#and 2. they can say shit like that to me.
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rcvcgers · 2 days ago
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Rotten Apples, pt. 2
part one
pairing: caleb x non!mc reader
synopsis: you run into a familiar face at work.
word count: 4.9k words
warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! not proofread!
author's note: thank you for all the love on part one! here's part two! should there be a part three? also, enjoy a pic of caleb i grabbed from the game today!
taglist <3 : @kebarney @pinkismyfavcolor @romils @erisnxxi @rik0shii @reni502 @spacehopper27 @llamabois @likesvader @pandoras-rabbit @princessfruit @lukassafespace @jexizia
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Caleb couldn’t say how long he’s been standing outside your door for. Had it been an hour? Three? Maybe it’s only been thirty minutes…time truly flies by when he’s with his love.
It doesn’t matter, though. Caleb would stand guard outside your door if it meant that you were safe.
Safe and alone inside your apartment…no other specimen in there to protect you.
Caleb wouldn’t let them come in if they came. He’d use his evol to shove them towards the side stairwell. He’d shove them down and watch as their bodies crumbled together, bones breaking, finding their screams of pain and agony satisfying.
It would all be worth it because you’re safe. All because of his much needed protection.
You’re his.
His to protect. His to look after. His to care for. His to love.
He glances to the side and notices that Skyhaven’s clouds have slightly parted. A smile spreads across his face, the man sneaking towards the hallway window, looking out at the morning sky. The weather is still undoubtedly gloomy, but the slight sight of sun is sign enough for him that you two are meant to be.
Caleb prances down the hallway, stopping by your door one last time. He slowly inhales, his eyes feeling heavy, and flattens his palm against it.
He’ll be seeing you soon.
The Colonel exits your apartment building, his phone attached to the side of his face. His voice is cheery and if you were to hear it, you’d think that his face would be all smiles and joy. It isn’t, though, and is instead a stoic expression.
“Hey, buddy. Remember that favor you owe me? Well, it’s time to cash in. I need you to get me information on someone. Yeah, yeah, I’ll send her name over to you now. Great! Thanks!” He hangs up and settles into a spot across the street.
People pass in front of him, his back pressed against the outside wall of a convenience store. Caleb barely pays attention to other woman who pause to get another look at him. He doesn’t have time to entertain their fantasies. He’d prefer to cater to your wants and needs. You deserve it after all your years of being apart.
Caleb tilts his head up and finds your window. His sick smile returns to his face, waiting for you to appear.
Except, he doesn’t know that you don’t peer out the window in the morning. Instead, you stay in bed for as long as you can, face and body covered by your sheets and obnoxious amount of blankets. 
Your arm sticks out, slicing through the chilly morning air.
Shit. You think to yourself. Did the heater not kick in?
Your toes feel inexplicably cold despite being buried under a behemoth of blankets. Slowly sitting up in bed, your tired eyes look around your dark room before they float to the butterfly that hangs from your window. You love how the orange and blue hues grace the floor, softly turning the cold environment into something warm and welcoming.
It reminds you of home and most importantly, it reminds you of him.
You can’t help but laugh, slapping your forehead as you slip out of bed. Last night was a trip and a half!
Your date with George was so bad that you actually hallucinated Caleb being alive. Ha! It’s laughable, really, and you can’t even fathom who was there to witness your crazed haze. You definitely sounded like a crazy person, probably looking like the other blacked out people on the street who struggled to get home.
“Poor guy,” you say aloud, filling in your apartment’s silence, “I hope we never run into each other again.”
Oh, the irony.
You slowly get ready for your day. You take a quick shower, already running late, and stumble into your closet with your toothbrush hanging from your lips. You snatch a clean uniform jacket from the hangers, sliding it over your white blouse. You tuck your shirt into your black pencil skirt and make for sure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.
You hesitate, staring at yourself in the mirror. 
Who are you trying to impress, anyways? It’s not like you’re going to find your Prince Charming at work.
Finally ready for your day, feeling rejuvenated and having shaken off your hysterics from the previous night, you step out of your apartment. You chew on a last minute attempt at making toast. The bread is dry instead of being lathered with butter, a complete oversight on your part.
You don’t even have time to stop for a coffee for a boost of energy. How the hell are you going to get through the day?
The rain stopped but the clouds still hang low in the sky. You’re used to the gloomy days, you actually welcome them with open arms. Too much sun reminds you of home and all of the misfortune you went through and, well, Linkon has a Wanderer problem that you want to avoid. Skyhaven still has them but it’s significantly less. You have the Fleet to thank for that.
And you definitely don’t have to thank a certain hunter who always seems to be at the scene of the worst attacks. As long as she stays away, you can live in peace knowing that if a Wanderer were to show up, she wouldn’t be the one to save you.
Your job as a translator stresses you out. Your boss, Darryl, is a weird, perverted dick that abuses his power. Whenever you don’t accept his daily flirts or go to HR about his behavior, you’re rewarded with horrible assignments that take years off of your life because you’re surrounded by men who are exactly like Darryl. You swear that you’ve seen a gray hair or two sprout from your head.
Being a translator under Darryl is a soul sucking job. You’ve applied to different departments in the Deepspace Aviation Administration, but Darryl has decided that you’re only good enough for translating documents and transcripts.
Your dream is to be a live translator, one that sat in a hidden room during negotiations and meetings between presidents and generals. Hell, you’d be fine with translating between the generals’ secretaries! It’s a thrill that you’ll unfortunately never be able to experience.
A big fuck you to Darryl.
You step through the shiny and clean doors of the Deepspace Aviation Administration. The building is eerily tall, shooting further into the atmosphere. You’ve managed to stay within the clouds, though, barely able to move past the fifteenth floor. Your security clearance is less than desirable, but it hasn’t stopped you from inching your way to the top.
You hope to see the secret levels soon enough but sincerely doubt it.
You smile at Abel and Remy, who work the entrance of the building, manning the security clearance that you pass through every weekday. You place your bag down on the conveyor belt, scanning your I.D. card in the little pad before stepping through the metal detector.
“Good morning you two,” you greet them with a familiar smile.
“Morning!” Remy chimes with a smile. He hands you your bag and nudges Abel’s side. He barely looks up, waving, before sinking his head back into the computer. “He slept like shit. Don’t mind him.”
“It’s all good,” you shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Just as you are about to step away, Abel’s head shoots up.
“Stay here. You were flagged.” Abel waves his hand in the air. Two nicely dressed soldiers approach you, guns slung on their sides. Your eyes widen, looking around for any kind of sign that this is a prank that Remy and Abel were pulling on you.
When the soldiers approach you and take your arm, a weight forms on your shoulders. 
It’s not a prank. It’s very fucking real.
Terror rips through your body. Your eyes widen as the masked soldiers stare down at you, their eyes dark and unwelcoming.
“Ma’am. Follow us,” one of the soldiers barks at you. You nod, ready to comply, but are unable to move your feet. You try to move your leg but it doesn’t budge. You awkwardly laugh to yourself, looking down at the unresponsive limb.
Move, dammit! You internally scream, cheeks heating up. 
Remy gives your back a gentle tap, nudging you forward. You stumble over your feet, pushing through the gap between the soldiers.
They track you from behind and occasionally bark a direction for you to take. They guide you towards the elevator that is reserved for higher ranking officials and officers. Your gulp, heart pounding in your chest. Your ears begin to ring, heating up as nausea overtakes your body. You close your eyes and grip the railing in the elevator, clinging to the cold metal for some kind of relief.
Where did it all go wrong?
Did you translate something wrong? Is it your fault that a world war is about to erupt? You knew you should have told Darryl to not give you assignments on the language you’re weakest at! He should have given it to Miranda!
Your foot rapidly taps against the elevator floor. Each ding from a new floor heightens your anxiety, body shivering at the thought of what could happen to you.
Ding.
Goodbye cruel world!
Ding.
It was nice knowing you all!
Ding.
Don’t forget about me! Use my death as an example on what not to do!
You have heard many stories of what happened to translators that interpreted a word incorrectly. They simply disappeared off the face of the earth and were never heard from again. Or they ended up teaching languages at a community college far away from Skyhaven and the Fleet.
You’d rather disappear off the face of the earth than succumb to that fate.
The elevator doors slide open. You look up from the floor, surprised to see a normal looking work environment. One of the soldiers place their hand on your back, pushing your forward. You move with his hand, not particularly enjoying his touch. You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I’ll take her from here.”
You freeze. Goosebumps spread across your skin and chills run down your spine. You focus on the wall in front of you, a figure sliding in front of your vision. Your eyes are met with a black uniform, the typical red, white, and blue accents that the Fleet uniforms have.
Your eyes float up, taking in the figure before you. Purple eyes stare down at you, your haze focusing on the golden spot that lays on the bottom of his iris. The nausea you once felt disappears but is quickly replaced with an even worse feeling of complete and utter dread.
“Caleb?” His name rolls off your tongue like butter, melting the ice that surrounds your heart.
So last night was not a dream. Caleb was the one to save you from George, not some random stranger who was there at the time. It was your ex-childhood best friend.
A semblance of a smile flashes across his face before his gaze sharpens. He looks you up and down, hands behind his back. Your gaze drops, taking him in his entirety.
Fuck…he looks great in his uniform.
“Long time no see,” he quips, stoic expression remaining on his face. “Follow me.” Without missing a beat, he turns on his heel and begins to walk away. You look around, blinking as if it’ll snap you out of the dream you’re clearly inside of.
When you don’t follow, Caleb walks back. His fingers curl around your wrist, his touch shocking your body to life. You fumble over your words, random sounds fleeing from your lips, as Caleb guides you away from invasive eyes.
His hair is still short but is just shaggy enough to remain charming and add to his looks. Your squint your eyes, noticing a few light scars on the right side of his body. They creep up his neck from under his wrinkle-free uniform. Caleb opens a door and you step inside, swallowing whatever confusion you had left in your mouth, and turn to him.
“Caleb?” Your voice is breathy. Caleb’s eyes fix themselves on you, the man leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re…what?”
“Take your time,” he chuckles. Your breath gets caught in your throat. His chuckle makes you want to jump for joy. “We are on a time crunch though, pipsqueak—”
“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt him, hissing as your instincts take over.
Any positive feeling you felt towards him in the past five minutes has vanished. You glare and cross your arms over your chest.
How dare Caleb call you that? That was always her nickname, alongside other ridiculous pet names that always made you gag whenever you looked back in your memories.
You made for certain that you’ll never be his pipsqueak.
You groan, rolling your eyes, and turn away from him. To him, it feels like you just drove a knife into his heart. He stares at the back of your head, his gaze falling for a brief moment, noticing the curve of your ass, before circling in front of you.
“I won’t call you that…noted,” he breathlessly chuckles. Once you tilt your chin up to show your glare, his chuckle gets caught in his throat. He covers it with a cough, suddenly feeling nervous around you.
Caleb has never felt this way with you before. In the past, everything was so easy! It was smooth sailing with you, low maintenance. He knew that you didn’t need the constant validation from him whereas she always needed it.
Maybe that’s been his foolish mistake all along. He should have paid more attention to you instead of her.
Is this what loathing feels like? Complete and utter contempt towards someone? Caleb hasn’t experienced this kind of negative feeling before, at least, not with her.
He had always felt so alive whenever she looked his way. Her beauty and innocence was so captivating. He adored playing the hero she needed.
Where was your hero? Who was there to call you pipsqueak or any other cheesy nickname? God, he’s been a fucking idiot.
“Is there…a nickname you’d like me to call you? For old time’s sake?” Caleb’s question earns him an angered scoff from you.
“You can call me by my name, thanks,” You look at him, eyes flickering down to his exposed neck.
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His gloved hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, wanting to loosen his restrictive tie, but falls. When your eyes meet again, his shoulders tense before relaxing.
Is he…is he nervous?
“Tell me, Colonel,” you begin. Caleb’s head perks up and he looks at you, hanging onto every word that comes from your lips. “Why am I here?”
“I heard you’re the best translator we have,” Caleb’s compliment makes you raise your eyebrow, “I only want the best. I need you to translate something for me.”
“Sure, I can do that. Not like I have much of a choice, right?” Your half-joke earns a loud laugh from Caleb. You raise an eyebrow at him.
Really? You think to yourself. That’s what made you laugh?
“I forgot how funny you are,” Caleb comments. He pokes your nose and your face scrunches up, watching as he turns on his heel, opening up the door. You stare at his back and the memories of him from your childhood come pouring in.
You sit alone on a bench. You watch as Caleb stands in line with her at an ice cream stand. You watch them with close and steady eyes, your gaze transfixed on how she plays with his fingers. They laugh and lean into each other, undoubtedly whispering secrets that only they can know to one another.
It pained you, yes, to always be pushed to the sideline. You got used to it with time. You didn’t notice it the first year of knowing them. You were all careless and innocent children. Of course there was no malcontent with their actions!
However, the constant repetition of being left out only to be covered with half-asses apologies and sorries became very old really quick.
And it definitely felt like a stab in the back when you hear their mingled laughter through your open window. You’d catch your self sitting by the window, sighing to yourself as they played knight and princess in Josephine’s backyard.
Whenever you played with them, she always made you the monstrous dragon that held her captive. Caleb had to the the one to kill you. You had to watch from the ground, covered in dirt and dust, as he brought her into his arms, swinging her around.
Her thrilled shrieks and giggles were like poison to your soul.
You were only eight.
With thicker skin and a heart beginning to protect itself with a shield of ice, you braved the final days of your friendship with them. When it grew to be too much, you left.
It was the best decision you could have made, right?
It felt so easy to leave, even as they excluded you from the ice cream line. What’s funny is that they forgot to get you your sweet treat, meaning that you had to eventually stand in the line by yourself while they relaxed on the bench.
You were always left with sticky fingers while he cleaned hers, calling her by that stupid fucking nickname while he wiped away the melted ice cream from her fingertips. They were clean and pristine while yours were left with sticky residue and bits of napkin that lingered behind.
You were almost always determined to ditch them after moments like these. You laid in bed, holding your favorite plushie to your chest, when a small pebble hit your window. You walked over, pushing the glass open, as you poked your head outside.
Caleb stood on the ground below. He smiled up at you and held up a small plastic bag. You watched as he climbed up the side of your house with ease, using the vines to reach your window.
The anger slowly left your body the closer he got to you. He’d poke his head instead and you plucked the plastic bag from his mouth, revealing a small metal butterfly you had saw in town earlier that day.
“I got it just for you,” he said, resting his elbows on the windowsill. You watched him with wide eyes, your ice heart melting from his actions and words. “A token of my appreciation.”
Maybe sticking around for a little longer isn’t a bad idea, you thought to yourself.
You always loved butterflies after that day.
“You coming?” Caleb asks, head tilted to the side.
Looking around, you realize where you are and shake away the bittersweet memories from your childhood. You let out a ragged breath. Your lungs burn and your vision blurs.
His purple orbs memorized every detail of your face. When he noticed the small amount of tears in your eyes, he reached forward, wanting to catch them before they had the chance to fall. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” You slap his hand away and push past him, entering the main room.
As you walk, you realize that what’s left between you two has expired.
The apple of his eye is not you. You were a Granny Smith while she was a Honeycrisp.
You were perpetually sour and she was always refreshing. Everyone always lavished in her presence while you faded into the background. You were left out in the sun while she was carried inside and taken care of.
It’s no wonder why you’re rotten to the core. 
Daggers of pain stabbed into his sides, slipping between his ribs, leaving him breathless. His perfect demeanor finally reveled a crack, head lunched over. He follows you into the hallway, planting himself at your side.
Clearly, there is something wrong with you. Not in a way like there is with him, you know, having failed his psych evaluation, but something that is deeply rooted in your core. He wants to rip your chest open and to pull your heart out. He wants the slowly pull away the thorns that pierce your heart and kiss the wounds. He desperately wants to mend your internal wounds and hold you until you fall asleep in his arms.
“Where’s the file?” You ask him, the tears now gone from your eyes. A slow and ragged breath leaves his mouth, unable to look away from your remarkable face. You snap your fingers in his face, irritation blossoming inside your chest.
“Oh, right,” Caleb recovers. He lays his hand on your lower back. Warmth seeps through the thin fabric of your blouse. Despite the anger you felt a minute ago, you can feel your body relax under his touch. You can tell that he notices it too when his cocky smile returns to his face. You tear your gaze away from his, heat tingling your ears from embarrassment.
He leans down to whisper something in your ear but you turn your head away, not wanting to hear anything else from him. Thankfully, he catches on and straightens his posture.
The office is foreign to you. Many hallways lead in different directions. People in uniforms turn left and right, catching you off guard as Caleb pulls you out just in time before you collide with them. They barely look up from the papers in their hands or leave their conversation to say sorry or apologize.
Caleb swiftly guides you through the floor. The two of you weave and bob through the organized chaos. People stop and salute Caleb as he passes by. He nods in their direction, his charming smiling disappearing as he puts his Colonel mask back on.
He opens a door and reveals an almost empty interrogation room. There’s no two way mirror nor are there the usual cameras in the corner. At least, that’s what you’ve seen on your favorite television show. You step inside, flinching when the door slams closed, the faint click of a lock making goosebumps form all over your skin.
“No need to be nervous, Caleb says, sitting down into one of the chairs at the metal table. He spreads his legs open, making himself comfortable. He looks up at you, gesturing to the chair in front of him. You hesitate, having to force your eyes to look away from his legs, and sit in the chair beside him.
The table only has a few items. Caleb takes off his hat, placing it near the edge. He plucks off his gloves, taking his time since you’re watching him, and set them on top of his hat. In the center sits a neat stack of papers with a few pens and pencils on top. Beside that is an audio recorder with an attached set of earbuds.
“You know how to be discreet, right?” Caleb asks. You sneak a glance at him, throwing a bit of side eye, before picking up the audio recorder.
Ha. Do you know to be discreet…how do you think I got through high school? I was discreet with my hatred of your beloved pipsqueak
“I’ll manage,” you cooly respond.
You already know the drill.
You put on the headphones, you write down whatever it is the people on the other side are talking about, and you hand your work over to Darryl.
Except…Darryl isn’t here. Caleb is.
And you aren’t at your usual workstation using your computer to type. You’re actually writing these words down. What kind of mission is this?
“Then you know that you’ll be working directly under me for the assignment,” Caleb leans closer to you. You pay no attention to it.
“Will I?” You play coy and look at him, batting your eyelashes at him.
Caleb has to picture Josephine naked to stop the tent from forming in his pants.
“Yes…” his word comes out as a whisper.
“May I know any background on it? You know, for translation sake.” You can feel him slowly draw you in.
Those purple eyes that you quickly get lost in. The way his fragrant cologne smells. The way his canine tooth flashes whenever he smiles.
And that fucking uniform. Fuck me. You think.
“It’s classified,” he breathes back, your faces mere inches from each other. Caleb is so thankful that there are no cameras inside. If this keeps going the way he wants, he’ll have you bent over with your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.
“Shame,” you quickly quip back. You tear yourself away from Caleb, leaving him hanging in the tension you two created. You grab the earbuds and slide them inside your ears. The first piece of paper is placed in front of you and you opt for the pen, knowing you never make mistakes.
Caleb watches you with close eyes. Your hand moves at a furious pace, swiftly scribbling down the words from the audio file.
He sits up in his chair, resting his elbow on the table beside him, placing his chin on his raised palm. The Colonel’s eyes close and he slowly inhales. That sweet yet spicy scent of apples and cinnamon fill his nostrils. He slowly exhales, hoping that your perfume lingers on his uniform long after you leave.
His eyes open when he hears you switch to a new paper. You slide him the filled one, you fingers grazing against each other, before you continue to write like you have a gun to your head.
Caleb chuckles to himself. He leans to the right. With the slight movement, he’s able to get a better look at your face.
Your brows are pushed together, no more space between the two. The skin below your bottom lip is sucked in, slowly moving back and forth. Are you…eating yourself? Your eyes flit to him for a brief second. Your face relaxes before it immediately returns to its focused state.
You are so beautiful. Even when you focus on the assignment at hand, Caleb can see the dedication you have for the things you love.
He hopes that soon, he’ll be number one on the list of things you care about. Caleb can brag about it to his already minuscule group of friends, showing off the future photos and selfies you’ll take together. He’ll be able to say that you’re his and nobody else’s.
If someone like George were to come in the way of that, well, he’ll deal with them and lock you away so you don’t have to witness it.
“What are you looking at?” You question, not even looking up from the paper. You slide it to him, drawing your hand away before he can touch your delicate skin, to feel just how soft it is even if it was for a fraction of a second.
“Are you doing anything tonight?” His question surprises the both of you. It slipped from his thoughts before he could stop it from escaping. Caleb’s face remains stoic. On the inside, though, he’s screaming at himself for coming off as too strong.
Your pen scratches to the side, destroying the perfect lines you’ve made from transcribed words. The tip of the pen pierces the paper. Black ink pools around the sharp metal tip. Your fingertips turn white from how tight you grip the pen.
Caleb reaches over you, his muscular arm passing in front of your gaze, trapping you in your chair. He grabs the audio recorder, the device looking minuscule compared to how large his hands are. Veins are prominent in his hand, leading up his wrist before disappearing under the fabric of his uniform jacket.
Your gaze starts from the tips of his fingers, gently dragging past his exposed skin and up his dark material of his uniform, sliding up his shoulder, hovering on the bare skin of his neck. The audio recording in your ear pauses. Caleb retracts his arm, hooking his finger under your chin. He eases your eyes the rest of the way up to his.
Your breath hitches. Lips barely parted, your cheeks flush from his touch and how close he is to you. His lips are mere inches from yours.
All it takes is one…gentle…push…
“I asked if you were doing anything tonight,” the raspiness in his voice makes your lower stomach purr. Your eyes fall to his lips. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, slowly leaning closer to him.
“Are you asking me as Caleb? Or as my Colonel?” You whisper.
“Which one will you say yes to dinner with?”
“Hmm…” you quietly hum. You reach out, fingers curling around his uniform’s tie. You give it a firm tug. A low groan emits from Caleb’s throat. You smirk. “Neither.”
Caleb matches your smirk. His hand snakes up your arm. His long, slender fingers wrap around the entirety of your hand. He overpowers your grip and the tie falls free from your hold. He brings your knuckles to his lips. He plants a firm kiss to them, his eyes locked onto yours.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
You push away from the table. Cheeks red, unable to breathe, you step away from him and to the interrogation room door. You tug on the cold door handle, the metal immediately warming due to you body heat. The lock clicks and you shove the heavy hunk of metal forward, escaping into the public eye of the office.
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kisssukuna33 · 7 hours ago
Note
Can i request Sukuna hyping up and being very devoted to his wife who is insecure about her body after having a baby?
Husband Sukuna comforting Wife reader who's insecure about her body after having a baby
"He finally went to sleep" Sukuna said letting out a big sigh of relief as he sat down on the couch beside you.
As much as it was a blessing, being first time parents really took a toll on you both. It's only been 2 months so far and the baby has pretty much changed your life upside down. The dark circles visible in both of your faces say that enough.
"He kept crying even after you left to check the restaurant this morning" a displeased sigh left your mouth matching your husband's.
"I told you to sleep woman" Sukuna said gently grabbing your face into his hands as he observed the dark circles under your eyes, a concerned expression taking over his face.
"Tell that to your son, he's the one keeping me up"
"That's why I told you to call me if he started to give you shit. That's it, I'm closing the restaurant for 3 more weeks" Sukuna said, no almost like he scolded you.
"You're going to lose customers if you keep closing it like this" You voiced your concern because you know Sukuna didn't spend time in the restaurant more than 4 days since you have given birth. Everytime he had to leave he looked at you like he's leaving you alone in a Battlefield.
"That's not something you have to concern yourself with, I pay the workers anyway" He got up from the couch as he went to your shared bedroom and came back with a bag in his hands.
"Besides I already earned enough for my family to be comfortable, you know that" He said as he put the bag in your hands.
"what's this?" You asked curiously taking a peek inside the bag. A dress. A gorgeous tube dress with a large flower in the middle and cut out from the sides. You can never compete with Sukuna's taste when it comes to choosing clothes. He knows what looks good on you everytime and you never doubted his taste until maybe now.
You have given birth only 2 months ago, your post pregnancy belly and the stretch marks surrounding it is still pretty much visible, not to mention you are completely a different size from before. You anxiously check the inside of your dress to see the size Sukuna bought you, in deep down you wanted to check if Sukuna also took notice in your change of weight. But for some reason the size tag has been ripped off from the dress already. That sly bastard.
"Wear it, We are going out for dinner. I already called Choso so he will babysit tonight" Sukuna said as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hair. He wanted to make you happy, he really did. He didn't want you to remember the early part of your parenting journey as only stress. He thought maybe finally going out for dinner can be a good change for the both of you. But it didn't take him that long to notice the sour expression in your face.
"uh Kuna how about we-"
"No we are going, you have been inside the house for 2 months. You need this" he said in a stern voice leaving no room for arguments.
You sigh thinking of another way to not wear this dress.
"This looks expensive" That earned an eyebrow raise from Sukuna.
"of course it isn't. When the fuck have I ever bought you cheap shit?" Sukuna said like he's personally offended by your comment.
"That's not what i- Anyway maybe this is too much for a dinner" please work! Please work! You mentally chanted as you continued with the lie "I'm gonna save this for a special occasion".
Sukuna wore a dumb look on his face. Clearly trying to figure out what nonsense are you spouting because he can just buy you a new one? Like he always do?
You avoided meeting meeting Sukuna's gaze because that man can read you like a book.
"Woman what are you- And Why do you keep looking that way? Look at me" Sukuna said as he kneeled down in front you.
He cupped your face with one hand as he brought it closer to his face.
"spit it out"
You left out a sigh as you began telling him how you felt about your post pregnancy body and it didn't take long for Sukuna's face to drop. He felt like it was his fault that you felt this way. It's been few weeks since you two shared intimacy and Sukuna wasn't able to remind you how much devoted he is to your body even after you gave birth ( your doctor said 4 weeks of no sex but Sukuna being the protective husband he is, decided to wait atleast two months).
The moment you finished your explanation Sukuna picked you up into his arms. He wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bedroom.
He gently put you down the bed as he started to take off your shirt. You were a bit nervous at first but decided to let him do it anyway. The moment you see the scars visible in your belly you looked away hiding from Sukuna's gaze.
