this well."

as you sigh at his response, you can feel gauntlet covered hands cover your own and the warmth of mydei's face as he leans into your touch. it isn't much, but even the small act of affection soothes your panicked heart; his warmth, after all, is a reminder that he is alive and well in your hands.

"that is true... but," you begin hesitantly. your eyes look into mydei's own, "is it a crime to worry about you? are you not a living being like me?"

"it is not," mydei assures you. "but you shouldn't waste your time on something as insignificant as this." his eyes close, relishing the gentle softness of your hand; a hand that knows nothing but peace and hope, a hand that has not been tainted with the blood of others.

the kremnoan prince hopes that your hand remains that way forever. you do not deserve a life of war and despair.

but mydei knows well enough that that wish is futile. you are his lover and if he were to succumb to strife one day, he cannot fathom how agonized you would be.

your brows furrow at his response and your fingers squeeze harshly onto the skin of mydei's cheek. yet mydei remains unmoved by your sudden pinch on him.

"don't make me laugh, mydeimos. your life is just as significant as any other. stop making statements like that."

despite the stern tone of your voice and the fire that seems to ignite in your eyes, mydeimos finds nothing but warmth in your glare. to someone like him, a prince that has known nothing but the abandonment of his family and the isolation of losing all of his comrades, your heart that is more vast than the sea of souls and yet has enough room to encompass mydei and all of his sins in its warmth and loving embrace is a feeling that he is unfamiliar with, but not one he can or will deny.

you are comfort incarnate, a force that even the strongest warrior succumbs to, and mydei has come to crave your benevolent touch.

but even he cannot grant you your wish of him coming home unscathed. mydei is not one to indulge in white lies and broken promises, and so he sits there as you reprimand him on the importance of life and wellbeing, relishing in your touch that he so wishes to feel for the rest of this lifetime.

❀ PHAINON

you know better than to lift your head and meet phainon’s gaze at this very moment, lest you be swayed by the clear, beautiful blue sea that resides in his eyes and the pout that is for sure on his lips. even the thought of his pathetic and apologetic expression is enough to make your anger spike and you tightly tie the bandage around his injured bicep.

you choose to ignore the whimper that leaves his lips and his attempts to duck his head lower to grab your attention. his free hand, the one rid of any injuries thank goodness, reaches for your own and you're almost faster than your white haired companion is, but ultimately his large hand holds your own.

"don't even think about it, phainon," you tell him through grit teeth. "i already told you that if you were reckless doing your rounds around okhema i would-"

"kill me, i know," phainon finishes your sentence for you. a sigh in frustration leaves your lips and you finally look up at the man before you. his eyes are filled with remorse as eyes as blue as you could imagine look up at you. his perfect, neat brows furrow upwards to really push his apologetic expression.

his hand easily slides through your fingers, intertwining them with his, and he pulls your knuckles to his lips in a gentle kiss. he whispers your name and the flames of your anger begin to dwindle away. mentally, a curse is laid upon him for having this much power over you.

"something this small wouldn't have knocked me down," phainon reassures you with another small kiss to your hand. he brings your knuckle to his cheek and begins to nuzzle it. his skin is soft to the touch and warm, brimming of life blessed by the sun; a reminder that indeed that small wound was just surface level and one your lover won't die from.

still... seeing the open wound on his arm made your heart ache and images of your lover on the floor in a pool of his own blood with his eyes void of the life that you love so much...

"i sincerely apologize... can't you forgive me?"

truthfully, you want to remain angry at him for worrying you so. phainon decides to go out on an expedition on the outskirts of the holy city and here he comes with an injury on his arm and a scuffed up face smiling like he wasn't just hurt, minor or not.

however, with his face now buried into the comfort of your palm and his eyes, like sparkling azure gems, shine with tears threatening to spill over, you're forced to rescind your vexation in hopes of appeasing the whining man before you.

a heavy sigh leaves your lips and you can almost hear phainon perking up at your resignation.

"do this again and i'll tell mydei to beat you up for me the next time the two of you hold a competition."

your threats fall on deaf ears as the sun beams down on you in the form of phainon's smile. typical of a hero blessed by the prophecy, he's handsome in anything that he does and that does not exclude the boyish grin on his lips as his strong arms pull you in for a firm embrace.

it's evident that something worse is bound to happen to your white haired companion should he continue with the prophecy of amphoreus and the twisted fate that lies before him, but you hold onto the small hope that he will be strong enough to overcome anything. a hero loved by all should not fall to such a tragic ending and you pray to any celestial being who would listen to your pleas to spare his life.

#dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #mydei x reader #phainon x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng scenarios #gepard scenarios #mydei scenarios #phainon scenarios #didi writes

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ssahotchnerr · 2 days ago

Note

Obsessed with the Ellie-verse fic you just posted but what about that same concept but instead of family day, you and Aaron were supposed to get a night to yourselves with no kids or a weekend away or something and he is so exhausted but doesn’t want to disappoint you xx

just us tonight

🥺 stoppp cw; dad!aaron, reader is referred to as mom, a lot of domestic fluff with slight angst, 18+ very light smut at the end <3 wc; 1k

"Hey sleepyhead."

"Hm?" Aaron's head came up slowly, slight confusion pulling onto his face. He must've dozed off; the last traces of sunlight had faded beyond the horizon. Dusk was falling, soft and steady.

"Kids are at JJ's." You plopped into bed beside him, your body immediately curling up against his. It took him a moment to reorient himself, but then he remembered: date night.

"How'd it go?" He asked, referring to drop-off. His voice was heavy with sleep as you nestled your head into the crook of his neck.

"Eh. Could've gone better." You grimaced, tapping a few fingers against his chest in thought. "Jack, fine. I barely got a goodbye from him, he was already in the backyard shooting goals with Henry. Ellie on the other hand..."

"Rough time?" Aaron felt your nod.

"JJ just about had to pry her off me." You thought back - Ellie's arms locked tightly around your neck, protesting profusely as JJ attempted to untangle her from you, insisting what a fun evening laid ahead - games, movies, whatever she wanted to do. But despite the exciting promises and the assurance it was only for one night, she still cried for you to stay.

"I'm sorry." His hand found your back, rubbing the tension away with slow, steady circles. He was unfortunately used to the goodbyes - he had no choice but to be - but you were rarely apart from the kids.

And Ellie's reluctance to be apart from either you or Aaron, made it harder; leaving her when she was so upset at the idea shattered your heart. From the moment she was born, she always wanted to be held. Unbidden, an image of newborn Ellie – tucked against Aaron’s chest and sleeping soundly – came to mind, making it harder for you to bear the thought of her as you’d seen tonight.

A soft exhale escaped through your nose, pursing your lips together. "Hopefully it's a phase she grows out of soon. It's starting to worry me."

It felt as if the situation had been heightening, and at this rate, by no means was it getting any better. Ellie was growing clingier by the day and there seemed to be no end in sight.

Aaron nodded encouragingly, pressing his lips to your forehead, "and if not, we'll figure it out. She'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know." Your gaze tilted up to meet his. You offered him a weak smile, silent admiration for him sweeping through your body, before leaning in and kissing him gently.

His hand slid up and down your back a few more times, each movement smooth and practiced. After a moment, he lifted himself up - before he had the chance to doze off again - utterly comfortable with you so close, your breathing steadying his own.

"Hey," you grabbed his hand and pulled him back, causing him to fall beside you. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To get ready? I don't think sweats and a t-shirt will suffice."

"For?"

Aaron's eyebrows lifted. "Aren't we going out?"

"We were," you propped yourself up by your elbows, and then straddled him, not allowing him the opportunity to move a muscle. "Now, we're staying here."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head against the pillow lightly. He knew what you were doing, "No."

"Yes." You quipped in the same tone, raising an eyebrow.

"I promised you we'd have a date night."

You playfully looked around the room, emphasizing your next point. "I don't see any kids around, do you?"

He looked up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. That's not what he meant, and you knew that, but you gave him a challenging look in return anyway. "No sweetheart. This is becoming a trend - I don't want to be the one continuously delaying our plans."

"Aaron," your voice amused, "you don't take naps. That's a sign in and of itself. I'd much rather stay here instead of having you numbly out and about just for the sake of it. What if in a sleep deprived state, you order something you don't like?"

"You'd knock some sense into me, I think."

You pinned his wrists down against the mattress, your voice now taking on a more earnest tone. "Honey, I don't care what we do, I'm happy to spend uninterrupted time with you. My amazing, hot, wonderfully sexy husband."

He laughed breathlessly at your words, despite the dull pain of uncertainty firm in his chest. "You sure?"

"Absolutely. Our marriage vows stated forever, didn't they? And as a result, we have plenty of nights to take advantage of in the future."

His brows furrowed. "But tonight, the kids are gone."

You waved his statement off. "Luckily for us, we have plenty of babysitters who are equally as obsessed with them and are more than willing to take them off our hands for a night. I receive a text from Penelope almost daily asking to see them."

"Maybe I'll have to take it a little easier on them, just for that," Aaron joked lightly, a hint of mischief flickering in his brown eyes.

"And with Ellie being so upset," your shoulders dropped and your hold on him released, suddenly sobering. "I don't know. I'd rather be readily available if needed. You'd be doing me a favor by staying home, really."

He nodded in understanding, his gaze softening. Although the comfort of Jack would help, or her sheer love for Auntie JJ and the boys, there was the chance Ellie would be inconsolable, needing to be picked up.

"You're an amazing mother, you know." Aaron reached up, bringing a hand to your cheek. "And wife. Thank you for continuously thinking of us."

You leaned into his touch, appreciating the sentiment. It didn't take long for a light smirk to return to your face.

"Besides, staying home also gives me the opportunity to take care of you." You ran your hands along his chest suggestively. Leaning down allowed you to whisper into his ear, "Really take care of you. You work too hard."

Quiet house, no kids, zero interruptions - sex was on the agenda tonight no matter what. Besides, it was something the both of you had been looking forward to - so why wait?

He hummed gently as your lips peppered kisses along his jaw, and then his neck. He nearly groaned - it felt so good. He did once your hand slipped underneath his waistband, palming him through his boxers. "It has been a while."

"Then let's not waste another moment."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut

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moonchildstyles · 2 days ago

Text

the bunny

the swan final part: tonight marked the end of swan lake, but there was still so much more y/n wanted

wordcount: 18k+

—————

(Y/N) bounced on her toes as she stood around her apartment building. Her tote bag, packed with snacks and a change of clothes, hung from her shoulder. From where she stood, she could spot her car in its usual parking spot.

A smile bloomed on her features when a familiar sleek SUV pulled into the car park. She couldn't see through the glare on the windscreen, but that didn't stop her from picturing the raspberry lips and lily pad eyes of her... Harry.

Or whatever he was to her. Her best friend maybe? If having a best friend meant wanting to kiss all over his blushed face until there isn't a piece of him she didn't know.

It'd only been a week since he spilled his secrets to her on her sofa while she sniffled through a runny nose and hid her face in his neck in a way to both comfort him and to hide the blaring light from her sore eyes. He hadn't been able to stay too much longer after that intimate moment on the couch, but Harry had made a point to stay in contact with her everyday since.

It had started with check-ins to ensure she felt better through her illness, but hearing about her symptoms only lasted for a few messages each day before he was texting her just to hear from her. There was no longer a veil between them, that thin separation that had formed from Harry's cautiousness and (Y/N)'s constant reminder of what she didn't know. Now all of that was gone, leaving only everything easy.

That quiet affection she'd been holding for him no longer had a roadblock stopping her from getting butterflies in her stomach and a giddy pattering of her heart when she saw him. She no longer forced herself to wait a couple of minutes when a text message came in from him. When she returned to the stage after a couple of days of recovery, she didn't hesitate to look up at his balcony the second she touched the boards.

When Harry pulled up to the curb in front of her, she barely waited long enough for him to put the car in park before she was bounding towards him. Pulling open the door, she hopped in before he even had a chance to unbuckle his seatbelt in an attempt to be a gentleman and grab the door for her.

"Hey you," she chirped, her grin scrunching her eyes.

"Hi," he greeted, a shy smile on his lips as a soft pink glow emerged over his cheeks. He made no move to pull away as she settled in, instead lingering his gaze on her.

"Thanks for picking me up today," she said, dropping her bag at her feet as she shifted to face him as much as she could in the passenger seat. "You're really okay with waiting so long after the show?"

He didn't hesitate before he was nodding his head, matching her gaze earnestly. "Of course. What else do I have going on?"

There was a moment as he gazed at her that felt far too intimate for the front seat of his car in the middle of the afternoon, the weight not quite matching the levity of his tone. He mimicked her body language as much as he could with the steering wheel in the way, his eyes stitched to her own before they shattered into a soft blink, lashes fluttering as the grazed his cheekbones. It was the kind of look filmed in a perfume ad with the fragrance meant to be selling something dreamy and alluring. (Y/N)'s skin warmed at the look.

Breaking eye contact as she reached for her phone out of her bag, restless fingers adjusting her leg warmers as if there weren't supposed to be so many folds in the scrunched fabric.

"I don't know, but definitely not work," she attempted to tease, hoping her words came off as unbothered as she wished she was. It was an inside joke of their's, something (Y/N) pointed out when they had spent a few nights in a row with Harry shamelessly texting her into the late hours of the night.

"Definitely not," he played along, grin stretching his raspberry lips as he finally pulled away from the curb. Heading out of her complex, he peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "I meant to text you before I left m'place, but did you want to stop at Coco's on the way?"

(Y/N) lit up at the mention of her favorite cafe, the warm tension that had squeezed her stomach leaving her in an instant. Her mind was now filled with the cafe's specialty matcha menu—including their year round raspberry cold foam topper.

"You already know what I'm going to say."

Harry let out a laugh at her words, already taking the turn to set them in the direction of Coco's. "Jus' thought I'd ask before I started driving you all over town when 'm supposed to be taking y'to work."

Laying her head against the rest, (Y/N) traced her eyes over the lines of his profile with what she was sure was plain affection swimming in her features. He had such a nice nose.

"I wouldn't have questioned it," she admitted, settling in as she watched him, "Did your morning get any better?"

He sighed as his hands flexed around the wheel. Earlier in the day, Harry had told her he was visiting one of his galleries a little further out of town only to walk into one of their featured artists crying as one of their paintings was sold off to a collector. A painting that they had already made money on when selling it to Harry's gallery, and would be earning a portion of commission on from this sale. It was the kind of situation that wasn't written about in business manuals or HR policy books.

"'M talking to an HR rep to see if there's anything we can do contract-wise about getting involved in any sales, or if they just won't be a features artist anymore. I felt bad, but there's nothing I can do once the paperwork is signed."

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. She didn't envy him in the slightest. "Did they say anything after they stopped crying?"

"They didn't. Stop crying, I mean."

Picturing a clean, modern art gallery with glamorous canvases hung on the walls, a patron eagerly admiring their new buy while someone stood sobbing was... hard at the least. All while Harry was supposedly looking on, attempting to diffuse a situation he wouldn't have even had to deal with had he stayed within the confines of the city that morning. It wasn't funny exactly—it wasn't funny that someone was crying over a piece of their work—but it felt like something out of a silly movie. The more dramatic she pictured it, the more comical the moment felt.

Stifling her growing amusement, (Y/N) covered her mouth. "That's so sad. I hope they're okay."

Another peek at her from the corner of his eye. "Y'can laugh—'m sure 's even more uncomfortable than what you're picturing. 'S alright."

"I feel so bad, though," (Y/N) insisted though she couldn't quite hold back the airy giggle that escaped her. "That's so sad."

"Don't feel too bad," Harry countered, pulling up to one of the few street parking spots in front of Coco's, "From what I hear, after I left they went after the collector and tried to get him to give it back. By yelling. In the street."

"Oh!" she bubbled, allowing a wave of laughter to take her this time. Drama in the art community—who would have seen it coming? "That's not quite right."

"Exactly," he mused, moving to unbuckle his seatbelt while eyeing the short line through the flossy front windows of the cafe. "Jus' want your usual?"

