#apple music tings

[froggenbie]

putting your entire music library on shuffle is absolutely wild. i got two lemon demon songs in a row. then the coralline theme song. then another lemon demon song T.T What

[msgexymunson]

Soft Touches

Description: you and your dealer Eddie get a little closer than anticipated.

Warnings: acquaintances to lovers, reader is AFAB, weed smoking (both parties so no real dub con), fem oral receiving, praise kink, p in v unprotected sex.

A/N: It's my birthday! And I'm high, and horny, so happy birthday! If you've read my work you KNOW I'm a sucker for the first time y/n fucks Eddie. When I'm a benevolent dictator it shall be a universal holiday ;)

4k words

Masterlist

“Eddie, what the hell was in that?” 

Floating in a cloud of your high, the entire room seemed to glow in pink and orange, senses tinged in a sunset glow. You were definitely stoned out of your tree if you were comparing Eddie's stuffy, cramped room to a breath-taking sunset. 

“It's a new strain I got from Rick. You feeling it?” 

“Oh, I'm feeling it alright. I can hear colours.” 

Eddie's rich laugh echoed off the walls of his trailer. He laid on the bed casually, one arm slung beneath his head making his tight t-shirt ride up slightly. Just a peek of his happy trail was on display, which you tried, and failed, not to stare at. 

It was proving difficult, especially since you sat criss-cross apple sauce on his floor. His body was eye level, handcuff belt shining softly in the low light. The glint of that drew your eyes even lower, concentrating on the bulge you could see in his jeans.

You thought you were being sneaky. You absolutely were not. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you gonna answer me or just stare at my dick?” 

“Huh?” 

Shaking your head as if to clear it, you finally met his gaze. 

“I said, you can come lay up here if you want.” 

Halfway between getting up and still in a weird little crouch his words finally filtered through your addled brain. 

“I wasn't staring at your dick!” 

“Whatever you say, baby girl.” 

Frozen, mind empty of comebacks, you clambered out of your goblin stance and stood up, when the blood decided to rush to your head. 

“Oh Holy shit.” 

Your knees buckled, and you would have ended up face first on Eddie's carpet if he hadn't caught you. 

“Easy there, I've got you.” 

Eddie's firm hands held your upper arms tightly as he manoeuvred you to sit on his bed. The room was spinning, everything was drifting out of focus. 

“I need to lie down.” 

Eddie pulled you towards his pillows and laid you down gently, picking your legs up and settling them on the bed with you. Staring up at his off white ceiling, things began to drift back in. Once the room finally stopped swooping around in your vision, you started to come to your senses. 

You are on Eddie Munson's bed. You knew him, sure, only in a ‘can I come round so you can smoke us out and listen to music’ kind of way. You'd hardly call him a friend. This though, feeling the heat of his body next to you, him leaning on his side staring at you worriedly seemed entirely outside of your current arrangement. 

Suddenly the air was stifling, Eddie's warmth only exacerbating the matter. 

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, just really warm. And fucking high.” 

Eddie laughed, relieved.

“Thank fuck, I was scared for a minute.” 

You fumbled at the hem of your oversized sweater, attempting to wriggle it up your body but all motor skills were beyond you right now. 

“Eddie.” You pouted at him, flapping the edge of your sweater with frustrated hands. 

“You want this off?” 

“Please.” 

He flashed you a mischievous grin and pulled up upright, beginning to draw the offensive sweater up and over your form. 

“Didn't think you'd be begging me to undress you sweetheart.” 

Rolling your eyes in response, you held your arms over your head like a petulant toddler. Sweater removed and tossed to the foot of the bed, you risked a glance at Eddie. He was entirely preoccupied, staring at your bare midriff that was now on display. 

“It's a crop top Eddie, get over it.” 

Flinging yourself back down on the pillow, Eddie coughed, looking a little flustered, and settled in next to you. 

“Sorry, I didn't expect it. You always wear baggy shit.” 

“Comfortable shit, thank you. I come here to smoke, it's not New York fashion week.”

Eddie ran a finger across you, just below your belly button. The barely there touch blazed across your skin. 

“I didn't know you had your belly button pierced.” 

Looking down, you watch as his fingers circle it, then flick the little jewel dangling off the end. Thighs clamping together out of sheer necessity, you attempt to ignore it. 

“Yeah, got it done when I was like 15, two towns over. Probably my least painful piercing. Apart from ears, of course.”

Apparently, Rick's new strain also makes you run your mouth, as well as being insanely warm and horny. It seemed you had captured Eddie's attention. He turned further towards you, one hand holding his head up. The other, much to your relief, stayed on your stomach. You're not sure he was even aware he was still stroking your skin. 

“Least painful? What other piercings do you have?” 

You seriously considered dodging the question, but it's difficult to be devious directly to those big wet eyes of his. It's like trying to lie to a baby cow. 

“Well, I got my nose done, but the piercing fell out and I didn't bother to get a new one. That one stung. But the worst had to be my… my nipples.” 

The whole bed lurched as Eddie jumped up and sat cross legged facing you. He practically flew into action, grabbing his cigarettes and a lighter as if you were about to tell him some epic tale. 

“Right, tell me everything.” 

Whilst laughing at his wide eyed expression, you realise he's being completely serious. 

“Well, they er, they like, sanitise the… area, draw a dot where they're going to pierce you and tell you to take a deep breath in and it's done. It's super quick actually. It's more the after part that hurts. Why are you interested?” 

Eddie pushes his hair behind one ear, the tip of it is glowing scarlet, you notice. 

“I was thinking about getting it done my last birthday but I didn't have the cash.” 

He's staring at you, nervously chewing on a hang nail. You can practically see the unasked question dancing on his tongue. You weren't going to offer, hell no. If he wants to see he has to ask. The thing is, the way your tummy is bubbling right now, you don't think you could say no to those eyes of his. 

The question remains unsaid. He merely offers you a drag on his cigarette which you take gratefully, before he's stubbing it out and laying back down next to you. 

“How you feeling now? Bit less baked?” 

“Oh I'm still fucked, but I can see straight and I don't feel sick.” 

His fingers begin their dance again, skating over your exposed flesh, stroking down your side to your hip, across your stomach, and back again. You want to mention it. He's never touched you like this before, but you also don't want him to stop. 

“Good. Not inviting you over again if you hurl on my bed.” 

Giggling, you turn and face him. You're both on your sides now, knees close to knocking. His shirts ridden up again and before you can even register what you're doing you've placed a delicate hand on his hip. His eyes widened briefly, but that's it. Both of you are touching the others bare flesh, whispers of touches. Little, tentative things, like the bursting of soap bubbles on skin. 

“I wouldn't hurl on your bed. I'm sure I'd at least make it to the bathroom. I'm not an animal.” 

Eddie just grins in response, and you look at each other, really look. His dopey smile is the same as yours, and it seems neither of you want to mention how this seems to be rolling into very unfamiliar territory. 

“Eddie?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Why are you touching me?” 

He pushes infinitesimally closer, his knee now slotting between yours. It's a small gesture, but suddenly the situation feels even more intimate than before. 

“Because. Because it feels good. You're soft, and warm. And you keep making little noises.” 

“I do?” 

He smooths his hand higher, thumb dragging along the underside of your breast, and you let out a tiny, quivering whimper.

“See? Like that.” 

Opening your legs slightly wider, Eddie's knee pushes naturally further forward, his thigh now wedged between yours. His breath is fanning your nose; cigarettes, weed, and sweet snacks. 

“So sweetheart, why are you touching me?” 

Your hand presses a little more firmly, snaking underneath the hem of his shirt. With no complaint forthcoming, you reach further up, stroking his side, up over his ribs, and back down again. He responds in kind. Every kiss of fingers is electrifying, filling the room with a soft, dense tension. 

“Because it feels good. Because I saw a bit of skin and I couldn't resist.” 

“Yeah?” He's smirking as he says it, but you're beyond playing games at this point. 

“Yeah.” 

“I didn't know I was irresistible.”

You pinch his skin a little and he stares at you like you just betrayed him. 

“I didn't say that, you're twisting my words.” 

“Pretty sure I heard-” 

Cutting him off with a tickle to the ribs, he grabs your hand to stop you. 

“OK, OK! You were right, I was wrong. Nice touches again please.” 

His hand swiftly makes its way back to your skin and you continue to stroke him. 

“Nice touches?” 

“Yeah, it feels really good.” 

Running your hand up, you graze his nipple, and then bring it back down, down, until you reach the top of his jeans. You graze a finger, just one, under them, sweeping across his tensing abs. Then, you move up to more innocent flesh. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Eddie's chest is heaving, fingers pressing indents into your flesh. 

“Nice enough?” you're the one smirking this time, pleased at the effect you're having on him. 

“Yeah.” 

It's barely a word, more of a breath. You scoot closer toward him, just a couple of inches, but it's close enough to feel his thigh start to press against your heat. Gasping at the pressure, you rub subtly against his thigh to try and relieve your mounting feelings, no matter how slightly. 

Eddie's hand starts making a trembling journey up your form, fingers twisting underneath your top. Feeling the underside of your bare breast, you both gasp. Eddie undoubtedly because you weren't wearing a bra, you because, well, the obvious. The slightest graze had your nipple hardening instantly, hips rocking forward without your control. 

“Is this OK?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

Fingers stretching further, Eddie finally brushes your nipple. The feeling is magnified by your piercing; they've felt more sensitive since you got them done.

The moan that escapes is louder than you meant but it couldn't be helped. This simple touch is igniting through your nerves and rushing to your high brain. 

“Shit, they are pierced.” 

It seems to be a thought that Eddie said out loud by accident as he rubs his fingers over your ruddy nipple, slowly circling the silver balls of the jewellery. 

Another moan breaks from you, even louder this time.

“Fuuuuck Eddie.” 

“Yeah?” 

His touches become firmer, rubbing your nipple between thumb and forefinger, mapping the way your face scrunches up with his eyes.

“Yeah, jeez. They're really sensitive.” 

Practically panting in each other's mouths, your noses rub together. 

“Can- can I kiss you?” 

His words are so hesitant that it makes you giggle. Pressing your lips in a swift kiss to his full bottom lip, you respond. 

“I'd be mad if you didn't.” 

Eddie wastes no more time, pressing a hot open mouthed kiss to you that you reciprocate in kind. You keep it slow, leisurely traversing new territory with soft, exploring tongues. Naturally your arms encircle him, pulling him closer, closer. His arm snakes around your back as your bodies press together, like puzzle pieces slotting together and finding their perfect match. Eventually you break away to take a gasping breath as Eddie presses kisses to your collarbone.

“I don't know why we waited so long to do that.” 

“We? I thought you just wanted me for free drugs!” 

You giggled loudly at that, so loud it came out as a snort, but it didn't matter. The moment was so honest that being cool had nothing to do with it. You were bare, in a way, and so was he. 

Eddie chuckled with you as he slowly but surely pushed you onto your back, slipping both of his legs between yours. Pushing your hips up, you feel his hardness graze your pubic bone. 

“Eddie?” 

He hums a response, lips and tongue busy loving on your neck. You tug at the hem of your top and pull upwards. Eddie gets the message, moving out of the way briefly so you can strip it off. 

There you are, bare chested in front of him. You'd be nervous, if you hadn't seen the longing in his eyes. He's kneeling, one arm leaning on the mattress whilst the other compulsively strokes your side. 

“Jesus Christ your tits are perfect.” 

The moment stretches just a little too long for comfort; you're a hair's breadth away from crossing your arms over your chest when Eddie leans down and runs his tongue around and around one nipple. Mewling pathetically, you lace your fingers in Eddie's soft waves and tug. In response his teeth graze you as he sucks softly; then he gives the other just as much attention. 

Shuddering and wriggling under him, you can't do anything but whine, your hips undulating upwards to chase some friction, some release, anything. 

“Eddie, please, I need you.” 

“Umph,” He responds, muffled by your chest, “I need you to say that again.” 

“Eddie I swear to God if you don't- ” 

He laughs, cutting off your sentence. 

“Alright baby girl, I got you.” 

Working his way down your front, he takes his time planting soft kisses, making you writhe at each touch of his lips, until he reaches your shorts. 

Flicking the button open, he slowly drags the zip down and finds the little sliver of red panties poking out. 

“Hearts? Cute.” 

Thick fingers plunge into your clothes and pull them away, flinging your shorts and panties across the room into the void that was Eddie's carpet. 

Insecurity finally gripped its claws into you. What if he didn't like what you looked like down there, smelled like, tasted like? 

A moment of unadulterated panic, and then Eddie licked his tongue, slowly yet firmly, between your lips and all the way up. Barging your thighs further apart with his shoulders, he rooted your clit out with his tongue, running dizzying circles and sucking at it desperately. 

Eddie's moans rivalled your own, such neediness etched in you swear his fingerprints will be left on the outside of your thighs like tattoos, simply from the force he held you with. Barely able to shake, you compensated by pulling his hair and guiding his tongue exactly where you needed it. 

He pushed a thick calloused finger into you slowly, looking up at you as he did so. You back arched off the bed. He felt around, staring at you with such intensity you that you were seconds away from telling him to quit staring when-

“Oh God, oh fuck!” 

Eddie smirked, sliding another finger in gently to join the first, and worked your clit between his lips. He incessantly stroked a spot inside that you'd never reach on your own, a firm, beckoning gesture as if he were willing your orgasm to come hither. 

It was working. Your insides tingle, a tightness pulling straight from your gut and shooting out to your fingers and toes. Beyond control by this point, your hand pulls his hair tightly. To your amazement, his other hand reaches out to you, seeking, and you lace your fingers in his own. 

As soon as your digits touched, you were gone. Your release plummets out of you, shaking through every bone you have, leaving you a twitching puddle of a woman. His fingers chase after it, dragging every inch of squelching pleasure out of your insides until you're tugging him away and begging for it to stop. 

As he moved back up your body, licking and sucking as he did so, you tried to think of an answer to the smug grin he was just about to flash at you. 

There was none. Brain unravelled, threads wound into your nerves instead of your thoughts, you laid there, ruminating on how he'd made you come faster than any other man.

Eddie hovered over you, nose nudging your own. He must have wiped his mouth at some point whilst you were in la la land. 

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Eddie, you're really fuckin’ good at that.”

“I know.”

You laugh, tapping his side.

“Cocky.”

“Confident.”

Before you can retort his mouth is back on you, peppering kisses to your jaw, as his solid member presses into your naked heat.

“Fuck Eddie, please, please please-”

“Please what baby girl?” He asks, then sucks a hickey on your neck. 

Pulling him towards you by his shirt collar, you bite down sharply on his earlobe, pulling a little groan from his chest.

“I want you to stuff me full Eddie. I'm- I'm on birth control. Fill me up.” 

You can practically feel Eddie's eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck, you can't just say that, I nearly busted in my pants!” 

Pulling himself off you for the shortest time he could, he peels his t-shirt over his head and flops back on top of you. Desperate kisses and urgent gropes spill from you both; grinding, needy things that tore at clothes and grasped at flesh. 

After fiddling and failing with his belt, you huff and tug harshly at his waistband. He chuckles, biting at your bottom lip as he unlatches it with ease and then wriggles his pants and boxers down his legs with urgency. 

More desperate grasps, teeth and tongues clashing violently, your hand reaching down to clutch at his- 

“Holy hell!” 

His eyes widen, hands coming to a halt, waiting for the rest of your sentence. You're too busy trying to glance down his front as he hovers over you, your fist firmly stroking his hardened cock.

“You're huge Eddie!” 

He smirks and thrusts into your hand, the velvet smoothness of his dick massaged  by your palm. 

“Bet you say that to all the guys.”

“Er, no, Rick's made some truth serum or some shit because that's the biggest I've ever felt.” 

You guide him firmly towards your entrance, dragging the tip of his enlarged cock through your slickened folds. He quivers over you, arms thick with tension. 

“Baby girl just, just slip it inside, please-” 

“Now who's begging?” 

Grinning mischievously, you wait for him to start forming an answer with his mouth when you slip the head inside your sopping opening. His open mouth turns into a long drawn out moan. 

You would tease him if the feeling of him splitting you open wasn't all consuming. Which it fucking is. He just keeps pushing, and pushing, until his chest is flush with yours and he's mumbling platitudes in your ear. 

“Doing so good for me. Such a naughty, naughty girl. Getting filled up by her drug dealer? Baby girls a little dirty, isn't she?”

You're trying not to let him know how much his words affect you, but the fluttering of your satin like walls tells a different story. 

“You're not my dealer.” 

“Oh really? I'm not?” 

Pulling out nearly all the way and pushing back in, you bite your lip at the drag against your insides.

“Dealer implies I buy shit. You just give it to me, like a little simp.”

Eddie's mouth drops open in mock outrage.

“You want me to give it to you now? I'll fucking give it to you baby.” 

Hooking an arm under your thigh, Eddie thrusts into you hard and devastatingly deep. And again, and again, until you start moaning wantonly right in his face, all bravado forgotten.

“Yeah? Atta girl. That good baby? Wanna feel me right here?” 

His other hand pushes against your lower stomach, the pressure deepening the pleasure he's giving you tenfold. 

“Oh Eddie, oh fuckfuckfuck!!” 

Your release explodes out of your cunt with a gush, liquid spurting out of you so hard you nearly force his impressive length out. It waves drastically, like the sea against the shore, washing and washing over you until it's hard to breathe. 

“Baby, baby! Holy shit, I think you squirted.” 

“Ya think? My God, that was… mind blowing.” 

“Yeah?” 

Looking up at him, you expect that arrogant grin, but he just looks pleased and innocent. Like a kid at Christmas. 

“Yeah, fuck yeah.”

Rolling him over with all the power left in your thighs, you pin him down and move firmly into him, ferality taking over your actions. 

“Jesus Christ, you are a dirty girl, aren't you?” 

“Maybe just a little.” 

Smirking, you hump against him, your swollen clit bumping against his pubic bone on each delicious pass. 

“Holy shit, I'm not complaining- fuck, what the- what are you doing? Jesus Christ!” 

You bounce hard on him. Seeing him writhe under you is a special kind of power, one you aren't willing to let go of. Ever.

“Fuck, b-baby girl, you're gonna make me come!” 

His intense moans spur you on further. Unable to bounce so much on shaky knees you snuggle down close to him, arms clutching his shoulders, as you grind into him. It's massaging sensations into your clit, as well as teasing your g spot with his imposing length. 

“I can't, I’m-  baby girl-” 

“I'm gonna come, Eddie please, fill me up, I wanna feel it, I wanna feel your cum inside me, please, fuckin’ breed me Eddie. Oh fuck!” 

Quivering against him uncontrollably, your legs give out, collapsing on his body as he tenses and releases inside of you. It spurs your own orgasm, snaking up your spine and gripping on your system like a fly caught in honey. An open mouthed scream is all you give him, silent but chock full of feeling, as your back arches in its own tension. 

As it curls out of you, your back gives up, and you flop forward, bones turned to pudding. 

“Well.” is all that comes out, a puff of a word, just air escaping from a collapsing chest.

“Well.” Eddie responds, waiting for what you're about to say. 

You're sure he doesn't expect it. A laugh bubbles out; a weird, inside laugh, that you probably should never share with anyone. But it keeps coming. And coming. Laughing uncontrollably, you roll off of him and try to get your stomach muscles in check. 

You'd be worried about his reaction, if he wasn't laughing with you. It was this odd mixture of tension and relief that was bursting in the air, a barrier broken and left crumbling at your feet. 

“Eddie. Fuck, Eddie.” 

“Yeah?”

‘Yeah.”

His heated hand found yours, and squeezed your fingers hard. For some reason, it felt more intimate than all of this combined. 

Giggling again, you lean into his chest, fingers dipping up to weave into his hair. 

“Baby girl, you can't just-” 

“What? Pull your hair? Because you like it?” 

Tugging on his hair dramatically, Eddie tosses his head back and groans. 

“Knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, certified genius. It's like you don't wanna be railed again.” 

Huffing, you pull yourself on top of him again, hardened nipples brushing softly against his flesh. 

“Oh, I think I'll be the one railing you. You wanna make a bet, for next time?” 

Smug grin forgotten, Eddie stares at you in disbelief.

“Next time?” 

“Well, I hope so. Got to be the best I've ever had.” 

Stupid Rick and his stupid strain. 

“Best you've ever had?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Only if you wanna.” 

The teasing stopped. At least for now. It was pretty clear, your need for each other was outranking any goading you'd been sharing. 

At least for now… 

Taglist (Some permanents, some likely candidates, if you want to be added, jus say the word sweetheart)

@eddiesprincess86 @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @roanniom @usedtobecooler @josephquinnsfreckles @mrsjellymunson

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

I DREAM, NOW, OF A NORMAL LIFE WITH YOU ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru isn’t a lightweight. this is your first time actually seeing him drunk — though maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’d be the sappy kind.

word count; 9.4k (..... i got carried away ok)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (shoko calls u "girl" but in a "girl help" way not a gendered way), written w a no curses au in mind, sugu is a sappy emotional drunk i said what i said, sickening amounts of fluff, depictions of intoxication, reader is averse to alcohol, sugu wants to marry u so bad it makes him look silly, lots of emotions & lots of love <33

a/n; this fic has been ROTTING in my drafts for the longest time but its super precious to me and now i finally get to post it!! @softgirlgonehaywire & @hayakawalove ily ty for being interested in sappy!sugu this is a treat for u <33

the bar isn’t all that far off from your apartment.

it’s a short distance, really. walk straight ahead, until you reach the record store that suguru likes to frequent, and then take a right; a minute or two uphill, and then you’ll be able to see the blue of the sea. once you’re there, all that’s left is to look for mellow golden lighting and descend a set of stairs.

which is what you’re currently doing, popsicle in hand, loose clothes and comfortable shoes on as you wallow in the mellow summer evening. everything is blue — the dark shade of the sky, and your ice pop, pastel and sweet, tasting of pure youth. the hoodie you threw on is a rich cobalt, suguru’s in name but yours in spirit. he only wears it when you complain that it doesn’t smell like him anymore.

humming a jolly tune, you take a sharp turn, allowing the summer sensations to curl around your subconscious. blissed out and content. 

you were so, so bored — stuck at home with no one to keep you company, no one to mumble snarky commentary about the show playing on tv, no one to run their fingers through your hair while your head rests in their lap. pure torture, really, being faced with the consequences of your own actions. after you stupidly told suguru you’d be okay on your own.

he even asked you twice, just to be sure, even told you that he’d prefer you to join him on his night out. and again, you declined; because it’s been so long since he had some time alone with shoko and satoru, and you were feeling a little tired anyways. 

so he gave in. heading out, with a promise to bring back a tub of your favorite ice cream, leaving you with the apartment to yourself. did you come to regret your little white lie? maybe. possibly.

but everything worked out in the end.

a pleasant breeze caresses your skin, brushing against the apple of your cheek, and you watch as peach blossoms dance in a faraway park. cicadas cling to every tree in sight, buzzing a pleasant tune, mingling with the giddy giggles of high school students enjoying their summer vacation. it’s been raining for a couple of days; you can still smell it in the air, feel it in the low tinge of humidity clinging to your skin, still hear suguru’s insistence that you bring an umbrella with you to work — just in case.

but today, the skies were clear, and it’s late, not too humid but not too chilly. and the stars are out, glimmering in that fuzzy sea of mellow cerulean, leaking out like little marbles cast into space. falling down, down, down, close enough for you to see. from here, it looks as if they’re waving. you resist the urge to wave back.

peace. bliss. a nostalgia so vibrant you could drown in it, feel it lick at your ankles like soft sea foam.

eager to scratch a certain itch in your brain, attention span zipping from one street vendor to the pop music blasting from a couple streets away, you take your phone out from your pocket. absently scrolling through your messages, until you get to the ones shoko sent you just ten minutes ago. the ones that brought you out here, into a summer evening soon to slip into nightfall, ones that have you walking to the bar you chose not to join them at.

messages that still have you pushing back a bout of giggles, chewing lazily on your ramune ice pop with a giddy smile.

sho 🚬: come get ur man sho 🚬: he’s drunk. sho 🚬: like DRUNK drunk 

you: …… um.  you: what happened to hi? hello?? good evening???

sho 🚬: no time for that. look sho 🚬: [ image ] sho 🚬: he looks so goofy lol

unable to resist the temptation, you press the pad of your finger against the screen — opening the image attachment, just to drink in the sight once again. what you see is a certain man, slumped over in his seat, cheek smooshed against the wooden table in front of him. messy hair, no longer tied into a bun, cascading down his shoulders and back. from the little you can see of his face, his skin is flushed a light pink, and his eyes are closed, fingers still curled around an empty beer jug. 

like a sleepy puppy.

a coo tiptoes on your tongue, but you bite down on your lip in an effort to stop it, just grinning at your screen with pure adoration in your lovesick eyes. 

he’s drunk, alright. an unfamiliar sight, but not at all unwelcome. because he’s cute, terribly so, so cute that it hurts, even when he’s obviously wasted. it’s almost funny — you know their drinking habits. shoko holds her liquor so well that it’s a little horrifying, and satoru can get wasted if he has more than a sip of it. and suguru?

suguru never gets drunk. he barely even drinks. out of consideration for satoru, maybe, or you. probably both. that’s just how he is; you thought he hated fish for years, because he was always so eager to give you the best bites of the sushi rolls you ordered. turns out he was just indulging you.

so, to be frank — the idea of him suddenly being drunk is a little bit of a shocker. but it’s also kind of exciting, in a ridiculous way. new, fun, just what you need when you’re bored out of your mind.

(or maybe you’re just happy to have an excuse to go see him.)

you: NOOOO  you: MY BABY 😭😭😭 you: what did u guys DO to him???

sho 🚬: satoru and him made a bet 😐 you know how they are sho 🚬: he drank like a divorced mother of four ive never seen something so beautiful

you: …. you: have i told you that you’re both terrible

sho 🚬: u love us <33 sho 🚬: anyway he’s been asking me where u are for the past ten minutes pls come i can’t stand him sho 🚬: he’s crying.

you: HUH???????? you: WHY????????????????

sho 🚬: dude i dont know sho 🚬: please come get him he’s being so sappy that satoru’s abt to throw up

you: ???? okok 😭 you: im omw ig??

sho 🚬: girl hurry he just told me he genuinely appreciates my presence in his life 😐

an exhale — laced with deep amusement — drops from your lips and spills into the summer air. it tastes like a memory from long ago.

slipping your phone back into your pocket, you raise your gaze, searching for a glimmer of goldish light. soaking up the scent of the ocean, sparkling on the border of your peripheral. salty and sweet.

no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is that certain someone, waiting for you to pick him up. your mind keeps drifting back to the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his hair falls over his face when he leans down, the sound he makes when he stretches in the morning.

you want to see him. badly. you want him near, want to feel the familiar warmth of his presence, want to see him smile and laugh and sigh and raise his eyebrow at your antics. 

so there isn’t any time to waste. you’re walking towards that familiar set of stairs before you know it, shoes hitting the asphalt with a mantra of satisfying thuds. 

and when you step in through the opened door, you’re immediately engulfed by a sense of overflowing comfort. mellow, warm lights, the soft buzzing of static from an old radio, low citypop beats trailing through the air. the bartender by the counter gives you a curt nod in greeting, before motioning towards a certain table. it’s over in the corner, covered in beer jugs and fancy glasses, with three beauties seated around it.

satoru notices you first.

a bright grin finds its way onto his face, and he waves you over giddily, happily. barely contained excitement in the motion. shoko’s gaze follows his, flitting over to meet yours — and you think she mouths an oh, thank god, before taking another sip from her glass. she brings a hand up in greeting when you come closer, and you can’t see her smile, but there’s a crinkle to her eyes; a warmth in them that you’d never miss.

”hey, guys.”

”yo!” satoru chirps, beaming in a way that’s so distinctly him it makes you soften. he looks so comfortable in his seat, with a cocktail you know is non-alcoholic and probably too sweet for anyone but him to stomach. giggling to himself, leaning over to poke suguru’s cheek, with a teasing declaration of your chaperone is here! 

and there he is. 

the man you came here for, still slumped over in his seat, unresponsive. not for long. as the lilt of your voice reaches his ears, his eyes flutter open, in a bout of recognition — even in the drunken state he’s in. an immediate sensation of familiarity creeps into his veins, rousing him from his cozy, half-asleep stupor. 

he doesn’t even grumble over the way satoru keeps poking at his cheek, interest and attention focused solely on a certain someone. you, your presence. 

and when your eyes meet his, he lights up.

it’s precious, you think, how his eyes widen, blooming with genuine affection, so endearing you could kiss him right then and there. his face is flushed, and his hair is tousled, and the warm lighting of the bar paints him in a golden hue. so perfect for him, your star in the sky. 

a smile spreads across his lips, big and happy and warm, and you can’t help but mirror it. 

(gosh, he’s cute.)

with a dizzy kind of eagerness, suguru sits up, palms flush against the table to support his weight. he stumbles out of his seat, paying no heed to satoru’s amused huff of careful! or the rattling of fragile glass.

it only takes a few uncoordinated steps for him to reach you, where you haphazardly lean against the wall, watching him amusedly. that delighted smile never leaves his lips, as his arms go to curl around your waist, big and heavy, his jaw finding its rightful place on the curve of your shoulder. 

”baby,” he drawls, fond and affectionate. breathing you in. ”sweetheart. my angel.”

a flustered puff of laughter slips from your lips, stumbling a little under his weight. his voice is syrupy sweet, overflowing with love and adoration, soft in a way that has your knees buckling. a little raspy. murmured right into your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. 

he’s too sweet for you to handle, really, even sweeter than satoru’s overpriced cocktail. and he smells the same as always; a blend between coffee grounds, cigarette smoke and rain, one that never fails to soothe you. even when it’s tangled up with a vague but vivid stench of alcohol, courtesy of the drinking he’s been doing until now. 

you crinkle your nose, but don’t let go of him, nuzzling your cheek against the side of his head. words buzzing with warmth. ”hey, sugu.”

suguru only squeezes you tighter, content to have you in his arms. finally, his world makes sense again. all he can do is bask in your voice, warmth, scent — he’s just so enamored by it all. almost in a trance, heartstrings dancing along to the beat of your presence, your very existence, that appears to him as something almost angelic. soft and familiar, something that feels right at home when it’s tucked into his embrace. where he can keep it safe.

”missed you…” he murmurs, sleepy, smearing an open mouthed kiss against the crook of your neck. ”i love you s’much…”

a chuckle. ”i love you too,” you echo, running a steady hand over his back. your voice is laced with something teasing, but awfully fond. ”you really are drunk, aren’t you?”

”mm…” he only hums, cheek pressed flush against your soft skin. ”’m sorry…” he mumbles, stifling a yawn. he sounds a little guilty, and it makes you want to coo. pull his cheek a little.

instead, you laugh. amusement vowen into the bubbly noise. ”it’s fine, sugu. c’mon — let’s go home, alright?”

at that, satoru visibly reacts, placing his glass on the table with a soft clink before getting up to stretch. he grabs suguru’s discarded jacket, letting it hang off his arm as he walks over to the two of you.

”i’ll help you carry him,” he smiles, always so dependable. so ready to be of service. maybe a little too eager to carry suguru around like a sack of potatoes. 

a smile blooms on your face, and satoru gives you a playful wink. shoko just leans back in her seat, stretching idly. it feels like home with them there.

”i’ll stay here,” she hums, a faint grin tugging at her lips. ”he’s your problem now.”

”got it.” you meet her lidded eyes, sharing an amused look as satoru tries to coax suguru away from you, pulling at his cheek while he whines and clings to the fabric of your clothing.

finally, he relents, and you look back at the table with a grin. ”see you later, sho’.”

a smile is the only response you get, but it’s enough. it’s her, the same as always, still sipping from a glass of expensive whiskey and raising her hand in a silent see you. relaxed and cool, and so very lovely. 

with one arm over satoru’s shoulder and the other clinging to your hoodie, suguru stirs.