"Look at me, Don't look away"
Sukuna brought his face closer to your scars. First he ran his fingers through them. Like a blind man reading a book and touching it with care. Then his lips started to touch your skin. He kissed you softly slowly making his way around your scars. He kept bringing his eyes to yours reminding them to keep watching. Sukuna didn't miss a single scar, no. When he finally separated his lips from your body, you felt like he casted a spell on you. A purifying spell making all the negative energy around your body go away.
"You went through hell with the brat, those scars are reminders that how strong of a fight you put up. Scars or without scars you are still the same gorgeous woman I fell in love with 2 years ago" listening to Sukuna's words you can't help but let the tears fall down. How much lucky you must be to have this man in your life. If you could marry him again you would do it in a heartbeat.
"And don't you dare call my wife ugly I will fucking kill you"
That earned a giggle from your part as you smacked his chest playfully.
"Your wife must be a very lucky woman then" you murmured wrapping your arms around Sukuna's neck as you pull him into your embrace.
"Nah, I'm the lucky one"
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quartztwst · 2 days ago
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Wedding in the Clouds! (TWST Fan-Event)
Happy Valentine’s Day! 💕💕 I finally finished this fan-event for my 3k followers celebration!
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Summary of the event:
On one fine day, you recieve a wedding invitation from a mysterious someone named Dione. It says to be a wedding for Azul and QUARTZ?! Wait, don’t they hate eachoth- SUDDENLY, a bright light from the invitation blinds your eyes and you end up on a soft, fluffy cloud. Voices of other people groaning and waking up is heard too. It seems like other students from NRC were also transported here.. But why?
A light pink skinned lady grabs all of the students attention and announces that you all are wedding guests. She introduces herself as Dione, one of the most powerful mages in Twisted Wonderland. Dione’s attitude was very sweet yet it was very conscending like she was running some sort of workplace. Behind her was Quartz and Azul chained by vines from the cloud beneath everyone. They seemed to react accordingly as Quartz was shouting profanties and throwing a whole fit while Azul was trying to focus on the fact he was being embarrassed in front of a quarter of NRC but Quartz’s outburst was irritating him.
As they were taken away, Dione explained to everyone they were to forcibly help set the wedding up for the bride and groom with her bird minions. If anyone refuses, they will be thrown off from the clouds or forced into a prison made of vines. WIth a quick flick of her hand, everyone’s clothes were suddenly changed into wedding attire.
Once Dione left, the students started to split up and find a way to crash the wedding, but not for Quartz and Azul. The thing was…
THEY HAD A DAY OFF TODAY and who wants to spend it on a stupid wedding? They had plans!
Event Information:
There are 4 different operations going on at the same time to ruin the wedding because a lot of the students disagreed in which way to take this. You have an option to draw your OC in which ever operation!!
It looks like from the background that the place has no buildings but there are plenty made by Dione:
A building for the cake and food <- ran by geese
A place for the Bride to get ready in
A place for the Groom to get ready in
Dione’s place located on a cloud that is higher than the other clouds so she can watch over yall
A place where the decorations and necessities for the wedding are being delivered by doves, pelicans, storks <- they are also not weak, they dont play. they will fight back if disrupted)
and then the wedding atlar which is just the background it’s outside so its just the resting area
Quartz’s dress, Bride’s Tower, and delivery birds
Operation 1: Ruin the Wedding
Led by Idia. Objective is to ruin the wedding like destroying the cake, decorations, finding Dione’s weakness, ruining the whole set up, exploding shit idk
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Description of the attire: Wedding outfits with a bit of technology accessories by Idia Shroud himself. (the leech twins have one ear bud in but i didn’t draw their ears in detail..) You can get creative with the tech accessories
Operation 2: Save the Bride
Led by my MC/Yuu and Grim (you can also add ur Yuus/Mcs in too!!). Objective is to sneak past the geese guards and save Quartz to stop the wedding.
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Description of the attire: Wedding outfit is fine !! but you can get creative with it like “oh heh.. im the maid and uhhh quartz shat herself and i need to help her so let me in” or smth 😭😭😭
Operation 3: Do Nothing/Other
Basically you do nothing. Led by nobody lol. What’s your OC’s objective for doing nothing? Do they want to see the wedding? Do they not care enough because it might be over anyways? Is there no hope?
I didn’t draw anyone here bc it’ll be just wedding attire 😭😭
Operation 4: Steal the Groom
This is for all my Azul likers heh.
Since Azul and Quartz are being rushed to get ready, a lot of clothes are being thrown out and sent back in the boxes laying around so why not reuse them? Maybe you can use it to ruin the wedding and steal Azul’s heart awayy once they’re done dressing him up…..
Description of the Attire: Wedding Bride or Groom outfitss hehee
Rules:
NO weird outfits that sexualizes OCs
Use the tag #WedCloudEvent or tag me if you make a post of this event!!
Please be respectful to everyone’s OCs
You can also draw other TWST characters here if you want!!
Have fun!!
Here’s the background for your OCs!!
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List of OCs/Characters:
Operation 1: Ruin the Wedding -
Idia Shroud
Floyd Leech
Jade Leech
Moch by @thatsadguymochi
Daphne by @pomevinelle
Yuya by @cheerleaderman
Akshara by @twistedtalestory
Alastor by @chaotic-snow
Yvonne by @juchioris
Operation 2: Save the Bride -
My Yuu/MC
Grim
Silly by @sillybillymillyrilly
Silver (design by @0ann3 )
Yu (Yuri Takeba) by @0ann3
Loralyn by @chizramue
Mizuki by @sherryclover
Starr by @astral-pr0jecti0n
Xenon by @w0nd3rhoy
Operation 3: Do Nothing/Other -
AJ by @karamatsuboy-aj
Oisín by @xen-blank
Mama Hua by @lafashionlsta
Operation 4: Steal the Groom -
ANYWAYS this is just an event I made out of my ass HELFP im sorry if theres a whole bunch of holes here 😭😭 and Idia and the Tweels outfits are SUPER SLOPPY so I can’t wait to see how everyone else makes their OCs’ outfits prettier also Quartz and Azul do not like each other here so be free to do anything lol
Happy Valentine’s Day! 💕💕💕🎉🎉🎉🎉
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beatlblog · 2 days ago
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#i'm crying this is so funny#we love terry (via @sour-milk-sea)
#harrisong: the sun is so beautiful. has anyone ever noticed this (via @tweeterwilbury)
#men are so strange and delusional.....#just tweet im sad that i wasn't able to suck john lennon's dick and log out#it's quicker (via @mylonghairedladyy)
#there's a reason that their post-beatles work is like... imagine for john and freaking... magneto and titanium man for paul... (via @skyriderwednesday)
#arnie pipe is a normal type with an average job but his prospects never will be great#(lyrics say arnie pupe but you cannot tell me that's true. it's pipe) (via @leapinarmadillo)
#hey Ringo just makes cute songs okay (via @milesaerach)
#idk how to admit this but i really like McCartney's solo work because its exactly like this all the time forever#except sometimes there's something so good it could be in the sounstrack of tarzan out of nowhere#and then we go back to insanity (via @dubiousdisco)
#George song: messing around on a sitar#Ringo song: bad (via @baking-bisexual-bitch)
#transition from happiness is a warm gun to martha my dear (via @guttermeat)
#lennon's song ends with a declaration of wanting to kill his wife#mccartney's song ends with terry the plumber killing his wife (via @lumeninfusco)
#george song: n/a (not allowed on the album) (via @thisisdefinitelyausername)
#weed vs coke (via @barryallenisbisexual)
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#but that was pre-psychedelic Beatles (via @elglin)
#john if he wrote fixing a hole#paul if he wrote working class hero (via @the-bluebird-you-need)
#(they're both saying the same thing) (via @ensign-babey)
#george: i get one song per album#ringo: ringo (via @hebrideanmoon)
#I see them both as two little guys hitting pots and pans#but in different ways (via @tenitchyfingers)
#lol welcome to 1971 (via @cirumlocutoryconlanger)
#also the difference between alex kapranos and nick mccarthy#alex = john#nick = paul#more at ten. (via @dandy-lad)
#stop I saw this as I was literally listening to the beatles and texting my sister about how insane their range was#the range in question lmaooo (via @fortressofbooks)
#and both songs are about being gay#so yeah (via @aint-that-kind-of-blog-bruv)
#WHERE'S GEORGE (via @local-vamp)
#both could be a springsteen song (via @melody1971)
written while gazing t the photos of john + elvis on his dressing room wall
#almost accurate#add *pipe clanking sounds* (via @gojisaurus)
#i thought it said 'helovespipesshelovespipes' at first and i was like#wow so true...he would change up the pronounce like that. which could mean nothing (via @igixri)
#monkberry moon delight my BELOVED#his three songs are: 1) the Pipe Man. 2) i love my wife. 3) i miss my soulmate john (via @rubyrubyrubytuesday)
The way the lyrics talk to eachother somehow is so more funny to me (via @starfayy)
#and both songs would be mclennon coded (via @flowersintheram)
#why philosophize when you can narrate (via @alienoriana)
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#but it's not homoerotic he swears (via @unchaineddaisychain)
#mccartney's song has a key signature change but lennon's song has a time signature change (via @britneyshakespeare)
#theylovepipedream#音楽 (via @radio-4-is-static)
#is this a fixing a hole reference or a pipes of peace reference#only real ones know pipes of peace (via @whoscruffylooking)
#ok but they’d be in the same song A Day in the Life style#and it’d slap!!!!! (via @tesho-travels)
hate hate hate it
#and theyre both the same song (via @onlylivingboything)
#average beatles on shuffle experience (via @veryhopefulromantic)
#im choosing to understand this (via @hell-nurse)
#I can hear this#he loves pipe she loves pipe#can it be one song tho#I think it’d fuck (via @bugsinnmybrain)
#McCartney said shut up and go to therapy Johnny (via @imoldbutimstillintothat)
#need one of those tumblr musicians to make audio for this post (via @mousefluff)
#the best Beatles text posts are the ones you can hear by reading them (via @thatdogjokes)
#the realest shit#my mom always says John & Paul needed each other for balance bc paul is too whimsical & John is too angsty lol (via @theinconstantmoon)
#pauls whimsey he loves to write songs that would work in a childrens tv show (via @lostcryptids)
#a day in the life verses (via @thefoolsprocession)
and that's why i hate it
#uh oh the pipe is leaking#terry is gonna be weak (via @masterboa)
fifth beatle song: its ok to leave a dog in a hot car (hot car) its ok to leave a dog in a hot car (ooh oooh oh) (via @trashfartofficial)
#this is not accurate at all#lennon lyrics aren't like that there is nothing beatlesque about it#his lyrics are cryptic in a completely different way that's more cartoonish and sarcastic#or if he is serious its not black sabbath shit like this its more just preachy and kinda annoying#mccartney on the other hand... yeah that's about right (via @possessesnightshift)
#and the source of the leak is an issue with the pipes that terry the plumber can fix and it all comes full circle#or something. idk i’m not a beatles fan (via @driftwooddestiel)
no this is accurate
#where would prog be without those “helovespipeshelovespipeshelovespipes” changes (via @despairdoodlesreal)
#PRECISO (via @affogonellamarmellata)#its the same song#they worked on it together (via @airlocksandaviaries)
john was just a huge edgelord but paul knew how to be whimsical and fun (via @herecomesthemod)
#get you a man who can piss off all his band mates with 'faggy bullshit' (quote a la Harrison) AND write Blackbird (via @transwolvie)
#ay no puedo (via @longlivetai)
#meanwhile ringo singing about ocean life (via @penthesileas)
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kxtsukixoxo · 16 hours ago
Note
Can you please do a heated argument like HEATED HEATED argument with Kats and y/n 😭😭
authors note - based on we cry together
a house built on tears
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your blood pumped through your veins angrily, you were fuming, you understood your husband was a busy man, but you were tired. this had been going on for too long, the late nights away from home, coming back smelling like strong liquor, you grew impatient, promising yourself he’d change. izuku told you the same thing time and time again,
‘just give him time’ ‘he’ll come around’ ‘it’s not an easy job (y/n)’ 
each word felt like water, filling up a glass. the glass being you, and you were just one more word away from overflowing.
today was the day. 
katsuki twisted the doorknob to the front door, finally revealing himself, as he closed the door shut. 
“it’s 2:30.” you spoke 
“i can tell time, thanks.” 
“clearly not, is this the time to be home?” 
katsuki stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to look at you, clenching his keys in his fist. “how do ya expect me to put food on the table then? gonna do my job for me?” 
you looked at him in pure disbelief, the fucking audacity this man had. 
“do you care about anything else other than your job?” 
“wanna bring me down, even when im tryna do right” katsuki muttered underneath this breath. 
“if you’re gonna say something, say it loud you coward!” you yelled at him. 
“if this shit bothers you so much, why’d you marry me then!” katsuki yelled back at you 
“fuck you and your pity party, you’re just a moping bastard!” you pointed at him as tears filled your eyes, “you don’t even care about me! you’re late for every single fucking thing! you fuck your side bitch and come home to me!-“ 
“fucking my side bitch? you must be fucked in your head, how the hell do you even call yourself my wife if you can’t even put your fucking trust in me!”
katsuki walked to the kitchen and opened a crisp new bottle of water, downing it. 
“treat me like your damn wife then!” 
“if you act like it, i’ll treat you like it dammit!” katsuki screamed louder than he did before, hands covering his face as he leaned against the kitchen island, his head being supported by his elbows. you looked at him in shock, your tear streaked face puffy and red. 
“listen-baby-i-“ he walked towards you, reaching out for your hand 
“don’t-don’t f-fuckin’ touch me!” 
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bookworrm1999 · 1 day ago
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How Far Away? Part 6
Caleb x Mc
Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication, miscarriage scare
Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.
AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 |
Your anatomy scan was in two weeks and the little baby bean was doing well at 18 weeks.
This sugar drink from Hell was just nasty though, oh the things you do for love. You laid a hand over your bump, now a sizable little thing.
It was so cute, even though the bean inside it had caused you so much sickness.
You sipped more of the nasty glucose drink, grimacing the whole time. Finishing this horrible thing in 15 minutes seemed like such a chore.
Screw it, you threw it back like a shot and chugged it.
Ugh, you nearly puked from the taste and the texture but managed to hold it down as you wiped your mouth.
Tossing that bottle into the trash felt like victory.
You couldn’t even drink some water after all that.
What were you going to do for 30 minutes?
Well, you had lots of practice in just staring into space these days.
A memory swallowed you, bringing you back to happier days.
**
“Caleb?”
“Yes sweet girl?”
“Do you think we could play a game?”
“Sure what do you want to play?”
You scrunch your nose before clapping with glee.
“Oh! Can we play truth or dare?”
Caleb laughs before settling down on the couch next to you, pulling on the end of your nose.
“What, you didn’t play that enough in high school pipsqueak?”
“No! I mean I did but you never let us play it together when we were young. You always found some way to deflect.” You pouted a bit but fascination overcame you as you watched the tips of his ears turn pink.
“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “I couldn’t exactly play it and risk my feelings for you coming out. My friends weren’t exactly kind enough to not dare me to kiss you or some shit like that.”
“Ha! So the truth comes to light!”
He digs his fingers into your waist, making you squeak because it was ticklish.
“And what about it?”
“Can we play now though?”
“Sure squeaks.”
You tap your chin before holding your finger up as if an important thought came to mind.
“I dare you to kiss me!”
“Really? That’s what you use your dare on? I would’ve done that without a dare.” He scoffs and kisses you, holding your chin as he bites your bottom lip a bit before pulling away.
“I’m going to ease you into it!”
“Well I’m not! I dare you to go to the other room and take a naughty photo then send it to my phone, I need a new wallpaper.”
“What?!” You squeak.
He uses his evol to push you up off the couch
“Hop to it squeaks!”
“You’re going to regret that!” You say this as you stomp to the bedroom, you’re going to make his dick so hard that he’ll beg you for release.
**
30 minutes passed as you escaped to your memories. Tears leaking out a bit as the image of Caleb was seared into your mind.
“Hey.”
This jolts you out of your daydream, you sit up jerkily as your legs had fallen asleep. Rubbing your eyes and face to get rid of the evidence, you look towards the speaker.
It’s Zayne, he looks at you with concern.
“Is something wrong? Why are you waiting here?”
“Oh,” you laugh a bit, “I’m fine, just waiting on my glucose test.”
“Oh, have you gotten your blood drawn yet?”
“No, I need to go do that now. Thank you for checking on me.”
Getting up to leave, he stops you before glancing away, not wanting to meet your eyes as he asks
“Can I take you to dinner?”
This instantly brings back the memory of him asking you to marry him almost two weeks ago. You didn’t think it was a good idea, way too soon to think about marriage and not fair to Zayne at all.
“Zayne, maybe that’s not a-“
“I just want to take you to dinner. If it happens to show you that I could be a good choice, that’s great. But I really just want to make sure you’re okay. You’re my friend after all.”
Oh, well that deflates your argument. He’s right, he’s your friend first and you had shut everyone else out.
Maybe going out for once could be good. Get some actual food for the baby instead of a protein bar and a banana.
“Ok, I’ll go to dinner with you. I just have to go get my blood drawn and we can go.” You glance down at your outfit, right. “I’m not really dressed for anything fancy.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He waves his hand “Go finish the test.”
Right, you walk to the lab and finish the test without issue.
Walking back, he’s already clocked out and waiting for you.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can get you a nutritious meal, I have my doubts on how well you are eating at home.”
“Hey! I have a basket right by my bed full of things that I made sure are acceptable foods for the baby.”
“By the bed…”
Oh, you had just given away a small piece of what life had been like for you lately. Too late to take it back now.
Getting into his car and sitting in silence was so awkward. But finding something to talk about to fill the silence was like trying to scale a mountain in the snow.
You didn’t have the energy to waste on small talk these days.
He pulled up in front of a small restaurant surrounded by ivy, kept warm by glass barriers from the winter weather.
He held your door open for you and offered a hand.
You took it, thankful, getting out by yourself even at this early stage of pregnancy was awkward. Getting out of your deep and comfy chair at home was like competing in a triathlon. Zayne didn’t need to know that though.
You and he were seated relatively quickly with menus at a small table in the corner. Which gave you an immediate distraction from his intense gaze.
“Have you seen a therapist?”
“Why are you asking me that all of a sudden?” You glance at his serious face over the menu.
“I should think that the reason would be obvious.” Now holding his hands out with all his fingertips spread out and touching, he leans against them, only his eyes visible.
“No I haven’t.”
“I think you should, it would be beneficial for you and for your baby.”
“I know, my OB gave me some information on therapists and social workers that I could reach out to if I choose to.”
“But you haven’t.” He states this as if it affects him and not you.
“No, now stopping bugging me about it.”
He sighs before laying a hand on yours, the warmth of another’s touch leaving you a bit breathless after not touching anyone in almost a month.
“I’m worried for you, I care about you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Zayne, I… I really can’t think about you in that way right now.”
“That’s not my intention right now. My objective is purely to make sure you are alright, as a friend. If I could help you by marrying you, if that’s what you needed, I would. But it’s not my focus.”
Now you felt really bad, you kept boiling him down to thinking he only wants you as his wife.
He was your friend first and foremost.
“I’m sorry Zayne. I-I will try to reach out to somebody soon ok?”
“Thank you.” He releases your hand and looks at his own menu.
You order a light meal, just some protein and a side. But it was your first real meal in weeks.
Having it next to such a good friend who cared made your heart feel a little warm.
Your baby now able to kick you a bit, leaves you feeling not quite so alone.
You end your dinner with Zayne on a higher note than you would’ve expected it to be. Holding a small box of what you couldn’t finish, you smile at him. It was small but a real genuine smile was on your face.
It lightening your countenance and a bit of that pregnancy glow finally came through.
Snowflakes started falling lightly from the sky.
Landing in your hair and eyelashes, making you look like you truly belonged in the snow.
Zayne looked at you eyes a bit wide before he raised your hand, held it to his lips, brushing against your skin as he whispered
“Goodnight.”
You pulled your hand away, it wasn’t time for that.
“Goodnight Zayne.” You drew your line in the sand.
Turning around, you headed towards that transit center, hoping you could get home before the snow got bad.
Coming home to Caleb’s empty house made you feel guilty. You hadn’t even done anything, you’d set the boundary but you still felt a bit dirty.
Zayne was wonderful but he wasn’t for you. He deserved a girl who loved him with all her heart. Who wouldn’t forever look to the stars for a love that wasn’t ever coming home.
Whose belly wasn’t swollen with the evidence of another man’s love.
But the guilt rose in your throat, choking you. You felt gasping for breath, you sat heavily on the floor next to the bed. You gulped your water bottle but the room still spun.
Caleb, Caleb grounded you.
You fumbled as you pulled your phone out, turning on the camera. Talking to him like this, it made you feel like he was still listening and here with you somehow.
So you gasped and sobbed into the camera.
“Caleb! I can’t breathe! You aren’t here with me and I feel like I’m drowning!”
Getting this out, you managed to suck a few Dee breaths in. Calming down as you imagined him on the other side.
“I went to dinner with Zayne tonight. You know he asked me to marry him? He said he wanted to help somehow….”
You laugh as the absurdity of it hits you.
“Who’d want to marry me? You didn’t, I wasn’t even your girlfriend.”
You glare at your clenched hand.
“Why do I feel so guilty? I love you so much but you’re gone so why is it eating me up?”
You look at your lap but something strange captures your eye. Your dress had ridden up and you thought you saw a flash of red.
“What in the world?”
You set the phone down, forgetting to stop recording.
“Is that blood?”
Lifting your dress, you found your suspicions to be correct, blood in between your thighs. Panic sets in as the world collapses around you.
Tags:@gojosballsack69 @apple-lov3r @dinochocochip @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier
@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08 @xaviers-pookie-bear @tsunamethyst @thejujvtsupost @cherrybeomgyu
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thedolmainblog · 1 day ago
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Should the player pick the "Plead", "Demand", or "Scream" combat actions during a non-consensual encounter, there is a decent chance (15%) that they will mention their current love interest by name. These lines can influence the Fame stat, depending on the current love interest.
Namedropping love interest such as Blythe may have different effects depending where and when it is used. For example, saying Blythe's name in a non-consensual encounter near Harvest Street or In the Pub will scare the NPC, decreasing their HP.
Pleading
Pleads dropping Blythe by name has additional effects depending on the location. If done in or near the Harvest Street or Barb Street, Blythe can interrupt the encounter.
Pleads
• "No! This is for Blythe, not you!" (if the player has their virginity intact, and high Awareness)
• "S-stay away! Blythe, help me!" (if the player has their virginity intact)
• "Only Blythe can have me this way!" (if the player does not have their virginity intact)
• "Blythe.....I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...."(if the player is being penetrated, has low Arousal - 2000+)
• "Take that out! Blythe will give you hell if he catches you!" (if the player is being penetrated, has high Arousal - 8000+)
• "Get off me! Blythe will give you hell if he catches you!" (if the player is penetrating, has high Arousal - 8000+)
• "Blythe, save me! Please!" (default for the player being involved in penetration)
• "Don't you dare! Blythe will hurt you!" (if the player's body is exposed - 1/3)
• "Blythe is so gentle when he takes my clothes off, unlike you!" (if the player's body is exposed - 2/3)
• "Stop! Only Blythe can see me like this!" (if the player's body is exposed - 3/3)
• "Blythe loves me. He'll do more than just stop you." (Pain 20+, player has high Awareness)
• "Blythe loves me. He'll stop you!" (Pain 20+, player has low Awareness)
• "I want to be in Blythe's arms....Let me go!" (Pain 20+)
• "Stop right now if you don't want to deal with Blythe!" (Pain 20+)
• "Blythe told me people like you. You're cruel....." (Pain 60+)
• "Blythe's grip feels better than this!"(Pain 60+)
Demanding
Demands dropping Blythe by name has additional effects depending on the location. If done in or near the Harvest Street or Barb Street, Blythe can interrupt the encounter.
• "Blythe will take my virginity, not you!" (if the player has their virginity intact and high Awareness)
• "Only Blythe can touch me there! Get away!" (if the player has their virginity intact)
• "Assault me, and you'll regret it. Blythe will make sure of it." (if the player does not have their virginity intact)
• "This doesn't even feel good. You're nothing compared to Blythe." (if the player is being penetrated/penetrating, has low Arousal - 2000+)
• "Take that shit out! Blythe will kill you if he catches you!" (if the player is being penetrated, has high Arousal - 8000+)
• "Get the fuck off me! Blythe will kill you if he catches you!" (if the player is penetrating, has high Arousal - 8000+)
• "T.....That's- ah! No! That's for Blythe, not you, asshole!" (default for the player being involved in penetration)
• "Look if you want, pervert. Blythe will make you regret it." (if the player's body is exposed - 1/3)
• "Blythe will do so much more than stop you. I'm warning you." (if the player's body is exposed - 2/3)
• "I'll remember your faces. That way Blythe will have an easy time tracking you down." (if the player's body is exposed - 3/3)
• "I'm taken by Blythe. BLYTHE. if that isn't enough of a warning, I don't know what is."(Arousal 2000+, player has high Awareness)
• "I belong to Blythe. He'll save me and stop you." (Arousal 2000+, player has low Awareness)
• "Did Blythe raise my standards? I don't feel anything with you." (Arousal 2000+)
• "You're jackshit compared to Blythe. This is so boring." (Arousal 2000+)
• "Sure, get your rocks off. It'll be the last time you'll feel like this. I mean it." (Arousal 6000+, high Awareness)
• "It took you this long to make me feel anything? Blythe would've a long time ago." (Arousal 6000+)
If Blythe interrupts the encounter, what he says and do depends on the state of the player.
• If the player has not been penetrated and stripped : Before they can react, black combat boots make contact with their ribs. It's Blythe, and he looks pissed off. Another swift kick is delivered to the attacker, preventing them from fully standing up. He walks over and hugs you tight. "I heard you. I'm so glad nothing happened....yet." Blythe looks at the attacker, as if committing their face to memory. "Let's go. stay close to me."
