#Self Service Bag Drop

[networkthoughts]

Delhi Airport becomes first in India to introduce Quick Drop Solution for Self Service Bag Drop

New Delhi, June 18, 2024: Delhi International Airport Limited (DIAL), a subsidiary of GMR Airports Infrastructure Limited, today proudly announces the launch of its state-of-the-art Self Service Bag Drop (SSBD) Quick Drop Solution at Delhi Airport. With this, Delhi Airport become the first airport in India and the second in the world after Toronto, Canada to implement this cutting-edge…

[thejeangreysummers]

slow burn // retired // roomate !! simon "ghost"riley

- his self preservation and self control hangs by a string around you

- some fireworks after the fourth of july give him greater incentive to hate america, the sweltering heat, and the near altercation he gets into with your lecherous older neighbor in the building who puts his hand on the small of your back in the elevator. he recognizes the way you flinch, the way you nearly drop the grocery bag you insisted on carrying. the way you already react to small spaces already make you suck on bottom lip in discomfort.

simon riley has left the building and ghost emerges as he’s about to shove the old man out the elevator. in an instant you’re pulling him by the wrist, muttering that his death is coming to him already, he’s practically senile.

the rest of the week he’s in a foul mood, smoking out his bedroom window, sulking, and unable to sleep. cycling between self loathing, and an urge to protect you. he knows that you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but you shouldn’t have to always to do everything alone. yet he knows he’s not the kind of man you deserve anyhow.

- he starts calling you angel

after you leave him this note in your colorful script: “sometimes when my week goes to shit, cake for breakfast tends to sort everything out.” beside the angel cake with pale blue icing.

the dust settles after that, he knows he hasn’t scared you away.

- after your overachieving performance at work he makes your favorite meal. when you ask if it’s a family recipe his laughter is bitter. you recognize his hurt as your own, tell him you don’t answer calls from your folks either. he almost tells you about his asshole father, the grief of wanting to call tommy from beyond the grave, the absence of a mother. but, he doesn’t want to open old wounds- he’d rather be with you.

so instead he plays your favorite film on dvd because even if he’s trying to change, he hates flicking through all the streaming services on your tv. when you try to grab the dvd case with “sticky fingers” he hangs his arm over the couch out of reach. when you clamber over his body in protest, he holds his breath trying to keep his cock from expressing all his bone deep desire for you to stay on top him. you tuck a cushion under his neck and because you’re trying to kill him you ask if you can lie on top of him.

if it was anyone else he would’ve registered it to be suggestive but you’re adorable as you lie on top of him limbs spread out focused on the tv, kicking your feet during your favorite scenes.

- you fall asleep on his chest exhausted from the long hours, softly snoring, making little gasps for air as you sleep. and he can’t love you, because you deserve more than we he can offer. but you’re so sweet when your sleeping he gently twirls the ends of your hair between his forefinger and thumb. when the credits roll the music stirs you, pressing yourself into him before you realize where you are.

simon’s too drunk on you to be apologetic muttering something about how soft your hair is. you lift your head up and ask half asleep, “do you have any hair?”

he laughs enough for you to realize how out of place you must seem. you push yourself up embarrassed, wiping drool from the corner of your mouth prepared to apologize for assuming or prying, and using his body as a pillow.

because simon is falling in love with you in a way that makes him stupid, he tugs off his mask in a fluid motion.

you study his face with open eagerness. you don’t flinch, you don’t look surprised, and your eyes aren’t a filled with pity. instead you reach for his hair and hesitate until he nudges his head into your hand like cat waiting to be petted. you play with his hair, trace his jaw, and stare at his mouth.

“you’re such a pretty boy.”

you say it almost under your breath. and he feels eighteen years old with a crush. he doesn’t feel like a man hardened by the anguish he’s seen, he feels so young in your arms.

he wants to kiss you ask for for more than your mouth, ask for your heart, ask for you to stay in this apartment forever. he doesn’t. he throws you over his shoulder and you’re off balance with wanting. when he gently drops you into your bed, returns to the door and wishes you a good rest as he shuts your door you feel a little empty.

- the next morning he’s wearing his mask again watching football on the couch, muttering something to you about fresh orange waiting for you with the breakfast he made.

this is a prequel for this fic:

[marvellous1917]

Icarus

(Part 1)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader

Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.

Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it

A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?

————

“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.

“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.

“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.

“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.

“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”

“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.

“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.

“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”

“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.

The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.

He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.

“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.

He moved his left hand to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.

The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.

“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.

“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.

“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?

“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.

“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.

“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.

“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.

“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.

“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.

“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”

“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth

“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.

“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.

“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”

“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.

“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”

“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.

“Could you give him some more time?”

He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.

“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.

“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.

“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”

“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.

The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.

“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?

“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.

“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.

“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.

“Can I see it?”

“…sure,” the word came out as a question.

He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.

“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.

Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.

“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.

“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.

“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design

He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.

“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.

“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.

“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.

“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.

“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.

He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.

“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.

“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.

The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.

“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.

“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.

“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.

“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.

“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”

“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.

“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”

“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.

“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.

“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.

Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.

“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.

Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”

“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.

“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.

He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”

“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted

“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.

This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.

“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.

It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”

As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.

James:

Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.

It makes me feel ancient.

I hate that.

[renjunphile]

freedom ain't nothing but missing you ☆ jung sungchan

ᯓ★ WORD COUNT: 13.6k

ᯓ★ PAIRING: riize's jung sungchan x female!reader

ᯓ★ TAGS & WARNINGS: college!au, second chance romance, college antics - partying, drinking, brief mentions of vomiting, reader has mad commitment issues you wanna punch her in the face, pining

ᯓ★ SYNOPSIS: the last time you saw him was when you looked over your shoulder at his weeping figure one last time at the airport. four seasons have passed and your heart tightens at the sight of his smiling face, wishing it was directed at you.

ᯓ★ NOTES: what would a renjunphile fic be without a second chance romance element ! sorry it's my favourite trope i can never let go of it :') all my stories are really the same now ! also me *handshake* using aespa members as side characters lol at the start of story, y/n and hyung line are going into 4th year, sohee and seunghan into 3rd year and anton into 2nd year.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You hear your best friend's voice before you see her. If you had just looked a little more to the left, you would've spotted her immediately anyway as she waved a large piece of pink card-stock with your name displayed in a glittery explosion.

"Y/N! Over here!" she cooed at you loudly from behind the barrier, "Y/N!!!"

You quickly weave around the other passengers as expertly as you could with your trolley of bags, but Minjeong is quick to meet you at the exit. She drops the sign onto your cluster of suitcases and wraps her arms around your neck, squealing into your ear with glee.

"I missed you too, Jeong," you giggled at her embrace, "I told you that you didn't have to get me!"

She scoffed at you as she pulled away, "What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't welcome you back home after a year away! You said your parents couldn't come and meet you, so I came!"

You think back to your conversation just before you got on the god-awful long flight with her, recalling how your parents thought it was too far for them to drive up from your hometown when they were already coming the week after for your birthday.

"Thanks babe," you thanked her sincerely, bumping your hip against hers while the two of you began to push the cart together. You couldn't believe that you were able to pack your whole life in just two large suitcases and one small one, "By the way, how are we getting back into the city?"

Minjeong didn't drive; she'd rather walk to her destination in the wind, snow, hail or storm than learn how to get behind the wheel. She was a self proclaimed "passenger princess", which you admired and envied from the way your friends (including her) used you like their own personal taxi service when you had your car. Sadly for your friends, you were not hesitant when it came to selling your car at the end of your second year of university, just weeks before you packed up your life and moved to New York for the new school year. While you sometimes missed your slightly beat up Hyundai on the days that you had to get on the subway with arms full of groceries, you couldn't justify the purchase of a car again for your final year of university.

"I assisted the help of a special someone," Minjeong winked at you happily, watching your face contort in horror immediately, "Wait, no. Not that one. I promise."

You let out a sigh of relief that you didn't even know you were holding back as you cramped together in the car park's elevator. There were many people you haven't seen in a year. There were many people you've missed and wished to see. But you didn't think you could face him right now, at this very second.

"Who is it?" you prodded curiously, but she just gave you an innocent smile and pushed the cart out of the elevator and towards a shiny car about 30 steps from the doors

You couldn't make out the figure sat in the driver's seat, no matter how you craned your head until he got out and faced you straight on.

"Chanyoung!" you gasped in surprise, welcoming him in a tight hug, "Since when did you learn how to drive?"

"Just this year, noona. Welcome home!" he chuckled from above you. You wondered if he grew any more since the last time you saw him, cause it definitely felt like it.

Chanyoung was Minjeong's little cousin that began his studies at your university as you were leaving. Despite that, he grew to be a familiar presence as he lived nearby and always dropped by the apartment you shared with his cousin. He was truly one of your favourite people since he was so sweet and caring.

Before you could finish your greetings with Chanyoung, Minjeong had already loaded your (very heavy) bags into the trunk of Chanyoung's new car and had collapsed in the back seat, "Let's go guys. I'm sure Y/N's tired, but you can sit in the front."

Without another word, she dropped her head to the window and began to doze off. You clambered into the front seat and gave Chanyoung a thumbs up to head out.

"How was your first year at university, 'Ton?" you asked.

"Super good, actually. It was really helpful to know all of your friends before I entered so I never felt alone or lost or anything," he recounted the times that you missed, "By the way, thank you for letting me stay in your room. My first year definitely wouldn't be the same if I still lived at home."

You shared a two-bedroom apartment with Minjeong just off campus during your second year at university after meeting her on the first day of first year and becoming fast friends. You had warned her that you probably would have to find a temporary replacement while you were halfway across the world, but when word got out to her little cousin, he begged to take over your room while you were gone. Since he lived in Seoul already, his parents weren't very willing to let him test his luck and go into dorms with a stranger, but they were much more open to letting him live with his older and allegedly more responsible older cousin until he found friends to live with for the next year.

"No worries; I'd rather it was you than a stranger," you shrugged, "Who are you living with again?"

"Sohee and Seunghan," he tapped his finger on the steering wheel to the beat of the song quietly playing on the radio, "You know them, right?"

Your heart squeezed again at the thought of the boys you got to know in the year before you left, "Yeah, a bit. Haven't spoken to them in a long time, though. I hope it's not awkward to see everyone again, otherwise I'll just lock myself in my room until I graduate."

"Everyone misses you, noona," Anton assured you softly, "I know that for sure."

You opened your mouth to say what your heart desired, but closed it again hesitantly as your brain came to the rescue of your emotions. Anton flashed a look at you from the driver's seat, but chose not to comment when he saw the conflicted expression on your face.

"Tell me about your time in New York," his soft voice pulled you gently out of the mess that was unravelling in your head.

You gave him a small, knowing smile and began recounting your favourite memories and your life in the city that never sleeps.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Around 4PM, you waved your parents away as they pulled out from the car park under your apartment complex. They had a pretty long drive back to your hometown with work early the next day, but you were grateful they made the drive up in the morning to celebrate your birthday with you. You had taken them to your previous favourite Italian restaurant for lunch, but after tasting more authentic cuisine in New York in the predominantly Italian neighbourhoods, you weren't sure if the restaurant was as good as you remembered it to be. Still, you enjoyed the lunch and catching up with your parents with what had happened in the last 6 months since they came to visit you abroad. With a hug and a kiss goodbye, they were driving away from you once again.

When you returned back upstairs to your apartment, Minjeong was waiting for you patiently on the couch with her legs and arms crossed and a mischievous smirk on her face.

"What?" you groaned in anticipation.

"I picked out an outfit for you while you were out. It's on the bed. Get ready," she grinned, clapping her hands together, "We have dinner plans. Meet back here in an hour and a half."

"That's really not necessary, Jeong," you pleaded, but she just turned her nose up at you, reiterating her instructions.

To be honest, you had planned to spend the rest of your birthday cuddled up on the couch with your best friend, probably watching a chick-flick or a horror or both. She stomped away to her room and you fearfully tiptoed to yours. Knowing her, she would have picked out something a bit more showy than you would like.

However, you were pleasantly surprised at the dress laid out on your bed, with a note in her handwriting. It wasn't something she picked out of your closet- it was a dress she had bought for you. It was a flowing mini dress with ruffles extending from the skirt and a corset bodice you knew would flatter you. You sent her a grateful text and began to freshen up your hair and makeup from your morning outfit.

From your outfit, you guessed it would be in a sit-down restaurant that was more refined than a bbq restaurant whose smoke would cling to your hair, skin and clothes for days. However, knowing Minjeong, you couldn't put anything past her. After all, she was the one that convinced you to drink soju with her at a stall on the side of a dirt road in your floor length silk dresses after your first year ball. An hour and a half later, you had curled and then re-curled your hair, did your eyeliner twice and marvelled at how the light pink dress your best friend bought you fit you like a glove. When you heard Minjeong calling out your name, you were finishing buckling the heeled Mary Janes that you loved and made sure that everything you could need for the night was in your purse.

In the week you had been back in Seoul, all you had done was unpack your suitcases and make the room feel like yours again. School wasn't starting for another week, so all the friends that you tried to meet up with told you that they were still in their hometowns, due to come a few days before the fall semester began.

"Urgh, I knew it would look amazing on you!" Minjeong analysed you in awe. Trust the fashion design and marketing major to have an eye for these types of things.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" you eyed her suspiciously as she looped her arm around yours and dragged you out of your shared apartment.

"You can find out when we get there," Minjeong tapped on her phone, "The taxi's outside, quick!"

The destination set for the taxi was somewhere you weren't familiar with. The street name definitely didn't ring a bell. Perhaps a new restaurant had opened in that area while you were gone and Minjeong was just trying to catch you up to the city again.

Speaking of the girl beside you, she spent the whole ride with her eyebrows furrowed together as she furiously tapped away on her phone. You wouldn't say that you were a particularly nosy person (lie), but her privacy screen protector made it impossible for you to see who she was texting. It was probably Heeseung anyway- her on-again, off-again boyfriend of four years, but more like two.

"Are you guys fighting again?" you teased.

"Huh?" she looked up at you in confusion and her face flashed with recognition, "Yeah, yeah. It's nothing. Don't worry, but look we're basically here."

Apparently 'here' meant on the street that was lined by endless blocks of high rise flats and a few convenience stores dotted about.

"Did you make me dress up to eat ramen at a GS25?" you prodded your finger in the direction of the store.

Minjeong laughed heartily, "No silly! I made you dress up to eat ramen at a 7/11!" she pointed at the stripy neon sign at the opposite end of the street. She captured your arm in hers once more, tugging to make you walk with her, "Just trust me. It's the hottest place in town."

You don't think that the hottest place in town was Block 7 of this high rise complex, but you say nothing as she buzzed for apartment 08 and caught the lift up to the 4th floor. Minjeong was known to find all the hottest spots in town, so you really try to keep it to yourself as she knocked on the door that looked far too much like an apartment door, including the mail next to the door mat.

She didn't even wait for someone to answer, just pushed down on the handle and nudged for you to enter into the darkness.

"Surprise!"

You clasped a hand over your mouth as light flooded the room and a group of about 20 people screamed at you. From behind you, Minjeong was cheering, pushing you further into what now seemed to be an apartment instead of a restaurant. With 20 pairs of eyes staring at you all at once, it took you a few seconds to shake yourself out of the shock and recognise anyone. The place was decorated with banners and balloons of your favourite colours, with steaming food on the dining table in the corner of the room.

"Happy birthday! Welcome home!" Karina, Yizhuo and Giselle were the first to crush you ina hug.

"We're sorry we declined your plans to hang out," Yizhuo pouted, "We thought we would give away the surprise that Jeong planned if we saw you."

You waved a dismissive hand at your younger friend, "It's okay. This is so sweet of you guys!" You felt Minjeong join the embrace.

"We thought you deserved it since we didn't get to spend your birthday with you last year," Giselle added on as the group pulled away from you.

Last year, you had spent your birthday alone, wandering around New York City for the first time and procuring free birthday goods from all the establishments that offered it.

"Happy birthday, Y/N!" you heard a deeper voice coo at you as you were pulled away from your girls. You were suddenly face to face with one of your closer guy friends from before.

"Eunseok!" you accepted his side hug, "Hi!"

"Welcome home! We all missed you so much," at his words, you dart your eyes around the room and find 5 boys hiding behind Eunseok's tall figure. They each hug you one by one, ending with Chanyoung who gives you the cheekiest grin.

"Welcome to our apartment," he grinned proudly, gesturing at himself, Sohee and Seunghan.

"Where'd you get all this money from, huh? I should've charged you more rent," you teased, eyeing the modern, open-plan space. The floor to ceiling windows on one wall of the room with a view over the river really sold you on the idea that this was an expensive apartment.

"You can throw as many parties as you like here," Shotaro giggled, "We know we're going to!"

"Yeah, whose birthday is it next?" Wonbin pondered.

"Oh! It's-" Eunseok smacked Sohee in the stomach before he could finish his words, laughing nervously.

The 6 boys in front of you watched in despair as your smile fell ever so slightly before you recovered it again.

"I'll go say hi to everyone else," you murmured softly, catching Wonbin's regretful face.

"Y/N, he's-"

"It's okay, Bin," you smiled softly, ignoring the pounding in your heart and head, "I wouldn't have expected him to come. He probably hates me, right?"

You turned around without letting any of the boys say another word, joining your group of friends from your dance club. While your friendship with them was something you treasured deeply, you fell out of touch with them in your year abroad quite quickly. You didn't put much thought into the people that did or didn't keep in contact, considering you were focused on making friends and trying to live in the moment abroad. Besides, you were coming back anyway. What's a year in the grand scheme of things?

Your heart panged at that thought, but you tried to push it away as Jisung tackled you in a tight hug. Ryujin and Yeji had to physically peel the towering kid away from you as you dove into conversation about what you had spent the last year doing.

As the conversation came to an end, your eyes fell on the 6 boys stood around in a circle, whispering hushedly and stealing quick glances at you. When you caught Seunghan's eye, he just chuckled nervously and dismissed you, but the sight of them, incomplete, caused your heart to tense up.

All the most important people in your university life was in this room. All, except one.

"Jeong, I'm just gonna catch some air. Just quickly," you tapped your best friend on the back, just before waving and greeting her potentially current boyfriend Heeseung.

"Oh, I'll come with!" she began to untangle herself from his embrace, but you just clicked your teeth and shook your head.

"No, it's okay. I can go alone; I'll be quick. Just buzz me up when I ring?" you requested. She gave you an unsure look, but settled back into Heeseung's form.

Ignoring the stares on your back, you ran down the two flights of stairs and pushed open the door to outside. Since it was the start of fall and 6pm, the sun was beginning to go down. The sky wasn't yet pink and purple, but instead glowing an ethereal gold, bathing you in light rays. You fiddled with the phone in your hand, grasping it tightly as you debated what to do. His contact was staring up at you, almost taunting you to do something with it. Call it? Message it? Delete it?

Your finger hovered over the phone symbol. Surely he'd want to hear from you, right? The way you ended things wasn't... satisfactory. It gave neither of you closure. You needed to speak to him, right?

Fuck it, you think to yourself. It's your birthday. You can do whatever you like. As you pressed the call button, you shakily lifted the phone up to your ears, counting the rings.

Ring ring, ring ring, ring-

"Y/N?" his voice is familiar, soothing the nerves that plagued you at the thought of him letting your call go unanswered.

"Sungchan," you began hesitantly, "I'm not sure if anyone told you, but I'm uh- I'm back in Seoul."

"Y/N," he repeated, making you aware of the sounds of his feet hitting the pavement through the phone and his laboured, shaky breaths.

"Shit, are you busy? Am I interrupting something?" your stomach folded in on itself as you realised he didn't answer your statement. He was probably at the gym- Minjeong told you he'd taken that up in your absence.

"Y/N," he breathed out again, the patters of his feet coming to a stop, "Look up."

You tore your eyes away from your feet- the only thing that was distracting you from internalising too hard that you were calling your kind-of ex-boyfriend.

As you lifted your eyes up, a tall figure came into view across the street from you. Sungchan was stood panting, one hand holding his phone up to his ear and the other holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Sungchan?" the call dropped as the figure took a step into the street, hastily running over to stop just shy from you.

"I don't hate you," it's the first time you're hearing his voice in one year, "The boys- they said that you said- I wanted to come, but I didn't know if you wanted me here."

He's trying to maintain eye contact, but he's clutching the flowers to his chest as he pants. You were at ease enough to chuckle, "Sungchan, did you run here?"

In this light, his eyes shined and sparkled. You've missed looking into them and getting lost all night in his gaze. You missed the way he would look at you like you were the most precious thing on earth to him.

He flashed you a toothy smile, "Mhm, didn't want to make you wonder. Just wanted to tell you that."

"A text would've sufficed."

He analysed your expression and took one large step back, "Ah, am I reading this wrong? Did you not want me to come?"

You took one step forward, "I'm sorry I didn't call as soon as I got back."

Relief flooded Sungchan's whole body as he stretched his arm to offer the bouquet to you, "It's whatever. Happy birthday, Y/N."

"Thanks, Sungchan," you smiled sincerely, "Do you want to head up now together? I'm kind of hungry and I think there's pizza."

"Yeah, sure!" his face is practically lit up at your invitation, but he hesitated to follow you, "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

"I missed you," he whispered shyly, "Just so you know."

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You met Sungchan three weeks into your first year of university. Minjeong's boyfriend Heeseung had joined the soccer team in the first week and their first game came around quickly. The two of you were like two peas in a pod, bundled up together in matching scarves bearing your university's colours and logo, shivering on the school's bleachers.

Your friend's eyes were trained on her boyfriend from home, but you had the lucky status of being able to cast your eyes on each player and make your judgement. The game had been going on for about 30 minutes with your school being 2-0 up. Both goals had been scored by the team's #23, a scrawny tall boy whose name you could just about make out from your distance.

"Jung's pretty good," you hummed to your friend.

"#23? His name's Sungchan, I think. Hee says he's really nice. Want me to get you two acquainted?" Minjeong wiggled her eyebrows at you, but you rolled your eyes.

You were determined to find love as naturally as possible at university. Back home, you'd been on a few first days with a few guys set up through your friends, but they were all the same to you- not cute enough, not interesting enough. You hadn't been desperate to get into a relationship, especially knowing that you were going to apply to spend your third year abroad if you kept your grades up. But when Sungchan slid in to the seat beside yours for your shared lecture meeting your GenEd requirements, you had lost all semblance of that.

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" he had offered his hand out to you, "I'm Sungchan. I've seen you around with Heeseung's girlfriend and I've seen you in this lecture a few times."

You had taken his hand in yours, gripping firmly and giving him a shy smile, "Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you,"

When he continued to sit beside you for another few weeks, asking you questions in hushed whispers and explaining concepts to you when you looked lost, you said nothing. When he started asking if you wanted to study in the library together in your two hour gap after your shared lecture, you said nothing. When library study-seshes turned into studying at a cafe where he'd buy you a drink, you said nothing. When that turned to just two hours of the two of you chatting and getting to know all about each other's lives with your laptops abandoned on the table, you said nothing.

It then turned into butterflies slowly erupting in your stomach as his face lit up the second he saw you in the theatre. It turned into your heart beating a little faster whenever his hand brushed against yours on the walk to the café you now frequented with him. It turned into finding comfort in him as he slowly began introducing you to his best friends, who would tease you endlessly. It turned into nervous giggles and pink cheeks as you spent the whole fall and winter denying anything was going on with you and Jung Sungchan.

When spring of your freshman year began to roll in, Sungchan had mustered up the courage to take your hand in his whenever your fingers did graze each other on the walks. Whenever you'd look up at him to question it, he'd just smile slyly and look off into the distance, quickly changing the topic before you could address it.

