#do you think maybe you. are the one. who does not touch enough grass | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joshujin · 2 months ago

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can’t wait no more

🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request

your pov • soonyoung’s pov ⇣

soonyoung has been best friends with you for 10 years now—in love with you for almost all of that time. one way or another, those 10 years end tonight.

♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 11.6k (i don't want to talk about it) tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lil miscommunication, angst, happy ending, soonyoung pov, flashbacks cw: smut - possessiveness, unprotected piv (pull-out method. v irresponsible piv. don't be like these two), reader loses virginity, spit, oral f. receiving, fingering, mention of choking, mention of masturbating, soft vanilla smut, probably a little hornier than the other pov bc this is a MAN after all a/n: happy @citruscheol birth!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و to celebrate this momentous occasion, i ofc had to honor her request for a soonyoung pov of we can be all we need. you don’t really need to read that before this one; after all, they are essentially the same fic. BUT! i recommend you do bc it will make this version more enjoyable + easier to understand. and y’know what, i literally had to drive myself bat shit crazy and completely alter my brain chemistry to write this. like. there isn’t enough grass in the world that i can touch to return back to normal. and idk if i can ever look at hoshi the same ever again, so the least you can do is read both ok ㅠㅠㅠㅠ kidding ofc pls do what you want haha. either way, i think you’ll enjoy whichever one you want to read! as far as smut goes, same thing as last time: i marked where the smut starts and ends, but this courtesy is for adults who don’t want to read explicit material. minors should not be interacting at all pls!

soonyoung has been avoiding you. he knows you know it because you’ve asked him multiple times now if anything was wrong, and every time, he’s lied to you and told you everything was fine. everything wasn’t fine. it hardly felt like anything was fine, actually.

because you just blew out your candles, you’re 30 now, and his time has officially run out. he can’t blame anyone other than himself, though, and he knows it. he had seven whole years to tell you, and instead, he foolishly thought if he just continued to love you the way he’s always loved you, you would simply see it yourself. you would see how hopelessly in love with you he is.

you didn’t. for whatever reason, his showering you with lavish gifts, vacations, and fancy meals didn’t strike you as odd for a friend. or the way he was constantly wrapped around you or leaving kisses on your forehead whenever he had the chance. or the fact that it’s been nine fucking years since he went on a date or slept with anyone. he’s fucking priestly at this point.

and he doesn’t do it just so you’ll get the hint. he does it because that’s how he loves you and that’s how he’s always loved you. but maybe that’s the issue: you think this is just how he is as a friend because he’s been this way ever since he met you. but you couldn’t be more wrong.

soonyoung has never even felt inclined to treat anyone outside of his family the way he treats you. as far as he’s concerned, everything he does for you are just things he watched his dad do for his mom his whole life. you’re not even aware that the way he loves you is supposed to be reserved for whoever becomes his wife.

and he’s been so happy to give you all of that even if it meant you never saw him the way he longed for you to. it fills him with pride to know that your expectations are higher because he’s loved you so well—that you know exactly what you deserve because he’s always tried to give you exactly that.

at least, up until a few weeks ago, when the horror of the truth really started settling into his bones: you weren’t going to fall in love with him by the time you turn 30. and without even really realizing it, he started distancing himself from you, deluded into thinking it would be easier to let go if he just put a little space between the two of you. he knew it was hurting you just as much as it was hurting him, and he knew you didn’t deserve it.

it’s against his hardwiring to do anything that hurts you, and it’s reflected in how terrible his life has become in just a handful of weeks. his apartment has been filthy; the only reason it was ready for your party was because he paid the housekeeper double to come even though he wasn’t scheduled to clean for another week. his work is fortunately still fine, but he spends whole days with horrible brain fog, hardly understanding or even hearing anything anyone says to him. he hasn’t seen any friends—mutual or otherwise—because he spends all his free time in bed or drinking himself into a sobbing mess.

that’s all he can seem to do these days, is cry over you.

soonyoung steps out into the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning against the sliding door once it’s closed. he cranes his neck to look up toward the midnight sky, and takes a deep breath. it doesn’t help keep the tears at bay. he keeps his head tilted up.

he knows you don’t deserve this. he knows you’re hurting and that you feel him slipping away. he saw it. just now, just before you blew your candles out, he saw the way the joy and life immediately fled your eyes when they landed on him. he wonders what you saw. did you see the apathy he was desperately forcing? did you see how sad he was at all?

because he is. he’s the saddest he’s felt since you told him you would rather be on vacation with someone you were in love with seven years ago. someone who wasn’t him. maybe he’s even sadder now. at least back then, he was foolish enough to hope you would change your mind. at least back then, he had time on his side.

now, it’s over, and now, it’s time to give himself a fair chance to move on. you don’t deserve what he’s putting you through, and it’s true for him too. he doesn’t deserve what he’s put himself through for the last decade.

countless nights you fell asleep at his place, countless times he wished he could gather you up in his arms and carry you into a bed you shared. all the times you told him you loved him and he desperately wanted to beg you to repeat it, even if it was just so he could pretend you meant it the way he needed you to mean it. whole weeks spent overseas on all kinds of vacations, time he spent daydreaming that this was what a honeymoon with you could feel like.

it all adds up to a decade of putting his heart on the backburner so he could allow himself to continue loving you.

soonyoung scoffs at himself when the tears refuse to stop welling in his eyes. he shakes his head and steps forward, resting his forearms against his railing and staring at the blackness in front of him.

part of him hates the version of himself from seven years ago that thought making this stupid promise was a good idea. what good can come from not loving you? but the reason he’s stuck to pulling away and holding you at arm’s distance is because that version of himself somehow knew the pain would grow more and more, year after year.

he can’t do this for the rest of his life—can’t just keep making room for more heartache the older he gets. you’re 30 now, and even though you insist you’re fine and have no desire to date, he knows you’ll get restless soon. and when he thinks of you finally deciding you want to have a boyfriend, he wants to vomit. when he thinks of some other asshole’s hands on you, his lips on yours—when he thinks of you sighing anyone’s name but his, he gets near homicidal over something that isn’t even real. at least not yet.

soonyoung doesn’t want to wait for that to happen. he doesn’t want to wait for you to hate him for being unable to share you—and he won’t be able to share you. he also doesn’t want you to have to face the pressure of having to choose between a best friend and a boyfriend.

instead, he’d rather you start to hate him slowly, over time. he’d rather you allow him his space and not even realize you hate him for slipping away and leaving you behind—not until it’s years later, when you hear his name in passing, and you think, he just left, and you tell yourself it’s fine because your life is better without him anyway.

it hurts you now, but it’ll hurt less later. it’ll hurt less for both of you to endure this silence now, rather than fight until there’s nothing but resentment.

the door behind soonyoung slides open forcefully and slams closed a moment later. he flinches, looking over his shoulder to see who entered his room and ready to tell them to get out. when he sees you, though, he turns back away, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.

“what are you doing?”

he quietly clears his throat, hoping he doesn’t sound too worn when he speaks. “just needed some air.”

“no.”

you say it in that tone that always scared him a little. it’s when he knew you were about to get your way. he wasn’t interested in doing the whole fighting thing with you; he just gave you whatever you wanted the moment this voice came out of your mouth. it always drew a smile out of you and it made his life easier.

this is about to be the one and only time he can’t let you have your way.

“what are you doing?”

soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut, like that will help him brace himself against the conversation he has to have with you.

this was coming, he tells himself. you knew this was coming. she was never just going to let you go without an explanation.

“why are you ignoring me?” you ask, voice cracking. it takes everything in him to stay where he stands and keep from wrapping his arms around you, apologizing, and begging you to stop crying. “why are you avoiding me? why are you acting like i’m not your best friend?”

soonyoung opens his eyes and almost laughs. best friend. he doesn’t know when the term became so derogatory to him. anyone would be lucky to be in your life, let alone be your best friend. he hates it anyway.

he’s your best friend. you’re not his. he would never dream of calling you that—at least not without calling you the love of his life first. his most beloved. the woman he would give anything to marry. on the totem pole of things he wants to call you, best friend is at the bottom.

“because you’re not,” he says honestly. he immediately regrets it when he hears the small whimper that escapes you. “at least, i don’t want you to be,” he adds, hoping it will soften the blow of what he just said.

“what are you saying?”

soonyoung feels so tired and sad and heartbroken. he hangs his head a little as he takes a deep breath.

“what are you saying, soonyoung?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer immediately. patience was never your strong suit.

when he’s sure he’s not going to start sobbing upon turning, he finally faces you, and even then, he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. if he does, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this.

“do you remember your 23rd birthday?” he asks, gaze fixed on the stain on his balcony where you dropped a smoothie and he insisted you leave it instead of cleaning it. he forgot to do it himself and now he has a permanent reminder of how whipped he is for you.

“siquijor,” you basically spit at him. he feels your walls coming up. he feels your defenses getting ready, and he knows you’re aware of what he’s about to do. “what about it?”

siquijor. the best and worst trip of his life.

“i think i’m drunk,” you announced, words slurring so badly, soonyoung was convinced anyone else wouldn’t be able to understand what you were saying.

“what?” he asked sarcastically. “no way. what makes you say that?”

soonyoung loved being sober when you were drunk like this. he loved hearing and seeing all the silly shit you’d never say or do sober. most of all, he loved taking care of you. he loved pretending he meant something more to you and this was just another boyfriend duty of his—making sure his drunk girlfriend was happy and hydrated and safe, and that when she woke up, she had a lineup of hangover cures at her disposal.

you answered with the gnarliest burp. he burst into loud laughter, grateful the beach was far enough away from any rooms that the two of you weren’t disturbing anyone.

after a few moments, he realized you weren’t laughing along, simply leaning back on your elbows in the sand, smiling softly at him. he did what he does best: he pretended. he pretended you were just a lovesick girl staring at someone she yearned for. he pretended you wanted him just as badly as he needed you. he pretended you were in love.

“penny for your thoughts, you drunkard?”

you giggled, slipping off of your elbows and laying all the way down. he joined you, both of you looking up at the sky. it was different here than it was back home. it was quiet and warm and there was no light to disrupt the view of the stars. he loved that he was seeing something like this for the first time with you.

“my thoughts are worth more than a penny.”

he snorted. even drunk, you were a brat. “nickel?”

“nice try. a hundred bucks, buddy.”

“ha!” he shouted. “never mind, keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“soonie!” you half whined, half burped. he made a face of disgust at you. he thought he did a good job of hiding how endeared he was.

“gross.” soonyoung sighed, turning back to the sky. “fifty.”

you giggled. “deal.” there was no way in hell you were going to remember he owed you $50. “i’m thinking… i am having the best time of my life.”

his heart swelled knowing he did well for your birthday celebration.

he let his head loll to the side, watching you. you had your hands folded politely over your ribs and your legs were crossed at the ankles, your feet swaying side to side like there was a song playing that only you could hear. if soonyoung concentrated hard enough, he thought he could hear it too. it sounded like what he imagined his love for you would if it were a song.

you smiled at the stars like you were talking to them.

“i’m so happy,” you said. “best birthday ever, soonyoung. best month ever. thank you. i love you so much.”

“you’re welcome, y/n,” he said, voice coming out barely above a whisper. “i love you too.” so god damn much.

you turned to look at him when he said that, your smile fading naturally the longer you looked at him. “i…” you trailed off, frowning a little before you continued. “i think… i think i feel lonely, though.”

he mirrored your frown, immediately bringing his body closer to yours. he rested a hand on top of yours. “what’s wrong?”

you opened your mouth but before you could start speaking, you were suddenly crying.

“y/n?” he sat up, bringing you up with him. “what’s wrong, baby?” his eyes widened at the slip-up, but you were too drunk to notice, frantically wiping the tears that kept streaming down your face.

“i’m so happy,” you breathed, hand still in his. “this is everything i’ve ever wanted. this is everything i could ever dream of having.”

your words were still slurred and with the addition of the crying to your inebriated state, you’re hiccuping badly as you speak.

“then why are you crying?” he asked. “why do you feel lonely?”

“this is what i want from y—from…” you hiccuped again. “this is everything i want from someone i’m in love with.”

he felt his heart drop into his stomach, and he couldn’t help the way his hand stiffened in yours. he pulled away.

“oh” was all he could bring himself to say.

what else was he supposed to say to that?

“i’m in love with you. please let me be the one that gets to give this to you.”

“please love me.”

“please don’t break my heart like this.”

he couldn’t say any of it.

“i want you to want… i want…” you kept hiccuping, and despite feeling like his heart was breaking into smithereens, soonyoung found it in himself to rub your back comfortingly. “i want—” you cut yourself off with another hiccup.

“shhh.” it came out in a daze. the sky looked darker. the stars looked duller. the water wasn’t as bright anymore. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” he didn’t know if he was telling you or himself. “it’s okay.”

soonyoung pulled you into his arms, still rubbing your back as he tucked your head under his chin. he didn’t bother trying to find the right words to tell you; he knew you probably wouldn’t remember any of this. so he allowed himself to feel heartbroken as you wept and hiccuped until eventually, you fell asleep.

and when you did, it was his turn. he silently cried until the sun came up, and when it did, soonyoung gathered you up in his arms and carried you back—only as a friend, to a bed you’d never share.

“it hurt,” he says, tears finally beginning to stream down his face.

soonyoung never shied away from crying in front of you; he did it kind of often. but there’s something especially humiliating about it now. he’s wrapped up in his sadness, and it’s suffocating him, making it hard to speak. he thinks if he does, he might choke on his grief.

“it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. he isn’t sure if you heard him, but he can’t bring himself to repeat it.

your hands close over his, where they hold the lapel of his jacket around your shoulders. he doesn’t even know when he took it off to put it on you. loving you was exactly like that—an instinct he didn’t have to think twice about. loving you was just something that happened without his knowledge or permission.

“soonyoung,” you call his name, high and desperate. your defenses have come down. you’re not using that scary voice on him anymore. you’re not bracing yourself. he thinks you should be. “that’s not what i meant. i—”

“it’s okay,” he breathes, so many tears in his eyes, he can barely make out the shape of you. he blinks rapidly to expel them. “i’ve had time to—”

“but if you would just let me ex—”

“there’s nothing to explain,” he interjects softly, eyes coming to you now that he can properly see past his tears. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”

your fight falters and you stop trying to talk over him.

“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”

your shoulders fall and he knows the rest of your fight has dissipated into the night. the next question you ask almost breaks his resolve. “only seven?”

the question comes out small and quiet and defeated, and soonyoung feels his lips tremble. he rolls them between his teeth to stop himself from telling you something he doesn’t want to say: no, of course not only seven. you’ll have me wrapped around your finger until the day i die.

he takes his hands back from under your hold once he’s absolutely sure he won’t say something that would disappoint the version of him that sat on that beach in siquijor, swearing that he wouldn’t let himself feel that heartbroken in the next decade of his life.

“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says instead of answering you, fully aware of how badly his voice wavers as he speaks. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could…”

he swallows the lump in his throat and fails. he shakes his head and just says what he should’ve told you seven years ago.

“how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”

you look dumbfounded, and if this were any other situation—if soonyoung didn’t feel like he was actually fucking dying—he thinks he’d make fun of you. your eyes are the widest he’s ever seen them, and your mouth is parted like you’re poised to say something but you don’t even know what.

“soonie—” you start.

he doesn’t let you finish. he can’t. he’s so close to ending this—to doing the worst thing he’s ever going to have to do—and if he lets you finish, he’ll lose the courage to walk away.

“i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he can’t stand the look of horror on your face as you start to process what he’s saying. he looks at the sky behind your head instead. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”

you don’t let even a millisecond pass before you practically scream: “i don’t want you to let me go!” at him so forcefully, he flinches. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot! if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes with your fingers and a face that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. it catches him so off-guard, he almost laughs. “—then knock it off!”

you slap his chest to each word to punctuate your point.

“wh—?” he brings his arm up reflexively to defend himself.

“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong,” you inform him. his arms slowly fall back to his side as he listens to you as closely as he can. “i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”

the words came out of your mouth in a rush like you thought soonyoung wouldn’t let you say them if you took too long. when he doesn’t say anything in the brief silence, you take a deep breath, obviously trying to steady yourself.

“i was lonely. i was really lonely,” you admit, seeming to remember the feeling more than you did the actual conversation. “and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”

everything in soonyoung’s body tenses, like his own defenses are coming up—like this is some kind of joke and his body is preparing to be laughed at. because you just said you were on vacation with someone you were in love with in the philippines… but you were on vacation with him in the philippines…

his body braces itself.

“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you continue, hands waving erratically between you to drive your point home. “i wanted to be on vacation with you!”

your brows furrow and your lips thin as you helplessly fight off a wave of tears he knows is pushing to be released. he knows that when you’re too emotional—whether it’s sadness, joy, rage—you cry, and once you do, you end up blubbering for so long, you usually end up asleep at the end of it.

but still, you bravely fight it off, obviously determined to tell soonyoung what you need to.

“but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”

he’s glad his body is stiff enough to keep his knees from immediately giving out under him. because all soonyoung wants to do now is fall to the floor and cry. cry because he never thought you’d say these words, because he felt like he was getting back something he lost on the beaches of siquijor, because the two of you wasted a decade dancing around each other instead of just fucking saying something.

“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?!” you shriek the question through tears. “do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!”

you whined about this often early on in your friendship, but eventually the complaints petered out, and he would drive himself crazy wondering if it was because that changed—if someone else had taken those firsts.

did it happen?

she would tell me.

right?

no, i’m still a dude. that’s weird, she’d probably tell a girl.

no no, i’m her stupid ass best friend. she would tell me!

oh my god, would she tell me?

what if i just die?

and so the cycle would go. he knows it wasn’t any of his business and that if you had lost those firsts to someone else, that was your prerogative, but still, he feels relieved to hear that isn’t the case.

and he knows he has no right to—not when you haven’t had the proper conversation to hash things out yet—but he suddenly feels an overwhelming possessiveness for you. because he waited for you. no one was ever going to make him stray away from you, so he waited for you—never expecting, just hoping. sorely hoping. and now he knows you waited for him too, and now… now, all he can think about is making you his. all soonyoung can think about now is giving you all the things you abstained from in the hopes you’d have it with him of all people.

it’s what you deserve, isn’t it? for waiting? and isn’t he in the business of giving you what you deserve? his hand twitches, begging him to reach for you and kiss you stupid.

“but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you!” you point at him almost violently, and his heart grows too big for his chest. “you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”

his willpower can only withstand so much. at the end of the day, soonyoung is just a man who’s pathetically in love with you, and hearing you say you wanted him—hearing you confirm you waited your entire friendship just for the chance to have him and be with him and only him—it completely undoes his entire being.

soonyoung’s mouth is on yours before his brain can fully process what’s happening. he feels the shock on your lips for only a moment before you’re moving. despite it being your first kiss, you respond quickly, your body knowing exactly what to do with soonyoung’s like it’s second nature.

you taste like tears and champagne, and even with all the extravagant dinners he’s taken you on and the places around the world you’ve traveled to together, this is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

soonyoung thinks he’s happy to stand here, kissing you and tasting you and listening to your cute, little breaths against him forever. but then your hands start exploring him—his hips, his waist, his chest, before wrapping around his neck and bringing him in to kiss you even deeper. and he knows immediately that all the strength he mustered up to deal with tonight is gone. the moan that comes up his throat is loud and bordering on obscene, but you smile upon taking it into your own mouth, as if you’re feeding on his desire. as if you love the taste of it.

soonyoung doesn’t wait after that. he can’t wait after that. without letting your lips separate, he guides you back into his room, careful to keep you from tripping over the threshold and all the crap he left on the floor when he was busy having his pity parties.

he lays you in his bed gently, thankful that even though it’s unmade, he at least had the housekeeper wash his sheets. he lays on top of you, trying not to let his weight crush you, but when you wrap your arms around him, you press him to your body as close as it can possibly go, and after he releases his entire weight on you, you hold him like even that still isn’t close enough.

it’s all so much. after spending so long hoping you’d one day want him even a fraction as much as he wants you, tasting the excitement on you and feeling the adoration in your hands as they feel every surface of his body they could reach—it’s so much.

it wears down his self-restraint.

you don’t seem to mind, though, because when he runs his tongue along your lips, asking permission for more, you open your mouth immediately. and when his tongue slips in and meets yours, the moan he gets back is so loud and uninhibited and hot, he feels it in his dick.

you giggle a little, and though you recover quickly and continue trying to make out with him after that, the sound delights him enough that he stops to look at you. your makeup is tear stained and your eyes are still a little red, but you look worlds different than you did just a few minutes ago. there’s no tightness in your smile, no devastation in your eyes, no anger furrowed into your brows. when he looks at you this close, he realizes he’s never seen you this happy, this excited, or this light—like you’ve been relieved of a burden that was too heavy for you. but really, the most different thing about you now is that you just look like you’re his.

“what’s so funny, hm?” he asks, resting his forehead on yours. at the start of this night, he didn’t think he would ever hear you giggle again.

“nothing,” you claim, even though your voice still has traces of amusement somewhere in there. your hand snakes up into his hair and starts scratching his scalp. he hums at the sensation. “i love you, soonyoung.”

he lifts his forehead to look at you. it’s his millionth time hearing you say that. it’s the first time he’s hearing it in the context he’s wished to hear it for the last decade.

you love him. you love him. you love him.

“i’ve always loved you,” you announce unabashedly. “from the very start.”

in retrospect, the proper thing to do would’ve been to tell you he loved you too—so much that he didn’t even know how to process it well enough to attempt to put it into words. but instead, he pushes himself off you, slightly ashamed that your confession made his dick go from semi-hard to rock hard in record time, but insanely elated (and painfully and obviously turned on) at the idea of you having spent your entire friendship loving him just as much.

when he sits back, his pants uncomfortably pull against his erection, and he winces, glancing down at it and silently scolding it to stop embarrassing him and have some goddamn decorum.

he clears his throat and looks back at you, where you’re now propped up on your elbows, smiling at his crotch like it’s already yours. it ruins him.

soonyoung is going to tell you he loves you. and sure, you already know because he already did, but now he gets to tell you knowing you feel the same. so he’s going to tell you, and he’s going to say it over and over and over again, but once he does, he gets the feeling that he won’t want to stop at just kissing you.

he knows it’s probably a lot—to go from what you were to… this, and on top of that, lose your first kiss. and even though you made it clear that he’s the only reason you even remained a virgin, he doesn’t want to assume you’re ready to do something as big as have sex for the first time tonight too.

soonyoung wishes he could be a bigger person than the horny teenager he feels like right now. he wishes he could stop this for the both of you and insist on having a conversation first before things get any further like a proper adult would. but you want him and you love him, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy, and if he gets any harder, his dick is going to start hurting.

“how far?” he asks, his voice so pathetically needy, he wants to die. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just…” he falters, trying to find a way to say this without making it sound like it’s all he wants from you. “we wasted so much time.” not a great start. “and i—”

“all the way,” you say, a coy smile on your lips when you interrupt him. his pants stretch even tighter.

it’s clear he was worrying for nothing; from the way you look at him, he knows you understand what he’s desperately trying to say and failing.

he watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you lay yourself back down and wrap your legs around his torso, doing nothing when your already short dress rides all the way up to expose you.

“please,” you add on so sweetly, he groans. he won’t be lasting long at all tonight.

soonyoung rests his hands on your thighs, thumbs instinctively rubbing circles into the soft skin there as he tries to take a moment to process everything in front of him. he knows if he doesn’t, the excitement will paint over his memories with zero remorse, and all he’ll remember is that it happened—not what he said, did, or heard. and this is absolutely something he needs to remember.

he has to remember the way your knees quickly and easily fall apart and away from each other at his touch—almost like they��re sighing in relief at his arrival. he has to remember how your lower back arches and your pelvis wriggles underneath his fingertips before he’s even really done anything to you. soonyoung’s gaze rakes over your figure, taking note of every, little thing he can, when finally, they land on something that lays his fears to rest.

because there is no way he’ll ever forget the moment his eyes found the space between your legs. he stares at you now—right on the spot where your panties are already drenched with your arousal. soonyoung doesn’t care how overwhelming his excitement is right now; there is simply no possible way his brain will be able to gloss over this no matter how many years pass: the moment he saw physical evidence of just how much you craved him and needed him. how much you’ve deprived yourself of him.

and now, he gets to give you anything and everything you want from him.

his hands begin to travel up your thighs, goosebumps following the trail of his fingertips. he stops just shy of your cunt, trying to breathe deeply enough to calm his thunderous heartbeat. if he gets too lost in this, he’ll cum in his pants, and he will never forgive himself.

he stares hard at your desire, just barely able to keep from screaming when he realizes the dark spot is slowly growing the longer he sits there, unmoving. you squirm under him, and his hands involuntarily squeeze in response. your thighs are plush in his grasp, so full and beautiful, your flesh is forcing its way into the spaces between his fingers and turning white from hard he grips you.

don’t fucking cum right now, you loser, he thinks hard to himself. you cannot cum before anything happens during your first time with y/n. he exhales deeply and slowly. i will literally kill you if you cum right now.

he’s so tempted to look you in the eye just to see if you’re struggling even a fraction of the amount that he is, but he knows eye contact with you right now will just set his progress back.

when he’s mostly confident he won’t immediately finish in his pants, he has to swallow the idiotic smile that threatens to take over his entire face. finally, soonyoung gives in and he moves. just one finger, pressed against the part of your panties that sinks just a tiny bit more than the rest—right where he plans to be in the next few minutes, stuffing you full as far as he’ll go.

as soon as you feel his fingertip brush against your entrance, your hole pulses like it’s trying to clamp around something bigger than his finger that isn’t there. he feels some of the control he has on that pathetic smile of his slip, and as if it’s an avalanche, the rest of his control comes crashing down. without thinking about it, his finger sinks the tiniest bit deeper as he drags it up your slit, the wetness from your panties catching on his skin ever so slightly.

when his finger finds and presses on your clit, you begin uncontrollably writhing and gasping beneath him, and his eyes tear themselves away from your cunt long enough to finally meet your gaze. you look at him with so much lust and love and longing—all of it so loudly desperate—he completely loses track of where his finger is and what it’s doing. all he wants to do is latch his lips onto yours again and say what he should’ve at least ten times by now: that he loves you.

so instead of rubbing your clit until he teases your first orgasm out of you like he planned to, he removes his hand from your center so that he can lean forward and kiss you senseless. but as soon as his touch leaves you, a strangled whine forces its way up your throat and past your lips, making him laugh immediately.

“what?” you ask, your eyes narrowing at him. it should invoke fear in him, but he’s too endeared for that. “why are you laughing?! did i do something embarrassing?”

soonyoung scoffs as he brings himself over you. “‘embarrassing’? no, baby.” he rolls his eyes. “your neediness is not ‘embarrassing.’ it’s fucking hot.”

you turn the prettiest shade of pink. “shut up.”

he grins. “gladly.”

soonyoung kisses your nose, enjoying the shade of pink it turned under your blush. then, he kisses your lips, just for a moment so that he can lean back and look you in the eye when he says:

“i love you. i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”

he knows it’s dramatic, but he was convinced that’s exactly what was happening to him not even an hour ago. the thought of doing life without you by his side made everything look and feel so colorless and dull and boring and ugly. dead was as good a word as any to describe what his life would look like without you.

“you’re not leaving me,” you say so matter-of-factly, the smile it brings to his face hurts his cheeks. he was so dumb to think he could; even if he had all the strength in the world to end your friendship, you would’ve never let him off the hook that easily.

“i’m not,” he says.

soonyoung gets to work covering you in as many kisses as humanly possible, his lips pressing against your mouth, jaw, neck, collarbone—wherever you have skin, his lips are all over it. your gasps and moans reach a fever pitch, and he figures it’s time to stop making you wait.

“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he asks, lips brushing against your ears as he speaks. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

you nod so eagerly—so obediently—he can’t help but smirk. his tongue darts out to lick your lobe and bring it between his teeth to nip at before he starts kissing his way down your body.

“you sound so pretty,” he tells you as you continue to make sure he knows exactly how good you feel. all moans and groans and whispered begging. “exactly how i imagined you’d sound.” his lips graze your already hard nipples through the fabric of your dress and he earns another loud whimper. “fuck, even better actually.”

he pulls your dress down and off one shoulder to expose the breast he was just teasing, and when he sees you bare, he hangs his head, letting his forehead meet your chest as he grunts loudly.

what is my life? he thinks to himself. this is literally insane.

soonyoung flattens his tongue against your nipple, and you inhale sharply, your hips immediately bucking up. he doesn’t realize his eyes have fluttered closed until he opens them to look at you and make sure you’re okay. from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth hangs open in dazed ecstasy, he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re okay.

