#Trying one ask a week for a bit until I either run out of asks to answer I start doing the non ask story updates or I find it isn't working

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Tribulations Part 1

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: 14.6k

Summary: Arguing with Wanda leads to more stress than usual for both of you.

A/N: Here's the angst (FINALLY). It will be two parts just because it's so damn long!

Warnings: Angst, arguments, sickness, discussions about death/end of life.

Money. 

Of all the things that you thought you’d argue about with your wife…well this wasn’t in the top ten. 

Neither of you had ever really considered money an issue in your marriage. It certainly wasn’t a point of contention like you’ve heard it can be with most other couples. You both make plenty of money, sure Wanda made a lot more, but it wasn’t as if either of you were ever stressed about money. 

For this reason, you’re not sure how a simple conversation about getting affairs in order had caused an argument. 

That said, when emotions were running high, sometimes both you and Wanda were guilty of saying things you shouldn’t. 

This conversation started because of an issue that you and Wanda were far more used to fighting over. 

Her job. 

She’d been out last night, like most nights of the week, and one of her meetings hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped. She’d been sitting down with one of her suppliers to renegotiate terms, but she’d somehow offended him along the way. She couldn’t quite remember what she’d said that made him so upset. Was it the previously agreed upon 10% fee increase, or was it the fact she was only signing a 2-year contract instead of a 3 year? 

All Wanda really remembers is that the table between them had been flipped and guns started going off. After the table hit her in the face and broke something, it actually protected her from being shot more than once which she was grateful for. She was only a little less grateful after she went through surgery to repair her zygomatic arch and remove the bullet from her side. It was just a flesh wound, but this fact only made you feel a little better when you arrived at medical to visit your wife. 

She admittedly had looked a little rough with the bruising beneath her left eye that extended down her cheek. The careful suturing along her face was unlikely to leave a scar she’d been told, but that didn’t stop it from looking gnarly right after surgery, and for weeks afterward. 

When you’d seen your wife lying in bed with a grimace and a horrendous looking bruise you’d panicked. You’d already been briefed by Steve as usual, but even he wasn’t able to appease your growing anxiety this time. 

You’d been at work when he called you, and it took you longer than you would have liked to leave. This stress was compounded by Wanda’s appearance, and you may have been a little blunter than you usually were after she was hurt on the job. 

“You need to get out Wands.” 

You usually didn’t start the conversation like this. You of course asked how she was feeling first, but usually you’d sit with her for a bit and fuss over her before you asked her to explain what happened. You’d barely waited two minutes and Wanda’s shame at being hurt quickly was overshadowed by annoyance at your insistence that she quit.

“It’s not that easy, Y/n.” 

You of course knew this and you told her this, but not in the best way. This had probably been the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“Well obviously, Wands, but you need to try harder.” 

“How do you propose I do that, Y/n?” 

You had been too focused on the discoloration and swelling around her eye to think of anything particularly plausible. 

“I don’t know, Wanda, but you need to leave before you get killed.” 

Unsurprisingly, Wanda had given you the silent treatment for an hour until you finally left her alone to return to work. You were more upset by the fact that she’d gotten hurt than anything else, but you’d taken your fear and frustration out on her which you felt guilty about. You’d been distracted for the entire time you’d attempted to stay at work that night. You figured you just needed time to calm down while Wanda needed to focus on getting better. She shouldn’t have to worry about you and your insecurities right now. You’d visited her for two days at the compound after work until she was discharged and set free to go back home. 

You’d been hoping that she would return home and take time off of work, but that hadn’t happened. Wanda had to make up for lost time, and you had been so mad you just went home and didn’t speak to her for nearly 24 hours. 

When Wanda finally came home the third night after her surgery, she found you in the living room working on something that surprised her. She barely greeted her dogs as she eyes the words ‘last will and testament’ and wonders what the hell you’re doing. 

She doesn’t realize that she’s asked this out loud until you turn around and shoot her a slightly annoyed look. You look tired like you haven’t slept well, but she doesn’t even have time to consider this right now. She focuses on your scowl and the pen that you’re holding in a white-knuckled grip. 

“What does it look like, Wands? I figure we need to be responsible.” 

Wanda’s response is so quick it almost gives you whiplash. She sounds offended and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

This is when you realized that you hadn’t paid enough attention to your wife. Not only was she in pain and stressed about work, but now you were surprising her with wanting to have your will updated. 

You honestly had just wanted to make sure that everything was in order. Did you leave all of your money to Wanda or Yelena? Check. You did the same for nearly everything else except for one thing that you plan on leaving Natasha. You decided that you weren’t going to tell Wanda about that because even though it is ancient history, you had a letter stashed away that you wanted to give her in the event that you die before Wanda. 

Wanda had sat down beside you waiting for your response, and you just glared at the paper in front of you before you claimed that it wasn’t personal. 

“I just want to be prepared.” 

Wanda frowns at this but she doesn’t argue as she considers asking to read it. It’s not entirely her business even though she’s sure you’ve left her most everything, but she does wonder. Still, she knows she should focus on the reason why you’re doing this tonight, and she can’t help but sigh in defeat. 

“It was a fluke, detka. It won’t happen again.” 

You’re still on edge and Wanda’s empty promises just grate on your nerves. You have been with her for years and you know better than that by now. You know that she can’t guarantee that she’ll be safe, and this truth is a bit harder to stomach tonight. You shake your head before setting down your pen and turning to face your wife.

“So I should just wait until you die to worry about this?” 

Despite knowing that this question is designed to antagonize Wanda, you can’t help but be a little desperate. You know that the only way, the best chance, for Wanda to be safe in the long term is to quit. You’ve talked about it a dozen times in the past year alone, and you both agreed that if you were going to start a family, both you and Wanda had to be as far away from her business as possible. 

This is what you’re thinking about when you ask Wanda to reconsider her career choice in the cruelest way you can. Selfishly, you want your wife by your side for years to come, and you want to stop having to worry about her every time one of you leaves the house. 

You see Wanda’s face fall and you know you’ve made a mistake, but you can’t stop. You unconsciously choose to channel your fear into the least productive line of questioning that focuses on something you couldn’t care less about at the moment. 

“Is all of your money under just your name? Am I the beneficiary or will it all be left to your brother? How does that even work when it’s all earned illegally?” 

You watch as Wanda’s frown turns into an ugly sneer, and you feel yourself tense. You wish you could take a moment to breathe instead of panic, but unfortunately when your wife’s concerned this can be difficult. 

“Are you seriously asking me if you get my money right now? Is that all you care about?”

Even as she asks this, Wanda knows that this isn’t the case. You’re both extremely riled up about different, yet related issues and it’s making you say stupid things. You stand up nearly throwing your chair back onto the floor causing the dogs to jump in surprise. Boone is sitting beside your chair and Rogue stands behind Wanda as you blindly lash out and send the papers in front of you scattering across the floor. Rogue jumps in surprise and ducks behind Wanda while Boone stands up beside you. 

“I don’t give a shit about your money, but we need to start somewhere. It doesn’t seem like you want to admit that you’re never going to leave your job!” 

You and Wanda just stare at each other in silence for an agonizingly long time. It’s Wanda who finally speaks up because you’ve finally said your piece. You’ve voiced one of your greatest fears and you have nothing else to throw at your wife. Wanda eventually just rolls her eyes before storming toward the garage. She doesn’t want to be around you right now, not if you’re just going to keep pressuring her into making a difficult decision. She has a headache and shouting at you has only made it worse. 

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.” 

You don’t manage to respond before you watch both Wanda and Rogue escape to the garage. You hear the door open only moments later, and you’re not exactly shocked to hear her car start and back out leaving you and Boone to think about what you’ve done. 

The morning after your argument with Wanda is worse than you thought it would be. You wake up alone in bed with Boone lying in the hallway right in front of the stairs. The fact that Wanda didn’t come back last night leaves you equally annoyed and upset, but mostly at yourself. You go through the motions of getting ready for work,  but you manage to check your phone a half dozen times for a text or call from your wife. 

Nothing. 

You guess you don’t deserve a check in after last night. 

Wanda didn’t have a much better night away from you. She woke up with her entire left side throbbing and Rogue at the foot of the bed. She forgot to take her medications last night, and she’s certainly regretting it now as she tries to sit up. Her side burns and she bites her lip to keep from screaming as she finally manages to get to her feet. She doesn’t waste any time going to her purse and grabbing the two medications she’d been given a few nights ago. 

She slowly heads to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and something to eat. She’s starving since she skipped dinner last night, and the sight of Rogue following her reminds her that she hadn’t grabbed any of his food before leaving the house. She sighs in defeat as she sets her glass in the sink and looks to the pantry for suitable alternatives for him. She ends up just making extra eggs and toast to give him which feels ridiculous, but Rogue doesn’t seem to mind at all as he munches away at his breakfast on a plate that looks just like hers. 

Wanda is sitting at the table where you’ve always eaten dinner while at the compound when she thinks to call you. She bites down on the urge and swallows it with her slightly burnt toast as she shakes her head. She needs time to think about everything that’s happened in the last week. She’s still not feeling up to talking to you yet, but she has to admit that you make a good point.

You’ve been wanting Wanda to quit her job for years. She’s honestly considered doing it for nearly that long. However, there’s always been something stopping her from taking the chance and leaving the mob. She’d always claimed that it was a dangerous and tedious task untangling herself from the criminal empire she’d run for longer than a decade. 

The risks of leaving herself and by association her family vulnerable never sat well with her, but this wasn’t what kept her from quitting her job. 

She’d never told anyone, certainly not you, but she was terrified of leaving her job. She was afraid that doing so would change everything, and once she had no mobster job, no secret appeal, you’d become bored of her.

It felt silly and conceited, but Wanda knows that becoming a stay-at-home mom, which is the ultimate goal, isn’t nearly as exciting as what she does now on a daily basis. There’s an irrational, or perhaps fearful, part of her brain that’s telling her that quitting will ruin your relationship. You’ll realize that without all of the excitement and danger, that she’s nothing special.

Wanda’s only tried to think of comparable careers that she could pursue to keep this from happening, but it wasn’t realistic. If she was going to leave the mob, she couldn’t try to do anything else. She needed to take a break from work, perhaps permanently, and then stay on the right side of the law for the rest of her life.

She knows she’s been lucky to avoid being charged and going to jail, but at some point, her luck will run out. 

Similarly to how she escaped a few days ago, although not unscathed, she knows that one day she may not make it out. The idea of dying from an injury sustained while working makes her pause and drop her fork back to her plate. She ignores Rogue’s whine as he sits beside her with sad, hungry eyes. 

The idea of leaving you in this fashion makes her blood run cold. She never wants to leave you alone and unprotected, hell she never wants to leave you period, but the idea of blindsiding you in this way…

She pushes her chair back from the table and grimaces as she stands and takes her plate to the kitchen. She sets it in the sink before she stands at the counter staring off into the living room but not seeing anything. She thinks about what would happen if she died. Would someone come after you? Her family? She hates to think of you being hurt, or worse, but the thought of you grieving her death makes her a little nauseous. She makes some coffee and nearly chugs it as she thinks about how she’d feel if she was in your position. 

She has to admit that you are far more patient than she would be. If she had asked you to leave work as much as you had, and been told no for so long…she’s not sure she would have tolerated it. She likely would have threatened to leave you by now, and although she’s pained by the thought, she can’t help it. Her anxiety would make it near impossible to sit home alone night after night not knowing if you’d come home. 

She disappears into the bathroom to change the bandage covering the wound on her side. It’s been cleaned up and closed but it’s still oozing because it’s impossible not to move at all. As she looks into the mirror she pauses before taking off her shirt. She focused on the red line down the side of her face and the splotchy skin beneath her eye. She’s stunned that she didn’t end up worse off after that night. 

As she thinks about this, she can’t keep her mind from wandering to you. 

She’d seen your apprehension when you first came to visit her after her surgery. She’d been in pain and drowsy, and she’d just wanted to cuddle with you. She’d been prepared for some anxiety and was ready to offer reassurance, but your resolute request that she quit caught her off guard.

At first she’d thought that you were mad at her for getting hurt. She’s certain you were worried too, but she’d thought that this had been overshadowed by anger, and she still believes this.

She spends most of the morning scowling as she tries to work out what she wants to do. She needs to do something, and although she’d intended to work, a call from her brother told her that there was nothing to do. He was taking care of everything so she could have the day off, and no amount of arguing with him would change his mind. 

So now Wanda’s mildly irritated at her brother too when she decides that she’s sat around for long enough. She doesn’t want to walk around the compound if she can’t work, so she decides to take more pain meds and take Rogue on a walk around town. 

She retreats to the bedroom once again to figure out the easiest disguise she can so she can get some air as quickly as possible.  

You’re struggling to get through the day at work while Wanda’s busy picking between two different blonde wigs. You slept like shit and it’s caught up to you so quickly that you’ve been forced to drink coffee while at work. This is something you’ve managed to avoid for years, and it’s not something that anyone at work misses. You receive shocked, both kidding and serious, looks when you walk through treatment with a cup of 50% coffee and 50% milk. 

You stifle a yawn as you try to focus on your next appointment. It shouldn’t be too difficult, but then again nothing was very easy for you when you were fighting with your wife. You could name fewer than half a dozen times that you disagreed enough to avoid one another for any period of time. You sigh at the thought and push your way through the treatment area door so you can head up to your office. Your assistant is still taking a history so you probably have time to drop your coffee off at your desk and delay the inevitable. 

You slouch in your seat in front of your computer and stare at the screen without really seeing it. You ignore the glare and the schedule in front of you as you consider how you could have gone about this differently. 

You loved your wife. That wasn’t even a question. 

The real question that you’ve been wrestling with for years was far less straightforward. Most of the time you tricked yourself into not thinking too much about the risks associated with Wanda’s work, but incidences like a few nights ago caused your anxiety to ramp up. You think about Wanda’s reassurance that everything will be fine, and you’re honestly sick of hearing it.

You’re sick of trying to believe it. 

Maybe it had worked when you first met her because you didn’t know any better. You hadn’t gone through everything you have now. You’d seen and experienced too much of the collateral damage that came with being with Wanda, and now you were just tired.

You don’t get to dwell on this as your phone goes off and you’re being summoned for your appointment. 

You’ll think about this later. After all, you’re not sure that you’ll be seeing your wife tonight. 

Wanda had made the uncharacteristic decision to wander downtown among the bustling city life for her walk with Rogue. Not only had she wanted to be distracted, but she hadn’t wanted to be alone. She knew her mind would wander too much if she went on a hike or anywhere more secluded than where she was now. She was wearing her favorite blonde wig and sunglasses that covered most, but not all, of her injury.

Her first stop after she’d found parking was a pet store. She’d found the closest thing to the food you had for Rogue at home, but she’d been unable to buy it without a prescription. She’d only considered bothering you for one for a millisecond before she saw an entire shelf of human grade dog food as she went to put up the bag she’d chosen. She eyes the boxes carefully and realizes she’d basically be feeding Rogue soup, stew, or some other wet food. This was too messy for right now, so she just grabbed a bright blue bag of kibble that had salmon in it. Rogue loved salmon which you learned after he’d stolen an entire fillet from the kitchen counter when you had your back turned. This thought reminds her of the only real requirement you had for your dogs’ food. 

Something about avoiding grain-free. She couldn’t manage to remember the reason at the moment, but that mattered little as Rogue started to whine and nudge her hand with his nose in excitement. She decides to focus on him for now and hurries to check out. She’s going to try and focus on him today instead of herself if at all possible. 

This is how she found herself sitting in a fairly crowded park with a bag filled with dog food, two new bowls, doggy bags, and jerky treats. Rogue had been good about wandering around so far, but Wanda knew it was never a bad idea to have treats when she took him on walks. He was sometimes triggered by someone running or something too loud, and the only way she’d ever been able to snap him out of his fear was with food or cuddles. 

“Sorry for the delay, bud.” 

Rogue didn’t seem to mind as he scarfs down his new food with gusto. She just rolls her eyes before pouring some water into the spare bowl with a sigh. She glances around behind the cover of her sunglasses and people watches for a few minutes. She follows a cyclist down their path toward the lake and to the gardens beyond before her attention is stolen by a loud squeal. She looks around for the source and nearly melts at the sight of a child, probably no older than 2 or 3, smiling widely as she reaches up for her father. 

She jumps excitedly and Wanda watches as the man leans over and hoists her up high in the air. The squealing resumes as the toddler is spun around under the watchful eye of a brunette who’s following the duo with a stroller in one hand and a purse in another. Wanda feels a surprising pang of envy at the sight, and has to look away before she makes a face that might be misunderstood. She reaches out for her dog who’s now sitting beside her as he does his own survey of their surroundings. He’s panting as he stands up seemingly ready to continue walking, and Wanda just sighs in defeat. She packs up the mess before slowly getting to her feet with a slight grimace. Her pain meds have kicked in, but her side still aches with too much movement. 

She’s probably going to regret this outing later, but for now she’s just going to use it to forget. 

In the few minutes it takes to walk down to the lake, Wanda’s mind has already begun to wander back to you. 

She follows dutifully as Rogue leads them around the water past groups of sunbathers and families having picnics. She only has to slow him down once when he starts to pull at the gates of the flower garden. She knows that she shouldn’t go in there since he’ll try to dig something up, but there isn’t a sign that says ‘no dogs’ so she doesn’t fight him. 

As she follows her dog as he explores the grounds, Wanda thinks about to the last time when she truly felt free of responsibility. 

Was it when she was in elementary school and she didn’t know what her dad did for a living? Or was it after, in middle school when she learned about the family business, but still had no idea that she was going to be the one to take it over? She had always assumed it would be her brother. That he would be mentored by their father until he retired.

She’d never expected to be orphaned and then thrown into everything. 

Sometimes she was still surprised that she hadn’t run the business into the ground. 

She wonders what her life would be like if that had happened.

Would she have still met you, or would her life have gone in a completely different direction? Maybe she would have had to flee and start all over with her brother.

Wanda hisses when Rogue yanks on his leash at the sight of another dog. She’s quick to redirect his attention and tell him to sit until they walk past. She gives him a treat before making a turn into what looks like a sea of flower beds. 

“Behave.” 

Rogue already has his nose in the dirt of one of the rose beds, and Wanda sighs in defeat. 

“Rogue no. Come on.” 

The dog whines but he continues on his way without additional protest. Wanda lets him wander around for a bit longer until she needs to takes a break. She needs to sit down and the first place she finds is luckily in the shade. She’s exhausted from her poor night’s sleep and pain, but she still doesn’t want to go home yet. Or rather to the compound. 

She startles when Rogue jumps up to sit beside her on the bench, but she’s too tired to tell him to get back down. He luckily just sits down and pants as she closes her eyes and leans back against the bench. She grimaces when her shoulder hits something hard, and she turns to investigate, but she stops short. 

“Rogue no!” 

Her shepherd’s mouth is already closing around a colorful tall flower with so many petals it’s ridiculous. The pink scatters but a fair amount disappear into Rogue’s mouth as he sucks them down like he’s starving. Wanda stands up quickly and ignores her body’s protests as she quickly yanks Rogue away from the flowers. Wanda curses under her breath as she glances back at the ruined few flowers whose petals have fallen onto the bench. It’s only as Wanda traces their path and considers sweeping them away that she spots the plaque. This is what she must have been leaning again since the rectangular metal sign had raised letters that she definitely felt digging into her skin. 

When she sees what it says; however, she stops breathing. 

Foxglove (digitalis purpurea)

She’s been married to you long enough to have a running list of things that are toxic to pets. The most common ones that she can never forget are onions, garlic, grapes, and dark chocolate.

Some are more regional toxins such as a type of weed you told her about because you found the name entertaining. 

Then there was Foxglove: a cardiotoxic plant. 

Wanda quickly turns to Rogue when she realizes he’s still chewing, and she drops to her knees so quickly she shocks them both. 

“Rogue, open your mouth. Spit it out now!” 

Wanda wrenches open the shepherd’s mouth and he nearly bites her in his surprise, but Wanda grabs his tongue and does her best to grab the remaining soggy petals that she sees. She grimaces and then cringes when Rogue starts to gag and even more saliva and macerated petals fall into her hands or on the ground. She looks to the small pile on the ground knowing that it isn’t nearly all of them, and she curses under her breath before standing up. 

She was already sweaty, but now she’s also shaking as she hurries to the closest exit while reaching for her phone. She can’t remember where the closest emergency vet is, and despite not being ready to talk to you, she doesn’t hesitate to call your number.

You’re in the middle of an appointment so you aren’t able to answer your phone. You don’t even hear it vibrate as you examine a dog that weighs nearly as much as you do. Well at least you’re trying to, but it’s difficult given that he’s just walking around in circles and pushing you around with his massive body. 

“Do you think you could hold his leash while I listen to him?” 

When you don’t answer your phone for a second time Wanda leaves a quick message before she calls Steve. 

She is probably about a twenty-minute walk from the car and she’s not sure how long it will take to get to the ER. She’s panicking because she can’t remember how long it takes for signs to show up after eating the flower, but the fact that it causes heart problems is enough to nearly send her into a panic attack. 

“Hey Wanda.” 

Wanda barely greets her friend as she tries to explain what happened while she leads Rogue out of the park. He doesn’t understand her urgency, but luckily he’s keeping up with her as she rushes to get them to the car. 

“Steve. Where are you right now?” 

When he tells her that he’s about an hour away with Bucky, Wanda curses under her breath. She grows tense and ditches the bag from the pet store on a nearby bench. It’s slowing her down and it seems like she needs to hurry up. 

“Can you look up the closest ER clinic for me please?” 

By the time Wanda gets Rogue to the car, he still seems fine, but she doesn’t waste any time heading toward the hospital. It’s about a 15-minute drive, and Wanda makes it there in 10. She’s so worried about getting Rogue taken care of that she doesn’t notice how his demeanor changes immediately when he realizes where they are. He digs his heels in and she practically has to drag him through the front doors.

“I know, Rogue. I’m sorry, but this is on you, bud.” 

It’s not until she’s facing a receptionist that she realizes that she just walked in here without a plan. She is luckily still wearing her sunglasses, but she nearly says her real name as she speaks up. 

“Hi, my dog ate almost an entire foxglove plant about 45 minutes ago.” 

The subtle widening of the brunette’s eyes confirms Wanda’s fears and she barely resists the urge to throw Rogue’s leash at her when she simply nods. 

“Okay, can you tell me your name and your dog’s name? I’ll call someone up to triage him.” 

Wanda gives them her fake name which luckily matches the credit card she has on her before she turns her attention to Rogue. He’s tense and his gaze is darting around the room at any sign of movement. When he sees someone come out from the back and head towards them, he somehow grows even stiffer. His ears fold back and he steps back immediately. The woman in scrubs seems to understand, and she just offers Wanda a smile before gesturing toward the scale along the wall behind her. 

“Hi, my name’s Antonia. Can we see if he’ll let us get his weight?” 

Wanda immediately regrets tossing the treats she’d bought because those would have helped a lot. She walks with Rogue to the scale, but he steps over it twice, avoiding it as best he can before Wanda has to bodily lift him onto it. She’d usually be more patient, but time is of the essence and this is likely important. 

Once Rogue jumps off the scale he steps behind Wanda’s legs and tries to hide when Antonia reaches out her hand. 

“92lbs, great. Now I’ll borrow him so a doctor can examine him and try to induce vomiting. Is that okay?” 

That truly is the million-dollar question. As soon as Wanda nods and tries to step out of the way when she hands over the leash to the brunette, Rogue begins to try and pull away. He starts to thrash his head and whine in an attempt to get free. Wanda hates that she didn’t have time to ease him into this, but this wasn’t something that she could have planned. 

She does her best to try to calm him, but he must know that he’s going to be taken away and he doesn’t do well with strangers. She reaches out for him to keep him from getting out of his collar, and as soon as her hands are on his back he starts to cry out in distress as he bucks against her hold. 

“Rogue, hey, it’s okay. Rogue, look at me.” 

She reaches out for her dog’s face and turns him toward her with as reassuring smile as she can manage. He’s panting and his hot breath is fogging up her glasses, but she keeps them on as she scratches his ears and kisses the side of his head. 

“I’m sorry, I know you hate being here, but they’re going to help you okay? You need to behave.” 

Almost as if he knows what Wanda’s saying, Rogue whines in protest before he throws out his tongue and manages to hit her injured cheek. She cringes but doesn’t hesitate to pull him close so she can whisper in his ear.

“I love you my sweet boy. I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

Wanda stands up and when Rogue immediately starts to look around frantically, she grabs his leash with a small smile as she turns toward the very patient tech. 

“I’ll pretend like I’m going with you, if that’s okay?” 

The brunette hesitates but she second guesses it as she just nods and leads the way. She scans an ID badge and opens the door for Wanda to walk through. Rogue unsurprisingly isn’t very willing to walk through, but a firm tug and another whispered reassurance is enough to get him through the door.

Wanda tries to ignore the multiple people, at least two doctors, in the room and the pets they’re looking at. She doesn’t make eye contact as she holds out Rogue’s leash and starts to sneak out. Rogue doesn’t catch on immediately, but then he spins around and lunges as he tries to follow her. He nearly takes the tech’s arm off, and his anxious cries make Wanda tear up. She hates to leave him here, but he needs to be treated by someone, and you weren’t available. 

Wanda’s hand finds the door handle, and she retreats before Rogue can get too worked up. She holds up a hand to him and speaks in a tone that he recognizes but only partially acknowledges in his heightened state of anxiety.

“Settle. I’ll be back. I promise.”

Wanda ducks out before she can second guess her decision. She forces herself to walk away despite how hearing her dog cry makes her want to cry too. She goes back to the desk because she’s sure there’s paperwork to fill out. After that’s done, she’s told that she should get an update as soon as a doctor looks at Rogue. She just nods before retreating to a secluded corner of the waiting room. She sits in the sun despite being hot because it’s the only way she can justifying keeping her glasses on. She takes them off briefly to clean them, but she doesn’t dare look around before slipping them back on.

She pulls her phone out again before trying to call you again. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. Leave a message.”

Wanda sighs in exhaustion, annoyance, and defeat before she leaves you a slightly passive aggressive message. 

“Y/n. I’m at the emergency vet on the East side with Rogue. Call me back when you get a chance.”

You get a moment to breathe about an hour later, and at this point Wanda has been briefed on Rogue’s progress, or lack of so far. You’ve had a hectic afternoon and you only just get to grab your phone when someone else pulls your attention away. You drop it back into your pocket to address the possible emergency that’s waiting in treatment. You haven’t even gotten to eat lunch yet, but the presence of a vomiting dog luckily helps curb your appetite. 

Wanda’s sitting motionless as she listens to a doctor tell her about Rogue’s reluctance or simply failure to vomit. 

“If we can’t get him to vomit, we can administer activated charcoal to try and neutralize the toxin. The problem is…” 

Dr. Cohen briefly considers how difficult it was to give Rogue his injection of apomorphine. He was still very stressed and he attempted to get away from anyone who tried to touch him. He became an almost 100lbs bucking bronco and not only was this dangerous to everyone involved, but it was going to make treating him impossible. 

She recognized the name that Wanda signed in under, but she’s never met you so she’s unsure of what you look like. Since time is not on her side, or Rogue’s, she decides to cut to the chase.

“Are you Dr. Y/l/n? I saw the name you checked in under.” 

Wanda seems a little surprised by this question and she looks up at the blonde before shaking her head. She turns away because she can feel her face aching and she’s suddenly self-conscious about it again. She only briefly considered what people must think of her coming in here with her sunglasses on. Either she’s under the influence, or she’s hiding something. 

“No, that’s my wife. Sorry, that would probably make everything easier to explain.” 

Wanda offers a self-deprecating smile and luckily it seems to move things along. The doctor smiles back before she shakes her head despite her response.

“No that’s okay. I was just curious because Rogue’s not letting us put an IV catheter in and that will be important for what we need to do.” 

Dr. Cohen explains how foxglove causes GI symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea, but it can also cause a slow heart rate, arrythmias, and even death if it’s not treated promptly or aggressively. Since Rogue didn’t vomit, this makes things a bit more complicated, and higher risk. Wanda feels herself stiffen at the idea of her dog getting so sick and having to stay here overnight, but she pushes this aside. She’ll do whatever is necessary for him to be okay. She doesn’t care how much it costs or how long he needs to stay here. Although she knows that he’ll hate it. 

“Typically, if we can’t place a catheter while they’re awake, we would sedate them. However, given what Rogue ate we don’t want to do anything to lower his heart rate if at all possible.”

Wanda just nods in understanding before she pictures her scared dog not letting anyone touch him. She isn’t sure he’s ever had to be hospitalized, certainly not since they rescued him, so she’s sure his vet experience was limited. 

She takes a deep breath as she tries to push aside her terror at the guarded prognosis she’s been given, and focus on the now. 