"That's what I was thinking," she answered, plucking her wallet out of her tote bag, "Hopefully they still have some raspberry—"

"Y'don't have to go in if y'don't want," he cut her off before she could reach for her own buckle. "It looks a little busy inside."

She followed his line of sight and did see a handful of people waiting for their drinks with a line of three deep waiting to order. It wasn't super busy, but it was definitely a bit more than she'd like to deal with right now in her warm up leotard.

"Are you sure?" she pressed, slipping her card from her wallet.

Harry decisively nodded his head. "I think I remember your order, so I should be alright."

(Y/N) tipped her head, hand stalling with her card. "You do?"

As far as she remembered, she only texted it to him once almost a week ago when she had mentioned this cafe in the first place. And it was really just a one a.m. babble about how more places should offer raspberry cold foam.

"Iced matcha with oat milk with vanilla and as much raspberry cold foam as they'll let you get away with. Light ice, too, so it doesn't get all caught up on the lid when you're trying to drink."

He said it without a shred of doubt. He didn't think he remembered her order—he definitely remembered.

"That's it," she said, a breathy laugh filling the air between them. Blinking herself out of her head and the implications she was spinning, she offered her card out to him. "Just tip whatever you want."

Harry barely glanced at her offering before a small pinch formed between his brows. "I've got you, don't worry."

"No, Harry," she insisted, "Just take it, you're already driving me."

"'M alright," he dismissed, moving towards his door. "Lock everything while 'm gone, I'll keep it running for you."

"Harry, reall—"

He was already rounding the bonnet of his car before she could even finish her words.

She really wanted to be offended. He shouldn't dismiss her offer of paying for herself, especially when she was in the middle of her debate. She was a working woman in a big city who could take care of herself just fine. She didn't need Harry to buy her little drink before she went on stage as the prima ballerina of Swan Lake.

But it sure felt nice.

He didn't even entertain the idea, dismissing it wordlessly. He already decided he was taking care of it all when he offered the detour, she figured. All after he had read off her order as if from memory and not a throwaway text sent in the middle of the night.

She attempted to bite back her smile as she slid her card away.

—————

"Jeez, since when was this supposed to be happening?"

Harry's muttered huff carried over the quiet radio as he made a second U-turn to head back towards the theater. The car park outside the stage door was already small enough, but with a section of it being corded off by a slew of construction vehicles—despite the work being performed on a neighboring building. All that was left was street parking for the time being. At least until five p.m.

Nonetheless, Harry parked his car off in one of the slim street parking spots and started calculating what time he would have to come out and move it to avoid getting towed.

"Sorry," (Y/N) said, a frown on her lips, "If I had known this was going on, I wouldn't have made you drive me."

"'S not your fault," he waved off, peering out his window with a stern brow to look for any oncoming cars before pushing his door open, "Ready?"

"Oh yeah, sorry," she scrambled to grab her tote and her slick iced matcha.

She caught up to him while digging through her bag for her phone, hoping there was some kind of message from any of the others about what to expect with the construction crew outside. From her periphery, she thought she was catching up to Harry and following his cue as he crossed the street.

Until an arm shot out across her chest before she could step onto the asphalt. (Y/N) jumped back, finally looking up from her bag to see Harry looking down the road with his jaw set in a harsh line.

"Hold on," Harry murmured, corralling her closer to him as a car went barreling past.

"Oh," she sounded, looking up at him and the way he practically scowled at the car even as it grew smaller in the distance. "Thanks."

It was so silly, so bottom of the barrel, completely bare-minimum, but there was something about him grabbing her like that to keep her from walking into the street like that. He didn't shout or push, just quietly pulled her to his side.

Very dreamy, Siobhan would say. Very, very dreamy, (Y/N) agreed.

"Yeah," he said, still looking rather irritated as she blinked up at him, "People need to be more careful. He didn't even look at us."

"Right," (Y/N) nodded, hyperaware of the way his arm slid around her until his hand was wrapped around her wrist.

There was a moment, standing where they were on the pavement for a beat, where his hand stayed right where it was. She wasn't sure if he could see her from the corner of his eye with the way he was carefully patrolling the street in front of them. But she still moved her hand that much, shaking off his own until she was lacing their fingers together.

Harry's only noticeable reaction came in the form of a flutter of his lashes and a soft flush touching his cheeks.

He didn't speak again as he walked with her, their hands laced together between them, towards the stage door. He made a point to keep his eyes ahead, all while (Y/N) happily followed with the straw of her matcha tucked between her lips. She couldn't help her smile, especially not when he squeezed her hand as they passed the construction crew on break. He kept her particularly close after that.

"Do you want to come in with me?" (Y/N) asked as they approached the stage door, hands still laced together.

"I've got to track down Ariel," he sighed, already peering around to the front office area, the space she spent most of her time prior to showtime. "I'll see y'after, though, yeah?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) nodded, already looking forward to whatever bouquet of flowers he would surprise her with. Especially since she didn't spot even a single petal on the way here—how he would get a new bouquet between now and showtime, she wasn't sure but she looked forward to the reveal nonetheless. "See you later, Harry."

"What was that word?" Harry mused, cutting himself off just as his eyes lit up, "Merde!"

(Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh at the pronunciation she had vaguely taught him through voice notes a few days prior. How he'd been a part of the arts for this long and hadn't heard of the French slang for good luck, (Y/N) couldn't believe it. She did have a fun time teaching him, though.

"Thank you," she beamed, "I didn't think you'd remember—we talked about that at like four in the morning on a Wednesday."

Harry only shrugged, a bashful smile on his lips as he dropped his gaze to their twined hands. "I've got a good memory."

It was the way he looked at her through his lashes, the squeeze of his hand around hers, that carried with her even after they said goodbye and Harry waited for her to be safely tucked behind the stage door before going off in his own direction. Not even placing the straw to her matcha between her lips was enough to keep a smile from blooming across her features.

"Hey," Lydia chirped, slowing down her bustling as she caught sight of (Y/N). Her gaze turned suspicious as she took in the light glowing through her expression. "What's got you all happy?"

"Nothing," (Y/N) shook off, starting towards her dressing room on light feet. "Just excited for the show."

"That's good," Lydia mused, clearly not believing (Y/N)'s words. "Good matcha at least? From Coco's?"

"Oh yeah. No where else to get the right cherry foam that doesn't taste like cough syrup."

Lydia fell into step with (Y/N) as they traipsed through the backstage area. "I thought you weren't going there for a while since you’re broke?"

(Y/N) laughed at her words, remembering the exact day she had made the declaration after looking at her bank account after a night out. "Well, I didn't pay for this one so it doesn't count."

"Oh?" Lydia trained her surprised gaze right on (Y/N)'s giddy smile. A slight narrow thinned her eyes.

There was a part of (Y/N) that knew better than to start blabbing about Harry to each of the dancers. She'd seen first hand just how quickly news traveled amongst the cast—as well as just how long a rumor could linger within the company and be spread as fact.

But, (Y/N) knew she had nothing to be ashamed about. She knew the truth about Harry and the messy past he held. It wasn't so bad if the girls knew, she thought. If anything, maybe if the rest of the company could see there wasn't anything to be scared of when it came to Harry, it would lessen the claws that had hooked into him years ago.

"Harry got it for me."

As expected, Lydia's eyes widened, brows shooting halfway up her forehead. "Oh. I didn't know he was here already."

"He drove me today actually."

Lydia paused. "Is your car acting up again?"

"No," (Y/N) chirped, stepping carefully over a set piece. "He just offered to pick me up today since we were going to the same place anyway."

"Oh," Lydia parroted, the gears beginning to turn in her head as she shot (Y/N) a pointed look once they were outside of the dressing room door. "Are you guys... together? I know he's been around a lot more, but..."

(Y/N) shrugged, absently taking a sip of her matcha, "I wouldn't say that. We are friends, though. He helped take care of me that weekend when I was sick."

This seemed to be more than Lydia had hoped for when she started this line of questioning. (Y/N) caught the way she peered around them, spotting the stage hands on the other side of the stage before training her gaze pointedly on (Y/N).

"Is everything... okay? Are you okay?"

(Y/N) blinked. She had counted on this being one of the questions, though that didn't really ease her any. "I'm fine—really. It's not really my story to tell," she started, lowering her voice, "but you guys do need to know you're wrong about Harry—about all of the rumors. I don't blame anyone for worrying or anything, but I promise you it's not at all like what people were saying. I really am okay." Lydia scanned her eyes down (Y/N)'s form as if to corroborate her story. (Y/N) tried her best not to be offended. "I just want you guys to give him a chance," (Y/N) pressed onward, "He's incredibly kind and very forgiving given the circumstances around here. It's really okay."

Lydia rolled her lips between her teeth, dropping her gaze to the floor between them. A beat passed before she perked up again. "You understand how I feel too, though, right? How we all feel? Being nervous for you and everything."

"Of course," (Y/N) chirped, a soft smile on her lips, "You just have to trust that I'm telling you the truth."

"I do," Lydia immediately answered, nodding her head as if to self assure her words, "He has been really nice when he's hung around. I'll back off a little—sorry."

"It's okay. That's all I'm asking," (Y/N) smiled, collecting her friend into a short hug before backing towards her dressing room. "Warm ups at four, right?"

Lydia, eyes finally free of that lingering doubt, nodded her head. "Right."

Sealing herself away with her matcha and tote bag in her dressing room, (Y/N) could only assume that her words would be spreading through the company soon enough. There would be a few messages from Siobhan and Kingston most likely, but she hoped this would only ease things for Harry. Even if a few less suspicious eyes landed on him, that would be enough, she thought. If only Lydia came out of this believing that (Y/N) knew better about these rumors, she'd take it.

Anything to make things easier for Harry. Anything she could do for him.

—————

With Kingston holding her hand, (Y/N) was guided offstage as the raucous applause from the audience died down. The curtain had closed, leaving only a gauzy projection of the Swan Lake title card on the velvet.

Another successful show. A breath of relief deflated (Y/N)'s chest.

With each step they hustled back stage, stray flower petals fell from the fluff of her skirt, creating a trail that followed her through the set pieces. Kaleb—in full monster Rothbart regalia—followed behind them, decidedly less out of breath since getting to spend the final moments of the show pretending to be dead behind a cliff. With her own breathing finally regulating and the sound of the crowd outside waning, she turned to Kingston.

"I'm so sorry I kicked you—I didn't think I was that close," she bubbled off, sure he could still feel the weight of her pointe shoe kicking at his shin during a twirl as the black swan.

"You kicked me?" he questioned, blinking owlishly at her.

(Y/N) laughed, familiar with the game he was playing. "Stop it, I know you felt it. Do you think anyone else noticed?"

"Maybe the tears in my eyes, but I'm sure they think I was just really into the story."

"Stop," (Y/N) laughed again, collecting Kingston into a hug. "I really am sorry. I hope it doesn't bruise too bad."

"It wasn't that bad," Kingston reassured her, dropping his playful act as he pulled away from their hug, "I really didn't feel it, and I doubt anyone noticed."

"Let me know if it hurt later, though," she pressed, "I have a bunch of that lotion so I can give you some if you need."

"It's fine, (Y/N). Really." Kingston flitted his gaze over her shoulder, spotting something in the way of her dressing room. "Besides, I think you'd got more exciting things to worry about tonight anyway. Hi Harry!"

(Y/N) couldn't help the way she perked up, whipping her head around to find Harry standing at her dressing room door. A large bouquet of roses was tucked in his hands, petals a delicate pink with velveteen leaves of lambs ear stuck in between. Though he was still just as reserved as usual as the cast began pouring back in, a grin unfurled on his lips when he caught her eye. Though, he, of course, still politely waved at Kingston, keeping from shouting across the space.

"Oh," she sounded, glancing back at Kingston though it was hard to take her gaze off of Harry for long. "I should... Do you think he's waiting for me?"

"No, the pink roses and the ribbon with little swans on it is for me. Duh."

Another peal of laughter came from (Y/N) as she playfully pushed her Prince Siegfried. "Shut up. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, babe."

Kingston sent her off with a push to her back, flower petals falling from her flowing skirt as she bounced over to her Harry. A few stage hands and members of her wedge of swans stopped her to congratulate her on another successful show or to bid her a goodnight, though she wasn't the only one catching attention by her dressing room.

More than one cast member or production aide stopped to say hello to Harry. One of the swans, hairpiece already slipped off with a makeup wipe clearing away the feathers painted on her skin, even stopped to compliment Harry on the flowers and ask him if he was going to be in house again for tomorrow's show. Even from where (Y/N) was standing, still working her way over expensive set pieces and bundles of cords and ropes and light fixtures, she could tell Harry was taken aback. She could only imagine the stuttering response he gave and the polite thank you that followed, though the flowers were all the florist's work. Because he was a modest guy. Kind to a fault.

It'd been only a week—only two days in theater with two extra rehearsal days at the studio—since (Y/N) had confided in Lydia. Though, that seemed to be just enough time for everything to be spread around like she hoped. Even time for opinions to be shifted and minds to be opened.

By the time she made it over, (Y/N) had also discarded her hairpiece and attempted to brush all of the petals from her skirt.

"Hey," she smiled, reaching for the door to her dressing room, "How did you get back here so fast?"

"I know the stage manager," he teased, following after her into the quiet of the green room.

"Right," she laughed, taking a seat at her vanity to start unlacing her pointes. "It looks like you made a few friends out there."

Harry shrugged though there was a distinct flush touching his cheeks. "I don't know. I think everyone jus' liked the flowers I got for you."

"Those are for me?" she sang, batting her eyelashes at him in faux-innocence.

His grin only widened as he passed them along, the parchment paper crinkling under her hands. "I jus' found them on the way in. Didn't know what to do with them, so y'can have them I guess," he teased despite the bright eyes that watched for her reaction.

Touching her nose to one of the buds, (Y/N) pulled in a deep breath. The velveteen floral scent of the roses, backed by the slightly sweet scent of apples from the lamb's ear. The furls were soft under her touch, the fuzz on the lamb's ear feeling like a peach.

"They're really beautiful, Harry. Thank you." She beamed up at him as she delicately examined the arrangement. A card placed securely amongst the flowers brandished a familiar, rudimentary drawing of a swan. Almost identical to the one she had tucked away at her house.

While she hadn't ever doubted that those first flowers came from Harry, especially as the show went on for weeks without a single person claiming them. But this, the little sketch with blocky lines, was the confirmation she needed to send her heart soaring out of this theater and up to the stars.

"'M happy y'like them," he murmured, growing shy with his knuckle coming up to nudge at the tip of his nose. He cleared his throat, a blush on his cheeks even as he steered the conversation elsewhere, "Did Ariel want to meet with you tonight?"

(Y/N) shook her head, admiring her flowers still. "Not tonight. We're close enough to the end of the run that I think she just wants us to have fun."

"That's good," Harry insisted, "Y'can have an early night then."

Right, (Y/N) thought. All she needed to do was get unready and Harry would take her home until she would see him again tomorrow for the next show. Something in that thought dampened (Y/N)'s mood, picturing herself with her bouquet of flowers alone in her apartment. She was on too much of a high to end her night like that.

While she didn't necessarily have the energy for a night out, having some company for a night in didn't sound so bad.

Blinking up at him, (Y/N) wished she knew what he saw on her face that had his pupils dilating and mouth puffing into a small gape.

"Are you doing anything tonight, Harry?"

—————

Harry gaped, brow furrowed with chopsticks hovering in the air, up at her television screen. (Y/N) couldn't see a scrape of comprehension as he took in the film playing before them.

"This is the movie that made y'want to be a ballerina?"

(Y/N) let out a peal of laughter, pausing in her own take down of a spring roll. "Yes! Is that so hard to believe?"

She followed his gaze to the bright t.v. The lights in her apartment had been dimmed to give the ambiance of a movie theater despite the less-than-movie-theater kind of budgeting that went into the film playing for them. The animation was rudimentary, blocky and singular in the details of the characters. Nonetheless, (Y/N) still admired the colors and the fluidity of the movements. The voices and scenes were a comfort, taking her back to a time when the world was everything and anything she wanted it to be.

