#and everything has been good between them

[lostfracturess]

words you couldn't hear — satoru gojo

satoru's been hopelessly in love with you for years, but can only confess when you can't hear him. but someday—maybe someday soon—he'll tell you for real.

"How do these look?" you ask, slipping on a pair of noise-canceling headphones and striking a pose. "Be honest."

Satoru, who's been trailing behind you in the electronics store for the past hour without complaining like the best friend he's always been, looks up from the speaker he's been fiddling with. "You look good in anything."

"No, for real." You turn to check your reflection in a nearby screen. "Do they make my head look bigger? I feel like they make my head look bigger."

He snorts, reaching over to adjust the headband. His fingers brush against your temple, and you try not to think about how many times those same hands have absentmindedly played with your hair during movie nights, or how he still unconsciously reaches for you whenever he laughs too hard, just like he did when you were kids.

"That's what you're concerned about? The size of your head?"

"It's a valid concern."

"Your head is perfectly normal-sized," he assures you, his fingers lingering perhaps a moment too long as he fixes the fit. "Though I suppose all that overthinking has to go somewhere—"

You shoot him a look, but there's no heat behind it. Fifteen years of friendship has made you immune to his teasing — well, mostly immune.

You're not quite immune to the way your pulse quickens when he's standing this close, or how he still smells like that same cologne he's worn since high school, the one you helped him pick out for his first date with someone else while ignoring the weird ache in your chest.

"I really need good ones for studying," you say, checking the price tag. "My roommate talks way too much."

Satoru winces at the price. "Expensive. But they're supposedly the best."

"Worth every penny if they can block out her ramblings." You adjust the fit, immediately noticing how they muffle the noise of the shop. "Oh wow, these are actually incredible. Say something so I can test them properly."

"What should I say?"

You arch an eyebrow at him. "Anything. Just need to check if they work."

His expression shifts then, melting into something tender as his lips move. Even though you can't hear the words, something about the gentle way he's looking at you makes your heart flutter strangely in your chest.

"These are perfect!" you say, pulling them off, trying to ignore the way your pulse has picked up. "I couldn't hear you at all. What did you say?"

Satoru leans against the display counter, chin propped in his hand as he watches you fiddle with the headphone cord, a fond smile playing at his lips. "Nothing really," he murmurs, but there's something soft in his expression, something unguarded that makes your heart skip.

You pause, catching the way he's looking at you — like you're something precious, something more than just his best friend of fifteen years. "Satoru?" you say softly.

He seems to catch himself then, straightening abruptly as a flush creeps up his neck. "Ah, yes. Should we, uh." His voice comes out slightly strangled. "Should we get these paid for? Before they close?"

"The store closes in two hours."

"Better safe than sorry." He's already heading for the checkout, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

What you don't know — what you couldn't hear through those noise-canceling headphones — were three words he's been trying to say for years. Three words that slipped out so easily when he knew you couldn't hear them, when the safety of silence gave him the courage he's never had before.

"I love you."

Simple. Honest. Everything he's wanted to tell you since he was seventeen and realized his best friend was the love of his life. Everything he's been too afraid to say, too afraid to risk losing you.

But for now, those words remain caught in the space between silence and sound, in the safety of a moment you couldn't hear. Maybe one day he'll find the courage to say them again, when you can actually hear him.

Maybe one day soon.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Daisychains III

Marta Torrejón x Caroline Graham Hansen x Child!Reader

Summary: You miss Caro

It's unusual to see you in kit.

You usually end up in your school uniform or your gardening overalls or the soft linen clothes Caro buys at home in Norway that are perfect for the hot Barcelona weather.

You've never had any big interest in football, at least not enough to wear jerseys outside of watching Marta and Barcelona play.

But this is your special Norway shirt.

It's not even yours, not really.

It was Caro's, straight from her side of Marta's wardrobe.

It hangs over your knees as you sit in the swinging chair with your reading book with all the little flowers in separate pots. You'd been reading to them a lot lately.

"I've got snacks," Marta says, approaching you with a little plate of homegrown celery and carrots.

She slots into the little space next to you, an arm over your shoulder as you lean into her.

"I miss Caro," You say," When is Caro coming home?"

"She'll be home soon," Marta says," She's still playing for Norway right now."

"But I want her home!"

You're whining now. Like wearing a jersey, this is unusual for you. Your bottom lips wobbles dangerously until you're burying your head in Marta's chest and clutching at her shirt.

"I want Caro!"

"Conejita, Caro is-"

"Caro!"

Tears fall from your cheeks as you curl around Marta, your snacks forgotten as she gently rests her hand on the back of your head.

She should have expected this really. You had grown attached to Caro now that she's around more. You crawl into Caro's side of the bed in the morning before school for extra cuddles. You let Caro do up your school shoes and give you the last kiss before heading into the school building.

You adore Caro and Marta should have really known that this separation wouldn't do you much good.

You crawl into Marta's bed that night, fast asleep and holding Caro's pillow.

"I didn't mean to make her sad," Caro says, wincing slightly as she gazes at you through the video call.

"I think she just got used to having you around," Marta replies," It's not your fault. She hasn't dealt with me going away to camp for a while now. I think she's forgotten what it's like."

"I..." Suddenly, Caro feels choked up. She hadn't expected seeing you like this with your sad, little scrunched up sleeping face would affect her like that. "Give her a kiss for me?"

"Of course. I'll tell her you wanted her to have lots from you."

"Thank you."

It's amazing how expressive a child's face is. Caro hadn't ever really thought of that before. Of course, there's Skatt who had always worn her heart on her sleeve and Estrella who always looked like she was halfway between judgement and pure boredom.

Caro has known Skatt for years now but she hadn't even considered the little faces she made. She knew, in theory, that everything Skatt thought was on her face but she'd never paid attention to it.

But now that you're in her life, Caro can't help but notice.

The image of your sad face with your downturned lips and the frown that stayed on your features even as you slept.

It's an image that stays with her through all the training and gym work and even as Caro eats, stubbornly stabbing the food on her plate with a fork.

It's an image that stays with her as she prepares to walk out for the match as well.

Little feet pitter-patter around as Caro weaves through her teammates and their mascots, shuffling through the line to get to her place.

She nearly falls straight over as something unexpected crashes into her legs and Caro whips her head downwards.

To tell off or to yell.

She hasn't quite decided yet.

But her words stick in her throat.

"Caro!" You say, hugging her legs and looking up at her.

"I...What are you doing here?"

You let go of her, taking a step back. "Do you not want me here?"

Caro shakes her head, getting down on her knee to pull you into a proper hug. "Of course I want you here. I've missed you."

"I missed you too, Caro. That's why we came. I'm even wearing your shirt."

Marta stands a little way away, a fond smile on her face as she sees Caro litter kisses over your face.

"You're not going over?" Mapi asks, Skatt hanging off her arm dressed like a happy little ladybug.

"I'm letting them have this moment. I've had Conejita cuddles every day for years. Caro's got a lot of catching up to do."

[dresshistorynerd]

The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

[no1mikasimp]

I’m from India, my parents thought having a TV created ‘bad habits’ in children so we’ve never had a Television in my household, instead me and my sister had unlimited and unsupervised internet and PC privileges since kindergarten.

Once we were trying to watch Phineas and Ferb on YouTube (we heard about it from our friends) when I was in first grade and my sister in second, in the YouTube recommendations on the side it recommended us a Princess Tutu AMV. We watched it— instantly fell in ✨ love ✨ and my sister soon found a website where we could watch the entire thing aside from YouTube (Animenova was the site’s name, it’s shutdown now)

After that watching Princess Tutu we found other anime like Mermaid Melody, Mew Mew Power, Cardcaptor Sakura and by the time I was we were in 4-5th grade we had already started watching almost anime anime we could find from comment sections and recommendation lists, it was then around the time AoT released and we watched it, then my sister found an anime called Owari no Serpah (Seraph of the End) which had the same concept as AoT but with vampires and it became our fav anime for a few long years along with stuff like Magi and Railgun through Owari no Seraph and the incredibly gay sexual tension between its two male protagonists Mika and Yuu, my sister and I found ✨ Yaoi ✨ at 10-11 years of age. I initially didn’t really like it but then by the time was 11 I was consuming that shit almost every day (started with Hybrid child, Sekaichi Hatsukoi, Junjou Romantica and Super Lovers) i wanted to consume more super lovers so I asked my sis where she read her Yaoi manga and general mangas too ofc, she recommended me our god and saviour ✨ mangago ✨ from where I proceeded to read Super Lovers and got heavily confused cuz everything was highly censored and I didn’t know what sex was (growing up in a conservative society like india does that, especially when you’re a girl watching anime since first grade and have no interest in anything else) then I read Royal Servant and found out what 🎀 sex 🎀 was.

Have never looked back since.

I only watched Death Note when u was in like 7th grade, so pretty late I guess. Mainly watched it cuz I heard there was a popular shop between L and Light.

Now, I’m turning 20 in a month and over half my life has been spent being a full time weeb, and almost my half life spent reading gay people making love and holding hands.

Never could have asked for a more perfect life.

Before anyone asks,

No, my parents still don’t know what me and my sister did with that unlimited and unsupervised internet access.

Whenever my parents see me reading Ao3 and ask what it is, I just tell them I’m reading a novel and they get so proud and like, ‘we raised you two so well.’ And give themselves a pat on their backs. They don’t know. It’s so freaking funny.

I also make my mum buy me Yaoi manga and BL novels with her money and she never says no cuz ‘reading is a good habit’

I have two entire bookshelves filled with books, one half normal stuff like Rick Riordan and stuff and the other half pure BL.

That post about death note being "everyone's first anime" (untrue statement) made me curious and now I want to gather data for science

Can you reblog this and tell me where are you from and what was your starter anime?

[deathbxnny]

Can you do how the arcane characters would react to you having a Panic attack/panick attacks

Arcane characters reacting to you having a panic attack! | Caitlyn, Sevika, Jinx, Vi x Gn!Reader

Thank you for your request, Anon! I absolutely loved writing this, so I hope you'll enjoy it!<33

Content: Panic attacks, fluff, swearing, established relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》CAITLYN

Her first instinct is to immideatly take you somewhere safe and private when she notices the panic attack approaching. She has very good intuition and has observed you for long enough to know your cues and signs, but sometimes even her own senses about you fail her during acute attacks that come out of nowhere. This doesn't mean that you can't rely on her to take care of you anyway.

"Hey, hey... let's breathe together, okay? Alright. Deep breathe in... hold it... and now release slowly... good job, let's do it again."

She's very quick to react to your needs and usually tries to regulate your breathing first before anything else, as that's how she learned to deal with them in her medical training. Caitlyn will also try and keep some distance in between you two in case you need space and only come closer once you're ready for that. She's very gentle and patient, as she soothes away your fears and worries.

Later on, she'll gently hold you and spoil you with nice food whilst you finally calm down and rest. Cait won't ever push you to tell her what triggered you, but will encourage you to tell her how she can help you better next time. Something she'll probably write down somewhere for future reference for better efficiency.

》SEVIKA

The first time it happens to you around her, she'll admittedly be a little surprised. It's not like she hadn't seen panic attacks before, but she simply just never had to deal with them before. With that said, her first instinct is to wonder if someone had bothered you and, if so, how quick she can beat them up for hurting you like this. The last thing she wants is for someone to ruin that beautiful smile of yours, and the sight of you suffering like that makes her feel uneasy.

"Alright, tell me what you need, and I'll do it for you right now. I just... fuck, tell me how to help you, sweetheart."

Sevika will lean down to your level after also taking you somewhere private so that she can let her guard down in peace and focus on you. She's not good at comforting people no matter who you are, and she's certainly also not the most affectionate person out there. But she knows to keep her distance and focus on what you need from her in that moment. Your hyperventilating and short breaths worry her, but that's nothing she can't handle with some direction from you.

After the panic attack blows over, she'll demand a detailed list of what exactly she should do better next time. She doesn't like being unprepared, especially when it comes to your care and well-being.

》JINX

She has memorized absolutely everything about you and is the first person to notice when a panic attack is coming up, which makes her the best helper out there at that moment. Jinx immideatly springs into action and brings you to her hideout, where she knows things are safe and sound. No one can hurt you here, especially not with her around. She'll sit on the ground with you and take your hands in her own carefully. The girl doesn't make any sudden moves and just observes every reaction you make very closely, practically analyzing them to know what to do next. And her voice would be so calm and soothing whilst she speaks.

"It's alright, cuddlebug. No one's laying a hand on ya whilst I'm here... so let's just breathe together."

Jinx doesn't want you to feel alone whilst you're going through this and will be right there with you until the last of your tears have been shed. Afterward, she'll either cuddle you to sleep or get you something nice to eat. Either way, you're being treated like royalty by her, just because she doesn't want you to feel like she did when she still had to suffer through everything all on her own. Having you here is a blessing, and taking care of you was a way to pay you back for it.

》VI

Despite what people may think, Vi's intuition about other people has never failed her. She always feels so deeply for others. It isn't all too surprising when she is quick to notice your mood shifting drastically out of nowhere. Once the panic attacks start, she'll have enough past experiences to take care of you as well as she can. It may not always be perfect due to her inability to express her love and affection all too well in moments of panic, but she'll still pull through for you. Getting you out of danger and into a more secluded area, she'll wrap her jacket around your shoulders and try soothing your quick breathing.

"Hey, hey, hey, let's calm down, okay? I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you."

She may honestly slightly panic herself, especially as seeing you so distraught messes with her own emotions, too. Vi hates to see you suffer, and the last thing she wants is for you to potentially get hurt if you don't calm down.

Vi will most likely ask you what she can do better next time as well, since she secretly feels a bit disappointed in herself for not being able to do more for you. But she's open to learning how to be perfect for you next time, that's for sure.

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Heyoooo, i just read your say it louder and im in love with that so much like holy, so i was wondering if you could make something kinda similar or something? like maybe logans chasing reader because she stole his cigars and they have a cute moment or something along those lines, maybe end a bit with or with smut? thanks so much babes!

Mine Now | DOFP!Logan Howlett x F!Reader

Warnings: Primal!Logan, Scent Tracking, Shotgunning His Cigar, Marking, Implied Smut, Reader is a Mutant who has invisibility, Enemies to Lovers because I’m a sucker for pain, Takes place at the very end of DOPF when Logan comes back to the future, Pain Kink, Breathing Play, Choking, Claws come out – I repeat the claws come out,

Rating: R – No Minors

Word Count: 4.5K

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for your request! This was a blast to write and honestly? It gave me a good excuse to write for DOFP!Logan! I adore you! 😊 Also completely unrelated side note….you did say you wanted smut, right??? Because I may, or may not, have spaced you said cutesy and went right to horny.

To be tagged in any future work of mine, please fill this out.

“Hank, have you seen her?” Logan asks, his voice layered with annoyance. You couldn’t help but silently snicker as you watched his brow crease, his nose twitch with frustration, his finger rapping at his side impatiently. The way his jaw ticked as Hank narrowed his own eyes at him made it impossible to hold your laughter, even when you were currently pressed up against the wall – a clear view of the situation going down. You pulled your lip between your teeth as you homed in on Logan’s features, eyes glimmering with rage. It was such a beautiful sight to see, one you have been dreaming of for months. Though you’d never openly admit it, everyone knew, all except him. You had to make the chase worth his while.

Logan Howlett is a force to be reckoned with, everyone told you that. When Charles and Eric first recruited you to teach with them in New York – you thought it was a joke, a cruel one at that. Living paycheck to paycheck in a hole in the wall Hell’s Kitchen apartment, dealing with constantly screaming and fighting from your neighbors, it wasn’t where you wanted to be. You were a survivor, you could adapt to anything, but after what you had experienced, you needed a fresh start. Working at a local diner, making shit for tips wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to help you save to leave. Where would you go prior to this? You had no idea, but someplace that experiences winter – you always loved the snow. But alas, that dreary November day a few years ago changed everything; It changed you. Meeting Logan on your first day told you everything you needed to know about him – he refuses to get close to anyone, you wanted to break that.

It's been three years since you first met Logan, two since you found yourself thinking he was cute, a year since you felt yourself falling for him, and six months since you started the cat and mouse chase. At first with how standoffish Logan was to you, you started to resent him. A year it took before that all fell to the wayside; Your feelings had shifted when you found him outside one night, crying as he smoked his cigar. Of course, your mutation left you able to turn invisible, able to watch him, without him knowing you were there. Through the heavy rain your smell was masked, he couldn’t tell you were there. But it made you feel closer to him; He wasn’t some robot who didn’t have emotions. He felt them too strong, which is why when he started to slip back into his mind, he pulled away. Being over 200 years old meant he saw some shit, lost people he loved, it took a toll on him after a while. That day forward you stopped keeping your distance, but instead made the effort to be near him, to show him you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly you noticed how Logan started to open up to you, telling you stories of when he was young, his first mission with the X-Men. You got to learn a lot about The Wolverine, and come to find out he wasn’t a hard ass – he was sincere, doting, downright admirable. What he dealt with in his years fucked him up horribly to where he didn’t trust people easily – but it didn’t make him less. He always pushed forward and strove for success, to survive. He wouldn’t classify himself as a hero, but he was to you, and he deserved to know. Logan found himself trusting you easily after a year, his lonely nights stuck in his own head turned into game nights with you, strolls through the garden, getting a drink at the bar downtown. He could still be himself, but not have to carry the baggage by himself all the time. Falling hopelessly in love with him was inevitable, but also impossible. Nothing more could happen between the two of you and you knew that – but there was still a flicker of hope in your mind that wouldn’t quiet down. Especially with how flirty Logan had become with you.

 Usually, he was like this with Jean and Storm, taking it up a notch with them so he could have the last retort. To say he wasn’t a ladies’ man was a lie, he could pull anyone he wanted to. To Logan it was a game, seeing how flustered he could make him teammates – and he loved to win. With you it was different – it wasn’t low growls and light touching on your arms, no, it was more. At first to started off to be resting his chin on your shoulder, letting his breath stroke the column of your neck. Slowly it moved out to touches; Holding your waist from behind, rubbing his large hands over your lower stomach, slipping his hands under your shirt to caress your hip. Over the last few weeks though, he upgraded to holding your face, running his calloused thumb across your bottom lip, stealing forehead and cheek kisses before heading out. Rogue and Kitty that you two were dating, even Bobby got in on it – but when you stated you weren’t everyone looked at you like you had six heads.

“No Logan, I have not.” Hank let his eyes pan to where you were hiding as Logan turned away for a moment, giving you a small wink as he played along. After all, this was his idea – well, his and Xavier’s. You had overheard a conversation about how Logan’s cigar smell had been wafting into their classroom’s lately – distracting everyone as Logan taught. Charles had the bright idea for you to nab them and hold them hostage, until Logan learned his lesson. You on the other hand, were far too gone to do that. Instead you decided to take the cigars, but make a game out of it. Little post it notes with clues on where you were hiding, you stored them all over his bedroom and classroom, thanks to Scott. Ever since Jean told you just how primal Logan could get, how good of a tracker he was, you wanted to test it out for yourself. What better way than take the one thing he cannot live without? “What happened this time?”

Logan huffed as he ran both of his hands down his face, coming dangerously close to propping his hip against your body. You had to shuffle slightly as he leaned into the wall, letting his head bounce off the wood a few good times. “Little shit stole my box of cigars.” He looked exhausted, frustrated, and downright sexy. Seeing how lost and irritable he was without them made you smirk, causing you to bite your lip harder to suppress a whimper. You noticed how Logan’s ear perked up as you gulped, his head turning softly. Hank noticed this almost immediately and replied with a whooping laugh.  “Ha!” You sighed inaudibly as you silently thanked Hank, knowing he used his booming voice to mask your sounds. Holding one of his hands up to Logan, he snickered as he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry that was cruel of me. What I meant to say is, that’s funny.” Hank let out a small chortle at Logan’s distain, being met with a flash of a middle finger, and claw too.  “Thanks, asshole,” Logan huffed as he pushed himself off of the wall, running his hand through his hair.

You watched him intently, thanking whoever was listening for making you have the power of invisibility. Being able to listen to everything going down, while Logan has no idea you’re here, made you feel powerful. You heard talks about how your power could be useful, but ultimately not threatening; Now, you’d beg to differ. Though you grew tiresome of the chase, being a fly on the wall versus a real player. It was fun the first two hours this started, but encroaching on hour six – the school clearing out and the sun almost set on the horizon, you grew slightly bored. “Have you tried the library? She likes to hide there.” Hank let out without hesitancy, making your eyes grow wide. It was like an aha moment for you, choosing the most likely place for last. Earlier it was too crowded, people would know you were there the second Logan came looking for you. But now with the young mutants either outside or in the city due to the upcoming weekend, you knew it would be vacant.

“I know her all too well, Hank. That’s the first place I looked.” Hearing Logan say that made your heart flutter, made you feel special that he knew you so well. A strong sigh left your lips as Hank coughed, dreamily staring at Logan as you started to walk backwards. Losing your invisibility for a moment, you stood a few feet behind Logan, walking towards the grand staircase that took you to the library. Waving at Hank, you motioned for it as you smirked, causing Hank to laugh. “You sure?” He asked, nodding behind Logan. As you stood closer to the staircase, you noticed how Logan was sniffing the air – his body growing tense as he spun around. It’s when he laid his eyes upon you that you knew he was fed up. It wasn’t the primal growl and heavy breathing that got to you, but the way his hazel eyes went from green to black in a split section, his chest heaving as he stared at you. “Oh shit,” was all you managed to let out as you turned invisible again, running up the stairs.

Everything was a blur to you, running as fast as your body could take you. Three flights to get where you needed to go seemed like forever, when you were being chased by The Wolverine. He had super human speed, a great nose for sniffing things out, he was at the advantage whilst you were at a disadvantage. Even with scent masking, now that you started to sweat it would make you more obvious, especially when the library was empty. Huffing and puffing as you managed two steps at a time, you refused to look back. But you could hear the stomps of Logan’s boots, clearly taking three steps to match you. Silently you prayed to whoever was listening, to get you to the library safe and sound before Logan got you. The last thing you wanted was for him to pin you to the stairs so everyone could see, that was too on the nose.

Reaching the top step of the library, you managed to sway your way through the wooden chairs and tables, giggling to yourself as you were halfway across the room. Due to the grand nature of the library, especially being two floors, it gave you so many good hiding spots. A circular room to see everything, yet hide in plain sight. As you made it over to the spiral staircase for the second level, you had noticed Logan standing at the entrance of the library, huffing and puffing. It made you snort, seeing how riled up he was. You had to admit, it was sexy to see how pissed off he was, causing a fresh wave of your arousal to coat your panties. Logan seemed to have taken note as he sniffed the air, his eyes cutting across the room straight to yours. “Come on out princess,” he growled, flexing his hands at his side. Slowly you crept up the metal staircase for the second level, taking one step at a time to not elicit any sounds. You let your breathing relax, slowing your heart rate as you kept calm, not needing to give yourself away. But Logan could sense you, eyeing the staircase with every move you made. “I got you now.”

A devilish grin fought to claim his mouth as he pounced over the tables, running on all fours as he landed right at the bottom of the staircase. You managed to get all the way up and around, leaving to the right. Multiple aisles of books covered upstairs, as well as the walls, each window let in the dusk light – showing dust particles roaming the air. Your tell-tale shimmer of invisibility was caught in the light a few times, but Logan was too lost to notice. Finding your perfect hiding spot away from prying eyes, you slotted yourself against the endcap of Psychology of Mutants, knowing no one reads these. You could feel the stagnant beating of your heart at times, wondering if it was due to fear or the thrill of the chase. Maybe it was the aspect of it being bittersweet as well; A years long chase with Logan finally reaching its peak. You knew there would never be going back from this, and that was okay. Stealing his cigars wasn’t the endgame, it was only the beginning.

“You can’t hide forever you know,” Logan snarled as he reached the top of the landing, huffing as he eyed every shelf. You could see him, nor did you want to, hoping to God he chose to head left instead of right. Alas you were sorely mistaken as his heavy steps started to echo right, causing you to curse under your breath. SNIKT, you heard the metallic sound echoing through the room, but also your mind, causing you to whimper. Logan had unsheathed his claws, holding them out. The idea of him using the claws on you, pinning you down with them, holding them against your neck made your body run hot, your arousal heightening as the thoughts ran rampant through your mind. “I will catch you.” It was not a threat but a fact, Logan was not kidding anymore. The animal inside of him was taking over, leaving the Logan you knew behind. This was all caused because you pushed him to the point of no return, and you fucking loved it. The reverberation of his claws against the wooden shelves made you shudder, knowing how close he was getting now.

Biting down hard on your lip, you placed your hand over your mouth, trying to regain control of your breathing. Being right across from the last window on the right didn’t do you any good, especially with the beam of light falling through. If you moved even a millimeter, you were going to be made. It’s then when you opened your eyes to pan to your left that you saw his shadow encroaching on you, his stance wide as his claws were pointed at the ground. Each gruff huff he let out made your eyes roll back, finding it harder and harder to keep yourself hidden. You couldn’t look away from him either, you needed to watch him; How the sweat beaded at his hairline, how his little tufts of hair were wild from pulling at them, how his snarl got more animalistic the longer he tried to look for you. “Where did you go?” You couldn’t describe how Logan sounded in that moment; Primal and animalistic do not even begin to crest.

You focused too much on his tone, completely forgetting your watchful eye on him. When you glanced back after trying to calm yourself, you noticed the 6’2 Wolverine was no longer walking his way towards the aisles but vanished into thin air. Not knowing where he was, made your heart rate skyrocket – panic ensuing all over your body. Goosebumps arose across your skin as you pondered where he could be, afraid to move in case he was lurking close to you. Maybe he went off to the left instead, leaving you by yourself to escape. It would make sense, considering how you heard the creaking of the floorboards on the opposite side now. Letting out a concealed breath, you slowly moved away from the end cap of the shelf, leaving your back exposed. You knew it was a mistake when the hot, stifling air of the closed space became ice cold, a shiver falling down your spine. The sun shifted away in that moment, blanketing the area in darkness, complete with only a sliver of light, not even to cast shadows. The second your back was exposed; All hell broke loose.

Two strong hands grabbed hold of your hips, pulling you back into a solid form. The yelp you let out was loud enough to echo, but not loud enough to raise suspicion. The strain on your powers had gotten to be too much, slowly slipping back into being visible. You huffed out as your back connected with his chest, your hands finding purchase on his muscular forearms. “There you are little mouse.” He snickered in your ear, pressing his nose to the pulse point of your neck. Logan deeply inhaled at the vein, his teeth barring to nip at your exposed shoulder. It felt good to have his mouth on you, to have him seemingly obsessed with your scent. After all, it is what gave you away. Whimpering out, you dug your nails into Logan’s arm, feeling the reverberation of his snarl through your body. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move – you were a lost cause. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

Logan was mocking you at this point, purposely being a little shit to mimic how you have been with him. When it came to his cigars, he wasn’t fucking around. But when he knew it was you who took them, well he wasn’t going to let you live this down. Logan moved from behind you, but kept his hands grasping your flesh. Moving to the side, he pressed your back against the end cap again, bringing you back to your original position. His right hand remained on your hip as his left grasped your neck, pressing against your pulse point, feeling the thrum of blood on your veins. The edges of your vision began to go fuzzy due to the restricted blood flow, but you didn’t care. Logan was putting you right in your place, and you were obeying so well for him. “I believe you have something of mine,” he murmured; His prominent nose pressing harshly against your cheek. The warmth of his breath on your skin, mixed with the cold drag of his claws against your skin made you shiver, loving how it felt too much. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You laughed out, clearly laced with thrill.

Logan didn’t take too kindly to you playing dumb, the tick in his jaw spoke measures. His grip on your neck was heavier than before, using his full weight to restrict your blood flow quicker, your vision developing black dots. “Oh, you don’t?” The challenged in his voice said all you needed to know – he was fucking desperate. There was no hiding it now, he needed you – not his cigars, but you. Gulping down against his large hand, you felt the press of his claws against the back of your neck, pushing through the wood of the bookshelf to lock you in place. He would never intentionally draw blood, or hurt you, but he knew this was your deepest fantasy, all thanks to Jean relaying it. His lips were inches from your ear as he chuckled darkly, groaning out against the flesh. “Do I need to jog your memory?” You shouldn’t have been as turned on by that as you were. Your knees buckled slightly as you almost fell, your eyes rolling back into your head.

Logan took advantage of your eyes being closed to pull his hand away from your hip. The loss of touch made you whine, but quickly you were quieted by his roughened tugs. Grabbing at the edge of your tank top, Logan ran his claws through the fabric to create slits, ripping them open just as easily. Looking down at your jeans, he could see the bulge in your pocket – where you had hidden a few of his cigars. A huff of relief fell from his parted lips as she cut your pocket open, letting them fall right into his hand. He mimicked your hiding and shoved them into his own pocket, moving on to the next. The cool breeze against your exposed skin made you quickly heat up; Logan using his claws on you made you lose your fucking mind. He repeated his efforts with your other side, making matching holes in his jeans and shirt, not caring anymore.

It was as the last few cigars rolled out of your pocket that Logan pulled back, his heavy body heat no longer suffocating you. The contact was missed, causing you to pout slightly. “Boo hoo hoo,” Logan mocked as he watched you, walking backwards to push his back against the window. The sill right below it was begging him to sit, so he took advantage of it. Reaching into his left pocket, Logan pulled out his Zippo lighter – flicking it against his pants to ignite the flame. It was intoxicating watching him, how effortlessly fluid his motions were. Biting your cheek, you watched him intently, his eyes never leaving yours. He pulled out the precut cigar from his pocket and pushed it between his lips, favoring his left side for it to rest between his teeth. Lighting the end until the cherry burned bright, he took a few quick puffs, blowing the smoke out in a cloud around him.

Your eyes could not pull away from him even if you tried, it was nearly impossible. The way he moved was like silk through the wind, so effortless and elegant; He knew he was hot like this. Taking another quick drag, Logan let the smoke fall from his lips as he tucked the cigar back in between his teeth, putting away his lighter. Reaching forward with his claws still extended, he hooked two of the blades into the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you forward. There was about a person’s space between the bookshelf and the window, making it easy for him to grab at you. Of course, your body obeyed his silent command, tripping slightly as you tried to regain your footing. Placing both of your hands on his thick, warm thighs, you licked your lips. The smoke being released from both the cigar and his mouth captured your attention, making it difficult to focus on what he was saying. The way his motions flowed were so smooth, it was impossible to say anything else to him.

Taking a rather large drag of his cigar, he puffed his cheeks out a bit to hold it all in. It took you by surprise, why he was holding it all in his mouth. Retracting his claws on his right hand, Logan grabbed at your jaw like a man possessed, pushing his meaty fingertips into your flesh. The slight ache of his possessiveness made your mouth part, a pained look on your face that you were lost in. Logan got close to you, his lips only mere inches away from your mouth as you whimpered. With your lips parted, Logan mimicked your motions as he breathed out. The soft, heady tendrils of smoke wafted from his mouth into yours, causing you to let them stir. Tobacco mixed with the sweetness of the wrap caused your eyes to dilate, boring into Logan with pure unadulterated lust. There was no mistaking it as he shotgunned his cigar with you, his smirk prevalent. “That’s my good girl.” He crooned, taking in your big eyes, the heat of your skin – basking in your glory.

You blew the smoke right back at Logan while he chuckled, licking his lips to wet them as he took another puff. There was something so intoxicating about how you reacted, it was like watching a painting come to life. From the first day he met you, he knew you were something else – he had to challenge you. Almost four years later and you’re still trying to get with him, he admired it. Finally, the silent love he had for you could be shown, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for you. You made him work to catch you, now you had to work to get what you wanted. “Get on your knees.” The command fell off of Logan’s lips so naturally you almost didn’t catch it at first. Your eyes glossy as you watched him, your brain not keeping up. Narrowing his eyes at you, he cocked his brow as he laid the cigar to the side, watching to see your reaction. “I’m sorry?” You questioned without realizing, your face slack with lust.

Reaching forward towards you, Logan grabbed your neck once more, this time yanking you so close to his face that you felt his breath waft over your features. “Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.” There was no hesitation in Logan’s voice as he stated his command, letting his face go rigid to show he was getting pissed off. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” You wanted to, every fiber of your being wanted to disobey him, make him angry so he was rough with you – at the same time you didn’t want to make him mad, not yet anyway. Nodding to him against his hand, you slipped down to your knees easily with a moan, pressing out your wet bottom lip as you gazed up at him.

Logan rolled his eyes as he grabbed the cigar again, pressing it against your lips. It’s when you take a drag of it that he pulls out, putting it in his own mouth once more. With his hand now free from holding his cigar, he quickly flicked open his belt buckle, undoing the top button on his jeans as you took the silent command to pull his zipper down. His erection was stiff against his jeans and left nothing to the imagination. He was big, he was hot, and he was fucking turned on. Watching you with a lustful glow in his eyes, Logan groaned as he watched you, never letting you have the last word: “You may have started the game princess, but I am going to finish it.”

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Tagging: @livelaughl0ve3 @mehjustalasshere @allen-444 @begaytotallygay @tezooks @hughj1d @mami-veracruz @salemslostwitch @karencaribou @princesstarble @dirtylittlefairytales @hbwrelic @mosscrissfemmefatale @pinkanonwriting @craziersarah98 @actuallybridgetjones @silversprings-mp3 @lokidovahkiin

[copperhawks]

You're not the first person to make this comparison on this post, but when I wrote this, I hadn't done a re-read of SOTL yet (and the last time I'd read In the Hand of the Goddess was... a LONG time ago, so I couldn't really make a good comparison between these two scenes), but I have now and I've been sort-of thinking this over and have some thoughts on it.

For me, this isn't so much an indication of them being similar so much as it is just an unusually similar narrative beat. A character chooses to disobey an order about not crossing a border during a war in order to go save someone who has been captured and, in so doing, takes out a major antagonist that leads to the end of the war.

But the MOTIVES behind the two actions seem very different to me. Jon goes to save Alanna because he's in love with her and can't bear to lose her. Kel goes to save the refugees because she's responsible for them and takes that extremely seriously. She does CARE about the people, obviously, it's still being done out of love, but she's not doing it because she can't stand to live without them so much as that she's INSANELY duty-driven. She goes up to save Lalasa for similar reasons after being told that a noble's duty to their servants is basically sacrosanct. Kel goes across the border because she believes it's the honorable thing to do. Jon's motives aren't about honor and are, arguably, somewhat more selfish in origin.

So while this is obviously a very similar storyline, I don't find that it's an example of these two characters being similar to each other.

Kel is willing to give up EVERYTHING out of a sense of duty to the people she's responsible for. While Jon is someone who does a LOT of things for his people and spends a lot of his time and energy making life better for them, I can't recall a moment where Jon is ready to give up everything he wants and everything he's worked for just to save his people. Jon actually tells Kel in Squire that he and Thayet work pretty hard to keep themselves OUT of that kind of danger whenever possible, that's the point behind all of the compromises. All of the arranged marriages for his kids are to try to ensure peace through political connections and stop fighting in wars.

This is where they DO differ because Kel feels like someone who, at least at this point in her life, is willing to die to protect her people. But Jon is someone who will do whatever it takes to LIVE for his people for as long as possible. Jon understands that, in his position, it's more beneficial for everybody for him to make compromises in order to stay alive so he can keep making changes that will make people's lives better in the long run. This is a lesson that, while we do see Kel LEARNING it a little during Lady Knight, isn't one that really plays into the final conflict of the book. It's possible that Kel will end up being even more like Jon in this way as she gets older, more willing to stay back herself and trust others to do what needs to be done in her place, but by the end of Lady Knight, that just isn't who she is yet.