“soonyoung.”

god, his name sounds so good when you say it, especially when you say it like this.

“fuck,” he grumbles against your tit. he swears his dick is throbbing from how hard you have him.

“lower! please, god, lower!” you order him.

“whatever you want,” he breathes against your skin.

but he’s not moving before he has the chance to leave a tiny, little something that can lay claim to you—something only he and you will see. he presses his hand against the side of your breast, groaning at how full you are in his palm. he leans down and bites into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up as he sucks on the spot just long enough that he knows it will stay a few days. he smiles when he releases you, the hickey already turning a beautiful purple.

“pretty,” he mutters. he wants to cover you in them. he kisses the mark gently before removing the other strap of your dress.

with the bottom of your dress completely ridden up and the top half bunched around your waist, you’re almost completely naked, and already, soonyoung can hardly refrain from jumping off his bed and running around the room screaming.

fucking breathe, bro.

he gently lifts your hips up and off the bed so that he can slip both your dress and your ruined panties off your body in one go. once he does, all the refraining he’s been doing tonight comes to a brusque end.

“oh my god!” he shouts, burying his face into your clothes and groaning into them. “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”

soonyoung presses your clothes against his eyes so hard, he thinks he should see stars, but still, all he can see are your perfect tits and your bare, glistening cunt and the sensual look in your eyes like they’re all forever burned into his retinas. or maybe his eyes are open?

he blinks and brings your clothes down just enough to be able to take a peek at you. nope, the image of your naked body in his bed are definitely just burned into his eyeballs.

“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.” he probably says it 20 more times. he’s not sure.

“soonyoung!” you berate his behavior the way you always do. he smiles into your dress because even as everything is literally changing before his eyes… nothing has. you’re still his best friend, pretending to get mad at him for being silly. he knows from the fond way you look at him that you aren’t mad at all. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now. please.”

“okay, okay!” he says, voice muffled by your dress. “i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just…” he stammers, unable to stop the whole bunch of nothing that comes spilling out of his mouth. “i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” the question comes out as a laugh. “y’know?”

you raise an eyebrow at him and he realizes he isn’t really sure what he’s asking you.

“like, what the actual fuck?” he adds like that will help explain.

you groan. “it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser.”

soonyoung feels his face immediately fall into a glare—one you’re used to seeing whenever you two bicker. “you know…” he says, eyes narrowed at you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.”

he throws your clothes aside, hands going to his shirt to begin unbuttoning it.

“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you claim. your bratty smirk falls right off your face as you watch him slowly undress.

“right.”

when he shrugs his shirt off and lets it join your clothes on the floor, your eyes widen like you’re seeing him shirtless for the first time. your eyes sweep up and down his torso, your chest heaving as you begin to breathe harder, and it almost makes him shy—almost makes him want to hug himself and jokingly tell you to stop ogling him like a piece of meat. but he also enjoys it more than anything.

so many times you’ve been half naked together, wearing swimsuits at the beach or at the pool, and although he’s relished having your eyes on him before, this feels different. you stare at him shamelessly now, making no move to avert your eyes the way you used to. this is where he would make a joke to lighten the mood—to give you an out from a situation you might feel caged in by.

this time, he just allows himself the space to revel in this feeling of being adored.

“wait,” you say suddenly when he stands up off the bed and his hands start undoing his belt. you crawl over to him, completely naked, and he thinks he might have a heart attack watching you on all fours like this.

“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you, already fastening his belt before his dick can get any more ideas about where the night is going.

“no,” you laugh as you rest your hands on top of his. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.”

you sound as sure as he does about this. it relaxes him immediately. you smile at him before you press your naked body against his, tangle your hands in his hair, and bring his face down to lock lips with you again. he holds you delicately as your tongues slide against each other—different from how he’s pressed, tugged, and groped at you tonight. he forces himself to be gentler. he forces himself to slow down and enjoy the feeling of being in love with you openly.

he says as much. “i love you. oh my god, i love you. holy shit.”

“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you mutter against the kiss. he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t dare leave your lips. “but i love you too.”

soonyoung doesn’t think he’ll get tired of hearing it. the past 10 years of his life have led up to this moment. it will take so much more than that for him to ever get used to the feeling of you telling him you love him.

he rests his forehead against yours and smiles. “i’m so happy.”

“me too, soonie.”

he watches as your hands leave his hair and travel down his chest, taking their time to trace every line and curve of every muscle. you finish the job of undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, and that’s about all he can take before he decides it’s time to stop holding back.

before you can even touch his zipper, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, tongue twisting with yours immediately. he kisses you like he’s held his breath for 10 years and you’re air. you kiss him back the same, exact way.

he finishes undressing, kicking his pants away and wasting no time picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he does. his cock twitches violently once it’s sandwiched between you and his stomach, and he has you laying back in his bed in mere seconds.

our bed, a voice in his head reminds him. a bed we can share. if you want.

when you tear yourself away from him to catch your breath, your eyes immediately go south, and he doesn’t have to follow your gaze to know what you’re gaping at.

“see something you like?”

you don’t even pretend to hear what he said. “uh, what?”

it inflates his ego to unprecedented levels, but he doesn’t gloat and annoy you the way he usually would. mostly because his laughs are cut off with your frantic begging.

“soonyoung,” you whisper so suddenly and seriously, he freezes. “put it in me.”

the order catches him by so much surprise, he laughs even harder than before. “i can’t just put it in you.”

you shove him and he pushes off the bed to put some space in between you. he looks at you, amused. “what?! what do you mean you can’t just put it in me?” you sound the most offended he’s ever heard you. “is that not how sex works? you put that in me? like… over and over again?

“baby, please,” his laughs are bordering on uncontrollable wheezing. “you’re making this so unsexy.”

“you made it unsexy first!” you complain. “put it in me, soonyoung!”

he wants to keep pretending that this is incredibly unsexy, but this exchange, however goofy, is just making him want to fuck you even more. “stop saying that!”

“why?! you keep making me wait!”

the way you complain and beg makes soonyoung briefly forget that you’re losing your virginity, and he isn’t letting that happen without proper foreplay first—without getting at least one orgasm out of you.

“pu—”

before you can tell him to put it in you again, he presses his hand against your mouth. “okay!” he says, raising his voice to drown out your muffled pleas. “okay! shhh. relax, and i will. alright?” your eyes widen and he feels a burn in his stomach when he sees the submission in them. you nod. “good girl.”

you moan into his hand and grind your hips up into his.

“oh, you like that?” he asks, smirking. all you do is squirm more.

he releases your mouth, and when you stay silent on your own accord—so willingly compliant—he thinks there are a few things he’d like to try in bed later on down the line.

soonyoung plants a wet kiss on your lips before he rests his hand against your neck, eyes watching as you swallow underneath his fingertips. he thinks you look pretty like this: bare throat adorned by his fingers. he has a passing thought to ask you if you would ever be into being choked, but there’s no fucking way he’d do that during your first time having sex. he lets the thought go, making note of it for a later time.

“so pretty,” he says, finger tapping your lower lip. when you take his finger into your mouth all the way, sucking it and releasing it with a pop, he has to spend a few moments reminding himself he can’t cum already. “jesus christ…” he sighs. he needs to move fast or he will be embarrassing himself tonight. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”

you nod quickly—impatiently. your enthusiasm stutters when he doesn’t immediately “put it in” like you’ve been begging. you frown as he pulls away again, but when he settles with his head between your legs, your tune changes immediately.

“oh.”

soonyoung has dreamed about this moment for so long. he’s had obscene, vulgar thoughts about you—thoughts he would touch himself to. he’s spent an embarrassing amount of nights moaning your name while vigorously grinding into his fist, and all it took for him to cum was the thought of tasting you. he didn’t even have to think about fucking into your pussy or how wet you would be or how warm you would feel—all he thought about was eating you out until you came all over his face, and that would do it for him.

if he was looking to get a quick orgasm, maybe release some frustration from a day spent hanging out with you, he’d just rub one out in the shower. but if it was one of those nights he was tossing and turning, thinking about how much he loved you and how much he wanted you to be his, he’d throw his blankets off, grab a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and sometimes, when he was feeling especially depraved, his favorite photos he’s taken of you. there was something about looking at photos no one else has seen of you—no matter how ordinary or innocent—that turned him on.

his daydreams always started with getting you sinfully wet. yes, with your own arousal, but with his spit too. he’d massage it into your clit, mixing the both of you and your pleasures together until your hips are bucking and shoving your needy cunt in his face. then, he’d give in and lap your clit gently and the first taste would send his eyes rolling into the back of his head. he would try to stay cool and composed, but realistically, he knew tasting you would send him into a frenzy.

he’d already be close by this point in his fantasies, whining and groaning, his phone and photos of you long forgotten because he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming before he could finish playing everything out in his head.

because soonyoung couldn’t cum before his favorite part: when he would imagine shoving his face as far in between your legs as he could, extending his tongue as far into you as humanly possible. you’d say his name the way no one has ever said his name. you’d pull at his hair until he was sure you were permanently damaging all of his follicles. sometimes, he’d immediately cum after this. other times, he’d be able to at least get to the part where he starts fucking you with his fingers.

on lucky days, he would reach the end of his dreams. by this time, he’d be feverishly tugging on his cock, a mess of sweat and whimpers of your name as he thought about you squirting all over his face. he would drink you up like it’s the fucking elixir of life. you would make the filthiest mess of his face—chin dripping, cheeks sticky, lips swollen and covered in you—and he would thank you for it and beg for more. of course, more would never come because he would make a mess of his own hand after that.

he always felt like a pervert after—always felt so guilty picturing his best friend like this and doing something so dirty with you in mind—but the next night would come and the next night and the next, and he couldn’t think of anything else. anyone else.

and as lewd and impure and delicious and downright euphoric as his fantasies were, nothing could have prepared him for how much fucking better the real thing would feel. how much better the real you would taste.

by the time you cum on his face, not once but twice, he knows this is something he can do for the rest of his life. he would never even need you to fuck him or blow him or give him a handjob; all he literally needs is to devour your cunt any time you’d grant him the privilege to and he’d be a happy man for the rest of his life.

you’re still panting, chest heaving from your orgasms, when soonyoung climbs up over you once more and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing, nipping, licking, and whispering i-love-yous from your collarbone and up until he reaches your lips. he kisses you lightly just in case you don’t want to put your lips on him after he just ate you out, but when you deepen the kiss and hug him even closer, he thinks you might actually like the taste of you on his mouth.

“soonie,” you eventually whisper against him.

“mmm?”

you say something that he’s been wanting to hear for a decade. you confirm something he’s been desperately searching for signs of for your entire friendship. “i want to be yours. i want to be yours so bad.”

he stops peppering you with kisses and watches you carefully, like this all might still be a hallucination that will fade if he gets too lost in the moment. but you remain where you are, looking at him with as much love as he imagines he’s always looked at you. tears gather in your eyes, some escaping the corners. he catches every single one that does, pressing it back into your skin with his finger.

when you give him a small smile to tell him you’re okay—that these are just tears of happiness—he leans in, presses his cheek to yours, and promises you, “then i’ll make you mine.”

just being inside you is enough to make soonyoung want to cry. he does his absolute fucking best not to because you already are and he doesn’t want you to think of anything other than yourself and your pleasure during your first time. but he wants to cry as he buries his face into your neck and slowly pushes into you, only moving whenever you say it’s okay to.

when he woke up today, he did it with swollen eyes from a night spent crying over you. he tortured himself all day, thinking about how every last time he had with you was the last and he didn’t even know it—the last laugh he heard, the last smile he saw, the last time you bickered with him, the last time you told him you loved him. he steeled himself to face your tears or your screaming or whatever else you did to him when he ended your friendship.

at the start of the day, soonyoung was preparing for his life to be over—for you to take every good thing he’s ever had and felt with you when he forced you to walk away.

now, he’s fully buried inside you, forehead resting against yours as you both struggle to adjust to the overwhelming feeling of each other. it’s when you tell soonyoung that after 10 years, there’s nothing that will change your mind about him, that he finally moves.

“oh fuck,” he breathes as he starts rolling his hips, cock dragging in and out of you in an astonishingly seamless fit. “your cunt is perfect.”

you bloom at the praise, and you don’t shy away from returning it, chanting his name over and over again, whispers of how good he feels wherever you can fit them in between—how good he is for you, how he was made for you.

“y/n,” he gasps. he tries to tell you that if you keep saying his name like this—like he’s yours—he’s going to cum inside you. but all that comes out is: “oh my god.”

and all you say is “soonyoung” again and again and again. he’s never put any thought into his birth-given name, but tonight, he decides it’s his favorite string of letters. he never wants to hear you say anyone else’s name. he never wants anyone other than you to say his name. it’s yours and yours alone.

at some point, he can tell you can handle even more, and he pushes up off you, using the headboard as leverage as he pounds into you harder and rougher, rhythm becoming erratic and frenzied. the noises that come out of your mouth are so nasty, he’s on the brim of losing it.

“oh my god. look at you,” he pants, his sweat dripping from his face, his neck, and his chest onto you. a drop lands on the corner of your mouth, and without hesitating, your tongue darts out to lick it up, and he groans.

it’s too much: your neediness, your obedience, your eagerness. your tits—one sporting his hickey—bouncing wildly as he fucks you at a brutal pace. your unbelievably tight cunt, sucking his cock in so desperately, near-strangling it and refusing to let him go.

“so fucking perfect,” he tells you.

you make it clear that you’re not lasting long—that your third orgasm is on the horizon. it’s a bittersweet realization; on one hand, he’s relieved because he’s been holding his own orgasm off since his tongue met your clit. on the other, he never wants to stop fucking you.

but this is just the start, he tries to remind himself. this is just the first time, and there will be so many more now—now that you’re his and he’s yours.

your voice rings loudly in his ears again. i want to be yours so bad.

his voice is hoarse when he asks, “do you feel like you’re mine yet?”

you nod frantically, pussy squeezing tightly around him like the thought is pushing you even closer to finishing. “yes, god, yes. yes!”

“say it,” he demands, eyes never leaving yours. he can’t look away when you look like you would say or do anything for him.

“i’m yours,” you say immediately. “soonie… i’m yours, soonyoung.” his name comes out in a tortured whimper.

“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he declares. “ah, fuck, holy shit. you feel so fucking good, baby. just for me, huh? oh fuck.” his orgasm is begging to be released, but he refuses to let up until you reach yours. “you’re mine. and i’m yours.”

you barely finish agreeing and calling soonyoung “mine” when your pussy is suddenly and violently quivering around him, pulsing and throbbing as you ride through your third orgasm of the night. the feeling of your climax squeezing around soonyoung is unreal, and he pulls out just in time to avoid coming inside of you, painting your beautiful, soft skin with his bliss.

it feels like it lasts forever, the spurts of white splattering you. he thinks he could get hard again when you let your mouth hang open and catch some of him on your tongue.

“holy shit,” he breathes when he’s tugged himself dry, leaning back and trying to catch his breath. he feels drops of sweat sliding down his body everywhere, his muscles burning deliciously.

soonyoung looks down at you and is pleased to see you covered with him: his cum, his sweat, his spit. he made good on his promise. if you don’t look like his right now, he has no idea what you look like.

“c’mere,” you whine, reaching for him with grabby hands when you have no energy to sit up and actually take hold of him.

he smiles and leans in to kiss you, before retrieving a towel from the bathroom to clean you both up with.

for the rest of the night, you two stay tangled up in each other’s arms and talk about when you fell in love.

you: when you first met him.

him: when you first walked into the room.

neither of you know if the other is telling the truth or if you’re just trying to win the i-loved-you-first competition (you’re both telling the truth).

you talk about what the future looks like. you decide you don’t know for sure, but one thing you’re confident about is that you’ll be facing it together. one thing soonyoung is sure about is that he’ll be making you his wife.

you ask if you can make your anniversary two days from now so it doesn’t land on your birthday. soonyoung asks if you can make it two days prior so that he can forget that he was trying to leave you on your 30th birthday. you agree.

you both run through every big moment either of you can remember being so hopelessly in love with each other, it hurt and what the other person was thinking at that moment. for every memory of yours soonyoung can remember, he’s able to tell you he was suffering just as much as you were. the same is true for you. for every memory he can’t remember, he feels like a kid, giggling and kicking his feet in bed with you hearing about how you were equally, pathetically down bad for him.

your birthday party is long forgotten, traded for an intimate night getting to know each other in drastically different ways than you did as best friends. soonyoung feels like he’s meeting you for the first time again—a privilege he never thought he would be afforded ever again. aside from learning what you liked from your time in his bed tonight, he learns a lot.

like for one, you actually are very into physical affection, something soonyoung thought you didn’t like displaying since you were constantly shoving him away; you just avoided it because it exacerbated your feelings for him and blurred the lines too much for you. in fact, you stay burrowed into his side the entire night, whining any time he moved a tiny bit away, even when it was just to adjust his position or reach to turn off the lamp. you love playing with his hair and tracing little patterns on his chest (he thinks one of the things you traced was your names together). you constantly thread his fingers with yours and when you get tired of that, you still keep your pinkies linked.

he learns you love hanging out at his apartment more than you like the fancy dinners. you feel the most at home with him when you’re actually home with him. you tell him your favorite nights are when you’re in charge of placing a food delivery order at his place while he unwinds from his workday, showering and changing (and unbeknownst to you, probably jacking off in the shower to make sure he doesn’t accidentally get hard while you two hang out). you say it feels like you’re his wife and this is your home too. the sentiment is enough to make him tear up, and you, of course, tease him mercilessly once a fat teardrop lands on your head.

by the time the sun is rising, soonyoung realizes you both have rewritten siquijor in the confines of his bedroom. all the miscommunication (or absolute lack thereof) and the pain and heartbreak have been replaced. from where you two lay in bed, he watches the sun’s rays start to reach into the sky, turning it stunning shades of orange, pink, purple, and blue, and for the first time in seven years, he doesn’t cringe away from it and the feelings of loneliness it used to bring. he doesn’t feel heartbroken all over again like he used to.

this time, the sun rises, and soonyoung feels so ridiculously happy. you quietly watch the sky with him, and he thinks you know what he’s thinking of as you continuously trace hearts, one after the other, never-ending, into his skin.

“it’s a new day,” you say quietly.

“it is,” he agrees, his heart full. “it’s a new day, and i love you even more than i did yesterday.”

you hug him tighter to you even though there is literally no space between you.

“i love you, soonie.” you yawn. “is it time to say good night?”

“it’s morning, baby.”

“no, we didn’t go to sleep. it’s definitely still night.”

he grins and doesn’t bother arguing with that logic. he moves to get out of bed, but you immediately lock your arms so he can’t. he snorts. “i’m just going to pull the curtains so we can sleep.”

you sigh like it’s still an inconvenience, but you release him all the same. “fine. you should get, like, a remote for them or something. isn’t that what rich people do?”

he rolls his eyes as he gets up and closes the curtains, bidding the sunrise—the best of his life—a farewell for now. “rich people stay rich by not buying things they don’t need, baby.”

“i don’t think so,” you disagree, arms opening again for soonyoung to lay back in.

“you know what, whatever you say,” he says as you kiss all the skin you can reach from where you hug him. he preens at the feeling. “you’re always right.”

you hum, smiling against him. “good boyfriend.”

“soon-to-be husband,” he mutters before yawning.

you giggle the same way you have been every time he’s corrected you tonight. “soonie-be-husband.”

he scoffs. “boo,” he heckles you. “bad! get off the stage!” you laugh harder, and it coaxes a soft smile out of him as he watches you.

“best friend” doesn’t seem like such a bad title in this moment anymore. he thinks he gets it now that he’s able to call you even more than that; it’s such an honor to be able to be both your boyfriend and your best friend now. it’s such an honor to be able to build something more on a foundation of friendship as strong as the one he shares with you.

when the laughter subsides, you both sigh, sinking into the bed further and getting comfortable.

“good night, love of mine,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“mine,” you repeat like you can’t get enough of the sound of it. “yours.”

soonyoung smiles and his eyes flutter closed with exhaustion, thoughts bleary but still painted with you and the last 10 years as he starts to drift off to sleep. if this is what he gets to have now, whatever pain he withstood and however much time he wasted is nothing to him—just a moot point in the story you’ll both tell for years to come.

he dreams of you two in siquijor that night, this time both of you sober and wrapped in each other and in love, with the rest of your lives ahead of you.

bonus (performance unit group chat):

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cowboylikemac · 21 days ago

Text

THE WAITING GAME || J.P

a/n: i am honestly not sure how to feel about this but if you love it, i’ll end up loving it. Honestly its giving jeff buckley’s yearning.

summary: James Potter touches you like it means nothing. You feel it like it means everything. Best friends caught in the in-between. Too close to be casual, too scared to be honest. It’s all glances that linger too long, hands that almost hold, and words neither of you are brave enough to say. But how long can you keep waiting for someone who’s already halfway yours?

including: Slow emotional, mutual pining, angst, no explicit content or character death

word count: 2k+

James Potter always touches you like it means nothing.

An arm slung over your shoulder. A hand on your arm when he’s laughing too hard at Sirius. His chin on your shoulder as he reads your Herbology notes upside down. You’ve learned to breathe through it. To pretend your skin doesn’t buzz every time he’s close.

You’re best friends. You don’t ruin that.

But it’s hard.

Especially when he curls up next to you on the Gryffindor common room couch and falls asleep halfway through some dull Astronomy chapter you offered to read out loud. His head is on your chest, soft snoring, lips slightly parted. You don’t dare move.

You also don’t sleep.

You stare at the ceiling for two hours and wonder if he hears how fast your heart beats when he’s this close.

⸻

You get good at hiding it.

The longing. The way you look for him in every hallway, laugh a little louder when he’s nearby. The way you watch his hands, his long fingers, calloused knuckles, a freckle on his middle knuckle you once counted just to distract yourself.

He talks about girls sometimes. You pretend not to care.

“You think Smith likes me?” he asks one afternoon, sprawled on your bed eating half your chocolate stash.

You shrug. “Probably. You’re loud. People notice loud.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Do I?” you joked.

He throws a pillow at you. You throw it back.

⸻

One morning, he’s already at your table in the library when you arrive. There’s an extra quill waiting for you, your favorite fruit chews, and a note folded in half.

“Thought you’d forget your stuff. You always do.”

You roll your eyes but keep the note.

You tuck it in your pocket and read it again three times during History of Magic.

He never mentions it.

⸻

Sixth year feels heavier.

He’s taller. His voice is deeper. Lily Evans finally starts looking at him the way he’s always looked at her. It makes your stomach twist.

You hate that you see it. That he doesn’t seem to care as much anymore. Or maybe he’s just tired of waiting for her, the same way you’re tired of waiting for him.

You sit beside him in Transfiguration and pretend it doesn’t mean anything when your knees touch.

You lend him your scarf one day when he forgets his. He forgets to give it back for a week. When he does, it smells like him.

⸻

You tell yourself you’re fine with this.

This limbo. This almost.

He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you.

Because how could you? What would you even say?

“I think about kissing you every time you lean too close.”

or something even better

“I feel like I’m falling in love with someone who thinks of me like a place to rest, not stay.”

You’d sound crazy. Mental.

But worst of all— you’d lose him.

So you smile. Laugh. Let him get close, but never close enough.

You wait. And wait. And wait.

⸻

It changes one night in November.

It’s late. Past curfew. You’re both on the Quidditch pitch, lying in the middle of the grass after James dragged you out for “fresh air and perspective,” whatever that means.

You’re lying side by side, his fingers close to yours. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the warmth radiating like a furnace.

He sighs. “Everything feels like it’s moving too fast lately.”

You glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Lily. School. Life. Everything feels like it’s on the edge of changing and I can’t tell if that’s a good thing.”

You chew your lip. “Maybe it is.”

He turns his head toward you. “What if I don’t want it to change?”

You look at him.

And you say the bravest thing you’ve ever said “Then tell it to stay.”

James blinks.

You keep going, even though your chest feels like it’s caving in. “Sometimes… I feel like I’m standing still and everything else is moving on without me.”

He’s quiet.

And then he whispers, “Mine doesn’t move without you.”

You stare at him. His voice is low. Vulnerable. Like he’s saying more than he knows how to say.

“James—”

“I think about it,” he says suddenly. “Us. Sometimes.”

Your heart stutters. “Oh.”

He laughs softly. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “That you think about it too.”

You look down. “I think about it all the time.”

He’s still. Like he’s scared to move, scared it’ll break whatever moment this is.

But then he reaches out — slowly — and takes your hand.

Just that.

Not a kiss. Not a confession.

Just your hand in his.

And somehow, that’s everything.

⸻

After that night, nothing’s different.

And yet everything is.

He still jokes. Still ruffles your hair. Still falls asleep beside you with a book open in his lap. But now, his fingers find yours under the table. His arm lingers around your waist longer than it should. And when he smiles at you, it’s softer.

You still don’t talk about it.

Neither of you are ready.

But when you see Lily Evans look at him and he doesn’t look back, you feel something loosen in your chest.

You’re still waiting.

But it feels different now.

Like maybe — finally — he’s waiting too.

⸻

(James POV)

James Potter doesn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was fourth year, when you cursed Mulciber for hexing his broom and then shrugged it off like it was nothing.

Or maybe it was fifth, when you fell asleep on his shoulder in the library and slightly drooled on his robes and he didn’t even care.

Or maybe it was always there — this quiet ache that sat low in his chest every time you laughed and it wasn’t at something he said.

He doesn’t know.

He just knows it’s getting harder to ignore.

⸻

You’ve always been his soft spot.

He thinks he hides it well. He teases you like he teases Sirius. Shoves your shoulder in the hall.

But he notices things about you that he doesn’t notice about anyone else.

You chew your lip when you’re nervous, even though it annoys you. You hate coffee but drink it every morning needing anything to wake up. You sleep on your side, always facing the wall. You pretend not to care when people hurt you, but you always go quiet after.

He notices.

He wishes he didn’t.

⸻

When he talks about other girls, he watches you.

He doesn’t mean to — he just does.

Watches how your jaw tenses, how your eyes flick down, how you suddenly start organizing your bag like it’s the most urgent thing in the world.

And every time, he feels like the worst person alive.

Because he wants your attention, but not like this. Not through jealousy. Not through hurt.

But if he asked you — really asked you — what would you say?

⸻

He dreams about you sometimes.

He never tells anyone, obviously. Not Sirius. Not Remus. Definitely not you.

But they’re not always romantic. Sometimes you’re just… there. Laughing in the rain. Sitting on the Quidditch stands. Reading upside down with your foot tapping against his knee.

But sometimes, it’s more.

Sometimes, it’s your hand in his, your lips against his throat, your voice in the dark saying his name.

He always wakes up sweating.

⸻

When he finds you on the Quidditch pitch that night, something in him unravels.

He doesn’t plan on saying anything. Just wanted to be near you. That’s always been enough.

But the way you look at him — like you see him, not the version he pretends to be which only makes it harder to lie.

He says everything without saying anything.

“Everything’s changing.”

“I don’t want it to.”

“I think about us.”

And then your hand in his.

Just that.

It should’ve been too small to mean anything.

But it feels like the start of something he’s been running from for years.

⸻

He doesn’t kiss you.

Not because he doesn’t want to — but because he wants it to mean more than almost.

He wants to be sure. Not of you — he’s always been sure of you. But of himself. Of the version of him that’s not just the Quidditch captain or the loudest in the room or the idiot pining after Lily Evans.

He wants to be the version of him that’s worthy of your attention.

And maybe — just maybe — that version is already here.

⸻

Every time you’re near him after that, his whole body feels wired.

Like if you touched him for one second too long, he’d combust.

He doesn’t tell you this.

He lets his hand brush yours under the table. Lets his fingers rest on your knee when no one’s watching. Lets his shoulder bump yours when he sits beside you, like he can’t stand the inch of air between your bodies.

Because he can’t.

But he still doesn’t kiss you.

Not yet.

Not until you look at him like you know.

Not until he’s brave enough to say the thing he’s never said

“It’s always been you.”

⸻

(Readers POV)

It starts with a glance.

You’re in the corridor, laughing with Marlene, and James is passing by. He looks over his shoulder like he always does, like he’s checking you’re still there. Like he can’t help it.

But then Lily catches up to him and links their arms.

He doesn’t look back.

You laugh a little too loud after that.

Marlene notices. She doesn’t say anything.

⸻

Later that night, you’re curled in a chair by the fire, pretending to read. James flops beside you with a sigh and that familiar look — one part affection, one part restlessness.

“Evans thinks I’ve been distant,” he says.

You don’t look up. “Have you?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe.”

You flip a page. You haven’t read a single sentence.

“Do you want to be with her?” you ask, and it sounds calm, but your knuckles are white on the book spine.