Including a dream to be a ballerina in her own Swan Lake. Just like Barbie.

"Is this a real movie? In theaters and everything?" Harry pressed, still determined to figure out how a children's movie starring Barbie set (Y/N) off in her dreams to pointe across the boards herself.

(Y/N) canted her head, rolling his question around. "I don't think it was in theaters, no. I think it was straight to DVD or something. I had the Barbie to match."

Harry made a small huh as he took in the beginning scenes of Odette's story. It wasn't too different from what she acted out every weekend, though there were definitely a few discrepancies. Especially when it came to some of the child animals. And Rothbart's daughter. And the unicorn.

Barbie was an original, what could she say?

Nonetheless, (Y/N) was not immune to the nostalgia she felt watching the story play out and the feeling in her chest when the music played.

"Will you just watch it, please? I'm letting you in on a secret, you know," (Y/N) playfully chided, bumping her shoulder to Harry's. "It's good, I promise. It has a better ending than our's anyway."

"We'll see," Harry countered, though (Y/N) was sure she already won with the way he looked at her with a small smile.

Silence settled between them as the movie went on, only being interrupted by Harry when he laughed at the serious moments with bad animation. Even that couldn't keep (Y/N) from falling into the scenes playing out in front of her. She enjoyed it too much, remembering her days of rewinding Odette's transformation into a swan, the nights she would spend staying up too late to learn the dances before her parents would hear her stomping around and send her to bed. There had been plenty of throw blankets that had been makeshift gowns, the fabric tied around her waist with a voluminous train as she twirled and twirled in her bedroom. (Until her gown would get twisted around her legs and send her off balance anyway).

This movie was the reason she spent an adolescent birthday at the ballet, where she saw the real story with real Barbies and ballerinas and swans on stage. This was where she began her journey to where she was now.

On screen, Odette and her Siegfried (aptly named Daniel, as Ken didn't really look like a Siegfried here) danced along the shore of the lake, looked on by the creatures of the forest as they fell in love with every step. This had always been one of (Y/N)'s favorite moments of the movie—the central love story coming together over the most beautiful of soundtracks.

With his chopsticks picking through the carton of rice in front of him, Harry nudged her gently. "We tell each other secrets now, right?"

"Of course," she muttered, shooting him a small smile, "I just told you my favorite movie is a Barbie movie from 2003, so we better be sharing secrets. I feel an uneven balance of embarrassment right now."

Harry dropped his head, a lopsided smile on his lips as he looks to the grains of rice he was pushing around with his chopsticks. "'S—uh—... I know Kingston isn't interested—would never be—and I've gotten better about it since the show started running, but 's hard not to be a little... jealous when you're dancing up there with him."

It took less than a second for (Y/N) to hear his words, a moment to comprehend and register the meaning, but far longer to react. All she could feel was the flutter in her chest, the squeeze of her lungs. Her stomach even hurt with the way it was immediately full with something so warm and floaty and full.

Jealous. Harry was jealous. Jealous of Kingston, who was not shy about his sexuality and how it very ardently did not include women. All because Kingston had the role of playing her love interest and got to dance with her.

All because Kingston got to be close to her.

Attempting to not look as giddy as she felt, (Y/N) absently poked at the last spring roll on her Styrofoam box. "Really?"

Harry shot her a look from the corner of his eyes, the apples of his cheeks going pink in the limited light from the movie. "Yeah," he mumbled, "'S not serious or anything, but... yeah."

"You know Kingston would never with me, right?"

"I know, I know," Harry waved her off, forcing a short laugh out, "'S just—'M sure being up there with you... it's something special. 'S hard not to imagine... Nevermind." Cutting himself off, another short, airy laugh replaced Harry's voice as he shook his head.

(Y/N) didn't know what she was feeling. How to describe the kind of energy coursing through her. She felt giddy and excited, eager to start an adventure that could last them all night. Though with all of that excitement, she felt knocked off balance. Butterflies bat at the chambers of her heart, but their wings anchored her to the ground instead of floating off into the sky.

She just hoped, so badly, she wasn't reading this wrong. That Harry was saying what she thought he was. That he was confessing to a feeling she had wrapped up herself and put away for no one else to see.

Forcing out a small laugh, she attempted to come off not nearly as giddy as she felt. Nudging his side, she dropped her gaze to his hands, too nervous to look at his face. "Ooh," she sang, a teasing sound that hid the tremor in her body, "You wanted to be close to me instead?"

A single dimple dented Harry's pinked cheek as he looked at her. "You know that."

She swallowed, mouth dry. "Do I?"

Harry tipped his head, feigning thought as the movie scenes flashed across his face in strobes of pink and blue. "I guess I do give every dancer bouquets after every show, drive them around town, and text them all night long. I have been giving some mixed signals."

A bubble of laughter burst out of (Y/N) then. Her skin warmed as he listed out all of these ways he'd been showing he cared for her. Wanted to be at her side. His teasing voice, the way he plays with her only made her that much more antsy sitting next to him.

These moments—a confession of feelings, if that's what this was becoming—could be over Chinese takeaway and a childhood film. It could be with stray glitters stuck to her skin and fly away hairs that didn't quite have all of the gel brushed out. It could be with a bruised foot from the amount of fouettés she'd performed earlier in the night and Harry's placemat littered with stray grains of rice from the amount of times he lost control of his chopsticks. It could be with dried roses pinned to her walls and Tupperware she'd been meaning to return to the owner.

"Maybe," she started, speaking through her smile, "you just have to be a little more clear."

Harry looked at her then, lilypad green flecked with specks of warm gold. The space between their cushions suddenly seemed too big. Too wide for what she wanted.

It was hard to tell with the way her thoughts tangled and diverged all at once, just who closed the distance first, but that didn't really matter when the end result came with her lips pressed to his.

It was sweet and careful the way he pressed into her, the ridges of his mouth lining up with hers as if made to fit. Dinner was pushed to the side in favor of reaching for one another, chopsticks rolling to her rug. Harry held her steady with his hand on her cheek as he tipped his head just so, deepening their short kiss into something more languid. The tip of his nose glanced along her cheek, the touch eliciting a small smile on her puckered lips.

Of course Harry felt it, pulling away just enough for the full of his mouth to still graze hers. His own lips upturned into a smile. "What?"

"Nothing," (Y/N) giggled, reaching up to take his jaw in her hands, "Your nose just touched me—tickled."

"Oh," he breathed, dotting a kiss to the corner of her mouth, "Sorry."

"No, no," she shook off right away, chasing his mouth for another long kiss, "I like your nose."

"Yeah? That's a new one." Her smile only widened when she watched him cross his eyes, scrunching his nose.

Tipping his head with her hands on his jaw, (Y/N) pressed a kiss to the tip of his scrunched nose. "It's a pretty nose."

Harry didn't respond with words, only pulling her back to his mouth. Their lips slotted together with her bottom one between his two. It was sweet and new, both of them feeling out what the other liked with tips of their head and presses of their mouths. It'd been a while since she had a first kiss, but she didn't remember the learning phase ever being this thrilling.

His stubble prickled under her hands as he pressed into her mouth that much more, feeling the give her lips underneath. The way his jaw worked as he kissed at her bottom lip, a slight draw of his tongue running along the pillow. There was nothing urgent about the way he tested the waters, tasting her kiss. Just the want to know her, to feel her, the way she was eager to know him.

Harry was the first to draw back as the ending credits of the movie started playing. The flashes of white across the black screen shone over their features, glancing over the light in his eyes and the shine covering his mouth. The very tip of his nose now sported a stray fleck of glitter, no doubt caught from grazing her cheek.

A bright smile bloomed across her lips.

"What?" Harry asked again, the pad of his thumb running along her soft undereye.

(Y/N) swiped at the glitter, removing the fleck from his skin. "Nothing. I just like your nose."

He kissed her again.

—————

27 shows done, only 3 to go! Merde everyone!

(Y/N) smiled at the mass text that was sent to the whole company from Ms. Ariel. This was the last week of the ten week run that their Swan Lake production had done, with only three more shows standing for the weekend.

While this was now (Y/N)'s fifth production with the company, this final set felt so much more significant. Not only because she was the prima and would be retiring Odette after this Saturday night, but with everything she'd learned these last ten weeks. Not even including the months they spent rehearsing and preparing for the show in the first place.

She had been deemed principal worthy with this role. She had given the performance of a lifetime, enough so that people noticed and wrote articles. The success of the show was something she'd never seen coming. While she was no Misty Copeland, there were people who knew who she was and had come to the theater to see her dance. There were articles written praising the way she embodied her dream. It was a hard thing to let go of.

But, there was always Harry, she thought. Harry who was the reason her apartment was full of bouquets—both dried and fresh. Little cards congratulating her, singing her praises, or boasting an unskilled sketch were filling a drawer in vanity. Evidence of him came in the form of her Netflix history now being an amalgamation of their tastes thrown together. While she knew where her car keys were, there was no reason to look for them half the time when Harry was already waiting for her downstairs, ready to take her wherever she needed to go and make a day out of it. She no longer stuffed the feelings away when she was reviewing a manuscript and the male love interest's features suddenly resembled Harry in every way.

Even the times at the theater before and after shows had shifted some. The thin ice Harry had been skating on when it came to the dancers and crew had melted away, leaving him on solid ground. While no one had made it as close to him as (Y/N), there were still more than a handful of dancers and crew members that no longer cringed or whispered when Harry came into the room. Instead, (Y/N) was proud to hear the greetings he would get, small talk always being extended to him even if he still grew bashful under the attention.

Harry wasn't afraid to walk into the theater or studio with his hand wrapped in hers. The grand bouquets were always handed to (Y/N) with dancers coming by to praise the fragrance or the arrangement of colors. He didn't worry about anyone seeing her duck into his car after the night had ended. Things had brightened for him here.

(Y/N) may be letting go of Odette, but she would always have this Harry.

A service had been done to her that she had never seen coming. Only three shows left.

—————

(Y/N)'s hand absently worried the strap of her tote bag hanging from her shoulder. She could feel the thread she was picking at beginning to loosen, and she knew she needed to stop. But if she stopped, she wouldn't have anything to concentrate on to keep her from crying.

Ms. Ariel was standing in front of the company with the director, orchestra conductor, and the department heads as they gave their final night speeches. Even Harry was up there shadowed in the back, the face for all of the patrons that helped put the show on this season.

It was something that happened every season as each run came to a close. (Y/N) had cried before their last show on her first production (a rendition of Magic Mirror with distinct Snow White elements. She had been a bunny), but she'd been able to be put together in the productions that followed.

Until tonight.

It hadn't felt real until she and the rest of the company were herded into the front of the house and sat in rows the same way they had been during their final meeting right before rehearsals had started for Swan Lake. Now, here they were with their send off for the season. Odette's final night on the boards.

Siobhan reached over the arm rest and patted (Y/N)'s leg, a sympathetic smile on her face with her own eyes glossed with tears. (Y/N) couldn't look at her if she wanted to keep it together for a moment longer.

Once the director took his step back, Ms. Ariel took the center stage.

"I know we all have to start getting ready, so I won't keep any of you too much longer. Just know that this has been a bigger success than any of us had seen coming—all thanks to all of you. Without your help and hard work and love for the show, we wouldn't have made it so flawlessly through these ten weeks. This has been a one to remember and one that will set us up to be remembered. Merde!"

A round of applause sounded through the theater as the cast and crew stood from their spots. Before long, as expected, a huddle formed in the main aisle. As with the end of every production, there was always a big group hug orchestrated right before everyone would scatter to put on the show for the last time.

(Y/N) was readily pulled right in by the rest of the swans and Kingston, unable to keep her tears in this time. If anyone noticed as they all huddled in, no one said anything. Words of congratulations and gratitude were shared among the moving pieces that made the show possible, the murmurs roiling into a quiet purr in the middle of the theater. (Y/N), arms around Siobhan and Kingston, squeezed them tight. She could't wait to see who she was at the end of the next production.

Soon enough, Ms. Ariel dismissed everyone with the reminder that there was still work to be done. All of the fonding and celebrating was to be scheduled later tonight.

—————

Patting a tissue under her eyes, (Y/N) could only halfway concentrate on catching the tear before it had a chance to ruin her makeup. The other half of her concentration was being spent on the next tear that was working its way out of her other eye.

It'd been like this off and on since she started warm ups, this roller coaster of emotion following her through her hair and makeup, into costuming, and now when she typically flitted about the backstage area and chatted with her colleagues to keep her nerves down before the show. Instead, she was spending her final night as Odette hoping against all odds that no one would be able to spot the tear tracks in her makeup.

A gentle knock came to the door of her dressing room.

Swallowing around her dry throat, (Y/N) quickly patted around her eyes once more with a sniffle of her nose before calling out, "Come in!"

Instead of Ms. Ariel or Kingston being unveiled behind the door, Harry stepped in. He was clad in one of his signature suits, the creamy sage color tailored to the contours of his frame with a black button down stitched underneath. The hue made his eyes impossibly brighter as they landed on her, a look of sympathy landing on his features.

"Y'alright?"

That was all it took before she was tearing up once more, voice thin. "Yeah, j-just excited."

"Oh, love," Harry crooned, passing the room to her vanity in quick strides. Before even her first tear fell, he had her gathered in his arms. "I know," he murmured into her slicked back hair, "I know."

"I don't know why I'm so emotional," (Y/N) blabbered, doing her best to keep her face angled just right so she didn't blink away her mascara.

Harry only squeezed her tighter. "This show meant a lot to you, that's okay. You're allowed to be sad 's over."

"But," she breathed, taking a moment as her voice shook, "But, it's not like I'm not going to be in more shows. I-I just feel silly."

"I wouldn't," Harry said, pulling away from her to get his eyes on her own, "This was big, and y'did so amazing. I don't think any of our shows have ever been so positively reviewed until you. You're going to have more opportunities like this, but that doesn't mean y'can't be sad that this one is over. 'M going to miss this too, you know."

"Really?" she sniffled.

"Oh yeah," Harry smiled, thumbing at a tear under her eye, "Y'made this one of m'all time favorites, love. 'M going to miss seeing y'be the best swan ever up there, but I know this isn't going to be your last time as the prima."

"I hope not," (Y/N) laughed, the sound watery and thin.

"'M far from the only person so impressed by you. You'll have more moments like this, (Y/N). But 's okay to be sad that this one is over."

(Y/N)'s bottom lip wobbled, another round of tears collecting in her waterline. "Thank you, H."

A small smile graced his features before he pulled her in for another hug. "I've got you, love. Always."

She didn't let him go until they heard the first notes of the prologue on stage.

—————

Lifted over Kingston's head, (Y/N) let her tears freely fall as Odette. A blissful afterlife with her Prince laid before her while all of her cursed swans were left to freely roam in their original forms.

Tonight, these crystalline tears had little to do with the love bursting from Odette and much more to do with the gratitude in (Y/N). She would never have another night exactly like this again, with these exact people and this exact audience. She couldn't keep her eyes from sweeping across every face every time she twirled out.

Though it was hard to keep from falling into the pattern of looking right up on the balcony. Right where Harry sat, his own eyes glossy as he gazed down at her so adoringly.

With her arms raised around her, (Y/N) floated like a swan over the boards, a beaming smile on her lips with her eyes fluttered to a close.

—————

Still in her bow, the curtains dropped over the entire ensemble gathered on stage. Ms. Ariel and the other department heads still had their bundles of flowers clutched to their chests—all gifted by the cast and crew—even when the only stage light could be seen peering under the hem of the heavy velvet curtain.

The final set piece for the story—the glade with which a finally human Odette and Siegfried danced together for a blissful eternity—was frozen in time around the. Stray flecks of faux-snow and glitter from the costumes littered the boards, all complimented by stray feathers scattered about. Flowers still littered the stage that had been thrown at their feet. The limited light from under the curtain bounced across the final moments of this set's life.