And maybe that's what's interesting about the comparison. Kel isn't all that much like Jon YET, and she's certainly not all that much like Jon when HE was 19, but Kel shows signs of being a lot more like Jon as he is during HER series as she gets older and gains more experience. Kel is very righteous, very inclined to just act and get things done, but over the 9 years we get to know her, she has to learn more and more about when to act and when to WAIT. She has to learn when to push and when to bend a little.

As a woman, she's going to be held to different standards than her male counterparts like Raoul or Wyldon, she'll be dealing with different limitations and setbacks than they ever did. And so her approach to leadership will, by necessity, have to be different than theirs was. She does look to them for inspiration, but in execution, I think she'll likely end up far more like Jon. Jon is obviously not a woman himself, but as King he's ALSO held to different higher standards than his compatriots and he was very young when he took the throne and has been very progressive throughout his reign which means he's dealing with certain limitations and setbacks that more conservative people might not.

Kel has strong opinions and firm ideas of what the world SHOULD be like, and that's going to lead her down a similar path of trying to CHANGE things, but she'll be dealing with all of the same limitations that Jon is, which will force her to approach things the way he does. She's going to have to compromise, she's going to have to bend, she's going to have to learn when a fight is worth having, she's going to have to learn to give a little in order to get a little later.

Kel would probably not have crossed the border for just one person. If it had been Neal, for example, and Neal alone, she may not have decided to take that risk. Neal is a trained knight like herself and probably won't thank her for giving up everything to come save him. Kel could probably have been convinced not to cross the border for him, as much as it would've pained her. And Jon I think would not necessarily give up everything to save a few hundred people the way Kel did, even though it would pain him to have to make that choice.

Kel IS like Jon and will likely become even more so as she ages, but crossing the border just isn't one of those places where their similarities are showcased to me.

The funniest thing to me about Kel, and maybe one of the most interesting because of how understated it is, is that Kel becomes a good commander in the end, not by emulating Wyldon who was cold and implacable and insensitive, or by emulating Raoul who mostly only disobeys orders out of principle or because he has an issue with what the order says about his personal relationship with Jon, but by emulating JON.

Kel doesn't even LIKE Jon, she BARELY respects him as a person. He's a good enough ruler that she's willing to fight for him and swear loyalty to him and to at least mostly believe that he wouldn't work with Blayce to make his own killing monsters, but that's as far as it goes for Kel. If he's kind to her, she finds it uncomfortable and almost untrustworthy because she assumes he doesn't care about her and so his kindness and respect towards her must be fake.

But from the outside, as readers, we know just how much Jon fought for Kel. We know how much he does respect her right to be a knight. Jon is the sole reason that Kel DID get the opportunity to prove herself, if he'd capitulated to Wyldon completely, she just wouldn't have ever been allowed to join. Kel doesn't KNOW THAT, obviously, but we do. We know that Jon did everything he could to find a way to convince Wyldon to let Kel become a page. While Wyldon claims later that the reason he chose to let her stay at the end of the probation year was because his better judgment convinced him she'd earned it, I'd be willing to bet that part of that better judgment also included knowing if he couldn't prove to JON that she needed to go, then he'd be in trouble. Kel was training and working in front of plenty of other trainers and teachers who could easily contradict Wyldon's lies if he'd tried it, many of whom are closer to Jon than they are to Wyldon.

Kel's experiences and feelings about that experience are entirely valid, and she doesn't have the knowledge we do about how hard Jon fought for her, so it's not shocking that she's upset with him for a good portion of her series. She never even discovers this truth by the end of her series, even though she does get a lesson from Jon and Thayet (and Raoul to some degree) about how politics and compromises work in order to make changes happen. So her opinion of him by the end is boiled down to the quote from Squire: "good kings weren't always good men." It makes sense for her to think this, but because Kel's knowledge base is so limited (and her worldview so black and white for much of her series), it makes her an EXTREMELY unreliable narrator about this particular issue.

Kel believes that while Jon generally does his duty and keeps the peace, he doesn't actually care all that much about his people as individuals. But in their only meaningful conversation in Squire, Jon is able to point out that he (and Thayet, who is actually equal to Jon in power, something Kel either doesn't know which would be a failure in her education or just tends to ignore so she can focus her ire on Jon) has to make a LOT of compromises in order to get ANYTHING useful done at all. Sometimes, often, it means making deals with people he doesn't like or people he just fundamentally disagrees with, because it's the first step in a multi-step plan to help more people in the long run. He also points out that just throwing his weight and authority around in order to be able to change everything he wants to change immediately regardless of what anyone else thinks about it is a great way to get himself and his family killed. Because even if he had good intentions, that would be tyranny. It does make Kel think a little, but she doesn't tend to like him much still afterwards, her resentment from her page years will always color her opinion of him a little.

However, then she gets to Haven and she's suddenly tossed into a position of leadership over a lot of other people, many of whom disagree with each other or disagree with her or both. And all of the sudden, Kel has to make compromises. She doesn't LIKE the way the sergeants often treat their men, especially the sergeants whose men are convicts, but there's very very little she can do about it without really pissing off those same sergeants and that's not something she can afford to do. There's a moment when Neal starts getting frustrated about the treatment of the convicts and she takes him out to vent to her so he doesn't vent to the sergeants, something that the sergeants would then take out on their men. Kel's reasoning as she does this is that she "preferred to avoid battles with them now so she would have authority with them later if she needed to use it." Later, Kel is talking to Daine and she says "That's all this job is... Trying to please everyone and pleasing no one. And it will only get worse, not better."

Both of these moments showcase Kel choosing to make compromises. She may not like the way the sergeants treat the convicts, but she needs to stay on the sergeants' good sides because she doesn't have enough resources to butt heads with them nor enough authority to just force the issue, and even if she DID, it could cause the sergeants to become troublesome or take out their frustration with her on the men in ways she can't see as well. But staying on the sergeants' good sides might mean letting some of their maltreatment slide if it's not physically harming the convicts. And even setting that aside, she's dealing with nearly 500 refugees eventually, all of which are from different towns in the area and have different needs, not all of which she can accommodate. This requires compromise. Sometimes she can please some of them and not others, but mostly she probably just ends up not pleasing anybody because that's often how compromises WORK.

She never makes the active connection to Jon and his lesson on leadership from Squire while she's in Haven, but that quote up there about how this job (aka being a commander) is all about trying to please everyone and pleasing no one? It sounds a HECK of a lot like "good kings weren't always good men." You can try your best to help others, but often doing the right thing can involve making everyone unhappy. You can't be everybody's friend if you're going to get anything done.

Some of this she might've learned from Raoul's style of command, but Raoul commands a fairly small amount of people (at least in comparison to a King), and so we see him able to be pretty friendly to the people he commands in a way that Jon is perhaps unable to do. And she might believe that she learned some of this from Wyldon, but Wyldon had a tendency to be very unfair and biased due to his raging bigotry and conservative values, as well as the fact that he doesn't actually even LIKE being a training master and that likely impacted the way he treated the pages (he's almost never that kind to the pages, whereas we see him capable of being quite kind with the refugees later, which is where Kel comes to the conclusion that he hadn't enjoyed being a training master).

But Jon makes an entire speech about how he (and Thayet) have been working THEIR ENTIRE REIGN to change laws that help people. He explains how they have to consider the needs of merchants, nobles, farmers, street people, priests/priestesses, and mages. They have to consider not only what these people might need or want, but also what they could do when they feel sufficiently offended and how that could impact not just the royal family or the nobility but the realm as a whole. Jon points out that they HAVE made changes, for the better, and that just because they don't always succeed at everything or because they have to compromise sometimes, doesn't mean they aren't working at making changes or that they don't care about helping people. Not everyone you have power over is going to be your friend, they might not even be someone you like. But if you're going to take on the job of leadership, that's something you have to be willing to accept and work with, which often means making compromises with people whose needs and values are contradictory to your own.

Jon probably knows when he makes the compromise with Wyldon that it will likely impact a lot of people's good opinion of him. Alanna is right there and clearly angry, and we know Thayet doesn't like the decision, either. And it's entirely possible that Jon knows in the moment that Kel herself will put the blame on him because he's the King. But he also knows that if he insists on Kel being allowed to be a page without trying to compromise with Wyldon, Wyldon will quit over it and he'll end up with ten DIFFERENT problems that could cause a lot bigger issues to far more people than just one girl. So he makes the compromise. He sacrifices Alanna and Thayet and even Kel's good opinion of him in order to ensure that Kel gets the opportunity to become a Knight without turning all of his nobles against him which could ultimately lead to a civil war. Is it fair? No, and he knows it. But it's the best option he has in order to get the outcome they all actually want which is just for Kel to have the chance to prove herself.

Kel has to make similar choices once she's finally in a position of leadership of her own. And whether she realizes it or not, without ever even spending more than a few minutes with Jon, she ends up emulating his leadership style more than anybody else's because it WORKS and it works WELL. She'll probably never admit it, she might never even realize it herself, but she's so much more like Jon than any of the other men she sees as role models. And I love that. I love the dramatic irony of that, that the one person Kel only barely respects because of a compromise he made on her behalf that she'll never even know about, is the person Kel ends up most resembling. Jon is the reason she has the opportunity to become the Protector of the Small in the first place, Jon is the person who created that environment that allowed her to nurture those values, and she'll probably never even really be able to acknowledge that, because sometimes that's what being a good leader means.

[revelboo]

I'm soooo obsessed with 'Skin and Bones' it makes me look stupid. I daydream about it at work lmao. Honestly fantastic

For me, it’s as fun to write soft Megatron as it is to write feral TFP Megs. Mass displaced mech 18+ 🌶️

Skin and Bones Pt 9- extended cut

IDW Megatron x Reader

Servos trembling as they curl into fists, he shrugs off Soundwave’s hand on his shoulder. Knows the communications officers is concerned, but the energon splattered on his hands and chassis isn’t his. It rarely ever is.

“Leave me,” he growls, wishing he could gentle his tone. But that fury is a living thing inside his spark. Another failed coup to put down. It’s not like it’s anything new, but he’s just so tired of it and violence is the only way to keep his throne. The only thing his followers respect and he hadn’t been able to temper his blows, because betrayal always brings out the worst in him. Those memories always too close to the surface.

Drags him right back to the gladiator pits, struggling and clawing just to survive, because one wrong move will cost his life. Never being able to relax, not even during recharge. Being the strongest had placed a target on his head. Made him plenty of enemies.

And finally alone, that rage shakes him, sinking into his spark. Because everything he’s done has been for them. Fighting for freedom, to not be leashed by the aristocracy ever again. Dragging his chair away from his desk, he slings it across the room. Wants to tear the walls down around him, but it’s the sharp cry from his berth that freezes him. Chains that fury.

Spark constricting as he realizes he’d forgotten all about you. Head turning, he finds you pressed against the wall on his berth, eyes wide with fear. Seeing the real him for the first time, the angry mech who’d fought so hard just to survive, who’d grown bitter and determined. And you’re terrified.

“Little one,” he growls, voice too rough still as he approaches. The chair didn’t land anywhere near you, but he’s been so careful to not show you the worst of him, because around you he can relax. Remember that there were times before the fights that weren’t easy by any means, but were almost happy. Companionship found with the other miners, a sense of family that had been taken from him. Reaching out a hand, he doesn’t try to touch you as you flinch back, little hands curled against yourself. Afraid if he tries to touch you, it’ll send you running. And he’s afraid of what he’ll do in turn if you reject him. He’s just so tired of it all, but you give him comfort. A little spot of trusting warmth.

Eyes shiny, you look from his outstretched hand to his face. Slowly letting out a breath and coming to him to lay a warm palm on his servo. Still trusting him even if you’re scared.

“Everything okay?” You ask, looking up at him as a single tear slides down your cheek and you reach up to scrub it away. Afraid, but asking him if he’s okay and your concern aches in his spark.

Knows how dangerous it is after the brawl he’d just had. If anyone comes looking for him, if they get past their fear and come at him together? Knows he shouldn’t risk it even as he places his ped on the berth, leaning forward and mass shifting. Closing the distance between you as he shrinks and seeing your eyes widen as he carefully grips your little hand. Even like this, you’re so much smaller than he is, fragile. But as you look up at him, he’s snared by those eyes, the little flecks of color in them he’s never noticed.

“You’re little. Smaller,” you whisper with a soft, awkward laugh, eyes dropping to stare at his hand gripping yours. “Didn’t know you could do that.”

He needs to see those eyes again, his free hand reaching to cup your soft cheek and tip your face up. Feeling when you lay your palm on his hand as he slides a servo along your cheek. Accepting his touch despite the faint tremor he can still feel, those trusting eyes seeing him. The good and the bad, and not running. Venting sharply when his touch leaves a smear of energon on your cheek, marking your skin with his sins.

Because that’s what he’s always done, isn’t it? Every time he reaches out, he just ends up destroying what he’s trying to protect.

He’s frozen, those red optics fixed on his servos against your cheek as you try to calm your racing heart. That had been the other side of the coin, the vicious warlord that the Seekers had whispered about. Feared. Red optics glowing, denta bared as he’d seized his chair in energon wet hands and thrown it. That hatred twisting his face mixed with despair, cutting you so deeply, piercing the fear.

Those wet servos are touching you, dampening your skin. And he’s just staring, venting raggedly like he’s about to lose it all over again. That’s what makes you catch his hand between both of yours when he tries to snatch it away. Eyes dropping as he hesitates and you pull, turning yourself so your back is to him, his arm under yours and pinned to your body. So you can examine that big hand. “I like when you touch my cheek or play with my hair,” you begin, unsure of how to say what you need to, what he needs to hear. Playing with a servo to curl it slightly and amazed that he’s letting you. “These hands don’t scare me, they’re warm against me when I sleep. They’re strong, but they keep me safe.”

“They destroy, too,” he murmurs.

He’s so close he’s almost touching you and you feel the warmth of him when he vents and it stirs your hair. “Mine can, too.”

He huffs out what might be a bitter laugh at that, but he would think you’re too little, too fragile to do any harm. Giving in, you lean back into him. Soaking in his warmth and safety and realizing how attached to him you are. That you like that rumbling voice, like those big, gentle hands. It’s not like you’d ever deluded yourself into thinking he was safe, but he’d made you feel seen and cherished. He’d felt safe even knowing what he was and what he’s capable of.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Tugging his hand up, you press a kiss against the center of his palm. You can’t look at him, can’t risk seeing the surprise or worse, the disgust on his face. Cause to him, you’re a pet. A weird little alien he adopted as his. So you brace yourself when he turns you, those red optics searching your face.

“You should be,” he says, cupping your face in those warm hands. “I terrify myself.” And his head dips, his mouth brushing against yours.

More of a question than a kiss, a warm stroke of his lips against yours and he’s lifting his head. Going up on tiptoes as warmth spreads through you, you catch his helm and drag him back so you can mold your own mouth to his. Wanting this, him even though it’s crazy. You’re two very different species, but being held by him, drowsing to the thrum of his spark under you, it feels like coming home. And you want all of it. Want to hang on with both hands so you’re not left alone again, because after him? You might not survive that loneliness.

His glossa slides against the seam of your lips entering when you part for him. Those big hands sliding over you, dragging you closer as your feet leave the ground. His mouth moves against yours in a hungry demand and one of his arms cages you to him.

Your mouth is all heat and hunger against his, those soft hands clinging to him as if afraid he might stop. Even if he’d wanted to, he’s not sure he could now. Because you’d reached out, taken what you wanted and given him permission to do the same. No, there’s no stopping until he takes everything he can, loses himself in whatever comfort you’ll allow him. Because you? There’s no conniving or plotting in those warm eyes. Pinning you to his frame, he goes down on his knees and lays you down under him, head lifting slightly so he can find those eyes. Reassure himself that he can have this without destroying what little he has.

“Don’t go,” you whisper, face flushed as you reach for him and how can he deny you?

Slowly do he doesn’t scare you, he finds the bottom edge of your shirt and slides it up to reveal soft skin. “I’m here,” he says and you smile faintly, little hands moving to help him strip you. And only then, bare underneath him, do you avoid his optics as he surfs a palm against you, mapping you out with his servos. “Look at me.” It’s a demand and not as gentle as he’d meant, but you hesitantly meet his optics. “We’re very different.”

“I know,” you say, reaching up to skim your fingers over his chassis in barely there touches. As if not sure if you’re allowed.

Catching your wrist, he presses your palm more firmly against him. “I like those differences.” Shifting slightly, he continues his slow exploration. Finding where he can touch you to make you shiver, squirm away, or gasp. Then his servos find you, cup you and stroke that wet heat. Realizing that as different as you are, it feels like you’re made for him as he presses a servo inside you and you arch. Primus, help him as he frees his spike. Needing to be buried deep inside you even as he strokes that servo deep.

“Don’t stop,” you protest when he pulls his hand away and he laughs softly. He can’t even if you asked him to as he shifts to cover you. Little eyes widening as you feel his spike slide against you, then slowly press inside. “Oh.”

You’re so tight and wet wrapped around his spike as he sheaths himself. He can feel you clench on him before you relax and soften as he cups your cheek. Rocks himself against you with a growl, savoring the feel of you. “I love those differences,” he snarls, beginning to move against you. Hips driving urgently against yours, still wound up with that anger from earlier. Taking that frustration out on you, claiming you rougher than he intended. And you hold onto him, murmuring against his neck. Right there, please, his name, falling almost mindlessly from your lips against the mesh of his neck. Accepting him even like this when you deserve gentle and soft.

And when you cry out and tighten on him, he keeps rutting against you. Denta bared as he thrusts and chases you over that edge. Feeling you milk his spike as he buries himself deep and releases. Claiming you as his. Needing you and those soft hands that had reached out, those eyes that had seen him and not turned away. Knows he doesn’t deserve you, but wants to hold onto this as long as you’ll trust yourself to him, because you feel more like home than anywhere he’s ever been.

Previous

[ye4gerz]

one more time — lee haechan

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x f!reader! 18+ MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: angst! sexual themes. ‧˚⭒ word count: 2.5k ‧˚⭒ cw: friends with benefits, mentions of smoking weed, sexual references. ‧˚⭒ summary: you share a bond with donghyuck that blurs the line between friendship and something more, but while your heart aches with unspoken love, he seems to brush off your shared moments as part of your unique connection. will you finally have to let go of the love you’ve been holding onto for so long?

Your eyes are drawn to the lava lamp across the room, resting on its side table. Its soft glow mixes with the dimly lit fluorescent lights scattered throughout the space, while the city lights and the flickering of distant buildings reflect faintly in the glass. The combination creates a scene so breathtakingly serene, it feels like stepping into a dream.

Half-dressed and leaning against the headboard, you glance down at your thighs. They’re marked with small bruises, faint and tender, remnants of love. The hem of the oversized dress shirt clings lazily to your frame, its edges barely brushing over the evidence of the night.

There’s so much more to the night sky than stars, you think, letting the moment stretch into silence.

Your hair sways gently as you shift, bringing your knees closer to your chest and resting your head atop them. Your gaze remains fixed on the glow of the city outside, its beauty distracting you from everything else in the room—everything right in front of you.

Then, from the bathroom door just ahead, a different kind of light spills out. A soft glow filters through the small crevices, steam escaping lazily into the air, curling and dissipating as if carrying whispers from the heat within.

Your eyes shift to the figure stepping out from the bathroom as the door opens. The light behind him is too strong at first, but it quickly fades, leaving only the soft glow of the room and the city outside.

A towel wraps low around his waist, clinging to his hips, while a smaller towel rests in his hands, which he uses to dry his hair. His head tilts to the side, his gaze drifting to the window, admiring the same city-scape you had been fixated on moments before.

Your gaze trails down his body, warmth blooming in your chest as a blissful smile spreads across your face. He catches you staring, but it doesn’t faze him. A soft smirk tugs at his lips, his eyes meeting yours with an amused glint.

He approaches you, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice low and warm.

You tilt your head toward him, your smile soft and genuine. “Really good,” you reply, your voice just above a whisper.

He nods, satisfied with your answer, before turning toward the desk across the room, where his duffel bag lays. As he changes into comfortable clothes, your eyes follow his every movement, as if the rest of the world has fallen away. Time feels suspended, each action of his deliberate and mesmerizing.

Once dressed, he picks up a freshly rolled blunt from the desk and walks back to you, a lighter in hand. He ignites it with practiced ease, taking a quick inhale before offering it to you.

“Here,” he murmurs, holding it steady for you as you take it between your fingers. You inhale deeply, the smoke filling your chest and spreading warmth throughout your body. He watches you with a fond smile, his hand still hovering near yours as if ready to guide you should you need it.

The moment feels impossibly calm, as though the night has cocooned the two of you in its glow, leaving only the quiet intimacy of shared space and quiet understanding.

His eyes stayed fixed on you, barely glancing at the blunt in his hand. He suppressed a groan as he watched your lips press against it for your pull. The way the soft glow of the room caught on your features left him breathless. He couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, how undeniably real you were.

How can someone this perfect exist in the same world as me? he thought, overwhelmed.

He pushed his feelings down, swallowing hard as he cleared his throat and settled beside you on the bed. If only you could hear the chaotic storm of his thoughts, thoughts he refused to let escape.

Do you kiss him? Do you tell him? The questions swirled in your mind, making your chest tighten. You were only supposed to be friends. He still thinks you’re just friends, doesn’t he? you wondered, forcing yourself to meet his gaze for a split second before looking away. A connection this deep could only mean just friends… you told yourself, though the ache in your chest screamed otherwise.

This shared secret between you two started the moment you first met. The attraction had been instant, electric— but feelings? Those had taken their time to grow. It wasn’t until your fifth night in his old dorm, tangled in his sheets and listening to his quiet breaths as he slept, that you realized the truth—you loved your best friend.

Donghyuck… he never took things seriously. You had never seen him commit to anything or anyone, not in a way that lasted. He was unpredictable, his next moves impossible to anticipate, even for you. What was the point in confessing? You told yourself he would never take you seriously. So, you settled, convincing yourself that being best friends with benefits was enough.

None of your mutual friends had a clue. To them, the two of you were just part of a big, chaotic family. For a while, you’d been content to leave it that way, but now? Sitting here in the quiet glow of the room, his proximity making your heart race, contentment felt like a distant memory.

The secret late nights in hotel rooms had only started recently. They were a far cry from the cramped intimacy of his dorm room, yet they carried an undeniable weight. Nights like tonight felt like slipping into a different reality, one where the lines between friends and something more blurred beyond recognition.

You stole a glance at him as he sat close, his profile soft in the low light. He wasn’t looking at the blunt in his hand; he wasn’t looking at the window or the city lights. He was looking at you. Always, it seemed, you. And despite the walls you’d built to protect yourself, a dangerous thought crept into your mind.

Maybe he feels it too.

Just as quickly, you pushed it away. After all, Donghyuck wasn’t someone who stayed. You didn’t know if you could survive the heartbreak if he left.

Meanwhile, he tucks a strand of your freshly dried hair behind your ear. His eyes linger on your face, full of admiration he doesn’t even realize is romantic. Donghyuck convinces himself that this is just how your friendship naturally is—effortless, intimate, and deeply connected. To him, this closeness is simply a testament to your bond, nothing more.

Now you’re starting to believe otherwise. You catch fleeting moments that make you wonder if he feels the same—his lingering touches, the way his gaze softens when it lands on you. Yet, you’re all too aware of the consequences of indulging in that idea, of letting hope root itself in your chest.

You feel like a liar. Like a fraud when you run your fingers through his hair, looking deeply into his eyes with an admiration that goes beyond the friendship you so casually reaffirmed yesterday morning. The words “we’re great friends” feel like a betrayal now, hanging in the air between you like an unspoken confession.

The clock reads 2:00 a.m., and the blunt is nothing more than a spent bud. The air feels heavy, your mind fuzzy from the haze of smoke and proximity to him. You can tell Donghyuck’s head is in the same dazed state, his movements slightly slower, his voice softer than usual.

You’re the only person he doesn’t like calling him Haechan. Though everyone else uses that name, there’s something about hearing his full name leave your lips that sets him apart. He doesn’t understand why, but it makes him feel like more than just the persona he’s known for—more real, more seen.

He disposes of the last bit of the blunt and sinks back beside you. Your heartbeat quickens as you watch him settle, tugging you closer without hesitation. You let him do this, let him fall into these moments with you, knowing this is how he escapes from the real world. His eyes lock onto yours, and you’re frozen under their intensity. Slowly, you lift yourself up, leaning in until your breaths mirror each other’s, warm and steady.

Donghyuck’s eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by your movement. Your lips hover just a breath away from his, almost grazing. For a fleeting second, it feels like everything is about to change.

But then, he pulls back, sighing softly.

And just like that, the weight in your chest collapses, sinking into a hollow ache. You feel the air shift, the unspoken tension unraveling into a silence so loud it’s deafening.

“We can’t…” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

The words slice through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the sting of rejection setting in. After what feels like an eternity of silence, you finally find your voice. “And why not?” you ask, the words trembling as they leave your lips. “We just did something way beyond just kissing.”

His jaw tightens as he repositions himself, sitting up straighter and avoiding your gaze. His eyes drift to the door, wanting a way to escape this conversation. “We’re just best friends, Y/N. You know this already,” he says, his tone steadier than you expect. “We help each other out and keep it from our friends. That’s… that’s the best way we can do this. Until we find partners of our own.”

You hear the hesitation in his voice, the faint crack of uncertainty beneath the surface. Yet, his words feel final, sharp and unyielding. He hates himself for saying it, for pushing you away when all he wants is to pull you closer.

Donghyuck doesn’t know why this moment feels so different. It’s been years of this routine—a delicate balance of unspoken feelings and blurred lines. But tonight, as he sees the hurt flicker across your face, he feels the shift in his own chest. He’s confused, lost in the tangle of emotions he’s never allowed himself to fully confront.

Why does it feel like everything has changed? Why does it feel like he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life?

“If that’s the case, then why do you keep seeing me?” you ask, your voice trembling with emotion. “Why do you sneak glances and touches when we’re in public, knowing we could get caught? Why do you call me in the middle of the day just to say you miss my voice? Why do you look at me with those eyes, only to tell me something else?” Your voice cracks as you plead for an answer, one you’re almost certain won’t come.

He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, but he doesn’t respond. His gaze shifts to the door, then to the floor, as if the answers he needs are hidden somewhere beneath his feet.

“If you want to leave, then go already,” you spit out, your anger barely masking the hurt. The haze of your high evaporates, leaving only a raw ache in its place.

“Let me explain, Y/N,” he protests, his voice desperate.

“You know what? I’ll do you one better,” you snap, grabbing your shorts and pulling them on with shaky hands. You reach for your bag, ready to leave.

He reacts immediately, rushing to you and grabbing your wrist. “Please don’t… that’s not what I meant. Let’s talk,” he begs, his voice softer now, almost breaking.

You stop, meeting his eyes, and you see the sincerity there—the same sincerity that’s broken you time and time again. With a heavy sigh, you give in, though your heart still aches. You allow yourself to be led back, though the tension in the room feels like it could swallow you whole. You blame the weed, telling yourself it’s the only reason why you’re backing down.

The city lights seem dimmer now, the room darker than you remember. The silence no longer fills the space; instead, it’s the unbearable weight of the tension between you that lingers.

“We can’t keep doing this, Donghyuck,” you whisper, your head hanging low as tears threaten to spill. Your voice is quiet, but your words cut through the air like glass.

“I know. I’m sorry…” he begins, but his words soon blur into a muffled hum. You’ve heard this speech before, and you already know how it ends.

It’s the same thing he always says. The same tells about how important you are to him, how much your friendship means. He doesn’t know how to get through life without you by his side. You almost laugh at the bitter irony of it all—his words sound more like a love confession than a friendship plea, yet he’s still blind to the truth.

You swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in your throat. You’ve heard this before, and yet you always let yourself believe it could mean something different. That maybe this time, he might finally realize that all your emotions, all your pain, stems from love. As his words wash over you again, you realize you’re a fool for ever thinking he’d see it.

“Donghyuck…” you start, but the words catch in your throat. Your chest feels heavy, weighed down by the burden of loving someone who can’t seem to love you back the same way. You close your eyes, willing the tears not to fall, and prepare yourself for the only thing you can do now—let go.

You sit beside him on the bed, your head still hanging low as your eyes drift to the bruises on your thighs. Once, you had been proud of them—marks of something passionate, something shared. Now, they only fill you with sadness, a reminder of the emotional tug-of-war you can’t seem to escape.

You tell yourself it’s time to let him go, to make this the last night he accidentally toys with your emotions, knowingly or not. The resolve feels strong for a fleeting moment, but then you think about the way the night unfolded—the shared laughter, the shared touches, the warmth you felt.

The night was so perfect, you think. Why ruin it now?

And that’s the thought that breaks your resolve. That’s the thought that convinces you to stay.

“I understand,” you finally say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Let’s just go back to how it was before, okay? I’m getting pretty tired anyway.”

He looks at you with a genuine smile, one so sincere it makes your chest tighten. He pulls you into a warm hug, his arms wrapping around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Thank you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice full of relief.

You don’t respond. Instead, you let yourself be held, feeling both comforted and broken at the same time.

Eventually, you both lie down, backs turned to each other as the lamps are switched off. The room plunges into darkness, but it does nothing to quiet the storm raging in your mind. You know the routine: he’ll leave first, slipping out the door with a quiet goodbye. You’ll stay behind, staring at the ceiling before finally making your way home.

Tonight will be no different. You’ll let your tears slide silently onto the pillow, knowing you’ve forgiven him one more time; even though it hurts, you’ll tell yourself it’s worth it—just for the chance to have him close, even if it’s not the way you wish it could be.

[aceyalonso]

god forbid - OSCAR PIASTRI

pairing: altar server!oscar piastri x pastors daughter!reader

summary : the indulgence in sin wasn't new to y/n, it never has been- but to oscar? he was as pure and innocent as a doe, the thought of sinning never even crossing his mind. but then again, everyone has to sin at one point, right?

warnings/notes : swearing, homoerotic tendencies between alexandra and rebecca, mentions of drinking, smut, sacrilegious themes, unspecified branch of Christianity, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (always use a condom guys!!), corruption, masturbation, improper use of hairbrush handle (iykwim), praise kink, use of "good boy", oral (m!receiving), edging, overstimulation, manipulation (if you squint)

word count : 18.1k

a/n : a very long and self indulgent fic HAHAHAH (please let me know if i missed any warnings, i lost count while writing)

main masterlist | 1k masterlist | taglist form

Y/n took a deep breath, steadying herself before stepping up to the altar. The church was filled with the familiar faces of her congregation, including her best friend Alexandra who had just finished delivering the first reading. Y/n smoothed her skirt and adjusted the microphone, her eyes scanning the pews until they landed on her father, the pastor, watching her intently from his seat.

She cleared her throat and began, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him."

As Y/n continued to read, her mind began to wander despite her best efforts to focus. Thoughts of her secret rebellious side crept in unbidden - the parties she snuck out to on the weekends, the alcohol she experimented with, the boys she flirted with behind her father's back. A thrill ran through her at the riskiness of it all, even as a twinge of guilt pricked at her conscience.

Y/n's eyes met Oscar's as she continued reading, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them. She quickly averted her gaze, focusing intently on the words in front of her. Oscar, with his innocent eyes and pure heart, was everything Y/n wasn't. He never drank, never smoked, never even looked at a girl the wrong way. Her father adored him, always going on about what a fine young man he was, how he might even make a good pastor someday.

God, Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. She knew she should be happy for Oscar, proud of his devotion and goodness. But instead, it made her feel even more like a fraud. Like she was just playing a part, pretending to be the perfect pastor's daughter while hiding her true, sinful self.

She felt a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she struggled to concentrate on the reading. Her eyes darted to Alexandra, who sat primly in the pew, the picture of innocence. But Y/n knew better. She knew about the wild parties they attended together, the boys they flirted with and sometimes took home. The way they would pass a guy back and forth, tossing him aside when they grew bored.

It was thrilling and exhilarating, a rush of power and control that Y/n craved. But here, in the church, surrounded by the pious faces of her congregation, it felt dirty. Shameful. She imagined what her father would think if he knew the truth about his precious daughter, and a wave of nausea washed over her.

Y/n swallowed hard and forced herself to focus on the words in front of her. She couldn't let anyone see the turmoil raging inside her. She had to keep up appearances, no matter the cost. Even if it meant burying her true self deeper and deeper until she hardly recognized who she was anymore.

She hurried through the final verse, her voice wavering slightly as she rushed to finish. "But each one is tempted when he is drawn away and enticed by his own evil desires. Then when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is accomplished, it brings forth death."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, a stark reminder of her own hypocrisy. Y/n stepped back from the lectern, her legs shaky beneath her. She glanced at her father, hoping he hadn't noticed her momentary lapse. But his eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene and untroubled.

As Y/n made her way back to her seat, she caught Oscar's eye once more. He gave her a small, encouraging smile, his faith in her unwavering. Y/n felt a pang of guilt, knowing she didn't deserve his trust. She slid into the pew beside Alexandra, who leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Nice job, girl. You almost had me worried there for a second." Alexandra giggled, her breath hot against Y/n's cheek.

Y/n leaned in close to Alexandra, her lips brushing against her friend's ear as she whispered, "Why the fuck is this the Bible verse chosen for today? It's making me feel so guilty."

Alexandra smirked, her blue eyes glinting with mischief. "You didn't feel guilty making out with that guy last night," she purred, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Or when you downed like, five shots in a row. Live a little, Y/n. God knows you deserve to let loose sometimes."

Y/n bit her lip, torn between her desire for freedom and the crushing weight of expectation. She knew Alexandra was right - she had spent the night before tangled in a stranger's arms, lost in a haze of alcohol and lust. But here, in the sanctity of the church, it all felt so wrong.

They turned their attention to the altar, watching as the altar servers busied themselves with the communion preparations. Oscar was among them, his movements precise and reverent.

Alexandra leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "So, did you even remember that guy's name? The one you were making out with last night?"

Y/n furrowed her brow, trying to recall the hazy details of the previous evening. "It started with an F, I think. Frank? Franco?" She shrugged, the names blurring together in her mind.

Alexandra giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "Typical Y/n. Always leaving a trail of broken hearts and empty beds wherever you go."

Y/n poked Alexandra in the side, eliciting a small "ow" from her friend. "Hey, don't forget, you aren't that innocent either, you know," she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I saw you making out with Rebecca last night."

Rebecca was a member of their church choir, known for her sweet voice and demure demeanor. The thought of her locked in a passionate embrace with Alexandra sent a thrill down Y/n's spine.

Alexandra shrugged, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Rebecca just wanted to try on my new lip gloss. You know how curious she is about makeup."

Y/n rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Sure, and I'm sure that's all it was. Just two innocent girls experimenting with cosmetics."

The two girls stood to join the congregation in singing the hymn. As the familiar melody filled the air, Y/n noticed Alexandra's gaze locking with Rebecca's across the church. The two exchanged heated looks, a silent conversation passing between them that spoke volumes.

Y/n leaned in close to Alexandra, her breath tickling her friend's ear. "Save the eye-fucking for outside of church, will you?" she whispered, a playful edge to her tone.

Alexandra shot Y/n a quick, apologetic smile before turning her attention back to the hymnal. But her eyes kept straying to Rebecca, a flush creeping up her neck.

As the hymn continued, Y/n found her own gaze drifting towards Oscar. She couldn't help it. There was something about him, something pure and untainted that drew her in like a moth to a flame.

Maybe it was the way her father spoke so highly of him, always going on about what a fine young man he was. Or maybe it was the way Oscar's innocence seemed to shine through in every action, every gesture. An innocence that Y/n suddenly found herself wanting to corrupt.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the thoughts. What was she thinking? Oscar was off-limits. He was practically family, for God's sake. And yet, the more she tried to push the idea away, the more it took root in her mind.