• If the player has been penetrated and stripped : The one assaulting you is suddenly pulled away and slammed into the wall. It's Blythe, and he looks incredibly pissed off. He throws the assaulter to the ground, not caring about their state of undress. He presses his boot on their neck, cutting off their air supply. He doesn't say anything as they claw at his leg out of desperation. You weakly call out to Blythe. "Blythe." You say. "Help me." Blythe pauses at that before finally letting go of the assaulter. He does leave a strong stomp on their torso though, and you cringe at the sound. The dark look he has is gone now, replaced with worry. "You're right, love. I'm sorry." He bridal carries you, holding you close to him. He looks at the assaulter, struggling to move. He's committing their face to memory. He turns to you, his expression is unreadable. "Let's go."
115 notes · View notes
giveafike · 3 days ago
Note
So uhm.. what are the chances of a follow up of "is it new years yet?" 👀👀
TLDR: part 2 to is it new years yet? recc to read that FIRST before reading this :)
Word count + info: 4.8k + dialogue.
Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Cussing.
Azzie Notes ✚: happy valentines day, my loves! So cute to build onto a seasonal special with ANOTHER seasonal special. Hope this lives up to the first part, anon! Loosely reminds me of Valentine by Laufey. Whether you're spending today alone, with family, with friends or with loved ones (or something in between all that) spend it loving the little bits and pieces of the day!
Taglist: thank u for ur support! if u wanna join the taglist, head on over here
🌙 - @le-moon-nade @anneioe @maya1the-bee @miss-d-d @hannahbanannax @mfcvbs @egevtntn @the-aizzlee @hello-missunperfect-things @joeybisbootiful @2manytabsopen 🌕 - @starlitf0x
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blinked & suddenly, I had a valentine - B.T.S
————————————————————————
You chew your lip, scrolling through your camera roll for a photo that looks effortless but nonchalant. Something casual, mellow, like you didn’t spend way too long overthinking it. Which, obviously, you did. You were back in Florida, so you knew you would add a location tag - you were in a trendy little café downtown, where you and your friends were celebrating an early Galentine’s.
The air smells like espresso and overpriced pastries, your table cluttered with half-eaten croissants and empty mimosa glasses. Laughter and chaotic debate fill the space, but your focus is elsewhere. Specifically, on your phone. And, more specifically, on him.
You and Ben have been texting after New Year's Eve, or well, had been texting. At first, it was easy; inside jokes, dumb memes, conversations that left butterflies in the pit of your stomach and a dumb smile on your face, the kind of late-night conversations that left you curled up and eager for more. But then his tour picked up, college welcomed you back with a smack in the face that hit you like a truck, and the messages became… sparse. Shorter. Drier. Less fun. Now, checking in feels less like catching up and more like pestering. You already know how he’s doing, his last match was all over your feed. But that’s not the same, and you hate that it matters so much. You missed the way he’d send you random voice notes mid-practice or from his car drives, his voice slightly breathless as he joked about being worked to death. Or the way he’d text you after posting a clip of his sessions, asking if you’d seen his “epic comeback” (his words, not yours).
But lately? Crickets. You knew he was back here, in Florida, but you couldn't bring yourself to reach out, something about it felt like begging, especially during a week like Valentine's week.
You sigh, finally settling on a photo of your latte, some attempt at a heart in the foam that looks more like a deflated kidney. Whatever. You add a location tag and caption: Nothing says love like overpriced coffee and talking shit with your best friends <3.
Before you can second-guess it, you post. Your phone barely touches the table before you get side-eyed.
“Alright, who’s got you checking your phone like you’re waiting on exam results?”
You scoff, reaching for a croissant. “No one.”
A pointed silence follows. “So you’re just emotionally invested in your Instagram engagement now?”
Another voice chippers in. “Is it Ben?”
Your dramatic eye-roll gives you away immediately. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh my God, he ghosted you.”
You nearly choke. “He did not! We’ve just… been busy.”
“So he part-time ghosted you,” she corrects.
“He’s on tour, I’m drowning in school, it’s not that deep, we're busy people,” you argue, but even you don’t sound convinced.
“Right. And that’s why you’ve been on your phone all morning like a middle-aged woman tracking her kid’s live location?”
You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I hate you both.”
“No, you miss him,” Liv singsongs, and you blindly throw a sugar packet at her.
Then, your phone buzzes.
You glance at the screen, expecting a notification from your emails. But it’s from Instagram already.
Your phone vibrates, but you ignore it. Then another buzz. The kind that isn’t a text, but an Instagram notification. You glance, just for a second.
Ben Shelton liked your story.
Your stomach does a stupid little flip. Because of course he saw it. Of course he engaged with it just enough to let you know he saw it, but not enough to actually text.
You lock your phone and flip it over.
“Wow...You put your phone face-down. That’s serious.”
You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I’m putting it on Do Not Disturb because I’m not doing this today.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts.”
And honestly? It lasts longer than you expect.
Shopping and side-errands keep you busy. There’s a chaotic half-hour where you all try on the dumbest Valentine-themed products and clothes you can find, one of your friends strutting out of a dressing room in the ugliest fur coat imaginable, another trying to convince everyone that this is the year they finally pull off red leather pants. You nearly cry-laugh in the middle of the store.
By the time you sit down for a late lunch-early dinner with the rest of your friends after their classes and shifts, the energy is still high. Pasta is being passed around, drinks are clinking, and someone is dramatically rehashing a dating horror story from last semester. Your phone stays buried in your bag.
Until-
“You know, you haven’t checked your phone in, like, hours.”
You blink. “Yeah? And?”
“And... I think you should.”
There’s a sudden hush at the table, eyes darting expectingly. It’s suspicious as hell.
You hesitate, but finally, dig your phone out. You tap the screen, unlocking it. A flood of notifications. Instagram likes, a missed call from your mom, a “lmk if you’re alive” text from your uni group chat. And then-
A text from him. Sent hours ago.
Ben: Crazy Galentine’s in FL? Bold choice. You holding up without me?
Your stomach flips. Again. You hate that it keeps doing that.
Someone is already trying to peek over your shoulder. “Oh my God. I knew it!”
You angle your phone away. “Mind your business.”
“So what’s he saying?”
“You’re blushing!!”
You close your eyes. Inhale, exhale, then start typing.
You: Holding up just fine, thanks. But this croissant’s got more personality than you’ve shown in weeks.
His reply is instant.
Ben: Ouch. Guess I’ll have to step up my game. What are you doing for the actual Valentine’s Day?
Your friends let out a scream so high-pitched that the next table turns to stare. You have to lean over to clamp a hand over her mouth. The reactions are so grandeur, you’d think they just got proposed to over text.
“HE’S ASKING YOU OUT!”
Your brain short-circuits. “Or, hear me out now, he’s just making conversation.”
Your phone gets snatched from your hands before you can hesitate.
“Nope. Not letting you overthink this.” She types something and tosses it back.
“What the fuck-”
You: Why? You got plans for me?
Your stomach knots as you watch the typing bubble pop up. Then disappear. Then pop up again. It does this for a few beats.
Ben: Maybe I do. You still free for me?
The smiles around the table are like you won the lottery itself, while you're being shaken and cheered around.
And you? You’re so fucking done for. The colour drains out of your face, mouth agape. Your head is in your hands. Gripping your hair at the roots. You’re barely processing the conversation around you, the clinking glasses, the exaggerated cheers.
“She’s frozen. She’s actually in shock.”
“This is so big. Like, national emergency big. Potential WAG in the making right now"
“She’s been single on Valentine’s Day since God knows when, so yeah, this is huge.”
You groan, tilting your head back. “Stop! You guys are so dramatic.”
“We’re just invested.”
You peek at your phone again, heart doing that stupid fucking thing where it stutters in your chest. The text stares back at you.
Ben: Maybe I do. You still free for me?
You exhale, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. You should probably answer. Like a normal person. But your brain is running on pure static.
What do you even say?
Yeah, totally free to publicly humiliate myself on a date?
Sorry, I can’t, I’m busy hyperventilating into my hands?
No. You need to be cool. Nonchalant. Demure.
You tap out a reply.
You: Yes. I’ll text you later, yeah?
It sends. And immediately, the second-guessing starts. Does that sound uninterested? Dismissive? Did you just ruin everything?
Your phone vibrates again.
Ben: Ye, of course. Don’t wanna interrupt your Galentine’s 👯
Another one, almost instantly:
Ben: Text me when you get home
Your face is so hot it could combust. You shove your phone down onto the table with a clatter. “Okay. Done. It’s over.”
But the excitement around you only amplifies.
“You have to reply later.”
“Obviously.” You scoff, playing it off.
“Wait.” A pause. “What are you wearing?”
The question lands like a grenade in your brain.
Oh. Fuck.
You have nothing. Nothing.
The horror must be evident on your face because gasps are let out. “Oh my God. She doesn’t have an outfit.”
The realisation spreads like wildfire.
“You cannot pull up in one of your boring sweaters.”
“Or those beat up shoes you refuse to throw out.”
“We need a game plan.”
And before you know it, someone is yanking out their phone, another is calling out malls, checking store hours.
“There is one tiny mall still open, but we have, like, an hour before they close. We have to go. Now.”
It’s ridiculous. It’s unnecessary. It’s cutting it so fucking close. But here you were dragged to the car while the rest of your table closed off dinner and paid the tabs.
"Get in, loser. We're going shopping."
"Did you just-"
"Yes, I Mean Girls-ed you. Get in! You're not driving, you drank and well last time you drove was New Year-"
"Ok no need to reopen old wounds." You scowl.
You barely have time to process before you’re shoved into the passenger seat, another friend slamming the back door shut behind them. The car peels out of the parking lot like you’re on the run from the law, not just sprinting to find a decent date outfit before the mall locks its doors.
"This is absolutely unhinged," you mutter, gripping the handle as your friend takes a sharp turn.
"You waited years for this. If you think I’m letting you pull up in some tragic little sweater and jeans combo, you’re out of your mind."
“I have good sweaters!"
"No. You do not."
The drive is a chaotic mess of bad playlist choices and a very heated discussion about what vibe you should be going for. Sexy-but-classy? Effortlessly cool? Girl-next-door-but-hot?
Your other friend, scrolling furiously, holds up a photo of some influencer in a red dress. "This."
You glance. "I am not wearing that."
"It’s literally Valentine’s Day, it’s themed-"
"I don’t care if it’s Cupid-approved, I am not rolling up looking like a walking heart emoji."
"Fine. What about-"
"Not the fucking leather pants, either."
Your friend groans, tossing their phone onto their lap. "You’re the worst."
The mall comes into view just as the GPS announces, "Your destination will be closing in 45 minutes."
"Oh, we have to haul ass."
And haul ass, you do.
The second you step into the store, your friend takes immediate command. "You- go find shoes. You- see if they have any decent dresses. You- well, just…try not to panic."
"Very helpful, thanks," you deadpan.
"You're welcome!"
The next thirty minutes are a blur of colour, unenthusiastic employees, fabric, and absolute mayhem. It feels like a Disney movie. You’re shoved into a dressing room with a handful of outfits, half of which are so out of your comfort zone that you genuinely wonder if your friends are trying to prank you.
One friend flings open the curtain. "Show us!"
"No."
A chorus of complaints erupts.
"Come on."
"This is a team effort."
You groan, reluctantly stepping out. "I look stupid."
Your friend gasps. "You look hot."
Another nods in approval. "Yeah, Ben is gonna die."
You cross your arms, looking in the mirror, smoothing over the dress. "I don’t know…"
"Trust me. When he sees you? He’s done for."
You turn back to the mirror. Okay… Maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe…you actually like it.
Maybe…this is real. Maybe it had just been a while since you last wore a dress, got dolled up for a date. And maybe, for the first time, you’re kind of excited for what happens next.
When you finally make it home, you’re wrecked. The shopping bags dig into your wrists, your feet ache, and the only thing standing between you and a glorious face-plant into your bed is the sheer force of will it takes to dump everything onto your chair instead of the floor.
You’re halfway to unconsciousness, sprawled out, limbs all over the place, when your phone buzzes.
u better text ben before u pass out lol
You groan into your pillow.
Your brain is already half-asleep, but fine. You’ll send a quick text, something chill, something casual.
You roll onto your side, grab your phone, and unlock it, squinting at the screen through the exhaustion. Ben’s last text is still sitting there, waiting for a reply.
Ben: Text me when you get home
You exhale, tapping the message.
You: I'm home now
Except. That’s not what happens.
Because your finger slips.
And instead of typing, you misfire straight into calling him. Your heart drops.
“Oh, fuck-”
You try to hit end, but it’s too late. The call screen pops up. His name. The dial tone. Your brain malfunctions.
And then-
Click.
"Hello?"
You black out. Not really. But it feels like it.
There’s a pause, and then Ben lets out a confused laugh. "Uh… you good?"
"I-" You bolt upright like that somehow helps. "That wasn’t on purpose."
He snickers. "Yeah, no kidding. You butt-dial me or something?"
"No!" You wince. "I mean- well, kind of. I was trying to text you, but I misclicked, and now-" You groan, rubbing your face. "Now we’re talking, I guess."
"Well, I'm not complaining." His voice is warm, amused. "But I gotta admit, didn't expect to hear from you this soon."
Your stomach flips. "Yeah, well, neither did I."
There’s a slight pause. Not awkward, just… there. A beat of something unspoken. Ben exhales. "So. Crazy Galentine’s, huh? You still survivin'?"
"Barely." You slump back against your pillows. "You know how dangerous last-minute shopping can get. I think I saw my life flash before my eyes 20 minutes in."
"Tragic way to go."
"I know." You grin. "How about you? Survive your Florida homecoming after your first two tournaments?"
"Hangin' in there." He sounds a little distracted, then there’s a muffled thud, like he’s just flopped onto a bed. "Was starting to think I scared you off."
"What?" Your brows furrow. "Why would you think that?"
"I don’t know, you kinda went ghost on me for a bit. Thought maybe you were over it."
Your pulse stutters. "Over what?"
Ben pauses. "You tell me."
And there it is.
That thing. The thing that’s been sitting between you for weeks.
You chew your lip, shifting slightly. "I wasn’t over anything. I just… didn’t wanna bug you."
"Bug me?" He scoffs. "You think I don't wanna hear from you?"
"You were busy! I saw all the interviews and clips. I figured, I don’t know-" You exhale. "I didn’t wanna be that person."
"What person?"
"The one forcing a conversation when the other person clearly has a million other things going on."
There’s a beat of silence. Then Ben lets out a soft laugh, one of those exasperated, are you serious? kind of laughs. "You’re an idiot, man."
"Excuse me?"
"You think I wouldn’t make time for you?" His voice is lower now, softer. "Come on. We both know that’s bullshit."
You swallow. "I-"
"I like talking to you." The words are simple. Easy. "And if I’ve been dry lately, it’s not ‘cause I don’t want to. It’s ‘cause I suck at this. The whole, like… keeping up with someone while traveling thing. But I don’t want you thinking I don’t care."
Your chest does something stupid. Tightens. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
You let that sit for a second.
And then, because your brain is the way it is, you mutter, "Still think the croissant had more personality than you these last few weeks."
Ben laughs, this full, real laugh that makes your face heat. "Alright, alright, I deserved that one."
"You did."
"Guess I’ll have to make it up to you, huh?"
Your stomach flips. "Guess so."
There’s a pause, and you can hear his smirk through the phone. "So. What are you wearing for our date?"
"Woah... That’s a very bold question, Benjamin."
He chuckles, you can hear the smile in his voice. "Just trying to see if I'll be matchin' or not."
"I assume you're not planning on wearing the same dress as me, so don't worry," you say quickly. "And I’m not telling you."
"Why not?"
"Because you’ll just have to wait and see."
He groans dramatically. "Ugh, torture."
You laugh. "You’ll live."
"Debatable."
There’s another pause. A softer one. "You gonna sleep soon?" he asks.
"I should," you admit. "But this is nice."
Ben hums. "Yeah. It is."
Your eyelids feel heavy now, exhaustion creeping back in. You sink deeper into your blankets. "Okay. I’m really hanging up this time."
"Sure you are."
"Ben."
"Alright, alright. Sleep tight, Valentine."
You barely process the words before he hangs up. You’re left staring at your screen, warmth curling in your chest, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to sleep after that.
Somehow you manage to still your beating heart and fluttering stomach. The next day starts with a few good luck messages from your friends.
Hope you’re ready for your date, miss WAG Valentine’s girl 😏
Don’t overthink it. Just have fun. And don’t let him see you panic
If you cancel, I swear to God, I will show up at your house and force you out myself
You roll your eyes but smile. Then, the rest of the day is eerily quiet. For the first time in weeks, you’re alone. No bustling friend group, no plans. Just you, your apartment, and a long list of things you should be doing.
Laundry, dishes, some half-assed studying and catch up coursework. You sit at your desk, trying to focus, but your brain keeps drifting, back to last night, back to Ben’s voice in your ear, low and easy. You replay pieces of the conversation without meaning to.
And then-
Buzz.
Ben: Yo, what’s your address?
Your stomach jolts. You sit up straighter, rereading it twice, as if the words might suddenly change.
Ben: Don’t worry, not pulling up unannounced. Just need it for later.
You exhale, shaking your head as you type it out.
You: You got a time for me, or is this a surprise too?
Ben: 7
You glance at the clock. It’s barely noon.
You: Copy that. See you then.
Ben: Looking forward to it.
You lock your phone and let out a slow breath.
That gives you hours. Yet, somehow, after a good nap, those hours fly. By the time you start getting ready, the nerves settle in fast. Makeup first. Then hair. The whole process feels foreign, like muscle memory you haven’t used in forever.
And then, the dress. You slip it on carefully, smoothing it down, adjusting where needed. Then, the shoes.When you finally step back and look at yourself in the mirror, you freeze.
For the first time in so long, you actually got up for something. You spent years busying yourself and rejecting any chance of romance, nothing was really worth it - not worth stressing yourself over a sleezy "situationship", but now it sinks in. You actually put in the effort. And looking at yourself now, standing there, hair done, makeup set, dress hugging your figure. You almost don’t recognize yourself, it's almost weird.
Your stomach flutters.
Excitement. Nerves. Anticipation.
And then,
Ding-dong.
Your breath catches.
You hesitate for only a second before making your way to the door. A final deep breath, then you open it.
And there he is.
Ben stands there in a crisp shirt, nice pants, clean. But your eyes barely register the fit because in his hands,
Roses.
Bright, fresh, wrapped neatly.His gaze flicks over you, and something in his expression shifts. His lips part slightly, but for a moment, he doesn’t speak. Just takes you in.
"Wow." His voice is softer than usual. "You look… damn."
And witht that, it all feels worth it, all perfect. Your face heats. "Shut up."
"No, seriously." He grins, holding the flowers out. "These might be pretty, but you definitely win."
You bite your lip, taking them carefully. "Smooth."
“You clean up nice too y'know,” you tease, hoping your voice doesn’t betray how jittery you feel.
He smirks. “I should’ve brought my A-game.”
“This isn’t your A-game?” you quip, reaching for the flowers, setting them down to the side.
“Nah, this is like… my B+. I had to hold back. Didn’t want to peak too early.”
You shake your head, biting back a laugh. “So,” you start, turning back to him. “What’s the plan? We’re not exactly in a walk-in-and-blend-in situation.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, grinning. “Yeah, I figured unless you wanted to spend the night dodging cameras, we’d keep it private. So, you trust me?”
You arch a brow. “That depends. Are you kidnapping me?”
“Wouldn’t be much of a first date if I was,” he says, leading you outside. “Though, technically, our first date was you hitting my car.”
“That was not a date.”
“I met you. I got your number. We flirted.” He shrugs. “Sounds like a meet-cute to me.”
You roll your eyes but your smitten smile betrays you. “So, where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He winks. "You ready?"
You glance back at your apartment, nerves buzzing under your skin. Then, you look back at him, at the way he’s standing there, all easy and comfortable like this isn’t the first real date you two have ever had, nor the only date you have planned. He seems so confident, sincere and honest, like this was meant to happen. He holds out a hand for you, no pressure, just a simple invite. You take it, holding his large, warm hand in yours.
Fifteen minutes later, you do see. And it’s… kind of perfect.
Ben pulls up to a quiet, tucked-away spot by the water. The sky is painted in soft purples and blues, the last remnants of daylight fading. There’s a blanket in the trunk, takeout in a bag, and music playing softly from his phone.
“You planned a picnic?” You raise a brow, surprised.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Figured you wouldn’t want to spend the whole night inside, but also didn’t want to spend it dodging people with iPhones.”
You glance up at him, then at the setup. “This is actually… really sweet.”
Ben smirks. “What, thought I’d just take you to a drive-thru and call it a night?”
“I mean, I did hit your car. Thought you might hold a grudge.”
“Oh, I do,” he says, opening the basket and setting up. “But I’m playing the long game.”
You both settle onto the blanket, the scent of warm food filling the air. The conversation is easy, mostly teasing at first. He asks about your classes, your friends, you ask about his training, and somehow you end up talking about the first time you met.
“I still don’t know how you managed to hit a parked car,” Ben says, shaking his head.
“It was a tight spot, let it goooo"
“Should've hit the Tesla, in my opinion.”
“Okay, well, maybe I was distracted.”
“By what? Your own bad driving?”
You swat at him, laughing. “By trying to keep the car calm, genius.”
Ben grins, leaning back on his elbows. “And yet, here we are.”
Here you are. Sitting next to him, by the water, the air warm and balmy, the food mostly gone, but the conversation still going. It feels like you both have been waiting for this. And now that it’s here, neither of you is in a rush to leave. You lean back on your hands, looking up at the sky. The stars are sharp tonight, scattered like someone spilled glitter across the darkness. It feels peaceful, so different from how you felt earlier, standing in front of your mirror, stomach twisting with nerves. Now, it’s easy, natural.
Ben watches you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. “You know, I did want to text you more.”
His voice is softer now, a little more honest. You glance over, catching the way his brows pull together slightly, like he’s been thinking about this for a while. “Yeah?” you ask. “Why didn’t you?”
He exhales, looking up at the starry sky before answering. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to do the half-assed, ‘hey, wyd’ texts when I was exhausted or distracted. I didn’t want it to feel like… an obligation. But I don’t know. I think I got in my own head. Like, I’d think about it, but then I’d talk myself out of it. Tell myself you were busy, or I was busy, or-”
“That it was too late,” you finish for him. You nod slowly as you meet his eyes. “I get that, I think I did the same thing.”
“I also didn’t want to, like…” He pauses. “I don’t know. Screw this up before it even started.”
You tilt your head. “And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”
Ben meets your gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I was hoping we’d figure that out.”
Your heart does that annoying little flip again, but you play it cool. “Well, if it’s anything like your tennis game, I expect a lot of effort.”
Ben scoffs. “You wound me.”
You smirk, bumping your knee against his. “We’ll see.”
A comfortable silence settles between you. It’s strange, really, how something so simple, just reaching out, had felt so difficult before. But now, sitting here next to him, it seems ridiculous that either of you hesitated at all.
You tilt your head, studying him. “Did you ever think I wasn’t interested?”
Ben’s lips press together in thought. “No… I mean, I hoped that wasn’t the case. But I also knew you weren’t just gonna sit around waiting for me to finally get my shit together.”
You smile. “Well, you got it together eventually.”
“I did,” he says, nudging your foot lightly with his. “And I’d like some credit for that, thank you very much.”
You roll your eyes, but before you can say anything else, something streaks across the sky.
Your breath catches. “Oh my go-”
Ben follows your gaze, and for a second, neither of you says anything as you watch the shooting star burn its path across the night before disappearing into the dark.
Your heart is still racing when you turn back to him. “That was my first one.”
“Ever?”
You nod. “I always missed them before. I’d be looking the wrong way, or I’d blink, or someone would swear they saw one, but I never did.”
He grins. “Guess you got lucky.”
You glance back up, like you’re trying to will another one to appear, but the sky is still. When you look at Ben again, he’s already looking at you.
“I think I already was,” you say, quieter now.
His expression changes just slightly, his amusement giving way to something softer. The space between you doesn’t feel quite as wide anymore. His gaze dropping briefly to your lips before flicking back up. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything except sit there, watching you, waiting. And maybe it’s because of the way your stomach feels light, or the way the night feels infinite, or because you’ve both spent too much time holding back, but this time, you close the space, taking the leap, the step forward. Maybe, you did miss him, maybe Cupid finally struck - whatever excuse it was, nothing you could say or do would convey as much as you felt other than his lips on yours.
It’s not rushed, not some grand, sweeping moment. It’s slow, hesitant, like making sure this is real. Like neither of you want to mess it up. Ben exhales softly against your lips, his fingers twitching like he’s deciding what to do with them before settling lightly against your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in the faintest touch, before holding your face. The kiss deepens just slightly, his nose bumping against yours, his other hand resting warm against your knee, holding you as though he was scared you might fade right then and there.
And then, just as naturally, you both pull back. Not far. Just enough to breathe.
You open your eyes to find him already looking at you, his smile small, almost like he’s trying to hold it back.
“What?” you whisper.
Ben shakes his head, his gummy smile wide and bright. “I... I'm just so happy, so glad we're here.”
Something about the way he says it, so simple but so honest, makes your throat feel tight. You barely resist the urge to look away. Instead, you huff out a soft, shaky breath, trying to mask how much that made your chest ache in the best way. “Yeah. Me too.”
His smile is small but real, and for a second, neither of you move. The warmth of his fingers still lingers against your jaw, your wrist. Then, finally, you lean back, the moment settling between you like something fragile but steady.
You think you’re gonna like seeing more lucky shooting stars.