Spring break had you realising how much of a presence he was in your life. Walking through the parks of your hometown felt melancholy without him by your side. Studying at a cafe alone was productive, but you would miss the way that every time you looked up from your screen, he'd already be staring back at you, a soft smile permanently etched on his face.

Cherry blossom season was your favourite time of the year. So when you returned to your campus and found out the main square was lined with these bloomed trees, you had dragged Sungchan there immediately, even if he had just arrived from his hometown.

The joy in your eyes must have been so evident, reflecting back in his eyes as sparkles. When Sungchan had placed his hands on your shoulders to stop you bouncing, and then leaned his head down closer to yours, you didn't stop it. You had long been used to the way he made your heart race. It was a welcome feeling as he softly planted his lips on yours for the first time under the falling petals.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"Y/N," the sharp voice plucked you from your daydream, a bag making a thud on the wooden table, "What are you thinking about?"

"Huh?" your eyes focused in on Karina taking a seat in front of you at the café, "Nothing, nothing. Did you just have class?"

"My class ended early and I was just walking to my next class in 15, but I saw you through the window looking all sad and aloof," she explained, her eyebrows drawn together in worry, "Are you okay, girl?"

You met Karina with Minjeong at a club in the first week of your freshman year. She had been throwing up in the toilet with the door open and no one holding her hair, so Minjeong did that while you rubbed her back and cooed reassuring words. After confessing that she was getting drunk because she had just broken up with her high school boyfriend, the two of you captured her in your little group.

"It's just weird being back," you admitted.

She pouted at you sadly, "Aw, don't tell me you like your New York friends better than us?"

"No!" you squealed, laughing, "It's not that. I love you guys. It's just weird being back with Sungchan."

Her eyes morphed into a mix between empathy and sympathy, "Aw, babe. I'm sorry; I know it's weird. Whenever I meet my friends back home, I get a weird feeling seeing my ex there too. I imagine it must be worse for you since you ended on better terms than me and Mark did. It must be confusing, huh?"

Out of all your friends, Karina was the best one to be having this conversation with. While you loved Minjeong more than anything in the world, she was famous for breaking up with her boyfriend for random spats, but calling him and asking to get back together the very next moment she missed him. Absolutely no sense of longing in that department.

"I just don't know how I should act around him. Do we just go back to being friends like in first year? Should I pursue him again? Why does it feel like we're strangers to each other?"

During your party, you had thought Sungchan would stay by your side, but he quickly excused himself to join his friends and only gave you reluctant smiles through the night. Where had all the confidence disappeared to?

You saw him one more time in the two weeks after your party at the library. Eunseok had booked a large private study room at the library and texted you to come. Sungchan was already there when you came, his head stuck in a textbook. Other than shooting you a greeting and sliding the box of cookies in your direction, you got nothing else from him in three hours.

"You just need to get the worst of it over and talk to him. He must be just as confused as you are, to be honest," Karina sighed.

"He hasn't found someone else, right?" you asked reluctantly. Even if he had, it would have been your own fault anyway after the way you left him for dust at the airport.

Karina scoffed and rolled her eyes, "The only thing he's found in the past year is the gym. Taro says he's gone crazy. You know- post break-up glow up? He's become quite the heartbreaker, actually. All these girls started to notice him, but he never gives any of them the time of day."

You fight the scowl threatening to display on your face, "Oh, really?"

"Please, Y/N, he was always going to wait for you. I'd never seen a man so down bad and I know Heeseung." she scrunched up her face at the thought. Heeseung was famously untouchable by the girls at university, no matter how much they threw themselves at the football captain. Anyone else would be embarrassed by getting broken up with by their girlfriend every couple of months, but Heeseung always took it with stride and came crawling back with on his hands and knees towards her every time.

"Hm, you're wrong. I don't think anyone can beat that man," the memory of him scoring a hat-trick in the regional final with the words 'Take me back, Minjeong' written on his undershirt that he flashed while he celebrated the last goal cemented his position of number 1 loverboy in your mind.

"Potentially, but Sungchan drove four hours overnight to your hometown when your pet hamster died to comfort you in the summer between first and second year," Karina reminded you, "He charmed your strict parents so hard that by the time the night came, they let him stay in your room with you!"

"He brought expensive melons," you rolled your eyes, "I don't even know where he got those from at 2 in the morning."

"Exactly. Even I wouldn't gift my in-laws that expensive of a fruit no matter how much I wanted to impress them," she countered, "Just talk to Sungchan, I beg. I don't want to watch you go through the whole will they-won't they song and dance of first year again. I gotta go to class, but text him now, yeah?"

You dumbly nodded at her instruction, watching her race out of the cafe and waving goodbye through the large window. Everyone always teased you about how much Sungchan seemed to like you. They never knew that you were equally as smitten.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

You made it to the café before Sungchan. Unfortunately, that just gave you more time to panic and stress over what you were going to say to him after all this time. Your chocolate frappe and his iced americano sat in front of you, slowly melting in the unrelenting sun. You asked to meet at 1 and there was still 5 minutes 'til then, but Sungchan had the habit of being early. That was one thing he passed down to you.

"Y/N," Sungchan gave you a gentle smile as he slid into the seat across you. It was hard to meet his eye, but you held eye contact for as long as you could (not very long) before you tore your eyes away and slid his drink over to him. He thanked you sincerely and took a sip, giving you the chance to speak first.

"Thanks for meeting me, Sungchan," you began nervously, "I know it's been, um, confusing recently- at least for me. I just wanted to catch up and see where we are or get some closure, I guess. I feel like you deserve more of an explanation than what I was able to give you."

In an instant, you're transported back to one week before your flight to New York in the comfort of his bed. You had tearfully explained how hard you thought it was going to be to do long distance even when you had spent a better part of the situationship deluding yourself and each other that it would work out not matter what.

You don't think you could ever forget the look of heartbreak plastered on his face as you spilled your worries to him that night. You don't think you'd ever forgive yourself for making his body shake with sobs, pleading you to think about it again.

That's why it's hard to face him right now- because of all the shame and guilt.

"To be honest, Y/N, you told me before we got involved that you were doing your year abroad and that you didn't think it would be in the best interest of either of us to be in a new relationship by the time you left," Sungchan hummed, swirling his straw in the ice of his drink.

Suddenly, it's a year and a half earlier in your head as you and Sungchan celebrated and 'not really 1 year anniversary' because you two refused to label yourselves as a couple despite functioning identically to one. You remembered the cake, the flowers, the candles that you blew out together.

"I feel like I led you on," you admitted.

"Maybe," he shrugged, "I don't feel that way. You didn't want to get into a relationship, but I kept pursuing you anyway until you fell in- until you liked me," he coughed.

Your demeanour softened as the words slip from his mouth. When Sungchan tried to utter those three words to you at the airport for the first time and you stopped him before you could, you instantly knew you were making a mistake. But by the time you had gotten through security and settled yourself at your gate, you had manipulated yourself to think otherwise.

"Stop being so nice about it, Sungchan. I did you so wrong," you frowned deeply at him, picking at your nails in nerves. Your heart and stomach honestly ached in displeasure every time you thought about what happened.

"We made choices, and I guess we're better people now for it," Sungchan returned a tight-lipped smile, turning his head to stare out of the window and into the street.

When you left, Sungchan was shy and awkward with his limbs flying all over the place and never seeming like he had control over them. His hair fell around his eyes in an adorable cut and it would take him a while to muster up the courage to look anyone in the eye. That wasn't to say he wasn't a friendly and amazing guy- just one that had to warm up to you.

The Sungchan you returned to walked with confidence and seemed like he was now sure of himself. He kept his head up, initiated conversations with people and just moved through life more freely. You can't help but think that you were the one thing holding him back.

You didn't know what to reply with. Were you really better off? You had spent the past year trying to enjoy your life abroad, but grovelling with guilt for the life back home that you left.

Before you can open your mouth, someone beats you to it.

"Channie?"

The affectionate nickname falling from another person's mouth instantly conjures a bitter taste in your mouth. Your heads snap towards the guest standing at the edge of the table, smiling down at the man in front of you.

"Ah, I knew it was you," she beamed brightly, "Haven't had the chance to talk to you- how was your summer?"

Sungchan's eyes flickered to you so quick that you almost didn't catch it. You could tell he was hesitant in his reply, "It was good, Jiyoon. How was yours?"

She clapped her hands a little and nearly let out a squeal, "Awesome! Went to that mountain you recommended climbing! You're playing at the game tomorrow, right?"

Game? Oh, he was still on the soccer team, of course.

"Yeah," his grin was lopsided and awkward as he turned to you, "Um, Jiyoon, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jiyoon. We met in class last year."

"Nice to meet you," she extended a hand down to you, which you reluctantly shook with a terse smile. You could practically feel the uncertainty and jealousy bubbling in the pits of your stomach as she continued, "Me and Channie were seat mates in our lectures last year! It's such a shame we don't share any this year."

The feeling is so unfamiliar that it makes you uncomfortable seeing the way she grinned and looked at him. He used to look at you like that too- the longing and the pining in the gaze when you wouldn't give into him. It was clear they weren't dating, but it felt like there was something more.

"Nice to meet you too," you clutched your drink tight in your hand as you picked up your bag, "I actually have to run somewhere so why don't you take a seat and catch up? Seems like it's due. Bye Sungchan."

In your rush away from the table, Sungchan caught your wrist again, "Y/N, don't-"

Once again, you'll never forget the face of heartbreak written all over his face as you pulled your wrist away with a sigh, "Thanks for speaking to me, Sungchan. Good luck for tomorrow."

You don't dare look back as the bubbly Jiyoon slid into the chair you were once occupying.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Minjeong has her arms crossed in your doorway with a pointed look directed at you.

"Why aren't you ready?" she squinted her eyes menacingly at your slumbering position on the bed, "We're going to be late! You're lucky I asked Sunghoon to save us two seats."

You pulled the covers over your head, "I'm not going. Leave without me."

The little pitter-patter of her footsteps on your hardwood floors echoes before she ripped the sheets away from you, "And why is that?"

You made grabby-hands at the duvet, but she tossed it behind her. You gave her your best innocent look and produced a cough, "I'm sick?"

Minjeong scoffed loudly and tugged on your arm, "I'm not taking no for an answer, missy. This is your final first game of the season! And we're playing our rival team, so show some school spirit."

"But 'Jeong," you whined in protest as she threw open your wardrobe and began to search for your school merch.

"You don't have to see him if you don't want to," she sighed empathetically, "We'll run away as soon as it's done, but you loved school football games, right?"

It's about the time you realised that Minjeong wasn't going to let up on her insisting, so you slipped on the crop top and jacket with your school's logos and shimmied into the skirt she was making you wear, despite the temperature outside. Arm in arm, but in measured silence, the two of you fast-walked to the football arena that was only 15 minutes from your house. Thankfully the game hadn't yet started when you two clambered into the seats between Sunghoon, Heeseung's friend, and Anton.

"It's nice to see you again, Y/N!" Sunghoon grinned, taking you into a hug, "Did you miss Korea while you were gone?"

"Of course, but it was nice to experience a new culture for a bit," you replied, trying your hardest to keep your eyes off the pitch where the teams were getting into their positions, "How's the skating?"

"I won college nationals this year," he said proudly, to which you clapped and congratulated him. He was truly one of the school's pride and joy, but he didn't want to take it any further than collegiate sport, "Anyway, are you going to the after-party later? It's at the Rho Zeta house."

Minjeong's face planted into your right shoulder, "We are!"

"Jeong! You said we're leaving straight after the game!" you protested, turning your body to face her's.

"Yeah, to the party," she cackled, slapping an arm around her cousin's shoulders, "Tell her, Chanyoung. We're going to the party, right?"

His eyes suddenly turned pleading and you knew you were doomed for, "C'mon, Y/N! It's the first party of the year win or lose so you have to come."

Sunghoon looked at you with expectant eyes too and you honestly believed they were about three seconds away from begging on their knees when you rolled your eyes and dismissed them. Minjeong took this as a win and began to cheer, while also redirecting your attention back to the game in front of you.

When you were dating/not-dating, you used to come to every one of Sungchan's games wearing his jersey rain or shine. That's how you gained the status of being one of the most notorious couples in the grade. You didn't know why, but you were glad to see that no other girl was sporting his name and number on their back from what you could see. They weren't a famous team; they didn't sell jerseys with the players' names in the school store, so you were a little bit relieved to realise Sungchan wasn't giving out his jerseys to girls left, right and centre in your absence.

What was evident though, was the rambunctious screaming every time the ball fell at his feet. He was one of the team's star players along with Heeseung and Lee Minho, so you weren't surprised. However, the cheering had definitely stepped up a notch ever since he checked himself into the gym while you were gone.

The game passed by pretty quickly. Both defences were very good, so there weren't many goals scored. Heeseung had scored two both assisted by Sungchan and the other team had done the same. Though the game ended in a eventful tie, the crowd was still buzzing with pride and school spirit. Through the streets around the arena and the campus, you could hear them chanting some school songs.

"Are we meeting Heeseung there?" you asked Minjeong curiously as you walked together towards Greek row. Sunghoon had disappeared after the win to find some of his friends before the party, meanwhile Chanyoung was whisked away by Seunghan into the crowd

"Yeah, they'll be a while before they get to the house, I think. I know I was heavy persuading you earlier, but you're actually fine with coming to the party, right? You can tell me if not," her eyebrows are stitched together in worry, but you just link arms again and continued walking.

"It'll be nice to go out and do my normal things," you reassured her.

The Rho Zeta house was one that was very familiar to you. It was a house you had spent many a nights in during your second year when Sungchan lived at his frat house. You wondered if he stayed there or moved out with his friends.

There's some rushing freshmen on the door duty and you were let in swiftly when Minjeong uttered your names. Though Heeseung was a member of a different fraternity, the friends and partners of the football team were always invited to the post-game ragers. Making your way down to the basement where most people chose to spend their time, you waved to Eunseok in the kitchen making cocktails.

A fair few spectators had already made it to the party after the game finished, knocking back their third, fourth or fifth beer or beverage of choice already. When Wonbin pressed a shot into your hand and clinked it with the one in his, you had no choice but to chug it down with a grimace. Before you knew it, Eunseok was tipping back a cup of mojito down your throat and you and Minjeong were doing shots of tequila with your arms intertwined.

The Rho Zeta basement was expansive, but very busy. There were people playing beer pong in one corner (Sohee was losing badly to a grinning Anton) meanwhile sober monitor Shotaro was trying to pry the darts out of a drunk Seunghan's grip before he could try to throw them and potentially hurt someone. You swore that they kept those locked away in a cabinet during parties, but Seunghan was always a crafty guy.

Endless bodies swayed in the gaps of the basement to the rhythm of the music- the music being the mixes that Nu Sigma Tau alumni Johnny Suh was producing from his speakers in the far corner. He was truly a man stuck in his college days, but he always provided the best tunes. You had lost track of time early into the night before losing track of Minjeong completely when the football team arrived. You hid behind Johnny's equipment, making small (loud) talk with him about what he had been getting up to. In the corner of your eye, you had spotted Sungchan hovering in the crowds since he was probably a whole head taller than most of the attendees.

"I heard what happened to you and our bambi over there," Johnny uttered nonchalantly as he prodded at some buttons that you could never grasp the use of, "How's that working out?"

"It's the consequences of my own actions," you hummed sadly, "I've never regretted anything more."

"Does he know that?"

You flick your glance to the guy chatting with his best friend Eunseok by the wall, "I think I owe it to him to let him move on. There's so many girls interested in him since I left."

"And clearly he rejected all those girls if he came alone. I'm banishing you from my booth, so go talk to him." Johnny cooed at you before pushing you lightly away and into the crowd with a wave.

After the fiasco that was the café and Jiyoon, you certainly weren't prepared to face Sungchan. What could you even say to him? That you were burning with jealousy that you couldn't help but run away?

Yizhuo and Giselle occupied your time for a little bit on the couches, but once the smell of sweaty party goers began to invade your senses even while getting progressively drunker, you dashed/stumbled up to the second floor living room that was always much more chilled out.

"Y/N!" Soobin cried out excitedly as you entered the large room. He was already reaching over to offer you a beer, which you took. Behind Soobin's tall stature, you don't even notice the people sat in a circle behind him, "We're playing truth or dare."

Soobin was one of your friends you made in a club you joined in your freshman year. You didn't speak to him very much over text, but the two of you always had a good time when seeing each other. He wrapped his large hand around your wrist and dragged you over to sit in the circle. You recognised a few familiar faces as you cast your eyes around, namely Karina and some of Heeseung's friends, but your heart dropped when you saw Sungchan and Jiyoon sat cross-legged next to each other a few spaces to right of Soobin.

Even in your state, you weren't so much of a masochist to stay and watch. Leaning over to Soobin's ear, you whispered, "Shit Bin, I think I'm gonna sit this one out."

"No," he whined like a baby, "I haven't seen you in a year, so stay!"

His protest was so loud that it called the attention of some of your other friends who all drunkenly pouted and pleaded for you to stay. Some guy who you recognised as Sunwoo reached over the space in the middle and spun the bottle. You kept your eyes trained on it as spun around and around, praying it wouldn't land on you. A sigh of relief left your mouth as it fell on Chaerin, who quickly chose dare.

"Text your most recent ex and tell them that you miss them!" Sunwoo giggled through his drink.

As you nursed your own drink, you mirrored Chaerin's grimace and fought all your might to avoid looking at Sungchan. You would be horrified to have received that. Chaerin gingerly pulled out her phone and typed a few words before flashing her screen around the circle as proof. She then grabbed the bottle and spun it harshly.

"Jiwoo, truth or dare?" Chaerin taunted. Your eyes flashed to her figure momentarily as she giggled and chose dare as well.

"Kiss the person you'd most want to date."

You don't think you've ever felt such burning sadness as you watched Jiwoo quickly grab Sungchan's face and bring it down to hers for a quick peck. The grip on your bottle was nearly enough to smash the glass into a million pieces the way your heart was breaking.

It took everything in you not to get up and run away, especially when the alcohol in your bloodstream was making you feel your emotions ten times as strong. You couldn't make it about you- Sungchan didn't deserve that. The rest of the group's eyes had already turned to you after Jiwoo's kiss, considering that you and Sungchan never really kept it much of a secret. Even Karina  was making 'are you okay?' eyes at you from across the circle. You simply gave her a subtle nod and a smile as Jiwoo spun the bottle too.

"You and Sungchan aren't back together?" Soobin dropped his face low to your ear.

"Does it look like we are, Soob?" you exhaled, watching Nayoung give Jay a drunk and joking lap dance.

"Shit," he breathed out under his breath, "Sorry I made you stay."

"It's okay. I should move on anyway, right?" you smiled assuringly at him. You don't think you've ever given such a fake smile in your life.

"Y/N," Soobin trailed off, trying to pry the bottle that you were sipping on away from your hands, "Should we go?"

"No, it's fine," you gritted out, pointing at the bottle spinning to direct his attention. Your heart dropped as it landed on you.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?" Jay mumbled.

You weren't going to risk it; Jay was known for giving batshit ideas, so you settled on, "Truth."

"How many people did you sleep with or kiss on your year abroad?" he smirked.

"Zero," you deadpanned instantly, "For both."

Jay pouted at your boring answer, but gestured for you to choose the next person. It landed on Yuri, who chose dare bravely. You were starting to dissociate a little, but managed to murmur some dare about giving her phone to Sunghoon and letting him post whatever on her story.

The game continued a while with you trying to focus as much as possible at burning a hole through the glass of your drink with Soobin asking you if you were okay every couple of minutes. It was hard not to turn your head and steal glances at Sungchan and Jiwoo, whose laugh reverberated through the room, your bones and then into your heart.

You were certain Jiwoo was a nice girl, but where did she come from? All your friends convinced you that Sungchan hadn't entertained anyone despite the newfound attention that you leaving brought to him and even his friends never mentioned anything when they would occasionally talk to you. Surely Jiwoo and Sungchan were close, right? Close enough for them to be recommending each other things to do in the summer and close enough for Jiwoo to quite literally kiss him in front of everyone.

"Sungchan, truth or dare?" an unfamiliar voice caused your head to slowly lift up.

"Dare," it's the first time you've heard his voice the whole game.

"Kiss the person you'd want to date in this room."

A light gasp escaped nearly everyone's lips as you examined the smirking player. You definitely didn't recognise him; maybe he was a freshman. His eyes were darting with a cheeky glint between Sungchan and Jiwoo, assuming that he was setting up a couple by echoing Chaerin's earlier dare for him.

"Taesan, choose a different dare," Karina's voice boomed as she directed laser eyes towards the boy. He instantly frowned.

"Why? It's fun!"

"Choose a different dare," Soobin repeated next to you.

In that moment, you wanted the world to just cave in and swallow you up whole. You didn't think that you could bare to watch your ex-boyfriend- the one who held your heart but the one whose heart you stomped all over- kiss another girl in a confession. Despite that, you were completely paralysed in your spot, cross legged and head having turned to Sungchan's direction.

At the same time that Karina began to get up and say, "Y/N, let's go downstairs,", Sungchan had pushed himself out of his seat under the watchful eyes of Jiwoo.

"Fuck it," he had laughed dryly.

Your vision changed in a moment's notice. Sungchan was staring straight into your eyes bearing the emotions of pleading. Pleading to ask you if what he was about to do was okay.

You think that you probably nodded unconsciously, because in an instant, Sungchan's plump lips found yours again for the first time in a year. They slotted perfectly in between your hesitant mouth, but like a reflex, your brain had finally connected to your body again and started moving against him.

Similar to the earlier gasps from all those who had known about your history together, the whole group had gasped and fell silent as they watched the scene unfold.

The kiss was not gentle at all. He moved against you harshly, desperately and his hands on your cheeks burned your skin, lighting a thousand flames inside you. Sungchan tasted a bit like the beer he was drinking, but also like the cherry lip balm that you had once bought for him and got him addicted to in the past. It caught you so off guard that you fell back onto your hands behind you, causing him to push deeper against you.

You were both panting when he finally pulled away.

"Y/N," he murmured lowly against your lips, "Let's go to my room."

You remembered getting up. You remembered his fingers interlacing between yours. You remembered practically running through the corridors to reach his familiar door at the end. You remembered Sungchan pressing you up against the wall inside his room and connecting his lips to your neck.

Then you don't remember anything after.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The next time your brain registers you're awake, there's a swirling in your stomach and something rising up your throat. In the lamp-lit glow of the seemingly strange room, you peeled the duvet off your sweating form and made a bee-line straight to the bathroom.

You didn't realise how you even knew there was a bathroom behind the door you had opened until a familiar hand was pulling your hair away from your face and rubbing your back as you emptied out the contents of your guts into the toilet.

"It's okay, baby," he cooed sweetly. The term of endearment flew over your head pretty much immediately, but your heart probably skipped a quick beat.

Tears brimmed at your lashes and threatened to spill as you hurled and hurled. How much had you had to drink?

"Sungchan?" you croaked out in between heaves.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here," he whispered into the dark, "You're in my room at the frat house."

Binge drinking wasn't a common reoccurrence of your freshman and sophomore days, but when you did, you always threw up in the middle of the night and became disorientated. You never knew where you were and how you got there.

When you finally finished throwing up, Sungchan had already tied your hair back with a tie he found on your wrist and had pulled you up against his body in the bathroom. With the lamp in his room on and the door open, you could make out his sleepy figure and messy hair in the mirror.

"Here, wash your face and brush your teeth," the toothbrush he handed you was old, but you recognised it as the one you kept in his room for the nights you would sleep over. Despite the banging headache and the questions floating around in your head, you managed to follow his instructions. There was no makeup left on your face from what you could tell, so someone must have taken a wipe to your face. You just splashed some water to refresh yourself and brushed your teeth to get the nasty taste out of your mouth.