Another set of tears touched (Y/N)'s eyes, tears she saw mirrored in Kingston's gaze when he looked down at her. A bright smile took over his features before he pulled her in for a hug. It wasn't long before the rest of the cast and crew were there in the huddle with her. This group huddle felt tighter and warmer than the pre-show snuggle, leaving (Y/N) to feel every bit of the drop now that she was leaving the stage as Odette for the last time.

(Y/N) could have stood there for hours before Ms. Ariel, her voice coming from somewhere in the crowd, reminded everyone of the group reservations that were made for later in the night. A post production celebration that occurred after every wrapped run, though this one felt particularly special for (Y/N).

At that, the group scattered, dancers moving to change out of costumes and crew working to break down the sets. (Y/N) and the swans stayed in their costumes as long as they could, flitting about to help take down the glade and stack away the rest of the pieces until a new home could be found. Flower petals and feathers followed their steps, flecks of glitter marking who had helped where until the stage was back to a base of brown boards with bare bones behind the curtains. The audience had long since gone home by the time (Y/N) made her way to her dressing room, deigning herself to shed her Odette costume at last.

Sitting at her vanity, she spotted Odile's tutu hanging on the rack behind her. The black jewels gleamed. around the onyx feathers, sending shadowy rainbows over the long tulle skirt of the human Odette dress. Her toes went numb just looking at the black pointes strung up next to Odile.

(Y/N) was going to miss her, too.

The last look at swan Odette came in the form of the costume being strung up on the padded satin hanger, laid against the plain wood of the dressing room door. The tutu sparkled even under the low lights, matching the stray shimmer that stuck to (Y/N)'s skin. She hoped she would have a hard time ridding herself of the sheen.

A knock came on her door, jostling her costume. The tutu flounced at the contact, a small smile drawing on (Y/N)'s features at the sight. Just like when she twirled and jumped.

"Yes?" she called, pulling Odette off of the small hook embedded on the door.

As expected, Harry was unveiled as he pushed open the door, a shy smile on his lips. "Doing alright?"

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, her own features twisting into a smile. "I'm not crying anymore, if that's what you were wondering."

Harry cooed at her, his smile turning upside down into a sympathetic frown. "Love, that's making me sad. Don't say that."

"I'm sorry," she laughed, bagging up the outfits just as the costume department requested, "But it's true. I think I'm all done, though. I'm going to miss it but at least I have all the videos and things to look back on. Maybe in a couple of years I'll try to convince Ms. Ariel to do the show again."

"I don't think that'll be very hard," Harry mused, holding out his hand as she approached him. "Do we need to take those anywhere?" he asked, jerking his chin towards her costume rack.

(Y/N) shook her head, looking forlornly towards the covered outfits. "Lea said we could leave them wherever tonight."

Lacing his fingers with hers, he matched her gaze with his lilypad eyes. "Did y'want to get out of here, or do y'want to take one last look around before?"

Brightening at the suggestion, (Y/N) peered around him out to the empty backstage. "Are we allowed to do that?"

He shrugged, "I have a key."

As if that proved anything, (Y/N) thought. Nonetheless, she eagerly nodded at his idea.

With their hands twined, Harry carefully guided her over the stray set pieces stacked on top of one another, ropes and cords and light fixtures being avoided as well. Until they were stepping out on stage.

The house lights were still on, leaving the rows and rows of seats exposed. All empty. Though it appeared someone tried to clean up the stage, there were still lone feathers and flakes of fake snow stuck in the grooves of the wood.

Without the sets, the stage didn't look all that important. Without her costume and the watchful eyes of her audience, there was the facet of being the prima (Y/N) no longer had.

But that feeling in her chest hadn't changed. It wasn't hard to call forth those memories in her tutu with admirers watching every lithe move of her body and strong push of her legs. It felt wonderful—full of wonder, to be specific.

"So this is what y'see every night," Harry mused at her side, gaze cast far out to the back of the theater. "How do y'do it?"

(Y/N) hummed, bright smile on her lips. "I usually just kind of focus up there. It makes it a lot easier."

Pointing to a specific balcony, (Y/N) waited as Harry followed the line of her hand. It didn't take long before pink was staining his cheeks and the tops of his ears, a bashful smile on his lips.

"Every night?"

"Every night."

She wondered if Harry was realizing just how many faces she saw each evening while spinning and twirling on her toes. How easy it would have been to pick a new one each time to focus on, beam her smile or direct her frown to. Instead, she always came back to him. Even before their time together became something tangible.

Using her grip on his hand, (Y/N) tugged her towards him, growing antsy under the silence after her small confession. "Come here. Dance with me." Harry blanched at her request, earning a bubbling giggle from her. "You've seen the show enough to know the dance," she pressed, already hooking his hand over her ribs the way Kingston did earlier in the night.

"I don't know, (Y/N)" he countered though he didn't stop her from moving his hand wherever she wanted, "We don't even have the music. We'll lose count."

"I'll hum it for you, it's fine." When he didn't look particularly convinced, she fluttered her lashes up at him. "You said you wanted to be Kingston sometimes, right? Here's your chance."

Unsurprisingly, Harry blushed at her poking, though it did seem to work with the way he solidified his grip on her. "Um, is this before or after y'jump off the cliff?" he murmured once (Y/N) hummed the promised song.

"After," (Y/N) laughed, dropping her hands to his shoulders, "This is the epilogue."

Despite the small panic that was brewing in his eyes, Harry did let a small smile slip. "I do like the epilogue."

"Really?" she asked, leading them in rudimentary steps that had them spinning in a slow circle. Without pointes, some of the moves would be impossible, but hopefully Harry wouldn't mind the difference.

He nodded. "Y'look the happiest then."

(Y/N) held that thought with her as she let her features mold into a grin. Harry allowed her to lead them as they moved across the boards in clunky steps. It was far from the scene critics raved about, but it may be (Y/N)'s favorite rendition she'd ever been a part of.

Harry held her close, keeping her steady as she got ambitious and split her leg up high behind her. The form was wobbly through her sneakers, but he still looked at her in awe as she barely twirled.

"Ready for a big one?" she asked, twirling back into his chest.

"What big one?"

"The lift, remember?" (Y/N) could only laugh when the color seemingly drained from his face. "It'll be fine, just hold me."

Though he needed a bit of instruction on where exactly to hold her—tight around her waist, high enough that he could feel her ribs under his palms—he did as instructed without a qualm. On a three count, Harry lifted her over his head, leaving her to do as Odette with her legs extended into a split. It lacked a bit of the drama that the fluttering skirt reserved for Odette's afterlife had, but it worked fine enough in her tights.

She continued to hum the song for Harry, even when she peeked down at him, only to find him looking up at her so adoringly. She hadn't been aloft for very long before Harry was carefully lowering her to him once more. Her body brushed along his with the slow movement, the thin cover of his black button up doing little to hide the ridges of muscles that blocked his abdomen. The strength in his hands, muscles corded up his arms and strapping across his shoulders kept her steady, even as she wrapped her legs around his hips once she was level with him. He didn't stop her as the soft of her thighs closed around his middle, ankles crossed at his back. He only pulsed his hands around her waist, the green of his eyes deep enough to suck her in when she dared to meet them

The song died in (Y/N)'s throat. This was a different number, one not performed on the stage for others to see. One that she didn't perform with Kingston—not with the way her breath grew a bit more shallow.

Her hands on his shoulder shifted until they were coasting up the sides of his throat, thumbs touching the hinge of his jaw. Harry's own hands moved until he formed a bar with his forearm across her back and another hand rounded under her thighs. She didn't direct him into any other moves despite the both of them knowing this was far from the production's choreography.

Harry's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze dropping from hers only to land on her lips.

Surging forward, (Y/N) had a stray thought hoping that he didn't mind the taste of her stage lipstick. If she had known this was how she was going to spend the prelude to dinner, she may have actually wiped her makeup off. Though she didn't let that stop her from letting Harry suck her bottom lip between his two, getting a taste of her mouth.

There was something more urgent to this contact that hadn't been there the other times they'd locked lips. Harry pushed that much harder, pressing into her lips as if wishing to leave his indent. He didn't care when the tip of his nose smushed into her cheek or grazed the bridge of his own when he canted his head just right. Puffs of breath fanned between them the few seconds they broke apart. Moving distractedly, (Y/N) ran her fingers through the waves of hair framing his face, pushing back the baby hairs that tickled her skin.

Without thinking, she curled her fingers in the strands, pieces getting caught in the fray until a light tug was delivered to the roots. A low, rumbling moan escaped Harry, dripping over her mouth.

(Y/N) sucked in a breath at the sound, thighs pulsing around his middle. Had he always done that when she ran her fingers through his hair? Or was this new?

Before much more jumbled contemplation could occur, Harry pulled away. His typically pink cheeks were branded a warm red, lips swollen and spit slicked. He loosened his hold on her, signaling her to land safely on the floor.

"We—um—we should get with the others," he said, the suggestion coming out uncertain.

She lagged in response. Dinner was quite possibly last in line of her needs at the moment. Though this prioritized need was new—added to the list only within the last handful of minutes as she felt the stretch of his body against her own—it felt terribly important compared to everything else.

Nonetheless, (Y/N) nodded her head, knowing they both had a responsibility to show face at this dinner.

"Right," (Y/N) muttered, sounding just as unconvinced as he was, "Right."

Harry's hand stayed tight in hers as he escorted her out to his car.

—————

"Ms. Ariel, can we do Midsummer's Night Dream for the summer production?!"

Kingston's tipsy outburst had come after prodding from many of the swans, who were also on the same level as him if the empty drink glasses were anything to go off of. (Y/N) watched in amusement as Ms. Ariel peered down her nose over to where Kingston was standing up from their table.

"Maybe."

(Y/N) was sure that when Kingston groaned and fell back into his chair, laughter from the dancers around him erupting, that this had been just the reaction Ms. Ariel had been going for. As stoic as she could be, she had a had time biting back her smile with her own margarita half drunk in front of her.

"Is that the third time he's asked for a different show?" Harry murmured into (Y/N)'s ear, too quiet for the rest of the guests at the table to hear.

"The fourth," she corrected, turning until her lips were level with his ear, "I'm pretty sure we are doing Midsummer's Night Dream though. She has to be messing with him."

Harry let out a soft laugh at her whispers. "'M sure of it."

Leaning back in her chair, she watched the rest of the show move on around them. She and Harry had been the last to arrive to the dinner reservations, leaving them to catch up to the room that was already buzzing with post-show energy. Gone were the weeping and tear tracks, now was the time for speculating about the future and raving about the time had on and off stage during the Swan Lake run.

Once butting into their saved chairs with the rest of the swan wedge and Kingston, (Y/N) had soaked it all in, feeling a sense of deja vu to a night so similar to this ten weeks ago. Though this time, she was much more sober and Harry hadn't had to be dragged to her side. Instead, she had stuck right with her the whole night, keeping a hand on her knee even as he was pulled into different conversations with members of the cast and crew.

Despite her mind being tugged into the memory of whatever it was that had threaded between them on stage at the theater, this was a welcome distraction. This was all (Y/N) had hoped for when she started sprinkling in her defenses of Harry to the company: for him to be given a chance. Though the taxes of being a social butterfly came with more effort than she was sure he had planned on expending tonight.

While everyone was fixed on the game being planned between Kingston and Ms. Ariel, (Y/N) leaned across Harry to reach for the glass of wine they had agreed to share for the evening. She pressed her lips to the rim where her lipstick mark—though faint given the fact much of it had been rubbed off not too long ago—taking a sip with the weight of Harry's eyes on her.

"Hm?" she hummed, bouncing her brows above her head as she caught Harry's gaze.

With a blink of his dark lashes, Harry shook away the gloss that had formed over his eyes. "Nothing, sorry. How are you feeling?"

His question came with a squeeze of his hand over her knee, the fabric of her sweats giving against the pad of his thumb.

"Tired," she admitted, rolling her neck, "I think the last ten weeks are starting to set in a little."

"Yeah?" he pressed, a furrow in his brow, "Anything hurt?"

"Not yet, but that'll happen in the morning I'm sure." Nothing quite like finding immaculately colored bruises all over your feet after having the time of your life the night before. She would gladly be taking these next two weeks of break to soothe her limbs.

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" Harry asked, mouth still in a frown though there was something brighter floating in his eyes as they scanned over her form.

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth. She had an idea, though it didn't necessarily have much to do with avoiding any aches in the morning. It would make her feel better though—possibly even ready her to see the day tomorrow.

If he wanted to anyway.

She had paused long enough that Harry flitted his gaze back up to her own. That brightness she had spotted looked a bit more like a warmth now that he wasn't shying away from her gaze—a smoldering burn behind the moss of his irises.

"Did you have to go back home tonight?" she started with, a lilt to her voice as if she weren't leading into taking him home with her.

Surely, he had to have felt the same way on the stage as she did. Right? Otherwise he wouldn't have kissed her the way he did, held her so tight against his body, dent the soft of her waist with his fingertips as if to keep him under her skin forever.

Harry shrugged. "Not really. Why?"

A soft smile curled her lips as she gazed at him, her lashes creating a frame around his face. "Did you want to come back to mine instead? We can watch some more movies."

He let out a laugh at her movie suggestion, the activity growing into an excuse to get him in front of her television before she showed him a movie he'd never heard of from her childhood.

This time it was him reaching for the wine glass, peering at her from the corner of his eye as he pressed the rim to his lips. Right over the print of her lipstick. He took down the rest of the alcohol, the last two gulps staining the center of his mouth a soft red.

The sight mimicked the freshly kissed pout she had given him in the theater.

"I think we could do that," he nodded, glancing at the time on his phone, "Ready to go now, or want to wait a little?"

Casting her eyes around the room, (Y/N) could see the way everyone was still entrenched in the energy of a newly closed show. So many of the girls were still clad in their swan accessories, some with feathers still drawn in white paint across their cheeks. Even the backstage crew wasn't immune to the fun of the night, specks of glitter and fallen snow having clung to their clothing. The department heads and Ms. Ariel were even in their own eased bubble, different from what the start of the production run did to them.

It was a perfect night. The right ending to one of the most memorable runs she was sure to ever have.

And (Y/N) was ready to go home.

She looked at Harry with a barely stifled grin. "I'm ready."

—————

(Y/N) sighed as she ran her fingers through her hair. The damp strands were finally free of the layers of gel taming them away during her performance, and the tension headache she was getting had finally ceased. The warm water of her shower had done wonders to loosen her muscles and make her feel real again.

Finishing with rubbing lotion into her hands, she left her bedroom to find harry just where she left him on her couch. On the television there was a movie playing, though it didn't seem he was paying much attention to any of the scenes. Instead he was wrapped up in a binder clipped bundle of pages splayed open in his lap.

"Is that one of my manuscripts?" she asked, dumping her used towels and dirty clothes into her hamper.

Harry, with a furrow in his brow and fist under his chin, nodded his head. "Yeah. This is the one y'were telling me about the other day?"

"No, that was a different one. I just got that one this morning before I left."

(Y/N) felt a bit restless as she watched him on her couch. It would be annoying in any other context, but him being sat there with his legs spread wide, his pistachio colored trousers stretched over his thighs. He made himself at home right in the middle of the sofa, taking up space with his broad shoulders. The look on features was tense, concentrating fully on the manuscript in his hands as if it were a thesis paper. She wondered if this was what he was like when he was working, looking over the financials or critiquing art he wanted to buy for the galleries. She wondered if Harry knew that some of the reason people were so intimidated by him was because he was just really hot; it was hard to interact with him normally.

Not for the first time, she thought about what it would be like to tag along with him to those visits to his properties. She was so used to seeing Harry bashful and letting her make way for him in the world of ballet, she wanted to see what he was like when he was in his chosen environment. When he was the one that held the knowledge and connections and confidence.

The ghost of his hand on her leg, the way he had held her when taking Kingston's place on stage, the sight of him pressing his lips to the same spot she had sipped from the wine glass—it all lingered over her. There was a pitch in her stomach that tightened and hadn't loosened through the night. It made her skin crawl, every cell seemingly urging her next to him; to convince him to get his hands on her once more, his lips on her own.