James hesitates. “I thought I did.”

You nod, like it doesn’t cost you anything. “Well. Let me know when you figure it out.”

You stand.

He grabs your wrist.

“Wait—what does that mean?”

You don’t answer. You just look at him — really look — and see it: the confusion, the fear, the same ache you’ve been carrying all year.

“You don’t get to hover near me forever, James,” you whisper. “You don’t get to want me halfway.”

Then you walk away.

⸻

( James’s POV )

She’s pulling away. He can feel it.

Not all at once — no, that would be easier. But piece by piece. The long looks become quick glances. The silence between them stops feeling comfortable.

He misses her in the small ways first.

Misses how she always passed him a sugar quill when he fidgeted. How she said “you’re fine” every time he doubted himself — not in the loud, Gryffindor way everyone else did, but in a quiet, real way that actually worked.

He misses her voice.

He misses her attention.

But he doesn’t say anything.

Because saying something makes it real. And if it’s real, it can break.

⸻

Sirius elbows him one day in the courtyard. “You’re brooding. Stop.”

“I’m not brooding,” James mutters, lying badly.

“You look like you’ve just been dumped.”

James doesn’t reply.

Sirius raises a brow. “Wait—did you? Did you and Y/N—?”

“There was no me and Y/N,” James snaps.

But the words taste wrong in his mouth.

Because maybe there was. Just in a way he never had the guts to name.

⸻

That night, he finds her by the lake.

She doesn’t look surprised.

“I figured you’d show up eventually,” she says.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Can we talk?”

She stays silent.

“Only if you stop pretending you don’t know how I feel.”

James stares.

“I’ve loved you since fifth year,” she says flatly. “And I’ve waited. And waited. And you’ve spent every second dancing around it like it might ruin your perfect little world if you say something real.”

James feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him.

“I never wanted to ruin what we have,” he says.

“Well, you did anyway,” she says. “Congratulations.”

He steps closer. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Her voice cracks. “You don’t get to hold my hand like it means something and then tell people you’re not sure how you feel.”

James opens his mouth. Closes it.

“I wanted you to say something first,” she says quietly. “Just once. I wanted it to be you.”

Silence.

Then James says, hoarse, “I think about kissing you every time I’m near you.”

She goes still.

“I think about how you smell like cinnamon and ink, and how you laugh when you think no one’s listening, and how I started waiting for you at breakfast even when I wasn’t sure why.”

He exhales. “I’ve been in love with you so quietly for so long I didn’t even realize it until I thought I lost you.”

She swallows. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I’m terrified,” he says. “But I’m more terrified of never trying.”

A painfully long pause.

Then, finally, she whispers, “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it. Like you mean it.”

He steps forward. Takes her face in both hands.

I’m in love with you,” James says. “Not just in the way people say it. I mean in the way where you’re the first person I look for in every room. The one I can’t stop thinking about, even when I’m trying not to.

Then he kisses her.

And she kisses him back.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s everything they’ve held back for years pouring out all at once.

It tastes like relief. Like maybe they were always heading here.

Like they were always going to break just to fall into each other.

leave recommendations in my inbox and check out my masterlist .ᐟ

a/n: i wrote this a 6 in the morning…i am running on fumes

tags: @lydiascabinsix @lydiasfalling @laufeysvalentine

#james potter x self insert #james & peter & remus & sirius #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter x oc #james potter #james #james fleamont potter #maraduersera #maraduers #maraders era #the maraunders map #marauders #cowboylikemac #mac talks .ᐟ

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heestruck · 13 days ago

Text

BAD DESIRE ; Lee Heeseung

synopsis ; It was never meant to be more than a secret. But between late night kisses, and everything they never said, she fell harder than she should have. And he let her. Now they’re both left chasing something that was never built to last.

In which y/n and heeseung's paths probably shouldn't have collided. with his raging addiction, and her undying love for him, they navigate their way through a love that was never meant to last... or was it?

pairing ; student!fem reader x addict!heeseung

genre ; smut, angst

warnings ; drug use, and lots of it, heeseung using, reader smoking/attempting to use, emotional abuse, lying, kinda cheating if you squint, gaslighting, p in v smut, pet names, virgin reader, inexperienced reader, degrading, praise, unprotected sex (be safe pls), oral fem rec, like... kinda breeding kink, heeseungs lowkey possessive, heeseung is lowkey manipulative, reader is really naive, slight drug glorification, heeseung and reader kinda don't like each other at first, arguing, heeseungs a major asshat, they yell at each other sometimes, very will they wont they/back and forth, like I cannot stress how much heeseung is in the wrong here, let me know if i'm missing anything

do not read if any of this makes you uncomfortable. minors do not interact. !!! there is a lot of heavy themes in this fic, so please read the warnings carefully before reading.

I also CANNOT stress enough that this is purely a work of fiction, this story does not reflect against the real Lee Heeseung.

wc ; 22k

read below the cut!

The lecture hall hums with quiet conversation as your professor’s voice fades into the background, the final slide of the presentation still glowing on the screen. You close your notebook with a soft snap, already organizing your mental to-do list for the night: finish your reading for psych, review your flashcards, maybe rewrite your biochem notes.

As always, you're the first to have everything packed and neat, your pens color-coded, your planner tucked under your arm. “God, y/n, you’re like a walking academic weapon,” a voice teases from your right. You glance up to see Nina, your roommate, tossing her long curls over one shoulder as she stuffs her laptop into her bag. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you smile, slinging your tote over your shoulder.

“It is a bad thing,” she says, widening her eyes playfully. “You need to touch grass, or at least touch a vodka cran.” You laugh, shaking your head, but she’s already leaning closer with a mischievous look on her face. “There’s a party tonight off-campus. A few of our friends are going, Kira, Wren, Koda, just a chill thing. Music, drinks, maybe a little dancing.” She nudges your arm. “You in?”

Normally, you’d say no. You’ve turned down more party invites than you can count. But something in Nina’s tone, or maybe the way the late afternoon sun filters through the windows and paints the classroom in gold, makes you pause. You think about the endless cycle of lectures and labs. The four color-coded exam prep calendars on your wall. The silence of your room after everyone else has gone out.

“Yeah,” you say, surprising even yourself. “Why not?” Nina’s mouth drops open in mock shock. “Who are you and what have you done with my roommate? I didn’t even have to get on my knees and beg!” You just laugh again, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not promising anything wild. I’ll come, I’ll dance, I’ll hydrate. That’s it.”

“Perfect,” she grins, grabbing your arm as you walk toward the exit. “You’re going to look so cute. Don’t worry, I already know exactly what you’re wearing.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The bass hits before you even step inside.

The house is already pulsing with bodies and strobing lights. Smelling like cheap beer, too much cologne, and the unmistakable scent of a college party deep in its prime. Mina’s got a hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you through the crowd like she’s on a mission, her glossy lips already curved in excitement. “You look so good,” she says over her shoulder, practically yelling. “Like, who is she good.”

You tug your jacket tighter with a small smile. It’s not nerves, you’re just not used to feeling like this. Not used to the way the black ripped jeans hug your legs, the way your fitted crop top clings to your frame. Hair down, just enough effort to look like you didn’t try at all. The moment you step into the living room, the lights flashing soft pinks and purples, a voice cuts through the chaos. “Y/N! Oh my god, babe, look at you!” Wren comes flying toward you with open arms, all bright eyes and glittery eyeshadow, wrapping you in a one-armed hug while still balancing a red Solo cup. “You look so hot,” she says, already pulling back to get a full look at you. “Like, I’d kiss you hot.”

“Same,” Kira calls from the couch, where she’s sitting sideways in someone’s lap like she owns the place. “You’re giving mysterious bad bitch and I’m obsessed.” “Seriously,” adds Koda, who’s perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, swinging her legs and sipping some blue drink out of a mason jar. “If I saw you walk into a party and didn’t know you? I’d be too intimidated to talk to you.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re all ridiculous.” “And you’re stunning,” Mina says, giving your waist a quick squeeze. “Now, drinks?” As if on cue, Wren jumps up and heads toward the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen. “We’ve got vodka, tequila, mystery punch… ooh, and something that tastes like peach rings.”

“I’ll just do water,” you say quickly, holding up a hand. “I’m good.”

Four pairs of eyes snap to you in unison. “Y/N,” Kira says, scandalized. “You wore that top and came to this party and think you’re getting away with water?” Koda laughs. “Girl, you agreed to come. That means at least one fun drink.”

Mina reappears with a bottle of something pink and barely fizzy, holding it out to you. “Light. Not even strong. You’ll barely taste it. It’s like a Capri Sun.” You hesitate, but only for a second. The bottle is cold in your hand, the condensation slick on your fingers. One sip won’t hurt. It tastes like candy. Sweet and a little fake. Easy. “There she goes,” Wren says, raising her cup.

“You’re officially fun now,” Kira adds, looping her arm through yours. The music shifts, bass vibrating in your chest. Someone yells something in the next room. Outside, people are already spilling onto the porch, drinks and laughter echoing into the night. You feel it in your skin, that slow buzz of being alive, being here, with the girls who make everything feel lighter.

But you still feel an unsettling feeling creep up the back of your neck. Maybe because you don’t notice the eyes watching you from across the room.

Not yet.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The bathroom reeks of bleach, stale smoke, and whatever cheap cologne the guy before them doused himself in. Heeseung wipes his nose with the back of his hand, sniffing once, slow and deep. The burn is already fading, replaced with the familiar clarity and a weightless buzz under his skin.

Outside the door, the music thrums like a second heartbeat. Sunghoon leans against the wall, arms crossed, a lazy smirk on his lips. “You know one day your brain’s gonna just leak out your nose, right?” Heeseung shrugs, eyes half-lidded. “Better out than rotting in there.” Jay laughs, pulling the door open to let the sound of the party spill in again. “You two sound like you’ve had this conversation before.” There’s a pause as the two exchange a glance. “We have,” Sunghoon says. “Every time he does something dumb.” His words accompanied by an eye-roll that comes to him naturally, “Which is often,” Heeseung adds with a grin, snagging the cigarette tucked behind Sunghoon’s ear and lighting it like it’s his.

They step out, smoke trailing behind them, the heat and noise of the party rushing in all at once. Heeseung’s eyes flick lazily over the crowd, bodies pressed too close, red cups in every hand, neon lights catching on sequins and sweat. Sunghoon elbows him. “You gonna dance tonight, or just brood in the corner like Batman again?” “I’ll dance when hell freezes and you get laid,” Heeseung mutters, exhaling smoke through his nose. “Ouch,” Sunghoon says with a mock wince. “Low blow. Even for you.”

Jay doesn’t laugh.

He’s staring at something, no, someone. Eyes locked across the room, jaw slightly slack, like he forgot how to act. Heeseung catches it immediately. “Dude,” he says flatly. “You good?” Jay doesn’t respond, causing Heeseung to follow his gaze. She’s standing with a group of girls near the kitchen, laughing at something, her drink cradled in one hand. Her hair catches the light, eyes wide and sparkling in that way that’s too fucking pure for this place. Black jeans. Black top. Sweet face, too clean for the party grit.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, stop staring at her like a fucking perv.” Jay finally snaps out of it. “She’s just… I don’t know, man. She’s got-”

“What?” Heeseung cuts in, tone biting. “That good girl trying to be bad energy? The innocent preppy type who probably says ‘sorry’ when she bumps into furniture?” Sunghoon snorts. Jay shrugs, unfazed. “She’s cute.”

“She’s boring,” Heeseung says immediately, taking another drag. “Can already tell. Probably straight-A’s, runs on caffeine and validation, thinks this party is some edgy detour in her perfect little life plan.”

“You got all that from one look?” Sunghoon raises a brow. “I’ve seen that type before,” Heeseung mutters. “They don’t stay.” Jay watches her again. “Still wouldn’t mind finding out.” Heeseung doesn’t reply, but his eyes linger just a little too long this time. Something about her smile makes him twitch. Like she doesn’t belong here, and for some reason, that pisses him off more than anything else.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You’re laughing as Wren spins you around, both of you stumbling through a fit of giggles. The music’s loud, the floor slightly sticky under your shoes, and the lights paint everything in neon. It’s the first party you’ve let yourself really enjoy in... well, ever. Koda hands you another drink, something sugary, and you take a cautious sip before letting yourself be pulled back into the small crowd of dancers.

You move with Kira and Wren, arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, swaying to the beat. It’s easy to forget the stress of deadlines and grades here, wrapped in the warmth of your friends and the hazy buzz of the night.

“Dude, you’ve been staring at her for like ten minutes,” Heeseung mutters, leaning against the wall, eyes following the glow of the neon lights. “What, you suddenly into honor roll girls now?” Jay smirks, eyes still fixed on you as you laugh and twirl with your friends. “She’s just… different.” Sunghoon snorts into his drink. “Different how? She’s got two arms and two legs like everyone else.”

“She’s not like the other girls here,” Jay says, straightening a little. “She’s not sloppy, not trying to start drama. She looks like she’s actually having fun.” Heeseung scoffs. “Yeah, because she probably drank half a white claw and hit her sugar quota for the week.” Jay grins. “You’re just mad you have a type and it’s emotionally unavailable.” Sunghoon lets out a wheeze. “He’s not wrong.”

Heeseung glares at both of them. “Nah, I’m just saying, girls like her don’t come to parties like this unless it’s a pity invite. She’s not gonna go for you, Jay. Especially not with that look in your eye.”

“What look?”

“The one that says, ‘I’m trying to hit it before the night ends.’” Jay rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure, I wouldn’t mind that. But I’m not an asshole. I just wanna talk to her. She seems cool.” Sunghoon nudges Heeseung. “Translation: he wants to hit it, but he’ll settle for a couple of texts and a chance to pretend he reads books.” Heeseung exhales a laugh, tapping ash off his cigarette. “Alright, lover boy. Go shoot your shot. Just don’t cry when she says you’re not her ‘type.’” Jay ignores them both, already peeling off the wall. “You two can stay here being bitter. I’m gonna go say hi.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Heeseung mutters. “Take the rejection like a man,” Sunghoon calls after him with a grin.

You’re mid-laugh when someone steps into your circle. “Hey,” he says, smiling like he’s known you for years. “Sorry to interrupt, I just had to come over and tell you… you look amazing tonight.” You pause, blinking up at him. He’s tall, casually dressed, but something about his smile is disarming. Genuine. Your friends glance at him, then at you, smirking behind their drinks.

“Oh,” you say, caught off guard. “Thank you.”

“I’m Jay,” he offers, holding out a hand. You shake it. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I hope this doesn’t come off weird, but I’ve kinda been watching you and your friends for a while.” You raise a brow. “Not in a creepy way,” he adds quickly, laughing. “You just look like you’re having the best time.” You laugh, unsure how to respond. “And, you know,” he continues, “you’re kind of the most gorgeous person in this room.”

That gets your cheeks to warm. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” Jay chuckles. “Life’s short.” Then he leans in a little, voice lower. “I’m not gonna lie and pretend I don’t wanna get to know you in every sense. But I also get that it's not everyone’s vibe.” Your expression must shift, because he adds quickly, “No pressure. I just figured I’d shoot my shot.” You lift an eyebrow, but you’re smiling. “I don’t really do the hookup thing.”

Jay’s eyes flicker, disappointment, maybe, but brief. “Totally fair. In that case, I could always use a new hot friend that has killer dance moves.” That earns a soft laugh from you. “You’re smooth.”

“I try,” he says, shrugging. “So... can I still get your number? No expectations.” You nod, handing him your phone. He types quickly and hands it back, slipping his own into his pocket. “You wanna dance with us?” you ask, tipping your head toward your friends. Jay grins, “Thought you’d never ask.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s been a couple of weeks since the party, and somehow, Jay has become a fixture in your life.

He fits weirdly well with your friends, easygoing, funny, never tries too hard. Koda teases him constantly, Wren talks music with him like they’re soulmates, and Kira insists he’s basically the sixth member of your group chat. You didn’t expect him to blend in so seamlessly, but you’ve found yourself laughing a little more since he started hanging around.

Tonight, he invited you out to a local concert. You weren’t sure at first, small venue, grungy vibe, loud music wasn’t exactly your typical scene but he promised it would be fun. Said some of his friends were going, too. You agreed, mostly because it sounded like a decent Friday night, and Jay had been nothing but good company.

You arrive with him just as the opening set’s starting, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Jay gives your hand a brief squeeze as he pulls you through the people, heading toward a cluster of guys by the wall. “That’s them,” he says, nodding. “Heeseung and Sunghoon.”

You spot them immediately. Sunghoon is the first to notice you, his hair dark, pierced lip, leaning casually with a beer in hand. He smiles, straightening up. “Jay’s plus-one, huh?” he says, giving you a once-over, not in a sleazy way, just curious. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile, warm as ever. “You too. I’m Y/N.” Sunghoon tips his beer toward you. “Cool name.” And then your eyes drift left. And time sort of stops.

He’s leaning against the wall, one boot propped against the concrete behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Messy dark hair, sharp jawline, silver rings catching the low light. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t move. Just looks at you.

“Oh,” you say before you can help it. Jay gestures between you. “This is Heeseung.” Heeseung gives a single nod. “Hey.” His voice is low, rough around the edges. You clear your throat, suddenly self-conscious. “Nice to meet you.” He doesn’t say anything else, just holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary before looking away, like he’s already bored of you.

You blink, shaken just enough to feel it. Because he’s gorgeous. Like, unfairly gorgeous. But it’s more than that. There’s something about the way he carries himself, he seems so detached, and unreadable, like nothing really touches him, and for some reason, it sticks with you.

The music picks up and Jay starts chatting with Sunghoon, joking about some old band they saw live. You try to focus on their banter, try to enjoy the show and for the most part, you do.

But every once in a while, your eyes drift sideways. Just quick glances. Just curiosity. You’re subtle about it, at least, you think you are. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t smile, doesn’t even move much. Just leans there, stoic and silent like he couldn’t care less about the music or the crowd or you. But he sees it.

He catches every glance. And he doesn’t let it show, but your eyes aren’t the only ones wandering.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The line to the bathroom is long, but thankfully it moves fast. You’re in and out within minutes, winding your way back through the dim hallway toward the venue floor when someone steps out of the crowd and cuts you off.

“Hey, pretty thing,” the guy says, reeking of beer and something sharp underneath. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You here alone?” You freeze. Your first instinct is to be polite, a soft no, a quick smile, excuse yourself and walk away. But when you try to step around him, he blocks your path, one hand brushing your arm. “Don’t be shy,” he adds, voice lowering. “You were lookin’ at me earlier, weren’t you?” Your stomach twists. “I wasn’t.. excuse me.”

You glance back toward the crowd, hoping maybe Jay’s nearby, or anyone, really but it’s too loud, too dark, too many bodies in the way. The guy steps closer, and suddenly your pulse is in your throat. You take a step back, but the hallway feels too narrow now, the music from the concert a distant thump behind you. You don’t know what to say and you don’t even get the chance to think of something because, suddenly, he’s being ripped away from you.

One second, the guy is looming over you. The next, he’s slammed up against the wall with a sharp thud, a hand fisting in his collar. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Heeseung growls, jaw tight with fury. Your eyes widen. The guy holds his hands up, stammering, “I-I didn’t mean anything-” Heeseung shoves him once, hard, then lets him go. “Then walk away before I mean something.” The guy bolts without another word.

And just like that, it’s quiet again aside from the music still thumping from the venue. You and Heeseung stand alone in the dim hallway, the silence heavier than it should be. Finally, he looks at you. “You good?” he asks, but the words are mechanical. No concern in his voice. Just a blunt check-in. He doesn’t soften his expression, if anything it hardens.

You nod. “Yeah… I think so. Thank you.” You expect him to walk away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a slow step toward you. You feel the shift in the air like pressure behind your eyes. His eyes rake over you, not with hunger, not exactly. Almost like he’s trying to figure you out, and already doesn’t like the answer. “I don’t get it,” he mutters, almost to himself. You blink. “What?” He steps closer. “Girls like you…” He chuckles once, humorless. “You play dress-up for the night, think you’re bold for showing up to places like this. But it’s all pretend, isn’t it?”

You don’t respond, you can’t. His voice is low and steady, but it cuts like a knife. “You don’t belong here,” he adds. “And you know it.” He moves in just a little more, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, his words brushing your skin.

“You should stick to safe things, princess.” You’re frozen, breath shallow. He’s staring right at you, and for a moment, his eyes drop straight to your lips. The tension swells, thick and unbearable. Then his expression shifts. That edge of something cruel curling at the corner of his mouth. “Before something bites back.”

He brushes past you without another word, his shoulder bumping into yours hard enough to knock you slightly off-balance, and he doesn’t look back.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You knew you shouldn’t have come.

Jay had texted that it wasn’t a party, just a small hangout with “the guys,” whatever that meant. You figured you’d sit on a couch, maybe order some pizza, suffer through video games you didn’t understand. Easy enough. But now you’re standing in Sunghoon’s living room, and the first thing you see is Heeseung perched low on the couch, head ducked, dragging a line of coke off the glass coffee table like it's nothing.

His hair is darker now, richer, nearly black. It hangs messily in his eyes, but you catch the flicker of them through the fringe as he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and leans back, lazy and unbothered. You freeze in the doorway, a cold shiver crawling down your spine. You hadn’t seen him since the concert. “Yo,” Heeseung says, tossing a small plastic bag across the table to Jay without looking. “You bringing her around now?” Jay catches it with one hand, unfazed. “She wanted to come.”

Heeseung’s gaze lifts slowly, dragging up your legs, your torso, your face. Not like he’s checking you out, more like he’s dissecting you. “You want a line, sweetheart?” he asks, voice dry, already knowing the answer. Your lips part in surprise. “No. I’ve never done that. And I’m not going to.” He snorts, ironically this time and leans forward, elbows on his knees, his grin a slow, sharp cut. “Didn’t think so,” he mutters as he rubs the remaining powder from beneath his nose. “You look like the kind of girl who cries when she gets a parking ticket.”

You stiffen, heart skittering in your chest. “Jesus, Heeseung,” Sunghoon cuts in from the kitchen, cracking open a beer. “Can you chill for like five minutes? You don’t gotta scare off every girl that walks through the door.” Heeseung just shrugs. “I’m not scaring her. I’m educating her.”

“Yeah, well, educate yourself on shutting the fuck up,” Sunghoon fires back, walking over and smacking the back of his head with the flat of his hand. Heeseung swats him away without real force, rolling his eyes. “Touch me again and I’ll break your wrist.”

“You’d cry before you tried,” Sunghoon retorts, falling onto the couch beside him with a grin. You don’t say anything, standing awkwardly at the edge of the room while Jay nudges your shoulder and gives you a small smile, like ‘sorry about them’. “I vote for movie night,” Sunghoon announces, grabbing the remote and flipping through options. “Unless you all want to keep playing who’s got the smallest dick.”

Heeseung slouches further down, arm thrown over the back of the couch, that same unreadable smirk still tugging at his mouth as he watches you take a hesitant seat across from him. You’re quick avoid his gaze, but to your dismay, you feel it anyway.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The movie had been playing for a while, some half-serious thriller that Jay insisted was good, even though Sunghoon kept making snide comments about the plot holes every five minutes. You’d nestled onto the couch between the two of them, a big bowl of popcorn resting in your lap. Mostly, it was Jay and Sunghoon grabbing generous handfuls while you only occasionally picked at the edges.

Now it was empty. Sunghoon let out a dramatic groan, slumping against the cushions like someone had just shot him. “No more popcorn? I’m gonna die.” Jay rolled his eyes. “You’ve had more than half the bowl.”

“Exactly,” Sunghoon huffed. Then his eyes landed on you. “y/n. Sweet. Lovely. Beautiful y/n, would you be an angel and make some more before I shrivel up and perish?” You laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m hungry,” he whined, clutching his stomach. “C’mon, I’ll owe you forever.” You shook your head, grinning. “Fine. Where are the packs?” He answered immediately, a victorious smile already painting his lips, “Kitchen cabinet above the stove.” You stood, smoothing your hands over your jeans, and padded toward the kitchen. The lights in there were dimmer than the living room, quieter, more removed. You found the cabinet, pulled out a pack, unwrapped it, and popped it into the microwave. The hum of it spinning was oddly soothing. You stared at the digital countdown, absently brushing popcorn kernels from the now empty bowl.

A presence, heavy, and close pressed to your back like it belonged there. You immediately froze. Then his voice rang through your ears, low, rough. “I told you to stay away.” Your breath caught in your throat, it was Heeseung. “I’m not afraid of you.” You managed to get the words out, albeit quiet, but still firm. He laughed, his tone quiet and mocking, more like a breath than a sound. “You should be.” You felt the edge of his nose brush against your skin, trailing lazily from the curve of your ear down to your jaw. “I don’t like girls like you,” he said. “So preppy. So perfect. Good grades, straight A’s, praise from mommy and daddy for not being the family embarrassment.” His words weren’t sharp, they were slow, and poisonous, like honey laced with something rotten.

“You’re just a good girl who’s playing pretend. Hanging out with people who’ll ruin you just by standing too close.” You stayed still, your heart pounding. But, you didn’t give him the satisfaction of flinching. “You’re wrong about me,” you said quietly. He didn’t respond right away, instead he spun you so your back hit the counter with a dull thud. His hands barely touched you, but they didn’t need to. The heat of him, and the intensity of his gaze was more than enough. “You think so?” he murmured. “Prove it.”

Your brows pulled in. “What-” He leaned in, just a fraction. His breath ghosted over your lips. “If you’re not who I think you are,” he said, “kiss me.” Your lips parted but no words came out. You blinked up at him, heat rising in your cheeks, flooding your chest. “I can’t,” you breathed. “They’re right there.” He didn’t move, he just let his lips brush yours, soft enough to barely count, cruel enough to make it feel like everything. Then his voice dropped right against your mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

Ding.

The microwave broke the silence with a loud chime. Heeseung stepped back with a lazy smirk, turned, and walked out without looking at you again. You stood there for a second longer, heart thudding in your chest, your palms gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You were curled up on your bed, legs tucked beneath you, a pillow hugged to your chest as Mina filed her nails at the desk and Koda nursed a half-empty iced coffee from the floor, where she sat cross-legged on the rug. The dorm room smelled faintly of vanilla and tteokibokki from earlier, a candle flickering on the windowsill, low music humming from Mina’s speaker. It was one of those quiet nights meant for decompressing after a long day.

Instead, your head was spinning.

“He hates me,” you said flatly, staring at the wall like it held the answers. “I don’t even know what I did. One second he’s saving me, the next he’s saying I don’t belong. He’s just.. ugh! He’s so confusing.” Koda raised a brow. “You mean Heeseung, right?” You nodded, clutching the pillow tighter. “I still don’t understand why you’re hanging around them,” Koda muttered, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “Like… okay, Jay and Sunghoon seem nice enough, barely, but Heeseung? I don’t get the appeal.”

“Oh, come on,” Mina cut in, smirking as she leaned back in the chair, legs propped up on the desk. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.” Koda blinked. “About what?” Mina arched a brow at you. “Sleeping with him.”

“Mina!” you yelped, your face immediately flushing. “What?” she grinned, unbothered. “You’re clearly into him. And if he’s that hot and that frustrating, that’s probably the kind of hate-sex that ruins lives in the best way.” Shaking her head, Koda muttered, “You’re seriously insane,”

“Maybe,” Mina said cheerfully. “But I’m not wrong.” You buried your face in the pillow for a second. “I just don’t get him. Like, he offered me drugs and then told me I should stay away. He gets in my space like he’s trying to start something, and then leaves like I disgust him.”

“That’s because he’s probably bad news,” Koda said, serious now. “You said it yourself he was high out of his mind. He was rude, cold, and clearly not stable. Why are you still entertaining this? Why are you still hanging around them?” You sat up a little straighter, defensive without meaning to be. “Because Jay and Sunghoon aren’t like that. I like hanging out with them. Jay’s sweet. Sunghoon’s funny. They’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Okay,” Koda said, slow and firm, “but they’re close to Heeseung. Like, really close. Don’t you think that means something?” You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “I’m just saying,” Koda continued, “maybe think about not going to these hangouts anymore. Just until you know what you’re getting into.”

“She’s getting into Heeseung’s pants, hopefully,” Mina said under her breath.

“Koda has a point,” you said softly, ignoring Mina for once. “But… I don’t know. I feel like I want to understand him. He’s not just cold. There’s something else.”

“Trauma,” Koda said flatly. Mina laughed, but you only sighed. Then Mina sat up straighter, snapping her fingers. “Wait. I have an idea.” Koda narrowed her eyes. “Oh no.”