”shoko…” he groans, craning his head to look back at her, even as satoru makes a move to leave. ”don’t drink too much. and watch out for strangers…” 

he trails off, blinking drowsily, a protective tone to his voice. worried. awfully like him. neither you nor satoru can resist the chuckle you indulge in, but shoko just rolls her hazel eyes.

”i don’t need to hear that from you,” she scoffs, tinged with amusement and what you’re almost certain is embarrassment. there’s a fondness to her snark, one you’d never miss. 

(shoko will always be shoko. you know that she appreciates suguru’s concern, even if she doesn’t want to show it.)

”alright, c’mon,” satoru quips, slapping suguru’s back with a grin. ”there, there, big guy. let’s get you home, hm?”

just as you suspected, he doesn’t let you help, doing all the heavy lifting on his own. not breaking a single sweat, flaunting his strength as he hoists suguru up the steps — while you do nothing but follow, a light jacket hanging off your arm. 

cold midnight air embraces you, slathering your cheeks with the essence of summer as your shoes meet the asphalt. satoru smiles, a low exhale escaping him, dusting off his hands. ”there we go.”

suguru stumbles towards you, no longer caged in, slumping against your shoulder with a satisfied sigh. blinking slowly, as you link arms, his muddled senses adjusting to the outside world. a pleasantly blue sky, a sun long set, and a string of lamp posts to light up the street ahead of you. artificial fireflies, watching over the town you love so dearly.

you part your lips, and a soft exhale slips out, dripping with fondness. ”thanks, satoru,” you smile, meeting his gaze.

”don’t mention it,” he waves you off, but you know he appreciates it; always eager to be praised. ”can you bring him back by yourself?”

”yeah, we’ll be fine. it’s close, anyway. don’t worry.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, and his cobalt gaze drifts upwards, to bask in the starry sky. a moment passes, and then he’s looking back at you and suguru; a soft and earnest smile playing at his lips. so sincere you want to reach out, cup his cheek, make sure he knows how loved he is.

”i’ll go back to shoko, then,” he chirps. bubbly and graceful, giddy and playful. always so lovely. ”gotta make sure she stays out of trouble.”

a chuckle. you mirror his smile. ”of course.”

and with that, your precious best friend makes a move to return to the bar, taking a decisive step away from you. before he can get too far, though, a certain hand reaches out to hold onto his sleeve — keeping him still.

satoru turns around. blinking once, then twice, in confusion; faced with none other than suguru, still slumped against you. a little out of it, sleepy and disoriented, yawning quietly, but his eyes are as clear as ever. caring and sentimental. 

his gaze cuts to the bone of things. it’s something you’ve grown used to.

”thanks, satoru,” he murmurs, letting go of said man’s shirt. the words that spill from his lips are straightforward, a little tactless, but overflowing with earnest appreciation. ”you’re my best friend.”

a moment passes. the stars burn in silence.

satoru blinks.

then he sighs, with what you know is nothing more than feigned annoyance. masking his embarrassment, the same way shoko did, the same way suguru always does. your repressed, beloved little losers. 

”yeah, yeah. i got it,” he pats suguru’s shoulder, once, twice. not looking at him. ”you’re such a sap, you know that? geez.”

a grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief blooming in your eyes. ”not gonna call him your best friend back?” you tease, a soft tilt of your head.

satoru gives you a glare, playful, one you can’t physically see from behind his shades but still somehow sense. ”don’t add fuel to the fire,” he grins, with a halfhearted flick to your forehead.

before you can bicker further, suguru yawns, loudly, closing his eyes and nuzzling into you. you share an amused look with satoru, until he shakes his head fondly.

”take care of him, alright?”

”i will. you guys have fun!”

and at last, satoru turns on his heel, coupled with a smile and a lazy wave. but suguru calls out to him once more, unwilling to part ways without saying his piece. so sentimental, so loving it comes to him like breathing.

”bye-bye, satoru,” he slurs, voice loud enough for the entire street to hear, tired and honest. raising his arm in a lazy wave. ”i love you!”

”go home already!” satoru shouts, descending down the steps with a flush to his cheeks that you’ll tease him for later. his soft laughter is carried away by the breeze, sweet and saccharine.

(satoru will always be satoru. you know that he loves suguru back, even if he doesn’t want to say it out loud.)

with a faint chuckle, melting into the summer air, you tug on suguru’s arm. ”alright,” you chirp, looking up at him. ”let’s go!”

he seems a little more awake now, at least, trying to match your steps. meanwhile, you do what you can to support his weight; he’s stumbling a bit, but you don’t mind. if anything, his weight is a comfort, your arms linked together like a lucky charm. a safe harbour.

suguru is acting kind of like a big puppy, gazing at you with hearts in his eyes. a little meek, clinging to you, trailing after you pliantly. he’s a little dizzy, still, and he needs you to get back home in one piece. it makes you puff out your chest, stand up straighter. makes you feel protective of your 6’2 boyfriend, all toned muscle and broad shoulders, the personification of scary dog privilege. but he needs you right now.

a soft bout of laughter spills into the air, as you try to ignore his heavy stare. it’s impossible, though — so you turn your gaze to meet his own, and he practically glows under the sound of your giggles, that cheeky smile you’re wearing. ”you okay, suguru?”

his eyes soften. silently, he runs a thumb over the knots of your knuckle, smoothing down your skin, thick fingers intertwined with yours. 

he looks deep into your eyes, and a soft hum of affirmation buzzes in his throat. 

”i’m just so happy,” he grins, with a sincerity that has your heart doing flips inside your ribcage. it flutters, flutters, flutters, in the wake of his unbridled joy. it buzzes like it wants to break out.

suguru has this dreamy look on his face, one you can do nothing but admire, painted over with fluorescent moonlight and pure summer bliss. one that reminds you a little of high school rooftops, midnight road trips, what it means to be in love.

you nudge him, softly, with the arm that’s tangled up in his own. tilting your head, teasing words on the tip of your tongue. ”you know, i never took you for a sappy drunk.”

suguru's only response is a cute little mmrn, steps heavy as he leans on you for support. trying his best to carry himself, not wanting to inconvenience you, but it’s just a little tough. especially when he feels this soft, this grateful — this blessed.

a giddy, dreamy smile tugs at his lips. his amber gaze travels up, towards the little pale dots of star clusters all across the night sky, gleaming like milk poured over rich coffee. then he exhales; a soft, blissful little sound. ”i’m so lucky.”

a moment passes, silently. in the distance, cicadas buzz. with a patient smile, you admire him, the reflection of starlight in his eyes. suguru has this forlorn look, etched into his expression, like he’s seeing something that isn’t quite there.

”i have satoru and shoko…” he mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear. as if he’s tasting the words on his tongue, as if he can’t quite believe them himself. that’s how lucky he feels, sometimes.

a nod. ”they love you a bunch, you know?”

(they do. they’re both horrible at saying it out loud, but you know they do. you know that they love suguru, just as much as he loves them, even if none of them are good at putting it into words. perhaps they don’t really even need to, in the first place.)

suguru mirrors the soft nod of your head, bangs falling over his eyes as he does. ”and i love them, too.” his smile grows. ”they’re my best friends.”

absently, you reach a hand out, brushing away the strands of hair obscuring his vision. and suguru stirs, his gaze shifting until it falls on you. like a moth to a flame. there’s something indescribable in his eyes, soft and heavy and tender and true.

”— and i have you.”

a stutter of your heartbeat, a jolt throughout your chest. his stare almost burns, but you can’t avert your gaze — suguru looks positively lovesick. admiring you with a dreamy gaze, as if he can’t believe you’re real. 

he reaches a hand out; cradling your face with one big palm, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your skin so very gently. smearing his fondness from your jaw to your cheekbone, so loving your breath hitches in the back of your throat. 

a soft, content sigh spills into the air, like a prayer that doesn’t need any words. his smile is serene.

”my angel.” 

as the words fall, that peaceful smile of his changes shape, shifting into a big, giddy grin. it lights up his whole face. a chuckle leaves his lips, content and delighted. ”i’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

and for a moment, you fear that your heart will stop beating entirely. frozen, listening to the lullaby of your heartbeat resounding in your ears. 

suguru has always been frighteningly good at flustering you — but isn’t this a little unfair? you clear your throat, hoping to regain some composure. it’s tough, though. your words could never measure up to his, could never flow as freely, but they’re honest. wholly and thoroughly. and maybe that’s enough. 

”we’re the luckiest in the world, too, then,” you echo, smiling, words barely above a whisper. willing yourself to meet his gaze. ”since we have you.”

suguru looks into your eyes. there’s starlight inside them, he thinks, shining brightly, gleaming in the dark. with the hazy filter of intoxication clouding his mind, it’s all he can think. you’re his northern star, his lighthouse. his one and only saving grace.

(you’re so, so pretty.)

a pause. after a silent moment, spent etching your features into his retinas, suguru tilts his head. his expression is unreadable.

— he boops your nose.

you blink. once, twice, caught entirely off guard; and suguru giggles. soft, giddy little breaths falling from his lips like marbles, strewn over the sand of a warm beach. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, and his smile is sweet, meeting your surprised gaze with a honeyed coo. ”you’re so cute, baby.”

silence. you look up at him. 

then you sigh, exasperated, more flustered than you’d like to admit. god. okay, he’s really out of it. for some reason, you still thought you could get a good one-liner in, but of course he had to ruin that by being a little tease.

you grab onto his bicep. gaze fixed straight ahead, giving it a tug. your steps are more decisive now, and suguru follows you happily. ”alright, alright. c’mon,” you beckon, slightly gruff. ”we’re almost there.”

when you finally reach the familiar front door of your apartment, you exhale a deep sigh, laced with pure relief. limbs tired from dragging suguru up the stairs, mind muddled and sleepy and senses practically engulfed by a man still clinging to you like his life depends on it.

after fumbling with your keys and hearing the click of the lock, you take a victorious step over the threshold, and a familiar scent greets you. soothing, comforting, a blend between fresh laundry and leftover curry and blooming hydrangeas. filling your senses with a fervent kind of bliss. of course, suguru’s does the same; intimately intertwined with the scent of home. that everlasting, never-changing blend. 

with him clinging to you like this, it’s almost suffocating — but you truly don’t mind. suguru’s warm, and sweet, and being close to him like this makes you feel at peace. his hands rest on your hips, his jaw on your shoulder, and he adamantly refuses to let go of you for even a second. it’d be annoying if he wasn’t so cute, if he wasn’t suguru geto, if you weren’t so horrendously weak for him.

what you don’t know is that suguru has an agenda. one that isn’t just i want to hug the love of my life, although partially that as well. suguru has a plan, one he’s been absentmindedly dreaming of for the past five minutes; he’s a man on a mission.

but he’s patient. always has been, always for you. so he waits, and waits, for you to hang his jacket up, for you to kick your shoes off your feet. and when you’re finally, finally finished, suguru leans in to kiss you.

— you block his mouth with the palm of your hand.

a moment passes. silent, almost tense. in his stupor, suguru’s mind can’t quite seem to comprehend the situation before him; he doesn’t understand why he isn’t pressing a kiss to your lips, right now, why he’s kissing the skin of your palm. he doesn’t understand why you look so troubled, a faint guilt simmering in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand.

all he can do is blink, dumbly, surprised. a question written on his features clear as day. 

”well, it’s just…” you sputter, sheepishly. avoiding his gaze, a little guilty. ”you know. since you’ve been drinking, and all…”

and it hurts, you think. it hurts a lot more than it should. it hurts to reject him, hurts to see the way he deflates at your clarification. like a big kicked puppy. like you just threatened to throw him out into the street.

suguru removes your hand, gently, holding it in his own as he speaks. those amber eyes are downcast, and a soft pout rests on his lips. the sight alone feels like a dagger to your chest.

”but…” he frowns, voice awfully meek. he looks so sad. ”i wanna kiss you…”

a soft sigh leaves your lips, before you can think to hold it in. oh, he’s being so unfair. guilt clings to your mind, an itch you yearn to scratch, and all you want is to kiss his pout away. but you really, really don’t want to kiss his alcohol-soaked lips.

so you settle for the second best option.

”’m sorry, sugu,” you coo, reaching a hand out to cradle his cheek. he leans into your touch, still pouting, and you tug a little at his bottom lip. wasting no time in closing the narrow distance between you.

the kisses you press against his skin are soft. peppering kisses all across his face; ghosting your lips along his jaw, trailing towards his cheekbones, and settling on his forehead. tiny little pecks, wherever you can reach. your voice is soft, muffled into his skin between butterfly kisses. ”tomorrow, okay?” 

and suguru seems to brighten up a little, melting under the contact, exhaling in pure bliss. he fervently returns the treatment, planting open mouthed kisses all over your face, respecting your wishes and avoiding your lips. they’re a little sloppy, but you don’t mind.

it does make you a little flustered, though. with his palms cradling your face, engulfing you, there’s nothing you can do except drown in his affection, the love he showers you with. it tickles — and suguru’s smile only grows, at the sound of your soft giggles. his cheeks are starting to hurt.

the state he’s in is just a little bit hazy. despite his initial dejection, he no longer minds that he can’t feel your lips against his, disappointment warded off by your smile and laughter alone. he thinks you’re so, so cute, and all he wants is to kiss you forever. 

but you have other plans.

and before you know it, you’re both curled up in bed, limbs all tangled up beneath the blankets, bodies pressed together as suguru cages you in. he squeezes you tightly, hugging you close, practically melting into you. usually, it’d be so easy to fall asleep like this. with suguru cradling you, covering your body with his own, warm and safe. he’s like a furnace. 

but right now, it’s a little tough. you’re kept awake by open mouthed, ticklish kisses pressed against your skin, supplied by the love of your life. it’s sweet, but he’s being far too distracting — as soon as your consciousness begins to fade into the fuzzy realm of sleep, he leaves a sloppy kiss against your collarbone, and you’re jolted awake once more. 

”suguuu,” you whine, dragging his name out with childish inclination. ”we need to sleep…”  

”sorry,” he only murmurs, muffled into your skin. he doesn’t stop, though, planting a wet smooch on your cheek, and then another. you squirm a little in his hold, and he emits a shaky breath. ”jus’ love you so much…”

suguru knows that he needs to stop. he knows that both of you need to sleep, that you need to rest up. that he needs to recover from the intoxicated state he’s fully aware that he’s in — but he just can’t seem to follow through with it. every cell in his body burns with a certain desire, a need to shower you in love, and it’s unendurable. with every kiss, every giggle he manages to pull from your lips, suguru’s heart fills up just a little more. 

your presence surrounds him, like a weighted blanket, and he clings to it with a desperation he never knew before you. 

in the midst of his feverish consciousness, you’re all his muddled mind can think about. the way you fit together with him like a puzzle piece, like he was formed in the shape of someone meant to hold you. like you were formed in the shape of his embrace. with you pressed up against him, limbs tangled with his, everything feels so right.

but it’s so overwhelming. 

you’re so, so close, so close he’s practically engulfed by your scent, your touch, everything that makes his heart burn with devotion. it’s beating so viscerally in his ribcage, stirring the protective instinct inside him; he just wants you to stay close, by his side, wants to keep you safe and happy. wants to make you feel loved. 

suguru’s heart feels wet and raw and bare, fully exposed for you to see. beating just for you.

with the alcohol inside his veins, and the nostalgia of the summer evening on his mind, everything weighs on him just a little too heavily. everything feels just a little too much. every sensation, every emotion, every sappy thought. all of it together is almost too much for him to handle.

all he can think of is you. how lucky he is, to have met you, to have gotten to know you. how much you’ve changed him, changed him for the better, how much of him is directly tied to your existence.

suguru never truly appreciated his name until you came into his life. it was always no more than a simple fact, a gift from his parents that he hadn’t asked for. something natural, that he didn’t question, didn’t think about. 

but you say his name with such warmth.

he wants to hear you say it, over and over again, forever. suguru — in that sweet, lovely voice of yours. better yet, just sugu, a cutesy, silly nickname he could never bring himself to actually hate. he just wants to hear you call out to him, with that warmth of yours, the one that never fails to soothe him. no matter how tired he is, how stressed. how much everything else weighs down on him. 

at the end of the day, he’s simply your sugu. and that’s all he ever really wants to be.

with a hazy filter clouding his senses, coaxing him into closing his eyes, suguru should give in. he should fall asleep, let you fall asleep. but he can’t bring himself to stop thinking about it; he just loves you so wholly. who you are, what you do. as an equal, an individual, a little galaxy tucked into a body made of flesh and blood. no matter what you’re doing, no matter where you are. 

and right now, you’re here, with him. curled up in bed, in your shared apartment, inhaling the same air, exhaling at the same time. by his side, when you could be anywhere else in the world.

his heart is yours. that’s all suguru can bring himself to think, the only coherent thought he can cling to and echo in his head. his heart is yours. forever and ever. 

he makes no attempt to stop the tears from pooling in his eyes, even as he feels them cling to his lashes, even as his breathing clogs up in the back of his throat. they’re proof of his devotion, his carefully nurtured love. growing over the years, into something almost sacred, a kind of faith. something so fervent he wouldn’t dare deny himself of feeling it.

he can’t hold in a faint sniffle, either, just barely audible. one that breaks your heart in two. it aches, aches, aches. suguru is gazing at you with glassy eyes, a sight you aren’t used to seeing — but he also looks so genuinely glad. his tears aren’t ones of sadness. you know, because you know him. 

”aw, honey…” you coo, the pads of your fingers reaching out to cradle his cheek. despite your efforts, your voice wavers when you speak, little more than a whisper. ”don’t cry... you’ll make me cry, too.”

suguru places his larger palm over yours, choking on another sniffle. the sight renders you completely helpless — you want so desperately to stop his tears from falling, but a part of you is too touched to speak. too mesmerized by how beautiful he is, translucent tears illuminated by softly flickering moonrays, lashes glimmering like shooting stars.

all you can do is smooth a thumb right under his eye, wiping away a stray tear with enough tenderness to stitch his heart back together. suguru emits a shaky breath.

”’m sorry,” he sniffles, closing his eyes. nuzzling into the crook of your neck. ”i’m just so happy… love you so much… you mean so, so much to me, i…”

an exhale, a little breathless, tears soaking through the material of the shirt you’re wearing. his shirt. that realization makes him cry even more, a shuddering breath that shatters like glass when it drops from his tongue. 

and then, in a voice so quiet you barely hear it, a soft whisper worth a million words:

”i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

and it hurts. your heart aches so sincerely, thorns curling around your ribcage, because suguru is crying, and he’s telling you all this. with such an honest intonation that you don’t dare doubt him, even for a second. heavy thumps of blood rush through your veins; he’s still clinging to you, sniffling into your neck, and you’re so in love with him that you almost can’t comprehend it.

all you can do is press a kiss to his shoulder, chaste and tender, and hug him just a little tighter. echoing his words, in earnest, desperately trying to keep your voice from breaking apart. ”i love you, too. more than anything.” a sigh, full of wonder. little butterfly kisses scattered across the expanse of his neck. ”you mean the world to me. honestly.”

with a smile against his skin, you hope so tenderly that the soft kisses will comfort him, will stop the tears from falling. 

”my sweet boy,” you murmur, lovingly, because he is. the sweetest boy you’ll ever know. suguru shudders when you press your lips against his jaw. ”i’m so, so lucky.”

with the combined efforts of your kisses, the alcohol slumbering inside his veins, and the tears running down his cheeks, suguru begins to feel awfully tired. sinking into sleep’s embrace, like a sailor lost at sea. comforted by the glimmer of a lighthouse, just out of reach.

everything feels right. he’s safe, and happy, and in love. so hopelessly, blissfully in love.

the exhaustion creeps up on him, tidal waves embracing a shore, beckoning him into closing his weary eyes. a yawn leaves his lips, and he shifts a little in your hold. you’re smoothing down the back of his head, almost protectively, and sleep is only a flicker away for the both of you. with the last of his strength, suguru snuggles just a little further into you, nose pressed up against your neck, close enough that he feels the flutter of your heartbeat. 

”wanna be with you forever,” he murmurs, sleepily, stifling another bout of yawns. his smile is sweet and dreamy. ”gonna marry you one day…”

a moment passes.

for a second, you think your heart does actually cease beating entirely.

swallowing a gulp, you allow yourself the luxury of an inhale — and fresh air fills your lungs. grounding. all you can hear is the rapid beating of your own heart, heavy thumps reverberating in your ears. warmth flows through your entire body.

marry.

the word is spoken so casually, so sincerely, as if he’s said it countless times before. as if he’s repeated it, over and over again in his mind, just to get used to the idea. as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. marriage. something so foreign, so scary, enough to send shivers down every narrow of your skeleton. such a large step to take. 

(but suguru says it with such tenderness.)

”… okay,” you whisper, at last. breathless. ”i’ll be waiting, then.”

there’s nothing else to say. you don’t know if suguru is even conscious enough to hear you, let alone understand the full weight of your words, of his own words. but you don’t mind. 

a soft smile lingers on your lips, as you stroke his hair, mind hazy and limbs heavy. nuzzling your cheek against the side of his head, full of affection. dripping from your hands down to the column on his throat, through his windpipe, down to his heart.

”goodnight, sugu.” you press a kiss to his messy hair, tender and chaste. ”i love you.”

an incoherent mutter leaves his lips, in response, one you can’t quite make out — but you don’t need to. because you already know what it means, in the same way you know that the sky is blue.

(an echo buried deep within his subconscious, voiced without effort, as easy as breathing.

i love you, too.)

the sizzling of a pan and the whirring of a coffee machine form a beautiful morning symphony, bouncing off the walls of your kitchen. to your ears, and your still sleepy brain, it’s a soothing sound — coaxing soft little melodic hums from the depths of your throat.

with such a tantalizing aroma in the air, a blend between espresso and pancake batter, you can’t help but buzz with a mellow, groggy kind of joy.

honestly, you're beginning to understand suguru’s fondness for the morning hours. waking up to his soft snores and content expression was more than enough to give you the energy you needed to get out of bed; all sleepy and relaxed and pretty, with hazy morning sunrays kissing up his bare skin, caressing his messy bedhead. 

a rare sight, awfully precious. a part of you wanted to stay in bed and admire him all morning, but the thought of taking care of him coaxed you into leaving. it’s the least you could do, really — after seeing him so sincere, so open and vulnerable. 

hopefully, his headache won’t be too brutal when he wakes up. you left some hangover pills on the nightstand, courtesy of shoko’s advice: just get him ibuprofen and coffee. works like a charm. are you a little worried about her nonchalance? maybe. but you trust her judgement. they’re a handful, but you love them — even when they’re drunk or hungover. 

which is why you’re standing in the kitchen, engulfed by the morning sunlight, in front of a sizzling pan. trying your very best not to burn the pancakes you’re making, patiently waiting for the coffee to be done. 

in your blissful stupor, caught up with thoughts of suguru and breakfast and forevers, you don’t notice another presence coming up behind you.

two arms wrap around your waist, and a jaw attaches itself to the curve of your shoulder. you startle, a little, jolting at the contact — but then you recognize that telltale scent, the familiar weight of his arms, and immediately melt into the embrace.

suguru breathes out a raspy chuckle, amused at your surprise. 

a sigh slips from your lips, content. ”good morning,” you hum, placing the palm of your hand on his forearm. suguru shifts a little, getting more comfortable as he leans against you. tenderly, not too much weight. he’s delicate like that.

”g’morning,” he rasps, leftover sleep clinging to the syllables. the usual smoothness of his voice is coupled with a deep, rough kind of tilt, one that always accompanies it in the morning. your heartbeat picks up, silently.

suguru smiles. dreamy, giddy, because you just looked so pretty, in the morning light, hair still a tad messy. humming happily, swaying slightly side to side. so irresistible. he’s beginning to understand why you love sleeping in so much; getting to wrap his arms around you like this, instead of the other way around, doesn’t feel bad at all.

he squeezes you just a little tighter, hoping it’ll convey his gratitude. there are holes in his memory, last night no more than a blurry sequence of still images, but some bits and pieces remain intact. he remembers getting drunk in a way he hasn’t since he made that bet with satoru back in high school — and he remembers that you were there to take care of him.

a smile tugs at his lips. a little giddy, butterflies erupting in his chest. he’s so damn lucky.

”thanks for taking care of me yesterday, sweetheart.”

a hum. you smile, sheepishly, patting his arm. ”don’t need to thank me for that. how do you feel?”

suguru smiles. you feel it, against your skin, a chaste kiss on your neck. ”better.”

the low purring of the coffee machine has stopped, but the sizzling of the pan remains. from beyond the opened windows, you can hear the chirping of cicadas, melodic and serene. singing a summery tune. both of you soak in the preciousness of the moment, the fragile silence, before suguru breaks it.

”everything from last night is kinda fuzzy,” he admits, clearing his throat. just a tad sheepish. you simply hum, a low noise of acknowledgement, and he continues. ”i don’t really remember anything… ’m sorry, baby. i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

your lips curl up into a tiny smile. such a sweetheart — always worrying about you. always so caring and attentive. eager to reassure him, you smooth over the skin of his arm with your thumb. ”not at all.”

then you’re taking a couple steps back, moving from the stove, and suguru follows. you turn yourself around to meet his gaze, his arms still attached to your waist, a comforting weight.

a grin blooms on your lips, a little teasing, and a flicker of mischief shines in your eyes. ”you were cute, you know.”

suguru blinks, before emitting a low chuckle. a raspy little thing. ”was i?” he drawls, as you brush his bangs away from his face. 

”mhm,” you chirp, eyes crinkled as they meet his own. you just can’t help but want to tease him, a little bit. just a smidge. ”kept going on and on about how much you love us.”

hands moving to cup his face, you squeeze his cheeks softly. and suguru lets you, too tired to resist, only giving you a lazy raise of his brow. there’s a sense of amusement in his eyes, and something in you knows he likes the attention. your teasing words buzz with endearment, akin to a purr. ”my sweet lil’ sugu.”

all he does is lean into your touch, allowing himself to melt into the tenderness of the physical contact. even as you pull at his cheek, earning you a very gentle pinch to your side. but he lets you have your fun. you’re warm, and sweet, and he’s so in love with you he’d probably let you tug his body around however you please.

still, your words leave him just slightly perplexed. he’s still smiling with half-lidded eyes when he asks you to elaborate, basking in the feeling of your thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. ”us?”

your grin widens, by a tad, something deeply amused glimmering in the depths of your iris. ”yep,” you answer, popping the p. for some reason, suguru dreads the teasing edge to your voice. ”me, and shoko, and satoru.”

a moment passes. he stiffens, for a second or two, mind processing the words. then he groans, softly, squeezing his eyes shut.

it makes you laugh, soft and amused, and he can’t help but smile along. despite the dreadful realization you present him with. no wonder he was met with so many notifications when he tapped at the screen of his phone — he didn’t read through any of them, but now he’s apprehensive to do so at all. shoko and satoru can be so goddamn obnoxious when they feel as if they have blackmail on him.

he can see it now, in his mind’s eye; shoko nagging him to run her errands, satoru reminding him of his words every time they have a slight disagreement. 

(grab me a coffee. three shots of espresso, one cube of sugar. got it?)

slacker.

(we both know i’m right. don’t be so stubborn, suguru! it’s okay to be wrong sometimes.)

asshole.

(c’mon. you said you loved me, right?

so mean. and here i thought you loved me!)

idiots.

(he does love them. more than anything. even when they’re being absolutely insufferable.)

suguru just sighs, deep and fatigued, already anticipating his doom. ”they’re never gonna let me live it down, are they?”

a giggle slips from your lips, and his heart flutters helplessly. ”probably not. my condolences.”

another sigh. it only makes your smile widen. there’s something awfully delighted, in your eyes, as you cradle his face in your hands. ”well, i thought you were very sweet!”

”yeah, yeah…” he mutters, vaguely amused. placing one of his large palms over your hand, where it rests on his cheek. ”i won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

a chuckles bubbles up from within your throat. ”aww,” you pout, giving way to a teasing grin. ”that’s a shame. i wanted to hear you talk about how much you love me again.”

suguru blinks. 

then he smiles. a very particular smile, characteristic, one you’ve come to associate solely with him. resting somewhere in the intersection between a soft grin and a teasing smirk. a flicker of mischief shines in his eyes, and you realize your mistake.

you can tease suguru all you want; but he'll always turn the tables on you, at the end of the day.

”oh?” he chuckles, fondly, thumb smoothing over the lines of your hand. his eyes gleam, looking straight into yours, shining with something mildly devilish. ”i don’t need to get drunk to tell you that, baby.”

in a smooth motion, one you can’t help but silently envy, suguru intertwines his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips. he never once breaks eye contact, gaze heavy as he basks in your flustered expression, planting a soft kiss against your knuckle. reverent.

”i love you. more than anything,” he purrs, lips still lingering on your skin. warm enough to burn. ”you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

a pause. heat crawls up your spine, and a flush rises to your cheeks. you couldn’t stop it if you tried.

”my everything,” he continues, intent on flustering you as much as humanly possible. voice low and smooth, honeyed and deep, and worst of all; terribly earnest. lips trailing over your knuckles, against every knot, so soft that you barely feel it. ”my entire world.”

”okay, okay!” you sputter, an embarrassed hue to your cheeks, your gaze landing on the windowpane to your right. his stare is just too heavy, too deeply in love. overwhelming. ”point taken. nevermind.”

suguru laughs, genuine and full. warm and amused, deep and real, and you catch yourself thinking that you don’t want to go a single day without hearing it. even if it’s at your own expense.

a coo rests on his the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back, opting to lean forward instead. he trails the pads of his fingers along your jaw, touch like a butterfly, lifting your chin up ever so slightly. then he closes the distance between you. 

in your throat, your breath hitches.

— but he doesn’t kiss you. suguru stops right in front of your lips, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, taking a moment to simply look into your eyes. and despite how flustered the close proximity makes you, you can’t bring yourself to look away. heart fluttering madly, a string of staccatos against your parted ribs.

a tilt of his head. amber eyes gleaming, crinkled and fond. ”can i kiss you, now?” he asks, grinning softly. hand smoothing down your hip, big and warm, teasing. ”i made sure to brush away all the alcohol. or do you still not want to?”

you pause. 

”hey, what happened to not remembering anything?” you pout, narrowing your eyes. the corner of suguru’s bottom lip twitches upwards.

but he only shrugs, feigning nonchalance, a playful glint in his eyes. ”guess i was just that disappointed.”

a giggle flows from your lips. he drinks it in, gazing at you with pure contentment.

”alright, alright... c’mere,” you coo, smile honeyed and sweet. tracing your fingertips along his jaw, brushing a silky strand of hair behind his ear. you take in the sight of him, meeting his lovesick gaze. he squeezes at your hips softly, a little impatient — so you finally lean in.

suguru’s lips are warm, when they meet yours. they taste like sunlight, devoid of any alcoholic flavour, just like he so kindly assured you of. and it’s a little amusing, the thought of him in front of the bathroom sink — desperately scrubbing his teeth, just to get his kissing privileges back. such a dork. 

he’s your dork, though.

suguru sighs into the kiss, smiling giddily, satisfied at last. a sound you can’t help but mirror. he deepens it, ever so slightly, fingers squeezing gently at the plush of your waist. a hum of approval buzzes in your throat, and his smile only grows.

when he pulls away, that smile is all you can see, along with the ever so slight flush to his cheeks. a hint of peach dusting his skin, framed by the sunrays caressing his jaw, highlighting his handsome features. breathtaking. 

before you have a chance to protest, he’s leaning in again, to press one more chaste kiss to your lips. your heartbeat picks up.

everything finally feels just right.

the warmth of the sizzling pan, the fragrance of freshly made coffee and now-burnt pancakes. the light of the morning sun, scattered across the open space of your apartment, splotches of life painting everything in a heavenly glow. the love in the air, all soft and light and comfortable.

domestic bliss. with suguru, who never seems to change, no matter how many years go by. if you could live in this moment for the rest of your life, forever and ever, you’re sure you’d die happy.

and wow, is that a heavy word. forever. 