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as she watched Oscar from beneath her lashes. What would it be like, she wondered, to be the one to introduce him to the pleasures of the flesh? To watch that innocent face contort in ecstasy as she guided him through his first forbidden experiences?

She continued to sing along halfheartedly, her mind wandering as she imagined how Oscar would sound. Would he moan her name softly, breathlessly? Or would he cry out in ecstasy, his voice echoing off the church walls? She pictured him flushed and panting, his body glistening with sweat as he reached his peak.

The vivid fantasy caused a shiver to run down Y/n's spine, and she had to bite back a moan of her own. She was so lost in her lustful thoughts that she barely registered her father's voice booming through the church, calling the congregation to sit down.

Y/n settled into her seat, her eyes immediately seeking out Oscar. He was standing near the altar, his posture straight and attentive as he listened to her father begin the sermon. She shifted uncomfortably, her thighs rubbing together as she tried to ignore the growing ache between her legs.

"Calm down," Alexandra hissed, giving Y/n a pointed look. "Your dad's starting his sermon."

Y/n nodded, trying to focus on her father's words even as her mind raced with thoughts of Oscar.

"Temptation is a powerful force," her father intoned, his voice ringing out through the church. "It can lead us astray, cause us to stumble and fall. But we must resist, my children. We must hold fast to our faith, even in the face of the greatest temptations."

Y/n squirmed in her seat, her father's words hitting a little too close to home. She knew she should be paying attention, should be taking his message to heart. But all she could think about was the way Oscar's lips might feel against her skin, the way his hands might explore her body.

"Temptation comes in many forms," her father continued, his voice booming through the church. "It can be the lure of wealth, the promise of power, or the allure of the flesh. But we must be vigilant, my children. We must guard our hearts and our minds against the wiles of the devil."

Y/n reached into her small purse, fishing out a piece of candy she always kept on hand for long sermons. She and Alexandra often found their blood sugar dropping during the lengthy services, making it hard to concentrate on her father's words.

She unwrapped the candy slowly, trying to be discreet as she popped it into her mouth. The sweet flavor burst on her tongue, giving her a much-needed boost of energy. But even as she focused on the sermon, her mind kept wandering back to Oscar.

"Temptation can come from the most unexpected places," her father said, his voice rising with passion. "Even those we trust, those we love, can lead us astray if we are not careful. We must be on guard at all times, my children. We must be ready to resist temptation whenever it rears its ugly head."

Y/n shifted in her seat, her thighs clenching together as she tried to ignore the throbbing between her legs. She knew her father was right. Temptation could come from anywhere, even from someone as innocent and pure as Oscar. But that didn't make it any easier to resist.

She felt a jolt of electricity run through her as her father mentioned her name and the Bible verse she had read earlier. She glanced over at Oscar, catching his eye. He smiled at her, his expression warm and friendly, but Y/n couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if that smile was directed at her in a more intimate setting.

"My daughter Y/n read from the book of James earlier," her father continued, his voice ringing out through the church. "She spoke of the dangers of temptation, of how it can lead us astray if we are not careful. Let us all take heed of her words, my children. Let us all strive to resist the temptations that may come our way."

Y/n squirmed in her seat, her mind racing with forbidden thoughts. If anything, hearing her father speak about temptation only made it easier for her to imagine giving in to her desires with Oscar. She pictured him bending her over the altar, his hands roaming her body as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear.

She found herself zoning out, her foot bouncing restlessly on the floor as she struggled to focus on her father's sermon. She couldn't shake the feeling that Oscar was staring at her, his gaze intense and unwavering. It was as if he could read her mind, as if he knew exactly what kind of filthy thoughts were running through her head.

But instead of disgust or judgment, Y/n saw a flicker of something else in Oscar's eyes. Something that looked suspiciously like desire. Could it be that he wanted her too? That he was just as tempted by her as she was by him?

The thought sent a thrill of excitement through Y/n's body, even as a small voice in the back of her mind warned her to be careful. She knew she was playing with fire, entertaining such forbidden fantasies. But the temptation was just too strong to resist.

Y/n tore her gaze away from Oscar, closing her eyes as she tried to regain her composure. She could feel Alexandra's concerned gaze boring into her, and she knew she needed to say something to appease her friend.

"I have a stomachache," Y/n mumbled, the lie tasting bitter on her tongue. She knew damn well that it was everything but a stomachache that was causing her distress. It was the throbbing ache between her legs, the desperate need for release that consumed her thoughts.

Alexandra frowned, leaning in closer to whisper in Y/n's ear. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're about to pass out."

Y/n forced a weak smile, nodding her head. "I'll be fine. Just need some fresh air."

She stood abruptly, ignoring the surprised looks from those around her as she made her way towards the exit. She needed to get out of there and clear her head before she did something she would regret. But even as she pushed open the heavy wooden doors, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that Oscar's eyes were still on her.

Y/n slipped out into the garden near the chapel, desperate for some fresh air and a moment to collect herself. She could still hear her father's voice droning on from inside, his words washing over her in a distant, muffled blur.

She sank down onto a nearby bench, her head spinning as she tried to catch her breath. The scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass filled her nostrils, but even that couldn't distract her from the persistent ache between her legs.

Y/n tuned back in to the sermon every now and then, her father's voice rising and falling as he spoke of the dangers of temptation. But his words seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.

She felt lightheaded, dizzy with a heady mix of shame and desire. She knew she shouldn't be having these thoughts, especially not about Oscar. But she couldn't help it. The temptation was just too strong to resist.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as she sat alone in the garden. The rest of the Mass passed by in a blur, her father's voice fading into the background as she struggled to calm her racing thoughts.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle breeze that rustled through the leaves overhead. The scent of honeysuckle and jasmine filled her nostrils, a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.

But even as she tried to find peace in the tranquil surroundings, Y/n couldn't shake the image of Oscar from her mind. His innocent face, his kind eyes, the way his lips curved into that perfect smile. It was enough to drive her mad with desire.

Y/n shifted on the bench, her thighs clenching together as she fought the urge to touch herself right then and there. She knew it was wrong, knew that she was crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

As the Mass ended, Y/n heard footsteps approaching behind her. She turned to see her father, still dressed in his pastoral attire, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Y/n, are you alright?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry. "I saw you slip out during the sermon. Is everything okay?"

Y/n forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil raging inside her. "I'm fine, Dad. It was just really hot in there, and I wasn't feeling too well. Stomachache."

Her father nodded, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Well, if you're not feeling better, why don't you head home and rest? I can finish up here."

Y/n shook her head, determined to stay and make amends for her absence during the sermon. "No, I'm okay. I just need to pray the rosary, to make up for the time I missed."

He nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Alright, but if you start feeling worse, don't hesitate to come home and rest. Alexandra has your purse, so you can swing by their place to pick it up on your way."

Y/n thanked her father, watching as he turned to greet the other parishioners. She knew she should head inside and pray, should try to cleanse her mind of the impure thoughts that plagued her. But as she stood up from the bench, she couldn't help but glance towards the church, wondering if Oscar was still inside.

With a sigh, Y/n made her way toward the church entrance, steeling herself for the battle ahead. She knew it wouldn't be easy to resist temptation, especially with Oscar so close by. But she had to try, had to prove to herself and to God that she was stronger than her baser instincts.

Y/n made her way to the front pew, the chapel eerily quiet save for the occasional chirp of a bird that had snuck in through the open windows. She knelt down on the cushioned kneeler, the cool stone of the church floor pressing against her knees.

She began to pray the rosary, her fingers moving mechanically over the beads as she recited the familiar prayers. But even as she tried to focus on the words, her mind kept wandering, her thoughts straying to Oscar.

She pictured him kneeling in front of her, his head buried between her thighs as he devoured her with his mouth. She could almost feel his tongue lapping at her most sensitive parts, could almost hear the sounds of his pleasure as he discovered the taste of her.

Y/n bit her lip, stifling a moan as the fantasy played out in her mind. She knew it was wrong, knew that she was defiling the sacred space with her impure thoughts. But she couldn't stop, couldn't tear her mind away from the image of Oscar worshipping her body like it was the Holy Grail.

Y/n prayed harder, her whispers turning into full-voiced recitations as she tried to drown out the sinful images flooding her mind. But it was no use. The more she tried to focus on her prayers, the more vivid the fantasies became.

In her mind's eye, she saw herself and Oscar tangled together in the bell tower, their bodies moving in a frenzied rhythm as the church bells tolled overhead. She imagined him bending her over the altar, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her again and again.

And then there was the confession booth, the small, dark space where sins were laid bare. In Y/n's twisted imagination, she was on her knees, her mouth wrapped around Oscar's hard length as he groaned in pleasure.

The images were so real, so vivid, that Y/n could almost feel the phantom sensations on her skin. She squirmed on the kneeler, her thighs clenching together as she fought the urge to touch herself right then and there.

Tears began to well up in Y/n's eyes as the guilt of her lustful thoughts threatened to overwhelm her. She had never felt so ashamed, so dirty, so utterly consumed by a sin that she knew was wrong on every level.

But even as the tears spilled down her cheeks, Y/n couldn't deny the truth of her desires. She wanted Oscar, craved him with every fiber of her being. The thought of his hands on her body, his lips against her skin, was enough to drive her mad with need.

Y/n bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she tried to pray for forgiveness. But the words caught in her throat, choked off by the intensity of her longing.

She knew she was damned, knew that she was straying further and further from the path of righteousness with every passing moment. But she couldn't seem to stop, couldn't seem to find the strength to resist the temptation that called to her so loudly.

As Y/n finished her prayers, she wiped the tears from her cheeks, trying to compose herself. But just as she was about to stand up and leave, she heard a noise coming from behind the altar.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she peered around the edge of the altar cloth to see what was going on. There, in the dim light of the sacristy, she saw Oscar emerging from the changing room.

He was in the process of taking off his robe, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his toned abs. Y/n's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, her eyes tracing the path of his happy trail as it disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

Oscar seemed oblivious to her presence, humming softly to himself as he hung up his robe and adjusted his shirt. Y/n felt like she should look away, should give him some privacy. But she couldn't seem to tear her gaze away from his body, mesmerized by the sight of him.

He emerged from the sacristy, his eyes lighting up when he spotted Y/n kneeling in the front pew. "Hello Y/n!" he greeted her warmly, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Are you okay? I saw you walk out during the sermon earlier. Everything alright?"

She quickly wiped away any remaining tears, trying to compose herself. "Y-yes, I'm fine," she stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at being caught off guard. "I just needed some fresh air, that's all."

Oscar nodded understandingly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned to gather his things. Y/n's eyes couldn't help but trace the contours of his body as he moved, the way his shirt hugged his broad shoulders, the way his pants clung to his muscular thighs.

She felt a familiar heat building between her legs, a desperate ache that demanded to be satisfied. It took every ounce of willpower for Y/n to tear her eyes away from Oscar's form, to focus instead on the crucifix hanging above the altar.

Oscar gathered his things, glancing over at Y/n with a curious expression. "What are you still doing here, by the way?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "I've been cleaning in the back for about thirty minutes now. Shouldn't you be at home resting by this point?"

Y/n felt a pang of guilt at his words, realizing just how long she had been sitting there, lost in her own twisted fantasies. "I...I was just praying," she mumbled, her eyes downcast. "Trying to make up for leaving the sermon early."

He nodded, his smile softening into a look of understanding. "I get it. Sometimes we all need a little extra time with God." He hesitated for a moment, then added, "But don't forget to take care of yourself too, Y/n. God wants us to be healthy and happy, not run ourselves into the ground."

Y/n smiled at Oscar, grateful for his concern. "Thank you, Oscar. That means a lot." She stood up from the pew, smoothing out her skirt as she prepared to leave.

"I should probably head over to Alexandra's to pick up my purse," she said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach. "I'll see you around?"

Oscar nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he returned her smile. "Sounds good, Y/n. Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon."

Y/n turned to leave, her heart pounding in her chest as she walked down the aisle of the empty church. She could still feel Oscar's gaze on her back, could still picture the way his shirt had ridden up to reveal his toned abs.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the images from her mind. She had to focus, had to get to Alexandra's house, and retrieve her purse before her thoughts spiraled out of control again.

Y/n made her way to Alexandra's house, the short walk doing little to clear her head. As she approached the front door, she heard the unmistakable sound of giggling coming from upstairs. Curious, she crept up the stairs, following the noise to Alexandra's bedroom.

Peeking through the crack in the door, Y/n's eyes widened at the sight before her. There, on Alexandra's bed, were Alex and Rebecca, their lips locked in a passionate kiss.

Y/n knocked on the door, a teasing lilt to her voice as she called out, "Excuse me, guys, but I need to know where my purse is?"

Alexandra jumped, breaking away from Rebecca with a startled yelp. "Y/n!" she exclaimed, her face flushing a deep red. "I...um...your purse is on the dresser."

Y/n laughed, pushing open the door fully. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I just figured you might need a reminder that you brought my purse with you."

Rebecca laughed, waving hello to Y/n. "Hey there!"

Alexandra turned to Y/n, her expression softening with concern. "Why did you leave the service early? Are you feeling okay?"

Y/n shrugged, trying to play it off casually. "I just needed some air, that's all. It was getting a bit stuffy in there."

Alexandra nodded, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in Y/n's appearance. "Are you sure that's all? You look a little...flushed."

Y/n laughed, gesturing to the scene before her. "Oh please, look who's talking. You're the one kneeling on the bed beside Rebecca like you're all innocent."

Alexandra's blush deepened, but she grinned sheepishly. "Guilty as charged. But hey, you caught us. Might as well join in, right?"

Y/n rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help but smile. "I'll pass, thanks. You two have fun, though. I'll let myself out and lock the front door on my way."

"Okay, your loss," Alexandra said with a shrug, a mischievous glint in her eye. Before Y/n could even respond, Alexandra leaned back down and captured Rebecca's lips in a kiss yet again.

As she made her way back to her own house, Y/n's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was disgusted with herself for indulging in such sinful thoughts. But on the other hand, she couldn't deny the intense arousal that coursed through her veins, the desperate need to be touched and desired.

By the time she reached her front door, Y/n was practically panting with desire. She fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking as she unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Once she was alone, Y/n leaned against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed as she tried to catch her breath. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for release.

Y/n walked over to the fridge, her mind still reeling from the erotic scene she had just witnessed. She reached for the handle, intending to grab a cold drink to cool herself down, when something caught her eye.

There, stuck to the fridge with a magnet, was a note from her father. "Sorry sweetheart, I won't be back till Wednesday," it read. "I just got a call - there's an emergency meeting for all the pastors in the city. Text me if you finish reading this."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping in disappointment. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath. With her father gone, there would be no one to keep her in check, no one to stop her from indulging in her darkest desires.

Her mind immediately wandered back to Oscar, to the way his shirt had ridden up to reveal his toned abs, to the tantalizing glimpse of his happy trail. Y/n bit her lip, her body aching with need.

Y/n quickly pulled out her phone and texted her father, letting him know she was home safe. Once that was done, she headed to her room, her mind already racing with thoughts of Oscar.

Inside her bedroom, Y/n stripped off her church clothes, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. She rummaged through her drawers until she found a pair of soft, worn-in shorts and a loose tank top. The clothes were comfortable, but they also left little to the imagination, hugging her curves in all the right places.

As she changed, Y/n couldn't help but imagine Oscar's reaction if he saw her like this. Would his eyes darken with desire? Would he reach out and touch her, his hands exploring every inch of her body?

Y/n shivered at the thought, her nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of her top. She knew she should stop these thoughts, should focus on something else. But it was too late. The seed had been planted, and now all she could think about was Oscar, and the way he made her feel.

She laid back on her bed, her gaze drifting over the photos that adorned her walls. There were pictures of her and her father, smiling and laughing together at various events and outings. There were photos of her and Alexandra, capturing their close friendship over the years. Scattered among them were snapshots from her childhood, reminding her of simpler times.

But even as she looked at these cherished memories, Y/n's mind kept drifting back to Oscar. She couldn't shake the image of him from her head, couldn't stop thinking about the way he had looked at her in the church, the way his presence had made her feel.

Y/n sat up suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what she had to do. She couldn't fight this attraction anymore, couldn't deny the desire that burned within her.

Y/n locked her bedroom door, the click of the lock echoing in the silence of the house. She sat down on her bed, her heart racing as she debated with herself.

She had touched herself before, of course. It was a natural part of growing up, of exploring her own body and desires. But this time felt different. This time, the object of her fantasies was someone so pure, so innocent.

Oscar was a man of God, a symbol of everything that was good and holy in the world. And yet, here she was, imagining him in the most sinful of ways.

Y/n's hand drifted down to the waistband of her shorts, hesitating for a moment before slipping beneath the fabric. She could feel the heat of her own arousal, the slick wetness that coated her fingers.

She closed her eyes, picturing Oscar's face as she began to stroke herself. In her mind, he was kneeling before her, his hands caressing her thighs as he worshipped her body with his mouth.

Y/n's fingers dipped in and out of her slick folds, barely breaching the entrance to her aching core. She was teasing herself, drawing out the pleasure as she lost herself in her fantasies.

In her mind, Oscar's inexperienced tongue was exploring her most intimate places, his soft lips and gentle touches driving her wild with desire. She imagined herself guiding his head, praising him for doing such a good job, for making her feel so incredibly good.

And then, in her fantasy, Oscar looked up at her with those innocent eyes, his voice barely above a whisper as he asked, "Am I doing it correctly, Y/n? Is this what you want?"

Y/n's hips bucked at the thought, a soft moan escaping her lips as she plunged her fingers deeper into her dripping sex. All it would take was a few more strokes, a few more whispered words of encouragement from her imaginary Oscar.

In Y/n's vivid imagination, her hand wrapped around Oscar's throbbing cock, stroking him with a slow, sensual rhythm. She could feel how sensitive he was, how every touch sent shockwaves of pleasure through his body.

As she worked him closer and closer to the edge, Oscar began to buck his hips, thrusting into her hand with desperate need. Soft whimpers escaped his lips, his breath hot against her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Y/n held his hand tightly, her fingers intertwined with his as she brought him to the brink of ecstasy. She could feel his heart racing, could sense the intensity of his desire as he clung to her, his body trembling with the force of his impending release.

With a final, firm stroke, Y/n pushed Oscar over the edge, his cock pulsing in her hand as he came with a low, guttural moan. She held him close, whispering words of comfort and encouragement as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, his cum spilling over her fingers in hot, sticky ropes.

Y/n's fantasy had brought her to the brink of orgasm, but it wasn't quite enough to push her over the edge. She stopped, her pussy pulsing with neediness as she took a moment to catch her breath.

After a few seconds, Y/n reached for her hairbrush, a makeshift dildo she had been using for months out of necessity. She couldn't risk her father finding a real sex toy in her possession, so she had learned to make do with whatever she could find.

The handle of the brush was smooth and hard, the perfect size to fill her aching void. Y/n slipped it inside her, a gasp escaping her lips as it stretched her tight walls.

She began to thrust the brush in and out of her dripping sex, her hips rocking in time with the movements of her hand. In her mind, it was Oscar's cock that was filling her, his strong hands gripping her hips as he pounded into her with wild abandon.

As Y/n continued to fuck herself with the hairbrush handle, her mind was flooded with the same forbidden fantasies that had troubled her as she recited the rosary. She pictured herself bent over the altar, her dress hiked up around her waist as Oscar took her from behind. She imagined the cool marble against her skin, the weight of his body pressing her down as he claimed her with his cock.

In another scenario, she saw herself in the bell tower, the heavy ropes of the bells swaying above her as Oscar lifted her onto his lap. She could feel the rough wood of the floorboards digging into her knees as she rode him, her hands gripping his shoulders for support.

But it was the confession booth that really set her imagination ablaze. She pictured herself on her knees, her head hidden behind the screen as Oscar stood before her, his cock hard and ready. She would take him into her mouth, her lips stretched wide around his girth as she worshipped him with her tongue.

Y/n knew that every corner of the chapel was adorned with images and symbols of God - crucifixes, paintings of Jesus, statues of angels and saints. But as she fucked herself with the hairbrush handle, lost in her forbidden fantasies, she couldn't bring herself to care.

The thought of God watching her, of Him bearing witness to her sinful desires, only heightened her arousal. She could almost feel His disapproving gaze upon her, could imagine the shame and guilt that would surely follow if she ever acted on her fantasies and gave in to lust with Oscar.

But fuck, it felt so good. The taboo nature of it all, the knowledge that she was defiling a sacred space with her carnal thoughts, only served to drive her closer and closer to the edge.

Y/n's hips moved faster, the hairbrush handle slamming into her G-spot with each thrust. Her moans grew louder, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she chased her rapidly approaching orgasm.

As Y/n's orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing with the force of her release, she cried out in ecstasy. "God, fuck! Fuck, fuck, so good!"

Her eyes rolled back in her head, her vision blurring as she rode out the intense waves of pleasure. And in that moment, as her mind was lost in a haze of lust and sin, she swore she saw a figure standing before her.

It was God Himself, His face twisted in a mixture of anger and disappointment. He reached out to her, His hand hovering just inches from her flushed skin, as if He wanted to strike her down for her transgressions.

But Y/n was too far gone to care. She was lost in the throes of her climax, her body shaking and twitching as she came harder than she ever had before. The image of God faded away, replaced by a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations that left her breathless and spent.

Y/n collapsed back onto her bed, her body still trembling with the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. Slowly, she withdrew the hairbrush handle from her dripping pussy, a low whimper escaping her lips as she felt the sudden emptiness.

She lay there for a moment, catching her breath and trying to process the overwhelming emotions that coursed through her. Shame, guilt, and a lingering sense of arousal all battled for dominance in her mind.

As the haze of lust began to clear, Y/n's thoughts turned once again to the forbidden nature of her fantasies. She knew that what she had done was wrong, that her desires were sinful and unholy. But she couldn't deny the intensity of her feelings, the way her body had responded to the mere thought of Oscar.

With a sigh, Y/n sat up and tossed the hairbrush aside, wiping the sticky evidence of her pleasure from her thighs. She knew she needed to put these thoughts out of her mind, to focus on being a good daughter and a devout follower of God.

As the post-orgasmic haze lifted, a wave of embarrassment and shame washed over Y/n. She glanced around her room, suddenly hyper-aware of the sacred objects that surrounded her. Her eyes landed on the small statue of the Virgin Mary that sat on a tiny altar in the corner, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.

Quickly, Y/n pulled her shorts back on, trying to cover herself as if the statue could see through her clothes and judge her for what she had just done. She avoided looking at the altar, afraid of what she might see in Mary's serene, knowing eyes.

Y/n's mind raced with thoughts of repentance and atonement. She knew she needed to pray, to ask for forgiveness for her sinful actions. But even as she thought about kneeling before the altar and confessing her sins, a small part of her rebelled against the idea.

Y/n stumbled into the bathroom, her legs still shaky from the intensity of her orgasm. She turned on the faucet and splashed cool water on her face, hoping to wash away the lingering flush of arousal from her cheeks.

But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she knew that no amount of water could cleanse her of the sins she had just committed. Her eyes were dark and haunted, her expression a mix of shame and lingering desire.

She grabbed a washcloth and wiped between her legs, trying to remove any evidence of her self-pleasure. But even as she scrubbed, she knew it was futile. The stain of her sin ran deeper than any soap or water could reach.

Y/n's mind wandered back to the statue of the Virgin Mary in her room, and she felt a pang of guilt. She knew she should be praying, should be asking for forgiveness, and vowing to do better. But the thought of facing Mary, of confessing her sins to the mother of God herself, filled her with dread.

She emerged from the bathroom, her body still tingling with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She made her way to the kitchen, her mind still reeling from the intensity of her sinful thoughts.

She grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with cool water from the tap, taking a long sip to calm her nerves. The liquid soothed her parched throat, but did little to quench the thirst that still burned within her.

Y/n hopped up onto the kitchen counter, her feet dangling as she sat perched on the cool granite. It was a habit her father had always playfully scolded her for, but in his absence, she found herself craving the rebellious thrill of it.

As she swung her legs back and forth, Y/n's mind drifted once again to Oscar. She wondered what he was doing, if he was thinking about her too. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her body, and she squeezed her thighs together, trying to ignore the renewed ache between her legs.

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she heard the unexpected knock at the door. She quickly composed herself and made her way over, smoothing down her hair and adjusting her clothes before opening it.

To her surprise, she found Alexandra standing there, her back turned as she waved goodbye to Rebecca, who was walking away down the path. Y/n blinked in confusion, wondering what her best friend was doing here so suddenly.

"Alexandra? What are you doing here?" Y/n asked, her voice still slightly breathless from her earlier activities.

Alexandra turned around, a mischievous grin spreading across her face as she took in Y/n's flushed cheeks and disheveled appearance. "I thought I'd come over and keep you company while your dad makes breakfast," she said, her tone playful and suggestive. "Plus, I figured you could use some girl talk after the way you were eye fucking one of the altar boys earlier."

Y/n let out an exasperated groan, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red as Alexandra's words confirmed her suspicions. Of course her best friend had noticed her shameless ogling of Oscar. There was no hiding anything from Alexandra.

"Ugh, don't remind me," Y/n muttered, stepping aside to let Alexandra enter the house. "Was I actually that obvious? I must have looked like such a creep."

Alexandra laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she brushed past Y/n and made her way into the living room. "Oh please, you weren't that bad. Besides, I'm sure he didn't mind the attention. He seemed pretty smitten with you too."

As she spoke, Alexandra called out in a loud, sing-song voice, "Good morning, Mr. L/n! Wherever you are!"

Y/n shook her head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "No, Dad's not home. He had to leave for an emergency meeting or something."

Alexandra raised an eyebrow, her nose wrinkling slightly as she sniffed the air. "Huh, that explains why I don't smell any food. Your dad usually has something cooking by now after Mass."

Y/n nodded, feeling a pang of sadness at the realization. Her father's absence always left a void in the house, a sense of incompleteness that she couldn't quite shake.

"Yeah, I'll have to fend for myself until Wednesday," she sighed, leading Alexandra towards the kitchen. "Want some cereal or something? It's not exactly gourmet, but it'll have to do."

Alexandra shrugged, a playful smirk on her face as she followed Y/n into the kitchen. "Sure, cereal sounds great. It's better than nothing at all."

As they rummaged through the cupboards for bowls and spoons, Alexandra couldn't help but notice the lingering tension in the air. She knew Y/n well enough to sense when something was bothering her, and the way her friend had been acting lately was definitely out of the ordinary.

"So, you wanna talk about it?" Alexandra asked softly, pouring milk into her bowl of cereal. "I know something's been on your mind lately. You've been distracted, and I'm worried about you."

Y/n hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the box of cereal. She knew she could trust Alexandra, but the thought of voicing her forbidden desires out loud made her stomach twist with anxiety.

Alexandra's eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to place a comforting hand on Y/n's arm. "Hey, it's okay," she reassured her, her voice gentle and encouraging. "There's nothing you could say that would be too much information for me. We've been through way too much together for that."

She chuckled lightly, remembering their teenage years and the countless sleepovers and baths they had shared. "Seriously, Y/n, you can tell me anything. I'm here for you, no matter what."

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart racing as she weighed her options. She knew she could trust Alexandra with her life, but the thought of confessing her sinful desires still made her palms sweat with nervousness.

As Alexandra took a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the confession she knew she needed to make. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her palms grew clammy with nerves, but she forced herself to speak.

"I... I masturbated while thinking about Oscar," Y/n blurted out, her voice barely above a whisper. She kept her eyes fixed on her bowl of cereal, unable to meet Alexandra's gaze as she waited for her friend's reaction.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, Alexandra lowered her spoon, her eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wait, what?" she asked, her voice a mix of shock and disbelief. "Who are you talking about?"

Y/n nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she realized Alexandra's confusion. "Yeah, I know you're not exactly the best with names and faces," she said, shaking her head. "He's one of the altar boys, one of the tallest out of all the servers earlier."

Alexandra's eyes widened as the realization dawned on her. "Oh, shit," she breathed, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "You mean the hot one with the wavy-ish hair and the dimples?"

Y/n felt her cheeks flush with heat, and she nodded sheepishly. "Yeah, that's the one," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about him, Alexandra. It's like every time I close my eyes, I see his face, and I..."

She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence as a wave of shame and desire washed over her.

Y/n buried her face in her palms, a loud groan escaping her lips as she tried to find the words to express the depth of her shame and desire. "Fuck, man," she mumbled, her voice muffled by her hands. "I literally thought about..."

She stopped abruptly, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she realized what she was about to say. Taking a deep breath, Y/n slowly lowered her hands, revealing a face that was equal parts mortified and determined.

"I... I wanted to get bent over the altar," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. "With him. With Oscar."

Alexandra's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock as she processed Y/n's confession. For a moment, she simply stared at her friend, her brain struggling to compute the sheer audacity of what Y/n had just admitted.

Alexandra let out a low whistle, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and disbelief. "Lord have mercy on your soul..." she joked, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "I never thought of you as the type to have such wild fantasies, Y/n."

Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. "I know," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness. "I've always been the good girl, the pastor's daughter who always took the chance to pray and set a good example."

She paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as she tried to find the right words to explain the turmoil that raged within her. "But lately, I've been feeling... restless. Like there's this part of me that wants to break free, to explore things that I've always been taught are wrong or sinful."

Y/n's voice dropped to a hushed whisper as she continued, her eyes downcast and her cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and excitement. "I mean, I've already explored them, yeah, but..." She trailed off, biting her lip as she struggled to find the right words.

"I want to experience these things without the fear of being dragged to hell by the devil himself," she finally admitted, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. "I want to feel alive, Alexandra. I want to know what it's like to give in to my desires, to let go of all the rules and restrictions that have been holding me back for so long."

Alexandra listened intently, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. She reached out and placed a comforting hand on Y/n's arm, her touch gentle and reassuring.

She smiled warmly, her eyes shining with a mix of affection and understanding. "It's okay, Y/n," Alexandra said softly, her voice filled with reassurance. "That's why we have each other. We're here so that we can express ourselves freely to each other without judgment."

She squeezed Y/n's arm gently, her touch a silent reminder of the unbreakable bond they shared. "You don't have to be afraid to explore your... fantasies, Y/n. I'm here for you, no matter what. And if anyone tries to drag you to hell for it, they'll have to go through me first."

Y/n let out a soft laugh, her eyes brimming with tears of gratitude and relief. She knew she could always count on Alexandra to be there for her, to support her no matter what.

Alexandra grinned mischievously, her eyes sparkling with a playful glint as she leaned in closer to Y/n. "Well, if you really want to explore these desires of yours, maybe you should just seduce him," she suggested, her voice low and conspiratorial.

Y/n's eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "Alexandra!" she exclaimed, her voice a mix of shock and amusement. "I can't just go up to him and... and..."

She trailed off, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement as she considered the possibility. "Although..." she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe it's not such a bad idea. After all, what's the worst that could happen?"

Alexandra took a bite of her cereal, a playful smirk on her face as she chewed thoughtfully. "I don't know, you could get disowned if your father finds out," she said, her tone light and teasing.

Y/n's eyes widened in panic, and she leaned forward, her voice rising with each word. "Wait, do you really think he would disown me?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

Alexandra's own eyes widened in surprise, and she waved her hands frantically in front of her. "No, no, of course not!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "He'll be mad, yes, but he won't disown you. I was just joking, Y/n. Don't freak out."

Y/n let out a shaky laugh, her hand pressed against her chest as she tried to calm her racing heart. "Please, never do that again," she pleaded, her voice still tinged with a hint of panic. "I might die of a heart attack before the alcohol I consume weekly gets to my liver."

Alexandra rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of guilt in her expression. "Fine, fine, I'll try to be more sensitive to your delicate constitution," she teased, her tone softening as she reached out to pat Y/n's hand reassuringly.

"But seriously, Y/n, you know your dad loves you. He might be strict, and he might be disappointed if he found out about your... extracurricular activities, but he would never disown you. You're his daughter, and nothing will ever change that."

Y/n nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she felt the tension drain from her body. "Yeah, you're right," she agreed, her voice soft and grateful. "I know my dad loves me, no matter what."

She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the question that had been nagging at her since she saw Alexandra with Rebecca earlier. "So, what's going on between you and Rebecca?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral. "I mean, you practically pounced on her before I even left your room. Are you guys...?"

Alexandra's cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and she busied herself with her cereal, avoiding Y/n's gaze. "Nothing," she mumbled, her voice barely audible over the clink of her spoon against the bowl. "We're just friends."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, unconvinced by Alexandra's dismissive response. "Just friends?" she pressed, her tone skeptical. "Because it looked like there was something more going on between you two."

The next day, Y/n found herself at the church, as she often did in her free time. She moved through the familiar space with ease, straightening pews and dusting shelves, lost in thought as she reflected on her conversation with Alexandra the day before.

As she made her way behind the altar in search of the broom they used indoors, Y/n ran into Oscar. He was kneeling on the floor, his head bowed in prayer, his wavy hair falling across his forehead.

Y/n froze, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the sight of him. He looked so peaceful, so serene, and she felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips.

"Oscar?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of her own breathing.

Oscar startled at the sound of her voice, his head snapping up to look at her. His eyes widened in surprise, and a faint blush crept across his cheeks as he realized who it was.

“Oh my, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were praying.” Y/n said shyly, realizing she may have interrupted his sacred time with God.

Oscar stood up, brushing off his knees as he turned to face Y/n. "Hi," he said, his voice soft and warm. "No need to apologize. I was just finishing up anyway."

Y/n felt a rush of relief wash over her, and she smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, okay. Good," she said, her voice trembling slightly with nerves. "I was just looking for the broom. I'm supposed to be cleaning up around here."

Oscar nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "I can help you with that," he offered, gesturing towards the supply closet where the cleaning supplies were kept. "It's my turn to clean the altar anyway."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of spending more time with Oscar, and she felt a sudden surge of excitement mixed with anxiety. "That would be great," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "Thank you."

Oscar handed Y/n the broom, and they made their way out into the main sanctuary. As Oscar began cleaning the altar, Y/n started sweeping the floor, the soft swish of the broom mingling with the hushed conversations of the churchgoers.

The congregation seemed unbothered by their presence, as it was a fairly normal sight to see the altar boys tending to the altar and Y/n cleaning. They went about their tasks quietly, the only sounds being the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional clink of metal as Oscar polished the candlesticks.

As Y/n swept, her mind wandered back to her conversation with Alexandra. She couldn't help but think about what it would be like to be with Oscar, to feel his strong hands on her body, to taste his lips against hers. The thought made her cheeks flush with heat, and she quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Y/n found herself zoning out, her mind wandering as she swept the same spots over and over again, as if trying to erase some invisible stain. She was so lost in thought that she didn't even notice when Oscar had finished cleaning the altar and had moved on to wiping down the glass cases that held the statues of various saints.

It wasn't until she heard the soft clink of glass that Y/n snapped back to reality, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she realized how distracted she had been. She glanced over at Oscar, who was diligently working his way down the line of statues, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as she watched him work. She couldn't help but admire the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the way his hair fell across his forehead as he leaned in to clean the higher shelves. It was almost enough to make her forget where they were, to make her want to reach out and touch him, consequences be damned.

She quickly made her way back behind the altar, putting the broom away in its designated spot. She then headed to the front pew, the same place she had sat in yesterday and for years before, having been the one to always read the second readings during mass.

As she settled onto the hard wooden bench, Y/n let out a soft sigh, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She could still feel the heat of Oscar's presence, the way her heart had raced as she watched him work. It was almost too much to bear, the desire that coursed through her veins, the longing to be close to him.

Y/n closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the pew as she tried to calm her racing thoughts. She knew it was wrong, that she should be focused on her faith, on serving God, but she couldn't deny the way her body responded to Oscar's presence.