“You should go with her next time,” Mina said, pointing a glossy nail at Koda. “You don’t trust them? Go see for yourself.” Koda made a face. “Absolutely not.”

“No, this is perfect,” Mina said, grinning. “You’re like, the judgment queen. If anyone’s gonna get a read on those guys, it’s you.” Koda looked at you, visibly unimpressed. But you leaned in, hopeful. “Koda… would you? Just once? If you hate it, I won’t ask again.” She groaned, throwing her head back. “God, you’re lucky I love you.” You smiled, warm and relieved. “That’s a yes?”

“One time,” she warned. “And if that Heeseung guy looks at me wrong, I’m lighting him on fire.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s Koda who hails the cab, you slide into the backseat beside her, a nervous excitement twisting in your stomach as she scrolls through her phone, totally unfazed. You, however, are still trying to wrap your head around why Sunghoon of all people invited you out tonight, not Jay. Koda raises an eyebrow as she tucks her phone away. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“Nope,” you say, giving her a faint smile. “But we’re already on our way, so…” She just sighs, shaking her head fondly. When the cab pulls up to the restaurant, the evening air greets you with the smoky scent of grilled meat wafting from inside. You spot them immediately, Sunghoon and Heeseung standing by the entrance, dressed down and looking effortlessly cool beneath the soft glow of the signage. “Hey!” you call out, stepping forward with Koda in tow.

Sunghoon waves, flashing that easy grin of his.m as he greets you, “Hey, you made it.” Heeseung meets your gaze for a moment, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey,” he says flatly. At least he acknowledged you. You turn slightly, “This is Koda, my friend. She’s tagging along tonight.” Sunghoon’s eyes flick to her, and it’s immediate. The pause that feels a second too long. “Hey,” he says, suddenly sounding a little different. “I’m Sunghoon.” Heeseung nods at her in silent greeting, but Sunghoon’s already gesturing toward the doors. “Let’s go in. I’m starving.”

Inside, the place is buzzing, smoke curling above tables, the clatter of side dishes, laughter mixing with upbeat K-pop playing from overhead speakers. As you approach the booth, Sunghoon slips into the seat next to Koda without hesitation, sending you a smug little grin. That leaves you standing there with Heeseung.

You slide in beside him, stiffly at first, trying not to focus on the heat radiating off his body, or the way he hasn’t even looked at you since you sat down. Koda and Sunghoon fall into conversation almost immediately, easy banter, shared music tastes, laughing over which side dishes are superior. You watch them with a small smile, heart swelling at how happy Koda looks. It’s peaceful for a while, until it isn’t.

You feel Heeseung lean toward you, his breath warm against your ear. “You really don’t know when to listen, do you?” You tense, eyes flicking to the grill in front of you. You keep your voice low, only for him. “Maybe you should tell your friends to stop enjoying my presence, then.” There’s a beat of silence. Then he exhales a quiet laugh, sharp and dry. “I forgot how much you like being wanted.” You blink at the burn in his words, jaw tightening. You don’t respond. Neither does he. The rest of the meal is a quiet war zone, chopsticks clinking, laughter echoing from Koda and Sunghoon’s side of the table while you and Heeseung sit in a thick, charged silence. But you feel his eyes. The occasional glance, the flicker of attention he tries to make seem accidental. You steal them back.

When the bill’s paid and you’re all stepping outside into the cool night, Sunghoon stretches, keys jingling in his hand. “I’ll take Koda home.” Koda immediately steps forward. “No, it’s fine, I’ll go with-”

“I insist,” Sunghoon cuts in smoothly, shooting her a crooked smile. “Heeseung can take care of Y/N.” Heeseung groans. “Seriously?” Sunghoon leans in, murmuring something only Heeseung can hear, likely a warning, something along the lines of Don’t fuck this up for me. Heeseung exhales through his nose. “Fine.” You turn to Koda, and despite the weird tension curling in your stomach, you offer her a reassuring look. “It’s okay. Go. I’ll be fine.” She hesitates, but Sunghoon’s already opening the door to his car like a gentleman. She gives you a subtle text me later glance before sliding inside.

And then it’s just you and Heeseung, standing outside the restaurant. The street’s quiet, golden lights from the sign above casting a faint glow over him. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks out at the empty street, lips parted like he’s about to sigh.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Heeseung unlocks his car without a word, the click of the doors breaking the silence between you. You follow, half-expecting him to just drop you off like Sunghoon had asked. Instead, he mutters, “We’re making a stop.” You blink, hesitating before opening the passenger door. “A stop?” Sliding into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t look at you as he answers, “Ran out of weed.” Your brow furrows. “Do you really need me to come with you for that?” He finally glances over, one hand gripping the wheel. “Relax. It’ll be quick.”

You huff but buckle your seatbelt anyway, crossing your arms as he pulls out of the lot. The drive is quiet, streetlights flash across his face, highlighting the soft shadows beneath his eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the brown hair falling messily into his lashes. Eventually, he turns into the parking lot of a gas station, the kind that like it shouldn’t be open for business. Heeseung shifts into park and wordlessly gets out, hoodie up, posture casual in a way that’s still somehow threatening.

You watch as he approaches a guy standing by the side of the building, hooded and slouched, hands buried in his coat pockets. They exchange a few words, you can’t hear any of them before Heeseung pulls some crumpled bills from his pocket and the other guy produces a few small plastic bags in return.

Then, the dealer’s eyes shift. He’s noticed you. Even from the car, you see the smirk that curls across his face. He nods toward you, saying something you can’t make out but you see the way Heeseung’s entire demeanor changes. His back straightens, and his hand curls into a fist.

Then his voice raises loud enough for you to hear, “Say another word, and I’ll make you eat your fucking teeth.” The guy just laughs, hands raised like he means no harm, backing off with a mock bow before disappearing into the alley behind the station. Heeseung stomps back to the car and throws himself into the seat, slamming the door shut causing you to flinch at the sound.

“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath. He shoves the little baggies into his jacket pocket, jaw still tight. “I’m closer to my apartment,” he says eventually, as he starts the car again. “Jay can drive you home from there.” You don’t respond, you just watch the city lights flicker by through the window, wondering how the hell this night went so sideways.

When the car finally rolls to a stop in front of an apartment building, Heeseung gets out first. You follow, unsure if you’re supposed to. The elevator ride is short, and when he steps into the hallway, he freezes. A sock hangs from the doorknob of his apartment. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters. You look between him and the door, confused. “What… is that supposed to mean?” He turns, looking at you like you’ve just asked him the dumbest question alive. “It means Jay’s getting laid. And unless I wanna walk in on him butt ass naked, balls deep in some girl, I’m not going in there.”

Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out at first. A strange pang of something twists in your chest. Discomfort? Curiosity? You’re not even sure. You shouldn't say anything. You know you shouldn’t. But the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “You can come hang out with me for a bit.”

Heeseung blinks like you’ve just said something crazy. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady like your heart isn’t currently threatening to crawl up your throat. “It’s better than smoking in your car, right?” He looks at you for a long second. Then his tongue clicks against his teeth, and a crooked, almost disbelieving smirk tugs at his lips. “Sure, princess,” he says finally. “Lead the way.” And with that, you both turn and head back to the car, neither of you saying what you’re thinking.

That this is a bad idea.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The drive to your dorm is quiet. Neither of you speaks, and you’re oddly thankful for it. You already know Mina’s gone for the weekend on some family trip she wasn’t thrilled about, so sneaking Heeseung in isn’t necessary. You don’t even hesitate as you unlock the front door and lead him straight to your room.

He steps inside like he owns the place, scanning the space with an expression that borders on smug satisfaction. Your room is exactly what he expected, soft colors, string lights, a clutter of textbooks, and the sweet scent of your perfume in the air.

Without asking, he drops into the chair at your desk, pulling a small bag from his jacket along with a metal grinder and rolling papers. You sit on your bed, wordless. Watching. Careful not to speak too soon, not to ask the wrong thing. He grinds the weed with practiced ease, rolling it all up into a neat joint before lighting it. The smell hits you fast and you wrinkle your nose as he takes a long drag, eyes flickering up to meet yours.

You hold eye contact, steady as you can, even as the smoke curls around his face like a halo of sin. He exhales, lazily. “You want a hit?” You shake your head immediately. “No thanks.”

“It’s just weed,” he says like that’s supposed to reassure you. “Won’t kill you.”

“I’ve never done it before.”

“Exactly why you should.” He shrugs, leaning back as he takes another drag. “You’ll be fine.” You hesitate. He’s not pressuring you, but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, the sharpness behind the laziness in his tone, that makes your pride itch. “Fine but only one…” you mutter, reaching for it before you can psych yourself out.

He watches with amusement as you take a cautious inhale and immediately dissolve into a fit of coughing. Heeseung laughs, full-bodied and unbothered, while you wave at the air and curse under your breath. “You’re such an asshole,” you wheeze. “I knew that would be your reaction,” he says, taking the blunt back and drawing from it like a pro. “Weed’s gross, huh?”

“It is.”

“You get over that pretty quickly,” he mumbles through the smoke. You glare at him, still blinking the burn from your eyes. He exhales again, tapping ash into an empty coffee mug on your desk. Then he asks it, just casually enough to sting. “So why’d you invite me over?” You blink. “Because…you couldn’t go back to your place?”

“Bullshit.” He fixes you with a look, sharp and knowing. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t have a real answer. Heeseung leans forward just a little, the curve of his smirk cruel and charming all at once. “Is it ‘cause you’re stupid and think I’m hot?”

“No,” you snap, instantly. He chuckles, standing from the chair. You stiffen as he crosses the room and drops onto the edge of your bed next to you, close enough to make your heart stutter. “You sure?” he asks, voice low. You say nothing. You can’t say anything. Your skin feels too hot. Your head swims, not from the weed, but from his nearness, the scent of him, the way he’s looking at you like he already knows the answer.

He sees your blush, and that’s all the confirmation he needs. “You’re too easy,” he mutters, shaking his head with mock disappointment. He stands again, this time strolling to the window, opening it halfway before flicking the burning joint outside. The end sizzles somewhere below. When he turns around, he’s already pulling off his jacket and tossing it over your desk chair. Then he drops to his knees.

You gasp as his hands grip your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the bed until you’re practically nose-to-nose. “Tell me you want me,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Say the words, and I’ll give you what you want.” You shake your head, heart hammering, “I don’t want you.” He scoffs, one brow raising. “Sure. I’m an asshole. I’m repulsive. You’ve made that very clear.”

Your spine straightens, your jaw tightens. “You are,” you bite. “You’re an asshole, and you’re repulsive.” Something flashes in his eyes. Maybe he expected denial. Maybe he wanted it. Instead, he just laughs under his breath, dark and low. “Yeah?” he says. “Then why are you still sitting here?” You open your mouth, but he cuts you off, his hand reaching up, fingers slipping under your chin and tilting your face up until there’s nowhere else to look but at him.

His gaze is intense. Like he’s peeling you open with nothing but his eyes. “Tell me you want me,” he says again, softer this time. “One last chance.” The silence stretches. And then, barely audible, your voice cracked.

“…I want you.”

It’s all he needs. He surges forward, crashing his mouth onto yours in a kiss that’s messy and impatient, all smoke and heat and tension finally snapping. His lips moved against yours like he owned them, tongue sliding past the seam of your mouth before you could even catch your breath. His hands dug into your waist, pulling you against him as if he needed more. And you kissed him back with a kind of clumsy desperation that had him groaning into your mouth.

“You kiss like you’ve never done this before,” he said between breaths, smirking against your lips. You blinked at him, dazed. “I haven’t.” That made him pause, just for a second. His eyes searched yours, dark with something unreadable. Then came the low, almost pleased laugh. “Of course you haven’t.” His tone was laced with something cruel. Not surprise. Satisfaction. “I knew you were a fucking virgin,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief second. “You’re so fucking obvious.”

You tried to pull away, but he caught you, dragging you back in with a hand curled around your waist. “And so desperate,” he added, voice velvet-wrapped venom. “You let me touch you like this, let me get in your head, just because I smiled at you for two seconds?”

“I didn’t-”

“You didn’t what?” he cut you off, his hand sliding up your spine, fingers pressing just beneath your bra clasp. “Didn’t fantasize about me when I cornered you in that kitchen? Didn’t think about what it’d feel like to have me ruin that perfect little image you try so hard to keep?” His mouth ghosted over your neck, not kissing, just breathing, and it made you shiver. “You’re pathetic,” he said against your skin. “And I mean that in the hottest fucking way possible.”

Your whole body was trembling, but not with fear. It was something else. Something that couldn’t be named anything other than desire.

He pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab your hands and guide them to the hem of his shirt. “Take it off.” You hesitated for a beat. “Be a good fucking girl,” he said, voice rough. “Do what you’re told.” So you did. Fingers shaky, you pulled the shirt over his head, revealing smooth skin, inked ribs, and lean muscle that flexed with every breath. He looked sinful.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and for some reason, your stomach flipped. But just when things were spiraling faster than you could handle, his hands were on your hips, mouth back on yours, it was so overwhelming you couldn’t help but pull back.

“I… I can’t.” He stilled. “I’ve never… I’ve never done this before,” you admitted, voice small, eyes locked on the space between you. There was a beat of silence. And then, to your surprise, he pulled back. Not with annoyance. Not even frustration. He just looked at you, unreadable again. “Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair as he stood. “You really are something else.” You waited for him to storm out, to curse, even to make a cruel comment.

Instead, he just leaned down again, brushed a thumb over your flushed cheek, and said, “You’re lucky I’m not a total piece of shit.” And with that, he grabbed the rest of his clothes, tossed on his jacket, and muttered something about needing a smoke before he lost what little self-control he had left. You sat there, breathless and buzzing, completely unsure of whether you’d just made the best or worst decision of your life.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The music thrums low through the walls, bass pulsing like a heartbeat as laughter drifts in from Sunghoon’s living room. You’re curled up in an oversized armchair with a ginger ale in hand, Kira and Mina arguing over which song to queue next while Jay and Wren are deep in a debate about movies that neither of them can name correctly. Somewhere across the room, Heeseung sits with a drink in one hand and a lazy smirk stretched across his face. His hair’s a little messy, pupils blown wide from whatever he snorted in the hallway earlier, and despite the chaos of the party, you can feel his eyes on you like a brand.

It’s not obvious, no one else seems to notice. But you do. Every glance. Every slow rake of his gaze down your frame. Every time his tongue wets his lips like he’s tasting a memory. And even though you try not to, you glance back, too. Then your phone buzzes in your lap.

heeseung: bathroom. now.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t even think, you simply mutter an excuse to Koda about needing to pee and slip down the hallway. The party noise fades behind the door when you step into the bathroom. He’s already there, leaned up against the opposite wall with that same devilish glint in his eyes.

You blink. “Are we gonna talk about-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Heeseung says flatly, pushing off the wall and closing the distance in one stride. His hands cradle your jaw and then his mouth is on yours, hot and aggressive and unforgiving. There’s no hesitation in his kiss, no slow build, just his tongue exploring your mouth, and the taste of liquor as he presses you back against the door. Your fingers fist in his shirt before you even realize it.

You pull back breathless. “Heeseung, what the hell are we doing? We need to talk about the other night-”

“I don’t do relationships,” he says with a scoff like it’s a disgusting word. “So if that’s what you want, you better wait for hell to freeze over.” You blink at him, heart hammering in your chest, anxiety rising in your throat. “But,” he adds, voice lower now, more dangerous, “I do want to ruin you.” You swallow hard at his words. He smirks, brushing his nose against yours. “So here’s the deal, princess. You’re either in or you’re out. No strings. You wanna play with fire, or do you want me to walk away?”

Your brain screams run. But your body’s already betraying you, your anxiety fizzling away as his scent reaches your nose. You grab him by the collar and pull him back into a kiss, just as messy, just as desperate. His hands find your waist like they’ve been there a thousand times before, fingers curling tight. For a moment, you forget how to breathe. Heeseung groans against your mouth, then pulls away, forehead resting against yours as both of you catch your breath.

“We should get back,” he murmurs. You nod, pulse still thundering. He opens the door, peeks out, then gives you a quick nod. “You first.” You slip back into the party, lips still tingling as you slide into your spot on the armchair as if nothing happened.

A few minutes later, Heeseung strolls in, eyes scanning the room until they find you again. You go to look away, but it’s already too late.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You weren’t supposed to fall into this.

At first, it’s just sneaking around, his hands on your hips in the back of someone’s house party, his lips slanted over yours in the shadows of a hallway, his messages short and demanding: Come over. Now.

It never goes further than making out. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because you always stop it, and for some reason, he listens. But he toys with you. Pushes you to your limits. Tugs at your waistband just to hear you whimper and tell him no. He always listens, barely, but he never makes it easy.

Heeseung has fun with it. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

But then something shifts.

You don’t show up to one of the guys’ get-togethers and he spends the whole night pissed off. You don’t answer his messages during midterms and he fights the urge to call you. And when you finally reply that you’ve been studying, he just stares at the screen for a long moment, jaw clenched, fingers twitching with something he doesn’t want to name.

Because there’s one thing Heeseung promised himself he’d never do… develop feelings. Especially not for someone like you. But somehow, you become his. His little secret. His personal puppy. Always coming when he calls, even if it's just to follow him to meet a plug. You make him food after he gets too high and starts spiraling. You learn what bands he listens to, what kind of ramen he likes, what makes him laugh on those rare days when he lets his walls fall just enough.

And the worst part?

You never ask for anything back.

For months, he keeps choosing you. He stops fucking around with other girls, ignores his late-night calls from the ones who’d been more than willing to drop to their knees. It didn’t matter. The only lips he wanted on him were yours. And he hasn’t even had that in weeks. Heeseung starts to feel like you belong to him and it terrifies him.

So he does what he does best. He pulls away.

You come over to his place one night, unannounced, because he hadn’t answered your texts in two days and it made you worry. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, just annoyed. You barely step inside when his voice cuts sharp and flat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was worried,” you say quietly, trying not to flinch. His laugh is humorless. “Worried? What the hell for?”

“You weren’t answering and-”

“I don’t owe you shit, Y/N. I don’t have to text you back.”

“I know that,” you whisper. “I just… I care, that’s all.”

He sneers. “That’s your first mistake.”

You don’t fight back. You don’t yell. You just stand there, eyes wide, shrinking under the weight of every bitter word. “I never needed you,” he says. “Don’t know what kind of delusion you’ve been living in, but this,” he gestures vaguely between you “was never anything. Just convenient. You were easy.” Your throat burns. Your eyes sting. But still, you stay. “You don’t mean that.”

He steps closer, expression cruel. “I do. Get the fuck out, Y/N.” You’re crying now, but you nod. “Okay… I hope you have a good night.”

You’re halfway to the door when he throws in one last jab. “Keep crying, sweetheart. Shows just how fucking weak you really are.” The door slams behind you before you can blink away the tears. Jay is standing in the hallway. He freezes when he sees you, eyes wide.

“Y/N? What happened?” You don’t answer. You don’t even look at him. You just keep walking, hand trembling as it wraps around the stair railing, the apartment door shutting behind you like punctuation at the end of a sentence you never wanted to write.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

A week passes. And it’s miserable. You barely leave your dorm except for class. You come back, bury yourself in textbooks or pretend to scroll your phone, hoping your friends won’t notice how much darker your eyes look now, how much quieter you’ve become. But they do notice. Mina tries to talk to you, but you just keep saying you’re fine. Kira gives you looks full of concern. Wren keeps asking if you’re sick. You’re not. You just feel hollow.

And Heeseung… He’s no better.

Jay’s fed up with him. He’s been smoking and snorting himself stupid. He’s always high, barely coherent, lying around their apartment with bloodshot eyes and a shorter temper than usual. No girls, no snide comments. No joy.

Until tonight.

There’s a knock on your dorm door. Mina opens it, expecting maybe a neighbour or a classmate needing something. Instead, she finds Heeseung. He looks wrecked, eyes red, pupils blown wide, hair messy. Jacket hanging off one shoulder, reeking of weed. “What the hell…” Mina starts, furrowing her brows. “Why are you here?” He doesn’t answer her. Doesn’t care how insane he looks. “Is Y/N here?”

“Uh… yeah?”

He brushes past her before she can stop him. He marches straight to your door and opens it. You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, startled as he walks in and shuts the door behind him like he belongs there. “Heeseung?” you breathe out, eyes wide. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just walks over, dazed, and sits on the edge of your bed. You can instantly tell he’s high, and not just weed this time. His gaze is hazy, his voice low and hoarse when he finally speaks.

“Can I… lay with you?” Your heart twists. You don’t know what to say. You’re confused and hurt, but even so you nod.

He kicks off his shoes, shrugs out of his jacket, and slides onto your bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Then he curls behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist like it never left. His breath warms the back of your neck. You can feel his heartbeat against your spine. For a long while, neither of you speak. Then somewhere you work up and courage and quietly, you whisper, “Why are you here?” He presses a soft kiss to your neck, another. His voice, when it comes, is slurred but raw. “Be quiet.” You shiver but stay silent.

“I hated it,” he mutters after a beat. “Being without you. Hated knowing you were out there and I’d pushed you away.” Your breath catches. You don’t know how to respond. He nuzzles into your neck, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You belong to me.” And you should argue. You should push him away. But you don’t, you just let him hold you.

“I didn’t mean the shit I said,” he murmurs. “I was scared. Of how I feel about you. I didn’t know what to do with it.” You stay still, soaking in every word, every slow beat of his heart against your back. “I’m not gonna push you away again,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to worry about that.” You don’t say anything. You just reach down and thread your fingers through his, and you hold on.

You don’t know how long you laid there. The silence is full but not uncomfortable. Just soft breaths and the quiet beat of something new blooming between you. Eventually, you shift in his arms and roll over, facing him.

Heeseung looks at you like he doesn’t know whether he’s dreaming or hallucinating. His pupils are still blown wide, but they’re focused on you. You lean in slowly, tentatively, and press the gentlest kiss to his lips. It’s so featherlight it nearly doesn’t land. But it’s enough.

Heeseung moves before you can pull away. His hand cradles the side of your face, and he kisses you back softly at first, almost reverent. But the longer your lips linger, the more the hunger seeps in. It grows, consuming, like it’s been building up inside him for the last week. The kisses get deeper, needier. Your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt as he shifts, pressing you down onto the mattress, his body moving to hover over yours. He cages you in without hesitation, kissing you like he’s starving and you’re the first thing that’s ever made him feel full.

His lips bruise yours, but you don’t care. You only kiss him harder. His hand trails down your side, gripping your waist as his body presses flush against yours. The way he moves, the way he kisses, it’s all too much. But you don’t want to stop. You want more. And for once, the fear doesn’t outweigh the ache. You pull away just slightly, your breaths tangled in the tiny space between you.

Your eyes lock, and his gaze is burning, pupils heavy and jaw tight, like he’s trying to hold back. And then, softly you say the words he’d been waiting to hear.

“I’m ready for more.”

His entire body stills above you. Then, slowly, he leans in until your noses touch, his voice rough against your lips. “Say that again.” You swallow. Your chest rises and falls with every shaky inhale, but your eyes don’t leave his. “I’m ready,” you repeat, just as softly. “For more.”

Your words are all he needs. The moment they leave your lips, he closes the gap, kissing you again, but this time, it's slower. More deliberate. Like he’s finally allowing himself to savor something he’s been craving for far too long.

Clothing falls away piece by piece, scattered carelessly to the floor. There’s no rush. Just quiet anticipation, mounting tension, and the weight of something neither of you wants to name. When you’re beneath him, completely bare and he’s left in nothing but his boxers, Heeseung just looks at you.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, the words low and genuine before he leans down, mouth trailing kisses along the curve of your neck. His lips brand you, soft at first, then hungrier as they dip lower. His teeth graze your hip bone, then your inner thigh, dragging a gasp from your lips.

This is the first time you’ve ever let someone see you like this. So vulnerable and exposed. Your hands instinctively rise, trying to shield your face from the heat of his gaze. But Heeseung clicks his tongue and reaches up, fingers gently curling around your wrist. “Let me see that pretty face while I make you feel good. Can you do that for me, baby?” And really, how could you ever say no to him? You drop your hands to your sides, surrendering completely, and he smiles before dipping between your legs like he owns the place.

His tongue is confident, practiced, and devastatingly precise. You feel every deliberate flick against your clit like a jolt of lightning. He kisses you there, hungry and unrelenting, like he’s starving for every sound you make. You moan his name, loud and needy. “Heeseung…”

His groan hums against your core, vibrating through you in the most sinful way. That one moan, the way his name rolls off your tongue, it spurs him on. He pushes your legs further apart, then back, just to hear your sounds more clearly, just to feel how wet and desperate he’s made you.

The pressure builds quickly. It’s not gentle. It’s overwhelming. Your body trembles under the weight of your pleasure, muscles twitching as your moans dissolve into shaky little whimpers. You’re right on the edge and he knows it. His gaze lifts to yours, locking eyes with you just as you begin to come undone. Gone is the cold detachment you’ve come to expect from him. There’s a glimmer of warmth now, mischief dancing in his eyes, his lips curved into a smirk as they press against your pussy again.

That’s all it takes.

You shatter beneath him with a broken cry, back arching, hips lifting off the mattress. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, hot and all-consuming, setting every nerve on fire. It’s bliss and chaos wrapped in one, your chest heaving as you ride it out, moaning his name like a prayer, and Heeseung just watches.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he lifts his head from between your thighs, lips slick with your arousal. His eyes are bloodshot and glassy from the high but they burn into yours with something heavier than lust. Hunger so deep it coils in your stomach and twists your insides.

Then he kisses you hard, desperate, a filthy blend of your taste and his need but the moment is short-lived. You feel it immediately, the thick bulge in his boxers grinding against your soaked core, the friction dizzying despite the barrier. A low, guttural sound rumbles in his chest, and his lips hover just above yours.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice hoarse with restraint, his breath warm against your mouth. You nod, quick and breathless. “Yes,” you whisper, eyes pleading. “I need you.”

He pulls back with a groan, sitting up on his knees as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. Your gaze drops, your breath catching when he tugs them down and tosses them aside. His cock springs free, long and thick, veins prominent, the flushed tip already glistening with pre-cum. It slaps against his abdomen with a heavy thud, and your thighs instinctively part wider.

Heeseung catches the way your eyes lock on his length, the awe, the need, and it pulls a slow smirk from his lips. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, but there’s no hesitation in his tone. He knows what your answer will be before you give it. “I don’t care,” you breathe, voice trembling with desire. “I just want you.” His smirk deepens, dark and dangerous. He leans forward just enough to press his tip against your entrance, dragging it slowly through your folds, collecting the slick that’s been pooling for him since the moment he walked through your door.

“You keep saying shit like that, pretty girl,” he rasps, “and I’m gonna start thinking you want me to put a baby in you.” The words are low and filthy, and they send a tremor through your body. He holds the base of his cock in one hand, teasing your dripping entrance, circling it, pushing just the tip inside and pulling back again. “Is that what you want?” he taunts, voice all mock-innocence, even as his jaw clenches from the restraint it’s taking not to bury himself inside you. You whimper, back arching slightly as you try to rock your hips forward, but his hand presses down on your thigh, keeping you in place. “Heeseung, please,” you cry, nearly breathless. “I need to feel you.”

That’s all it takes to break him. His eyes flash, the playfulness gone in an instant, replaced by something ravenous. With one smooth, powerful thrust, he sinks into you, stretching you slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every part of him as your walls flutter and tighten around his thick length. A guttural moan rips from his chest. “Fuck,” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut. “You feel so fucking good.”

And for a moment time stalls. All that exists is the feeling of him inside you for the very first time, your nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling from the stretch, and Heeseung’s hands gripping your hips like he never plans to let go.

A sharp cry tore from your throat as Heeseung pushed deeper, stretching you open in a way you’d never felt before. The pleasure was overwhelming, laced with a faint sting that had your eyes welling with tears. Heeseung saw the tremble in your lips, the way your brows drew together and for the first time, the ever-composed boy above you froze completely.

“Shhh,” he murmured gently, his voice too soft for the boy who usually only knew how to tease and taunt. His thumb brushed at the tears slipping down your cheeks, wiping them away with a reverence that left your heart aching. “I got you, baby. You’re okay.” He leaned down, pressing featherlight kisses across your face. From your cheeks, to your jaw, to the corners of your mouth, almost like he was trying to kiss the pain away. Your eyes met his, and there was something new there, something fragile and raw. You gave him a small nod, and he didn’t need anything more.