“Okay, that makes sense. Can I do anything to help?” 

Dr. Cohen hesitates because what she’s going to ask is unconventional, but she was hoping that Wanda was a vet. The fact that she’s married to one at least suggests that she might understand protocols and how sometimes their goals and patient compliance don’t always align. 

“I shouldn’t be asking, but do you think he would be calmer if you were in the room while we tried to place the catheter?”

Wanda didn’t answer immediately because although she was sure that she could calm her dog down, she wasn’t sure if it would be enough. She wanted to try and help though so she nods before standing up and following the doctor back to the treatment area. 

“Okay, let’s give it a shot.” 

Wanda immediately realizes how much the small team of techs have tried when she arrives to see her dog standing as far away from the duo as his leash would allow. They had different treats, an e collar, a muzzle, and what must be catheters and tape scattered around the floor. Wanda doesn’t have time to ask where they’d like to start before Rogue spots her and comes running for her. He barrels into her and she grimaces when he jumps up on her and bats at her with his paws. She swallows a curse when her side spasms before she shoots Rogue a glare he doesn’t see. 

“Rogue, sit down.” 

It takes him a couple of seconds to comply in his excitement, but he sits in front of her and pants happily as he tries to ignore everyone else’s existence. She looks down to him and holds out her hand with a small smile. 

“Lie down. Wait.” 

Rogue listens before Wanda turns towards the techs and Dr. Cohen who are standing by watching.

“How would you like to do this?” 

After slathering a tongue depressor with squeeze cheese and offering it to Rogue to gauge his interest, Wanda reluctantly takes a muzzle that has some cheese spread across it. She was told that her involvement with this required extra precautions, and although she’s fairly certain that Rogue won’t bite her, she doesn’t have the energy to argue. She also doesn’t want to drag this out. 

“Here, Rogue, want some more?” 

It takes him a few seconds to fall for it, but when he does, he has cheese on his face and Wanda can move the straps behind his head and secure it. She tries to ignore how everyone is just watching her, and she speaks only to Rogue. 

“Alright, bud I’m going to buckle this and it might make a loud noise. “

As predicted Rogue flinches a little but Wanda scratches his head causing him to look up at her between his furious licking. She keeps petting him as she looks to the two techs that have their supplies in hand. 

“Tell me where I need to be so I’m not in your way.” 

As Dr. Cohen watches her technicians get on their knees beside Rogue and his mom, she’s surprised by how knowledgeable the blonde seems to be. She figures it must come from being married to a vet, but she didn’t seem to trip up at all with this process. She wonders if Rogue’s had to be hospitalized before, but she realizes it doesn’t really matter. He obviously trusts the blonde, and he’s already getting his catheter wrapped as Wanda holds him around his neck and distracts him with cheese and kisses. 

Once they’re finished and Rogue’s eaten all of his cheese, he stands up quickly. He shakes out his leg with the catheter briefly but he doesn’t try to go for it. Wanda keeps scratching him before her hand goes to the buckle behind his head. She turns to Dr. Cohen with a look that she can’t decipher past her glasses.

“Can I take this off?” 

Rogue doesn’t seem too bothered by it, but that’s likely because his mom is nearby. She is about to nod, but she stops short as she spots the cone that’s still lying on the floor.

“Yes, but we’ll need to put a cone on so he doesn’t chew at his catheter.” 

Also so he doesn’t bite us when you leave. Dr. Cohen doesn’t say this, but she’d be naïve to think that Wanda doesn’t recognize this. 

Still, the blonde removes his muzzle before reaching out for the e collar. Rogue obviously knows what’s about to happen, and he starts before taking a step behind his mom. 

“Rogue, close your eyes. Bedtime.” 

Rogue immediately falls on his side and covers his eyes as he pretends to sleep. Wanda sighs in defeat and she rolls her eyes when she realizes this won’t work. She turns behind her to get a treat that she can use to lure him. 

“You’re too smart, Rogue, but luckily you’re very food motivated.” 

And dumb enough to eat a poisonous flower. 

Rogue stands up when Wanda waves a treat in his face, and she tells him to sit again before holding up both the cone and the treat. 

“Wait. No wait.” 

Rogue lets her put the cone over his head before he lunges for the treat when she tells him okay. Wanda’s fingers are spared from the savage chewing that Rogue starts while Wanda tries to secure his cone. One of the techs comes up and helps her thread some gauze through the base of it, and luckily Rogue doesn’t protest too much. 

“That went better than I thought it would.” 

Wanda just nods before she realizes what comes next. She’s going to need to leave again, and it wasn’t until now that she realized why coming to help was a bad idea. Rogue’s already up on his feet and leaning against her heavily as he watches her expectantly. He must think he can leave now that she’s back, and the idea of leaving him again makes her chest constrict. 

“It did. We’ll take him to the ICU to set him up for monitoring and fluids.” 

Wanda nods before she moves to leave them to their work. She’s a little surprised when she’s asked if she’ll walk him to his run. The idea of him fighting them every step of the way is enough for her to agree. 

“Okay, Rogue. Let’s go to your temporary digs.” 

On the way, Dr. Cohen tells her that she’ll start supportive treatments, but monitoring for the next few hours will be important. One of the techs returns with a bowl full of wet food mixed with something black, ah charcoal. Rogue sniffs at it and when it’s placed in his run he just looks at it before turning back to Wanda. She just waves him in before reaching down to take off his leash once he’s inside.

“Go on, bud. Don’t pretend like your curiosity didn’t get us into this mess.” 

Rogue allows the door to be shut behind him, and Wanda just watches as he eats from the bowl behind the window. She turns toward Dr. Cohen who’s watching Rogue eat. 

“Thank you for your help. I hope to be able to call you with good news soon.” 

Wanda just nods before thanking the doctor and heading back to the lobby. She’s exhausted and by the time she’s sitting back at the window the sun has disappeared. She reaches for her phone to call you again and when she gets your voicemail again, she’s torn between being angry and terrified. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. Leave a message.”

Wanda waits until the beep before she signs audibly. She tells you that Rogue’s eaten an entire fucking foxglove plant and that he wouldn’t vomit. He was administered charcoal and was going to be hospitalized until they could figure out how he would respond. 

She doesn’t even say bye before she hangs up and turns off her phone. She’s annoyed and saying it all out loud made her anxious again. She hates that she was so distracted, and she didn’t see Rogue try to eat the flower. She’s cursing herself for leaving the compound at all because despite wearing glasses, her headache is back and she’s so stiff she needs to lie down. That said, she doesn’t want to leave until she knows what’s going on with Rogue. She wants him to keep doing well, but she’s afraid that when her update comes in a few hours, that it won’t be good news. 

She slouches down in her chair before sighing in exhaustion. She honestly shouldn’t have even left her bed this morning. She should have tried to sleep the day away to make up for last night. She shakes her head at the idea of actually being able to sleep. She was so on edge that nothing she did would make her sleep except maybe taking far more of her pain medication than she should. 

She doesn’t realize she’s wrong until she’s awoken by someone shaking her forcefully. She sits up in surprise and turns immediately to see the technician from earlier shooting her a near frantic look. She sits up, not even noticing that her wig is a mess and her glasses are falling off her face. 

“Mrs. Y/l/n, I’m sorry to wake you, but Dr. Cohen needs to speak with you.” 

This doesn’t sound good and Wanda has to resist the urge to check the time as she stands up and nods quickly. She takes a moment to straighten her hair and put her glasses on top of her head. She may as well abandon this part of her disguise. She catches a glance at the clock and realizes it’s nearly 8pm. She’d slept for two hours. 

She doesn’t get to wonder where you were before she’s standing in front of Dr. Cohen. The blonde looks a lot less relaxed than when she last saw her, and Wanda can’t help the way that her heartrate jumps and her entire body tenses in anticipation of what she’s about to say. 

Wanda barely notices as the blonde reaches out to place a hand on her arm as her words register. 

“Rogue’s coding, we need a decision about what you want to do next.” 

Wanda sits up with a start as her eyes fly open behind her sunglasses. She looks around frantically before she sees a clock and determines that it’s only 7pm. She groans under her breath as she removes her glasses and cleans them off with her sleeve. She’d barely been able to see through Rogue’s saliva, and given that it’s dark it’s impractical to keep wearing them. Still, under the bright fluorescent lights of the lobby, Wanda can’t help but slip them back on. She’s certain of the impression she’s giving off, but she doesn’t care at the moment. She’s more concerned with keeping her identity a secret opposed to hiding her injuries. Wanda sighs in defeat as she lies back against the chair again and reaches for her phone. 

She’d turned it off and isn’t surprised to see that she’s missed some calls. 

She ignores them for the moment as she fidgets nervously in her seat. She’s wondering if her dream was a sign of what’s to come, and she can’t help but force herself to her feet to check in on her dog. 

Wanda doesn’t make it to the desk before the sound of the automatic doors opening catches her attention. It’s mostly the labored breathing that makes her turn around, and she’s equal parts relieved and annoyed to see you looking stressed and out of breath as you hurry into the lobby.

“Hey, Wands. I’m so sorry I’m so late. How is he?”

You speak low enough for no one but Wanda to hear, but she still stiffens at the sound of her name spoken in public. She shakes her head before walking toward you and leading you back to her seat. She figures you can both check in on him once you have been given a rundown of what happened. 

You seem confused but don’t argue as you sit beside Wanda and listen to her tell you about Rogue. 

“I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything since they set him up in the ICU. I’m just worried since he ate the whole thing and I was only able to get some of it out of his mouth. I just…I hate this. “

You frown in sympathy as you watch your wife tear up. You watch her push her glasses up her nose before she gives in and pushes them onto of her head. You reach out for her with a questioning look and you try not to notice how she hesitates before leaning into you. 

“I hate that I was distracted and let this happen. I should have just stayed home.” 

Wanda’s crying harder now and you wrap your arms around her shoulders as hers fall to your waist. She hugs you back despite her aching side. That reminds her she’s probably due for more meds right now. Wanda sighs as she tries not to think about her poor dog, or how she’s still upset with you after the argument you had yesterday. 

It seems like forever ago, but the irritation is still there so Wanda pulls away before she really wants to. You notice and you can’t help but sigh in defeat. There’s too much going on right now to talk about what happened last night. You reach out for Wanda’s hand and are grateful that she doesn’t tug it away. She looks down at your joined hands before meeting your gaze with a distant look. 

“It’s not your fault. Rogue can’t help himself sometimes. He’ll be well taken care of here though, and we’ll do whatever he needs.” 

Wanda simply nods as her mind wanders back to her dream. As short as it had been, it was jolting and making her consider everything she’d been told when she first got here. She thought about the forms she signed, that she’d barely read, and she sighs before turning and leaning back in her seat. 

“Do you think I should have put him as a DNR?” 

You hadn’t been expecting this question and your frown deepens as you think about it. Rogue was a young healthy dog, but if he coded it likely wouldn’t be while under anesthesia. It was during this time that CPR was the most successful, so if he happened to flat line while lying in his run, it was going to be due to the side effects of the foxglove. You hate that you can’t reassure Wanda that this won’t happen, and what’s even worse is that you won’t give Wanda a straight answer. 

“I think that it’s your choice, Wands. He’s your dog and you know him best.” 

Wanda’s tears begin to fall again and she cringes as she wipes them away. You glance at the bruising around your wife’s eye and it honestly looks much worse under this lighting. You figure that’s why she was wearing her sunglasses earlier, but maybe it was just part of her disguise. You watch as Wanda struggles to reach into her purse with trembling hands. You don’t realize what she’s looking for until you hear the sound of pills rattling. 

“Do you want help?” 

Wanda shakes her head but says nothing as she finally manages to open the bottle and takes two instead of one. You don’t comment and you wait until she’s swallowed them dry before opening your mouth. She beats you to it though as she squeezes her eyes shut and takes in a shaky breath. 

“I don’t want to lose him, Y/n. I can’t lose him.” 

You squeeze her hand again but don’t say anything as you both become lost in your thoughts. 

You imagine that Wanda must feel as lost as you would if it was Boone who had gotten himself into trouble like this. You would want to do whatever possible to help him and you wouldn’t care how much it cost. You wouldn’t want him to suffer, and you’re not sure you would have done anything differently from Wanda.

You watch as she struggles to come to terms with her dog’s mortality for so long that you don’t realize that someone’s snuck up on you. 

“You must be Dr. Y/l/n.” 

You look up to see a blonde in a white coat, and immediately you sit up in recognition. This must be Rogue’s doctor. You offer a small smile before you stand up and hold out your hand. You don’t notice Wanda jump in surprise at the new arrival, but she recovers quickly as she stands as well. She’s anxious for an update and the appearance of Rogue’s doctor means that there’s something to report. 

“Yes, but Y/n is fine. It’s nice to meet you Dr. Cohen.” 

The blonde smiles in agreement before glancing to Wanda briefly. She offers a small nod before she motions for the couple to sit down. Only you do, but it’s brief before you’re back up on your feet beside your wife. 

“You too. I have an update on Rogue.” 

The doctor begins to detail how Rogue did well for the first half hour on fluids and pain medication, but he’s since started to show signs of toxicity. He’s had some GI upset and was obviously lethargic. His ECG showed that his heart rate had dropped considerably since intake. When you hear the numbers, you try not to react especially since you notice that Wanda’s watching for your reaction. She realizes that none of this is good, but she’s just not sure how bad it is yet. Neither doctor is saying it despite her desire for them to do so.

Finally, you frown as you recall what you know about foxglove toxicity. Mild cases are treated supportively, but you’re not sure if that’s where Rogue is yet. 

“Is he starting to have arrythmias yet?” 

When the blonde nods you sigh as realization hits you. This is what you were afraid of. You turn suddenly when you feel Wanda fall into you. She doesn’t realize that she’s swayed and is struggling to keep her footing until you grab her arm. You quickly help her sit down, but she’s not aware of what you’re saying. She’s fixated on the fact that her dog is having issues with his heart.

He could die.

You sit down beside Wanda a couple of seconds later, but at this point Dr. Cohen is gone. You asked what the next move was and she explained the antibody treatment that they luckily had in hospital. It was ridiculously expensive, but you didn’t care, and you told her to do whatever she could to help Rogue. 

The bill could be as much as a car, and you’d pay for it without question. 

“Wands, hey. Can you look at me?” 

You’re on edge from the unresolved argument and trying to get through the day regardless, and that stress compounded with your worry for Rogue is making you near desperate for some relief. You still somehow wait patiently as Wanda struggles to pull herself from her spiraling. It takes a bit of coaxing, but eventually Wanda turns to you with her eyes filled with tears. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You frown and you open your mouth to tell you wife that she doesn’t have to apologize for crying. You want her to do what she has to in order to cope, but you don’t get a chance to tell her this. 

“It’s okay, yo-.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been dragging my feet. I-I know I need to—I need to get out.” 

Your jaw drops but you can’t manage a response as you fail to process what Wanda’s talking about. Luckily she doesn’t leave you hanging for long. 

She sits up and takes a deep breath before she squeezes your hand tightly. You nearly flinch but instead you meet your wife’s troubled gaze. 

“I’m just scared about what will happen if I leave. What you’ll think of just me, but that’s…it’s selfish of me. I can’t let you be scared for me every day. That’s not fair.” 

You hesitate because despite this being what you wanted to hear last night and this morning, you’re not sure why Wanda’s brought it up now. You struggle to find words and you’re still floundering when Wanda turns fully to face you. You focus on her tear-stained cheeks and the bruises that are faintly visible beneath her make up. She gestures to her face when she realizes what you’re looking at with an exasperated sigh. Luckily you can tell that she’s not upset with you. 

“I mean look at me. This hurts like a bitch, but the worst part is that I can’t promise…I can’t guaranetee it won’t happen again. I don’t…” 

Wanda trails off and you try to say something but you only manage a couple of words before Wanda keeps going. You realize that she has a lot to get off her chest and she wants to do it all at once. You don’t argue despite feeling that this isn’t the best place. That said, sometimes you can’t really predict when these things will happen. 

“I don’t--.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you. No-not now, or ever, but especially not when Rogue might…when he might-.”

You open your arms almost before Wanda falls into you with a barely stifled sob. You don’t bother looking around because you don’t really care if anyone’s watching you. You don’t want to make Wanda feel any worse than she already does. You’d rather figure out a way to make her feel better, but since there’s not much you can do about Rogue right now, you figure hearing her out is best you can do right now. You hold your wife tightly as she turns to whisper in your ear. You stiffen at what she says before you let out a heavy, relieved sigh. 

“I just want us to be a family. Y-you, me, the fur babies, and a human one eventually.” 

You take a moment to sort through your many thoughts before you land on what you eventually say. You squeeze your wife one more time before you pull back so you can meet her gaze. You hate to see her cry, and you hate even more that you’re not sure you can do anything about it.

“I appreciate you saying all of that, Wanda, but we don’t need to worry about that now. Let’s focus on Rogue, and revisit this when he’s home recovering. Okay?”

Wanda wants to argue because she wants your forgiveness so badly. She doesn’t want to be at odds with you right now, but she knows better than to believe that she should always get what she wants. She just nods before she looks back up only to realize that Rogue’s doctor had left. She turns to you in confusion, and you prepare to fill in the gaps. 

“Where’d--? What did you tell her to do?” 

Dr. Cohen returns to the ICU in a noticeably better mood than when she left a few minutes ago. She glances to Rogue who’s still lying on his side as he had been for the past twenty minutes. She sighs before turning to Antonia with a small smile. 

“We’re going to start him on the antibody therapy. Can you go grab it while I calculate the dose?” 

Antonia only nods before she jumps up and heads for the pharmacy to grab the drug. She’s glad that Rogue’s parents were able to afford this treatment because watching the shepherd’s heartrate drop over the past hour had been discouraging to say the least. The terrified dog had gone from sitting in the far corner of his run to pacing as he had vomited and had diarrhea, before he laid down and seemed to fall asleep. After cleaning him up a little, which he barely even flinched at, the shepherd practically collapsed in the middle of his run and stayed there. 

She hopes that he responds well to the therapy. She’s seen dogs die from ingesting a single petal, let alone an entire flower…

It’s not until 10pm that you finally get Wanda to come home with you. After talking to Dr. Cohen once more after Rogue was started on the antibody treatment, you’re both told that it could take him hours to respond positively. They had approval to give another dose if necessary, and after being reassured that she’d receive a call about any negative changes, Wanda’s walking arm in arm out to the parking lot with you. 

As soon as you step onto the sidewalk you feel Wanda sigh heavily as she practically stumbles to her car. She must be exhausted. You are and you only worked all day. You didn’t stress for the entire day like she did. You catch her hand before she can retreat to her car and drive herself home. 

“Let’s carpool, okay? I can come back for my car once we pick up Rogue.” 

Wanda doesn’t hesitate as she reaches into her pocket and hands over her keys. You unlock the door and watch as she collapses into her seat before you walk over to the driver’s side. You glance back toward the hospital with a sigh before you take a fortifying breath for the trip home. 

You’re glad that Bucky’s already dropped off Boone when you arrive because that’s one less thing to worry about. You greet your dog with muted enthusiasm as you watch Wanda wander aimlessly into the house. She goes to stand in the living room before she starts to look around with a frown.

“Fletcher?” 

You just look to the stairs where you hear muted footsteps, and you can’t help but smile when you see your wife’s cat rush toward her. Wanda doesn’t react to her immediately since she still semes dazed, but eventually Fletcher makes her presence more obvious. She meows loudly before reaching up toward Wanda with searching eyes. Wanda reaches down easily and lifts her cat into her arms with a sigh. 

You just watch as she cuddles with her cat for nearly a minute before deciding that it’s time to eat something. You’d been busy all day, and hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. You’re certain that Wanda’s in the same boat, so as she seeks comfort in her cat’s presence, you and Boone head to the kitchen. 

It’s only a few minutes later that Wanda seems to realize that you’ve left her, and she wanders over to watch you cook. She’s so exhausted she thinks that if she sits down, she’ll pass out straight away. For this reason, she’s probably going to need to eat standing up, but she can’t help but feel a little uneasy about what happens next.

You two are both back home after a long exhausting day, and the last time you spoke in the house was to have an argument. Wanda barely addressed the issue at the hospital, but as she watches you heat something on the stove, she’s worried she’ll need to pick up where she left off. Otherwise, you both will be in for an uncomfortable night. 

She doesn’t realize that you’re thinking the exact opposite as you stir the soup in the pot in front of you. You don’t want to focus on your argument right now. Not when you know that Wanda’s mind is all over the place, and she’s distressed enough to breakdown in public. You appreciate what she said earlier, but you don’t want her to make such as important decision under duress, only to regret it later. 

You turn around to grab two bowls from the cabinet, and you pause just long enough to see that your wife really does look stressed. Stressed and exhausted. You glance to Boone who is greeting his sister as she finally decides that she’s finished being cuddled. This inevitably makes you think about Rogue and how although he doesn’t seek out her attention, he’s been a good brother to Fletcher. 

Thoughts of your pets makes you sigh slightly, and by the time you come back to the counter where Wanda’s standing with dinner, you decided to get right to it. 

“I don’t want us to stress about anything tonight except Rogue. We can worry about everything else later, if that doesn’t seem unreasonable? I just think it will be easier…for both of us.” 

You turn away before Wanda can respond, but when you return with spoons for you two, you see her frowning. Wanda’s deep in thought and she’s trying to push down her urge to resolve this argument now. She knows that you’re right about this though since every time she tries to think about the future she can’t help but wonder if Rogue will be in it. 

Finally she sighs in defeat as she accepts a spoon and sits down in the chair she’s just been standing behind. She nods before watching as you move to sit beside her. There’s so much she wants to say to you, but right now she’s going to do as you ask and try not to worry too much about what’s on her mind. 

“Okay. Until Rogue comes home then.” 

You offer her a smile before the two of you begin dinner in companionable silence. 

Rogue’s tail thumps against the papery pads beneath him as he blinks away some of his exhaustion. He’s not sure how long he’s been here in this run, but it feels like it’s been days since he saw his mom. Sure his perception of time was off from his frequent naps, and he didn’t feel well at all, but he was certain it had been too long since he was dropped off here. 

He hasn’t tried to stand in a while. His entire body feels too weak, and the thought of mustering up the energy to even roll over made him nauseous. He glances out of his run to see the same blob of purple that has been following him since he got here. His vision is a little blurry, but the tech in purple scrubs who’s been assigned to him is always nearby. He missed the last check in when he was asleep, so he’s surprised when she comes up to his run a little bit later with another bag of fluids, a couple of syringes, and that dreaded thermometer. 

He hated the thermometer. 

“Hi Rogue. Are you feeling any better?” 

Antonia has been watching his vitals carefully and things seem to be improving slowly but surely. Since starting the antibody therapy, Rogue’s heart rate has increased by ten beats per minute and his arrythmias were less frequent. Still, he was very weak and had spent most of the time sleeping. His fluids kept him hydrated when he started to vomit, and the pain medication helped him feel a bit better. The anti-nausea medication that had been given an hour ago was still taking time to kick in, or at least it felt like it. 

The antibody therapy was administered every 12 hours, so Rogue had about 10 to show enough improvement to go without another dose. Antonia is still a little amazed at how much the treatment costs, but she’s not going to get too hung up on it. She’s just glad that Rogue’s family is able to pay for it. She just hopes that it won’t be in vain. 

She saves the task of taking Rogue’s temperature for last because he hates it. Even in his sleep he seems to jump in surprise, and the couple of times he’s been awake he’s whined. Most of the time he’s been too weak to do anything else, but this time he actually yelps and his head, cone and all, shoots upright in protest. 

“Sorry, bud. This is important.” 

Rogue just grumbles in response before he keeps trying to shift. He manages to almost sit upright before he flops back down in exhaustion. He doesn’t completely fall back though as Antonia uses her free hand to steady him, and only a few seconds later, both of them are helping him sit upright. 

“Do you want to sit up? Here.” 

Antonia grabs Rogue’s shoulders and helps him rotate so he’s upright before moving his lower half to follow. She pushes him a bit against the side of his run so he doesn’t have to hold himself up. She reaches out to pet him before she gathers up her supplies and stands up to head out.

“Also, no fever, so that’s good!”

Rogue doesn’t look enthused from where he’s propped up against his blanket, and he just stares at her blankly.

Antonia feels bad for him, so she decides to leave him be. Although it’s not as obvious given how sedate he is, she tries to keep in mind that he’s a highly anxious dog. For this reason, she doesn’t linger, and she leaves him with water, replaced pads on top of his blankets, and restarts his fluids. She returns to the tech station to update Rogue’s chart just in time for the clock to strike midnight. 

Her shift ends at 5am, and she’s hoping that Rogue will show more improvement by then. She glances at the dog whose eyes are now closed and sighs at she returns her attention to the screen in front of her.

She’ll just have to wait to find out. 

Surprisingly, the most awkward part of the night for Wanda was not crying in the middle of an ER clinic in front of her dog’s doctor. Instead, it was the decision of where to sleep that night, or rather whether or not it would be appropriate to sleep in bed beside her wife. She had gotten ready for bed quickly given the late hour, and changed her clothes before she realized that you were in the room with her doing the same. You seemed a little less on edge about all of this, or you were just hiding it well, while Wanda was exhausted and a ball of tightly wound nerves. She hesitated long enough for you to understand her dilemma, but you only got into bed before pulling the covers back enough for the invitation to be clear. 

“Come on, Wands. We need sleep. I’m sure you’re more tired than I am, and I’m close to passing out.” 

Wanda’s skeptical look disappears before you notice it, and she just nods before she tries not to feel weird about being in bed with you. In the past, the two of you rarely argued for longer than a day, which meant most of the time you didn’t have to worry about going to sleep angry. She didn’t have to worry about not being able to sleep due to being upset with you, and she didn’t have to wonder if you were upset with her. 

As of now, she really couldn’t tell and that was adding to her stress. She was considering if she should have just slept at the compound again when you reach out for her. You wrap your arms around her waist and sigh tiredly before shooting your wife a worried look. 

“I’m sorry you’re so stressed and worried about Rogue. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today.” 

Wanda hears that unsaid apology behind your words and she sighs too as she turns to face you. She feels a slight pinch in her side and the grimace makes her head ache, but she ignores it for now. She focuses on you and how your concern becomes a contrite expression before her eyes. She watches you fidget a bit before planting a kiss on the exposed skin of her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry about how I approached the conversation of your retirement. I shouldn’t have hit you with it so soon after being hurt…while you’re still hurt. I was scared and that made me selfish which wasn’t fair to you.” 

Your head dips down as you try to hide your face, but Wanda reaches out to catch your chin. She’s frowning but she’s not even really sure if it’s more because of her own actions or yours at this point. Everything is so jumbled in her head right now that all she can offer you is a small smile. 

“Honestly, detka, it’s your turn to be selfish given how long I have been. We’ll have a real discussion about what quitting would look like for us, but as you said, let’s just try and rest tonight. Okay?” 

You can only nod in response before you settle in next to your wife. It’s nearly midnight, and you both have no idea what awaits you tomorrow.   

The first time Rogue stands up after his treatment, he nearly falls over. He’s very wobbly and it’s very disorienting trying to balance himself, let alone walk with one paw in front of the other. He only makes it a couple of steps out of his run before he falls to the ground with a whine. It’s at this time that his walk outside is aborted and he’s steered back into his run by two techs. 

Dr. Audrey Cohen stands by and observes Rogue as she looks at all of his vitals throughout the night. He’s done surprisingly well and his ECG has almost completely normalized. The occasional dropped beat is the only abnormality, and now of course, she realizes ataxia. That said, it’s hard to say how long this has been present since this is the first time they’ve attempted to take him outside. He has a urinary catheter in and they’ve minimized moving him since he was so critical. He’s not doing great by any means, but seeing him have the drive to at least try and stand and walk is encouraging. 

Audrey looks at the time before considering how she’ll report all of this to his parents after rounds. She figures that he has a good chance of recovering, but the bloodwork that she’s about to run may tell her whether or not another dose of the Digoxin F-ab is warranted. 

She waits until Antonia is finished collecting his blood before speaking up. 

“I’m impressed with how well he’s doing. Maybe after talking about his case at rounds, we’ll decide if he need another dose.” 

Antonia turns to her with a small smile before nodding as she stands after collecting her samples. She’s been working as an ICU tech for nearly 8 years, and she’s closing in on her self-imposed deadline to go to vet school. She’s applied for the current cycle, but she won’t hear back for a few months. She’s anxious of course, but she’s also grateful that her job offers her ample opportunities to continue learning. Especially rounds. 

Typically, there are rounds between the technicians and then the doctors, but rarely do they do rounds together, unless it’s one on one when transferring care. Since expressing her interest in vet school a couple of years ago, she’s been allowed to sit in on doctors rounds whenever they have enough coverage. 

“Sounds great. I’ll be ready. I only have Humphrey’s treatments to finish.”  