Realizing she had been staring at him for far longer than would be appropriate even if he was her bonafide boyfriend, (Y/N) shook her head, blinking away from him. She took her time heading towards the kitchen and filling her water. She should be too tired to even be thinking like this—to be rubbing her thighs together and spreading her fingers through her hair as if they were as satisfying as Harry's touch. She had just concluded a ten week run in her dream role, she should be exhausted, not verging on needy.

Clearing her throat, (Y/N) called over her shoulder, feigning nonchalance, "Did you want any water? Or did you already get yourself something to drink?"

A beat passed with no response.

"Harry?" she tried again.

"Hm?" he answered, shifting in his spot though a glance in his direction granted only a view of the back of his head. He was still reading.

"I asked if you wanted something to drink," she repeated through an amused smile.

"'M alright, love. Thank you, though."

With her own cool bottle in hand, (Y/N) gave in and crossed her apartment to settle into the cushion beside him. As predicted, the manuscript was laid out in his lap, with a heady amount of pages already turned.

"Is it any good?" she asked, attempting to peer over his shoulder to see what exactly had taken his attention, "I don't even remember the description of it that the publisher sent over."

"'S... something," Harry mused, clearing his own throat as he peeked at her from the corner of his eye, "Have y'read it at all, yet?"

A pinch formed between her brows at the vague review he gave to something he couldn't seem to put down. "No," she started, "Is it weird, or something?"

Harry rolled his lips between his teeth. "I wouldn't say weird, jus' not what I was expecting from something called"—he flicked to the plain white page acting as the cover—"In The Margains. I thought these people were supposed to be librarians."

The pinch in (Y/N) expression only deepened at the extra information Harry prattled on about. Sidling up next to him, she got a clearer view of the typed passages open in front of him.

Reid hoisted me onto his lap, strong hands holding the swell of my ass tight. He tugged me tight to his chest. The feel of his starched shirt against my breasts was a stark reminder that he was clothed and I was not. I was at his mercy, the twinkling stars I could spot through the skylight were silent observers to my submission.

"You like being my whore? Is that why you're so wet, Maggie?" His voice was as rough as his touch as his hips shifted under mine. Goosebumps textured my skin as I clung to him. He took my silence as an answer enough, amusing enough for him to smirk at me. "You think everyone would still think you're nothing but a cute little librarian if they knew you've been letting me in after hours just to fuck you against the shelves?"

I moaned.

(Y/N) stopped reading then, unable to go any further when she could feel the way her cheeks were heating up. This was definitely not what was included in the blurb the publisher had sent over—she would have remembered.

She felt embarrassed as if she had been the one to write this kind of smut, taking the manuscript from Harry's hands. He let her flick through the pages he'd already passed, spotting much of the same occurring so early in the story. She could only imagine what kind of development was created through the rest of the pages.

"I am so sorry," she bubbled, frantically taking the pages away with the rest of the manuscripts she was in the process of reviewing and editing. "I had no idea that it was that kind of story. I wouldn't have left it out for you."

She couldn't help the air of laughter clinging to her words, the sound lacking humor when she felt so awkward.

Interrupting her rush to reorganize and somehow hide what he had already seen, Harry dropped a hand onto her own. She stilled under his touch, letting him collect her until she was settled once more against the cushions and Harry was carefully holding both of her hands in one of his.

"'S okay," he insisted, a faint smile on his features, "I don't know why you're getting all upset. 'S fine, love; 'm not mad if that's what you're thinking. I don't mind if those are the things y'read, I jus' wasn't expecting it. That's all."

(Y/N) opened her mouth before closing it before anything could escape. She felt like a guppy, mouth dry and gaped as she tried to speak.

"They're not all like that," she settled on, mumbling the insistence, "You know that."

"I know," Harry laughed, clearly not as disturbed by his discovery as she was, "But it would be fine if they were. I don't know why you're all flustered."

(Y/N) blinked, lashes fluttering as she fixed her gaze on their folded hands. For some reason, being on the boards of the stage, if Harry had picked up on the direction of her thoughts, it didn't feel so bad. She was already so used to performing when she was up there. But here, in her apartment with her full laundry hamper and mismatched—though still pink for the most part—decor, it felt so much more vulnerable. If he knew what was in her head here, it would be real. She wouldn't be making a show of it, using the confidence of a spotlight and predetermined choreography. Every move would be her own doing.

If he knew that she'd made a bit of a habit of seeing his face as the love interest in her manuscripts, it wouldn't be because of a script or a plot line. It would be because she saw him in everything and wanted those intimate moments with him.

"I don't know," she got out, a light-hearted laugh accompanying the words though she felt far from light.

Harry shifted in his spot, his grip on her hands moving until he was using it to tug her into his lap. (Y/N) moved pliantly, eager to be in his arms and hide her face against his throat. He may be able to feel the heat emanating from her cheeks that way, but at least he wouldn't be able to see her face and the open book her expressions were.

He smoothed his hand over her drying hair, toying with the ends while his other arm created a bar around her back. He held her close to his chest, so similar to the way he had back at the theater. Though this time, the thin bed shirt she wore was little protection as her breasts squeezed against the planes of his chest, the buttons of his suit jacket denting her softened skin.

"I thought it was nice, you know," Harry prattled, his voice a low mumble the same volume as the quiet movie on screen. "The book."

(Y/N)'s features twisted up where she was hiding in his neck. She felt him laugh more than she heard it, surely able to feel her reaction. "You think so?"

"That part was a little intense," he clarified, "But the rest of it wasn't so bad. They seemed very in love at least. He took care of her."

The rumble of his chest against her was a surprisingly comfort that had her limbs loosening. She could equate it to the roll of a car coasting down a straight shot, leaving her to daydream out the back window and settle into the upholstery.

She did the same in Harry's lap. Her thighs bracketing his hips curled tighter around him, holding her closely as the knobs of her spine relaxed. She fell against him, her body conforming to his own.

"You think so?" (Y/N) mumbled into his neck.

His hand on her back ran up the length of her spine, fingers gently denting the flesh. He hummed, another calming feeling that had her burrowing closer. "I do." He paused, throat bobbing next to her face. "She kind of reminded me of you a little."

"Really?"

"Mhm. She was sweet," he mused, his hand returning to her hair as he tucked through the strands to graze the back of her neck, "Took care of her friends. Talked a lot,"—that was said with amusement, enough so that had (Y/N) laughing into his neck even as she scolded him with a Heyyy—"I pictured her as you."

A smile lingered on her lips even as she registered what he was saying. Harry had cutely pictured the main character of the manuscript as her. Did that include the more scandalous pages he perused?

The idea had that tightening in her stomach returning with all of the force that had waned as they talked. She hoped he didn't notice the way her thighs pulsed around his hips.

While (Y/N) couldn't quite see Harry as that particularly main character, he was a regular in her casting calls for these books.

Grateful for her hiding place, she let the words fall out. "I've pictured you before. For my books."

His hand in her hair stuttered. "Yeah?"

She nodded against his throat. "Yeah. For most of them, actually."

A beat passed. Harry's chest rose against hers in a heavy breath.

"Even for—um—books like that?"

If his murmured question wasn't enough, the shifting of his hips under hers made it abundantly clear what Harry was going for with his line of questioning. Through the threadbare material of her bottoms, she could clearly feel the outline of something more pressing against her from Harry's lap. More than just the square of his phone or the stiff form of his zipper.

(Y/N) couldn't find words. Instead, she nodded quietly into his neck.

His hand coasting through her hair found the back of her neck once more. Instead of a grazing touch, he gently cupped the nape and pulled her away from his own throat. He peeled her off of his chest just far enough to look at her clearly, even if (Y/N) could only manage to make eye contact with his nose.

"(Y/N)."

"Hm?"

His hand on the back of her neck tightened just enough, a pulse on the soft skin. (Y/N) flicked her eyes up to his finally. Blown pupils and a thin ring of forest green met her head on.

"What were y'thinking when we were back at the theater?"

Her breath caught. He wouldn't be asking if he didn't already have an idea. That was why he didn't look much surprised when she shared one word:

"You."

"I kind of hoped so," he smiled, dipping his head until their foreheads rested against one another, "What about me?"

The way he looked at her felt akin to an adoring audience member, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The kind of breathtaking moments that would linger with him for much longer than the duration of the show. Just like the way he had up in his balcony.

"Um," she started, tapping into a small reserve of that spotlight confidence to keep her form completely clamming up, "Just you. The way you were holding me. I could feel a lot of you when you helped me down, and it was... I liked it. Being close to you like that."

His hand on her back turned steely, pushing her heavily against his chest. His nose bumped hers, something that had her core tightening instead of an affectionate smile blooming on her lips.

"Like this?" he prodded.

While (Y/N) was used to feeling strength and lithe muscles on her fellow dancers, specifically the male ballerinas that were trained to lift her over their heads and to launch themselves over the stage in barreling moves. But this was different. Harry didn't have to worry about his muscle mass limiting his flexibility. He was able to be strong and hard, with cut lines and sharp edges.

It was nice. Very, very nice.

"Yeah," she breathed, her eyes hooded as she tipped her head just right.

The full of her lips had only a moment to graze against Harry's before he was finishing the job. That same urgency that had filled their kisses on stage had returned, filling the indents and ridges of her lips with his own. She could feel the way they swelled some against his kissing, only for his tongue to swipe out and soothe the irritation.

She didn't hesitate to part her lips for him, feeling his tongue sweep through her mouth. It was far from the first time they had made out like teenagers, but there was something more to every pressing and parting of their mouths. Heavy breaths fanned out between them, too busy tasting and trying each other to pull apart for air. The soft smacks of their lips meeting and departing filled the quiet of her living room.

(Y/N) wound her arms around Harry's neck, shuffling her that much closer to him. There were only mere inches of her body that weren't feeling some part of him. She could feel the hard lines of his body, the way his muscles moved under his skin with the express purpose of holding her.

Between her thighs and under the heat collecting at the apex, (Y/N) could feel that hard ridge she had only grazed before. His cock pressed against the flimsy middle of her sleep shorts, the material beginning to soak as she had forgone underwear when readying out of the shower. (Her past self had such good hindsight, Present (Y/N) could have cried had she not been busy).

Before she was aware of herself, she was rolling her hips against his. His hand on her back and her own arms around his neck had her torso stationary against his, leaving her hips to move as she so pleased against him. The angle of his cock was just so that (Y/N) felt the ridges of his zipper hitting her clit.

The sensation was enough to have a breathy moan falling from her mouth. Harry eagerly consumed it, kissing her that much harder as he let her have her way for a moment.

His nose knocked into hers as he pulled away, his lips trailing over the apple of her cheek and down the line of her jaw. He couldn't get enough of her, even when his chest was heaving, searching for air.

"(Y/N)?" he crooned. A wordless nod of her head told him she was listening. "Wh-What do y'want tonight?"

"You—"

"I know, love," Harry pressed, drawing away to meet her eyes once more, "I know, but what from me? I-I don't want to do anything y'don't want."

It took her a breath to tap into her rational brain. What did she want tonight?

(Y/N) guppied before him, mouth opening without a word before falling closed again.

A soft smile took Harry's swollen lips. "Can I tell y'what I want?"

She nodded, fingers curling against his back.

He didn't drift his eyes from her, even when a soft flush covered his neck and worked up his features. "It's been a while since I've done anything... like this. ‘M worried I don't even remember how."

Despite the breathy laugh he let out, (Y/N) face twisted into a frown. "Don't say that," she whined, "You're doing perfect. I'm having a great time."

That was enough to have a bright laugh filling his chest—dimples, bunny teeth and all. (Y/N) couldn't help but to match his beaming smile as he tightened his arms around her in a clinging hug. The innocent contact grounded her as he spoke.

"That's good, love," he said, pecking a kiss to the bridge of her nose, "I jus' want to take care of you, 's all 'm trying to say. If 'm a little lost, forgive me, but I promise 'm trying."

(Y/N)'s lips fell into a pout as she listened to him. That wasn't at all what she was expecting him to say. Almost at the very bottom of the list of options she could think of.

"Harry," she cooed, craning her neck to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Stop."

"Stop what?" he laughed, chasing after her kiss.

"You're going to make me cry, and that's not sexy."

Stealing the kiss he had chased, Harry shrugged around her. "Depends on who y'ask actually," he mumbled just before pulling away, "But I don't want to see y'cry right now. It'll make me sad."

"You're just cute, that's all," (Y/N) insisted, gentle smile on her lips, "I'm happy with anything you want. I trust you."

Those seemed to be the exact words Harry wanted, his eyes softening as he gazed down at her. One of his hands slid over her body until it was cupping her cheek, the pad of his thumb running over her cheekbone.

"I trust you too, love. Thank you."

He dipped down then and smeared his lips over hers in a drawing kiss. (Y/N) gave into him without a thought, barely registering the way he was careful moving her over his lap until she sat with her legs on either side of one of his.

Harry shifted underneath her, his thigh coming up to press heavily against her core. (Y/N)'s breath stuttered, her legs tightening around his own. A part of her didn't really understand why he had moved her so; she had been right over his cock before, what was the point of being moved away. Before she could thread together any coherent thought, Harry dropped a hand down to her hip and started egging her on to move against him.

Her shorts did little to protect her as she was slowly dragged over the firm muscle of his thigh. The seaming of her bottoms pushed directly against her clit, with the heavy material of his trousers dragging against the sensitive inside of her thighs. It was a lot for being so little.

She clung to Harry, letting him get her started on grinding down on his thigh. It didn't take long for her to start taking over, moving her hips at the pace that felt the best. Harry's hand stayed a perfect anchor on her hip, but she was the one keeping herself so crushingly close to him, that rutted against him without much coordination. If not for the way he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, she would have slumped against him as a whiny mess with nothing to keep her upright.

"Harry," she murmured against his mouth, her hands gliding over his form until they were skating through his hair.

"'M here, love," he crooned, buttoning his mouth to hers as a languid moan bubbled from her throat. He bounced his leg under her core, the motion bringing her high against his chest with her clit smushing headily against him. "I've got you, 's okay."

"B-But," she started, only to have her voice go out when he rocked his leg once more. Rutting against his leg felt dangerously good given they were still in their clothes. True to his word, though, Harry kept his grip on her hip, his hand on her face looping around the back of her neck to keep her face titled against his lips. "But," she tried again, "But, you. Wh-What about you?"

He shook his head. "I told y'what I wanted," he murmured, decidedly a bit breathless even without his own pleasure being the forefront. "I want to take care of you. This is what I want."

"But—"

Using his hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her mouth to his once more. Their noses knocked, (Y/N)'s lips parted with a moan as Harry licked into her mouth. It was a wonderful distraction—the kind that left her with swollen lips and a jumbled head. All while he kept her moving against his thigh, even when her own movements lagged in distraction.

"This is what I want," he said again, this time the words dripping over her mouth, "Let me see y'feel good. I know you're gonna be so pretty when y'come on me, love. Let me see that."

She would get him next time, she thought. She'd take care of him tenfold the next time. But right now, if what he wanted was to see her come and feel good all from the few touches of his thigh against her pussy, she was going to give him that.

Their murmured words devolved into breathy sighs and moans that Harry swallowed, tongue tasting each of her cries of pleasure as if the sweetest wine. His mouth never strayed far from hers, though he didn't hesitate to drip his trail of kisses over her cheeks and jaw, down the curve of her neck.

"C-Can you—" she panted, cut off by a messy kiss pressed to the center of her lips, "Can you do that thing? Please."

She didn't have to see him to feel the lopsided curl of his lips. "What thing?"

(Y/N) shook her head in an attempt to clear her mind. "You know. The thing—when you—against me."

It was disjointed and breathless the way she talked. Words weren't coming to her as easily as the pacing of her hips.

Harry drew back from her just enough to gaze up at her, his eyes dark and wide. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, the skin already flushed from the time spent pressed against hers. His cheeks were a warm red under his spray of freckles.

Before she could whine about the space he was putting between them as he laid back against the cushion of her sofa, Harry bounced his leg between her thighs. It was just what she had been looking for, though he didn't stop with just the one. He made a rhythm with it, her clit hitting the corded muscles of his thigh, the material of her shorts completely soaked through and straining the harder she ground against him.