The moment you gave him permission, he exhaled a groan like he’d been holding it in for years. The restraint it took him to not completely unravel was evident in the way his arms trembled on either side of your head. He knew it was your first time, and for once, Heeseung wasn’t out to ruin you. He was here to worship you. He started to move, slow and deliberate, his thrusts deep and steady, designed not to overwhelm, but to let you feel every inch of him. Every time his hips rolled into yours, you swore he carved a piece of himself into your body. He never looked away from you, not even for a second.

You wrapped your arms around his back, nails digging deeper into his shoulders as the pleasure slowly overtook the pain, and then eclipsed it entirely. Your moans spilled freely now, rising with each thrust, and Heeseung’s breath hitched at the sound of them. “You’re mine,” he whispered, voice breaking against your ear. “You hear me? This pussy is mine.” His lips brushed your throat, but his eyes were starting to flutter closed, head tilting back as the pleasure threatened to undo him. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

He shifted suddenly, grabbing the backs of your thighs and pushing them forward, throwing your legs over his shoulders in one fluid motion. The angle had your breath hitching, your back arching up off the mattress as he buried himself even deeper, grinding against the spot that made your entire body tremble. His hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in as he began to fuck you in earnest, hips snapping forward with a brutal rhythm. You were a mess beneath him, moaning, whining, hands grasping at his forearms for something to hold onto. That knot in your stomach tightened fast and hard, your whole body going taut with it.

You could barely speak. “Hee.. Heeseung, I think I’m gonna-” But his pace didn’t falter. “I know,” he grunted. “I can feel you, baby. But you’re not allowed to cum yet.” You sobbed at his words, a desperate cry breaking through your lips. “I can’t.. I can’t hold it.. please!” He growled low in his throat, his pace faltering just for a moment to lean closer, his lips right by your ear. “You do what I say,” he hissed. “You hold it until I tell you. You always do as you’re told, right?”

Your nod was frantic, broken by whimpers, and you could feel his cock twitch inside you as your walls fluttered around him, desperate to release. His own breathing was ragged now, sweat dotting his forehead, jaw clenched as he tried to hold himself back.

Then finally, like a reward he gave in. “Cum for me,” he groaned. “Now.” Your release hit like a wave crashing over your body, your vision going white at the edges, back arching as your orgasm tore through you. The tightness in your abdomen snapped with a force that had you nearly screaming, shaking beneath him as the pleasure ripped you apart. Heeseung’s hands gripped your thighs harder as your pussy clenched around him.

“Fuck.” he cursed, voice shaking, hips stuttering. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

His own orgasm hit seconds later, spilling into you with a guttural groan as his body collapsed slightly over yours, his arms catching his weight just in time. He chanted your name like it was the only word he remembered, praises falling from his lips as he rode out the high with you. The room felt too quiet in the aftermath, filled only with the sound of your shared heavy breathing. Your skin burned, a soft glow spread across your body like you’d been touched by something divine. Heeseung didn’t pull away immediately. He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, your jaw, your temple, anywhere he could easily get his lips on..

Eventually, he pulls out carefully, murmuring soft apologies at your wince. He cleaned you up with surprising tenderness, making sure you were comfortable before crawling back into bed beside you. No words passed between you. They weren’t needed. Not with the way you curled into his chest, and the way his arms wrapped around you like he didn’t plan on letting go.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

A few months had passed, and things between you and Heeseung had shifted but not in the way you'd hoped.

Word had spread quickly among your friends that the two of you were something. You were always together, always touching, always tangled up in some form of each other. Heeseung never bothered denying it, and though you weren’t officially dating, he didn’t let anyone so much as look at you the wrong way. You were his, even if you weren’t his.

At first it felt like enough.

The two of you started going on double dates with Sunghoon and Koda, who had become disgustingly official. Public hand-holding, matching lockscreens, soft smiles traded when they thought no one was looking. It made something twist in your stomach every time you saw them together. Because you wanted that with Heeseung. Not just in secret, not just in the dark, not just in bed.

You’d asked him about it more than once, about putting a label on whatever you were. Every time, he gave the same answer. “Labels are overrated.”

And somehow, every time, you let yourself believe him. Let yourself agree. Because what else could you do? Walk away?

Now the entire friend group was gathered at Sunghoon’s place, celebrating the unthinkable. He’d gotten back into college. The same guy who once slept through an exam while tripping balls was suddenly clean, smiling more, standing a little straighter with Koda by his side.

Jay raised his red solo cup. “No way you’re really quitting for good,” he snorted. Heeseung chimed in with a lopsided grin. “Bet you relapse in a week.” Sunghoon only laughed, draping an arm over Koda’s shoulders. “For her? I’d give up anything.” The room buzzed with soft awe, with that sticky sweetness of love that had you glancing at Heeseung out of the corner of your eye.

But he didn’t look back.

Later that night, you were curled up in Heeseung’s bed, the city lights bleeding through the blinds in slanted strips of white and gold. He sat at his desk, rolling a bill between his fingers, lining powder up with mechanical precision. You bit your lip. Waited. Then finally, quietly, “Would you ever quit… for me?”

He paused, just for a second. Then he laughed. “Don’t be stupid.” The words hit like a slap, and your stomach sank. “I’m not being stupid,” you said softly. “I’m asking.” He didn’t even look at you. “I’m too deep in, princess. You knew that from the start.” You sat up, sheet clutched against your chest. “Yeah, but maybe you could want more. Maybe you could try for us.” That made him turn. He swiveled slowly in his chair, coke still untouched, eyes bleary with something unreadable. “Us?” he echoed. “What us, Y/N? We're not married. We're not even actually dating.”

The words landed like stones in your chest. You blinked at him, stunned, your voice breaking as you whispered, “That’s so mean, Heeseung… how could you say that after everything?” He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” He shrugged, looking away. “I just don’t think about the future. I never have. Shit like that doesn’t work for people like me. Whatever happens, happens.” You were silent for a moment. Then, with a quiet sigh, you turned away from him and laid back down, facing the wall. You didn’t cry, not this time. But something inside you hardened.

Behind you, you heard the faint snort of his line. A few seconds later, the bed dipped under his weight as he slid in behind you. His arm draped around your waist like it always did. But tonight, it felt heavier. He buried his face into the crook of your neck. He smelled like sweat and powder. And though he didn’t say it, you felt the smallest whisper of apology in the way he kissed your shoulder. Still, your eyes stayed open long after his closed. Because no matter how close his body was to yours, you’d never felt farther from him.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The next week, Sunghoon waited at the bottom of the steps, his hoodie half-zipped and a protein shake in hand. “Damn, you look like death.” You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to stifle a yawn as you adjusted your backpack. “Didn’t sleep.” Sunghoon let out a small chuckle as he walked beside you, “Let me guess. Study bender?” You gave a tired half-smile. “Something like that.”

The truth was heavier than you let on. You were burning the candle at both ends. Studying until your vision blurred, then sneaking off to Heeseung’s apartment in the middle of the night because he needed you. He always needed something. A distraction. A fix. A warm body. You never said no. Not once. Not even when your body begged for sleep and your brain screamed for rest. By the time you and Sunghoon reached class, your chest already felt tight. Your skin was clammy, your thoughts muddy and disjointed. You hadn’t even remembered this essay was being handed back today.

The second your professor placed the paper facedown in front of you, your stomach sank. You flipped it over, and there it was, a huge, angry 57% scrawled across the top in unforgiving red ink. For a moment, your world stopped. You blinked at the number, uncomprehending. You’d never seen a grade like that in your life. Never anything under a 93. Not even close. You remembered writing it, or rather trying to.

Heeseung had been pacing his apartment, high and impatient, asking how much longer you were going to be. “Come on, babe,” he’d said, already tugging at your shirt. “You’ll finish it later.” You should’ve said no. You should’ve finished it, you knew better. “y/n…” Sunghoon’s voice was gentle beside you, too gentle, then you realized he’d seen the grade too. “I’m sorry-” You didn’t let him finish.

Before the first slide even hit the projector, you grabbed your paper, shoved it into your bag, and bolted. “y/n?” your professor called out as the door closed behind you, but you didn’t stop. The tears were already falling, hot and silent down your cheeks as your legs carried you on autopilot.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Jay opened the door with a lazy grin. “Hey, look who it is-” His expression dropped instantly when he saw your face. “Whoa, hey. What’s wrong?”

“Is Heeseung here?” you asked, voice hoarse. He shook his head, stepping back to let you in. “He went out. Should be back soon, though.” You turned like you were about to leave, but Jay caught your wrist. “Wait, come inside.” You hesitated, wavering on your feet. But then his arms opened, and your resolve broke. You fell into his chest, sobs wracking your body as he pulled you in close.

Jay guided you to the couch, settling in beside you without a word. His hand rubbed slow, steady circles along your back while you cried until your throat ached. “I’m so tired,” you finally whispered. “I’m tired of loving someone who doesn’t want to love me back. He wants me to be his, but he doesn’t want to be mine.”

Jay didn’t respond right away. He let you speak, let your words settle between the two of you before he finally said, “You know that’s not fair to you, right?” You just stared at your hands, shaking in your lap. “I know. But I keep choosing him anyway.” You reached into your bag, your fingers clumsy, and pulled out the crumpled essay. “And now my life’s falling apart because of it.” You handed it to him, shame rushing up your throat. Jay’s brows knit together as he read the grade. “Jesus. y/n…”

“I was working on it that night and he kept trying to rush me so I could give him my attention. I was almost done, but he didn’t want to wait.”

“And you dropped everything for him.”

“I always do,” you whispered.

He was quiet for a second, then gently nudged your leg with his. “Heeseung actually invited me out tonight. Some new bar opening nearby.” You looked over, startled. “Jay, I can’t.” His voice was calm, “Just hear me out. Come with me and just to talk to him.” You exhaled sharply, your head already shaking. “He doesn’t listen.”

“Then make him listen,” Jay said, more firm this time. “Tell him what you told me. That you’re tired. That you’re drowning trying to hold up both of you. That you’re not asking him to change overnight but you are asking him to care enough to meet you halfway.” You swallowed hard. “What if he doesn’t?” Jay shrugged. “Then you’ll know. And I think deep down knowing is better than dragging this out in the dark.” He rested his hand on yours, “You love him. That’s obvious. But love shouldn’t break you down like this, y/n. Not over and over again.”

Your eyes welled again, but you held back the tears. Instead, you nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll come.” Jay offered you a small, “Good, and hey… no matter what happens, I got you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The bass thumped through the floor of the bar, pulsing in your chest as you followed Jay inside. The space was crowded but stylish, with low amber lighting and a haze of laughter and smoke hanging in the air. You looked stunning but even with your makeup perfect and your dress hugging you in all the right places, something inside still felt off.

Jay leaned in close, his voice pitched low near your ear. “You good?” You nodded, even if it was a lie. “Let’s just get a drink.” You posted up at the bar, side by side as you sipped your cocktails. You scanned the room absentmindedly, heart thudding against your ribs, wondering if tonight would finally be the night something changed between you and Heeseung.

Then Jay spotted him. “He’s over there.” You turned as Jay nodded toward the far corner, where a group of guys lounged around a table with half-drunk beers and a few girls clinging to their arms. Heeseung sat relaxed and smirking until your eyes locked on the girl on his lap. She was curled against him like she belonged there, her lips attached to his neck, one hand teasing the hem of his shirt.

You froze. Jay’s jaw clenched. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Heeseung noticed Jay first, and he waved lazily, like nothing was wrong. It wasn’t until you approached that his face dropped, and you didn’t say a word.

“y/n..”

The girl was shoved off his lap without ceremony, confusion written all over her face. But you weren’t looking at her. You were looking at him like you’d never seen him before. Like something inside you had finally snapped. You let out the smallest, most broken sigh, then turned to leave. Jay moved as if to follow you, but Heeseung reached for his arm and shook his head. “I got it.” Jay just stared him down like he might hit him, but he stepped back, lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

The air outside the bar was sharp and cool, biting at your skin as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to breathe. The muffled thump of bass inside faded behind you, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of your heartbeat, loud and aching in your ears. You stood on the curb, phone pressed to your cheek.

“Yeah… can you come get me?” Your voice cracked on the last word, barely above a whisper as you got Kira to come pick you up. The moment you hung up, you heard the door swing open behind you. “y/n.” You didn’t turn, you couldn’t. You kept your eyes on the street, watching headlights blur behind the film of tears already clouding your vision. “I didn’t know you were gonna be here,” Heeseung said, his voice a little breathless. “She meant nothing. I didn’t even say two words to her before she climbed on top of me.”

You didn’t respond, but your shoulders tensed. He noticed. “She wasn’t you,” he added. “She never could be.” That got you to turn, enough to glance over your shoulder. Enough to let him see how wrecked you were, even beneath your makeup and perfect dress. “Do you even hear yourself?” you asked, your voice low and raw. “Why was anyone on you in the first place?” He looked like he wanted to argue. Like he had excuses lined up. But instead, he stepped closer, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. “I was drunk. I was bored. I’ve been losing my fucking mind.”

You blinked, a tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it. “I’m not good at this, Y/N. I’m shit at it. But I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” His eyes searched yours, his voice a little quieter now. “If I’d known you were coming with Jay… I wouldn’t have even looked at anyone else.” Your throat tightened. You hated how easily your heart twisted at his words. How even now, even like this, part of you still wanted to believe him.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” you murmured. “Then don’t,” he said, taking another step closer. “Come back inside, or come home with me. Let me fix this.” You turned to face him fully now, biting your cheek to stop the sob sitting at the base of your throat. “Heeseung…” you started, but your voice faltered.

He saw it, the softening in your eyes, the hesitation in your stance. The way your hands twitched like you didn’t know whether to shove him or hold him. He saw it all, and his mouth curved into the smallest smirk, hopeful and cocky all at once. “I knew you wouldn’t walk away that easy,” he said under his breath, stepping forward again, close enough now that you could smell him. Close enough to pull you back in. But before he could reach you, headlights flashed across both your faces.

Kira’s car.

You wiped your cheek fast, hoping she didn’t notice. As she pulled up to the curb, you turned back to Heeseung, taking one shaky breath. “I’m not done with this conversation,” you admitted. “But I can’t do this right now.”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk you down, smooth things over, maybe even kiss his way out of the wreckage but the door to Kira’s car swung open with a quiet click, and the moment slipped through his fingers like smoke. You slid into the passenger seat without another word, not even looking back as Kira pulled away. Heeseung stood on the sidewalk, watching the car disappear, jaw tight and eyes glinting with the ghost of a grin. Because for better or worse, he knew it wasn’t over.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The morning was quiet, the kind of stillness that felt heavy rather than peaceful. You stood outside Heeseung and Jay’s apartment, your arms crossed against the early chill, uncertainty churning in your stomach like a storm on the brink. You didn’t even remember the walk here. Your legs had carried you on instinct, like some pathetic magnetic pull that wouldn’t let you stay away.

You raised your hand and knocked softly on the door, almost like part of you hoped he wouldn’t answer, but he did.

Heeseung opened the door looking like he hadn’t slept, eyes red, hair a mess, the fabric of his hoodie wrinkled and worn. For a second, he just blinked at you, as if unsure you were real. Then he stepped back silently, letting you in. You didn’t speak as you made your way to his room, the familiar scent of his cologne and faint smoke clinging to everything around you. You sat on the edge of his bed while he shut the door behind him. The air felt thick, like it could snap under the weight of whatever you were about to say.

He sat beside you, a little too close. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” you said quietly, hands resting in your lap, fingers digging into your own skin. “I’m tired, Heeseung. Everything in my life is falling apart, and I don’t even recognize myself anymore. And it’s not fair. I shouldn’t feel this… pathetic.” He didn’t say anything at first. Just let your words hang in the air between you. Then, finally he whispered, “I know.” You turned to look at him. “Do you?”

Heeseung’s jaw tensed. “I know I’ve hurt you. I’ve been selfish, and I’ve dragged you into my mess. But I meant what I said last night. I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Y/N. I just…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m not good at this. I’m scared of needing someone like I need you.” You stayed quiet, heart hammering in your chest, desperate for something real from him. “I’m not ready,” he admitted, voice low. “Not for the kind of love you deserve. Not yet. But I swear to God, I’m trying. And I don’t want you to leave me before I figure it out.” Your throat tightened. You hated him a little for saying the right things. For always knowing just how much honesty to give to keep you hanging on.

“I can’t keep putting my life on hold for someone who won’t choose me,” you whispered. “I am choosing you,” he said, reaching for your hand. “Just not in the way you want. Not yet. But I will.” You looked down at your joined hands. His thumb brushed softly over your knuckles, slow and reverent, like maybe he knew how close you were to walking away. “I need time,” he said again. “But I don’t want to lose you. Please don’t make me lose you.”

Your heart ached with how badly you wanted to believe him. And then, he leaned in and placed a genuine kiss on your lips. Not rushed, not greedy. Just a kiss. Sweet and gentle, which was rare for Heeseung. It didn’t burn like normal, you completely melted into him, and that was the problem. When he pulled back, your eyes were still closed. You breathed in slowly, “Okay,” you whispered. “But I can’t keep waiting forever.”

“I know,” he said. “I won’t make you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It had been months since that night at the bar. Somehow, Heeseung had surprised you. After that, he showed up. Not in grand, sweeping gestures, but in smaller ways. Less disappearing, fewer girls, and a real effort to be present. He still got high more often than you liked, but he wasn’t the same careless version of himself. There were even days he stayed sober just for you. He still refused to label what the two of you had, but there was no denying it anymore, you were his. And despite everything, he was still yours.

Finals came and went in a blur. You buried yourself in your notes, slept less, ate less, and practically lived in the library. Heeseung didn’t love it. He was pissy about the time you spent away, complained under his breath, picked little fights but when you reminded him how important this was to you, he’d try to pull it back. You knew he didn’t mean to be cold. It was just that being second to anything, including your future, never sat well with him.

So when your final marks came in, high scores across the board, including a ninety-six on the rewritten essay that had nearly broken you, you practically floated to his apartment. You didn’t knock anymore, you hadn’t for months. Jay barely looked up from the couch when you breezed in. “Heeseung’s in his room,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chips.

Your heart pounded with something close to glee as you padded down the hallway. For once, it felt like things were right again. The pressure was off your shoulders, and all you wanted was to share this victory with the person who made you feel like magic even on your worst days. You pushed open the door, and he was on the edge of his bed, hunched over, dollar bill between his fingers, a thin white line in front of him on the desk. He didn’t flinch when you walked in. Just looked up, red-eyed and lazy-smiled. "You’re here," he said, voice low and drowsy. You didn’t hesitate. You were in his lap before he could blink, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his. "I did it," you whispered between kisses. "I killed those exams, and got the makeup essay back too, your girl got a ninety-six."

His hands landed on your waist. "Of course you did. You’re brilliant." You kissed him harder, and he returned it, sloppier than usual but still full of heat. Then, somewhere between his hands gripping your hips and his lips trailing up your jaw, he murmured, “You deserve better than me.” You froze. Just for a moment. “What?”

He pulled back, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “You’re up here,” he said, motioning vaguely upward, “and I’m down here, snorting lines off my goddamn desk.” You gave a breathless laugh, like he’d just told a bad joke. “Stop. Don’t ruin this.”

“I’m not trying to,” he said. “I’m just being real.” The air in the room shifted. He kissed you again, slower, deeper, more tender, and when he pulled back, his voice was barely a whisper. “You can do better than me.”

“No,” you said immediately, pulling yourself off of his lap, “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.” He breathed out, lips pink from the kiss you two had just shared. “Heeseung..”

“You’re the kind of girl who makes it. Full ride, top of your class. Everyone sees it but you. And I’m the guy who drags you out of study sessions to fuck, who gets high instead of helping you write your essays.” The tears start to form in your eyes, the feeling of whats about to come claws at your throat and shakes your entire body. “I don’t care. None of that matters to me. I don’t want any of it without you.”

And that’s when he breaks. It’s not loud. Not dramatic. It’s subtle in the way his jaw tightens, the way he blinks a few times too fast, the way his breath hitches and his eyes gloss over, but you see it. He doesn’t cry, not fully, but the tears are threatening to fall. “You don’t want this life,” he says, voice low and brittle. “You think you do now, but you don’t know what it’s like to drown in it. You’d ruin yourself trying to save me.”

“I want to ruin myself for you!” you scream, throat sore from the truth of it. “I would do anything just to keep you. I don’t care what it costs me.” And it’s like a switch flips in him. His expression twists, darkens. He stands suddenly, turning away from you like he can’t bear to look. “That’s the problem,” he snaps, voice sharp now. “You’d throw everything away. Your future, your mind, your fucking soul for me? What kind of person lets someone do that for them?” He spins back toward you, breathing heavily. “You say I don’t hold you back, but I do. I already have. Look at you.”

You flinch like he’s slapped you. His chest heaves, while yours trembles. The room feels too small for the storm you’re both creating. “You think I want you to end up like me?” he says, quieter now, but with just as much heat. “Snorting lines in the dark because it’s the only way I know how to function? You’re not built for this, y/n.” You take a step forward, desperate. “Then help me understand it, let me in, Hee…”

“No!” he shouts, eyes wide now. “I can’t let you in. You don’t belong here with me.” Your voice cracks as you plead, “Then let me love you, please, you’re my life.” Heeseung stares at you like you’re breaking his heart just by standing there. And maybe you are. Then, something in his eyes shifts. The fight drains out of him all at once. His shoulders fall. His brows pinch like he’s physically in pain. He steps forward slowly, and he presses the softest, most painful kiss to your forehead. His lips linger there longer than they should. As if trying to memorize the way your skin feels before he forgets what warmth is.

“I’ll probably never love anyone the way I love you,” he murmurs into your hair. You shut your eyes tight. “Then don’t let me go.” He pulls back, and this time when he looks at you, it’s like he’s already saying goodbye. “I have to.” Your hands fall limp at your sides, you don’t protest again. There’s no grand door slam. No final dramatic words. Just the sound of your footsteps as you walk out of his room and down the hall.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It had been a month. A month since Heeseung kissed your forehead and told you to leave. You hadn’t left your bed much since it happened. Your sheets still smelled like him, and you refused to wash them. The air in your room was stale, but you didn’t open a window. You just laid there, still, like a corpse.

Every single one of your friends had tried. Mina was the first. She’d climbed into bed with you in the early days, stroking your hair while you stared at the wall. She ordered in your favourite food, but you hadn’t touched a bite. Kira had shown up next, with a playlist titled “Healing Shit (or at least trying)” and a bag full of overpriced face masks. But your face stayed buried in your pillow, unmoving, no matter how gently she whispered your name. Koda and Wren came as a pair. They took turns talking to you like it was a script they rehearsed, one soft and hopeful, the other blunt and real. But even they couldn’t pull you from the hollow place you’d sunk into. Not even Koda’s dumb jokes could summon a smile.

And now it was Jay and Sunghoon. You heard the front door creak open from your spot in bed. You knew it was them before they even reached your room. Something about the heaviness of their footsteps. The way their voices dropped in the hallway like they were already mourning what they were about to see. “y/n?” Jay said your name softly, like he wasn’t sure you’d still respond to it, but you didn’t. Sunghoon stepped in behind him, his brows creased with concern. “Hey. Can we talk?”

Your body curled deeper into the mattress, a feeble attempt at self-preservation. You didn’t look at them, didn’t blink, just stared at the nothingness in front of you. Jay approached first. “Come on,” he murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed. “We miss you. Just... say something.” When you didn’t, he laid beside you, hesitantly at first. One arm slid around your trembling frame as he tucked you into his chest, like maybe he could hold your pieces together before they shattered again. That’s when it hit. The sob tore out of you like it had been clawing up your throat for days. A horrible, guttural sound, ugly and loud and drenched in everything you hadn’t said. Jay just held you tighter, his jaw clenched as he buried his chin in your hair.

Sunghoon sat down on the floor beside the bed, leaning against the frame. His voice was low, soothing. “You’re not alone, y/n. We’re here. We all are. And we’re not going anywhere.” You still didn’t speak. Couldn’t. You just cried until your chest ached and your tears soaked through Jay’s shirt. You didn’t know how to live without Heeseung, and you weren’t even sure you wanted to. You cried until your mind shut off and you drifted into a tear induced slumber, you didn’t notice when they finally left.

Back at the apartment, Jay shut the front door behind them with a sigh, tossing his keys into their key bowl. Sunghoon didn’t say anything until they reached the kitchen, and when he did, it wasn’t lighthearted. “She’s not okay,” he said quietly, grabbing two glasses out of the cupboard. “Like, not at all.” Heeseung was sitting on the couch, slumped low, eyes glassy. The remnants of a high clung to his skin with a thin sheen of sweat, and faint tremble in his hands. He didn’t look up or didn’t speak up. He just listened.

Jay leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his voice laced with worry. “I don’t even recognize her anymore, Hoon. She used to be the brightest one out of all of us. Now she won’t even look at me. Just lies there like she’s waiting to disappear.” Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “She’s not eating. Mina said she hasn’t left her room in almost a week. I saw like five unopened water bottles on her nightstand. She’s not okay, man.”

“She's not even y/n anymore,” Jay added. Heeseung’s throat went dry. He stared blankly at the coffee table, at the rolled-up bill and the near-empty bag of coke. His chest caved in around the weight of their words. His stomach churned. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, trying to breathe. They were talking about her. He destroyed her, and now she was unraveling exactly the way he thought she would if he stayed with her. He stood up slowly, barely steady on his feet, and disappeared down the hallway. The door to his bedroom shut quietly behind him. And for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, he didn’t reach for the coke. He just sat there on the edge of his bed, face in his hands, and tried to figure out how to live with the ruin he’d made of the only person who ever loved him like he was worth saving.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It took everything you had just to lift your body out of bed. You moved like you’d been underwater for weeks, every motion slow, unsteady, and heavy. Your legs shook beneath you as you shuffled toward the bathroom. You didn’t even register the mirror hanging on the wall, you didn’t want to see yourself. You just turned on the shower, stripped out of clothes that smelled like you hadn’t changed out of them in days, and stepped under the scalding stream.

You stood there longer than you needed to. By the time you emerged, your skin was red and raw, your eyes already puffy again. You dried off in silence, tugged on your hoodie, well his hoodie, and slipped your wallet into the front pocket. When you walked into the living room, Mina and Kira were curled up on the couch. They looked up at you like they were seeing a ghost slowly reassemble itself. “I’m going for a walk,” you murmured, barely above a whisper. Kira straightened. “Want us to come?” You shook your head in response. “Just need some air. I’ll be back in a week.” They blinked. “What?” You forced a faint, brittle smile. “Kidding.” But your tone was unconvincing, you just walked out before they could press further.

The late afternoon wind cut at your cheeks as you walked aimlessly, hood up, headphones in, playlist on loop. The same seven songs you’d been playing for the last twenty-eight days. Lyrics you could mouth with your eyes closed, melodies that buried themselves in your bones.

You didn’t know how long you wandered before you reached your destination. One of the countless places he used to drag you to. A forgotten street, somewhere between two buildings that always looked like they were on the verge of collapse. You hung back near a busted fence, pretending to scroll on your phone while keeping an eye out. Eventually, you saw him. Heeseungs dealer. You made your way over slowly. He looked up as you approached, and recognition flickered in his eyes. “Heeseung’s girl,” he smirked, and you didn’t respond.

“I want a bag,” you said plainly. “Whatever you’ve got.” The man looked you over. “You ever done this before?” You didn’t answer, causing him to chuckle to himself like it was all a joke. But he still handed you the small plastic bag. You passed him two crumpled twenties from your hoodie pocket. He pocketed the cash and gave you a lazy nod.

“Don’t take the whole thing at once,” he muttered. “It’s strong.” You didn’t care. You walked until your feet hurt. Until you found a lonely curb near some graffiti covered alley, and you sat down. Your hands trembled as you opened the bag. You watched the powder shift. It looked like nothing and everything at once. Just like him. You shook a little onto the back of your hand, like you’d seen him do a hundred times. Tilted your wrist. Bent forward. But the second the powder neared your face, something inside you cracked. The tears came hard, you couldn’t stop them if you tried.

You pulled your hand away, the powder falling across the asphalt. You clutched the bag with shaking fingers, stuffed it back into your pocket, and stood up like your legs were no longer yours. You didn’t even realize where you were walking until you were standing in front of his apartment. The air felt thinner there. You knocked once, and the door swung open quicker than you expected. Jay stood there, mouth parting as soon as he saw your face. You knew what you looked like. Your cheeks were blotchy, and your eyes glassy. You didn’t even try to hide it. “y/n,” he said quietly. “Please don’t do this.”

“I need to see him,” you whispered. Jay glanced over his shoulder into the apartment like he was searching for an excuse. “You’re stronger than this. You’ve made it this far.” You shook your head, a small sob catching in your throat. “I can’t.. I just can’t.” He looked at you again, really looked. His expression softened, falling into something helpless and hollow. You didn’t need to say anything else, Jay stepped aside.