(but suguru makes it feel so very, very light.)

forever feels a lot more real, like this. cradled in the midst of a drowsy morning, bumping elbows with the man you love most, after getting to take care of him in his most vulnerable state. accepting every part of him, and having him accept you just as fervently. 

just this moment alone is worth far more than you could ever comprehend. 

suguru, with his warm hands, his familiar embrace. your shared laughter, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen as you try in vain to save your scorched pancakes. and his smile, his fervent devotion, coaxing him into eating them even though they’re burnt at the edges and don’t taste even a quarter as good as his. because you made them, for him, and that makes them taste sweeter than anything.

you stare at him, from across the table, admiring the sight you’ve grown so used to; suguru, with his slightly tousled hair, mug in hand and smile painted on his handsome face. drowned in sunlight, pink petals flitting in through the opened window. you don’t want a single day to ever pass without you seeing this. what does that mean, exactly? you think you know. 

it means forever.

(forever, forever, forever. what a pretty word.)

marriage. you think of it, again, let it linger in the depths of your skull, bounce around until you grow just a little more used to it. and it’s a scary thought, for sure. a terrifying thought, even, something so foreign that it makes you nervous. but you truly wouldn’t mind doing this forever — not one bit. not if it’s with him.

and, unbeknownst to you, maybe that promise of forever isn’t all that far off.

maybe it’s only a couple rooms away, hidden within the depths of a certain drawer, until suguru finally gets the courage to bring it out. and maybe, just maybe — that day isn’t all that far off, either.

(suguru smiles at you, from across the table. he thinks you look ethereal, sipping from your morning coffee, blinking tiredly. so sweet and angelic.

all he can think of is forever.)

[seelie-buddy]

Shower me with your love

summary : wriothesley loves playing with your puppy, but you can't help feeling a tinge of jealousy at the affection he showers the little furball with

contains : a puppy!! ; slight, very tiny bit of jealousy ; pre-established relationship ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 578

The skip in your steps was proof enough of the excitement bubbling within you as you headed to welcome in your visitor.

The moment the door is open enough, you barely register the blur of black before the barking of your puppy echoes along with Wriothesley's chuckles.

It was a sight, truly. The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide— who appears big and brutish at first glance— knelt down, petting the pup with a huge, almost childlike, grin.

Wriothesley was unlike your first impression of him; now that you knew him, you could even say that you found his certain habits and quirks to be cute.

Watching him play with the little one, you couldn't help but think back fondly on the time you spent with him: how he let you lounge in his office, napping or reading whilst he did his work, the two of you simply basking in each other's presence.

How he took care of you when you had caught a fever; gently helping you with your meals, reminding you to take your medicines, and having Sigewinne look after you when he couldn't (plus the way he kept Sigewinne's milkshakes away from you, much to the melusine's disapproval).

Or how he mentioned in passing that he wished he could have a pet to care for; you could hardly let go of the idea, one of the main reasons you adopted the puppy which now hopped over Wriothesley's feet, eliciting chuckles of pure adoration from him.

You were beyond thankful to have him in your life.

But... you couldn't help but notice that the little pup monopolized his attention. And while you had no objections about your dearest Duke playing with the pup, a part of you wished for more time with him; his duties kept him away, and you couldn't help the selfish thought of wanting more of his attention.

Perhaps you stared too long, long enough for Wriothesley to notice, and when his eyes turned to you, it felt like soft blue orbs saw right through you.

Embarrassment clawed at your cheeks as you turned away from him, rationality wiping away your previous thoughts.

"Someone's feeling bitter," he joked, and you could feel the playful smirk that lingered on his lips.

"Shut up," you mumbled, keeping your gaze away from him even as he got up to approach you.

His laughter was music to your ears, your heart leaping as he wraps his arms around you in a warm hug.

"There," he says, the mirth in his voice palpable, "happy now?"

You couldn't reply, not when you were embarrassed enough.

"Not enough?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow at you as he pulled away slightly. And oh the mischievous glint in his eyes was dreadful.

You couldn't even protest as he launched his 'attack' of soft kisses all over your face, from the corner of your lips, to the tip of your nose, and the apple of your cheek.

And perhaps it was his soft touch that felt ticklish, but you couldn't stop the laughter rising from your throat.

And once Wriothesley deemed you to be content, he was grinning just as brightly as you likely were.

"There," he says, his eyes crinkling from his smile. "A smile looks better on you."

Oh, if you received such attention every time, then perhaps you might not mind having the furball of energy that was your puppy snatching away his attention from time to time.

a/n : I was browsing through wriothesley's character story + dialogues; this one voiceline– titled 'chat: pets', it stuck in my mind, and later I saw some fanart about him being flocked with puppies, the idea just came to me when I saw it

p/s : ah and this is one of my first attempts at writing for Wriothesley, I fear it might be ooc... maybe?

[celestialgallaghers]

Modern Day Apollo [18+]

hello hello I hope this makes up for my absence. I can't stick to a schedule i guess lol. Anyways, i literally screamed when i saw this request in my inbox and i've been dying to get it out since. i 🤍noel nose.

Summary: In which Noel can’t understand why anyone would want to ride his nose. It’s just a nose really (It’s really not.)

Word count: 6.7k

You’d just come home from a day out with some girlfriends. It was late afternoon, and the flat was quiet save for the gentle strumming of a guitar. You followed the sound until you found yourself leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, silently watching Noel as he played and hummed a tune he was working on.

You loved watching him like this. When he was lost in the music, it was like he drifted into some dreamlike trance. Half here, half somewhere else entirely. It was your favorite version of him. The way he could pluck melodies out of thin air and shape them into something tangible never failed to fascinate you. You could watch him all day if he weren’t so adamant about needing solitude to write. The one time you’d lingered too long, he’d grumbled that he wrote nothing but shit songs that day because his mind had been elsewhere. So now you stuck to sneaking quiet glances whenever you could. Until he inevitably caught you.

He also looked so beautiful when he was creating. His brows pulled together in deep concentration. An expression that always seemed tinged with sadness even though you knew he wasn’t upset. This was his happy place. It was just how he looked when everything was pouring out of him and into the chords. 

It took him a few minutes before he noticed you standing there. 

“Hullo,” he mumbled, eyes still half distracted. “Didn’t think you’d be back till later.”

You shrugged and walked into the room, flopping down beside him on the couch.

“Wanted a little time to breathe before we head back out tonight,” you said.

His face was still scrunched up, his thoughts clearly still lingering elsewhere, but you reached up and gently smoothed the furrow between his brows with your thumb. His eyes fluttered closed, sighing deeply as the tension melted from his features. He often needed help coming back from that headspace, and you were more than happy to be the one to pull him out.

You let your hand fall away and reached for his. His writing hand. The one worn down by years of playing. Your head came to rest on his shoulder as you gingerly smoothed out the mottled tips. You were taken with the most mundane parts of him. His fingers. His adams apple. The faint streak of grey in his hair. All of it.

He set his guitar aside, slipping his hand from yours only to wrap his arm around your waist and tug you closer. You curled up against him, tucking your body into the space beside his and looped one arm around his middle in a lazy hug.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You let him decompress. His hand stroked your arm absentmindedly, thumb drawing soft circles on your skin.

“Working on something new?” you asked eventually, lifting your head just enough to look at him.

“Mm,” he hummed, noncommittally. His eyes met yours. “Nothin’ really. Bit of a block, I think.”

“Well,” you said, a sly smile tugging at your lips, “I could help give you some inspiration.”

You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hand still resting on your side as you cupped his face, your fingers light on his cheek.

“Yeah?” he said, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice. “I’m very open to suggestions.”

Your thumb drifted from his cheek to his nose, slowly tracing the slope of it up and down. He stilled under your touch, eyes quietly watching you.

“You’ve got a weird fascination with my nose, y’know,” he said after a beat.

You paused, your thumb drifting away with a soft laugh. “No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, grinning now. “You should’ve seen yourself just now. Staring at me like you’re about two seconds away from pushin’ me down to mount it.”

Your cheeks flared with heat. That was exactly something you’d fantasized about. More than once. How he’d figured it out, you had no clue. Maybe you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

The longer you stayed quiet, the wider his grin grew.

“That’s it, innit?” he said, voice low and smug. “It turns you on.”

The smug bastard. Your heart pounded like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to and he was taunting you. 

“Maybe,” you mumbled, gaze flicking up to meet his. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for big noses.”

He blinked, something flickering behind his eyes, and then burst into a soft laugh.

“Nah, you’re just takin’ the piss now.”

“M’not,” you said, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s sexy.”

“C’mon, no bird I’ve ever met has found my nose attractive,” he said, the grin softening into something more self deprecating. “They just… tolerate it. One of my flaws.”

“It is not a flaw,” you said, your tone shifting into something more serious. “I think it’s one of the most beautiful things about you.”

His expression faltered, and you watched as a faint pink spread across his cheeks. That subtle flush always caught you off guard. There were still moments, rare ones, when he seemed surprised by your affection. Like he still couldn’t quite believe you meant it.

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek, watching him quietly struggle with the compliment. He didn’t look away, but something in his gaze had shifted.

Your hand drifted again, thumb brushing just beneath his eye before trailing back to the bridge of his nose again. He let you. There was something reverent in the way you touched him now. A deep admiration.

“You’re kind of ridiculous,” you whispered, smiling gently. “You’ve got no idea of just how fit you actually are.”

He gave a low chuckle, his eyes flicking away for just a second. “I just don’t get it,” he muttered, trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

You shrugged, still smiling. “You’re a man. Haven’t you ever looked at something and thought, God, I want to fuck that even when it makes no sense?”

He blinked, caught off guard, then let out a surprised bark of laughter. “S’pose I have.”

“Yeah, well, it’s like that,” you said, leaning in a little closer, your voice dipping low. “Except I’m the one looking. And it’s your nose.”

His smile faded slowly as your words settled between you. Something flickered in his eyes. First amusement, then dawning realization. His mouth opened like he wanted to say something, but no words came.

“Oh,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” you said, your smirk growing as your tone dipped into teasing. “So I’m not some weirdo. You’ve just got a perfect nose for sitting on.”

You reached out again, your thumb drifting toward it with exaggerated reverence. But before you could touch him, his hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Your breath caught.

His grip wasn’t rough, but it was firm. Decisive. The kind of grip that said stay there. That something inside him had tipped.

Your pulse stuttered at the shift. His eyes were locked on yours now, darker. He stared at you like he was seeing something new. Like he was deciding something in real time.

“Noel—” you started, the word barely out before he was on you. Surging forward to kiss you like he couldn’t hold it back another second.

You gasped softly into the kiss, momentarily caught off guard, but your body responded instantly. Your free hand slid behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you kissed him back. His grip on your wrist tightened just slightly, as if squeezing it would convey his sudden need.

His tongue brushed yours and the kiss turned messier, more urgent. He guided you back until you were sinking into the couch cushions. His body hovered over yours, weight pressing you down just enough to make your head spin. Your wrist remained pinned, now stretched above you.

He pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You can’t just say things like that and expect no reaction.”

“Why not?” you whispered, smiling against his lips. “You clearly love it.”

A low, broken sound escaped him, and then his mouth was on yours again. His teeth caught your bottom lip and when you whimpered, he soothed the sting with his tongue.

You tried to shift your pinned hand, needing to touch him, but he only pressed it further into the cushion, his grip unrelenting. That restraint, the quiet dominance of it, only stoked the fire in your gut. 

You hooked your leg around his waist and pulled him flush against you, desperate for friction, for pressure, for him. He groaned into your mouth, grinding down against you in return. The rough drag of his jeans against yours made your whole body spark.

His mouth dropped to your neck, stubble scraping your skin in the most delicious way. He found the spot just beneath your ear and bit down, then soothed the sting with his tongue, sending a violent shiver racing down your spine.

The sounds falling from both of you were raw now. Unfiltered, desperate, and real.

His lips found yours again and his hips rolled into yours with slow, devastating pressure. You were already pulsing with need, aching for him.

And then he pulled back suddenly, like he’d remembered something too late.

“Christ,” he gasped. “We’re gettin’ carried away.”

“What’s wrong with that?” you asked, voice rough. Your legs were still around him and you didn’t want to let go anytime soon.

He let out a strained laugh, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nothin’ wrong with it,” he said hoarsely. “Just… if we really start, I won’t be able to stop. And we’ve gotta be somewhere in an hour.”

“I can be quick,” you offered.

“I can’t,” he said, and it came out low. Honest.

You groaned, head falling back against the couch, frustration simmering just beneath your skin.

“Fine,” you said, exhaling hard and dropping your legs. “But you owe me.”

His grip on your wrist finally eased, and your hand shot straight to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft mess at the nape of his neck.

“Oh, trust me,” he said, that glint of mischief returning despite the tightness in his voice. “If I had it my way, I’d throw you over my shoulder and toss you onto the bed. But I’m trying to be a responsible adult here and it’s a bit hard.”

“Yeah it is,” you said suggestively, your hips shifting slightly against him.

He froze and groaned low in his throat, his whole body tensing. “Don’t,” he warned, voice strained. “M’ serious.”

A shiver ran up your spine at the rough edge in his voice. You could feel him trying to reel himself back in, every inch of him buzzing with restraint. And something about the way he was holding himself back for you, for this night, for the promise of later, made your breath catch. 

“Just… gimme a minute,” he murmured, and let his full weight sink onto you.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, eyes shut, breath hot against your collarbone. His chest heaved against yours, his heart still racing under the thin fabric of his shirt.

You bit the inside of your cheek, doing your best to stay still and not squirm beneath him. God, the weight of him, solid and warm, was a comfort. You tried to focus on that instead of how the heat was making your already aching body throb harder.

He was right, you supposed. Showing up to a high profile event radiating “we just fucked on the couch” energy wasn’t exactly the smartest idea.

Your hand drifted from his hair to his back, fingertips trailing mindless patterns across the fabric of his shirt. You listened to the steadying rhythm of his heart, matching your breath to his. 

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were clearer, but still tinged with lust. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering longer than necessary, like it was hard to pull away.

“You’re such a tease,” he whispered against your mouth, voice thick with amusement and longing.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, raising your brows.

He looked at you, skeptical and still breathless. “You knew exactly what saying that would do to me.”

You smiled innocently. “Just answering your question.”

He groaned, rolling off you with a heavy exhale and a muttered curse. You heard the shower turn on and stayed there for a little longer, basking in the warmth of the moment.

Eventually, you peeled yourself off the couch and wandered into the bedroom, still feeling the phantom weight of him pressed against you. You stood in front of the closet for a moment before settling on a backless dress with a slit up the side. It wasn’t like you were deliberately trying to make him regret his decision, but you sure as hell weren’t going to make it easy either.

When you stepped out, Noel looked up and froze.

His gaze dragged over you slowly, jaw visibly tightening. His eyes dropped to the open curve of your back, lingered, then flicked up to your face. There was something wild and barely contained swimming in his eyes. He looked like he was two seconds away from tearing the dress off and saying fuck it to the rest of the night.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You tilted your head, giving him your most innocent look. “This? I just wanted to look nice.”

His nostrils flared. He was trying to stay composed, but you could see the effort it took. After a long pause, he dragged a hand down his face, muttering to himself as he grabbed his jacket.

“You’re pushin’ it,” he said, voice rough.

Flashes of cameras greeted you the moment you arrived. You posed together, his hand resting low on your back, fingers brushing bare skin. Every lazy pass of his thumb felt like a tease, igniting sparks just beneath the surface. 

And to make matters worse, he looked good. The black suit hugged him just right, his spicy, woody cologne clinging to the heat of his neck. Top button undone, chest just visible.

It wasn’t fair.

“Stop it,” you muttered under your breath, trying to keep your expression pleasant as your body reacted to his touch.

“You started this the moment you put on that dress,” he replied easily, voice low and infuriatingly smug.

You flashed a smile for another photo, even as warmth pooled between your thighs. Great. Fantastic.

Eventually you made it to your table, surrounded by the usual buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. Noel sat beside you, arm draped casually around the back of your chair, acting like the brushes of his fingers against the nape of your neck were natural. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

But he knew.

You tried to focus. Really, you did. But the fancy wine didn’t help. Sweet, rich, and far too smooth, it warmed your throat and slid straight to your core. You crossed your legs tightly beneath the table, pressing your thighs together in a weak attempt to soothe the ache growing there.

Noel noticed instantly. Because of course he did.

He gave your shoulder a brief, knowing squeeze, then slid his arm away. You exhaled slowly, grateful for a moment of reprieve. 

Or so you thought.

Later in the evening, you turned toward him, pretending to be engaged in the conversation. He was mid story, gesturing animatedly, his voice magnetic as always. Everyone was drawn in. So were you, but not by his words.

He’d shaved before you left. And while you usually liked the stubble, the clean lines tonight only emphasized the sharp cut of his jaw, the strong column of his neck. You watched the way the veins and tendons moved when he spoke, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he laughed. Your brain, unhelpfully, supplied an image of you biting down beneath his collarbone. Marking him somewhere only you’d see.

And then there was his nose. The damn thing that had landed you in this state. That sharp arch, the beautiful angle of it. You were staring again, thinking about where you wanted to sit, wondering if he’d even let you, when he turned.

“Right?” he said, eyes locking onto yours.

You blinked. The conversation had clearly looped back to you. There were several pairs of eyes on you, waiting for a reply.

“Uh—yeah. Definitely,” you said quickly, nodding and smiling a bit too brightly.

Your cheeks, already flushed, burned hotter as you realized you'd been caught. Noel’s eyes lingered on you, his gaze heavy, before he looked away and continued like nothing had happened.

You sat up straighter, trying to pull yourself together. Be normal. Be composed.

But then you felt it. His hand, sliding onto your knee beneath the table.

You froze.

His palm was hot against your bare skin, fingers splayed wide. His thumb started moving in slow, lazy circles, like he had all the time in the world. Your breath hitched slightly as you tried to shift your leg out of reach.

But he didn’t let you.

He simply adjusted with you. Kept his hand firm. Then, with unbearable slowness, he started uncrossing your legs inch by inch. 

There was no urgency in it. No breaking of the rhythm in his voice. Never so much as blinking. He remained infuriatingly calm, still laughing, acting like he wasn’t setting your entire body on fire.

By the time your knees were parted completely, his hand had crept higher. Just barely. Hot and heavy at the top of your thigh, fingertips featherlight. He knew how sensitive you were there. He just wanted to remind you of it without ever fully touching you.

You inhaled sharply and tried, weakly, to cross your legs again. But he simply pulled it right back with a gentle squeeze.

It was a warning. Like he was trying to make you regret your decision of wearing this dress with such easy access.

Your whole body tensed, breath gone shallow. You stared down at your plate, trying to hold it together, to not flinch at every brush of his thumb. He hadn’t even looked at you. He just kept talking, kept smiling like he wasn’t unraveling you in front of an audience.

Then, like he could sense you’d just barely caught your breath, his thumb started to move again.

Higher.

Slow, deliberate strokes against the inside of your thigh, each one drifting a little closer to where you were aching the most. Barely there, maddening in their softness. You clenched your jaw, trying to focus on a conversation you weren’t a part of anymore. Not really. Not with the way your body had gone tight and hot, your breath stuck somewhere between your lungs and throat.

And still his thumb kept moving. Up. Then down again. Then back up, just a little farther.

You shifted slightly in your seat, thighs twitching beneath the table. It was instinct. But he took it as an invitation.

His thumb brushed higher again, this time grazing just above where the slit of your dress stopped. Skin that hadn’t been touched yet now felt like it was sparking. He stayed there. Not moving. Just resting there.

You finally glanced over at him. He wasn’t even looking at you, but the smirk curling on the edge of his mouth told you everything you needed to know.

By the time you were finally leaving, the dull throb between your legs had become a steady, insistent ache—slick, swollen, and unbearable. You could barely walk straight in your heels, your thighs brushing just right, or perhaps wrong, with every step. It was almost humiliating how desperate you felt.

The second you stepped through the front door, you kicked your heels off. You made your way to the bedroom in a daze, hands reaching up to remove your earrings on instinct. You paused in front of the mirror, catching your own reflection. Cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, lips parted. You looked like you’d already been fucked

You didn’t hear him come in, but you felt him. His presence was palpable. And then there he was behind you in the mirror, silent and already smirking. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you firmly against him. He dipped his head to your shoulder, sweeping your hair aside before pressing a slow kiss to the exposed skin of your neck.

“You looked absolutely stunning tonight, love,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His lips lingered, barely grazing your pulse, sending goosebumps down your arms.

You leaned back against his chest, letting out a long sigh. “You looked even better,” you whispered. “Even if you were being a menace. Couldn’t focus on anything.”

A soft laugh ghosted against your neck. “Just payback for this dress,” he muttered, his fingers tugging at the fabric. “Wanted to throw you down on that table and fuck you right there.”

A bolt of heat hit you low, and your thighs clenched automatically. You felt almost dizzy.

You swallowed hard. “Well… that’d be quite the headline, wouldn’t it?”

He chuckled, dark and low, the sound vibrating through your back and settling deep in your spine. He pressed his hips into you then, just enough to feel him, already straining through his trousers. Your body responded immediately, pressing back to meet him, and the sound he made was wrecked.

Then his voice dropped, spilling directly into your ear.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

You knew exactly what he meant, but you played dumb anyway. “About?”

“Fucking yourself,” he said, hips rolling against you, “with my nose.”

Your whole body tensed, breath catching. He sounded like he’d been torturing himself with the image all night, every word dragging against his throat like it hurt to say out loud.

You felt him throb against you, solid and needy. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice just a whisper. “Was thinking about it all night.”

His response was immediate, a sharp, low groan that punched from his chest. He spun you around, hands gripping your waist as he lifted you onto the vanity in one swift, urgent motion. His mouth was on yours in the next breath, desperate and unrestrained.

His hands pushed your dress up your hips roughly, spreading your thighs and slotting himself against you. His tongue sliding against yours hotly as he ground against you.

You locked your legs around him, heels digging into the small of his back. The friction hit perfectly, and a moan slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, finally getting some friction after hours of teasing. Your body was so ready, so soaked it almost hurt. You pulled him closer, biting at his bottom lip, and the way he jerked his hips in response made the mirror behind you rattle in its frame.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours, panting.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Need you so bad.”

His grip on your hips tightened, and he lifted you, tossing you down onto the bed. You landed with a gasp, chest heaving as you looked up at him.

He just stood there for a moment, devouring you with his eyes. His shirt was rumpled, his hair a mess from your hands. He looked wild.

“Take it off,” he said, nodding to your dress.

You pushed yourself up slowly, eyes locked on his. “Why don’t you take it off for me?”

You stood, turning around. He stepped forward, hands gliding up your back, fingers dancing along your spine. He reached the nape of your neck, gently moved your hair aside again, and slipped the dress off your shoulders. The fabric fell to the floor, pooling at your feet, leaving you topless in just your underwear.

You turned your head slightly over your shoulder. “Your turn.”

You backed up and sat on the edge of the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. Slowly, you parted your legs, letting him see just how soaked you were through the last bit of fabric on your body.

Noel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes locked between your legs. You smirked, the power shift making your pulse pound. Slowly, you brought one hand up and rolled your nipple between your fingers, your gaze fixed on him.

The broken sound that escaped him was pure filth. He stripped in seconds, fast and clumsy, like he couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough. 

And then he was on you.

He crawled over you, mouth capturing yours instantly. You pulled him closer with greedy fingers tangled in his hair, moaning into his mouth and arching into his body. One of his hands slid down between you, into your underwear, and you gasped when his fingers found you.

“Christ,” he groaned into your mouth. “You’re fucking soaked.”

He teased you for a few maddening seconds, just enough to make your hips buck up into his hand, before dragging your underwear down in one rough motion. Then he pressed himself against you, grinding his cock against your core through the thin barrier of his boxers. The heat, the pressure. It was almost too much.

You let your head fall back, overwhelmed. “So good,” you babbled, leg wrapping around his waist to keep him close. “Feels so fucking good.”

He moaned into your neck, his voice barely a whisper. “I know what’s better.” His teeth scraped your skin. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy with need.

“Ride my face.”

You froze.

Every nerve in your body lit up. Your breath caught in your throat, skin suddenly prickling all over.

“I want it so bad,” he whispered, kissing a path down your chest. “Wanna feel your thighs around my face. Want you to use me to get yourself off.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. You could feel how hard he was, straining against you, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t about him. This was for you.

“Please,” he whispered again, almost begging. “Can’t stop thinking about it. Please, darling…”

You sat up slowly, pushing at his shoulders until you were both upright. Now face to face, you could see it all. The wreckage in his expression, the raw hunger. He looked devastated with want.

You nodded breathlessly.

He didn’t waste a second. He peeled away from you and moved to the head of the bed, yanking pillows into place. He laid back, flushed and panting, eyes wild with anticipation.

You sat back on your heels, just watching him. He was a vision. Beautifully undone. Then your eyes dropped lower. He adjusted himself in his boxers, tugging the waistband down just enough to let his cock spring free, hard and glistening, leaking against his stomach.

Fuck.

You crawled toward him slowly, the air heavy between you. It felt like you were entering new territory, Uncharted and dangerous. 

When you hovered above him, your knees on either side of his head, you paused. Just for a moment. Because he looked like a dream laid out, mouth parted and waiting.

“Come on,” he said, voice thick. “I’m dyin’ to taste you.”

Your whole body clenched.

You braced your hands on the wall above the bed, thighs trembling as you slowly lowered yourself toward his face. Noel’s hands shot up immediately, grabbing at the backs of your thighs, fingers digging in.

Then his mouth met you and you cried out.

His tongue slid through your folds, slow and filthy, and he groaned the second he tasted you, the sound vibrating right through your core. His grip tightened, holding you steady as his tongue worked deeper, wetter, more desperate.

He pulled back for just a second, lips slick and red. “Taste so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, almost reverent.

Your thighs shook around his head. “Noel—”

He groaned at the sounds of his name leaving your lips and dove back in. His tongue flattened against your clit then wrapped his lips around it, sucking gently. Your breath hitched. A whimper escaped. You rocked forward instinctively, trying to chase the pressure, the friction.

“I—fuck—Noel, can I—” you gasped, hips twitching.

He nodded frantically, pulling back just enough to rasp out, “Yeah. Do it, love. Use my face. I want it. Want you—fuckin’ need you.”

His pupils were huge, his face flushed and glistening, his mouth open and hungry. He looked ruined.

You hesitated, heart pounding. Then you shifted your hips forward and slowly sank down, pressing yourself onto the bridge of his nose.

The pressure. The way his mouth and nose slotted perfectly against you, your clit grinding against the slope of his face. It sent shockwaves through your body.

You worried for half a second that you might actually suffocate him. But then he groaned and pushed up into you, burying his face deeper.

“S’posed to ride me, love,” he mumbled, voice muffled beneath you. “Come on.”

You lost the last of your breath.

You braced against the wall and gave in completely, hips rolling forward. Slowly at first, testing the rhythm, grinding down over his mouth and nose. And when you hit just the right spot, a moan tore from your throat, deep and raw.

Noel hummed beneath you in satisfaction. Licking and sucking as you rode him, your thighs trembling against his cheeks. The sensation was intense. His nose pressing perfectly against your clit, sending sparks up your spine every time your hips rocked forward.

You braced against the wall and rode him in earnest now, moaning openly. Your thighs trembled around his head, pleasure blooming white hot in your gut. 

“Fuck—you feel so good,” you gasped out, eyes squeezed shut. “Knew it—knew you’d feel like this fucking knew it.”

He moaned into you again, that beautiful, broken sound, and you looked down at him, just to see.

It nearly finished you.

His eyes were shut, brows drawn tight in concentration, face soaked with you. Lips swollen, chin dripping, jaw flexing with the effort of holding still while you used him. He looked fucked out. Completely lost in it, in you.

You cried out as the heat built fast, bright and sharp and impossible. Your whole body buzzed with it, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

“Fuck—so close—” you whimpered, hips stuttering.

But he knew exactly what you needed.

He tilted his head just right, lips sealing around your clit, sucking hard. Tongue flicking fast, precise, perfect.

That was it.

Your scream punched the air out of your lungs as your orgasm ripped through you, brutal and white hot. Your entire body spasmed, jerking against his mouth, the stars behind your eyelids exploding. You moaned his name over and over, thighs quaking around his head, hips grinding down instinctively, desperate for every last wave.

As you finally stilled, you barely managed to lift yourself off him. You collapsed beside him in a boneless heap, chest heaving, legs shaking uncontrollably.

Your muscles sagged with relief, your limbs tingling in the aftermath, your body still trembling with the echoes of your orgasm. Every nerve ending felt singed, vibrating. Your back ached faintly from how long you'd held yourself up, but even that felt good. Earned. Like a reminder of what you'd just given and taken.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as you finally opened your eyes.

Noel was watching you.

His face was wrecked. Lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed, eyes half lidded and dazed. And he was absolutely glistening, slick with you, his mouth and chin shining with the evidence of how thoroughly he’d devoured you. The sight of it made a shiver race through your spine. 

He blinked slowly, like he was still catching up to what had just happened, his brain fogged by lust and awe.

You gave him a lazy, satisfied smile, the best you could manage in your fucked out haze. Just that tiny expression made his jaw clench.

Then he shifted.

Your gaze followed the motion and there it was. His cock, still rock hard and angry with neglect, the tip still peaking out his boxers. His hand had moved down, fingers grasping around the base but not stroking.

Your stomach twisted with hunger all over again. You were exhausted, legs still trembling, but if you had one more ounce of more energy, you’d have already climbed back on top of him and let him fuck the soul out of you.

“Take those off,” you said slowly.

He exhaled shakily before moving. His hands scrambled, fumbling in his urgency. He shoved his boxers down and kicked them off in one frantic motion.

And then fuck.

You nearly moaned just looking at him.

His cock stood thick and flushed, the head dark and glistening, twitching with every beat of his heart. Precome smeared across his length, and the way his fingers curled around the base again, tight and needy, made your breath hitch. He looked like he was about to fall apart.

“Please,” he whispered, voice wrecked, hips twitching forward ever so slightly. “Please, love… I need you—need to be inside you, need you so fucking bad, please—”

You licked your lips, already spiraling again. But then an idea hit you.

“Nuh uh,” you murmured. “Wanna watch you. Wanna see you get yourself off. Want you to come on my face like I just did on yours.”

A strangled moan left him. Like your words physically hit him.

He nodded fast and moved without hesitation, rising to his knees over you. His thighs bracketed your stomach, the heat of him radiating down on you. His cock loomed above you, swollen and heavy, so close you could taste it in the air.

You were getting the front row seat to something sacred.

Noel’s hand wrapped around his length again, a shudder running down his spine as he started to move. He wiped the wetness from his face, your wetness, and used it to slick himself up, groaning at the contact. He started slow. Languid strokes that made his stomach tighten and his jaw slack with pleasure. His head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in a soundless moan.

Your breath caught in your throat, heart already pounding again. He was gorgeous like this. Completely uninhibited, letting himself unravel for you, because of you.

His hand sped up, desperate now. His hips began to thrust subtly into his fist, chasing friction. The only sounds in the room were his ragged breathing, the slick sound of his fist moving over his cock, and the occasional, broken curse.

You knew he was close. He was shaking.

Your mouth parted, gaze locked on his flushed face. “That’s it,” you breathed. “Come on my face, Noel. I need it need to taste you. Want it so bad.”

His eyes snapped open.

That look, undone and wild with lust, was the last thing you saw before he shattered.