"This?" he finally spoke, his hand on her hip wiggling its way under the hem of her top.

She frantically nodded her head, hands sliding down until they were braced against his shoulders. "Uh-huh."

(Y/N) rocked against him with the added wave of his leg under hers in a near-frantic rhythm. She could hardly find her breath as she sat over him, thighs straining around him. From under the sound of her desperate breathing, the softest wet sounds came from between her legs.

"Harry, I—" she blubbered, eyes cinched shut.

"I know," he crooned, his hand working up the hem of her top until he was touching the bare skin of her midriff. "Keep bouncing on me, love. You're close, huh?"

"Yeah," she nodded, a moan forced out as a pit in her stomach opened up. It filled her middle, taking her breath away and sinking every coherent thought right into it. It only made her work herself harder against him, her clit surely swollen hidden behind the confines of her shorts.

"Like a bunny," Harry prattled, words leaning into a slur. His eyes were wide as he looked at her, hands drifting up her side. "That's the first time I saw you, you know that?"

"Wh-What?" she blubbered, a pinch between her brows. Did he expect her to have all cognitive function right now? When she had her head thrown back as he rocked his leg particularly hard under her.

"Y'were a bunny last year. In the show," he elaborated, sentences broken and heavy as his hand grazed the swell of her breast. "All sweet with your little tail and ears. Y'were so excited every night. I couldn't stop thinking about y'for months."

It was then that (Y/N) was able to recall a memory of herself prancing across the stage as Snow White's rabbit in last year's production. A grey tail had been pinned just above her bottom and ears were smoothed into her head. It wasn't an impressive role, leaving her time to join the ensemble and spend some time backstage even. But (Y/N) distinctly remembered how excited she was to be in her first role with the company, happy to be there every night even if she was on stage for less time than it took her to get her hair and make up.

"Y-you remember that?" she breathed, grip on his shoulders tightening with her nails scratching into the material of his suit jacket.

"Of course, bunny. Y'became m'favorite thing in the world right then." His dark eyes flashed up to hers, entranced with the way she moved over his thigh. "And now I've got y'right here. Bouncing like a bunny right on m'lap. You're m'bunny now, right?"

At that, he bounced his leg underneath her with his hands on her hips pressing her against him. The contact was enough to take her breath and send her eyes fluttering to a close. The pit in her stomach had finally found a bottom, where every bit of fiery want was being fueled.

It only needed a bit more kindling, a touch of kerosene before the whole thing was going to blow.

"I am, I am," she bubbled, using her grip on his shoulders to force him against her once more. She needed to feel him again, the weight of his body and the blocks of his muscles. She needed to know he was here, that this was Harry on her. Harry that she trusted and cared for and, god, was she in love with him? Or was she just so incredibly close that her eyes had changed to the shape of hearts? "Please, H."

He didn't waste a second to have her wrapped up in his arms once more. He hugged her to his chest as her hips stuttered before dragging heavily over his thigh. That was all it took then.

The pit in her stomach closed up and expelled every singe of pleasure that had devoured her. It was consuming her, tightening her muscles and squeezing between her legs. Her thighs around his own tightened until she was barely able to rock herself through the fireworks. She could vaguely hear him murmuring something to her as she shook in his arms, but she would have to ask him what he said later. She was too busy feeling every brush of her skin against her clothes, the press of his thigh against her pussy, the stitching of his trousers between her legs.

Her world began to broaden first with the sound of Harry's voice registering in her ear.

"You're so pretty, bunny, so so pretty," he murmured, lips pressed to the space before her ear, "I've got you, yeah? You're m'bunny now—I'll take care of you."

She was slumped into his arm, unable to hold herself up and steady now that everything of her had gone into the fireworks shooting through her veins. "Harry."

A smile bloomed across his lips then. The curls remained even when he drew away just far enough to match her shuttered gaze. His nose knocked hers as he pressed his lips to hers again.

The urgency was gone now, leaving behind only sweet affection. (Y/N) happily sank into the kiss, hugging him just as tightly as he did her.

"Back?"

She gently nodded against his kiss. "I'm back."

Another soft kiss was pressed to her lips. "Good. I was starting to miss you."

A quiet laugh fell from her then, the sound fanning between them. "Sorry."

"'S alright," he assured her, carefully repositioning himself on the sofa with (Y/N) still in his arms. "'S what I wanted, right?"

Her breath hitched when he shifted his leg underneath hers, way too sensitive to feel any more, even if only a graze. The way he had her moved, she could feel the lump of his cock pressed to her thigh, the ridges of his zipper still straining. Drawing back, (Y/N) matched his eyes as best she could through her hooded lids.

"Are you... sure?" she asked, dropping her gaze between their snuggled bodies, "About not—?"

The smile he gave her was affectionate, soft and swollen with the traces of her kiss written all over it. "'M sure. Today was your big day, wasn't it?"

"I guess so," she laughed, suddenly remembering that this wasn't the only major event of the night.

What a day she had. She had finished her run as Odette and within hours of the show's close, she had become Harry's bunny too.

He let her lay against him as he ran his hand over the planes of her back. It was a soothing motion, enough so that she couldn't help the way her eyes fell into a close, her cheek smushed against his shoulder. She would need to get up and clean up soon, she knew. At least change out of her shorts and get something for Harry to wear instead of his sodden trousers. But now wasn't the time, she decided.

Now was for listening to the pacing of his breathing, feeling the soft touch of his hands over her body. To bask in the feeling of being adored by someone she adored just as much. If not more.

"Are you staying tonight?" she asked, voice muffled by her squished cheek.

"Y'want me to?"

She hugged him that much tighter then. "You know I do."

"Then, I'll stay."

—————

(Y/N) practically crossed her apartment in record time after dropping her phone to her bed. Her tied back hair flopped over her face as she stumbled through unlocking her door.

"I'm so sorry," she bubbled before she had even pulled it open, "I just saw your text. I didn't think you'd be back so fast, so I put on my headphones and everything."

"'S alright," Harry laughed, arms laden with take out containers. She could smell their breakfast inside, arms watering. "I was there for only a minute, 's fine."

"Still," she insisted, locking the door behind her before prancing to the sofa to meet him there. "Thank you for going, though. Was it busy?"

Harry shook his head, laying out their meals with peeks into the boxes. "Not really. The drive was longer than the wait."

Snuggled into the corner of her couch, (Y/N) couldn't wipe the smile from her face. With her eyes trained on Harry, she felt the familiar beating of butterflies wings heading through her stomach and pumping of her heart's missed beats. He was always entirely too gorgeous, but this morning he was just so much more.

Maybe it was the borrowed clothes—a set Kingston had left behind after his weekend long excursion at her apartment when his was getting renovated—leaving him so soft and casual compared to the times she usually saw him. Maybe it was the mess of his hair on the top of his head. Maybe it was the pillow creases still denting his cheek from when they woke up next to one another. Maybe it was because she had spent such a special night with him, lips still swollen from the tastes she couldn't get enough of.

Maybe it was just because it was Harry and she was ninety-eight percent sure she was in love with him.

"What?" he asked, cheeks turning a bashful pink as he took her space next to her.

"Nothing," she crooned, snuggling into his side without a second thought. "I'm just happy you're here. Thank you."

Harry answered simply with a kiss to the top of her head, his arm coming around her to squeeze her to his side.

"Before we eat," he started, reaching for another bag still packed at his feet, "I want to give y'something before I forget again. I wanted to give this to y'last night, but we got pretty distracted."

A small smile crossed her features as she watched him dig through his bag. It wasn't before long that she had a silver wrapped present in her lap. A card with a crudely drawn swan was on the front.

"You're getting better, I see," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his as she carefully tore the taped card from the top.

"By next year, I think you'll be able to tell what they are without me telling you."

(Y/N) let out a boisterous laugh, slipping her finger under the edge of the wrapping paper. Harry watched her intently until she had unwrapped a picture frame. The frame itself was painted in hues of watercolor pink and blue, a shimmering white sparkled in the morning sun.

Inside was a framed ticket to the company's Swan Lake production. The date showed it was from opening night—the show that had launched off the positive reviews and the videos (Y/N) would forever be able to look back on. Next to the ticket was a slice of the playbill, showing off her name next to the role of Odette/Odile.

"For you to remember," Harry murmured next to her.

The quickly cooling breakfast on the table and glimmering picture frame was forgotten in favor of (Y/N) collapsing into Harry. She hadn't realized there were tears in her eyes until she sniffled against Harry's throat.

"Don't cry, bunny," he crooned, hand on the back of her head to keep her cozy next to him.

She shook her head, nose grazing his throat. "I love it. Thank you."

I love you, I love you, I love you.

"'S the least I could do, (Y/N)," he answered earnestly, "Really. You've done so much more for me than I think you'll ever know."

I love you, I love you, I love you, "I love you."

Harry's arms around her stiffened for a breath. For a heartbeat, she wondered if he had heard her thoughts. That he hadn't wanted to hear what he did.

But that was before he was curling around her, holding her tightly to him with gentle hands. His lips landed on her hair, the tip of his nose grazing the crown of her head.

"I love you, too, (Y/N)."

The words she had thought she'd been repeating in her head had actually fallen from her lips. Harry knew she loved him. And he loved her back.

It was in a rush, the way she pulled her head from her neck and pushed her lips against his. It was clumsy and off center, but (Y/N) didn't mind. Not when she could feel him smiling into her kiss.

"I love you, bunny."

She drew away enough to catch the light in his eyes. Something so bright and joyous in his gaze that hadn't been there when they met.

"I love you, too."

She kissed the tip of his nose.

—————

the bunny made snow white's companion in the classic ballet, magic mirror.

that's it wooooo bunny h lives! thank u sm for reading, so sorry for any mistakes nad please let me know what you want to see next!

310 notes · View notes

miaaaxxz · 1 day ago

Text

Bush Man | CL16

summary: It was supposed to be an ordinary night.Just a walk home after the club, the familiar silence of Monaco in the early hours. But then you found him. In your bush.And nothing about that night or the morning was normal. word count: 1.2K

pairing: charles leclerc x female!reader

NOT PROOFREAD

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After another race where Ferrari had managed to screw him over , again, Charles Leclerc flew back to Monaco with a head full of noise and no desire to hear anyone’s voice but his own.

Summer break had officially started, but instead of rest, he felt hollow. Drained. Like something inside him had burned out quietly while no one was looking.

He didn’t even unpack. He just threw on a jacket, grabbed his wallet, and left the apartment. No plans, no texts. He needed to not think. So he went where thinking was nearly impossible: a club.

The lights were too bright. The music too loud.

He hadn’t meant to drink that much , a couple shots, just to take the edge off. But the edge only grew sharper. The music blurred into a hum, the voices faded into static, and at some point, the idea of staying in that room, in that body, became unbearable.

So he left. Alone. Jacket forgotten somewhere. Phone slipping in and out of his hand. His steps unsteady as he wandered through the warm streets of Monaco, passing bars, cafés, glowing storefronts he’d known since childhood.

He didn’t know where he was going.But eventually, he saw it. A patch of green. A quiet little garden in front of someone’s house. And for some reason it looked inviting.

So Charles Leclerc, Formula 1 driver, Ferrari’s golden boy, collapsed into a bush like it was a luxury mattress.

જ⁀➴

You had just said goodbye to your best friend at the corner of the street, the two of you walking home from a night out that was supposed to last one drink and ended five hours later. Typical.

Lina lived a few houses down. You were staying at your aunt’s place for the summer, which thankfully wasn’t far. She made sure you got to the front gate before turning back, still talking about some guy in the club who had danced.

“Text me when you get in” she grinned.

“Only if you promise not to drunk-message your ex again.”

You waved her off with a lazy smirk and headed inside. Within minutes you were out of your dress and into the comfiest t-shirt you owned. The one with the slightly faded print and sleeves you always rolled twice.

You had just sat on the edge of the bed when your phone lit up.

Lina. Again.You frowned, picking up.

“I don’t wanna scare you or anything, but I think you have a Charles Leclerc in your bush.”

You blinked. “…I have a what in my bush?”

“A man. In your garden. And he looks exactly like Charles freaking Leclerc. Like... Monaco’s price. Ferrari golden boy"

You sighed. “You’re drunk. Lina, babe, we’ve talked about this. You can’t just manifest men into existence.”

“I’m dead serious. Come outside right now. Bring a flashlight. Or a bat. I don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

She hung up.

Still half-convinced this was some sleep-deprived prank, you shoved your feet into the first pair of slides you could find and tiptoed down the stairs of your aunt’s house. The summer air in Monaco was heavy and warm, humming faintly with the remnants of club music from the hill above.

Lina stood dead still near the front hedge, phone flashlight trained at something just beyond the leaves.

“There. Look,” she whispered dramatically. “I swear is him”

You squinted. There was definitely someone in the bush. A figure lay curled up awkwardly in the bushes, one shoe missing, hair a chaotic mess, muttering low curses in French.

“…Oh my God,” you breathed.

“Right?” Lina hissed. “Tell me that’s not him.”

You angled your phone light closer to his face.

Brown eyes squinted open, immediately scrunching shut again. He groaned.

“Putain de lumière… qu’est-ce que c’est…”

Yep. That was him.

That was Monaco’s golden boy. Passed out in your shrubbery.And definitely very drunk.

“What do we do? Call someone?” you whispered, panic rising. “Ferrari? A manager? The Pope?”

Lina looked down at him, then at you. “You want me to call Ferrari and say ‘Hi, your driver’s in my garden and it's look like he's dying'"?

“I don’t know!” you hissed. “Check if he has his phone or something.”

She leaned down, carefully patting his pockets while trying not to fall over.

“Found it!” Lina pulled out a sleek phone completely black.

“…It’s dead.”

Of course.

You both stared at each other for a long moment, like you were in the middle of some weird alternate universe.

“What now?” Lina asked.

You glanced down at him again. He groaned, rolling slightly, trying to find a comfortable position in the shrubbery.

“…We drag him inside.”

“What?”

“We can’t just leave him in a bush, Lina!”

“I’m not dragging an unconscious Formula 1 driver into the house like it’s normal!”

You sighed. “Help me with his legs.”

Lina groaned. “This is how people end up on the news.”

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Lina hissed, practically folded in half as she tried to lift Charles by the shoulders.

You had one arm under his knees and another gripping the back of his now grass-covered shirt. “Why is he so floppy?”

“Because he’s unconscious. And a man.”

You adjusted your stance, your sock sliding slightly on the tile as you both finally dragged him through the front door. He groaned low in his throat, head lolling against Lina’s shoulder.

“Shhh,” you whispered instinctively, though no one else was home.

Your aunt had left for Nice that weekend, a spontaneous getaway with her best friend.

“I think my spine just snapped,” Lina muttered as you both half-carried, half-dragged Charles into the living room and awkwardly maneuvered him toward the couch.

“I think my soul just left my body.”

You bumped his legs against the coffee table on the way. He barely flinched. Just let out another dramatic groan in slurred French and melted deeper into your grip.

“Almost there,” you breathed, sweat prickling the back of your neck.

With one final push, the two of you managed to drop him gently, but not gracefully onto the couch. He slumped sideways, one arm flopping dramatically off the edge.

You both stood back, panting.

Lina placed her hands on her hips. “Well. That’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to Charles Leclerc’s thighs.”

You gave her a flat look.

She smirked. “Too soon?”

You walked over, grabbed the soft grey throw blanket from the armchair, and unfolded it.

“Help me roll him.”

“What are we, paramedics?”

“Shut up and lift.”

Between the two of you, you managed to get him somewhat properly positioned head on the pillow, legs stretched out, arms tucked in enough to not dangle off the sides.

You pulled the blanket over him, tucking it slightly around his shoulders, then stepped back and stared at the scene.

Charles Leclerc.Formula 1 driver.Sleeping like a tranquilized bear in your aunt’s house.

“What even is my life right now?” you muttered.

Lina flopped onto the armchair. “Honestly? I don’t know, but I think I love it.”