You don’t even knock on his door, you simply turn the doorknob and step inside, the air heavy and quiet, thick with the scent of old smoke and something sharper, something chemical that instantly floods your chest with memories. Heeseung is on his bed, a half-empty glass in one hand, his phone in the other. But the moment the door creaks open and he looks up and he freezes like he’s seen a ghost.

His entire face drops as your eyes meet his. The weight of everything you’ve been holding in for the last month finally collapses. You burst into tears. “y/n?” He’s already standing, his voice strained with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

But you don’t speak. You just walk toward him, your legs barely steady, and reach into the pocket of your hoodie. You pull out the small bag of white powder, trembling fingers clenched around it like it burns to hold, and you drop it into his palm like it’s evidence. His expression shatters instantly. “No… no, baby, what the fuck is this?” he says, panic rising in his voice. He grips your wrist, gently but firm, and steps closer, cupping your face in both hands. “Did you… did you take this?”

You shake your head, eyes wide and streaming. “I couldn’t.” His thumbs brush over your tear-soaked cheeks as he tilts your head up, examining your nose like it holds the answer. When he sees it’s clean, he exhales in relief and closes his eyes, forehead falling against yours. Neither of you speaks for a long moment. The silence is filled with your sniffles, his staggered breath, the steady beat of time holding its breath, then he pulls you into him.

You crumble against his chest, sobbing so violently your knees nearly give out. His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid of letting you go again. “I love you,” you cry into his hoodie, fists clutching the fabric at his back. “I love you and I can’t live without you, Heeseung. This past month… I wasn’t living, it was torture. It still is.”

“I love you too,” he breathes against your hair, his voice cracking like something inside him is breaking open. “But I’m not good. I’m not safe. I’m a monster, and you’re… fuck, you’re pure light. You’re everything good and I don’t want to take that from you.”

“My light doesn’t exist without you,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to look at him. Your eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, your face flushed from the storm that still hasn’t passed. He just stares at you, jaw tight, guilt swimming in every line of his expression. “You’re my worst desire,” you murmur. “Heaven would be hell without you. And even if we’re doomed to it, I’d still choose hell as long as you’re there.”

His brows knit together, like he’s trying to process your words and stop himself from falling into them all at once. “I don’t want to live without you,” you say again, firmer this time. “My love isn’t conditional. I don’t care about what you’ve done or where you are or what you think you’re becoming. The only place anything feels right is with you.” His chest rises and falls, slow and heavy. “I’m torn, Y/N. Between you and this deeper desire I keep giving into. This path I’m on… it’s dark and it’s fucked and I know it’s going to destroy me. And I don’t want it to take you too.”

You reach up, fingers touching his jaw, gentle and warm. “But I want you. Even through the dark times.” He swallows hard. “I want you. I want to be with you. I want to love you… but I never wanted to destroy you.”

“You won’t,” you whisper, “unless you keep pushing me away.” The war behind his eyes rages on but then, slowly, it softens. His hand lifts to cradle your cheek again, thumb brushing just below your eye. “I don’t know how to stop loving you,” he murmurs. “Then don’t.” You don’t know who moves first. Maybe you both do. But the second your mouths meet, it’s like something primal takes over. He kisses you like he’s been drowning and you’re the first breath of air he’s had in weeks. There’s nothing careful about it now, his hands in your hair, your arms around his neck, bodies crashing together like gravity had finally snapped.

It’s a kiss born from heartbreak, from survival, from all the pieces of your souls trying to find home in each other again. His mouth is hot and desperate against yours, tasting of longing and regret, of everything you’ve both wanted and tried to deny. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen, your chest heaving, your heart pounding so loud you’re surprised he can’t hear it.

Heeseung doesn’t let you go, his lips hover above yours, breath warm and shallow, and for a moment neither of you speaks. You just stay pressed together, hands curled in his shirt, his fingers brushing along your jaw like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your face all over again. Then he kisses you again, slower this time.

His hands cup your cheeks, and your fingers tangle in his hair as he pours every unsaid word into your mouth. It’s messy and a little frantic, but softer than before. Softer because this time, there’s no desperation behind it, just clarity. “I love you,” he breathes against your lips, barely pulling away. “Fuck, I love you so much.” You nod, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “I love you too.” He rests his forehead against yours, eyes shut like he’s trying not to fall apart again. “I’ll try to quit. I swear to you, I’ll try. I don’t want to keep losing myself and I can’t live without you. Not again.” Your hands tighten around him. “I want to be yours,” he says. “Like really yours. Your boyfriend. I want to be better, for you. I want to try.”

Your breath catches in your throat, then you’re nodding, over and over, and your arms wrap tighter around his neck as you pull him into another kiss, this one slower, and sweeter, like the kind of kiss you’d always hoped he’d give you when it finally felt right. Heeseung’s hands slide beneath your thighs, and with no effort at all, he lifts you off the ground and carried you towards his bed. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your face tucked into the crook of his neck.

He lays you down carefully on the bed, then slides in beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he blinks. You don’t speak for a while, you just lie there, tangled up together in the dark, wrapped in sheets that still faintly smell like him. His hand strokes your hair, your back, the curve of your hip. You feel his lips press gently to your forehead, your cheeks, the bridge of your nose.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers between kisses. “For everything. For leaving you. For making you feel like I didn’t care. I was scared. I still am.” You reach up and trace his jaw with your thumb, your heart aching at how sincere his eyes look in the dim room. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “You’re here now. We’re here now.” He leans in, brushes your lips with his. “I’ll be better for you.”

“You already are.” You press your face into his chest and he holds you tighter. His heartbeat is loud beneath your ear, and for the first time in what feels like forever, it doesn’t feel like your body is made of hollow spaces and shattered glass. It feels like safety.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

You wake up to the sound of his breathing. It was slow, steady, almost peaceful. For a moment, you let yourself believe that last night wasn’t a dream. That the pain is over, the ache behind you, and this is the start of something real. His arm is slung around your waist, warm and heavy, anchoring you to the mattress. You barely slept, too afraid he’d disappear again. But now, in the soft haze of morning, wrapped in his arms, you let your eyes close just for a second.

Until he stirs behind you. You feel the subtle shift in his body. The way his breath catches in his throat. His arm retracts like your skin burned him. “Wait…” his voice rasps, still thick with sleep, “what the fuck…” Your stomach drops, as you turn slowly, blinking at him like maybe you’re the one who’s confused. “What?”

His eyes are wide and bloodshot. There’s dried powder crusted faintly under one nostril and a tiny streak still smeared across the back of his hand. “What are you doing here?” he asks, genuine confusion etched across his face. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by the sharp contrast to the boy who held you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth just hours ago.

“I came over last night… You said you loved me,” you finally whisper. “You said you wanted to try. That you didn’t want to lose me.” He stares, the silence between you gnaws at your chest like something alive. “I don’t…” he swallows. “Fuck, I don’t remember that.” The words hit you harder than a slap. You sit up too fast, the sheets falling away from your body as you shake your head. “You don’t remember anything?” His eyes flicker. Guilt creeps in slowly. “I was coming down. I’d done a lot before you showed up. I didn’t know-”

“So it didn’t matter?” you cut him off, voice barely above a whisper. “None of it was real?”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps, defensive now. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything. You don’t even remember me being here.” Your voice trembles. “You don’t remember kissing me. You said you’d try to quit. You asked me to stay.” He runs both hands through his hair like he wants to rip it out. “I meant it, okay? I meant it in the moment.”

“But the moment’s gone,” you say bitterly, standing from the bed. “And now we’re here.” Heeseung gets up too, anger simmering under his skin. “What, you want me to magically fix everything overnight? You think it’s that simple?”

“I never said that.”

“Then what do you want, Y/N? You want me to turn into someone I’m not?”

“I want you to have not been high last night!” you yell, the words coming out strangled. “I want you to care! I want you to stop making me feel like I’m the only one who’s trying!” He’s pacing now, barefoot on the floor, frantic and twitchy. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like in my head. I’m not built for this shit.”

“I know you’re not,” you say, voice cracking. “But I thought maybe you’d try. For me.” He freezes. His back is to you, shoulders tense. “I want to. I just… I don’t think I can.” You feel it again, that collapse inside your chest. The same one you’ve been patching together with hope and denial for months. “Then say it,” you whisper. “Say you don’t want this. Say you don’t want me.” He turns slowly, and something in his face softens. It almost breaks you. “I do want you,” he admits. “But I want this too.” He gestures vaguely to the room, the remnants of his high, the destruction he clings to like a security blanket. “And that makes me a monster.”

You step back like the words physically hurt. “You said I was your angel.”

“You are.” His voice cracks. “Which is why I need you to go.” You shake your head. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” he breathes. “God, I do. But I’ll ruin you.”

“You already did. I just got you back, Heeseung…”

The silence stretches thick between you. Then he takes a step forward, like he might try to hold you, but you back away. You can’t do this again, not when he couldn’t even remember the night before. He swallows hard, eyes glassy. “Please,” he says, voice barely audible. “Don’t make me watch you walk away.” You blink back tears, throat tight. “Then give me a reason to stay.”

But he doesn’t. So you do the one thing you swore you never would.

You leave.

And like always, he lets you go.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

four months later

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Four months pass in the blink of an eye. The day is warm, the sun soft and golden overhead as you stand with Mina, Kira, Koda, and Wren, all dressed in your black gowns and sashes, your caps still held in your hands. The air around you buzzes with excitement, laughter, and the kind of bittersweet energy that only comes with the closing of a chapter. The moment your names are called, one by one, a flood of emotions washes over you. Pride, relief, even a sense of sadness.

And then you’re all standing in a circle, diplomas in hand, faces flushed with joy, and on the count of three, you throw your caps into the air, the five of you screaming and laughing as they soar above your heads and fall like confetti. It should feel like the beginning of everything. And in a way, it does. But for you, it’s also the end.

After the ceremony, you spot Sunghoon weaving through the crowd, his smile blinding, a massive bouquet of deep red roses tucked under his arm. He beelines straight for Koda, scooping her up into a tight hug, lifting her right off the ground as she squeals in surprise. “Proud of you, babe,” he grins, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then he turns to the rest of you, handing off flowers and congratulations like they’re going out of style. He hugs you next, warm and genuine and it makes your eyes sting just a little.

Before you can blink, someone else wraps their arms around you from behind. “Graduated and still short,” Jay teases into your ear. You laugh despite yourself and lean into the embrace. “I missed you too, asshole,” you say, wiping your cheek quickly as if that’ll hide how emotional you are. He holds you for a second longer, then pulls back, flashing you that crooked grin. “Proud of you. You did it.” You force a smile at his words, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Later that night, you all cram into a booth at your favorite Korean BBQ spot, the table stacked with plates of sizzling meat, clinking glasses, and side dishes passed back and forth. Everyone’s talking over each other, laughing too loud, singing along to whatever songs are playing overhead. Kira leans into you, whispering about how Wren made eyes at the waiter. Mina’s halfway into her second soju bottle. Koda is pressed into Sunghoon’s side like a missing piece finally clicked into place.

It’s familiar, and yet you feel like you’re watching it from behind glass. When Jay offers to drive you home, you don’t hesitate.

The apartment feels quieter than usual. Like the walls know something is ending. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of your suitcase, folding your last hoodie with shaking hands. The corners don’t line up properly, but you can’t bring yourself to refold it again. Your fingers are trembling too hard. Jay stands by your desk, watching you in silence. He’s been quiet since you let him in. He hasn’t touched his drink. He hasn’t touched anything.

You try to lighten the mood, forcing a soft chuckle as you zip your suitcase closed. “Guess that’s everything.” Jay doesn’t smile. “Doesn’t feel like everything.” You glance up at him. He’s staring at your suitcase like it just punched him in the gut. You swallow hard, “Jay…”

“Are you sure about this?” You turn away, pretending to check the zipper again even though it’s fine. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t.” He takes a few steps closer. The floor creaks beneath his feet. “You don’t have to go, Y/N. You really don’t. You could stay. Start over. We could help you.” Your chest tightens. You press your palm flat against the suitcase like it’ll keep you grounded. “I can’t stay here,” you whisper. “Everything here reminds me of him.” Jay exhales sharply, and it’s the closest thing to a crack in his composure you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N…” He drags a hand through his hair and sits down beside you on the floor. He doesn’t touch you, but you can feel the warmth of him beside you, like a question. “I thought leaving would make it easier,” you admit, voice trembling. “But all I feel is like I’m abandoning him.” Jay finally meets your eyes, and your resolve breaks.

The tears come without warning, hot and relentless, blurring your vision as you lean into him and bury your face in his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, holding you like he’s been waiting months to do it, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can keep you from slipping away. You sob into his hoodie, shaking like a leaf. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to leave him behind.”

Jay’s hand finds the back of your head, gentle, grounding. “You don’t have to leave him behind forever,” he murmurs. “Just long enough to find yourself again.” You pull back slowly, your cheeks soaked, your throat raw. “Promise me something?” He nods without hesitation. “Look after him. Please. I know he’s not easy. I know he’s… a lot. But I’m terrified he’ll destroy himself without someone watching.” Jay’s jaw tenses. “You really love him, huh?” You nod. “With everything. Even when I shouldn’t.”

He reaches for your hand, squeezes it tightly. “I’ll watch over him. I promise. But you have to promise me something too.” You look at him through watery eyes. “Don’t disappear. Call sometimes. Text. Hell, send a postcard.” You let out a wet laugh and nod, then fall forward into his arms again, hugging him like it’s the last piece of safety you’ll get to hold onto. “Let me take you to the airport tomorrow?” he says against your hair.

You nod into his chest. “Yeah. Please.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The blinds in Heeseung’s room are drawn, bathing everything in a murky shade of grey. His ashtray is full. The rolled-up twenty on his desk is crooked and frayed at the edge from too many nights like this. He’s flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it holds answers. His jaw ticks, fingers drumming against his stomach. There’s a weight in his chest that won’t budge, no matter how many hits he takes.

The door creaks open without a knock. It’s Jay. Heeseung doesn’t look. Doesn’t move. Just closes his eyes and lets out a long breath through his nose.

“She’s leaving.” The words land like a punch to the ribs, causing Heeseung to blink his eyes open. “Huh?”

Jay steps further inside. “Y/N. She’s moving. Tomorrow. “I’m taking her to the airport.” Heeseung sits up too fast, his heart dropping into his gut. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” A long pause followed. Heeseung scoffs, running a hand through his already mussed hair, the tension rippling through his limbs like a pulled wire. “So let her go.” Jay’s expression flattens. “Are you serious right now?” Heeseung shrugs, but his eyes don’t match the indifference in his voice. “She wants to leave. Let her.”

“She doesn’t want to leave, Heeseung. She’s hurting. Because of you.”

“Well, maybe she should’ve thought about that before falling for a fucking loser.” Jay’s voice goes sharp. “You’re not a loser. You’re just a fucking coward.” Heeseung’s head snaps toward him. “You think I don’t know what I am?!” His voice cracks. “You think I haven’t been dying every fucking day since I told her to go?!”

“Then why didn’t you stop her?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!” Heeseung roars, pushing up to his feet with such force the chair beside his desk shakes. His chest heaves, eyes wild and glassy. Jay doesn’t back down. “Then fight for her.”

“I did!” Heeseung yells again, slamming a hand against the wall hard enough to make a picture frame rattle. “I fought by letting her go. She was dying here! Dying because of me. She had everything in front of her and I kept dragging her back into my mess-”

“So clean up the fucking mess!”

Heeseung’s fists ball at his sides. Jay’s breathing hard now, too. “You sit here pretending you’re some tragic antihero who saved her by breaking her heart. But that’s not love, Heeseung. That’s fear.”

The words hang heavy, and Heeseung doesn’t respond. Jay stares at him a moment longer, jaw clenched, eyes filled with something halfway between rage and heartbreak. “You still have time to fix this. But if you don’t even try… then maybe you never really loved her in the first place.” Jay turned and storms out. The door slams so hard the walls shake. Heeseung doesn’t move, barely breathes.

He lowers himself back onto his bed, collapsing like his body has nothing left to give. He stares at the ceiling again, but this time, his eyes burn. His thoughts race, every image of you, every soft whisper, every tear you’d shed, every moment he threw away playing like a reel behind his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The airport smells like burnt coffee and fresh paper. You stand beside Jay at your gate, your suitcase at your feet, ticket clutched loosely in one hand, passport in the other. Your hoodie sleeves are pulled over your knuckles, and your headphones hang useless around your neck, silent for once. Jay is quiet next to you, his arm brushing yours every so often in silent solidarity. He knows better than to fill the silence with small talk.

Then, the presence of your friend group livens up the airport. You hear them before you see them, but you couldn’t mistake Koda’s excited voice carrying over the low hum of travel noise. You turn and see her weaving through the crowd, pulling Sunghoon behind her with one hand, the other waving high above her head. Behind them are Kira, Mina, and Wren, all bundled in mismatched layers, like they’d rushed out the door without checking the weather.

The sight makes your throat tighten.

They all reach you at once, surrounding you in hugs and laughter that feels too bright for how heavy your chest feels. Kira grabs your hands in hers and squeezes, her smile watery. Mina wipes her eyes before the tears even fall. Wren just hugs you so tightly your back cracks. “I’m proud of you,” Koda says, pressing her forehead against yours. “I can’t believe you’re actually going,” Sunghoon mutters, voice quiet but sincere. You try to smile. “Me either.”

But as they all talk over each other, asking about your flight, telling you to text them when you land, suggesting a ridiculous group chat name, your eyes can’t help but drift toward the crowd behind them, like you’re searching. Jay catches the glance. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches you for a long moment before gently tugging on your sleeve. “He’s not coming.”

You blink, startled by how calmly he says it. “I talked to him,” Jay continues, keeping his voice low so the others won’t overhear. “But… I don’t think he’ll show.” You nod, eyes dropping to the floor. You expected it, you told yourself not to hope. But hope is cruel. Hope has a sharp edge.

“I know,” you whisper. “It’s okay.” Jay doesn’t say anything. He knows it’s not okay. But he nods like it is, and you’re grateful for it. The loudspeaker crackles overhead, boarding group numbers being called. You glance down at your ticket. That’s you. “Well,” you say, forcing a bright smile, “that’s me.” You start hugging everyone again, slower this time. There’s something about knowing it’s going to be the last one for a while that makes your arms ache to hold onto them longer.

“You’ll call, right?” Kira whispers into your shoulder. “Every day,” you promise. Jay is the last one you face. His arms wrap around you with a familiarity that makes your heart ache in a different way. “Thank you,” you murmur. “For what?” He asks with a small chuckle to his voice. “For everything.” He squeezes you a little tighter. “I got you. Always.” And still, your eyes flick one more time to the crowd, searching for dark eyes, messy hair, broad shoulders. One more time for the boy who made and broke your heart all at once, but he’s not there. So you pick up your bag, and you walk away, waving goodbye to your friends as you approached your gate..

And you don’t look back.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

The moment the plane touched down, a strange stillness settled in your chest. You were exhausted, emotionally rung out, and yet the moment the pilot announced your arrival in Sydney, Australia, your body moved on autopilot. New country. New air. New version of you.

You weave through the crowd in the airport, dodging people with overstuffed carry-ons and neck pillows clinging to their shoulders. Your headphones are around your neck now, but they’re quiet. The music that once drowned everything out is replaced by the hum of unfamiliar accents and baggage claim announcements. Your heart is thudding a little too loud as you make your way toward the carousel, scanning for your suitcase. It’s a sea of black and navy bags, all tumbling past with urgency, like they know where they’re going.

Someone steps in front of you just as your bag slides into view, and you don’t see them in time. The collision is instant and forceful, your shoulder hits theirs, your foot catches something, and the next thing you know, you’re both on the ground, bags and limbs tangled in a graceless heap of chaos.

“Oh my god… I’m so sorry, are you okay?” you gasp, sitting up and scrambling to gather your bearings. “No, no, that was me, I wasn’t watching, shit are you alright?” a voice responds, rushed and sincere. Your hand brushes his arm as you both reach for the same fallen backpack. And then your eyes meet. Warm brown eyes. Tousled blond hair. Sun-kissed skin. A dimple threatening the corner of his cheek as he smiles sheepishly. There’s a pause. A stillness. The universe, just for a moment, seems to exhale.

You blink, and then he extends a hand to help you up, fingers curling gently around yours with a touch that doesn’t feel like a beginning, but like something inevitable.

“I’m Jake.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

a/n ; omg guys I can't believe bad desire is finally here. I've been working on this fanfic for LITERALLY months, and then when bad desire came out I knew I had to find someway to incorporate it. but anyways, thank you so much for the love you gave the teaser and I hope you all like the full story! maybe there's room for a part two?

tag list ; @lostgirlysstuff @hoonprksung @nithxhoon @rayofsunshineeee @wooyugta @fancypeacepersona

#enhypen smut #heeseung #heeseung smut #heeseung fanfic #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enha smut #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen jake #enhypen jay #enhypen sunghoon #jay enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #heeseung angst

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year ago

Text

feelin' flirty || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!reader

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker @zomb-1-egutzz

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Summary: Being a long-lost friend of Maggie's, you wind up at the prison, a line of dead walkers behind you. You are promptly confronted with one Rick Grimes, and it's suddenly your life's goal to flirt with him as much as you can. Rick doesn't usually respond, but what if one day he does?

TWs: innuendos, talk of sex, shameless (and I mean shameless) flirting, mention of both Beth and Hershel's deaths, gunshot wound, blood, guns, knives, and all things TWD.

[[A/N: Tumblr has deleted this THREE times. I am furious, hello??? Also, someone should've been hardcore flirting with Rick, I'll say it. That's what this is based on. Do I have social anxiety? Yes, but am I still writing this? I am. Don't ask questions. ALSO, I do not know the TWD timeline at all, so I am making it up, thank you. Enjoy :))) ]]

With one last stab, you finished off the last... zombie? You didn't really call them anything, since you were alone. Maybe you should think about that a little more.

Wordlessly, you turned and stabbed another square in the head. Undead? No. Zombie? No, too cliché-

Another one.

It went on like that for a few more minutes, before you took a breath -with no answer to your question. Frowning at your knife being covered in... guts, for lack of a better word, you crouched down and wiped it on the grass.

What was that, 15? You didn't really count, but you should have. You were trying to get a new personal best actually-

"Hey!"

You froze, pocketing your knife, before spinning on your heel. The voice was fairly distant, so you weren't worried. Instead, close enough for it to matter, was a big building with high walls and barbed wire at the top of them. A prison. Huh.

"Up here!" The voice called again, and you startled.

Shading your eyes from the sun, you looked up into the watchtower, and sure enough, there was a silhouette. A guy, you think, with dark hair. That was about all you could say.

"Yeah?" You called back, curiously.

"That was cool as shit!"

You laughed out, probably for the first time in months, "Thank you, mysterious stranger!"

"Glenn!" He clarified.

Huh, you pursed your lips, before responding, "Y/N!"

"Nice to meet you!"

You laughed again, before feeling a pain in your stomach. When was the last time you'd eaten? You paused, trying to think. Three days ago (there was a box of Twinkies that hadn't expired yet in a stranded supermarket). Not great.

"Hey, Glenn?" You yelled, a little hopeful.

"Yeah?"

You pursed your lips, before deciding -taking a chance, really, "You got any food in there?"

Now, you were walking through the gate, which was a little dramatic. But, you kinda liked it. It felt like you were kind of a big deal, well, until there was a swarm of eyes on you. All different kinds.

You froze, licking across your teeth.

And then, a man ran up to your side -gasping a little. Was that Glenn? How did he-

He offered his hand to shake, and you accepted it -looking at the crowd, a little defensively.

"Are they going to kill me? Or...?"

"Shit," he turned to them, "-They just want some food, guys, c'mon!"

None of them even flinched.

"I don't bite," you joked, before frowning, "-shit. That was in bad taste-"

And then, a voice called out into the tense air.

"Y/N?"

You peeked over heads, looking, because-

Your eyes locked onto hers, and you nearly jumped in place -big smile blooming along your lips, "Holy shit, Mags?!"

You'd been friends, back in high school. You'd left junior year and tried to keep in touch. It just didn't work out. (You can't even remember now if it was her or you who stopped, at this point.)

Before she could so much as reply, you ran to her -arms wide open. She eagerly reciprocated, spinning a little with the force -you'd gotten pretty good at running at this point.

"What the fuck?" You breathed into her shoulder, and she laughed big and loud, "-What are the chances?"

With a thought, you pulled back -still holding her shoulders, "Are your Dad and Beth here?"

"Yeah," she cheered, and something in you felt relieved. Thank god, they were okay.

"And, you?" She offered, a little hesitantly -notable lack at your side.

You pressed your lips together, swallowing, and shook your head, "Been alone since the beginning."

Maggie frowned, hand coming up to rest on your arm and squeezing once.

"Only lived with my boyfriend," you explained, eager to lighten the mood, "-and he actually cheated on me, so. Wasn't the worst lost."

She laughed a little, before asking -carefully, "And your family?"

Something in your chest stung, you wordlessly shook your head. (Visions of unhinged jaws and blood filling it.)

She frowned, whispering her apologies before hugging you again. You leaned into it that time.

And then, you jumped back, excited, "You have to bring me to your family, Mags, it's been so long-"

"Ya 'ave to talk to Rick first," a voice grumbled out behind you.

You spun on your heel, facing a man. Tall, brunette, dark eyes, arms crossed in front of him (strong, you noted), but you could tell in his stance. He was a layer of stone walls, and you did not want to mine.

And then, your eyes smoothed across his back. Is that a fucking crossbow? Sick.

"Whose Rick?" You asked instead, Maggie still holding your arm.

"Whose askin'?"

That, was a good voice. Was your first thought as you turned back around, and your eyes landed on a figure.

Your voice got stuck in your throat.

He was tall, stood like he owned the place (and based on the recommendation, maybe he did), all broad shoulders and strong gaze. Speaking of gaze, he had probably the bluest eyes you'd ever seen. And his hair was brown and curly, a few hung forward on his face. His jaw was unspeakable, and his button-up shirt had a few extra buttons undone to account for the heat. Holy shit.

Maggie elbowed you, and you blinked.

"Uh, me," you answered, clearing your throat -motioning to Glenn, "-he said you had some food and I'm... hungry."

Maggie promptly stomped on your toe. You pressed your lips together trying not to laugh, carefully looking over his face to see if he'd picked up on it at all. Nothing. A shame, really.

Oh well, maybe next time.

"Look, Rick," she interrupted your thoughts, "-I know 'em, really well. Y/N is a good person."

Rick's eyes dipped to you, looking you over. Oh, the words were right there on the tip of your tongue. It would be so easy-

You're trying to survive, Y/N, your mind pressed, focus.

You bit at your lip, but before you could speak for yourself, Glenn did.

"I saw 'em take on a swarm outside," he added, eyes darting to Maggie (Huh.), "-without breaking a sweat."

There are other things I can do without breaking a sweat, your brain immediately remarked, this really was too easy.

Rick seemed to think about it a second, before turning to you, "Ya got a gun?"

I'd like to be loaded with-

"No," you cleared your throat, pulling out your knife (it was one of those multicolored ones, it's why you liked it clean), "-just this."

He hummed, tilting his head with a mouth shrug, "'At's impressive."

I bet your-

You pinched your arm, swallowing, "So, what? Am I in or not?"

Rick's eyes flicked up and down you again (so easy), before he decided, "Ya can stay."

That brings you to now, sitting with Maggie outside with a can of baked beans and a spoon in your hands.

You currently had quite the view of Rick working on the farm, sweat dripping down his brow, strained arms. You'd never thought about farming in that way, but now you were.

"Is his full name Richard?" You asked, curiously.

Maggie turned to you, watching the trail of your eyes to see what you were looking at. She rolled her eyes, "I don't know."

You put a spoonful into your mouth, humming around it, "There's a reason they call them 'Dick', you know."

"Oh my god," she shoved into you -making you laugh a little. You stared down into your can.

"I'm just saying," you stressed, "-he's hot enough for it."

Maggie paused a second, before deciding to say, "His wife died."

"Shit," your smile fell.

"Died in childbirth," she continued, something distant in her eyes -you wondered what exactly it was.

"How long ago?" You asked gently, looking at him in a new light -sympathizing.

"Few months," she answered, a little shortly. You pursed your lips, debating whether to say anything. Or if you even should.

Maggie clarified, herself, "I delivered the baby. Judith, her name is Judith."

"Fuck, Mags," you fully turned to her, putting the can by your feet, "-I'm so sorry."