He cried out, a high pitched sound pulled from somewhere deep. His cock twitched in his grip and then he came, hot and heavy, thick ropes of it painting your face, your mouth, your chin.

You moaned, tongue out, catching as much of him as you could.

When he finally slowed, he looked down at the mess he’d made. His breath caught in his throat. Awe flickered across his face. 

You stuck your tongue out, showing him what had landed inside your mouth, and then swallowed.

His cock twitched again.

Noel reached out with a shaking hand, dragging two fingers through the come on your cheek, watching you closely as you licked it clean. You sucked his fingers into your mouth without breaking eye contact, moaning softly around them.

He flinched, breath catching in his throat. You just smiled, releasing his fingers with a wet pop.

Then you reached up, grabbed his arm, and dragged him down beside you, needing to feel his skin. He came willingly, boneless and trembling, collapsing into your arms. You curled around him instantly, greedy for the contact, peppering hot, open mouthed kisses across his chest.

His heart thundered beneath your cheek.

You could still taste him on your tongue. Feel the heat of his come drying on your skin. Your bodies tangled, sticky and pulsing with aftershocks.

“That was so fucking hot,” you whispered into his skin, voice still a little breathless.

He let out a shaky laugh, a soft shiver rippling through him. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer, your skin flush with his. He hummed against your skin, face hiding in your hair. 

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice still frayed with the remnants of arousal. “You like watching me hm?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, kissing the center of his chest, right over his racing heart. “I think you like me watching you. It’s the whole performer thing. You’ve gotta be a bit of an exhibitionist, don’t you?”

“Don’t try and pathologize me,” he said, but his tone was amused, fond.

You tipped your head up, brushing your nose lightly against his jaw. “I’m just sayin’. You love the spotlight. You’ve no idea how sexy you are to watch.”

He chuckled, his expression full of warmth. “You just like to stroke my ego, don’t you, love?”

You grinned against his skin. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it too.”

“Yeah, yeah. ’Course I do,” he muttered, brushing his lips against your temple. “Just… feels different when it’s you saying it.”

Your chest fluttered, something warm blooming, shifting the energy. You curled closer, one leg sliding over his, arm draped across his stomach. Your fingers found the soft hair on his chest and started tracing slow, lazy circles, grounding yourself in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

There was a peaceful quiet between you, broken only by the soft sounds of your breaths mingling. 

After a beat, he spoke again, voice low and puzzled, like he was still mulling over what had just happened.

“I’m not complainin’,” he started, “but I still don’t really get it. It’s just… a nose.”

You laughed softly against his skin. “You don’t have to get it. Just accept it.”

Then you tilted your head up until your eyes found his. His gaze was heavy lidded and soft, that teasing spark still tucked just behind the warmth.

“In Roman times,” you said, brushing a fingertip down the bridge of his nose, “you weren’t considered beautiful unless you had a big nose. It’s all over their art. That’s what you remind me of. One of those statues.”

“Sappy little git, you are,” he murmured, but his voice was thick with affection. “You should kneel for me. Worship me like the Romans did.”

You wiggled your eyebrows. “Already do.” Then you took his hand in yours and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

He smiled and ran his fingers gently down your spine, then back up again in a soothing motion. Your body still pulsed faintly with residual pleasure, but it had softened now, melted into warmth. The kind of heat you could fall asleep in.

You let out a quiet sigh and closed your eyes. “Gonna fall asleep like this.”

“Yeah?” he murmured. “Lyin’ here with my come still drying on your face?”

You snorted and nudged him weakly in the ribs. “Shut up.”

He laughed, the sound rumbling warm and full from his chest. “I’m just sayin’. It’s romantic, innit?”

Then he rolled away, taking the warmth with him. You made a small sound of protest, watching the curve of his back as he crossed the room. Even like this, hair a mess from your fingers, skin slick with sweat and flushed from you, he looked like something carved from marble. A statue with attitude. And a massive cock.

You bit your lip, admiring the view like it was art.

He grabbed a towel and gave his face a quick wipe, then padded back over, climbing into bed without a word. You half expected another filthy joke, but instead, he reached out, carefully dabbing at your cheek. When he finished, he tossed it aside and pulled you back into him.

You curled back into his chest, pressing your face to the curve of his throat, your leg tangling with his again. He was still a little damp, still radiating heat. He smelled like sex and sweat and him. You breathed it in deep, your whole body sighing in contentment.

“Right,” he murmured, his lips brushing your hair, “so which body part are you obsessing over next?”

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Daddy Issues - Johnny Seo x Reader

Now Playing: » Daddy Issues « The Neighbourhood 3:27 ─────〇─ 4:16 ⇄ ◃◃ II ▹▹ ↻

Pairing: Johnny x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 17,656 Total Word Count: 49,636 Part 1 of 3 - (Part 2) (Part 3)

Playlist Masterlist NCT Masterlist

Warnings: Eventual SMUT, Age Gap, minor angst, not bad but not great relationship with dad

Summary: 🎵 Go ahead and cry, little girl Nobody does it like you do I know how much it matters to you I know that you got daddy issues 🎵 or No one makes Y/n feel more rejected that her father. That's what leads her to seek friendship with a bartender

A/N: Waa Waa Wee Waa! Part two of the NCT playlist series out! Yay! We got this daddy of a man, Johnny! Let's be real, we all got daddy fantasies about this man.

Imma hit it off the bat, a lot of this fic ended up being mAD personal and stuff (with situations with dad and older friends), so it might not seem like that big of a deal, the situations, but...it's my experience, so yeah!

(I have a very good relationship with my dad, do not worry)

sorry it took so long to get this fic out, I've been mAD busy for no bloody reason, lol

Anyways! I hope you enjoy this fic :) 💚

-

The rain clung to Y/n’s skin, cold and relentless, as if the sky reflected her despair. Her breath came in shaky bursts, mingling with the misty air as she hurried down the dimly lit street. 

By the time she reached the bar, her heart was heavy, and her tears, though mostly wiped away, still lingered on her cheeks, though the rain washed away whatever evidence was left.

Pushing open the door, she was met with the warm glow of dim lights and the soft hum of music playing from various speakers around the bar. 

The space was nearly empty, save for a couple of patrons nursing their drinks at the far end. Perfect. She didn’t need an audience tonight.

Y/n slipped onto a stool at the bar, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the edge of the counter. She tried to compose herself, brushing stray hairs out of her face and pressing her lips together to stop them from quivering.

“What can I get you?” a deep voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

She glanced up, meeting the kind eyes of the bartender. His name tag read “Johnny”, and he looked effortlessly composed, a stark contrast to her disheveled state. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, a flicker of concern passing over his features as if he could sense the storm brewing within her.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over the drink menu in front of her, the weird, random names of shots and jugs blurring together in her mind. 

Normally, she might’ve smirked at the creativity, or rolled her eyes, but tonight, she didn’t have the energy to care. It wasn’t about the taste or the experience. She just needed something to dull the ache clawing at her chest.

“I’ll have, uh…” She hesitated, scanning the list without really reading it. “Cowboy shot, green apple shot, red light shot, and…I don’t know. Just pick another one for me.” Her voice was flat, tinged with exhaustion, as she rested her elbows on the bar.

Johnny raised an eyebrow at her order but didn’t comment. Instead, he gave a small nod and turned to grab the required bottles. 

“Coming right up,” he said, his tone calm but edged with quiet curiosity. “Rough night?” he asked casually, his tone warm but not prying.

Y/n hesitated, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t used to people asking, and the kindness in his voice felt foreign. 

“Something like that,” she finally murmured, her fingers tracing the rim of the first glass he placed in front of her.

Johnny moved onto making the second shot, his movements smooth and deliberate. “Well, take it slow,” he said, his voice carrying a faint note of concern. “No rush on a quiet night like this.”

Y/n gave a faint nod, her gaze fixed on the first shot placed in front of her. It was a creamy looking shot that smelled of some kind of coffee liqueur. She wasn’t sure what to make of his attention. It wasn’t overbearing or judgmental, just…there. A steady presence that felt oddly comforting.

She downed the first shot quickly, wincing at the burn as it slid down her throat. The heat spread through her chest, momentarily distracting her from the cold knot of emotions she had carried in with her.

Johnny placed the next glass in front of her, leaning slightly on the counter. “So, what brings you out here tonight? Or is that too much to ask?”

Y/n glanced up at him, her lips tugging into a faint, humorless smile. “Isn’t it obvious?” she said, her voice low. “I’m here to dull the emotions.”

He nodded, as if he understood more than she was willing to share. “Fair enough,” he replied, sliding the next drink toward her. “Just promise me you won’t try to forget too much at once.”

Her fingers hovered over the glass for a moment, his words lingering longer than she expected. There was something about him, his calm, steady presence, that felt safe, even in her vulnerable state.

She shook her head lightly, breaking the moment. “No promises,” she muttered before taking the next shot.

Johnny didn’t press further. He simply stood nearby, his quiet watchfulness making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Y/n blinked slowly as the warmth of the alcohol settled into her limbs, her mind still sharp but her body beginning to feel weightless, almost disconnected. When Johnny set the third drink in front of her, she didn’t hesitate. Gripping the glass, she downed the shot quickly, her lips pulling into a slight grimace at its syrupy, thick texture.

Johnny watched her closely, his brow furrowing as she set the empty glass down with a dull clink. He leaned forward on the counter, resting his arms there as his gaze lingered on her.

“You sure about that fourth one?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with concern.

Y/n’s hand reached for the final shot almost instinctively, her fingers brushing the cool glass. “Yes,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for debate.

Johnny didn’t move the glass away, but he hesitated, studying her for a moment. “It’s gonna hit you all at once if you’re not careful,” he warned gently.

She lifted her gaze to meet his, her expression stubborn. “That’s the idea,” she replied quietly, her voice tinged with an edge of pain.

Johnny exhaled through his nose, clearly uneasy, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he kept an eye on her. 

“Alright,” he said, a note of resignation in his tone. “But maybe slow down after this one, yeah?”

Y/n didn’t respond, her eyes fixed ahead, deliberately avoiding his gaze. Johnny sighed softly, shaking his head as he turned to prepare the fourth shot.

He moved quickly, grabbing a clean glass and the ingredients with practiced precision, but his eyes flicked back to her every few seconds. The way she sat there, silent and withdrawn, made his concern deepen.

“You know,” he began, his tone casual but laced with a subtle seriousness as he measured out the liquor, “most people who drink like this have a real problem…and need to talk.”

She still didn’t answer, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the bar. Her silence felt heavier now, like a shield she was using to keep him at arm’s length.

Johnny finished mixing the drink and set it down in front of her with a quiet thud. He didn’t say anything this time, just leaned on the counter, his steady gaze meeting hers as if waiting for her to break the silence.

-

Not even six minutes later, the weight of the alcohol hit Y/n like a tidal wave. Her light, weightless feeling gave way to a suffocating heaviness as her emotions surged to the surface. 

Silent tears rolled down her face, her shoulders trembling as she rested her head in her hands, trying to muffle the quiet sobs that escaped her.

Johnny remained where he was, leaning against the bar across from her. He’d been watching her closely, noticing the subtle shift in her demeanor. The way her breathing had deepened, the tremor in her hands. Now, as her tears fell, his expression softened further, concern etched into his features.

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice low and steady, careful not to startle her. “You wanna talk about it, now?”

Y/n didn’t look up, her fingers tangling in her hair as she shook her head slightly. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she muttered, her voice breaking.

Johnny stayed silent for a moment, letting her words hang in the air before responding. “Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he said, leaning forward a bit. “Sometimes it helps, getting it out. Even to a stranger.”

She sniffled, her hands slowly sliding down to the bar as she wiped at her cheeks. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, finally lifted to meet his. “What do you even care?” she asked, her voice cracking with frustration, though it lacked any real malice.

Johnny tilted his head, a small, understanding smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Because I’ve been where you are,” he said simply. “And trust me, it’s a lot harder when you’re keeping it all bottled up.”

His sincerity seemed to disarm her. She looked away, biting her lip as fresh tears welled up, spilling over once again.

Y/n lifted her gaze back to him, her teary eyes shimmering under the dim bar lights. For a moment, her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but the weight of her emotions held her back. Finally, the dam broke.

“Why doesn’t my dad care about me?” she blurted, her voice shaky and raw. “He’s always ignoring me, like I don’t even exist. And when I try to talk to him, just to have a normal conversation with your dad, he gets all pissy, like I’m bothering him or something.”

Her hands curled into fists on the bar, her frustration spilling out in waves. “It’s like…I’m his daughter, but I feel like a stranger when I’m with him. I’ve done everything to make him proud, school, awards, everything! And it’s never enough. He just…” Her voice cracked, tears streaming down her face again. “He doesn’t care.”

Johnny stayed silent, leaning on the bar with his arms folded, his expression calm but deeply empathetic. He didn’t interrupt or offer hollow reassurances. He simply listened, his steady presence grounding her as she poured her heart out.

“I don’t get it,” Y/n continued, her voice trembling with anger and sadness. “What did I do to make him hate me? Why is it so hard for him to just…see me?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with years of pain and neglect. Johnny let the moment breathe before speaking, his tone low and deliberate. “It’s not you,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “It’s never been you.”

She looked at him, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The sincerity in his voice and the steadiness in his gaze caught her off guard.

“I don’t know what’s going on with your dad,” Johnny continued, “but you don’t deserve to feel like this. No one does. And for what it’s worth, it says more about him than it ever will about you.”

His words hung in the air, a strange comfort in the midst of her pain. For the first time, Y/n felt like someone was truly hearing her, understanding her, without judgment or dismissal.

“You’re better than this,” Johnny added gently, his tone firm yet kind. “And you deserve better than what he’s giving you.”

Y/n sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, a small, fragile smile tugging at her lips. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but grateful.

Johnny leaned against the bar, his expression soft and reassuring as he grabbed a clean glass, filling it with water. 

Setting it down in front of Y/n, he said, “Here. Drink this. It’ll help take the edge off.”

Y/n hesitated before taking the glass, her fingers brushing against his briefly. That small, unintentional touch felt warmer than she expected, grounding her amidst the chaos in her head.

Johnny opened his mouth to say more, but the faint sound of footsteps interrupted him. His coworker emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a towel. 

“Hey, Johnny, take your ten. I’ll handle the bar,” he said with an easygoing nod toward the clock.

Johnny frowned, glancing from Y/n to his coworker. “I can take it later. It’s fine–”

“Nah, man, I got this,” his coworker insisted, stepping closer. “You look like you need the break more than I do.” His voice was light, but there was no mistaking the underlying encouragement.

Reluctantly, Johnny straightened, his gaze lingering on Y/n. “I’ll be back in a few,” he said softly, his tone laced with hesitation. 

He didn’t want to leave her like this, not when she was so vulnerable, but there wasn’t much of a choice. Y/n gave him a faint nod, her fingers still wrapped around the glass of water. She watched as he moved to the back, his steps slow and deliberate, as if he were reluctant to put any distance between them.

As the door swung shut behind him, the bar felt emptier despite the presence of a few other patrons. Y/n stared at the water in front of her, Johnny’s kindness still lingering like an echo in her mind.

For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel entirely invisible. And though he was gone for now, she had a feeling he’d come back. Something about the way he looked at her, listened to her, it felt different. Genuine. 

She took a sip of the water, the cold refreshing her throat and steadying her breaths. 

Even though Johnny had made her feel seen, appreciated, even, she still felt the heavy weight of years of emotional neglect pressing down on her chest. One conversation wasn’t going to fix that.

She looked up at the new bartender, her voice quiet but resolute. “Just…give me some random shots. I don’t care what they are.”

-

Johnny stepped back into the bar after his ten-minute break, running a hand through his hair as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on the girl, slumped over the counter with tear-streaked cheeks, her head cradled in her hands. Surrounding her were a cluster of empty shot glasses, ones he didn’t serve her.

His jaw tightened, and a wave of frustration surged through him. Striding over to his coworker, who was wiping down glasses behind the bar, Johnny’s voice was low but laced with anger.

“What the fuck, man?” Johnny hissed, gesturing toward Y/n. “What are you doing serving her more drinks, she’s wasted!”

The coworker shrugged, looking unbothered. “She asked for them. Didn’t seem like that big of a deal. She’s sitting down, not causing any trouble.”

Johnny’s glare sharpened. “It’s not about trouble. It’s about responsibility. You don’t just keep pouring for someone clearly out of it.”

Without waiting for a response, Johnny stepped away, grabbing a glass of water and heading straight for Y/n, his frustration giving way to concern as he bent slightly to meet her gaze.

"Hey, uh…girl," Johnny said softly, placing his hands gently on her shoulders in an attempt to steady her. "Look at me for a second."

Y/n slowly lifted her head, her eyes red and glassy, streaked with tears that refused to stop. Seeing the pain etched across her face, Johnny's heart sank. He wasn’t sure entirely what she had been through, but it was written all over her.

"Here, drink some water," Johnny urged, placing a glass in her trembling hand. She tried to grip it, but her fingers were unsteady, barely able to hold it without spilling.

Johnny sighed, his frustration fading into pure concern. He reached behind the counter and grabbed a bottle of water and a box of tissues, setting them down beside her.

"Alright," he said gently but firmly, standing up straight. "We’re getting you out of here. I’m ordering you an Uber."

As he helped her to her feet, she stumbled, her legs shaky beneath her. Tears continued to spill down her face, her sobs audible now.

"Here, hold these," Johnny said, handing her the water bottle and tissues. 

He steadied her with a firm grip on her hips, guiding her toward the door. She leaned heavily against him, her body uncooperative as he carefully walked her outside.

Johnny settled her onto the edge of a low brick wall, ensuring she wouldn’t fall over anytime soon. Pulling out his phone, he opened the uber app and glanced back at her. "Okay, where do you live?"

"61…Thomson Cres…" Y/n slurred, her words barely coherent.

Johnny quickly entered the address and confirmed the ride. "Alright, it’ll be here in ten minutes," he said, turning back to her.

But before he could say more, Y/n suddenly pushed herself up from the wall, the water bottle and tissues slipping from her grasp. She stumbled toward the gutter and vomited.

"Shit," Johnny muttered, rushing to her side. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her securely to prevent her from falling forward.

"It’s okay," he said softly, keeping her upright while she continued. "Just get it out. I’ve got you."

When she finally stopped, Johnny grabbed the tissues from the ground, offering them to her with a steady hand. "Here. Clean yourself up a bit," he said, his voice calm despite the situation.

Y/n took the tissues weakly, her gaze unfocused but grateful. Her throat burned from the stomach acid and alcohol that made it’s way back up. Johnny stayed close, his presence a quiet reassurance as he looked over her.

Johnny sighed deeply, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked down at the girl leaning heavily against him. Her face was etched with exhaustion and sadness, and her trembling body felt so fragile in his arms. He couldn't shake the thought of her alone in an Uber, her head slumped against the window, or worse, passing out as she tried to stumble out of the car. The idea made his chest tighten.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching.

Pulling out his phone, Johnny canceled the Uber with a few quick taps. He glanced down at her, her glazed-over eyes barely registering her surroundings. "I’m driving you home, okay?" he said firmly.

She gave the faintest nod, but he wasn’t sure she even understood. Still, it was enough for him.

"Alright, come on," he said softly, steadying her as he guided her toward the employee parking lot. She leaned against him, her steps uneven and sluggish.

Johnny unlocked his car, the soft beep echoing in the quiet night. He opened the passenger door and carefully helped her inside, easing her into the seat and buckling the seatbelt securely over her. 

"Stay still," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair out of her face before shutting the door.

Rushing around to the driver’s side, he slid into the seat and pulled up his phone’s GPS, quickly entering her address. With a deep breath, he started the engine and eased out of the parking lot.

The road stretched out in front of them, the steady rhythm of the rain tapping against the windshield. Johnny stole a glance at the girl slumped in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window, her tears streaked down her face.

What the hell was he doing? He was supposed to call an Uber, let someone else take responsibility, and get back to work. But here he was, driving a stranger home in the middle of his shift.

He sighed again, his grip tightening on the wheel. She looked so young, so vulnerable, and so damn broken. He couldn’t just leave her like that. Not when she needed someone to look out for her.

“I’ll get you home safe,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than her, as the dim glow of streetlights passed by. 

He didn’t know this girl, didn’t even know her name, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. She was in his care now, and he wasn’t about to let her down.

About ten minutes into the drive, Y/n started to stir, her body shifting slightly as she sat up straighter in the passenger seat. Her eyes blinked a few times, as if trying to adjust to her surroundings. She glanced out the window, taking in the passing streetlights and the quiet night air.

Johnny noticed the change immediately. He slowed the car slightly and reached into the cup holder, grabbing the bottle of water he had set there earlier. 

“Here,” he said gently, offering it to her. “Drink some water.”

Y/n’s hands were still a little shaky, but she took the bottle, unscrewing the cap and drinking slowly, as though it was the first time in years that she’d had anything to hydrate her. 

As she lowered the bottle, Johnny glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “We’re about eight minutes out from your place. How you feeling?”

She paused for a moment, the words seeming to process slowly. “Uh…a bit better,” she replied, her voice hoarse but softer now. “Letting it out helped.”

A small, quiet smile tugged at the corner of Johnny’s mouth, though it was fleeting. "That’s good to hear," he said, his tone warm but steady.

He kept his eyes on the road, but the sound of her voice, less distant than before, felt like a small victory. There was something in the way she spoke now, a slight shift from the wall of emotion she’d been wrapped in earlier.

Johnny didn’t know how much of it was the alcohol wearing off or just her finally starting to feel a little less like she was drowning in her own thoughts. But whatever it was, it was a good sign. He would get her home, get her somewhere safe, and maybe, just maybe, help her piece a little of this night back together.

The drive continued in a silence that wasn’t as heavy as before. Y/n still seemed distant, her eyes lost in thought, but there was a slight relaxation in her posture now. 

Johnny’s eyes kept flickering to her, though he tried to keep his focus on the road. So broken yet somehow still here, he couldn’t help but feel responsible for getting her through this night.

The streetlights flickered as they drove through quieter parts of town, and Johnny’s fingers tapped absently on the steering wheel. He wasn’t sure what to say to her, whether she even wanted to talk more, or if she just needed the space. 

He tried to gauge her mood, but her silence wasn’t closed off like before. It felt more like a pause, as though she was gathering her thoughts.

After a few moments, Y/n finally spoke again, her voice softer than before. “I don’t know what to say to him anymore.” Her words were almost a whisper, but Johnny could hear the weight of them in the quiet of the car.

“Your dad?” Johnny asked, glancing over at her quickly.

She nodded, her hand resting limply on her lap. “Yeah. He…he just doesn’t care. Every time I try to talk to him, it’s like I’m invisible to him. Or worse, I’m a nuisance.” 

She let out a shaky sigh, her eyes drifting down to the seatbelt over her lap. “I don’t know what else to do. I don’t even know if I want to anymore.”

Johnny’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his thoughts swirling. The frustration was clear in her voice, the hurt that had built up over years of being ignored. It hit him harder than he expected. Too close to home. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, more to himself than her. “That’s…that’s really tough.”

Y/n’s head drooped slightly, but she let out a small laugh, more of a bitter chuckle. “Tough? Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

Johnny didn’t know what else to say, but he didn’t need to say anything else. The moment was heavy with her pain, and she didn’t need empty reassurances. 

She needed someone who was there, who would listen, who wouldn’t leave when it got too much.

As the car pulled closer to her place, the street signs growing familiar to her, Johnny glanced at her once more, catching her tired eyes. 

“I’m still here, kinda..” He chuckled. “You don’t have to be alone right now.”

Y/n didn’t respond right away, but her lips trembled as though she was fighting another wave of emotion. Her eyes stayed on him for a moment before she glanced out the window again.

The car came to a stop as they neared her apartment complex, and Johnny turned off the engine, taking a deep breath before opening the door. 

“Alright,” he said, turning to face her. “We’re here. I’ll walk you up.”

She didn’t protest, just nodded faintly, and Johnny got out, coming around to open her door. He helped her out gently, careful not to jar her. 

With the night still heavy around them, they made their way to her front door in silence. When they reached the door, Johnny stood back a little, giving her space.

Johnny watched as Y/n stepped up to her door, her movements slow but steady, a quiet strength in her despite the rawness of everything she’d just shared. 

He stood there, waiting for her to turn back or say something more, but she simply gave him a faint nod. The weight of the night was still heavy on both of them, but there was an unspoken understanding between them now.

“Well, this is it,” Johnny said, his voice soft but clear.

Y/n turned to face him, her eyes still a little red, but there was something different there, a quiet gratitude, perhaps. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice shaky but sincere. “For everything. Really.”

Johnny gave a small nod, unsure of what else to say. “You’re welcome. Just…take care of yourself, alright?”

“I will,” she promised, the words hanging in the air between them for a moment.

Without another word, Y/n stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her. Johnny stood there for a moment longer, his eyes on the door, his thoughts a swirl of uncertainty. 

He’d done what he could, even though he hadn’t known her, even though she probably wouldn’t remember him tomorrow. But for tonight, he had been there when she needed someone, and that was enough.

With a sigh, Johnny turned and made his way back to his car, the night settling in around him as he drove off into the quiet of the city, the weight of the evening slowly fading.

-

Waking up was pure agony. Y/n cracked her eyes open, only to groan and squeeze them shut again as the light streaming through her curtains sent a sharp throb through her skull. She felt like her brain was trying to jump out of her head, and her stomach rolled uneasily in protest.

“How much did I even drink?” she mumbled, her voice hoarse. She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, as if that might somehow stop the pounding.

The idea of moving seemed impossible, but the gurgling emptiness in her stomach reminded her she needed something to keep from feeling like complete death. She reached blindly for her phone on the bedside table, her fingers fumbling before finally grabbing hold of it.

With a deep sigh, Y/n pressed her best friend's contact. The line barely rang before Yangyang's cheerful voice answered, far too bright for her current state.

“Hi hi!” he chirped, oblivious to her suffering.

“Yangyang,” Y/n groaned, her face half-buried in her pillow. “Can you pick me up some chicken and chips or something?”

“Lazy ass,” he teased, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Hungover, actually,” she muttered, her words muffled by the pillow.

There was a dramatic gasp on the other end of the line. “What!? You went drinking without me? How dare you!”

“Yangyang,” she said, her tone deadpan. “We’ll talk about it when you get here.”

“Who said I’m even coming?” he shot back indignantly. “I didn’t agree to–”

“Thanks, bye,” Y/n cut him off, hanging up before he could finish.

Dropping the phone back onto the table, she let out a heavy sigh. Yangyang would come. He always did, no matter how much he pretended to complain. For now, all she had to do was survive until he showed up with her greasy hangover cure.

-

It wasn’t long before Y/n’s phone buzzed with a text from Yangyang, "I’m at the door." 

She groaned, typing back, "Use the spare key."

A moment later, she heard the familiar click of her door unlocking and footsteps echoing through the apartment.

“Can’t even open a door for me!” Yangyang shouted sarcastically from downstairs, his voice dripping with mock offence.

A faint smirk tugged at Y/n’s lips, but she didn’t bother to respond. Moments later, Yangyang appeared in her doorway, shaking his head when he saw her sprawled face-down on the bed.

“Hell, not taking the hangover well, I see,” he said, dropping his bag onto the floor and walking over.

“Did you bring my food?” Y/n mumbled, her voice muffled against the mattress.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yangyang said with a roll of his eyes. He sat on the other side of her bed, setting the plastic bag beside her.

Summoning whatever energy she had left, Y/n uncomfortably shifted to sit up, her hair a mess and her face still etched with exhaustion. She reached for the bag, pulling out the box of chicken and chips like it was gold.

“God fucking bless you,” she muttered, grabbing a chip and popping it into her mouth.

Yangyang smirked, leaning back against the headboard. “So…what happened?” he asked casually, but his tone was tinged with concern.

Y/n paused, her hand hovering over the box for another chip. “Dad and I went out for dinner last night,” she started, her voice bitter. “But he was being a dick the whole time, saying how I should be grateful and how he didn’t even want to be there.”

Yangyang’s expression darkened. “Your dad’s an asshole. Seriously, fuck him,” he said, reaching over to steal a chip from her box. “Is he at work?”

“Yeah…” Y/n said softly, chewing on another fry. “So, after that disaster of a dinner, I went out.”

Yangyang raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Out where?”

“A bar. Just…needed to forget about it, I guess,�� Y/n admitted, shrugging as if it was no big deal, though the memory made her chest tighten.

“That’s why you shouldn’t be doing that shit without me, anything could happen,” Yangyang said.

“Yeah, like making a complete fool of myself.” Y/n said.

“Oh no, what happened?” Yangyang asked.

“The poor bartender. I had a bunch of shots and started crying. Then he asked me if I wanted to talk about it, and I blurted out my daddy issues to him. And then vomited…” Y/n said.

Yangyang couldn't help but snicker a little. 

“Shut up,” Y/n kicked him. 

“Man, what a bad bartender though, serving you to the point of vomiting.” Yangyang said.

“No, no,” Y/n said, waving a hand. “It wasn’t him. It was the other bartender. Kept serving me when I clearly shouldn’t have been drinking anymore. He was really cool actually.”

“Cause he listened?” Yangyang Asked.

“Yeah, but…he also said a lot of encouraging things and…fuck, he drove me home,” Y/n just recalled.

“...Are you serious?” Yangyang asked.

“Yeah…oh my god, that poor man,” Y/n couldn't believe herself.

“He wasn't weird, was he?” Yangyang asked.

“No…he was an absolute fucking gentleman.” Y/n was looking into space.

Yangyang leaned back, crossing his arms. “Damn. Well, that’s good then. You’re lucky you had someone.”

“Maybe,” Y/n muttered, looking down at her food. “But I’m never going back to that bar again.”

Yangyang chuckled, the corners of his lips quirking up. “Probably a good idea. But hey, look at the bright side! At least you’ve got me to cure your hangover with food and moral support.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her face. “Thanks, Yangyang. You’re alright.”

“Alright? Excuse me, I’m amazing,” he said with mock indignation, reaching over to steal another chip. “And don’t you forget it.”

Y/n shook her head, popping another chip into her mouth. 

“Just make sure not to drink without me next time, okay? You won’t always have a super nice bartender like that again,” Yangyang said, pointing at her with a chip.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” Y/n replied, waving her hand dismissively. “I still can’t believe how incredibly nice that man was…”

Yangyang tilted his head, urging her to keep talking.

“He…he actually listened to me. Like, all of it. And then he told me I deserved better,” Y/n said, her voice softening as she recalled the memory. 

“He even held me so I didn’t fall in my own vomit–Oh my god!” Her eyes widened in horror. “I vomited in front of him! I can never go back there again!” She buried her face in her hands, groaning in embarrassment.

Yangyang burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “He deserves a damn trophy for that, not just tips!”

Y/n peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks still flushed. “Seriously, though. Who does that? Like, he didn’t have to care that much.”

“He sounds like some kind of bartender superhero,” Yangyang teased, nudging her with his elbow. “Are you sure you didn’t dream the whole thing?”

Y/n ignored him, her gaze drifting as she stared into space. The events of the night before replayed in her mind. The way the bartender, Johnny, was it? had gone out of his way to keep her safe, listening to her as she cried like a broken record. And he wasn’t just nice, he was handsome. So incredibly handsome, even in her drunken haze, she’d noticed.

“Don’t start going loopy on me!” Yangyang said, snapping his fingers in front of her face and giving her a light shake.

“I’m not going loopy!” Y/n snapped back, shoving him playfully. “I just…I guess I didn’t expect someone to be that kind, you know?”

“Well, enjoy the memory,” Yangyang said with a grin. “But remember, the next time you cry to a stranger, I’m the one who’s supposed to be there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/n muttered, but a small smile tugged at her lips. Even though she’d sworn never to return to that bar, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever see the kind stranger again.