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theocddiaries · 1 day ago
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Amy: Well, if you don't want to help with Shadow's birthday party, I won't force you. Sonic: Thanks. Amy: But you're staying with him to distract him until I give you the green light. Sonic: Me? With that guy? Not a chance. Amy: Sonic--! Sonic: No, no, I will not! Every time I open my mouth when he's around, I screw up. FLASHBACKS 1. [At a potluck, the group is sitting at a table] Knuckles: I just don’t get how you can't like the series! Sonic: Because the plot makes no sense. If you like it, good for you. But to me, it makes no sense for people to treat you like a doormat, and then you go work with them. That guy has no dignity or self-respect-- [Shadow arrives at the table, slams his plate down, and walks away] Sonic: …Oh. Shadow, no, we were talking about a show, it's-- Rouge: Sonic, Sonic, maybe just don’t go after him. 2. [At GUN, Sonic is talking to Abraham] Sonic: You can’t just send that walking weapon. And if you do, at least make sure it’s got all its screws in place, ‘cause every time you send that thing out, it makes everything worse-- [Shadow slams some papers on the desk and leaves] Sonic: …Oh. No, Shadow! [runs to the door]: Shadow, no, I wasn’t talking about you, I meant the other machine-- I mean! The metal one, I mean… I love working with you! You’re doing amazing! …Damn it. 3. [At a party, Sonic is talking to Amy] Amy: How’s it going with Yacker? [Rouge and Shadow walk up to the bar, chatting. Only Amy notices because Sonic has his back turned] Sonic: I can’t sleep peacefully with that alien running around. I don't know what to expect from the guy. I hope they come to get him back to him planet soon, so we can have some peace-- [Shadow sighs, puts his glass down, and walks away] Sonic: …Oh. No, wait… Shadow, I meant another alien! No, I mean, yes, but-- Damn it. PRESENT TIME Amy: For the love of Gaia, Sonic… Sonic: And that’s just what I remember from last week… Rouge: But I thought you talked it out with him? Sonic: Yeah, talking it out was the final nail in the coffin… FLASHBACK Sonic: Shadow, I know you’ve overheard things that weren’t exactly… I mean, they were because I said them, and words are words. But what I mean is that you didn’t understand them right. Not that I'm saying you don't know English, I’m sure you do, because you’re a very smart thing. But you were hearing conversations out of context--not saying you were eavesdropping, not at all, you’re a super respectful thing. But these were things discussed within the group--not that you’re not part of the group. You’re a thing— I know I keep calling you a thing. I swear to Gaia, this has never happened to me and I don't know why this thing--I mean… Look, uh… [grabs his hand and shakes it]: Nice chat, yeah? See you around. [bolts] PRESENT TIME Knuckles: Damn, so now he’s all sensitive? The guy who almost wiped out Earth without batting an eye…? Wait a sec… He did that for his sister. Shit, of course, he’s always been sensitive! Hey, what did I say back on that little floating thing in space, Sonic? I take my time to grasp things, but I get there eventually. Rouge: The fact that my brother has to work for an organization that hates him just so they can keep him on a leash, and meanwhile, you get to run free… I just don’t get life.
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Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me) pt. 2
Continuation of Part 1
2919 words | Set before the events of s3 | Rating: G (maybe T&up) |
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The next time Steve runs into Brown Eyes he’s freezing in an itchy, too small pair of shorts.
 He hasn’t seen him in—well he doesn’t know how long because keeping time after inter-dimensional shit goes down for the second time gets pretty difficult for him, but he knows he hasn’t seen him in long enough to forget what shade of brown his eyes were or maybe it was just dark and he never really got that good of a look in the first place but that didn’t really matter because he thought he would never see him again, he was supposed to never see him again.
Steve’s parents came back for all of three days to lecture him about hospital bills, bills he only had because the kids couldn’t tell their parents about the Upside Down. They didn’t ask about the scar that ran down his left arm, they didn’t ask why he was wearing medically prescribed glasses to numb the headaches they didn’t know he got and they didn’t ask if he was okay. The conversation ended with his father telling him that if he wasn’t going to college then he had to get a job to pay back the bills.
So here he was, elbow deep in ice cream that dried in flakes on his skin and pulling at the hem of shorts that couldn’t be his own. Robin must’ve mixed them up again. Hers fell to her knees and she had to pull them up with a huff whenever she moved. 
“Hello and welcome to Scoops Aboy!” She chirped at the kid standing in line, only just able to hide the dead eyed stare she’d had on a second ago, “What flavor can I get for you today?”
The kid stared before pushing one sweaty finger against the glass at the chocolate bin. They were out of chocolate.
Steve sighed because he knew he would be the one who would have to get it from the back freezer when the kid threw a fit and he knew he would be the one who had to clean the glass back to shining.
Robin was desperately trying to sell any other flavor to the kid, “It looks like we’re all out of chocolate, big guy. How about some banana extravaganza?”
The kid shook his head, “Chocolate!” He shouted, voice squeaking. Steve rubbed his temples.
“Hey, dingus, do we have chocolate in the back?”
Steve trudged over to the freezer, bracing himself for the chill, and threw open the door. Carefully arranging the leg of the break room chair to wedge between the door because it got stuck when it shut and the inside handle was frozen over.
Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. Exactly one tub of double chunk-o chip chocolate ice cream sat on the shelf. Frozen to the metal, because of course it was.
“Okay, you can do this, just go out there and…be ice cream.” Jesus Christ. Talking to ice cream, Steven, talking to yourself in a dingy freezer.
Steve shook his head, rubbing his eyes to dispel his father’s voice. Steve blew into his hands, rubbing them together so he didn’t get freezer burn for a week—because that was something that happened when the ice cream sat on the shelf for too long—and tugged the bucket down.
When he managed to pry the tub of ice cream off the shelf Robin had already convinced the kid to get another flavor. 
“Thank you so much, Steve,” He dropped the tub on the counter, rolling his eyes, “It means a lot that you go into the freezer with all your migraines and concussions for nothing.” Stop whining, Steven, Harrington’s aren’t babies.
Robin just stared at him, deadpan, and Steve scoffed, grabbing a scooper to replace the chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t like he didn’t like her or anything, she was just weird. That was mean, he wasn’t that guy anymore, he was better than some high school peaking idiot now. He should apologize. He should apologize for a lot lately and so far he can’t say any of it, maybe he’s not so different from the asshole who stood by while his friends—
Robin dropped her scooper and shrugged off her vest, tossing her hat onto the table in the back as she walked past it, heading for the door.
“Hey, wait, where are you going? You can’t just leave me here.” Steve called. 
“Lady problems, dingus.” She didn’t even have to look back for Steve to know she was smirking.
Can’t even take one shift alone, Harrington men are supposed to be independent, Steven. He could—he would be fine on his own, he could handle this, it was just a few kids in a line that got longer and longer and—he was fine.
“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, what can I get for you today?” He droned on, customer after customer. 
It was nearing the end of his shift when it happened. Steve was grumpy and the lithonia lighting really drills into your eyes, goosebumps dotted his arms and legs. 
He was seconds away from filling his hat with ice cream and throwing it over his eyes to combat the headache forming and to top it all off some kid had dumped their banana split down the front of his shirt because it was ‘too cold’. The scratchy material of this stupid sailor costume was sticking to his chest, sopping wet and catching on the scar on his shoulder as if he needed another reminder that it was there, as if it didn’t already throb every few days just to show him he’d never really be okay again and he wanted to cry—if he hadn’t been in public he would’ve been sobbing on the floor. Get yourself together, Steven, you’re a working man not a pathetic little girl.
The bell rang again and he gave himself a second to prepare before lifting his head and facing the customer.
“Hello and welcome to Scoops Ahoy, how may I help you on this fine—” Steve looked up, breath catching when he saw a familiar face, hazel—they were hazel, “—day.”
“Uh…” Brown Eyes’ eyes darted around, avoiding eye contact.
“Hey.” Steve said, sounding more breathless than he felt but that was stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking hey, “I…uh, I wasn’t expecting—” to ever see you again, to ever think about that night again but that’s lie because it’s all I can ever think about. Because Steve had told himself to forget about it, give up on whatever had happened and live a normal life but now—
“Look, man, I didn’t even know you worked here,” Brown Eyes was putting his wallet away, “if I had then I never would’ve come here, I swear.”
“You wouldn’t?” He hadn’t meant to sound so pathetic. Pull yourself together, Steven, have we taught you nothing. Pathetic pathetic pathetic.
Brown Eyes’ eyebrows crinkled, “No?” But he sounded confused which Steve couldn’t blame him for. 
He’d been confused a lot since that night. Confused about why he let the gap close, why he pushed forward—why he liked it because that’s not something that happens to him. He liked girls, just like every other guy in this godforsaken town who liked girls, he had to because he and Tommy kissed once in fifth grade on a Saturday night after baseball practice just to see if it would feel different and Tommy had pushed him away gagging. Tommy had told him that his dad was right and boys shouldn’t kiss boys because it was gross so Steve didn’t think about why it didn’t feel different and they never talked about it again. Hadn’t thought about it again, until he was ducking under arms and following strangers to get away from Tommy years later at a party he wished would end and maybe it wasn’t as gross as he told himself it was. Maybe—maybe he—
Steve heard the back door open and slam closed and took his chance, “I’m taking my break, Robin!” He yelled as he grabbed Brown Eyes’ wrist over the counter and pulled him around it, walking them both to the freezer and passing an exasperated Robin.
“You already took a break, Dingus, you can’t just decide to take another!”
But he didn’t stop and she just rolled her eyes.
Brown Eyes was glancing around frantically, “Listen I’m sorry! I’ll leave you alone, dude, I get it! You didn’t mean to kiss me, I stupidly thought that was what was happening. It won’t happen again, I swear, man!”
The freezer lights were blinding and the faint buzz was more grating than usual. If Steve were thinking about it he would’ve known he was dizzier than he should have been. If he had been thinking about it he would have picked up on the beginnings of a migraine worming its way in. 
He wasn’t thinking about it, unfortunately, because Brown Eyes was still rambling and he was really cute when he was nervous but Steve wished he wouldn’t. Because Steve’s been doing some thinking since that night, thinking about why it didn’t feel so gross when Tommy kissed him, thinking about why he felt like he’d been strung up and gutted when Brown Eyes took off. He’s been doing some thinking and he’s pretty damn glad he did it before he had to face Brown Eyes again.
The second time they kissed was no more coordinated than the first—probably less so because Brown Eyes was mid apology and Steve flinched when the freezer door slammed shut—
Shit.
Brown Eyes hadn’t moved. He just stood there, mouth hanging open—well opening and closing and then opening again like he didn’t know what to do with it—eyes wide and confused. Because—because Steve kissed him, what the fuck was he thinking? Harringtons aren’t fucking queer Steven. And they weren’t, they weren’t. 
What would your father say? And for the first time since he’s ever really thought about it it was his mother’s voice.
“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered, backing against the cold metal shelf, “I’m sorry.” He muttered again because he didn’t know what else there was to say.
Maybe it was the plummeting feeling in his stomach that did it. The swooping and the dull thud of his heart against his ribs—he didn’t know. But he was doubling over so fast his already throbbing head spun, falling on shaking knees, not fast enough to swallow the bile before he was emptying whatever was left of his stomach into an empty tub of ice cream.
There was a panicked squeak behind him, “Uh, are you—should I—“ and then he was crouching down beside him, “I didn’t realize I was that bad of a kisser, Jesus, Harrington.”
 And Steve couldn’t help the snort that fell out of him even though it made his nose burn and his eyes water.
Brown Eyes hadn’t stopped fidgeting, “Sorry, sorry, that was stupid—I don’t know why I said that, just nobody’s ever thrown up around me and I don’t really know what to do. I guess rambling’s not the most comforting thing in the world and I can’t stop talking. Do you—should I get—I should go get napkins, probably, right? I’ll do that, yeah, just…wait here—”
But Steve reached out, stopping him with a hand on his wrist because he’d been so caught up in his own head that he forgot to stop the door and maybe he should have felt embarrassed for wiping his mouth on that stupid hat but, “Can’t go anywhere, man. Door’s stuck.” He breathed.
“Shit.” Brown Eyes swore.
“Yeah.” Steve sat up, wincing at the bucket and pushing it away, “‘’Sides, I can handle myself.”
“Right, no, obviously—“ Brown Eyes kept spinning a ring around his finger, tapping a pattern on his knuckles, “Has that—does that happen a lot?”
Steve huffed, leaning his head back against the metal shelf and closing his eyes as the sharp pain spiked behind his eyes, “Migraines. Happens if I ignore them.”
Brown Eyes slid down the shelf, he had a chain link hanging from his belt and it clacked steadily down. He opened his mouth again, barely took a breath before he was closing it and then seemed to shake off whatever nervous energy clung to him.
“Why’d—uh, why’d you ignore it?” He asked, and then, “Oh. Shit, man, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“Dude,” Steve let his head tip, ear stinging where it pressed into the cold metal of the storage shelf, to look at Brown Eyes, “It’s not your fault, not like you knew about it.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right— obviously. No way I could’ve known, I mean it’s not like we know each other.” He was still moving. An almost jumpy motion to the way he spun his rings, pulled his hair in front of his face, tapped his foot against the tile floor over and over, “I mean we do—or I do. Figure you’ve heard rumors but never put a face to the name, huh, Harrington?”
And Steve caught the almost hopeful way Brown Eyes said his name, the hopeful but shame-filled and god if he didn’t know about shame. The longing that curled bittersweet in his stomach every time he was reminded of a life he could never be brave enough to take for his own. The overwhelmingly dreadful certainty that he would only ever live to settle down, to buy a house and start a family and die a peaceful death beside some woman he liked well enough because technically it wasn’t out of the picture for him. 
Because maybe all this thinking he’s been doing has opened his eyes to the parts of him he was suppressing but it didn’t make the other parts, the parts that wanted a family and small little porch that overlooked a garden that won best in show at the neighborhood fair, just disappear. And he knew the path his life would take him down and he accepted it because he was scared, a fucking coward. Fought fucking demons and you’re still afraid, Steven, always afraid. So he ignored it, the hope. For now.
“’S not like you ever told me yours.” Steve hadn’t meant to sound so pissy about it, he wasn’t owed the guy’s name just because they kissed. Never be anything better than a high school bully, Steven, we raised you better than this—
But then Brown Eyes grinned, snorting a little in surprise. Leaned in fast, close enough Steve could feel their breath mix between them and just looked at him like maybe he was going to finally tell him. Or kiss him again. And honestly Steve would welcome either option.
“Maybe I like the mystery.” Brown Eyes was enjoying this entirely too much.
Steve was about to respond, shoot back some snarky reply because that was okay to do now, it would be reciprocated, when he heard the yelling.
“Hey, dingus! Your children are here!” Robin. She pounded on the door, “Jesus, d’you seriously get stuck again?”
Steve sucked in a breath, ignored the sharp pain that speared through his head as he scrambled off the floor. He caught Brown Eyes’ eye, the resignation in them, and only had a second to feel guilty about what must’ve looked like the embarrassment of being caught together. Only had a second to reach out, thought maybe he could grab his hands—it’s not you, it’s not you, it’s the fear, it’s always the fear and I can’t do a damn thing about it. But that sounded far too much like a break up to say to somebody you’ve only kissed twice. Somebody whose name you don’t even know. It’s not you, it’s me, because I don’t even know you but if I did it’d still be me.
The door swung open, Robin keeping it from closing on them with her foot, “What the hell are you doing in here, dude?” She asked, “We’ve got customers. Your tiny friends.” 
“Right. I’ll—uh,” Steve glanced back at Brown Eyes, helpless to say anything as he pushed himself up and made for the door.
“Thanks for the tour, man but I should really get going.” No, no, wait, not now please wait, Brown Eyes tipped his head at Robin in a little curtsy as he read her name tag and it would’ve been endearing if Steve’s heart wasn’t pounding in his ears, crawling up his lungs and choking him, “All the gratitude for freeing us, lady Robin. See you around, Harrington.” 
Except you won’t, Steve wanted to call out, I graduated, I don’t know your name, stay stay stay—
“Steve.” Robin clapped her hands, “Small children. Waiting for you at the counter.”
When Steve looked back at the door Brown Eyes was gone.
“I got that, thanks.” He muttered.
If he gave Mike a little less ice cream in his free sample when the kid told him he was ‘watching the door wistfully’ he didn’t notice. And if he blamed his sour mood on his headache then it wasn’t technically a lie.
And if anyone noticed anything about it, they didn’t comment.
When Steve got home he hung his jacket up in his closet, bumped the door with his hip by accident and sucked in a breath when he saw the shoes. The ones Brown Eyes left at the party. The ones he’d kept, stupidly telling himself he would return them if he ever got the chance only he’d had the chance and he hadn’t said anything about them. 
Now he never would have the chance.
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Part 3?
Fun Fact: I got so much second hand embarrassment from writing Steve throwing up that I had to stop writing for 2 days
PERMANENT tag list (open):
@yesdangerpls, @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse, @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin, @tinyplanet95, @gatorguy777, @grtwdsmwhr
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jadeharleyinc · 2 days ago
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i think it sorta makes sense in the context of d&d specifically if you consider the base postulates: 1) gods directly grant powers to their devoted/chosen worshipers (this one is kinda baked into the Cleric class) 2) the Nice Church is always nice and never enables any "unjust" cruelty and violence, so people who want to indulge this behavior can't do so by joining 3) evil gods reward at least some of their devout followers with evil powers, and depending on the circumstances this power may appear very easy to obtain. this usually manifests in scenarios where the Nice Church has many mundane worshipers and a few very powerful Chosen Heroes, while the Evil Cult has many mildly powerful worshipers wielding dark magic, which conveniently offers moderately threatening fodder for the Chosen Heroes to mow through 4) more implicitly, the benefits of throwing evil fireballs at your enemies (or for rank-and-file evil cultists, the promise of doing so) outweighs the risks of an evil god killing you for shit and giggles. this can manifest explicitly with the "i believe that surely Babykicker the God of Evil will make exceptions for me" trope to drive home the foolish and contemptible hubris of the cultist.
obviously that's a lot of assumptions, it results in extremely simplistic stories, it carries a ton of bigotry and misanthropy, and the whole thing falls apart if you prod at it even a little (which makes it a terrible fit for any TTRPGs whose players will treat cultists like people, and any CRPGs with serious aspirations whose players stop to think for a single minute). but i'd say the types of d&d stories that posit the Evil Cultist as a type of monster and not a person do offer internally consistent answers if one buys into the premises.
I believe the appeal of serving evil gods is supposed to be doing the evil instead of being victim of it. Pretty straightforward motivation to work within a system of power for your own safety and not care about, or even prefer, the harm done to others.
see this almost makes sense but in all the examples im thinking of the Evil Gods also constantly randomly murderslavetorture their own followers for shits and giglges, so the audience can know how Evi lthey are
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sailorsoons · 10 hours ago
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On the Clock | (c.hs)
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Pairing: Vernon x f. reader
Summary: Modern problems call for modern solutions, including naming a random stranger in the book store as your boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing encounter with your ex. The problem? The stranger is Vernon and he’s not supposed to be a stranger at all - he’s your coworker, and now everyone at the office - including your ex - thinks you’re dating. 
Word Count: 20,296
Genre: Faking dating, Coworkers to Lovers, Romcom
Type: Smut, some fluff and crack
Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
Warnings: Reader has some insecurity about how her working hard is perceived, some ranting about Being A Girlboss, a little bit of inner angst, my bad attempts at humor, reader’s ex boyfriend SUCKS sorry to all the Minho’s of the world I named him after, explicit language, some minor commentary on power dynamics, Star Wars Lore, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (never do this), oral (f. receiving), nipple play, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, a little bit of a handjob, some cum eating if you squint, Vernon was supposed to be a freak but I made him soft instead, mutual pining.
A/N: Thank you to @camandemstudios for allowing me to be a part of the Lonely Hearts Collab. I’m honored to be among such amazing writers and I cannot wait to see what everyone else wrote. 
A/N 2: Thank you to the (w)hor(e)anghae squad @daechwitatamic @eoieopda and @jihopesjoint for beta reading this and letting me blind pass it over so I wouldn’t have to read it again because I don’t like it :)  
Masterlist | Permanent Tag List | Ask | Lonely Hearts Collab Masterlist
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Whosoever slayeth Cain shall suffer sevenfold… or whatever it is the Bible says. You haven’t slayed Cain and you’re not really sure you believe in anything in the Bible, but you’re certainly suffering sevenfold. Eightfold. Ninefold. 
Sevenfold had been earlier this morning when you dropped your glass of coffee on the ground, shattering your favorite cup and staining your white tile. Several Clorox wipes later, there is still brown stuck to the grout, looking a bit like you had an unseemly accident in the middle of your kitchen. 
Eightfold had been when you decided to fix your weekend by heading to the bookstore. Surely purchasing books that you were going to let sit on your shelf months before reading would fix your day - until someone rear-ended you in the parking lot, leaving a good dent and an apologetic exchanging of numbers and insurance information.
Ninefold comes when you least expect it, standing in the aisle with a stack of books in your hand, eyes flickering over the different titles and ornate covers. You already feel better than you had this morning. The smell of paper, the whisper of turning pages, and the hum of the cafe brewing coffee in the distance immediately puts you at ease. 
You swear nothing can put a damper on a good hour spent between shelves - until ninefold walks around the aisle corner. 
The stack of books in your arm nearly drops to the ground when you see your ex-boyfriend hand-in-hand with his new girlfriend. You wheel around so fast you slam into the person behind you, which does knock all the books from your hands onto the floor. 
A hissed curse leaves your lips followed by a quick apology. You drop to your knees, picking the books up as quickly as you can. The dude you’ve collided with has also dropped his books, the amalgamation of your soon-to-be-purchases making it more difficult for you to pick up your shit and leave the scene before Minho sees you. 
Minho says your name, surprised. 
“Fuck,” you whisper, fingers going rigid on the stack of books in your hand. You shoot to your feet and spin around, breathless as you come face to face with Minho and the new girlfriend that you definitely didn’t look up on social media a few weeks ago. “Hi, Minho.” 
“Wow, it’s nice to see you not in the marketing department for once.” 
“Well, I work there…” You offer a bit sharply, tapering to adjust to a nicer tone. “Hence, you know - finding me there.” 
“I meant you rarely leave there.” He laughs and you feign a grin, eyes flickering over to the rosy-cheeked and very glossy-haired girl on your ex’s arm.
Good for her, you think. I wonder what hair product she uses. 
“This is Mina.”
“Mina?” You ask, sticking your hand out as you shuffle your books awkwardly to the crook over your elbow. She smiles - god she has good teeth - and shakes your hand. “Mina and… Minho. Easy to remember.” 
“It’s nice to meet you. Minho tells me you’re the only ex he’s ever left things on good terms with.” 
Your eye twitches. 
Good terms was a serviceable way to put it, you suppose. Sure, there had been no fighting or infidelity or long distance that put a strain on your relationship. In fact, you hadn’t been aware that there was a strain on your relationship until Minho was sitting you down on his couch and letting you know that it just wasn’t working for him anymore. 
That had been confusing. You hadn’t asked any questions though, opting to sit and stare at him while clenching your teeth, nodding along while he explained that your inability to leave work at work and enjoy home while at home was wearing down on him. 
You’re not saving lives, he’d said. He had been earnest too, which is the crux of it. You’re in marketing. You need to take a breather. 
As if he didn’t come home in a bad mood after shitty sales calls all day, as if he wasn’t stressed when he didn’t hit quota, or didn’t complain about how long the department meeting went - you know. You were there, too. 
So sure, you were on good terms. But only one of you seemed to have been unhappy with where things were going, and only one of you seems to have moved on to someone with really good hair genes and great dental hygiene. 
Your tongue runs over your teeth, suddenly worried that you’d forgotten to brush them this morning. 
“Yeah,” you agree, clearing your throat and choking a bite. “Good terms are always the goodest - best way to end things.” 
“He’s really hopeful you’ll find someone,” she sighs, looking up at him dreamily. “He’s always wanted the best for you.” 
A vein bursts in your head. Well- no. You wish the vein you feel throbbing in your head would burst and knock you out so you’d no longer have to suffer through this ninefold moment of suffering. Perhaps, even, a very attractive medic with glossy hair and good teeth could come save you and fall in love at first sight. 
The genuine way that Minho and Mina look at you tells you that they’re serious, that they see you as something that deserves love too. Said in a cooing voice, said patronizingly, said with a pat on the head and a firm pout. 
You turn with your free hand, grabbing the sleeve of the man who is hovering behind you and pull him over to you, grin growing sevenfold. Eightfold. 
“No need to worry,” you assure them. “My boyfriend is right here! The stars really did align for me, just like you hoped and dreamed.”
Your seconds-old-star-crossed-lover looks entirely startled, looking between you, Minho and Mina. His books are cradled against his chest, his brown eyes wide. He’s actually incredibly cute, his glasses a little askewand his brown hair a little unruly. 
“You’re dating Vernon?” 
You look at Minho, blank. “What?” 
Minho looks at your Very Real Boyfriend. “You’re dating Vernon? From IT?” 
Ninefold, meet Tenfold. 
“Of course,” you answer slowly, looking at your partner of now thirty seconds. “I am dating Vernon… from IT.” 
Vernon (from IT) looks like he would rather be anywhere else than standing in the middle of the fantasy novel aisle with you at a bookstore, your nails digging tighter into his sleeve and your crazy eyes telling him to get with the program. 
Vernon (from IT) clears his throat and nods, looking over at Minho. “Yeah. Hey, Minho.” 
“Wow. This is really unexpected.”
“It sure is.”
Your nails dig in harder and Vernon (from IT) tries to pull away from you but you step closer, leaning toward him while flashing Minho and Mina a smile. “Anyway, no need to worry about me finding a relationship. I am very happy.” 
“Figures you found someone at work again.” He laughs, but the comment lands like a blow. You feel yourself flinch, smile going too tight. “You really don’t leave enough to find anyone else, huh?” 
Vernon (from IT) seems to notice, shifting toward you to slide his arm around your waist. The move startles you, drawing your attention to his face. He really is pretty this up close, his lips the perfect shade of bubblegum pink, his cheekbones high and hidden beneath the rim of his glasses, the tangy scent of citrus on his clothes. 
“I like women who work really hard,” Vernon (from IT) assures Minho. “I’ll never get tired of resetting her password over and over again because she loses all her sticky notes everytime the cleaning crew comes through.” 
If Minho senses the shift, he doesn’t let on. He’s never been great at social cues anyway, which is what makes him a decent salesman. Still, you’re eager to get out of their way and the glare of Mina’s shiny hair. 
“Well,” You state. “We have to get going.”
“For sure. It was nice seeing you outside of work!” 
With a final nod, Vernon (from IT) tugs on your waist. You both navigate awkwardly down the aisle, steps not quite in time and hips bumping. It’s uncomfortable and uncoordinated, but as soon as you’re around the aisle and away from your encounter, the two of you separate. 
Vernon (from IT) looks anywhere but you. His cheeks are tinted pink as he looks up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to foot while you regain all your books in your arm. Embarrassment and gratitude both well up inside of you, one beating the other out.
“I am really sorry,” you blurt, voice a little loud. The people around you startle and you lower your pitch when Vernon (from IT) looks at you, chewing on his lip. “Thank you - I don’t even know how to say thank you for doing that.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Your cheeks heat. “Right.”