As she sat there, lost in thought, Y/n couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change, that her life was about to take a turn she never could have anticipated.

Y/n's eyes fluttered open as she felt the pew shift slightly beside her. She turned her head to see Oscar settling in next to her, a slightly damp rag clutched in his hand.

"Man, that was exhausting," he said, his voice low and tired. "I don't know how you do it, Y/n. Cleaning this whole place by yourself."

Y/n smiled softly, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice so close to her. "It's not so bad," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's kind of peaceful, actually. A chance to clear my head and just... be."

She shifted slightly, her thigh brushing against Oscar's as she did so. The contact sent a jolt of electricity through her body, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat.

Oscar turned to look at Y/n, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Be...?" he repeated, his voice trailing off as he searched her face for answers.

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as she tried to find the right words to explain the turmoil that raged within her. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm not really living, you know? Like I'm just going through the motions, pretending to be someone I'm not."

She paused, her gaze drifting to the stained glass windows that cast a puzzle of colors across the sanctuary. "But when I'm here, cleaning, praying... it's like I can finally breathe. Like I can finally be myself."

Oscar nodded slowly, his eyes softening with understanding. "I know what you mean," he said, his voice low and earnest. "Sometimes it feels like the whole world is expecting us to be something we're not. To fit into these perfect little boxes that don't really exist."

Y/n let out a quiet groan, her shoulders slumping as she leaned back against the pew. "This is making me sad," she admitted, her voice heavy with emotion.

Oscar's brow furrowed with concern, and he reached out to place a comforting hand on Y/n's arm. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly, his thumb rubbing small circles on her skin. "Let's do something fun. How about we go get a milkshake at the diner?"

Y/n's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. "Sure," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "That sounds perfect."

They stood up from the pew, Oscar's hand lingering on Y/n's arm for a moment longer than necessary. As they made their way out of the church, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with nervousness. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way, but she couldn't deny the way her heart raced at the prospect of spending more time with Oscar.

The diner was a short, five-minute walk away from the church, nestled on the corner of Main Street. As they stepped inside, the bell above the door chimed, announcing their arrival. The scent of fried food and coffee hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sound of clinking dishes and low chatter.

Oscar led the way to a booth in the back, sliding in across from Y/n. She watched as he flagged down the waitress, ordering a chocolate milkshake for himself and a vanilla one for her. Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.

"Vanilla is my favorite," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "How did you know?"

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Your dad talks about you a lot," he admitted, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I may have picked up a few things."

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at the thought of her father talking about her, of Oscar taking the time to listen and remember the little details.

As the milkshakes arrived, Y/n found her mind drifting back to her conversation with Alexandra. The words "seduce him" echoed in her head, a tantalizing whisper that set her heart racing.

Without thinking, Y/n reached for the whipped cream on top of her milkshake, scooping up a dollop with her finger. She brought it to her lips, her tongue darting out to lick it off slowly and deliberately. It was an innocent gesture, but there was something undeniably sensual about the way she did it, the way her eyes locked with Oscar's as she savored the sweetness.

"Mmm, delicious," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "I love vanilla."

Oscar's eyes widened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Y/n's lips, from the way they glistened with the remnants of the whipped cream.

"I... I'm glad you like it," he stammered, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/n tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering on the soft skin of her neck. She bent forward, her lips parting as she took the cherry from the top of the whipped cream, her tongue darting out to catch the sweet, sticky juice.

She sat back up, a playful laugh escaping her lips as she caught Oscar's wide-eyed stare. He was praying in his head, begging God not to tempt him like this, to keep him pure and innocent. But with each passing moment, each glimpse of Y/n's flesh, his resolve was crumbling.

"What's the matter, Oscar?" Y/n teased, her voice low and sultry. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Oscar swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. "N-nothing," he stammered, his eyes darting away from hers. "I'm fine."

As they sipped their milkshakes, Y/n continued her innocent yet seductive antics. She ran her fingers along the rim of the glass, her eyes never leaving Oscar's face as she watched him squirm in his seat.

"So tell me, Oscar," she purred, her voice low and breathy. "What do you like to do for fun?"

Oscar nearly choked on his milkshake, coughing and sputtering as he tried to regain his composure. "I... I like to read," he managed, his voice hoarse. "And play guitar. And... and help out at the church."

Y/n leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she propped her chin in her hands. "That's nice," she said, her voice dripping with honey. "I bet you're really good with your hands. With the guitar, I mean."

Y/n leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she took another sip of her milkshake. "You know, Oscar," she said, her voice low and sultry, "I've always wondered what it would be like to play the guitar."

She set her glass down, her tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of milkshake from the corner of her mouth. "Maybe you could teach me sometime," she purred, her gaze never leaving his. "I'm a quick learner."

Oscar's heart was pounding in his chest, his palms sweaty as he gripped the edge of the table. He knew he should put a stop to this, to tell Y/n that he couldn't be her teacher, that it was wrong. But the temptation was too great, the desire too strong.

"I... I'd be happy to teach you," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. "Anytime you want."

Y/n smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Okay, I'll think about it," she said, her voice light and airy. As she shifted in her seat, her foot brushed against Oscar's thigh, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through his body.

"Oops," she giggled, her cheeks flushing with feigned innocence. "Sorry about that."

Oscar's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to maintain his composure. He knew it was just an accident, that Y/n didn't mean anything by it. But the way she looked at him, the way her foot lingered on his thigh, it was enough to drive him wild with desire.

"It's... it's okay," he managed, his voice hoarse and strained. "Accidents happen."

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes wide and innocent as she looked up at Oscar through her lashes. "Hey, Oscar," she said, her voice soft and sweet. "Can I try a sip of your milkshake? I've never had the chocolate flavor before. My dad always gets the black coffee, and I've just been getting vanilla ever since I was a kid."

Oscar's heart skipped a beat at the request, his mind racing with the implications. He knew it was just a milkshake, just a simple, innocent gesture. But the way Y/n looked at him, the way her lips parted as she waited for his answer, it was enough to make his head spin.

"Sure," he managed, his voice rough with emotion. He slid his glass across the table, his fingers brushing against hers as she reached for it.

Y/n wrapped her lips around the straw, her eyes never leaving Oscar's as she took a long, slow sip. She let out a soft moan of appreciation, savoring the taste.

"Mmm, it's good," Y/n purred, her eyes half-lidded as she set the glass back down on the table. "But I still prefer my vanilla milkshake."

She took another sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop of cream on her bottom lip. "There's just something about the simplicity of vanilla, you know? It's pure, untainted. Innocent."

Oscar swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He knew Y/n was just talking about the milkshake, but the way she spoke, the way her words seemed to hang in the air between them, it was enough to make his head spin.

"I... I understand," he managed, his voice hoarse. "Vanilla is a classic for a reason."

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Exactly," she said, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. "Sometimes, the simplest things are the most satisfying."

Y/n leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looked up at Oscar. "Hey, Oscar," she said, her voice low and sultry. "My dad's not going to be home tonight, so I was thinking... maybe you could come over later and help me practice guitar?"

She bit her lip, her teeth sinking into the soft, plump flesh as she waited for his response. "We could stay up late, just the two of us. I'm sure you could teach me a thing or two."

Oscar's heart was pounding in his chest, his palms sweaty as he gripped the edge of the table. He knew it was a bad idea, that he should say no, that he should run as far away from Y/n as possible. But the temptation was too great, the desire too strong.

"I'd- I'd love to," he managed, his voice rough but hesitant. "Just give me a call when you're ready."

Y/n clapped her hands together, her face lighting up with excitement. "Yay!" she exclaimed, her voice high and girlish. "I can't wait to learn how to play guitar."

She leaned back in her seat, her demeanor shifting to something more playful and innocent. As they continued to talk, Oscar found himself struggling to focus, his mind still reeling from Y/n's bold flirtation.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, his skin flushed and tingling with a strange new sensation. He had never felt so... desired before, so wanted. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, a rush of adrenaline that left him breathless and dizzy.

Throughout the rest of their conversation, Oscar found himself stealing glances at Y/n, his eyes lingering on the curve of her lips, and the softness of her skin. He knew it was wrong, that he should push these feelings aside and focus on his faith, but he couldn't help the way his heart raced at the thought of seeing her again later, of being alone with her in the privacy of her home.

Y/n walked towards the door, her heart racing with anticipation. She had chosen her outfit carefully, wanting to strike a balance between comfort and allure. She wore a pair of shorts that were short enough to reveal an unholy amount of skin, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places.

On top, she had opted for a white shirt that was sheer enough to hint at the outline of her bra beneath, the delicate lace peeking through the thin fabric, contrasting the gold cross necklace she had worn her entire life

As she reached for the doorknob, Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the evening ahead. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn't be feeling this way about Oscar. But she couldn't deny the thrill that ran through her at the thought of being alone with him, of having his undivided attention.

With a final twist of the knob, Y/n pulled open the door, her heart skipping a beat as she saw Oscar standing on the other side. "Hey there," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "Come on in."

Oscar stepped inside, his eyes widening as he took in Y/n's appearance. "Thanks for inviting me," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "No need to thank me, Oscar," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "I'm the one who should be thanking you for agreeing to teach me."

She gestured towards the living room, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. "We can practice in here, it's nice and spacious. But fair warning, it's a bit hot in here. No AC."

Y/n turned back to face him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Or we could practice in my room. It's a bit smaller, but the AC works perfectly. Your choice."

"I think I'd prefer a cold room over a hot one," he said shyly, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

She shot him a warm smile, "Okay, follow me." She gestured, making her way up the stairs.

scar's gaze flickered over the photos lining the walls as Y/n led him upstairs, his heart clenching at the sight of her and her father together. There were pictures of them at the beach, at her graduation, at various milestones throughout her life. Occasionally, a photo of Alexandra and Y/n would appear, the two girls grinning at the camera, their arms slung around each other's waists.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Y/n paused, turning to face Oscar. "My room's just down the hall," she said, her voice soft. "Last door on the right."

She started walking again, her hips swaying slightly as she moved. Oscar followed behind her, his eyes glued to the gentle curve of her spine, the way her shirt clung to her back.

When they reached her room, Y/n pushed open the door, gesturing for Oscar to enter. "After you," she purred, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

The room was exactly as Oscar had imagined it would be. Simple, minimalistic, with a white metal bed frame and a small crucifix hanging above it. In the corner, there was a small altar with a statue of the Virgin Mary, and on the bedside table, a pink pearl rosary lay coiled neatly. The bedspread was mostly white, with delicate pink flowers scattered across the surface, and the pillowcases were the reverse, with a pink background and white flowers.

"You can sit wherever you're comfortable," Y/n said, gesturing to the bed and the floor. "I'll go grab my dad's guitar."

As she turned to leave, Oscar's eyes lingered on the bed, on the soft, inviting surface. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He was here to teach Y/n how to play guitar, nothing more.

He settled himself on the edge of the bed, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern of the bedspread. The room was cool and quiet, the hum of the air conditioner a soothing background noise.

As he waited for Y/n to return, he couldn't help but notice the subtle details of her room. There was a faint, delicate scent of jasmine in the air, which he later discovered came from a small air freshener perched on her dresser. Everywhere he looked, there were hints of innocence - the soft pink hues of her bedding, the occasional hair tie scattered on her nightstand, the various rings she wore on her slender fingers.

On the wall, there was a framed dried flower, its petals faded and brittle with age. Oscar wondered about its significance, about the memories it held for Y/n.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Y/n entering the room, a guitar case in her hands. She set it down on the bed beside him, her fingers lingering on the smooth, worn leather.

"Okay," she said, her voice bright and eager. "Let's get started."

Oscar helped Y/n remove the guitar from its case, his fingers brushing against hers as he took it from her hands. He held it up, examining it closely. "When was the last time this was tuned?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/n bit her lip, her eyes darting away from his. "To be honest, we haven't used it in about two years," she admitted, her voice sheepish. "We kind of forgot about it."

Oscar nodded, his fingers plucking at the strings experimentally. They were out of tune, the notes discordant and jarring. "No worries," he said, his voice reassuring. "We can tune it right now."

He sat down on the bed, patting the space beside him for Y/n to join. As she settled in next to him, Oscar began to tune the guitar, his fingers moving deftly over the strings. The room filled with the soft, melodic sounds of the instrument coming to life, the notes blending together in perfect harmony.

Oscar finished tuning the guitar and handed it to Y/n, his fingers lingering on hers for a moment longer than necessary. "Here you go," he said, his voice soft. "Now, let's start with the basics."

He sat beside her on the bed, his leg brushing against hers as he demonstrated the proper way to hold the guitar. "Keep your thumb behind the neck of the guitar," he instructed, his hand guiding hers. "And wrap your fingers around the fretboard like this."

As he showed her how to position her fingers, Oscar couldn't help but notice the way Y/n's hands felt in his, the softness of her skin, the delicate strength in her fingers. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand.

"Now, let's try strumming," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. He reached over, his hand covering hers as he guided the pick across the strings. The guitar came alive under their touch, the notes ringing out clear and bright.

"Good job," Oscar said, his voice warm with approval. He leaned in closer, his eyes focused on the way Y/n was holding the guitar. It seemed awkward, her fingers splayed across the fretboard in an unnatural position.

As he tried to adjust her grip, his gaze drifted lower, drawn to the tantalizing glimpse of cleavage peeking out from the neckline of her shirt. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as his eyes lingered on the soft swell of her breasts.

Realizing what he was doing, Oscar quickly closed his eyes, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He couldn't let himself be tempted like this, not when he was supposed to be teaching her, guiding her.

He forced himself to focus on the guitar, on the feel of the smooth wood beneath his fingers, the cool metal of the strings. "Let's try that again," he said, his voice strained. "This time, keep your wrist straight, like this."

His hand covered hers once more, his touch gentle but firm as he guided her through the proper technique.

As Y/n began to get the hang of the guitar, her fingers moving more confidently across the fretboard, Oscar felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. She was a natural, her hands seeming to instinctively find the right positions, the right chords.

But then, in a moment of enthusiasm, Y/n applied too much pressure to one of the strings, the sharp edge of the fret digging into her fingertip. She gasped, her hand jerking away from the guitar as a thin line of blood welled up on her finger.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise and pain. She brought her finger to her mouth, sucking on the wound instinctively.

Oscar's heart clenched at the sight, his hand reaching out to steady the guitar as it threatened to slip from her lap. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Y/n nodded, her eyes meeting his. "It's just a little cut," she said, her voice muffled by her finger. "Nothing serious."

Oscar could see the pain in Y/n's eyes, the way she was trying to hold back tears. His heart ached for her, and he reached out, taking her hand in his. "Let me see," he said softly, his thumb brushing over the cut on her finger.

"It must hurt," he murmured, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you have a bandaid here?"

Y/n nodded, pointing to the small desk in the corner of her room. "Yeah, there's a box in the drawer."

He stood up, crossing the room to retrieve the bandages. As he rummaged through the drawer, he couldn't help but notice the personal items scattered amongst the clutter- a hairbrush, a tube of lip gloss, a few loose change. He felt a pang of guilt for intruding on her private space but pushed the feeling aside.

He returned to the bed, sitting down beside Y/n once more. "Here," he said, holding out a small, square bandage. "Let me put this on for you."

Oscar carefully applied the bandage to Y/n's finger, his touch gentle and precise. As he finished, their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. There was only the two of them, the warmth of the room, the softness of the bed beneath them.

Before Oscar could react, Y/n leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a tender kiss. He froze for a moment, his mind reeling with shock and confusion. But as Y/n's lips moved against his, he found himself kissing her back, his own inexperience evident in the awkward, tentative movements of his mouth.

Y/n could tell that Oscar hadn't kissed anyone before, and a part of her was thrilled at the idea of being his first. She deepened the kiss, her tongue darting out to trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him to open for her.

Oscar pulled away from the kiss, his heart pounding in his chest. He was flustered, his mind spinning with a whirlwind of emotions and desires. "Y/n, we can't," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "This is the devil tempting us, trying to lead us astray."

But Y/n wasn't having it. She leaned in closer, her breath hot against his ear. "Then why does it feel so good?" she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "Tell me you want me too, Oscar. I don't care if we're going to hell for it. I just need you."

Her words sent a shiver down Oscar's spine, his body responding to her touch, her proximity. He knew it was wrong, that he should resist, that he should push her away. But the desire coursing through his veins was too strong, too overwhelming.

"I... I do want you," he admitted, his voice trembling with longing. "But we can't. It's not right."

Y/n's eyes gleamed with determination as she gazed into Oscar's conflicted face. She knew she had him on the hook, and she wasn't about to let him slip away.

"Oscar," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "Don't you believe that God forgives those who truly repent? That He understands the weakness of the flesh?"

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "We can give in to this temptation, just this once. And then we can confess our sins, ask for forgiveness. It's not like we're doing anything truly sinful, after all. We're human, we can sin every once in a while."

Oscar's breath hitched in his throat, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Y/n's persuasive words. He knew what she was saying made sense, that it was a logical argument. But still, a small part of him hesitated, unsure if he was truly ready to cross that line.

Y/n's words washed over Oscar like a tidal wave, eroding his resistance with each passing second. "It's a sign, Oscar," she breathed, her eyes wide and imploring. "Look around you. It's just the two of us, nobody to disturb us, nobody to judge us. Maybe it's meant to be. Maybe we're meant to give in to our desires, just this one time."

Her hands slid up his chest, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt. Oscar's heart raced, his body responding to her touch despite his mind's protests. He knew what she was saying made sense, that they were alone, that no one would ever know. But still, a part of him hesitated, unsure if he was truly ready to cross that line.

Y/n leaned in closer, her lips hovering just inches from his. "Please, Oscar," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "I need you. I want you. Let's just forget about everything else for a while and focus on each other."

Oscar's resolve was crumbling, his body betraying his mind as Y/n's seductive words washed over him. "But they're watching," he whispered, his eyes darting to the crucifix and the statue of the Virgin Mary.

Y/n followed his gaze, a wicked smile playing on her lips. "Let them watch," she purred, her voice low and sultry. "They know this is natural, Oscar. They'll understand. It's not like we're committing some unforgivable sin."

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "God created us with these desires, Oscar. He wouldn't condemn us for acting on them."

His heart raced, his body responding to Y/n's touch despite his mind's protests. He knew what she was saying made sense, that it was a logical argument.

Y/n's hands slid down Oscar's chest, her fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt. "Don't you see, Oscar?" she breathed, her eyes dark with desire. "This is meant to be. We're meant to be together, to share this moment. It's a gift from God."

Her lips trailed along his jawline, her teeth grazing his skin. "Think about it," she murmured, her voice low and seductive. "We're alone, with no one to disturb us. No one to judge us. It's like we're in our own little world, a world where the only thing that matters is us."

Oscar's breath hitched in his throat, his body responding to Y/n's touch despite his mind's protests. He knew what she was saying made sense, that it was a logical argument. But still, a part of him hesitated, unsure if he was truly ready to cross that line.

Oscar's resistance finally crumbled, his body melting into Y/n's embrace as he returned her kisses with a shy, tentative passion. "I... I don't know how to please a woman," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never... I'm a virgin."

Y/n's eyes widened, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before being replaced by a look of tender understanding. "Shh, it's okay," she murmured, her fingers caressing his cheek. "I'll guide you, Oscar. We'll take it slow, and I'll show you everything you need to know."

She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "Just trust me, and let yourself feel. Let yourself experience the pleasure that God has gifted us with."

Y/n gently guided Oscar to sit on the edge of the bed, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Just relax," she murmured, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'll take care of you."

She knelt down in front of him, her eyes level with his crotch. Slowly, teasingly, she ran her hands up his thighs, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles through the fabric of his jeans.

Oscar's breath hitched in his throat, his body responding to her touch despite his nervousness. He had never been this intimate with anyone before, and the thought of Y/n touching him in such a way both thrilled and terrified him.

Y/n's fingers dug into Oscar's thighs, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she squeezed and massaged the firm muscle. She could feel him shudder under her touch, his body responding to her teasing caresses.

A wicked smile played on her lips as she heard his sharp intake of breath. She loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and at her mercy. It was a heady feeling, knowing that she had the power to make him tremble with desire.

Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the zipper of his jeans, her fingers toying with the metal tab. She could see the bulge in his pants, the evidence of his arousal, and it only served to fuel her own desire.

With a swift tug, she pulled down his zipper, the sound of the metal teeth parting echoing in the quiet room. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans and boxers, pulling them down in one smooth motion until they pooled around his ankles.

Oscar flinched as Y/n eagerly tugged down his jeans and boxers, exposing his most intimate parts to her hungry gaze. Feeling shy and embarrassed by her boldness, he quickly covered his face and mouth with one hand, hiding behind it as she began to touch him.

Y/n's fingers danced along his inner thighs, slowly making their way higher and higher. She could feel his body trembling under her touch, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She reveled in the power she held over him, in the way she could make him quiver with just a simple caress.

"Relax, Oscar," she purred, her voice low and seductive. "There's no need to be shy. I'm going to make you feel so good."

Her hand wrapped around his hardening length, her fingers stroking him slowly, teasingly. Oscar let out a low moan, his hips bucking involuntarily as she touched him.

Oscar whimpered as Y/n's fingers danced along his sensitive skin, her touch both tantalizing and overwhelming. "Have you ever touched yourself?" she asked, her voice low and seductive.

Oscar's face flushed a deep crimson, his eyes darting away from hers. "N-no," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n chuckled, her fingers continuing their teasing exploration. "I don't believe you," she purred, her thumb grazing the tip of his hardening length.

He let out a low moan, his hips bucking involuntarily as she touched him. "I... I tried," he admitted, his voice trembling with embarrassment. "But I didn't know how."

Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Give me your hand," she purred, her voice low and seductive.

Oscar hesitated for a moment, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. But as Y/n's fingers intertwined with his, he found himself giving in to her guidance.

She wrapped his hand around his hardening length, her fingers gently curling around his own. "Like this," she murmured, her voice soft and encouraging. "You can go slow."

She guided his hand in a slow, steady rhythm, her fingers gliding along his shaft with each stroke. Oscar let out a low moan, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the sensation.

"Or you can go faster," Y/n whispered, her hand speeding up the pace. Oscar gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily as she increased the intensity of his strokes.

Oscar's shy moans filled the room as Y/n continued to guide his hand, her fingers curling around his own as she showed him how to stroke himself. "That feels good, doesn't it?" she purred, her voice low and seductive.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensation. He had never felt anything like this before, the pleasure coursing through his body like a raging river.

Y/n's hand sped up, her fingers gliding along his shaft with each stroke. Oscar's breath came in short, sharp gasps, his hips bucking involuntarily as she increased the intensity of his pleasure.

"You're doing so well, Oscar," she murmured, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Just let yourself feel it. Let yourself enjoy it."

Y/n's fingers slowed their strokes, her hand still intertwined with Oscar's as she guided him. "I'm going to do something now," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "Don't freak out, okay?"

Oscar nodded, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Okay," he managed to choke out, his eyes wide with anticipation and nervousness.

Slowly, teasingly, Y/n leaned forward, her lips parting as she took the tip of his cock into her mouth. Oscar let out a low, guttural moan, his fingers tightening around hers as he felt the warm, wet heat of her mouth enveloping him.

Her head bobbed up and down, her lips sealed tightly around Oscar's shaft as she began to suck. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive tip, her cheeks hollowing as she increased the suction.

Oscar's fingers tightened around hers, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. But as Y/n guided his hands away from his cock, he found himself letting go, his palms coming to rest on her shoulders as she took him deeper into her mouth.

The cross necklace around Y/n's neck dangled and swayed with each movement of her head, the gold chain catching the light as it brushed against her skin. Oscar watched, transfixed, as the symbol of her faith bounced and twirled, a stark contrast to the act she was performing.

Y/n's lips stretched around his length, her throat constricting as she took him deeper and deeper. Oscar's head fell back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lost himself in the intense pleasure of her mouth.

Oscar's eyes rolled back in his head as Y/n's mouth worked its magic on his throbbing length. "Oh my god," he groaned, the words tumbling from his lips without a second thought.

For a brief moment, the realization that he had just taken the Lord's name in vain flashed through his mind. But the overwhelming pleasure coursing through his body quickly pushed any thoughts of sin or guilt aside.

Y/n's tongue swirled around his shaft, her lips sealed tightly around him as she bobbed her head up and down. The wet, obscene sounds of her sucking filled the room, mingling with Oscar's breathy moans and gasps.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, his hips rocking back and forth as he lost himself in the sensation. Nothing else mattered in that moment - not his faith, not his vows, not the consequences of his actions. All that existed was the feeling of Y/n's mouth on his cock, and the all-consuming need for more.

Y/n could feel Oscar's body tensing, his grip on her hair loosening as he neared his climax. His moans grew louder, more desperate, his hips rocking erratically as he chased his release.

But just as he was about to reach the peak, Y/n abruptly stopped, pulling her mouth away from his throbbing length. Oscar let out a strangled cry, his body writhing with frustration.

"No, please, don't stop," he begged, his voice hoarse and pleading. "It felt so good. Please, I need..."

Y/n placed a finger against his lips, silencing him. "Shh, it's okay," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Calm down. It'll feel even better later, I promise. Just trust me on this, okay?"

Oscar's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling with need. But as he looked into Y/n's eyes, he found himself nodding, his trust in her overriding his desperation.

Y/n smiled, pleased with Oscar's compliance. "Good boy," she purred, her eyes roaming hungrily over his nearly naked form. "Now, why don't you take off the rest of your clothes for me?"

Oscar nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for the hem of his shirt. He pulled it over his head, tossing it aside carelessly before kicking off his jeans, which were still bunched around his ankles.

In his haste to obey Y/n's command, Oscar didn't even notice that she was undressing as well. His eyes were fixed on her face, his body trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.

Y/n's fingers deftly traced the bottom of her shirt, her hips swaying seductively as she slipped it off her shoulders. Her bra followed soon after, revealing her pert breasts to Oscar's wide-eyed gaze. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, shimmying out of it before sliding her panties down her legs.

Oscar's face flushed a deep crimson as he took in the sight of Y/n's naked body. He wanted to speak, to express the multitude of emotions and desires coursing through him. But the words caught in his throat, his shyness overpowering his courage.

Y/n noticed his hesitation, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Do you need to say anything, Oscar?" she asked, her voice low and inviting. "Don't be shy. It's just the two of us here."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I... I just..." he stammered, his eyes darting away from hers. "I've never seen a girl naked before. You're so beautiful."

Y/n's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with approval. "Thank you, Oscar," she purred, taking a step closer to him. "And you're pretty cute yourself."

She reached out, her fingers trailing down his chest, his abs, his hips. Oscar shivered under her touch, his body responding to her closeness despite his nervousness.

Y/n noticed Oscar's nervousness, the way his body trembled under her touch. She leaned in, capturing his lips in a soft, gentle kiss. "Hey," she whispered, her breath mingling with his. "Calm down for me, okay? You need to relax."

Oscar's eyes fluttered open, his gaze meeting hers. "S-sorry," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a bit scared."

Y/n smiled, her fingers tracing the contours of his face. "It's okay to be scared," she murmured, her lips brushing against his forehead. "But I'm here with you. I won't let anything happen to you."

She kissed him again, her lips moving softly against his. Oscar melted into the kiss, his fears slowly dissipating as he lost himself in the sensation of her touch, her warmth, her presence.

Y/n noticed the worried expression on Oscar's face, his body tense and uncertain. She cupped his cheek, her thumb stroking his skin. "Hey," she whispered, her voice soft and reassuring. "I'm okay. Don't worry."

She leaned in, capturing his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. As she did, she rocked her hips, taking him deeper inside her. A gasp escaped her lips, her eyes widening as she felt him stretch her further.

"Fuck," she breathed, her voice strained with a mix of pleasure and discomfort. "You're huge."

Oscar's eyes widened, his body relaxing slightly at her words. He had never heard such a compliment before, and it sent a surge of confidence coursing through him.

Y/n smiled, her hips moving in small, circular motions. "See?" she purred, her lips curling into a seductive smirk. "I can handle you. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Oscar nodded, his body relaxing under Y/n's guidance. "Okay," he breathed, his voice trembling with anticipation.

As Y/n began to move, Oscar's eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth falling open in a silent cry of pleasure. "Oh god," he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily as she rode him. "Oh fu- oh my god."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice low and seductive. "It's okay to swear. It's just between us."

Oscar's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. "Fuck," he breathed, the word falling from his lips like a forbidden fruit. "Fuck, Y/n. You feel so good."

She smiled, her hips moving faster, harder. "That's it," she purred, her voice encouraging. "Let go. Say whatever you want. No one's here to judge us."

Y/n's eyes sparkled with mischief as she heard Oscar swear, his voice trembling with pleasure. "That's it," she purred, her hips moving faster, harder. "You sound so pretty when you swear."

She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear. "God forbid my father ever finds out," she whispered, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But I'd gladly risk it if it meant I could hear this every night."

Oscar's eyes widened, his body tensing at the thought of being discovered. But the pleasure coursing through him was too intense to ignore, and he found himself pushing the thought aside, focusing instead on the feeling of Y/n's body moving against his.

Y/n threw her head back, a loud moan escaping her lips as Oscar hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. "Fuck, right there baby," she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders.

But as she felt him tense beneath her, his body shaking with a mix of pleasure and panic, she realized what was happening. "Stop, stop," he whimpered, his voice muffled against her neck. "I-I think I'm gonna pee."

Her eyes widened, but she quickly reassured him. "No, you're not," she whispered, her lips brushing against his ear. "That's just your body's way of telling you you're about to cum."

As if on cue, Oscar's body convulsed, his hips bucking as he released inside her. Y/n gasped, her own orgasm crashing over her as she felt him fill her with his seed.

They lay there for a moment, their breaths gradually slowing as they came down from their high. But as the post-orgasmic haze began to lift, reality started to set in.

Oscar buried his face in Y/n's neck, his voice muffled as he spoke. "That was so... oh my god..."

Y/n's arms tightened around him, her fingers running through his hair in a soothing gesture. "I know," she whispered, her voice soft and understanding. "It's a lot to take in."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face. "Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "I mean, physically. Did I hurt you at all?"

Oscar shook his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "No," he mumbled, his eyes darting away from hers. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed."

Y/n smiled, her fingers tracing the contours of Oscar's face. "That's okay," she murmured, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's normal to feel overwhelmed after your first time. Just take a deep breath and try to relax."

But before Oscar could respond, a loud crack of thunder echoed outside, followed by the sound of heavy rain pelting against the window. Oscar's eyes widened, his body tensing at the sudden noise.

"What was that?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and confusion.

Y/n glanced towards the window, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's just rain," she explained, her fingers still tracing patterns on his skin. "A big storm must have rolled in while we were... distracted."

Oscar's eyes darted between Y/n and the window, his mind struggling to process the new sensory input. The sound of the rain, the flashes of lightning illuminating the room, the scent of petrichor wafting through the air - it was all too much for his overstimulated senses to handle.

She felt his body tense against hers as another clap of thunder boomed outside. She could sense his fear, his discomfort with the sudden storm. "Okay, lay down for me," she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. "You can use the pillows to cover your ears while I go downstairs, okay?"

He nodded, his face still buried in the crook of her neck. He slowly laid down on the bed, his hands clutching the pillows tightly to his ears.

Y/n smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "I'll call your mom on the landline and let her know you're staying over tonight," she explained, her fingers tracing the shell of his ear. "I can't let you walk home in this rain."

Oscar's eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his features. "But my mom..." he started, his voice muffled by the pillows.

"Shh, it's okay," Y/n reassured him, her lips brushing against his temple. "I'll explain everything. Just try to relax, okay?"

Y/n slipped out of the bedroom, pulling her clothes back on. As she made her way downstairs, she glanced back at Oscar, who was lying on the bed staring out the window. His ears were still covered with the pillow, and the bottom half of his body was now draped with the blanket.

She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him, his vulnerability and innocence shining through despite the intimate act they had just shared. She knew he was scared, overwhelmed by the storm and the new experiences of the day. But she also knew that he trusted her, that he felt safe with her.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, Y/n took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation with Oscar's mother. She knew it wouldn't be easy, to explain why her son was spending the night during a thunderstorm. But she also knew that it was the right thing to do, to keep him safe and protected.

Y/n picked up the phone and dialed Oscar's mother's number, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves as she waited for the call to connect.

When Nicole answered, Y/n explained the situation, her voice trembling slightly. "Hi Nicole, it's Y/n. I'm so sorry to call you out of the blue like this, but... Oscar is here with me. We were practicing guitar when the storm hit, and it's just too dangerous for him to walk home right now."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and Y/n's heart sank. But then Nicole's voice came through, warm and understanding. "Oh honey, don't worry about it. I was actually just about to call you. I was going to ask if Oscar could stay the night, because I don't want him walking home in this weather either."

Y/n let out a sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension drained from her body. "Thank you so much, Nicole," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "I really appreciate your understanding."

Y/n hung up the phone, a wave of relief washing over her. She had been so worried about how Nicole would react, but her understanding and support had put Y/n's mind at ease.

She made her way back upstairs, her footsteps soft on the carpeted steps. As she entered the bedroom, she found Oscar still lying on the bed, his ears covered with the pillow and his body tucked under the blanket.

"Everything's okay," she said softly, perching on the edge of the bed. "Your mom knows you're here, and she's happy for you to stay the night. She was actually just about to call and ask me the same thing."

Oscar's eyes widened, the pillow slipping slightly as he turned to look at her. "Really?" he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and relief.

Y/n nodded, smiling reassuringly. "Really. She understands about the storm, and she doesn't want you walking home in this weather either."

Y/n rummaged through her closet, pulling out an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. They were clearly her father's clothes, the shirt hanging loosely on her frame as she held them out to Oscar.

"Come on, sit up," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Let me help you get changed."

Oscar hesitated for a moment, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. But the thought of wearing his own wet, sticky clothes made him shudder, and he slowly sat up, the blanket falling away from his body.

Y/n helped him into the oversized shirt, the fabric swallowing his smaller frame. She then handed him the shorts, averting her eyes as he slipped them on.

"There," she said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "Comfy?"

Oscar nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at the oversized clothes. They were comfortable, and he felt a sense of safety and security wearing them.

But as he went to stand up, he suddenly pulled Y/n down with him, plopping back onto the bed. She let out a small "oof" of surprise, but didn't comment on it, realizing that he was just tired and seeking comfort.

Oscar wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as he snuggled into the pillow. Y/n could feel his body relaxing against hers, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep.

She smiled, her fingers gently stroking his hair as she watched him sleep. Despite the events of the day, the intimacy they had shared, she felt a sense of peace wash over her.

The following Sunday, Y/n and Oscar found themselves back at church, sitting in their usual pews. Y/n was scheduled to read a Bible verse about lust, a topic that had taken on a whole new meaning since their encounter last week.

As she stood up to approach the podium, Y/n couldn't help but steal a glance at Oscar. Her eyes met his, and she saw his cheeks flush a deep crimson, his gaze darting away from hers.

She suppressed a smile, remembering the intimate moments they had shared. The thought of the pastor's daughter and an altar server engaging in such activities would surely raise some eyebrows if anyone found out.

Y/n cleared her throat, the microphone crackling to life as she began to read the verse. "For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God..."

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[seitmai]

“Well, part of the fun of shopping is picking out your own stuff,” you said, careful to leave the bite out of your voice. “And part of the fun of gift giving is surprising the receiver,” he said, kissing your temple. “I was trying to surprise you by having stuff you liked ready,” he added in a smaller voice.