She took a deep breath in and out, and you wrapped an arm around her shoulders pushing her into your side, "Thanks."

"No problem," you hummed, picking your can back up and letting your eyes drift to Rick again, adding, "-I'm great with babies, you know."

"You're ridiculous," she laughed, taking the bite you offered her.

"What?" You asked, "-Staring isn't bad. He's practically a piece of art, I'm just..."

He turned to the two of you then, blue eyes flickering along your faces -you did not move your gaze at all.

Instead, you gently waved, finishing, "-admiring him."

Rick furrowed his eyebrows for a second, waving back, and then, shaking his head smiling. Count that as a win.

You gnawed at your lip a second, "Do you think he picked up on my 'hungry' thing? I was looking at him and I-"

Maggie laughed, "He definitely did. Everyone did, Y/N, you're shameless."

"It's the apocalypse," you urged, "-who gives a fuck about shame anymore? Rick is hot, and as long as he lets me, I will flirt with him. The more you resist, the more I commit. You remember James in first period?"

She hummed, "I do."

"I chased him for half a year," you continued, swirling the spoon around the can, "-and it worked, didn't it? Guys hardly get properly flattered," your eyes dipped back to him, tone going low, "-I don't mind taking on that duty for the population."

Maggie laughed again, as you just kept your eyes on him. He had dirt on his hands now, wiping at his brow, and just a few curls hung forward on his forehead. God, how did you find him in the apocalypse?

"How valiant," she deadpanned, "-You're a real hero."

"Look, just because you have a type, Glenn, and you bagged him-"

"How did you-"

"Please," you teased, "-he practically ate you earlier with his eyes. Back to my point, I, at least, get to look."

She turned to you, "Ya don't want to date him?"

"Who said that, Mags?" You smirked, turning to her with a smile with eyes that spoke for themselves.

"You know he has kids, right?" She questioned, looking at you.

"So?" you waved the spoon around in your hand, "-Single dads? Hot. Kids? Cute. Where's the loss?"

Maggie looked at you a moment, before shaking her head, "You are clinically insane."

"Maybe," you offered, still watching him, "-but the world's fucked up too. So, at least, I'm not alone."

She laughed really hard at that one, and you felt eyes all over switch to you. Blue ones too. People didn't really seem to laugh around here, so you decided that was your mission too, get people to laugh more. Maybe they could go hand-in-hand.

Time to get to work.

Daryl was sitting across from you, you'd been bugging him for the past few weeks and he'd finally relented. It wasn't easy, but you were nothing if not persistent (hence the Rick situation). Or maybe stubborn. Both? Whatever.

"Daryl, listen," you pointed out, "-you have to take time to load up the bow."

"'At don't mean nothin'," he countered.

"It does," you stressed, explaining, "-in the amount of time it takes you to put in a new arrow, I would have killed at least two."

Daryl rolled his eyes, "It doesn't take 'at long."

"Who said it takes me long to kill two walkers?"

Rick walked by then, and Daryl stopped him.

"Rick, please, take 'em away from me," he spoke out, gruff, but something in you could tell that he wasn't being serious. The guy wasn't half the mystery you expected him to be.

Rick laughed a little at the plea, eyes on you, "What are ya doin' to him?"

"It's not that bad," you laughed, explaining, "-I was just talking about if we were pit against each other to kill the most walkers in a minute. And who would win."

"An' ya want me to help decide?"

"Daryl does," you clarified, "-I am fully confident in my abilities."

Rick laughed a little (another win), "Well, I kno' Daryl's skills, so tell me yours, so it's even."

You bit at your lip, debating. God, it would be so easy. All you had to do was-

"Well," you smiled, playfully, "-I'm told I'm very good with my hands."

He blinked, and it was silent a moment before you heard a snort beside you. You immediately flung to look at him, you had just made Daryl laugh-

"No way," you stressed out, throwing yourself to your feet -pointing at him, "-you just laughed at me."

Daryl pressed his lips together into a thin line, sniffing once, "No, I didn't."

You spun to Rick, and he was already looking at you, you didn't think about it too much.

"Rick," you begged, "-c'mon. I know you and him are like... buddies, but I-"

"Buddies?" He quirked a brow, smiling. Something stirred in your stomach.

"Look, I don't fucking know," you rolled your eyes, "-just agree with me."

He bit down a smile at you, before turning to Daryl, "Ya did laugh at 'em."

"Ha," you cheered, "-I made Daryl Dixon laugh. And, I would win against you."

"He didn't say 'at," Daryl instantly defended.

"Didn't have to, Dixon," you mocked, playfully, "-it's about time management."

"Time management?" Rick questioned curiously.

"Okay, think of this, Rick," you explained, leveling him with your full focus (god he was handsome), "-when you fight with a bow, or a gun for that matter, you have to reload."

He grinned a little at you.

"Follow me, follow me," you hummed, pulling out your knife, "-when you have a physical sort of attack method, like a knife, you don't have that same time issue."

"Ya kinda do though," he interjected.

You paused, looking at him -thoughtfully, "How so?"

"Body's gotta build up energy again," he reasoned (with too much thought for this dumb conversation, smart too? god has favorites), "-Stamina is key to attackin'."

You rolled your lip in between your teeth, he had to be doing this on purpose at this point. Seriously.

"Trust me, sheriff," you spoke -a teeny bit teasing but otherwise very genuine, "-there is no problem with my stamina."

Rick bit back a laugh, turning his head to the side and smiling. You thought you saw a little red on the tips of his ears. Cute. You were unraveling the layers of one Rick Grimes, that was progress.

Daryl didn't even try to hide it that time, letting a gruff chuckle leave his lips, "'M glad I'm not your focus for 'at."

You patted his shoulder, standing up, "It'll be devastating one day, Robin Hood. Don't come crying to me when it is."

"Did ya just call me Robin Hood?"

Rick laughed at that one, head tilting up to the sky. You smiled wide.

"Look at that," you hummed, proud, "-a two for one. Which-"

They both looked at you, but you stuck to your guns. And you smirked a little.

"-honestly, I would not mind," you added -thoughtfully, "-Think about it, and get back to me."

You walked backward a few steps, watching as Rick smiled at you before turning back to fix his gaze on Daryl. Smiling at the ground, you spun on your heel, and went off to find someone else to pester.

You felt a pair of eyes follow you though, and you maybe grinned a little brighter.

Now, you were wandering off on your own. On your own run, you liked to do that sometimes. Maggie nearly had a heart attack because of it, but what damage you did get was usually minor. Except for once, but that wasn't your fault. Well it was, you smashed a window with your fist to see if you could do it. And you could, which was impressive.

Now, you were strolling through an old novelty store -little knick-knacks. Finding some figurines, you grabbed a superhero one and stashed it away. Your eyes caught on a DVD player, the kind for both music and movies, and you picked it up -turning it over in your hands. Battery powered.

On a mission to find both DVDs and some batteries, you roamed through some aisles -particularly a mug one.

Peeking through at some of them, you paused. Taking your pack off and slipping the DVD player into it (along with the few good DVDs you found, no batteries though) on top of some canned food you'd found, you zipped it up. And with a breath, grabbed a mug.

Smiling big, you made your way out of the store.

When you got back to the prison, Maggie was waiting for you -tapping her feet, anxiously. She was a little like a mother, you weren't sure how you felt about it. But you loved her so, you dealt with it.

"Hey Mags," you cheered, mug handle twisted between your fingers.

She instantly relaxed, eyes scanning you over before dropping to the mug. She frowned.

"Please, tell me-"

"I got some food," you sighed, "-I'm not entirely useless."

She pursed her lips, "And the mug?"

You grinned, holding it up for her to see -tapping your fingers along both sides. Her eyes skimmed over it before she frowned (biting back a smile, you could tell).

"Seriously?" She asked.

"What?" You responded, groaning, "-I can't get gifts?"

She shoved into your side, and before you could take too many steps, you were met with your target -leaning against the fence, few steps from Maggie. Was he waiting for you too?

"Rick," you dropping your hands, particularly to avoid him from reading the text, "-what are you doing here?"

"Ya do 'at a lot?" He asked, a little pointedly. You thought you recognized something a little like worry in it, "-Go off on your own?"

Huh.

"Yeah," you laughed a little, "-you haven't noticed? I've been getting like... half the food we have."

Rick hummed (a little in appreciation) before his eyes dropped to your hands, "And what's 'at?"

"A gift," you extended it to him, unflinchingly.

He pulled himself from his spot on the wall, walking forward and accepting it. His fingers (great fingers, really. Was that weird to say?) wrapping around it, you noticed for a second that your fingers brushed -your breath halted a little in place.

"A mug?" He asked looking at you for a second, eyebrows furrowed.

You took your hand, and spun it around in his hands -brushing his skin against yours, "The other side."

He smiled a little, laughing.

Right there on a rather plain mug, were the words '#1 HOT DAD'.

He bit back a smile, eyes peeking up at you again, "Ya really ain't gonna let 'is go, are ya?"

"Nope," you popped the 'p', before clarifying, "-unless you want me to."

Rick licked a line against his teeth, grinning a little with something in his eye, "Who said 'at?"

"Noted," you smiled back, something fluttering in your chest, "-now, where's Carl? I got him something good."

"Ya got him somethin' too?"

He was looking at you a little curiously, like he was seeing new layers of you. You kind of wanted to squirm a little at his gaze. You were not used to people figuring you out.

You sighed, quickly turning your pack to the front and unzipping it. With a breath, you dug around and pulled out the figurine -Rick's eyes caught on it immediately. A small smile creeping along his mouth.

"He told me once he liked comics," you clarified, clearing your throat, "-figured he would like this. You... You think he will?"

"He'll love it," he answered, something new in his eyes, "-C'mon, I'll take ya to him."

On the way there, he seemed to pause a moment, something on his mind. You patiently waited for him to say it.

"'Saw somethin' else in 'ere," he mindlessly remarked, as the mug swung between his fingers "-What is it?"

"Oh," you pulled your pack foward again, excited, extending the figurine to him for safekeeping (he took it with a smile), "-a DVD player."

You held it in your hands, showing to him.

"Found some DVDs, good ones," you continued, before putting it back in your bag, and accepting the figurine back (your fingers brushed again), "-no batteries though."

Rick hummed, pursing his lips like he was thinking about something. He didn't say a word though.

You didn't have much time to think about it, because a few days after that, the prison fell. You'd escaped with Rick and Carl, but you weren't exactly yourself. Not after everything.

There was Judith, and Maggie, and... and Beth and Hershel. Every day felt like there was bile turning in your stomach; every time you closed your eyes, you saw someone... someone dead.

You were lying against the grass, looking up at the stars -it was still so pretty. Despite it all, the sky was still the same. Bright and twinkly. It was when everyone was on the road, wandering for a place to go. You just couldn't sleep, so you took it upon yourself to just look at the sky. You thought the clouds might be pretty, but the night was a little breathtaking.

"Ya awake?"

You didn't say a word.

"C'mon, Y/N, I know ya are."

"Yeah, I am," you sighed, saying shortly, "-Can't sleep."

There was an echo of footsteps, and then you felt body heat beside you. There was a beat.

"Ya ain't gonna say anythin'?" Rick hummed, turning his head to face you.

You matched his eyes (he's probably more handsome now, honestly), "About what?"

"Me, ya know," he motioned, to your side, "-layin' with ya."

You laughed at him a little, before teasing, "Awe, you miss it, don't you, sheriff?"

"Not a sheriff anymore," he hummed, something a little heavy in his voice.

"Eh," you shrugged, looking back to the stars, "-you still are in my mind."

Rick smiled at you, wordlessly.

Before you added, plainly, "Mostly because I love a man in uniform."

He laughed then, big and bright, and you felt something warm in your chest that you knew but hadn't felt in a while.

You wanted to be genuine, really genuine.

"You are a good man, Rick," you turned to look at him, and he looked straight back, "-We've all done shit we never should've, and maybe it's fucked us up a little bit, moved our path in the wrong direction once or twice, but-"

You looked back up to the sky, still feeling his eyes on you. It was kind of like a dream, like the apocalypse wasn't real for a second, just you and Rick. And maybe you wanted that a lot more than you knew.

"-you've got a big heart, Rick," you finished, soundly, "-And even if sometimes you lose sight of what you're doing, or maybe who you are, that... that doesn't change."

Rick didn't say anything for a moment, words echoing out into the night air. You couldn't find it in yourself to regret them, though. You never really regret what you said these days, there was no reason too.

You really only regret what you didn't say. Maybe to people who aren't around anymore. Your heart sunk a little in your chest, but it felt a little lighter -just a smidgen. (Maybe because of who you were with.)

"I got somethin' for ya," Rick suddenly spoke, sitting up (you followed suit).

You furrowed your eyebrows, "You got me something? When?"

Mindlessly, he replied, "On the last run."

You pursed your lips but waited patiently. He moved over to his pack, unzipping one of his pockets and pulling something out -you couldn't quite see. Trying to peek you moved over a little, but nothing.

With a breath, he stood back up and waltzed over to you (somehow he made walking hot, they needed to research that), extending it forward right into your face.

You blinked, gently taking it into your hands and looking at it closely. It was dark so you couldn't really-

Batteries. He handed you a pack of AA batteries.

"No way," you laughed out, "-you remembered that?"

"I remember a lot of what ya say," he offered casually, and you felt something shoot down your spine. And with a breath, he sat right beside you, so close your knees bumped a little.

Pulling your bag over to you, you dug around in it. You'd kept the DVD player and DVDs, not really with the hope of finding batteries. But, to feel a little human, remember life before.

You'd taken to putting stickers on it when you saw any, so the top of it was covered in an assortment. You ran your fingers over it a second, taking it in, before flipping it over. Popping open the little tab, you let out a breath of relief when it was AAs.

Rick laughed.

"I was going to be so pissed if it wasn't," you spoke, "-you have no idea."

He just looked at you then, in a way you'd seen before but never really thought about. You turned back to your bag, shuffling around to find your stash.

"You want music or a movie?"

"Movie's fine," he hummed, and you still felt his eyes trained solely on you. You tried to shake it off.

"Let's see," you pulled out a few of the movies you had, showing them to Rick, "-I've got... a kid's animated movie, or... a... cheesy romcom!"

Rick stared at you, instead of the movies, before flickering to them.

Rambling, you continued, "I also picked up some horror stuff, but I... I really think that was a bad move on my part."

He laughed again, just looking at you in a way you didn't really know how to label. Or react to. You were kind of a little overwhelmed at the fact that he'd even gotten you the batteries, and then the way he was looking at you-

"Think romcom sounds good," he interrupted your thoughts, scanning over you.

"Alright," you acknowledged, putting the other ones up, and scooting back next to him -not enough to touch. It was a little awkward and you weren't sure how you were going to-

"I don't bite ya know," he quipped, laughing a little.

You turned to him, grinning, "Well maybe I do."

Rick laughed again for a moment, just looking at you. And then he extended out an arm, welcoming you into his side.

You paused a moment, before carefully guiding yourself to slot into him; the back of your head against his shoulder, and his arm wrapped around the back of your shoulders. You brought your knees up, to carefully balance the DVD player (shaped like a little laptop really). A tiny little screen for the two of you to see on. Logistically, that's why you were so close but a part of you thought a little otherwise.

"I don't," you hummed.

"What?"

"I don't bite."

He laughed a little, "Good."

"Unless you want me to-"

And the laughter that filled the night was just between you and him. And maybe in the morning, you were fast asleep on his shoulder and maybe he looked at you a little like you were the greatest thing he'd ever seen and maybe he shushed all the others just to have the moment last even a second longer.

You'd never really know.

Now, you were in Alexandria. You'd gotten Maggie back, you'd gotten Judith back. You were on a new high, and that meant two things. More pestering, and two, flirting with Rick.

You were walking through Alexandria with Maggie, just keeping her on her feet really. She wasn't super pregnant yet, and it was good to be healthy.

"I cannot believe you're pregnant," you mindlessly remarked, holding Judith close to your side.

"I have been," she retorted, "-for a while. Think ya have had time to digest it."

"But, it's like physical proof that you fucked," you commented, "-unprotected, by the way. I know you missed that sex-ed day, but seriously-"

"Carl's proof that Rick fucked," Maggie defended, eyes smoothing over him with a few of his friends.

"Well," you pursed your lips, "-I know that Rick fucked. Just on principle, he's-"

She motioned for you to zip it, "Don't start. I know you are doin' good, which is great. But it also means ya become a lil' unbearable."

"Me? Unbearable?" You turned to Judith, cooing a little, "-Can you believe the nerve of her, Jude?"

Judith smiled at you with her big brown eyes and toothless little mouth. You pinched her cheek, instinctively, "So cute."

"I still can't believe that you're in love with Ri-"

"I told you that in confidence," you interrupted, pointed.

Maggie stuck out her tongue at you and Judith laughed a little at it. Funny faces, right. You could physically see the pregnancy hormones on her face as she cooed at Judith.

You would've said something, but you had just done it yourself.

"Where's your keeper anyway?" You hummed like you'd been stuck with her (you actively searched her out).

"'E's not my keeper," she responded, sternly (mom voice, already?), "-and he's out on run, gettin' supplies."

"If he's not your keeper, how'd you know who I was talking about?"

"You are so-"

Before she could finish such a kind sentence, the two of you were interrupted. A presence waltzing up to your side.

You turned to look who, and-

Your heart lept into your throat. It was Rick, now clean-shaven, and although, you had loved the beard (don't even get you started), his jaw was on full display. Blue, blue eyes. And dipping to his clothes, he was in a damn uniform.

"Look at you, Rick," you complimented, smiling.

"'Heard ya liked a man in uniform," he smiled (a new type of way), and winked. And before you could say a word, he walked forward -past you.

You stuttered to a stop, Maggie right beside you. Blinking you turned to her, and she looked right back at you. And then you both turned to look at Rick, still walking the same way he was.

Turning back forward, you opened your mouth, "Sorry, did that just happen?"

Maggie hummed, pulling you with her, "It did."

"How did I never think of that?"

"Think of what?" She offered, as you smoothed back into a step with her.

You answered, eyebrows furrowing, "That he might flirt back."

She shrugged, "If it helps, I never thought he would."

"I am not against shoving a pregnant woman," you hissed back, with no bite. You never really had any. And you both broke into laughter, as you roamed through Alexandria.

Now, Daryl was leaning against a house as you stood beside him -pestering as always.

"No, listen," you turned to him, attentively, "-it's called fuck, marry, kill-"

"I ain't playing it with ya."

"C'mon, Daryl, it's fun, look-" you flagged down Glenn (who was carrying a box, of what, who knows?), "-Glenn, fuck, marry, kill. Michonne, Carol, and Daryl."

"Easy," he laughed, "-fuck Michonne, marry Carol, and sorry, dude, but kill Daryl."

"See?" You motioned to Glenn, as he walked forward.

"Don't ya 'ave a wife?" Daryl remarked, as Glenn moved along.

"Oh please," you shook your hand dismissively, "-it's all just fun. Just hypothetical scenarios."

"Okay, now," you started over, "-fuck, marry, kill. Deanna-"

"Kill," he answered -unflinchingly.

"See!" you cheered, "-you're getting the hang of it-"

"What are the two of ya doin'?"

You turned to see the one and only Rick Grimes, a little more worn today, which you kind of preferred, still had those bandaids on (how did he make that look hot?), and more casually dressed. In the white t-shirt, we trust.

"I'm teaching Daryl how to play fuck, marry, kill," you answered, eyes solid on him, "-obviously."

Before he could respond, Daryl chimed up, something mischievous in his eyes. You squinted at him, trying to figure it out. And then he opened his mouth.

"I got one," he spoke, a smile teasing on his lips (looking at Rick, directly), "-Y/N, Glenn, and Rosita."

You stared at the eye contact for a moment (everything was so suspicious), before asking, "What am I supposed to do with myself?"

Daryl shrugged, you bit your lip a second.

"I guess I could kill myself, big waste, but-" you paused, "-ooh, wait, I could, like, clone situation fuck myself-"

"Now, 'at would be a sight to see," a low southern drawl interrupted your words, and your voice faltered to a stop.

You turned to him, squinting at him for a second -trying to understand. All he did was wink at you again, and you hated that it made your knees a little wobbly. Especially when he was holding onto the column of the porch, and slightly leaning toward you-

"Before I was so rudely interrupted," you cleared your throat, "-I would marry Glenn, fuck Rosita, and, tragically, kill myself."

Daryl nodded his head, before motioning to Rick, "What 'bout ya?"

"Am I playin'?" He questioned, finger pointing to himself and eyes dashing to you.

"Might as well," you shrugged, "-you're already over here."

He pursed his lips a second like he was thinking, eyes particularly avoiding you, "An' I can't choose one person for two of 'em?"

You swallowed, oh, he was playing dirty.

"Nope," Daryl answered.

And then, he turned into something much softer, something more familiar, "Then, marry Y/N, fuck Rosita, and kill Glenn."

Marry?

Your heart lept into your throat, and your fingers started fidgeting with your shirt -instinctively. How the hell was he winning? I started this game-

"Thought so," Daryl responded.

And out of the corner of your eye, you saw Carol. Her eyes matched yours a second, and you tried to convey how desperate you were to get away from this very scene. Her eyebrows furrowed for a second, but then she spoke.

"Hey, Y/N! Can you come help me with the food?"

"Of course, Carol," you called back, smiling at the two of them, "-sorry, duty calls."

Rick just grinned at you then, like he knew exactly what you were doing. And you were 100% sure he did. Stupid handsome men with stupidly beautiful blue eyes. Ignoring the fact that you physically brushed against him to get off the porch, you frantically caught up to Carol.

You were in the pantry now, gathering ingredients, Carol directing you -naming them as she found them.

"So," she looked at you, "-are you gonna tell me what that was about?"

You pursed your lips, before answering, "Rick's flirting back with me."

Carol raised her eyebrows at you, "Huh."

"And I was teaching Daryl how to play fuck, marry, kill, and he-" you rapted your fingernails along one of the cans, "-and he said he'd marry me. But all... genuine and shit."

"And that's bad?"

"No, no," you shook your head, putting the can into a basket, "-It's not bad. Just... I don't know if he means it."

"You just said that he said it genuinely," Carol pointed out, grabbing another can.

"Well yeah, but-" you scrambled a moment, "-all that time ago, I was flirting genuinely. I mean even though it was playful, it was still genuine."

"And," she connected the dots, "-you're not sure if he's genuine?"

"Yeah," you skimmed along the shelves, gathering the last can she needed.

"Well," she took it from your hand, blue eyes on you softly, "-if it's worth anything, I think he's genuine. And maybe this is his way of showing how he feels about you."

You hummed, wordlessly.

"He's let you flirt with him this long," she continued, bringing a hand up to your shoulder, "-that has to mean something, doesn’t it?"

She had a point.

"Now," she adjusted the basket, "-are you actually going to help me with the food? Or was it just an excuse to run away from Rick?"

You laughed, "I'll help, I'll help. I'm not a total dick. Speaking of-"

She turned to you.

"Do you know if Rick's full name is Richard?"

It was a few weeks later, and they were filled with frustratingly blue winks. And that was one thing, but now you were being stupid. You were stupid.

You'd thought Oh, it'll be just like old times, I'll go out on a run. It'll be so nice-

And now you were walking with a gunshot would, quickly bandaged by a rip of your t-shirt and whatever you had around you. Which in whatever the hell store it was, was not a lot. All you'd managed to find was alcohol so you at least soaked the shirt.

You'd blearily walked all the way home, eyes foggy, and praying that a walker wouldn't come near you. And now you saw it, Alexandria.

"Gabriel," you called, breathlessly, "-Gabriel, please let me in."

You heard him say something but you were delirious. Maybe something with your name? Head fuzzy and eyes bleary, you were coming down from the high of getting somewhere safe. As you waltzed into Alexandria (pain in the abdomen so hot it almost felt numbing), there was a swarm of people around you immediately. Felt like you were back in the prison, when Maggie would be waiting and you think she was now.

"Hey, hey," she chanted, grabbing your face (and you could see her now), "-look at me, Y/N, tell me what the hell happened."

"Some guy, the bitch," you muttered out, a little slurred you think, "-just shot me, because he wanted the last of the damn Campbell soup, who shoots someone for Campbell soup?"

Her eyes dropped to your body, you mindlessly noted that it was sticky. Your eyes dropped too, and saw all the red -so much red.

"I think I lost a lot of blood, Mags."

"Somebody go get Rick, and the doctor, now," she shouted (loud, loud), before turning back to you, "-How the hell did you get here?"

"I walked," you answered simply.

"You walked?" She responded, hands on your shoulders, "-How did you-"

You were safe now, and everything in your body just gave out.

"Adrenaline is a hell of a drug," you hummed, laughing a little, before falling to the ground.

Your head stung from the ground, as Maggie tried to get down by your side -all pregnant belly.

"'S okay, Mags, don't-" you mumbled "-don't hurt yourself."

She frowned, and you thought she might have tears in her eyes, "I have to stay with you, Y/N, whose going to keep you awake-"

"Glenn," you called, and you saw him saunter up to your side, a little slurred, "-take care of 'er, help her sit. Don't worry, Mags, don't worry-"

You heard a slap of footsteps then, quick and brisk, and before you could wonder who, blue eyes and rough hands were guiding your face. He was starting to grow his stubble back, you mindlessly noted.

"Rick," you smiled a little fuzzily, reaching up and patting his face, "-See Mags, Rick'll take care of me."

"Hey, hey," he brought your focus to him, "-keep lookin' at me, okay?"

"Well," you slurred a little, "-'at's not very hard, sheriff."

He turned to the crowd then, voice low and gruff, "What the hell happened?"

You heard Maggie respond then, through sobs, "'Ey said that some guy shot 'em, over a... over some food."

"Didn't even ask if he could have 'em, first. Who does that-"

"Daryl," he motioned -tone low, and he immediately nodded. You watched him leave your eyesight.

Rick instead, brought your face back to him, as you recognized the doctor to be by your side, scrambling with some white stuff.

"Hey, hey, baby," he spoke, low in a whisper, "-I'm 'ere, focus on me. Look at me."

You smiled again, delirious, "You called me baby, that feels nice. Everythin' else burns-"

"I kno', I kno'," he soothed, you felt pressure on your abdomen (hissing in pain, as your eyes got more blurry), "-ya did a good job gettin' back 'ere. To where you're safe. Ya did a good job."

"Just kept walking," you slurred, "-couldn't stop. Wasn't gonna die to some asshole."

Rick laughed then a little, and you felt something a little different than pain. Your hands naturally came to his face, mindlessly rubbing your thumbs against his cheekbones. He's always been so handsome, only gets better with time.

You noticed he leaned into it a little, careful not to hurt you. Yeah, you realized, he was genuine.

God, what if you had missed out on this, with Rick? All because of some stupid can of soup-

"Rick," you started, and he looked at you a little like you held the world, you were the world maybe, "-I think I'm gonna die."

"You're not, no-" he held his hand over yours (it was so warm. Why had you never held his hand?), "-You're not gonna die, baby. You're gonna be fine."

"I'm bleeding," you breathed out, scanning over him, "-Been bleeding the whole time. You're not supposed to bleed that much, Rick."

"Ya ain't gonna die," he repeated, hands gathering your face, "-Look at me, ya ain't dyin'."

Concern clear on his face, you felt the urge to soothe, soothe, soothe-

You looked at him, eyes scanning over his face. He was handsome, yeah, but he was caring, smart, and so, so kind. You wanted to tell him that, see what he'd say. What he'd do.

"'Said that you were a good man, 'at you have a big heart," you hummed, eyes languidly blinking, "-still mean it. Don't you forget it."

He looked at you for a second, eyes flicking all over your face, before looking to the doctor. She must've said something (your ears felt stuffy) because then Rick was picking you up. He was everywhere, smell, sight. All you could feel was Rick, body heat thrumming and blooming into your side.

"Always knew you were strong," you mindlessly remarked.

You felt Rick laugh in his chest, and your eyelids were so heavy then. You slowly began blinking, your brain slowing down. Maybe you could close your eyes just for a little bit.

"Got so much to say to ya."

And then, it all faded to black.

This blanket is scratchy as hell, you mindlessly remarked. It was almost like a thin sheet, barely coating you, and you think if you moved your arms, it would make that noise that shitty bedsheets did. Why were hospital beds so bad? Shouldn't they be comfortable?

And then your nose was hit with the heavy sterilized air. You scrunched your nose up on instinct, it made your throat burn-

"Y/N? Darlin'?"

You slowly blinked your eyes open, heavy and languid; they always had those florescent lights too. How was that helpful?

"'S too fucking bright in here."

You heard him laugh a little, maybe in relief mostly, and you blearily blinked to get a look at him.