“Happy to help, though. You can thank me by swapping books with me, though.”
“What?”
He gestures to your books. “I was standing behind you because you grabbed my books after you ran into me.” 
Oh. Right. You look down at the pile of books in your hand and see a few titles that you own, but did not plan on buying today. You divest yourself of his selections, taking the ones he’d collected off the ground from there. 
“So you really work in IT?”
He snorts. The sound is… a little off. You glance up at him, but his face gives away nothing. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t know.”
His smile is off, too. “I know.” 
You’re unsure how to reply to that, but you’re also uneager to let him go, suddenly. Vernon (from IT) stands there for a second, lips pressed in a firm line and studying you. He really is beautiful, the light hitting his eyes in a way that turns them molten gold and-
“Alright well,” he interrupts your thoughts. “See you later or something.” 
The urge to stop him strikes you, your mouth opening and closing. No words come out. You don’t know what to say - or why you want to stop him, just that you do. He walks toward the front of the store to purchase his books, leaving you standing in the middle of the store and wishing you’d met Vernon (from IT) under different circumstances. 
-
Routine is important to you, especially during the weekdays. Wake up, snooze your alarm for at least fifteen minutes, get up when the second one goes off. Groan as you feel every single joint in your body pop after sitting up in bed. Wonder if you really need a corporate job to pay your bills (decide the answer is yes), and get up to feed the furious beast yowling from the bed. 
The ferocious beast in question has a routine as well. Perhaps not as important as yours, the cat knows when he’s supposed to be fed and when it’s even a minute past feeding time. Halloween takes his meals very seriously, which you respect. 
Your morning continues with the monotonous rhythm you’ve learned to appreciate: make coffee, shuffle back to your room into the ensuite bathroom for skin care, start your morning proper. The only thing that isn’t the same thing every morning is your playlist and your outfit of choice, leading both items up to fate to decide. 
A hint of spring is in the air when you step outside. It’s that kind of sunny day with a cool breeze that promises longer days of sun ahead, despite still being brisk in the morning and biting when the sun sets. 
Mornings during the days that hang between winter and spring are your favorite. You roll the windows down a little on your drive to work, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as you crawl along with all the other commuters. 
Buildings shoot up toward the sky on either side of you. Dozens of banks, private firms, buildings with multiple different businesses and food courts become your entire world as you navigate to the parking garage. It’s already full of cars, but you get special parking.
Well - special as of your promotion just a few weeks ago. The designated parking spot and title bump was all that had come with the promotion, though, much to your dismay. 
Still. You’d worked for this particular publishing house in the marketing department for close to a decade now. You weren’t quite as far up the ladder as you wanted to be, but you were trying to get there little by little. 
So close. No cigar. 
The elevator of the parking garage opens to reveal other office workers already filling the mirror-walled space. You step in as everyone makes room, clutching their bags and briefcases a little closer. You see Mingyu from creative and flash him a polite grin, which is answered with a bright one of his own and a small wave.
When the people not associated with your company shuffle off on other floors, Mingyu slides over closer to you. He’s one of the many designers in the art department, and definitely several rungs below your position, but you started the company at the same time together.
“How was your weekend?” He asks, wagging his brows up and down. 
You frown. His questions suggests there’s something salacious to your wild weekend spent reading books with Halloween, but you don’t think burning the bagel you ate for girl dinner or staying in the same shirt for forty-eight hours straight is what he’s looking for. 
“It was fine?” It comes out as a question. “How was yours?” 
“Hm. It was good. We went out to catch the big game. Seokmin got so drunk he vomited, and Vernon won all of the bets we placed before.” 
Mingyu leans forward, looking at you like you’re supposed to understand something. You don’t get it, looking him up and down with a pinched brow. 
“That’s nice?” Again, it comes out as a question. “Not for Seokmin, I guess.” 
His eyes narrow. Pin you to your spot against the elevator wall.
Then the elevator dings, signalling that you’re at his floor. Creative is an entire level down from marketing, all dim lights and glowing screens for the designers hard at work. Mingyu gets off, still looking suspicious as the elevator doors close and you shoot up another floor. 
Instead of focusing on it, you shrug it off. Mingyu has a penchant for being weird - a creative thing, in your opinion. As soon as the elevator door opens, his behavior is long forgotten as you slip into work mode. 
Everyone greets you with a polite smile or small wave on the marketing floor. The main office is filled with grey-walled cubicles, employees popping up to peer over walls with mugs of coffee and protein shakes and breakfast items as they ask their neighbors how the weekend was. 
A glass wall in the far back denotes the executive and director offices. You head for the one in the back, right corner. Instead of turning on your lights, you let the natural lighting from the floor-to-ceiling windows filter in, keeping the ambiance muted and relaxing. The only additional lights you flick on are the monitor light at your desk and a small salt lamp wedged between the books on one of the many shelves behind you. 
Your office is still slowly being decorated. You’d only moved in after your recent promotion, and it’s still bare of personalization, save for the salt lamp and a few things you’d moved in from your cubicle. 
And the coffee machine - your own private, blessed coffee machine in the corner on a small bar cart. That might be your favorite thing about your office. You like your coworkers - for the most part, anyway - but being able to bury yourself in your work without having to interact with all of them every time you want coffee is nice. 
Sitting down, you roll your shoulders. When your monitor flashes to life, you see the number of emails in your inbox and try not to groan out loud. You’re thrilled to be the new Senior Director of Marketing, but you’ve gone and made the mistake of becoming too important at work, most things unable to move forward without you playing some part in it.
In theory, that was one of the reasons Minho had broken up with you in the first place. Too buried in work, too many late nights at the office, too many dates or movie nights interrupted by the blue glow of your phone screen on your face while you answer urgent emails. 
The thing is - you don’t mind. It doesn’t bother you to pause and send a quick email, or to stay late and help get something launched. You like the intricacies of being a problem solver, and with as fast as your company is growing and publishing new titles, you’ve got challenge after challenge ahead of you. 
It’s easy to fall into the monotony of answering emails, joining virtual meetings and striking your pen through your to-do list. It fills three pages, but it feels good to cross something off, even if you’ve only completed two things. 
By lunchtime, someone is knocking on your window. You look up, surprised to see Seungkwan sticking his head in. He’s the Manager of Digital Marketing and Social Media and he’s dubbed himself as your assistant. 
Other duties as assigned, he always jokes, but you are thankful for him. 
“You have to eat,” he reminds you in a singsong voice, crossing his arms over his chest. His glasses are pushed up into his blonde hair. “Maybe you can take me to lunch and divulge every detail about your new romance.” 
That makes you sputter. “My what?” 
Looking like the cat that ate the canary, Seungkwan slips into your office, clapping his hands together. He sits on the edge of the couch in front of your desk, bounding with energy. 
“Come on,” he whispers, looking at you earnestly. “Everyone knows - you don’t have to keep it a secret anymore!”
“Keep what a secret?” 
He rolls his eyes. “You’re dating Vernon!”
You stare. “Who?” 
“Vernon! From IT!” 
It comes back in tunnel vision. Ninefold meeting tenfold, Minho and Glossy Hair Mina, Vernon (from IT). Suddenly you’re hot all over, feel it creeping up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You clear your throat, leaning back in your chair as your fingers reach for your water. 
“I’m - oh!” You escape answering for a second by gulping down copious amounts of water, trying to cool the panic that is licking flames up your skin. “Right. Vernon… from IT.” 
“Honestly, he’s cute.”
“Ha. Ha. Yes. Um. Yeah.”
“You’re so cute when you’re flustered. How long have you been dating?”
“Uhh very new. Yes. Super new. I’m sorry - how did you hear about this?” 
“Mingyu told me, but Soonyoung told him and Joshua in sales told Soonyoung because Minho told the Always Closing group chat.” 
“The what?”
He sighs. “Ugh, do you keep up with anything? The sales floor has a group chat. It’s where Soonyoung gets all his tea because he and Joshua room together.” 
“Who the fuck is Joshua?” 
Seungkwan stares. “It is a wonder you even know who Vernon is. I swear you don’t know people you’ve worked with for years.” A thought seems to strike him and he gasps. “Oh my god is that why you’re always going to him for your fucked up passwords?” 
Something Vernon said comes back to you vaguely. Something about forgotten passwords when the cleaning crew throws out your sticky notes. Of course, no one would throw out your sticky notes if you weren’t dropping them all over the floor, but that’s neither here nor there. 
Bolting from your seat, you startle Seungkwan, whose brows disappear in his hairline as he stares up at you.
“Actually, I can’t do lunch today.”
He sighs. “Boss, you have to eat.”
“I am! I am going to lunch with my…. Vernon from IT.”
“Oooo.” He leans back, shaking his head and grinning at you. “Go on then. Make sure you wrap it before-”
“If you finish that sentence I will revoke your privilege to my coffee cart.” 
Seungkwan’s grin only gets wider. “Enjoy, boss.” 
In a flurry, you leave your office. Eyes follow you as you go and suddenly you’re unsure if people are looking at you because you’re walking so fast that you’re almost running, or if it’s because they think you’re dating Vernon). 
Your finger nearly breaks as you slam the button over and over again to shoot a few floors down. It doesn’t make the elevator go any faster. When the doors finally close and you begin to descend, you turn to the mirror walls and panic, tucking stray pieces of hair back into place and trying to fix the mascara smudges from staring at your screen for four straight hours.
A knot forms in your stomach. You press your damp palms against your dress pants, wiping viciously to try and keep the moisture at bay. When the elevator dings and the doors open to the silent hum of the IT department, you think you might vomit.
Unlike the marketing floor, no heads turn as you go. You try to maintain a normal pace this time, marching down the rows of cubicles before you realize you have no idea where Vernon sits. You pause awkwardly, standing on your tiptoes to try and see over the walls of cubicles to spot him.
“Can I help you?” A man sticks his head out of his cubicle, his headphones around his neck. He looks you up and down critically. “You’ll have to have proof of submitting a ticket before-”
“Vernon,” you interrupt him. “Vernon from IT? Where does he sit?” 
For a second, the guy narrows his eyes. Then a lightbulb seems to go off and he grins, leaning back in his chair. He looks far too pleased with himself, and there’s something oily and slick you don’t like about his gaze. “You’re her.” 
“I’m a senior director, yes.” 
That changes his tune immediately. He sits up, clearing his throat. “To the back on the left.” 
“Thanks.”
Following his lead, you pass by several empty cubicles, everyone seemingly at lunch. You take the corner as instructed and find a handful of men sitting in the same cubicle, one sitting atop a desk and swinging his legs, another leaning against the cubicle wall, and the last one sitting in the seat.
The one sitting in the seat is the quarry you seek, his eyes going wide when he sees you storming toward him. He goes rigid in his seat, clearing his throat and slapping the leg of the man sitting atop his desk. He kicks at Vernon before spotting you and immediately jumping down, straightening his shirt. 
Nervous energy crackles as all three sets of eyes settle on you. You stop right in front of his cubicle, trying to put on your bravest smile. 
“Hi?” Vernon asks, looking at the two men on either side of him. “Did you forget your password again?”
“What? No. I don’t do it that often.” He looks unsure, brows raised behind his glasses. You huff, putting  your hands on your hips. “Okay, I forget it sometimes. But no, that isn’t why I’m here.”
“Does your software need updating?”
“No, I-”
“Oh. I did forget to give Seungkwan that new phone he asked for on behalf of the social team. It came in last week - I’ll finish setting it up and-”
“Lunch!” You all but yell, startling all three men. “I came here for lunch.”
There’s a long pause. Vernon’s coworkers look like they’d rather be anywhere else than trapped by you. You ignore them in favor of a quick study of Vernon. He’s in dress pants and a button down shirt that is untucked and a little wrinkled. It’s a far cry from the casual way he was dressed at the bookstore, but it’s still not totally work appropriate. 
Still he pulls it off. There’s something casual and cool about it, aloof in a way that still looks good. His hair is even styled neatly, though a brown lock falls over his eyebrow as he leans forward and asks, “Lunch? The cafeteria is on the first floor.”
The man who had been sitting on his desk kicks him. “She’s asking you to go to lunch, dude.” 
“She’s not-” Vernon pauses and looks at you. “Are you asking me to go to lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Your patience narrows to a tight smile, your words pinched between your teeth, “Because that’s what loving girlfriends do, sweetie.” 
The words land and have an immediate effect. Vernon flushes from the neck up, mouth opening and closing as he presses his palms against his thigh. The man who kicked him snickers and tries to hide it with a thinly veiled cough.
Your gaze narrows and he notices you watching, clearing his throat to stretch his hand toward you. “I’m Chan. It’s nice to meet… Vernon’s girlfriend?” 
You shake his head and say nothing, eyes drifting to the man leaning against the wall. He gives you a small salute. “Seokmin.”
“Oh.” You blink. “The puker?” 
His charming smile drops immediately as he looks at Vernon, smacking him on the shoulder. “You told her about that?”
“I didn’t tell her anything.” Vernon stands, shrugging away from both of his friends’ wandering eyes. “Sure, sweetie,” he answers you, giving you a plastic grin. “It’s your treat this week, right? At that very nice, very expensive steakhouse down the block.”
There’s a glimmer in his eyes that tells you Vernon will only play along if it’s by his rules. You’re at a disadvantage, so you grin and nod, willing to go by his rules for now. “That’s so right, darling. Let’s go.”
“Enjoy lunch!” Chan calls behind you as Vernon shuffles behind you, quickly trying to tuck his shirt. “Don’t do anything I-”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Vernon warns, quickening his step to match yours. “Sorry about him.” 
“Don’t worry, I’ve got my own version of him sitting in my office.” 
The elevator ride down to the first floor and the walk out onto the busy street is silent. It’s not the comfortable, easy silence you might have with Seungkwan or Mingyu - if Mingyu could wrap his head around silence. It's awkwardly silent, both of you looking anywhere but one another. 
You don’t know where you’re going, but Vernon leads you to a Michelin steakhouse down the block, true to his word. You glare at him when you step into the dark entryway where a host with hair as glossy as Mina’s greets you. 
“Two?” You both nod and she grins. “Right this way.”
Vernon follows her first, shuffling behind her as she leads the two of you into the dining room proper. It’s a beautiful establishment with lacquered floors, rich wooden tables draped with fine tablecloths and the kind of glassware that looks like real crystal. 
When you both sit down with menus in hand, the hostess leaves you and you lean forward, hissing, “How much money do you think I make?”
“More than I do in IT,” Vernon answers breezily, eyes roving the menu. For a second, his gaze flickers to meet yours over the top of the menu. It’s the first time he’s really looked at you since you marched into his office. “Consider it an apology meal for the mess you’ve got us in.”
“Hey! You played along?” 
“You’re right, I guess I could have just super embarrassed you in front of your ex-boyfriend. That would have been very polite of me.” 
That stumps you. You open and close your mouth, feeling a bit like a fish. You suppose that’s fair - what was Vernon supposed to do when you’d grabbed him in the middle of a bookstore and staked your claim? 
Sighing, you lean back as your server gives you a moment of respite, filling your glasses with water and going over the specials. When they leave, you grab your glass and take several gulps of water, trying to cool your head. 
It only works a little.
“I didn’t know Minho was going to tell the entire world.” 
“Really? Minho has the biggest mouth at this company. You should see his Teams messages.”
“You can do that?” 
“On the clock?” He asks. When you shake your head, assuring it stays between you, he nods. “Yeah, we can see everything you do.”  
“Oh.” You think of all the terrible things you’ve searched on your work computer like how to get over a breakup and how to tell if my ex still likes me. “Anyway, I didn’t know he was going to say anything.” 
The server returns to take your orders. You order some sort of steak salad at random while Vernon orders something blessedly modest. As the server parts ways, Vernon leans back in his chair and looks at you again, expression unreadable. 
“Well,” he eventually says. “No harm done once you tell everyone we’re not dating.”
“Once I what?” 
“Well you’ll have to-”
“No way.”
“What?” 
“Do you know how embarrassing that would be?” 
He raises a brow. “More embarrassing than grabbing some dude in the bookstore and claiming he’s your boyfriend.” 
The air leaves your lungs and you melt into the seat, your misery showing. “I already said sorry.” 
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just tell everyone you broke up with me.” 
You snort. “No one would believe that.” 
“Why?” 
Instead of answering him immediately, you busy yourself unraveling silverware. It’s a hard question to answer, not because you don’t know the answer but because you don’t want to tell him. Vernon is quiet, though. Patient. 
He doesn’t press you for an answer, happy to wait you out until you’ve folded your napkin and placed it on your lap, and once again drained the rest of your water. It does nothing for your nerves as you fixate on a spot atop the table. 
“I don’t… date.” 
“You dated Minho.”
“Yeah. That’s uh… it. It’s kind of a running joke that I am undateable.”
He frowns at that. “Respectfully, I find that incredibly hard to believe.” 
“Thanks. I think.” You pick at a string in the tablecloth. “Anyway, no one would buy that I ended the first relationship I’ve had since Minho. I didn’t even end the last one and sort of clung to it in a way that was sort of embarrassing.” 
“I see.”
You’re unsure if he really does. When Minho had broken up with you, you’d attempt to make arguments to keep him around. Offered less work hours, even said you’d go to therapy to talk about your insane need for success. He hadn’t wanted any of it, and you’d eventually realized that he just… didn’t want you. 
They never did, when people realized what dating you entails. Everyone wants a woman who works hard. They like the illusion of it, the woman who gets up early in the morning and goes to workout before going to her corporate job and girl bossing all day long. They desire the woman who dresses fashionably, who wears designer tags and commands a room all day before coming home to make an effortless dinner followed by a luxurious night routine. 
And you get it. You want to be that too. But the truth is most days you wake up past your alarm and rush to the office wearing shoes that don’t match, and sometimes you come home so late and burned out from your job that you eat a handful of shredded cheese over the sink with a stick of beef jerky, only to do it all again the next day.
That wasn’t what anyone wanted. At least, not in your experience. 
“Anyway,” you clear your throat. “You’re right, or whatever. I should just tell them I lied. I’ve given worse news. Just you know - less personal.” 
For a few minutes, Vernon is quiet. You don’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead you watch the ice cubes in your glass melt, little beads of condensation zigzagging down the curve of your glass. 
A sigh makes you look up at Vernon. “What if we dated for like a month or something?” 
“What?”
“I don’t mean really date,” he offers quickly, sensing your surprise. For some reason, that stings a little. You swallow it down past the knot forming in your throat. “It’ll get people off your back or whatever and we can just mutually end things.” 
“Really? You’d do that.” 
He shrugs a shoulder. “I guess, yeah.”
“You can break up with me,” you promise eagerly, leaning forward with the new promise of a solution to your problem. “Everyone will believe it. Just say I work too much and I’m too obsessed with my career.” 
An uneasy gaze flickers in Vernon’s eyes. “It can be mutual,” he says firmly. “That way it ends nicely.”
“Fine. Everyone will think one thing anyway, you’ll get out without a scratch, trust me. Are you sure you’re willing to do this? I can… suck it up and tell everyone I made it up.”
“Do you really want to?” 
“No,” you admit.
“Then it’s settled.” He shrugs, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you a month and then we can mutually end things.” 
Sticking your hand over the table, you offer it for Vernon to shake. His mouth twitches a little as he smiles, leaning forward to take your hand. His is warm and softer than you imagined, enveloping yours firmly as he shakes. 
“Deal,” you smile, feeling a glimmer of hope. 
Just like that, Vernon (from IT) becomes Vernon (your boyfriend). 
Sort of.
-
Vernon doesn’t consider himself anxious. He’s never really dealt with anxiety, and there are only a few things that can make him nervous in the world. The few times he remembers being nervous were when he was in a bidding war for a limited edition Millenium Falcon model, in line at a meet-and-greet for his favorite band when he was sixteen, and when he lost his virginity to Carley Waters in his sophomore year of college. 
He’d won the bidding war and managed to not sound like an idiot meeting his idols, but he definitely came immediately after putting his dick inside Carley. Two out of three were pretty good odds, all things considered. 
Vernon is more nervous than all three of those events combined as he checks himself in the mirror for the millionth time. Usually, he doesn’t really think twice about what he wears to the bar on the weekend. He has fifteen of the same shirt in the same colors, and his jeans all look the same, even though he thinks they’re different. 
Now, though, he has the added element of you. He cannot recall a single time that you’ve ever agreed to go out with your work friends - and to your surprise, not his, you do have the same work friends - but tonight is different. 
Tonight, you’re supposed to be dating. 
It’s weird. Chan and Seokmin agree it’s weird. He keeps no secrets from them and had already told them about the encounter at the bookstore. They’ve sworn themselves to secrecy, though Vernon cannot fathom how they just go with it. 
She’s really hot, Chan had said after a few sips of beer. Fuck it, right? 
She’s the third most executive person in marketing, Seokmin warned. Be careful. 
Both are true. Vernon had acknowledged Chan’s point the first time he’d seen you in Information Technology a little over two years ago. You’d been dating Minho then and entirely untouchable - still are, kind of - and Vernon had been the only person at the office early enough to help you out. He’d been new then, and often came in the earliest to get started on the overload of tasks he was always given as the junior employee. 
Even then, Vernon thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Sure, you had on mismatched shoes and there was a breathy chaos to you that would probably stress most people out, but he sort of liked it. Thought that it was different in a good way, and spoke to the sort of person who worked really hard and didn’t fake their way through the day. 
Vernon had realized Seokmin's point right after he’d learned Chan’s. As soon as he helped you login to your computer, he’d realized you were a Senior Manager of Marketing. Not a huge title in a company so big, but high enough that Vernon thought twice about his attraction to you. 
Now, both of their points are moot. You’re still attractive but that doesn’t really change the situation - makes it harder, even. Vernon had never really dreamed of an actual relationship with you and now that he’s found himself in a fake one, he’s not really sure what to do with the acknowledgement that he’s attracted to you. 
Worse is that he doesn’t actually know if he’s allowed to date you. Vernon is a senior coordinator in the IT department and you’re a senior director. Perhaps not in his department or directly overseeing him, but it’s a high enough position that Sekomin is right - it could mean trouble if this goes poorly. 
So why the fuck did he offer to fake date you for a month? 
As someone in Information Technology, most people think Vernon is smart. He doesn’t consider himself to be above average intelligence, and as he slides his sneakers on his feet to go pick you up for a night out, he thinks everyone is wrong about him - he’s fucking stupid.
Looking in the mirror one more time, Vernon decides it’s as good as it’s ever going to get. Jeans, a black shirt and a hat facing backward is all he really knows how to style. He shoves his keys in his pocket, a tiny vial of contact solution just in case, and grabs his phone as he heads out the door. 
Your apartment complex isn’t that far from his. He finds it with ease, surprised that you don’t live in one of those high-rise apartments that all the other executives live in. The apartment is pretty modest with only three floors and rows of respectable Toyota Camrys and Honda Civics. 
When he spots you coming down the stairs, his traitorous heart does that same little staccato it had last weekend when he saw you at the bookstore. He hadn’t expected to run into you outside of work and only panicked for a split second before he realized that you didn’t recognize him. 
And then you’d called him your boyfriend. 
Recovering from the memory of it, Vernon stares as you open the door to his car, flashing a tight smile as you slide in. He doesn’t know what he thought you might wear on the weekend, but he’s surprised to see you in jeans, a black form-fitted shirt tucked in, and a simple purse on your arm. 
“What?” You ask, a little breathless. He sees the sticky shine of lipgloss on your mouth and squeezes the wheel, fighting the urge to lean over and taste it. 
Insane, he thinks as he puts the car in gear. He’s gone insane. 
“Nothing. I guess I just thought you’d live somewhere nicer.” 
“Oh.”
Your shift in tone makes him realize how it sounded. “Sorry - not like that. I thought it would be somewhere really fancy. You’re a senior director and all that.” 
“I only got promoted a few weeks ago. And it was not a pay raise, trust me.” 
“Seriously?” You glance sidelong at him, pausing like you’ve said something you shouldn’t. His lips twitch and he says, “Not on the clock.”
That gets you to grin, leaning back into the passenger seat. “Only came with an office and title bump. I was already doing all the work of a senior director so they felt like they needed to bump my title to protect themselves, I think.”
“That’s kind of shitty.”
You hum. “Is it like that in IT?” 
“I think it’s like that anywhere.”
“Good point.” 
A comfortable silence falls over the car. It’s not at all like the awkward, stilted lunch the two of you had at the beginning of the week. He had been sweating through his shirt that time around, though you didn’t seem to notice. He’d been a little angry with you too, for getting the both of you into this mess. 
But… it had been his idea to help you save face. He didn’t have to. He didn’t owe you anything, and he believes you when you say you would come clean and admit you lied through your teeth. Maybe that’s why he offered to help anyway, your willingness to swallow the pain of embarrassment to relieve him of the facade. 
Library is a hole in the wall bar that Vernon and his friends from work like to go to on Saturday nights. It’s sort of a funny joke, a bunch of professionals from the publishing industry getting drunk and eating shitty bar food in a place named for the very buildings they dedicate their life to, in a weird, roundabout, mathematical way. 
Vernon has friends outside of work that come too, but tonight it’s just the usual crowd: Chan, Seokmin and Seokmin’s girlfriend, Mingyu and Soonyoung from creative, and some of the people from the sales team. The sales team is only there by virtue of Joshua, who is the only person from sales Vernon remotely tolerates. 
Vernon isn’t exactly sure what a sales team does at a publishing company anyway. 
When Vernon parks, he sees you take a deep breath. He averts his eyes, feeling like he’s intruding on a moment before you brace yourself and get out of the car suddenly. He makes a noise and panics to follow you. You’re already plunging ahead like you’re storming into battle, and perhaps in your mind you are.
He jogs to catch up. “Wait!” 
You stop, turning to face him with a dubious expression. “What?”
“We should walk in together.”
“Oh.” You blink. It’s a bit cute but Vernon shoves that down. “You’re right. Sorry. I sort of… set my mind to the task and forgot.”
“You can’t approach this like you approach work.”
“I can’t?”
He laughs. “No. Relationships aren’t jobs - so a fake one isn’t either. You have to try and appear like this is natural. If you come in all to-do list and checkmarking the boxes, it’s going to look weird.” 
“Oh.” 