When you and Wanda wake up, you realize that the distance you’d put between the two of you did not last through the night. You honestly don’t mind because it’s nice to sleep beside her again after the argument you’d had. That said, you realize very quickly that your hand is in the wrong place. 

Wanda woke up a while ago, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to do anything but lie beside you. She was still exhausted after yesterday, and she didn’t want to spoil the peace that she’d somehow managed to find during the night. 

Well, the source or the cause isn’t exactly a surprise to her. She has always slept better when you were beside her, but she’d been woken up by the pain in her side. The ache from her still healing wound forced her into consciousness and she had to stop herself from immediately moving away from your touch. 

She did a great job up until the pressure became unbearable when you tried to pull her closer as you slept. She hisses under her breath, and she hears you curse before you pull back quickly.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” 

Wanda’s already nodding despite her grimace as she turns away from you with a sigh. She stares at the ceiling for a moment before turning to face you. She sees your worried expression and quickly offers you reassurance that she’s fine. Well, she could feel better, but her side doesn’t even hurt anymore now that there’s nothing touching it but her clothing.

“It’s okay, it was mostly uncomfortable. It’s time for my next dose of pain medication though.” 

Wanda places her hands on the mattress preparing herself to sit up and grab her medication from the bathroom, but you beat her to it. You nearly fly off the bed as you hurry to grab what Wanda needs. The redhead opens her mouth to protest, but she falls short when her phone starts vibrating on the bedside table. 

“I can get them. I’ll be right back.” 

Wanda reaches out for her phone and frowns when she doesn’t recognize the number. She figures that whoever is calling her before 9 in the morning must have something important to tell her. She just hopes that it’s not work. 

“Hello?” 

Audrey was grateful that she was able to call Rogue’s moms with relatively good news. His bloodwork looked near perfect, and a second attempt to get him outside after rounds was more successful than the first. He was far more willing to follow someone outside until he realized that he wasn’t actually getting to leave. Getting him back into the building was difficult, but luckily Audrey’s plan was to get him out within the next 24 – 48 hours. Max 72, if she had her way. 

She’d decided to call the number that was given to them at check in despite knowing it wasn’t the vet parent. She figured that it was the right thing to do given that she’d brought the dog in. If she was lucky, you’d be around to listen in as well. 

“Hi, this is Dr. Cohen. I’m calling about Rogue.” 

There’s a pause as someone shifts in the background, something drops, and someone mutters a curse. Audrey has to remind herself to keep a straight face despite being alone in her office. A few moments later she’s nearly smiling. 

“Yes, hi. We’re both here, thank you for calling.” 

Once you’re settled beside Wanda, you both listen as Dr. Cohen relays how Rogue has done in the past 12 hours. You’re glad to hear about his progress, and you can tell that Wanda’s relieved which of course makes you happier. You both agree that one more treatment would be a good idea, and they planned to check back in later this afternoon. Depending on how he was doing, they would be able to visit him. Wanda hoped that it was a good idea. Despite wanting to see her dog she didn’t want to make his stay any more stressful by seeing him only to leave again. You’d convinced her that a visit from her would make his day, and hopefully he wouldn’t be there for too much longer anyway. 

After the call, you can tell that Wanda’s already a little bit brighter. She greets Fletcher with what the tabby deems appropriate enthusiasm, and she responds in kind by practically climbing Wanda like a tree. You stifle a laugh as you hurry to get coffee made and breakfast sorted. You feed Boone and then let him out before stepping back into the kitchen in front of the stove. 

Wanda watches as you cook her an omelet, and she laughs so hard she nearly snorts when she watches you make another smaller one that she can only imagine is for your dog. 

“For both of them, if she doesn’t touch it, Boone will happily help her.” 

Wanda isn’t surprised that Boone scarfs up his ¾ of the omelet while Fletcher sniffs her portion suspiciously. She nibbles on it before she begins to eat with more intention. It’s just eggs, a small amount of cheese, and spinach, but that’s apparently enough for the tabby. 

“Aw she loves it! How cute.” 

You smile at this before you make yourself a larger omelet and sit beside Wanda at the counter. You sigh in exhaustion as you nearly collapse into your chair. You slept well last night, you slept great honestly, but you were still worn out. You’re grateful you don’t work today and that you can focus your attention on your wife and pets.

You’re not sure if Wanda plans to work today, but the fact that it’s nearly 9 and she hasn’t touched her phone beyond that initial call from the vet gives you hope. You don’t dare ask because you don’t want to be disappointed, so you two mostly eat in silence. Wanda’s thinking about what she’ll fill her day with while she’s waiting for news of Rogue.

“Do you have any plans?” 

You’re still considering this yourself when Wanda asks you, so you shrug before mentioning all you’d come up with so far. 

“Not really. Other than getting outside at some point to enjoy the weather. What about you?” 

You wait with bated breath as Wanda shakes her head with a sigh. You noticed earlier that she hadn’t bothered with makeup today. Certainly not enough to cover up the bruise around her eye and the thin line of sutures from her surgery. It looks worse today and you frown in sympathy at the idea of Wanda being so stressed and hurt yesterday. You reach out for her hand and smile when she squeezes yours in return. 

“Not at the moment. My face hurts more today, so maybe I’ll get to take it easy.” 

You love the sound of this, and you smile widely as you consider all that you can spend the day doing. 

Despite waiting anxiously for news, the day flies by with you and Wanda spending the morning watching TV before taking a short, slow walk outside. Boone was excited to get around, and Fletcher actually tolerated her harness and leash today, at least for a bit. For the last ten minutes of the walk, unsurprisingly, Fletcher had managed to get Wanda to carry her. You find it difficult to even roll your eyes when you see how happy the pair look, and Boone keeps you plenty distracted with his antics.

After forming a small pile near the deck of the many sticks Boone decided to try and carry with him, you lead your dog back inside. It’s nearing 4 and you could use another nap, or at least a snack. Boone’s on the same page, and after getting his post-walk treat, he takes it over to his bed and lies down. You grab both your and Wanda drinks as the redhead tries to take off Fletcher’s leash. You set the two glasses on the coffee table before falling onto the couch. You stifle a yawn as you wait for Wanda to join you. 

Wanda’s just sitting down after wiping as much cat hair off her as possible when her phone rings. She starts in surprise and is about to jump back up to retrieve it from the kitchen, but you beat her to it. 

“Let me get it.” 

Wanda doesn’t argue, but she turns to watch as you walk to the kitchen and grab her phone from the counter. It’s the vet again, Wanda had saved their number after the call this morning, and you hand her the phone with a smile. 

“It’s for you.” 

TBC

taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

Masterlist

[kh-daybreak-cult-au]

Skuld, can you tell me anything about ‘Daybreak Town’? What was it like?

“Well, we had a lot of freedom before the war. We all had our own apartments, worked on our own projects, and would hang out with our friends. There were obviously the daily missions —the Foretellers, Luxu, and the Master of Master’s were technically in charge— but as long as we got those done we could do what we wanted.”

“After the Keyblade War, we were left in charge of keeping Daybreak Town running smoothly. Luxu was supposed to help us, but he disappeared. Everything was different after that…"

(Response date: November 25, 1941)

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[trusweethrt]

— ୨ৎ sleepover with secret bf!rafe

authors note: i got a request for this a few weeks ago but the ask deleted itself so I'm so sorry to whoever sent that! and i'm trying to get out of my writers block so enjoy...whatever this is. (not sure how I feel about this) not proofread!! content warnings: contains smut, 18+

“come over? just for a little bit?” rafe asked as he looked at you through the facetime camera. it's been a rough day for him and you were really the only person he wanted to see right now. but it was past midnight and you weren't supposed to be out of the house around this time, let alone going to his house.

you've been told by your parents to stay away from him—countless times, actually. rafe knew he had some...things to work on, but in his mind, he wasn't that bad. at least towards you. “dunno rafe...'m already in trouble for skipping school yesterday.” you frown, tapping your manicured finger on the side of your phone. rafe sighed, sitting up against his headboard “please? it'll be quick. i'll sneak ya in and out.”

you were hesitating and that's something rafe could see clearly, but he was desperate. you were one of the only people he actually cared about these days and he didn't want to be alone right now, especially not at night.

“please..? you're the only person i want to see right now.” he pleaded, almost begging in a way. he was never one to beg, but it was the only thing he could think of that could convince you to come.

you thought it over as you bit the inside of your cheek. you knew how it would end if your parents found out you snuck out of your house. “isn't sarah home though?” rafe was silent for a moment, his hand running through his hair “no...she's out. won't be home 'til morning” he murmured. that was one less obstacle so it was one good thing. but you still weren't sure. rafe was your boyfriend and you cared about him, but sneaking out wasn't the best idea right now. “but my parents said-”

“i know sweetheart and i'm not tryna get you in trouble, but i swear it'll be like thirty minutes.” he cut you off, his tone almost desperate. you bit your lip as you leaned back against your headboard. “rafe...” you trailed off with a sigh. you weren't saying no right away, but you weren't saying yes either. it was clear you were conflicted as you hesitated before adding, “okay, fine. but just for thirty minutes. not a second longer.”

rafe's face lit up as he heard you agree. he knew he could be convincing if he wanted to and he was so glad it worked this time. “thank you baby, be outside waiting. i'll come get you.” with that, he ended the facetime, standing from his bed as he grabbed a jacket and his keys. it didn't take long for you to change into some shorts and a hoodie and put your shoes on. you carefully crept out of your room and out into the livingroom, pausing to listen for any noises. once you were sure your parents were asleep, you opened up the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind you. by the time you were out of your house, rafe was already parked outside.

rafe was leaning against the door of his car as he waited for you. he heard the door open and shut, looking up and seeing you walking towards him. he could see you were nervous, but it didn't stop him from pulling you into a tight hug. “hey,” he greeted, his voice tired but he felt better with you in his arms. you returned his hug, leaning into the embrace. “hey...” you murmured back, your tone almost equally as tired. you could feel the exhaustion in him as he hugged you and you felt the need to ask, “you okay?”

rafe let out a sigh against your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back “not really...” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you reluctantly. he opened the passenger side door for you, waiting until you got in before shutting the door and walking around to get into the driver's side.

you got into his car, leaning back in the seat as you looked over him. you could tell something was bothering him by the look on his face and his tone of voice. it's been a long time since he sounded that exhausted. “...rough day?”

rafe ran a hand over his face, looking over to you wearily “rough life.” he mumbled, starting up the car as he pulled out from the curb. “seatbelt.” you hummed quietly as you reached out to grab the seatbelt, buckling yourself in. you decided not to ask more about what exactly was bothering him; in time, he'd probably talk about it.

the car ride was silent as rafe drove back to his house. you didn't mind though, figuring that he needed the silence in order to calm his head for a bit. a few moments passed before he parked in his driveway, unlocking the doors and getting out. he came around the side and opened your door for you, offering his hand to help you out of the car.

you slipped your hand into his, letting him help you out of the car. walking through his yard, he quietly unlocked his front door and let you in first. “wheezie's home so we're gonna have to be quiet” he said as he shut the door behind him, locking it again.

you followed him inside “gotcha” you whispered as you looked around. “is she awake? i don't wanna be the reason she doesn't sleep.”

“she's asleep.” he mumbled, nodding towards the stairwell. “come on..” he took your hand again, quietly leading you upstairs to his bedroom. once inside, he closed the door and locked it before turning on his bedside lamp and walking over to his bed.

you followed him to his bed, crawling onto it and moving to lay back against the pillows. you could still see the exhaustion in his body as he laid down next to you, his head resting against your shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “wanna talk about anything...?” rafe was silent for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about your question. he really didn't wanna talk about anything at all. all he wanted was to lay here with you, which he thought to himself as he shook his head. “nah”

you nodded once he answered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you closed your eyes. you could tell he didn't want to talk and you were okay with that. you both laid there in comfortable silence, no sounds besides the sound of your breathing and the occasional passing of a car outside. “can i do anything to help?”

it felt good to lay here with you. it was the only real peace he's felt in weeks and it helped calm him a little. when you spoke again, he lifted his head to look at you, his tired eyes meeting yours.

he moved a bit closer to you, his arm around your waist tightening as his head rested on your chest. “this is more than enough for me, sweetheart” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your side. “i do have a request though”

you looked down at him, your fingers lightly running through his hair as you waited for him to speak. you could tell he was still thinking about something and you waited patiently before finally speaking, “what is it?” rafe's eyes closed as your fingers ran through his hair. he loved when you did that and it relaxed him greatly

he was still silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. “i need to relieve some stress.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against your waist once more before suddenly resting right above the drawstring of your shorts.

────୨ৎ────

“a-ah shit, rafe” your hands clench by your sides as rafe glides his tip between your drenched folds, looking down at you with this tongue between his teeth. “mmh...this wet already, darling? barely even touched ya yet.” rafe hummed, smirking down at you. all you can do is nod and let out a whimper as he tapped his cock against your cunt. “nuh-uh, words. none of that whimpering shit”

you were already a stuttering, whimpering mess as he ran his fingers over your clit. you needed more from him, wanted to feel more of him, but you knew that he wasn't going to give that to you until you answered.

you let out a shaky breath as you looked up at him, eyes wide. “yes!” you quickly whimpered, “been thinking about it all night. please, please rafe...” you whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to get more from him. “i know baby, i know” rafe murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he teased your clit with his thumb again “been so long since you've had this cock, yeah?”

you nodded rapidly, eyes pleading him to do something, anything. you wanted him so badly and you could tell he was just teasing, which was driving you absolutely insane. “rafe..." you murmured, your voice trembling a little. rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head “come on. don't get all shy with me now. tell me what you want” he said with a smirk, his fingers still moving over your clit, barely applying pressure. he could feel you shaking beneath him, which encouraged him to tease you a little more. “tsk tsk i want an answer. i know you know how to talk, baby. i just wanna hear your pretty little voice say it.”

you swallowed hard as you looked up at him from under your lashes; he looked so damn proud of himself. you were almost positive he got off on teasing you like this, and the last thing you wanted to do was give him that satisfaction. but your patience was wearing thin and you were getting desperate. you just wanted him to touch you already, but he was always so stubborn. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip as you met his gaze again, your voice shaking a little as you finally spoke up, “n-need you rafe…please...”

“mmh, that's my good girl. i knew you could do it baby.” rafe murmured, finally pushing his cock into your aching hole, causing both of you to let out simultaneous moans. “a-ah fuck” you gasp, gripping onto his biceps as he pushes all the way in, making you groan at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt, “so fuckin' tight” he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his member.

you whimper as he remains motionless, denying you the much needed friction. “mmh what do we say after i give you something, baby?”

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he murmured the question into your ear. he knew what he was doing. he knew exactly how to get you to say what he wanted you to say, knowing how well he filled you up and how he wasn't moving. you moaned quietly, hands moving to grip onto his back as you looked up at him with watery eyes, “thank you.”

rafe hummed and nodded against your neck, lightly kissing just under your ear as he lifted his head, “good girl.” he said “you're welcome, my love. anytime.”

he finally pulled his hips back a little, thrusting back into you “you feel so damn good, baby.” he breathed before beginning to thrust into you harder, repeatedly hitting your cervix deliciously “been too long without having you.” he murmured, his hand gripping onto the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up over his shoulder. the change of position caused his cock to slide even deeper, making you gasp.

you whimpered at the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot, unable to speak clearly “oh...oh g-god rafe” you tried, your eyes already shut as you tried to move your hips in time with his. he could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red indents. “look at me.” he murmured in your ear, his hand reaching down to grab your chin, turning your face towards his “look at me while i'm fucking you, sweetheart. ” your mind goes a little blank for a moment when he says that, only able to focus on the feeling of him inside you. it takes a few seconds before you manage to open your eyes again, meeting his gaze. rafe's eyes are focused on you, a small smirk on his lips as he sees you staring “there you are.” he hums, biting down on his lip once he feels you start to clench around him “shit, you gonna cum already?”

“yeah...mmh, so close ray.” you moan, struggling to keep your eyes on him as his hand reaches to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles. “so fast, sweetheart?” rafe murmured with a smirk “been that long, huh? gonna make a mess all over my cock already?” you don't even have time to respond before your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking as the coil in your stomach snapped. eyes squeezed shut, walls clenching around his twitching shaft. the way your pussy cinched around him is all rafe needed to go over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside you.

“mmh ray?” you murmur, looking up at him with your glossy eyes. “hm?”

“think 'm gonna stay here tonight.”

taglist: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl

© anqelrafe

[cbeargyu]

virgin's debut

A friendship can’t be ruined by having sex… can it?

⊹₊⋆ pairing: best friend!haechan x fem!reader x love interest!jaehyun (slight)

⊹₊⋆ warnings: angst, fluff, smut, best friends to lovers trope, protected sex, unprotected sex (use protection pls), fingering, making out, nudes, slowburn, suggestive redaction, mild cursing, reader is a virgin lol, haechan isn't, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance.

⊹₊⋆wc: 18,3K

READ THE PREVIEW [HERE]

Two weeks later

haechan sighed again, his chest heavy as he collapsed onto the couch. With both hands, he covered his face, fingers digging into his skin, trying to block out the past two weeks.

hyuck didn’t understand why there was this twisted mess of emotions swirling in his stomach, why his thoughts were so scattered, a jumble of "what ifs" and "should I's".

it had been two weeks since you made that insane proposition to him. haechan hadn’t talked much since then, just the occasional texts letting each other know when they’d left or entered the building they both lived in. the topic hadn’t come up, and you hadn’t pressured him either. but, god, it haunted him.

it was unthinkable. his values just wouldn’t allow it. sleeping with his best friend? never crossed his mind. but you—you weren’t just anyone. you’d been inseparable since high school. your sense of humor matched perfectly, and everyone knew the two of you were a damn force together. their friends noticed the bond, the way they both seemed to fit like puzzle pieces, always there for each other, even when they fought. like siblings, but with none of the blood ties.

that word, "siblings"—it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was strange that others saw them two like that. but they were okay with it. there were boundaries in their relationship, and crossing them was unforgivable.

of course, you were angelic. your bubbly personality and constant jokes made you irresistible. physically, you were gorgeous, though you were a bit shorter than him—way too short, maybe. you had black hair and an odd but cute bangs just above your eyebrows, something he liked to tease you about.

and yeah, you’d catch anyone’s eye. he wasn’t gonna lie—he’d had a crush on you when he first met you in high school. but over time, that romantic attraction faded as your friendship grew stronger.

maybe it was also the way you were so open with your thoughts—no filter, no shame—that when you asked him about sleeping together, it sounded completely natural to you. to him, though? It was a punch to the gut, a cold shower, a slap to the face. he was spinning, disoriented, trapped in what felt like a twisted fantasy—or maybe a nightmare.

for him, sex wasn’t a taboo subject. he’d lost his virginity at 17 to one of his many girlfriends, and talking about it was casual. hell, haechan didn’t even hold back when discussing the details of his past experiences with you. he’d even described how he’d "done it" in vivid detail—like it was nothing.

but you? you were different. you had dated three guys since high school, but none of those relationships lasted more than two months. so, you didn’t exactly know what it was like to be in a serious, long-term relationship. snd sex? It didn’t seem like a necessity in your life—at least not until now.

“I mean, when you’re dating someone romantically and nothing happens, i’d call that a win,” you said, casually munching on a slice of lemon tart.

haechan furrowed his brows, taking a sip of his coffee. “explain that.”

“it’s simple,” you shrugged. “because if they haven’t seen you naked, you can run into them on the street and not have to worry about that bastard seeing your ass.”

heck couldn’t help but laugh at your reasoning. “right, totally.”

you both chuckled, agreeing on that one. but he also knew, deep down, it wasn’t that simple for him. not anymore. he couldn’t ignore what was bubbling beneath the surface.

haechan felt a buzz in his pocket. his phone. the first class of the day was about to start, and he had to rush if he didn’t want to be late. he lived close to campus, just a five-minute walk, but the class was on the other side of the building.

but this situation? it was messing with his head so much that he couldn’t fall asleep until 3 AM these past two weeks. he grabbed his backpack and keys, about to head out when his phone buzzed again.

it was you. a message: “i’m heading to class, just leaving my apartment.”

haechan froze. he hadn’t expected you to text him now. his hand gripped the doorknob, but he didn’t open it. the thought of seeing you right now made his heart race. he wasn’t ready. not yet. he couldn’t just pretend like everything was fine.

"shit... y/n, what were you thinking?"

he sighed deeply. what was this? haechan could hear his own voice in his head, his thoughts like an endless storm. he couldn’t stop thinking about you—about what you had said, and about everything that had changed in such a short time. his stomach twisted. what would happen if he saw you now? could he face you? could he even be the same around you after what you had suggested?

he shook his head, hoping to clear his thoughts. He didn’t have the answers, but he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be easy.

haechan let out a deep sigh, adjusting his scarf around his neck before stepping out of his apartment. he tried to calm himself, convincing himself that he could handle whatever came next. as if nothing had happened. as if he could just brush it off and pretend it hadn’t been weighing on him for the past two weeks.

but every time he thought about it, it made his chest tighten. that proposal of yours. the way you had looked at him, so casually, as if it were no big deal. he couldn’t get it out of his mind. he had always been the life of the party, the one to make jokes and laugh things off. but this—this was different. it gnawed at him like an insistent itch he couldn’t scratch, a question with no answer.

he made his way to campus, each step seeming faster than the last, but his thoughts were tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration. you hadn’t seemed bothered. if anything, you had acted like it was just another conversation. you hadn’t even tried to talk to him about it again, hadn’t pressured him. but that only made it worse. the silence between you both was deafening. you had sent that message, but it wasn’t the same. it was as if you had moved on without even thinking about it, while he was still stuck in the same place, drowning in his thoughts.

it was absurd. he was known for being the carefree one, the one who didn’t let anything get to him. but now? now he was a mess. the more he tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, the harder it was to believe it. you had said it so easily, like it was a joke, and yet it had shattered something inside him. the truth was, he didn’t know how to look at you anymore. he didn’t know how to face you after that. how could he? after everything?

haechan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. his footsteps carried him toward the building, and the closer he got, the more his anxiety grew. he couldn’t avoid it forever. he’d have to see you eventually. the communication department wasn’t that big, and it seemed like the entire campus would lead him straight to you.

as he reached the entrance of the building, his alert system kicked in. you were probably inside already. and damn it, the thought of running into you—now, after everything—felt like a punch in the gut. you hadn’t even mentioned it again, hadn’t tried to force a conversation. yet he could feel it. the tension. the distance. how had it gotten to this? why did he feel so… disconnected?

he stopped for a second, hand resting against the doorframe, trying to breathe. but it was like everything had changed. nothing was simple anymore. he had been your best friend for so long, but now? now it felt like he was walking on eggshells, unsure of what would break first.

“hey.”

a light punch to his back snapped him out of his daze, and the blood immediately drained from his face. that voice—he couldn’t mistake it, not even if a million voices tried to mimic it. His breath hitched, and he turned around so fast it almost hurt.

there you were. small, as always. a knitted beanie sitting snug over your head, that— ridiculous—fringe barely brushing the tops of your brows, framing your delicate face in a way that made his throat dry. a long grey coat hung from your shoulders, swallowing you slightly, and your black boots clicked softly against the floor. everything about you looked… normal. the way you looked at him, the way you smiled, even the casual punch to his back.

physical contact.

that word echoed in his head like a siren. he quickly shook the thought away, locking his focus on the paper Starbucks bag dangling from your left hand. maybe you’d stopped by the café on the way. maybe you ordered delivery. maybe someone gave it to you. maybe—god, he needed to stop. the hamster in his brain was doing flips, and he wanted to knock some sense into himself.

you held the bag out toward him.

haechan just stared at it for a second, until you raised your eyebrows, shook it again, and snapped, “are you gonna take it or what?! geez, i brought it for you and you’re just standing there looking at it like an idiot.”

your expression twisted in mock annoyance, brows curved upward—but oddly, he felt the tightness in his chest ease a little.

reluctantly, haechan reached out and took the bag, brushing his fingers against yours for a second too long. he tried not to react, but his mind was a chaotic storm. He couldn’t help but look at you—really look.

had you always looked like this? that coat hugged your waist just enough. the shape of your figure was something he never let himself notice before. and your chest… jesus. it wasn’t like you’d suddenly changed, but it felt like someone had wiped the fog off his glasses. He was seeing you differently. entirely.

and that terrified him.

he lowered his eyes quickly, too aware of how warm his ears were getting.

“thanks,” he mumbled, voice a little hoarse.

“no problem,” you replied, glancing around casually. “i figured you might skip breakfast again, so…”

you trailed off with a small shrug, stuffing your hands into your coat pockets. haechan tried to smile, but his stomach was tangled in impossible knots.

haechan took another deep breath as he tried to collect himself, shifting the weight of the Starbucks bag from one hand to the other. he looked at you, trying to ignore the pull in his chest—the sudden awareness of every little detail about you. there was a tension he couldn’t shake off, something that sat heavy in his stomach.

you seemed to notice his distracted state and leaned against the wall, your usual easygoing posture, the same as always, except now, he couldn’t stop noticing how you looked in that oversized coat and those boots. he was spiraling again, caught in the thought of you.

“so…” you broke the silence, “i’ve been kind of swamped lately. working on this branding project for a client. it’s been a pain, though. my computer decided to die on me right when I needed it most.”

haechan raised an eyebrow, his mind snapping back to reality. “really? you didn’t tell me about it. why didn’t you ask for help? I mean, i know a thing or two about fixing computers. I could’ve helped you.”

you shrugged, a small, nonchalant smile playing at the corners of your lips. “nah, i called taeyong instead. he’s better with that stuff.”

there was a sharp tug in haechan’s chest. he hadn’t expected that. the knot in his stomach tightened, a wave of discomfort washing over him. taeyong? really?

he tried to laugh it off, but there was something bitter in his tone as he asked, “taeyong? why him? i thought you knew I was good with that kind of stuff.”

“yeah, well,” you quipped with a raised eyebrow, “taeyong just happened to be the first one I thought of. besides, he’s pretty quick with tech stuff.”

haechan’s smile was tight, and his stomach churned. he told himself it was nothing. he was being stupid. but why didn’t you ask him? he had always been there when your tech failed. it felt… weird. almost like you didn’t need him anymore. but, of course, he didn’t voice any of that. instead, he played it off, trying to act casual.

“sure, sure,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. he was so not handling this well. the thought of you asking someone else for help left him unsettled, and he hated how much it bothered him. It was irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

you noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way he pulled back just a little. your smile softened as you leaned forward slightly, breaking the silence again.

“hey,” you said gently, “i’m sorry if it upset you. it wasn’t meant to make you feel left out, really.”

haechan quickly looked up, trying to look unfazed. “nah, it’s fine. I mean, it's not like i’m the only one you can ask for help, right?” he joked, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t quite match the tone of his words.

you raised your eyebrows, a knowing look in your eyes. “you’re acting like a total prude right now,” you said, a smirk forming. “didn’t you used to tell me all the crazy stuff you did with jang chanmi back in high school? and now the topic of helping a friend with a computer is freaking you out?”

haechan blinked, taken aback. the mention of chanmi, especially in the context of your teasing, was enough to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts. he groaned, running a hand through his hair, trying to laugh it off. “well, that was different, okay? that was high school stuff.”

you chuckled, leaning back against the wall, clearly amused by his discomfort. “oh, come on. don’t tell me you’re too shy to talk about tech problems now. you used to explain every position you tried with her—like it was a lesson in geometry or something.”

haechan let out an exasperated sigh, not sure whether to be embarrassed or grateful for the way you were managing to cut through the tension. he couldn’t stop the blush creeping up his neck, and he cursed under his breath. of all the people, you had to be the one to make him feel like a damn fool.

“well, that was different, okay? It’s... it’s not like i’m comfortable talking about that stuff with you anymore, alright?” he almost winced at his words. the last thing he wanted was to make it sound like he couldn’t be himself with you.

you tilted your head slightly, your tone playful but with a hint of mischief. “don’t worry, though. I just asked taeyong to help with the computer. i didn’t make the same proposal to him that i made to you.”

haechan’s eyes went wide. he froze, his face instantly flushing. did you really just say that? the sudden wave of heat rushing to his face felt like he was on fire. his brain scrambled for words, but all he could manage was a surprised, “wait, what?”

you laughed softly, clearly enjoying the effect you had on him.

“you’re scared i’m gonna bring it up, aren’t you?”

“what? i—no, i’m fine,” he said too quickly, almost defensively. “just tired. you know, early class. cold outside. normal stuff.”

you didn’t say anything right away. just looked at him with that calm gaze of yours, the one that could read people like open books.

that hit him harder than expected. he flinched. swallowed. you tilted your head slightly.