-

Not even a week later, Y/n found herself back at the same bar she had sworn to avoid. After the humiliation of that night, she never intended to return, but life had other plans. A heated argument with her dad over something stupid, like not remembering the shit-ass instructions he’d given her for a chore, had driven her out of the house. She couldn’t bear to stay under the same roof with him, not while his anger still hung in the air like a storm cloud.

The bar was busier this time, which made sense, it was a Friday night, and the place was alive with chatter and the clinking of glasses. Y/n weaved through the crowd, her emotions raw and unfiltered. Reaching the bar, she didn’t bother to check the menu. 

“Two jugs of whatever you’ve got,” she told the bartender, her voice clipped.

The man behind the bar was the other bartender from the previous night, the one who had let her spiral. Y/n recognized him immediately. Despite her mixed feelings, she knew he’d get the job done, and tonight she didn’t care about much else. 

She grabbed her drinks and a clean shot glass and headed for a secluded booth in the corner, where she could wallow in peace.

Sliding into the seat, she set the jugs down and poured herself a shot. The amber liquid gleamed under the dim lights as she stared at it for a moment, her thoughts swirling. With a sigh, she downed the shot in one go, wincing as it burned its way down her throat.

Y/n poured another, her hands steady despite the whirlwind in her chest. She didn’t want to think about her dad, about his sharp words and how they always seemed to cut deeper than she’d like to admit. She didn’t want to think about anything at all.

Instead, she focused on the shot glass, the way the liquid filled it perfectly, the way it gleamed, though she knew better than to expect anything good from alcohol. As she tipped back her second shot.

-

Johnny showed up to work at 7, exactly on the dot. His shift had started, and he wasted no time getting behind the bar, washing his hands and preparing for the night ahead. The sound of glasses and hum of conversation filled the air, but his focus was on the routine, until his coworker spoke up.

“Hey, the girl from the other night’s back…”

Johnny froze for a split second. “What?” His voice was low, and though he shouldn’t have reacted so quickly, he knew exactly who his coworker was talking about.

“In the corner,” his coworker nodded toward the far side of the bar, where the booths sat in shadow. “Looks like she's having another go at it.”

Johnny wiped his hands on a towel and stepped out from behind the bar. He didn’t have a plan as he made his way across the room, weaving through the patrons. All he knew was that he needed to check on her.

The girl was there, just as his coworker had said, slumped forward, her elbows resting on the table, her face barely visible in the dim light. She looked the same, but something in the way she sat, so still and alone, hit Johnny harder than he expected.

He hesitated for a moment, standing in the middle of the bar, but then he exhaled, bracing himself. There was no going back now. Without another glance toward the counter, he walked over to her, his mind torn between wanting to offer help and not overstepping the boundaries of a stranger’s night.

When he finally reached her table, he paused, just for a second, before speaking.

"You back again?" His voice was softer than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about her that made him feel protective, even though he barely knew her.

The look she gave him nearly shattered Johnny’s heart. Her red, watery eyes and the quiet sorrow etched into her face were too much to ignore.

“Mind if I sit?” Johnny asked gently, keeping his voice low to avoid adding to her obvious discomfort.

She sniffled, her gaze falling back to the table. After a moment, she gave a small nod. “Go for it.”

Sliding into the booth across from her, Johnny rested his arms on the table and leaned in slightly. “Want to talk about it?” he asked, his tone hesitant but genuine.

Y/n shook her head, barely meeting his gaze. “I shouldn’t bother you.”

Johnny sighed, leaning back in his seat. “You’re not a bother. You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

“But I do,” Y/n admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And drinking’s not going to fix it,” Johnny said, his tone firm. “We both know how that turned out the other night.”

Her lips twitched into a fleeting, humorless smile as she glanced at him, but the weight of her emotions quickly pulled her gaze away. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him for long, especially not with her tear-streaked face. It was humiliating enough to be caught in this state, let alone by someone as handsome as him.

Johnny leaned forward again, his elbows resting on the table as he studied her. “Look, I’m not here to lecture you. I just...I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Y/n swallowed hard, still avoiding his eyes. “Why do you care?”

He hesitated, then answered honestly, “Because someone should. And it seems like not enough people do.”

Those words caught her off guard, and for a moment, the tightness in her chest loosened. She risked another glance at him, and the sincerity in his eyes almost made her cry all over again.

“You clearly need someone,” Johnny said, his voice steady yet compassionate. “I don’t doubt you have friends, but it feels like there’s something missing in your life right now. I’m guessing it has something to do with your dad.”

Y/n blinked, startled by how bluntly he’d addressed the issue. She wasn’t sure if it was his confidence or his calm demeanor, but his directness didn’t feel invasive, it felt...honest.

“I’m not asking for your life story,” Johnny continued, leaning back slightly to give her space. “But if you’re comfortable, I’m here. Whatever you need to get off your chest, I’m willing to listen.”

His words hung in the air, offering an openness she wasn’t used to. Y/n hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the napkin in front of her. “Why would you even want to listen to me? I’m just some random drunk girl who ruined your night the other day.”

Johnny chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You didn’t ruin anything. And you’re not just some random girl. You’re a person who’s clearly going through a lot. If I can help, even just by listening, then why wouldn’t I?”

Y/n stared at the napkin for a moment longer before taking a deep breath. “Yeah…It’s my dad,” she admitted quietly. “He’s...impossible to please. No matter what I do, it’s not enough. And he doesn’t even try to hide how much he resents me.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she clenched her jaw, trying to keep the tears at bay. Johnny’s expression softened, his eyes filled with an empathy that made her chest ache.

“You don’t deserve that,” Johnny said firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You deserve a parent that cares about you.”

Y/n let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” Johnny admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not true. And it doesn’t mean you have to face it alone.”

For the first time in a long while, Y/n felt a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but sitting across from someone who seemed to care, even a little, made her feel less like she was drowning.

Johnny leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, his gaze steady. “So...what brought you here tonight?”

Y/n let out a dry, bitter laugh. “It’s so stupid.”

“Doesn’t seem stupid if it’s got you feeling this way,” Johnny replied, his tone gentle but firm.

She sighed, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “He asked me to clean the bathroom if I had time, so I did. I was almost finished when he got home…I thought maybe he’d say thank you or something...but instead, he yelled at me for using the wrong disinfectant.”

Her voice wavered as her eyes filled with tears, the memory cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. “I didn’t think it would be a problem. I used the one I always used…the one I would see my Mum use.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly looked down, embarrassed by the emotion bubbling up.

Johnny shook his head, his expression darkening with quiet disapproval. “That’s not on you. You did what he asked, and he shouldn’t be yelling at you over something so small.”

Y/n already knew that, but hearing it from someone else, a stranger, even, felt oddly validating. “I guess,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes. “But it’s just...always like this. No matter what I do, it’s never right.”

Johnny tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in concern. “That’s not fair to you. You don’t deserve to feel like this. Like nothing you do matters.”

She bit her lip, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “It’s hard to explain. I just…I feel like I’m always walking on eggshells with him. Trying not to mess up. And when I do, it’s like...it’s the end of the world to him.”

Johnny’s voice softened, a warmth in his tone that caught her off guard. “That’s not your burden to carry, Y/n. Parents are supposed to guide you, not tear you down over things that don’t even matter.”

His words struck a chord deep within her, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a small sense of relief. Yeah, she told this kind of thing to Yangyang all the time, but it was just different this time. 

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I don’t even know why I’m dumping all of this on you.”

“Because you needed to,” Johnny said simply, offering her a small smile. “And honestly? I’m glad you did. You deserve to be heard.”

Y/n met his gaze, and for a moment, the weight of her father’s criticism felt just a little lighter. “You’re a lot nicer than you need to be, you know that?”

Johnny chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe. But sometimes, people just need someone to remind them that they matter.”

Y/n leaned back in her seat, trying to take a deep breath and compose herself. She sniffled lightly and rubbed her hands over her cheeks, as if wiping away the lingering traces of her tears could also erase the heaviness in her chest. 

“God, I must look like such a mess right now,” she muttered with a weak laugh.

Johnny leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he chuckled softly. “You’re fine. Trust me, I’ve seen much worse at this bar. You’re nowhere near the top of the ‘messiest customer’ list.”

Y/n gave him a small smile, letting out a soft laugh. “Gee, that makes me feel better.”

“I’m just saying,” Johnny said, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The corners of her mouth lifted just a little more, and she sighed, a faint air of relief settling over her. “I guess I should try to, like...relax or something. Let the night go.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Johnny said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re here now, may as well try to enjoy the moment.”

They fell into an easier rhythm, Johnny steering the conversation to lighter topics, a funny story about a drunken regular, a joke about the bar’s overly long drink names. Y/n found herself laughing despite everything, the tension in her shoulders easing bit by bit.

-

As the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, Y/n glanced at the clock, realising how late it had gotten. She let out a small sigh, the weight of the day finally starting to catch up to her. 

“Guess I should head off,” she murmured, standing up and gathering her things.

Johnny noticed and immediately stood up as well. “Need a ride?” he asked, his tone casual.

Y/n shook her head with a smile. “Nah, I’m good tonight. I’m gonna message my friend to pick me up.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Alright. Well, I’ll wait with you until they get here.”

She looked at him, surprised by his willingness to stay. “You don’t have to, but thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Anything for you,” Johnny said with a grin, before he leaned back against the booth and folded his arms casually. “Besides, you’re not alone here anymore. I’m happy to keep you company for a bit longer.”

Y/n smiled, feeling a warm gratitude welling up inside her. “Thanks, Johnny. I really do appreciate everything you did for me the other night. I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly, and I...I just wanted to make sure you know that.”

Johnny chuckled softly. “No need to thank me. It’s just what anyone would do.”

“But still,” Y/n insisted, her voice quieter now. “You went out of your way to make sure I was okay. That’s more than just being a ‘good bartender.’”

She paused, suddenly realising something. “Wait a minute...I never even told you my name.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Shit!” Y/n gave a sheepish laugh. “Guess I got caught up in everything...I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Y/n,” Johnny said with a friendly grin, then gestured to the name tag on his chest. “I’m guessing that makes me Johnny.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Y/n said with a soft laugh, feeling the tension in her chest ease just a little more. She paused, then looked up at him. “Hey, I just...I really want to thank you for being there for me, Johnny. For listening. For everything.”

Johnny’s smile softened as he leaned forward slightly. “You don’t have to keep thanking me. But, listen, if you ever need someone to talk to again, I’m here every Monday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Same hours. Same bar. You’ve got someone to listen, anytime.”

Y/n studied him, her brow furrowing slightly. There was something about the way he said it, so easy, so genuine, that made her pause. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was a depth in his words that felt like he was offering more than just a listening ear. It wasn’t the first time she’d sensed something in his tone, a quiet kind of care he didn’t seem to show to just anyone.

But she chose not to ask. Instead, she gave him a soft, grateful smile. “Thanks, Johnny. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded, his grin returning. “Anytime, Y/n. Seriously. Don’t hesitate, alright?”

As Johnny stood with her, she couldn’t help but feel a small sense of comfort. She wasn’t entirely sure why Johnny cared so much, but for tonight, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel completely alone.

And that was enough.

The moment the door to the bar swung open, Y/n looked up and saw Yangyang storming in, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. He was exactly on time.

Yangyang’s eyes scanned the room, locking onto her in the corner. His brows furrowed when he saw her, still standing with Johnny. Without another word, he made a beeline for her, pushing through the crowd of people as if they were obstacles in his way.

“Let’s go,” Yangyang said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument as he reached the booth.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t even had time to properly say goodbye to Johnny before Yangyang was already tugging at her arm, pulling her to her feet. Johnny looked up at the sudden movement, his smile still soft, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as Y/n scrambled to gather her things.

“Yangyang!” she started, turning back to Johnny with a quick wave. “Thanks again, really...I’ll–”

“Come on, Y/n,” Yangyang interrupted, his grip tightening on her arm as he pulled her toward the door. His tone softened slightly, but his worry was still evident. “Let’s go. I’m not leaving you here with...whoever,” he added, glancing at Johnny.

Y/n barely had time to give Johnny another smile, her mind too scrambled to say much more than, “Sorry, I...I’ll see you later.”

Before Johnny could respond, Yangyang was already dragging her outside, his steps quick and forceful as he moved toward the car parked at the curb. Y/n could barely keep up, still lost in the warm afterglow of the conversation with Johnny. She felt guilty, but Yangyang wasn’t giving her a moment to explain herself.

“Seriously, what were you thinking?” Yangyang huffed as they reached the car. “You said you’d never go back or drink without me, and you’re just sitting there with some random guy?”

Y/n let out a deep sigh as the car hummed steadily down the street. She glanced over at Yangyang, trying to gather her thoughts after the whirlwind of emotions she’d just experienced at the bar.

Y/n winced, “The guy I was talking to at the bar the other night...that was him. The bartender, Johnny.”

Yangyang’s grip on the steering wheel tightened ever so slightly, and Y/n noticed the way his jaw clenched. 

“You were talking to him again?” His voice was tight, his concern clear but mixed with a hint of frustration.

“Yeah,” Y/n answered, looking out the window. “He’s...he’s actually really nice. I don’t know, I just...I needed someone to listen to me, Yangyang. And he did. It was good.”

Yangyang shook his head, his tone firm. “Y/n, you can’t just be confiding in some random man like that. I don’t care how nice he seems, he’s still a strange man. You can’t trust him so easily, no matter how much he listens.”

Y/n frowned, her thoughts spinning. “But...I don’t think he’s like that. He’s not just some random guy. He’s a very nice man.”

Yangyang glanced at her, his eyes narrowed with skepticism. “Very nice man? Y/n, older guys like that don’t just give a shit about you. They have their own reasons for pretending to care. It’s not like he’s gonna take on the role of some personal therapist just for fun. You can’t let that happen.”

Y/n felt a chill run down her spine at his words, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hadn’t considered it that way, but Yangyang’s perspective was making her second-guess her own. Was she being naive? Was she trusting him too easily?

Before she could voice her doubts, Yangyang spoke again, his voice lower, more intense. “And you weren’t supposed to be drinking without me either. You know that’s dangerous. I told you I’d be there if you needed to talk, if you needed to unwind, but not like this. You could have really hurt yourself, Y/n.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and Y/n could feel the sting of guilt creeping in. She hadn’t thought about how reckless she’d been, too caught up in the moment and the comfort Johnny had provided. Yangyang was right, he had warned her, and she had ignored it.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice small. “I didn’t mean to make you worry like that.”

Yangyang softened, glancing at her with a hint of exasperation but also something else, care. “I’m not mad, Y/n. I just want you to be safe. You don’t need to be doing stuff like that, especially not when you’ve got people who care about you, people like me.”

Y/n didn’t respond immediately, her mind still processing everything. She didn’t want to admit it, but Yangyang’s words made sense. She couldn’t just go around opening up to every man who listened. Not all of them had good intentions.

“I know, Yangyang,” she said finally, her voice more resigned now. “I’ll be more careful next time. I just...I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like I’m drowning, and when someone actually listens, it’s...it’s a relief.”

Yangyang exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I really do. But you don’t have to be drowning, Y/n. Come to me, yeah?”

Y/n nodded, feeling a little lighter but still conflicted. She appreciated Yangyang’s concern, but part of her couldn’t shake the connection she’d felt with Johnny, the way he had listened without judgment.

But for now, all she could do was trust Yangyang.

As the car rolled through the quiet streets, Y/n sat in silence for a few moments, her thoughts swirling around like a storm in her mind. The weight of the night was still pressing down on her, and the thought of returning to the tenseness of her house felt unbearable. She couldn't go back to that place, not tonight, not after everything that had happened.

Finally, she spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yangyang...can I come to your place tonight?”

Yangyang glanced at her, surprise flickering in his eyes before it softened. “You don’t want to go home?” he asked gently.

Y/n shook her head, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “No. I...I can’t go back there. It feels like everything’s just too much.”

He nodded, his expression softening as he slowed the car down. “Of course, you can stay with me. I’m not going to let you be go there if you’re not ready for that.”

Y/n let out a sigh of relief, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease a little. “Thank you, Yangyang,” she said, her voice quiet but filled with gratitude. “I just...I don’t want to deal with it right now. I just want to be somewhere I feel safe.”

“You’re always safe with me,” Yangyang replied, his voice steady and reassuring. He reached over and squeezed her hand for a moment before turning his focus back to the road. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Y/n nodded, her chest tightening but also loosening at the same time. She was grateful for him, for his care, for being someone she could lean on when everything felt like too much. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The drive felt shorter than it was, and soon enough they were pulling up to his place. Yangyang’s place was a two-story flat he shared with a couple of other people, though Y/n only really hung out with them at parties. Never had time to talk with them properly, usually heading straight to Yangyang’s room, just like now.

As Yangyang parked the car, he turned to her with a small smile. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. You can rest, and we’ll figure everything out tomorrow, alright?”

Y/n gave him a soft smile back, as they made their way to his room.

As Y/n lay on the bed at Yangyang's place later that night, her mind wandered back to the bar. She knew she shouldn't have gone back. There was something about the bartender, Johnny, that had pulled her in. It was almost magnetic, like an invisible thread tying her to him, and no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she couldn’t escape it.

What made it even more complicated was how he made her feel. He didn’t look at her like she was a burden, like she was just another person to deal with. Johnny treated her with a kind of maturity, respect, and care that she hadn’t known in a long time.

It was in the way he listened without judgment, how he noticed the small things that everyone else overlooked, like the subtle tremor in her voice or the way her eyes would wander when the silence stretched too long. He didn’t rush her, didn’t push her to talk, but when she did, he made her feel like her words mattered.

It stood in such sharp contrast to the way her father treated her, the way he always seemed so distant, so preoccupied, never really seeing her, never really hearing her. Y/n had spent so much time trying to please him, trying to earn a sliver of his attention, but nothing ever worked. No matter how hard she tried, there was always something wrong. 

Tonight, after the argument, she'd felt it again, the suffocating loneliness of it, the emptiness that came with his neglect. But Johnny...Johnny made her feel seen in a way she hadn't in years. It was as if he could sense the pain beneath her exterior, and instead of turning away, he leaned in, offering her a space to just be. No one had done that for her, not in a long time.

And she knew it was dangerous to let herself get attached to that. She barely knew him. Their interactions were brief, and yet there was something about the way he carried himself, the way his smile reached his eyes, that made her heart do strange things. 

He wasn’t just some random guy, but a man who had his own life, his own set of experiences. He wasn’t supposed to be her safe space, not really. But in those moments they shared, when he looked at her with that quiet understanding, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to him.

Y/n closed her eyes, her thoughts swirling with conflicting emotions. She shouldn't let herself get too caught up in this. She couldn’t. But the way he listened, the way he cared, it made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she was worthy of being seen. It was something she didn’t even know she craved until it was given to her.

The feelings she had were complicated, tangled with guilt and hope, but in that moment, with the soft hum of Yangyang’s home around her, Y/n allowed herself to believe for a second that she might deserve this kind of kindness. Just for tonight, she could rest in the warmth of it, before the world outside reminded her of everything else she had to face.

-

The next day, Y/n found herself standing in front of the bar once again. It was a little after 7, and the familiar sound of activity inside felt different this time. Her heart was racing a little, nerves creeping up in the back of her mind. She had told herself that she shouldn’t come back, that it was probably a bad idea to get involved in something she didn’t fully understand. 

But something about it, about him, kept pulling her in.

With a deep breath, she pushed open the door. The bar was just as lively as it had been the night before, but this time, Y/n’s focus was entirely on the bartender. She could see Johnny behind the counter, effortlessly moving between serving customers, his posture relaxed but efficient. She took a moment to watch him as he worked, the way he interacted with people, his warm smile never faltering.

A little self-conscious, Y/n made her way up to the bar, her footsteps steady but uncertain. She took a seat on one of the stools, smoothing down the hem of her jacket as she settled in, trying to calm the fluttering in her chest.

Johnny’s gaze lifted from the drink he was preparing, his eyes locking with hers for just a moment before he gave her a small, surprised smile. His expression softened, and he wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder before walking over to her.

“Hey, you’re back,” he greeted her, his voice warm and genuine.

Y/n gave a slight nod, a small, tentative smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, sorry. I figured I’d come by again.”

Johnny chuckled lightly, leaning against the bar with an easy familiarity. “You don’t have to apologize for showing up, you know. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Y/n’s nerves eased a little at his words, and she tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of her decision settle in. “Thanks,” she said, her voice quieter this time.

“So,” Johnny began, tilting his head slightly as he looked at her. “What can I get you tonight? Hopefully not the usual?”

She thought for a moment before shaking her head. “Actually, I think I’ll just have fizzy tonight.”

Johnny raised an eyebrow, amused. “Soda? Wow, a change of pace.” He paused, giving her a knowing smile. “I guess I’ll take that as a sign you’re taking it easy tonight.”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh softly, her tension slowly melting away as she felt more at ease. “Yeah, probably for the best.”

Johnny nodded and grabbed a clean glass, filling it with water before sliding it in front of her. "So, what brings you back this time? Everything okay?"

Y/n looked up at him, the faintest hint of hesitation in her gaze before she spoke. "I just wanted to thank you properly...for last night…and Monday night. I didn’t really get the chance to, and I felt like I should."

Johnny's smile softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter now. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad you had someone to talk to. Sometimes that’s all we really need.”

For a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade away, and Y/n felt a brief but genuine connection with him. It was strange, how in just a few brief conversations, he had become someone she could turn to when everything else felt uncertain.

"Well," Y/n said, feeling a little bolder, "I’m glad I came back."

Johnny met her eyes, his gaze steady and warm. “Me too.”

Johnny returned to the bar, grabbing a dry lemonade from the shelf before placing it in front of Y/n with a smile. "Here you go. Something a little sweeter this time, right?" he said, his tone light and friendly.

Y/n took the glass, offering him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Johnny."

He nodded, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning his attention to another customer at the end of the bar. 

"I’ll be right with you," he said before walking off to take their order, leaving Y/n to relax with her drink.

The moment was short-lived, however. As she sipped the lemonade, she felt someone standing beside her at the bar. She looked up to see a man, probably in his late twenties, leaning against the counter, an easy smile on his face.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice smooth but with an edge that made Y/n feel uneasy. "I saw you take a seat here just now. Mind if I ask your name?"

Y/n's smile faltered, a slight unease creeping up her spine. She didn't feel comfortable with this sudden attention, especially from someone she didn't know. 

She quickly tried to deflect, tapping her fingers nervously against her glass. "Uh, I’m just here to relax. I’m not really looking to talk."

The man didn't seem to take the hint, though, stepping closer and continuing, “Oh come on, just a name? You from ‘round here?”

Y/n’s discomfort deepened as he pressed, crossing a line she wasn't ready to let him cross. She opened her mouth to decline again, but before she could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

Johnny returned, wiping his hands on a rag and noticing the man standing too close to Y/n. Without missing a beat, he placed a hand on the counter, leaning in toward the guy.

“The little lady doesn’t want to talk to you,” Johnny said, his tone calm but firm, eyes cool as he sized up the man.

The stranger seemed to hesitate, taken aback by Johnny's sudden intervention. He gave Y/n a lingering look before backing off, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

Y/n glanced at Johnny, her relief clear in her expression. "Thanks," she said softly, her voice still a little shaky.

Johnny gave her a small, reassuring smile, his posture relaxed. "No problem. You shouldn’t have to deal with people like that," he said, before turning to handle another customer.

As Johnny walked away, Y/n found her gaze lingering on him, her thoughts a jumble of confusion and warmth. She’d never had a guy, other than Yangyang, stand up for her like that. There was something so effortless about the way Johnny had handled the situation, like it wasn’t even a question that he’d step in to help her.

Her heart fluttered unexpectedly. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Feeling this way over something so simple, a few words, a protective gesture. But it wasn’t just the act itself, it was the way he’d done it. Calm, confident, and with an underlying care that felt genuine. 

For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to have someone like Johnny in her corner, someone who didn’t just look out for her because they felt obligated, but because they wanted to.

Y/n shook her head slightly, trying to push the thought away, but the faint warmth in her chest remained.

Her heart shouldn’t be reacting like this, not to someone she barely knew. Yet there it was, betraying her with every quickened beat.

Johnny returned a few moments later, leaning casually against the bar. His easy smile was back, directed right at her, making her heart flutter.

“So,” he began, his tone light and conversational, “get up to much today?”

The question caught Y/n off guard. It had been a while since someone had shown genuine interest in her day. 

“Nah, not much,” she replied with a small shrug. “Just lectures and stuff.”

“Oh, studying, are you? What courses?” Johnny asked, his eyebrows lifting slightly in interest.

“Biochem and Stats,” Y/n said, a hint of pride in her tone.

Johnny let out a low whistle. “Impressive. And you actually enjoy that?”

Y/n laughed, the sound breaking through the tension she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying. “Not always,” she admitted, “but I’m pretty good at it.”

Johnny chuckled, a deep, warm sound that seemed to fill the space between them. “Being good at something doesn’t mean you have to like it, huh? I get that. But hey, Biochem and Stats? Sounds like you’ve got some serious brains.”

Y/n felt her cheeks flush slightly at the compliment, her smile turning shy. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

Johnny tilted his head, giving her a playful, skeptical look. “Oh, I don’t know. I have a feeling you’re selling yourself short.”

Their conversation was interrupted briefly as Johnny reached over to grab a glass, ready to serve another customer. But even as he worked, Y/n noticed how his attention never fully left her, as if he was genuinely invested in their small talk. For the first time in a long while, she felt seen, and it was both unsettling and comforting all at once.

-

The night had quieted, the earlier buzz fading into a mellow hum. The bar was never completely still, but this was as close to peace as it got. Johnny leaned against the counter, his arms crossed casually as he listened to Y/n talk about one of her professors and other people with her lectures. She animated her stories with gestures, her earlier shyness fading as the minutes passed.

Johnny couldn’t help but smile as he watched her. He knew why she’d come back tonight. She hadn’t said it outright, but it was written all over her. She needed someone to talk to. 

Someone who wouldn’t dismiss her feelings or turn her vulnerability into a weapon. Johnny was more than okay with being that person.

She was young, still figuring out who she was and how to navigate the parts of life that felt heavier than they should. Her strained relationship with her dad had left a gap in her life, the kind that only someone older, someone steady, could help fill. 

She wasn’t looking for pity or solutions, she just needed someone to listen. Someone to treat her like her thoughts mattered.

He glanced at her as she laughed softly at something she’d said, her guard down in a way that felt rare. Johnny’s chest tightened with a protective instinct he hadn’t expected. 

He’d seen people like her before, people who carried too much for their age, who needed a safe place to land, even if just for a moment.

He didn’t see her as a problem to solve or a burden to bear. She was just...someone who needed a little light, and he didn’t mind being that for her.

Johnny glanced at the clock on the wall, noting how the hours had slipped by. The bar had quieted even further, and the streetlights outside cast soft halos against the darkened windows. He turned back to Y/n, his expression softer now.

“It’s getting late,” he said gently. “You should think about heading home.”

Y/n blinked, the words pulling her out of their conversation. She glanced down at her phone, realizing how much time had passed. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” she said, slipping her bag over her shoulder as she stood up.

As she pushed her stool back, Johnny’s voice stopped her. “You gonna call your friend again to come pick you up?”

She hesitated, her hand tightening slightly on the strap of her bag. “Um, no...not this time,” she admitted, her tone quieter now. “Yangyang didn’t really want me coming back here, so it’s probably best if I just walk home.”

Johnny frowned at that, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the bar. “Walk? At this hour?” He shook his head. “Mhmm, I don’t know, it’s a bit too late, don’t you think?”

Y/n shrugged, offering him a small, half-hearted smile. “It’s not a long walk, I’ll be fine.”

Johnny didn’t budge. “How about this…you hang out here for another hour while I finish up, and I’ll drive you home.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “You’d...drive me home?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s late, and I’d rather know you got home safe.”

Y/n stood there, her mind racing. She barely knew him, they’d talked a lot in the hours which she was in the bar, but this was...unexpected. Still, the thought of walking home alone in the dark didn’t seem so appealing now, and something about the sincerity in his voice made her feel like she could trust him, especially considering how he drove her home the other night.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice almost cautious. “I don’t want to be a pain or anything.”

Johnny waved a hand dismissively. “It’s no trouble. Besides, I’m not letting you walk home this late. So, sit back down and relax for a bit.”

She hesitated for a moment longer before nodding, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay...thank you, Johnny. Really.”

He returned her smile with an easy one of his own, nodding toward the stool she’d just left. “No problem.”

Y/n slid back onto the stool, her heart racing for reasons she didn’t entirely understand. Johnny turned back to the bar, tending to the few remaining customers, but she couldn’t stop glancing at him, still stunned by his offer. It wasn’t every day someone went out of their way for her like this, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. But for now, she was grateful.

-

As the hour ticked by, the bar emptied out, leaving only a couple of stragglers with their drinks in quiet corners. Johnny moved with practiced ease, wiping down the counter, stacking glasses, and tidying up behind the bar. His movements were efficient, but he didn’t rush, taking the time to nod politely to the last few patrons as they gathered their things and headed out into the night.

Y/n stayed seated, watching him work. The way he moved, so steady and calm, made her feel oddly at ease despite the situation. He caught her looking a couple of times and threw her a casual grin, making her cheeks warm as she glanced away.

Finally, Johnny flipped the sign on the door to ‘Closed’, locking it behind the last customer. He turned back to Y/n, brushing his hands off on a bar towel as he approached.

“Well, that’s it for tonight,” he said, setting the towel down. “You ready to go?”

She nodded, standing and adjusting her bag. “Yeah, thanks for taking me.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, grabbing his jacket from the hook behind the counter. “Let me just grab my keys, and we’ll head out.”

Y/n waited by the bar as Johnny disappeared into the back for a moment. When he returned, keys jingling in his hand, he gestured toward the door.

“Alright, let’s get you home,” he said, his tone warm but firm.

Y/n followed him out, stepping into the cool night air. The streets were quiet now, and the soft hum of the city lights felt almost serene. Johnny walked beside her to the small parking lot behind the bar, where an old but well-kept honda civic waited.

“Not exactly a luxury ride,” he joked as he unlocked the passenger door, holding it open for her. “But it’ll get you there.”

Y/n slid into the seat, her heart fluttering slightly at his gesture. “It got me home last time, I’m sure it’s perfect this time. Thank you.”

Johnny rounded the car and got in, starting the engine with a low rumble. As they pulled out onto the empty street, a sense of comfort ran through her.

“I’m surprised you remembered anything from last time. You were wasted!” Johnny said with a laugh, his voice light and teasing.

Y/n groaned, immediately covering her face with her hands. “God, don’t remind me! That was so embarrassing! I’m so sorry you had to deal with me while I was drunk.”

Johnny leaned back slightly, crossing his arms with an amused grin. “Ah, don’t feel too bad. At least you had the decency to vomit in a gutter instead of the bar floor.”

“Mortifying,” Y/n muttered, peeking at him through her fingers. “But sure, go ahead, keep laughing at my misery.”

“Oh, I will,” Johnny replied, his laughter bubbling up again.

Y/n couldn’t help but glance at him as he laughed, the sound warm and genuine. The way his cheeks lifted, the faint lines around his eyes deepening as they crinkled with amusement, it was mesmerizing. Johnny was beautiful, in a way she hadn’t fully registered until now.

His laughter softened, and he tilted his head slightly as he looked at her. “You know, you don’t have to be embarrassed. Everyone’s had a rough night now and then. You handled it better than most.”

“Better than most?” Y/n asked skeptically, lowering her hands.

“Trust me,” Johnny said, his grin widening, “I’ve seen it all. You’re far from the worst.”

She shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Well, that’s...somewhat comforting.”