Eventually, Lina stood up and stretched. “I should go before I start making questionable choices.”

You walked her to the door. “Thanks for helping me not drop him on the front steps.”

She winked and disappeared into the night.

You closed the door behind her, locked it, then turned back to the couch.

Charles was still fast asleep, mouth parted slightly, one hand now curled under the pillow like he’d always belonged there.

You sat cross-legged on the rug, watching him for a moment that lasted longer than it should’ve.

Then you muttered to yourself, “Tomorrow is going to be weird.”

જ⁀➴

Sunlight poured gently through the curtains, casting long stripes of gold across the wooden floor.

The apartment was still. Quiet. Still half-asleep.Until a soft, muffled groan broke the silence.

Charles stirred on the couch, head sinking deeper into the pillow before lifting suddenly, his brow furrowed, lips dry and slightly parted.

His body ached. His mouth tasted like regret. And his brain? Foggy. Useless.

He blinked against the light, squinting as he tried to figure out... anything.

This wasn’t his house.This wasn’t anyone’s house he recognized.

He sat up slowly, groaning again as the blanket slipped off his chest.

The first thing he noticed was the unfamiliar living room: warm-toned walls, a throw blanket now puddled in his lap, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the air.

The second thing he noticed... was you.

Curled up in the armchair across the room, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, a half-full mug resting on your knee. You looked like you’d just woken up too, hair messily tied up, but your eyes were fully on him.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

A tense beat passed.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to remember how he’d ended up here.

He opened his mouth, voice dry and cracked.

Then, he finally spoke.

“Where am I?”

You stretched and yawned softly, pushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“You’re at my aunt’s,” you said simply. “She’s away for a few days, so I’m looking after the place.”

Charles blinked, trying to piece together the foggy fragments of last night.

Then the memory hit or at least part of it.

“…Did I…?” he asked, voice hoarse. He gestured between the couch and where you were sitting. “Did we…?”

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“No,” you said, lips twitching into a small, amused smile. “ Babe, I just found you in the bush.”

Charles stared at you.

“…Sorry, what?”

“The bush,” you said again, nodding toward the window. “Outside. You were face-down in it. Very committed, honestly.”

He let out a noise half groan, half mortified choke. His hands dragged down his face as if he could wipe away the entire memory.

“Putain…” he muttered, muffled.

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “So no, nothing happened. ”

“God…” he muttered again, now flopping back against the couch, blanket tangled around his legs like it was trying to strangle him out of pity. “Please tell me no one saw that.”

You tilted your head.

“Are you asking if I’m going to tell anyone, or if I’ve already drafted the tweet?”

He cracked one eye open. “Both.”

You smirked. “Depends.”

His brow furrowed. “…On?”

You leaned back, swirling your mug slowly.

“Do I get free paddock passes for life if I keep it a secret?”

His groan echoed through the room as he dropped his head back against the pillow.

“Please don’t blackmail me.”

You grinned. “Too late.”

Another pause.

Then silence again. But this time, a little warmer. He peeked at you from under the blanket.

“I really was in a bush?”

You nodded. “Dead center.”

“…That explains the scratches on my neck. Wait, do you have a photo?”

“And the bit of leaf still in your hair.”

He reached up immediately, running his fingers through it. You pointed. He missed it. You walked over, leaned down, and gently plucked the small, crumpled green leaf from behind his ear, holding it up like a prize.

“Souvenir?” you asked.

He let out the softest, defeated laugh.

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

@luvs4haechan @emneedshelp @thepassionatereader @paaarrriiiii @formula1fordisaster @vinylphwoar @virtualperfectioncat @sltwins @lost-library-of-violets (Tagging based on previous fic! If you don’t wanna be tagged in other future things I post, just lmk 💌 part 5 of Unfinished Business soon)

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sunnie-angel · 3 days ago

Text

Lucky Little Stalker

jason todd x gn!reader tags: offscreen violence, stalkerish behaviour, crack, kind of fluff? a/n: inspired by that one story about robert pattinson taking his stalker to dinner.

"I know who you are."

Jason Todd has heard those words before. Granted, the first time had been from one of his goons. They'd seen his face after a scuffle gone wrong had damaged the Hood, which, in the middle of a firefight (Jason just had to bring a gun to a grenade launcher fight apparently) had been relatively low on his list of priorities to deal with. The words had been whispered in fear over top of the oranges at Jason's former local grocery store when said goon had reached for the same navel orange that Jason had wanted. Jason had glared, prepared to threaten the man with a fate worse than death, when the man's bladder had promptly given out and suddenly Jason had been dealing with piss on his shoes instead of brain matter. Sadly Jason had had to abandon that grocery store with its surprisingly well priced citrus out of a well-placed sense of paranoia.

The second time had heard those words it had been from a stranger. A stranger who had thought he was Jason Todd. Now, granted, the man hadn't actually thought he was Bruce Wayne's former ward, just that Jason looked close enough to an adult version to pull an Anastasia con. Now, Jason and the rest of his family might not exactly be sitting around a campfire and singing songs (that is if they were even aware of the Red Hood's real identity) but hey. That's crossing a line. If Jason is gonna torture his ex-adoptive father with the ghost of his dead son, he's not gonna do it for the money. The line from the movie, grandmama, it's me, Anastasia, had rung through his head as he shot the con man five times for good measure.

The person saying it now is not like the others. No, they're brandishing a Gotham library branded totebag, face scrunched up in annoyance, looking like an angry chihuahua. Eyeing them like they might be rabid — look, with what's getting pumped into the sewer system, you never know in Gotham — Jason starts to edge away from them and back towards the library lobby with its welcoming warm-toned lights.

"I think you've got the wrong guy," he says, eyeing the distance between himself and rabid chihuahua person.

"Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Pride and Prejudice. Confessions of a Mask. Fingersmith. The Brothers Karamazov. Beloved. Ring any bells?!" you nearly shout, a finger pointing accusingly at his chest.

"I mean that sounds a lot like the last few books I checked out from here—" Jason jabs a thumb at the building behind him, "—but I don't think that's any of your business."

Ooooooh you can basically see red at this point. None of your business? None of your business?!

"For the last FIVE MONTHS every single time I've gone to check out a book it's been gone. Funny how that works, huh? Out of all the books in the library — which holds nearly 9 million books by the way — the exact book I wanted to read was alway gone. Borrowed. By someone else. Every. Single. Time. Weird, right?" You fold your arms across your chest like you've just made an incredibly devastating point.

Jason just looks at you blankly. Okay so there's a new brand of crazy going around. Great.

"Okay but those aren't exactly unpopular books," he says slowly, enunciating so there's no doubt you'll misunderstand him. "Your reading plans have jack to do with me."

"Oh you say so, do you?" you say, eyes narrowing, lips pressed into a thin lin. "But I have the proof!"

From your already bulging totebag, you pull out a bunch of receipts, carefully catalogued in a plastic file. You brandish them in his face and he eyes them like a potential weapon. Which they could be with the way you're waving them around. Jason refuses to become blinded by a random stranger with a plastic folder.

"There's a garbage bin about 20 feet that way," he tells you flatly.

You seethe. How dare he—

"Of course you'd want me to get rid of the evidence," you snarl. "God, as if you taking out the books I was looking forward to and forcing me to place holds for them wasn't bad enough, you also left bookmarks in all of them. Bookmarks that were receipts."

And okay yeah, now that Jason's actually trying to pay attention to them he can make out a few familiar businesses printed on them. Still, it's not like he's gonna stop gaslighting now. He actually likes this part of not being dead.

"Still don't see what—"

"So I checked," you tell him, teeth bared. "Some of the receipts had similar time stamps so I showed up to those business and I waited to see who kept showing up to all of them around the same time as on the receipts AND at the library when the books were due to be returned and guess. Who. I. Found."

Shit. Talia would have his head for being this sloppy. A civilian had trailed — no stalked him — for weeks, and he had only found out when they had approached him. Goddamit he's gonna have to look for a new grocery store. Apparently his pants-wetting glare isn't getting you to wet your pants and putting bullet holes in civilians who clearly need mental help is so not his style, it's time for a new strategy.

"I—" he says with Oscar worthy sincerity, cutting of your rant. "—am so sorry. I had no idea anyone was trying to read those books. What was the next one you were going to borrow?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "—The Importance of Being Earnest."

Jason curses internally, keeping an apologetic smily pasted onto his face. That's the book he's got in his hand right now.

"Okay, how about I return it right now and then you can take it right back out?"

"Do you think I'm stupid!" and this time you really do yell. "I won't be able to take it out, it'll have to go back into circulation first and it's almost closing time. That book won't get scanned and entered into the system until. tomorrow."

Which, fuck. Jason hadn't thought that part through. Okay, time to throw shit at the wall and whatever sticks is gonna have to be his grand plan because the League of Assassins definitely didn't cover dealing with incensed regular people in their Dictatorship 101 class.

"Okay, how about this?" he says, already starting to feel sweat beading up on his hairline. "I'll give you the book. And to prove how sorry I am, I'll take you to dinner at the end of the week and you can give me the book back then. You'll get to read it. I'll get to read it. It'll get returned under my name.

Appraisingly, you look him up and down like he's a rather wet piece of cardboard that smells like whatever collected in the gutters that day.

"Fine," you grit out, hand held out in a beckoning gesture.

Very, very carefully he reaches out and hands over the book. Who knows what else you've got hiding in that totebag? The last thing he wants to explain to a back alley doctor is why he needs all his shots for a human bite on his hand.

"Francesco's on 6th and 123th, you know it?" he asks as you tuck away the book like a crazed squirrel preparing for the winter. Seriously, rabies shot has to get bumped up on his list of priorities.

"I can look it up," you say dismissively.

Jason's lip starts to curl up in a devious smile. Oh this is gonna be fun. Hastily he transforms it into a look of angelic apology as you glance back up.

"I'll get us a table there for 7:00 on Friday."

See, the word 'table' is kind of stretching it. Yes, technically its a plank of wood balanced on four legs, but nothing is attached and those four legs happen to belong to two broken chairs. The floors haven't been mopped once in the 30 years since the place has been opened and there's a sticky film of grime coating all the windows. Clientele? All shady customers that Jason's probably sent his underlings after at one point or another. See, Jason's been a rabid dog before too. He understands that sometimes kindness doesn't make an impression but fear? Yeah that shit always leaves its mark.

Jason arrives on time because he isn't the mannerless heathen you seem to think he is and he aims to disarm, discombobulate, and then disappear. He gives it a generous 20 minutes before he gives you up as a no show, already resigning himself to having to pay the book replacement fee, when suddenly you burst through the door. Every single head in that place snaps to look at the intruder. For some unknown reason, you don't even notice.

"I—" you say, still trying to catch your breath as you pull out your 'seat' and sit down, "—am so sorry."

Jason aims for offputting as he says, "Oh I don't think you've begun to know the meaning of the word." He grins, one that doesn't quite reach his dead shark eyes. Jason's quite proud of this expression. He's tested it out on quite a few of his goons and opponents this week and it's had a 100% success rate in unsettling people.

Somehow, it all just flies straight over your head. With a reverence you don't seem to hold for anything else, you hand over the book.

"Thank you— oh my god is that blood?!" you squeal, suddenly clutching the book to your chest.

It is blood, thank you very much. Jason had made sure to wear his very best bloodsplattered and torn shirt for this, thank you very much for finally noticing all the effort he's put into this.

Tucking the book back in your bag, you lean over the table, starting to pull at the stretched out and torn collar of his shirt to try and see where all the blood is coming from.

"Okay, we need to get this cleaned up because you do not wanna go out by infection. People always die of infection in dystopian books and you're too pretty to have your nose drop off from gangrene." Your head suddenly swivels to the bar where the owner is polishing a glass that hasn't been clean since 1992. The owner looks away first. "I'm gonna go see if the restaurant has a first aide kit—"

Unable to let those go rapidly downhill any longer, Jason jerks at your wrist before you can take more than a step.

"It's not blood," he lies through gritted teeth and a winning smile. "It's uh, artistic. A print. Like distressed jeans but cooler."

Internally Jason cringes. Is this seriously what he's been reduced to? Not even a few months ago he was kicking down doors and collecting heads in duffel bags, now he's lying about wearing pre-distressed clothes to stop a runaway civilian.

"Oh," you say, sitting down again. "Well the fake blood makes your collarbones look very nice."

Makes his collarbones— what. Jason sucks in a lungful of air to avoid bursting out into manic laughter that would surely get him carted away as a suspected Joker gas victim.

"Thanks," he says, using every once of his training to make his eye stop twitching. "So, the book?"

If he isn't going to achieve his main goal for the night, he'd at least like to achieve his secondary goal and stay on the good side of the GPL librarians.

You start to hand it over and just as Jason's hands are about to close around it, you snatch it back. Eyes narrowed, you question, "Are you actually going to buy me dinner? You're not just gonna take the book and hoof it? Because you said you would and I've already decided what I want to eat based on the reviews."

All of sudden, Jason gets it. You don't have a single goddamn survival instinct in your body. You're one of those little yappy dogs closer to a rat than a canine that thinks it's on the same playing field as a Doberman. Add in an alarming ability to hyperfocus and the unawareness required to trample over every single boundary of social convention, it's a downright suicidal combination of character traits. With a horrifying realization, Jason realizes that he finds it charming.

"Yeah," he says in a shattered croak. Seriously, what the fuck has his afterlife come to? "I'm buying you dinner."

You smile then, an actual goddamn smile, and Jason thinks it's one of the nicest smiles he's ever seen.

"Great! You can read while we eat. I've sticky tabbed the parts that I think you'll enjoy the most — remember this time to take them out before you return it — and then we can discuss the book over dessert."

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x gn!reader #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood x gn!reader #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #sunnie writes 🌻

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cheol-e-kat · 3 days ago

Text

𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐟𝐭. 𝐤.𝐦𝐠

>>the one where he's an alpha who helps you through your heat

warnings: explicit language, soft-smut (penetr@tion, knotting, mentioned m@sturbation, f!ngering), omegaverse

pairing: kim mingyu x f!reader

summary: you need an alpha to help you through your heat, and there just happens to be a service for that - mingyu arrives and seems like he may be something more serious, though

word count: 3.7k

[unknown sender]

hi, lovely i’m messaging you from 17th heaven about our alpha services we can handle all your omega needs txt us back and give us all ur heat

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

You had stared at that message a million times.

It was so corny.

You had marked it as spam before, even, but it always seemed to pop back up. It made you wonder what you had signed up for that had sold your phone number - you or someone you hated who wanted to kill you via mild annoyance.

But there were billboards for it. Ads and flyers, too. It was everywhere. You saw it when you were commuting and buying groceries - there was no escaping the painfully cute ads about ‘alphas who just want to help.’ Whatever - that was your take on it. More like alphas just looking to take advantage of omegas.

But your neighbor had even mentioned it to you when you happened to both be poolside.

“They’re really gentle,” she’d said, her face breaking into a soft smile. “I subscribed to their quarterly service,” she admitted in a whisper, like it was some guilty secret.

You had shrugged it off, even if you did consider her fairly astute. You would suffer through your heats because alphas were … generally so ick. Their second gender was their entire identity. It was part of why you lived in an omega-only building.

Even the buyer’s agreement included an alpha clause - alphas could only spend more than two nights if, and only if, they were aiding an omega through their heat, and never during an alpha’s rut. There was even a special entrance and elevator so everyone didn’t get blasted with pheromones when one of them visited.

To you, it made life easier. You worked in an alpha-dominated industry, so you got enough of their side eye and disgusting, lascivious looks.

Even when you had the same, or better, education, experience, everything - they still got to look down on you because of that stupid little box you were required to check in your HR profile. On your ID.

Everywhere you went, being an omega followed you.

You didn’t need an alpha in your personal life reminding you just how they got to constantly fail upwards and blame all their failings on their omega parent.

Instead, you saw a hormone specialist to get blocks for your scent and monthly packs of control pills to balance your heat cycles.

At this point, you had maybe two heats a year. And they only lasted for a few days at most. You weren’t dealing with them every single month. So why even bother having an alpha help with something so limited, you wondered.