“it’s okay,” you said, voice even. “if it made you uncomfortable… we don’t have to talk about it. ever. i’m not gonna ambush you or corner you or expect anything.”

haechan blinked. your tone was so mature, so measured—like you’d thought about this. like you knew what it had done to him.

“it was dumb of me,” you continued with a small smile. “or maybe not dumb, just… bold. and i get it, you didn’t sign up for that. so, if you want to forget it ever happened, consider it forgotten. clean slate.”

he didn’t know what to say. a hundred emotions jostled in his chest, fighting for space. gratitude. relief. guilt. and something else entirely—something heavier and harder to name.

because despite everything, despite the panic and confusion and awkward silences, you were still here. talking to him. offering him coffee. smiling at him like you always did.

but something had changed. he saw it in the way he noticed your lips when they moved. in the way his eyes lingered a beat too long on the curve of your body. in the way his mind kept circling back to that question you’d asked two weeks ago.

and the worst part?

haechan didn’t know if he wanted to go back to before.

before everything had shifted. before he started noticing all these things about you—things he had never allowed himself to see. he wasn’t sure if it was fear of the unknown or something else entirely, but the thought of things returning to how they were felt… difficult.

“anyway,” you said, standing up from the railing and brushing your hands off as if to clear the air between you. "i’ll see you later. don’t overthink it, alright?"

the casual way you said it made his chest tighten. he could feel that something was still unspoken, that there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t press. you were good at hiding what you truly felt, always had been.

haechan tried to push the conversation out of his mind as he entered his class on media studies. he sat down, pulling his notes in front of him and attempting to focus, but his thoughts were all over the place. his brain kept circling back to your words—had you meant everything you said? Was it really that simple for you?

the ice-cold americano you’d brought him sat on the edge of his desk. Its perfect arrangement, just the way he always liked it, made his chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t explain. he watched as droplets of water gathered on the glass, slowly tracing their way down to pool at the bottom.

he was distracted. but even more than that, he was feeling something he couldn’t quite name. his gaze wandered over the cold surface, the way the water clung to the glass—his mind drifting to you. to your smile. to the way your voice had lingered in his thoughts.

he imagined, for a moment, what it would be like if those droplets were slipping along your skin instead. He didn’t want to think about it, but his mind had other plans. every thought that surfaced seemed to lead back to you—the curve of your lips, the way you had looked at him just before leaving.

his pulse quickened, a wave of heat rising to his face. he snapped back to reality, but the blush was already creeping up his neck. "what the hell am i doing?" he muttered under his breath, quickly looking down at his notes again, trying to focus. his mind refused to cooperate. why was he thinking about this now? why was his body reacting like this?

he could feel the tension rising, like a knot tightening in his stomach. he had never been this aware of you before—not like this. and the worst part was, he didn’t know how to stop it.

you buried your face in your hands, heart racing, panic rising in your chest. what had you done?

the proposal you made to haechan wasn’t random—not by a long shot. It came from somewhere raw, impulsive, and aching. you’d convinced yourself he would say yes. no hesitation. no second thoughts. that’s what your friends told you, right?

"guys are easy. especially when it comes to sex. they’re always down," yeri had said with a laugh, trying to encourage you. “come on, it’s haechan. he jokes about that stuff all the time.”

and maybe that was the worst part. because you believed her. you judged your best friend through a lens of assumption, reducing him to some stereotype, thinking he’d just say yes because he was a guy. because he was him.

but he didn’t.

and now you knew—you had judged him so, so wrong. haechan wasn’t like the guys in those stories your friends always told. he wasn’t thoughtless. he wasn’t careless. he was kind. and considerate. and the look on his face after your question… you could still see it. confused. hurt. maybe even disappointed. not because you asked, but because he didn’t know how to respond without breaking something between you.

the guilt clawed its way up your throat.

you hadn’t asked him just for the sake of it, either. it wasn’t some random experiment. it was desperation. because ever since last fall, ever since he came into the picture, something in you had changed.

jung jaehyun.

a senior in the visual arts department. tall, graceful, and unfairly good-looking—like he’d walked straight out of a perfume ad in a fashion magazine. chiseled jawline, smooth voice, perfect smile. the kind of man who turned heads in every hallway he walked through. girls whispered about him constantly—rumors, fantasies, stories that may or may not have been true. he was confident, magnetic, dangerous in that way only people who know they’re desired can be.

and of course, you weren’t immune.

you saw him at a few parties, caught glimpses of him sketching in the studio, his sleeves rolled up and headphones in, and felt a pull you didn’t fully understand. it wasn’t love. It wasn’t even a crush. it was curiosity. lust. a hunger you didn’t recognize as your own until it became too loud to ignore.

your friends told you to go for it. "just hook up with him," they said. "get it over with." but you couldn’t. you didn’t have the experience, the confidence, the… proof that you could be the kind of girl someone like jaehyun might want.

so you turned to the only person you trusted. the only one who made you feel safe, unjudged, seen.

haechan.

and now you’d hurt him.

you hadn’t just crossed a line—you’d shattered the trust he’d always given you so freely. all because you were afraid. because you wanted to prove something. because you thought he’d just say yes.

but he didn’t.

now you sat in the middle of your typography and composition class, surrounded by the soft clatter of keyboards and the low hum of your professor’s lecture, your laptop open in front of you and your adobe illustrator file untouched. letters floated on your screen in random positions, but your brain couldn’t form a single coherent thought. you weren’t even sure what the assignment was supposed to be.

your body was there—but your mind was somewhere else entirely. caught in the swirl of embarrassment, regret, and confusion. a storm of emotion you didn’t know how to calm. all you could think was: what have I done?

it had been a week since that conversation. on the surface, everything seemed fine—like a reset button had been pressed. you and haechan still exchanged jokes, shared snacks, and sat next to each other in class. but underneath the laughter and casual glances, there was a strange hollowness, like the two of you had become actors reciting old lines in a play that didn’t fit anymore. robotically pretending the elephant in the room didn’t exist, even though its shadow loomed over every interaction. after all, everything had already been said, hadn’t it?

still, something was off.

haechan hadn’t hooked up with anyone since then. it wasn’t for lack of trying—he’d gone out, flirted, danced—but each time, his mind wandered back to you. and it wasn’t just idle thoughts. no, it was worse.

every night that week, he'd woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart racing, and a painful hardness straining against his boxers. dreams of you—wearing almost nothing, bent in suggestive positions, whispering filthy things in his ear, inviting him to taste you, to touch you—played on a loop in his subconscious. but right when he was about to finally reach you, melt into you, he’d wake up frustrated and breathless. left with no choice but to slip his hand under the waistband and relieve the aching pressure. for serotonin. for oxytocin. for sanity.

now, it was saturday night and he was stuck at work.

the burger place was dead quiet. maybe it was the cold snap that had settled over the city, keeping everyone snuggled up in their homes instead of venturing out for greasy fast food. Haechan didn’t mind, really. he was sick of putting on his fake retail voice—“welcome! Fries with that?”—and dealing with people who didn’t say thank you. right now, he was working the closing shift, wearing the stiff black uniform cap and flipping patties that hissed on the flat top grill. the whole place smelled of grilled beef, fryer oil, and cheap pickles. his coworkers were goofing off while mopping the floor and stacking chairs, and haechan, while half-listening to their jokes, was just counting the minutes till he could clock out and go back to bed.

that was when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

unknown number.

haechan hesitated. he barely ever answered unknown numbers, but something in his gut told him to pick up.

“hello?”

“HAECHAN!”

a girl’s voice. loud, panicked. He blinked.

“…who is this?”

“it’s seojung—y/n’s friend. you probably don’t remember me. we met, like, once.”

oh. right. you had sent him the numbers of your friends months ago, just in case. he’d never saved them.

“yeah, uh—what’s up?”

“it’s y/n,” she said quickly.

the emergency button in his brain went off.

“what happened? is she okay?! did something happen to her?”

“well—kind of?”

apparently, you’d gone out for a girls’ night. a little bar in the city downtown. everything was fine, until you’d gotten verydrunk. so drunk, in fact, you couldn’t even hold your head up, slurring nonsense, sobbing into seojung’s shoulder.

haechan grabbed his jacket before she even finished explaining.

“she kept saying… uh, really weird stuff,” seojung added nervously. “like—please don’t be mad, okay?—but she was screaming in the middle of the street that she was gonna die a virgin because her own best friend refused to help her.”

haechan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking in disbelief. “she said what?”

“i know! i was like, girl, stop embarrassing yourself! but she kept going. she even tried to climb on a statue to do a dramatic monologue or something, it was chaos.”

the line went quiet for a second.

“anyway,” seojung continued, “we can’t take her to the dorms—they don’t let us bring people in after curfew, and she’s way too far gone to be alone. you’re the only person she might listen to. can you come get her?”

“i’m on my way,” haechan said without hesitation, already sprinting out the back door. he didn’t even clock out. his coworkers just watched in stunned silence as he bolted into the freezing night air, hoodie half-zipped, hair disheveled, heart pounding.

he didn’t know exactly what he’d find when he got there.

but part of him was already bracing for it.

despite the cold weather, you had decided to wear a short velvet dress, sheer black tights, and an oversized puffer jacket that looked hilariously disproportionate on you—but also kind of cute. haechan blinked twice when he realized the jacket was his. the one he’d been looking for since last week. seeing you in it made his chest do something strange, tight and warm, like a coil winding in his ribs.

you looked disoriented, your makeup slightly smudged, your eyes glassy but still sparkly. your long legs peeked out from under the hem of the dress, knees wobbling as you leaned heavily on seojung for support. Behind her were yeri and jimin—both trying to look casual but clearly avoiding haechan’s gaze.

“sorry for calling so suddenly,” seojung said with an awkward smile, shifting nervously on her feet. “we didn’t know who else to call…”

“she just kept saying your name,” yeri added, crossing her arms.

“she’s been… emotional,” jimin muttered, eyes darting to the side. “also—sorry for… earlier stuff.”

the three girls looked anywhere but at haechan. there was something stiff in the air, a subtle frost behind their polite words. they knew what had happened. they knew he’d rejected you.

“thanks for looking after her,” haechan said simply, ignoring the tension as he gently took your arm. you mumbled something about “fuck friendship” and “i’ll die a virgin anyway,” making all three girls wince in embarrassment.

after quick goodbyes, they left hurriedly. haechan helped you into a cab, the inside warm and dimly lit, smelling faintly of peppermint and old leather.

“address?” the driver asked.

haechan rattled it off. the driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“cute couple,” he said.

“oh—we’re not—” haechan began, but the man cut him off.

“young love. must be nice,” he chuckled. “leaving work in the middle of your shift to take care of your drunk girlfriend. that’s real devotion, son.”

haechan opened his mouth to correct him again, but then—

“HE REJECTED ME!” you suddenly shouted, head lolling dramatically to the side. “I asked him to have sex with me and he SAID NO.”

yhe cab fell into a stunned silence.

“…ah,” the driver finally said. “one-sided love, then.”

haechan wanted to crawl out of the moving car and disappear into the road. yhe driver shook his head sympathetically.

“you’re making a mistake, boy,” he said gravely. “a pretty lady like this? she won’t wait forever. you two already look like a couple. all that’s missing is the kiss.”

haechan glanced down at you, now slumped against his side, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. your makeup was a mess, your breath reeked of gin and lime, and you were clutching the hem of his jacket like it was your last lifeline.

and somehow, even like this, you looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

haechan stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver, the man's words echoing in his head like a song stuck on repeat. “you’re letting a good girl slip away…” he shouldn’t care what some stranger thought, but there was something about the way the guy said it — confident, certain — that made the sentence stick like honey to the roof of his mouth.

he turned around just in time to see you stepping out of the cab in your short dress, sheer tights hugging your legs, and a massive oversized jacket drowning your frame. his oversized jacket.

his breath caught a little. you looked both sexy and soft — long, graceful legs out in the cold, but your face flushed from alcohol and framed by the collar of his jacket. somehow, even in that state, you looked... perfect.

“you know where we are, right?” he asked gently, offering you his hand.

you nodded lazily, squinting at the familiar entrance of your apartment complex. but instead of walking toward it, you turned to him, a sly, sleepy smile playing on your lips.

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you said, voice low and vaguely suggestive.

haechan blinked. “you need to sleep. you’re drunk.”

“i don’t wanna go to my apartment,” you repeated, this time slower, like you were daring him to challenge you. “i lost my keys.”

“you what?” his voice cracked as he stared at you in disbelief. “where the hell are you gonna sleep then?”

you tilted your head, your eyes glinting under the streetlight. “with you.”

silence.

haechan’s mouth opened slightly, the color rushing to his face like fire. he stammered, trying to find the words — to remind you of your promise, of how you said you'd drop this whole thing and start over.

but before he could say a word, you leaned forward with a groan and threw up directly into a nearby bush.

“oh, shit—” he muttered, rushing to hold you. he gathered your hair, gently rubbed your back, whispering reassurances under his breath. “okay, okay, it’s fine… just let it out…”

eventually, you straightened up, eyes glassy, cheeks damp from the cold wind. he sighed and wrapped an arm around you, leading you toward his place — your weight half-slumped against him.

inside, the warmth of his small apartment wrapped around you both. he carefully sat you on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, filling a glass of water and setting a tea kettle on the stove.

you watched him in silence for a moment before breaking it. “i know what i said,” you murmured. “About letting it go. About forgetting. but i can’t. i literally can’t.”

he froze, slowly turning toward you.

“i feel like a hormonal teenager,” you laughed bitterly, wiping your mouth. “I keep thinking about you. about what i asked you. about what it would be like.”

“y/n…” he warned gently, setting the water beside you.

“i have this thing,” you blurted. “with my sunbae. jung jaehyun. he’s… god, he’s stupidly hot. tall, broad shoulders, perfect hair, every girl wants him. he only sleeps with older women — the kind who know what they’re doing. and I just… i don’t want to disappoint him.”

haechan’s expression darkened, not with anger, but something deeper. “so you wanted to use me as practice?” he asked, voice low.

“i’m not trying to use you,” you said, firm but vulnerable. “you’re my best friend. i trust you more than anyone. and you’re… you’re good at it.”

haechan blinked. “what?”

“you’re good in bed.”

he narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “and how the hell do you know that?”

you gave a half-smirk. “you talk about it all the time, remember? bragging about your conquests like a walking NSFW podcast. you made it sound like you practically invented foreplay.”

haechan groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “god, I was joking half the time—”

“but that’s exactly why i asked you in the first place,” you cut in, locking eyes with him. “because there’s no one else i’d trust for something like this. and let’s be honest—” you tilted your head with a teasing smile. “it’s not like you’ve gotten laid recently either.”

his jaw tensed. “i’m not desperate for sex, y/n.”

“oh, really?” you raised an eyebrow. “so those midnight jerk-off sessions because of your dreams about me are just… what? a new coping mechanism?”

his face burned red. “how do you—?!”

“i may have heard a little something.” you sipped your water dramatically. “you’re not as quiet as you think.”

“i hate you,” he muttered under his breath, turning away to hide the growing smirk on his lips.

“no, you don’t.”

you stood up slowly, unsteady but serious, your eyes fixed on his. “if we did this… it would be safe. familiar. no weirdness. just… two people helping each other out.”

“that’s not what this is about for you though, is it?” he said, voice low.

you looked away for a moment before answering. “no. It’s not just that. i want to feel… wanted. i want to be good at this. and yeah… I want to impress jaehyun. but i also… want it to be with someone who won’t hurt me.”

and for a moment, everything was quiet. the only sound was the water boiling and both your hearts pounding.

he exhaled sharply, frustrated — but not just at you. At himself. At this whole ridiculous night.

then, haechan stepped closer.

he leaned over, hands gripping the back of the couch, caging you in — his face mere inches from yours. you froze. Your breath hitched. your fingers clenched around the glass.

then, without thinking, you kissed him.

it was messy. desperate. tasting of beer and heat and something reckless.

he kissed you back — just for a second — his hand cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. but then he pulled away suddenly, breath heavy, pupils blown wide.

“you’re drunk,” he said, voice hoarse. “i'm not kissing you like this.”

you blinked up at him, breathless.

“but if i weren’t?” you whispered.

he didn’t say anything.

but the fire in his eyes gave you all the answer you needed.

and that silence? it was louder than anything either of you had said all night.

that night, haechan slept on the couch, buried under a mess of blankets. you, on the other hand, took his bed — warm with freshly changed sheets and a white oversized t-shirt that smelled like him. he’d also lent you a hoodie for the cold, soft and worn from use.

when he asked if you'd prefer to sleep with the door shut for privacy, you shook your head and left it cracked open. Just slightly. maybe it was a silent invitation. maybe a part of you hoped he'd come in.

but he didn’t.

haechan's self-control was ironclad. he wouldn't touch you — not like that, not when you were drunk, no matter how much you asked. and you had asked. desperately.

by morning, your head throbbed with a brutal hangover. the light leaking through the blinds was cruel and unforgiving. still half-asleep, you blinked at the side table — a glass of water and a neatly placed pill waited for you. of course he remembered.

you padded out into the living room, barefoot, limbs aching. the smell of warm broth hit you first. then the quiet hum of a streamer's voice coming from his computer.

haechan sat hunched at the small dining table, glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly tousled from sleep. he was watching some gaming livestream, lazily slurping noodles from a bowl of ramen. a small pot sat between you, steam still curling up, and beside it — another bowl.

you noticed the sausage in the pot had been sliced perfectly small, just the way you liked. he always remembered little things like that.

your stomach twisted, not with hunger, but something softer. deeper.

without saying anything, haechan patted the seat beside him. you moved toward him slowly, like you were walking through a dream. he didn’t look at you — just kept his eyes on the screen as he grabbed the second bowl, carefully ladling ramen into it while glancing back and forth between the pot and your bowl to avoid making a mess.

you let out a quiet, involuntary giggle.

he glanced up at you then — his lips curved ever so slightly. and that's when you noticed it: his thick-rimmed glasses. the ones he only wore when he was deep into gaming or editing something late at night. they made him look effortlessly cool. casual. comfortable.

and stupidly handsome.

“thanks,” you murmured, your voice still hoarse from sleep and dehydration. “for… last night. picking me up.”

he didn’t respond at first — just nodded once, still watching the screen. no mention of the kiss. no mention of your drunken confession. nothing. just silence.

the elephant between you had never been bigger.

you glanced sideways again and noticed the dark circles under his eyes — deep and tired. he’d barely slept.

“you okay?” you asked gently.

“i’m fine,” he said, pushing up his glasses with a knuckle. “you had it worse.”

you looked down at the bowl in front of you, steam rising like it was trying to fill the silence. you slurped a noodle quietly, chewing.

that’s when you noticed something else.

the shape of his jaw as he ate — sharp, cut like stone under soft skin. you’d seen him eat ramen a hundred times, but this was the first time you really looked. the way his throat moved when he swallowed. the subtle flex of his neck. his collarbone peeking from under his hoodie. even the slope of his nose and the way his glasses rested perfectly above his cheekbones.

he wasn’t just your best friend. he was… really attractive.

painfully so.

and that realization made your stomach clench — not from the hangover, but from something dangerously close to want.

you sat there, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of the ramen bowl, the heat grounding you as your mind spun.

“hey…” your voice came out soft, hesitant. “about last night—”

the sound of his chopsticks hitting the table made you jump. it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. enough to cut through the quiet and slice the conversation before it could begin.

haechan didn’t look at you. his jaw tensed as he stared at the table, hands clenched loosely on either side of his bowl.

you froze. unsure.

he inhaled through his nose, controlled, calculated. then, finally, he spoke. “if you’re done eating… maybe you should call a locksmith. for your apartment.”

your stomach dropped.

just like that, the warmth left the room. or maybe it was still there, but it couldn’t reach you anymore.

“o-oh.” you blinked. “yeah… right. my keys.”

he stood up slowly, not rushed, just… distant. like something inside him had gone cold.

you watched him close the laptop screen with one hand, then gather his bowl and yours, moving with quiet efficiency. not meeting your gaze once.

you couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. the shift was too sharp, too sudden. it left you sitting there like a statue, hands still wrapped around the now lukewarm bowl.

“i’ll wash these,” he muttered, almost to himself.

you opened your mouth, but nothing came out. your throat was tight, words caught somewhere between confusion and guilt. you hadn’t meant to ruin the morning. hadn’t meant to push.

but there it was again — the elephant. bigger than ever.

and this time, haechan had chosen to turn his back on it.

you stood up slowly, the chair scraping against the floor. he was already at the sink, rinsing the dishes like it was any other sunday. like nothing happened. like you hadn’t kissed him. like you hadn’t confessed the things that had been burning you from the inside out.

but your eyes were stuck on his back. the slope of his shoulders. the way his hoodie clung slightly at the waist. and still — that feeling. that gnawing ache deep in your chest.

he was right there. and still, he felt so far away.

“haechan…” your voice barely carried.

he didn’t turn around.

you bit your lip. hard. maybe you had crossed a line. maybe he was just being kind last night, and you mistook it for something else. maybe—

“i need to shower,” he said abruptly, setting the last plate down. “you can use my phone to call someone.”

and then he was gone, the bathroom door closing with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence he left behind.

you were alone again.

but this time, it hurt more than it should’ve.

your phone was still dead.

you hadn’t charged it since last night, and at this point, it didn’t matter. you weren’t exactly in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

you curled up on the couch, pulling your knees to your chest, arms wrapping tightly around them like they could somehow protect you from the weight pressing on your chest. you stared blankly ahead, trying to piece together what went wrong.

you hadn’t meant to make things weird. you hadn’t meant to cross a line. and yet… you did. and now, all of it felt like a mistake unraveling at your feet.

you chewed on your lip, eyes unfocused.

was it when you asked to stay with him? or when you told him the truth — that you couldn’t stop thinking about him, that you wanted to learn with him because you trusted him? maybe it was the kiss. that moment, hazy and laced with beer, when you leaned in and felt his lips move against yours. he kissed you back. you were sure of it.

but now… maybe it wasn’t enough. or maybe it was too much.

the sound of the bathroom door opening pulled you from your spiral. you looked up, heart stuttering in your chest.

haechan stepped out, steam drifting behind him in lazy clouds. his black t-shirt clung to his skin slightly, still damp from the shower. his sweatpants sat low on his hips, and around his neck hung a white towel, which he used intermittently to ruffle through his damp, dark hair.

he looked surprised to see you still there.

his expression flattened quickly, going unreadable. “you still haven’t called the locksmith?”

you didn’t answer.

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, towel dragging with it. “y/n…”

but you were already crying.

your face was turned away, but he saw the tremble in your shoulders, the way your hands gripped tighter around your legs. the soft sound of you trying not to make a sound.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your own words. “i ruined everything.”

he went quiet.

“i should’ve never suggested that,” you continued, barely audible. “i didn’t mean to treat you like you’re some— some kind of object. i was just thinking about myself. about what i wanted. and that was selfish. i wasn’t thinking about you.”

he still didn’t move.

“i just—” you swallowed thickly, lifting your head to look at him through blurry eyes. “i wasn’t trying to use you. i swear. i… i just trust you. you’re my best friend. and maybe i took that too far. i just… i feel like i’ve messed everything up.”

you laughed bitterly. “you didn’t even have to say anything. your face this morning said it all.”

for a second, haechan just looked at you. his gaze scanned your face — your tear-stained cheeks, your trembling mouth. the regret swimming in your eyes.

then he sighed and walked closer. dropped the towel onto the coffee table. crouched down in front of you.

“you’re not the only one who’s confused,” he said, voice softer now. “and yeah, maybe last night was messy. maybe we said shit we weren’t supposed to. but… you didn’t ruin anything.”

your breath hitched.

he leaned in, resting a hand gently on your knee.

“you’re not selfish for wanting something. and you’re not using me. i know you.” his voice dropped a bit, more intimate now. “maybe that’s why it’s so hard to pretend it didn’t affect me.”

you blinked. “…what?”

he looked up at you from where he knelt. “you said… kissing could help calm you down. remember?”

your eyes widened.

he tilted his head, a small, careful smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

“so… if it helps…” he leaned closer, letting his hand trail up your thigh. “i could kiss you again.”

you stopped breathing.

your lips parted, unsure of what to say. but your body moved before your brain could catch up. you leaned in.

he met you halfway.

this kiss was different. slower. more controlled. still tasting faintly of mint and something warm, like cinnamon from the tea he’d made earlier. his hand cradled your cheek this time, thumb brushing softly beneath your eye.

it wasn’t rushed. it wasn’t hungry.

but it burned.

and then he pulled back, just barely.

“but only when you’re sober,” he whispered against your lips, breath warm. “only when you really mean it.”

you nodded slowly, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“okay,” you breathed. “okay.”

and for now — that was enough.

a few weeks passed.

you had finally gotten a replacement set of keys and returned to your apartment. that weekend was a blur of mundane things—scrubbing your bathroom floor until your arms ached, catching up on overdue sketches, finishing the last pages of an assignment you’d been dodging for weeks. you needed the quiet. the stillness. a chance to feel like yourself again.

but even in your own bed, the cold side of the sheets reminded you of that one night you hadn’t slept alone.

the kiss with haechan had, strangely, softened everything between you. the awkwardness melted away like snow on sunlit pavement. now, you were gentler with each other. your laughter came easier. your glances lingered longer. but the elephant—the weight of what that kiss meant—never left. it simply learned to sit quietly in the corner.

on tuesday afternoon, you were leaving the print room when you nearly ran into jaehyun.

"whoa, careful, pretty girl," he said, catching your elbow with a hand that felt way too steady, too confident.

“sorry,” you chuckled, tucking your hair behind your ear. jaehyun always looked like he belonged in some magazine spread—jaw carved from stone, lashes too long for someone that smug, silver rings glinting against his fingers like he knew where the light would hit.

“what brings you over here?” he asked, eyeing your sketch tube slung across your shoulder.

“professor cho. needed some stuff for his class. he’s on his power trip again.”

“classic,” he smirked. “listen… we’re having something this friday. low-key. not one of those packed, flyer-in-the-bathroom kind of things. just a curated crowd. people who get it.”

your brow arched. “curated?”

he laughed. “yeah. you know. people with taste.”

you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“you should come,” he added, stepping a little closer. “might help with that tension you’ve been carrying around.”

“what tension?” you teased.

he leaned in, eyes flicking down your face. “the kind that makes you think too much. sometimes you gotta stop overanalyzing and just feel it.”

“feel what?”

his smile was maddening. “depends who you end up with.”

you laughed it off, but your cheeks were already warm. maybe he was flirting. maybe he wasn’t. either way, the idea sat in your chest like a dare.

you thought about it all the way back to your place. and later that night, lying on your bed staring at the ceiling, you let yourself wonder what it’d be like to… try. to stop guessing what sex felt like and actually find out. you didn’t want to rush it. but you didn’t want to keep floating in uncertainty either.

and somewhere else on campus, haechan couldn’t stop thinking about you either.

he was standing in the backroom of the burger place, mirror fogged with steam, face damp and flushed from another rush. and there you were. again. in his head. like you’d carved a space he couldn’t seal shut.

he felt pathetic.

like some teenage boy discovering self-pleasure for the first time. except it wasn’t discovery—it was addiction. every night, without fail, his body woke him up with a pulse he couldn’t ignore. his hand would slide beneath the waistband of his sweats, his breath shallow, mind full of you. always you.

and god, those lips.

maybe he should’ve never kissed you.

but the second your mouth touched his, something inside him had snapped. like it had been waiting for that moment all along. you’d kissed him with a kind of messy urgency—too fast, too eager, bumping teeth before finding a rhythm. but then came the softness. the unspoken need. the trust. you had tasted like beer and breath mints and something far too intimate for a one-time thing.

now, he couldn’t un-feel it.

behind the counter, he’d zone out mid-shift, hands wet from dishes, and suddenly he’d remember the way you had moaned into his mouth. the way you had gripped his hoodie like you were holding on for dear life. the way your body had melted into his.

he couldn’t stop picturing you in that black dress, jacket slipping off your shoulder, legs crossed like a sin. or the way your lips had parted when you looked at him like you needed more. like you wanted him.

and at night—his room dark, quiet, too warm—he would close his eyes and imagine your thighs on either side of his hips. your voice whispering his name. your nails on his skin.

he used to admire you from a safe place. used to think of you as a friend, maybe even a muse. now? now he couldn’t look at you without imagining what it would be like to bury his face between your legs. to ruin you a little. just enough.

he hated how much he needed it.

he hated how much he missed the feel of your mouth on his.

he hated that he wanted more.

you were stepping out of your digital illustration class, bag slung over your shoulder, neck stiff from hunching over your campaign poster project. when you exited the building, you spotted him right away—haechan, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hands tucked into his backpack straps like he’d been waiting a while.

you always found him there these days.

“hey,” you said, breathless from the stairs. “thanks for waiting. again.”

he gave a casual shrug. “you make it sound like i have a life.”

“do you?”