Looking down, you were still in the skirt and college top from the party, but your socks and shoes had been replaced with fluffy socks that you loved to sleep in and all of your jewellery removed. Sungchan was waiting at the edge of his bed, eyes only half opened until you stepped back into the room again.

It looked the same as when you left, with a few pictures of you together removed in places. There were some weights in the corner too, but otherwise, it was a picture perfect reflection of before, as if time never passed.

"What happened? What am I doing here?" your throat burned from all the heaving you had been doing, but Sungchan passed you a water bottle and a pill, "All I remember was the game and you kissing me."

"We went to my room, but you passed out pretty quick," Sungchan recounted, "Sorry I kissed you. I slept on the floor, by the way."

You noticed the pillow and blanket missing from the bed. From the digital clock on Sungchan's desk, you could see it was still only 4am.

"Thanks for taking care of me. I'll catch a taxi home now," you looked around the room for your shoes, "Sorry for the vomit and stuff."

Sungchan rose to his feet, "Y/N, just stay. It's dangerous for you to leave at this time and you need to rest. It's okay. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can sleep in Eunseok's room."

Although your brain was blaring alarm signals in your mind and telling you to get out of there before anything else tragic could happen, your heart belonged to the bed that you missed sharing with him.

You sighed heavily and crawled back under the covers. With your eyes closed, you bared your true feelings into the silent room, "Please stay."

"Okay," he hummed, walking over to the other side of the bed where you assumed that he set up the pillow and blanket.

"Can you sleep with me? On the bed?" your voice was so quiet and hesitant despite your state that Sungchan didn't know if he just conjured that in his imagination until you spoke again, "Please?"

You shuffled over closer to your side of the bed closer to the door. He slid in on his side, closer to the window. Your head was spinning even lying down and you could feel yourself slipping out of consciousness already as his body heat combined with yours to wrap you up in a comfortable and familiar sensation.

"Y/N?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm lying. I'm not sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry that you had to see her kiss me though."

"Why?"

"I'd never want you to think that I want anyone else other than you."

Your awareness faded into nothingness as you felt Sungchan's hands slip in between yours under the sheets.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"Y/N? What the fuck happened last night? Karina texted me and said some shit went down upstairs and you disappeared with Sungchan?" Minjeong's voice was laced with worry as she rushed to the door the second you stepped through.

Although she looked as haggard as you, she was much more preoccupied about where you went after she handed you your 3rd mojito of the night. You winced at her volume, "My head hurts like shit, Jeong. And my heart too."

"Jay told me what happened. Are you okay?" Heeseung's voice was quieter as you entered the open plan living space. He was sat on your couch with a bowl of cereal in the space between his crossed legs and Minjeong's iPad playing some TV show on the coffee table.

"Y/N? Hello?" Minjeong waved in your face.

"I don't want to talk about it, guys," you groaned, "Some girl kissed him. He kissed me. We went to his room. I passed out immediately and woke up throwing up. That's all."

"You didn't talk? Not this morning?" she prodded on.

It was only 11am. Your face involuntary cringed with regret.

Minjeong gasped dramatically, "Y/N, if you tell me right now that you left before he even woke up, I'm literally going to kill you. Y/N, that's such shitty behaviour. Honestly."

"Please don't make me feel worse than I already do," you sniffled as her words brought tears to your eyes, "I literally don't know what to do. All I want to do is let him go for his sake, but he keeps dragging me back to him."

She wrapped you up in a tight hug and smoothed out your hair, "Y/N, just go back to his room and tell him how you feel. Let him tell you how he feels too. You're going to keep going around in circles if you keep running from him, and it's going to end in heartbreak again."

You cried into her shoulders for a few minutes in sheer frustration, until she pushed you out of the door and made Heeseung drive you mid-bowl of cereal to the frat house to make sure you actually went inside.

On your grand exit out of the house that you prayed would go unnoticed, you had ran into Shotaro in the living room cleaning. He had given you a disappointed look, but your pleading eyes convinced him not to say anything as you slipped out of the door shortly after waking up. The expression on your face must have told him that you were sneaking away from his best friend.

It was Shotaro who opened the door for you when you knocked just 20 minutes after you left.

"You came to your senses?" Shotaro quirked an eyebrow at you as he stepped aside to let you in. You waved goodbye to Heeseung as he drove back in the direction he came in.

"I'm sorry, Taro."

"I'm not the one you should be saying that to," he sighed defeatedly, "Please don't hurt him again, Y/N. I love you both, but please."

All you could give him was a faltering smile as you ascended up to the second floor again. There were still some cups and miscellaneous items left strewn around the house, so you assumed that the frat brothers were mostly still asleep.

You tiptoed up to Sungchan's room and knocked three times, lightly, before pushing the door open. He was still curled up tightly on his side of the bed, cuddling a stuffed bear that you got him. It was exactly how you found him when you woke up again in the morning.

His face was so peaceful and angelic when he slept, soft snores escaping between his parted lips. In the past, you used to wake him up by peppering kisses on his smooth skin until he woke up. He used to wake up confused, until a smile would invade his face when he realised you were there. It used to make your heart feel all tight and warm in the best way possible.

Your breath hitched when Sungchan stirred to face his body towards you. Though his eyes stayed close, his breathing became noticeably shallower.

"You left," his voice was mercifully devoid of accusation, but it made your heart split down the middle all the same.

"I'm so sorry," it was pathetic, but that was all you could bring yourself to say.

Unwrapping his arm out from the tangle with his stuffed plushie, he patted the empty space on the bed that was still a bit warm. The weight of your body dropping onto the bed caused him to scooch a bit closer to you with his eyes still firmly closed.

"Can we just stop being sorry now? You're back now with no plans to leave again, so why do you keep running away from me?"

"Sungchan," you breathed out his name, but he opened his mouth again.

"I'll prove to you that all I want is still you. There's no one else, Y/N. You hurt me a lot, but I know you didn't want to. Let's give it another go. Do it properly and call each other boyfriend and girlfriend," his lips tugged up into a soft smile.

You didn't even know when you started crying but at the sound of your sniffle, his hands came up to wipe at your cheeks.

"Why are you crying?"

"What did I do to deserve someone like you? You deserve someone better," you choked out through your hot tears.

He let out a soft laugh as his eyes finally opened slowly and met yours, "Stop asking questions and saying sorry and just accept that I want to love you, Y/N."

His words triggered a waterfall of tears to stream down your face, but he pulled you down into the bed with him and wrapped you up in his arms tightly. It felt like home again.

"I loved you, Sungchan. I did."

He brushed the hair out of your face and planted a searing kiss on your temple, "I know, Y/N. I knew. Stop crying and go back to sleep with me. It'll all be okay when we wake up. I promise, baby."

He tucked his bear into your grasp and pulled the sheets over your bodies again. His arms returned around you and he continued to press the most gentle touches of his lips on your forehead, your temples, your nose and finally onto your lips that held back choked sobs until you slipped out of consciousness.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

"I wanna know everything you did in New York," Sungchan requested softly as he swung next to you. On the walk to your apartment from his that he accompanied you on after you both woke up, you spotted the playground equidistant between both residences empty. The two of you had spent a few nights there in the past swinging beside each other and talking, so it seemed perfect to go there again to talk- somewhere public and open.

You texted Minjeong that you were on the way back to your flat to change and freshen up and she kindly left with Heeseung as to not make the situation any more awkward or tense by having them meet in such a circumstance. Sungchan just sprawled in your bed and scrolled on his phone as you showered, changed and applied your skincare. After a night of drinking, throwing up and not moisturising after washing your face in the middle of the night, your skin had been going through it. When you plugged in your hairdryer and made him scooch over silently so you could sit on the bed, Sungchan had sat up and taken the dryer out of your grasp, motioning for you to turn around.

"Someone's watched Queen of Tears," you humoured over at him as the humming and heat began to fill the room.

"Just like the entire country," he jested back, "I guess we're a bit like them."

"Chaebols who get married and hate each other until one of them gets a seemingly incurable illness?" through the mirror at the end of your bed, you saw Sungchan roll his eyes playfully.

"Two people that find their way back to each other," he had corrected softly.

His words struck you silent, just watching him direct the dryer at your hair while thoughts swarmed in your head. You weren't sure if your neck was burning up from the dryer or from his fingers bumping against your skin every so often.

Since the two of you woke up, you could probably count on your hands how many times you'd spoken. You'd settled into this comfortable, but weighted silence knowing that sooner or later you'd probably have to properly talk to navigate the events of the night prior. You had delayed it a bit by asking to go home and change and he walked you all the way wordlessly other than suggesting to go to the park after.

When you were done getting ready, the two of you made your way to the park. This time, Sungchan had grabbed your hand firmly in his at the very first instance of your skin brushing. He was much more bold than when you had left.

"What do you want to know?" you quirked an eyebrow as he kicked off the ground to swing higher.

"If it was everything you dreamed of. If you missed home. If you made friends," he listed out, looking over at you.

You sighed and thought back. Over the past few weeks since you'd been back, everyone had asked you the same questions. For the most part, you had given the same answer to all of them robotically, but you felt like Sungchan deserved a bit more than your usual spiel.

"The city was incredible. New York was always my dream. I got to travel a little around the country too, so that was nice. It got really lonely pretty quickly, even though I made a lot of friends. It's just so busy and everyone has their own thing," you recounted slowly, "I missed home as soon as I left, but I do miss the friends I made in New York. America is very different to Seoul though."

"Did you mean what you said at the party? There was no one else?" his voice was shaky as he asked. You knew it wasn't something he took lightly.

"I wouldn't lie to you," you affirmed strongly, "I really did miss you and regretted everything the second I left. I was too ashamed to admit my mistake, so I'm sorry for hurting you unnecessarily. I don't regret going to New York, but I regret leaving you."

He stops the swing by planting his feet firmly. His eyes bore into yours as he tried to analyse your emotions.

"I grew a lot in that year apart, so I guess I should thank you for that. I learned that I should fight for what I want and I think we can be better this time around," Sungchan nodded, "And I missed you a lot. I keep saying it, but I just want you to know I never hated you or thought of you in anger while you were away."

The silence that followed must have freaked him out a little because he quickly continued.

"And about Jiyoon. Just, um, ignore her, please. I never knew she felt that way and I promise that I never acted in a way that might have conveyed that I felt the same," Sungchan blurted out with wide eyes, "I just- didn't know how to bring you up to her. We honestly didn't see each other very much; she just exaggerated."

You giggled a little at his panic and reached over the iron links to take his hand, "I trust you, Sungchan. You were free to do anything you wanted, but still, I trust you. You're allowed to have friends."

With a squeeze of his hand, Sungchan stood up and loomed over you on your swing. He tugged softly to get you up on your feet and clasped his hands around your waist when you did. Sungchan pulled you close to him, chest to chest.

Gasping, you looked around to make sure the playground was still empty, "Sungchan!"

He nuzzled his face down, close against yours with your foreheads pressed together, "You're all I could ever want. Please don't leave me again."

Your body completely melted into his as you brought your cold hands up to his warm cheeks. Bravely, you pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, just barely missing his lips, "I won't, Channie."

"Is it too fast to tell you I love you? I've been waiting to say it for over a year," Sungchan pulled his head back and scrunched his face up, "Does that make me too much of a loser? Being this down bad for you?"

All the tension and stress left your body; you could finally return to normal and joke with Sungchan as you giggled into his neck, "Maybe. Do you not want to be?"

"No, I love you," he chuckled along, grazing his nose against yours again before pressing his warm lips on yours.

His lips were pillowy, parting your lips and allowing him to push deeper. He was much more gentle this time than the night before, but a squeeze on your waist caused your breath to hitch and allowed him to run tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel the outpour of emotions in his kiss and how desperate he was to let you know them.

In the year without Sungchan, your heart grew fonder and fonder and you thought to yourself how you were never going to waste another minute with him.

Sungchan had been the first to pull away, looking down at you with half-lidded, passion-filled eyes, "Let's go back before some family comes and reports us to the police."

"Ha, for doing what?" you teased, hooking your fingers around his belt loops.

His eyes transformed into a glare as he stepped away from you and moved towards the exit, "Very funny, Y/N. Yours or mine?"

"Mine," you shrugged, "Minjeong's out with Heeseung and your frat brothers are all home and hungover."

Sungchan just grinned at you, swinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling you tight to his body, "I can't wait to tell everyone you're mine again."

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

The last game of the season was the national finals. You had been nervous all week watching Sungchan leave every day for extra practice when he usually only trained once a week with the team.

With a cup of cola in one hand and a cardboard sign in the other, you fought through the crowd on the bleachers to find the available seat between some of your friends. Minjeong was already settled in her seat, scolding Seunghan and Sohee for playing with her I <3 Heeseung homemade headband.

"You made it!" Chanyoung clapped happily as you sat between him and his older cousin. On the other side of him, the rest of the boys waved at you excitedly.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, of course!" you beamed. The whole arena was vibrating with excitement as nearly the whole student population turned up for the game. It was the final big event in the school calendar before the stress of final exams took over, so everyone was letting their hair down a little.

There was a section of supporters of the other team tucked away in the corner, but otherwise the people meshed together in a sea of your school colours. They had won the draw as to which school the game would be played at. You yourself was sporting a jersey nearly identical to the one that Sungchan would be coming out in soon. The shirt on his back fit his frame nicely, but it draped over you like a dress.

"Channie's gonna play good tonight because his lucky charm's here," Wonbin snorted teasingly, "He was shit all of last season."

"Wonbin," Eunseok hissed, but you just laughed with the long-haired boy.

"I'm really excited. I know they'll win." you waved the "GO #23" sign towards them.

You watched the field in anticipation as they ran out to erupting cheers from the supporters and watched as Sungchan searched the crowds for his group of friends as soon as they settled in a line. He waved in a small gesture, but all of you stood up and flailed your hands everywhere. You shook the sign vigorously and watched as his face contorted in awe and appreciation.

The game was absolutely nerve wracking. Your arms were interlocked and clutched tightly with Minjeong's and the two of you moved like one being standing up to shout at bad referee decisions or cheer at good tackles. Heeseung and Sungchan were playing well up front together, dominating the field so far with a few decent shots on target. Being the most dangerous on the field, the other team's defence were taking them on left, right and centre, causing your faces to be stuck in a permanent grimace for the first half.

Seunghan tried to start a cheer at half-time and that provided enough entertainment for your group when it miserably failed to notice the passage of time. In fresh shirts and refreshed motivation, your team went all out and scored 2 goals. Heeseung's celebrations towards Minjeong were sweet and had her swooning with flushed cheeks.

The other team had managed to score a goal, but in the 87th minute, Sungchan had broken away from his marker around the halfway line and poured all of his might into completing his run to the goal. The goalkeeper had a lot of time to anticipate Sungchan's goal, but his left foot was powerful enough to send the ball hurtling past the keeper's fingers and into the back of the net.

Screaming and yelling in joy, Sungchan slid in the direction of your friends and blew kisses in your direction. Beaming ear to ear, you deafened your friends with your ecstatic whoops. His teammates jumped on his body and then dragged him back to his position for the final 3 minutes.

Safe to say, they won the final.

After a celebration with medals, Prosecco and school cheers, you were waiting in the lobby just outside the changing rooms.

Sohee was talking your ear off about some game that he had started playing with Seunghan when a hand snaked around your waist and you felt the flutter of lips hovering over your neck.

"There's my girl. Hi, baby," he murmured against you. After sweating for 90 minutes, the boys definitely all had to take showers, so his hair was still slightly dripping over the jersey on your back.

"Channie, I'm so proud of you. Congratulations!" spinning around in his grip, you hooked your arms around his neck as he buried his head in yours.

"Your support meant everything to me. Thank you for the banner! I have the best girlfriend ever," he pulled back and beamed down at you, planting a peck on your expectant lips.

Despite having been officially his girlfriend for over 6 months now, the title still made your heart flutter to this day. You'd never forgive your past self from depriving yourself from having Sungchan as you had him now. Despite being the sweetest companion in your early university days, he had held himself back a little due to your hesitation.

Now that you were all in, Sungchan showered you with love, praise and support in anything you did. You tried your best to reciprocate and most days, it felt like your heart could explode every time you looked at him from how your love seemed to grow more and more every day.

He was the perfect gentleman and the perfect boyfriend. He brought you snacks whenever you had to stay late at the library and tucked you tight in his chest under the covers on the days that the world seemed to be collapsing - it never did, maybe thanks to him.

In short, adoring Sungchan became part of your daily routine. A task that you were happy to continue for the rest of your life.

"And I have the most amazing boyfriend in the world," you rested your cheek against his chest as you squeezed him tighter, "I love you, Sungchan."

His heartbeat thumped in your ear as he smoothed out your hair with his palm. The rhythm was strong and constant, as dependable as he was. You felt the love in his touch, no need for words.

Jung Sungchan was a man of his word. As long as you stayed by each other's side, everything would be okay. The world continues to spin. Your heart continues to beat for him.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

As a crazy cat lady, may I offfer...

Eddie who has always loved cats, how free and soft and elegant they are, how they purr and close their eyes in affection, how they make him forget all his worries and stress. He's loved them ever since a neighbor's cat found him crying behind the trailer after he got bullied for his new haircut, the last gift from his shitty dad before Eddie got whisked away by the social services. The cat ignored his sniffling and jumped in his lap, plopping herself over the bony knees and thin thighs, and when she started rubbing her face against his scraped palm, Eddie felt complete.

He can't adopt one yet because he lives with Wayne who is allergic. Wayne offers to take antihistamines but Eddie refuses, he doesn't want to inconvenience him in his own home. Still, he dreams of one day sometime in the future, a small apartment of his own and at least two cats who will greet him when he comes home.

Eddie finds himself volunteering in a shelter and when a new cat café opens, he jumps at the opportunity. He is hired and spends his days taking of their cat ensemble and preparing delicious coffees. Cats help him be less jittery and more grounded, so it's a win win. Eddie loves this job.

Enter Steve Harrington, an insanely handsome man who stops by to make a reservation. Eddie is his usual flirty self, although he expects Steve will bring a date and that's the end of that. But then Steve leans to Eddie and asks: "Listen, uh...I will need some help."

Suppressing an internal groan, Eddie asks: "what, do you need me to drop an engagement ring into the coffee or something? Because can do, but it needs to be sanitized first."

"Oh no. Not that, no..." Steve runs his fingers through his hair and even though it looks like a nervous gesture, Eddie is seconds away from a cuteness induced nosebleed. "Not at all. I just...I have a little sister, you know? I mean, my adoptive dad is fostering her and she's the kindest girl you've met, but she had it rough in her original family. Apparently there was something involving animals and...she loves cats so much, but is terrified of hurting them. She would never!" he clarifies when he sees a frown forming on Eddie's forehead. "It's just that whenever she showed affection to any animal, her biological father made sure it would get hurt or at least chased away. And that's gone, that man is in jail and I just...I want to show her that it's okay to love animals again. That she can pet a purring cat without worrying about its safety."

Eddie just stares at him with mouth open. "That's...wow," he says. "Sorry. Processing."

Steve does the hair thing again and laughs and Eddie thinks that this man deserves a brother of the year award, yep, he'll ask Gareth to 3D print one right fucking now. "Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to dump all that on you, but I had to be honest because this is a big deal to her. To me as well. Just...listen, I like cats a lot, but I'm not the best at interpreting what they mean, their body language and all that. And I really need Jane to have someone here that can tell her what to do, when she's doing a good job...someone who will protect the kitties if she messes up. Her words. I know it's a lot to ask, but..."

But Eddie shushes him. "Say no more, big boy. I'll be here and I'll give the young lady the cat experience of a lifetime."

Eddie used to think he couldn't love his job any more. But with Jane's uncertain smile and big eyes, her incredulous squeal when a cat chose her for the first time, when she kept asking Eddie for specifics of each cat in his care - "which one is more shy, which one likes to be picked up, which one is a picky eater?" - he thinks he's finally found his calling. Steve beams at him and comes back the next day with a bag of approved cat treats for the cats and a box of chocolates for Eddie as a thank you, then asks him out for a dinner - "if that is even appropriate, shit, sorry, I don't want you to feel pressured or something, this is your job, I get it, but I just really admire you and you were amazing to Jane, uh, and the stuff you say about cats is so interesting I'd just love to hear more". Eddie's heart flutters like the traitor it is and he thinks - maybe this is someone I could adopt a cat with one day.

And unsurprisingly, he's right.

[lexpupz]

warnings: pure filth, dom!bada, G!P BADA (sorry to all the g!p haters), facefucking, sweaty sex, very very lowkey dubcon, spitting (also just a tiny bit), facials, bdsm, slapping, bruises and overall marking, dacryphilia, bondage,

wordcount: 1.2k

a/n; just a little drabble to start out maybe? many people wont probably like it and if so, its okay. we all have our tastes. also i think ive gotten enough of these brainrotting and perverted ideas so maybe sweet little soft service top!bada next time.