God, Bucky really can twist everything his way 🥴

“You deserve it,” he said, sighing as he raked a hand through his hair. “I can't believe I won't see you tomorrow.” You glanced at him and noted the droop in his shoulders. He may have dismissed your feelings from time to time, but it wouldn't help you to dismiss his when you were stuck in a vehicle with him. “I know it'll be tough, but it’s one day and you do have a photo of me to look at if you’ll miss me.” Who knew what else he had since your place was bugged. “I do. I’ll probably look at it all day between work and other stuff,” he smiled, tilting his head toward you.

It's sweet but also a little bit creepy 🫣

“I think you’re one of the furthest things from a coward. Given the circumstances, you’ve been extremely brave,” he said. You didn't feel brave, but it was kind of nice to hear. “But one other favor? Don’t tear your place apart looking for the bugs either.” You practically threw your arms up in the air, his compliment of you forgotten. The man was beyond exasperating. “Oh, come on! You’re giving me the day to myself, but I still have to stay in the city and I can’t get rid of the bugs?” You smacked his chest before you could stop yourself. “Your compromises suck, do you know that?”

For real!

That cut his laughter short, but his eyes still sparkled with amusement. “Now we both know you’d donate my clothes before throwing them out. At least make your threat credible.” “I… Okay, no, I wouldn't throw them away,” you said, smacking his chest once more when he looked like he’d laugh again. “But you may be onto something with donating. Maybe I'll donate your first editions to someone, too.” “You wouldn't.” He tapped the tip of your nose, sending more fire through your veins. “You’re not the vengeful type.” Grabbing his wrist before he could pull away, you lightly bit his finger and drew a sharp gasp from him. “I might just surprise us both.”

Oh, don't threaten me with a good time 😌

He pulled back, his breathing ragged and a glazed look in his eyes. “I’m not a monster. I’m not,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. You braced yourself against the wall as he turned to leave, pausing to look over his shoulder. “I’ve just never wanted or needed anyone like you. I’m… I’m trying.”

🥴🥴🥴

Curling up on your bed next to the bag, you whispered, “Once again, you win.”

Would luck ever be on your side when it came to him?

This really broke my heart 💔

Had Bucky carved out a place for himself so deep in your core that everything went back to him? Was this how he went about his day? Did he see something or do something and his mind just went to you? How did one function when someone else constantly invaded their thoughts?

This is haunting 🥴🫣

“And it’s nice to finally meet the lady who has James Buchanan Barnes so enamored.” Your heart thudded in your chest, turning to face him. He had a knowing smile on his face, like he knew you were either afraid or worried. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?” “I don't believe you do. How rude of me to assume.” He extended a gloved hand toward you. “Helmut Zemo. James and I work together on occasion.”

Oh 👀

He shrugged a bit. “I may have bribed someone or two. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with.” Your stomach plummeted. What was wrong with these men?

For real!!

You bent over, taking a few deep breaths like he instructed. “You said I can do this, but I don't know if I can, Ray. I’m not brave,” you said in a small voice.

🥺🥺🥺

Bucky didn't have anything to fear. He was a king who ruled his city and decided what to do with the peasants. You didn’t ask for him to entangle you in anything of his, the peasant that you were. You just wanted to survive at this point.

I feel for her 🥺💔

Ray shook his head. “He’s in a mood and he misses you,” he replied. You pushed the guilt away. Bucky had to learn to handle time apart.

Urgh but Bucky has already weaseled himself into her mind 🫣🥴

Hold You Tight: Part 13

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 12 | Series Masterlist | Part 14

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.8k

Chapter Summary: You're on edge, but try to enjoy the day of freedom that Bucky promised you.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, mild dubcon (kissing, touching), tension, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, gaslighting, manipulation, stalking, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

For his part, Bucky behaved once you were back in the shop. He waited patiently while you tried on a couple of the dresses and didn't attempt to go back into the dressing room or force you to come out and model them. You were thankful for that since there wasn't anything to jam under the doorknob and you didn’t need him to corner you again. Who knew how much he’d push the envelope the next time.

Before you went to the counter, you grabbed a cardigan from a rack. “This, too, please” you said, handing it to the associate. It would be nice to have in case you got cold at the vineyard.

“Of course,” she smiled, ringing it up with the other garments and accessories selected.

Bucky eyed the cardigan with a small smile. “That looks warm and comfortable,” he commented, sliding a card across the counter. “I should’ve remembered that,” he said almost to himself.

“Well, part of the fun of shopping is picking out your own stuff,” you said, careful to leave the bite out of your voice.

“And part of the fun of gift giving is surprising the receiver,” he said, kissing your temple. “I was trying to surprise you by having stuff you liked ready,” he added in a smaller voice.

You didn’t miss the glance from the associate, making you feel as small as Bucky’s voice sounded. Of course, he made himself look like a doting boyfriend and your comment made you sound ungrateful. “It was a really nice gesture and I loved the dresses selected. Thank you,” you said. He showed that he knew and liked your taste like a caring partner would do. “But maybe during the next shopping trip I can go through and pick everything out myself?” It would give you some sort of autonomy.

“Sure,” he smiled, likely happy at the prospect of there being a next time.

You mumbled a thank you to the associate before Bucky carried everything out of the store, not at all ashamed to carry stuff for his girl. Another doting boyfriend gesture. He even refused to let Ray take the garments from him when he held the door open. Nor did he let his bodyguard help you into the car.

“I didn’t spoil you as much as I wanted to, but it’s a start,” he smiled once you both got settled in.

“Yeah, it is,” you said. In your eyes, he spoiled you plenty. “I really do appreciate it. I’m not used to someone wanting to spoil me.”

Past boyfriends didn't care enough to do nice things like that. The last girl Bucky dated tried to steal from him, but did she demand shopping trips? Maybe he was simply happy to spend his money beyond you being his girl because you didn't expect or ask him to.

“You deserve it,” he said, sighing as he raked a hand through his hair. “I can't believe I won't see you tomorrow.”

You glanced at him and noted the droop in his shoulders. He may have dismissed your feelings from time to time, but it wouldn't help you to dismiss his when you were stuck in a vehicle with him. “I know it'll be tough, but it’s one day and you do have a photo of me to look at if you’ll miss me.” Who knew what else he had since your place was bugged.

“I do. I’ll probably look at it all day between work and other stuff,” he smiled, tilting his head toward you. “Do you think you could do me a favor?”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Depends on the favor,” you replied. God, did he want you to send him an explicit photo of you or something?

He made sure he was looking you in the eye. “Don’t run tomorrow. Don't leave the city,” he stated.

You blinked. The man wasn’t psychic, so how could he possibly know you thought of doing that very thing? At least, to get out of the city earlier than the girls trip. Was your poker face that terrible? “You think I’ll run?”

“I think part of you wants to try. Not even because you want freedom, but because you want to rebel against me and take back some control,” he replied. For his part, he didn’t sound upset. “But I think you and I both know you either won’t get far or you won’t end up running at all.”

You opened and shut your mouth. You wanted to. God knows you wanted to get far away. “Do you think I’m a coward if I don’t try?” You weren’t sure why his opinion on the situation mattered since he was the cause of it all.

“I think you’re one of the furthest things from a coward. Given the circumstances, you’ve been extremely brave,” he said. You didn't feel brave, but it was kind of nice to hear. “But one other favor? Don’t tear your place apart looking for the bugs either.”

You practically threw your arms up in the air, his compliment of you forgotten. The man was beyond exasperating. “Oh, come on! You’re giving me the day to myself, but I still have to stay in the city and I can’t get rid of the bugs?” You smacked his chest before you could stop yourself. “Your compromises suck, do you know that?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Did you… did you just say my compromises suck?” He threw his head back, his laughter filling the car. “Your insults are just as adorable as you are.”

“Yes, that’s what I said and my insults aren’t adorable,” you said, your face hot when he kept chuckling. “And I swear if you find some sort of loophole to see me tomorrow, I will go to your penthouse and throw out all of your expensive suits for being a liar.”

That cut his laughter short, but his eyes still sparkled with amusement. “Now we both know you’d donate my clothes before throwing them out. At least make your threat credible.”

“I… Okay, no, I wouldn't throw them away,” you said, smacking his chest once more when he looked like he’d laugh again. “But you may be onto something with donating. Maybe I'll donate your first editions to someone, too.”

“You wouldn't.” He tapped the tip of your nose, sending more fire through your veins. “You’re not the vengeful type.”

Grabbing his wrist before he could pull away, you lightly bit his finger and drew a sharp gasp from him. “I might just surprise us both.”

Heat crept up your neck at the look in his eyes. “I have no doubt about that,” he whispered, holding the back of your head and closing the gap between you.

His lips were persistent against yours, but still soft. So was his tongue invading your mouth. You put a hand against his chest as he pushed further into your space, but he was an immovable wall. You should've known he’d take your action as foreplay. He would twist anything and everything you did in his favor.

His scruff tickled your cheek as you turned your head away to breathe, but the intake of air didn't slow your heart. “Did you know I’ve dreamt of moments like this with you?” His hand cupped your breast through your top as you shuddered. You were trapped once again, just like in the shop. “You riled up or flustered and you making me laugh? Just… little moments.”

“No,” you whispered, his thumb brushing your nipple until it hardened. Touching you, having you, yes, you knew he dreamt of those things. You knew he wanted a connection. Hearing how much he craved the little things made your head spin, too.

“Well, I have.” Before you could tell him to stop, his hand fell away. “I won’t bother you tomorrow,” he whispered, brushing his hair back and settling once again in his seat. “As much as I want to see you, I won't.”

You smoothed out your top and got comfortable again, too. The underlying tension didn't cease when he took your hand and you didn't flinch or pull away. He wouldn't try anything else. Not tonight. You just knew.

“Try not to run tomorrow, okay?” he asked.

You looked out the window and caught him looking at you in the glass, the semi distorted image an accurate description of your relationship. You knew it was off, that he was off. No one else would see it that way or just didn’t care.

“I’ll try not to,” you replied.

Whether it was cowardly to not try or stupidly brave to stay, you might just have to stay put.

You didn't say much for the remainder of the car ride. Bucky brought up the double date again with Steve and you didn't argue when he suggested a couple of places. Maybe you could figure out what Steve was doing to this girl and you could help each other out. At the very least, it would be nice to have a new friend who might understand a bit of what you were going through.

It was fucked up way to think.

Bucky managed to balance the books he purchased for you earlier that day as well as the clothes once Ray parked the car. “I can carry something,” you offered.

“I've got it, but thanks,” he said, refusing to let Ray help either. “And this way, I'll keep my hands to myself,” he added with a smirk.

You bristled, but recovered quickly. “I hope you have a good evening, Ray.”

He gave you a nod and what looked like a hint of a smile. “You as well.”

You were a bundle of nerves as you went into your building. You were close to having time to yourself, but Bucky was still going up to your apartment since he insisted on carrying everything. The elevator ride up was comfortably silent, but you saw the tension in his body once you got to your floor. He really didn’t want to let you go for a day.

“Thank you again for the books and the clothes,” you said, getting your keys out as he followed closely. He was practically breathing down your neck. “You can just leave everything in the entryway.”

He hummed, stepping inside once you unlocked the door. “You don’t want me in your bedroom?” he guessed.

“I think we’ve had enough excitement for today,” you said. Between kissing you in the shop and his car, you wouldn’t risk it.

He carefully set the books and garments down before he turned to you. In an instant, your back was against the wall and the sound you made muffled by his mouth. He moaned against your lips when you didn’t turn your head away, but you shoved his chest to get him away. You really thought he wouldn’t push anymore tonight. He promised. He…

He stopped.

He pulled back, his breathing ragged and a glazed look in his eyes. “I’m not a monster. I’m not,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his face. You braced yourself against the wall as he turned to leave, pausing to look over his shoulder. “I’ve just never wanted or needed anyone like you. I’m… I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” you whispered. And he wanted you to want and need him, too.

He smiled sadly and you almost reached out to soothe him, but you refrained. “Enjoy your day tomorrow,” he said.

The door shut before you could respond, leaving you in the silence of your apartment. A minute or two passed before you went to your room. Uncaring of the bugs around your place, you began to pack a few things in a tote bag with tears in your eyes. You wouldn’t leave tonight, but you’d be prepared if you wanted to go tomorrow. Who were you kidding, would you leave at all?

You blinked the tears away when you caught the photo of you and your friends on the dresser. It was foolish to think of escaping if it meant risking something happening to your loved ones. Addison and Brady. Dana. Your other friends. Mrs. Crandle. In the end, you would have to stay for them. Your life for their safety and continued happiness.

A small price to pay.

Curling up on your bed next to the bag, you whispered, “Once again, you win.”

Would luck ever be on your side when it came to him?

There were no texts from Bucky when you woke up the next morning. It felt… oddly quiet, but you weren’t sure if that was a relief or something you didn’t want to think about. Nothing was out of place in your apartment, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still being watched thanks to the bugs. There were no gifts outside of your door. No breakfast. Just the quiet of your own thoughts as you went about your morning routine.

You smiled as you left the apartment, but it felt different today. Somehow lighter. It was as though normalcy wasn’t a burden, but a chance to breathe, to exist without your new “boyfriend” pulling the strings. The crisp morning air felt welcoming, and the walk to your favorite cafe was like a promise that today you could simply enjoy the time you had. The rich scents of coffee and pastries greeted you like an old friend, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of something close to peace.

“Most important meal of the day.”

You tried to push Bucky and his haunting blue eyes from your thoughts, but his absence lingered like a shadow you couldn’t chase away. He still followed you. Today wasn’t a day for lingering on what could happen tomorrow. Today was about you and small steps, about finding comfort in simple moments, and allowing yourself to breathe without the weight of uncertainty. And kindness to a stranger seemed like a good place to start.

“I’d like to pay for the person behind me,” you said.

"Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that," the woman said, her surprise softening into a genuine smile. Something in her tone felt warm, like the simple exchange was more than just about paying for her coffee and pastry. It felt like a shared understanding, a reminder that kindness still mattered, and that it could still find its place in a world that often felt too heavy.

You couldn’t help but smile a little wider. “I wanted to,” you said, taking your to-go bag. You were still capable of offering kindness and still held the belief that it could make a difference, even in small ways. “Have a great day.”

The next stop was the flower shop once you finished your treat. You carefully selected a variety of flowers so you could make a nice arrangement at home. You were far from sad, but it would brighten up your mood more. Working with flowers always gave you a burst of happiness.

Once you were back at your apartment, with no one waiting for you, you got to work. Humming, you cut and prepped the flowers and selected a wide, simple vase. Once you had the grid of tape on, you added the greenery, focal flowers, and filler flowers. You loved the balance and harmony it presented once finished. It was also beautiful.

You snapped a photo of the colorful arrangement and sent it to the girl group chat. “What do we think?”

Addison was the first to respond. “Gorgeous! Seriously, how do you do that? I can’t wait to see what you do for my wedding!”

Dana responded next. “Why are you not running your own shop? Mrs. Crandle is sweet, but you should be in charge.”

You giggled when Gina asked, “Can you please tell me how to keep flowers alive? I’m hopeless.” with just about everyone reacting with a finger pointing up.

“You also appreciate Words of Affirmation, even if compliments make you feel uncertain because you sometimes feel overlooked.”

You hugged your phone to your chest as Bucky’s voice echoed in your mind. The praise from your friends was warm and you felt seen, but a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if you were seeking validation. Did you need them to remind you that you were good at something? Or was it just that you didn’t want to feel invisible, even in this small corner of your world?

“Love you ladies. Can’t wait for Saturday.”

It was true. You loved them and always would. With the thought of the upcoming weekend and enjoying the time together, your doubt was silenced.

There were still no texts from Bucky as you wrapped up the morning. Things felt normal. It was almost too normal. You felt like you were still holding your breath and looking over your shoulder when you left your place again to head to the bookstore, expecting Bucky to block your path or suddenly show up.

It was silly to visit the bookstore considering you were just there and Bucky bought you a bunch of books. Like the cafe, it was another sense of comfort. You even spotted a new book you previously overlooked. It was a perfect novel to add to your collection.

“Reading has always been a hobby of mine. I even have first editions of some of my favorite books.”

Had Bucky carved out a place for himself so deep in your core that everything went back to him? Was this how he went about his day? Did he see something or do something and his mind just went to you? How did one function when someone else constantly invaded their thoughts?

“Hi. Is Marc working today?” you asked once you were at the counter. You wanted to see with your own eyes that he was okay.

“No, he isn’t, but he’ll be in tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, stopping the associate before she bagged the book. Maybe you could find an excuse to go back or call to talk to him. “I’ll just put that in my bag, thanks.”

The weather had warmed up enough that you could go to the park with your new book in hand. Grabbing a seat on an empty bench, you took a moment to appreciate the landscape. It was one of the brightest spots in the city. You sometimes pictured having a picnic date there, looking up at the sky and seeing what shapes the clouds made.

“One day,” you smiled to yourself, getting started on your book.

You were only about one chapter in when a man’s voice jolted you from the pages. “Excuse me, miss. Is this seat available?” You glanced up to find a tall man in a turtleneck and long trench coat standing over you with a charming smile. Was he wearing purple gloves? “My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay.” You nodded to the empty spot. “Feel free.”

“Thank you.” He sat down, his eyes on you as you tried to go back to your book. “Beautiful day, isn't it?”

“It is,” you agreed, turning a page in the hopes he’d get the hint. You didn’t want to be rude by not conversing, but you were trying to read.

“And it’s nice to finally meet the lady who has James Buchanan Barnes so enamored.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, turning to face him. He had a knowing smile on his face, like he knew you were either afraid or worried. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“I don't believe you do. How rude of me to assume.” He extended a gloved hand toward you. “Helmut Zemo. James and I work together on occasion.”

“Nice to meet you.” You shook his hand, but didn't let it linger. Something about him put you on edge, a different sort of edge than Bucky. “I don't hear many people call him James.”

“He’s not particularly fond of it. He much prefers for people to call him Bucky.”

That said something about their relationship if the man didn't respect Bucky’s preferred name. “Okay, Mr. Zemo. Is there something I can help you with?” You couldn't imagine Bucky sending this man to speak to you. “And, I’m sorry, how did you know where to find me?”

He shrugged a bit. “I may have bribed someone or two. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with.”

Your stomach plummeted. What was wrong with these men? “You sound like Bucky,” you muttered. No wonder they worked together sometimes, if he was telling the truth. “And if you’re bribing people just to get close to me, I think I have the right to know exactly who you spoke to.”

“As I said, it’s nothing for you to trouble yourself with.”

You looked around. There were others at the park, but no one paid any attention to you. What would happen if you screamed? “What do you want from me?” you asked. Was this one of the things Bucky meant when he said it wasn’t safe for you?

He held his hands up. “I mean you no harm. I just wanted to see you face-to-face since I didn't receive an invitation from James to meet you at his club. I’m sure it… slipped his mind,” he said with a bitter smile that had you shifting away from him. “I must say, you don't strike me as the type to fall for a murderer.”

You swallowed a little. “A murderer?” Bucky had referred to himself as a monster who hurt and killed.

“Oh, yes. The blood of many stains his hands, don't you know. Alexander Pierce. Brock Rumlow. Jasper Sitwell. Howard Stark,” he ticked off names like he was listing ingredients for a recipe. “He even killed-”

“I think your time’s up.”

Both of you looked behind you to find Ray standing feet away. It was one of the first times you ever saw the stoic man look angry. “Ray?”

“Ah, Raymond!” Zemo smiled, pushing himself up from the bench. He didn’t look at all intimidated by Bucky’s bodyguard. “I was wondering which one of you would show up. Good to see you still have work.”

Ray blinked twice. “Indeed. And I’m sure you’ll hear from my boss very soon,” he said, walking around the bench to put space between you and the virtual stranger. “For now, you should go back to your side of the city and leave her be.”

“We were only talking.” Zemo held his hands up again. “You don't think I'd pose a threat to the property of James Barnes, do you?”

“I’m no one’s property. I'm a person,” you seethed, holding your head high. You were tired of everyone around you thinking of you as an object. “And I agree with Ray. You need to go. Now.”

“Such unexpected fire,” Zemo smiled, making your skin crawl. “I didn't mean to upset or offend you. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

Ray’s jaw clenched. “Walk away and don't look back at her,” he ordered.

Zemo glared at Ray, but walked away without another word, his jacket flowing in the light breeze.

You breathed properly again as Ray took a seat next to you. “Are you okay?” He shifted toward you when you nodded. “I’m so sorry he bothered you. He was supposed to be out of town.”

“Who is he? How did he know where to find me?” You narrowed your eyes at Ray and he didn't flinch under your gaze. Much scarier people stared him down. “And how did you know where to find me?”

“Zemo works with Bucky from time to time. He has his own club blocks away, Echo Scorpion. Lots of money and resources and far from being Bucky’s friend,” he explained, blinking twice again. “Boss wanted to make extra sure you were safe and he thought I was the best for the job.”

“What?” you asked over a whisper. Bucky and his fucking loopholes. “Have you been following me all day?”

“Yes,” he answered.

You slowly breathed in and out to remain calm about the fact that Bucky stayed away, but still had you followed. It didn’t calm you down. You were upset. So upset that you let out a shout of frustration loud enough that a few people looked your way, but no one stopped to check and make sure you were okay. Maybe they thought you were crazy. Maybe you were at this point.

Ray didn’t look at all surprised by your outburst. “Not to defend my boss, but he is keeping his promise by not contacting you himself if that is any consolation.”

“He still sent you, Ray. He can say all he wants that it’s for my safety and maybe it is, but it’s still a control freak move and he’s probably demanding that you give him every detail about my day,” you argued, shoving your book into your bag. “And today was going so well.”

“It still can.”

“You’re still going to follow me though.” With Zemo showing up, maybe it was for the best that Ray showed up. “That Zemo guy. Is he going to hurt me?”

“No,” Ray said with certainty. Zemo still wanted something though. Maybe he wanted to get under Bucky’s skin since he wasn't asked to meet you. “He knows that would start a war of sorts. Try not to worry about him. We’ll deal with him.”

“Start a war? You’ll deal with him? You speak so casually about violence because I assume it’s violence that’s intended,” you said as Ray looked in his lap. “He said Bucky is a murderer and he listed names. He killed those people, didn’t he?” you pressed, shuddering a bit when Ray didn’t deny it. God, he really was a killer. Why? For his own gain? “I need to sit down,” you said when your vision began to blur.

“You are sitting down,” he gently pointed out, scooting over and tenderly placing a hand on the back of your head. “Deep breaths. Put your head between your knees. It’ll help.”

You bent over, taking a few deep breaths like he instructed. “You said I can do this, but I don't know if I can, Ray. I’m not brave,” you said in a small voice.

Bucky didn't have anything to fear. He was a king who ruled his city and decided what to do with the peasants. You didn’t ask for him to entangle you in anything of his, the peasant that you were. You just wanted to survive at this point.

Ray surprised you by rubbing your back, your head starting to feel normal again. “Yes, you are. You just don't believe it because you’re not in your element,” he said, helping you sit up properly again after a minute. You did feel a bit better. “Try not to think about this and enjoy the rest of your day. You owe it to yourself to have some peace and relaxation.”

Glancing at your tote bag, you had to agree. You did owe it to yourself to have a bit of peace and relaxation. “Bucky asked me not to run or look for the bugs, but I can’t have complete peace today if I go back to my place for the night,” you said, glancing at the blonde beside you. “Is there anywhere I can stay where he won’t have direct eyes on me?”

Up until Zemo showed up, it was a normal day. A good day. You wanted that to continue.

Ray thought it over. “There’s a hotel not far from here, The Red Room. We can get you a suite for the night. I will warn you before you ask, the manager has worked with Bucky before.” He stopped you before you could get up and leave. “But she won’t breathe a word to him about anything you do. Her staff is very discreet.”

You weren’t sure whether to believe him or not. At the end of the day, he worked with Bucky and his loyalty remained with him. “Why The Red Room and not just another hotel?”

“Because it’s safe there,” he said.

You sighed and slowly got to your feet. It wasn’t getting away, but it was a small win and something told you to trust Ray. “Before we go, is Bucky doing okay today?” Part of you was curious.

Ray shook his head. “He’s in a mood and he misses you,” he replied. You pushed the guilt away. Bucky had to learn to handle time apart. “Shall we go? Are you okay to walk?”

“I’m fine. Just lead the way,” you answered.

Spending time in a hotel suite would relax you. It would give you time to read your book. And it wasn't like Bucky would show up and ambush you.

Right?

And Zemo has entered the picture. What will Bucky do when he finds out he made contact with his girl? Is Ray really looking out for you? Will anything happen at the hotel or will our girl get the rest she more than deserves? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[illbegottenfaith]

lucky pt 2 - theo nott x reader

after the Felix Felicis incident, your relationship with theo has dramatically changed, for better and for worse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - by popular demand! rip my title tho the best alternative I could come up with was ‘feminine ass-kicking’ but idk if that’s too out there. also I’ve started part 3 too! (which should be the final part) this was kind of inspired by gilmore girls season 6 :)

tropes/warnings - academic rivals to lovers, angst, slow burn, miscommunication

word count - 2.1k

The Felix Felicis incident had given the both of you much to think about. Outwardly, you maintained the appearance that nothing had changed between the two of you, taking snipes at each other every now and then. But every night, before you’d fall asleep, your mind would wander back to that evening at the Astronomy Tower, the sight of Theo and the harsh contours of his face softened by the forgiving setting sun. Every night, he asks if you have anything else to say. Every night, you shake your head.

And as much as you’d like to pretend otherwise, things had changed between you. Theo became more reserved, somehow, less determined to spar with you. Your fights didn’t hold anywhere near the spark they once did. And you hated it. You hated that it bothered you, you hated that it upset you, you hated that it was all you could think about every time you were in the same classroom as him. It just wasn’t fair.

What also wasn’t fair was your entire group falling sick the day before an extremely crucial Potions project was due. They were all more than apologetic, but it didn’t change the fact that months worth of work to complete in one night if you wanted even a semblance of a chance at passing.

Which was how Theodore Nott found you in the library late one night, pouring over five gnarly tomes on Potions from the Medieval era, writing what looked like three essays at once. You flinched when you heard a noise near the bookshelves, and your mood wasn’t much improved when you saw who it was.

“Trying to read every book in one night, L/N?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. After weeks of stunted conversation, now that it was just the two of them, he was suddenly feeling chatty?

“I'm busy. Buzz off.”

Ignoring you, Theo crept closer, tilting his head to read what you were haphazardly scribbling.

“The Potions project? But we started that months ago. And it’s due tomorrow.”

You swept the papers up out of his sight. You were already in a testy mood to begin with and you were in no mood to have him crow over your bad luck.

“What part of ‘buzz off’ don’t you get?”

“Where are your groupmates?”

“Sick.”

“Sick?”

“They all went on some Hogsmeade trip together, the whole lot of them. They all caught it from each other and they’re supposed to be stupidly contagious.”

“But their reports should be fine.”

“They were, until Madam Pomfrey declared them a biohazard.” Your head was beginning to hurt from the bottled-up frustration. You knew it wasn’t their fault for falling sick, but now you had to pull an all-nighter just so you wouldn’t fail. You stood and walked past him to the shelves, pulling out any and every book that remotely looked like it might help. 

You glanced at the clock, mentally calculating how much time you’d need. There was no way you could get it all done by 9 am. Feeling quite proud of yourself for successfully giving Theo the same cold shoulder he had been giving you the past couple of weeks, you walked to the library telephone and started dialing the number to Slughorn’s office. One of the only people who could help you now was Jeeves, Slughorn’s teaching assistant, provided he was in a good enough mood.

“Jeeves, hi. Yes, I know it’s late, but I was wondering if you could delay the Potions project submission by just an hour? I’m sure Slughorn wouldn’t mind. It’s just my entire team fell sick all at once, and Madam Pomfrey threw out everything they’ve touched in the past three days, including their reports. I know it's due 9 am but couldn’t you bend the rule a little, just this once? For me?”

You rubbed your forehead anxiously, an unpleasant expression on your face as you tried to follow whatever Jeeves was yammering about punctuality. When he moved on to the importance of personal accountability, you felt like you were going to combust if you didn’t shut him up soon.

“Y’know, Jeeves,” you interrupted with a dramatic sigh, dropping your voice, “just the other day I was thinking about that one Quidditch match you had played a couple of years back. Yes, that one game you subbed in for the Chaser? I have to say, you’re no slouch yourself out on the pitch. You sure look like you know your way around a broom. Yes, exactly, way better than those oafs on the team. I always thought it was a shame you didn’t make the cut - one hour. Yes, yes, that’s all I need. Thank you, thank you!”

You hung up, already feeling much more hopeful with the one-hour extension. All that was left to do was slave away for the rest of the night, and by morning you’d have a more than acceptable report ready.

“…what was that?”

You started, having nearly forgotten who was with you. “What was what?” You asked, half-distracted, once again absorbed in rearranging the layout of your Potions project.

“That, with the - ‘you look like you know your way around a broom?’ Really?”

You glanced at Theo, frowning. “Well, how do you get what you want?”

You turned your gaze back to the book splayed out in front of you, missing the brief look of longing that passed over Theo’s face. “Hmm. Bribery, mainly.”

“Right,” you said slowly, a hint of sarcasm in your tone underneath the flurry of activity. “That trust fund isn’t going to spend itself, now is it?”

“My trust fund doesn’t kick in ‘til I’m 25, tesoro.”

You wanted to kick yourself when your heart fluttered over the stupidly endearing pet name. You didn’t realise how much you missed it. “Oh, oh, of course. Mr. Moneybags here is just absolutely rolling in it even without his trust fund. How could I forget?”

“Mr. Moneybags? That’s the best you can come up with?”

You huffed without any real annoyance. You walked over to where Theo was lounging as he lazily watched you spin like a top between the bookshelves. He had the decency to sit up slightly as you approached and dumped the stack of papers into his lap.

“Look, Nott, I’m on a time crunch here. So either help me or get out.”

Theo looked up at you without a trace of mockery in his otherwise teasing blue eyes. You willed yourself to not look away. 

“Yes, ma'am.”

You made the mistake of holding his gaze. A beat passed, then two. It seemed that it was surprisingly impossible for either of you to look away. Finally, you snapped out of it, mentally giving yourself a good shake as you hurried out of his magnetic field back to the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have thought you were flirting with him.

“Wha -?”

“Toast. From breakfast.”

You glanced around the room bleary-eyed, seizing Theo’s wrist a little harder than necessary as you blinked the sleep out of your eyes. As much as you hated to admit it, last night had gone better than you could have ever hoped. It helped to have another pair of hands and a brain that was almost as good as yours. Unfortunately, you must have nodded off at some point, 

Cursing as you finally made out the time on his watch, you peeled off the piece of parchment stuck to your face and continued writing, even as every muscle in your palm protested. Theo rolled his eyes and stuck the toast in your mouth, which you mindlessly nibbled on for the next hour or so. 

When you were finally done, you stuck your group’s names on the cover page and the two of you hurried down to Slughorn’s office a little before 10 o clock. Jeeves, good man that he was, was still in. But your relief was short-lived.

Jeeves did an insufferably exaggerated impression of reading the time as you walked in. “It’s 2 past 10. I’m afraid I can’t accept your submission.”

This was it. You reached your limit. You weren’t running on what was at most 2 hours of sleep just for some self-important dimwit of a teaching assistant to refuse your submission.

You grabbed the collar of Jeeves’ shirt, manhandling him with hours' worth of frustration. “Listen here, Jeeves. You will accept my group’s submission if you want to walk out of here with every part of your anatomy intact. You will take these essays I have here and you will accept them graciously, Merlin help you if you don’t.”

“What happened to using your feminine wiles?” asked Theo, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, well, now I’m more in the mood for a feminine ass-kicking. Jeeves, come on. ”

You only released him when Theo placed a calming hand on your wrist. He reached into his pocket, offering something to a very red-faced and highly affronted Jeeves.

“C’mon, Jeeves. Maybe we could make this more worth your while.”

You hesitated, torn. On the one hand, you were raised better than to bribe people or accept financial aid, especially when you didn’t really need it. On the other hand, this project was worth 40% of your grade and Jeeves was being a little bitch. 

Jeeves mulled over the coins in his palm, taking his sweet time appraising them. Just as it looked like he was about to ask for something a little more, you slammed a hand on his desk.

“Alright, fine, hand it over.”

Once you’d finally successfully submitted your project, the two of you walked out of Slughorn’s office in a daze. Without the stress of the impending deadline to act as a buffer between you, a certain awkwardness started to set in. Theo had his hands in his pockets, rubbing at a scuffed patch on the floor with his shoe.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you started, but he waved off your protests. Still, no one pulls an all-nighter for just about anyone.

“So how much did you give him?”

Theo sighed. “L/N.”

But you were already pulling out your coin purse. “It can’t have been more than what I have on me now.”

“Y/N.” You stopped counting out your coins. He was looking at you strangely, like he didn’t understand what he was doing either. “Forget it. Really.”

Reluctantly, you pocketed your coin purse. A hysterical sort of giddiness was starting to set in. “We did it.”

“You did it.”

Maybe it was the long night of endless writing or your grumbling stomach. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at you now, with a smile so sincere like he was genuinely so proud of you. Whatever it was, you took a step towards him, and then another before throwing your arms around his neck.

It was a little less dignified than you would have hoped, what with you trembling with barely any sleep and the vestiges of caffeine-induced adrenaline and him having the audacity of being a whole head taller than you since sixth year. But he steadied you before you could tip back, his arms resting around your waist. You had never shaken hands, much less hugged each other, but something about it felt so warm, comforting, familiar. The feel of his solid body pressed against yours didn’t feel so terrible.

But as you pulled apart, you caught sight of his expression, and your face fell. He wasn’t smiling like you, not anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, immediately feeling like the biggest idiot in the world. He still wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look angry either. He looked - you couldn’t tell how he looked. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear almost regretfully, before turning to leave.

“Don’t.”

Theo paused. He didn’t turn to face you.

“Don’t do this, Nott. Don’t be cold. Don’t be distant.”

He adjusted the shoulder strap of his satchel. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was nervous. “I have Charms to get to.” He turned his head slightly but not enough to meet your gaze. “You should get a proper breakfast.”

And then he left, as if he had no idea what you were talking about. As if the last twelve hours hadn’t occurred. As if he hadn’t felt the void festering between you the past couple of weeks.

As if he didn’t care about you.

[girlsloveupdates]

GL airing in 2025 (so far)

Only You (original plot)

The series mixes action and adventure, with Tawan, a bodyguard in charge of protecting Ira. The romance between them grows amid threats and dangerous situations, creating a plot full of action and emotion. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Watch the official teaser here.

The Dragon House (novel adapted)

The Dragon House tells the story of Fei Long, heiress to the feared Dragon Fire Gang, who needs to form an alliance with Wang Li Ming, the successor of the Jade Lion Gang. Together, the two face rivalries and tensions, and the chemistry between them promises to heat up the plot. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Watch the official teaser here.

Buy My Boss (novel adapted)

Recent graduate Manfan is facing numerous problems: her family's bankrupt; she's been dumped; everything's gone downhill, dragged down to the abyss. Wanting nothing more than some release, she hires an enchanting escort named Araya who reassures her that good things are coming. Who would have thought that later, when she takes on an important job, would she meet her boss Issara, and would come to learn that Araya and Issara are one and the same?

Watch the official teaser here.

Us (novel adapted)

Dokrak decides to take a gap year to find herself after finishing high school. She has a part-time job at a coworking space coffee shop. It's here that she crosses paths with dentistry student Pam who’s a regular at the café to hit the books. As she gets to know Pam, Dokrak develops a crush. When her brother, however, meets Pam, he falls for her at first sight. Kawi turns to Dokrak, asking her to play matchmaker. Because she loves him and wants to see him happy, Dokrak begins coaching him. As time goes on, however, she finds herself unable to ignore her growing feelings for Pam. Before she knows it, she's fully in love and Pam is Kawi's girlfriend.