“…not really.”

you both smiled.

as you walked side by side, the sun cast long shadows behind you, painting the concrete in soft amber. you weren’t touching. but it felt like you were. something invisible had always linked you two. lately, though—it tugged harder.

“so,” you said, voice light, “i think i’m gonna go to that party. tomorrow”

he blinked. “jaehyun’s?”

you nodded. “he made it sound... exclusive.”

“and you’re going?”

you smirked at his tone. “might be an opportunity.”

he stiffened beside you. “opportunity for what?”

you gave him a look. “you know what.”

he stopped. “you’re really gonna sleep with him?”

your cheeks flared, heart skipping. “no. it’s not like that. i just… maybe it’s time to try. get some answers.”

you watched his face carefully. saw the way his jaw locked. the way his brows twitched.

“but,” you added softly, “if it happens… it happens.”

and then, bold as ever, you turned to him. “unless you still wanna help me.”

his breath caught.

“we already kissed,” you said, eyes steady on his. “feels like we’ve done half the homework. next part’s sex, right? that’s what comes after. and you—you’re the one who used to brag about how good you were at it.”

he looked like you’d cornered him. because you had.

“remember those nights you’d ramble about girls? ‘her tits are insane’, ‘i’d fold her in a second’—that was you, haechan. your words.”

he swallowed, hard. “i didn’t think you were listening.”

“i always listen to you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “especially when you talk about what you like.”

and then, with a wicked grin: “and let’s be honest. guys lose their minds over tits and ass. that’s not complicated.”

his silence told you everything.

you took one step closer, slow and steady.

“so?” you asked again, quieter now. “are you still willing to help me?”

and he didn’t answer.

not with words.

but you saw it in his eyes—the panic, the desire, the war between instinct and restraint.

you had no idea how long he could keep resisting.

but you were getting closer to finding out.

the night felt quieter than usual when they arrived at your apartment. your didn’t speak. the walk there had been filled with those kinds of silences that don’t necessarily feel awkward, but make you too aware of your own thoughts. you walked a few steps ahead of haechan, and he found himself watching you — the way your fingers twisted nervously, the slight tension in your shoulders, the soft sway of your hair brushing your back. he could tell she was unsure. and if he was being honest, so was he.

he’d never seen you like this before. not really. not in this light. there’d always been this boundary between both of you, this invisible thread that kept everything just on the edge of becoming something else. but lately… it had changed. the way she looked at him lingered a little longer. the way he touched you — in small, passing moments — felt less like habit and more like gravity. and right now, standing in the dim glow of your apartment, he realized just how close you were to crossing that invisible line.

he stands close, but not touching, his gaze fixed on you with a kind of careful intensity that makes your skin warm.

you unlock the door without saying a word, your fingers fumbling slightly. you can feel his eyes on you, not judging, just watching. when you step inside, he follows, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

inside, it’s quiet. you cross the room and sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing.

he doesn’t follow you immediately. Instead, he leans against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his expression unreadable. you feel his eyes on your back as you drop your keys onto the counter, your breath shaky, heart pacing with something you don’t quite understand but desperately want to. when you finally turn around to face him, he’s already watching you — not with that usual teasing smile, but with something heavier, deeper. something that feels like want.

you turned to face him, eyes uncertain, but there was something else behind them. something softer. something raw. “i want to do it,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“still thinking about your plan?” he asks softly, voice calm, like he’s trying not to spook you.

you nod slowly. “i just… i want to be good for jaehyun.”

his jaw tightens just a little, barely noticeable. but his voice doesn’t change. “you’re trying to learn how to please someone else,” he says, stepping closer, “when you haven’t even taken the time to learn yourself.”

you blink, suddenly unsure. “i thought… that’s what you were going to help me with.”

he exhales gently, closing the space between you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. “i will. but only if you let me take the lead. if you trust me completely. no pretending. no rushing. just… you. raw. honest.”

your breath catches in your throat. something about the way he says it, the quiet authority in his tone, the way he looks at you like he already knows your body better than you do — it makes you ache in places you’ve barely dared to explore on your own.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “i’ll do whatever you say.”

his eyes soften. there’s something unspoken there — a tension that’s been building between you for longer than you realized. and now it’s finally unraveling.

“then take off your clothes,” he says, his voice low, steady. “lie back.”

your fingers feel clumsy, nerves fluttering in your chest as you undress. he doesn’t look away. his gaze follows every inch of skin you reveal like he’s memorizing you. but it never feels invasive. it feels… reverent. when you’re finally bare, you lie down, body exposed, unsure, vulnerable. he doesn’t move right away. he just watches, like he’s waiting for you to fully settle into the moment.

“you’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “but i’m not going to touch you until i see that you believe it, too.”

you want to believe it. you want to feel beautiful in your own skin, not just because someone else says it, but because something inside you says you deserve to be. but right now, all you feel is nervous. exposed. seen.

he kneels at the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re safe,” he murmurs. “you’re in control. i’m just guiding you.”

his hand touches your thigh, light as air, and your breath stutters. the warmth of his palm spreads through you like liquid, grounding and electric all at once. he doesn’t rush. his fingers explore slowly, tracing the curve of your hip, the softness of your stomach, the inside of your thigh. each touch is a question, and your breath is the answer.

when his fingers finally find you, you gasp — not because it’s too much, but because it’s perfect. just enough. just right. he doesn’t push, doesn’t demand. he simply explores, watching every reaction, every shift of your hips, every shaky breath you take like it’s the only thing that matters.

his fingers finally reach where you need them, but he doesn’t go straight for it — no, he teases, tracing along the outer edge of your heat, making you gasp at the sudden jolt of electricity. your hips shift instinctively, seeking friction, but his free hand presses gently against your stomach, grounding you.

“easy,” he murmurs. “we’re not rushing. i want to feel every part of you fall apart.”

your head tips back against the pillow, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers finally slip between your folds — gentle at first, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. he exhales softly, as if the heat of you surprises even him.

“relax,” he whispers. “feel. don’t think about what’s next. just stay with me. here.”

his fingers stroke you with a patience you didn’t know could exist, learning your body like it’s a language only he can understand. you’re wet, embarrassingly so, and he seems to revel in it, the way your body responds to his touch. he circles your clit with slow, practiced motions, his thumb brushing over you with maddening precision. you’re moaning now, soft and quiet, not even realizing the sounds are yours.

“fuck,” he whispers. “you’re soaked.”

your cheeks flush, but any embarrassment is quickly replaced by want as he finds your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make your legs tremble.

you whimper his name, voice barely there, and his response is a low groan against your skin. “that’s it, baby. let me hear you.”

his mouth is everywhere now — at your neck, your chest, sucking marks into your skin like he wants to claim you, mark you, make you his. and god, part of you wants it too — wants to be wanted like this, worshipped like this.

his fingers move lower, one pressing gently at your entrance, testing. “you okay?” he asks, voice soft but thick with desire.

“yes,” you gasp, clutching at his wrist. “please.”

your hips begin to move on their own, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. the pressure is building, coiling deep inside your core, unfamiliar and terrifying and addictive. he slips a finger inside you, slow and gentle, curling just right, and you cry out, your body clenching around him without meaning to.

“h-hyuck...” you cried.

“you like that?” he asks, voice rough now, closer to a groan than a whisper. you nod frantically, unable to form words, your hands gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing.

he slides in slow, giving you time to adjust, watching your face the whole time. his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing in time with the slow push of his finger. your breath stutters, and he leans in to kiss you, stealing the sound from your lips.

you moan into his mouth, overwhelmed, undone, as he adds a second finger, the stretch just enough to make your back arch. he curls them just right, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake.

“there it is,” he groans, his lips brushing yours. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you can’t answer. you can barely think. all you can do is feel — the heat building inside you, the pull of release so close you can taste it.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers against your neck. “i want to feel you fall apart for me.”

and when he starts moving faster — fingers pumping deep and sure, thumb pressing harder against your clit — it’s too much. the pressure breaks, crashing over you like a tidal wave. your body tenses, then shatters, crying out his name as you come harder than you ever have before.

he holds you through it, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips. his fingers slow but don’t leave you, drawing out every last wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, boneless and gasping.

“let go,” he murmurs again, lips brushing against your ear. “don’t hold back. i’ve got you.”

his thumb presses harder against your clit, his fingers moving faster, more deliberate, and the pressure explodes inside you, all at once — a wave crashing over your body with violent tenderness. you cry out, shaking, the world narrowing to nothing but heat and light and the sound of his voice grounding you as your orgasm rips through you.

he finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. his breath is ragged, his eyes full of something you don’t quite understand — but you feel it in your chest. raw. intense. real.

“you don’t know what you just did to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

your body arches, muscles tightening, breath gone, and everything — everything — goes quiet except for the echo of your release.

and when you open your eyes to meet his, you realize something terrifying and beautiful — you don’t think you’ll ever look at him the same again.

your back pressed against the sheets, your skin bare under the dim, golden light of your room, your breath already shaky as haechan settles beside you, fully clothed, fully in control. you should feel nervous, and maybe you do, but it’s buried under something stronger — something warmer. the way he’s looking at you now is enough to make you forget how to breathe.

haechan sits on the edge of your bed, staring at his hand—now clean—like he can’t believe what just happened. his breath is heavier than he wants to admit. his thoughts are scrambled, the feeling of touching you, of showing you something he never thought he’d share, overwhelms him. something inside him burns, something he doesn’t know if it’s frustration or desire, but he feels it with an intensity he can’t control.

when you step out of the shower, your skin still warm from the hot water, he stays there, still. you go through your skincare routine, but every movement seems to echo in him more than it should. the way your fingers brush against your face, the way you move... everything feels different now. he watches in silence, the space between you now thick with something unspoken.

“i didn’t think it would feel like that,” you say softly, breaking the silence. your voice has a tremor you can’t hide. “thank you... for helping me.”

the gesture feels sincere, but there’s something in your eyes that makes him feel exposed. he doesn’t quite understand it. he tells himself it’s fine, that he’s just helping you, that he’s just being there for you. but his body betrays him, his jaw tightens, and his fingers twitch at his side.

“you don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice quiet, almost too quiet. “you just needed to know yourself. that’s all.”

you pause, pressing moisturizer into your skin, still feeling that soft hum in your body, a low buzz you can’t seem to shake off. it’s from what happened, but you try to tell yourself it’s just the adrenaline, just nerves. nothing more.

“i think i can handle things now,” you reply, keeping your eyes on your reflection in the mirror. “maybe tomorrow at the party... i’ll kiss jaehyun, just see how it goes. no pressure. i don’t want to rush.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, you feel it—the way the air shifts between you two. you don’t mean to look at haechan when you say jaehyun’s name, but you do. and his eyes flicker for just a second, something hard behind them that he quickly hides. he doesn’t react out loud, but his shoulders stiffen, his mouth pressing into a tight line.

“yeah,” he says, his voice controlled, but you can hear the tightness underneath. “sounds like a good idea. you deserve to figure out what you want.”

you smile, trying to lighten the mood, but something in you catches as you look at him. you feel like you’ve said the wrong thing, but you’re not sure why. haechan doesn’t look at you anymore. he stares at the floor, his jaw working like he’s holding something back.

he doesn’t let himself show it. he can’t. you’re his best friend, and he promised to help you, to guide you, not to get caught up in his own feelings. but with every word you speak, with every step you take toward jaehyun, something deep inside him twists.

he’s tasted something he shouldn’t want. and now, the thought of you with someone else—even someone you love—is unbearable.

still, he says nothing. he can’t. because he promised to help you discover yourself, not to confuse you more.

even if every part of him wants to be the only one who gets to touch you like that again.

friday came faster than expected, slipping through the cracks of your week like it had been waiting for you. unlike the other days, this one was bitterly cold—the kind of cold that crept into your sleeves and curled around your spine. haechan had texted you earlier, his usual playful tone dulled by exhaustion. "today i actually have to close, so i’ll be stuck at work late," he wrote, followed by a yawning emoji and a tired little heart. you stared at the message longer than you should’ve, feeling something heavy settle in your chest.

the cold winter air bites at your legs as you step out of the cab, your breath fogging in front of you in soft clouds. the house isn’t just any house—it’s one of the old fraternity houses on the edge of campus, the kind that looks more like a mansion than a place college boys live in. warm light glows from the tall windows, and the low hum of music leaks out from behind the heavy wooden door before it swings open.

jaehyun is already waiting, leaning casually against the doorframe. he looks unfairly good—his hair slightly tousled, a dark turtleneck hugging his figure under a sleek wool coat. he gives you that smile, the one that always makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve never really understood.

“you made it,” he says, stepping aside to let you in.

you settled on a black leather jacket, cropped just above the waist, its silver zippers catching the light every time you moved. underneath, you wore a satin navy blouse, soft and loose, with a deep neckline that hinted without revealing too much. your high-waisted dark jeans hugged your figure just right, paired with heeled ankle boots that clicked confidently against the pavement. a silk scarf, deep burgundy, wrapped around your neck—not just for warmth, but as a finishing touch. your hair was pulled back loosely, tendrils framing your face, and your makeup was soft but sharp—dark liner, flushed cheeks, and a deep berry gloss that caught the chill in the air.

you notice jaehyun’s gaze drop, lingering for a beat too long before he leads you inside.

the party isn’t crowded—maybe twenty people, maybe less. it’s quiet in that expensive kind of way: muted music, low lighting, golden liquor sloshing in crystal glasses. there’s laughter and whispers, but nothing too wild. you’re not sure what you expected, but somehow it feels more intimate than you’d prepared for.

after your second drink, the room gets a little warmer. the vodka-orange is stronger than you thought, but it burns in a good way. you’re not drunk, not like that night, but the edges of your thoughts are softer, looser.

the music is barely audible now, just a low pulse behind your ribs as jaehyun leans in. it happens the way you always imagined it would—with the warmth of alcohol in your veins, the subtle tension in the air, his breath fanning softly against your cheek as his lips finally meet yours.

at first, it’s cinematic.

his hand is at your waist, careful but firm. his lips, smooth and slow, move against yours like he’s done this a thousand times. his cologne is rich—something expensive and clean, like bergamot and wood.

“you look incredible tonight,” he murmurs, voice low. It’s not the first time he’s flirted with you, but tonight it feels more focused.

you laugh lightly, sipping again. “you say that to every girl you invite to one of these,” you tease.

he smirks. “i don’t. just the ones i hope will stay after everyone else leaves.”

that catches you off guard. there’s a pause, the kind that’s heavy with implication. you don’t answer right away. instead, you tilt your head, watching him through the haze of dim lights and liquor.

more intentional. you close your eyes, willing your heart to speed up, your stomach to twist, your knees to weaken.

but none of it happens.

instead, there’s a slow, creeping emptiness that settles over your skin. you taste the sharp tang of beer on his tongue—bitter and stale—and it dulls the moment like a film of dust on something once shiny. it’s not that he’s doing anything wrong. in fact, he’s doing everything right. and maybe that’s the problem. it’s all too perfect. too rehearsed. too... lifeless.

you keep your lips against his a second longer, maybe two, hoping that if you just try, the magic will follow.

but it doesn’t.

what started as something dreamlike begins to dissolve, unraveling into something flat. weightless. forgettable. like kissing a statue—beautiful, yes, but cold. you feel your body slowly disconnect, like your mind is pulling away, shrinking back into itself. you’re kissing jaehyun. jaehyun. tall, broad-shouldered, silver-tongued. the guy every girl fantasizes about.

and yet... nothing.

when you pull away, you do it gently, trying not to show the disappointment pressing against your chest like a bruise. he looks at you with those deep, unreadable eyes, but you can’t meet them for long. something in you already knows: this isn’t what you wanted. maybe it never was.

and then, like clockwork, your thoughts betray you.

because in the silence that follows, in that stretch of breathless stillness, a name rises uninvited in your mind.

haechan.

you blink, shaken by the immediacy of it. why him, of all people? but it doesn’t stop. your mind floods with him, with everything he is and isn’t. jaehyun is all sharp lines and polished edges. he’s winter: sleek and cold, dressed in cashmere and shadows. and haechan...

haechan is sun-warmed skin and mischievous smiles. he’s a burst of color in a black-and-white room. his skin is golden, kissed by sun even in december. you remember the first time he wore glasses in class—how suddenly he looked different. not in a new way, but like you were finally seeing something that had been there all along. it had startled you. he looked good. really good. and you’d stared a little longer than you meant to.

you think about how he always cradles that old gaming console on his lap during breaks, fingers dancing over buttons like it's second nature. how he talks about characters and plots with the same intensity people reserve for politics or love. how he orders black coffee like it's a religion, never anything sweet. how he complains about the cold like it's a personal offense—bundling up in layers and still shivering, nose pink, eyes watery, grumbling but cute.

and you remember something else.

the way his eyes light up when he talks about music. not just any music—he’s always been drawn to layered melodies, harmonies that build slowly, that sneak up on you. you’d caught him once, eyes closed, headphones in, mouthing the words to a song you didn’t recognize. something soft and slow. when you asked what it was, he smiled, kind of shy, and said, “it’s this track i found—it builds so gently, but when it hits, it hits. it makes you feel everything, you know?”

you didn’t then. but now, maybe you do.

because that’s what haechan is like. he builds slowly. gently. he makes you feel everything without trying. without asking. just by being.

you think back to his kiss—that moment in the quiet of his room, when the world felt too small and too loud all at once. his lips weren’t smooth or calculated. they were warm. real. tasting faintly of coffee and breath mints, of nervousness and care. his hands weren’t firm—they trembled just a little. like he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to be. and that kiss? it burned. it lingered. it left something behind in your chest, something heavy and aching.

jaehyun’s kiss, in comparison, feels like water evaporating before it ever touches your skin.

“i need some air,” you say, barely loud enough to hear over the music.

you step away from the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly—not from cold, but from clarity. it’s unsettling, how fast something can shift. how a fantasy can collapse in on itself the moment reality arrives.

you walk toward the front door, ignoring jaehyun’s curious glance. and as the winter air hits your cheeks again, sharp and sobering, you realize the only thing you want right now is warmth.

and the only person who’s ever made you feel it... is haechan.

you step outside, the cold air biting at your cheeks like reality trying to sober you up. it’s quiet out here, except for the faint music pulsing through the windows behind you and the distant sound of traffic. your lips still taste faintly of beer and disappointment, and you try not to let it show on your face—even if there’s no one around to see.

you wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly. not just from the cold, but from the feeling growing in your chest. a hollow ache that started the moment jaehyun pulled away and left you with nothing but the bitter aftertaste of something that should’ve felt magical. it was supposed to mean something. you’d wanted it to. for weeks—months even—you thought that maybe this was what you needed. something new. something exciting.

but standing there in the dark, with the wind tugging gently at your coat, all you can think about is how wrong it felt.

how empty.

you sigh and glance down at your phone. 11:45 p.m. haechan probably just got home not long ago—he said he’d be working late tonight, and you remember the slight frown he gave you when you mentioned the party. not because he disapproved. but because he wouldn’t be there.

you hesitate, thumb hovering over his contact. calling him now would make you look ridiculous, wouldn’t it? but god… you need someone. someone who knows you, who doesn’t expect you to be dazzling or mysterious or anything other than exactly who you are.

before you can overthink it again, your thumb presses “call.”

the line barely rings twice before his voice comes through, groggy but alert, like he hadn’t really been asleep yet.

"y/n?" his voice is a little breathless, alarmed. "are you okay?"

you don’t answer right away. the sound of his voice cracks something open inside you. your throat tightens, and your eyes sting, a rush of heat behind your lashes. the words won’t come, caught somewhere between your tongue and your heart.

"hey, talk to me. what happened?"

his concern hits you like a wave. not because of what he’s saying, but how he’s saying it. gently. urgently. like nothing else in the world matters except you right now. like your silence is enough to make his chest hurt.

you swallow thickly, finally managing to breathe, “i… i didn’t know who else to call.”

he exhales slowly, like he’s relieved to hear your voice, even if it’s shaky. “i’m glad you called me.”

and it’s so stupid—so fucking stupid—but that’s when the tears come. silently at first, then all at once. and still, haechan says nothing. just waits, gives you space to fall apart without asking for an explanation.

he always does that. always shows up, always makes you feel like you’re not too much, even when you’re too much for yourself.

and suddenly you realize something—not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet click, something that was always there, waiting to be noticed. it was never about jaehyun. not really. it was the idea of him. and now, with that illusion shattered, you’re left with the one person who’s been real all along.

the one who always answers the phone. the one who remembers how you take your coffee. the one who listens when you talk about your art for hours and never pretends to be bored.

“can you…” your voice is small, choked, “can you come get me?”

“already on my way,” he says without hesitation.

and just like that, you feel less alone. maybe not okay, not yet—but safe.

safe in the way only he ever made you feel.

you step back into the warmth of the house, wiping your cheeks and pretending the cold air is the only reason your eyes are red. inside, the party hasn’t changed at all—music still pulsing, people still dancing, someone already passed out on a couch. it feels like you left the chaos and walked right back into it, except now it doesn't swallow you whole. now, you’re just… drifting.

you spot jaehyun near the kitchen, leaning against the counter, lazily scrolling through his phone. he doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his eyes land on you immediately. he straightens, sliding the phone into his back pocket before making his way toward you.

your stomach knots—not because you're afraid, but because you’re not sure what you're supposed to say to the guy you just kissed and then immediately ran away from.

before he even opens his mouth, you raise a hand slightly, your words tumbling out faster than you can stop them.

“i—i’m sorry. i just… i think i was really into the idea of you. like, really into it. but tonight i realized maybe… i don’t know…”

you trail off, eyes dropping to the floor, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on your boots.

jaehyun quirks a brow, and for a second, it’s awkwardly silent—but then he lets out a soft laugh. it’s not cruel, not mocking. just… amused.

“you know,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, “when we first started talking, i thought you and that guy donghyuck?—were together. like, definitely together.”

you blink, lifting your head. “what?”

“yeah,” he shrugs. “you’d always come to class with him. always laughing, always close. and the way he looked at you? i figured i didn’t stand a chance. but then i saw you alone for a few days, and thought maybe you broke up or something, so…” he gestures vaguely. “i shot my shot.”

you feel your cheeks heat up instantly. “we’re not… he’s not my boyfriend. we never dated.”

jaehyun smirks like he doesn’t believe you, but also like he knows better than to argue. “sure. maybe not technically. but come on.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “you really think there’s nothing going on there?”

you start to protest, but then stop. because he’s not wrong, and you’re too tired to lie—to him or to yourself.

“it’s complicated,” you mutter.

he smiles again, this time softer, more genuine. “well, if it helps… i’m not offended. not at all. i mean, you’re sweet, and you kiss okay—”

“okay?” you gasp, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“hey,” he chuckles, holding up his hands, “it was a mutual ‘meh,’ right?”

you both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking like a balloon popped with a pin. for the first time that night, you feel lighter.

“i really thought i liked you,” you admit.

“you probably did,” he shrugs. “or… the idea of me.”

“yeah.”

jaehyun gives you a wink. “for what it’s worth, i think you and haechan are cute as hell. even if you don’t know it yet.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. a real, unforced smile.

“thanks,” you say quietly.

“anytime,” he replies, already turning toward the kitchen again. “just… don’t let that one go, alright?”

and as you watch him disappear into the crowd, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

on my way. almost there.

you press your lips together, the ghost of a smile still there.

maybe you didn’t come to this party to kiss jaehyun after all. maybe you came to realize who you should’ve been calling all along.

the cold bites harder now. you’re standing outside again, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves, your phone clutched tight in your hand. every passing second feels like it’s stretching eternity, but then—you spot him. haechan walks up the sidewalk.

haechan was wearing sweatpants, mismatched socks stuffed into crocs, and a hoodie that’s too big even for him. his hair is a mess, fluffed and wild like he just rolled out of bed—and he probably did. you freeze, heart caught in your throat, as he blinks at you sleepily, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his palm.

you stare at him—at the boy who still showed up, in the dead of night, after a long shift, just because you needed him. and something inside you swells so big, so full, it spills over before you can contain it.

you don’t think—you run.

you crash into him with a force that makes him stumble half a step back, arms instantly wrapping around you, warm and steady. he doesn’t say anything. he just holds you, one hand coming up to stroke your hair gently, his breath warm against your temple.

you press your face into his neck, breathing him in—coffee, fabric softener, something so haechan. your chest heaves, and your eyes sting again.

when he pulls you into his embrace, it feels like the weight of the world finally lifts from your chest. his touch is soft, his fingers brushing against your skin in the most familiar way, like he’s always been there, always meant to be there.

he sighs softly, tugging you closer like he’s scared you’ll slip away. “seriously… what’s wrong with you lately?” he murmurs, voice groggy, laced with concern. “why are you acting like such a crybaby, huh?”

you lift your head, blinking up at him through the tears that won’t stop pooling. your eyes meet his—those deep, sleepy eyes that always seem to see too much—and your lips part as if to answer, but no words come.

so instead, you kiss him.

you pull him down by the collar of his hoodie and press your mouth to his with all the confusion, all the ache, all the longing you’ve buried for far too long. his lips are warm, soft, and as soon as he realizes what’s happening, he kisses you back.

and then, when you press your lips to his, it’s like every other kiss you’ve had fades away into nothingness. the world around you dissolves, and all that remains is the sensation of him. it’s pure, it’s grounding—everything that jaehyun’s kiss wasn’t.

he doesn’t ask questions. he doesn’t stop you. he just holds you tighter, like he’s afraid this moment might shatter.

his hand cradles your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing under your eye, and the kiss deepens—not rushed, not clumsy, just real. like he’s trying to tell you all the things neither of you ever dared to say.

your fingers curl into his hoodie as you pour everything into the kiss—your gratitude, your fear, your guilt, your truth.

it feels like you're being purified, as if every trace of doubt, of confusion, of disappointment, is being washed away by the intensity of haechan’s presence. there’s no bitterness, no strange aftertaste—only him, only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as you lose yourself in him. with each second, you realize just how much you’ve longed for this, how much you’ve needed him, even when you didn’t know it. this, this is what real intimacy feels like, and it’s everything you never knew you were missing.

the walk to haechan’s apartment felt different. the night air was biting, and the cold seemed to press against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat that was bubbling in your chest. you didn’t want to be here, not tonight, not after everything that had just happened. but here you were, once again, losing yourself in the warmth of his presence.

“lost your keys again?” haechan asked, his voice playful but with a hint of concern in his eyes as he stepped aside to let you into his apartment. you gave him a sheepish smile, pretending to fumble with your bag and looking down, avoiding his gaze.

“yeah, I’m such a mess,” you murmured, but your words felt hollow, like they were slipping through your fingers as quickly as the night’s events.

he didn’t say anything more, but the slight furrow of his brow told you he was paying attention. it was a game, a little lie that you used to keep yourself near him just a little longer, but tonight, it felt like more. it felt like you were hiding something from him.

inside his apartment, the quiet enveloped you like a blanket, and for a moment, it felt like everything was still. you sat on the couch next to him, the tension between you thickening by the second. it was always easy to talk to him, but tonight, the words felt like they were stuck in your throat. and you knew why—because the taste of jaehyun’s kiss was still fresh on your lips, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“what happened?” haechan’s voice cut through the silence, and you could see it in his eyes: that flicker of concern. he knew something was wrong, and you could feel his gaze on you, waiting for the truth.

you let out a breath, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “jaehyun... I kissed him.”

he stiffened beside you, his body tensing. you didn’t have to look at him to know the change in his expression. it was there in the way his muscles locked up, in the way he barely moved, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the words.

"what? you kissed him?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "good for you, I guess..."

the final sentence hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t stop now. it was too late to take it back, and the confession felt like it was clawing its way out.

"it wasn’t what I expected," you whispered, avoiding his gaze as your stomach twisted. "it was... bad. it didn’t feel right. at all."

haechan’s hand clenched into a fist, his face hardening, but there was something more in his eyes now—something you hadn’t expected. jealousy. confusion. it was almost as if he wanted to say something but was holding it back. you felt the heat rise in your chest, your own guilt gnawing at you.

"wait—what?" haechan leaned forward, his voice suddenly sharp, though his face was tight with barely-contained emotion. "it was... bad? after all that?"

you nodded slowly, your throat tight as you continued, “yeah. it wasn’t what I thought it would be. there was no passion, no spark. the taste of beer... it was all I could focus on, and I hated it. I... I just couldn’t feel anything.”

the silence that followed felt thick, suffocating. you could see the storm brewing in his eyes. he wasn’t angry—at least, not completely—but he was something else. hurt, maybe? or disappointment? you couldn’t tell.

"so, that’s it then?" his voice was quieter now, the sharpness fading into something softer, more contemplative. “your feelings for him are... gone?”

"yeah," you admitted, finally meeting his gaze, feeling the truth weigh on your shoulders. "they’re gone. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t even want to kiss him again."

the words hung in the air, and you waited for him to respond, your heart racing, unsure of what he would say. when he finally spoke, it wasn’t what you expected.