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i dont care how smiley she always gets i did NOT come here to fuck around. may not be the girthiest cock ever but its soooo veiny and sosososoosooooo longgggg ARGHGHRHR. cant get enough of her clean-shaven balls like im ready to take it all at once no joke. bada is literally the epitome of a kink explorer. any new fetish she sees online or hears about from her friends can keep her awake all night thinking about all the ways she could use it. its hard to surprise her with your tastes cause shes seriously done it all.

when it comes to her favourites, ugghghhsh facefucking immediately comes to mind. coming home, absolutely drenched in sweat — im talking wet tshirt, bangs sticking to forehead, sweat slowly rolling down the side of her face, leaving a wet handprint on anything she touches, ugghsj you can quite literally smell her presence, all of the dirt mixing with her perfume and salty liquid all over her body. 😵‍💫😵‍💫 — dropping the duffel bag full of more dirty clothes somewhere in the middle of the room, she immediately sets off to find you. igdhh and when the smell hits your nose you already know whats up. and when i tell you bada stops caring about your wellbeing and makes you strip yourself off of all your self-respect when she gets horny... 😮‍💨. grabs the back of your neck and just pulls you off the couch, your knees hitting the ground rather roughly. no time for belts, just unzips her jeans and pulls it right out, and LORD the sound of the slap it makes when it hits your face. your brain wouldve probably blocked it all out if it wasnt for the precum oozing everywhere already and the smell of her sweaty cock thats been smothered by the thick fabric of her pants for hours on end now. both of your hazy gazes meeting eachother and oohhhhhdjd the way she squints while looking down at your lips before gently placing her thumb between your lips to spread them wide open, her length now resting somewhere on your chin. you really gotta appreciate how delicately shes treating you, knowing whats about to come. her sweaty palms lightly pressing into your jaw line, she pulls your head closer, planting the very tip of her cock right next to her thumb, which is now covered with the drool thats been mixing with her precum on your chin, slowly dripping down into your lap. no need to explain further, her sticky palms now forcing you by the back of your head, sliding her length down your throat. and when your nose hits her lower stomach, the groan that leaves her throat makes you impossibly wet. you know that trying to resist her wont help your situation so you just let it all happen, placing your own hands on the back of her knees purely for support. her thrusts are slow and short at first, hitting the back of your throat rather softly while she groans some inaudible mumbling from above (not that you would understand if she was talking clearly, already drowning in the sounds your mouth makes around her cock). and when she does finally speed up and her soft groans become rougher youre not even present anymore, lost in the sensation of the constant pounding in your throat. and when i said throatfucking i meant throatFUCKING — straight up using that mouth as a fleshlight. and instead of feeding you all that delicious cum, she insists on pulling out and sprays your whole face with the white liquid; ranging from the very base of your nose, running down your cheeks, also leaving a humble trail on your tongue just to continue more on your already wet chin. if it wasnt for you closing your eyes, you might have gone blind too with the thin coat painting your eyelids. all of her pretty liquids mixing with her sweat thats been occasionally dripping down on your face from her own chin. and finally, to finish it off, she blesses you with a few drops of her saliva, spitting them down your fucked out throat. she runs her slender fingers through your messed up hair leaning in to peck your forehead — the only part of your face left bare. she smiles fondly, giving both your face and her own length a few last strokes before leaving to finally wash up her sweaty body. making me think hard about toxic bada, leaving her poor baby all alone, dumbed down from all the dicking down, with no aftercare ://

and thats not where toxic bada ends because... 🙃. gotta go crazy for (maybe more than) slightly violent bada esjsjwonfrj. or maybe im just heavily deranged. but i mean... shes sooooo tall and soooooo strongggg. so maybe while the two of you are fucking she just, idk, accidentally knocks you down onto the ground. DBSJJSKAKFK seriously listen like the tight grip she has on your face while youre leaned over the kitchen island getting your guts rearranged. her other hand constantly traveling up and down your waist, while shes trying not to lose her own mind because of all the sweet sounds that are slipping past your lips —because of her baby is so so pretty being vocal and telling her just how good shes making her feel —, and then... oops 🫢 her hand leaves your cheek just to come back with a stinging sensation, leaving a pretty handprint in the process too 😵‍💫. youre barely realising what happened at first, too caught up in the pleasure, but when bada notices youre not protesting, or crying or looking up at her in pure bewilderment, she just does it again and again until... her last slap makes you yelp out loud, the strength of it forcing a few tears to glide down your red cheeks. i mean... she would probably cum just from the sight of that but... 😒. she ALWAYS has to have you marked up, whether its the stinging feeling on your ass whenever you sit down, the perplexed looks earned by all the love bites and hickeys, the purple bruises all over your knees also occasionally appearing on your back and thighs 🤩🤩,or ofcourse, as mentioned before, the red traces of her fingers and palms left on your cheeks.

bada is most definitely also a freak for bondage 😵‍💫😵‍💫. and im like straight up biting my hand rn ehshwhsgs. im talking ropes, tapes, handcuffs and all sorts of chains and stuff like that. sooooo into shibari its crazyyyyy hdjsjs. she would learn all these different patterns and styles just so you can look all pretty and tied up for her. it honestly makes her tummy twist and turn when she hears your mewls when shes kissing all over your chest, — her nose occasionally scratching the red bondage rope that she took so long tying around you because she just couldnt stop letting go of the rope in her hands to grab your hips grind them against her lap a few times more. — you cant do anything else but just quiver under her touch and hot breath. she cant stop calling you her 'pretty tight slut' making you twitch under her touch even more. AAARGRGHRH and when she sits you on her lap, holding both of your hands which are tied up at your back, as you grind against her length, riding her.

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 3

Knowing Kafka is a rollercoaster of emotions you can’t escape from no matter how much you beg to touch the ground.

friends with benefits, some domestic bliss before the storm, 6.5k words

part one part two

A/N: no smut warning woah…. actual development woahhh… cant believe i wrote this much without throwing in some sex i think i might like this criminal :/

“So… Can I come in?”

Kafka’s self-assured tone sounds lazy, indifferent to the predicament she finds herself in, and her lips are fixed in that practiced smile like she’s genuinely happy to see you despite bleeding through her shirt on your doorstep. You stare at her disheveled state, a hundred questions dancing on your tongue and unable to voice any of them. Instead, you open the front door wider and urgently usher her into your apartment with a hand wrapped around her uninjured bicep. Kafka makes a sound of surprise, though it fails to convey any. She lets herself be moved and quietly walks further inside your place. 

“What happened?” The door shuts behind you, but you’re already leading her down the hallway towards your small bathroom. “Where do you even come from?!”

Your words quaver more than you would like as you flip the switch and motion for her to sit on the toilet seat. You can feel her eyes on you while you messily rummage through the cupboards beneath the sink, pushing old medicine bottles aside and cleaning products out of the way. The weight in your stomach grows heavier the longer you search for your first-aid kit, shutting the wooden cupboards and throwing open the one behind the mirror desperately. Apart from prescribed and over the counter medication, you find nothing that would be of help at this moment.

“Where is it?… Fuck, where is it?!” You lay your palms flat on the counter, head dropping low to think. 

“Calm down,” Kafka says calmly, a slightly amused lilt in her voice, “I’m not going to die.”

You ignore her horrible attempt at reassuring you and try to recall when was the last time you used the bandages in the kit. You cut yourself cooking some weeks ago but you remember going to the bathroom to fish them out… It has to be around here somewhere. You bite your bottom lip anxiously, your pulse in your ears like an oppressive presence, and force yourself to take in a breath so you don’t succumb to your panic. If it’s not in this room, it must be laying in your storage closet. You spare the other woman a glance to find her already looking at you, obediently silent. She doesn’t seem to be in any pain but you know it’s a facade, you’re only taken aback by how easy it is for her to pretend that nothing is amiss. You straighten up, run a hand over your face to clear your head and order her not to move before walking out to find the aforementioned closet.

You make an even bigger mess of your storage closet as you search for the med kit, lifting boxes you don’t recognize and throwing plastic bags full of random trinkets out in the hallway. Your heart is in your throat, you can feel your eyes sting with the familiar weight of unshed tears, but you can’t stop looking. The thought of Kafka bleeding out before anything is done appears in your distressed mind and worsens your anxiety despite the probability of it happening being low. If this wound turns out to be something you can’t stabilize on your own, you’ll call the emergency services. You push aside a basket filled with yarn, letting  out a shuddering breath at the sight of a clear case with a red cross on it. You waste no time grabbing it and heading for the bathroom, not bothering to close the closet door. When you walk back in, Kafka has managed to take off her bloody shirt and is facing the mirror over the sink, a hand still applying firm pressure on her shoulder. She turns your way to acknowledge you and takes a peek at the box in your hands. 

“What are you doing? Sit down,” you swallow the lump in your throat so you don’t sound as strained. 

Putting the kit on the counter and lifting the lid, you take out a few non-stick bandages. From your peripheral vision, you see Kafka complying with your shaky command and suppressing a chuckle. She hasn’t said much so far, which is uncharacteristic of her quick witted nature. You pick up a clean face towel from one of the shelves in the corner and rinse it with warm water. You step in front of her and gesture to the wound.

“Let me clean it.”

Once again, Kafka doesn’t protest. Her guarded gaze is on you, following every twitch of your brows and inaudible intake of breath, almost sizing you up as you lean in close to treat her wound. Her small smile is frozen on her face, and you can’t tell what it’s meant to convey anymore. She carefully takes her hand off her shoulder. The small puncture wound leaves a bloody trail down her skin, but even you can tell that it’s no longer bleeding profusely; the worries filling your head shrink and finally allow you to think more rationally. You bring the wet towel to her skin. You’re more meticulous with your hands than you thought you could be, softly washing away the specks of dried blood on her shoulder and around the injury. At this distance you see faint bluish veins that you had no reason to notice before, they slither down her neck and fade away above her collarbone. You wipe the deep red from her usually flawless skin, brushing over it with a mindfulness opposite from the lustful touches you’re accustomed to; your sole intention is to soothe her pain instead of taking pleasure from her. You are suddenly aware of her proximity in this unfamiliar context. She sits close without the headiness of sex, quiet and alert, and you can feel the warmth of her body from where you stand, your head is bowed and one of her thighs rests between yours. 

Kafka looks up at you through her lashes but you have no way of understanding the light behind her eyes. You think perhaps all of her strength goes to withstand the pain she’s in. You still feel your beating heart against your ribcage, its erratic pace gently growing steady, while her chest rises and falls easily. Your breaths fill the silence around you. As the cloth delicately clears away the blood, you sneak a glance at her and your eyes meet. Your hand falters on her skin. Her rosy-lilac irises speak of tenderness that does not fit her, like a deceiving front to conceal her emotional distance. You see them but there is nothing beyond them, nothing that she allows you to glimpse at. Even so, you’re privy to a side of her you don’t yet know. There’s still traces of blood on her cheek she meant to wipe off before seeing you, and without thinking, you lift the towel higher to clean it off with a few smooth strokes. Kafka blinks once and you do the same rapidly, sharply turning away from her piercing stare to finish dressing her wound. In the stillness of your home, new truths are unknowingly written. 

To stop the bleeding and prevent infections, you take out square non-adhesive bandages and peel one of them off. She’ll have to see an actual doctor for treatment, but you realize that the situation is not as bad as you initially thought. The sight of her bloody shirt and glove terrified you at first glance; you slowly realize that all of it must not have been hers. Unease settles in your stomach a second time. What could she possibly be implicated in to show up at your door with an injury like this?

“Why’d you come here?” You ask softly now that the worst has passed, eyes focused on carefully applying the bandage to her skin. “Why didn’t you go to the hospital for this?” 

“Wasn’t serious enough,” Kafka replies nonchalantly. She gazes at your furrowing brows and incredulous expression like she’s been doing since you opened the door. She doesn’t answer the first question.

“Serious enough? Your shirt is dyed red. How’d you even get this?”

“It’s just a gunshot wound. A little Band-Aid should fix me right up.”

“What the fuck?!”

In your loud disbelief your fingers press into the small hole in her shoulder and Kafka winces, clenching her jaw tightly. You quickly withdraw your hand. The bandage is halfway peeling off from her skin and she brings a gloved hand up to properly apply it herself. 

You step back from her frame, lips parted in incredulity. “You got shot?”

Kafka uses her free hand to peel off the second bandage and apply it over the first one, not looking at you as she does so. “Relax, the bullet didn’t go all the way in and I already took it out. It’s a minor scrape now.”

“You got shot?”

“Ugh, not so loud… I’ve had a long day.”

“You need to see a doctor. Are you insane?”

She raises her head towards you. “I don’t need a doctor, just a place to stay until tomorrow.”

You swallow thickly, lifting a hand to your hairline and pacing back and forth in the enclosed space. You can’t believe what she’s saying. No normal person just gets shot on a random Thursday and acts so nonchalant about it— having seen the proof of it, your mind is reeling with questions you’re not sure you want the answers to. Kafka has always had an air of mystery around her and the kind of confidence that makes you think that she’s invincible. Looking at her now, sitting in your bathroom after you tended to her wound and seemingly unbothered by the favor she’s asking of you, your chest constricts with a foreboding feeling you can’t name. Your gaze drops to her discarded shirt on the floor. You want to ask her what she’s done, whose blood is on her clothes, but your throat tightens as if begging you to keep your mouth shut. Kafka watches the emotions play out on your face and speaks up again.

“You stayed home.”

It takes a few seconds to meet her eyes, your reply agitated, “What?”

“Last time we talked, I told you not to go to work today. Despite your lack of trust in me, you stayed home. Why?”

She seems to be genuinely wondering why, but you don’t have an answer to give her. You don’t know. There was something about the seriousness with which she suggested you call out of work that made you uneasy come this morning, all traces of her usual aloofness were gone, even if she meant for her delivery to be casual so as to not rouse any suspicions. It was a split decision, you picked up your phone and called in sick before fully understanding the implications of your actions. You trusted your gut, not her. 

“Something came up,” you lie instead and confront her, “You knew something was going to happen today— or planned to come by, that’s why you wanted me here, right? You know I get off work at 7 and I wouldn't have been home.”

Kafka gives nothing away but you know she doesn’t believe your white lie. If she feels anything about this show of distrust, she keeps her cards close to her chest. She shrugs with her uninjured shoulder.

“Maybe I just missed you.”

There it is, that flirty, teasing expression you’re used to seeing on her face. She’s deflecting and is for once doing a terrible job at it. She won’t tell you the truth, you know that much. Irritation burns the walls of your throat. In a way, you’re both lying to each other so you shouldn’t expect something you yourself are not ready to give her; then again, she’s the one who showed up at your door with a swelling injury and she has the guts to ask you to stay overnight while blatantly ignoring your attempts at finding out the circumstances of her situation. You don’t react to her taunt, you only cross your arms and stare at her, unamused. Your heartbeat has picked up several paces and you’re uncomfortable with the awareness of it drumming inside you. Kafka sighs in faux-exasperation. 

“It’s only for tonight. I’ll be gone in the morning.” When you don’t reply, she hesitantly adds, “Please.”

You’re torn, her stubbornness will keep her from seeking a medical expert and you have no idea what she did to get it in the first place. Either way, she’s putting herself in danger, and if you let her stay for a while at least you can make sure she doesn’t worsen her condition before her wound stops bleeding completely… You run a hand over your face. Might as well make dinner for two. 

Kafka’s in the shower and you’re chopping the vegetables you bought earlier this afternoon, your mind a few miles away as you move efficiently around the kitchen. You told her that if she was going to sleep over, she should change into more comfortable clothes. Weirdly, she didn’t make any lewd comments and simply accepted the oversized shirt and plaid pyjama pants you gave her before walking out of the bathroom.. She must have a lot on her mind too, you suppose. Maybe she’ll be more inclined to share a little later. The pasta is currently boiling so you get started on the sauce, letting it simmer on the stove while you take care of the veggies you’ll be steaming to eat as a side. The running water quickly becomes background noise while you busy yourself, a sound you’re not very used to hearing when you’re not the one showering, but the pitter-patter relaxes you a touch. You’re no longer on the edge of an anxiety attack, though worry still resides in the depths of your heart considering the situation you find yourself in. You try to focus on the dinner you’re cooking instead of the bloodstained memory of Kafka’s clothes. They’re in the washing machine now, but you remember how soaked they were vividly, crimson and haunting. You instantly thought the worst, and when suddenly confronted with the prospect of losing her, you panicked. Anyone would have reacted the same in the face of a bleeding person, you tell yourself, but you can’t deny that the thought deeply unnerves you. 

You don’t register the sound of the water being turned off. You stir the rosé sauce and lower the heat under the vegetables, then incorporate the pasta into the creamy goodness. The smell of freshly cooked pasta fills your nose and reminds you of how little you ate today. You take out two plates from a cabinet and pour a generous serving in each one, adding a little more vegetables for yourself. You’re gently laying them on the kitchen island in the middle of the room when Kafka walks in with her hair still damp from the shower. Her face is bare, her long locks loose past her shoulders, and she’s wearing the clothes you lent her. The shirt hangs around her thighs over the cotton pants, big enough to be cozy on her. She looks… mundane, more refreshed than an hour ago. In such plain attire, she doesn’t seem as enigmatic or intimidating, but rather like your average citizen. It’s a harsh contrast to the way she presents herself and the cocky, in control woman you usually see. She strides into the kitchen and leans on the island to glimpse at the food you made. You don’t realize that you’re staring until she looks at you and raises an eyebrow, a small confident smile on her lips.

“See something you like?”

You avert your gaze and turn around to take out the parmesan from the fridge. Your skin warms up from the embarrassment of getting caught, but you manage to hide your flustered expression from her sight. Your stomach buzzes with a feeling you attribute to bashfulness. This is yet another side of Kafka you’re discovering, she’s never stayed until morning light before. You’ve long exceeded the limits of what you’re familiar with tonight, the feeling is the same as the night you undressed her for the time; excitement and nervousness swirled in your belly, each caress revealing inches of unexplored skin to your eager touch. You face her again and find that in this moment, you feel no disquiet. 

“Is that for me?” Kafka sits on the stool across from you and points to one of the plates. 

You grate some parmesan on top of the pasta before pushing the portion towards her. She stares at it for a few seconds then lifts her questioning eyes to yours. She seems to hesitate for the time it takes you to pull out a fork from a drawer and give it to her, but she eventually thanks you quietly. She means it for more than dinner. You nod once in acknowledgement. 

You take a seat on the stool next to her and glance at the way she turns the fork over in her hand, looking at the food in search of answers instead of eating it. For a couple minutes there’s only the sound of metal on ceramic as you eat while Kafka is lost in thought, absentmindedly picking at her vegetables. After swallowing another bite, you decide that you’re sick of the awkward silence. 

“You don’t eat pasta?”

Kafka blinks. In an instant, her cryptic smile stretches her lips and she stabs some pasta onto her fork, sticking it into her mouth. Her face lights up after the first chew. “Mmm. Never had a home cooked meal that actually tastes like food.”

“Really?”

“I’m not much of a cook.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She purses her lips, silverware hovering in the air, though she’s not offended. 

“I just can’t picture you wearing an apron.”

“That’s because you usually picture me wearing nothing.”

You make a face but don’t refute her point, to which Kafka’s smile widens an inch. You stuff food into your mouth to give you time to think of a reply. She watches you with an amused look, leaning her chin in her hand.

“Not even a little protest…”

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back indignantly, “should’ve dropped the bottle of hot sauce on your plate…”

Kafka’s deep chuckle compels you to look at your dinner instead of her. “Makes no difference to me. My pain tolerance is pretty high, it might make the flavors pop out a bit more.”

You’re reminded of how easily she kept her composure earlier, as if getting shot at is a regular occurrence for her. Flashes of her bleeding shoulder come back to your mind and you quiet down a bit, poking a broccoli with the tip of your fork. Kafka immediately senses the shift in your mood. She pauses, watches you toy with the vegetable for a short moment, then twirls her own fork in her hand.

“Don’t worry,” she reads your mind effortlessly, “a scrape like that will heal in no time and will barely leave a scar. Besides, you won’t care much for it the next time I’m undressing in front of you.”

You roll your eyes at the innuendo but it successfully brings you out of your thoughts for the time being. You lightly shake your head.

“Is sex the only thing on your mind?”

“Not the only thing…” she drawls, but the way her gaze drops to your chest and leisurely trails up to stare into your eyes, the beginnings of a smirk on her lips, suggests otherwise. She rhythmically taps the island’s surface with a finger. 

“...Just eat your food.”

Kafka laughs softly and complies. You’re thankful for her restraint to make a dirty joke. As you both eat, the atmosphere around you shifts into a comfortable space you don’t feel the need to fill with mundanities. Still, you end up telling her about yourself after some prompting, about your friends, how it felt to move away from your parents and get your own place— even the doubts about your career and how you don’t think it’s something you want to do anymore. Kafka watches you all the while, her cheek in her palm, and comments on certain things but mostly keeps quiet. You don’t realize how much you’ve confided because she’s surprisingly an excellent listener and you get a little high from her undivided attention. Your almost empty plates lie forgotten on the kitchen island. You turn on the stool to face her fully at some point, your knees brushing her thigh, and the casual, innocent contact makes your heart race. Her presence is just as exciting outside of the context of a hookup, your pulse creates a melody for this moment. Unbeknown to you, you've already made up your mind; she looks prettier under the kitchen lights at night. 

“You should quit,” Kafka repeats the advice she told you days ago, following the movement of your head as it tips backwards in exasperation. “You can make money doing anything, you might as well enjoy what you do.”

“It’s not that simple,” you argue, “my life is stable as is. I don’t even know what I want— it would be so irresponsible to drop everything just because I’m not fully satisfied with how things are now.”

“Then find out what you want and execute it.”

You sigh loudly, leaning on the island to rest your forehead on your arm. She makes it sound easy but quitting your research job in an engineering department might damage the fragments of relationship you have with your parents. You only see them a couple times a year, sometimes for a week during the summer, but they make sure to let you know how proud they are that the money they invested in you is paying off. You know they can’t control you anymore and yet, the guilt of them struggling to put you through school is ingrained in your gray matter. Despite the heavy weight they constantly put on your shoulders, you truly do want to please them. You moved to another corner of the world and can still hear your mother’s disapproving voice in your ears. 

“I wish I knew if whatever I end up doing is the right choice,” you mutter, laying your chin on your forearm and staring straight ahead. “It’d be nice to know how this all ends.”

Kafka doesn’t respond immediately. She ponders for a while, fingers drumming on the stainless steel. 

“Mmm. There’s more joy to be found in the unknown, I think,” she says after a pause. “More excitement.”

“More anxiety too.”

“They often come together, don’t they? Both make you feel alive, having one without the other might breed a certain… emptiness.”

You furrow your brows. “You’ve clearly never felt anxious.”

Kafka only smiles softly. “In any case, you can’t live your life fulfilling other people’s wishes. I’ve never found selfishness to be ugly.”

Once the plates and pans are washed half an hour later, you stop by the bedroom to pick up a blanket and a pillow for Kafka to sleep with. You walk back into the living room, items under your arms, to see her sitting cross-legged on the couch, TV remote in hand. The screen is bright in the dim light and illuminates the room around it, painting moving shadows on the walls. You put the pillow down on the armrest with the folded blanket over it. Kafka is scrolling through your streaming applications and stops to acknowledge you. 

“Want to watch something?” She asks. “I don’t remember the last time I sat down for a full movie.”

The invitation is so ordinary that you hesitate for a few seconds. Watching a movie after cooking her dinner…? A corner of your mind is screaming that this sounds like a casual date but you quickly shake that thought away for its absurdity. She needed a place to stay for the night, that’s all. Once again, she’s more using you than anything else, you’re a safe place to come to because you have trouble refusing her. You prove your own theory right by accepting her offer and closing the hallway and kitchen lights before taking a seat next to her, putting a reasonable distance between you. You fold your legs on the couch and lay a forearm on the armrest as Kafka continues to scroll through the different apps. She lets out comments like “sounds boring” and “ugh” after skipping certain movies. She’s mostly talking under her breath, eyes fixed on the TV screen. The blue light applies a similar hue to her skin tone and adds vitality to her irises, they appear more vivid and alert. The sharp shadows in her hair are even darker against such a vibrant source of light and the sight of her brings to mind a beautifully composed photograph. You take a mental picture of her like this, in sleepwear with her hair free of the ponytail she puts it in every day, staring intently at the screen like a kid who’s been allowed to stay up past her bedtime. 

“What about a horror movie?” You propose, taking your eyes off her frame to look at the TV.

“No. They’re never scary. This one looks less mediocre than the others.”

You read the synopsis of a psychological thriller together. The movie doesn’t particularly speak to you but you tell her it seems nice anyway. You’re not surprised to learn that she enjoys mind games. Kafka adjusts her position on the couch so that she’s mimicking your own and presses play, leaning an elbow on the armrest to rest her cheek on top of her fist. You try to focus on the movie, the pacing is too slow to catch your tired mind’s attention for more than ten minutes at a time, and an hour passes with you sneaking glimpses at the woman next to you from your peripheral vision. She’s not close enough that you can feel her warmth like you could in the bathroom earlier, but the air around you feels the same; a sort of domestic intimacy that has no place between the two of you because you can’t imagine meaning that much to someone like her. You can’t snuff it out, no matter how many times you tell yourself to look at the scene in front of you. Since she’s waltzed into your kitchen hours ago, you can’t help noticing habits that give you the false impression that you know her. Her fingers twitch when she’s lost in thought, they typically drum on whatever surface she can get her hands on or subtly move in the air like she’s conducting a symphony. She eats her vegetables last. She doesn’t shy away from eye contact when you speak. These little things don’t make up a person, and yet, for someone who doesn’t reveal much of herself, they’re quirks that few get to see. 

Kafka is watching the movie with an unimpressed expression, which has you suppressing a smile. Occasionally, she comments on whatever is happening—mostly complaints about the direction the movie is going or how much better it would be if the human responses were more realistic. You simply nod along, already somewhat dozing off near the climax of the story. The aftermath of your anxious evening is catching up with you and you’re in a comfortable enough position at the moment, it doesn’t take long for fatigue to descend on your body. Your eyelids can’t bear their own weight and you rest your eyes for a couple of minutes, leaning your head on the armrest. You don’t witness how the movie ends. You’re falling asleep on the couch, the TV acting like background noise, and you forget that this is where Kafka is supposed to sleep. You don’t register soft fabric being laid over you, only catch sweet notes of vanilla belonging to the soap you use in the shower.