But then again, you hadn’t had a heat quite like this in several years.

You’d woken up, knowing something was wrong.

Your body ached, everywhere. You were certain you could feel it in your bones, even. You were drenched in sweat, and you had this horrible need that seemed to come straight from your womb and consume your mind and body like some demonic force.

You needed an alpha.

You needed your alpha - whatever the fuck that meant for someone without one.

You tried getting off a few times, and each time you came, it was like a drop in an ocean. The pain was still there, surging through your limbs, unstoppable. You cried softly, just wanting it to end.

And that was when your phone pinged and you saw the message.

There was a number at the bottom that you quickly copied and pasted. You messaged asking about their services, and almost immediately got a call back.

The male voice on the other end of the line was gentle, asking what part of your cycle you were in (the part that hurts!), what you normally did (not that much), what methods you used (meds and toys), if you’d ever been with an alpha for your heats (a few times / not recently), did you have any preference for an alpha type (not a dick head? no one bossy).

You wanted to scream at this person for being so thorough in their job. You did start to cry a bit towards the end, which he seemed to clock, asking quickly if you were staying hydrated and eating (no, duh).

Apparently, you were considered an ‘emergency case’, which meant you got one of their ‘standby’ alphas. You had no clue what that meant. But someone would be with you quickly.

You were sent contact information for your alpha. His name, phone number, and a photo so you could verify him. There was also a code word that you provided for safety, since he needed to enter your home. You had decided on ‘mittens’ for some reason.

And within the hour, you heard the soft knock at your door. You threw on your robe and made your way to the door, groaning and doubling over in pain as you reached the door. After breathing deeply for a few breaths, you glanced through the peephole and saw that he looked like the alpha in the contact details.

You whined. “Can I just let you in or what?”

He glanced at the door. “You need to ask for your password so I can confirm it,” he said softly.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “What’s my password?” You asked, your annoyance growing at something so perfunctory, even though you understood the need for things like this.

“Mittens,” he answered.

You flung the door open and waved him in, any semblance of patience was out the window.

He was dressed plainly, just jeans and a jacket over a tshirt - sneakers. His scent hit you hard, though. Salty air, and dried wood, and something a little citrusy - it was delicious. Your mouth started to water almost immediately, like your body had picked up on something from him - more than just his scent.

He glanced back at you as you closed the door. And fuck if he wasn’t handsome too. The kind of handsome that was striking - even for an alpha, he was gorgeous in a major way.

You whimpered, clutching your stomach. “Okay, what now?” You breathed.

He smiled, holding out his hand. “I’m Mingyu,” he said.

You shook his hand. “Right, yeah, sorry, Y/n,” you groaned.

“How is your pain, Y/n?”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, horrible? 12 out of 10? I might be dying,” you concluded.

He nodded. “Okay, you probably aren’t dying,” he said with a soft smirk, “But you don’t have heats often?”

You shook your head, wanting badly for him to hurry through whatever this was. “No, maybe two to three times a year,” you answered flatly.

“Has your doctor explained breakthrough heats, ones like this?” He asked, his voice entirely too polite, too soft and gentle. Much more understanding than even your doctor, which was its own frustration.

You blinked at him. “What? No, I - I had to change from one type of therapy to another recently, though,” you answered, closing your eyes, wishing that you had read all the pamphlets.

He nodded. “Right, changing therapies can cause this too - it can happen this way for a few cycles and go back to being more manageable,” he said softly. More new information for you, making you whine again.

While he’d been speaking, he’d been walking closer to you. He reached out, his hand making soft contact with your forehead. You were surprised that he kissed your cheek too, a tender brush of his lips. “I’m sorry it hurts,” he murmured, his voice suspiciously sincere.

You remembered what your neighbor had said about their service being ‘gentle’ - this was almost shockingly gentle. The way he cupped your cheek and held you for a moment, just gazing into your eyes. You told yourself it was just probably to know if your pupils were dilated.

He stroked your cheek, though. “Have you eaten?”

You shook your head.

He nodded, still gazing at you softly. “Will you show me where you’re nesting?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch, realizing how badly you wanted the contact - how badly you wanted him, maybe. Even what he was doing was soothing somehow.

You didn’t want him to stop touching you.

He kissed your temple, like he knew what you were thinking. “I’m right here, everything’s okay, promise,” he whispered, his voice low and sweet, as his arms looped around your waist, hugging you close for a moment.

You noticed the way he pulled you gently into him - the soft kiss he pressed to your temple. It was the first moment you felt somewhat relaxed. You held his shoulder, squeezing it.

After a few moments, he let you go, and you led him to your bedroom. Your nest was unbelievably half-assed, just some blankets from your sofa - ones you liked, but still, it wasn’t the kind of nest you would see in any omega magazine. But you rarely had heats like this. You didn’t have a bunch of clothes from a mate or anything like that. You just had blankets that were cozy.

You sighed and sat on the bed, glancing at him like he might be judging you for being a ‘bad’ omega.

“Does this like go into my notes or something? ‘Bad at nesting’?” You asked.

He shook his head. “No, and a nest - it’s just wherever you feel safe and comfortable,” he said, walking closer, reaching out, his fingers going gently to your temples, rubbing small circles.

Your eyes closed. This was nothing like your last time with an alpha.

“Is your pain still as bad?” He asked after a few moments.

“It doesn’t have so much of an edge, but it’s still there,” you whispered, leaning into him again. It was a strange feeling to crave someone’s touch.

“Do you want to try some different things?” He asked.

Your brows knitted. “Different how?” You asked skeptically.

You could hear his small laugh. “Um, things like massage - touch that isn’t necessarily sexual,” he explained, “But it can also help calm you down and get used to me, too,” he added.

You nodded, understanding what he meant. Some omegas could have intense reactions to alphas they weren’t partnered with - even if they were close to one another normally. Heats could be a strange time for an omega, though.

“That sounds like a good place to start,” you murmured.

You listened to him when he asked you to move back onto the bed. Lying there, you closed your eyes and listened to him moving around.

You heard him undressing, the soft landing of his jeans on the hardwood. You felt the lightest touch against your ankle. “Turn over for me?”

You did what he asked, and felt the bed shift as he joined you.

“Is it okay for me to touch you?” His voice was soft.

You nodded, still surprised by the careful way he was approaching you. He smoothed your hair to the side and pulled the collar of your robe down. You shifted, freeing your arms from the silk, feeling it trail down your back as he exposed your skin.

He smoothed oil over your shoulders and down your back. His hands felt amazing as they traced over your skin, squeezing gently in certain places, like your shoulders. You could feel some of your muscles relaxing. And you understood what he meant about touch helping, as some of the pain began to ebb.

You sighed, soaking in his touch.

“Is it okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

He wasn’t applying any intense pressure, just enough to soothe you, and for you to be surrounded by his scent. You were surprised by how much stronger it had become since he had arrived, actually.

“Do you feel okay with me doing more?”

Again, you nodded.

When his lips brushed the nape of your neck, though, you felt a warmth tingle through you. You moaned softly.

The sound seemed to work like an invitation for him. He kissed along your shoulder, biting you gently, just the pressure of his canines against your skin made you shiver and ache in a new way - a sweet way.

You could feel how hard he was getting behind you. His cock heavy against your lower back. You wanted to feel that heaviness buried inside you.

He moved, his lips trailing to your throat, kissing and licking. You gasped, mumbling his name as you reached back, letting your fingers catch in his hair. You felt his hips grind gently into your back.

“So beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down your spine. “Lovely little omega,” he breathed, “want to breed you full,” he whispered, “give you all my pups.”

You shivered, hearing his voice so close and his words that seemed to resonate deeper than you wanted to think about.

His hands traced down your ribs and sides as he spoke - down and under your hips, pulling your ass back and up. You could feel his dick pulsing against you as his hands slid to grasp your inner thighs. You felt his hips rut into you more seriously.

You tugged his hair gently, moaning and whimpering with need. “Please,” you asked softly, “hurts - needs to be full,” you whined with a gasp as you felt his fingers shift and start to tease you open.

“I know,” he mumbled, “I can feel just how much you need me - so wet - smell so sweet, too,” he said, still teasing and kissing your throat.

You shivered, loving his voice, his touch, the way his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. You wanted to sink back on his fingers, his dick, anything really. Whatever he would give you.

His fingers pushed into you - you didn’t care how obscene it sounded. You were leaking slick, your pussy weeping to be full. You heard his breath catch as he forced his fingers deeper - the soft way he sighed as he worked his fingers deeper into your core. You hadn’t expected that - for him to be sound like he was enjoying it so much.

“Taking me so well,” he said under his breath.

You nodded, humming in agreement. “Feels so good,” you breathed.

You weren’t sure why, but you had assumed it would be clinical and stiff, or someone who was rough, too rough, probably.

But he was neither.

He was gentle, listening to every sound you made for him, seeming to be just as turned on as you were and just as needy for you to come.

It barely took a few minutes for you to orgasm around his fingers - you were dripping for him already. And it was such a relief. Such an intense relief - it was like you could breathe again. He hugged you, pressing close, his fingers still working inside you, knowing you could keep coming.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, swallowing loudly. You nodded, mewling softly as another orgasm started to build.

You came with a small cry, “Oh, fuck.” You whined, shivering and trembling, his fingers still inside you.

“Shh, doing so well, pet,” he said, his voice reassuring. “Just relax for me, let me take care of you,” he whispered.

You nodded, already soft and pliant in his arms and on the precipice of another orgasm.

You came again, almost soundless besides your breathing. He finally sat up, and moved to turn you over. You watched the way he looked at you, his eyes trailing down your body like he was memorizing you. It was almost like a caress.

He leaned down, kissing you. His lips soft against yours. He pulled back slowly, his fingers grazing your jaw as he gazed down at you. “Any cravings?”

You blinked. “Besides you?” You flushed, wondering where that response came from.

He smirked. “Besides me,” he smiled, looking pleased. “You need to eat,” he whispered, as he smoothed your hair.

You nodded, trying to think. You hummed softly, leaning into his hand. “Name some foods,” you said, half-teasing, but he started to list things off anyway.

⊹ ₊ ݁.

You ended up with a burger and fries. It was perfect, though. A perfect break. He showered with you while you waited for food and sat eating with you in your living room.

When you were finished, you climbed into his lap, still needy, still wanting touch. His touch. You nuzzled into him, you could swear his scent was more intense, almost slightly sweet around the edges.

You sighed, nuzzling against his throat. “How does it work? Do you stay?” You asked, voice barely audible.

He nodded. “Until you’re through it, yeah,” he answered, his fingers trailing through your hair.

You hummed softly. You wanted to ask him things, like why he was so kind - why he was so gentle. You wondered what the job description was, even. But you didn’t. That small inner voice of doubt kept you from asking anything that might be meaningful.

He held you close the rest of the night. He slept next to you. And when you woke up crying during the night, he held you close, fucking you tenderly until your tears slowed. He held you delicately, filling you with every thrust.

You could feel his knot growing. You trailed your fingers through his hair, staring up at him, holding his gaze. “Please,” you breathed.

He licked his lips. “You sure?”

You nodded. “Need it, need you, need my alpha,” you said, groaning at the way he started to push in further. You had no idea how big his knot was, but you could feel yourself stretching to take him. You wanted every bit of him.

You whimpered, coming when he did, feeling your body finally relaxing, giving in as his knot filled you, calming you, keeping everything inside, just like it was supposed to be.

You fell asleep like that.

⊹ ₊ ݁.

You woke up to him still holding you. His scent surrounded you like a soft blanket. You didn’t want to move. It was strange, the feeling of not wanting to part from someone. Worse was the deeper feeling that it would hurt when you did. It made you anxious, the idea that he would leave after another day or so. You guessed that you would probably never see him again.

He sighed gently. “Don’t worry,” he whispered as his fingers traced gently against your side.

You swallowed tightly, knowing you hadn’t said anything out loud. You had only thought those things. And he had answered you. He nuzzled closer, murmuring for you to try to sleep, to rest. You nodded, hoping sleep would clear your mind.

⊹ ₊ ݁.

When you woke up for the second time, there was breakfast, and sex, and movies, and cuddling, and sex, and lunch, and so on. You fell asleep after he knotted you late that night.

And things started to ebb the second morning with him. And by the third morning, you started to feel almost normal.

You were still sad for him to leave, though. You tried telling yourself that you were just a client - he did this with other omegas. It was his job to be nice to you - he could hate you and be really good at hiding it.

None of that mattered, though - you didn’t want him to leave. And you had no idea how to tell him either.

It was painful to walk him to the door. You were still holding his hand, even as he crossed the threshold. He squeezed your hand gently, telling you it would be ‘okay.’ You managed to hold back your tears until the door was firmly closed.

You sat in your hallway, miserable, a different kind of ache settling over you than what you had started with. You sat there for a long time, wondering if you were right about what you had felt. You closed your eyes tightly, telling yourself it wasn’t real.

You stood up and tried going about your day, catching up on emails. But you were still feeling a bit tired and sore, so you’d taken a nap in what was left of your nest. His scent was still there, soothing you, even if he was gone. You prayed it would last, that his scent would linger. You weren’t sure you could sleep without it.

And when you woke up to hear rain pelting against your windows - it was like the weather had decided to match your mood. You felt dispondent, lying there, knowing you needed to wash your sheets.

You decided that you couldn’t hang on to him. That you were being unreasonable. And that you probably needed to eat.

But even walking into your kitchen, it smelled like him. The air smelled like him. You almost cried. Because you didn’t believe in mates and finding someone with that scent that stuck in your mind - that one scent that was only ever meant for you - the one that you could follow through a crowd of people if you needed to because it would always lead you to him.

You leaned against the counter, wondering what you were even supposed to do - it was a service and not for matchmaking. You sighed, trying to collect yourself. Trying to forget his scent and the way he seemed to read your mind at various points.

You finally started looking for food. And that was when you found his parting gift.

He’d left you food, something he made while you were sleeping. You were surprised to find the lemon cake waiting for you. Something citrusy and sweet. It almost hurt to look at.

But then you saw the note he’d left, too. And there was his number written neatly, and a more hastily written message, like he’d been uncertain about leaving it at all - a last minute decision.

He’d asked you to call him if it had felt ‘real’ to you too.

You stared at it, reading it more than once. Checking the paper to make sure it was real and not something your mind had created.

You tried to play it cool. You told yourself that you would wait a few days.

But that hadn’t lasted. You made it all of ten minutes before texting him and asking him if he had plans for dinner.

Because it had felt very real for you.

a/n: just something cute and quick - i've wanted to write omegaverse with him for a while now ^^

plus i love when he's being bg with his cuteness on display

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒌𝒂𝒕

♡ master list & tag list

♡ [ 𝘴𝘦𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 ] ★ [ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬: ( 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 )

[ 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐲𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

drunk pda + no underwear || enemies to lovers + tentacles [sci-fi/kink] (reader fav) / (my fav) || internet friends + blind date + size kink (my fav) || ceo/boss + big flirt x easily flustered + age difference (my fav) || playing hearts (college au | camboy au) (reader fav)

[ mingyu tag list - one shots ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎ @nanabananananabatman ☁︎ @yoongznme [e] ☁︎ @gyuhao365 [e] ☁︎ @jeonghnie [e] ☁︎ @armycarat2612 [e] ☁︎ @shuas-winnie30 [e] ☁︎ @famouspoetrydinosaur [e] ☁︎ @ateezaddict24 [e] ☁︎ @tooflef [e]

☁︎ @aaronwarners69thwife [e + wips] ☁︎ @daisymbin [e + wips] ☁︎ @babilou-pov [e + wips] ☁︎ @sseungcheols [ e + wips ] ☁︎ @keyrecsfics [ e + one/multi & wips] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @stupendouschildnerd [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @tokitosun [e - one/multi ] ☁︎ @lilydaisylily [e - one/multi] ☁︎

☁︎ @ninigyuuu [k.mg - e, b.f. priv] ☁︎ @starlit-rin [k.mg - one/multi, b.f.non]

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