“you know,” he started, his voice light, almost teasing, “i never liked the idea of you with him. not even for a second.”

you blinked, surprised at his admission. “you didn’t?”

“no,” he said, the edge of his smile almost teasing, though there was something else behind it. “I always thought you deserved someone who wasn’t... like him.”

you frowned, still processing what he was saying, but before you could respond, he continued.

“but now i get it. i see why you would be disappointed. he’s not... him,” haechan said, his voice lowering, the underlying sadness creeping in. "i guess i’m just glad you’re realizing it now. even if it took you kissing him to see it."

a chill ran down your spine as you looked at him, unsure of what he meant. your heart tightened with a strange mix of relief and something else—something more complicated that you couldn’t name yet.

“you’re not... mad?” you asked quietly.

“mad?” he repeated, laughing softly, though there was no real humor in it. “no. why would I be mad? I’m just... relieved. you deserve better.”

“so... what now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

haechan didn’t answer immediately. his eyes lingered on you—soaked in the way your makeup had smudged slightly, how your lips were still a little swollen from that kiss with jaehyun, how your dress had ridden up your thighs from the car ride. he swallowed hard, jaw clenched like he was fighting the urge to say something reckless.

then he said it anyway.

“now i take care of you.”

your breath hitched.

he stepped closer. slowly. deliberately. the kind of approach that made your knees weak. the kind of approach that said he knew exactly what you needed before you did. his hand reached for your waist, pulling you gently toward him, until your bodies were flush against each other.

“unless you don’t want that,” he murmured against your ear, his lips grazing your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. “you tell me to stop, and i will. no questions, no pressure.”

you didn’t say anything. you couldn’t. Instead, you tilted your head and captured his lips in a kiss—needy, messy, full of everything you hadn’t said for weeks.

he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, grounding you. but he didn’t rush. he kissed you like he had time. like he was savoring the moment he’d waited for far too long.

“haechan…” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

he looked at you, eyes burning.

“yeah, baby?”

your cheeks flushed. “i… want to go further. i trust you.”

he blinked, just once, and something softened in his expression.

“are you sure?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher, but laced with concern. “i need to hear you say it.”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. “i’m sure.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like a promise. then he scooped you up effortlessly in his arms, carrying you to his bed, the same way he always carried you emotionally—careful, steady, never letting you fall.

he laid you down like you were precious, and then crawled over you, caging you in with his body, forehead pressed to yours.

“tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered.

you nodded. he reached over to the nightstand, rummaging for a condom, giving you a look that made your stomach flip.

“Prepared?” you teased softly.

he smirked. “baby, i’ve been in love with you since you spilled coffee on my camera. i’ve always been prepared.”

your laugh faded into a gasp as his hands slipped beneath your dress, touching you with reverence, praise pouring from his mouth like it was second nature.

“so fucking perfect,” he murmured, kissing down your neck. “every part of you. mine to take care of. mine to love.”

his fingers teased you through your panties until you were arching, needy and aching, the room filled with the soft, wet sounds of your arousal.

“you’re already this wet for me? fuck—baby, you're killing me.”

you squirmed, overwhelmed by the sensation, but craving more. then you heard the foil tear, and your heart pounded louder.

the moment he entered you was slow, intense, a stretch that bordered on pain and pleasure, but he was right there—kissing your forehead, telling you how beautiful you were, how good you felt, how proud he was of you.

“you’re doing so good,” he groaned. “so fucking tight. you were made for me, weren’t you?”

you nodded desperately, clinging to him.

he moved slow, deep, rolling his hips so you felt every inch of him. his name fell from your lips like a prayer.

one condom turned into two. then three. you couldn’t stop. neither could he.

sweat clung to your skin, tangled sheets beneath you. he had you on top of him at one point, his hands on your hips as you moved, his eyes never leaving your face.

“that’s it, baby. take what you need. fuck—ride me just like that.”

another position had him behind you, one hand gripping your waist, the other slipping between your legs to make you scream his name as your body fell apart.

by the time the fourth wrapper crumpled beside the bed, you were both panting, dazed and desperate.

you rolled onto your back, breathless. “we’re out.”

you reached for your phone, already sitting up. “I can run down to the 7-eleven—”

he stopped you instantly, pressing a hand to your stomach.

“no, baby,” he said, voice firm. “i’ll go. you stay here. let me take care of it.”

the way he said it—so naturally, so possessively—sent a wave of heat straight through you. you bit your lip, something wicked curling inside you.

“or…” you said, voice dripping with mischief. “we could just… try without one.”

he froze. eyes dark. jaw tight.

“don’t tempt me,” he growled.

you crawled into his lap, pressing your lips to his neck.

“what if i want to?” you whispered. “what if i want all of you?”

he exhaled sharply, head falling back. “fuck… you’re dangerous.”

still, he hesitated—until you ground down on him and whispered, “i trust you, haechan.”

that was all it took.

he didn’t say a word for a moment. just stared at you like you’d set him on fire.

then he kissed you—hard. not rushed, but full of hunger, like you’d just pulled the leash off something he’d been holding back for far too long.

you could feel him against you, throbbing and hot, even without anything between you now. your body tingled in anticipation, in fear, in want. you were bare in every way—and he saw you, accepted you, craved you.

he guided you down onto the bed again, positioning himself between your thighs, his hands cupping your face gently.

“if i do this…” he said, voice low and trembling with restraint, “you need to tell me if anything feels wrong. anything at all, baby.”

“it won’t,” you whispered. “i want you. just like this.”

he lined himself up, one hand steadying your hip, the other brushing hair from your face. when he pushed in—slow, careful, deep—your whole body tensed, wrapped around him like he was the first breath after drowning.

it hurt. just a little. enough to make your lips part with a gasp. but he stopped instantly, not moving, just whispering against your cheek.

“breathe for me, sweetheart. you’re doing so fucking good.”

you nodded, clinging to his shoulders, letting yourself relax little by little until your body opened for him.

he began to move—not fast, but deep and fluid, his voice rasping against your ear with every thrust.

“you feel unreal,” he groaned. “so tight. so fucking warm. shit—you're making me lose my mind.”

your nails dug into his back. you couldn’t think. could barely breathe. all you knew was him—his scent, his voice, his body fitting against yours like you were made for this moment.

“does it feel good, baby?” he asked, barely holding it together.

“yes,” you moaned. “it feels so good, haechan.”

he reached between you, his fingers finding that perfect spot again, circling gently as his hips rolled deeper.

“i want you to cum for me,” he whispered, eyes flicking up to the mirror across the room.

and that’s when you saw it too—the reflection.

the sight of yourself, spread out beneath him, his body covering yours, the way his hips rolled into you, slow but relentless, the way your mouth fell open in pleasure.

you locked eyes with him through the mirror.

“look at you,” he said. “so fucking pretty. you should see what i see. you should see what you do to me.”

you whimpered, already close. the feeling of him inside you, the way he praised you, the reflection showing you everything you felt but couldn’t describe—it pushed you right to the edge.

“you’re mine,” he growled, thrusting deeper. “say it.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, back arching.

“again.”

“i’m yours, haechan—fuck—i’m—”

the orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. your whole body trembled as you clung to him, moaning his name like a confession.

he followed with a deep, broken moan, hips grinding into you as he came, his entire body tensing above yours, the sound of your names and curses filling the air as he spilled inside you, raw and unfiltered.

afterward, he collapsed next to you, pulling you into his chest, kissing your forehead with trembling lips.

“i’ve never felt anything like that,” he whispered.

you couldn’t answer. your body was still shaking, your mind a mess of stars and heat.

he held you close, running his fingers up and down your spine.

and for a long time, neither of you spoke.

because nothing needed to be said.

haechan stood by the door, shirtless, hair messy, pulling on his sweatpants with a crooked grin on his face.

“be right back,” he said, grabbing his keys. “we are out of condoms.”

your heart jumped at how casually he said it. like he already knew you weren’t done. like he couldn’t wait to get his hands back on you.

“don’t be long,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, a little needy.

“i’ll run,” he smirked, and you believed him.

the moment the door closed behind him, your body buzzed with anticipation. you felt sore, satisfied… and yet completely empty without him there.

a little while later, you were curled up on his couch wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, legs tucked under you, sipping water with your thighs still trembling from everything he just made you feel.

your mind ran wild imagining all the things he’d do when he got back.

and oh—he did.

he came back ten minutes later, breathless and grinning, holding a bag with the corner of a box peeking out.

“miss me?” he teased.

“shut up,” you mumbled, biting your lip as he approached you on the couch.

but he didn’t give you time to banter. his mouth was on yours again, hungry and hot, hands already sliding under the hoodie like he’d been starving the whole way back.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled into your ear, lips dragging down your neck. “every fucking step i ran, i was thinking about how wet you were. how tight. how you said my name when you came.”

you whimpered, legs parting automatically as he knelt between them on the couch.

but this time—he was different. rougher. more commanding. his eyes darker.

“get up,” he whispered, pulling you to your feet.

“where are we—?”

“shower,” he said. “now.”

you didn’t argue.

the water hit your skin like a shock, but his body was hotter. he pressed you up against the cool tile wall, mouth devouring yours as his hands slid down to your ass, lifting you up, making you wrap your legs around him.

“you’re mine tonight,” he growled against your lips. “no stopping now. you started this—now i’m gonna finish it. again and again.”

your back hit the wall as he slid into you, wet and desperate. the sounds of skin against skin, water splashing, your moans echoing in the steam—filthy and perfect.

you lost count of how many times he made you come.

after the shower, he didn’t even let you dry off.

he carried you—carried—naked and dripping, to the living room, laying you over the back of the couch. your knees barely held as he bent you forward, one hand gripping your hip, the other sliding between your legs.

“still so wet?” he teased, running his fingers through your folds. “what did i do to you, baby?”

“you ruined me,” you gasped, pushing back against his hand.

“good,” he hissed. “you’re gonna take me again. right here.”

and you did.

he fucked you from behind on the couch, your moans muffled in the cushion, your fingers clawing at the leather. he didn’t let up—he used you, praised you, told you how fucking hot you looked taking him like that.

then the kitchen.

you barely made it there.

he bent you over the counter, spreading your legs with a low groan.

“you trust me?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“yes,” you breathed.

“good,” he said, sliding in again, slow and deep. “because i'm not holding back anymore.”

he fucked you while gripping your hips, your body slamming gently into the counter with each thrust, your breath fogging the cold surface.

“so fucking perfect,” he groaned. “you were made for me.”

then came the dining table.

you ended up on it—legs open, arms thrown over your head, his name spilling from your lips like a mantra. he kissed every inch of your body, left love bites on your thighs, praised every moan and whimper you gave him.

you didn’t even remember how many condoms you went through until—

“fuck,” he muttered, breathless, sweaty. “last one’s gone.”

the apartment was thick with heat and the smell of sex. your bodies glistened with sweat, tangled over the polished wood of the dining table. haechan’s chest was pressed to your back, his arms wrapped tightly around you as both of you struggled to catch your breath.

it wasn’t until the digital clock on the microwave blinked 4:02 AM that either of you realized how much time had passed.

“shit,” you whispered with a soft laugh, still breathless.

“yeah…” haechan’s voice was husky, worn out, but content. he pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “we’ve been at this for hours. you okay?”

you nodded, eyes half-lidded, still processing everything. your body felt sore, used in the best possible way, and your heart was floating somewhere between exhaustion and complete peace.

he helped you off the table, careful and gentle now, holding you by the waist as you stumbled a little, your legs wobbly. you both laughed quietly at that, and he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

“come on,” he murmured. “let’s clean up and go to bed before the sun comes up.”

the warmth of his bed was a balm against your tender skin. after a quick rinse in the bathroom and slipping into one of his worn shirts, you curled up against him under the covers. his fingers traced light circles on your back as you lay there, your leg thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around you like you were something fragile and precious.

“you okay?” he asked again, softer this time. there was a hint of vulnerability in his voice—like he was afraid this had been too much.

you nodded into his chest.

“i’m more than okay,” you whispered. “i feel… safe. and really, really good.”

he exhaled a little laugh of relief and kissed the top of your head. the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was peaceful. comforting. like your bodies had said everything your mouths didn’t need to.

soon enough, your breaths synced. his hand stayed on your waist as you both drifted off to sleep.

the next morning came slowly.

soft rays of sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting lazy golden streaks across the sheets. you blinked awake first, still pressed against his warm body. his hand was splayed over your stomach, holding you close, and his legs were tangled with yours beneath the covers.

you didn’t want to move.

there was a quiet hum in your chest, that afterglow still lingering like a dream. you turned slightly to look at him—his hair was messy, lips parted, eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks. peaceful. beautiful.

you shifted a little, and he stirred, eyes barely opening.

“mmm,” he murmured. “you’re still here.”

“where else would i be?” you whispered.

he smiled, still half-asleep, and pulled you closer.

“good,” he said, voice low and raspy. “i want you right here. just like this.”

you melted into him, your heart full, your body still tingling in places, and thought maybe—just maybe—waking up like this with haechan could become your favorite part of any day.

haechan made breakfast in nothing but his boxers, hair still messy from sleep, humming some old song as you sat on the counter, wearing only his oversized t-shirt and the glow he’d left on your skin.

there was laughter. soft jokes. syrup on your lips that he licked off with a grin.

and when you finally curled back into the couch, your head on his shoulder, legs tangled under a shared blanket, it didn’t feel strange.

it didn’t feel like you’d crossed a line.

it felt like you’d stepped into something deeper.

he looked at you then, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, and whispered:

“you know… i think we’re still us.”

you smiled, heart fluttering.

because he was right.

maybe in the end, sex doesn’t ruin the friendship— it transforms it.

[globaloppaaa]

2001 ─── ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 𓎢𓎟𓎡 honey, what you running’ from?

yangjungwon x fem. reader

🎧 - 2001, FINNEAS

word count: 2.5k ⊹ fluff ⊹ jungwon being so down bad ⊹ comfort ⊹ reader is oblivious as hell ⊹ lowercase intended ⊹

a/n : i’m so down bad for him it’s not funny anymore. this is semi-proof read? dm me if there are any mistakes!

yang jungwon was always meant to be loved.

in the way that he held every door for every stranger who walked by, or in the tulips he’d buy his mother each week, knowing she preferred them over roses. He was loved in the ways that could speak deeper than “I love you.” Just a smile could brighten someone’s day.

Jungwon was meant to be loved simply for the way that he loved. For his genuine care in the smallest details, and how he wore his heart on his sleeve.

You’ve always known him to be this way, how he’d stay up late with you to finish an assignment, then bring you your favorite drink the next morning to wake you up. And if your drink wasn’t made right that day? He’d waste no time giving you his instead. You knew how friendly he was, and how comfortable he felt around others because of the fact he was so comfortable in himself. It’s almost a nauseating feeling, how you wished you could be a little more like him. How leaning against the lockers on one arm as his head dips close to yours doesn’t flutter his heart one bit.

“we still on for after school?” Your eyes find his, smiling back at his flashy grin.

“we always hang out after school won.”

“i just like to remind myself.” He chuckles, trying to ignore the way his name falling off your lips makes his body heat up. He closes your locker for you after you grab your books, following beside you as you begin down the hall. It doesn’t go unnoticed by lingering students how he always walks you to your last class of the day. This is typical Jungwon behavior, how he follows you to your room, brushing his shoulder with yours every so often. The class is already bustling with noise as he opens the door for you. You quickly turn to him, his glimmering eyes always shining a little brighter than the day before through his strands of blond hair.

“I’ll meet you outside in a bit.” you say softly, catching the way his eyes intently move back and forth between yours. They catch a hair out of place, gently lifting his fingers to move it behind your ear. “Mhm, Until then.” He agrees, winking before he’s off to his final lecture of the day.

You find it funny how much he’s risking to be around you so often, as the bell rings abruptly through the building. You can still make his figure jogging down the hall. He’s going to be late again you realize, knowing Jungwon couldn’t care less. He’s always put others before him and he’ll keep doing that to his grave, for it was simply the way he was.

If you asked Jungwon, he might give a different answer. Love might be something that radiates off of him, but it wasn’t something he shared so easily, not to his classmates or even his closest friends. Love was something he cherished, something he saved in hopes that someday the person he loved would return it.

Jungwon was in love with you, and terribly so.

Never did he bother to linger around anyone else as much, he never tried so hard to make someone see how much he cared. The attention you’d attract from curious glances of students excited him, made him feel like you could be together, like you were together. He’s made it so painfully obvious how every gaze you attract from another guy sets off a fire in his chest, how any moment away from you physically pains him. He never denies it when his friends make jokes about the two of you dating, though he never fully commits to accepting them either. Just shrugging it off while he changes the topic.

Jungwon knows how it would play out. He’d confess how he’s been in love with you for years, you’d reject him, and years of friendship would end within the night. He isn’t prepared to lose that, much less lose you at all. So he settles with the fact that he has you now. He doesn’t have to have you more, not even when he’s begging for it.

By the end of the hour he finds you outside, standing by his car just like you promised. Your shoe plays with a small rock, before the sound of his footsteps takes your attention. You give him a soft smile, like he was the reason for brightening your day, and he reminds himself he wouldn’t trade this for anything. Simply being your best friend was enough, at least to numb over his aching heart.

But in your smile lies a feeling. Something you’re not sure is new or has been suppressed for a long time. He’s seen the look on you before, never knew exactly what it meant but paid it no mind. And for a while you told yourself it wasn’t anything too.

It started about a year ago, when you woke up under the soft covers of his sheets. After a Friday all-nighter spent with him and his friends, you found yourself too exhausted to keep up with them by the early morning. How exactly you fell asleep, and more specifically how you got into his bed you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to admit the possibility that he carried you, softly laying you down while the rest of his friends cooing lovey jokes dissipated into the background. It made you embarrassed for him having to deal with that, but what was more confusing to you was that a part of you was disappointed. A part of you pushed down how you wished you could’ve woken up next to him.

You let it be then, but that feeling has its moments where it’s too strong to ignore. When he lingers close for a second too long. When you look for him first in any room and his eyes are already on you. Even after the countless times your friends have insisted that it means something. If not to you yet, it does to him.

“How long have you and Jungwon been dating for again?” You recall Giselle joking to you a few weeks back. On the outside her face remains curious, but her words are laced with a teasing remark. She waits a few seconds, watches the way you huff a sigh and roll your eyes, ignoring the twinge in your chest before she lets out a warm laugh. “you can’t tell me the way he treats you, let alone looks at you doesn’t mean something, babe.”

“He’s always treated me that way?”

“Which further proves my point, he’s so in love with you, I think you know it too.”

She’s said it so many times it feels like a well-oversaid joke, but that feeling comes back again. That ‘what if’ that sits in your core. What if she’s right? Would things change for the better? or for the worse? Does he feel the same way?

And would it really be so bad?

It’s then you catch yourself starting to believe that what she’s saying is true.

“Girl, you’re thinking about him right now!!” Giselle exclaims, taking you out of your thoughts. “friends don’t act the way you two do. Just accept that he’s in love with you, and that you love him too.”

Everything she says, and all the times before, really makes you reconsider just how much you’ve been avoiding these thoughts, and how much you’ve been holding back.

So the weeks go on, and once again you find yourself seated in the passengers seat of Jungwons car like always. You don’t angle your body towards him like usual though, where you’d usually go off about some deep, interesting topic. Your knees stay pointed towards the window, and your thumbs twiddle in your lap. He’s already done more than enough today, placing your bag in the backseat while still managing to open the car door for you to step inside. Giselles words skip in your mind like a broken record.

Jungwon notices, he’d be stupid if he didn’t. He catches how you’re quieter, thinking something might’ve bothered you in your last class. But even as you get to his place, ending the quiet car ride with more silence, does he start to suspect something. The worst idea that comes to his mind is that something happened between you and him. He prays it’s anything but that.

You step inside and immediately find yourself taking out your textbooks at the kitchen table. A formal spot, a place nothing strange or out of the ordinary could happen. Though you aren’t exactly sure what is ordinary about your friendship with Jungwon, or if it’s been anything but that. He locks the front door as he finds you inside. Not at the couch, nor heading up the stairs to his room like every other time you come over.

“Is everything ok?” He says your name, and you swallow hard at how it sounds so sweet coming from his lips. Has he always said it like that?

“All good, just have a lot of schoolwork.”

He knows something’s up, doesn’t know how long you’ll hold it in for until it seeps out of you. You always come around to telling how eachother feels, but this time it feels different. He takes note of the way your hands fidget for your computer as he reaches over to help you. The skin of his hand lightly brushes against yours, and you jolt from the spark it shoots through you. Did you ever realize he made you feel this way? He places his hand on top of yours to reassure you that whatever’s going on, it’s alright.

But it really isn’t alright, because as soon as your eyes meet you have to look away. Do his eyes always have that tinge of a sparkle in them? His lips have never smiled at you this way you swear, and it doesn’t help that his hair manages to fall perfectly over his chiseled face everytime. you avert your gaze, but only for a moment as his fingers gently pull your chin back to him.

“What’s going on?” Worry courses through his words. Whatever your behavior is begins to bother him as much as it bothers you, though you can’t quite focus with his hand caressing your face. You force yourself to pull away, sitting yourself onto the barstool and immediately trying to to direct your attention back to your work.

Only a few hours of silence feels like days as you both work into the evening. No jokes this time, no outbursts of laughter like usual. Uncomfortable to the point Jungwon has to do something about it. He moves himself from the table, heading towards the couch where he picks up the remote.

He’s clicking through the channels, and though the sound pulls you away from your work, you’re only thinking about his hands. How they’ve hugged you when you’ve cried, and caressed your head when he was proud of you. His hands are always on you, you realize, much like how he held your face only a short while ago. You’re not sure whether you’re scared by how much he’s all over you, or how you never actually want him to let go.

Jungwon lands on an old movie, something from 2001 you make out before you refocus on him, now looking back at you. He gestures his head over to the couch, and you feel bad enough for acting so distant around him all day, the least you can do is watch it beside him.

You’re sure to keep enough distant between the two of you. It’s nothing like how you normally go about movie nights, shoulders comfortably touching which eventually leads to you fast asleep against his chest. Now you’re on the opposite end of the couch, not even connected by a blanket.

It’s getting harder for Jungwon to keep his distance from you, he tries to shift closer and replace the tension that’s building between you, but with every shuffle of movement Giselle’s words replay in your mind.

friends don’t act the way you two do. Just accept that he’s in love with you, and that you love him too.

The movie is reaching its climax, and it’s then you turn your head to look at him. You hope he’s distracted by the film, but his eyes are already looking back at you.

“Wonnie can we talk.”

It’s more of a statement than a question, because you know he’s got something to say, something you think has been holding him back for a while now. You just aren’t sure if it’s you who’s been making him bold back, or if you were just the one holding back this whole time.

He sighs, melting at the way you say his name, and how you think it’s so casual to call your bestfriend that when your words are laced with honey. He’s tensing at whatever might go down next, what might alter the future of your friendship, or whatever the two of you have been. He shifts forward so he’s closer to you, giving a reassuring smile.

“You can talk to me about anything”

You swallow hard, noticing the way your hands are centimeters apart. You want him to hold you, you know that now.

“I think something’s going on with us.”

He chuckles, “yeah I think so too.”

after a minute or so of silence, you begin again.

“Is there something you need to tell me Won?”

“Just something I think you need to realize.”

Your breath catches in your throat when he says that, barely above a whisper. Somehow he’s less than a foot away, and his hand slowly reaches up to cup your cheek. almost instinctively you give in, leaning into his palm. His smile is so soft, he knows you can’t hold back from it anymore.

“Do you want me to let go.”

“Please don’t.”

His thumb strokes your face, eyes half-lidded as he comes closer. Your eyes close from the comfort of him on your skin, you don’t even give a second thought when he asks if he can kiss you. His lips press onto yours, and it feels too good for you to wonder what you’ve been running from for so long. Something about Jungwon with you feels so right and you’ve known it. Your hands grip his shirt, tugging him closer as his other hand finds your waist. With the way he isn’t fazed by the kiss tells you everything you need to know. Jungwon has always been like this for you, He’s always loved you. And it’s now that you finally understand you were always meant to love yang jungwon.

reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated!

[fandomshenanigans]

Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Neglected!Batsib!Reader

After getting over the initial disappointment that you might not get the kind of family you wanted, you took stock of your situation and found that you actually like this arrangement

You were already a self sufficient from the start and had a life outside of the Manor so it didn't suck too bad

Before Damian was introduced, you spent your evenings in the Manor, either in the library or just wandering in the garden

After Damian came around and made you aware of your "position in the family", suddenly you applied for a part time job in a 24/7 coffee shop and worked the night shift. So you're barely home now

(Plus, you gave the more important stuff you owned to your closest friend to keep so nothing in that room held anything meaningful to you.)

You had dreams for college, wanting to get out there and learn, create a career of your own, everything

You also remember your mother mentioning how she hopes you might be the first in her side of the family to attend college so there was also a sense of duty that made you so eager to reach that milestone

Except..

Suddenly, Bruce's attention was on you. Suddenly, Dick was the most eager to spend time with you. Suddenly, Jason is visiting the Manor, just for you. Suddenly, Tim is more interested in you as a person. Suddenly, Damian is nicer, though just a bit.

Suddenly, you're part of the family.

There were too many changes that it made your head spin but you managed to catch up with the change so now you're just going with the flow

Honestly, this just reminds you of how you dealt with creeps at the coffee store. Just do as they ask to placate them but firmly stand your ground.

If they ask for a smile, you smile at them before excusing yourself. If they ask for some time, you tell them to give you a moment and rearrange your schedule to fit them. (Though you did immediately reject them if they try to take a whole day with you. You had a schedule and you'd be damned if you let them mess that up.)

This continues on for a couple of months and you were simply continuing to indulge them whenever they tried to "make up for lost time"

Until you told your dad about your plans for college.

You had been doing so well at school, your grades were perfect and you were a great student, according to your teacher. You mention to him how you wanted to attend this one college in Metropolis since it had the best science programs

"You're not going to college. At least, you can't go to one that far."

.......huh?

"Maybe choose one that's closer to home? Or better yet, you don't have to go."

Ex-fucking-cuse me?

You gripped the collar of his stupid shirt, glaring into his eyes with pure hatred as you screamed at him, demanding to know what the FUCK that meant.

You demanded to know why is he trying to pull this on you. Was this some twisted power play?

Bruce tried to calm you down, claiming that wasn't what he meant.

But you cut him off before he could bullshit you further.

"Are you that ashamed of me, Mr. Wayne? Am I that much of a stain to your family name that you'd rather keep me locked up so no one can see me? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Then, you dropped him like a hot potato and stormed off

After that revelation, you stopped eating. Stopped taking care of yourself. Stopped going to classes because what was the fucking point? You're not going to reach that milestone in your life so why bother? You simply locked yourself in your room and refused everything.

Everyone is in a panic because it's been WEEKS since you've left your room, since you've started to rot in your bed.

They all did their best to coax/lure you out. But nothing was working.

"I'm sorry, please, just open the door. You can go to college in Metropolis, just like you wanted, okay? I'm sorry for denying you, please." Bruce pleads.

Then, the door opens and now you're hugging him, accepting his apology before you're running off to clean yourself up.

You're back to being the sweet yet distant sibling, who's smile to them was simply for show, who's more interested in anything other than family.

Might continue this but yeah, this is an idea that popped into my head.

[pucksandpower]

Hip Thrusts

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Summary: watching your boyfriend train gives you ideas about other things (or people) his hips could be doing … like you

Warnings: 18+ content

You take a deep breath as you push open the door to the gym. The smell of rubber mats and metal weights fills your nose.

It’s early — the sun is just starting to peek through the windows — and the gym is mostly empty, except for a few dedicated early morning regulars on the cardio machines.

Across the room, you spot Oscar on the weight floor. He’s doing barbell hip thrusts, clanging the weights up and down with each rep. His trainer Kim stands over him, stopwatch in hand, counting out the seconds between sets.

You take a moment just to watch Oscar train. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his muscles flexing and contracting with each thrust. He’s wearing those tiny Nike running shorts you bought him last month, the ones that show off his sculpted quads and glutes.

You can’t help but stare a little bit. Okay, a lot. Your boyfriend’s butt looks amazing.

“57… 58 … 59 ...” Kim counts. “Good, take 30 seconds.”

Oscar racks the barbell and sits up, grabbing his water bottle. His eyes catch yours across the room and his face lights up in a smile.

“Hey babe!” He calls out, waving you over.

You weave your way past the ellipticals and weight machines until you’re standing next to him.

“Hey yourself,” you lean down to give him a quick peck. “You’re looking strong this morning.”

“Just trying to get some strength training in before Kim puts me through the ringer later,” Oscar says. “We’ve got the season starting up so I really need to be on my game.”