“Glad to help,” Johnny said with a mock bow of his head, making her laugh this time.

Y/n tilted her head, as she leaned slightly towards Johnny. “Do you often drive patrons home…like you did with me?”

Johnny smirked, shaking his head. “Not a chance.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wait, really? You drove me home.”

Johnny shrugged casually, his hands on the wheel. “Let’s just say you didn’t strike me as someone who’d regularly find themselves in that kind of situation. And you looked...lost. Like you needed someone to step in.”

Y/n blinked, his words catching her off guard. “Oh. Well, I guess you were right,” she admitted quietly, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve.

Johnny looked over to her briefly before looking back on the road. “I’ve been bartending long enough to know the difference between someone who’s just drinking for the fuck of it and someone who’s looking for escape. You seemed like the latter.”

Her throat tightened slightly, and she gave a small nod. “Yeah...I guess I was.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Johnny added, his tone lightening. “Most of the time, my job ends at making drinks and cutting people off when they’ve had enough. But with you? I don’t know. I just felt you needed the help.”

Y/n bit her lip, unsure how to respond to that. She glanced at him, searching his expression for any hint of an ulterior motive, but all she saw was sincerity.

“That’s...really kind of you,” she said softly, offering him a faint smile.

Johnny chuckled. “Don’t give me too much credit. It’s not like I’m some saint. I just figured someone should make sure you got home safe.”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at his humility, shaking her head. “Well, thanks. I guess I’m lucky you were the one working that night.”

Johnny tilted his head with a smirk. “Yeah, you are. And don’t forget it.”

Johnny's car came to a smooth stop outside Y/n’s house, the soft hum of the engine fading as he shifted into park. She stared out the window at the familiar house, her heart sinking slightly. She didn’t want to leave, not yet.

The warmth of Johnny’s presence beside her in the car, the comfort of his easy conversation, and the strange sense of safety she felt, it was all so different from what was inside the house, waiting for her.

She sighed, her hand hesitating on the door handle. “Well...thanks for the ride,” she murmured, her voice quieter than she intended.

“Anytime,” Johnny replied.

Y/n was just about to push the door open when Johnny’s voice stopped her. “Hold on a second.”

She turned back to him, surprised, as he reached up and pulled a pen from the overhead sunshade. Her heart skipped as he gently took her hand in his, his touch warm.

Johnny didn’t say anything as he leaned over slightly, his focus entirely on her hand as he wrote something carefully on her skin. Y/n’s mind blanked, her senses overwhelmed by the sensation of his fingers lightly brushing against her palm.

It wasn’t until he let her go and she glanced down that she realized what he had done. His number was scrawled neatly across her hand, the ink stark against her skin.

Her eyes darted back to him, wide with surprise.

Johnny leaned back, his expression calm but unreadable. “If you ever need to talk…or a ride! Just call. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

Y/n’s lips parted, but no words came out. The gesture was so unexpected, so simple, yet it felt like the most special thing anyone had done for her in a long time.

“Thanks,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny gave her a small smile, his hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

She nodded, still stunned by the action. “I will. Thanks again, Johnny.”

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said, his voice low.

With that, Y/n pushed the door open and stepped out, the cool night air brushing against her skin. She glanced back once as Johnny gave her a small wave before driving off, the tail lights of his car disappearing into the distance. 

-

Y/n had been replaying that interaction with Johnny in her mind for a week now, yet the thought of actually using his number still made her stomach twist in knots.

The very night she got home, she had saved his number to her phone, her fingers trembling slightly as she typed it in. But every time she thought about texting him, her nerves got the better of her. 

Would she come across as pushy? Annoying? What if he regretted giving her his number?

But, God, did she want to message him.

Her thoughts distracted her as she walked down the street. She was on her way to a café where her dad had promised to meet her. She adjusted the strap of her bag, trying to push Johnny out of her mind.

Entering the café, she offered a polite smile to the staff behind the counter before finding a small table near the window. Sliding into the chair, she leaned back, checking the time. She was about three minutes early, but that was fine. Her dad would probably walk through the door any second now.

At least, that’s what she thought.

Ten minutes passed. Y/n’s gaze flicked back to her phone. No texts. No calls. Nothing. She sighed, her fingers drumming on the table as frustration and disappointment started to bubble up.

Finally, she decided to call him. She stared at her screen for a moment before hitting the button, holding the phone to her ear as the line rang.

“Hey, Bub,” her dad answered, his tone casual.

“Where are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Oh, fuck!” her dad cursed on the other end of the line. “I completely forgot. I’m so sorry, Bub. I can’t make it today.”

Her heart sank, though she couldn’t say she was surprised. Disappointed? Always. But surprised? Never.

“Oh, okay,” she said softly, gripping her phone a little tighter.

“I can send you some money to get yourself something if you’d like,” he offered, as if that could somehow make up for standing her up.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, her voice quieter now. “See you at home.”

“Alright, see ya. Bye.”

And just like that, the call ended.

Y/n lowered her phone slowly, staring at the screen as if it might somehow offer her the explanation or comfort her dad couldn’t. She sat there for a moment, her appetite gone and her mood sinking further.

Her fingers hovered over her contacts list. For a fleeting moment, she thought about calling Johnny. She hadn’t used his number yet, but maybe now was the time. 

What if he was busy? What if he didn’t really mean for her to call? 

The anxiety crept in again, but so did the urge to feel even a fraction of the comfort he’d given her that night in the car.

She stared at his name on the screen, her finger hesitating over the call button. Should I?

Fuck it.

With a deep breath, Y/n hit the call button on Johnny's contact and held the phone to her ear. Her heart raced with every passing second, her pulse thudding louder as the ringing began.

“Hello?” Johnny's familiar voice came through, smooth and warm.

“Hey, it’s Y/n,” she said, her voice tinged with nervousness.

“Y/n!” His tone instantly brightened, cheerful and welcoming. “I was wondering when I’d hear from you. What’s up?”

“I was supposed to have lunch with my dad, but...he kinda stood me up,” she admitted softly.

She wasn’t sure what she expected, maybe reassurance, maybe just someone to make her feel like she mattered, but she knew Johnny’s words would be the comfort she needed.

“Shit,” Johnny said, his voice filled with concern. “Where are you right now?”

“Bristo,” Y/n replied, glancing at the bustling street outside the cafe.

“Alright, give me a minute. I’ll come to you,” Johnny said without hesitation.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” she said quickly, guilt creeping in. “I don’t even know why I called you...”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ll be there in five,” he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Before she could protest again, she heard the soft click of the line disconnecting. Y/n stared at her phone, equal parts relieved and surprised. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips, Johnny always seemed to know exactly what she needed, even when she didn’t.

True to his word, Johnny arrived. Y/n spotted him the moment he stepped into the café, his tall frame impossible to miss. He paused just inside the door, scanning the room until his eyes landed on her. A smile immediately lit up his face, one that sent a wave of warmth washing over her.

He strode over, pulling out the chair across from her and settling into it. “Hey,” he said, his tone light, as if he’d been meeting her here all along. “You okay?”

Y/n gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have to.”

Johnny leaned back, giving her a look. “What kind of guy would I be if I didn’t show up when someone needed me?” He glanced around the café briefly. “So, what’s good here?”

She smiled softly, relaxing a little. “I didn’t really look...I guess I wasn’t in the mood to eat by myself.”

“Well, lucky for you, you’re not alone anymore.” Johnny picked up the menu, scanning it. “What do you think? Should we split something? Or are you more possessive over your food?”

Y/n laughed, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Depends on how good the food,” she teased.

Johnny smirked. “Fair enough. We’ll test that theory. Two coffees and an order of fries to share sound good?”

She nodded, feeling a little lighter already. “Can I have an iced chocolate?” 

“Of course, you can,” Johnny said with a warm smile, standing up and heading toward the counter to place their order.

Y/n watched him as he walked away, she couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly he managed to brighten her day, how his presence seemed to fill the space around him with a quiet kind of assurance. 

It wasn’t just the fact that he showed up, it was the way he made her feel seen, like her bad day truly mattered to him. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt like someone was actually in her corner.

Johnny returned to the table with a numbered stand, setting it down in the center before settling back into his chair. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table as his gaze softened.

“So,” he started, his tone gentle, “how’re you feeling? I mean…about your dad and all.”

Y/n let out a small sigh, her fingers tracing patterns on the edge of the table as she avoided his eyes. “I don’t know… It’s not the first time he’s bailed on me. I guess I wasn’t really surprised.”

Johnny nodded, his expression empathetic. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck, though.”

“Yeah,” Y/n murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I keep hoping, you know? Like maybe one day he’ll actually show up, maybe he’ll prove me wrong. But he never does.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened for a moment, the flicker of frustration on her behalf evident. “You deserve better than that,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t have to keep waiting for scraps of attention.”

His words hit her harder than she expected. She glanced up at him, her throat tightening. “It’s just…hard to give up on him. He’s my dad.”

“I get that,” Johnny replied, his voice steady. “But sometimes, people don’t give you what you need. Not because you’re asking for too much, but because they can’t. And that’s on them, not you.”

Y/n blinked, her chest tightening at the honesty in his tone. “You’re really good at this, you know,” she said softly, managing a small smile.

Johnny chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know about that. I just know what it’s like to need someone to show up when it matters. And if he won’t, then I guess it’s a good thing you called me.”

Her smile grew just a little as warmth spread through her chest. 

The server arrived with their food, setting down a plate of crispy fries in the center of the table, followed by Johnny’s coffee and Y/n’s iced chocolate. The clink of the cup meeting the table seemed to break the tension, and for a moment, the two simply dug into the fries, letting the silence settle before continuing their conversation.

Johnny nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch between them for a moment before he spoke again. "When did this all start, then? I mean, the whole thing with your dad."

Y/n sighed, picking up another fry and slowly chewing it, trying to find the right words. "It started when I moved in with him," she said quietly, her voice quieter than usual. "Before that, I used to live with my mom, and I’d just visit my dad on weekends or holidays. I didn’t think much of it. He was always...distant, but I thought it was because of the distance. But even after moving in, it was always off."

Johnny’s eyes softened as he listened, understanding in his gaze. He stayed quiet, letting her continue at her own pace.

"But when my mom passed, I didn’t have a choice. I had to move in with him." She paused, running a finger along the edge of her iced chocolate cup. "I thought it would be fine. I figured, hey, he’s my dad. He’ll step up. But...the more time I spent with him, the more I realized how much...it wasn’t fine."

She swallowed hard, her chest tight at the memory. "I didn’t notice how strained our relationship was when I only saw him for a couple of days at a time. But living with him...living with him made me see everything I missed. I thought maybe it would change, you know? But it feels like he doesn’t care enough to try."

Johnny’s gaze was steady, his voice gentle. "I’m sorry, Y/n. That’s a heavy thing to go through, especially at your age. Losing your mom, then having to face a whole new kind of relationship with your dad."

"Yeah," she whispered, her fingers trembling slightly as she wrapped them around her cup. "I didn’t expect it to be this hard. I used to just brush it off, tell myself it was fine because I had my mom, and I only saw him for short periods of time. But now...I don’t know. It’s like everything’s coming down on me all at once. I thought maybe he’d change, but he never does."

Johnny leaned forward slightly, his tone soft but firm. "He should’ve stepped up when you needed him, but that’s on him, not you. You’re not the one at fault here, Y/n. You’re doing your best to deal with everything that’s been thrown at you."

Y/n looked up, meeting his gaze. There was a warmth there, a quiet reassurance that made her feel a little lighter. She took a deep breath, her chest aching, but somehow not as tightly as before.

"Thanks, Johnny. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. You probably didn’t want to hear about my messed-up family problems when we first met–outside the bar, I mean."

Johnny chuckled softly, the sound like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the heaviness. "Hey, everyone has their stuff, right? We all have our problems. But I’m glad you feel comfortable talking to me about it. And don’t worry, it’s not a burden. If anything, it’s good to get it off your chest."

Y/n felt a little smile tug at the corners of her mouth, the weight in her chest easing just a bit more. "I appreciate it. Really."

Johnny smiled back, his eyes kind but steady. "Anytime, Y/n. Anytime."

After they finished their meal, Y/n and Johnny stood up from the table, ready to leave. Johnny paid for their food, even when Y/n tried to insist she could cover it. He just waved her off with a smile, saying it was his treat and that she could get the next one.

"You're stubborn," Y/n teased as they walked out of the cafe, the door chiming softly behind them.

Johnny just grinned, giving a shrug. "I know, but just means you’ll have to pay next time." He threw her a playful look.

Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest. He wanted to hang out with her again. Y/n had to look down to hide the blush creeping up her face.

They walked side by side down the sidewalk for a moment, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Johnny’s voice broke the comfortable silence.

"So, what are you up to now?" he asked, glancing over at her with curiosity.

Y/n sighed, the events of the day weighing on her a little. "I’m just gonna head home. I only planned to have lunch with dad, nothing else."

Johnny nodded in understanding, his eyes softening slightly. "Yeah, that didn’t go as planned."

Y/n gave a small, wry smile. "That’s one way to put it."

After a beat, Johnny looked over at her with a suggestion. "Well, I don’t have any plans, and if you’re up for it, you could come hang out at my place for a bit. It’s probably better than sitting alone, right?"

There he goes again, making her heart beat like crazy. 

Y/n looked at him, surprised by the offer but a little relieved. "You sure?" she asked, hesitant at first.

"Yeah," Johnny said with a reassuring smile. "I mean, I’ve got nothing to do, and if you’re feeling like talking or just...you know, distracting yourself, my place is open. Plus, I can drive you home later, whenever you're ready."

Y/n didn’t even have to think about it for long. She felt surprisingly comfortable with Johnny, and after the weird day she’d had, spending some time with him felt like a good way to unwind.

"Okay," she said, her smile soft but grateful.  

They made their way to Johnny’s car, the drive going by smoothly. As Y/n leaned back in the passenger seat, Johnny glanced at her a few times, but didn’t say much, content to let the silence settle between them, only broken by the occasional hum of the car or the soft sound of the radio playing in the background.

When they pulled into the parking lot of Johnny’s apartment building, Y/n glanced up at the modest complex. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a simple, window-fronted building with a few balconies and potted plants by the entrance. Despite its plain exterior, there was something inviting about it, maybe it was Johnny’s presence, maybe it was his smile.

 Getting in the building, they took the elevator up. She was half-expecting Johnny to give her a formal, awkward tour of the place, but instead, he just nodded toward the door, indicating for her to enter.

The inside was just as she imagined, simple, a little cluttered but warm, with a lived-in vibe that made it feel instantly comfortable. A worn leather couch sat against the far wall, by a low coffee table tv remotes and a half-empty cup of coffee.

"Home sweet home," Johnny said with a small grin as he locked the door behind them. "Make yourself comfortable."

Y/n smiled as she slipped off her shoes, glancing around. "It’s nice. I like it."

"Well, my apartment is like any other," Johnny chuckled. "Not much, but it works for me."

He walked over to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of glasses. "You want something to drink? Water? Juice?"

"Water please," Y/n said, taking a seat on the couch. 

She looked around, taking in the personal touches scattered throughout the apartment, a few framed photos on the shelves, some cds and records in the corner, and a couple of potted plants by the window.

A few moments later, Johnny handed her a glass of water before settling down on the side table beside her, a comfortable silence hanging between them.

"You know," Y/n said, breaking the quiet as she swirled her glass, "I really wasn’t expecting my day to end like this."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Hanging out in some guy’s apartment after your dad ditched lunch?"

Y/n laughed softly, nodding. "Yeah."

"Well, if it helps, you’ve made my day more interesting," Johnny said, leaning back against the cushions. "I was just gonna spend the afternoon binge-watching something stupid."

"I mean, you can still do that, you just have company now," Y/n said, smiling a little as she relaxed into the couch. "I don’t mind watching something stupid with you."

Johnny leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Alright then, but you can pick."

Y/n thought for a moment, then grinned. "SpongeBob?"

Johnny blinked, caught off guard by her choice before a slow smile spread across his face. "Spongebob it is. A real big girl pick."

He grabbed the remote, flicking through streaming options until he found the show. As the theme song blared from the TV, Y/n couldn’t help but smile a little, already feeling lighter. Johnny sat back, his arm draped casually over the back of the couch, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence as they watched the ridiculous antics of a yellow sponge unfold.

It was halfway through an episode, some scene involving jellyfishing, when Johnny glanced over at her, noticing the way her expression had grown more subdued, as if her mind was elsewhere. He didn’t say anything at first, waiting until the end of the episode before speaking.

"You okay?" he asked gently, his voice low.

Y/n hesitated, keeping her eyes on the screen for a moment before sighing. "I guess…I don’t know. It just hit me again, how weird things are with my dad."

Johnny didn’t interrupt, letting her find the right words.

"It’s just…frustating," Y/n continued, playing with the hem of her sleeve. "Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad. But he’s just so infuriating. Like I barely get to hang out with him, as you can tell, but even when I used to try hang out with him at home, he’s brush me off and get annoyed, so I stopped. I don’t doubt that he loves me, but he makes it so difficult. He’s not at all abusive, but he makes me feel so ignored."

Johnny frowned slightly, his gaze thoughtful. "So he’s just really distant…doesn’t give you the time of day?"

"Exactly," Y/n said quietly. "I’m just a constant bother to him."

Johnny nodded, leaning forward slightly. "You want him to show up for you, but it feels like he won’t."

Y/n swallowed hard, the truth of his words striking her. "Yeah. And I don’t know how to deal with that anymore. I keep trying, but…it’s exhausting."

They sat in silence for a beat, the sound of the next episode playing in the background.

"You ever feel like...things are just never gonna get better with someone?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny was quiet for a moment before answering. "Yeah. I think everyone feels that way at some point. But it doesn’t always mean things are stuck forever. Sometimes, you’ve gotta figure out what you need first, and if you can’t get it from that person, you might need to find it elsewhere."

Y/n looked over at him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "I don’t know if he’ll ever be the dad I need him to be."

Johnny turned toward her, his expression serious but warm. "Sometimes people can’t be what we want them to be. That’s not on you. But it’s okay to take care of yourself. You don’t have to keep putting yourself through it if it’s just hurting you."

For a moment, Y/n didn’t say anything, letting his words sink in. It was hard to accept, but hearing it from Johnny felt...freeing, like he understood in a way not many people did.

"Thanks, Johnny," she said softly, offering a small, sincere smile. "Really."

He smiled back, nudging her lightly with his shoulder. "Anytime. Back to Spongebob?"

Y/n chuckled and nodded as she turned her attention back to the screen. It wasn’t the day she planned, but sitting there, watching cartoons with Johnny, she realized it was exactly what she needed.

Johnny leaned back into the couch, pretending to focus on the show playing in front of them. But his eyes drifted, almost involuntarily, to Y/n. She was sitting quietly, her gaze fixed on the screen, but he could tell her mind was still elsewhere, probably circling back to her dad. He had seen that look before, in the mirror of all places.

It wasn’t the first time he found himself just...watching her. Not in a creepy way, but in those moments where he couldn’t help but notice little things, like how the corners of her lips twitched up slightly when something made her smile, even if it was brief. Or how she played with her fingers at random times. It was those small details that caught his attention, and sometimes, if he wasn’t careful, it caught too much of his attention.

You need to stop looking at her like that, Johnny.

The thought hit him hard, like a warning he had to keep reminding himself of. She was younger than him, too young for him to be having moments like this. But no matter how many times he told himself that, there was something about her that made it difficult to look away.

Her dad clearly didn’t see it. Didn’t see how much she needed someone to be there for her, to just show up. And Johnny…well, he clearly wasn’t her dad, wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a bartender, but damn it, he could be there.

If no one else was going to step up, he was willing to. He couldn’t stand the thought of her sitting alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t coming.

He hated that she felt this way, that someone so vibrant, who could light up a room with her laugh, was carrying this weight around like it was hers alone to bear.

And as much as he knew he shouldn’t get too involved, there was a part of him that didn’t care. If she needed someone, he was more than ready to fill that role, even if it meant risking a little heartache of his own.

Before he could get too lost in his thoughts, Y/n turned toward him, catching his eye with a soft smile that made something stir in his chest. 

"You okay over there?" she asked, her voice light, but her gaze curious. 

Johnny smirked, pushing aside his deeper thoughts for now. "Yeah. Just thinking about your choice of entertainment." 

Y/n laughed quietly. "It’s silly and doesn’t take itself too seriously. Always brings me comfort." 

He smiled back. Johnny realized he didn’t mind spending the rest of his day like this, just sitting beside her, watching silly cartoons, and being exactly where he wanted to be.

-

A/N: BAM! Part one out the gate Again, these fics ended up wAY too long for no reason, so I had to seperate them into different parts, but shouldn't be a big deal, lol I hope you enjoyed this part and read the next two :) Thank you for reading 💚

[redroomreflections]

II HANDS II HEAVEN 2

Notes: I listened to Beyonce's album and wanted to write something to this song

Summary: Natasha Romanoff and Reader reluctantly team up for a couples retreat mission. Despite initial resistance, they find themselves drawn together by unexpected circumstances and shared experiences.

Masterlist | General Masterlist

w/c: 4.5k

Hour 1: 

The soft click of buttons being pressed echoed all around you as you searched for a suitable station. The radio's static hissed between each channel, punctuating your frustrated tsk of disapproval.

"Why can't you keep it on one thing?" Natasha's voice broke the silence, her annoyance noticeable. It was the first thing she had said to you thus far. She was committed to the cold and unimpressed demeanor. 

"I haven't heard a good song so far," You grumbled, settling back into your seat. "I'm bored. Do you have Spotify?"

Natasha shook her head curtly, her response brief and to the point.

"Okay, Apple Music then?" You pressed, determined to find a solution to your boredom.

Natasha's expression remained unchanged as she replied with another terse shake of her head, making it clear she wasn't interested in engaging in conversation.

"You do know you'll have to talk to me at some point?" You asked, turning to face Natasha, hoping to elicit some kind of response from her.

"I dread the moment it comes," Natasha mumbled, her tone tinged with a hint of resignation as if speaking more to herself than to you.

"Are you always this rude and cold to your teammates, or do you reserve that for me?" you tilted your head, your irritation beginning to bubble to the surface.

"I treat everyone according to their merits," Natasha replied evenly, her expression unreadable.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You frowned. 

"It means I assess each situation and act accordingly," Natasha replied cryptically, her gaze steady.

"Okay," You whistled, a hint of frustration in your tone. "I'm not a fan of kissing ass, so I guess we won't ever talk then." With a resigned sigh, you turned to look out of the window, feeling drained by the interaction. Despite your initial excitement about joining missions and working with Natasha, the reality proved less than enjoyable.

Hour 3 

Three hours with no good music or anyone to talk to. For the average person, it might break them. Not literally, but it's difficult to remain silent for such an extended period. However, for two spies, the task is easy. Natasha keeps her eyes steady on the road, her hands firm on the wheel, and the gas pedal at an easygoing pace. She's actually a decent driver, not that you expected anything less.

Conversely, you have resorted to counting the cell phone towers you encounter along the road. That, and the number of horses you see. It's a mundane task, but it helps pass the time as the miles stretch endlessly.

"I'm not the enemy," You said softly, breaking the silence again.

At first, it seemed that Natasha hadn't heard you. Her posture remained unchanged, giving no indication that she had acknowledged your words.

"I said I'm not the enemy," You repeated, a note of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Really? I read your file," Natasha shrugged, her tone matter-of-fact. "It doesn't paint exactly a friendly picture."

"That was supposed to be private," You raised a brow, feeling a twinge of frustration at the breach of privacy.

"As if they would allow someone like you on the team without warning all of us," Natasha pointed out, her gaze still fixed on the road ahead.

"Someone like me," You repeated, tasting the words on your tongue. It didn't sit well with you. "They allowed someone like you on the team and turned out just fine."

Natasha's expression remained impassive as she glanced briefly at you before returning her focus to the road. "Actions speak louder than words," she replied curtly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Really? How much did you have to clean from your ledger before they finally saw you as one of them?” You asked. 

Natasha's reply was a simple, nonchalant shrug, but her silence spoke volumes. It was clear from her demeanor that she wasn't fond of you, and you could sense the tension lingering between you like a heavy cloud. Despite your attempts to make things a little less tense between you,  Natasha's guarded stance remained unchanged, leaving you with the unsettling feeling that maybe some divides were too deep to mend.

Hour 5 

Pit stops are always a welcome break from the monotony of the road. After spending so much time in close quarters with Natasha, you practically leap out of the car as soon as it comes to a stop. Unclicking your seatbelt, you hastily rush out of the vehicle before she even puts it in the park.

The gas station was surprisingly crowded for the time of day, but you paid no mind as you barreled through the door and made a beeline for the bathroom. You scrunched your nose at the sight of the less-than-ideal conditions—rusty and tainted yellow seats—but there was no time to be prissy about cleanliness. Squatting over the toilet, you made do with what you had, knowing that as long as it got the job done, you could steam your lady bits later if needed. 

As Natasha took on the task of pumping gas, she locked the car doors before heading inside the gas station. She grabbed a few energy drinks from the cooler, anticipating that you'd be on the road for a few hours longer before calling it a night. 

Approaching the attendant, Natasha paid with cash, dropping a fifty-dollar bill onto the counter without hesitation. She was accustomed to taking care of things herself, and this small gesture was just another example of her practicality and self-sufficiency. From the corner of her eye, she could see you exit the bathroom and begin to peruse the aisles. Figures you’d take longer in here too. 

You immediately gravitated towards the trashy magazines, scanning the shelves for the latest editions of Us Weekly. Picking up a few copies along with a crossword puzzle, you indulged in some guilty pleasures to pass the time. Satisfied with your selection, you moved on to the snack aisle, grabbing a plethora of junk food to ease your mind during the long drive ahead.

As you were finishing up your shopping, a man approached you. He was not half bad, but at least ten years your senior.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing," He said, his tone oozing with charm. “Are you from around here?”

"Well, thank you," You replied, flashing him a coy smile as you played along with his flirtation. "No, I'm just passing through," you added, subtly keeping the conversation light and casual.

“What a shame,” He shook his head. “We’ve never had someone so pretty like you in town before.”

You chuckled lightly at his compliment, the corner of your lips curling into a playful smirk. "Well, I guess it's your lucky day then," you teased, enjoying the brief flirtation despite knowing it was all in jest.

The atmosphere suddenly shifted at the sound of a throat loudly clearing behind him that caught your attention. Without needing confirmation, you already knew who it is. Natasha stood there, her expression visibly ticked off as she looked between the two of you. 

"Oh, hey you," You said,  trying to diffuse the tension with a casual greeting. "I was just talking to my friend," you added, quickly glancing at his name tag and noting that he's an employee here. "Monty."

Natasha's eyes narrowed slightly as she caught onto your subtle attempt to downplay the situation. Stepping forward, she interjected smoothly, "Actually, Monty, my wife and I are just passing through. Isn't that right?" She emphasized the word 'wife' with a hint of amusement. The slight raise of your brow indicated you were impressed with her. 

You couldn’t resist the urge to push her buttons just a little further, knowing exactly which nickname would get under her skin. With a mischievous glint in your eye, you turned to Natasha and said, "That’s right, babe," You passed Nataha all of your items to carry. “Thank you for the compliment, Monty. Gonna take the old ball and chain here back on the road.” You gestured to Natasha as she rolled her eyes. 

You walked away with Natasha hot on your heels, feeling the weight of her disapproving gaze. As she passed the items to the attendant and dropped another twenty on the counter, her frown deepened.

"I can't believe you," Natasha shook her head, clearly unimpressed with your behavior.

"What, marriages aren't always sunshine and rainbows," you shrugged nonchalantly, flashing her a grin before adding, "Oh, and these too," as you gestured to a pack of cigarettes behind the attendant.

Natasha's disapproving look intensified as she glanced at the cigarettes. "You know those kill, right?" she remarked, her tone laced with concern.

You met Natasha's disapproving gaze with a playful twinkle in your eye. "Ah, but where's the thrill in life without a little risk?" you quipped, shrugging off her concern as you reached for the pack of cigarettes. You shot Natasha a cheeky grin, unfazed by her concern. "Don't worry, honey, I'll write you into my will," you jested, playfully taunting her as you grabbed your bag full of goodies.

With a final wave, you strode out of the store, the jingle of the doorbell emphasizing your exit.

Natasha rolled her eyes at your remark for what felt like the millionth time.  "Don't bother," she retorted dryly. She followed in your footsteps only to find you taking selfies with one of the new cellphones Steve provided both of you. 

“What are you doing?” She asked. 

You glanced up from your selfies, a mischievous grin spreading across your face as you held up the phone. "Just documenting our thrilling adventure," you quipped, snapping another photo before turning the camera towards Natasha. "Say cheese!"

Natasha sighed, walking over to the gas pump to finish filling the tank. 

“You know, for a spy, you’re too stiff,” You commented. “This is to show off. We can’t be newlyweds if we don’t have any pictures.” 

Natasha cast a skeptical glance over her shoulder as she finished up at the pump. "I fail to see how selfies contribute to our cover," she remarked dryly, her tone indicating her reluctance to participate in your impromptu photoshoot. Nonetheless, she didn't protest further, knowing that maintaining the illusion of a happy couple is crucial for the success of the mission.

Back on the road again. 

Hour 8 

As you lazily flipped through the pages of yet another US Weekly magazine, the last hour seemed to blur into a haze of crosswords and candy consumption. Your feet rested against the dash of the car, a piece of licorice hanging between your lips as you absentmindedly hummed along to the music playing in the background.

"It's amazing what she thinks of marriage," you mumbled to yourself, your attention caught by the latest gossip surrounding Jennifer Lopez's love life. "It's like celebrities don't care about the sanctity of marriage or something."

“You say this as if we aren’t doing the same thing right now,” Natasha commented. 

“She speaks,” You chewed the last of your licorice. “It’s not the same thing. We are doing this for the greater good of the people.”

“If you say so,” Natasha shrugged. “Get your feet off the dash.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully at Natasha's instruction, but complied nonetheless, retracting your feet from the dashboard with a sigh. "Fine, fine," you conceded, settling back into your seat and returning your attention to the magazine in your hands. "Oh, a couple's questionnaire. We should do this. It might help with our story better," you suggested eagerly.

Natasha's expression remains unchanged, a hint of reluctance flickering in her eyes as she considers your proposal. "I suppose it couldn't hurt," she gave in reluctantly, her tone betraying her lack of enthusiasm for the task.

You reached into the glove box for a pen before writing both of your names on the page. “Okay, first question. What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?”

Natasha's response was simple and to the point. "Strawberry," she answered. 

You couldn't help but recoil in mock horror. "Strawberry? What, no one likes strawberry," you exclaimed, feigning disgust at her choice.

“Well I do,” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“Mine is chocolate,” You answered. “What are some of your healthy and unhealthy habits?”

Natasha paused for a moment, considering the question carefully before responding. "Healthy habits? I prioritize physical fitness and maintain a disciplined training regimen," she began, her tone matter-of-fact. "As for unhealthy habits, I have a tendency to keep my emotions guarded, which can sometimes lead to a lack of emotional expression and connection with others," she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of self-awareness.

“Self aware queen,” You scribbled into the blank space. 

“Yours is smoking right?” Natasha titled her chin to the pack of cigarettes sitting in your lap. 

“Yes, and no,” You said quietly. 

“What does that mean?”

You glanced down at the pack of cigarettes in your lap, a faint frown crossing your features as Natasha brought up the topic.

Natasha arched an eyebrow, prompting you to elaborate on your ambiguous answer.

"It means... it's complicated," You explained with a sigh, hesitant to delve into the complexities of your relationship with smoking. 

“Something your wife should know right?” 

Natasha's remark struck a chord, and you offered a small nod in response.

"Yeah, something my wife should know," You agreed, acknowledging the validity of her point.