A sore ache in your neck pulls you out of a dream whose contents now elude you. Your brows twist indignantly, a muted groan vibrates along your throat, and you drowsily turn over on the couch to face the back cushions. You hear the bathroom door open and close, which eventually reminds you that you’re not alone in the house. Your eyes slowly blink open at the thought, momentarily blinded by the living room’s semi-darkness. It takes a minute to regain your bearings, you turn over a second time and notice soft threads of morning light seeping through the cracks of the closed blinds. It must be a new day already, though not very early based on how gloomy it still is outside. You have the reflex to check your phone for the time and realize that you don’t remember its last location. The cozy blanket falls to your lap when you sit up to look around the room. You’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you recall the events of last night; Himeko calling, opening the door to a disheveled Kafka, rushing her to the bathroom for basic treatment… In between two of those, you must have discarded your phone somewhere here out of panic and didn’t touch it once afterwards, too preoccupied by the dizzying sensation of finally seeing past Kafka’s usual demeanor. Pulling the blanket off of you, you quickly scan the coffee table and check the couch cushions in case you threw the device on it yesterday and it fell through the cracks. Your fingertips touch the silicone of your phone case deep between the cracks of back pillows. You only struggle to pull it out for a few seconds, sighing in relief when you have it back in your hands, Tapping open the screen, you learn that it is currently a little past 5 in the morning and curse under your breath at the reminder of work in a couple of hours after spending the night on your couch. You scroll down the notification screen to see if you got any last night.

You’re confused at the amount of text messages you didn’t receive due to your phone being on silent. You blink rapidly at the dozens of concerned texts wondering how you are coming from your friends and some coworkers you get along with. You got a message from Himeko right after you hung up on her, but it’s just three question marks in succession so you make a mental note to call her back this evening. Opening the multiple texts a coworker sent you, you don’t comprehend them immediately. Your thumb hovers over the screen as you read the words “Stellaron Hunters” and “infiltrated”, and in a moment of denial, you exit the conversation to open another from a friend repeatedly asking if you’re safe. They sent an article attached to the first message; it’s a publication dating from around 6 PM last night posted by an IPC affiliated news company popular in the city. You don’t feel the instant your chest stutters at its contents. Unblinking, you stare at the urgent sentences reporting an incursion in the building you’ve worked in for years by a group of people you’ve only vaguely heard of from gossip around the office. The Stellaron Hunters, interstellar criminals notorious for their worth in credits, had the means to break into the mechanical engineering research lab of the Intelligentsia Guild with the goal of stealing hardware for a machine you remember personally working on about 8 months ago. You were part of the team of researchers assigned to this project to make sure it was a viable one before it could be produced. Once the green light is given, it gets sent to the lab and is out of your hands. You recall doing extensive research for it in a small time frame because it was a priority for your supervisors to start working on it as soon as possible. Now, the key component was the target of a larceny. 

As you read, the world outside of the screen and the muffling in your ears disappears. Your digit quivers over the words “multiple casualties”. Most of them are security guards who attempted to stop the thieves in action, but some of the engineers you once met in person have also been stated as losses. Your eyes sting from being kept open for longer than a minute, you can’t hear the trembling breaths clumsily tripping past your lips either. The death toll is 19 human lives— all for a piece of hardware. Your collar seemingly constricts your throat, choking you silent. You are trapped by sudden guilt, it teasingly snakes around your guts and squeezes them tight like tentacles around an easy prey. What-ifs rush at you as if mocking your cowardice; what if you hadn't worked on this project and hadn’t allowed it to see the day, what if you switched careers like you’ve been wanting to for a long time… You don’t look at your hands but your mind supplies the image of them dipped in blood regardless. The white page of the article burns your retinas, yet you scroll further down to read the end of it. The IPC has taken matters into their own hands and sent out forces to apprehend the culprits while they still hide in the city, which does nothing to alleviate your distress because the Stellaron Hunters wouldn’t have earned a reputation if they were so easily caught. You dread the idea of facing your coworkers again after such a tragic event, even more so the simple thought of walking back into that building knowing what transpired there. You finally squeeze your eyes shut with a shaky exhale, trying not to picture red stained floors and mechanical equipment. When you open them again, the attached pictures at the end of the publication freezes the blood in your veins.

This is your first time associating faces to the group of criminals who are only ever mentioned by their faction name. The phone screen turns dark from inactivity but the wanted poster is seared into the walls of your occipital lobe, creating a reality-perfect image of the woman’s enigmatic smile and unmistakable rosy irises. Your reflection stares back at you, expressing consternation, and in the same instant, the bathroom door opens again. Heeled footsteps make their way down the hallway like a foreboding rhythm, clacking across the wooden tiles on a mission to reach the front door. The weight on your chest grows heavier once they’re close, and they eventually come to a stop behind the couch you’re sitting on. Your fingers tremble at the sound of her voice near your ears. 

“You’re awake.”

It hits you, then. What happened last night, how Kafka received that gunshot wound, her advice from earlier this week—- it was a warning rolled in a layer of passivity, a peculiar request she couldn’t tell you the extent of without revealing her hand. If you had gone to work yesterday, one of the casualties could have been you. Her and the Stellaron Hunters must have been planning this for a while, perhaps weeks or months. You feel as though you’ve fallen in the ocean from a great height in the middle of the night, an icy wave of hurt clogs your ears and has you succumbing under the tumultuous waters. 

Kafka tilts her head to the side and makes a teasing remark about you not being fully up and about, rounding the couch to wave a gloved hand in front of your face. Your head mechanically turns to look up at her. She’s dressed in the clothes she wore yesterday that she put in the dryer as you were washing the dishes. Her hair is in its everyday loose ponytail, aside from the sunglasses over her head and down to her asymmetrical boots, she’s ready to go. Her coat is on, leading you to believe that she planned to slip away while you were still asleep. Kafka observes the brewing emotions on your face and the heavy rise of your chest, then takes a quick glance at the phone still in your hands. Her relaxed smile drops an inch. You stare at each other for a moment and she doesn’t say another word during that time, reading you through the purse of your lips and the contempt in your eyes. After a minute of quiet, she lazily crosses her arms under her breasts. 

“You don’t seem scared,” she says without breaking eye contact, like she’s close to figuring you out but is missing an important variable.

You don’t dwell on the fact that you are indeed not afraid of her or what she’s capable of, mainly wounded by the amount of stuff she’s kept from you. If you knew who she was back in that store, you would have never let her approach you no matter how intriguing she looked. It’s as you think this that you realize something else; her efforts in pursuing you coincide with the time you had just finished working on that major project and you can’t help thinking that all of it might have been premeditated. Your stomach churns. 

You manage to find your voice, swallowing once to wet your dry throat. “Were you never going to tell me?” Your sentence comes out weaker than it should have, bordering on pathetic affront.

“No.”

Her honesty gives you whiplash. For all she’s lied about and omitted, she chooses to be honest when it hurts the most. 

“It was always going to play out like this,” she continues, “some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. This way is less gruesome than the others, don’t you think?”

“What does that mean?”

Kafka smiles with her eyes closed but instead of a comfortable familiarity, it raises the hair on your arms. 

“Well, I’m happy to know that you heeded my advice. I even looked for you and got hurt in the process. Quite chivalrous of me, isn’t it?”

Her lighthearted comment sounds like it’s meant to assuage the maelstrom of feelings mounting inside of you. It is so ridiculous, so devoid of genuine meaning, that it only stokes the burning embers under your skin. You struggle to contain your outrage, the sight of her pleased smile and indifferent posture has your fingers curl into a fist.

“Aw, don’t make that face,” Kafka uncrosses her arms and pulls at the ends of one glove so it fits snuggly on her hand, “this is the best possible outcome. I made sure of it.”

“Out.” You’re surprised the word made it out of your clenched jaw, and by its frigidity. She looks you over and even after everything, you notice the slight dip of her lips. You repeat yourself. “Get out.”

“Still upset?”

“Leave, or I will tell the authorities where you are.”

In a flash, a light glimmers in Kafka’s eyes and her features twist with amusement. “Really? You’d be accused of complicity.”

You know that. Your anger is impulsive and a darker part of you wishes to cause her turmoil like the one she’s putting you through. Kafka watches you closely. Her attention doesn’t fluster you anymore. She finds whatever answer she’s seeking in the determined stare you’re giving her. 

“Gutsy…” Her muttered reply is more directed at herself but betrays her attraction. Her eyelids drop as she glances at your lips, then she meets your gaze with a fake sigh. “Oh, fine. I’ll see you later, then.”

“No—”

Kafka lifts a hand up to wave at you cheekily and is outside the door before you can tell her that you don’t want to see her again.

[emotionoitme]

safe in your skin

part two of about a girl

carmy berzatto x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings: friends with benefits, bdsm dom/sub undertones, age gap, alcohol & tobacco use, lots of dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (use condoms!!), choking, mutual pining

wc: 7.5k

a/n: thank you so much for the support on the last chapter! i was literally kicking my legs twirling my hair reading through the replies. please enjoy some more nastiness!! and lots of yearning ofc <3

title fight - safe in your skin

job hunting was a grueling task, no matter how lucky you get— the girl could feel this physically, shoulders slumped and feet aching. she had dropped off applications at 4 different places that day, eager to start a new job as soon as possible. what she didn’t expect was places seemingly desperate for help saying they’d up to a week to get back to her. she dejectedly checked the time on her phone, strolling down the relatively empty sidewalk. it was a little after 3, meaning she’d have time to check out a few more options before heading home. she wasn’t necessarily enthusiastic about the task, either, searching up bars in her vicinity to take an application to. she finds a smaller looking club on google maps 2 miles away and pulls up walking directions. she was looking for a change of pace, but a club was familiar and she catches a second wind as her steps slow in pace, smelling a delicious aroma heavy in the sunny afternoon air. she raises her head from the phone, looking around to locate the source of the smell. she continues forward, looking in the window of a small business. a makeshift sign taped on the glass reads, “the bear”, name underlined, and “help wanted”. she puts her phone back into her pocket, no longer curious about the club she had found. she opens the front door, entering the small establishment and letting her senses be overtaken by the mouth watering scent emanating from the kitchen. the push of the door rings a small bell, and after being inside alone for a few moments, a tall man comes from the kitchen to stand behind the counter. 

“hey, sweetheart, we’re closed for dinner prep. you can come back in an hour.” he tells her, voice booming. she offers him a smile, approaching the counter. 

“i’m actually here for the help wanted sign. are you guys taking applications?” she asks, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. 

the man lets out a hardy laugh, “you wanna work here? what, victoria’s secret isn’t hiring?” he asks her, scanning her up and down. her small smile drops, rolling her eyes. 

“never mind,” she goes to turn, leave, and take her chances with the club nearby. 

“ah, hey, hey, hey, wait,” he calls after her, “i’m sorry, i’m being an asshole.”

 she shrugs, not entirely disagreeing. he puts a hand out, gesturing to stay, “wait right here and i’ll get carmy.” the tall man disappears behind the kitchen doors, and she takes a quick opportunity to look around, noting the old fashioned decor, a few parts of the restaurant seemingly in renovation. it was noticeably smaller than her old workplace, but harbored a cozy feel, the bustle of the kitchen softly filtering throughout the lobby. she took a copy of her resume out of the small tote bag she was carrying, setting it on the island in front of her. she hears motion, the kitchen doors swinging open and a man clad in a white shirt and blue apron emerges. he approaches her, separated by the counter.

“hey,” he calls, taking her in, slightly, “you, uh, here to apply?”

holy shit, she feels her throat tighten up, studying his face, strong stature, golden brown curls, “hi, yes i am! my name is -,” she introduces, sticking a hand out.

he takes it, momentarily noticing how cold her hands are. 

“carmy,” he returns, “it’s nice to meet you. you, uh, got a resume?” and lets go of her hand. 

she hands it to him, “here,” feeling slightly self conscious as he glances over it, thinking, is this supposed to be my boss? 

“you have a lot of service experience,” he notes, glancing up at her. 

“yeah,” she hesitates, “i’m not sure if that’s what you’re looking for, but i’m a fast learner.”

“no, no, that’s actually what we would need, another front of house,” he responds, “we only have richie right now.”

she feels a light flutter of hope in her chest, encouraged by the reassurance of their lack of competence in the front. 

“are you working now? this last job dates back six months,” he asks, eyes double checking the paper. there was the dreaded question. she was hoping he wouldn’t notice, heat growing in her cheeks a bit. 

“um, yeah…i actually work over at ricky’s,” she admits, hesitantly. his eyes widen a bit, eyebrows raising. 

“i don’t dance, though,” she rushedly clarifies, “i bartend.” 

his eyebrows relax, and a smile creeps at his mouth in realization.

 “yeah, uh, that’s why i didn’t put it on there,” she says, gesturing to the resume he held, “everyone always thinks i’m a dancer.” 

he clears his throat, busying himself with the piece of paper in front of him for a moment before speaking. 

“you a student?” he asks, glancing up to see her nod, bright smile adorning her face. 

“i’m only taking what i can afford right now, which is like two classes, but yeah,” she explains. he doesn’t have reason for why his tongue feels tied, and the back of his neck hot. he shoves it away. 

“well, um, i probably can’t give you more than about 30 hours a week, at least to start. tips are yours to take home but they, uh, probably won’t compare to the tips at ricky’s,” he brings a finger up to his nose, scratching a phantom itch. the girl tilts her head a bit, smiling, “i’ll take that as a challenge,” she quips. a grin breaks his face, not doubting the personable girl. 

“so, uh, when can you start?” he asks. 

“as soon as possible,” she answers, increasingly eager to quit her bartending job. he looks to the side and behind him, towards the kitchen. 

“if you want, i can get you set up today,” he turns back to her, “i think we have some extra aprons in the back.” 

“wait, really?” she reassures, him nodding in response. she lets out a small squeak, clapping her hands, big smile on her face. 

she’s cute, he thinks to himself, watching her enthusiasm, very quickly trying to shake the thought away. don’t be weird, she’s working for you now. off limits. not to mention he knew he wasn’t exactly boyfriend material, emotionally speaking. 

“is this okay to wear?” she asks, gesturing to her outfit and effectively breaking him out of his thoughts. he rakes his eyes downwards over her form, shamefully grateful for the opportunity. hugged by a tight white shirt and baggy jeans that hung to expose a long strip of her lower hips, connecting at her front and lower back. he tears his eyes back up to meet hers. 

“yeah, should be fine,” he says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible, “you won’t be working in the kitchen too much at first, so you don’t have to wear a uniform,” he tells her, putting his hands onto the counter, leaning into them slightly. 

“and just regular work clothes for my next shift?” she asks, finding herself also leaning forward to press her weight against the edge of the counter. he nods, “yeah,” a smirk creeps at the edges of his lips, “just uh, maybe not ricky’s attire,” glancing at the girl. she giggles. he thinks it sounds like bells chiming. 

“what?” she tries to sound surprised, “how am i supposed to make the same tips then?” a smile plays on her lips, meeting his eyes. he lets out a laugh, studying her face. 

“i think you’ll find a way,” he responds. the counter space between the two seemed much smaller than earlier, as now he could see her face in much finer detail. he studies it, briefly, then tears his eyes away, forcing himself to step back. he clears his throat,

“follow me,” and begins walking towards the kitchen, “we’ll try and find you an apron. and introduce you to everyone.” 

a slight feeling of nervousness as she trails behind, unsure what “everyone” will entail.

“okay,” she replies, and steps behind the counter. 

—

 he finds himself in his apartment that night, halfheartedly watching a rerun of an old sitcom on his small tv, his mind wandering back to her time again. he was oddly intrigued by her, wanting to get to know her better. it wasn’t just a physical thing—although she was easy on the eyes— it was her demeanor, sweet and gentle, that somehow immediately smoothed his edges. the staff all took an instant liking to her, welcoming her into the kitchen enthusiastically. sydney seemed happy to have another young woman in the restaurant, tina asking her about her university, richie making the occasional snide comment, but undeniably taking a liking to the new colleague. she made her way around the register system surprisingly fast without training, seamlessly taking orders with the exception of a few brief pauses. carmy kept an eye on the girl throughout the rest of the evening in case she needed him, watching her quickly adapt to the shift of environment. the dinner rush moved shockingly smooth, the large tip jar, empty while richie was manning the front, was halfway full at closing time. he was admittedly impressed with the young woman, trying hard to mentally discern between admiring and enamoring. it was almost as if a bright light had graced the restaurant that evening, leaving carmen with a lingering warm tingle throughout his body. 

he looks around his dark apartment, messy and congested, cigarettes overflowing the ashtray, dishes piling the sink. letting out a deep sigh and running his hand through his curls, he stands, shutting off the tv and making his way to the bedroom. he could clean everything up tomorrow, not that it would make much of a difference, he thinks. although the booming launch of the bear was incredibly uplifting to the chef, reassuring him of the sacrifices he made to keep mikey’s restaurant running, there was still a void carmen felt deep in his heart, growing increasingly apparent in his solitude. he often felt trapped inside of himself, wondering if this was just something he would have to learn to deal with, destined to be defined by his profession, wishing there there was a way he could give into his personal desires while maintaining his professional growth. he crawls into bed and shuts off his lamp light. 

you can’t have your cake and eat it too, a saying he heard from his mom as a kid. he shuts his eyes. 

—                        

fuck. she takes an uneasy breath, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror. turning on the faucet, wetting her palms in cold water and bringing the shaky hands to both sides of her face. 

why am i so nervous? 

she wondered if everyone felt this way before a hookup, focusing on deep breaths to calm her nerves. she wasn’t used to this. she had only ever been intimate within relationships, not having experience with casual encounters, nevertheless ones involving her boss. she knew it was a risky pursuit, especially for being a girl with an easily breakable heart, having shed many tears over lovers prior. nevertheless, something about the pull she felt to carmen was magnetic. he was strong, dominant, confident in his work, yet deeply complicated, a dull sadness within his striking eyes. he seemed the type of person to consistently be bearing the heaviest load on his back, and she had an inexplicable urge to relieve him of this, even if only for a moment. she wanted to watch him in bliss at her own control. just have to make sure it doesn’t go too far, she consistently reminds herself. she studies herself in the mirror, skinny straps of a short white sundress peak out from underneath her hair. a dress she specifically chose for him, adorning her exposed chest with a simple gold necklace. she ultimately was aiming to be comfortable for the night, yet each item was intentionally selected with a certain set of eyes in mind. 

i can do it. i’m going to have fun tonight, she tells herself, and potentially fuck my incredibly hot boss, warming at the thought, then i’m never ever gonna think about him again, she internalizes, having had enough with wasted energy on dead end flings. 

she smoothes out the white dress, satisfied with how it hugs her figure, then exits the small bathroom, making her way into her living room. the clock in the adjacent kitchen reads 11:13, and she makes her way to the large window to watch for carmy’s car. she felt erratic, heart palpitating in her chest at each set of headlights that drove by. she opens the window a few inches, breathing in the warm summer night to try and calm her increasing nervousness. it does work, a bit, and she’s able to even out her breathing before leaving. after a moment, a car slowly drives up to the pavement in front of her apartment and stops, engine idling. her phone vibrates on the counter, and she picks it up. 

carmy: i’m here. 

her heart does a leap in her chest, grabbing her keys and turning off the light before opening her front door and walking outside, locking it behind her. she feels slightly self conscious in the headlights while approaching his car, hearing the click of the passenger’s door being pushed open for her. she grabs the door, pulling it all the way open. 

“hi,” she greets, a bit shy. 

“hey,” he replies warmly, silently taking her image in. she climbs into the car and shuts the door behind her, noticing the clean car’s lack of trash and empty ashtray, differing from the previous night. she meets his eyes, a fluttering in her chest. he looks tired, lids low and white shirt wrinkled, but still has a spark in his eyes, clearly admiring the girl’s presentation. he turns his head back in front of him, breaking the eye contact and putting the car into drive. 

“how was close?” she breaks the silence with, noticing the way his eyes flicker back over to her.  

“long,” he admits, “harder without you there.” 

her heart jumps against her ribs, face growing warm at the slight praise. 

“what? you mean richie isn’t the best front of house closer ever?” she feigns surprise, smiling at the thought.

he lets out a scoff, shaking his head, and she softly giggles at this. the lull of the tires against the road fills her ears, noting the limited cars out at this time. her nerves have significantly calmed from before, but she still feels a knot in her stomach, amplified by the light smell of his cologne within the confined space. 

“are you, uh… are you hungry?” he asks her, eyes trained front. she pauses a moment, debating whether she is hungry or the gnawing feeling in her stomach is from nerves alone. 

“yeah,” she replies, “i am.” she wasn’t going to turn down a personal meal from a world class chef, and the thought of him cooking for her before anything else spreads a warmth throughout her chest. 

“good,” a small smile on his face, “i’ll make us somethin’.”

carmen couldn’t help but feel excitement bloom in his chest at the prospect of spending time alone with the young woman, having spent the day at the restaurant mentally preparing for the night. he had been chopping onions before the dinner rush when she closely brushed behind him in the confined space. he was able to smell her sweet perfume, triggering an image of her to flash across his mind— kneeled, lips parted, face flushed, chest bare, leaning into his hands— the knife slipped and he sliced the side of his finger, cursing an obscenity as soon as it happened. he dropped the knife on the cutting board, walking over to the sink, mentally cursing himself for allowing the to perverse thoughts to bleed over into his work, as he promised himself many times they wouldn’t. the bleeding of his finger had stopped quickly under the cool stream of water to reveal a small nick. he was able to put a bandaid on it and get directly back to work, but it plagued him a bit. he wondered if would he be able to maintain the professional kitchen environment in the long run, once the two were satisfied with the fun they’d had. it had proved difficult so far, thoughts of her swarming his head uncontrollably since she had stepped foot into his restaurant. 

the car slows, pulling up to the curb outside carmen’s apartment complex. he pushes the gear shift into park, turning off the engine. 

“this is you?” she asks, to which he nods. “you live closer than i thought you did,” she chimes, opening the door to step out of the car. she smooths the white dress, glancing around the complex. he comes up behind the girl, pressing a hand to the small of her back. 

“this way,” he says, ushering her forward. she can’t help but focus on the warmth of his hand, large and encompassing against her thinly clothed skin. they enter the building, taking the long flight of stairs up to his home, carmy desperately trying to look anywhere else besides the length of her legs leading up to the soft skin of her ass, fully visible as she climbs in front of him. they speedily make it to the top, carmen rustling in his front pocket for the keys. he swings the door open to a dark room, stepping in and flicking on a lamp switch. she follows him in, eyes scanning her surroundings. it was clean and tidy, with piles of various cook books stacked on side tables and a knitted green blanket draped over the old couch. the place smelled like him, and she feels her muscles relax. 

“i know it’s not much, but uh,” he shuts the door, “make yourself at home, please.”

she gives him a big smile, “it’s cute. just what i imagined,” and puts her belongings on a side table, walking around to examine the space. he feels the edges of his lips twitch at her response, watching her look at the scarcity of the place. she spins around, facing him, “you’re really clean, too.” she sounds impressed. 

he smiles at this, appreciating the assumption. 

“it’s not always like this,” he responds truthfully. she lets out a soft laugh and saunters over towards the kitchen island, pushing herself up to sit on the stool he had. he walks to the opposite side of the counter, opening the fridge to gather various ingredients for their dinner. 

“what are you gonna make?” she curiously asks. 