He takes a long swig from his water bottle as Kim jots down notes on his clipboard.

“So what brings you to the gym so early?” Oscar asks. “I didn’t think 6 am workouts were your thing.”

You shrug. “I was up early and thought maybe we could do breakfast after you’re done?”

“Sounds good to me,” Oscar nods.

Kim clears his throat. "30 seconds are up, time to go again.”

“Duty calls,” Oscar says, getting back into position on the bench.

You step back to give him space, but stay close to chat. Oscar grips the barbell and hoists it up into position over his hips. You glance at the plates stacked on either end, doing some quick math in your head.

“Seems like that’s heavier than last time I dropped by,” you can’t help but comment.

“Sure is,” Kim says proudly before Oscar can respond. “We increased the weight since last week. Gotta keep increasing the load to build muscle.”

You stare at the barbell plates again. Exactly your body weight. Which means ...

Oscar is doing hip thrusts with the equivalent of you lying on top of him.

A little flutter goes through your stomach at the thought. You try to push it aside though. Obviously he isn’t thinking of it that way, it’s just part of his training regimen that Kim has him on. Still, you can’t help but visualize it for a moment.

“Alright, here we go,” Kim says. “Three sets of twenty reps, and … go!”

Oscar begins thrusting the barbell up in controlled motions, breathing out with each lift. You try not to stare, but your eyes keep flicking back to the movement of his hips. There’s something about watching your boyfriend’s pelvis go up and down right in front of you that’s making it hard to look away.

After twenty reps Oscar racks the barbell again. His chest is heaving a little from the exertion.

“Nice work,” Kim says. “How’d that feel?”

“Good,” Oscar says between breaths. “Definitely feeling the burn.”

He catches your eye and must notice you blushing because he adds with a wink, “Enjoying the show, babe?”

You feel your cheeks flush even more. “What? No! I mean, yes? I just … never mind ...” you stammer.

Oscar grins knowingly and takes another sip of water.

Over the next two sets, you try your best not to gawk. You remind yourself that this is serious training. Oscar is an athlete and you need to be respectful.

But still … when he’s finished his final set and Kim tells him to take a longer rest, you can’t help yourself.

“So, the weight you’re thrusting, huh?” You say, trying to sound casual. “That’s kind of a coincidence ...”

“What do you mean?” Oscar asks.

You glance at Kim, who is occupied on his phone. In a lower voice you say, “Well, it’s exactly what I weigh.”

Oscar’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh! I didn’t even realize.” A sly grin crosses his face. “Hey, you’re totally right.”

You take a step closer to him, emboldened. “So basically you’re doing hip thrusts with me on top of you.”

Oscar lets out a startled laugh. “When you put it that way ...”

“I have to admit the thought crossed my mind while I was watching you,” you say. You run a hand slowly up his arm. “I think you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Oscar swallows hard, his eyes darkening. “Yeah?” He asks quietly.

You nod, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

He reaches out and takes your hand, rubbing his thumb in circles over your skin. “Well I can promise you, the real thing is a hundred times better than any training exercise.”

You lace your fingers through his, reveling in his touch. “Why don’t you remind me later?” You ask boldly.

Oscar leans in, his breath hot on your ear. “It would be my pleasure.”

A little shiver runs down your spine at the promise in his words. You want to kiss him right here in the middle of the gym, but Kim finally looks up from his phone.

“Alright, time’s up! Let’s keep moving.”

Oscar gives you a sheepish look as he releases your hand. “Duty calls once again. But rain check for later?”

“Absolutely.” You wink and take a step back so he can get into position for his next set.

You try to pay more attention to his form as he does the next round of hip thrusts. But this time, your mind keeps wandering to what those hips could do under different circumstances. Judging by the smoldering looks Oscar keeps shooting your way between sets, you’re pretty sure he’s thinking the same thing.

By the last set, there’s an obvious tension and heat between you. Oscar holds your gaze as he finishes the final reps, his hips rising and falling rhythmically. You bite your lip, no longer even trying to hide your desire. You want him, and you want him now.

Finally Kim calls time and tells Oscar to start his cool down stretches. As he reaches for his toes, back arched, you sidle up behind him.

“I think you need to stretch out some other muscles too,” you murmur in his ear. “I’d be happy to assist with that later.”

Oscar straightens up with a groan. “You’re killing me here, babe. As soon as we get home ...”

You grin up at him innocently. “Yes?”

He kisses you heatedly, not caring that Kim is still packing up his things nearby. “Why don’t you head out and get breakfast started for us?” He suggests. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You bite your lip as you back away slowly. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

You toss one last flirty wave over your shoulder as you leave the gym, heart racing. You have a feeling breakfast might be the last thing on both of your minds when Oscar gets home. But you love teasing each other like this — it always makes your time together even hotter.

As you drive home, you can’t stop replaying those images of Oscar doing hip thrusts in your mind. Maybe you should start joining those early morning workouts more often …

***

You can barely concentrate as you drive back home. You and Oscar have always had an adventurous and flirtatious relationship, but that encounter at the gym took things to a whole new level.

When you get home, you quickly tidy up the bedroom and kitchen to get things ready for when Oscar arrives. You take a fast shower, letting the hot water relax your excited nerves.

Slipping into a silky robe, you head to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. You chop fruit, arrange multigrain toast and toppings on a platter, and squeeze fresh orange juice, trying to make everything look as appetizing as possible. Not that food is really on your mind right now, but you want to set the scene perfectly.

Just as you’re pouring two cups of coffee, you hear the front door open. Oscar calls out your name, his voice sending a thrill through your whole body.

“In here!” You call back, straining to keep your tone neutral even as your pulse quickens.

Oscar strides into the kitchen and pauses, eyes sweeping over you hungrily as he takes in the robe and the breakfast you’ve laid out.

“This looks amazing, babe,” he says appreciatively. He comes over and kisses you tenderly. “Thank you for doing all this.”

You smile up at him, arms encircling his neck. “Least I could do after that little show you put on for me. Now come sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

You both take a seat at the kitchen island, filling your plates with fruit, pastries and eggs. The domesticity of sharing a meal together contrasts wildly with the tension still charging the air between you.

Oscar asks about your morning as you eat, keeping the conversation light. But his foot slowly trails up your calf under the table, making your breath hitch. You tell him about your plans to meet up with some friends later in the week. His hand finds your knee, fingers lightly grazing your bare skin. You ask him how training is going, trying to keep your voice even as your whole body tingles.

By the time you’ve both cleaned your plates, you’re squirming in your seat, heart pounding with anticipation. The second Oscar pushes his plate away, you surge forward to kiss him hungrily. All pretense of small talk is dropped — you want him now.

Oscar responds immediately, his strong arms pulling you tight against him as he kisses you deeply. You run your hands over the hard muscles of his chest and arms, feeling them flex and relax under your touch.

“Take me to bed,” you whisper in his ear.

In one smooth motion, Oscar stands and lifts you up into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you effortlessly to the bedroom and lays you down on the bed, his athletic body hovering tantalizingly over yours.

You run your hands up under his shirt, feeling the ripple of abs and obliques. Oscar lets you pull it up over his head before capturing your mouth again, kissing you ravenously.

“Need to feel you,” he groans, hands fumbling to untie your robe. He pushes the silk aside reverently, eyes roaming over your exposed body with undisguised longing.

You arch up into him, gasping as your overheated skin meets his. Oscar kisses down your neck to your collarbone, hands gliding up your ribcage to caress your breasts. You moan his name, back bowing off the bed at the sensation.

“You’re so beautiful,” Oscar murmurs, lips continuing their descent. “I’ve been thinking about this all morning.”

You smile, combing your fingers through his hair. “Well then stop thinking and start doing.”

Oscar laughs, his warm breath fanning over your stomach. “Yes ma’am.”

He kisses lower, fingers trailing down your thighs to nudge them apart. You let your legs fall open with a pleasured sigh, back arching in anticipation.

Oscar starts slow, kissing and licking with delicate flicks of his tongue that have you squirming for more. He grips your hips, holding you still as he finally puts his mouth on you fully.

You cry out as he brings you right to the edge, only to pause and ease up again, keeping you balancing at the precipice.

“Oscar,” you moan urgently.

He smiles against you, knowing exactly what he’s doing to your body. When he finally takes pity on you, the climax rockets through you powerfully, leaving you trembling and breathless.

You pull Oscar up to meet your lips again, tasting yourself on him. “Your turn,” you whisper.

He groans as you quickly flip him onto his back and kiss your way down his taut body. You pull off his shorts torturously slowly, trailing your tongue along his hip crease in a way you know drives him wild.

Finally you take him into your mouth, noting how he’s already hard and straining for you. You smile around him, working him with your lips and tongue until his hips are bucking uncontrollably.

“I need you. I need to be inside you,” Oscar gasps, stilling you.

You release him reluctantly and crawl back up his muscular frame to kiss him hungrily. Oscar grips your hips and then you’re sinking down onto him, crying out at the delicious fullness.

You move together urgently, the restrained desire from earlier in the gym bubbling over as your bodies join again and again. Oscar’s fingers dig into the curves of your hips as he guides you up and down. You brace your hands on his sculpted chest, grinding your hips in little circles that make you both moan.

The pleasure builds rapidly, urged on by the intoxicating intimacy of your entwined bodies. Oscar’s thumb finds your most sensitive spot and starts stroking in time with your movements. The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge again. Your climax seems to trigger Oscar’s own release. He throws his head back with a ragged groan as he finds his peak deep inside you.

You stay wrapped together as you both catch your breath, hearts pounding against each other’s chests. Oscar strokes your hair back from your face and pulls you in for a lazy kiss, full of satiation.

“Wow,” you sigh, still trembling with aftershocks. “This morning just keeps getting better and better.”

Oscar grins and rolls you both onto your sides, keeping you tucked close. “I guess we have hip thrusts to thank for this extra workout.”

You laugh and kiss his cheek. “Remind me to join your gym sessions more often.”

You lay entwined, trading soft kisses and simply enjoying the intimacy. The frantic passion from moments before simmers down into contented warmth.

Eventually Oscar nuzzles your hair. “As much as I want to stay like this all day, I should probably shower before practice.”

You pout playfully but let him slide out of your arms. He heads to the bathroom and you hear the water turn on a minute later.

Biting your lip, you get an idea. Oscar did say all day ...

You sneak into the steamy bathroom behind him. Through the frosted glass door you can see the outline of his muscular frame under the cascade of water.

Silently, you drop your robe and step into the shower behind him. Oscar turns under the stream, eyes lighting up as he sees you.

“Well hello there,” he grins. “Come here often?”

You press your naked body against his slick skin. “I missed you already.”

Oscar’s arms wrap around you as his lips find yours. “I think we have time for round two before I have to get ready for the afternoon,” he murmurs suggestively.

You smile and reach for the body wash, lathering up your hands. “Better get started then.”

Oscar groans appreciatively as your soapy hands glide over his shoulders and down his chest. You take your time relearning every hard ridge and valley of his athletic physique, paying special attention to the areas still sensitive from your earlier activities.

The combination of cascading water and roaming hands quickly has Oscar hard again. This time he lifts you, pressing your back against the cool tile wall as your legs lock around his hips.

You cry out in bliss at the new angle as he enters you. Oscar braces one hand on the wall and slips the other between you, resuming his earlier attentions. The dual sensation makes your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you gasp, raking your nails down his back.

Oscar increases his pace, thumb working you relentlessly as he snaps his hips. You feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter until it crests explosively, just as Oscar tenses and finds his own peak.

You cling together, slick and sated under the warm spray. Eventually Oscar carefully lowers your weakened legs back to the shower floor, keeping an arm around your waist to support you.

“Okay, now I really need to get ready to head out,” he chuckles.

You sigh contentedly. “Fine, but only if you promise more later.”

Oscar drops a kiss to your shoulder. “Oh I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

As you exit the shower on shaky legs, you exchange a grin. Looks like early morning workouts are going to become a permanent part of your routine from now on.

[venomvalley]

Erm what about sevi giving her gf nipple piercings??-$-&/&/88/0/0-8:-$/$/&/9/8/8

And also going insane because she can’t rlly do much until they heal 👅👅

anon are you in my walls cause this is the exact same situation my girlfriend and i are experiencing....

warning for blood mention and needles. 18+ please!!

One of the biggest pros to your girlfriend working at a tattoo shop is getting free piercings in a relatively clean, comfortable environment. Even better that your girlfriend is the piercer providing you free, professional service.

Like today, after months of debating on a very popular, arguably painful piercing. Her presence is a comfort that soothes the anxiety fluttering in your chest, the room clean and neat—so unlike her personal space at home.

"You do realize that these take six months to heal," Sevika says, looking up from the new pack of gloves she just opened to raise her brows at you.

She looks good in her element, sat at her station in a rolling chair and a cut-off tank top that bares muscled arms and the trim curve of her waist. You can't even focus on the size of the needle without straying to the sight of her long fingers clad in sterile gloves.

One of the biggest cons to your girlfriend piercing you? She takes her job very seriously. No funny business, no joking around, no PDA. When you sit in her chair, you're a client just like everyone else.

"You've told me fifteen times over the past week," you say, curling a playful foot around the back of her leg. "I'm ready to get this over with."

You know what she means, though: six months without me touching your tits. Frankly, the time frame is daunting, a bit dreadful to think about. Six long months without her mouth on you.

Damn. You could cry at the thought of it.

With a huff, she clasps her hands together to adjust her gloves over her fingers. "Shirt off."

You wore a simple button-down for the occasion, easy to get on and off in the event of an unexpected guest (as if any other artist would dare interrupt when you're in the room). You slowly work each button free from its toggle with a wiggle of your brows and a sensual arch to your back.

She stares at you like you've grown a second head, but still glances down at the slow reveal of skin. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to seduce you." Your eyes narrow. "Is it working?"

She shrugs, lips twitching into a teasing grin as her chair rolls across the floor. "Not really." So close you can reach out and touch her, elbows balanced on her knees as she tracks the path of your fingers.

Your shirt falls open, hanging from your shoulders before you tease the fabric down your arms. She's good at pretending, but not good enough. Her swallow is audible in the silent room, and the chair creaks when she leans back, hips shifting.

"What, don't wanna give 'em one last kiss?" you ask, pressing your tits together with your arms. An invitation.

One she promptly ignores when she rips open the package of an alcohol wipe. "No. I don't."

The air leaves your lungs in a harsh scoff. "You're so rude."

"I'm piercing you for free."

"With that attitude? I'd rather go to—"

Behind the cold alcohol pad, her fingers pinch at your nipple, jolting you in the chair. "Don't finish that sentence."

You consider heeding her warning, then decide that the possible consequences are worth it. "… Margot."

After a long, tense moment of mutual staring, she grumbles, "Be grateful I already have my gloves on."

There's nothing explicitly sensual about the sharpie that she dots on either side of each nipple, or the way she holds your tits to ensure an even marking (doesn't even get a little squeeze in, the asshole). More clinical work-up than secret rendezvous. But that changes when she runs her tongue over her bottom lip, gaze sharp and focused. Anticipation licks heat up the back of your neck as you wait for her to finally cave, to give you some form of pleasure that your brain is hard-wired to expect.

"Deep breath," she says, voice soft and calming. On instinct, you tense up, lungs filling with air. "Just relax. You're alright."

You close your eyes and exhale, the needle a sharp sting through your skin only moments later. Another wave of pain blooms when she feeds the piercing through, your heartbeat a frantic thrum in your ears—the sweet release of adrenaline that keeps you coming back to her chair, addictive and euphoric.

Her lips press to yours in a slow, tender kiss, same as always. Equal parts reward and reassurance. "You did good. Now, the other."

The second nipple hurts worse, just as she said it would, but you try to keep still, to be good for her. You suck a sharp breath through your teeth as she puts the second piercing in place, more rough with screwing the ball on in exchange for speed. Better to just rip the bandaid off, you suppose.

She dabs at the pebbling blood with a square of gauze, then strips off her gloves and traces the bottom curve of your tits with her thumbs. Lifts them once again to check the evenness of each piercing.

"How do they look?" you ask, a bit lightheaded from the warmth of her touch (and probably from the fact that your nipples just had a needle stabbed through them).

Her mouth twists into a frown, fingers dimpling the flesh. "I regret not taking you up on your offer."

"That's too bad. Shop's closed for six months."

A sharp glare aimed your way. "Don't remind me."

As expected, the next six months are a trial of patience for both of you. A teasing push-and-pull where you remind her of your predicament every time you have sex, and she tortures you with the heat of her mouth on every inch of skin but where you crave her most. Still, she copes with the situation worse than you do. Can't lay on your chest like she used to, or suck on your tits when she's bored, or cradle them in her hand as she falls asleep.

But once the healing period is over (she keeps the exact date in her calendar), you have just enough time to step through the front door and remove your shoes before she pounces on you. Yanks up your shirt and bra and runs a thumb over the metal.

"You couldn't let me sit down first?" you ask, backing up against the wall beside the door.

She pinches a nipple between thumb and the knuckle of her forefinger, twists hard enough to leave you arching into her hand. "No."

You expect more of a response from her, but her mouth quickly becomes occupied by the same nipple previously grasped between her fingers. She soothes the ache with her tongue before closing her lips around your flesh. Suckles soft and sweet.

Fucking finally.

Pleasure lances down your spine at the wet heat of her mouth, her hand pressed to the curve of your back. She pulls away long enough to sit you on the entry table before her mouth latches onto each of your tits, back and forth and back and forth.

Your breathing stutters when her arm curls around your back, tugging you as close as possible against her. On instinct, your legs part, hips chasing stimulation.

And then she pulls away with a wide, teasing grin. Stands to her full height and steps back, lips slicked with spit.

Your mouth falls open in shock when she says, "Maybe next time, you should go to Margot."

[dpspcehntr]

Kink Series: Zayne

Rafayel || Xavier || Sylus

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: temperature play, inappropriate use of evol, oral (f receiving), over stimulation, fingering (f receiving), P in V, cum play, cum eating, cum fetish, cream pie, just so much cum, spitting

A/N: Welcome to part one of this series! I didn't expect to have this much fun with this but I did. These are not beta read so please be nice to me. Continuously spreading my cum fetish Zayne agenda! Also I went kinda wild with this one but I do not regret it. As always reblogs are deeply appreciated and I hope you enjoy.

In between kisses and gropes during your usual office make out sessions you asked him a simple question.

“Can you use your evol on me?”

He didn’t say much, taking your lips into his as he pulled you off his desk and into his lap.

“N-next time. We don’t have enough time tonight.”

He whispered against your lips as he unzipped the fly on your pants. For the week after, all you could think about was the feeling of ice running down your body. You tried on your own to satisfy the itch but nothing was working. You didn’t tell him anything until you found yourself with him naked on top of you kissing you on your off day. With his evol he carefully produces a layer of ice to cover his hand. You watch in excitement as he gently places the hand on your flushed body. The cold of his fingers slowly trace circles around your hard nipples leaving you dizzy with desire. Your back arches into his touch as he tugs on your nipple and takes the other in his mouth. The sensation of cold and warm leaves you breathless as you card your hands into his hair. He groans around you as you arch further into him, grazing his raging hard on with your thigh. He switches nipples, torturing you so deliciously as you moan and writhe for him. You wanted so much more from him but his slow pace was deliberate. He liked it best when you both were so worked up, one orgasm would just never be enough for either of you. You never complained, the wait only made your release feel so much sweeter. His fingertips dance over your skin lower and lower. The cold making your head spin as he drags his middle finger over your inner thigh. You’re dripping onto the sheets below as he presses his fingers into you. You try your best to thrust yourself further onto his fingers but he doesn’t budge, taking his time pushing two fingers into you. His fingers no longer covered in ice still lingering with coldness enter you fully. He presses them deep into you, hitting your g spot. You arch deeper into his touch as he slowly thrusts them in and out of you. He sets a moderate pace, giving you just enough to keep you on the edge as you beg him for more. You feel his composure slowly slipping away as you begin to clench down onto his fingers. His pace quickens as your juices gush over his knuckles and down his hand. You cry out as you ride out your high on his fingers. It’s not enough for you, you need him inside of you right at this moment.

“Zayne please. I need you.”

He shifts his position on the bed as he settles himself between your legs. He lines himself up with your entrance and looks to you. In your blissed out state you can only nod a yes as he begins to slide into you. He takes his time bottoming out, making sure you feel every single inch being thrust into you. The teasing touch of cold long lost in the thrill of being connected once again. You cry out as he pull out and thrusts all the way back inside you. He fills you up so completely, rubbing against your walls so deliciously. You can only lie there and take everything he gives you, too lost in the pleasure of him overwhelming all of your senses. You feel yourself begin to clench down on him as your orgasm quickly builds up. He continues at his pace, drawing out your edge just a bit more. Before long your release crashes over you with a rush. You ride it out as he continues to thrust into you, prolonging your release. HIs pace begins to falter, becoming more desperate. Before he can cum inside you he pulls out of you with a shudder as he paints your stomach and thighs with his cum. You whine at the loss of him but you don’t have to wait long. He leans down hovering over where he just released onto you. He carefully begins to clean up the mess, licking every single drop off of you. You whine and writhe on the bed as he finishes cleaning up the mess he made. The desire coursing through you was almost painful as you watched him swallow every drop. He’s lines himself back up with your entrance and looks up at you.

“Ready?”

He looks into your eyes looking for any hesitation.

“F-fuck. Yes.”

Overwhelmed by what you just witnessed and blissfully fucked out you greedily agree for another. He thrusts back into you completely as you arch into him. He grips your hips and thrust you back onto him as you moan out his name. It was all too much for you and another orgasm crashes over you. You can’t keep track of when the orgasms start and stop as he plows into you chasing his own high. His thrusts become irregular as his own release is close. With one more thrust he paints your insides white. He groans loudly as he comes down from his orgasm. He pulls out once more and watches his cum leak out of you. He leans down and carefully licks from your clit to your dripping hole. You buck into him as he scopes his cum out of you with his tongue. Your clit throbs as another orgasm builds up inside you. He slurps and sucks you like a madman, savoring the taste of you mixing together. His grip on your thighs tightens as he feels you clenching down on his tongue. You grip a fist full of his hair and pull hard as your orgasm crashes down on you. The pressure bursting as you squirt over his face. He doesn't let up, sucking you until your legs start shaking. One orgasm rolls into the next as your voice goes hoarse from moaning. He eventually pulls away after having his fill. He sits up and leans over you. You look into his eyes as he leans in further, inches from your lips.

"Open up."

He spits the rest of his cum and your squirt into your mouth and your swallow it greedily. You pull him in for a heated kiss, licking the taste of both of you from his mouth. You stay locked in a heated embrace before you both pull away for air. You collapse onto the bed in exhaustion as he rolls over to the spot next to you. He pulls you close for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of you in his arms.

*the next morning*

In the morning, you wake up snuggled tight into Zayne's arms. A glass of water and a bottle of pain medicine sits on your bedside table, he must've cleaned you up in the night. You ease yourself out of bed and make your way to the bathroom to freshen up. Before long you hear the door open as a sleepy Zayne trudges in. He settles into your shoulder, his arms draped loosely around your waist. He kisses your neck before looking at you in the mirror.

"Apologies for last night. I got a bit carried away in the passions of the evening."

He blushes and avoids looking into your eyes in the mirror.

"If you're talking about spitting in my mouth, I enjoyed it. No need to apologize if I liked it."

He sheepishly makes eye contact with you in the mirror and nods. You wonder what else he's capable of when the passion takes over as your cheeks flush thinking of next time.

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[jo-harrington]

Saganaki (Eddie Munson x Reader)

Pairings/Relationships: Older!Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings/Themes: First Date, Blind Date, Awkwardness, Fluff, Food/Eating

Note: I feel like I've already written something with a traditional Chicagoland greek diner in Magnificum et Horribilis but while that one has more of an air of "together despite it all, in order to overcome it all" I also wanted to feel a little more fluffy about it. A love letter, if you will. I've been feeling a little bit of a "romanticize your life" vibe lately about all of the stupidest places you could think of and this was one of them.

Tagging @bettyfrommars because she got a 10 minute voice note about this a few weeks ago. I'm going Friday morning and I will be getting my bowl of cream of chicken and rice soup. AND MY CHEESE. And @deathbecomesthem because I know you need a little bit of simple and light. (No pressure to read on either of you. Love you both.)

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

You wouldn't say you hated much in life but you hated blind dates. Hated them with a passion.

You didn't know anyone who specifically liked the concept of a blind date, but it always seemed that the people who said they disliked them as much as you did were always the first people to try to set you up with someone they knew.

"My husband's mechanic. You'll love him."

"This guy who works at the mail room at work. He's a hoot."

"The neighbor's nephew. He works at the post office."

And you were kind about it, always went through the motions and attempted to set these dates up. But they always fell short without fail. They were obnoxious or selfish or rude. Most importantly, none of them ever made you laugh. Then, after the night was over and you vowed never to see the guy again, you'd get the "I'm so sorry it didn't work. You know, I always hated blind dates."

So you didn't know why they kept trying. Actually, you didn't know why you kept graciously agreeing, and you eventually put your foot down.

Well, you tried to.

Your friend, Jen, made one last ditch effort. One final blind date and then you would never need to do it ever again. According to her, at least.

"How do you even know this guy?" you had asked over the phone. "I know everyone you know."

"Friend of a friend of a friend," she simply dismissed. "And you would've known him already if you had come to the last Garage Beer Friday last summer."

You wondered for a moment if she had tried to set you up with this Eddie guy back then. Had your unseasonable cold saved you from disaster? You couldn't bring yourself to lick a doorknob to contract another disease to avoid this again. You hated being sick more than you hated being set up.

"He'll be great!" Jen promised when you didn't respond. "Besides, you need a date for Stef's wedding, and he's already invited!"

"So he's John's friend?"

"I think they work together."

"You think?!" You sat upright. "That's it, I'm not going."

Jen proceeded to yell at you through the phone until you finally relented. Which was the reason why you were sitting in a booth at the local greek diner. It was right before the post-church rush on a Sunday morning, and you were impatiently waiting for the final blind date of your life to show up.

The blue-haired waitress was kind enough to refill your coffee twice, and did not pressure you to touch the enticing bread basket at the center of the table or to order. But you knew that kindness was running out. Along with your patience.

Where the fuck was this guy?

It was at the exact moment that you'd slammed your coffee cup on the table, ready to call it, that a body slid into the other side of the booth.

"I'm sorry I'm late. In my defense, Jen shouldn’t have suggested the morning after daylight savings." The words were blurted out, out of breath, and all in one messy string of sound. Like he'd been practicing it on the drive here and was so eager to get the words out, it didn't matter if they were coherent or not.

Rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed, and with a bashful grin, Eddie was the grown man equivalent of an eager puppy. A mutt of a man, at that. His long, frizzy hair was still a little damp at the ends, and he had a worn leather jacket over a flannel shirt with some fraying on the collar, with ringed fingers that nervously tapped on the top of the table as soon as he had a second to breathe.

Of course, you weren’t judging him for what he wore. It looked comfy, worn like a second skin, unlike other dates who were stiff and clearly out of their depth. You’d done the same; worn something tried and true that you wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable in. But still cute. Just like him.

No, what really spoke to you was that he seemed exactly the kind of guy who would fit in at Garage Beer Fridays. A little weird, a little unruly. The kind of person with a personality already baked in who looked like they had stories to tell. The type of stray that naturally gravitated towards your ragtag group of friends. If he was already in good with your friends, he was good people.

"Daylight savings was last week, actually," you announced after a beat. Said lightheartedly, you were signaling that this diner, this booth, and you were safe from further judgement. Well, as far as blind dates went, that is.

The record-scratch moment that occurred in his head was immediately evident on his face. Cute confusion.

"No it wasn't," he muttered with a chuckle. Then his brow furrowed slightly. "No...was that why I was late to...oh shit. I'm so sorry I'm an idiot."

He shook his head and chuckled, and then reached into his jacket and produced one, slightly crumpled, tulip for you.

"My uncle always said never to show up to a date empty handed," he explained as you took the flower from him. You ignored the electricity that tickled your fingers as they brushed against his. "Figured a rose would be too much."

"It's perfect, thank you." You grinned as you felt your impatience evaporating. "Unfortunately I don't have anything for you. But maybe we just start with a cup of coffee."

You reached across the table to flip Eddie's cup over and then waved the waitress over for a top off.

---

You'd gotten the typical "getting to know you's" out of the way fairly quickly. Names, what you did for work, how you both knew Jen. Then, once you had a chance to look at the menus, you got to the real meat of the conversation.

Because Eddie, it seemed, was a regular at Omega Family Restaurant.

You'd been clued in as he schmoozed your waitress for an extra bowl of little creamer packets, and although she had expertly brushed off his charms, she had returned with the creamer and referred to him by name.

Only for you, Ed.