Watch the official teaser here.

Reverse With Me (novel adapted)

Amid the intricate waltz of time, Kliaokhluen's life was spared seven years ago by a mysterious medical student Karan who possesses the power to manipulate time. Saved from the brink of death, Kliaokhluen found her life purpose, yet the only remnant of her savior was a name. Haunted by an unfulfilled connection, Kliaokhluen embarks on a relentless quest for Karan. She pursues a medical degree to follow in the footsteps of her enigmatic savior until fate takes an unexpected turn when, amidst the frantic urgency of the emergency room, their paths converge once more. Karan emerges, not as a fellow student but as a cold and distant cardiothoracic surgeon. Kliaokhluen, now a seasoned sixth-year medical student, struggles to bridge the gap, yearning for acknowledgment and understanding. As the lines between past and present blur, secrets unfold, revealing a complex accident from years ago and the icy demeanor of the woman who holds the key to Kliaokhluen's unanswered questions. Will Karan remain indifferent, refusing to recognize her unique ability to control time, or will their intertwined destinies finally unravel?

Watch the official trailer here.

Shades (original plot)

The series takes place in a chaotic all-girls school. The students, who are expected to be well-behaved, are rebellious and break the rules.

Watch the official teaser here.

No Romeo (original plot)

The series follows two friends. As their feelings evolve, financial and family issues come into play, bringing complication and depth to their relationship.

I’m Your Moon (novel adapted)

In the Buddhist year 2456 (1913), social rank and tradition bars the love between two princesses. Her Serene Highness Princess Phiangrawi and Her Serene Highness Princess Sasinapha are like sun and moon; they may never exist side by side. Nevertheless, their unfulfilled love and heart's wishes weave them a path back to each other. By the Buddhist year 2564 (2021), a new era has dawned when they fall back into one another's orbits. Katsakorn and Athitthan happen to meet and love blossoms in their hearts once more. The path to love, however, is never easy. The two must join hands to fight for it. Even without the veil of tradition barring them, the treacherous tale from the past still has a hold on their present.

Let’s Kick This Love (original plot)

The plot follows two main characters in an action-packed, adventure-filled story, with Senam in the cast, playing an important role in the plot. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Stuck With Me (novel adapted)

The plot revolves around Maitree and ManMek. One of them has the ability to stop time for 10 minutes. The plot mixes romance and mystery, with a good dose of tension, as the professional issues of both generate emotional complexity and the control of time can bring dramatic twists and turns. (summarised by @lesbicine)

Clairebell (novel adapted)

Belle Lalita was arrested on drug possession charges, even though the drugs weren’t hers. However, with the overwhelming evidence against her, her lawyer argued that there was no chance of winning the case, even if they fought it. Reluctantly, the young woman accepted her fate and stepped into prison, sentenced to fifteen months. However, life inside prison for Belle was far from peaceful as she had expected. She became a target of a powerful group within the prison, a group so influential that even the warden turned a blind eye to their actions due to mutual benefits. Belle had no other choice. Her last hope for survival lay with Claire, known as "Nineteen Scars," a notorious inmate whom no one dared approach. Amidst the storm of her life, while being confined and stripped of her freedom, Belle gradually began to feel the kindness hidden within Claire. Similarly, Claire started to learn how to empathize with others through Belle. "Love" slowly blossomed behind the towering prison walls, despite the increasing obstacles from both the powers within the prison and the outside world that had not been completely severed.

Somewhere, Somehow (novel adapted)

A hilarious and heartbreaking love story about a talented female engineer and her beautiful, fierce, and brutal female vice president that will make you smile, laugh, and cry with it.

[puckinghischier]

okay so…not that anyone asked but i have some…thoughts about this discourse surrounding jack’s signing last night

and honestly….i’m sad. i’m so insanely sad that so many people who claim to love this team are so quick to assume jack is a lost cause asshole. i think so much of it is entitlement. and yeah, as people, everyone deserve kindness and overall base level social behaviors. but where is that for jack right now?

where’s the grace and understanding that he’s tired. they likely had a day full of practice and drills and workouts before this signing. i mean, did he even get to go home before he was expected to sit and sign autographs for hours? why was he alone? why didn’t they put him with someone else? i know the answer is likely because he was the most sought after signature there and they didn’t want to make his line even longer, but still. i feel like jack has been very open and intentional with the fact he doesn’t like to do media. he wants to play hockey and go home.

and yeah, he also knew it came with the territory, but it doesn’t matter. if you sign up to be a teacher, you know there’s going to be early mornings, but that doesn’t mean you have to like getting up early. if you agree to work in healthcare, you know there’s going to aspects of the job that are gross and unfortunate, but it doesn’t mean you have to like cleaning up bodily fluids. the same can be said for these guys. they signed up to be professional hockey players, they knew media and signings and events were going to be expected of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it.

but back to entitlement thing. i think it has become so normalized to create personas for real people in our heads that people are quite literally unable to separate the fantasy from reality. and i mean, i’ll even say i contribute to the problem. all fanfic writers do. we create these idealized and fictional versions of these men, but the ability to differentiate between the two cannot be lost in the process. but i think it has been. i think there’s this unrealistic expectation thrust upon all of them, but especially jack.

he’s popular, he’s cutie, and he’s good at hockey. of course he’s going to have a mass following. but…he’s just a guy, y’all. he’s a guy that has bad days, good days, who gets tired, who has a social battery. and last night, i think that social battery had just run out. do you know how long he’s been watched and in the media? do you know how long he’s been the most watched hughes, the expectations he’s carried on him for years?

i just think there needs to be some compassion and grace here. going back to the whole “people pay to watch me play” incident is a little excessive, imo. i mean, are we going to hold every single player to everything they’ve ever said in the box? does it define who they are and their character? i have not once seen anyone berate and question quinn’s character when he told someone they were “fucking nothing”. which, if you really want to get down to it, is worse than what jack said.

but no, jack is expected to be this guy with rainbows coming out of his ass all the time, apparently. i think the concept of social cues and situational awareness has been so lost because of the screen culture right now. people do so much communication through screens and phones that they forget, people aren’t always enthusiastic and bright, even if they add an exclamation point to their text. last night was not something jack chose to do of his own accord. he was told to do it, and he did it. he made sure the kids had a good time and felt cared for. he signed everything that came across his table. could he have been a little more chatty? yeah. could he have maybe smiled a bit more? yeah.

but seriously, he knew he was going to have to sign a million different items and see a million different people. the whole point of a signing is just that. if he was even remotely going to get out of there on time, there’s no way he could have had any meaningful conversation with every single person. and i feel like he’s said before he prioritizes/likes kids? i could be wrong, so don’t hold me to that.

but the point is, this whole situation is so sad and such a good example of how gossip blogs only care about getting likes and reblogs and attention. they don’t care about these players, no matter how much they claim to. and people are so quick to take everything they read for fact. personally, i think jack is just…antisocial.

i think he has a persona on the ice because he’s in his element, he’s comfortable, and he’s excited to be there. when he’s with his family and around his friends, he seems to be an overall happy guy. but around strangers? strangers that want to talk about his stats, how he played in this game or that game, that are shoving their items in his face to sign, people that he’ll likely never see again? he doesn’t give too much away.

and before people mention the being snippy and short with the workers, i wasn’t there so i didn’t see what happened. if he was, i’m not defending that behavior, but i don’t think it’s because he thinks he’s above them or thinks he’s “god’s gift to hockey” like i’ve seen thrown around so much today. we have all been snappy with people we shouldn’t have before. it doesn’t mean someone is this terrible person with a high horse attitude. i think it’s a combination of fatigue, stress, and maybe even some anxious energy that had been built up and made its way out.

anyways, i’ve said enough i think, and this will be the first and only time i talk about this, but i had too many thoughts swirling in my brain to just keep them there. be nice. show grace. you’re allowed to be disappointed if you attended last night and felt like he was maybe dry and dismissive, but please step back and put yourself in his shoes. not every person has a social and yappy personality. some people don’t speak unless they have something to say. and that’s okay!!!

and for the love of god, quit giving gossip blogs what they so desperately crave

[tossawary]

The two world building directions that appeal to me off the top of my head for a TF fusion (note: not a crossover):

Firstly, a "no magical supernatural elements, just the SPN characters in a fully TF universe" setup, where the Angels are loosely the equivalent of the Autobots and the Demons are loosely the equivalent of the Decepticons. (This would be one of those continuities where the characters soon figure out that while the Decepticons absolutely suck, the Autobots are faaaaar from the perfect "good guys".)

John and Mary Winchester's house was attacked by a Decepticon looking for the Allspark (or some other MacGuffin), which killed Mary, and sent John down a "aliens are real and the government is hiding them from us" (unfortunately correct belief) path which ruined Dean and Sam's childhood.

Sam was a baby and has zero memory of this, and so bailed on the "tinfoil hat conspiracist" lifestyle to go to university, while Dean has some memories of giant robots but he's never been able to decide whether they're real or not. John has stumbled on some alien tech shit that seems kind of legit, Dean has helped him with some illegal shit, but mostly Dean tries to keep his head down working as a mechanic under Bobby Singer.

Everything goes to shit when some Decepticons show up looking for the Allspark again, tearing apart Dean's workplace, and he has to go on the run. Autobot Castiel (with those brilliant blue eyes) shows up to fight back. Cue plot (and romance?) from there.

There is absolutely some scene where, even though Castiel has just saved Dean's life, Dean will not shut the fuck up about how it's embarrassing for him to be see in this tan-colored, office-worker-mobile. Until a pissed-off Castiel pitches Dean's ass out of the car onto the side of the road, so he can drive off to scan a sufficiently "sexy" vehicle, even though it doesn't blend in as well.

Secondly, there's a "as initially close to SPN canon as possible, the Angels just have transforming robots for vessels" setup. Which is a Crack AU, yeah, but could also be a Crack Treated Seriously AU.

After the first war between Angels, some Angel named Primus or Quintesson gets the bright idea to develop inorganic vessels for Angels using a combination of magic and advanced technology. Archangel Michael is so emotionally hungover and metaphysically exhausted from locking his brother in a cage in a pit in hell that he signs off on it. Fine, just go do it in space somewhere where the Humans won't see.

Alternatively, this project is the last thing that Archangel Gabriel greenlights before fucking off out of heaven.

Primus goes off and builds a space station that ultimately becomes the planet Cybertron, with a bunch of other Angels, borrowing some genius Humans from heaven for help sometimes. For some people, their heaven is also the Angels' sci-fi-esque, techno-magic giant mech R&D department; it's a very efficient system like that. Some of those Humans have a great fucking time, honestly.

This project is unexpectedly popular because 1) a lot of Angels generally agree that all physical forms are kind of disgusting, but the organic ones are extra gross, so these robot ones are better. 2) Humans are very weak. 30ft-tall transforming robots are actually much more capable and efficient when crushing Demons. 3) A lot of Angels actually feel bad for the Humans when taking Human vessels, so this sidesteps that issue for the Human lovers. 4) Robot vessels will also, hopefully, stop the Humanfuckers among them from making more Nephilim and shit like that.

Some of the Angels are like, "The Lord didn't say anything about giant robot vessels during the apocalypse???" But Michael has come around to the idea more and more over the years. He kind of likes the idea of curbstomping hell this way. Fuck those guys. If they want a real apocalyptic battle, they should step up their game.

Dean gets brought back from hell sooner, but it still takes Castiel a while to show up on Earth to meet him, because he took some damage and had to bring a new vessel all the way from Cybertron. And Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, shows up as a 30ft-tall transforming robot that can have magic laser guns for hands and runs on Angel grace. What the fuck. (Who can also transform into a copy of the Impala to "blend in". What the FUCK.)

Meanwhile, the Demons, who had previously been gloating over the fact that THEY had been developing new horrors (Croatoan virus, etc.) for the apocalypse while distant heaven remained seemingly complacent, are fucking reeling over the fact that their foes have apparently turned themselves into an army of extra divine Optimus Primes. "What the FUCK," says the yellow-eyed Demon, with a 10ft-long magic gun pointed at his squishy face.

That Angel called Primus time-travelled to the future, watched Evangelion, and was like, "Damn, this shit fucks." Which is going to be a problem for the Winchester brothers later, possibly, when Angels who hate humanity are throwing their weight around, but for right now, it's hell's problem.

Thirdly...

If you wanted to make this second AU into an actual crossover rather than a fusion AU, you could have it so the Angels were essentially the Quintessons (they even have matching multiple heads) and the robot vessels actually gained sentience / sapience. The Cybertronians had an uprising against their creators, which led to a more autonomous society, which unfortunately still had all of the shitty biases and functionist politics left over from their creators, which ultimately led to the Autobot and Decepticon war. TF continuity can be more or less intact: Optimus Prime and the other Cybertronians are just also the descendants of new inorganic species of partially angelic robots that rebelled against heaven.

Michael is STILL mad at the original Primus Angel about this catastrophic fuck-up. (And also Gabriel if Gabriel was the one who signed off on the project.) Lucifer is sooooo going to laugh at him for this later.

Thinking about "Transformers" AUs for non-TF fandoms again, specifically Human/Cybertronian pairings, and realized that the setup of "ancient, superpowered, non-human being fallen from the heavens and fighting an ancient, inescapable war between two factions concerning freedom and control" and "mechanic who wouldn't be opposed to fucking their car" almost perfectly fits Castiel and Dean Winchester from "Supernatural".

[estellan0vella]

All I'll Ever Ask: L. Mh Lee Minho x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 20K

CW: Anxiety, Soft Minho, Protective Minho, Protective SKZ, Abuse of Power, Attempted Blackmail, Fighting, Violence

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I

The faint hum of Minho’s desk lamp fills his room in the Alpha Phi frat house, casting a soft, golden glow over the cosy chaos. The walls are adorned with a mix of framed photos, band posters, and a whiteboard covered in scribbles about everything from anatomy diagrams to doodles of what you suspect are the other frat members with Changbin being drawn criminally short. His scent lingers in the air, clean, warm and something uniquely Minho.

You’re curled up in his desk chair, legs tucked beneath you, wearing a pair of black yoga shorts and one of his oversized grey hoodies. It hangs loose on your frame, enveloping you in its softness. The cuffs drape over your hands, one of which fidgets idly with a silicone pop-it on the desk. The other spins the anxiety ring on your left hand, the repetitive motion grounding as your thoughts churn.

The blue light glasses perched on your nose catch the light from your laptop, reflecting faintly in the otherwise dim room. Your eyes skim over the open document in front of you, but frustration clouds your focus. You mutter under your breath, venting half-formed curses at the assignment that’s been tormenting you for days.

Behind you, Minho lounges on the bed, the epitome of relaxed confidence. He’s shirtless, the sharp cut of his collarbones and lean torso illuminated in the lamp’s glow. His grey sweatpants sit low on his hips and a hefty veterinary science textbook rests on his lap, though his dark eyes stray from it every few seconds to watch you. Amusement dances in his gaze as he takes in your fidgeting fingers and the tiny crease between your brows.

“You’ve been sighing like a goddamn storm cloud for the past ten minutes,” he drawls, closing his book with a soft thud and leaning back against the headboard. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?”

You groan loudly, your head dropping to the desk with a dramatic thump. The pop-it lets out a weak little pop under your cheek. “This assignment fucking sucks,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the desk. “I didn’t even get to pick the topic. It’s like Jae—the professor’s assistant—has it out for me. He fails me on everything he marks. Everything.”

Minho frowns, sitting up straighter, his full attention now on you. “You’re kidding me. Everything? Even the ones I’ve looked over?”

You lift your head, tugging off your glasses and shoving them into your hair. “Yes! Every single one. I swear, it’s personal at this point. Maybe he hates my writing style or something, but I’m at my wit’s end.”

His brows knit together, a spark of protective frustration flashing across his features. “That’s total bullshit. I’ve read your work. It’s good, really good. Better than half the crap I’ve had to peer review for my classes.”

“I don’t know, Minho.” You exhale heavily, leaning back in the chair and rubbing the bridge of your nose. “It’s just I don’t know how to deal with it. Every time I see another failed mark, it feels like I’m suffocating.”

Minho swings his legs off the bed and strides across the room in a few easy steps, his bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floor. He plants himself behind you, his hands landing gently on your shoulders. His thumbs press into the tense muscles at the base of your neck, working out the knots with practised ease.

“You should talk to your professor,” he says, his voice low and steady, the kind of tone that makes you feel safe no matter how stormy your thoughts get.

“Easier said than done,” you grumble, though you can’t help but lean into his touch. The warmth of his hands is soothing, and your eyes flutter shut as he kneads the tightness away. “What am I even supposed to say? ‘Hey, Professor, your assistant has a personal vendetta against me, and it’s driving me insane.’ That won’t sound whiny at all.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers still working their magic on your shoulders. “You don’t have to put it like that, silly girl. Just explain how you feel about your work. Writing’s subjective, right? Maybe Jae’s seeing it differently than you intend.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. His expression is soft, serious, and utterly focused on you. It’s the kind of look that makes your chest ache in the best way. “You really think that’ll help?”

“I think it’s worth a shot.” He leans down, brushing his lips against the top of your head. The kiss lingers, warm and reassuring. “And if it doesn’t, at least you’ll know you did everything you could. But for the record? Jae’s a dick.”

A laugh bubbles out of you, a shaky but genuine sound. You rest your head back against his stomach, his skin warm through the hoodie. “I didn’t tell you I failed because I didn’t know how to handle it. Just the thought of admitting it made me feel like I was going to lose it.”

His arms wrap around you loosely, his chin coming to rest on top of your head. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, frustration lacing his voice, though it’s not aimed at you. “Don’t carry that shit on your own. You’ve got me, remember?”

You let out a self-deprecating laugh, craning your neck to look up at him again. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty good at internalizing everything. Panic spiral, rinse, repeat.”

“Fucking stop that,” he says firmly, though a teasing smile tugs at his lips. He flicks your forehead lightly, making you scrunch your nose in mock annoyance. “That’s what I’m here for. You don’t have to do this alone, sweetheart.”

You poke his stomach in retaliation, a smirk breaking through your frustration. “Fine, Mr. Fix-It-All. I’ll talk to the professor. But if I have a meltdown, it’s on you to clean up the mess.”

Minho grins, ruffling your already messy hair. “Deal. Just don’t let some asshole make you think you’re not amazing at what you do. You’re a badass, baby. Don’t forget that.”

You smile, the tension in your chest easing just a little. “Thanks, Minho.”

“Always, sweetheart,” he replies, pressing another kiss to your head.

The fidget cube spins endlessly in your fingers, its clicks and rotations keeping time with the chaotic rhythm of your thoughts. The assignment taunts you from the glowing laptop screen, each word blurred by the mental block you can’t seem to break through. The harder you try to focus, the more it feels like your brain is wading through quicksand. Anxiety bubbles under the surface, rising like steam in a pressure cooker, and every fidget is a small attempt to keep yourself from boiling over.

Behind you, Minho hasn’t moved. His hands rest lightly on your shoulders, his thumbs occasionally brushing soothing circles over the fabric of his hoodie that you’ve claimed as your own. His quiet presence is grounding, though he says nothing for a while, letting the silence stretch between you. Finally, he sighs with a dramatic exhale, his warm breath tickling the back of your neck.

“Okay, that’s enough of this,” he declares, voice laced with playful exasperation. His hands grip your shoulders firmly but gently. “Let’s figure this shit out, baby. Up you get.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, your eyebrow arching in disbelief. “What do you mean, ‘up you get?’ I’m trying to—”

Before you can finish, he swivels the desk chair around and slides it back a few inches, his movements deliberate and fluid. He pulls you gently but insistently to your feet, his fingers wrapping securely around your wrists. “I mean,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument, “you’re sitting in my lap. Maybe if I hold onto you, that overthinking brain of yours will actually chill the fuck out for two seconds.”

He plops into the chair, tugging you down with him as if this is the most natural solution in the world. He settles you sideways across his lap, his arms wrapping securely around your waist. You try to frown at him, but the warmth of his chest against your back and the way his thumbs rub slow, reassuring circles against your sides make it impossible. “You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, though your body instinctively relaxes against his.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder and peering at the laptop screen. His dark eyes scan the glaringly blank document with mock seriousness. “Alright, first step, let’s go through your old assignments. I want to see exactly what kind of bullshit this Jae guy’s been pulling. Maybe there’s a pattern.”

“Fine,” you mumble, reaching for the laptop and navigating to the folder where you’ve stashed every paper you’ve written for this class. The tension in your shoulders begins to creep back, but before you can start spiralling again, Minho reaches over to grab the mug of tea he made for you earlier. He presses it into your hands with a quiet but firm, “Drink.”

You roll your eyes but obey, the mug warming your palms as you take a sip. The faint sweetness of the tea soothes your throat, and something in Minho’s unwavering presence keeps you tethered as he leans forward to scroll through the latest assignment. His brows furrow almost immediately, his jaw tightening as his eyes skim over Jae’s comments.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, his voice low and incredulous. “This isn’t even constructive criticism. ‘Lacks depth?’ ‘Needs better support for arguments?’ That’s it? No examples, no explanation of what he wants? How the hell are you supposed to improve if he’s not giving you anything to work with?”

Your fingers abandon the fidget cube, moving to spin the anxiety ring on your left hand instead. Minho doesn’t miss the subtle shift. His gaze flicks to your restless fingers, and he lets out a soft sigh, pulling back slightly. “Okay, fuck this.”

Before you can protest, he closes your laptop and sets it on the desk, his movements decisive but careful. Grabbing the silicone pop-it toy from the mess of trinkets on the desk, he guides you up and leads you to the bed with an ease that leaves no room for argument.

He drops onto the mattress, leaning back against the headboard, and pulls you into his lap again. His arms wrap securely around you as he presses the pop-it into your hands.

“Here,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Pop this thing until you feel like you can breathe again. No overthinking, no staring at that laptop. Just you and me, baby.”

You rest your head against his shoulder and the first pop of the toy echoes faintly in the quiet room, followed by another, and another. The rhythmic motion gives your restless hands something to focus on, and slowly, the tightness in your chest starts to loosen.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Minho speaks again, his lips brushing against your hair as he does. “Next lecture, you’re gonna talk to him, okay? We’ll figure out exactly what you want to say together. No stressing over it by yourself.”

You let out a short laugh, tilting your head to glance up at him. “So, now we’re scripting confrontations? Is that what we’re doing?”

“Well, yeah,” he says with a grin, clearly enjoying himself. “We both know you’re not gonna do it without a script. Let’s not pretend. We’ve walked around Target five times before you let me ask a worker for help finding something. Oh, and how about all the times I’ve had to complain about your coffee order? Honestly, I deserve a medal.”

“Minho—”

“No, no, I’m not done,” he says, his grin widening. “I see one tomato on your plate? Boom, gone. Not on my watch. And let’s not forget the time I literally did your return for you because you couldn’t even walk into the store because you were so anxious about being inconvenient. That’s right, baby. Boyfriend of the year, right here.”

Despite yourself, a laugh bubbles out of you, light and free. You shake your head, poking him in the chest. “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?”

“And yet,” he says, dipping his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “you love me for it.”

You don’t reply, but the way you lean into him speaks louder than words. He grins, grabbing the remote off the nightstand and flicking on the TV. The screen lights up with a true crime documentary, and he drapes a blanket over both of you.

“Now,” he says, pulling you closer against him, “watch some freaky shit while you pop that thing. We’ll deal with Jae later. Right now, it’s just you and me.”

You press a kiss to his jaw, settling into his embrace as the documentary begins. The sound of the pop-it fills the quiet gaps between the narrator’s voice, and for the first time in days, the storm inside you feels like it’s clearing. With Minho’s arms around you, you can almost believe that everything will be okay.

The lecture hall is quieter now, the echoes of chatter and rustling papers fading as the last of the students filter out in pairs or small groups. The hum of their voices lingers faintly in the hallway before dissolving into silence, leaving you alone in the cavernous space with Jae, the professor’s assistant. He’s at the front of the room, gathering his things, his laptop, a few loose papers, and a sleek leather satchel slung carelessly over one shoulder.

You sit frozen at your desk in the middle of the room, the cool metal of your anxiety ring spinning beneath your fingers as you fidget. Minho’s words from the night before replay in your mind, his voice steady and reassuring: Just talk to him. You take a slow, steadying breath, tugging the edges of his hoodie closer around you. The weight of it feels protective, grounding.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you steel your nerves and make your way down the aisle. Your black flares swish softly with each step, and the cropped white turtleneck you’re wearing feels almost too revealing under the fluorescent lights, despite the oversized hoodie hanging loose around your shoulders. As you approach the desk, your stomach churns with a mixture of nervousness and determination.

Jae glances up as you stop in front of him, his expression neutral at first, then shifting into something harder to read, his gaze flickers over you briefly before settling on your face. “Oh, hey. Y/N, right?” His tone is casual, almost too casual. “You need something?”

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and clearing your voice. “Yeah, um, I wanted to talk about my grades. I’ve been failing a lot of assignments, and I just… I want to understand where I’m going wrong.”

His head tilts slightly, his lips curling into what might have been a polite smile if not for the strange glint in his eyes. “Grades, huh?” He sets his bag on the desk and leans back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright. What specifically do you want to know?”

You hesitate, feeling small under his scrutinizing gaze, but you push through. “Well, I’ve been reading the feedback you’ve given, but it’s not very specific. It’s hard to know what to fix when all I see is stuff like ‘lacks depth’ or ‘needs better support.’ I was hoping you could explain what you’re looking for, so I can improve.”

Jae’s lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smirk, but it makes your stomach twist uneasily. “Hmm,” he hums, considering you for a moment. “Yeah, I’ve noticed you’ve been struggling. But, you know, sometimes it’s not just about the writing. It’s about making the right… connections.”

Your brow furrows, confusion overtaking your nerves for a moment. “Connections?” you repeat, the word foreign in this context.

He shrugs, his smirk growing more pronounced. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he says, his voice lowering as he straightens up, stepping a little closer. “You’re a smart girl. If you really want to turn those grades around, there’s an easy way to make it happen.”

Your stomach twists harder now, unease blossoming into something closer to alarm. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice cautious, even as the pit in your stomach deepens.

He leans in, his tone conspiratorial, as if he’s letting you in on some great secret. “You fuck me, just once, and I’ll make sure you never fail another assignment. Ever.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, the air in your lungs vanishing as the room seems to tilt slightly. Your brain stalls, struggling to process the sheer audacity of what he just said. “I—” you start, your voice catching in your throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

Jae chuckles softly, as if this is all a joke and you’re the one who doesn’t get it. “You heard me. Look, it’s not a big deal. Just one time. You do that, and I’ll make sure your grades are golden for the rest of the semester.”

Your heart pounds so loudly in your ears that his next words almost drown beneath it. The bile rises in your throat, and your voice, when it comes, is small, shaky, barely your own. “That’s… that’s not appropriate.”

He shrugs, unfazed, his smirk never faltering. “Think about it,” he says smoothly, his tone bordering on smug now. “I’m giving you an out here. No more stress, no more late nights trying to figure out what I want. Just one night, and it’s all good.”

The room feels suffocating, the fluorescent lights too bright, the walls too close. Your fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, your body trembling as adrenaline courses through you. “I—I need to go,” you stammer, taking a shaky step back.

Jae’s smirk deepens as he watches you retreat, his posture still casual, as if he hasn’t just turned your world upside down. “Suit yourself,” he calls after you, his tone infuriatingly light. “But don’t say I didn’t offer.”

You don’t stay to hear more. Grabbing your bag, you bolt for the door, your steps echoing loudly in the empty lecture hall. The hallway feels colder, the bile rising higher in your throat as your vision blurs with tears of humiliation and anger. His words play on a loop in your head, the weight of them crushing.

You don’t stop walking until you reach the Alpha Phi frat house, your breathing shallow and uneven. Your chest is tight, every inhale feeling like it catches somewhere in your ribs. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the front door, struggling to get it open. The chill of the evening air still clings to your skin, but the panic burning in your chest is what drives you forward.

Minho’s at his lectures, you know that much. But Jisung should be home, and if anyone can help you calm down, it’s him. Just the thought of someone familiar, someone safe, is enough to keep you moving.

The door swings open, and the warm hum of voices greets you. Laughter spills out from the living room, a sound that feels almost surreal against the chaos in your mind. Chan is the first to notice you as you step inside, his easy laugh fading the moment he spots you. He’s sitting on the couch with Seungmin, Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Changbin, all of them mid-conversation, but his eyes lock on yours instantly.

“Y/N?” Chan’s voice shifts, concern threading through it as he stands quickly. His brows knit together as he takes in the wide, glassy look in your eyes and the way your hands clutch tightly at the edges of Minho’s hoodie. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

The question cuts through the fog in your mind, but only barely. The words you need are trapped in your throat, jagged and sharp, refusing to come out. You feel frozen, the weight of the panic pressing down harder, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

Chan is already moving, crossing the room in a few strides. He places a firm but gentle hand on your arm, his touch grounding. “Hey, come here,” he says softly, his voice steady and sure. “Let’s sit down.”

He guides you to the couch, motioning for the others to clear the space. “Guys, out. Now.”

There’s no hesitation, no argument. The others exchange quick glances but don’t question him. Seungmin and Jeongin head upstairs, Hyunjin and Changbin following close behind. Their laughter and chatter are gone now, replaced by the quiet weight of concern that lingers in the room.

Felix stays, though, settling on the couch beside you as Chan crouches in front of you. His warm, freckled face is creased with worry, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he leans closer.

“You’re on the verge of a panic attack, aren’t you?” Chan asks gently, his tone calm but firm and you nod. “That’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything right now, alright? Just focus on me and Felix.”

Felix nods, his expression soft and understanding as he shifts closer. “We’ve got you, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “Just breathe, love. We’re right here.”

You nod faintly, but the tears that have been threatening to fall spill over now, streaking hot down your cheeks. Your trembling hands clutch at the oversized hoodie, the fabric twisting under your grip. The room feels too bright, too still, but then Chan wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a firm, steadying hug.

“You’re safe,” Chan whispers, his voice right by your ear. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. You’re not alone.”

Felix shifts closer, his warmth pressing against your other side. His arm drapes gently around your shoulders as he leans his head against yours. “Just let us be here with you,” he murmurs, his accent soft and lilting. “Don’t worry about saying anything.”

The weight of their presence is overwhelming in the best way, their warmth wrapping around you like a cocoon. You let yourself lean into them, the tears coming harder now as the tidal wave of panic begins to crest. For a moment, you feel like you might drown in it, but their voices pull you back.

The sound of footsteps draws your attention briefly, and you glance up to see Changbin approaching, something small and colourful in his hand. It takes a second for your blurry vision to clear enough to realize what it is: your fidget cube. He holds it out to you silently, his dark eyes warm with understanding.

“I thought you might need this,” Changbin says softly, his voice steady but gentle.

You take it with trembling hands, managing a faint nod of thanks as he gives you a small, reassuring smile before retreating back upstairs. The familiar feel of the cube in your hands helps anchor you, its smooth surfaces and clicking mechanisms giving your fingers something to focus on.

Chan’s hand rubs slow, soothing circles on your back as he keeps his voice low and steady. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Just keep breathing. Deep breath in and out. That’s it.”

Felix hums softly, a sound almost like a lullaby as he presses a kiss to the side of your head. “You’re not alone. We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Minho sits in the middle of his animal behaviour lecture, slouched low in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Normally, this class keeps his attention, discussions about operant conditioning, animal instincts, and behavioural patterns are usually right up his alley. But today, the professor’s droning voice feels like background noise. His mind is restless, caught somewhere between the monotony of the lecture and the clock on the wall, which seems to tick slower every time he looks at it.

He pulls out his phone, thinking maybe a quick scroll will distract him when it vibrates in his hand. A call from Changbin. Minho frowns. Changbin doesn’t call unless something’s wrong. His stomach twists as he answers, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder.

“Yo, what’s up?” he says, keeping his voice low. He glances around to make sure the professor hasn’t noticed him.

“Minho,” Changbin’s voice is quiet but laced with urgency. “You need to get back to the house. Now.”

Minho straightens in his seat, his body tensing. “What? Why? What’s going on?”

“It’s Y/N,” Changbin explains, his words coming fast. “She showed up looking for Jisung, but he wasn’t here. She’s in the living room with Chan and Felix now. Man, she looked like she was about to have a full-blown panic attack when she came in.”

Minho’s grip tightens on his phone. “Is she okay? Did she say anything?”

“No,” Changbin says, his tone grim. “She’s in that, you know, that nonverbal state she gets into sometimes when it’s bad. I gave her her fidget cube, but it’s not really helping. She’s completely shaken.”

“Shit,” Minho mutters under his breath, his mind already racing. He shoves his notebook and pens into his bag without caring about the mess. “Stay with her. I’m leaving now.”

“Chan and Felix are with her,” Changbin reassures him. “But yeah, hurry, man. She needs you.”

“I’m on my way.” Minho’s voice is clipped as he ends the call, already standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He doesn’t glance back at the professor, doesn’t care about the glares he gets from classmates as he manoeuvres his way out of the row. He takes the stairs two at a time and bursts into the hallway, his boots thudding against the tiled floor as he cuts through campus at a near jog.

His thoughts race alongside him. The image of you, wide-eyed, trembling, on the verge of breaking, plays over and over in his mind. He twists the rings on his fingers absentmindedly, picturing the way you’ve done the same when anxiety takes hold. He knows those rings are as much for you as they are for him. The thought makes him walk even faster.

By the time he reaches the Alpha Phi house, his chest is tight, and his breathing is shallow, not from exertion, but from the urgency pressing down on him. He doesn’t bother with his usual calm entrance, throwing the door open with enough force to make it bang against the wall. His eyes immediately scan the space, locking on the living room.

You’re curled up on the couch, the oversized hoodie you borrowed from him drowning your frame. Your knees are drawn up to your chest, your fingers twitching against the fidget cube Changbin handed you. But the small, rhythmic clicks aren’t soothing you the way they should. Your shoulders are stiff, your breathing shallow.

Chan is sitting beside you, his body turned toward you, his hand resting lightly on the back of the couch as if ready to intervene at any moment. Felix is on your other side, his soft, freckled face a mask of quiet concern as he leans close. Neither of them says anything when Minho steps into the room.

Chan stands, nodding toward Minho in silent understanding. “She hasn’t said anything,” he murmurs, keeping his voice low. “But she’s not in a good place.”

Felix glances up briefly, offering a small, reassuring smile before turning his focus back to you.

Minho doesn’t waste a second. He drops his bag to the floor, stepping around Chan to sit beside you. His dark eyes sweep over your face, taking in the tear tracks on your cheeks, the way your lips tremble even though you’re not speaking. His heart clenches, but he keeps his voice steady and soft.

“Hey,” he murmurs as he settles beside you, leaning forward slightly. “It’s me. I’m right here.”

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed on the fidget cube in your hands. Your fingers fumble with it, twisting and clicking aimlessly, but it’s clear it’s not enough. Minho doesn’t push. He knows you won’t meet his eyes or speak until you’re ready.

Instead, he extends a hand, holding it steady in your line of sight. “C’mere, baby,” he says gently. “Take my hand. You don’t have to do anything else.”

For a moment, you hesitate. Then, slowly, your trembling fingers let go of the cube and slide over his palm. You don’t look at him, but you begin twisting the rings on his fingers, your movements careful, deliberate. Minho releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That’s it,” he says softly, his other hand resting lightly on your knee. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Felix leans closer, his hand brushing over your arm in a soothing motion. “We’re all here for you. Take your time.”

The room feels quiet, but it’s not heavy. It’s the kind of silence filled with understanding, the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of the couch the only sounds. Minho stays still, watching as you twist his rings, your breathing begins to slow. The tension in your shoulders eases a fraction, but it’s clear you’re still struggling to ground yourself.