The confidence you had a second before deflates. He feels a little guilty, reaching out to take your hand before he realizes what he’s doing. Your hands are cold in his but he doesn’t mind, wrapping his fingers in yours as you stare at him like he’s grown three heads.
Maybe he has. 
“We should walk in together. Maybe holding hands.” 
“Right.” You lick your lips and he tries to give you a smile more confident than what he’s feeling. His heart is hammering in his chest, both at the way your hand squeezes his nervously and at the preposterousness of it all. “You’re kind of good at this.” 
“I just have a different perspective.”
“The perspective of someone who knows how to date versus… whatever I am.” 
He hears the joke in your tone so he lets himself laugh a little. He starts walking, tugging you next to him. “Not exactly. I just watch a lot of movies, including romances.” 
“Really? What’s your favorite one?” 
“Uhhh.” He thinks about it as you both approach the door. He doesn’t answer for a second while he flashes the security outside his ID. “I really like The Proposal. With Sandra Bullock.” 
Instead the bar is filled with modern music at a reasonable level and small, wooden tables with chipped tops. There is nothing about the bar that actually looks like a library, save the single shelf shoved in the corner with beat up comic books and an insane amount of hentai that Soonyoung put there. 
“You mean the one where the boss fake dates her employee… and they work at a publishing company?” 
As soon as you ask the question, Vernon realizes the irony. He looks at you with a wide gaze, pausing at the entrance to look at you. Your mouth folds on itself, trying not to laugh as you too realize the irony of the movie. 
“Yeah, so that’s weird I guess,” he admits. He tugs on your hand. “Come on, we always sit in the back.”
You follow him wordlessly. The crowd isn’t big inside, but there are enough people that you have to shuffle a little closer to him. He catches the scent of your perfume - it smells like sweet tobacco and vanilla, something that is subtle with a little bit of spice. 
Turning around the corner of the bar, you see a wall entirely taken by booths with pool tables in the open space. Mingyu and Seokmin’s girlfriend are already fighting over the felted green as she points a pool cue at him, threatening. Seokmin is lounging in one of the booths, watching on with a dopey grin that makes Vernon roll his eyes.
Everyone else sits in in a variety of booths, an entire corner dedicated to the dozen or so of them who have made this their home for the last two years. Vernon keeps you close, feeling his hands go clammy when all the eyes turn to the two of you. Despite the rumor having spread far and wide, it’s clear that surprise ripples through the crowd at seeing evidence of your relationship. 
The fake one, that is. Naturally. 
Instead of going directly to the safety - or danger, in this case - of his friends, Vernon heads to the bar. He needs to take the edge off immediately, though he knows he can’t get too crazy. The drive home is short, but even if you weren’t in his car for the evening, he doesn’t like to tempt fate. 
Next to him at the bartop, you drop his hand to press your palms against the sticky wood. You make a face and he laughs before ordering a simple rum and coke. You order the same but with a lime and the bartender flashes you a charming grin.
Vernon glances at you and realizes you don’t even register the bartender. You’re chewing your lip and fidgeting, pulling at the sleeves of your shirt and shifting from foot-to-foot. A pang goes through him. 
“Relax.” You look up at him, eyes wide. “We’re going to do fine.”
“What if I fuck it up?” You ask, voice barely audible as you lean in. “They’re going to see right through me, Vernon from IT. They’re going to have one conversation with us and be like ‘no way is he dating that lunatic.’” 
“For starters, you’re not a lunatic.” You give him a look and he amends, “Not in the way that’s bad, anyway.”
“How do you know? We barely know each other.” 
You’ve got him there. The bartender comes back with your drinks and you take yours, draining half of it before remembering the lime. He watches you squeeze it into the drink while he contemplates his answer. 
“I guess I just have a feeling for these things. You don’t seem very crazy to me.”
“Thanks.” 
“And I guess I’m getting to know you, so there’s that.” 
You sigh. “Right.” 
“You’ll do fine. But maybe don’t call me Vernon from IT.”
“Right.” 
“Come on.” 
With wavering confidence, you follow Vernon over to the crowd from work. Everyone greets you warmly, though a little unsure. He notes the comments about being shocked to see you outside the four walls of your office, a joke you take in stride. 
It’s clear you don’t know how to interact with everyone at first. It’s not to say that you’re stiff or awkward, but Vernon can see the rigid set in your shoulders and the way your eyes follow the conversation but don’t actually contribute. 
You have an effect on others as well. For those who are a little more unfamiliar with you, they can’t seem to puzzle out why one of the higher ups is here guzzling down rum and cokes. And you are guzzling them down, carving a path to and from the bar at a rate that impresses Vernon. 
“How are things going?” Chan slips into the seat you just vacated to march to the bar again. “She seems surprisingly normal.”
“Why is that surprising?” 
Chan gives him a look. “She’s a suit.”
“I don’t think so,” Vernon laughs. “Trust me on that.” 
Chan hums unconvinced, watching you at the bar. “She’s nice, at least.”
“Very.” 
“Don’t fall in love with her or anything.”
“Weird thing to say, man.”
“Yeah, well. She’s attractive, nice, and no offense, a little weird. She’s exactly your type.” 
That makes him frown. “What’s weird about her? Also, would that be so bad?”
“She knew the radius of the sun and the verbatim definition of parsecs. I’m not answering that second question because I shouldn’t have to.” Chan claps him on the shoulder, looking over Vernon’s head. “She’s coming back, but seriously. Be careful.” 
Chan scoots away, flashing Vernon a look that makes the single drink Vernon has had sour in his stomach. Then you’re there, sitting down next to him, swaying a little bit. He smells sweet tobacco and vanilla, his eyelids fluttering for a second as you shift a little too close - or what would be too close, if you weren’t fake dating. 
“What’s that look on your face?” You ask, sipping your drink. He wonders if it’s appropriate to ask if you need water.
“What look on my face?” 
“You know, like-” You try to pinch your brows together and your mouth puckers downward. He feels himself smile and he shakes his head. “Sort of frowny.” 
“Nothing.” You look at him skeptically. “Hey, I have a question.” 
You pause, looking a little panicked. “Okay.”
“What’s the radius of the sun?” 
“Oh!” You visibly brighten and it’s like watching the sun spill over the lip of the horizon, all gold and liquid, warm and bright. “432,690 miles. Surface temperature is about 5,772 Kelvin.” 
Suddenly, Chan’s warning feels very, very real. Vernon tries to hide his smile, looking down at the table. Meanwhile, you start rattling off facts about the sun, not taking a single breath as you explain you memorized them from when you were working on the marketing for a line of textbooks about space early on in your career. 
Vernon lets you talk. Lets you somehow divert back to work, watching as you animatedly walk him through the process of what you do. How you think. It’s fascinating, and he’s not really sure how anyone else could find it tiresome, seeing the way you light up when you tell him about a project that Seungkwan’s team killed it on. 
Your pride is palpable, your energy shifting from unsure to confident. 
Suddenly, you pause, leveling Vernon with a hard stare. He says nothing, watching the way you drink him in, something beneath the surface of your gaze he can’t quite read. “Can I say something?” 
“On the clock?” he asks, grinning. You shake your head and he gestures for you to continue. 
“You have pretty eyes. I still like when you wear glasses, though. They suit you.” 
Yeah. Vernon thinks Chan’s warning is very real. 
-
Running in heels is hard. You don’t know how anyone manages to do it in movies. Not that you think anything that happens in movies is real, but you can’t imagine how they make it work for the scene. You nearly break your ankle three times on your sprint to IT and you’re sure you scare the daylights out of Chan when you come tearing around the corner.
You shout a greeting over your shoulder but don’t stop until you’re hissing Vernon’s name while rushing into his cube. He flinches, turning around to look at you mid-task. You’re heaving, putting a hand on your hip as you straighten, trying to suck down air. 
“Say no!”
He’s visibly confused. “To what?”
“Just say no!”
Before Vernon can ask you another thing, you hear Minho’s voice. Your heart thunders in your ribcage as you try to lean against the wall of Vernon’s cube, nearly missing it. You stumble a few steps and he catches you by the elbow, lightning quick as he helps steady you. 
When he drops his grip, the place where Vernon had held you moments before is warm. You try not to think about it, heart thundering doubletime as you watch Minho approach, a lazy swing to his step and a smirk on his face. 
“Funny I found you here!” 
“Why would that be funny? My Vernon - my boyfriend is down here.” 
From the corner of his eye, you see Vernon wince. You’re not doing a great job at keeping it casual, but you’re also still out of breath from sprinting down the stairs to beat Minho here and warn Vernon. Seungkwan had barely been able to give you the heads up that Minho was going to ask for a double date, and you simply couldn’t have that.
Even as you near the end of your second week dating - fake dating - Vernon, you’re unsure the two of you can get through a date with someone who actually knows you. Vernon might be able to give some details on the surface, but you dated Minho for a year - how could Vernon ever hope to keep up? 
Minho leans against Chan’s cube. Luckily it’s vacant of its usual occupant - Chan hates Mihno, as you’ve recently learned through a lunch with him and Vernon. 
“Glad I caught you together, then,” Minho says, though you think he’s not that glad. But what do you know? “I wanted to see if you were busy on-”
“Yes.” You flash him a too-wide grin with too many teeth. 
“I didn’t even give you the date.”
“We’re always very busy.”
“Ah.” Minho scratches the back of his neck and gives Vernon a look akin to sympathy. “Never has time, does she? Always all work, no play. I wanted to see if you guys wanted to go to dinner with Mina and I tomorrow night, but…” He shrugs. “Same old.”
You try not to let your exterior crack, but Minho’s words cut right through your outer shell to the softness of you. Without fail he manages to highlight this obsession you have with work, making it sound worse every single time. 
Behind you, Vernon shifts closer. You become acutely aware of him suddenly, warmth radiating from him as his chest presses against the back of your arm and his hand slips to the middle of your back, featherlight, like he’s afraid to touch you. He smells like ocean driftwood and salt, something that makes you think of warmer days. Fresh fruit. Cold water. 
Fighting a shiver, you freeze up, hyper aware of him. 
“Oh, I don’t know,” Vernon says gently. “She doesn’t work that much. She makes plenty of time for me.”
Minho’s eye twitches, the only sign he’s annoyed. As a trained salesperson, his tells are always subtle, nearly undetectable. But you know him inside and out, can see the sliver of annoyance there.
Satisfaction rules supreme, a smile tugging at your lips until Vernon adds, “We can make time for them, right?” 
You snap your head to the side, eyes meeting his. Vernon has beautiful eyes. You’d said as much the other night when you had a little too much to drink, staring up at him without his glasses. He looks good without them, but you like the way the frames sit on his nose, the way they reflect light against the liquid brown of his iris. 
Now, those eyes are staring back at you straight on. There’s something fierce in them, and though you barely know him, you have a sneaking suspicion Vernon is annoyed. Not with you but with Minho. 
Still… 
“Are you sure?” 
Your question is gentle. For a moment, you forget Minho is there at all. You’re looking at Vernon, trying to puzzle out why he would say yes to something insane again. It was lucky enough he’d offered to participate in this little charade to save your pride, and now here he is doing it again, unprompted. 
Vernon’s mouth twitches. He nods, hand pressing into your back a little firmer before he drops it away. You turn to Minho, who watches the two of you with a peculiar expression. “Alright,” you tell him. “It’s a date.” 
“Great. I’ll send you the details.” 
When Minho leaves, you turn to Vernon, the question on the tip of your tongue. He doesn’t give you a chance, shooting you a sidelong glance as he says, “Why is he always bringing up your work schedule?” 
You wince. Vernon either doesn’t notice or is nice enough not to say anything. Instead of answering right away, you sit on top of Vernon’s desk, feet dangling a little. He makes room for you, turning his chair to face you and give you his full attention. 
He’s dressed the same as always today, but you notice his shirt is ironed and tucked in neatly. Rubbing his brow, he slides his glasses up on his head, pressing his fingers along his eye sockets like they’re strained. 
“What kind of stuff do you do?” You ask instead of answering his question. You gesture to his multiple computer screens. “Besides help me figure out my passwords.” 
“Lots of stuff. It’s mostly small things like remoting into people’s computers to help them solve their issues. I spend a majority of my day showing people how to unmute themselves on their virtual meeting software.” 
“Do you like it?”
He shrugs. “It’s got a rhythm to it that I like. I like having a to-do list every day and I can pretty much always know what to expect.” 
“That does sound nice. And you can spy on everyone’s messages right?”
He raises his brow. “On the clock?” That makes you smile and you shake your head. “I could, but I don’t. There are a ton of people who forget us and HR can see all their shit, though.” 
“Ooo like what?” 
He sucks in air through his teeth, “Man, I don’t think I can tell you.”
You can tell he’s teasing and you scoff, kicking out with your foot toward his knee. He dodges you easily with a playful grin. “Come on!” 
“I’ll tell you off the clock. Real off the clock.” 
“Fine. Speaking of - are you busy tonight?” He raises his brows in question. “We should probably meet up and try to flesh out some details of our uh… relationship. I know some things about you but not a lot. Like, when is your birthday?”
“February 18.” 
You slap your hand on top of his desk. “Vernon! That’s super soon! Are you doing anything for it?”
“Nah. I don’t ever want to make a fuss and it's close to Valentine’s Day so sometimes people are doing things retroactively.” 
You hum, displeased with the answer, but you file it away for later. “So are you free tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool, you can come over to my place. Do you like pizza? You have to like pizza, right? You’re a boy.”
“A lot of boys like pizza, yes. Specifically me.” 
“Good. Seven?” 
“Seven.” 
-
A knock at the door makes you look up from your computer. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust, the light outside the office windows long fading with the setting sun and the only other source the salt lamp behind you and the burn of the safety lights in the main cubicles.
Vernon leans against the door frame, resting his head against it as he peers at you. For a second, you forget about everything except the way he looks leaned against the frame, his glasses perfectly perched on his nose and hair soft with wear from the day. 
Then, you lurch with realization, gasping and looking at your watch. “It’s seven.”
“It’s seven,” he agrees, laughing gently. 
You bolt from the seat, groaning and grabbing things to shove in your bag. In the process, you knock over a cup and a curse flies out your lips. He pushes off the door, walking over to help you tame the chaos. 
“Easy,” he admonishes. “All good here, don’t panic.”
“I’m really sorry. I got stuck working through this media plan that someone asked for and I completely lost track of time.”
“It’s okay.” 
The panic welling up inside you calms down as you look up at him. Vernon says nothing further, picking up your cup and righting the pens that you’ve knocked over. His movements are casual, straightening the things on your desk until he’s satisfied and steps away. 
You prepare for annoyance, for the same expression you’re used to when you’re late to an event or have missed a thing, when you’ve yet again lost track of time holed up in your office and yet… Vernon just gives you an easy smile and a shrug.
No annoyance. No judgment. Just… Vernon. 
Perhaps tenfold isn’t so bad. 
“It’s not pizza, but there's a tiny little bar a few blocks down that I really like. They serve food.” 
“Yeah?”
He nods and hesitates. “It’s… themed, though.”
“That’s okay. I like a theme.”
The theme in question isn’t so much of a theme as it is an entire franchise. You stand in the doorway of Cantina Far Away, mouth parted as you drink in the sights and sounds of the Star Wars themed bar. 
A circular bar sits in the middle of the small establishment. There isn’t a ton of room to recreate the iconic corner of the world where you were first introduced to Han Solo as a kid, but there’s just enough to make the magic work. 
Kegs and other apparatuses hang from the ceiling of the stone top bar. Lights track underneath the bar top and in the ceiling, giving the dim illusion that it’s permanently dusk inside. Small, round tables fill the main space, with three booths lined against the back wall. An R2-D2 replica stands beside C3-PO in the corner, and a familiar soundtrack plays through the sound system.
“If you want to go somewhere else-”
“Do they have blue milk?” 
Vernon pauses. “What?” 
You look up at him, grinning. “Do they have the blue milk?”
“They have something on their menu like that, yeah. I don’t know what it is.”
“I always wanted to drink the blue milk as a kid.”
“Alright.” He gestures to the bar, which is mostly empty. “Let’s get you blue milk.”
Popping up on a stool, you can’t help but crane your neck upward to look at the bar from this angle. It truly looks like every part of it was taken from the movie set. You run your hand atop the bar’s surface to realize it’s actually wood that looks like stone, marveling at the smoothness. 
Behind the bar, two bartenders move in sync, dressed in Jedi robes. When they approach, you both order the blue milk - you, because you demand to know what it tastes like, Vernon, in solidarity. 
Vibrating with excitement, you turn to look at Vernon. “When I was a kid, watching Star Wars was one of the few things my mom and I got to do together.” 
“One of the few things?”
You nod, clapping your hands excitedly when the bartender brings you whatever concoction the blue milk is. It comes in a tall glass and is clear, baby blue and frothy at the top. Leaning over, you take a whiff. It smells vaguely coconutty and you narrow your eyes, leaning forward to take a tentative sip.
Coconut rum hits your tongue and you cringe. Vernon does too, making a face and sticking his tongue out as he immediately shoves the drink away from him. You laugh, not even caring that you hate it. It tastes nothing like you expected and you don’t really like coconut, but it strikes a nostalgic chord. 
“My mom was a single parent and worked really hard at a law firm,” you eventually answer, taking another sip and cringing. Vernon orders something more generic - a rum and coke for you both. “But she always made time on the weekend if I really wanted to do a Star Wars marathon and she took off work for all the prequel releases to take me.”
“That’s cute. My mom was really into it too. Want to know a secret?”
“Yes.”
“My first name is Hansol. A little inspired by Han Solo. I prefer to go by Vernon with everyone who isn’t my family, though.”
That makes you smile. “I like it, though. Your mom has good taste like mine. Think they’d be friends?”
He blushes. “Maybe.” 
You realize how forward of a question it is. You avert your gaze to your blue drink, sipping it and grimacing. Vernon chuckles and says, “You don’t have to drink it.”
“I don’t have to do a lot of things but I do anyway.” 
“Hmm. Like what?” 
“Ugh. I don’t know? Attend meetings all day?”
“I think you do have to do that.”
You scrunch your nose. “Alright, fair.” 
“Tell me about your job.” 
You glance at him, brows raised. “You want me to talk about work?”
“It’s obvious you like what you do, and by the sounds of it, working hard runs in the family. Tell me what you like about it.” 
That makes you sigh as you push the ice around in your glass. What do you like about your job? Well, you like a lot of things and you hate a lot of things. So you start listing them, telling Vernon that you like the routine and you enjoy having a rhythm to your day. You like feeling proud when you can solve a problem no one else can, or when you lead your team through chaos and they look at you like you’re a god who showed them the way.
You like that you can be an authority in the room but you don’t feel like a dictator, and that now when you talk, people listen. Your team is your favorite, loving the way you and Seungkwan work in tandem, and the way the creative department likes to pick your brain. Mingyu and Soonyoung are always asking for your feedback, even if your opinion doesn’t matter in the hierarchy of their world.
The dislikes though… well, you dislike that you never have enough time in the day. That you’re always in a meeting and feel like you leave your team drowning in work picking up the slack. Hate that you get time blindness and sit in your office for hours past dinner to get something right, to get something perfect.
Hate that because you like what you do, everyone thinks you don’t have a life or don’t want a life. And that leads you to the center of the entire issue with your relationship with Minho. 
You pull away like you’re approaching a particularly purple bruise when you near the topic of Minho. Your blue drink is gone and you order something more normal instead. The coke and rum sizzles on your tongue as Vernon looks at you expectantly. 
“I’m doing all the talking,” you mutter, a little defensive. “What’s your favorite color?” 
“Blue.”
“What kind of blue.” 
“Blue like that very nasty milk you just drank.” You stick your tongue out and Vernon smiles. His smile is like a burning star at the center of a solar system, glowing and bright and warm. It gives life. “What’s yours?”
“Deep red. Like… wine or burgundy. What’s your favorite movie?”
“Ah, not that question. I’m a bit of a cinephile.”
“Too bad. You have to pick one.” 
Vernon thinks about it. The tip of his finger traces the condensation of his glass lazily and you hyperfocus on it, watching the way he catches the bead of liquid every time. He has nice fingers, you realize. The thought makes you clench and suddenly wonder if you need to walk out of the bar down to the church to confess the sin of your mind.
Not that you’re religious, but maybe you should be, with where your mind has wandered. 
“I like The Princess Bride.”
You gasp, grabbing him by the wrist and shaking it excitedly. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father, prepare to die!” 
Vernon’s laughter is infectious. You both fall into a fit of giggles, quoting your favorite parts of the movie. It’s nice - this is nice. It’s unexpected and you’re a little unsure how you got here, but Vernon makes the pressure of getting to know one another in preparation to fake date in front of your ex fade away.
Until, of course, you remember that’s why you’re at the bar and the thought suddenly sobers you. 
Straightening, you ask, “Why’d you want to go on a double date, anyway? You don’t owe me that.” 
“He seemed kind of smug. I thought it was annoying.” 
You hum, studying him. “It’s a bit risky. I dated him for a year… if there’s anyone who knows anything about me, it’s probably him.” 
“I can always just hack into your data and learn everything about you.” You stare at him, mouth opens. His grin grows. “I’m kidding. I mean I probably could but I’m not a hacker.”
“Are you sure? You’re a bit suspicious, Vernon Chwe.” 
“Hansol.” You frown in confusion. His tone is gentle, eyes soft when he murmurs, “You can call me Hansol. You know… to make it um. Seems legit.”
“Hansol.” You try out the name, liking the way it fits on your tongue. His eyes are dark and you feel like you could fall into them - you kind of want to. “Hansol. I like it.”
Maybe you don’t need to go to that church to beg for forgiveness after all. What you think you need might be divine intervention to stop the butterflies in your stomach when you say his name, or the nervous shake in your hand when you see him smile. 
Not Vernon (from IT) but Hansol. 
-
Hansol (from IT) is late when he picks you up. For once, you’re just glad it’s not you. Your heart beats a little faster when you see him pull up in his nondescript, black RAV4. He waves through the window when he sees you, a shy smile on his face as he reaches to turn down the music. 
Inside the car smells distinctly like Hansol - driftwood, salt, a little bit of the air freshener that has long since dried but still sways under his rearview mirror. He looks good tonight, dressed in ripped jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket. He’s sans glasses, and though he looks good, you miss them a little. 
Hansol without the glasses is a little intimidating. Especially this version of him that grins when you settle into the seat next to him, his brows slightly raised as though to ask if you’re good. When you nod, his grin tilts upward again and he puts the car and drive, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift tapping to the beat of the music. 
It feels like you’re radiating nervous energy, but you relax as Hansol asks about your day. He’s good at that, eliminating whatever weight is sitting on your shoulders or whatever residual stress you’ve got from work. You don’t feel so… well. On the clock. 
The thought makes you squirm in your seat, pulling the edge of your dress down your thighs a little. You picked it out as a last minute choice, unsure whether you’re trying to dress to impress or dress to show you don’t care what Minho thinks of you.
Hansol notices you fidgeting. “You alright?”
“Kind of nervous.”
“Any reason in particular?”
You blow out air, your head smacking against the headrest. “On the clock?”
“Off,” he says with a grin.
“I feel like I’m going to fucking blow it.”
“How so?”
“What if he asks me to kiss you?”
The words are out before you can stop them. It isn’t until you’re met with silence that you realize what you’ve said. You’ve certainly stuck your foot in your mouth on more than one occasion. You do it often, and quite wonderfully, truthfully. It has taken years of practice to stop flubbing presentations and pitches at work, but that doesn’t mean you don’t say insane shit.
Like right now, when you tell Hansol that of all the things you’re nervous about, the very slim, tiny percent of a chance of being asked to kiss him is at the top of the list. 
And yet, because it’s Hansol, he grins and says, “Damn, Minho’s a freak like that? He likes to ask people to kiss so he can watch?”
Just like that, the tension eases. You laugh, hand flying your mouth to try and suppress it. His eyes are on the road, but they glitter when you catch a glimpse of his face in the headlines, flashing from dark to liquid gold for a split second. 
“Okay,” you admit, laughter dying down. “He’s definitely not going to ask that. It’s just one of those irrational fears, especially with him.”
“Why especially?”
“I feel like he’s always trying to prove that he was right when he broke up with me. Or I guess, in general. He loves being right and sometimes it’s like he’s trying to force a gotcha moment.” 
Hansol is silent as he turns into the parking lot. You say nothing, watching as he navigates to find a parking space. The restaurant is busy and there’s a valet, but Hansol is determined to find his own. He does - very close to the entrance - letting out a happy noise as a car backs out.
Car in park, he turns to look at you. “Can I say something? Not on the clock.”
Your heart skips a little. “Sure.”
“Minho is an asshole.” You smile, looking down at your hands folded in your lap. “And you’re going to get through dinner just fine because he’s an asshole, and you’re not.” 
“Are you sure?”
His laugh is full. “I’m actually pretty confident in this. And if he does ask us to kiss, you have my full consent to lay one on me. Come on.” 
You wish you felt as confident as Hansol seems. He slides out of the car easily, coming around to your side as you get out. He reaches out a hand almost instinctively, waiting for you to grab it. You look at him in surprise to find that he looks equally stunned at his own gesture. 
Grinning, you take his hand. It’s warm in yours and he gives you a squeeze as you drop your linked fingers between you, walking toward the establishment like a real couple.
It feels real. You’re not sure what to do with that. The sudden realization of it churns in your stomach as you approach the dark interior of the steakhouse, immediately hit with a romantic ambiance that feels far too big for this tiny thing brewing inside of you. 
Twelvefold? How many times have you suffered since that first day you ran into Hansol at the bookstore? You think it might continue through the evening, especially when he glances over at you on the way to the table to check on you, hand tightening for a split second. 
As soon as you spot Minho and Mina, you’re glad that Hansol has a steady grip on you. Mina’s glossy hair is nearly blinding under the glow of the soft lighting and her smile is brighter still. You almost want to shield your eyes as they wave you over. 
Neither of them seems to know if they should stand and greet you or what the protocol is. Good, you think, happy to see them as off kilter as you feel by this very weird and very unnecessary dinner date. 
Why had Hansol agreed to do this again? 
“She keep you late?” Minho asks Hansol, immediately reminding you why Hansol had said yes in the first place: he seemed kind of smug. I thought it was annoying. “You’ll get used to it!”