As Natasha waited for an explanation, you took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking.

"After I defected, and even a little before, I needed something to calm me and keep me busy," You began, your voice filled with a hint of vulnerability. "I tried a lot of things—painting, reading, training. But... nothing seemed to stick quite like smoking did," you admitted reluctantly, feeling a pang of shame at the admission.

Natasha nodded in understanding. 

“What’s your favorite position,” You asked suddenly. 

Natasha's eyebrow arched in surprise at your unexpected question, her gaze shifting to meet yours as she processed your words.

"What? That's not in the book," She remarked,  a hint of amusement coloring her tone.

You offer a playful smirk in response, shrugging nonchalantly. "You're right, it's not. But it's something a wife should know," you quip, the mischievous glint in your eyes betraying your playful intent.

There’s a few seconds of silence before Natasha decided to answer. Though you’re not sure if the answer is her truth or not. You suppose its not for you to challenge. 

“Missionary,” Natasha answered. 

“Missionary?” You asked incredously. 

“What? What’s wrong with that?” She glanced over at you. 

“Nothing, nothing,” You hurriedly smoothed it over. You debated on your next comment but decided to anyway. “It’s just… so vanilla.”

“Vanilla can be nice,” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s not supposed to be my answer. It’s Joan’s answer.” 

“Joan?” You questioned. Natasha reached into the glove box to pull out two black wallets.

You took the IDs from Natasha's outstretched hand, examining them briefly before nodding in acknowledgment. "Joan and Alexis White," you repeat, committing the names to memory as Natasha provides you with the fabricated backstory.

"We got married last year in Turks and Caicos," Natasha continues, her tone matter-of-fact. "We did a no electronics wedding. Completely unplugged, so barely any pictures. We met in college. You studied psychology and you’re halfway through your master's in clinical counseling. You took a couple of years off school to take care of your sick parents. I finished law school and became an attorney."

You take in the details of the fabricated narrative, filing them away for future reference. "Interesting," you echo, your response neutral as you consider the implications of your new identities. 

“I know a guy,” Natasha adjusted her position in the seat. 

“Can I ask you something?” You turned in your seat to fully look at her. 

“I thought we were already doing that?” Natasha said. 

“No, but off the record,” You sighed. “Why do you hate me?”

Natasha's expression remained stoic as she met your gaze, her eyes betraying a hint of guardedness. There was a moment of silence as Natasha considered her response, her expression unreadable as she chose her words carefully.

“I know you consider me a lazy, untrained spy but…” 

Natasha's features softened ever so slightly, a flicker of empathy glimmering in her eyes as she met your gaze.

"I don't hate you," She responded quietly, her tone gentle yet firm. "And I don't consider you lazy or untrained. You have your strengths, just as I have mine. We're a team, whether we like it or not. But we need to learn to trust each other if we're going to make this work." 

“I’m not who you all think I am,” You said. “You read my file. My past is…”

"I know we all have our secrets," She replied gently, her tone surprisingly understanding. "And sometimes, our past doesn't define who we are in the present. Everyone has their reasons.” 

Indeed they do. 

Hour 12 

As sunlight still bathed the winding roads, both of you acknowledged the exhaustion of the day and the need for a break. Pulling up to the nearest Holiday Inn, Natasha brought the car to a stop. You had just drifted into sleep, your head leaning against the window. Natasha hesitated to disturb your rest, admiring the peacefulness that enveloped you in slumber.

She hadn’t known before that you could talk this much. She tried to push down the feelings of guilt she felt as she thought about what you said earlier. She doesn’t hate you. She's simply not fond of you or new people in general. She read your file which she doesn’t regret but what she found in there was a story much like her own. 

A lonely kid with nowhere to go. A convenient organization willing to pay whatever to take advantage of you. It’s clear you hold more guilt and pain over your past but things are still so new. She remembers feeling that way before. Though she may not express it openly, Natasha acknowledged the complexity of your situation and the depth of your pain. She understood the burden of carrying secrets and regrets, and she felt a twinge of empathy for the vulnerable, lonely kid she saw reflected in you.

Startling awake as you sensed the car no longer moving, you opened your eyes to find Natasha quickly averting her gaze. The realization dawned on you that you've arrived at your destination for the night. Despite the abrupt awakening, you felt a sense of relief at the prospect of rest after the long journey. 

“We can crash here for the night,” Natasha announced, unfastening her seatbelt. “Book a room or two.”

“Sounds good,” You agreed with a weary nod, gathering your belongings as you followed Natasha into the hotel.

Approaching the front desk, Natasha inquired about booking a couple of rooms for the night. However, the receptionist, Lou, delivered an unwelcome message.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we only have one room available for the time being,” Lou explained, her fingers tapping on the keyboard to check the inventory. “It’s a double bed room. There’s a convention in town, so we are all booked up at this time.”

Natasha's expression tightened slightly at the news, a hint of frustration flashing in her eyes before she composed herself.

“Well, that’s less than ideal,” she remarked, her tone tinged with disappointment. Turning to you, she added, “Looks like we’ll have to make do with sharing a room for the night.”

“Fine with me,” You hiked your carry on bag higher onto your shoulders.

As Natasha and you ascended to the third floor, anticipation for a good night's rest began to build. Upon entering your room, you found it surprisingly spacious, with enough room for two double beds.

Eager to freshen up after the long ride, you wasted no time in dropping your bags in front of one of the beds. Without another word, you made a beeline for the bathroom, eager to indulge in a well-deserved shower.

"Don't worry, I'll just wait here," Natasha assured, her tone carrying a hint of amusement as she neatly stacked her belongings in a corner of the room.

Observing the surroundings under the guise of gathering ice for the room, Natasha familiarized herself with the layout and exits. Satisfied with her findings, she returned to the room only to find you rummaging through your bags, clad in nothing but a towel.

"Sorry, I was in such a hurry but I felt icky," You explained, glancing up at her sheepishly. You sat on the bed, pulling a pair of thin silk sleep shorts onto your hips before adding a sports bra. You were still damp but you felt fresh. 

“No problem, “ Natasha dismissed. “I’ll just go…” She hiked a thumb towards the bathroom. 

She stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her before she sighed. 

At least it wasn’t a single bed. 

-------> part 3

[velvetseahorse]

Guessing ascendant nakshatras

Singer-Songwriter and Musician Raye C-rated birth time gives her

Swati ☉

Ashlesha ☽

Purva phalguni ↑

Purva phalguni ☊ Purva Bhadrapada ♒︎ ☋

From my own observation, I believe that Raye may actually have uttara phalguni ascendant.

Raye is often compared to Uttara Phalguni ☉ Amy Winehouse, from her singing style to her physical appearance. Both share an emotionally tinged, romantic, and jazzy approach to music, as well as a mutual love for vintage glamour, body-hugging mini dresses, and bold red lips and nails. While watching a Raye interview, I noticed they also share a similar wide, toothy smile. Many of their songs focus on themes of romance and melancholic self-reflection.

Raye appearance compared to Uttara Phalguni ☽ Natives Lea Massari and Nicki Minaj

Uttara Phalguni is a prominent nakshatra among many acclaimed and talented songwriters and musicians, including Amy Winehouse, Fiona Apple, Nick Cave, Lorde, Kurt Cobain, and PJ Harvey. The Phalgunis are highly creative and analytical nakshatras, known for their ability to craft art that reflects a wide range of scenarios and emotions they or others have experienced and excel at creating lyrical poetry that resonates deeply. (Hence the Mercury/Sun rulership and Leo ruling both these nakshatras the sigh ruling the 5th house of creativity) Similarly, Raye has showcased her exceptional songwriting talent by penning songs for big artists such as Beyoncé, Rihanna, John Legend, and more.

However, this is just my opinion, and Raye could very well be Purva Phalguni. Still, I see too many Uttara Phalguni attributes in her. She doesn’t have any Uttara Phalguni placements in her chart, and her birth time is C-rated, which leads me to believe the timing might be off, and she’s actually an Uttara Phalguni ascendant.

Sidenote* Amy Winehouse has Venus as her Lagnesh in Ashlesha, which happens to be Raye’s Moon nakshatra. The Lagnesh is highly influential and prominent in shaping one’s personality and creative expression. I’ve noticed that many Ashlesha natives, like Raye and Lana Del Rey, seem to draw inspiration from and be influenced by Amy Winehouse.

[himasgod]

Venti x Reader

Where you hear his songs on a starry night, and he tells you about freedom.

Night fell upon Mondstadt with a peaceful calm. Stars twinkled in the clear sky, and the city shone with a golden light from the taverns and homes. The wind carried with it the whisper of ancient songs, and the soft melody of a lyre echoed in the central square.

There, under the dim light of the streetlamps, was Venti. With his trademark cap and mischievous smile, he played his lyre with his eyes closed, as if he wanted the breeze to carry his music to the farthest corners. The few passersby who still wandered the streets stopped to listen, captivated by the beauty of his song.

You stood among the crowd, drawn by the melody as if the wind itself had guided you there. It was not the first time you had seen him; this wandering bard was known in Mondstadt, but few knew where he came from or where he went when he disappeared for days. There was something about his music, the way he smiled at the world as if he held a secret no one else knew, that made you want to get to know him more.

Tonight, however, there was something different about his playing. Though his lyre was still as lovely as ever, the melody was slower, almost melancholic, as if the joy he always exuded was tinged by a veil of sadness.

Once he finished his song, the small crowd applauded, and he bowed slightly. You hesitated for a moment, but eventually approached as the others dispersed.

“Venti,” you called out to him, in a softer tone than you had planned. He looked up, surprised that anyone stayed after his performance.

“Oh! Good evening.” he replied with a mischievous smile. “Have you come to listen to my songs or to buy me a drink?”

You rolled your eyes at his joke. Though he was a bard known for his love of alcohol, there was something deeper about him that intrigued you.

“Actually, I came because…” you hesitated, not quite sure how to put into words what you felt. “Your song tonight… sounded different. More… sad.”

For an instant, something in Venti’s green eyes seemed to flicker, like a star about to fade. But his smile quickly returned, as if the melancholy had never been there.

“Oh, that… is nothing, my lady. Sometimes even the wind needs a pause to remember what it has lost,” he replied with a light laugh, but there was something in his tone that didn’t quite convince you.

Without thinking, you took a seat next to him at the edge of the fountain. The night breeze was cool and smelled of apples and wildflowers. You said nothing else, letting the silence between you speak for itself. And surprisingly, Venti didn’t speak either, just looking up at the stars.

“You know? What happened to that young man?” he said suddenly, breaking the stillness. “A long time ago, there was a young man who longed to fly, but he never could. He had no wings, and the city where he lived was surrounded by storms that prevented the birds from reaching him. But he never stopped dreaming of the skies.”

You turned to look at him. You had heard rumors about Venti’s songs, which told stories about Barbatos and his kingdom, but this story sounded different, more personal.

“What happened to that young man?” you asked.

Venti let out a sigh, and for a moment, his face turned thoughtful, almost sad.

“He fought for his freedom,” he whispered, in a tone you hadn’t heard from him before. “But, like many of the best songs, his story didn’t have a happy ending.”

The wind blew softly, ruffling his hair. You realized there was something Venti wasn’t telling you, something he kept deep in his heart.

“Why do you always sing about freedom?” You asked, softly. You didn’t want to push him, but you wanted to understand.

For a moment, Venti looked at you with those green eyes that shone like emeralds under the moonlight. Then, he let out a light laugh, though not as cheerful as the previous ones.

“Because, dear lady, freedom is the only thing truly worth protecting. But sometimes, even the freely flowing wind feels trapped,” he confessed, before looking up at the stars. “And there are days when even a spirit like me wonders if freedom is really enough.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. There was such a deep sadness in his words that it took your breath away. Venti, that carefree bard who always laughed and joked, seemed to carry an invisible weight that you couldn’t see, but you clearly felt in your heart.

Without thinking, you reached up and touched his hand. He was startled at first, but he didn’t pull his hand away. The breeze grew softer around him, as if responding to your touch.

“You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Venti,” you told him quietly. “Even the wind needs a place to return to.”

For a moment, Venti was silent. Then, slowly, a genuine smile, devoid of his typical mischief, appeared on his face.

“Maybe you’re right,” he whispered. “Maybe… there is a place for me after all.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. They both stood there, under the stars, the wind still blowing softly around them, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

In the end, even the wind needs someone to listen.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[hwangism143]

── SH☆☆TING STARS (PROFILES 2) STRAY KIDS

synopsis being the ceo of a marketing and pr consultancy service at just 25 in the cutthroat Korean entertainment industry is not easy. especially if the leader of the group of your first big project is adamant that he does not need your help. but is that all he thinks?

pairing idol!chan x ceo!fem-reader

genre smau, lowkey enemies to lovers, coworkers au, fluff, comfort, hurt, angst

warnings none

screenshot count 8

a/n actually changbin listens to beabadoobee irl too, he said so himself (to me)

previous | masterlist | next

Bang Chan - leader of stray kids. produces their music and (tries) to manage the members.

Lee Minho - cat dad. that's it, that's the description.

Seo Changbin - rapper, producer and biggest hype boy of all female acts. extra member of every girl group.

Hwang Hyunjin - rapper, dancer and lover of all things love. very artistic and your go to for love, dating advice and sometimes gossip.

Han Jisung - ace of the group. acts like the baby even though he's the second oldest of 00z. the stylist noona's fav.

Lee Felix - literal definition of sunshine personified. practically has an inbuilt sadness detection radar and will cheer you up at any cost.

Kim Seungmin - self proclaimed dandy boy but actually a menace. he is not afraid of some tough love and stating the truth as it is.

Yang Jeongin - the actual baby of the group. apple of everyone's eyes and can do no wrong (except the energy drink incident).

̗̀➛ current permanent taglist:

@linoalwaysknows @moon0fthenight @hyulino @palindrome969

@squishybinnieee @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @stayinlimbo @farfromsugafanfic

@hongshuaknow @cookiesandcreammy @kayleefriedchicken @toomanybiasz

@seooj444 @soaplickerrr @nappynapnaps @lia-linny @yrqrnc

@calypsohan @minluvly

(if your name is in red please check your tumblr settings; it won't let me tag you)

: ̗̀➛ sh**ting stars taglist (15/30):

@missvanjii @bluesungology @dollce-exe @astraystayrec @4linos

@sellomaybe @softquokka @idiotmaterial @chuuyaobsessed @lixies-favorite-cookie

@chlodavids @ravengxbss @sona1800 @eridanuswave @wickedbutlovely

(reply under any smau post or send an ask to be added; taglist limit may increase upon request.)

[comatosebunny09]

fun-sized | leon k.

summary: somehow, musing about being short lead to an obsession with leon’s boobs.

genres: romance, humor

cw: suggestive themes, reader is short, leon is a cheeky little sh!t, stream of consciousness, not proofread

music inspo: if - r5

Being short isn’t all bad. Sometimes, it has its perks.

Strangers pity you in the supermarket, for example. Watch with fond smiles and swelling hearts while you struggle to fetch a box of Froot Loops from the topmost shelf—it would be the last box with marshmallows, too. 

As your poor little calves sting and your fingers strain and you whimper pitifully for added effect, a leggy gentleman often swoops in to save the day.

You don’t have to duck beneath low tree branches when jogging through the park, either. Not at all fazed when your taller coworkers play limbo to avoid a splinter to the face.

Being fun-sized also comes in handy when dodging chainsaws and blades on a mission. Helps that you’re an agile little spider monkey, but you don’t have to do some fancy footwork to avoid having your head lopped off. You can simply duck.

Sure, you have to climb onto your countertops to reach the spice rack. Need a step ladder to retrieve plates from the cupboard. And maybe you have to put a little more oomph into your jumps to reach the pullup bar at the precinct. But the best part of being petite is, well...

Having the best view in the house.

That view being Leon S. Kennedy’s bodacious tits.

They flex invitingly in your peripheral whilst he reaches overhead to fetch a coffee mug. Doesn’t help that his shoulder rigs cup his bosom just right. And, of course, his dress shirt is tapered, accentuating the shape of his Adonis-like pecs.

Yeah, you could be a little more subtle with your ogling. Nearly scorch yourself with piping coffee, too preoccupied with Leon’s nipples that pebble in the cool air conditioning. But, he’s warm-bodied and virile beside you. Exudes the heady aroma of gun oil and cashmere. Stubble dapples his chin, and the golden slither of collarbone playing peek-a-boo with your vision beneath his button-up, well…

It takes every bit of you not to bite your lip, grateful the break-room’s free of any other occupants. It’s embarrassing enough eying your superior like a piece of prime rib.

Leon’s Adam’s apple bobs, causing you to instinctively swallow. Don’t even know when you stopped breathing, static filling the space between your ears. The definitive click of the cupboard being shut brings you back to the present. And you would nearly leap out of your skin, caught like the proverbial child rifling through the cookie jar.

His chuckle tinges the air, warm milk and honey to your ears. Tingles in the tips of your toes. Sparkles in the crown of your head whilst your cheeks flood with heat.

“Think you dropped something,” Leon drawls on the edge of your ear. Incredibly close, the heat radiating off his torso, branding your arm as he reaches around to pluck the coffee pot from your shaky fingers.

“W-what’d I drop?” you sputter, scanning the floor like a fool. Your gaze settles on Leon’s chest when another chuckle cascades from his lips. When a battle-worn finger creeps beneath your chin, angling your head back. His eyes swim with mischief, glittering like sea glass.

“Your jaw, sweetheart,” he croons as if taking part in a naughty secret.

You glimpse Leon’s crow’s feet before he draws away. Miss the warmth he emits, your voice corked in your throat. You watch pathetically, rooted to the floor whilst he ambles towards the break-room’s entrance, a hand stuffed in his pocket.

Before he crosses the threshold, Leon jests over his shoulder, “Gonna watch me like that; you should buy me dinner first.”

It’s out before you can think, hopefulness prickling your limbs. “W-what do you like to eat?”

It serves its purpose, stopping him in his tracks. The smirk he dons when he faces you again siphons your breath.

He stalks towards you before you can process things, soundless as a feline. Places his mug on the counter, spilling over you like liquid fire. Your back collides with the wall; didn’t even notice how close you were to it. Shiver as he sweeps an errant lock of hair behind your ear, suddenly caging you in with brawny arms on either side of your head.

You shrink beneath his power whilst he leans in. Jerk when he gathers your cheek into his palm, leaning down to whisper obscenities against the pulse point behind your ear.

Your knees buckle, and your lashes shutter from the absurdity of it all. From the sodden promises murmured against your skin, causing your tongue to loll about in your mouth.

Leon departs after whittling you down. Leaves you boneless, every egotistical ounce of him filtering from the room alongside him.

“So, dinner at seven?” you quip to his retreating back in the hallway, battling the thundering of your heart in your rib cage.

[ledder4]

taskforce 141

womenpov

wordcount:2357

Word spread fast enough of the collective interest in y/n, boys will be boys and locker rooms are made for talking. They welcomed her to the team six months ago, and she has occupied many after-mission conversations for the last four. Of course, they're all interested for their own reasons, but they found a common goal: her submission.

When the news broke of mandatory time off, Soap and Gaz all but dropped to their knees and begged Station Chief Laswell to let them stay on base for the duration, badgering her until she relented. Once she said yes to them, she couldn’t refuse the others, and suddenly five men are sulking around base with nothing to do while their muse runs off on solo missions.

They all have a pretty good idea of what they want to do with this time off, though.

8 days into their supposed ‘vacation’, the apple of their eye finally had a night off, which Soap took as an opportunity to invite her to drinks in the common room. It started innocently enough, he was just inviting her for drinks with the guys, but with a week of agonizing nothingness under their belt, that purity doesn’t last.

Their shared agenda quickly became apparent: feed her drinks and loosen her up. It didn't take long for them to turn her into a giggly, drunken mess, not with them all subtly compelling her toward excess. Soap started playing music from his phone, pulling a stumbling y/n onto her feet to dance with him, and it only escalated from there. Careful touches and gentle teasing quickly turned into fervent groping and whispered provocations. And once he had her like putty in his hands, he decided to put on a little spectacle of his own orchestration.

Which brings us to now.

Soap sits cross-legged in front of her, watching as their lovely recruit humps and grinds against a pillow on the floor. A fixed grin is adorning his lips and a red tinge has settled on his face, a testament to the adrenaline-liquor mixture that is coursing through him. He can't believe he got her to do this. And seeing her like this, touching her like this, it's more than just a rush. His fingers trail over her body, tracing the swell of her breasts and teasing her nipples, worshiping her delicate curves and all her little scars with a reverent touch. So perfect, Soap muses silently, his eyes trained on the subtle nuances of her pleasure. Such a beautiful sight.

Seated adjacent to Soap, Gaz leans in closer to her, guiding her movements with a tight grip on her left hip. His fingers press into her skin, forcing her to stay in rhythm. “Don’t go slowing down on us now, sweetheart. We’re just getting started,” he murmurs, a mellifluous lilt to his voice. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, the pulsing in his jeans rendering him acutely aware of every beat of his heart. He isn't sure how much longer he can half-participate, he's twitching at the thought of pounding into her.

Two thin wisps of smoke linger over a nearby couch where Price and König are seated, languidly puffing at cigars, amber-colored whiskey swirling in a glass in the older man’s hand. They're both completely rapt by the performance. Price is content to be a passive observer, allowing the boys to have their fun for the moment. He’ll be filling one of those pretty holes soon enough. If you asked him right now, he would say that they need this. Standard rest and recovery aren’t going to cut it. His motivations for allowing this are selfish too, though. He is but a man, and what man wouldn't want to witness the transformation of a pretty, respectable woman into a creature of primal desire?

Less keen on staying uninvolved, König’s fingers twitch as he taps off the ash on his cigar. His eyes flick between y/n and the smoldering vice tucked between his digits, contemplating for a second before it is stamped out in the ashtray. He pulls his hood down from its perch on the bridge of his nose, enveloping the sliver of his features once exposed back into the sanctity of cover. He moves to join Soap and Gaz, sighing softly as he lowers himself to the floor. “Can’t let you hunds have all the fun,” he quips with a chuckle, tracing a path along her thigh. His other hand comes up to her visage, caressing her bottom lip with his thumb, then his index finger. “Look at you, Maus. You’re doing so well for us, putting on a show.”

Ghost’s fingertip dances lightly across the rim of his glass as he watches the scene unfold, his broad frame casually leaning against a counter on the other side of the room. He is caught between curiosity about where this goes on its own and the desire to walk over there now so he can drag her back to the couch and fuck her properly. Such a good little whore, his mind whirs as he reaches down to adjust the painfully tight bulge growing in his jeans. She truly is a sight to see when she’s like this, he can't help but wonder how pretty she’ll look when he's gripping her throat and spitting in her mouth.

The room is thick with the heady mix of lust, alcohol, and testosterone. The air is charged, and the tension is palpable. Every touch, every word, and every movement seems to reverberate through the room. Soap’s fingers graze her nipple again, tugging gently, sending a shudder through her body. The moan that escapes her lips is ragged, needy.

Gaz chuckles, his grip tightening for just a moment, making her gasp. “That’s it, baby. Let us hear you. We love it when you make that sound.” He leans in, his lips brushing against her ear as he speaks, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down her spine. “You’re ours now, aren’t you? You’re going to do everything we tell you, aren’t you?”

The question hangs in the air, and she can’t help but nod, her cheeks flushed, her eyes searching for approval.

Price, watching from the sidelines, can’t help but let out a quiet, approving hum. Gaz’s words are a command, and she obeys without hesitation. He’s always admired that in a partner, that willingness to submit to the whims of another. He’s not surprised to find this trait in their new recruit, but it does make him all the more eager to claim her.

König’s fingers tease along the edge of her panties, dipping just a little, brushing against the slick heat beneath. He looks up at her, his eyes hidden behind the black cloth of his hood, but his voice is gentle. “You’re a good girl, Maus. Now, let’s see how good you are at swallowing.”

Ghost, unable to resist any longer, strides over to join the group. His voice is rough, commanding, as he speaks. “Get rid of those, now.” He gestures to her clothing, and she hastily shimmies out of the confines of her pants, leaving her in nothing but her bra and lace thong.

Gaz grins, pushing her down onto her back, her legs spread wide, her wanton display causing his cock to strain even more against his pants. Soap, meanwhile, has pulled off his own trousers, his erection standing proudly at attention. He moves between her legs, rubbing the tip of his cock against her swollen clit, teasing her.

Gaz’s hand slides between her legs, his fingers finding her slick entrance. He pushes one inside, then another, stretching her, preparing her for the onslaught. “Feels good, doesn't it, babe?” His thumb brushes against her clit, rubbing in circles, sending waves of pleasure through her.

Ghost, unable to wait any longer, rips open his fly and frees his throbbing cock. He positions himself between her legs, guiding the head of his cock against her entrance. He looks her in the eye, his expression a mix of hunger and possession. “I’m going to fuck you now, Maus. You’re going to take every inch I give you.”

He thrusts in, burying himself deep inside her. She gasps, her back arching off the floor, her eyes wide with both pain and pleasure. He begins to move, slowly at first, then picking up speed, his hips slapping against her ass with a rhythmic thud.

Soap, not to be left out, moves in beside Ghost, his own cock ready to join the fray. He lines up his shaft with her entrance, and plunges in, stretching her even further. The two men begin to fuck her in unison, their movements synchronized, their grunts and groans filling the room.

Gaz, still between her legs, continues to rub her clit, his fingers working in tandem with the thrusts of Soap and Ghost. His other hand roams up to her breast, pinching her nipple, twisting it roughly. “Such a good little slut, taking it like a champ. You’re going to cum for us, aren’t you?”

König, still cloaked in the shadows of his hood, moves in close, his hands cupping her face. He leans down, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss. As their lips part, he slides his tongue into her mouth, exploring, tasting. He pulls away, leaving her breathless, her eyes searching his.

Price, watching from the sidelines, feels a surge of desire. He can’t resist any longer. His hand finds its way to his cock, stroking through his pants. He’s always enjoyed a good show, and this certainly qualifies.

Ghost and Soap continue to pound into her, their rhythm relentless. Sweat drips from their bodies, coating her skin. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her body trembling as she nears the edge.

Gaz, seeing her imminent release, leans in, his breath hot against her ear. “Cum for us, Maus. Let us hear you. Let us feel you."

The words are the final push she needs. Her body convulses, her pussy clenching around the intruding cocks, her release washing over her in waves. The men continue to fuck her, their own climaxes building.

Ghost grunts, his thrusts growing more erratic. He pulls out, his cock pulsing as he coats her stomach with his seed. Soap follows suit, his hot release filling her to the brim. The two men stand there, panting, their cocks still twitching, as they watch their cum leak from her quivering pussy.

Gaz, his own release close, pulls away, his hand wrapped tightly around his throbbing cock. He jerks himself, his eyes never leaving her face. With a loud groan, he comes, his cum splattering across her tits, painting her in their combined release.

König, still watching, reaches down, his fingers tracing the path of Soap’s cum across her stomach. He brings his fingers to his lips, tasting her, savoring their conquest.

Price, unable to resist any longer, steps forward, removing his pants and underwear in one swift motion. His cock, already hard, stands at attention, begging for attention. “Time for my turn,” he growls, eager to claim her mouth as his own.

He moves in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep, demanding submission. His hands roam her body, teasing her nipples, kneading her ass. The other men, spent, watch with hungry eyes, their cocks still half-hard.

Price breaks the kiss, his voice a low growl. “On your knees, Maus.” He doesn't wait for a response, instead, he pushes her down until she's kneeling before him. Her eyes meet his, fear and excitement mingling in her gaze. Price smiles, a predatory grin that makes her heart race. “Good girl. Now, show me how much you appreciate what we’ve given you.”

She reaches out, her hand wrapping around his cock, slowly stroking him. Her head bobs forward, her lips brushing against the head of his cock, teasing him. Price groans, his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her movements.

As she takes him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head, he lets out a soft moan. The other men watch, their cocks stirring, eager for another round. Price thrusts into her mouth, his hips moving in a steady rhythm.

Gaz, Soap, and Ghost, their lust sated for now, sit back, watching the scene unfold, their hands roaming over one another's bodies, soothing the ache left by their release. Price, however, is not far behind. His thrusts grow more erratic, his breaths coming in short, sharp pants.

He pulls out, his cock glistening with her saliva. “On your back, now.” He pushes her down, her body landing on the floor with a soft thud. Price positions himself between her legs, his eyes dark with desire. “I’m going to fuck you, Maus, and when I do, I want to hear you scream my name.”

With that, he thrusts into her, filling her once more. Her back arches, her nails digging into the floor as she takes him. Her moans fill the room, each one a melodic symphony to his ears.

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz watch, their cocks hardening again, the sight of Price taking her driving them wild. They get to their feet, ready to join in once more.

Price’s thrusts become more frenzied, his balls slapping against her ass with each powerful stroke. He reaches down, his hand finding her clit, rubbing it roughly. The sensation, coupled with his relentless pounding, sends her over the edge once more.

Price, feeling her tighten around him, grunts, his release imminent. He pulls out, his hot seed splashing against her stomach, joining the others. He collapses beside her, panting, his chest heaving.

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, the air thick with the aftermath of their debauchery. The men, sated for now, lay around her, their bodies still connected, their breaths slowly evening out.

In the afterglow, they lay, basking in the satisfaction of their conquest. They’ve claimed her, made her theirs, and in doing so, they’ve forged a bond that transcends their missions.

Taskforce 141, a multinational elite

made by ledder4

[stuckysbike]

Kiss Me Once In The Moonlight

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Angst, unrequited?feelings. Fluff.

Summary: You’ve fallen in love, but he wants someone else.

It was a cold mid October Saturday night when you realised you were in love with Bucky Barnes.

Natasha had ushered you out of your solitude and over to her private apartment on the compound. Steve was already there, along with Sam, Joaquin, Yelana, a few from the medical team and a few mechanics.

The place was decorated for spooky season, with playful ghosts and fuzzy spiders hiding in the corners. Everyone got comfortable and music played in the background whilst you snacked on nuts and candied apples and sipped beer. Halloween meets Octoberfest was the theme.

Bucky had been telling a story, his face lit up and his big hands flying everywhere as he described his mom chasing him with a broom during his teenage years after a Halloween fright. Occasionally his eyes met yours and they sparkled, but you figured he was like that with everyone.

You’d been crushing on him since you arrived in January and he was first to greet you. He seemed fascinated by your job, research and data analyst, but it was ultimately boring to almost everyone but you.

You lunched together sometimes and you swapped books every few weeks. You even got him into podcasts and you were always swapping recommendations.

But tonight he looked happy, relaxed even, and when Natasha dropped her dainty feet into his lap you felt the world skip underneath you, you wanted to put your feet in his lap. You wanted his big hands dwarfing your feet.

He rubbed her toes without thinking, and she snuggled down as the mechanics started describing the prank they’d played on Tony this week, going so far as to rope Pepper in.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” You heard Natasha murmur to Bucky during a lull in conversation. Sam was changing the music and Joaquin was setting up tequila shots.

He smiled at her but shook his head. “Nah,” his voice was thick with tiredness.

“You finally made a move on that girl?” She teased wiggling in her spot.

Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink and you dropped your eyes when you realised you were staring. You didn’t want to be caught looking like some dumb kid.

It was foolish to think that Bucky with his wonderful abilities and handsome looks would be interested in you who spent most of your time at work or alone.

“Think I’m gonna’ take her out, yeah,” he nodded. You snuck a glance at him in time to catch him looking from you to Natasha.

Oh god, he must have noticed you staring. How embarrassing!

Tears that had no right to form stung your eyes and you stood suddenly distracting Steve who was kneeling at the coffee table next to you. Sam took the opportunity to defeat him in their thumb war game much to Steve’s annoyance.