“just uh,” he pauses, looking for an item, “something quick.” he straightens, carrying the ingredients to the counter. he meets her eyes, the two separated by a few feet of laminate, and he feels his chest constrict under her gaze. “some roasted chicken and veggies, with a garlic herb butter,” he turns back to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of unopened wine, beginning to look for a corkscrew. 

“fuck,” she breathes out, “that sounds so good.” 

carmy tenses, stilling for a moment. he loved the way her voice sounded, wanted to hear more. it was apparent he was tightly strung from the grueling week, feeling reactive to everything she said. he pulls the corkscrew out from a drawer, opening the fresh bottle and grabbing two glasses. 

“you want some?” he asks her, holding it up. 

she nods, “yes, please,” eager for a bit of liquid encouragement. he fills the two glasses halfway, handing her one and bringing the side of his glass to clink against hers.

“cheers for making it through the week,” he toasts, earning a giggle from her. 

“cheers! and,” she continues, tilting her head, “cheers for richie not seeing my tits when i was in your office,” she grins and takes a slow sip of the wine, maintaining their eye contact. he lets out a breathy laugh, raising his wine glass to his lips, “yeah, i’ll cheers to that,” and drinks, the red wine dry on his lips. 

with both of their plates empty and the girl’s warm praise still lingering in the room, carmen drinks the remaining wine from his third glass, feeling calm and airy. the apartment is hot and fragrant from the cooking, and the young man notices a pinch of want in the back of his mind, wondering where he had put his cigarettes. 

“do you mind if i go smoke?” he asks her, wine weighing on his tongue. she smiles a bit, shaking her head.

“i’ll go with you,” her voice a bit lower and more drawn out than he would regularly hear it. he nods, standing and walking towards the bedroom to look for a pack of cigarettes. 

“i don’t have a balcony,” he calls from his room, opening his nightstand drawer, “but we can step out onto the fire escape for a bit,” he grabs his carton out of the dresser. carmy walks back into the room to find the girl standing, peering out his window at the black grated fire escape structure. he leans beside her to unlock the window, pushing it open. he puts one leg through, ducks, then steps out, offering a hand for the girl. she takes it, hand small in his, and repeats his actions, noticing a definitive impairment as she joins him outside. 

the night was warm and humid, chicago air damp with the summer monsoon. it smelled good outside, though, air fresh with recent rain, a mellow hum of cicada sounding throughout the trees. carmy flips the carton open, placing a filter between his lips and illuminating his face with the orange of the lighter’s flame. she runs her eyes over his features while they’re briefly lit up, finding herself in a close proximity to him, the two leaning up against the iron railing. she brushes her hair back behind her shoulders, watching the man smoke. the few glasses of wine she had clouded her previous anxieties. she genuinely couldn’t remember what she was worried about now, thoroughly enjoying the sight of the man in front of her. she leans into him, pressing the side of her hip into his thigh, arm flush against his. 

“can i have some?” she asks, staring up at him, glancing down at the cigarette. she didn’t know exactly what it was, the alcohol or him looking so attractive with a cancer stick in his mouth, but she felt compelled to give it another try, having a distaste from previous experience. he turns to face her, gazes locking, a glint of surprise behind his eyes. 

“sure,” he answers, remaining still, pointer and middle finger loosely grasping the cigarette. he glances at her expectantly and she leans over, bringing her mouth to the filter, lips brushing the tips of his fingers. she sucks, carmen watching, completely entranced, then stands upright again, exhaling the smoke with a slight furrow in her brow. the man lets a slight smirk break his face, bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth and inhaling. he studies the dark street behind his building, sporadically illuminated by the soft glow of a street lamp, tiredness catching up with him. she keeps her eyes trained on the man, trailing from his face down his body. she stops at his arms, admiring the sheer strength of them, tracing her sights over his various tattoos. she almost felt overtaken by want in that moment, darting her eyes back up to his lips wrapped around the cigarette. the young woman leans into him further, more of her body touching his and now facing him directly, tipsiness slightly clouding her rationality. 

“carm,” she breathes out, immediately catching his attention. he gazes down at her, cognisant of her breasts pushed against his side, studying her face to find desire written across her features. she brings a hand to his chest, leaning up and gently kissing his neck. she feels his sharp intake of breath under her body, and she smirks at this, placing a few more gentle kisses around the side of his neck. the two had a strict rule about kissing on the lips, but never made the clear distinction to forbid all types of kissing, carmy not daring to protest. his eyes fall closed, focused on the heat of her lips against his neck, the weight of her body on his. he throws the cigarette to the ground, wrapping an arm around her, sliding his fingers up her back and to the base of her skull, carding his fingers through her hair. she nips his neck suddenly, causing him to instinctively tighten his grip, pulling the hair, emanating a breathy moan from the girl. his mouth falls open, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips. wrapping his other arm around her back, hand grabbing her hip, he pulls their bodies closer together. carmen’s tight grip doesn’t falter, pulling her head back to see her face, her eyes trailing upwards to meet his. she studies his blown pupils, him drinking her in as if she were a desert oasis. her face is flushed, lids heavy, eyes locked onto his. he leans in and pulls her simultaneously, lightly putting his forehead against hers, noses touching, lips twitching. she can smell the smoke on his breath combined with his fresh deodorant. she finds herself completely intoxicated by this, tightly shutting her eyes, unsure of what she’ll do if she continues to stare. she feels his breath, warm on her lips, so desperate for contact. 

“you like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice a low rumble. 

she gently nods, nose brushing against his, not trusting her voice. a slight tug makes her softly gasp, eyes snapping open. he pulls away, but only slightly. “answer me,” the sound of his voice weakening her knees. he scans his eyes over her face.

“yes,” she breathes out, sounding far more sultry than she intended, “i really like it, carm,” she admits, tone needy. he pulls away from her completely, the girl missing the warmth from his face almost instantly. 

“get inside,” he growls, releasing her hair and removing his arm, leaning over and shoving the window open. 

she takes a second to collect herself, almost dizzy from the eye contact and the growing heat under her dress. she puts her hand on the window ledge, climbing back into the apartment as quickly as she could. carmy follows behind, shutting the window halfway. he eyes the girl, standing by the edge of the counter, then walks past her to the couch, sitting in the middle, leaning back. she shifts, unsure of what to do, her hazed courage of earlier fading. 

“c’mere,” he gestures her over. 

she slowly walks towards him, coming to stand in front of him in between his seated legs, front of her shins bumping into the sofa. he leans forward, bringing his strong hands to caress the back of her thighs, admiring the silkiness of her skin, trailing his palms up and towards the curve of her ass, softly kneading the skin, then stopping. 

“take this off,” he commands, squeezing. her face reddens, inching her hands down to the hem of her dress, slowly pulling it up her thighs. she pauses, before flipping the edge up over her head, taking the dress off completely. he softly groans at the sight, fabric removed to reveal her bare body, clothed only by a pair of skinny black panties. she drops it on the floor, shyly bringing her arms up to cover her breasts. he leans closer to her, pressing a kiss to her navel, bringing his hands up to grab her hips. he marvels at her exposed skin, feeling close to primal with desire, tempted to pull her onto his lap and shove the panties to the side. 

should i?

he glances upwards at her, a smile creeping at the edges of his lips. he slides his left hand down to her the back of her lower thigh, then quickly pulls her body towards him, the girl letting out a sound of surprise, straddling his lap. he pushes her knees open more, hand trailing towards her inner thigh, stroking the soft skin, moving closer to kiss her neck. she lets out a quiet, “yes,” as she leans into the man’s touch, hoping for some release. his fingers brush against the fabric of her clothed mound, making her buck her hips forward a bit. 

“want me to touch you?” he asks her, voice low in tone. she quickly nods her head, biting down on her lip to prevent any escaping noise. he brings his pointer finger to her clothed slit, dragging it up and down over the sensitive area a few times, noticing the abundant slickness beneath the fabric. her eyes flutter closed, cherishing the delicate contact, craving far more. carmen watches her closely, pulling his hand away. her brow furrows, to which he smiles. bringing his left hand from her thigh, he grabs the black panties and pulls them to the side, exposing her glistening core. he groans at the sight, the girls face flushing, bringing his thumb to rest on her swollen clit, unmoving. she whimpers at the sensitivity, bucking her hips forward once more, to which he tightens his grip on her thigh in response. he starts rubbing small, torturous circles with his thumb, thoroughly enjoying the reaction of her body, heat eminating from between her legs, juices dripping down the insides of her thighs and down onto his pants. 

“you’re fuckin’ soaked,” he tells her, cock straining against his pants. she’s too embarrassed to respond, closing her eyes and throwing her arms over carmen’s shoulders, resting her face in the crevice of his neck as he continues his circles at a faster pace, dipping his middle finger down to rest against her opening. she kisses his neck, needy for more and tired of waiting, giving a thrust of her hips to sink herself onto his finger. she releases a drawn out moan, clenching around the soaked digit. 

“fuck,” he curses. 

a sharp smack lands on her thigh, the girl softly whimpering in response, coming back up to meet carmen’s eyes. he has a stern look on his face, a glint of enjoyment present.

“you want me inside of you that bad?” he questions, beginning a soft curling motion with his finger, loving the way she begins to fall apart. 

“yesss,” she pleads, breathing heavily, trying to get closer to him, her hand coming up to the base of his neck to anchor herself. he increases the pace, bringing his thumb back to circle the bundle of nerves. feeling her relax at the pleasure, he pushes a second finger into her, marveling at the hot constriction of her walls. his pulses become rhythmic, middle and ring finger fucking into her, a wet squelching sound beginning to fill the room. her panting moans uncontrollably increase in crescendo, quickly clamping her teeth down to bite her lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. he studies her face, closely— eyes screwed shut and head thrown back, trying to seem less affected by his fingers than she obviously is. 

his eyes trail down to her bare chest, nipples perked. 

jesus christ

carmy slows the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper now. he shifts, bringing his lips to brush against her right breast, trailing upwards to her nipple, gently sucking the bud into his mouth. 

her teeth release from her lips, letting out a whimper from the pleasure. 

he smirks a little, motivated from the noise, taking his fingers almost completely out and easing them back in entirely. his thumb continues its feather like circles around her clit, carmy teasing a gentle bite to her nipple. obscene sounds plentifully spill from her mouth, leaning forward into him as he comes up from her breast. her eyes open and lock with his,

“oh my god, yes,” she cries, breath increasingly heavy, his slow fingers bringing her to the edge. a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth as he continues the same movements, watching her approach her climax, eyes shutting tightly, head leaning back. 

“please don’t stop,” her words come rushed, “i’m-“ 

he withdraws his fingers from inside of her, removing his hand from her warmth completely. she lifts her head immediately and looks to the man, confusion and frustration apparent on her face. he lets his smirk grow. 

“what?” he asks, watching her brows furrow further, “did you think i was gonna let you cum?” he asks as he grips her thighs. 

“you’re cruel,” she whines, head falling against his shoulder. 

“yeah?” the smirk on his face was prevalent in his tone. she shifts the placement of her head and comes to gently kiss the bottom of his neck, the hand resting on his chest slowly inching down his stomach and caressing the skin that meets the edge of his pants.

“yeah,” she responds. another kiss to his neck, this one higher up. she sits up slightly to move her hands lower, unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. she goes to greedily pull the waist band of his underwear, and he stops her, grabbing her wrist. 

“get down on your knees,” he commands, voice rough. she feels a surge of excitement run through her, easing herself to the ground between his legs, eager to inflict on him the pleasure she endured moments earlier, a dull ache residing in her core. she helps him pull his jeans down around his ankles, him kicking them off completely. she runs her hands over the tops of his strong thighs, then bringing her lips to trail kisses from his lower to upper thigh, teasing closer and closer to his clothed bulge, straining against the fabric. he sits up, slightly, pulling his shirt off over his head. she could swear her mouth watered at the sight, shamelessly gawking at his broad muscles completely exposed, along with tattoos she’s never had the pleasure of seeing. she rubs the palm of her hand over the solid bulge, inching towards the waistband of his briefs. in a fluid motion she quickly peels them towards her, carmy’s cock springing from the confinement and slapping against his stomach. she can’t help but let out a soft moan at the sight, bringing a hand up to grasp the base of his cock, thick and heavy in her hand. the young woman marvels, a bit. 

“it’s big,” she observes, glancing up at him, then back down. she slowly jerks her hand up and down a few times, nervously eyeing the length. she leans forward, placing a hand on his thigh, and licking a long stripe up the side of his cock, then softly kisses the tip, brushing the head against her plumped lips. she looks up at the man’s face, jaw clenched and eyes completely fixated on her. she flattens her tongue and licks the head of his penis, swirling it around the tip. when she locks eyes with him and grins at him, tongue on his cock, he nearly explodes, throwing his head back against the couch and groaning. she presses her bare breasts against his thighs, now engulfing his length in her mouth, slowly moving up and down, hand wrapping around to stroke what she can’t fit. he grunts, bringing his hand up to his mouth, biting his knuckles for composure. she falls into a pace, saliva coating his cock, dripping onto his stomach. she forces her mouth down deeper onto him, gagging, tears brimming her eyes. 

“fuck!” he exclaims, jolting forward. he grabs her hair, gathering it with his hands to keep it out of the way, using every ounce of resistance he has to keep from pushing her head down further onto him. she sinks her mouth lower, bobbing her head and quickening her pace. he tightens his grip on her hair and says her name. she looks up in inquiry, releasing him from her mouth with a wet pop. she continues to stroke his length, meeting his eyes. 

“stand up,” he tells the girl, her immediately complying and getting up, wiping the spit away from her mouth. he comes to lean forward, eye level with her stomach, hooking his fingers into the sides of her panties and removing them altogether. he looks up to her. 

“go get on the bed,” watching her quickly nod and turn towards his bedroom, standing and following the girl, both of them stark in their nudity. his eyes fall to her round ass, bringing a hand up to give it a small smack. she lets out a little yelp in surprise, turning over her shoulder to find a grin on his face. upon entering the dark room, carmy walks to the end of the bed, switching on a lamp on his dresser. the girl crawls onto the bed, flipping to lay on her back, resting her head on his pillow. she watches him from across the room, raising a knee to stack and bringing her hand up to her chest. she runs her thumb over her perked nipple, tracing her free hand down her navel to the crease of her thigh, staring at the man. he turns to her, raking his eyes over her laying form. her hand shifts lower, fingers brushing over her slickened clit, letting out a soft gasp. she arches her back slightly, rubbing small, soft circles over her sensitivity, locking eyes with the man. 

jesus fuck, he internalizes, praying to god this image would remain forever burned into his brain, cock twitching. 

there was something about the man that completely diminished her inhibitions, allowing her to fully submit to her desires and finding her brain instantly numb at his control. she tweaks her nipple, letting out a moan, face flushing, lips parting to speak. 

“come fuck me already, carmy,” she breathes out, movements faltering. he immediately reacts, getting onto the bed, hands hooking under her thighs and pulling her lower body flush to his, his cock laying over her pelvis.

“can’t wait anymore?” he asks lowly, fully knowing his own desire is immeasurable, desperate to be inside of her. 

“no,” she whines, bucking her hips and unintentionally spreading her slickness over the bottom of his length. he lets out a strained breath, running his thumb over her hipbones, grip tightening. he pulls back, then slowly thrusts forward to glide through her folds, feeling her grow increasingly wet. he moves back slightly, now gripping his cock and giving it a stroke, pressing it against her opening. he shifts his hips, slowly inserting the head. he looks to her, meeting her eyes. 

“this ok?” he asks, scanning her face, watching her nod enthusiastically. 

“put it in, please,” she pleads. 

he pushes his hips forward, sinking inside of her inch by inch. the two watch the sight, entranced, a harmonious moan ripping through the both of them. buried to the hilt, carmy pauses, coming forward to lean over her— resting his right forearm by her head, his left arm wrapping around her leg and hoisting it up over his lower back. she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in further. his thrusts start slow and shallow, face buried in her neck, almost in disbelief of the pleasure, so much better than those dreams. he bottoms out, hearing her gasp. 

“you feel,” she breathes out, “so good,” her eyes screwing shut. he thrusts, again, slowly, moving his hand to grip her ass. 

“fuck, baby” he groans into her neck, hips working at a delicate pace. she clenches involuntarily at the name, eager for more, urging him closer with her leg. he recognizes the cue, bringing his leg in closer, pulling out almost completely then plunging back into her. she pants, bringing a shaky hand up to grab his sturdy bicep for stability, feeling his strong muscles ripple underneath her grip. he bites down on his bottom lip, face and chest flushed as he pulls his cock back out of her tightness, thoroughly enjoying the view. he snaps his hips forward, the girl crying out, squeezing his arm tightly. carmen settles into a heightened pace, the depth of his cock igniting a fire within the girl. she moves a hand down and circles her sensitive clit with two fingers, feeling her orgasm already rapidly building as he lifts her lower back slightly off the mattress, driving into her harder. breaths grow heavy, the room gets hotter, skin slaps against skin. he brings his hand up to the side of her face, coming to hover above her, locking eyes. her whole face is flush, baby hairs sticking up, a wild lust in her gaze. carmy snaps his hips harder. 

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he tells her in pace with his thrusts, the girl letting out a moan in response, ripping her hand away from her clit as to not fall over the peak. everything is almost too much as the man relentlessly fucks her, savoring every sound, feeling, sight, not knowing if this would ever happen again. her climax approaches closer with each strong thrust of his hips, and she feels compelled to ask permission. 

“carmy,” she whimpers, “can i please cum?”

he groans, moving his hand to rest on her throat. 

“hold on baby, almost,” he grits through his clenched jaw, driving his cock deeply into her, slick juices spreading everywhere. she brings her hand to the back of his neck, grabbing his curly brown locks and tugging. he lets out a sharp breath at the action, hammering his hips against her, hoisting her leg a bit higher. his thrusts stutter, feeling himself grow impossibly closer to the edge. her moans become a chorus of “please, please, please,” desperate to cum around his cock. he grins slightly at her anticipation, lightly putting pressure against her throat. 

“you gonna cum for me?” he growls, feeling himself approaching his own orgasm. she nods, tears brimming her eyes, face contorted in pleasure. his simple words snap the final string holding her together, and she comes undone with a loud cry, digging her nails into his back. the pleasure feels white hot throughout her body, waves of euphoria overtaking her. her body shivers, the clenching of her heat around carmen is enough to push him over his edge as he lets out a strangled moan, hot cum shooting into her, cock pulsing against her walls. they both lay there still, riding out the aftershocks together, bodies flush. they both catch their breaths for a moment, basking in the warmth of each other. carmy pushes himself up onto his forearm, grabbing her face with a strong hand and planting a kiss on her cheek, then one on her forehead. she tries to ignore the butterflies that erupt inside of her. he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a few tissues, then slowly pulls out of her, his cum spilling down the curve of her ass. he gently cleans her up with the tissue, walking to the bathroom to throw them away once she’s dry. he returns to his room to see her sprawled onto her side, laying over his pillows. he joins in, laying next to her, scooting his strong arm under her head. she scoots closer to him, hand on his chest. he’s warm, smells good, feels safe, and she finds her eyes close for a moment. 

“i’ll leave in just a sec,” she tells him softly, “i’m just so comfy.”

he wraps his other arm around her, kissing her forehead once more. 

“stay the night,” he suggests, knowing it’s for a selfish reason, currently unable to fathom sleeping in a cold and empty bed without her presence. she happily hums in response, snuggling closer, already feeling herself drifting off. he closely watches the girl laying in his arms, eyes flickering over her face. he admires her features up close, examining what he’s usually too far away to see, running his eyes over a few faded freckles, the light peach fuzz on her cheek, the glimmer of a golden nose ring. he feels a twinge in his chest, resting his forehead against the sleeping girl’s, her deep breathing melodic to his tired ears. carmy knew deep down he wouldn’t be able to entertain this forever, opting to cherish the feeling of her against him while it lasts. he reaches to the foot of the bed, pulling a throw blanket up over the two of them, not bothering to shut off the lamp. he feels a sweet relief once he pulls her into him once more, nuzzling his nose into her hair. he shuts his eyes, the events from the day catching up to him. 

he finds the last thing he thinks about before drifting into sleep is her, sweet and airy, breathing in her scent closely. he hears a dreamlike giggle, reminiscent of bells chiming, and smiles softly. 

— 

i hope you enjoyed! writing for these two gives me the butterflies fr

chapter 3 hopefully in the works! <33 if you enjoy please let me know :)

part 3 - human, for a minute

[prettyfilmz]

ACTS OF SERVICE • JIMMY USO

authors note: hey friends! I’m back with the second installment of my love language series this time with mr. jonathan fatu himself ughh i miss my thick daddy anyways🤭 i hope you enjoy this one, up next is our OTC roman reigns🙂‍↕️ (also shoutout to my rn/cna followers, as an upcoming cna myself I dedicate this to you and I 💗)

summary: after a stressful day at the hospital, jimmy knows just what to do to melt the stress away from your day.

warnings: 18+ (you better go play with them school books before you play wimme) porn w/smidge of plot, dom! jimmy uso x sub! fem reader, reader is black, reader is a nurse, unprotected sex (be smart and wrap the peen), cunnilingus, daddy kink, doggy style, lil bit of spanking (one single spank), dirty talk, small bit aftercare at the end.

word count: 1.5k words

after twelve grueling hours at the hospital, you stepped through the front door of your apartment, body aching with exhaustion and strain. you drop your bag and kick off your pink crocs, the soft thud barely registering in your brain. but what did catch your attention was the sight of jimmy lounging on the couch, a warm grin already spreading across his face.

“hey, pretty mama,” he greeted you, standing up and meeting you halfway, wrapping his strong arms around your frame and pressing a slow, deep kiss to your glossed lips. his mouth lingered against yours, the warmth and familiarity of it immediately melting away a fraction of your tension.

“hey baby,” you whisper, pulling away to head straight for the shower. jimmy watched you retreat with that same smile, knowing exactly what you need. it had become your unspoken routine—he knew you better than anyone, and that extended to the smallest details, like your need to wash away the stress of the day before you could fully unwind.

while you showered, jimmy moved to the bedroom, pulling out one of his oversized shirts and a pair of soft cotton panties. laying them neatly on the bed, he grinned to himself, knowing how much you loved lounging in his clothes. the subtle scent of him would cling to your skin, providing an extra sense of security.

when you emerged from the bathroom, your brown skin still damp and flushed, white towel barely hanging onto your curves, you spot him standing by the foot of the bed. “you didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, a tired but grateful smile on your lips as you let the towel drop to the rugged floor.

jimmy’s eyes twinkled with desire as they roamed over your naked skin, your curves highlighted by the soft light in the room, brown nipples perked up by the exposure. “girl you know i’d do anything to help you relax…besides I love seeing you like this,” he murmured, stepping closer, his warm hands gently brushing against your full hips as you slipped into the shirt and panties he’d chosen. “you in my favorite shirt…” his voice dropped, thick with heat. “makin’ me wanna rip ‘em off and take you down.”

you smirk at his lewd comment, your tiredness momentarily forgotten as the heat in his gaze sparked something deep inside you. “maybe later,” you tease, but your body was already reacting to his touch, a soft hum of anticipation building in your belly. you collapsed onto the bed, sinking into the memory foam mattress with a heavy sigh. jimmy joined you, his hand finding its way to your hair, fingers gently playing with your curls knowing that’s how you self-soothe. “wanna talk about it?” he asked, his voice low, comforting.