“Actually, it was me,” Hansol answers smoothly. He pulls out your chair for you, startling you again. You try to fein admiration - it’s not hard - and sit, looking up at him with a little bit of awe. Hansol sits, adjusting his seat so that it’s a little closer to yours. “I was working on an infrastructure request and lost track of time.”
That seems to shut Minho up for a moment. Then he laughs his businessman laugh and you wonder if it’s always sounded that way, hollow and fake and… well, annoying. “Damn, so you’re both like that?” 
“Yep.” Hansol leans back in his chair, stretching his arm so that it rests over the back of yours. He doesn’t explicitly touch you, but you feel the warmth of him radiating like a furnace, a shiver snaking through you at how close he is. “Works well for us.” 
You try not to frown. He’s not going to make it easy for your fake breakup. You’d assumed that you’d tell everyone you just didn’t have time for him, but with the way he’s talking to Minho now, you’re worried it’ll make the impending breakup a little less believable. 
“That’s good, then,” Minho says eventually. “Just don’t schedule any vacations or you’ll both miss it.”
“I never did that,” you scowl. 
Before he has time for a rebuttal, the server is there welcoming you to the restaurant. You shift in your seat, feeling irritated. Hansol senses it, the tips of his finger brushing against your bicep as if to tell you it’s okay. You relax, but only a little, still frustrated. 
Again, you can’t help but feel like your faults are being exacerbated, like Minho is drawing them up to be far grander than they really were. You had missed some dinners and cancelled on some things, but you’d never gone as far as to miss a vacation or a birthday - never the big things. Never the milestones. 
If the server can tell the energy at the table has shifted, they don’t let on. They pour glasses of wine that you let Hansol order while you’re spiraling in your head, and leave with the promise of coming back to take orders when the table is ready. 
It’s Mina who restarts the conversation, glancing at Minho who sucks down the entire glass of wine in a single go. “So,” she says. “What is it exactly that you do?”
“Careful with that question,” Minho jokes. “She’ll talk to you about work for hours.” 
“Which is what makes her good at her job.” Hansol’s voice is even. Smooth. Almost severe, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. Tension ripples from him for just a moment before he looks at you and smiles. “Her job is very cool.”
Unlike her blockhead of a boyfriend, Mina seizes the chance for normalcy and asks, “Marketing, right?” 
Mina (with the glossy hair) is really nice. You like her almost immediately and strangely enough, you’re glad she’s there. Minho is like a stormcloud at the edge of the table, a little pocket of pressure that everyone can feel but tries to ignore. 
Hansol makes your fake relationship look effortless. You have to mask your surprise when he recounts a detail about you that you didn’t expect him to know, or makes an observation that has you warming, ducking your face to hide the smile tugging your lips. 
You know little things about him too. It’s almost like you weren’t aware until you’re saying them, all the small things about him bubbling to your lips like an instinct. 
“He’s such an Aquarius!” You laugh, finish the rest of your steak. “The IT department is full of them, even and they’re all so effortlessly cool and have different interests. Hansol has the coolest case full of Star Wars collectibles and-” 
“Hansol?” 
Minho’s question catches you off guard. You blink at him a few times, confused until Hansol interjects, “That’s my legal name.”
“Damn. Should we be calling you Hansol?”
“Nope. Reserved for my mom and my girlfriend.” 
“Wow.”
Minho sits back and observes the two of you. The plates have been cleared away for the evening and the glasses of wine have dwindled. You’re a little sleepy, ready to go home, but the appraising look in Minho’s eyes as they flicker back and forth between you and Hansol has you on edge.
Hansol seems unbothered, finishing his water. His arm rests against your back properly now and you almost melt when his fingers start to trace a pattern on your arm, almost absently. You’re so acutely aware of him that you’re nearly vibrating, telling yourself over and over again that this is just him committing to the bit. This isn’t something to overthink. His touch is for show.
You don’t want it to be for show. God, you don’t want it to be, but you try not to let it unravel right now, instead finishing your water under the heavy and calculating gaze of your ex-boyfriend, who, over the course of dinner, has made you realize you are so grateful is your ex. 
“Huh.”
“What?” you ask, voice coming out a little more challenging than you intend. He has that look on his face like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s trying to position himself in a way where he’s not wrong. 
“You guys are really together.”
That makes you stiffen. Hansol’s fingers go still on your arm. “What do you mean?”
“You just didn’t really seem like you were dating at the bookstore. It didn’t even seem like you knew who Vernon was.” 
“It was still new,” You lie. “I also wasn’t expecting to run into you both. That’s all.”
“I guess. Just… find it surprising, I guess. Figured you’d never have time for someone.”
It’s Hansol who says, “She has plenty of time for me. Speaking of time, it’s time we head home. I have to finish up some stuff for work tomorrow and she just finished an insane project and deserves some sleep.”
Again, Minho seems thrown for a loop. You could get used to seeing him like a fish out of water, trying not to let an evil smirk take over your face when Hansol beats everyone to the check. 
There is an edge to Hansol’s movements. You observe him quietly, noting the way his mouth is pinched at the corners and the way his eyes darken when he looks at Minho. But when he looks at you, it’s like the world stops. Hansol’s eyes soften and his lips turn up at the corner, a gentle smile for you.
Only you. 
You’re fucked. You’re fucked fucked fucked and it’s nearly all you can think about as dinner wraps up and Minho and Mina thank Hansol for paying. You want to smack him for offering to pay for the insanely expensive bill, but he takes everything in stride.
Outside, it’s a little cold. Hansol shucks his jacket off immediately, wrapping it around your shoulders while giving Mina some sort of computer advice that goes over your head because all you can focus on is the way Hansol smoothes the jacket over your shoulder, his hand dropping to your waist to keep you close.
You’re dizzy with it. Dizzy with him. You can’t recall a single time you ever felt this affected by Minho, much less anyone else. Despite having two glasses of wine, you know it’s Hansol and not the wine that has you buzzing. Hansol who has you warm, Hansol who makes it feel like there’s static in your brain when he glances at you to make sure you’re still okay after you’ve gone silent. 
Hansol gives you a quick smile and turns to say farewell to the other couple. You’re happy to say goodbye - though perhaps you should have asked Mina her haircare routine - and you wave as Hansol leads you into the parking lot, fingers intertwined.
He turns to you, making you look up at him. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmurs, barely giving you a warning. “Unless you say no.” 
“I - okay.” 
There is the barest of smiles on Hansol’s face before he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. It’s brief and gentle, so quick that you barely register he’s kissed you at all. He’s already pulling away when you blink, nearing his car as he does. 
“He was a dick,” Hansol explains. “And he was staring at us when we left. So. Let him question what’s real now.” 
Minho isn’t the only one questioning what’s real. You’re hung up on the kiss, despite it being nothing more than a peck. Your mouth is warm, thoughts spinning as Hansol helps you into the car. You say nothing, completely consumed by the feel of his mouth, the smell of driftwood and salt, the barest taste of wine. 
The drive home is quiet but not uncomfortable. Hansol’s hand grabs yours instinctually over the center console, fingers tied together loosely as he drives. But there’s no one to perform for her, no one to show off too. No one who needs convincing. 
It’s just you and the burning desire for him bubbling up inside of you.
You’ve lost count of how many folds you have suffered, but somehow, this one is a little less worse than the others.
-
Hansol cannot stop thinking about you. He’s pretty sure the last time he had brain rot this bad about another person, it was Larcy Dodsen in his senior year of college who had blown him to heaven and back. He’s had better (and worse) blowjobs since then, and doesn’t really think of Larcy Dodsen ever anymore.
But you. You. 
You occupy every corner of his mind. He wavers back and forth between thinking about the way you smell or the way you laugh (a little reedy, but cute) and thinking about how bad he fucked up by kissing you that night. 
Things aren’t exactly weird. The very basis of your relationship - or lack thereof - is weird. He’d agreed to be your fake boyfriend for a month, but with zero terms. No contract outline. No do’s and don’ts. No guidelines. No rules. No regulations. Just an agreement and a fucking dream. 
Now, he’s wishing he had something to go off of, because what started out as an agreement to help someone out has turned into something else entirely. 
Chan was right. Hansol is desperately trying to hide that fact from his best friend, but the way Chan side-eyes Hansol at lunch when he stares off into the distance, he thinks that the younger  man might be onto him. 
It doesn’t help that Hansol is buried in Help Desk tickets the weekend following kissing you, and you’re six feet under in a pile of projects. It isn’t until he goes a few days without talking to you multiple times that it’s occurred to him how much he texts you during the day. 
Hansol finds himself checking his phone again at lunch, swearing that he felt it vibrate. This time, Chan catches him, putting down the fork and clearing his throat to gesture at the phone. “So it happened, right?” 
“What?” Even Hansol winces at his own defensiveness. “I can’t check the time?”
“Do you check the time three times every five minutes? I know you can do math.” 
“Just checking to see how her presentation went.”
Chan laughs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Right. So it did happen.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
He doesn’t. Chan knows it. Hansol knows it. Chan gets more specific anyway. “You like her. As in, you have feelings for her after… well. This weekend will make it a month. So wouldn’t that be your deal coming to an end?”
Hansol wants to think about anything other than that. “Everything is fine.” 
Chan holds up his hand, a white flag. “You’re an adult. You can do what you want. Just make sure you know what she wants too, is all I’m saying.” 
And that’s the crux of it. Hansol isn’t sure what you want. He assumed that you just wanted to get through this month and your fake breakup, but now he’s not so sure. He thinks of the way you’d look at him during dinner last weekend, the way your expression gets dreamy with a soft smile, eyes glowing. 
Hansol doesn’t think he made it up - his creativity is good but not that good. He had been so sure that you felt something too, swears that you melted into him every time he touched you, every time he turned to check in on you.
And the kiss… it had been brief and born from wanting to rub it in Minho’s face, but Hansol had wanted to do it, too. Wanted it for himself. Wanted to allow himself a single, greedy thing. You’d been surprised but leaned into him, almost instinctual. It had been so short but it haunts his dreams, the phantom press of your mouth keeping him up late at night. 
Even now, Hansol’s fingers trace his mouth, as though he can remember the feeling of your mouth against his. So maybe Chan is right. Hansol likes you - has feelings for you. There is a lingering sense that you might too, but he’s not sure. 
He needs to be sure. 
Finding a window to make sure, is tough, though. He only hears from you once throughout the rest of the day, and it's to shoot him a quick text that the presentation was moved to Monday and that you have to work all weekend on it. 
He feels more disappointed than he lets on. He wonders if you remember his birthday is on Saturday. Not that you owe him that since you’re not actually dating, but in a perfect world Hansol thinks it might have been a good day to tell you how he feels. That he kind of wants to make this thing real. 
On the bright side, you do remember his birthday. On the shitty side, he can’t spend it with you. You’re working on your presentation for the foreseeable future, and Hansol had hesitated to make plans with his friends knowing some of them were celebrating Valentine’s Day late with their partners and because he’d hoped to maybe spend it with you.
It feels stupid, thinking about it now. Of course you weren’t going to spend it with him. He knew what this was when he offered to do it. You were a bright burning star at the top of the company, and Hansol had been someone you barely registered. 
By the afternoon, he’s still sullen. He’s thinking about just spending the evening eating pizza and playing video games online where he’ll get bullied by a bunch of high schoolers when he hears his phone ring and your name flashes across the screen.
Hansol’s heart soars. He all but throws the control across the room, diving to pick up the phone and answer, “Hi!” 
“Please don’t hate me,” you rush out, completely out of breath. “I am panicking right now. My work laptop randomly got the blue screen of death and I’m in the middle of my project and-”
“I’ll come look at it.” He cringes, realizing how down bad he is. It’s his birthday and he shouldn’t have to work, but he’d rather come solve a problem for you than have a bunch of thirteen year old’s tell him that they’re fucking his mom. “I can come over in fifteen.” 
“Oh! Uh… can you make that twenty?” 
Weird. “Sure?” 
“Great! Text me when you’re here and I’ll give you the unit number.” 
Twenty minutes ends up being perfect, because Hansol goes through the mental anguish of what to wear, which is new for him. He showers as quickly and efficiently as he can, hopping with one leg in his jeans and the other missing the hole multiple times. He nearly runs into the wall as he’s pulling on a band tee over his head while also looking for his flannel. 
Hair still damp, he pulls on a hat and twists it around backward, grabbing his glasses because he doesn’t feel like wearing contacts (and because you said you liked them) as he barrels out the house, radiating with nervous energy. 
Hansol wonders if it’s appropriate to tell you how he feels today. It will be face to face but… no. You’d sounded stressed on the phone and he knows how important this presentation is for you, despite not knowing what it’s about. 
He barely remembers the drive to your apartment, blinking and realizing he’s parked and texting you that he’s there. You give him directions to your unit and with shaky hands, Hansol turns off the car. He takes a few steadying breaths before getting out and heading to the stairs, his heart hammering with each step. 
When he finally gets to your door, he double checks that it's the right one. His hands shake when he knocks, and he has to remind himself several times that he’s just here to fix your computer. Sure, he’s thrilled that he gets to see you, but this is on the clock. Not off.
You’re breathless when you open the door. “Hi!” You say a little too loudly. He raises his brows but you open the door and step aside, ushering him in. “Come on in.”
Hansol gives you an amused grin as he walks into your apartment. He’s confused as to why it’s completely dark, a question that he’s about to ask you as you shut the door, but you flick on the lights and he’s met with the world’s loudest shout of surprise he’s ever heard.
He flinches, hand flying to his chest in terror as the lights flood on and Hansol realizes that the reason they were off is to hide the obscene amount of Star Wars decorations covering every part of your apartment. He can’t even picture what your home is supposed to look like, just that it’s covered in streamers and paper Luke Skywalkers and RD-D2s, and filled with familiar faces.
Hansol’s mouth pops open as the crowd screams at him. Chan and Seokmin are at the forefront, phones in hand capturing Hansol as he stands there, dumbfounded. Soongyoung and Mingyu are blowing through noise makers with so much force that the paper on them breaks, and Seungkwan is leading an off-key rendition of happy birthday with Hansol’s friends you’ve never even met.
Slowly, Hansol turns to look at you. You’re standing behind him, hands clasped nervously and tucked under your chin as you watch him, terrified. You’re chewing on your lips, entire frame vibrating with energy. 
He wants nothing more than to walk over to you and kiss you stupid. The flame of desire that licks through him is borderline impossible to tamp down, staring at you like the eighth world wonder as you slip over to him, scanning his face.
“Surprise?” You squeak.
“You did this for me?”
“Well, yeah.” 
You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He wants to pin you against the island counter behind you, but it’s fill with food and beverages and blue fucking milk. “Is that okay?” you ask, suddenly nervous. 
Hansol softens and starts to laugh. “Yeah,” he shakes his head. “It is more than okay.” 
Before he can say anything else, the crowd of people crashes into him. Seokmin and Chan are screaming in his ear, grabbing him and yelling for shots. Mingyu and Soonyoung are chanting his name and his best friend from college manages to squeeze in and give him a hug and a birthday greeting.
How did you even know Minghao existed? Or how to contact him? Hansol has no idea, but before he can ask you any questions about the how or the why, he’s swept into your kitchen for birthday celebrations he thought would never happen, orchestrated by the single person he wanted to see most. 
Fuck was Chan right more than ever. 
-
The thing about being a bad liar is that you found it nearly impossible to hide what you were doing from Hansol. The thing about everyone thinking you’re always busy, is that it was an easy facade to shield the sheer stress of trying to plan a surprise party for him. 
Your apartment is filled with more people than you’ve ever dared to let inside. It makes you a little nervous for all of these people to see this new part of you, but with a little bit of rum and the released pressure of Hansol looking like he’s enjoying himself, you decide it’s worth it. 
Squished in the corner of your couch, you watch as Chan leads a game of cards that he is losing very badly at. Most of these people in your apartment are casual friends, with the exception of Seungkwan who is playing DJ in the kitchen, but they’re all friends that Hansol would want at a celebration for him.
At least, that’s what Chan and Seokmin said. Recruiting them had been pretty easy, but during the process of them helping you plan this, you’re pretty sure they’ve caught on to the AT-AT Walker-sized elephant in the room: you are very much into their friend. In a very Not-On-The-Clock appropriate way. 
Now, you watch as Hansol makes his way over to you, dodging people who stop to talk to him. He seems pretty determined to reach you, clapping someone on the shoulder and moving them aside to continue his journey to you. 
Your stomach flips when he sits on the arm of your couch, perched perfectly next to you. He looks good today, dressed in jeans, a soft looking tee and a flannel. The backwards hat does wonders for you - which you will not be psychoanalyzing now - and his black frame glasses. 
“How did you do all this?” He asks, shaking his head in wonder. “I just… what?” 
“It wasn’t easy, but it worked, right?”
“Is this the presentation you’ve been working on all week?”
“Yes. Please don’t be mad at me for lying.”
He laughs. “I couldn’t be mad at you if I tried.” 
An argument breaks out over cards, Chan and Mingyu yelling at each other about someone cheating. Hansol winces at the noise and you scoot a little closer to avoid the deck of cards Mingyu throws in Chan’s direction.
“Is there anywhere quiet we can talk?” Hansol asks, though he’s laughing at them. “They’re giving me a bit of a headache.” 
You grin. “For sure.” 
Getting up, you lead Hansol down the hall to your bedroom, which is off limits to the rest of the party. The good thing about adult festivities is that no one is a weirdo about going into rooms they shouldn’t, staying exactly where it’s appropriate to be. 
Shutting the door behind you, the noise of the party dies down immediately. It’s dark in your room, save for the single lamp burning in the corner at a low setting. You realize it’s a bit messy, apologizing to Hansol as you kick clothes out of the way. You hadn’t intended on bringing him in here, and suddenly the implication of Hansol standing in your room tingles down your spine. 
“I, uh-” You stammer, looking at him. “Sorry it’s a mess. I didn’t intend on anyone seeing this.”
Halloween yowls, getting up off your bed. Hansol makes a surprised sound and you apoogize again, “It’s just Halloween. He likes to sleep in here. Out, kitty!”
You open the door and Halloween bolts out, going to find Seungkwan who will give him snacks. 
Hansol grins and wanders over to the bookshelf, looking over the titles. You take a few steps to follow him but keep your distance, suddenly very nervous. He points his finger at a title and looks at you, inviting you to step closer to read it in the dim light. 
You recognize the title - you’d bought it the day you’d crashed into him and got some of your books mixed up. 
“This one one of the books you accidentally swapped with me,” Hansol notes, running his finger along the spine. You zero in on his finger - his hands, in general. They’re pretty. You swallow hard, looking up at the ceiling instead. “Have you read it yet?” 
“Not yet. I started one of the others but I’ve been having trouble breeding - reading lately.”
Hansol presses his lips together in a flat line and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh at you. Warmth floods your face and you want to die on the spot, especially when he turns to face you head on, leaning against your bookcase. 
His eyes are dark, drinking you in. Your pulse skyrockets, thinking about that quick kiss he had given you the other night. It’s all you’ve been able to think about, too afraid to ask him if it was just for show and too busy trying to plan this party to work out what to say about it.
Now, alone in your room, the questions fizzle on your tongue at the nearness of him. 
“Thank you,” Hansol says eventually. “For planning this. I… would never have expected you to do that.”
“I wanted to celebrate you.”
He blushes, ducking his head. “It’s sweet. It did make me nervous, though.” 
“Why?”
“I thought you were avoiding me, kind of.”
You blink. “Why on earth would I be doing that?”
“Thought that maybe I took it too far with the kiss.” 
“No. You didn’t.” 
Hansol’s gaze falls on you. It’s razor sharp and there’s something there, burning just under the surface. You swear it’s something like desire, but you’re too afraid to name it. Too worried that it’s just what you want reflected in his glassy gaze, and not his. 
Then, “Did I not take it far enough?” 
The question hangs in the air. You cannot hear anything but the pounding of  your own heart. It’s just Hansol in this dark room with you, looking at you with exactly the same hunger that’s been churning in your gut. 
You don’t know when this hunger started. All you know is that the last few weeks, it’s been there. Every time you look at him you feel it ignite, the desire so raw that you don’t know what to do with it. 
Now, you know he feels it too - see it, in the way he waits for your answer. Patient. Calm. Steady.
“On the clock?” You ask, voice shaky. He shakes his head no. “You could go further.” 
That’s all Hansol needs. He’s gentle when he reaches for you, cradling your face in his hands. You barely get to suck in a trembling breath before he’s kissing you.
This kiss is entirely different from the peck he gave you in the parking lot last weekend. This kiss steals the breath from your lung, his mouth confident and sure as he slots his mouth against yours. He smells like the sea, all driftwood and salt and his lips taste like the tangy drink he’d been sipping on earlier.
Everything else fades to the background. Your hands twist in his flannel. It’s soft, but nothing compared to the softness of Hansol’s tongue as he licks at the seam of your lips. You let him in and he groans, pulling you in impossibly closer as the kiss turns more desperate.
You melt. He kisses you hungrily now, sucking your tongue into his mouth. It makes your head spin, the party long forgotten as you press further into him. The bookshelf wobbles under the weight of both of you leaning against it, making you break, both of you panting.
Hansol’s mouth shines with your spit in the low lamp light and you have the urge to lean forward and lick it. You resist, only for him to give into his urge. He leans forward, tongue pressing to the corner of your mouth gently. 
“What about now?” he mumbles, voice muffled against your mouth. “Too far?”
“No.”
He makes a sound in the back of his throat, hands dropping to your waist. You let him grip you, backing you up toward your bed. It’s a bit clumsy but you don’t care, hands looping around his neck to keep him close.
“Tell me what you want,” Hansol mumbles. Your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall backward. He follows you, caging you in with both of his planted on either side of your head. “Tell me how far you want me to go.” 
“On the clock?”
“Fuck no. Nothing I want to do right now is on the clock.”
“Good. I want you to go as far as you want.”
He drops his mouth to your neck. A moan slips between your lips when you feel his tongue scrape across the soft skin of your throat. He sounds strained when he says, “You gotta tell me, baby. I need to know what you want.”
“You.” It’s the most honest thing you’ve said all month. “All of it. Everything. But for real.” 
Hansol nods. He presses messy, wet kisses up your neck, along your jaw, stopping at your mouth. His nose nudges yours and he smiles against your lips, giving you a chaste peck. “You’ve got me. For real.” 
Grinning, you slide your hands underneath his shirt. He moans, throaty and delicious. He twitches under your exploration but he lets you brush your palms up the warmth of his stomach, reaching around until your hands are gripping his lower back. 
His mouth attaches to yours again. The kiss is messy and addictive, Hansol filling your senses as he lowers himself so that his weight is rested on top of you. It’s comforting and wanted, your knees squeezing his hips to hold him in place. 
One of his hands leaves the mattress to drop to your hip, squeezing before he scratches his nails against your thigh. You shiver, feeling the stimulation through your jeans. His hand slips under you, gripping the curve of your ass to lift you a little, pressing you closer to him.
A moan slips through your mouth to his when he rolls your hips against him. The stimulation isn’t remotely enough but you like this version of Hansol. His touch is confident, his lips intentful as they leave a trail from your mouth to your collarbone. 
With one last squeeze to your ass, Hansol traces his fingers over the tops of your thigh to drop between your legs. He presses his fingers to the apex of your thighs, working you through your clothes. You let out a desperate sound and you feel the way he smiles against your skin. 
His touch sparks a flame. You tear at his flannel, peeling it from his shoulders. He helps you get it off of him but he’s just as eager to peel you out of your jeans and shirt. A deep curse leaves his mouth when he sees you in just a bra and underwear, your chest heaving as you pant, staring up at him, mouth swollen and tender. 
Reaching for him, you grab the hat and throw it. “Hat is very hot,” you admit. “But I wanted to do this.” 
You slide your fingers in his hair, curling them through the strands to tug him back to you. He smiles into the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours. His hand skims up your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes until he slides his hand back between your legs.
A gasp leaves you as he presses his fingers back to your cunt, pressing the fabric into your aching clit. He whispers a string of curses when he feels how damp you are, resting his forehead against your shoulder for a moment as he teases you over your panties.
“Please,” you whisper, hips rising off the bed. “Want more.”
“Mhmm.” He lifts his head and gives you a quick kiss to the cheek. “I’ve got you.”
Hansol doesn’t make you beg. You like that about him. Your breath catches when he drops to his knees, reaching his arm up to pull the back of his shirt over his head, tossing it. The sight of him between your knees in just jeans, his hair mussed and mouth swollen is enough to make you dizzy.
You prop yourself up on your elbows, watching with hooded eyes as Hansol grabs you by the calves, spreading you a little more. His hands are gentle and warm, rubbing up and down while he takes his time pressing a myriad of kisses up the right side of your inner thigh. 
It feels so good. Your lashes flutter a little, breath coming in quicker. Everywhere his mouth touches tingles, a little path of buzzing electricity as he makes his way closer and closer to your heat until he switches sides.
You make a sound of protest and Hansol looks up at you through his lashes, grinning. He looks smug, leaning forward to bite your thigh playfully. It stings but it feels good, making your fingers twist in the sheets. 
“Feel good?” he whispers, pressing his tongue to soothe the sting. You nod, mouth parted, unable to speak. He smiles again, dragging his tongue down your thigh. You think you might die right there. 
Hansol makes his way back up. He drags his burning gaze up to meet yours, deliberately making eye contact as he presses the flat of his tongue against your underwear. If it wasn’t soaked before, it is thoroughly drenched now. You suck in a sharp breath, knees closing on instinct to squeeze against his shoulders.
He chuckles, dragging his tongue upward where it presses against your clit momentarily. He brings one of his hands up, pressing his middle finger right against your hole. You feel yourself clench around nothing and you know he knows, his grin wicked. 
“Don’t worry,” Hansol promises with another languid lick to the soaked fabric. “I will make up for all the times you didn’t get to come.” 
“Fuck.”
Vernon (from IT) has been replaced with Hansol (the Menace). He hooks a finger in the crotch of your underwear, pulling them to the side. He drags a knuckle against your pussy on purpose, both of you groaning in unison. 
Eagerly Hansol leans forward, giving you a teasing lick. Your fingers dig into the mattress anyway. You can do nothing but stare at him, watching the way Hansol drags his dark eyes up to watch you as he drags his tongue through your folds again. 
“Shit,” you hiss at him, a shiver wracking your body.
He seems pleased, shooting you a quick smile before he brings his mouth to you again, sucking gently. He avoids your clit at first, working you up slowly. Hansol eats you out like he has all the time in the world, like there’s no where he would rather be than tonguing your pussy. 