“I’m going to head back, I’m just really tired,” you said to the room, avoiding Bucky. “Thank you for the invitation Natasha.”

There were a few comments asking you to stay but ultimately everyone wished you a good sleep. Your own room was a fifteen minute walk away in a shared block and you pulled your arms around yourself to fight the cold as you stepped outside.

“Hey Doll,” Bucky called startling you.

“Bucky, hi,” you frowned.

“Thought I’d walk you back,” he said falling into step with you. “And I wanted your advice.”

“Oh?”

“So there’s this girl I like. She’s not like the others, she’s not really - she’s different. And I really want to make a date special for her, you know?” He glanced as you, letting his arm bump yours as you walked.

“I do,” you sighed resigning yourself to your fate. You didn’t want to have this conversation but you didn’t want to not help him either. He was your friend after all.

“So I’ve had a few first date ideas, I’m thinking farmers market then making brunch together? I started this really great podcast and I was thinking we could listen together as we cook then talk about it while we eat? Then after we could go to a museum or something?” Bucky licked his lips and stopped looking at you.

You didn’t want him to share a podcast with her. That was your thing with him. You knew you were being unfair, childish even but right now you didn’t care.

“That sounds lovely,” you said. And it did, you wished you were that girl, you wished Bucky wanted to go to all that trouble for you but instead you’d have to sit home alone tomorrow whilst he woo’d someone else.

“Yeah?” He asked excitedly. “I really just wanna’ hold her hand, at the market, in the museum, I just crave that feeling you know, like this,” Bucky reached for your hand and laced your fingers together, holding your joined hands up to inspect. “It’s been a long time since I held a girls hand like this.”

“I-I’m sure it has Buck,” you swallowed. He resumed walking and you could do nothing but join him, he still had your hand in his. He described his outfit for his date and wondered if you had a cosy chunky sweater.

“I do, it’s so comfortable,” you said softly. You couldn’t hide the disappointment as you slowed in front of the doors. “It’s my favourite colour too.”

“Will you wear it tomorrow?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“Why does it matter what I wear?” You couldn’t help but giggle at his odd request. You couldn’t though, thinking of him with someone else whilst you wore what he asked you to.

“I want to know that you’re warm tomorrow. You know, on our date?” Bucky pressed his cool left hand on your cheek as he turned to face you. His kiss was soft, just a sweet brush of the lips and then he pulled away. “I’ll see you at nine thirty?”

“Uh huh,” you nodded dumbly. He kissed you again, and you caught the faint taste of whiskey on his lips. He was warm as he pressed into you and you let your hands slide up his chest to his shoulders.

“See you tomorrow baby girl,” he pressed one last kiss to your forehead then opened the building door for you.

You walked inside in a daze, waving goodbye and drifting up the stairs like you weighed nothing.

You couldn’t remember getting changed into your pj’s, all you knew was that you were snuggled under your duvet setting an alarm for your date with Bucky in the morning.

You smiled, and suddenly your legs kicked and you let out a little squeal. You were going out with Bucky Barnes and he kissed you three times.

You feel asleep to the memory of one hot hand and one cold hand cupping your cheeks as he kissed you in the moonlight.

[wolfstargazer]

25th October - Spooky - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 549

Inspired by Spooky by Dusty Springfield.

Sirius heard the soulful voice and the bossa nova beat coming from the upstairs drawing room and tried to repress a smile.

Shacklebolt had continued to talk but Mundungus, catching something of the music coming down the stairs, had looked up at the ceiling and said, "What's all that then, Black? Don't tell me ya 'ouse Elf 'as a perchant for Muggle music?"

Kreacher, who had been attending to some duties unseen by the others, made a small noise of disgust and hissed, "Filthy Muggle music. Defiling the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Mistress would not have stood for it. Mistress would be most displeased."

Not soon after they had left, and Kreacher had disappeared muttering contemptuously under his breath, Sirius had climbed the stairs towards where the music was coming from.

He opened the door and watched for a moment from the doorway, unseen by Remus who was barefoot before the fireplace and swaying to the music. His collar was loosened, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms more muscular and lean than others would have expected.

Sirius felt a little thrill of pleasure at the thought before closing the door behind him.

Remus turned with a start. He looked flustered, caught out, as the voice of Dusty continued to fill the semi-dark drawing room.

Sirius enjoyed Remus' look of embarrassment before starting to close the gap between them, saying slowly, "You know...if you're not going to join us for very important Order business the least you could do is keep it down."

Remus was flushed from the warmth of the fire and from dancing. A slight tinge of pink upon his cheeks and a light dancing in his eyes that made him look quite boyish.

It made Sirius' stomach flip.

"Sorry. I didn't realise," Remus offered quietly, and moved to turn off the record.

Sirius reached out a hand to stop him.

Their eyes locked. Sirius said "Don't" and closed the remaining gap between them, wrapping his arms slowly around Remus' waist. To Sirius' satisfaction he heard Remus' breath hitch. Sirius responded by pulling him closer.

"You love this song," Sirius said.

"Yes," Remus said.

"Your mum loved this song."

Something sad flitted across Remus' face but this gave way to a small smile as he replied, "Yes." His smile broadened. "Much of my taste in music you can blame on her."

Sirius gave a low laugh.

"I miss her," Remus said simply. The sadness was back in his voice. Sirius felt his pain. "It would have been nice if..." Remus trailed off. Sirius waited, eyes searching his face. "I just wish she could be here...to see...this."

The this was full of meaning and emotion. Remus dropped his eyes, self-conscious.

Sirius waited a moment and then allowed his body to speak for him. Very slowly, he raised a hand to Remus' face. His finger tenderly traced the small scar cut close to Remus' lips.

Remus laughed, a little nervous, even after all this time.

"Silly, really," Remus said, a tremble to his voice. Sirius cupped Remus' face. "I always rather suspected that she knew."

Sirius couldn't help but laugh as their faces grew close, and he pulled Remus into him as he whispered, "She'd only need to look at me to see it. "

Companion to Apple.

[yourbitchystudentartist]

I have thoughts on why Lumon showed a brief fixation on pineapples (milchick's pineapple centric fruit baskets and the pineapple bobbing perk) and how it's kind of a way to demonstrate how Lumon is, like, just a bit to the right of being normal by replicating everyday outside world things, but having an element to them that is uniquely Lumon and separates lumon customs from outie world customs, but still providing a simulacra of things from outside the severed floor (like the dance experience and the simulacra of music styles in their choices, pineapple bobbing a bastrdization of apple bobbing etc). I think Lumon does this weird twisting of American/subrban/whatever culture and living for the same reason that they put Gemma through realistic but still old fashioned and stylized simulations of real world every day actions with full sets and costumes. Even though, technically they should be able to tell innies pretty much anything about the world and they would have to believe it because they are functionally blank slates and only have vague ideas of what things are and how they should operate.

This is an incomplete thought, cause I equally could see these narrative choices as stylistic ways to translate information to the audience instead of actual lumon strategies (ie: pineapple fixation showing of how out of touch Lumon is with reality and how fixated they are on maintaining their own corporate culture. Or in the sense of Gemma, a way to articulate Gemma's dehumanization because of the extra steps put into dressing her up like a doll daily and putting her through elaborate scenarios for both experiementation's sake and the personal pleasure of the weird dentist dude) but a part of me thinks these are hints to how severance works where Lumon creates imitations of real corporate culture and American culture, but in ways that are out of touch and disorienting as a way to work within the scientific limits of severance? Like innies have no personal memories but maybe they retain information in a more concrete way. Maybe partial immersion is necessary because some memories are retained, but twisting that immersion helps to control innies through promoting a sense of disorientated and separation from the modern world? Maybe it's a way to make sure, should an inner find their way out, their knowledge of the real world vs how the world works is incongruent to the point of confusion and distress therefore they'll go back to Lumon? IDK IDK, but I think there's a point to Lumon's Weirdness because while it's obviously a cult, it's not like cults typically come up with and maintain these strict traditions because of a genuine belief in them, there's always an aspect of alienation and control and I think Lumon create environments for Innies that are just left of normal as a new way to continue that control but idk exactly why and there might not be a why. Like I said I think a lot of this could be for the benefit of the audience for some realities to sink it. Like feeling off kilter with the perks being so close to fun activities we do IRL, but still tinged with weirdness.

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s Part 2! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut central, tiny bit of angst, fluff and feels. ❤️💚

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Before you start on the Christmas cookies, you pull Castiel aside.

“Here’s the mission,” you tell the angel. “I know the guys don’t do Christmas all that often, so I want to surprise them with a nice dinner tomorrow. Think you can get this list of stuff for me? I think my addled brain forgot we needed real food too.”

Castiel looks over the scrap of notebook paper you give him with a critical eye.

“Uh, yes. This seems straightforward enough…what about pie?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “What about pie?”

“Dean likes pie.”

“I understand, but Christmas is for cookies. Not pies.”

“I think Dean would beg to differ,” Cas points out.

“Fine, get the man his pie,” you relent with a sigh. “Get pecan. He likes pecan, and that’s still somewhat Christmasy.”

“He likes apple better,” Cas mutters, but he still takes up your list and heads out to do your bidding.

Now with most of the bunker, namely the kitchen, all to yourself, you put on some festive music on your phone before you start to lay out all your ingredients on the counter.

Not many people know about your hobby, but you think you’ve seen enough baking shows to be proficient with some flour and egg.

You decide to begin with good old-fashioned sugar cookies that you’ll try your best to decorate later. But first, you start measuring out ingredients.

You sing along with Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby,” not knowing that you have an audience.

Dean spots you on his way back in from the garage. He was aiming to grab a drink of water from the fridge. He finds you instead, bopping around the kitchen. He hears you humming breathily to the music, watches you swaying your hips to her sultry notes. And he smirks. 

He steps up behind you and leans in close to your ear to ask, “What’cha making?”

You jump with a loud yelp, flinging up flour with your wooden spoon. Hearing Dean’s laughter, you whip around and give him a playful glare before swatting at him with the spoon.

“Hey!” he protests when you mark his shirt (more than once) with flour. You smirk and continue your task of mixing the dough.

Serves you right, troublemaker, you think. He comes up behind you to inspect your work.

“Cake?” he asks.

“Cookies, remember?” you tell him. “Want to help me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He raises a brow as you take chunks of dough, roll them evenly in your hands, and place them on the tray. You’re making quick work of it too.

“Matter of fact, you look like a pro,” he adds.

You flash him a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Yeah, well, my mom and I used to do this together every year when I was a kid. Snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip—”

“I think I get the picture,” Dean says with a growing smile. You return it, but your expression starts to fade the longer you think of her. 

Dean catches the shift; he knows your mom passed just a few years ago, losing her battle with lung cancer. He and Sam attended the funeral.

Dean understands. He just lost his own mother a few months ago—again. Another reason he can’t quite be Mr. Nice Guy with Jack. At least, not how they used to be. He knows it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Logically, Dean knows this. The nephilim didn’t have his soul.

In Dean’s heart though, his mom is still gone from this world. She got cheated out of her second chance at life. And deep down, selfishly, Dean feels cheated too.

It’s a reminder that gets stuck in his throat. But it dislodges another memory, one he feels comfortable enough with you to share, in the privacy of a quiet kitchen.

“I think I remember helping my mom bake something once, when I was a kid,” Dean admits. Though he clears his throat when your gaze turns to him in interest.

“Think it was chocolate chip cookies…well, whatever, they were hard as a rock,” he says, smiling at the memory. “So we went to the store and bought some from the bakery instead.”

You watch how his face softens, in the way it does whenever he talks about his mother. You smile just as softly.

“Aw, little Dean,” you say, because you can imagine it so clearly. Maybe he’s four or five, working dough between his small hands. And beautiful Mary, smiling beside him, encouraging him.

Dean’s eyes meet yours, uncomfortable with the gentle way you’re looking at him. So he clears his throat and goes into the fridge. He pulls out the eggnog and finds the rum you bought last night, specifically for what he’s about to do.

“Ooh, good idea,” you say as he fixes both of you a glass. Though you balk at his heavy pour of rum. “Geez, trying to get me drunk before noon?”

He grins at you. “Morning, night, and day are the only times to be drunk.”

You snort in response.

“Is that all?” you remark, and you wipe your hands of the wet dough (and most of the flour) before you take the glass he offers. You clink your glass with his and take a sip, even though you choke on it soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” you cough. He had to have poured half the bottle of Bacardi Superior in there.

Dean sucks between his teeth. “Yep, that is bracing.”

He glances over at you and smiles, raising a finger at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got some there,” he points out. You touch your chin, trying to feel for anything on your face.

“Where?”

“On your mustache, there.”

“I don’t have a mustache!” you say indignantly. You know this for a fact, as you spent a fair amount of time waxing and shaving yourself last night.

…Not that you had any particular reason to (or anyone to wax for), you just noticed that you needed some grooming. That’s all.   

Dean’s grin edges into a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Less Duck Dynasty and more Steve Harvey, Family Feud guy.”

You splutter laughing and hit his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and wipes the bit of eggnog from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. It makes your cheeks flare with a warm blush.

“Well, I uh, should get these into the fridge to chill,” you say. You grab the tray of rolled up cookie dough and head for the fridge, but maybe you’re more frazzled than you realize.

You accidentally knock into Dean’s elbow, making him spill half his drink down the front of his shirt.

You gasp, eyes flying wide, while he looks down at the mess now dripping from his shirt onto the floor. When he eventually looks up at you in deadpan exasperation, you have to bite your lip against a smile.

“Good job,” he cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a bubble of nervous laughter. “Hold on.”

You finish putting the tray in the fridge and immediately turn to grab a few paper towels. You go to Dean and start helping him blot out the sticky, frothy mess staining through his green flannel and black undershirt, from chest to sternum.

The problem is, the paper towel is thin and breaking off on his shirt, making your task damn near impossible. White, wet pieces of paper are coming off on his black shirt.

“Well, you’re doing great,” Dean wryly remarks.

You can’t help but giggle. “It’s not all my damn fault here. Who the hell buys one-ply paper towels?”

“Sam. Evidently, he’s cheap as hell,” he replies, eliciting another laugh from you.

Soon enough you give up on the paper towel with a huff, and you go to grab an actual hand towel. Dean follows you, which assures that you bump into him again when you turn back around.

You yelp as your foot starts to slip on the sticky drops on the floor, but Dean grabs your arms, steadying you. You can’t help but giggle again, looking up at him. He quirks an amused smile down at you.

But then your face slackens as you gaze up above his head. He curiously follows suit.

And you both realize that you’ve fallen into a trap.

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you, this time with a growing smirk.

“My turn,” he says. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name.

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he asks.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Well, I didn’t put on lipstick for nothing, you muse. And though anticipation and nerves trill down your spine, you lean up on your toes, take his face between your flour-stained hands, and press your lips to his.

It’s a sweet kiss, and his hands come to rest along the curve of your waist, holding you close.

When you pull away, you suddenly realize just what you’ve done as you let your hands fall away from his face. You’re not quite sure what to do with them afterwards, so they clench awkwardly in the air between you two.

Dean looks down at you with a softer, yet playful smirk. He reluctantly drops his hands from your waist.

But he makes a show of licking his lips. You taste sweeter than boozy eggnog…actually, you taste more like chocolate. He glances behind you, and sure enough, he spies the Nestle bag in the corner.   

“Chocolate chips?” he notes, eyeing you suspiciously. “Maybe those weren’t originally meant to be sugar cookies, huh?”

His gaze is drawn to the way you bite your lip again, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile. You raise a hand to wipe the imprint of MAC’s “Russian Red” lipstick from his mouth, and he smirks under the pad of your thumb.

“You saw nothing,” you warn him. You attempt to stifle another nervous giggle. “You’re officially sworn to secrecy.”

He hums at that. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“You’re asking for a bribe?” You raise a brow.

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Maybe. What’cha got for me?”

He rests a hand on the counter by your arm, subtly leaning in and looming over you with his broad frame. A hot blush heats your cheeks, then down your neck. And then excitement bubbles inside you.

Because the one thing you never thought would happen seems to be happening: Dean is actually, honest to God flirting with you. 

Your mouth twitches at a smile as you pretend to think. 

“Hmm…okay! I got it,” you say.

You grip the front of his shirt, and once again lean up on your toes so you can kiss him. This time, Dean holds you there by your cheek. His large hand presses against your warm skin, and his fingers soon delve into your hair. You hum against his lips and deepen the angle of your kiss, your palms lying flat against his chest.

So fucking firm, you think. A solid wall of a man.

Dean’s free hand falls warmly on your hip, bringing you ever closer. He makes a pleased sound when you suck and nip at his lower lip. And with each new kiss, you’re falling deeper and deeper into the intoxication of him. 

Before you realize it, he’s walked you back to press you into the little table in the kitchen, where you all shared breakfast this morning. But you surprise him by breaking the kiss. You pull away just enough to see his confused, handsome face.

“There you go. That’s your payment,” you tease. “Good enough?”

“Hell fucking no,” Dean rasps. 

He dives back in to claim your lips, and you smile, letting him do it. Your whole body is buzzing with warmth of feeling and happiness, especially when his arms slip around you firmly and pull you flush against him. Your hands travel up his flannel-clad arms to wind around his neck.

A moan catches in your throat when his lips veer away from yours, beginning a path along the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, stopping just under your ear. His stubble prickles against your skin in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes close at the feeling. 

You sigh and card your fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “Dean…”

He surprises you with a nipping kiss on your earlobe, making you jump a little with a yelp.

You utter a laugh and playfully tighten your hand in his hair. “Hey!”

The sound of his deep, muffled chuckle in your ear sends tingles along your skin and heat, down between your legs. You let out a shaking sigh and press kisses of your own to his neck.

You tug at the collar of his shirt to reveal more skin, so you can latch onto his shoulder next. It’s a playful bite, one that elicits a groan from Dean as his thigh slips between both of yours.

His hands find your waist, and with a quiet grunt, he hefts you up onto the kitchen table. You squeal at the sudden move, clinging to his shoulders when the table shakes a bit.

But it prompts you to look up at Dean’s face. You see the desire darkening his eyes to hunter green. And his hands part your knees to let him stand between them.

You blush hotly when his palms smooth up your bare thighs, over the skirt of your dress. He drags the thin fabric with him and rucks it up well above your knees. Your mouth parts on a shaky breath when those sinful hands stop at your hips, bunching up the fabric there.

“I like this dress,” he mentions. Your mouth curves with a grin.

“I think it likes you back,” you reply. Your gaze falls to his chest as you pick at the collar of his flannel. “This should go, though.”

With an amused huff, Dean shrugs out of the green plaid first. You help him with the black undershirt next, giggling a little when it gets caught on his wrist and spikes up his short hair. That’s all right, you think, because you’re about to mess it up even more.

Your hands run over his bare chest first though, as you drink him in with your eyes. Dean notices with a smirk, and he lets you pull him in again by his hair as you meet him with a passionate kiss.

He likes the way you try to devour him with lips and tongue and teeth. In turn, he slips underneath the skirt of your dress and squeezes your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, allowing him to devour you back. It makes you realize that this is seriously heading somewhere. It’s hot and heady and his touch is making your head swim. But your heart shoots you a firm reminder…

One that makes you slower to respond to Dean’s increasingly demanding kiss.

Sensing your hesitation though, Dean slows his roll.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

When you don’t have a ready answer for him, he pulls back enough to see your face. He finds your uncertainty.

You look down in embarrassment.  

Even though his heart is still pounding (and his dick straining in his jeans), Dean moves his hands from under your skirt, back to your waist. And he raises his brows, ducking to find your eyes. Once you meet his gaze, he gives you a smile. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he prompts. His thumbs brush against your sides, earning your weak smile back. Your hands slide down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just, um…” you stumble on your words. You’re not sure how you want to say this, but Dean’s brows are knitting together. His face is more serious now as he watches you with singular focus. It gives you enough courage to put your heart in his hands.

“This, us, right now…is this a one-time deal?” you ask.

Out of all the things he thought you might say, maybe Dean should’ve prepared for that one a bit better. He frowns, considering how to answer you—and what would put the least amount of pressure on you. Even though his gut is telling him (kicking him), on what he should really tell you.

But those words get stuck in his mouth. So all he can bring himself to say is…

“If you want it to be,” he says.

You bite your lip at that. Though not in a good way, his instincts also tell him. Your gaze falls.

“That’s just it,” you say. After a moment, you manage to look up at him again. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you say in measured tones, even though you’re scared. “I like you, Dean.” 

The “like” feels like something a lot deeper, even to your own ears.

But you don’t expect the way Dean’s guarded face softens.

He breaks into a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You close your eyes at the tender touch. 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Because here I was, trying to wrap my head around how I was supposed to let you go after havin’ you…right where I want you.”

Your eyes flash open at that. Then he leans down and kisses you again. Your shock is a powerful thing, but it all but melts at his touch. You relax into him with a sigh of relief, kissing him back and closing your eyes against the sweet sting of tears.

You don’t have time to let them fall though. Dean doesn’t give that to you. He pulls you by your thighs until you’re at the edge of the table. You feel his hands travel up and curl around the waistband of your underwear. You raise up for him so he can tug them down, over your ass and thighs, and you kick the black, lacy panties off your foot with a giggle.

Dean grins, especially when you go for his belt. Your eyes briefly meet with his while you make quick work of the buckle, then the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook two fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and tug him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” you whisper.

Smirking, Dean obliges you, stepping closer into your orbit. And he has to grip your thighs for support when you slide a hand down the front of his underwear, feeling down the length of his hard cock with a gentle, sensuous hand. He moans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Ooh, finders keepers,” you tease. Dean snorts against your neck and presses a biting kiss there, satisfied by the way you gasp and shiver.

You feel the shape of his smile on your skin. But he grabs your arms tight when your hand squeezes experimentally around his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you reply cheekily. All the while, you continue to caress him within the confines of his pants, especially brushing your thumb around the sensitive head.

If you keep this up, he’s not going to last long enough to do everything he wants to do to you. Everything he’s dreamed about for years with a hand wrapped around himself…but he’s been too much of a fucking coward to make that leap with you.

He told himself he was protecting you. That you were better off with someone less damaged. That he’d just drag you down into his hellish life.

But he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 

So Dean grasps your wrist, prompting you to release him. You look down at his face and catch the way his playfulness fades into a more concentrated desire. The heat in his eyes makes your mouth part in soft surprise.

Dean picks up from where he left off before, pressing a hand to your cheek and ravaging your lips. His hand then slides into your hair and gets a firm grip. All the while, his free one slips beneath your dress and between your legs. First he just teases the seam of your pussy with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Your breath catches in your throat as you squeeze his shoulders and lean back, giving him a better angle. And you utter a moan when those thick digits slip between your folds and sink deeply into your wet heat.

“Dean,” you gasp his name into his mouth. The hand in your hair tightens as he works you over, exploring your inner channel with two fingers while this thumb presses and circles around your clit. Your tremulous hips begin to move in time with his rhythm, meeting his thrusts as you pulse deep inside with pleasure.

His lips drift away from your mouth, pressing against your cheek, then into your neck.

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” he says hotly in your ear. His thumb rubs more insistently against your clit in time with his pulsing fingers.

Your inner walls squeeze around his hand, tighter and tighter. And you utter a gasping moan into his ear as you cling to him. Dean strokes inside you through your shuddering release. It’s almost too much, but it prolongs the feeling of your pleasure and makes your arms tremble around his neck.

Afterwards, he rubs your lower back until you catch your breath. You manage to press a grateful kiss into his neck, then his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you utter. It earns a genuine laugh from Dean as he cups the back of your head.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he promises, leaning back to look into your eyes. “I think you’re gonna be more comfortable in my room.”

You tilt your head at him. “Or…”

You shuffle even closer to him on the table and pull off your dress, slipping it over your head. You feel a little self-conscious in exposing your full self to him, but Dean watches you undress with hungry eyes and a tight jaw.

After your black dress falls to the floor, he takes in the sight of your body, his gaze landing on the black lace bra still covering your breasts. His hands slip up the curve of your waist, up your sides, and slide behind to unhook your bra.

His mouth burns a trail down your chest, between the valley of your breasts when he drags the bra down your arms and to the floor. You grab onto his arms for support; you feel like you’re riding the hurricane that is Dean Winchester, and you don’t expect to come out intact.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shudder. You suck in a breath as his hands cup your breasts, roughly kneading and rolling his thumbs over pert nipples.

“Smooth talker,” you manage to quip with a smile.

“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth,” he tells you. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime for this.”

His eyes are dark with desire, but they’re also serious. Your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. He’d been waiting for you?

But you realize that sometimes, words are overrated. You slide your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth and taking satisfaction from the way he groans into yours.

He holds you flush against his chest, skin to blushing skin. He runs his warm hands down your naked back, familiarizes himself with each and every one of your curves.

Dean’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t know whether to take his time, or just take you right now before someone walks into the open kitchen.

But you make the decision for him.

You break away from his lips to drag his belt and jeans down, just enough to shuffle them past his hips. Dean’s lips curve into a smirk. It would be easier to turn you around and bend you over on the table (and the thought is pretty fucking appealing right now).

…But he wants to see your face. He wants to know, looking in your eyes, what you want from him and how his touch makes you feel. 

So he helps you free his straining cock from his boxers to line himself up to your entrance.

With his arm wrapped around your waist to support you, and a hand on the table, Dean sheathes himself inside you. You both release shaking breaths as he bottoms out, stretching your inner walls and wrapping firmly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod at that, wiping the dewy sweat forming above his brow. He flashes you a grin, one you recognize from his younger, more boyish days. It’s a welcome sight, and you smile back and wrap your legs around his hips. If possible, it buries him deeper inside you. He groans.

“Damn, baby,” he says, panting for breath. “Haven’t even started yet, but you might just kill me.”

“There are worse ways to go,” you tease.

He snorts at that. In their line of work, isn’t that the fucking truth.

When he begins to slide out of you for the first time, you brace yourself with a hand at the back of his neck and another on the table. Dean begins a steady rhythm, one that serves you well as you get used to the size of him.

But eventually you urge him on faster, your nails scraping through his hair and against his scalp. He groans and drives into you at a clip that makes your toes curl and a keen high in your throat.

He spills hotly inside you when he comes.

You know you shouldn’t have let him, but you wanted to feel him, wanted to hold him the way he held you. And you do so, stroking his cheek and drawing a thumb across his full lower lip as he shudders.

But Dean isn’t satisfied, not until his fingers further part your folds and find your still sensitive clit. He rubs and circles insistently, until you can’t help but give him your second release, shuddering a moan as you cling to him. He holds you with an arm wrapped tight around your lower back, pressing your breasts against his chest.

You both pant for breath. His cheek rests alongside yours, and both of your eyes close for a moment. You brush your fingers more gently through his hair.

“Dean,” you start to say, but the sound of the bunker’s door unlocking makes you both freeze.

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

You can’t see them from the kitchen, but you hear Sam and Jack come in. Oh fuck.

Dean reluctantly detangles himself from you and wrestles up his underwear and jeans. Meanwhile, you hop off the kitchen table to grab your dress, pulling it on as you look for your bra and panties.

Sam calls your name, then Dean’s. But the two of you ignore him as you try to silently scramble around.

You manage to find your bra, but you don’t have time to put it on. You shove it behind the toaster. Then you find a napkin to wipe off the rest of your lipstick.

Meanwhile, Dean finds his black shirt. He hesitates when he sees it’s stained all over with flour and dried eggnog, but he puts it on anyway. (He won’t realize until later that his hair and shoulders are flecked with the stuff, just as his lips and chin are still smudged with your lipstick.)

He grabs the green flannel you throw at him, and he finds your panties tossed in the corner. He raises up the black lace in his hand and smirks at you with waggling brows.

“Give me that!” you whisper-hiss. The slick between your thighs is already becoming uncomfortable, along with the chill on your bare ass under the dress.

But instead of obeying, Dean winks at you and pockets them instead. You gape in disbelief as he flees the kitchen, presumably to disappear into his room. It leaves you in a…sticky situation, so to speak.

Sam calls your name questioningly when he comes around the corner. He pops into the kitchen with a few Walmart bags in hand. Sticking out of one of them are some stockings, you notice.

“Hey, how’s the baking going?” he asks.

“Good!” you say, though your voice is far too high and chipper. “Good. Just about to get them into the…oven.”

You turn and realize you haven’t even pre-heated the oven. You do so after pressing a few buttons, and you go to the fridge to grab the tray of chilling dough.

Sam raises a brow at you, especially when he sees your frizzy hair, and the flour stained across your bottom.

But he wisely doesn’t comment.

Later that night, Dean lays on his bed. He’s long since showered, fully clothed, arms crossed while his music plays from his laptop. But he can’t make himself focus on anything else but you.

How it was to finally have you; not just the give of your soft curves under his hands, but the sound of your voice coming apart in his ear, the way you’d begged him, at times teased him, and then gave him a run for his money with your wily hands and tongue.

Dean’s had all of that running through his head for the rest of the damn day.    

And there were stolen looks at dinner that evening. Furtive smiles. Brief, innocent touches. Moments where you blushed down to your neck, and he had to hide his amusement. (Even if his brother had noted his apparent good mood at dinner.)

But between Sam and the two angels hanging around, Dean hasn’t had a chance to talk to you after what happened in the kitchen. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

If you want it to be, he’d said, when you asked if this was going to be a one-time thing.

He hopes he made himself clear—that this is not that kind of deal. Not for him.

Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he couldn’t have, and worse, now that he knows you want more from him…he just can force himself to let go this time.

There’s a thought that he doesn’t want to face. It’s been buried so deep, for so long, that he can’t even commit it to the forefront of his mind.

But it’s there.

Despite the hell he attracts like flies to shit, he wants you. Not for one night. Not just for kicks. He wants you to stay arguing with him about stupid shit, taking his teasing and dishing it right back—like making fun of his slippers and how much he secretly likes country music.

He wants you with him and Sam on hunts, even though it also makes him worry. (But he worries much more when he knows you’re out there, hunting alone.)

Dean thinks about you when you’re not around, more often than he’d like to admit. So today, he finally had to face the truth.

He wants you. More than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And he wants to find out what it’ll be like to try this for real, with you.

The thought that you still could be thinking otherwise, wondering, doubting him, has Dean going mildly insane.

It’s not right, and he takes pride in righting wrongs.

So he decides to break out of the confines of his room to find yours. It lies down the hall and to the left; he knows because you take the same room every time you stay at the bunker, which admittedly, isn’t as often as he likes. Maybe they can change that…

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean inwardly curses as the angel comes from the opposite direction. Already he’s tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s late. Feeling peckish?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies. He moves past the angel and continues down the hall.

“Dean,” the angel calls to him.

Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The kitchen is the other way,” Castiel points in the direction in which he’s going.

“Uh…well, yeah,” Dean says. “I just, uh…”

Cas’s head tilts just so, confusion soon replacing his curiosity.

“Never mind,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. He’s forced to follow his friend down the hall, away from your bedroom door which lies just inches away.

He doesn’t know that you can hear the entire conversation from the safety of your bed, comfortable in your pajamas. You have to stifle a giggle as you listen to Dean fumbling. You have a feeling you know where he’d really been headed.

So you take your phone out and text him.

Foiled by Columbo once again, you tease.

Moments later, Dean texts you back.

More like cock-blocked.

You snicker at that. You still haven’t given back my panties.

And you ain’t getting them back. They’re spoils of war.

You roll your eyes. But then Dean starts typing again.

Just to recap. Today: not a one-time thing.

Your smile grows and warms, like melted butter.

Good…can we talk tomorrow?

It’s a date, he says. And a beat later. Merry Christmas, beautiful.

You realize it’s officially 12:00 a.m. Christmas morning. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.

Merry Christmas, Dean.

AN: 😏 Well then. Merry Christmas, indeed. Let me know what you thought of Part 2!

Next Time:

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Or will he? 😉

Find out in PART 3.

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