“mmhmm,” you nod, closing your eyes as you felt the tension in your scalp ease with his touch. “non-stop work. I barely had time to breathe or eat.” you vent to him about your long, grueling shift, the words coming out in a rush. as you spoke, jimmy’s hands never left your body, his fingers wandering from your hair down to your neck, rubbing soft, gentle circles that made you exhale deeply.

when you finally finished, jimmy leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I don’t like it when my baby is stressed,” he whispered, his voice now carrying a note of something darker, something that made your heart race. “lemme take care of you, mama. lemme help you forget all that bullshit from today.” his lips trailed from your temple down to your neck, placing soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin there, taking in the scent of the creamy vanilla body butter that you moisturized yourself with. you shivered, body responding immediately as heat pooled between your thighs. “jimmy…” you whispered, breath catching as his hand slid beneath the hem of your (his) shirt.

“mmhmm say my fuckin’ name,” he murmured against your skin, his hand moving higher, cupping your breast through the soft fabric. his thumb grazed your nipple, teasing it into a stiff peak, making you squirm involuntarily. “let daddy take care of you.”

you let out a soft moan in response, body already aching for more, soft skin sensitive to his every touch. jimmy shifted, positioning himself above you, his weight pressing you further down into the mattress in the most delicious way. the view was beautiful; jimmy’s long hair cascading down to his tatted shoulders, his gaze on you full of admiration and lust, and the action of his tongue quickly swiping against his lips…like a predator who caught it’s prey. his mouth found yours again, this time more demanding, his tongue sweeping across your plump lips before diving in, savoring your taste.

“you always workin’ so hard, baby. lemme make you feel good,” he whispered, his hand sliding down your body, pushing up the hem of your shirt to expose where you ached the most for him. “i’m gon’ taste you… every inch of you.”

a whimper escaped your mouth, thighs parting as his fingers found the edge of your *now* soaked panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. “jimmy, please…don't play..”

“I know, baby, I know,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. he lowered himself between your legs, his hands spreading your thick thighs wide, his breath hot against your glistening core. “don’t think about anything mama just feel.”

he pressed his warm mouth to you, his tongue immediately finding your sensitive clit, teasing it with slow, deliberate strokes. your head fell back, body arching off the bed as his name fell from your sweet lips like a sacred prayer, your fingers gently tugging at his thick hair. “oh fuck…jimmy,”

his grip tightened on your trembling thighs as he devoured your pussy, alternating between long, slow licks and teasing flicks of his tongue against your sensitive folds that sent you spiraling closer and closer to the edge. “there you go, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with lust. “gimme that nut, cum on my face.”

your lower body trembled, breaths coming in shallow gasps as your orgasm unraveling under his expert tongue. just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, jimmy pulled back, full lips and beard glistening with your arousal, climbing up your body and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. you could taste the sweet, tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue, the act made you dizzy with lust.

he gently flipped you on your stomach, his hands sliding down your smooth back as he positioned you on all fours, then stripping himself of his shorts and boxers. “you ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice a low growl as he lined himself up behind you, tapping your pussy with the head of his cock. “yes… please daddy c’mon…” you pleaded.

jimmy obliged at your plea and pushed into you slowly, the stretch and fullness made you cry out as your fingers gripped the sheets. “you feel so damn good..I love this fucking pussy,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he thrusts into your tight cunt, his pace slow and deliberate.

your head fell forward into the pillows, sweet soft moans filling the room as he moved inside you, each thrust sending shockwaves through your already sensitive body and making you feel every inch he carried. “that’s it, baby,” jimmy cooed, a hand striking against your ass making you yelp. “take this dick, be my good girl and take it.”

he picks up the pace, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of sweaty skin slapping against each other, and the sticky wet sounds of your pussy only drove you both even crazier. your body naturally responded to every thrust, back arching as you felt your climax build with every deep, deliberate stroke to your g-spot. “fuck, daddy… I’m gonna…”

“I know, baby. come for me, lemme feel that shit” he growled, his hand sliding you to tease your clit, sending you over the edge. your body convulsed in pleasure, your orgasm crashing over as you screamed his name, warm gummy walls clenching around him. jimmy followed soon after, burying himself deep inside you as he groaned, his release hitting him hard as he peppered light kisses along your sweat slick back, his breath ragged against your neck.

after he pulled out of you and laid down next to you, he scooped you into his arms. you both stayed like that for a moment, bodies entwined, breathing heavily as the aftershocks of your passion slowly faded. jimmy pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, peering down at you in his tatted arms.

“feelin’ good now?” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection. “i’ll order some food for us in a bit and we’ll watch one of those space documentaries you like, sound good?” all you could do is smile, head resting on his chest. “that sounds…really lovely.” you answer, feeling blissfully stress free in comparison to when you first got home.

taglist💗: @bebesobrielo

[multifandomfix]

Rhaenys Targaryen Smut Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Flushed but flirty, doesn’t mind a bit of pillow talk after. She’ll have a bath made ready for you if you want one.

B = Body part (favorite body part of their partner’s)

Your thighs. She loves to spread them open nice and slow.

C = Collar (do they mark you as theirs in some way?)

It’s by no means a requirement, but if you wanted to wear something that showed others that you belonged to her, she wouldn’t be opposed to such an idea.

D = Dominant (who is in control? are they a top or bottom?)

Whether top or bottom Rhaenys is always the one in control.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

She knows what she’s doing. While she likes to keep a little mystery to her past experience, it’s easy to tell she’s had some history with the way she so easily adapts to what you like.

F = Fuck (do they prefer to fuck or make love?)

Either or, really. She’s perfectly content making love, but if you want to get a little rougher, she can work with that as well.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

She’s often more serious, but catch her off guard and a little bit of playfulness might seep through that stoic exterior.

H = Hot (what turns them on, gets them going)

Fealty. While she’s long ago given up the idea that she may be Queen, the thought of such devotion and service from you does still get her going.

I = Insatiable (how do they act when they’re desperate to have you?)

Barring anything of major importance for her to tend to, she will just drop everything, tell you she wants you and then just fucking have you (if you’re agreeable, of course).

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Though she doesn’t indulge as often as she once did, she finds no shame in a bit of self pleasure, and she loves it if you get turned on while watching her.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

It’s not a big thing for her, but she can be into some light impact play, with you on the receiving end. Praise and punishment in general tends to do it for her, as long as it doesn’t get too out of hand.

L = Location (favorite places to have sex)

Anywhere she feels remarkably sure she can get away with it. She does tend to prefer the assured privacy of her own quarters, but she can make do elsewhere should the mood strike.

M = Mood (what’s the foreplay like? how do you get them in the mood?)

Though she doesn’t consider herself to be a vain woman, the way you tell her how beautiful she is as you trail kisses down her body never fails to warm her up and get her wet.

N = Naked (how do they undress? do they like to watch you undress?)

She likes you to help her undress and she does like to watch you as well. Bonus points if you’re shy, but willing to do it since it’s for her. Words of encouragement and praise will surely be heaped upon you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She actually prefers to give, and she’s really quite gifted at it. She has this one trick with her tongue that you can’t ever quite figure out how she pulls off, but it always blows your mind.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It’s a mixed bag. She’ll change up the pace on you just to keep you on the edge a bit longer. It’s wicked, but she loves it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

She’s fine with them, even likes them on occasion, but it’s not her preference.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

She’ll definitely experiment and risk is fine with her to an extent as well. If there’s something you’re dying to try, bring it up and she’ll usually go for it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Sometimes just one, but two or three rounds are not unheard of with her.

T = Tryst (are they into casual sex or one night stands?)

Not so much. She has done in the past, but they aren’t something she seeks out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She loves to tease. Wouldn’t be a complete experience without it as far as she’s concerned. And she does love to hear you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

She’s not extremely loud, unless you want her to be. But she’s certainly not silent, either. She’ll let out long moans or repeat your name on her lips until you’ve made her come.

W = Wait (how long do they wait before having sex with their partner for the first time?)

As long as she deems necessary. She’s not going to jump into bed with you if you’re not ready, but she’s not going to hold off if you are.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Rhaenys is a beautiful woman who takes great care of her body. You even like to tease her that she’s no mere princess but a goddess.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Moderate to high, depending. She enjoys sex, but it’s not an innate need for her like it seems to be for some.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Generally she likes to stay awake with you and cuddle or talk for a bit. She’s not a fan of just turning over and going right to sleep afterwards.

For @yellowbird-flying

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @nclgsticore, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @bitchr-mkay, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Rhaenys Targaryen: @thekirbishow, @astrogrande

[miraclewoozi]

NETFLIX AND-- ? - c.hs

you try everything in your power to try and help your workaholic boyfriend unwind on his night off. you quickly find out that vernon doesn’t know how to just do nothing.

pair; vernon x fem reader. genre; domestic smut. MINORS DNI. wc; 2.3k (short n sweet <3) note; saw a prompt while i was scrolling through some things and it had me feeling feelings. experiencing experiences. apparently i am soft needy for him today. barely proof read. smut tags utc. xoxo

smut tags; soft!dom/service top vernon but he’s also a fucking tease. fingering (f rec). sort of edging, more of a continued stop/start. squirting. implied that vernon has a praise kink (shock horror). let me know if i've forgotten any.<3

in your defence, you started out with perfectly innocent intentions. 

vernon works himself too hard. you wish he wouldn’t, but he does — it’s a fact, and even though he’ll always shake his head and deny it, you know it’s true. self care, to him, is working. it’s in the fulfilment from a job well done. it’s the clap on a shoulder from a higher-up that recognises how hard he’s been slaving away at his computer screen. it’s in getting results, and he doesn’t get results if he doesn’t do. if he doesn’t maintain. if he doesn’t nigh-on exhaust himself for the sake of the company he’s employed by.

so, you’ve made a plan. on friday, in the few hours he’ll have free between finishing work and settling down to sleep, you’re going to do whatever you can to look after him.

it starts with dinner. heartfelt, home-cooked food. he drops his bag by the front door and his entire face turns so soft he thinks it might melt clean off him. the aromas from the kitchen hit him and he floats across the apartment like a cartoon, all the way to where you’re stood waiting for him, a sort of dopey grin spreading across every single one of his features. 

“that smells so good,” he whines, putting his arms around your waist and nuzzling into your neck. when you ask how his day went, he says he doesn’t remember, he doesn’t care. because he’s home now, and because loves you so much — he doesn’t want to think about anything else.

he clings to you until the food is ready and laid out on the dining table, only pulling himself away when it becomes apparent that he’s not going to be able to have his dinner sitting in your lap.

you eat together with the lights slightly dimmed, a few candles illuminating the table. you talk, a little, but the quiet that surrounds the bubbles of conversation is just as comfortable, so neither of you are bothered when your minds are more focused on the food in front of you than conversing with each other. after, he helps you clear the dishes and stack them over by the sink: you’ll deal with them later on. 

your hand finds his, then, fingers intertwining, and vernon lets himself be dragged all the way to your bedroom. he changes out of his work clothes, tosses them into the laundry basket, and slips into an old, worn, stained and atrociously ugly pair of sweatpants instead. he bypasses a shirt at your instruction and lies face-down with his head nestled between the pillows. 

with one of his own playlists already filling the air around you, you straddle over his hips and start to massage your way up his back. your hands smooth over his skin, thumbs working at a couple of tight spots that have him gasping and grunting, threading his fingers through his own hair to try and keep still. it hurts a bit, but it’s a good kind of pain. so, he lets you work your magic on him; vernon feels all soft and loose, a bit like a deflated balloon animal, by the time you sit up enough for him to be able to roll over between your legs and face you again.

“i thought we could watch a movie tonight, too,” you say quietly, just barely audible over the soft r&b tune in the background. your fingertips tickle up and down his sides as you speak; he sighs at the softness of your touch. “anything you want.”

“what’s all this in aid of, exactly?” he asks, quirking up an eyebrow. his voice is deep and kind of  rough-edged. the way you like it most.

you laugh, quietly, and bend low to kiss the corner of his mouth, caging him in with your forearms either side of his head. “just… because i love you.”

his hands snake up your body to rest against your cheeks and he holds you in place for a second longer. one of the many, many things you love about vernon is the way he kisses you. every time, like it’s the first time. (a symptom of being a closeted rom-com enthusiast, perhaps?) but each press of his lips to yours is always so infused with passion: even the small ones, like this. with his eyes closed, his nose pressed to your cheek, the corners of his mouth pulled up into a shy smile. there’s adoration in every single moment. 

you roll off him when he lets go of you and sit up against the headboard, letting him go through the motions of choosing something for you to watch. a few minutes (and no less than three coin tosses to make the decision) later, you open an arm out for him at the sound of the movie starting, and he curls up into your side. his head rests peacefully on your shoulder, one of his legs hooked over one of yours, your arm snaked around his back. you settle into each other’s embrace in a way that you’ve not had time to do in a long while, matching hums of tranquillity vibrating in both of your throats.

the grand budapest hotel has only been playing for about twenty minutes when you feel him start to move slightly, the tips of his fingers gliding slowly across the hem of your t-shirt. you don’t make anything of it at first, because vernon has always had slightly restless hands, no matter what he’s doing. this is very normal for him. he’s probably just mindlessly feeling the fabric beneath his touch as he watches one of his favourite movies.

another few minutes pass and you feel his nails drag against the bare skin of your tummy. you raise an eyebrow and look at him, but his eyes are trained on the tv, even if one side of his mouth is lifted up in a sly kind of smile.

“what are you doing, babe?” you ask him. he lifts his head from its place on your shoulder and shrugs.

“nothing.”

“mhm, sure you aren’t.”

his hand moves down, then. down, towards your shorts. down, to where his palm wraps around your thigh, half resting on the material of your clothes and half sitting on your bare leg. his fingers make small, light, circular movements against your skin and he nudges your other thigh over slightly with the knee he settled between your legs earlier, effectively spreading you open for him. just a little.

just enough.

“vernon,” you chuckle, but you don’t make any attempt to move your legs back together. “come on, relax. watch your movie.”

“i am,” he says matter-of-factly, not taking his eyes off the screen. “wish i could say the same for you, though.”

“you’re terrible,” you sigh. 

“mm. no, i’m not.”

he creeps further and further up your thigh, until his hand has slipped completely under your loose fitting sleep shorts and he’s effectively pulling them to one side. a breath catches in your throat and you accidentally arch a little as you feel him brush over your underwear.

“watch the movie,” he says, a little more sternly, and you swallow thickly but settle down more comfortably again. if this is how he chooses to decompress… who are you to stop him, really?

but he knows you too well. knows your body like it’s his own. knows exactly how to make you tick without making you jump his bones and take control. his thumb starts to trace small circles over your covered clit, eliciting quiet gasps from your mouth, but every time you react – what he deems to be – a little too much, he stops. removes the pressure. leaves you to squirm.

“vernon,” you sigh after the third time, agitated but needy and squaring your jaw at his teasing. your panties are soaked by now and you need to feel more of him, but your boyfriend seems to be more than happy to work you up on his own terms. how long will he keep going like this for? there’s at least an hour left of the film; surely he won’t make you wait that long?

“focus, baby.”

or maybe, he will.

his lips find home at the base of your neck and he presses a series of small kisses to your skin, returning his thumb to your panties and rubbing you through them a little harder, pressing the fabric into your heat, smirking at the way your arousal seeps through them and coats his fingertips. your breaths start to pick up again, and you do everything you can to stop him from noticing, but he’s maybe a little too caught up sucking the sweet spot behind your ear to notice how fast your heart is beating from the way he touches you.

so when he drags your underwear out of the way and slides an elegant finger through your folds, you really don’t think you can be blamed for the fact that an unstifled moan leaves your lips.

vernon disagrees, though. because of course he fucking does.

“baby,” he challenges you, his finger just millimetres away from your clit when he stops moving it. “come on. you wanted to help me unwind tonight, didn’t you? that’s what all this was. you were being good to me.”

you nod at him, and he kisses your neck again.

“then watch.”

keeping your mouth tightly shut and fighting against the noises that your body so desperately wants you to make, you let him continue. you let him trace your arousal over your clit, let him dip his finger lower and press just enough inside you that your walls flutter around it. you let him work deeper, and add a second, and try your best not to clamp your legs around his poor wrist when he brushes against the sweet-spot inside you the way that only he knows how.

“s’that feel good, baby?” he asks you.

your eyes are all but glazed over and you don’t think you really know what’s going on in the movie anymore. you can’t remember the names of the characters. is there even a plot? or is it all just pretty, symmetrical imagery now? who the hell is the person that just showed up – surely you haven’t seen him, yet? fuck, you’re completely, hopelessly lost in his fingers and the way they’re buried inside your pussy. every reaction you want to give, you can’t, and it’s so difficult. 

but you nod at him anyway, because the least you can do is tell him he’s doing a good job. he likes to hear that sort of thing. 

and if there’s any dialogue in the grand budapest hotel, you don’t have a damn clue what’s being said. his fingers move faster inside you and the heel of his hand puts enough pressure on your clit that all of your muscles are tight in an attempt to do what he’s asked. the only sounds in your ears are the smacking of his lips on your throat and the lewd noises that come from the way your pussy sucks his digits in deeper. 

you feel like a little toy, wound up to high heaven. waiting, waiting, waiting to be released. waiting to fall into oblivion.

“vernon,” you gasp eventually, silently begging that he won’t stop, that he won’t leave you hanging when you’re so close to the edge.

thankfully, he doesn’t.

“mhm?” he curls his fingers again, a little harder, making you buck up into his hand. whatever game he was playing, he seems to be moving past it now. maybe he wants you to come as much as you do.

“close,” you strain. he nods, slowly, positioning his wrist differently so that he can lay his thumb over your clit instead. the much more deliberate pressure has you seconds away from seeing stars.

“m’gonna ask you about this movie tomorrow, you know,” he chuckles, but he doesn’t slow. he fucks his fingers into you over and over, bringing you closer and closer, and when your toes curl, when you grip his wrist with one hand, when your head falls back against the headboard –

euphoria rushes through you. wetness gushes from you. you feel your pussy contract around his fingers, hugging them tight even though your release tries to expel them; he lets you ride the high out, lets you make a mess on his hand as your hips roll down to meet him, a series of whines and moans falling from your lips. his own continue their gentle caress of your neck. you’re in bliss.

he pulls his fingers from you when you tug at his wrist to tell him to do so, lifting them to his mouth and sucking them clean of your arousal and your release. you close your eyes when he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and his (granted, still kind of sticky) hand comes up to cup your face. 

adoration in every moment. like it’s the first.

“don’t bother asking me about it,” you tell him as he pulls away, bumping your nose against his and hearing, from the quiet wet smacking sound they make, how his lips grow into a smile. “i don’t know anything that happened.”

“this is the fourth time i’ve tried to get you to watch this movie, y/n,” he chuckles. 

“and this is the fourth time we’ve ended up here. what, does tilda swinton in that ugly wig really do it for you or something?”

“shut up,” he snorts, ever so gently pushing your cheek to move your head away from him. “no-one ever said you had to give into me that easily.”

“oh, you shut up,” you huff, closing your thighs and feeling how your shorts and panties cling to you uncomfortably, only half covering you after he failed to put them back properly. “i was supposed to be helping you chill out. it’s not my fault that you can’t go five minutes without getting handsy.”

“it’s absolutely your fault,” he challenges, getting to his knees and facing you. you can see his cock tenting his sweatpants now and you’d be lying to say that it doesn’t stir something in the depths of your stomach. “you know i can’t resist you in those shorts.”

“you’re so stupid,” you grin, opening your legs up for him to settle between, and he moves over straight away.

“yeah, well,” he chuckles, reaching down to pull your t-shirt up off your head. “you happen to love my kind of stupid.”

thank u sm for reading!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all greatly appreciated!<3

[junewritesstuff]

sleepy. ༊*·˚

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

cws/tws: none, just fluff! <3

prompt: “dont get up– i’ll do it.” or reader gets home late and just wants to go to bed.

a/n: first time writing for leon!!! also i think leon’s love language is acts of service and quality time (just for a little bit of context lol) this is an incredibly self indulgent and super short piece

“leon! i’m home!” you call into your shared apartment as you enter the front door. you lock the door behind you and start heading towards your bedroom, dropping your bag off on the kitchen counter.

“hi love,” leon says softly with a gentle smile, “you look exhausted.”

“i am,” you admit with a small giggle.

you quickly get ready to go to bed; taking a quick shower, changing into pjs, brushing your teeth, and your skincare routine (of course!!). you finally walk back into the bedroom and get cozy in bed, cuddling with your bf. 

all of a sudden, you let out a defeated groan, “i forgot to turn the fan onnn.” 

as you go to rip the covers off of you, leon stops you, “don’t get up– i’ll do it.” he gives you a small peck on the cheek and goes and quickly turns the fan on. you return the small peck onto his cheek and quietly thanking him before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

© junewritesstuff , tumblr 2024. do not translate, copy, steal, repost my works on tumblr or any other platforms or claim them as your own.

[pinechild]

I was watching Hazbin Hotel and I saw Alastor's design and I thought I've never seen a yandere story about a deer monster... So could you do that, please?

I’ve never watched Hazbin Hotel, but I do like what you’re thinking, anon. I’m rusty when it comes to writing full blown fics so go easy on me chat 🫡

Antlered, Stalking

◇ Gn! Reader

◇ Summary: You get lost in the woods after a heavy downpour washes away all of your markers to get back to your car, leaving you open for a yandere deer beast to ensnare you in his grasp. He thinks he’ll keep you - his newest mate.

◇ Warnings: horror themes, yandere themes, stalking (obvi), non consensual licking + touching, mentions of dead animals, entrapment, slightly suggestive, bugs (?)

Torrential rainfall would be perfect for you, especially in this time of year, under different circumstances. But now—as your hair sticks to your face, cold and damp, your heart clamored in your ears; It was anything but.

Fear injects itself into your gut—its frigid and decaying fingers piercing right through your stomach and making its presence known to your bloodstream as it spreads its digits. The makeshift chalk markers you made on multiple trees instantly washed away once the storm rolled in, leaving stupid little you, lost.

It’s almost as if you were frozen in time, not hearing the rain harshly slapping against the leaves, or the sound of your own breath leaving your lungs—not even the sound of wet underbrush being squished somewhere off in the distance. Anxiety has your mind clouded in a thick miasma, riddling itself with possible solutions to try to get you back to where you came from and into the safety of your beat up car, survival fully switching on in your brain and making your thoughts race.

In retrospect, you knew this wasn’t a good idea from the start, but human as you are, your own arrogance was your hubris—believing that since it’s never happened to you before, it’ll most likely not happen to you now. As if the stars were smiling upon you and bestowing upon you fortune for seemingly being on good behavior as of late.

Oh how you wish you could slap the fuck out of your past self right now and got proper markers.

Cell service was pretty much moot as an option—you knew that, even the most beginner of hikers (those with half a brain, anyway) knew this fact. The forest in this area was just so thick that it would be mere impossible for any radio waves to pass through. So, the next best thing is—

Your body in an instant—and almost unconsciously— fiddle inside your pockets, methodically searching for something like a well oiled machine before you hunch over, letting the rain drum against your back and bead off of your jacket in attempt to not let a single drop soak the inside your bag. The only sounds you can soak in are the rustling of cloth, zippers closing shut, and the rain that continues to beat on your back until your fingertips finally bump into the item you’re looking for: your compass.

You cant help but a little flicker of hope spark inside you as you pull it out.

With a slight tremble of your fingers, you lift up the compass, breath bating as the needles slightly jerk from its magnetic pull. The slight anticipation gnawing at your chest.

However what you don’t expect is for the needles to instantly spin precariously at a rapid pace, as if it was a dog chasing its own tail, going round and round and round. In your eyes (in the most irrational of case), It’s almost like it’s taunting your situation, and fears gnarled fingernails scrape against your gut, tugging it down as you spend more than one second thinking about it.

What the fuck? Is this thing broken? How?? Didn’t this work before?