It drives you mad, his name slipping from your lips in little gasps. His tongue circles your clit, applying pressure indirectly, working you up and up until finally, he closes his mouth around the throbbing bundle of nerves, suckling. 
“Ohhhh,” you laugh, half delirious. “That. Whatever that is.” 
He hums, parting only to say, “You got it.” 
You see God when he fastens his mouth to you, sucking your clit gently. Dropping back against the bed, you twitch and gasp under Hansol’s ministrations. He sets a rhythm, adding his fingers to the mix as they press against your entrance. He doesn’t push in, but rather traces a pattern, making you squeeze. 
Panting, you drop a hand to his hair. He hums in delight as you tangle your fingers in the strands, bringing him closer to your cunt. You feel like you’re burning up, your sheets sticking to your skin, the room spinning as Hansol eats you out in earnest now. 
No one has ever seemed this dedicated to your pleasure. He doesn’t let up for a second, fingers and mouth working in tandem to bring you to a cliff of insanity. All you have to do is jump and dive head first into an orgasm. 
You do. Hansol works you right to the very edge and you topple over, falling into it hard. You go taught but he holds you down, fighting your spasm as you come hard. He doesn’t miss a beat, the obscene sounds of him slurping at you drowning out the pitiful, high pitched whine that leaves you. 
In a wave of exhaustion, your orgasm subsides. You flop on the bed, still shaking as he removes his mouth in favor of pressing slick, cum-stained kisses to your thighs. You lift your head and his eyes meet yours, flashing wickedly. 
He pauses, looking at your wet, messy cunt back to your face. “Want a taste?”
Hansol (the Menace) is going to kill you.
You nod and he smirks. He runs his tongue generously up your pussy, making sure to dip into your entrance just a little before he stands up and leans over you to press a filthy kiss to your mouth. You suck at his tongue greedily, tasting yourself and him, a combination you’ll never get tired of. 
One of his hands snakes up to your chest, tweaking a nipple gently, testing the waters. You nod, breaking the kiss with a gasp, “Yeah.” 
“Gonna work you open with my fingers,” he slurs. He kisses down your neck again, working his way to your chest. “That okay?”
“More than okay.” 
“God,” he whispers. “You sound so fucking good when you come. Want to hear it again.” 
There is no doubt he will. Hansol rids you of your bra before returning to suck greedily at your chest. Your nails bite into his shoulders, dragging down his sides as he presses a finger into your warmth. 
“God damn,” he laughs. He plucks at a nipple with his teeth and you curse. “You’re so fucking wet.” 
“On the clock?”
“Fuck no. My finger is in your pussy.”
“I am really turned on.”
He gives your other breast a playful bite. “Good. Now I want you to come apart on my fingers.” 
That won’t be an issue. Hansol gets you there embarrassingly fast. He finds the sensitive spot inside of you with ease and doesn’t hold back, pressing another finger in. He works you toward another orgasm like it's easy - and maybe for the both of you, it is. Maybe Hansol was meant to have you like this, gushing around his fingers and babbling nonsense as you come again, his mouth pressed against your hammering heart. 
Maybe he was meant to have you fucked out and light-headed by the time you’re helping him out of his jeans, sliding his briefs down his muscular thighs to free his cock. The tip is dark and sticky, weeping with precum when he pins you to the bed, catching you in a bruising kiss.
Gone is the patient Hansol who had started with gentle kisses to your thighs, replaced by his need to have you. To consume you. You let him, willing to let him do whatever he wants. You want his pleasure just as much as he wants yours, slipping your hand between your bodies to palm his cock, heavy and warm in your hand.
He whispers your name and it sounds like a prayer. His forehead presses against yours, letting you pump him slowly. His hips twitch as though he’s fighting to control himself, letting you have your fun before he growls and grabs your hand, lacing your fingers to pin above your head. 
Hansol scoots you up the bed, putting you where he wants you. Gone is the sweet guy from IT, replaced with whatever this is. You like this side of him equally, listening to him when he asks you to lift your hips so he can slide a pillow under your ass.
With a kiss to your brow that feels sweeter than the moment allows for, Hansol lifts your leg, prying you open for him. His cock is heavy against your cunt and he ruts a little, making you both whine in tandem. 
“You still want this, right?” He asks, voice shaking. “For real?”
“Yes.” You squeeze the hand he has laced with yours, pinned to the mattress near your head. “On the clock. Off the clock. Literally all of the hours.” 
“What if I refuse to change your computer password?”
That makes you laugh. He gives you a glowing smile, kissing the tops of your cheekbones. “Even then,” you promise. 
“Good. Try breathing for me when you come this time.” You give him a look and he smiles. “Did you think you were done? I told you I was making up for lost time.” 
He doesn’t give you a second to retort, his cock pressing in at that exact moment. “Ohhh you fucker,” you moan and he laughs, which makes things worse. You squeeze around him hard, barely breathing as Hansol slides in to the hilt, the pressure and stretch divine. “You did that on purpose.”
“I did,” he admits before trapping you into an uncoordinated kiss. 
With one hand holding yours to the bed and the other sliding under your ass to help lift you with the pillow, Hansol sets a slow pace. You continue to kiss him, just as slow as he fucks you. He is deep, cock brushing against your g-spot on every upstroke. 
Your free hand slides to his lower back, urging him to keep going. His tempo is measured, perfect, the angle of his hips just right. You start to feel insane, mumbling his name, whining between kisses, making a pathetic noise when he increases his pace. 
Hansol fucks like he knows exactly how you like it. Of course he does. Even from the moment in that bookstore, he had you figured out. No one else has been able to adjust to you like he has, no one else has been able to understand - to see you. 
“Fuck,” he hisses when you start squeezing on him for harder and longer. He’s pushing you toward that edge again, so close you’re already seeing stars. “Pussy feels so good.” 
He shuffles up the bed more, folding you a little. You make a wild sound, gasping as the angle pushes his cock in deep. “Holy shit, Hansol.” 
“That the spot?” he asks, and you nod. He starts fucking you in earnest, pace picking up. “God damn I could do this all day.” 
“Keep doing that and I’ll let you.”
He laughs and kisses you again, all tongue and teeth. You start to spasm, feeling the way your muscles clench as you near your third orgasm. This one is tight in your stomach, a pressure that is so compact you feel like you’re going to combust.
“Breathe through it,” he reminds you, out of breath as he chases your high. “You can do that, yeah?”
You nod, saving your breath for when he tells you to use it. 
A few more hard strokes and you’re doing exactly as instructed, taking in a deep breath as your orgasm hits. You see white, shaking underneath Hansol as the warmth of your high blooms in your lower stomach and expands. It’s better than the first two, stretching longer, the feeling reaching to your toes. 
You manage to breathe all the way through it, barely hanging on as he fucks you through the entire length of your high. He presses his mouth to your temple, slowing his pace to let you recover. You feel melted, like your bones and muscles have all gone on vacation, leaving Hansol to do the work for you.
“Good?” he asks, breath fanning your face.
You nod and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “You,” you mumble. It’s not a complete sentence, but he gets what you mean, kissing you quickly before chasing his own high, gritting his teeth. 
As spent as you are, you do your part to help him get there, squeezing with what strength you have left, whispering his name, pulling him in close with a leg around his hip. It works, sending Hansol over the edge and spilling into you within a few seconds. 
He curses into your shoulder, pace turning sloppy until he finally stops, hips pressed to yours, cock sheathed to the hilt. Both of you stay like that, trying to catch your breath in a sweaty pile of limbs.
Hansol recovers first, shifting so that he can lay next to you. He pulls out, a mess of cum and fluid going with him. You don’t care, rolling to your side to kiss him slowly. Softly. He rests an arm over your hip, keeping you connected. 
“This is a great birthday,” he jokes, voice hoarse. “I uhhh, forgot there was a party. No one will think we’re fake dating now.” 
You grin. “Whatever. We’re not on the clock.” 
He kisses you again. “Thank god. Cause I really want to do this again in fifteen minutes.”
You smile, really glad that Hansol (the Boyfriend) is on the same page as you.
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mmmichyyy · 3 days ago
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inspired by this snippet from the las culturistas podcast to write this silly gallavich ficlet 🥪
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it's two in the afternoon, and ian is bored out of his skull.
the office temp job was supposed to be, well, temporary. an easy way to earn some cash, contribute to the squirrel fund, save a couple bucks for a rainy day.
but three months later he's still the office bitch - ordering office supplies, organizing files, killing a couple trees a day because documents can't be printed double-sided for some reason, getting everyone's coffee order, messing up everyone's coffee order (god forbid brenda drinks a latte with foam once in a while) - while spending every waking minute fighting the urge to blow his brains out.
ian checks his watch. two hours, fifty-five minutes, thirty-six seconds until he clocks out. thank god it's fucking friday, at least.
the great thing about being a lowly temp worker is the fact that no one pays him any attention. his cubicle is in a dusty corner with a desk and a worn out swivel chair that endless other temps have sat their ass on before him. as long as he finished his tasks for the day and people are sufficiently caffeinated, he can be on his phone and no one can say shit.
so obviously, he's swiping grindr on company time, because what the hell else is he going to do?
mickey. 23. dick me down hard or fuck off.
hm. the guy only has two pictures - one mirror selfie, blurry, though his slicked-back dark hair and blue eyes standout on milky skin. damn. already ian is into him.
but then. the other mirror pic, taken of his backside, is what makes ian believe in some kind of higher power up in the sky. because holy shit this guy might just have the nicest ass he's ever seen?? round, plump, partially covered in soft grey briefs, and ready to be devoured. hello?? yes??
ian: free tonight? i can dick you down good and hard :)
mickey: how long
ian: however long you want baby
mickey: i meant your dick dumbass
ian: oh
[attached image: my_dick_morning_wood_69.png]
mickey: meet me in 30 mins
ian blinks. thirty minutes? he glances at the time. 2:18pm. what kind of guy wants to meet for a hook-up in broad daylight? is he a sociopath? or a murderer who likes to see their victim clearly as he stabs them multiple times?
whatever. for a quality ass like that, it's a risk he'll have to take.
as usual, no one in the office even glances his way as he hastily grabs his backpack and bolts towards the elevator.
ian: address?
*
"i think you broke me," ian pants, flopping on his back, boneless and completely satiated. "oh my god. how... where did you even learn how to do that?"
mickey shrugs and casually lights a cigarette, as if he didn't just rock ian's entire world. twice. and again. "lots of practice."
"i didn't even know someone could bend that way," ian says in awe, completely fascinated by the magical gremlin with the nimble fingers. "and the thing with your tongue?? are you a trained acrobat or something?"
mickey blows out a line of smoke and offers up the cigarette between his fingers, to which ian eagerly accepts.
"i know what i like, and i'm good at it." mickey lightly pats ian on the cheek. ian responds by melting into a pile of goo. "you weren't so bad yourself, stud."
oh. oh no. ian is done for.
before he can say anything or unhinge his jaw wide open for round three? four? his stomach gurgles out a loud groan. very unsexy, quite possibly the least attractive sound, ever. ian blushes, hoping mickey didn't hear it. but then–
"you wanna get a sandwich?"
ian twists his neck to the side so fast, he nearly gets whiplash.
"what?!"
mickey snatches the nearly finished filter from ian's hand and stubs it out on the side table ashtray. jumps up from the bed and tosses over ian's shirt from the floor. "c'mon, get your ginger ass up. there's a deli down on the corner that makes a mean spicy meatball sub and the parm is to fuckin' die for. been thinking 'bout it all day."
"you wanted to have sex in the afternoon and now you want a sandwich? with me?" ian has had his fair share of hookups, but never has he met someone so sexually deviant yet simultaneously endearing like mickey. is he dreaming right now? "seriously, who are you??"
mickey scoffs. "you think i'm going to take it up the ass after eating a meatball sub? you're a fuckin' idiot. so you wanna go stuff yourself with tomato sauce or not?"
yeah. ian is in love.
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pastlivesxpastlie · 2 days ago
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Get Below Me Vol 2 ❣️
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Summary: It’s Valentines Day and sweet simp!roommate!Vessel (our beloved) bares his souls a little in hopes of loosening you up…and shows a bit of a dominating side.
Pairing: simp!roommate!Vessel x Virgin!fem!reader
heads up: soft core pornish with fluffy plot - Ves and Reader are still dumb dumbs in love - L bombs - thigh riding - making out - teasing - slight dom!vessel
a/n: A little sexy fluff Drabble. Think of this story as a chocolate box without the little map to tell you which is the smut chapter. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweethearts.
taglist: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga @adenobabe @jeriiicho @milk--bones @myaudiocommentary @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @0hg00dgirl @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @sage-m-sepia @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland
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Vessel’s foot nudges you under the table. “Did you hear me?”
You hadn’t. You were a thousand miles away in your brain wondering what the night would bring. You were on pins and needles. You were 15 all over again sitting across from your crush. But this time, he notices you. And he wants you. Not just your body like the others before. You. As you are. But in the present, there’s no point in lying. “No, what were you saying?”
Vessel scoffs but he’s teasing, really. He adjusts in his seat, feeling sheepish even though he’s still trying to act aloof. “I wanted to ask you something. I’m actually glad you didn’t hear what I said because…well… super embarrassing. Jumped the gun a bit, I suppose.”
Of course the waiter comes up as you’re processing what Vessel might have said to you. Your heartbreaks a little that you were so wrapped up in daydreams of what could be waiting for you at home that you were ignoring him. Right to his precious face. Finally, the waiter (poor guy, just trying to do his job) leaves.
“Just tell me what you said, Ves. I want to hear it.”
Vessel looks past you and sighs. “Look.”
Oh shit. No good news starts with ‘look.’ You did not fish this lacy red Valentines-fuck me raw-coded dress out of your closet to have beautiful Vessel say “look.”
You nod.
Holy Jesus. He does remember you two live together, right? This is will be an incredibly awkward car ride home if this is going where you think it is.
“Uhm. This past month or so has been…really really nice. I like you…a lot. Like a lot a lot.” The thought of repeating himself makes him painfully self aware and self conscious…enough so that he’d like to lie and say “oh nothing important,” but it was important. An important part of the plan to make you the happiest, safest, most loved girl in the world…and above all…his. If he really wanted this, he needed to just spit it out. “Fuck it. I said ‘I love you.’”
Your cheeks burn and raise into the goofiest smile. You feel like such a massive dork. Oh no…you’re going to start giggling. You cover your mouth to try and stifle your excited little sounds when you see Vessel looking a bit confused and maybe a little crestfallen.
“What’s so funny, love?”
You compose yourself, determined to soothe his fears. “I’m not used to this kind of attention. I promise it’s nothing bad. I…heh…” The giggling bubbles to the surface again. “I’ve…yeah. I’ve fallen for you. Hard. I love you, too.”
Vessel leans in with his elbows on the table. “If you can barely handle me flirting with you…telling you that I love you…I can’t wait to see how you’ll act when I get you alone.”
Later at home, Vessel is still giggling about what a blushing mess you are.
“Hey it’s not funny! I’m a sheltered girl,” you joke, giving him a little pout. He’s manspreading on the arm chair in the front room, watching your little fussy display.
He sighs, letting his shoulders relax. “Alright. Hop up here,” Vessel says patting his thigh and sitting up taller like it’s nothing. Like he isn’t propositioning you. “Pouting at me like a lost kitten. Come here, darling.” He pats his lap again, this time it’s sharper.
You walk over to him and steel your nerves. You’re about to sit on his lap sideways, but he stops you. Wide hands squishing into your hips, turning you to face him. He guides you down all gentle but his face is intense, bordering on stern.
“That’s it,” he whispers, “right where you ought to be.” His strong thigh is now nestled snugly against your pussy. He presses you down a bit which causes you both to moan. “So warm down there. Do you feel good?”
Your arms are glued to your side, your breath shuddering.
“Hm?”
“I…”
Vessel runs his hands up your waist, bypassing your tits because he hasn’t gotten permission yet, and cups your face. “Yes or no, darling. It’s all up to you. We go as far and as long as you want.”
Reluctantly, you touch his forearms. You feel terribly shy and self-conscious, but you can’t fight the warm, yummy feelings he’s stirring up in you. “May I…can I move?”
His eyes light up and he licks his lips, nodding. “Fuuuck,” he moans with his head back on the couch as you start to rub against his thigh. It feels so…so…good. “You’re blushing, doll.”
“It’s…it’s so good, Ves…fuck.” You’re embarrassed at how good it feels not just to rut against him, but to be under his gaze. To see him undress you with his eyes while you get yourself so close to cumming you stop and giggle to yourself out of shock. Vessel pulls you close and ghosts his mouth up from your cleavage to your jaw where he places a quick kiss and bite.
“Such a giggly little toy. Having fun?” He dive bombs your neck in hot wet kisses, encouraging you to move again. “That’s it. That’s such a good girl,” he whispers. “Show me what makes you feel good.”
Your body gyrates hard against him, the arousal and sexual energy radiating off of you is palpable. It isn’t confidence that makes you touch him, it’s a need. Vessel moves to let you grasp at his chest, his abs. You feel stupid to do it, but you feel for his cock and stroke it under his pants. With his head back, he moans breathlessly. You did that. Your gentle touch makes him twitch. A proud smile tugs at your lips, making Vessel chuckle.
“Your hand feels s’good,” he whispers. He pulls you by the back of the neck into a deep kiss. Your breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths, grinding against each other. He breaks the kiss to whisper to you again, his hands moving down to keep your hips moving in short, little thrusts. “What do you want…how does this play out in your little head?”
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blastiebabe · 2 days ago
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just paint my nails, damn it
Bakugo Katsuki x Reader
It was a tiring day, you are currently in your dorm room lying in your bed, scrolling though your phone. The training with Aizawa and All Might earlier have drained almost all of your energy. Just when you are about to close the app where you were bingeing, your phone vibrates. A message from Katsuki.
Katsuki:
my room. now.
You roll your eyes by his sudden authoritative text that is actually isn't new to you. It isn't also the first time that Katsuki asked you to be in his room, over the course of the two of you training together, to studying together, eating together, really, being inside in his room together isn't that surprising.
You and Katsuki hangs out almost everyday, maybe as friends (?) But in your perspective, Katsuki is becoming more than that for you. And you don't know what to feel about it. Hell for sure that explosive dude doesn't even see you as a woman. Therefore, these days, you have been trying to avoid being alone with him. Not that he will let you do so like what he is doing now.
After rolling your eyes, you type a response.
You:
nah, too tired.
Katsuki:
too tired my ass. come. now.
You:
Kats, I'm tired
Katsuki:
and that's why you should come here
For the nth time, you rolled your eyes reading that message. You see, this kind of things is what makes you think there can be a possibility between you both. You left him on read and was about to turn your phone off and just ignore him when it vibrates again, receiving another message.
Katsuki:
please?
You groan as you reach for your hair in frustration. Damn it why is it so hard to say no to that damn explosive man? You stood up, bringing only your phone and going straight into his room wearing pjs, you didn't even knock. You opened the door abruptly.
"What the fuck do you want?" You ask with both your hands crossed to each other. You find Katsuki sitting at the floor of his room beside his bed, in front of him is a coffee table and on top of it are nail polish and other shit that one uses when painting and cleaning nails.
"Well hello to you too, ma'am." Katsuki says without even batting an eye on you, focusing on looking at the colors of nail polish in front of him.
You come inside his room, closing the door, then sits in front of him. "Katsuki, what is it? I just wanna rest for fuck's sa-"
"What color should I paint my nails with?" Katsuki asks, completely disregarding your crash out. He holds up in your face 2 small bottles of nail polish, one is black, the other one is orange.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, completely irritated at how he is treating you when he was the one who asked you to come here when you told him you wanted to rest. "Katsuki, I don't have time to do this, I just want to rest. I'm going back." You say before you try to stand up.
"You're not goin' anywhere." Katsuki says firmly, holding your wrist when you were about to stand up. He sits you back down.
"What are you-"
"Calm the fuck down. Give me a minute." Katsuki says before standing up ang going to his study table. He grabs a food tray, with a bowl of katsudon and a tea and water beside it. Katsuki brings it in front of you.
You look at him, trying to put your questions into words but none came out. When he realized you were struggling, he spoke. "The nerd told me you haven't eaten dinner yet. What are you, a dumbass?"
"What-"
"Eat, the only way to bring your energy back is to eat. So, calm the fuck down and eat." Katsuki says before focusing on the nail polish before him again.
You look at Katsuki and the food, then back to Katsuki, then the food, then Katsuki. "Did you make these?"
"What do you think?" He says without looking up at you.
"Aww, Kats that so sweet-"
"That ain't free, dumbass. You're coloring my nails." He says looking at you. You see the corner of his ears turning pink. Shit, that made your cheeks red too.
You proceed on eating dinner, while Katsuki tries to entertain himself by doing random things while waiting for you. After your last bite, Katsuki still haven't decided what color he should paint his nails. You thank him for the food he has prepared, and you bring the tray back on his study table.
You get back on your position drinking water and looks at Katsuki busy on trying to figure out his nail polish. You stare at him for a brief moment, then smiles. Suddenly all the tiredness washed out of you.
You grab the black nail polish, reached for his left hand and put it above the table while holding four of his fingers, studying it closely, thinking of a technique to color it perfectly. For sure Katsuki would not want anything less than perfect.
"The hell are you doing?" Katsuki asks, looking at you staring at his fingers. You see the subtle redness in his cheeks.
You smile. "Paying you back." You speak. "Black suits you the best, Kats. I have always loved seeing black on you."
Katsuki is trying his damned best to fight all his face muscles and not to smile by that sudden compliment from you. You laugh at this reaction from him. Seeing Katsuki flustered is an opportunity only presented for you, so not making the most out of it is a sin.
"Are you just asking me to color your nails so you can hold my hand?" You tease him.
"What the-?" Katsuki was startled by what you just said. Looking at your teasing expression, he groans. His cheeks redder than earlier. "Just paint my nails, damn it."
You laugh.
Oh, bloody hell, falling for this guy might not be as bad as you think.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ thank u for reading! :>> . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ more of katsuki, here! ♡
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mmkclarkey · 2 days ago
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We have a spare room- Part 4
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When all goes wrong, moving in with three guys will help?
6 months. Half a year living with Chris, Arthur and George.
According to Chris, it was a cause for celebration, one that just insisted that you had to have a party. That’s why your weekly trip to B&M had turned into a 2 hour trip, all three of them picking out party cups and plastic shot glasses and literally anything you can find for a party.
“Whats the colour theme?” Arthur asks with a large smile on his face, looking like a child in a sweet shop, Chris following not too far behind with the trolley.
“We don’t have one, why the fuck would we have one?” George replies, laughing at Arthur’s excitement, while Arthur pulled a face at George, making his way towards him to slap the smiling man around the back of the head.
George winced and began to chase Arthur down the aisle, making you and Chris giggle while rolling your eyes.
“God can you two get any more childish?” You said quietly as they caught back up to you minutes later trying to avoid people around you knowing that you lived with these morons.
~
You finished up shopping, and after a fight with Chris over who was going to pay, him winning, you got back to the flat. Flopping down on the sofa had become a regular thing for all of you, normally trying to see who could do it first, and for once, someone other than you won.
Not that you were happy about it, but Arthur’s smile as his head hit the soft cushions was too priceless to be annoyed, even with George and Chris shouting profanities at the brunette sprawled on the sofa, legs hanging over the top, shoes still on.
~
A few hours later, you were lay on your bed after getting ready, lay carefully as not to flatten your curls at the back, or allow the short (too short) dress you were wearing to flash any of your roommates when they come into the room, which would not be the best idea if you were honest.
You hear a knock, faint on the door, making you question whether you actually heard it, but then it comes louder as you jump, saying a monotone “come in”.
Arthur comes in and dramatically flops down on your bed, making you giggle as you question why the man was in your room, not that it wasn’t a common occurrence, it’s just normally all of them together not just one roommate.
“I need your help” he chokes out, grabbing one of your pillows and screaming into it, making you chuckle, fully aware of the dramatics that came with your brunette roommate.
“Whats up? You seem cheery” you laugh sarcastically as he shoots you a glare, making it so that you fly your hands up in self defence, a shit-eating grin still on your face.
“There’s this girl yeah, and she’s coming to the party, because she got a random invite, but I might have a little crush on her, like on social media and stuff” he rambles out, looking as if he’s about to cry from whatever pickle he’d gotten himself into.
“Oh my god!” You laugh out, clapping your hands in excitement. “You are 100% taking your chance tonight I swear arthur!”
“I can’t, she won’t like me like that”
“You’re a stupidly oblivious man Arthur Hill, do you know that?”
“Fuck off”
~
The party was in full swing, people funnelling into the flat every 10 minutes or so, you greeted everyone as they came in, naturally gravitating towards the girls of the friend group, as Sabina, Chip’s fiancée reminded you of how good you look, and how half the guys there are staring.
You look across the room and spot arthur talking to a blonde girl, blushing harder than you have seen him do. Ever. The girl was smiling, laughing along with all his jokes, it was refreshing to see two people so completely enamoured by eachother; almost seeming as if there was no one else around them.
There was a clearing of a throat next to you as you turn your head to the side, George standing next to you looking at arthur and the girl. He spoke up after taking a sip of his beer.
“He looks like he’s in love”
“I know”
You both spoke at the same time.
“It’s cute” you spoke.
“It’s sickening” George laughed.
For a moment you looked at eachother, taking in your opposing views on the situation unfolding in front of you. And then you look back to arthur, letting out a little chuckle.
“You know, one day you’ll find a girl who will make you think love isn’t weird George, and that day will make every girl in the UK cry”
George looks at you, his expression unreadable as he lets out a little hum, walking away from you to go talk to Isaac, avoiding his eyes meeting yours as you shake the feeling off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N- oh I’m so sorry for how long this took! I love you all I swear, and hope you like this one, might have a cheeky couple more coming tonight x (what do we think about hill and his mystery girl, hint: mystery girl is Caitlin, cos she’s amazing x)
Taglist- @loveheart-123 @ooostarwarsfandom501st @rougetv @le-le-lea @onlinesuzie @44-ilton @pretendyoucantseeme @theresglittleronthefloor @raekensluver @viagracex @neivivenaj @authortelevision @kneelforloki @m3l0vesu @deepestlovefromspace @hiatus-xix
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