"I'm her favorite," he explained as he dumped an absurd number of sugar packets into his coffee. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. Shake, shake, rip, dump, toss. It was a comical rhythm and you wondered if all that sugar made him sweet too. "But, uh, I'm usually not around in the mornings. I'm in a band. We play a few regular gigs in the area. Jen said you like metal?"

"I've been known to attempt to deafen myself in the car before work," you replied.

"Hell yeah, baby. You should come see us sometimes. Anyway, all of our gigs are usually late. We needed a 24 hour place to call terra firma. With pancakes, of course." His spoon went into his cup and it clinked against the sides as coffee sloshed over the lip and onto the paper placemat.

"Of course." You smiled into your own coffee cup.

"And," he abruptly pulled his spoon out to point right at you, "a free bread basket. Which I notice you haven't touched yet."

"I was trying to be considerate and not eat the croissants before you got here," you explained. "But you were late, so..." You reached over and grabbed the flaky pastry with an exaggerated gesture.

He hummed judgmentally and you shot him a questioning look. "No, I just think it's interesting you went for the croissant and not...I dunno, the poppy seed muffin."

"I mean, if we're here long enough, all of those pastries are getting eaten," you announced unabashedly. "What is this bread basket psychoanalysis?"

He reached over, letting his hand undulate in the air until he chose the chocolate muffin. You didn't know it then, but it would become the first of many thesis-level Munson philosophies that you would hear about in your life.

"There are few things more sacred in life than the bread basket at a greek diner," he began with the air of a scholar. He slowly peeled the liner off the muffin as he spoke. "Not even the bread basket at a steakhouse! At a steakhouse, you're paying for good bread and butter. At a diner, this is a gift. Welcome, we're about to treat you like a part of the family. We're happy to see you. Have a pastry, an old family recipe made with love.

"You chose a croissant, which means you appreciate the craftsmanship of laminated pastry. You like nice things, you like butter. Poppyseed muffin? You don't care what people think of you. You also don't work in a job where they drug test. But most importantly? If you decided not to have a pastry altogether? That would be a cardinal sin. That means you don't appreciate the bread basket, you don't enjoy the mundanity of the every day, and that would've been the end of our date, in my humble opinion."

Your brows jumped in shock at his closing statement. "You're awfully judgy for someone who doesn't want to be single."

"Judgy? Sure." He narrowed his eyes at you and popped a piece of the muffin in his mouth. "But not weird? Not a freak?"

"It's not the worst way to gauge the quality of person you've been set up with," you admitted after some contemplation.

Eddie beamed. Not the easy smiles and smirks he'd been giving you so far during your time together. It was a smile that morphed his face into something of sheer beauty. And your heart skipped a beat as you desired to see that smile more.

"As long as you don't judge anything else I order," you added as an afterthought.

"Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

---

Unfortunately, that plan went to shit immediately because judgement seemed to be the theme for the rest of your date.

Good natured judgement, sure. But judgement nonetheless.

As it turned out, you were both incredibly opinionated when it came to food.

It wasn't something you'd ever consciously considered yourself to be, seeing as you were the furthest from a picky eater possible. You ate everything. But you had preferences that came to light when it was time to place your orders. Eddie's hawklike gaze caught every twitch of your brow and scrunch of your nose. And you had done the same in return.

"What's that look?"

"What's what look?"

"That one?"

"Excuse me, but you've got a look too."

This led to you bickering across the table as you continued to consume the bread basket.

"Who puts mozzarella in their omelet? It's swiss or cheddar or nothing."

"Mozzarella is the reason there's a cheese stretch. And you're one to talk. Who orders ranch on their caesar sirloin sandwich instead of caesar? It's in the name."

"I don't like the anchovies."

"You can't even taste them."

"No, but I know they're there."

At some point, Eddie had reached across the table and flicked at the tips of your fingers lightly.

It tickled. You giggled. You were not a giggler.

What the hell was wrong with you?

Back and forth you went as you scanned over the menu and went over your preferences. Waffles verus pancakes versus french toast. Minestrone versus cream of chicken and rice. Rice pudding versus spumoni.

It seemed that every time you compared preferences, you were at odds with one another. But that was the best thing about them being preferences, you didn't explicitly dislike what the other person liked. Just preferred your own. So it didn't stop either of your utensils from sneaking across the table to steal bites from each other's plates once the food had arrived.

"You put too much syrup on your pancakes," you cajoled.

"Well they're my pancakes, sweetheart," Eddie joked before flipping the short stack over so you could access the pancake that wasn't absolutely doused in butter and syrup. "You put too much hot sauce on your eggs."

"They needed something," you defended and he pointedly hit his fork against the glass Heinz bottle that sat between you. "Don't tell me you can't handle spice." You pointedly cut a particularly bland looking portion for him to take.

There was one item on the menu you had yet to discuss, and Eddie was the one to cross the metaphorical line in the sand.

"How do you feel..." Eddie paused as he swirled a fry through a pool of ketchup. He avoided your gaze, either through fear or shame, you couldn’t be sure. “About saganaki?"

You twirled your fork thoughtfully and asked "versus what?"

"Versus nothing." He shrugged. "Just...wanna know what you think of it." He leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms over the back of the booth, the complete opposite of the defensive, avoidant body language he had just moments ago. He was open, welcoming your response. Even if it was one that he wasn't going to like.

Flaming Saganaki was in a league of its own, and Eddie was right not to put it against something else. Briney cheese doused in brandy and then set aflame at your table in a brilliant spectacle. Squirt a bit of lemon on it once the fire had burned out--or to put the fire out altogether--and it turned gooey and a little roasty and a little funky.

It was a divisive dish and you'd sat through plenty of arguments with friends and family alike over ordering it for the table to share, and you're sure Eddie had experienced the same.

Even though you'd had the lowest of hopes for this date, it was actually going well and you really liked him. His humor, his smile, his je ne sais qois. You didn't want this whole thing to derail over saganaki of all things. Should you tell him the truth? Or not?

"I love it," you said confidently, shoulders pulled back.

"Bullshit," he hissed at you and leaned forward, elbows placed on the table as he tented his hands in front of his face. "Nobody likes saganaki."

"I do," you insisted with a scoff. "I like the corner pieces, actually, because they get the best crust."

"But it's stinky."

"Sometimes the best food is stinky food."

"It's not even greek!"

"Yes it is! It's greek cheese! Halloumi. Kasseri!"

"It's weird."

"It's a tradition," you insisted, getting a little hot under the collar.

You mirrored him, leaning forward to meet his challenge. But instead of tenting your hands, you fisted the cloth napkin in your lap. Wringing it. It was your turn, now, to wax poetic about a food; you knew this date was over anyway if this was anything to go by, just as you feared. Who knew cheese would be your undoing. Another anecdote never to tell your nonexistent grandchildren.

"It's a Chicago diner staple," you spat at him. "It's a spectacle, and you don't have to eat it if you don't like it, but you have to respect it. You have to clap when it comes out of the kitchen. You have to say opa when they light it on fire.

"And it's my favorite part of coming to places like this," you said with finality. "So if you can't deal with that...I guess this date is over."

You stared at him, stared him right in the eye, and he stared right back at you unblinkingly. That warm brown gaze that might as well have been made of molten fire the way it glinted in the incandescent light of the fixture overhead.

Finally, he blinked. And the serious facade fell away as he grinned. "Well good!"

"Good?" you asked, confused.

"Yeah, good." He nodded. "You passed my final test."

"Oh you son of a b--" He cut you off before you could get the expletive out.

"Listen, I don't like liars and I don't like people who pretend to be something they're not. I like real people. And sometimes, that's the last thing you get from someone when you go on one of these blind dates. I took a chance, and it was worth it. You're worth it."

You were at a loss for words.

He had a point. Blind dates...any dates really...were full of pitfalls and fake personalities and best behaviors. And sometimes you got to see authenticity peeking through, and sometimes that was a bad thing. So you couldn't fault him for this...because it was working out. For both of you.

But did it have to be over cheese of all things?

"It's also really good," Eddie continued after a few seconds. Your attention snapped back to him. "Because I placed an order for us to share while you were in the bathroom and if you didn't like it, this was gonna be really awkward."

And you couldn't help but through your head back in the biggest laugh, before you threw your napkin right at his face.

---

By the end of the date, you were so full of good food and good spirits from each other's company. Eddie had insisted on getting you a slice of their cherry cheesecake to go.

"It's a staple," he said as you waited in the line along the bakery case to pay. He leaned down and practically had his entire face pressed to the glass to ogle the beautifully lit cheesecake with shiny glazed cherries atop it. "I'm getting a slice to eat for breakfast tomorrow. So you in? Or no?"

He was also a sweetheart who paid for the absolute mountains of food you both had consumed, even though you insisted that you could pay for your portion.

"My uncle would roll in his grave," he said, elbowing you as he pulled bills out of his wallet. "He's not dead, by the way. But I think he would drop dead, let us bury him, roll over in it just to make a point."

"Nice to know where you get your flair for the dramatics from," you teased.

He smiled that big, bright smile again that made your heart flutter.

After he paid, you walked outside and hesitated to part ways, awkwardly figuring out how to say goodbye after such a perfect final blind date of your lives.

Eddie, once again, was the one to finally cross the line. No tricks this time, though. No tests.

"So, next Sunday?" he asked as you fiddled with your keys. "Pancakes and chicken and rice soup and saganaki?"

And you didn't hesitate to say yes.

[citricacidprince]

I wanted to ask if you can make a doodle of that drifting star gravity falls au but it’s relativity falls. Stan gets sucked into the portal and Dipper has to take care of him.

Took a hot second but I finally did it!!!

This family makes me wanna lose my mind I adore them so so much <333

(Sorry it’s a bit messy and clunky, my brain is fried atm lol)

Notes under cut!

I like to think that Dipper is oh so tired and is trying so hard to find a way to kill Bill so he can get back home to his sister as fast as he possibly can that he’s sooooo willing to aim guns at people. Like sure a laser gun works fine most of the time, but it’s soooo much easier to bring lead to a knife fight, ya know?

Stanley would think Dipper is so fucking cool and Dipper has to do a double take because no one has ever called him cool and meant it

Stanley is wearing a mini version of his homeless hoodie, as a treat :]

Mabel was inconsolably crying for a hot second after this all happened and Stanford was utterly pissed and in denial, weakly kicking her and hitting her with his little baby arms to bring his brother back

Mabel manages to reverse engineer the memory gun to erase the government agents minds, but unlike Dipper, who could’ve done it in 5 minutes tops, it takes her about an hour, so she tells Stanford about her brother Dipper and everything that happened while she does so

While doing this she asked Boyish Dan to block the door and gave him permission to beat up anyone who tried to get in, something the concussed teen was very happy to hear

They manage to buy time, and thankfully Mabel already knows how to open the portal again, but it’s gonna take a week or two maximum to get it fully running again

Stanford is still very very pissed, but it’s a silent and resigned anger aimed at Mabel. She lied to them all summer, she not who she said she was, she won’t stop apologizing when she looks at him now, how could he not be mad?

Besides it’s easier to be mad when the alternative is being so sad you feel nauseous over the fact your brother is missing, you have no clue if he’s okay or even alive, and every passing moment is making you regret trying to push him away all summer because you miss his stupid jokes and laughter and antics so bad it makes you steal all the blankets off his bed and praying to something, anything, that he’s going to be okay so you can just hug him one more time.

Mabel isn’t doing very well either. She completely locked down the Shack until she can bring Stanley and Dipper home. She told Dan and Anjelita that they didn’t have to come to work, something Anjelita gladly accepted, while Dan insisted that he could help. After all you expect him to go home and be normal about this later??? He got a concussion and punched an FBI agent so hard he passed out. He’s in this for the long haul.

I don’t want Stanley and Dipper stuck in that portal for longer than a week, because even if Mabel and Ford opening that portal again would cause Weirdmageddon they don’t care in the slightest, they just want their brothers to come home

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Screenward Bound

Pairing: Twilight x Reader

Warning(s): Eventual smut and mild yandere behavior

Notes: Written for my 200 Follower Event!

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Next Chapter

You weren't quite sure what compelled you to visit the garage sale on the corner of 4th and Shirestone.

The lot was small and the yellow house inhabiting it was large, leaving very little space for the several tables of stuff in the miniscule front yard, meaning they spilled out onto the bordering sidewalk like an invasion of dusty books and even dustier boxes, which was probably what drew you to the sale in the first place.

"Do you have any Uncle Kracker?" You half-heartedly asked the old lady running the operation, idly thumbing through the CDs.

"Uncle who?" She raised a brow.

"Nevermind," you sighed, giving her a short once over before returning to your unenthusiastic perusal. You lived a few blocks away, tucked in the corner of a nearby cul-de-sac, but living alone was boring and your wallet had been crying to be drained after recovering from your car being in the shop for a few weeks. Besides, it wasn't like you couldn't drop a few dollars to pick up a half-decent CD for the radio, especially since people had a habit of dumping their unwanted shit on the side of the road.

With a huff, you flicked through the last row of CDs, all artists that you were either too old or too young to like. Sure, the Pat Benatar one was calling your name, but you already had a few of her songs on other CDs.

Just as you were about to go home and watch a couple hundred reruns of Family Feud while eating enough ice cream to make your doctor cringe, your eye caught another table, this one filled with an assortment of video games. You weren't the biggest gamer, but you had enough of a collection to put any normal ten-year-old to shame.

"You've got games?" You asked, moving past the one-armed mannequin to assess the selection.

"Do I ever," the old woman shook her head, sending a few snow-swept whisps of hair flying from the confines of her satin headband. "They belonged to my son, but the little rat couldn't keep it that way when he moved out."

You managed a sympathetic chuckle, pulling your coat a bit tighter around yourself. There was a chill in the air, despite it being sunny outside. Your fingers felt a bit numb as you flicked through the cases. Final Fantasy, Digimon, Mario Kart...

You paused as your gaze passed over a very familiar title.

"Woah, Twilight Princess?" You lifted the case, marveling at the find. It was a bit dusty, and the cover art looked like it had seen better, less faded days, but it was nonetheless a great discovery. You had always wanted to play it until school got in the way, but now...

"Oh, yeah," the old woman leaned in a bit too close for comfort, tapping a knobby finger on the plastic. You could smell her flowery perfume and the lingering scent of coffee grounds as she spoke. "This was one of my son's favorites... too bad he could never get it to cooperate."

"How so?" You asked, taking a step to the right to create a bit of distance.

She shrugged. "It worked great at first, but the controls were always a bit glitchy for his tastes. He said it was like something else was trying to take control," her tone turned conspiratorial, faded blue eyes glinting in the sunlight. "but I think he was just making excuses to get a new controller for Christmas."

This time, you laughed loudly. "Yeah, they'll do that," you glanced at the game and back at her. "How much? I've got a ten in my wallet, but I can get more if needed."

The old woman waved a hand, dismissing your words with a smile. "That won't be necessary, I should be paying you for taking this junk off my hands. Take it for free."

You opened your mouth to protest, but she sent you a stern glare and you didn't have the courage to square up with someone who didn't have any personal space awareness and looked like she could break your back over her knee. 'Thank you," you ducked your head respectfully, slipping the game into your bag and beginning the trek home. The sun was beginning to set, and you didn't want to get caught in the dark. You waved, calling over your shoulder: "Have a nice day. Stay warm!"

The woman waved back. "You too, dear! Don't let the bedbugs bite!"

You chuckled, boots crunching on the pavement as you set an easy pace, one hand slipping into your bag to feel over the faded plastic surface of your new game.

If there was any truth to the old lady's words about the game being glitchy, it didn't show.

After booting your ancient Wii-U up, you plugged the game in without hesitation, grinning when it started up with nary a twitch. The title screen looked exactly as it should have, a very familiar song emanating from your dusty speakers. It was perfect, and you almost felt bad taking it for free.

Until you tried to select 'new game' and the screen stalled, fizzling back to the menu as if you hadn't done anything at all. "What the hell?" you muttered, attempting the action once more, only to be booted back to the title screen for the second time. "Oh my god, are you serious?"

You weren't really mad, because your expectations hadn't been that high, but you hadn't expected problems before you even began playing. The 'start' button glimmered promisingly, and you reluctantly selected it.

The screen flashed, and the game started. You gaped, nearly dropping the controller in surprise. "Oh, hell yeah," you grinned, mood lifting slightly at the progress. You had already seen several gameplays, so starting later didn't bother you as much as it should have. "Now we're talking."

Link was distinctly aware of the moment his world inexplicably shifted, falling into the soft hands of another. It was as if they were meant to hold his life in their palms, smooth fingertips caressing the edges of his pixelated consciousness, shrouded by colors and numbers and a thin sheen of fantastical insanity.

There was a voice, lighter than the one of his previous guide: the gamer without sense. Link was forgiving, it was practically in his nature, but he could only take so many instances of the kind of crass, harsh language that man had employed, especially when he addressed the dreaded "chat"--whatever evil that was.

"Let's get classic," the voice spoke, tone heavy with excitement, and the world reformed before his very eyes, swirling with the familiar colors and textures that he remembered, though they seemed... brighter, somehow. It was a new start, Link realized. A new play at the game. A new life to destroy. To shape.

Ordon Spring was exactly as he remembered; a clear, rippling pool, fed by the gentle waterfall in the back of the spring, flanked by thick, verdant brush and preceded by a wonderful, sandy bank. Home, he thought.

"I hope the old lady wasn't right," said the voice, sounding a bit mournful as it caressed the tip of his pointed ear. "I'd hate to have to get rid of you... I've been looking for you for ages."

Link felt his body stiffen, the belts crisscrossing his chest feeling more suffocating that normal. You must have heard about his 'resistance' towards the previous owner, who quite deserved it after attempting to make him toss the village dogs off of various high places and herd the children into frankly dangerous areas. Hylia, he hoped you weren't like that. He didn't think he could handle that again.

"Alright, let's go save a princess," your cheer hung heavy in his mind, and Link allowed himself a small, pixelated smile.

He could work with this.

Dear lord I'm so glad this is finally out! It fought me tooth and nail, but I hope it's still up to standard <33

[seratopia]

miguel o'hara x reader (fluff) - intoxicated → she/her pronouns!

modern ceo au! what happens when miguel is drunk

It's extremely rare when Miguel goes out to drink with coworkers, it's rare enough when Miguel gets out to go anywhere in general. He's either cooped up in his office, glued to his work, or glued to you at home.

You suggested to Miguel earlier this week about getting out to a bar, along with a few of the other higher-ups of the company. It's healthy to get out, you said, even if all he's going to be doing is drinking alcohol and eating meat.

Miguel's only good with people in a more professional sense; he's not the best at being all buddy-buddy with people he usually works with. He's quiet the entire time he's at the bar, occasionally taking a bored nibble at a bowl of loaded fries.

He kind of regrets this; surrounded by loud music, loud people, TV's with sports games playing in the background. He just misses you, he wants to come home and make food with you.

One of his coworkers, nudged him in the side a bit, obviously gesturing towards the wide array of various drinks and juices.

"Might as well have a drink while you're at it." He says, and Miguel is just stone-faced the entire time. The man walks away towards the remaining group of coworkers, possibly to either go dance, or to stare at girls from afar.

Considerably, it's been a while since he's had a drink. One or two wouldn't hurt, especially as a last minute scrounge for enjoyment in this god-awful bar.

Slowly, Miguel nurses on a drink provided by a suspiciously sleek bartender, leaning his cheek into his palm whilst taking a couple sips. He can feel the wolfish eyes of various women & men staring at him, feeling somehow exposed in his tight white button-up and simple pants. If only you were here, to sit in his lap and run your little hands against his chest.

The thought makes his head spin, a violent hot warmth running up his cheeks, his mind being blurred like a smudge on someone's reading glasses. The room's almost tilting sideways, the thoughts in his head dissolving away. (miguelito is a lightweight because i say so)

Miguel's drunk, for the first time in literal years.

He doesn't like it; he feels out of control of his body, unable to think or function correctly. He feels like a different person entirely, his eyes replaced with jelly and the tips of his ears turning scarlet.

The drink tasted good and all, but Miguel's thoughts on you feel magnified, every feature, every action you do running through his head like a cassette tape. He misses you more, and he really wants to see you.

Cleverly, he pulls out his phone, sighing to himself on the counter. It takes him a moment to put in his phone password correctly, fingers drunkenly tapping on the screen until he can find your contact.

. . .

You receive a text notification at about 9:43. Expectedly, you knew Miguel probably wouldn't make it through the whole night, but you're proud of him for trying. You open up your phone, amidst watching a show in bed.

miguelito💞💓: My love, I am intoxicated.

The text makes you giggle a little, imagining him all red-faced and tripping over himself with his coworkers.

Conveniently, you receive another text, one from the person you asked to keep an eye on Miguel.

It's a picture of Miguel with his head leaned against the counter, lovingly zooming in on a picture of your face with his phone. His ears are red, and there's a half-drunken drink beside him.

james q: he says he misses you. want me to take him home? you: it's okay, thanks tho. i'll be there in 10 to get him. james q: 👍

Assuming Miguel's still on his phone, you shoot him a text.

you: i see u looking at me

You giggle to yourself, and Miguel is visibly both shocked and excited, peering left to right as if you were magically in the bar.

miguelito💞💓: Please pick me up. I hate it here. you: ok sweetie, be there in 10

. . .

Despite the hour, the bar is bustling as ever, populated with underage girls wearing slip dresses and drunk frat boys. You worm through the building, searching left and right for your husband through the cacophonous bar.

Finally, you spot him where the counter is, big head tucked into crossed arms.

Gently, you slip your hand onto his shoulder, warmly rubbing him awake. At first he flinches, staring at you as if you were a stranger. He relaxes a few seconds later, lovingly and drunkenly fixating on you.

"Hey hun, I'm here to take you home." You say, and Miguel feels so warm, so comforted in contrast to the rash environment of the pub. He wants to kiss you, but he's too drunk to focus.

Without a word, Miguel rises from his bar stool, arms and hands immediately inching around your shoulders. He doesn't realize it, but he's pressing more of his body weight onto you, leaning on top of you like a slug.

Seeing you roll away the finest, sexiest piece of man as if it were nothing makes the party around you fume, their thoughts of asking for a number shattered within a minute or two.

Miguel trails after you, gluing himself to your back as you maneuver yourself out of the stuffy bar. Finally, you're out in the cool air of the dark, muffled edm music booming from the block's other counterparts.

The sidewalk is somewhat barren, scattered with a few people smoking or walking.

"I missed you, s'much." Miguel slurs, seeing the outline of your car in the dark parking lot.

"I know you did, baby. Now you get to come home with me and we can do whatever you want, like we promised." You say, unlocking your car with the press of your key.

He smiles just a teensy bit, his heart warming at the thought of snuggling up to you in bed, or cooking a late-night meal of sorts with you while a show plays in the background.

Miguel's the passenger princess tonight, adjusting the seat backwards so he can actually sit. He stares at you the entire time through bleary eyes, watching you start the car as if it were the most artistic and most beautiful thing ever.

"I love you." Miguel says, and you can feel the gratuity in his voice.

"I love you too."

© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.

[oofmybad]

Ok love you bye

synopsis: phone call w billie. you two get into a tiff but it’s all resolved easily and lovingly.

warnings: fluff, kinda angst, mild argument, phone call, rejection implied (?), happy resolution

a/n: hi guys, i miss you. i highly doubt anyone gives a shit or even noticed but i’ve been gone for a few days. i’ve had a busy week so couldn’t write for a lil. anyway, enjoy! love ya. reader is being hella unreasonable imo lol. not proofread!

Billie: bold

y/n: italics

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“hi, baby”

“hi, my love. where you at?”

“i’m still out with the gang. sorry baby, i don’t think we’ll be back ’til late.”

“bil…” you whine, “you said you wouldn’t be long.”

“i know, i know baby. i’ll be home before you know it” billie tries to soothe you.

“fine.” you huff like a toddler.

“dont be mad at me, lovey... please”

“i’m not mad, just missing you” you let her know, you dont want her to think you are trying to control her. “but i will be binging [your favorite show] without you” you say.

“what?! no, you cant do that! that’s not fair!”

“too bad” you laugh.

“but you promised we’d only watch it together” billie tries to reason with you.

“well… you promised we would watch it tonight, so if you can’t keep your promises then i won’t either… AND we left it on a cliffhanger - i need to know!”

“you’re not being fair, y/n” billie’s tone lowers, you realize she’s starting to actually get a little mad over it. this makes you mad, too, because billie broke her promise first.

“too bad, i guess” you state flatly, crossing your arms even though billie can’t see you. you know it’s silly that the two of you are arguing over this - the only time you two argue is when one is missing the other - but you can’t fight feeling petty. you’re determined now to watch it without her just to piss her off.

you continue, “ok, gotta go, bil - i’ve got a show to watch” you kiss your teeth.

“why are you being like this?” billie questions your actions, pleading in her tone.

“like what, exactly?” you ask with a sharpness.

“… petty… kinda selfish” billie says. she’s treading carefully now, she knows that the both of you are just as mad as each other and she doesn’t want it to escalate anymore.

an agonizingly long silence sits between you two - her words making your heart drop a little bit - until you hear someone call billie’s name in the background. she shouts back a simple “one minute!”

you huff, “sounds like you’re wanted elsewhere, billie. don’t be loud when you come in, i plan on being asleep by the time you get back” you say already pulling the phone from your ear ready to end the call. your voice is more than a little venomous now.

through the speaker you hear billie’s faint voice say “okay, y/n, bye. i love y-.” you end the call, cutting her off partly on purpose, partly by accident.

you audibly wince at your actions as soon as you did it. surely billie is seething now. not only did you not say ‘i love you’ back, but you also cut her off while she was trying to share a loving moment amidst a heated one.

as predicted, your phone lights up in your hand not even a moment later - “bil ❤️” flashing across your screen. you just stare at it, chanting “shit, shit, shit” under your breath. the call runs dry and her photo dissapears from your screen. you go to your shared messages and begin to type “didnt mean to cut you off”, but before you can send the message billie calls again. you pick up this time.

“what the fuck was that?” billie’s tone is fiery, you can hear her breathing through the phone.

“i- i didnt mean to cut you off” you try to explain; hesitant because you know that’s not completely true.

“bullshit, y/n” billie can read you like a book. “you’re not gonna tell me you love me?… that’s fucked” she continues.

“of course i do” you say, your voice is squeaky now, your earlier confidence completely gone.

“you aren’t even actually saying it now!” billie slightly raises her voice at you but quickly catches herself before she fully does. your breath hitches at that, suddenly intimidated by her. all you can do is sit in silence, scared you’ll say the wrong thing.

billie hears your heavy breath over the line, but to her you are just sighing. “ugh, whatever” billie says, ending the call.

you groan out of frustration, mad at yourself for being so petty in the first place. your internal anger boils over and you throw your phone to the other end of the couch - fed up by the trouble-causing device. you fall to the side and curl into the corner of the couch you’ve been sat on. grabbing the remote, you turn on the tv and put on glee, your comfort show. you decided against watching you and billie’s shared show - going against your earlier conviction.

you turn all of your attention to the people inside the big screen, trying to distract yourself of the guilt panging in your chest. unsure of when exactly, your eyes begin to flutter closed and you drift into sleep.

- half an hour later -

someone screaming on the tv jolts you awake from your nap, your eyes shoot open and you sit up. you click on the ‘ok’ on the remote, seeing that you’re now on the next episode of glee. working out that you’ve probably been asleep for half an hour, you reach over and grab your phone checking you haven’t missed contact from anyone.

much to your dissapointment, there are no new notifications. billie hasn’t reached out to you again. “fuckkKKK!” you exclaim, your head falling back against the couch. you click on billie’s contact, deciding you’ll have to settle this argument up now.

the line rings and rings and when you’re just about to give up a quiet voice answers the phone.

“hello?”

“baby, i’m sorry. i just miss you and it got the better of me. i love you, you know i do” you explain.

“i know you do, but it’s nice to hear you say it” billie laughs sarcastically.

“i’m sorry. i was being petty and i regret it. i love youuu” you sing the ‘u’.

billie giggles at that, her guard coming down a little bit.

“pull that shit again, i dare you” she retorts, kidding (not really) with you.

“yes, ma’am. never again” you tell her in a mock military voice as you nod your head.

“will you wait up for me?” billie asks you. you smile at her question, you know this is her way of checking that you two are good now.

“of course, baby.”

“good,” you hear billie smile, “i’m looking forward to it.”

“ok, ok, now go have fun with your friends” you command her with a giggle.

“i can’t ever have any fun when we’re fighting. i love you” billie whispers the last part.

“i love you more” you whisper back, a smile evident in your voice.

“impossible. there’s no way” she flirts with you.

“stop stalling! go!” you chuckle.

“ok, love you, bye” billie says satisfied.

“love you, bye” you pull the phone from your ear, ending the call with a smile from ear to ear.