Hot, acidic bile stings at the back of your throat, your mind screaming at you to move amongst the sea of questions ruminating.

Biologically, the human brain tends to react in a sequence of events when danger is present in its environment: Fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. And your brain, in this case, instantly makes your legs move—uprooting your feet from the muddy earth. Flight it is.

You know partly how you came to this spot in to where you were now, so in a snap decision you decide to retrace your steps to the best of your abilities—better than staying in one place with a broken fucking compass. And god forbid it gets dark, you don’t think you could follow the stars with all this cloud coverage in the first place (not like you could anyways but it that was neither here nor there)—

Along with the nonstop pour, mud squelches and plops under your shoes, the cold starting to nip at your fingertips. The only thing right now your mind can focus on is just getting out of here—your eyes scanning for any wildlife as you move through the dense forest floor, trying your best to avoid rocks or uneven earth. But, the more you try to retrace your steps….the more you feel an uneasiness prickle at the nape of your neck; hairs and goosepimples uncomfortably standing on end.

…

Are you being followed?

No, that’s not possible. You were the only person here from the last two hours—matter of fact, you didn’t even see any wildlife skittering about during that time either, and that strikes you as odd. Rain or not, there was bound to be a couple chipmunks scampering in the undergrowth.

A dreadful feeling swirls inside you at that thought, blooming inside you along with your throat getting uncomfortably dry—something’s wrong here.

It’s then you hear a cry in the distance, echoing even through the thickest of bramble—an eerie, grating sound, one that mimics decrepit metal doors opening on rusted hinges. It’s a familiar sound, but foreign at the same time. What is it? Why does it itch at your brain so much?

Until it hits you: It’s an elk.

That chilling sound like it belongs in a horror movie, scraping at your ears like nails on a chalkboard every time you heard it. You recognize it now.

It’s odd though, you don’t remember any elk living in this forest before, but, maybe you were just lucky to have never heard its cry during mating season. Who knows. But, right now you can’t think about that right now—you need to move. An elks bugle shouldn’t shake you up this much as it did. You have to go. Now.

You continue your trek, trudging your legs along as your lungs shake with each exhale. That unnerving feeling of being watched sticks in the back of your mind, making you pick up the pace. You try to ignore the elk’s bugling getting louder and louder with each step. Even still, the sound unsettles you. Maybe, in the best case scenario, it was just your paranoia getting to you, playing tricks on you to think you’re in more danger than you already are—at least that’s what your anxiety riddled brain likes to think.

But the more you thoughts stew on it, the weirder it gets: You know you remember there’s no elk in this forest—you remember the first time you hiked here and the guide saying something about watching out for bears and the occasional wolf—but never about elk. Not that they were dangerous to humans anyways but still—they were never mentioned among the list of what you would see on the trails, that you remember.

And not hearing multiple elk during mating season is strange in itself, how come was there only one? Not to mention you’ve never even seen any on your hikes—ever. And to see there’s no other wildlife besides the elk? The compass spinning in all directions? The sickening feeling of being watched, possibly stalked?

It’s weird. It’s weird and it’s not just your imagination.

Something is deeply, deeply wrong here.

Bone scrapes against wood, and on instinct, you run into a full sprint.

Ignoring how the mud splotches onto your clothes, your throat clamps shut as adrenaline surges your veins heart thundering in your ears obstreperously, rattling your eardrums and breaking your skin into a cold sweat.

In the most logical minds, one would know that it was just the elk rubbing its antlers on a tree as its mating habits, that it’s nothing to worry about—but you knew it wasn’t the truth. The sound of anything other than the rain and your bones creaking under your skin wasn’t natural. It didn’t belong here.

And what’s even worse is the thrashing of underbrush quickly catching up behind you. Your vision almost becomes dizzy with how much adrenaline is pumped into your bloodstream and panic settling in to the marrow of your bones. The haunting, metallic bugle of the elk dwarfs your heartbeat, looming over you. The acid of the bile pools in your mouth, stinging at your tongue and almost making you wretch. You gotta hide! Need to—

Your chest harshly lands on the waterlogged ground, effectively knocking the wind out of you as mud cakes your face and chest. Unnaturally large hands wrap around your waist and that creaky, hollowed bugle rings right beside your ear. Choking on your breath, you dare to crane your neck to look over your shoulder, body trembling as you cough and wheeze your way to breathe again. The sight alone makes eyes go wide at the first glimpse on what towers above you.

What you see, is no ordinary elk, but a monster. One with antlers strong and pointed, reaching towards the heavens and branching out to the point where the two antlers almost touch—like tangled and twisted tree roots. Its head an elk skull, underneath the empty sockets lie human eyes, peering at you. You even dare say, undressing you.

Its upper body is like that of a human, save for the talon like nails that anchor your body down to the ground. As your eyes move down, however, you see the dirt caked fleshy skin transition into fur—one traditionally like an elk followed by hind legs and cloven hooves, chipped and worn with age. Natures twisted amalgamation of animal and human; a bastard of the unnatural.

It bugles again, softly this time, crooning. Almost as if asking if you like what you see.

And you want to fucking throw up at the implication.

The urge to scream and thrash away from its grip dies before it even begins like a snuffed out flame. An invisible force freezing your vocal cords, holding them captive as the creature leans closer, hinging its maw open to reveal a sleek, black tongue—licking you. Your muscles writhe beneath your skin.

“Mine.” Its voice is a rumble of thunder, rippling throughout your fragile bones as it—he—speaks. It’s a voice worn and booming; one that hasn’t been used in ages—at least that’s what you assume. Plumes of his breath appear in a smoke like cloud against the biting chill of the rain, tongue retracting back once its had his fill of licking all the salt and sweat from your cheeks.

Lifting your frozen body with a relative ease, he tucks you to his side, cradling your body in his hand as if he was holding a parcel.

In this moment, you can’t think. Everything’s happening so fast that your mind can’t even keep up, mentally grasping at straws at the how’s, when’s and why’s of it all. It’s like your mind is on a chairoplane—holding you just by the head as it spins at a nauseatingly rapid pace while you ragdoll through the air.

When the wind and rain whips at your face as he starts to move, do you notice how he weaves through the forest at a breakneck, inhuman speed. It dawns on you there was no chance of getting out of here to begin with.

The world, or rather, the reality you thought you knew, utterly shatters. Monsters are real—and you’re being kept by one, dangling in its grasp as it figures out what to do with you next.

Tears never seem to come from your glassy eyes, but you could feel them chewing at your optic nerve—a burning, sizzling tingle, something akin to a sparkler you used to play with as a kid on muggy summer nights.

Thinking about it, you’ll never be able to play with them again—or drive your car, or even complain to your friends about work. You never even got to tell your mom you love her after your fight.

You’ll never be able to do that again, you'll never able to do anything again, not while you’re in this beasts grasp. And the realization of that, makes the cavity in your chest clatter in a silent, violent scream. If your lips could move, you’re sure your throat would be rubbed raw by now, vocal chords utterly fried.

Too lost in your own despair, you don’t notice that the creature stopped running until you hear a light chuff above you. Raising your head at the noise, you see the mouth of a cave—a warm, amber flame casting ambient light along the jagged edges of the rocks. A deceptive illusion of comfort beckoning you in.

When getting closer, you see a string of dead rabbits formed into an almost perfect circle near the foot of the entrance, just mere feet away from the kindling fire. A gift? An offering of some sort? Well, you don’t care either way, it’s not like you’re going to take it.

The monster sets you down, whispering a soft hum in some sort of satisfaction, probably because of its successful attempt at catching you. His eyes, dark and lifeless, resembling the bottomless void, follows the way the flames mold to the planes and soft curves your face, drinking in every pore and detail of you.

You try not to focus on him or the stench of the rabbit corpses assaulting your nose, all you can do now to keep your sanity is to just stare into fire.

You hear shuffling, fur chafing on stone as he gets closer, jaw chittering as his tongue slides along your neck. It's oddly warm without the rain nulling your sense of touch, but it does nothing to help from the familiar taste of bile from swelling in your throat.

“Mate. Mine.” His large hands resting onto your stomach, fingers creeping under the layers of clothing to get a mere touch of your naked flesh. Feeling him touch you like this feels like bugs are wriggling underneath your skin, wiggling and writhing in disgust. You want to pluck them out, get rid of this nastiness tainting your body and scrub at your skin until you're red and bleeding.

A gargled sense of a moan creaks out of this throat.

“Love. Breed.”

Your stomach drops to your ass, knowing your fate was already sealed with just those two words.

On its own, your body shakes as he purrs, bone snout nuzzling into your hair. The nauseating reality of you never being found again or even being able to see the outside world weighs on your tongue like stones. It makes you sick—want to scream, curl up into a ball and wither away, letting the cave centipedes eat at you down to the bone.

And it’s all because of those fucking markers.

[alexblakeisgay]

At Your Service

Ship: Emily Prentiss/Reader

Summary: There's a nation-wide shortage of heat suppressants and you run out in the middle of a case in a small Alaskan town...

Word Count: 909

Author's Note: This fills the Alpha/Beta/Omega square on my @cmkinkbingo2024 card.

Emily knocked on your hotel room’s door. “Everything okay in there?” She sounded worried.

“Fine,” you said, your voice warbling just the slightest bit, betraying your attempt at confidence.

She tried the doorknob. “Let me in, Y/N... You’re scaring me.”

“I want to,” you said, just barely loud enough to be heard through the door. “But I can’t, Em. You’re just going to have to trust me. I can’t go to the precinct. Keep me in the loop and I’ll do what I can from here, but...”

“Y/N,” she said seriously, “You have thirty seconds to open the door or I’m getting Derek and...”

Almost immediately, you flicked the lock and opened the door, already mortified that you were having to have this conversation with Emily of all people. She was your best friend in the whole world, your boss, and the star of each and every masturbatory fantasy you’d had for the last six months... So, things were complicated, to say the least.

You yanked her into the room and slammed the door shut behind her and, when you turned back around, poised to explain the situation, you knew she already knew...

Due to a country-wide heat suppressant shortage, the tiny Alaskan town you were currently based out of hadn’t been able to refill your prescription. You didn’t exactly advertise that you were an Omega and you didn’t relish the feeling of walking into a precinct full of Alpha males in full-blown heat.

You didn’t have to say that, knew all the thoughts that were crossing Emily’s mind in that moment.

“Understood,” was all she said. And just as quickly, she was gone again.

____________

You didn’t know what Emily told the rest of the team, but no one else came to your room...until early evening when there was a knock on your door. You were reluctant to answer it, until you heard Emily call through the door, “It’s just me...” When you opened the door, she held up a bag of Chinese food. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said.

Since you were, in fact, starving, you decided to let her in.

You could tell that she was uncomfortable as she crossed the room to set the food on the table and, for a brief moment, you were unsure why... Then, visibly trembling, she paused, bracing herself on the table while she collected her composure.

You opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, but before you could get the words out, she practically growled. “You smell so fucking good...”

“Wh-what?” you stammered.

She whipped around to stare at you with an absolutely feral expression. She took a few steps towards you, then quickly seemed to regain self-control. Holding up her hands in self-defence, she said, “I need to leave.”

“What? No! Why?” you exclaimed in quick succession.

“Because if I stay, I won’t be able to control myself...”

You put two and two together then. For a brief moment, you weighed the pros and cons of the situation. Then, quietly, “Stay.”

She studied you, seemingly searching for something in your expression. Whether she found it or not, you couldn’t have said, but regardless, she lunged forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. When it quickly became clear that you didn’t object, she lifted you up and tossed you onto the bed, then climbed on top of you.

You could tell that she was barely clinging to her restraint and, quite honestly, you didn’t want her to... “Emily...” you whined, but that seemed to be the extent of your speech capabilities at that moment. Instead, you wriggled out of your pyjama shorts and hoped that was clear enough.

She seemed to get the message, though, because she proceeded to literally tear your panties off, push your legs apart, and dove into your cunt. Agonizingly slow, she trailed her tongue through your slit, catching every last drop of wetness on her tongue. She hummed a pleased note. “Fuck, you taste even better than you smell...”

Hooking your leg over her shoulder, you dug your heel into her back, forcing her to stay where she was, lavishing your pussy with attention. “Emily,” you said on a gasp, “Em, please...”

She chuckled. “You like that, huh?” she taunted, “You’re absolutely soaked for me.”

You whimpered, nodded, squirming as she lavished you with attention.

“Hey!” she scolded, “You wanted this, so stay still and take it.” She gripped your hips, holding you down as she sucked your clit into her mouth.

Crying you, you arched your back off the bed, your body absolutely thrumming with need under her expert ministrations. “Jesus, Em! You’re so fucking good at that!”

Pausing to catch her breath, she met your gaze with an absolutely predatory expression, your juices dripping down her chin. “You taste so good, Angel, I could eat your sweet pussy all day long...”

You had a strong feeling she wasn’t exaggerating... “Please, please, please,” you begged for more. “I need to cum...”

“You can, Angel,” she purred, “Cum all over my face like a good little girl.” She lapped at your cunt with renewed determination, single-minded in her focus to coax an orgasm from you. And, when you finally came, she didn’t stop, working you until you sobbed, begging her to stop. “Stop?” she said with a laugh, crawling up your body to kiss you (and you could taste your cum on her tongue), “I’m just getting started with you.”

[eatmangoesnekkid]

FLOW, CIRCULATION, AND THE LOVER

A Venusian Temple Arts Channeling Most problems related to the female (or male) body are due to a lack of circulation in that area where the ailment is occurring. Also, a lack of circulation will negatively impact your bag and coins. Said differently: in this system, unless you were born into "old money," you must own that the condition of your body is directly related to your quality of life. Circulation is related to your heart, blood, sensuality, sex, passion, deep feeling, creativity, and overall life force energy. And there is no coincidence that there is a large amount of shame and mysticism around the female body and its resourceful capacity for epic circulation i.e. creation and regeneration--not only for ourselves but for the cells of our loved ones and for the collective cells of our village/community. How beautiful, right?! This is what I was channeling in my first book when I wrote "A sensually activated woman is a wealthy natural resource for any community. Pleasure is power." If you are desiring to strengthen your skills as a lover Goddess which is your flow state capacity to create.... anything including tactile abundance like money and better health, without exhausting yourself, the circulatory system has to become your favorite system of the body. It has to be your friend, your loved one. Because the prime quality of a lover is that she knows how to inspire and stimulate circulation or flow states in others as well--a type of muse consciousness. It could be with her compassion, heart, use of language, use of hands, breasts projections, face/mouth/quality of conversation, dance, beauty, singing, etc. Artists, men, women, children, and animals are attracted to muse consciousness in different ways. Improving your circulation helps to not only open your heart (releasing current and ancestral heartache/heartbreak) , but also increases your lubrication and libido, repairs your skin into a suppleness, and keeps your systems healthier. You will not only look better, but you will feel better in a more authentic way. When you smile, it will be truthful and emanate from deep within. Keep your feet and belly warm during winter month. Once your circulation improves, the blockages start to move and issues start to repair. It is the heat and warmth from your energy FLOWING that creates new body narratives. A lover knows the beauty of stimulating good circulation in self and in another. Anytime there is pain or stagnancy in the body, it is an indication of lack of FLOW--meaning--a need for lover energy! A lover has to strengthen her connection to her hands as well. Hand-heart connection is all lover energy. Also the constant necessity of self-massage and self-touch is important for the body of a lover. Also, the skill and service of having your well-placed, prayed-over loving hands massaging the pain points or blockages of another is just as important. A lover also has to be able to relax and fully receive touch by another, whether a professional massage therapist or your lover. Other considerations: Drink water with a pinch of celtic sea salt/green juice. Keep ginger oil or powdered ginger in your apothecary. Use ginger paste (ginger powder/oil mixed with warm water) rubbed into pain or troubled sight or energetic stagnation including bald spots plus reducing sugar intake including *too much* fruit sugar and starchy carbs and dense meats -which slows down your blood flow while increasing some combination of movement, deep breathing, hot+cold water therapy, sauna/spa, sunbathing, walking, and the like are acts incorporated in a life of a lover and those who we care for. Train your mind to focus and stay calm--to be able to drop into deep presence and feel. Do to one thing at time like wash dishes without stopping to do anything else. Presence, an unscattered mind, is a high-skill and quality of a lover. Recalibrating the mindset and belief systems you've been holding onto for 20 years into more lighthearted, open-hearted frequencies are critical.

*I used "she/her" but lover energy is available to any gender in any shape or texture. *

-India Ame'ye, Author

[katyawriteswhump]

the freak in the penthouse part 3.1

E-rated (for sexual content), accidental millionaire eddie/sex-worker steve.

On tumblr: Part one Part two or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

On AO3

3.1 Cracks in the plasterwork

Eddie was vegging out front of the TV, watching a rerun of Star Trek, when a knock sounded. Shit, shit, SHIT! He was literally naked and he’d not ordered anything on room service.

Not till later, at any rate. Eddie glanced at the clock. Only four pm.

He grabbed a bathrobe. Despite Steve’s brutal early wakeup call, Eddie had gotten more energy than in an age. Life really did feel less of a gloom-fest today.

Even if his self-loathing still throbbed like a bitch.

A voice sounded from the corridor. “Uh, Mister M… I mean, Eddie? You there?”

It was Steve! Already? Eddie threw both the doors wide. “Greetings and salutations. You’re mega-early.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Can’t stay. The main elevator guy’s off sick. I’m stuck there all day.”

Eddie was seriously cracking up. In his bellboy hat with its little strap under his chin, Steve was ridiculous levels of adorable. And fuckable. Which was all kinds of wrong.

“No sweat, Stevie.” He reined in his giggles. “I’m up for a quickie in your elevator, if that’s all that’s on offer.”

It was a joke. Steve sighed. He looked exhausted, kinda shadowy around the eyes. “I finish at eight. I’ll be here as soon as I can. Listen, I’m really sorry. I think I dropped something here last night. Can I, erm… have a peep, see if I can find it?”

“Sure.” Eddie stepped aside.

Steve rushed first into the bedroom, throwing himself flat to look under the bed. “The chambermaid’s been and gone,” said Eddie. He already felt like a total a-hole for laughing at Steve, who seemed genuinely stressed out. “Don’t think she picked anything up that wasn’t my usual trash. What did you lose?”

“Oh, nothing.” Steve hurried back across the lounge area and into the restroom. “Well, actually, it’s kind of important. It belongs to a friend… Oh, thank God.”

Eddie arrived at the restroom door in time to receive an epic view of Steve’s butt in his deadly-tight uniform pants. He was crawling to retrieve something from under the spacious clawfoot washtub. “Christ, I was going outta my mind! I keep this safe for my friend, Robin—she’s a junior sous chef, and, uh, yeah, she’d totally lose her head if it wasn’t attached. Anyway, she put it in my bag without telling me yesterday, apparently. What a flake!”

Steve shoved the cause of his anguish—which turned out to be one of those blue asthma inhalers that Eddie had seen kids use at grade school—into his back pocket. His breakneck monologue seemed a bit odd, but he was all smiles now, which made Eddie relax again too. Especially as a glint of that irresistible come-hither returned to Steve’s big brown eyes.

He’s pretending, Eddie reminded himself. He’s good. This guy’s reeeeeally good at this. Unfortunately for Eddie, Steve already backed toward the doors.

“Hey, I heard rumors there’s a plunge pool in the other restroom,” said Steve. “That true?”

“Fuck, yeah,” said Eddie. “Big enough to swim in. How about we take a dip later?” Steve responded with an Oscar-winning grin and flutter of his lashes. “Oh, wait a sec.” Eddie dived to retrieve his wallet from beside a vase of fake orchids. “Here’s your one-fifty. Plus, two hundred bucks in advance for tonight.”

“Wow. Thank you.” Steve’s voice trembled strangely as he took the cash, while Eddie found himself beaming like an idiot. Steve had knocked his hat askew crawling under the bath, and now Eddie reached out and straightened it. Steve flushed slightly, suddenly unable to meet Eddie’s eye: 

“Look, you treated me real nice yesterday, Eddie. Sorry if I come across grouchy. Or pushy. I know I can be like that. They’re brutal traits, in my line of work.”

“Not a problem,” said Eddie, not quite believing how badly he didn’t want Steve to leave. 

Steve reached the doors, lightly touched the handle and glanced back. “I mean, I’m sure I can do any weird kinks for somebody as nice as you.”

“Did I tell you I had a weird kink for fucking guys in bellboy outfits?” It wasn’t true at all, but Eddie couldn’t help it.

“Yeah, right. That’s a surefire way to experience my weird kink for punching annoying clients in the face.”

Ooookay. For some reason, Eddie grinned about that for the next hour.

The silence that followed Steve’s departure was still too much for Eddie to handle. For the first time in weeks, he put on a CD—Guns n’ Roses’ ‘You could be mine’ simmering on low volume. He picked up the phone and called Dustin.

“I’m gonna go through your notes this afternoon,” Eddie told him. “Will try and get some ideas going, but no promises. Oh, and don’t you dare call this evening. I got a date.”

Eddie’s whispering demons about the half-lie were drowned out by Dustin’s screams: “Aaaaaaaagh! That’s awesome, Eddie. Hey, how about you and your date double up with Suzie and me. There’s this cool new pizza joint on Rodeo Drive—”

“No way in hell,” said Eddie. He didn’t hang up on Dustin this time. At least, not until he’d gotten a promise from his bud to send a fresh batch of decent weed over.

…

Steve reached Eddie’s suite, slightly out of breath, at seven minutes past eight. He still wore his uniform, minus the hat. He really couldn’t risk another night rushing around dressed like a hooker.

Kline had already swiped fifty dollars off him—a ‘cancellation fee’ that he’d demanded Steve charge Eddie. If the slimy son-of-a-bitch discovered Eddie hadn’t chickened out and that Steve had taken the ‘job’ himself, Steve would be out in the gutter.

On the other hand, thanks to Eddie, Steve had been able to put in an order for his prevention meds. That would take the pressure off his rescue inhaler. He already craved that cool, fresh feeling in his lungs, as those expensive pills did their thing, opening up his airways. He’d put the rest aside to pay off a little more of last winter’s hospital debt. 

Shame about lying to Eddie earlier, but hey, who’d wanna hire an asthmatic call-boy? And last night had gone fine, so why worry now?

Eddie opened the door with a megawatt grin. Damn, Eddie was stupid levels of adorable when he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey there.”

Fortunately, Eddie no longer wore that hideous Hugh Hefner bathrobe. Instead, he wore a pair of black silk boxers and nothing else. He slouched against the door frame, and indicated with his head that Steve should enter. Steve snapped his mouth shut before he drooled.

“The plunge pool is getting hot and steamy,” said Eddie.

“Great.” Steve stepped into the room, tugging apart his collar, stripping his shirt off. “Sorry about the uniform, I uh—”

“Gotta confess,” said Eddie, “I miss the eye-liner… Woah!”  

Steve had peeled down his pants to reveal a teeny pair of denim hotpants. He kicked his clothes across the room, rolled his shoulders back and shimmied his hips… in sync to a very faint beat.

“You’re red-hot, Baby.” Eddie moved close, slid his hands to clasp Steve’s butt, where the super-tiny shorts cut off half-way up Steve’s butt cheeks. They also cut in like cheese wire, particularly now Steve started to grind the bulge around the front of them into Eddie.

“You broke your no-music rule,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear, arms looping up around Eddie’s neck as they swayed to the unfamiliar rock song.

“My penthouse," whispered Eddie. "My rules.”

...

Part 3.2

(Likes reblogs and comments much appreciated and will feed the bunnies🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕🐰💕)

On tumblr: Part one Part two or search #thefreakinthepenthouse

On AO3 All my ST stuff on AO3