Minho leans in slightly, his thumb tracing small circles over your knee. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” he says softly. “No rush. Just let me know you’re here, okay?”

Your grip on his hand tightens briefly. An unspoken answer. Minho feels a wave of relief crash over him, though he doesn’t let it show. He just adjusts his position slightly, keeping himself as close to you as possible without crowding you.

As the minutes tick by, the room remains still except for the faint sound of your fingers twisting Minho’s rings. The cool metal shifts smoothly under your touch, catching the light with every turn.

Minho’s presence is unwavering. His dark eyes are steady, warm, and full of quiet reassurance, never leaving you. He waits, giving you the space you need to exist in this moment, no expectations, no pressure.

He’s the one to break the silence, his voice low and soft, with that familiar teasing edge that always makes you feel lighter. “So, this is where my hoodie went.”

The words are simple, but they land like a soft anchor, pulling you gently back toward the present. Your lips twitch just barely, a hint of a smile ghosting across your face. It’s fleeting, but Minho catches it, and the weight pressing on his chest loosens just a fraction.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he continues, leaning his head back against the couch with a casual air. His tone carries a playful warmth as if he’s inviting you to share a little moment of normalcy with him. “You look cute today. Those flares and that crop top? Already killing it. But you add my hoodie?” He smirks, lowering his voice to a murmur like he’s letting you in on a secret. “Sweetheart, I could just fucking eat you.”

This time, the smile on your face lingers a little longer, though your focus stays on his hands, your fingers still moving over the rings. Minho doesn’t push for more. He’s patient, letting you take these small, steady steps toward feeling like yourself again.

After a moment, he shifts slightly, brushing his knee against yours as he speaks again, his tone casual but inviting. “I’m making sweet potato noodles tonight. You wanna stay over?”

You nod, the motion small but deliberate, and something in his chest softens. His hand squeezes your knee lightly in acknowledgement.

“Good,” he says with quiet certainty. “Can’t have you missing out on my culinary genius. You’d be devastated.”

Before the warmth of the moment can settle completely, the front door bangs open, and the sound of loud, stomping footsteps fills the house. Minho doesn’t even flinch, but you tense slightly until a familiar voice cuts through the quiet.

“Seungmin called me!” Jisung declares, practically bounding into the living room with the kind of chaotic energy only he could bring. His pale green hair bounces as he moves, and his expression is a mix of exaggerated determination and genuine concern. “I’m here to save the day and my best friend from the suffocating void that is anxiety!”

Felix, who has stayed quiet until now, chuckles softly as he stands from the couch. “Alright, Ji, she’s all yours. I’ll make some tea.”

Jisung steps aside to let Felix pass, then all but dives into the now-empty spot on your other side. He lands with a bounce, his knee knocking gently against yours as he turns to face you fully.

Chan gives your shoulder a brief squeeze before heading toward the kitchen with Felix, the two of them disappearing behind the swinging door. The sound of the kettle clicking on echoes faintly, a comforting background noise.

Now alone with Minho and Jisung, you glance up briefly, your eyes meeting Jisung’s for the first time. His usual playful grin is softened, though his energy is as unmistakably Jisung as ever. “Hey,” he says, his voice a little quieter now. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head, the movement small but definitive.

“Okay,” Jisung replies immediately, not missing a beat. His tone is light, free of any judgment. “What about throwing things? Crying? Hitting something? Hitting someone?”

Your fingers falter on Minho’s rings at the word someone. It’s a tiny pause, so subtle most people wouldn’t notice, but Minho and Jisung aren’t most people. Their eyes meet briefly over your head, an unspoken exchange passing between them.

“Alright,” Jisung says gently, shifting his tone. “No pressure. We’ll just sit here and vibe.”

You don’t respond, but your hands resume their rhythm, twisting Minho’s rings in a familiar pattern. Minho leans closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch is light and brief, but it lingers just enough to remind you he’s here.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Minho murmurs, his voice steady and grounding. His thumb resumes its slow, soothing circles on your knee. “Whenever you’re ready, we’re here.”

Jisung, never one to let a moment of silence sit too long, starts humming under his breath. The tune is random, a little chaotic, but it’s so unmistakably him that it feels like a soft tether pulling you further out of the fog. He adds exaggerated beatboxing noises, throwing a dramatic drumroll into the mix for good measure.

“Better than Spotify, huh?” he quips, nudging your arm lightly with his elbow. “I can do requests, too, if you’re into, like, anxiety-friendly bangers.”

A tiny laugh escapes before you can stop it, barely audible but real. Minho’s gaze flicks to you, his lips twitching into the faintest smile as he catches the sound.

“There she is,” Jisung says triumphantly, leaning closer with a grin. “You laughed. That means you’re stuck with me now.”

Minho smirks, resting his head lightly against the back of the couch. “You heard him, sweetheart. You’re officially stuck with us. Might as well give up and let us take care of you.”

You don’t respond, but you lean ever so slightly into Minho’s side, your weight shifting closer to him. His arm moves instinctively, wrapping around your shoulders and holding you securely against him.

The sound of the kettle clicks off in the kitchen, and a few moments later, Felix reappears, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of tea. He sets it down on the coffee table, his gentle smile returning as he hands one to you.

“Chamomile,” he says quietly.

You take the mug with both hands, the heat radiating through your palms grounding you further. The room is quiet again, filled only with the faint hum of Jisung’s off-key humming and the steady presence of the three people around you. 

“Come on,” Minho murmurs, leaning in slightly. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable.”

You blink up at him, your hands hesitating over his fingers for just a moment before you let them fall away. He stands smoothly, his movements deliberate but unhurried, and extends a hand toward you. You take it wordlessly, your fingers slipping into his, and he gives a gentle tug, guiding you to your feet.

“Good girl,” he says softly, his lips curving into the faintest smile as he squeezes your hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

You follow him out of the living room, the familiar feel of his hand grounding you as he leads the way. Jisung throws an exaggerated thumbs-up from his spot on the couch, grinning as if he’s just overseen a major life event. You catch the faint sound of him humming something ridiculous under his breath as you leave.

The walk up the stairs is quiet, the hum of the house filling the silence between you. The faint creak of wood beneath your steps feels oddly comforting. By the time you reach Minho’s room, you’re already exhaling a little easier. The sight of the rumpled bedspread, the carefully cluttered desk, and the small pile of your fidget toys stacked in a corner feels like stepping into safety.

Minho closes the door softly behind you and steps closer, his hands brushing lightly over your shoulders. “Alright, sweetheart, let’s get you sorted and comfy.”

He moves to his dresser, pulling open a drawer and rifling through it before he pulls out one of his oversized jumpers and a pair of black basketball shorts. He sets the clothes on the bed and turns back to you, his expression softer now, his eyes scanning your face.

Stepping closer, he rests his hands lightly on the hem of your hoodie. “Can I?” he asks quietly, his voice gentle.

You nod, your fingers still clutching his rings. His movements are careful as he peels the hoodie off your frame, lifting it over your head and pushing it off your shoulders. He folds it automatically, setting it on the chair nearby before his hands find the hem of your cropped turtleneck.

He pauses, his eyes meeting yours briefly, silently checking in. When you nod again, he pulls it over your head just as gently, leaving you in your lace bra. His eyes flicker to yours again, scanning for any hint of discomfort, but he doesn’t linger.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, crouching slightly to help you step out of your flares. The fabric pools at your feet, and he scoops it up, tossing it onto the same chair.

He holds the shorts open for you, guiding the waistband up with steady hands before he reaches for the jumper. The oversized fabric swallows you as he pulls it over your head, the scent of him wrapping around you instantly. It’s soft, warm, and comforting in a way that makes your shoulders relax just a little more.

“Better?” he asks, his fingers brushing lightly over your arms, the touch tentative but grounding.

You nod, a small but sure movement, and he smiles faintly before stepping closer again. His hands move to your hair, unclipping the bun that’s come loose. The strands tumble down messily, and he works through them with careful fingers, smoothing out tangles with an ease that speaks to how often he’s done this for you.

Once he’s finished, he tilts his head slightly, studying you with that quiet, unwavering gaze. “You wanna talk about it?” he asks softly.

You shake your head and he doesn’t press.

“Okay, you hungry?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, your voice barely audible when you speak. “A little. That sweet potato noodles offer still on the table?”

“For you, baby? Obviously. We’ll go cook now, or you can sit and look pretty while I cook. Hmm?”

You nod again, a small, fleeting smile tugging at your lips.

“Good.” He presses a light kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “Grab one of your fidget things, yeah?”

You reach for the silicone pop-it on the desk, the familiar texture calming as you clutch it in your hand. Minho takes your free hand again, leading you back downstairs to the kitchen.

The space feels lively when you step inside. Jisung is perched on a step stool, his head half-buried in a cupboard as he mutters something unintelligible. Boxes and bags clatter faintly as he rummages, and he lets out a dramatic groan.

“There’s no fucking Oreos left!” Jisung whines, turning to face the room with his hands thrown up. “Who eats all the Oreos and doesn’t replace them? That’s a crime against the Geneva Convention! An actual war crime!”

Minho rolls his eyes, steering you toward one of the stools at the kitchen island. You sit down quietly, the pop-it resting in your lap as your fingers press it rhythmically, the soft popping sound blending into the warm chaos around you.

Jisung bounds over, clutching a bag of popcorn triumphantly. He wraps his arms around your shoulders in a dramatic hug, leaning his head against yours. “Bestie! You’re alive. I missed you. I mean, you were gone for like five minutes, but still.”

You huff softly, the sound almost like a laugh, and Jisung grins before plopping onto the stool beside you. “Alright, let’s vibe.”

Minho is already at work, his movements practised and fluid. Sweet potatoes, spinach, sesame oil, and a variety of spices pile onto the counter as he pulls ingredients from the fridge. His hands move with precision as he peels a sweet potato, the rhythm of the peeler scraping against the skin oddly soothing.

“Can I get in on the noodles?” Jisung asks, watching Minho work with wide eyes. “I mean, you’re dating my best friend, so like you feed her, you have to feed me. It’s the law”

Minho doesn’t even look up. “Not how it works, you scavenger.”

Jisung clutches his chest dramatically. “So cruel. So heartless. I’m starving, Minho!”

“You just raided the cupboard!” Minho shoots back, but he sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. I’ll make extra. But you’re doing the dishes.”

“Deal,” Jisung says instantly, shoving another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

The warm, savoury scent of sesame oil fills the room as Minho starts cooking, the soft sizzle of vegetables hitting the pan adding to the comforting atmosphere. You sit quietly, watching him, the pop-it still in your hands. He glances at you occasionally, his gaze softening each time he sees the tension in your fingers easing.

Jisung nudges you lightly, his grin infectious. “You know he’s showing off, right? I bet he doesn’t go all out like this when it’s just him.”

“Shut up,” Minho mutters, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound small but genuine, and Minho’s shoulders relax slightly at the sound. He tosses the sweet potato noodles lightly in the pan, the smell of garlic and spices filling the kitchen as he turns to you with a smile that feels like home. In this moment, with the warmth of the kitchen and the familiar banter around you, the lingering weight in your chest feels just a little lighter.

The room is bathed in the soft, golden glow of Minho’s desk lamp, its warm light casting a cosy hue over the space. The faint blue glow of the TV on the wall flickers, illuminating the dim room as Corpse Bride plays, its melodic score filling the air. You’re seated cross-legged on Minho’s bed, a steaming bowl of vegetarian ramen cradled in your lap, the comforting aroma of miso broth mingling with the warmth of the room.

Minho sits beside you, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his own bowl resting in his hands. He’s shirtless, as usual, the smooth planes of his chest catching the soft light, and his black sweatpants hang low on his hips. His hair is slightly mussed, strands sticking up in different directions like he’s been running his fingers through it all day. He looks comfortable, utterly at ease, but his eyes flick toward you more than the TV, observing you with quiet attentiveness.

You’re wearing one of his oversized black t-shirts, the fabric hanging loosely on your frame, paired with a set of lacy green boyshorts and your favourite Alice in Wonderland ankle socks. Your hair is clipped up haphazardly, stray strands framing your face, and Minho can’t help but notice how you tug at the loose fabric of the shirt every now and then as if grounding yourself in its softness.

“Dunno why we don’t eat ramen like this every day,” Minho says, breaking the quiet. His voice is casual, a playful warmth weaving through his words as he slurps up another bite of noodles. “This shit’s perfect.”

You hum in agreement, twirling noodles around your chopsticks, though the motions are absentminded. Your bowl is loaded with colourful vegetables, tofu cubes, and the rich, flavorful broth he tailored just for you, separating the ingredients in the pan like second nature to keep it vegetarian. It’s something he always does, unprompted, and it warms you, even when you don’t have the energy to say so.

As the movie continues, Minho keeps stealing glances at you, his sharp eyes catching the subtle ways you’re quieter than usual—the way your chopsticks hover over the bowl, the way you push a piece of tofu around without eating it. His brow furrows slightly. He knows you too well to miss the signs.

“So,” he says finally, his tone light but laced with curiosity, “wanna tell me why you’re not going to your lectures?”

Your hand freezes mid-twirl, the noodles slipping back into the bowl. Your shoulders stiffen slightly, but you don’t look at him. Instead, your gaze fixes on the TV, the animated characters moving through the dim glow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Minho quirks an eyebrow, setting his bowl down on the nightstand with deliberate movements. He shifts to face you more fully, one leg bending as he props himself up on his elbow. “Two weeks,” he says, his voice dropping to something firmer. “You haven’t been to a single fucking class”

You shrug, your eyes still glued to the screen. “I just haven’t felt like it.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies, not buying it for a second. “Let’s try that again. Did you talk to the assistant? What’s his name- Jae?”

At the mention of the name, your reaction is immediate. Your shoulders tense, and your grip on the chopsticks tightens slightly. Minho notices, of course, his sharp eyes narrowing as he sits up straighter.

“Okay, so you did talk to him. What happened? Did he insult your work? Call you stupid? What?”

You keep stirring the broth, your chopsticks moving aimlessly as if they might somehow distract him. The weight in the room seems to press down harder, the background noise of the movie fading into nothing.

Minho leans forward, the mattress shifting under his weight as he watches you closely. “Did he touch you?”

“No!” you say quickly, your head snapping up to meet his gaze. “No, Minho, nothing like that.”

He studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours for any hint of what’s going on. The tension in his shoulders relaxes just slightly, but the concern etched across his face doesn’t fade.

“Alright,” he says slowly, his voice steady and careful. “But he did something. Something that’s got you avoiding your fucking lectures. So, what did he say? Verbatim.”

You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “Min, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

His jaw tightens, and his hand flexes briefly against the bedspread. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, leaning back against the headboard as his eyes flicker over you. He doesn’t push. Not yet. But the silence feels heavier now like he’s waiting for you to crack.

“You spoke to the guy,” he says after a beat, his tone quieter but no less insistent. “And now you won’t even go to class. That feels to me like something happened.”

“Min, please,” you whisper, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion like the weight of this has been pressing on you for days.

He leans forward again, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His lips linger there, soft and warm, before he pulls back. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper now.

You nod faintly, but your lips press into a thin line, and Minho knows you’re not ready. He watches you for a moment longer, his hand brushing lightly against your knee in a silent show of support. Then he leans back into the pillows, his body shifting as he rests his arm behind his head.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “But just so we’re clear, you’re not going through this alone. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

You nod again, still not meeting his eyes. Your fingers tighten slightly around the bowl, but you don’t speak, and Minho lets the conversation drop. For now.

The room feels quieter, the muted colours of the TV casting soft shadows across the walls. Minho reaches for his bowl again, taking another bite of noodles as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t push, doesn’t press, but his presence is steady, a quiet reminder that he’s here.

The weight in the room doesn’t lift entirely, but the warmth of Minho beside you, the gentle hum of the movie, and the familiarity of the space are enough to make it manageable. And for now, that’s enough.

You’re curled up against Minho, your face nestled against his chest, one hand loosely resting on his side. His oversized shirt engulfs you, the hem riding up slightly to reveal the curve of your hip as you shift in your sleep. The blanket drapes lazily over you both, but Minho’s mind is far from the peace that your quiet form exudes.

He lies still for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. The way your brow smooths out in sleep, the soft flutter of your eyelashes against your cheek. It all tugs at his heart. But beneath the warmth he feels for you is a simmering frustration, not directed at you but at the situation. Something happened.

He can feel it in the way your laughter doesn’t come as easily, in the way you poke at your food more than you eat it, and in the way you’ve avoided your lectures for two weeks. And whoever caused that? They’re going to regret it.

Carefully, he begins untangling himself from you, moving with the kind of precision only Minho can manage. He lifts your arm gently, resting it against the pillow, and pulls the blanket higher over your shoulders.

Brushing a strand of hair from your face, he lets his fingers linger briefly against your temple before standing. The glow from his phone illuminates his path as he grabs it from the nightstand, padding silently out of the room. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, leaving you to rest.

The hallway is dim, lit faintly by the golden glow of a lamp someone left on. Minho moves with purpose, his steps quick but quiet as he makes his way to Felix’s room. A sliver of light spills out from under the door, and the faint sound of typing reaches his ears. Felix is still awake.

Minho knocks once, sharp but not loud, before twisting the handle and stepping inside. Felix is sprawled across his bed, his laptop propped on a pillow in front of him as he scrolls through what looks like a recipe website. His face lights up slightly when he sees Minho, but the curious tilt of his head suggests he knows this isn’t a social call.

“What’s up?” Felix asks, closing the laptop and sitting up, his brows furrowing as he takes in Minho’s tense expression.

Minho closes the door behind him, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “Y/N trusts you.”

Felix blinks, slightly taken aback. “I’d say so, yeah. Why?”

Minho runs a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose as he chooses his words. “Good. I need you to find out what her dickhead professor’s assistant said to her two weeks ago.”

Felix frowns. "I'm gonna need more context"

Minho steps forward, his voice dropping as he explains. “The day she came here. On the verge of a panic attack. You and Chan were with her, yeah? Something happened before she showed up.”

Felix nods slowly, his posture straightening. “Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

Minho’s expression hardens. “Before she came here, she spoke to her professor’s assistant. That guy’s been failing her on assignments she absolutely should’ve passed. Since then? She hasn’t gone to a single journalism lecture. Not one. She won’t tell me what he said or did, and I need to know. She trusts you. So, you talk to her, get her to open up, and then you tell me.”

Felix leans back, crossing his arms as he studies Minho. “You’re asking me to break her trust?”

“Yep,” Minho says bluntly, not missing a beat.

Felix snorts, though there’s no humour in it. “Why not go to Jisung? She tells him everything.”

Minho shakes his head, his tone flat. “Because Jisung’s gonna lose his shit. He’d storm into her lecture hall, make a scene, and scare the crap out of her. She doesn’t need that.”

“And you’re not gonna overreact?” Felix asks, his brows arching sceptically. “Because I’m pretty sure you’re already planning murder.”

Minho’s lips curve into a cold smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “Oh, I’ll react. But not in front of her. Jisung would go full ‘big dramatic protector’ and freak her out. Me?” He taps his temple with a finger. “I fix problems at the root. Like a plucking a weed.”

Felix tilts his head, considering this. “So you’d break his nose?”

“Maybe a rib,” Minho muses, his tone conversational. “Depends on what he did.”

Felix exhales sharply, shaking his head, though the corner of his mouth twitches. “Fair enough. But is she okay? Like, actually okay?”

“Some days are better than others,” Minho admits, his voice softening slightly. “But her anxiety’s been worse lately.”

Felix leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If this assistant guy’s the reason break something for me, too. Preferably twice.”

Minho chuckles lowly, though the humour doesn’t reach his eyes. “Consider it done.”

Felix nods, his voice steady. “Alright. I’ll talk to her. It might take time, though. You know how she is about opening up.”

“I know,” Minho says, running his hand through his hair again. “But you’ve got that gentle-ass aura or whatever. She trusts you. Just ease into it. When she tells you, you tell me. Then I’ll take care of the rest.”

Felix nods again, his gaze firm. “You’ve got my word. I’ll handle it.”

Minho pushes off the door, clapping Felix lightly on the shoulder before heading for the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle, glancing back. “You’ve got her, right?”

Felix’s expression softens, his voice resolute. “Always. And you?”

Minho nods, his tone firm. “Always.” With that, he slips out of the room, his footsteps quiet as he heads back to yours, his mind already turning over what needs to be done.

For now, he’ll focus on making sure you feel safe. But the second he knows who’s responsible for the weight you’ve been carrying, he’ll make damn sure they regret it.

A few nights later, Minho's room is enveloped in a hushed stillness, the only sound the rhythmic rise and fall of Minho’s breathing as he sleeps beside you. His arm is tucked under the pillow, his body curled slightly toward you. For a moment, you watch him, his peaceful expression a stark contrast to the restless storm in your own mind.

You let out a quiet sigh, your fingers brushing against the fidget cube resting on the nightstand. Careful not to disturb Minho, you slip out from under the covers. His oversized t-shirt falls to your mid-thigh, paired with his basketball shorts, your feet protected from the cool floor by your Ravenclaw socks.

Your movements are deliberate, your breath steadying as you take the fidget cube in one hand and tiptoe toward the door. You glance back at Minho one last time, his chest rising and falling with even breaths, before quietly pulling the door shut behind you.

The hallway is dark, save for the faint glow of a nightlight someone left plugged in near the stairs. You pad quietly toward the kitchen, the familiar creaks of the floorboards grounding you as you move. When you reach the kitchen, the faint hum of the refrigerator greets you, a soothing backdrop to the clicking of the fidget cube in your hands.

You set a mug on the counter, pulling the kettle from its base and filling it with water. You flick it on, the soft whoosh of heat filling the space as you reach for the box of chamomile tea. Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap the tea bag and drop it into the mug, but the repetitive motion of brewing steadies you. By the time the kettle clicks off, your breathing has evened, the warmth of the mug in your hands a comforting anchor.

As you turn toward the stairs, the faint glow from the living room catches your attention. Curious, you step closer and peek in. Felix is sprawled on the couch, one leg hanging over the edge as he leans forward, a controller in his hands. The faint sounds of gunfire and the hum of voices filter through his headset, blending into the quiet of the house.

He glances up as you approach, his face lighting up in recognition. He pulls off his headset, pausing the game. “Hey,” he greets, his voice soft but warm. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

Felix pats the cushion beside him. “Come sit. I’ve got tea if you want more.”

You smile faintly, lifting your own mug in response. “Already covered.”

“Smart girl,” he says with a grin. “Come on, sit down anyway. Let me ruin your night with my terrible gaming.”

His easy humour coaxes a small smile out of you as you settle onto the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. Felix leans back, draping one arm over the back of the couch, his posture casual but his gaze attentive. He studies you for a moment as you sip your tea, the faint steam rising in soft curls around your face.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?”

You shake your head, your gaze falling to the fidget cube in your lap. “No, just too much on my mind.”

Felix nods, his tone light but knowing. “You’ve been like this a lot lately. Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting more rapidly with the cube. “It’s nothing. Just... stuff.”

“Uh-huh.” Felix raises a brow, his voice softening further. “Does this ‘stuff’ happen to involve a certain professor’s assistant?”

Your hands freeze, the cube stilling in your lap for just a second before your fingers start moving again. You don’t look at him, focusing instead on the swirling tea in your mug.

Felix leans forward slightly, his expression calm but serious. “Hey, no pressure. I just want to help. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

The words fall out before you can stop them, quiet and trembling. “He… he said something.”

Felix doesn’t move, doesn’t react, his gaze holding yours. “Okay,” he says softly, his voice encouraging. “What did he say?”

You bite your lip, your grip tightening on the cube. The words catch in your throat before you force them out. “He said if I- if I fucked him, he’d make sure I passed all my assignments.”

The confession hangs heavy in the air, the silence that follows almost deafening. You feel your chest tighten, your breathing uneven as you clutch the cube harder. “I didn’t know what to do,” you continue, your voice breaking. “I just- I left. I haven’t gone back to class since.”

Felix exhales slowly, his hand reaching out to rest lightly on your knee. His voice is calm, steady, but there’s an undercurrent of quiet anger. “That’s a lot. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that. That’s so fucked up.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, your grip trembling. “I felt so stupid. Like, I should’ve said something, but I just froze.”

“Hey,” Felix says firmly, leaning closer. “Stop that right now. None of this is your fault. That guy’s a fucking creep, and you did the smartest thing you could’ve done. You got out of there. That’s not stupid.”

His words make your chest ache, the tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “I keep thinking, what if I see him? What if he’s in the hallway? I can’t even think about going back. I just-”

Felix cuts you off gently, his hand squeezing your knee. “You’re safe, okay? He can’t touch you here. And you’ve got Minho, Jisung, me, the whole fucking house. No one’s letting him near you.”

You sniffle, your breathing uneven as you lean into his words. Felix moves closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. His other hand rubs slow, comforting circles on your back.

“We’ll figure this out, alright?” he murmurs. “No one’s gonna make you do anything you don’t want to. And that guy? He’s gonna regret ever saying that to you. Trust me.”

A weak laugh escapes you, shaky but real, and Felix grins faintly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “There she is,” he says warmly. “Now, let’s finish that tea and get you back to bed. You deserve some rest.”

The late morning sun streams softly through the blinds in Minho’s room, painting the bed in streaks of pale light. The golden glow highlights the tousled strands of your hair spilling across the pillow, the curve of your shoulder peeking out from under the blanket.

You’re curled up, your body angled slightly toward the spot where Minho had been lying just a little while ago. Your breathing is steady but shallow. Not quite the deep rhythm of restful sleep.

Minho stands by the door, his hand resting lightly on the frame as he watches you for a moment. His sharp eyes take in the faint crease in your brow, the way your body shifts under the blankets as if even unconscious, you’re searching for some comfort.

He doesn’t need to ask if you slept badly. It’s written all over you, in the faint shadows under your eyes and the restless energy still clinging to you.

With a quiet sigh, he steps into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him with deliberate care. The faint click echoes softly in the stillness as he heads toward the kitchen, his mind already turning over what he can do to make your morning better.

In the kitchen, Minho moves with his usual precision. He grabs your favourite mug that he bought for you, the Corpse Bride one with the chipped handle you refuse to replace, and sets it on the counter beside his black cat mug.

As he measures out the coffee grounds, the rhythmic clink of the scoop against the machine’s edge fills the room. The aroma of fresh coffee begins to waft through the air as the machine hums to life, steam curling upward.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs pulls his attention. He glances over his shoulder to see Felix padding into the kitchen, barefoot and dressed in a loose hoodie and sweatpants. His hair is a little tousled, and there’s a slight pink tint to his cheeks, the telltale sign of someone who’s been awake for a while but not quite ready to face the day.

“Morning,” Felix says, his voice soft as he heads for the fridge. “You’re up early. Y/N still out?”

“Trying to sleep,” Minho replies, grabbing the creamer from the counter. “Didn’t have a great night, though.”

Felix pauses mid-reach, the fridge door cracked open, and turns to look at him. “Yeah, about that.” He closes the fridge door, leaning against it with crossed arms. “I know what happened.”

Minho freezes, his hand hovering over your mug, the creamer unopened. His head turns slightly, his expression carefully neutral. “When did she tell you?”

Felix’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Last night. She couldn’t sleep, came downstairs to make tea. We talked.”

Minho places the creamer down slowly, turning to fully face Felix. “What did she say?”

Felix exhales softly, his fingers drumming against his forearm. “She told me what that assistant said. Jae.” He pauses, watching Minho’s reaction. “He propositioned her. Said if she slept with him, he’d make sure she passed all her assignments.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Minho’s shoulders tense, his fingers curling into a loose fist before he forces them to relax. He doesn’t speak immediately, instead turning back to the counter. He picks up the creamer, pouring it into your mug with a steady hand as if the ritual of making coffee can anchor him.

“She told you that?” he asks finally, his voice low.

Felix nods, stepping closer to the counter. “Yeah. She was shaking when she said it. Sniffling, trying to hold it together. I didn’t push her. It just came out.”

Minho sets the creamer down again, reaching for the pumpkin spice syrup you love. He adds a careful amount to your mug, stirring it slowly with a spoon. The metallic clink against the ceramic is the only sound in the room for a few beats. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight but calm. “Are you going to tell her you told me?”

Felix studies him for a moment, noting the way Minho’s knuckles tighten slightly around the spoon before he sets it down. “Are you going to tell her that you know?”

“Not yet,” Minho says, his voice softening. “Once I've dealt with it, then I will. If I tell her before she might spiral”

Felix leans against the counter, his expression contemplative. “You’re scarily good at this boyfriend thing.”

“Practice,” Minho mutters, grabbing a napkin to wipe the rim of the mug. He looks up then, meeting Felix’s gaze. “Let me guess. You’re wondering if I’m planning to fight him.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, smirking faintly. “No, I’m assuming you’re planning to fight him.”

A humourless smile tugs at Minho’s lips. “I’m not going to fight him. Not yet. I’m going to have a quiet, friendly conversation with him. He’s going to quit, and when he does, I’ll tell her.”

“And his nose?” Felix asks, his voice light but his eyes sharp.

Minho’s smile turns cold, his tone conversational. “Oh, his nose is absolutely getting broken. A little incentive to stay away.”

Felix’s grin widens slightly, though his eyes remain dark. “Good. She’s been holding it in, Min. She’s worried, maybe her anxiety’s making her think you’ll blame her or something, but it’s really weighing on her.”

Minho exhales through his nose, his fingers tightening slightly around the handle of your mug. “I see it,” he admits quietly. “The way she smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The way she keeps saying she’s fine, even when she’s not.” He pauses, his voice softening further. “She carries too much. Always trying to be invisible, not to bother anyone.”

Felix tilts his head, his expression thoughtful. “She’s just like Jisung, you know? Same anxious brain. Same need to please everyone. You’re basically dating the female version of him.”

Minho lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he picks up the mug. “Thanks for that image. Really needed it.”

Felix smirks, crossing his arms again. “You’ve got this, though. Just be careful. Don’t make her feel like she’s not in control.”

“I know,” Minho says, his tone firm. “Thanks for telling me. I’ve got her.”

Felix watches him leave, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “I know you do,” he murmurs, the kitchen falling quiet again.

The journalism lecture hall empties slowly, students filing out with the shuffle of papers and muted conversations that fade into the hallway. The sound of the last student’s footsteps echoes faintly, the large room gradually falling into silence. Outside, Minho leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his face impassive but his eyes sharp and dangerous. 

A few students glance at him curiously as they leave, their expressions ranging from confused to wary, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. His focus is fixed entirely on the room and the man still inside it. As the door swings shut behind the last student, the faint click marks the beginning of what Minho has come to do.

Straightening, he steps inside with deliberate, measured strides, the sound of his boots on the polished floor echoing faintly in the quiet. The atmosphere in the lecture hall shifts immediately, the air thickening as if sensing the weight of his presence.

At the front of the room, Jae is bent over his desk, sorting through a stack of papers with a distracted expression. The sound of Minho’s approach draws his attention, and he looks up, his face neutral at first. But when he sees Minho, his brows furrow slightly, confusion flickering across his features.

“Can I help you?” 

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. He stops a few feet from Jae’s desk, his stance casual but his eyes locked on Jae’s with a piercing intensity. He tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Jae, right? The professor’s assistant?”

Jae straightens slightly, frowning. “Yeah, that’s me. I don’t think I’ve seen you in the class. Are you-”

“Oh, I’m not in the class,” Minho interrupts smoothly, his voice cold and edged with quiet steel. “My girlfriend is, though. Y/N. The one you tried to blackmail into fucking you for a passing grade.”

Jae’s face drains of colour instantly, the papers in his hands falling to the desk with a soft rustle. His mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish gasping for air. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammers, his voice faltering.

“Don’t,” Minho cuts in sharply, his tone dropping into something lethal. “Lie to me.”

Jae swallows hard, his hands twitching as they grip the edge of the desk. The flicker of panic in his eyes is unmistakable, but Minho’s unrelenting gaze holds him in place. After a tense beat, Minho jerks his chin toward the chair behind the desk.

“Me and you are gonna have a little talk,” he says, his voice steady but cold enough to freeze the air between them. “So sit down. Now.”

Jae hesitates, his eyes darting toward the door as though calculating his chances of escape. Minho doesn’t miss the movement. He takes a single step closer and slams his hand down on the desk with enough force to send the papers scattering to the floor.

“I said. Sit. The. Fuck. Down.”

The command sends a visible jolt through Jae, who stumbles backwards before nearly tripping into the chair. He sinks into it hastily, his movements frantic and uncoordinated, and looks up at Minho with wide, trembling eyes.

Minho’s hand lashes out suddenly, gripping the back of Jae’s head before slamming his face down against the desk with a sickening thud. The impact sends a burst of blood streaming from Jae’s nose, and he lets out a muffled cry of pain, his hands scrambling to push himself upright.

Before he can make another sound, Minho clamps a hand over his mouth, silencing him. “That,” Minho says evenly, his voice steady but laced with venom, “is for terrifying my girlfriend.”

Jae’s muffled whimpers grow louder, his tears mingling with the blood dripping onto the desk. Minho leans closer, his grip on Jae’s head tightening as his voice drops into a cold whisper.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You will quit as the professor’s assistant, and you will tell the professor exactly what you did. Every girl you’ve tried this shit with. Every word you said to Y/N. Because if you don’t, I swear to fucking God, you’ll never walk again. Are we clear?”

Jae nods frantically, his head jerking up and down against Minho’s hand as tears stream down his face. Minho’s eyes narrow as he grabs Jae’s nose, twisting it sharply enough to draw another strangled cry of pain. 

“Words, asshole,” Minho sneers, his voice cutting through Jae’s sobs like a blade.

“Yes!” Jae blurts, his voice trembling with desperation. “I’ll quit! I’ll tell him! I swear!”

Minho releases his grip abruptly, stepping back slightly as he watches Jae clutch his nose with trembling hands. Blood streams between Jae’s fingers, staining his shirt and dripping onto the papers scattered across the desk. Minho tilts his head, his expression unreadable as he studies the pitiful sight in front of him.

“Why her?” Minho asks suddenly, his voice quiet but cutting. “Because she’s quiet? Because she’s anxious? Is that why you thought you could pull this shit with her? Thought she'd be too scared to tell anyone?”

Jae doesn’t respond, but the panicked look in his eyes gives Minho all the confirmation he needs. Without warning, Minho slams Jae’s face against the desk again, the impact louder this time. Jae cries out, his voice muffled as blood pools on the desk beneath him.

“You made a mistake,” Minho says evenly, his tone almost conversational. “Because you upset her. And you know what happens when people upset my girlfriend?”

Jae whimpers, his body trembling as he clutches the edge of the desk. 

Minho leans closer, his voice dropping into a cold whisper. “When people upset her? Make her scared to go to class? Take advantage of their authority over her? I get pissed off. And when I get pissed off-” He trails off, gesturing to Jae’s bloodied face with a small, humourless smirk. “Well, let's just say this is me holding back.”

Jae sobs openly now, his hands shaking as he tries to stem the flow of blood. Minho tilts his head slightly, his gaze dark and unrelenting.

“You will never talk to her again,” he says, his voice quiet but resolute. “You won’t look at her, you won’t breathe near her. Because if you do, I won’t stop here. I’ll find Chan, Changbin, and Jisung. And trust me, they’ll be far less forgiving than I’ve been. The whole fucking frat house will come for you"

Jae lets out a strangled squeak, shaking his head frantically as Minho straightens. “And just so you know,” Minho adds, his tone turning icy, “the only reason you’re walking out of here today is because my girlfriend is too soft-hearted to want you hurt. But me? I don’t have that problem.”

Without waiting for a response, Minho wipes his hands on his jeans as if brushing off dirt, his movements calm and deliberate. He doesn’t spare Jae another glance as he turns on his heel and walks out of the lecture hall, the door swinging shut behind him with a decisive click.

The room falls silent again, save for Jae’s ragged breathing and muffled sobs, his blood pooling on the desk beneath him as he clutches his broken nose.

Minho steps into his room at the frat house, closing the door behind him with deliberate quiet. The air inside is warm and familiar, filled with the soft scent of lavender from the diffuser you insisted he get. You’re completely buried beneath his blankets, only a few strands of your hair spilling out over the pillow giving away your position.

He pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watches you. The anger that had been burning hot in his chest earlier is still there, but now it simmers, dulled by the sight of you curled up and peaceful, your breathing steady and rhythmic. He exhales softly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly.

Walking over, he crouches by the bed, his movements careful and precise. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. His fingers linger there for a moment, his touch soft.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “I need to talk to you. Then you can go back to sleep.”

You stir slightly, your body shifting under the blankets. Your eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep, and you blink at him, your face scrunching up in that familiar way he finds so endearing. “Min?” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me,” he says gently. “Sit up for me, okay? Just for a little bit.”

You groan softly, a sleepy protest, but you push yourself up, the blankets pooling around your waist as you sit. Your hair is a mess, a halo of stray strands framing your face, and your cheeks are puffy from sleep. Despite everything, Minho thinks you look impossibly adorable.

“What’s going on?” you ask, your voice still heavy with sleep.

Minho moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his expression serious but calm. He’s careful as he speaks, watching your reaction. “I spoke to Jae today,” he begins. “He told me what he did.”

The sleepiness in your eyes vanishes instantly, replaced by something sharp and anxious. You stiffen, your body going still. “Did you hurt him?” 

Minho tilts his head, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk. “I only broke his nose a little bit.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, you seem caught between shock and something else. Maybe relief, maybe disbelief. 

“He’s going to tell the professor what he did to you,” Minho continues, “and to any other girls he tried to pull this shit with. Your assignments will probably get regraded, and you’ll finally get the marks you deserve.”

You nod again, but you still won’t meet his eyes. Instead, your fingers find a loose thread on the blanket, picking at it restlessly. Minho watches you for a moment, his heart tightening in his chest. He stands briefly to grab your silicone pop-it from the desk, then sits back down and places it gently in your hands.

“Here,” he says softly. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You hesitate, your fingers moving over the pop-it’s silicone bubbles in a steady rhythm. The soft popping sound fills the quiet, and your breathing begins to steady as you focus on the motion. Finally, you speak, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I just- I felt gross,” you say, the words trembling. “I tried so hard on those assignments, Min. I put everything I had into them, and he didn’t even see that. He didn’t see my work. All he saw was my body.”

Your hands tighten around the pop-it, your fingers pressing harder against the bubbles. The sound feels louder now, punctuating the silence. “I didn’t even feel like a person,” you continue, your voice breaking slightly. “I felt like an object. Like that’s all I was to him. My intelligence didn’t matter. My hard work didn’t matter. All that mattered was if I’d fuck him to pass.”

Minho’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. His gaze stays fixed on you, his hands clenched into loose fists in his lap as he fights the urge to let his anger show. This isn’t about him, it’s about you, and he needs to let you say everything you need to.

Your voice drops even lower, trembling with emotion. “And I don’t know, I thought maybe you’d think less of me. Which is stupid, I know, but-”

“It’s not stupid,” Minho interrupts gently, his tone firm but kind. “Baby, you have anxiety. I know you know I’d never think less of you, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy for your brain to believe it. That’s not your fault.”

Your breath catches, and for a moment, you seem frozen. Then Minho shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. His hand rubs soothing circles on your back as you continue fidgeting with the pop-it, the steady rhythm grounding you.

“I’m proud of you, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice soft. “It must’ve been so hard, keeping all that in. But you’re here, baby. You got through it.”

You hesitate for a beat, then admit quietly, “I told Felix.”

Minho keeps his expression neutral, pretending he doesn’t already know. “You did?”

You nod against his chest. “Yeah. He was so nice about it. He didn’t get mad, just comforted me.”

Minho smiles faintly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “That was really brave of you, sweetheart. My brave girl. How did I get so lucky?”

You pull back slightly, your lips quirking into the tiniest of smiles. “You calmed me down at that awards night,” you say, your voice soft. “Told me I was beautiful. Jisung set me up on a date with Felix because he thought you’d just fuck me around, and then you showed up at my apartment after the date, and, well, now here we are.”

Minho chuckles, shaking his head. “Ah, yes. That’s how I got so lucky. I was so fucking pissed at Jisung for that, you know.”

You laugh softly, the sound quiet but genuine. “I remember. Jisung caught us kissing that night in my apartment, and he was so mad.”

Minho smirks, leaning closer. “And then you locked him in the living room so we could have sex in your room.”

Your giggle grows louder, and Minho grins, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “There she is,” he murmurs, his voice full of affection.

Minho shifts slightly, his weight sinking into the bed as he tilts your chin up with gentle fingers, guiding your gaze to meet his. His thumb brushes lightly over your jawline, the motion soothing, almost absentminded, as if his hand belongs there and nowhere else.

“Baby,” he starts, his voice low but steady, every word deliberate. “I need you to know something.”

You swallow hard, your hands pausing their rhythmic popping on the silicone toy in your lap. His tone is so certain, so resolute, that it demands your full attention. His thumb moves again, a tender stroke against your skin that feels grounding.

“I will never think less of you for anything,” he continues, his gaze boring into yours. “Not for your anxiety, not for being scared of something, none of it. Okay?”

Your throat tightens, and you try to blink back the sting in your eyes, but it’s no use. A tear slips out, trailing silently down your cheek. Minho’s hand moves immediately, his thumb brushing the tear away as if he’s wiping away more than just a drop of salt water, like he’s trying to erase the weight of your fears entirely.

“That shit doesn’t make you weak,” he says, his voice soft but fierce. “And it sure as hell doesn’t make me love you any less.”

You nod silently, your throat too tight to speak, but your eyes stay locked on his. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t rush you to respond. He just stays there, his hand cradling your cheek like you’re the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

Minho shifts closer, his voice dropping even lower, softer but no less firm. “I’m not gonna hold it against you for having fears or for assuming what I might feel. I get it, baby. Your brain runs a million miles a minute sometimes, and that’s okay. But all I ask-” He pauses, his thumb tracing slow circles on your cheek. “is that you ask me how I feel, okay? Could you do that for me, my silly girl?”

You nod again, finally finding your voice, though it’s small and trembling. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I need,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a faint, reassuring smile. His hand lingers on your cheek for a moment longer before he lets it drop, resting it lightly on your knee. “That’s all I’ll ever ask.”

You look down at the pop-it in your lap, your fingers resuming their soft, steady movements over the silicone bubbles. The gentle popping sound fills the quiet space between you, grounding you as you process his words. You take a deep, shaky breath, letting it out slowly, and when you glance back up at him, there’s a faint hint of playfulness in your tone.

“Did he cry?” you ask tentatively, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Minho’s smirk is instant and smug, his brows lifting slightly. “I think he might have pissed himself a little.”

The laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, light and genuine. It catches you off guard, and the sound feels foreign after so much tension, but it’s freeing. Minho’s grin widens, clearly pleased with himself.

“I’m serious,” he says, his tone teasing but proud. “I’m scary.”

You giggle again, shaking your head. “I know. My scary guard dog.”

“Damn fucking straight,” Minho replies, puffing his chest out slightly in mock bravado. “Returning your food when the order’s wrong, fighting off creeps who think they have a chance with you, taking back tops when they’re the wrong size. I’ve got this shit down to a fine art. Honestly, Hyunjin should be jealous. I could pass his art history major for him, I’m that good. And let’s not forget, I’ve got better hair.”

You snort. “I don’t know about that,” you say, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Hyunjin’s hair is pretty majestic.”

Minho gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like you’ve just delivered a mortal wound. “Okay, fine,” he concedes with exaggerated flair. “Hyunjin’s hair is like a fucking Renaissance painting. But I’m prettier, right?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it, and Minho narrows his eyes at you in mock suspicion. “Well,” you draw out, your lips twitching. “You’re sexier. And scarier.”

Minho’s smirk returns in full force, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Damn right, I am.”

You laugh again, this time louder, freer, the sound filling the room with a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Minho leans forward, his hand coming up to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger there, brushing lightly against your cheek as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His lips are warm and firm, lingering just long enough to feel like a promise.

When he pulls back, his expression softens, the smugness melting into something gentler. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection. “I knew you had good taste.”

“I guess I do,” you reply quietly, your tone playful but sincere.

Minho leans back slightly, his hand sliding down to rest over yours. His fingers lace through yours easily, the pop-it still cradled in your other hand. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence between you filled only with the rhythmic popping of the toy and the soft hum of the world outside the window.

Then, Minho breaks the silence, his tone turning light again. “You know,” he says, his eyes narrowing playfully, “Jisung owes me a massive apology. For that date setup with Felix. Biggest cockblock of my life.”

You shake your head, your smile lingering as you glance down at your intertwined hands. The warmth of his touch, the steadiness of his presence, it feels like a lifeline, pulling you back to a place of safety.

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice almost a whisper. “For everything. For being here. For listening.”

Minho squeezes your hand gently, his expression softening again. “Always, baby. You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s just what I do.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache, but this time it’s not from sadness. It’s from the overwhelming relief of knowing you’re not alone, of having someone who sees all of you, the messy, complicated parts, and chooses to stay anyway.

Minho shifts closer again, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes gazing into yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, the words a quiet vow. “And I protect what’s mine. Always.”

The evening air carries a crisp coolness, just enough to brush against your skin but not bite. The streets are alive with the hum of student life, clusters of laughter and chatter spill out of bars and restaurants, mixing with the occasional sound of a passing car. You walk arm-in-arm with Jisung, his boundless energy an anchor in the buzz of activity.

Your black leather flares swish with each step, the soft click of your black heeled boots echoing against the concrete. The strapless white tube top you’re wearing fits snugly, accentuating your silhouette, and the small white purse hanging from your shoulder ties the outfit together.

Jisung looks as effortlessly cool as ever. His black cargo trousers and white sneakers give him a laid-back edge, and the Eminem t-shirt beneath his black zip-up hoodie looks perfectly lived-in. His beanie is pulled low over his messy hair, the soft fabric framing his expressive face, while the silver chain around his neck catches the glow of the streetlights as he gestures animatedly. His free hand flails as he sidesteps a group of loud, tipsy students, pulling you closer to him.

“We’re two pretty best friends,” he announces suddenly, his voice brimming with exaggerated pride.

You laugh, leaning into his arm as your smile stretches wide. “We even have matching mental illnesses.”

“Exactly!” Jisung cheers, throwing his free hand up like he’s proclaiming your shared anxiety as a badge of honour. “Anxiety crew, represent!”

His exuberance draws a few amused glances from passersby, but you don’t care. His humour, his ease, it’s exactly what you need to shake off the heaviness of the week.

You tilt your head, glancing down at his outfit as you ask, “How come we’re all in black and white? Did you guys plan this?”

Jisung groans dramatically, his entire body exaggerating the motion as he throws his head back. “Hyunjin insisted,” he says, his tone dripping with faux exasperation. “Something about ‘aesthetic cohesion’ and ‘timeless elegance.’”

Your laugh bubbles up before you can stop it, the sound mixing with the steady rhythm of your boots clicking against the sidewalk. “That man loves a theme.”

“Loves it way too much,” Jisung mutters, though there’s no real bite in his tone. “You should’ve seen him lecturing Changbin about matching his belt to his shoes. Nearly gave the man an existential crisis.”

The two of you laugh together, the sound easy and light as you approach the bar. The familiar neon sign above the entrance glows a vibrant blue, its light spilling out onto the sidewalk. The steady thump of bass pulses from inside, vibrating faintly through the pavement, and the warm buzz of voices filters through the open doorway. Jisung holds the door open with an exaggerated flourish, bowing slightly as he gestures for you to enter.

The bar wraps around you in a wave of sound and warmth. The chatter of patrons, the clink of glasses, and the faint, rhythmic beat of music from the speakers create a lively symphony. The air smells faintly of citrus and beer, mingling with the aroma of wood from the polished tables and bar counter.

Your eyes scan the room, searching through the sea of faces until they land on a familiar booth near the back. It’s packed with your group. Chan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin are crammed together, their laughter carrying even over the din of the bar.

Drinks sit scattered across the table, condensation pooling around the bases of the glasses as everyone gestures animatedly, their hands cutting through the air in exaggerated motions as they talk.

Minho spots you first. His dark eyes light up immediately, and a slow, easy grin spreads across his face. His gaze locks on yours, his expression softening with something unspoken but undeniable.

Felix notices the shift in Minho’s face and nudges Changbin, who slides over to make room in the booth. Felix stands, waving enthusiastically, his signature bright smile beaming at you across the room.

“There’s our power duo!” Felix calls out, his voice carrying above the din.

You and Jisung weave through the crowd, dodging chairs and bodies with ease. When you finally reach the booth, Felix steps aside, his grin widening as he gestures toward the newly cleared space. “Ladies and gentlemen, the anxiety icons have arrived.”

You laugh as you slide into the booth beside Minho, with Jisung quickly claiming the space on your other side. The moment you’re settled, Minho’s arm drapes over your shoulders in a fluid motion, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body against yours is immediate, his woodsy cologne wrapping around you like a cocoon.

“Hi,” you murmur, resting your head lightly against his shoulder. The noise of the bar fades slightly, muffled by the closeness of him.

“Hi, baby,” he replies, his voice low and smooth, the words sending a ripple of comfort through you. He slides a drink across the table toward you, a strawberry daiquiri with a tiny paper umbrella perched delicately on the rim.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you pick up the glass, the condensation cool against your fingers. You take a sip, the sweet tang of strawberries washing over your tongue, and you hum in satisfaction. “You know me too well.”

Minho smirks, his dark eyes glinting with amusement as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “Only the best for my girl.”

The conversation around the table continues, bursts of laughter and teasing filling the booth as the rest of the group dives into their drinks. Chan and Hyunjin are deep in a debate about the best way to pour a draft beer, their hands miming the action with exaggerated gestures. Jeongin and Seungmin watch with amused expressions, occasionally throwing in dry commentary that makes Changbin nearly choke on his drink.

But Minho’s attention never wavers from you. His fingers absentmindedly play with a strand of your hair, twirling it gently before letting it fall back into place.

His other hand rests on the table and you reach over, your fingers brushing against his as you begin to fidget with the cool metal bands. The motion is familiar, calming, and Minho’s lips twitch into a small smile at the gesture.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise of the bar. 

Your cheeks warm at the compliment, but you smile, your fingers still toying with his rings. “You’re biased.”

“Damn right, I am,” he replies without hesitation, his grin widening. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

You glance up at him, your smile softening as your eyes meet his. His arm tightens around your shoulders slightly, pulling you closer to his side.

Jisung’s voice cuts through the quiet bubble around you, pulling your attention back to the group. “Hey, are we playing darts or what? I’m ready to kick Changbin’s ass.”

“You couldn’t hit the board last time,” Changbin fires back, his grin mischievous.

“Details,” Jisung retorts, waving a dismissive hand. “This time, I’m fueled by friendship and alcohol.”

The group bursts into laughter, and Minho chuckles softly, his hand brushing over your shoulder. “You wanna play, baby?”

You shake your head, still nestled against him. “I think I’ll sit this one out. I’m pretty comfortable right here.”

Minho’s smirk returns, his voice dropping just slightly as he murmurs, “Can’t blame you. I’m an excellent pillow.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you tease, though the fondness in your tone gives you away.

He leans closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Too late.”

The sound of the group heading toward the dartboards fills the booth, leaving you and Minho alone for a rare moment. His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face toward his, and his dark eyes search yours with a quiet intensity.

“I mean it,” he says softly, his tone earnest. “You’re stunning.”

Your heart flutters, and for a moment, you forget the noise of the bar entirely. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice almost lost in the hum of the room.

Minho smiles, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your lips which you happily reciprocate. When he pulls back, his smirk returns, lighter now but no less confident.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with affection. “Always the prettiest one in the room.”

The booth is alive with laughter, the warm glow of the bar's hanging lights casting everyone in soft hues of gold and amber. Drinks clink together as stories flow freely, the kind of energy that only exists when you’re surrounded by the people you trust most.

Felix is mid-story, his hands gesturing animatedly as he recounts one of Hyunjin’s failed attempts at “artistic photography.” Even Hyunjin can’t hold back his laughter as Felix mimics his exaggerated poses, their voices blending into the hum of the crowded bar.

You’re nestled against Minho’s side, his arm draped protectively over your shoulders, anchoring you in the lively chaos. His thumb rubs slow, absentminded circles against your upper arm, grounding you as your fingers toy with the cool metal of his rings. The weight of his presence, the steady rhythm of his breathing, is a constant comfort.

But then, cutting through the warmth of the moment like a shard of ice, comes the sound of loud, grating laughter. It’s obnoxious and overblown, the kind of noise that demands attention whether you want to give it or not. The entire booth turns instinctively toward the sound, and the moment your eyes land on the source, your stomach plummets.

Jae.

He’s standing near the bar with a group of equally rowdy friends, all of them leaning against each other and laughing too loudly, their voices slurred with the unmistakable edge of too much alcohol. His presence feels like a punch to the gut, and you freeze, your fingers stilling against Minho’s rings.

Felix notices immediately. His laughter cuts off mid-sentence, and his usual bright smile dims into something tight and unreadable. Minho, however, doesn’t even try to mask his reaction. His arm tightens around you, and his dark eyes narrow as they lock onto Jae with a sharpness that could cut through steel.

“Min,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the din of the bar. “Just enjoy the night, okay? Please?”

Minho’s jaw tenses, the muscle ticking as he takes a slow, deliberate breath. He doesn’t respond immediately, and you can feel the controlled anger radiating off him in waves. Before he can say anything, Jae’s voice cuts through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

“There she is!” he shouts, pointing at you, his words slurred but still sharp enough to carry across the bar. “The little slut that ruined my life!”

The world tilts slightly, your vision narrowing as the words hit you like a slap. The booth goes completely silent. The laughter and easy chatter are gone, replaced by a thick, oppressive stillness.

Jae stumbles forward slightly, his friends egging him on with jeers and smirks. “The one who has to send her big, bad football player boyfriend to save the day!” he sneers, his tone dripping with mockery.

Minho stiffens beside you, his grip on your shoulder tightening. His voice, when he speaks, is eerily calm, a quiet storm brewing just beneath the surface. “He’s dead,” he says simply, his tone flat.

Felix doesn’t hesitate. He pushes his drink aside, his movements deliberate as he rises to his feet. “Yup.”

Jae isn’t done, his voice rising above the ambient noise of the bar as he continues his tirade. “She just couldn’t keep her mouth shut or spread her legs! Too pious to fuck me for a better grade, and now look where it’s gotten me.”

The laughter from Jae’s group is harsh and grating, echoing across the room like a bad joke no one asked to hear. The implications of his words click into place for everyone at the booth.

Chan’s usually calm, composed demeanour cracks, his expression hardening into something cold and unyielding. Hyunjin’s jaw drops, disbelief and anger flashing across his face. Changbin’s hand clenches into a fist against the table, his knuckles whitening.

Jeongin and Seungmin's faces go as cold as ice and Jisung, seated beside you, vibrates with barely contained fury, his sharp gaze darting between you and Jae.

“Motherfucker,” Jisung mutters, his voice low but brimming with rage.

Minho doesn’t wait for Jae to speak again. He hops over the table in one fluid motion, his movements calm but with a predatory edge that makes the air feel heavier. Felix follows immediately, his expression grim, and Jisung is right on their heels, his hands already clenched into fists.

Chan curses under his breath, pushing his chair back as he stands. “This is about to turn into a fucking bar brawl,” he mutters, glancing at Seungmin. “Stay with Y/N.”

Seungmin nods, his expression unreadable as he shifts closer to you, sliding into the space Minho just vacated. The others follow the trio, their expressions a mix of anger and determination.

You sit frozen, your fingers trembling as they grip the edges of your purse. The familiar weight of your fidget cube presses against your palm, and you pull it out with shaky hands. The soft clicks and rotations offer a small measure of comfort, but your chest still feels tight, your breaths shallow and uneven.

You drain the rest of your strawberry daiquiri in one go, the sweetness doing little to settle your nerves. Without thinking, you reach for Felix’s abandoned pina colada and take a long sip, the chilled drink momentarily grounding you.

Seungmin’s arm wraps around your shoulders, his touch steady and reassuring. His presence, calm and unflinching, feels like a lifeline as you struggle to keep the panic at bay. He follows your gaze toward Jae, whose bandaged nose is a stark reminder of Minho’s earlier confrontation.

Seungmin’s lips quirk into a faint smirk. “Did Minho do that to his nose?”

You nod, your voice small as you murmur, “Yeah.”

Seungmin huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “He held back.”

The comment draws a weak chuckle from you, the sound shaky but real. Seungmin’s smirk widens slightly as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice dropping into a reassuring murmur. “They’ve got this. Jae doesn’t stand a fucking chance against Minho and Felix. And if the others gets involved?” He grins faintly. “Game over. I mean have you seen Chan's shoulders?"

The words settle over you like a blanket, offering a small measure of comfort. Jae leans against the bar like he owns the place, his arms crossed in mock confidence as he spots Minho approaching with the group behind him. His friends egg him on, their laughter obnoxiously loud as they slap him on the back, goading him with jeers and grins.

“Well, if it isn’t the boyfriend,” Jae sneers, his voice carrying over the bar’s thumping bass. His words are slurred, his bravado clearly fueled by the alcohol in his system. “Here to defend your little slut again?”

The temperature in the bar seems to drop. Minho stops just short of Jae, his hands hanging loose at his sides. His knuckles flex once, the tendons in his hands tightening as though preparing for action. His dark eyes bore into Jae with a calmness that’s far more dangerous than any shouting match could be.

Minho takes a slow, deliberate breath and his neck rolls lazily to one side, a quiet crack breaking through the tension. “You’ve got about three seconds,” he says, his voice low and measured, “to shut the fuck up.”

Before Jae can respond, a blur of motion cuts between them. Jisung surges forward, his fist swinging with everything he has. The impact lands square on Jae’s cheek, a sickening thud that reverberates through the room as Jae’s head snaps to the side. He stumbles against the bar, gripping the edge for balance.

“You fucking asshole!” Jisung snaps, shaking his hand out with a wince. “You don’t get to talk about her like that!”

Jae barely has time to recover before chaos erupts. His friends lurch forward, fists flying wildly, but Chan, Changbin, Felix, Hyunjin, Minho, and Jeongin are faster. The music fades into the background, drowned out by shouts, curses, and the sound of bodies colliding.

Felix moves with a precision that’s almost clinical, his taekwondo training evident in the sharpness of his kicks and punches. One of Jae’s friends lunges at him, but Felix sidesteps effortlessly, delivering a swift kick to the guy’s ribs that sends him sprawling.

“I always forget Felix did taekwondo for like ten years,” Seungmin mutters, his arm steady around your shoulders.

“Twelve,” you correct automatically, your voice shaky but steady as your fingers work furiously at the fidget cube in your lap. The rhythmic clicks and rotations offer a small anchor against the chaos.

Seungmin smirks faintly, sliding a forgotten glass of Sex on the Beach toward you. “Here. Looks like you need this more than Jeongin does.”

You nod, grateful, and take a long sip. The sweetness of the drink calms your nerves slightly, but your gaze remains fixed on the fight unfolding before you. Minho is a force of nature, calm, controlled, and devastatingly efficient. He moves through the fray with a predator’s grace, every punch deliberate and unrelenting.

When one of Jae’s friends tries to grab him from behind, Minho twists effortlessly, slamming an elbow into the guy’s stomach before throwing him into a nearby table.

Hyunjin and Jeongin work in tandem, their usual playful energy transformed into something almost terrifying. Hyunjin distracts one of Jae’s friends with feints and jabs, giving Jeongin the opening to sweep the guy’s legs out from under him. The two share a brief smirk before turning to face the next opponent.

Chan and Changbin are unrelenting, their punches landing with a precision that speaks to years of dealing with troublemakers. One of Jae’s friends charges at Chan, but Chan steps aside at the last moment, letting the guy crash into a table. Changbin follows up with a solid punch to the guy’s jaw, sending him crumpling to the floor.

Jae tries to regain his footing, his face twisted in rage as he lunges at Minho. But Minho is faster. He grabs Jae by the hair, yanking his head back before slamming his face against the edge of the bar. The impact is brutal, the sound of bone meeting wood audible even over the music.

“Enough!” the bartender shouts, slamming his hand on the counter. His voice cuts through the noise like a whip. “Take this shit outside, or I’m calling the cops!”

Minho straightens slowly, releasing Jae, who collapses to the floor in a heap. Blood drips from his already broken nose, staining the floor beneath him as he groans in pain.

Minho doesn’t spare him another glance, his focus shifting as he turns and walks back toward you with a calmness that’s almost eerie. His chest heaves slightly, his adrenaline still running high, but the moment his eyes meet yours, his expression softens.

He holds out his hand, his voice steady but still tinged with adrenaline. “Come on, baby.”

You set the empty glass down, your fingers trembling slightly as you slip your hand into his. His grip is warm, solid, and grounding, and the tension in your chest begins to ease. Minho helps you out of the booth, keeping you close as he leads you toward the exit. The others begin to follow, Chan calling out as they regroup.

“Let’s head back to the frat,” Chan says, his voice firm as he wipes at a smudge of blood on his knuckles.

The group murmurs their agreement, Felix throwing one last disdainful glance at Jae, who is still groaning on the floor. “Yeah, let’s go,” Felix mutters, shaking out his wrists.

As the group moves toward the door, Minho slows his pace deliberately. Just before stepping outside, he pauses, his eyes cutting down to Jae’s hand, which is splayed weakly on the floor.

Without missing a beat, Minho steps on it with all his weight. The sickening crunch of bone is faint over the music, but Jae’s howl of pain cuts through the room like a blade.

Minho doesn’t look down as he continues walking. His hand tightens slightly around yours, his focus already back on you. The cool night air greets you as you step outside, washing over your heated skin and easing some of the tension from your body. The faint hum of distant traffic mixes with the muffled bass from the bar, the world outside feeling calmer, quieter.

You glance up at Minho as the group starts making their way back toward the frat house. His arm slips around your waist, pulling you closer to his side as you walk. His presence is steady and reassuring, and for the first time since the night began, you feel like you can finally breathe.

“Feel better?” you ask quietly, your voice hesitant.

Minho smirks faintly, his dark eyes glinting in the streetlights. “Not yet,” he admits, his tone low. His arm tightens around you slightly as he adds, “But I will. Once we’re home.”

The frat house is alive with energy as the group spills inside, their voices bouncing off the walls, fueled by adrenaline and a few drinks too many. Everyone heads straight for the kitchen, where Chan takes command like a seasoned general, throwing open cabinets and yanking out bottles.

You lean against the counter, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You bend down, tugging at the zippers on your heeled boots, muttering under your breath when one gets stuck.

Minho, mid-pour with a bottle of vodka in hand, glances at you. His eyes catch on the sight of your Bambi socks, the design peeking out as your boots come off. He snorts, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, the words laced with affection.

You look up, holding one boot in your hand as you stick your tongue out at him. “And you love it.”

“I do,” he says, shaking his head with mock exasperation as he pours pineapple juice into your glass. “Heavy on the vodka, right?”

“Always,” you reply, your lips twitching into a small smile.

Before you can settle, Jisung is suddenly in front of you, his expression unusually serious as he wraps his arms around you in a warm, slightly desperate hug. The smell of his cologne mingles with the faint scent of booze clinging to his hoodie. You melt into him, your hands clutching at the soft fabric of his hoodie as he presses his cheek against yours.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You shrug, your face still buried in his shoulder. “I didn’t want to make it a big deal,” you mumble, the words muffled against him.

Jisung sighs, the sound heavy with frustration and concern. “It is a big deal. You’re my best friend. I’m supposed to know this shit.”

You don’t respond, your fingers tightening slightly against his shirt. The weight of the night threatens to creep back in, but the comfort of Jisung’s hug and the chatter around you keeps it at bay.

Minho slides a glass across the counter toward you, the condensation forming small droplets that glisten under the overhead lights. “Here,” Minho says, his voice soft but firm. “Drink.”

You smile faintly, your free hand reaching for the glass. The first sip is cold and sweet, the tang of pineapple cutting through the vodka, and you hum in satisfaction. Minho’s lips twitch into a satisfied smirk as he leans against the counter, watching you.

Chan, standing nearby with his arms crossed, tilts his head as he studies your face. “You alright?”

You glance at him, nodding. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Chan uncrosses his arms, pulling you into a brief but firm side hug. His grip is strong and reassuring, and when he lets go, he places a hand on your shoulder. “Good,” he says simply. “You know this whole house has your back, right? Every one of us.”

“Yeah, I know,” you reply, your voice soft but genuine.

“Damn right we do,” Felix chimes in from the island, raising his glass of rum and coke in a toast. His grin is bright, the kind that could lighten even the darkest mood. “We need our two anxious mascots in tip-top shape.”

Jisung looks at Felix with furrowed brows. “Who’s the second one?”

Minho raises an eyebrow at him, his voice dry. “You, dumbass.”

Jisung blinks once, then twice, before nodding in agreement. “Yeah, makes sense.”

Felix’s laughter is the first to break, and the rest of the room follows, the sound rippling through the kitchen like waves. Minho pours himself a glass of whiskey and coke, the ratios leaning heavily in favour of the whiskey.

He moves behind you, his arm snaking across your chest to pull you gently back against him. The comforting weight of his presence settles over you, and you let yourself lean into him, your head resting against his chest.

“The cube helping you, baby?” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear, the low timbre of his voice sending a wave of calm through you.

You nod, your fingers clicking the toy’s buttons rhythmically. “Yeah. It’s helping.”

Jisung bounds toward the speaker in the corner, pulling out his phone with the dramatic flair of someone announcing their magnum opus. “We need music!” he declares, his fingers flying over the screen.

The opening beats of Hey Daddy by Usher fill the kitchen, the smooth rhythm instantly lightens the atmosphere.

You giggle, sipping your drink as the guys start bopping along to the music. Hyunjin pulls Felix into an impromptu dance, their movements overly dramatic as they spin and pose like they’re auditioning for a music video. Jeongin laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink, and Chan claps along, his grin wide.

Minho keeps his arm snug around you, his free hand resting lightly on your waist. His thumb traces small, lazy circles against your side, his touch grounding. He leans in closer, his voice a quiet murmur against your ear. “You always smell like mango and passion fruit.”

“It’s my shampoo, conditioner, body spray. Everything, really,” you reply with a small laugh, glancing up at him.

“I love it,” Minho says simply, his tone sincere. “And I love you.”

His lips press a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering for a moment. You smile, your fingers tightening around the glass in your hand as you tilt your head back to look at him.

“I love you too,”

Across the kitchen, Chan raises his glass, his voice cutting through the music. “Alright, let’s get super fucked up!”

“And talk about how ugly Jae and his friends are, right?” Felix adds, his grin mischievous as he looks to you for confirmation.

You nod, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Right.”

Felix leans forward, clinking his glass against yours with a wink. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Seungmin, perched on a stool nearby, takes a sip of his drink before adding dryly, “Jae gives off major bitchless energy.”

Hyunjin nods enthusiastically, his voice light and playful. “Very demure. Very ‘I don’t get any pussy.’”

The night winds down into a comfortable haze, the once-lively frat kitchen now littered with half-empty bottles, abandoned cups, and the remnants of snacks scattered across the counters.

The music is still playing, though quieter now, and the energy in the house has shifted. Laughter is softer, conversations slower, the kind of relaxed vibe that follows a night of good drinks and better company.

Minho’s arm stays firmly around your waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your side. His touch is steady, grounding, a quiet promise of safety even as the chaos of the evening fizzles into a low hum. He leans down, his breath brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “Come on, baby. Let’s head upstairs.”

You nod, leaning into him for a moment before he gently guides you toward the hallway. His hand rests lightly on your back, steering you past the remnants of the night.

Jisung is sprawled across the couch in the living room, one arm draped dramatically over his face, muttering something about how Seungmin stole his drink.

Felix, meanwhile, is perched on the coffee table, dramatically belting out the chorus of whatever song is playing, much to the delight of Changbin and Hyunjin, who are egging him on.

Minho chuckles softly as he watches them, shaking his head in amusement before nudging you forward. “Come on, before they rope us into Felix’s karaoke session.”

The climb up the stairs is slower than usual, your legs a little unsteady from the drinks and the lingering adrenaline of the night. Minho keeps a firm hold on you, his hand brushing lightly against your back every few steps as though to remind you he’s there.

You step inside his room, the door clicking shut softly behind you. The room is dimly lit, the warm glow of Minho’s desk lamp casting soft, golden shadows across the walls.

Minho leans back against the door, his eyes fixed on you as you reach for the zipper of your leather flares. The tight material peels away slowly, revealing the long expanse of your legs and your white panties. You pull your top over your head revealing your strapless white bra as you toss the top onto the chair in the corner of the room.

Minho stays where he is, watching you with a look that’s equal parts admiration and hunger. His gaze roams over you, taking in every curve, every line, with a reverence that makes your cheeks warm. His voice is low and rough when he finally speaks. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You glance at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you coming to bed?”

He smirks, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that way that always makes your stomach flutter. “Demanding, aren’t we?”

“Always,” you reply, sliding under the cool blankets and settling into the soft mattress.

You watch as Minho pulls his hoodie over his head, revealing the lean lines of his torso. He tosses it aside, then shucks off his cargos with the same ease, leaving him in just his boxers.

When he joins you under the blankets, the warmth of his body seeps into yours immediately. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your back is pressed against his chest. His chin rests lightly on the top of your head, and you sigh softly, the tension in your body melting away.

For a while, the room is quiet, the distant hum of voices and music downstairs fading into the background. Minho breaks the silence first, his voice low and steady. “I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”

You hum in agreement, your head turning slightly so you can glance up at him. “I think bouncing his head off a bar and crushing his hand might have been enough of a deterrent.”

“You think so, huh?”

“Yeah,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I think he got the message loud and clear.”

Minho shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. His dark hair falls across his forehead, and his expression softens as his fingers brush lightly against your cheek. “I’d kill for you, baby. You need to know that.”

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is unwavering, his thumb tracing small circles on your cheek as he continues. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep you safe. Absolutely nothing.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening at the weight of his words. There’s no hesitation, no doubt in his tone, and the intensity of his conviction makes your eyes sting.

You reach for his hand, your fingers brushing over the cool metal of the rings still on his fingers. The familiar motion of twisting them grounds you.

“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I know, Min.”

He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft but full of emotion. It’s not rushed, not hungry, it’s steady and sure, a quiet vow in the way he holds you. When he pulls back, his eyes search yours, and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “I mean it, you know. You’re everything to me.”

You nod, your fingers still toying with his rings. “And you’re everything to me.”

The words hang in the air between you, unspoken truths finally laid bare. Minho presses a kiss to your forehead before settling back down, his arms wrapping securely around you. You rest your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a sense of peace you hadn’t felt all night.

Downstairs, the faint sound of Felix’s laughter drifts up the stairs, followed by Jisung’s voice dramatically proclaiming something about being the world’s best singer. You smile against Minho’s chest, the warmth of the moment wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Home,” you murmur, your voice heavy with sleep.

Minho’s arms tighten around you slightly, his lips brushing against your hair. “Home,” he echoes, his voice full of quiet certainty. “Right here.”

Got carried away with the word count but protective men do something to me. A week of writing and rewriting and forcing my boyfriend to proof read and it's here!