"'D turn it down for ya if I could."

You laughed a little and squinted your eyes open, laying gently on him. He looked a little worse for wear, his hair messy and shirt a little crooked. You wanted to fix his curls back in place, and your hand moved before you could stop it.

Gently, you threaded his hair back. He was a breath away from where you laid, so it wasn't too far of a reach.

Rick looked at you so softly, that the words cut off your from your lips. And with a breath, he pulled your hand down from his hair, sliding it against his cheek. Before you could say a word about it, he turned his head and gently kissed your palm.

You bit at your lip, eyes flickering over him, "How long have you been here?"

"Since the doc' allowed me to be," he answered, fidgeting with your hand -not really wanting to let go, you guessed.

"And Mags?" You asked, concern flickering through your eyes, "-Are she and the baby okay?"

"Yeah," he looked at you, a little in disbelief, "-they're alright. She was stressed, yeah, but Glenn kept 'er calm."

"And," your eyes darted to your abdomen, where your wound now hid, "-the wound?"

"Good," he replied, eyes swimming over you like he couldn't quite believe you were okay, "-Doc' says ya just need to rest, not irritate the stitches. Which I kno' will be hard for ya."

You sighed, leaning your head back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling, "I am going to be so bored."

Rick chuckled a little, before falling suspiciously quiet. You turned to him, just to see him looking down and fidgeting with your hand -a little like he was working on saying something. You simply waited.

"'Ve been looking for those batteries since ya said ya wanted 'em," he spoke, a little quietly.

You froze, "Since the prison?"

"Yeah," he offered, "-apparently 'ey're a hot commodity."

"Why?" You questioned, looking at him curiously, "-Why all that work for some batteries?"

"Because," he hummed simply, eyes matching yours now, "-ya wanted 'em."

You pushed your lips into a thin line, the glimmer of hope sparking in your chest. Not saying a word, you just stared at him for a second; not unlike in the early days, you were just admiring him for a lot more than his (still unbelievably handsome) face.

"Y/N, I-" he started, eyes dipping back down to your hands. He seemed to pause a moment, debating.

And then he looked up at you, eyes set in his path -unflinchingly. In a sort of understanding, like everything made sense to him now. The silence was heavy until he leaned forward and brushed his hand along your cheek -carefully. It made you feel precious, and your eyes maybe got a little cloudy because of it.

"I'm in love with ya," he let out a breath, tone heavy and genuine, "-an... and the way ya blatantly hit on me but in the damn most genuine type of way."

You laughed a little and leaned gently into his palm. He looked at you in a way you couldn't label then, or maybe you could (love), and rubbed his thumb along your cheekbone.

"I didn't know how to react to it, at first," he hummed, something settled in his eyes, "-the attention ya gave me. 'S somethin' I've never dealt with before."

"Really?" You let slip past your lips, and his grin grew wide as he let his head fall and shook it, smiling at the ground.

"Even now," he laughed a little, turning his gaze up again, "-ya always said thin's like it was so easy to do. Like ya were tellin' me 'at the sun was hot."

"You did give me some pretty good set ups," you clarified, smiling at him.

"'Never meant to," he added, grinning a little in wonder, "-I couldn't think straight when ya said 'em, so I'm surprised I even did."

You hummed, eyes twinkling at him and he looked at you just a little more like he was in love. It made a spark shoot down to your toes, warmth flooding your chest.

"If it's worth anything," you spoke, a little embarrassed, "-my brain stops working when you do the fond thing."

"The fond thing?"

"It's just," you sighed, trying to articulate, "-It's a way that you look at me, or... or smile at me. When you do the soft stuff."

"What exactly is-" he hummed, gently, holding your attention like your words really mattered, "-'the soft stuff'?"

"Uh," you blew a raspberry with your lips, "-like giving me the batteries, and... and that whole conversation actually."

"Oh," he laughed a little, blue eyes twinkling, "-like I was in love with ya."

"What? No, you weren't... not that early-"

And then you looked at him.

"Shit," you marveled, "-really?"

"Like I said," he smiled at you, a little like you were cute, "-I looked for those batteries for months. For ya. An'-"

His face got a little more serious.

"-I really missed ya. 'At was probably when I first realized it."

You rolled your lip inbetween your teeth, "Yeah?"

"Ya used to make everybody laugh, and were always smilin'-" he explained, "-it wasn't even just the flirtin', it was just... I knew ya were hurtin', an' I couldn't help. Or I... I didn't know what to do to help."

You just stared.

"An' I missed ya so desperately, I just-" he let out a breath, "-It all clicked into place, and I went on 'at run, hopin' to god there were batteries-"

You laughed a little weepily, leaning into his hand.

"-because I just wanted to make ya feel better. Bring ya back to me."

"How the hell did you even find them?" You questioned, wiping at your eyes, "-It couldn't have been that lucky."

"'Wasn't," he replied simply, "-I was only supposed to do a few stores, I did the whole strip."

"God, really?" You smiled, "-For batteries?"

"No," he hummed, simply, "-for ya."

You fell quiet.

"I would do anythin' for ya," he added, voice a little breathless, "-anythin'."

"Anything?"

Rick laughed a little, grin bright, "Ya need to rest, baby."

"That's not a no," you chimed, grinning.

He looked at you a certain type of way then, "'S definitely not a no."

You felt your heart pound in your chest for a moment. That was something to look forward to. Something stirred in your stomach.

"What?" He asked, teasing, "-Ya all bark and no bite, hmm?"

"If I wasn't bedridden," you spoke flatly, "-I would kick your ass."

"Ya would," he agreed.

And you laughed, eyes smoothing over his face. Before noticing something you hadn't quite said yet.

Words fell out of your lips, "Even though you probably already know, because I've chasing you all this time-"

He smiled at you.

"-I love you too," you finished, "-if it wasn't obvious."

"'Was kinda obvious," he leveled -teasing, but something was sparkling so bright in his eyes that you didn't really mind.

"Yeah, yeah," you moved your hand dismissively, "-don't start, sheriff."

You paused for a moment, eyes dancing along the room, "Do I get to go home today?"

"No," he spoke, with a certainty that shook through your bones (this man had literally everything), "-'Need to be taken care of, so ya are stayin' wit' me until you're healed."

You blinked at him, he was doing the fond thing again. Your mind relaxed to a low hum.

"Maybe after too," he added, tone softer but not any less certain, "-if ya want."

You stared at him, wordless.

Rick blinked, looking at you, before grinning, "'At the fond thing?"

"Yeah," you cleared your throat, embarrassed, "-I don't... It's been a long time since I've been cared for. At all. And you're a very handsome man offering to-"

"Not offerin'," he clarified, eyes set on yours, "-just doin'. 'Specially now, 'cause I kno' ya love me too."

All headstrong, decisive, and certain. How was this happening to you?

"'Thought you said it was obvious?"

"It was," he hummed, grinning at you, "-I could just barely wrap my head around ya flirtin' with me. Couldn't really see it."

You thought for a second, before speaking, "Was it Daryl?"

He grinned at you, tilting his head a little, "Maybe."

"Always knew he was a big softie," you hummed, "-read him like a book when we first met. Stone layers to an ooey-gooey center."

Rick scrunched up his nose, "Ooey-gooey center?"

"Sometimes," you sighed, "-Sometimes I say stupid shit around really attractive people. It's a habit."

"'Guess 'at means you're still gonna be flirting with me?"

"As long as you want me to, sheriff," you clarified.

"So maybe forever then," he grinned and you felt your heart leap into your chest (fuck his fond things). You were totally never getting over that.

"Yeah," you hummed in agreement, "-Maybe forever then."

Mission accomplished.

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot

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leesleelee · 2 months ago

Text

Running up that hill.

Steve Harrington x male reader

Steve watches Max being pulled back from Vecna’s grasp and realizes how easy it is to lose someone. You find him sitting alone outside, trying to act fine. You walk him through the fear, the guilt, and the realization that in this world, love isn’t something you wait to say. He confesses something he’s been afraid to say out loud: that he wants a future with you—even if he’s not sure he gets one.

CW: Slow-burn emotional fluff, comfort, with a touch of angst, takes place during season 4.

Word count: 843

---

The sun was setting in that strange, soft Hawkins way — hazy, almost red, as if the world itself was still bleeding from everything you’d just gone through.

Max was safe.

Barely.

But safe.

The group had retreated back to the Wheeler basement, the only place that still felt like neutral ground.

Everyone was tense, eyes wide, hands shaking. Robin was pacing. Dustin was crying but trying to hide it behind his hat. Lucas hadn’t let go of Max since she came back.

You sat on the steps, quiet, jaw clenched, heart thudding in your chest like it still didn’t believe it was over.

Steve wasn’t in the basement.

You noticed it quickly. He’d been there a second ago, hovering near Max and Lucas, checking if she could still move her fingers, asking if she felt cold, then… he disappeared.

So you stood up, shoved your hands into the pockets of your jeans, and slipped out of the house.

The air was heavy with that early-summer humidity, and your eyes caught him immediately — Steve, sitting on the back porch, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the lawn like it had answers.

He didn’t look up when you opened the screen door.

But you still stepped out, letting it slam lightly behind you.

“You good?” you asked softly.

Silence.

For a few beats, it stretched too long. Then Steve’s voice broke it.

“I’m fine.”

You scoffed lightly. “Bullshit.”

Steve let out a weak laugh.

“Yeah. Kinda sounded like it, huh?”

You sat beside him. Not too close, but enough that your knees almost touched. He didn’t look at you.

His jaw was tight, his hair was a mess, and there were still faint streaks of blood down his neck — whether his or someone else's, you didn’t know. Didn’t matter.

“She almost died,” he whispered after a pause. “Max.”

You nodded slowly, eyes on the pink sky. “Yeah. She almost did.”

“I couldn’t do anything. None of us could.” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly.

“I’m supposed to keep them safe. That’s what I do, right? Babysitter Steve. The guy with the bat. The guy who takes hits so the kids don’t.”

You turned toward him, resting your arm on the top step behind him. “Steve.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept looking forward. His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“I’m not mad at anyone. I’m not— I just keep thinking about what would’ve happened if those headphones didn’t work. If she didn’t hear that song in time. If I had to— if I had to watch her—”

His voice cracked, then cut off completely. “I can’t do that. Not again.”

You stayed quiet, letting the silence sit with him. A breeze passed. You could smell grass, blood, and Steve’s shampoo — citrusy, almost warm.

“I used to think I had time,” Steve said suddenly. “Time to figure myself out. Time to maybe, like, find someone and settle down. Get out of this town. Work a real job. Have a house with a pool. Be normal.”

He laughed, bitterly. “But the world doesn’t stop breaking long enough for that, does it?”

You shifted closer, and this time, your thigh did press against his. Solid. Grounding.

You didn’t speak yet — not until he turned to look at you. His eyes were glassy, tired. Honest.

“I don’t care about normal,” you said softly. “I just care about you.”

Steve blinked at that. Like he didn’t expect it.

Like you hadn’t already shown him a hundred times in small ways: in the way you made sure he drank water after every fight, or how you stood in front of him when things got dangerous, or how you always — always — checked on him last, because he liked pretending he didn’t need checking on.

“You scare me,” he admitted, voice low.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“You make me want things again.”

You swallowed, throat tightening.

Steve turned, facing you more now, arms resting on his legs.

“You make me think about a future, and I hate that I even want one in a world like this. But I do. With you.”

His voice was shaking.

“I want to wake up next to you. I want to kiss you without looking over my shoulder. I want to take you to stupid movies and hold your hand in front of the whole town. I want... I want to make it out of this.”

You leaned in, gently, cautiously, like giving him the chance to pull away.

“Then say you will.”

Steve looked at you for a long time. The streetlight flicked on behind you, casting everything in golden haze.

You looked into his brown eyes — wide and searching — and saw the cracks healing even as he sat there, breathing through the weight of what he’d almost lost.

“I will,” he whispered. “If you’re there too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve.”

Then your hand found his.

And he let you hold it.

Tight.

Like it meant everything.

Because it did.

---

Credits: my Steve border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷

#gn reader #eddie munson #max mayfield #steve harrington #stranger things #top male reader #dom male reader #billy hargrove #prompts #will byers #steve harrington x male reader #steve Harrington x top male reader #fluff #angst #gay #queer #fanfic #mlm

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st4rlvr · 17 days ago

Text

touch it || csn

(the song goes with the story :))

There was a time San and I were everything. And nothing.

That’s the only way I know how to explain it those months we spent wrapped up in each other like it meant something, when it never really did. At least, not out loud. The sleepovers that weren’t just sleep, the way he’d text me at 1AM just to hear my voice, the way I knew which hoodie to grab from his floor, which side of the bed to take, the exact spot on his neck that made him stop breathing for a second. All of it said more. All of it felt like something. But we never gave it a name.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for him to stop.

One morning, I left his house like I always did. Slipped my shoes on by the front door, hair still damp from his shower, heart still fluttering from the way he kissed my shoulder before rolling over in bed. I told him I’d see him later. He said nothing. I figured he was tired. He wasn’t. That was the last time I ever heard from him.

No explanation. No fight. Just silence.

And now I’m here, at some overcrowded party in Wooyoung’s backyard. It’s humid, the music too loud for the number of conversations trying to compete with it. I shouldn’t have come, but Wooyoung had begged, said he missed me. That San wouldn’t be there.

I remember the way he looked me in the eye when he said that.

Now I’m holding a red cup that tastes like regret and cheap mango vodka, standing frozen in the grass while San laughs at something Wooyoung just said.

I must be imagining it. But no. He’s really here.

Hair longer. Shoulders broader. Same hands tucked into his pockets, same lazy grin, like he doesn’t have a single heavy thing weighing on his chest. Like he didn’t spend six months tangled up in mine. Like I don’t exist.

I don’t even think he’s noticed me.

Or maybe he has and he just doesn’t care.

I force my feet to move, take another sip, force myself to talk to people who don’t really matter, smile too big when someone compliments my dress. I can feel his presence like static in the room, my body tuned to him like it always was. It’s pathetic. I hate it. I miss it.

The song changes. Someone brushes past me and I catch a glimpse of him again—closer now, leaning against the patio railing like he owns the place. And he still hasn’t looked at me.

“Y/N.”

I turn to Wooyoung. His face is a little red, his drink sloshing in his hand. He’s tipsy, but not drunk enough to not notice the fire behind my eyes.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” I say flatly.

Wooyoung frowns. “I didn’t know he was coming. He didn’t say anything. I swear.”

I believe him. But that doesn’t make this easier.

“You want me to tell him to leave?” he offers, voice low, a little guilty.

I shake my head. “No. Don’t make this a thing.”

Because if I caused a scene, San would win. He’d know he still had some kind of power over me.

But then—like the universe decided I didn’t deserve a break—I feel it. That unmistakable feeling of being watched. And when I look up, it happens.

He’s staring at me. For the first time in months, San sees me again. And I wish he didn’t.

Because the way he looks at me—it’s not with hate, not with anger. It’s worse.

It’s with familiarity. Like he still knows me. Like he remembers.

His lips part, like he might say something, but I turn before he can. I leave my cup on a table, brush past people who don’t know what it means, and make my way back through the crowd like it doesn’t hurt.

But god, it does.

Because he let me go without a word. And now he’s here breathing the same air like nothing ever happened. Like I was just a dream he woke up from and forgot to text back.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I keep walking. And I don’t look back.

I sat back down with Wooyoung on the patio bench, the wood still warm from the sun, sticky under my thighs. He handed me my cup again like he hadn’t seen the look on my face two minutes ago. Like he hadn’t watched me unravel just from one glance.

San was still there.

Leaning against the house like it was built just to hold him up. Effortlessly folded into whatever group he was talking to now, his laugh echoing across the yard like it hadn’t been carved into my memory a thousand times. His hand shot out to smack someone’s arm, his eyes crinkling like they always did when he was genuinely laughing, head tilted back, that silver earring catching the patio lights.

It was disgusting. And beautiful.

And god, I missed him.

Wooyoung was flicking through songs on his phone, his brows furrowed like it was the most important decision of the night. His bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he concentrated,

“Remind me why we're taking a break

It's obviously insane

'Cause we both know what we want..”

I blinked. My stomach dropped. He did not just—

“Seriously?” I muttered, my voice already tighter than I meant it to be.

“What?” he smirked, not looking at me, clearly pretending it was random. “It’s a classic.” Yeah. A classic way to gut me open.

Ariana’s voice washed over the yard, sensual and heavy, and the bass rattled the deck under us. I took another sip, the alcohol going down like syrup. It burned less than the feeling in my chest did.

Because the second that chorus hit, I looked up—and San was already looking at me.

God. Like really looking. Not just a glance. Not just a flicker. It was full-on, eyes-still-crinkled but now it was softer, like he knew this song too. Like he knew exactly what it felt like to have fingers ghosting over skin that used to be yours. To touch something you shouldn’t anymore.

He didn’t look away. Neither did I.

I hated how the beat aligned with my pulse. Hated how I could feel it all the memory of his fingers on my neck, his mouth on my collarbone, his breath in my ear—all of it. Right there. In public. In a backyard filled with noise and strangers, and there he was, ruining me all over again with one stupid look and a half smile.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” Wooyoung mumbled again, quieter this time. More serious. “I know,” I said. And I meant it.

But it didn’t change how my chest was buzzing or how I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to ground myself.

I heard San laugh again. Not for me this time. For someone else. The song kept playing. And I kept pretending I wasn’t falling apart.

Wooyoung had gone inside to mix another round of drinks, his usual chaotic bartending energy leaving a trail of loud apologies and the scent of tequila behind him. The backyard felt quieter without him—even with the music pulsing from the speakers and the soft laughter of people scattered across the grass.

I sat alone on the patio couch, the cushion dipped beneath me, legs curled slightly to the side, fingers toying with the rim of my cup. The condensation had soaked through the napkin I’d wrapped around it. My skin felt clammy. Every now and then, I glanced toward the side of the house where San had been.

But he wasn’t there anymore. I figured he left. The thought made my stomach twist in some sick kind of relief and disappointment. I hated how much space he still took up in my head. How much space he always had.

I was too deep in it to hear him coming. Then— A warm dip of the cushion beside me. Close. Too close.

And then a breath, hot against the shell of my ear, low and deliberate:

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

My body froze. For a split second, I thought I imagined it. That my own brain was playing some cruel, tequila-soaked trick on me. But then I felt it—him. His voice. Familiar, husky. Soft around the edges like he didn’t want anyone else to hear it but me.

I turned my head slowly. And there he was. San. Up close. Closer than he’d been in months.

He smelled the same—like citrus and the special detergent he bought and some memory I didn’t ask to relive. His eyes scanned mine, hovering between curiosity and something unreadable, something dangerous. Like we were still those same two people again. Like nothing had happened.

“I could say the same,” I managed, my voice quieter than I wanted it to be.

He tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should smile or not. “I almost didn’t come,” he admitted. “Didn’t know if you’d be here.”

“Thought we weren’t doing that anymore,” I said.“Doing what?” “Pretending to care.” The smile dropped. For a moment, there was just silence—thick and unspoken.

Then he leaned in, just an inch, voice quieter than before. “I never stopped.”

I wanted to slap him. I wanted to kiss him. I hated him for both.

“Missed you,” he muttered.

It was barely audible, like it slipped out before he could think better of it. I turned my head slightly, close enough now that I could smell him—really smell him. That warm, dizzying mix of whatever cologne he always wore and the sharp burn of whiskey clinging to his breath. His cheeks were flushed, but not just from the alcohol. The proximity had done that too. We were pressed into the same space, our knees barely brushing, the weight of everything unspoken sitting between us like a ghost neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

I didn’t say anything right away. Because what was there to say? So I stared at him instead.

His lashes were heavy, but his eyes didn’t waver. He meant it. Or maybe he was just drunk enough to believe he did.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back just slightly, finally giving me space to breathe, but his gaze stayed locked on mine. His brows knit together for a second, like he didn’t even know the answer.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair, voice thick. “I saw you, and…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

He didn’t have to.

The silence between us felt heavier now. Like it might crack beneath our weight.

And still—still—he leaned just a little closer again, his voice wrecked and so full of something I couldn’t place:

“I didn’t know how to stop missing you.”

His words hung in the air like smoke— His hand brushed against my knee—bare skin, a soft touch, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. And maybe he wasn’t. But I didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

That was all the permission he needed.

He smiled—that smile. The smug, slow one. His lips brushed my cheek before he leaned in again, his mouth skimming the edge of my jaw, just hovering there.

“God, I thought about this. So many fucking times.” His mouth found the corner of mine—My breath hitched. My hand gripped his thigh without even realizing it.

When his lips finally pressed against mine—slow, deep, hungry—it was all over. By the time Wooyoung stumbled back outside, balancing two cups in one hand and a bottle under his arm, the patio was emptier than he left it. He blinked, looking around with furrowed brows, scanning for you, for San.

You were gone.

Both of you. The couch was still warm. Your cup still sweating on the table. But you? Disappeared. Like a ghost he couldn’t chase.

He squinted at his phone, swiping open his messages and firing off a quick text:

WOOYOUNG:

bro where tf did u go. y/n was just here

He waited. Two seconds. Ten. Fifteen. The bass-heavy beat of the party barely reached him anymore.

And then—

ding.

One photo. No text. No explanation. Just a single picture.

His eyes widened the second he opened it.

It was you and San. Cramped in the front seat of his car, the dim overhead light glowing faintly above you. Your legs were draped across his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He already knew what kind of chaos he was about to start.

WOOYOUNG:

oh my fcking god.

you’re disgusting.

never inviting you again.

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coriihanniee · 4 months ago

Text

Guess WHO! - boynextdoor smau

𓂃۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : When multiple leaked photos ignite a wildfire of speculation, the world is certain—BOYNEXTDOOR'S Y/N is secretly dating one of the members. But who? No one knows, and you refuse to clear the air. Instead, you turn the chaos into a game, scattering cryptic clues and half-truths while every member plays along, deepening the mystery. Every glance, every post, every moment is a riddle waiting to be solved. Is the answer hidden in plain sight, or are you leading everyone in circles? How far can a secret stretch before it unravels? And when it does—will anyone be ready for the truth?

CHAPTER 30 : my best mistake (you)

[22:46PM] :

The night air clings to your skin, cool and crisp, as if the universe itself is holding its breath. It smells like earth and grass, faint but familiar, grounding you in a way that does nothing to steady the wild rhythm of your heart. Somewhere in the distance, a cicada hums, the only sound against the quiet hush of the world at rest. Above, the sky stretches out like an endless canvas of black, pricked with stars so small and distant they hardly feel real.

And yet, they are. Just like the boy beside you.

You steal a glance at him, the dim glow of the moon casting soft shadows along his jawline. He’s sitting close—close enough that his presence wraps around you like gravity, grounding you in a way that feels both comforting and terrifying. His hand lingers on the ground between you, fingers barely brushing yours. It’s such a light touch, so fleeting it could almost be accidental. Almost.

But nothing about him ever feels accidental.

Not the way he looks at you—like he sees straight through the layers you’ve built, past the walls you swore would protect you. Not the way he listens—fully, completely, like your words are the only ones that matter. And especially not the way he holds himself back, as if he’s always fighting the urge to pull you closer.

For once, there are no cameras. No prying eyes dissecting your every move. No whispers slithering beneath your skin, twisting the simplest things into something unrecognizable.

It’s just him. Just you.

And the truth you’ve spent so long trying to bury.

You swallow, your throat tight as you stare up at the stars. You don’t want to ruin this moment. Don’t want to let the weight of everything crash into the fragile quiet between you. But the words press against your ribs, aching to be spoken.

Before you can stop yourself, they slip free.

“Did you ever think it would be this hard?”

Your voice is softer than you intended, the vulnerability in it making your stomach twist.

Beside you, he doesn’t answer right away. His gaze stays fixed on the sky, his lips slightly parted as if the words are tangled somewhere deep inside him. And maybe that’s what you love most about him, the way he never rushes to fill the silence. The way he lets the truth settle between you until it’s ready to be spoken.

Finally, he exhales, his breath slow and measured. “What do you mean?”

His voice is quiet, careful, but there’s an edge of knowing beneath it. Like he already understands, even if you don’t say it aloud.

You hesitate, your fingers curling against the ground. “This.” You gesture vaguely toward the night, but the ache in your chest makes your meaning clear. “Loving someone like this. In secret, like it’s something we have to hide.”

His fingers twitch beside yours, the smallest hesitation. You know that movement. You’ve seen it before. It’s the way he holds himself back when he wants to reach for you but doesn’t. The way he chooses caution over impulse. Because he knows just as well as you do what it would mean if he didn’t.

“I knew it wouldn’t be easy,” he says at last. His voice is steady, but there’s something raw in it. Something that makes your breath catch. “But I didn’t think it would weigh on you like this.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling beneath the sadness. “It’s not just the fans,” you murmur. “It’s the way they—” Your voice catches for a moment, thick and heavy. “The way they dissect everything. Every post. Every glance. Like we’re not even real. Just something for them to figure out, to tear apart.”

The words sit heavy in the space between you. You let out a slow breath, running a hand through your hair. “And every time I say or do anything, it’s like they’re waiting. Watching. Like I owe them an answer.”

You don’t mean for your voice to shake. But it does.

For a moment, there’s only silence.

Then—his hand moves.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers brush against yours again. But this time, he doesn’t pull away. His touch is warm, steady in a way that makes you want to collapse into him and never let go.

“You don’t owe them anything.” His voice is quiet, but there’s a certainty to it that makes your chest tighten. “Your feelings—us—that’s ours. And no one gets to take that from you.”

Your throat tightens. Because for all the nights you’ve spent feeling like this love is a battle you’re destined to lose, he’s still here. Still choosing you.

You blink up at the sky, swallowing hard. “Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hiding like this. Pretending like I’m fine when—” The words stick to your throat, painful and raw. “When I just want to be yours. Out loud.”

His silence should scare you. But it doesn’t. Because his silence has never meant absence. If anything, it means he’s feeling too much, all at once.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Do you regret it?”

You don’t even have to think.

“No.” The answer comes too quickly, too easily. Because despite everything—despite the fear, the exhaustion, the weight of the world pressing down on you—there is no reality where you would ever regret him.

“I could never regret you.”

You feel the way his breath stutters, like your words have cracked something open inside him. His grip on your hand tightens, and for a moment, it feels like he’s holding on for dear life.

“I know it’s not fair,” he says after a beat, his voice rough around the edges. “You shouldn’t have to live like this—scared to love someone.”

A soft, humorless laugh escapes you. “It’s not your fault,” you murmur, shaking your head. And you mean it. He’s the one thing in this world that has ever felt right. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. That doesn’t mean it isn’t terrifying.

He exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “If it’s too much… if you need to walk away—”

“I don’t.” The words rush out before you can stop them, raw and desperate. “I don’t want to let go. I just…” You swallow against the lump in your throat, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs. “I’m scared. Of how much I feel. Of how much they could take from us if they knew.”

His hand slips from yours then, but only so he can reach up and cradle your face in his palm. His touch is gentle, as if he’s afraid you might break. “They can’t take everything,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “Not if we don’t let them.”

The night feels thinner somehow, like the weight of the world is pressing in from all sides, but the space between you and him remains untouched. Safe. His palm is warm against your cheek, grounding, but it doesn’t steady the tremble in your breath.

You hate how easily he reads you. How he always seems to know the words before you even speak them. It should be comforting, and maybe it is, but it also makes you feel exposed in a way that terrifies you.

Because if he sees everything—then he knows.

Knows how deep this love runs. Knows how much it terrifies you.

Knows that if the world ever forced you to make a choice between him and yourself, you don’t trust yourself to choose right.

His thumb moves absently along your cheekbone, tracing slow, thoughtful patterns. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes—hold so much it makes your chest ache. There’s something wrecked in them. Something that looks too much like the fear you feel in your own heart.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

You don’t respond right away. You can’t. The words are there, lodged in your throat, pressing against your ribs, but saying them out loud means giving them life. Means making them real.

And if they’re real, you can’t take them back.

His grip tightens, just slightly. “You don’t have to be scared.”

Your breath catches. “That’s the problem.”

His fingers still. His brows pull together, just slightly, like the weight of your words is settling into his bones.

“I’m not scared of you,” you clarify, shaking your head. “I’m scared of how much I trust you. Of how easy it is to forget the rest of the world when I’m with you.” Your throat tightens. “Because it makes me want things I can’t have.”

His fingers twitch against your skin. “Like what?”

You hesitate. But it’s too late to hold back now.

“To love you without being afraid.”

The words taste like freedom and heartbreak, all at once.

You don’t realize you’re crying until his thumb brushes away the first tear. He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the kind of tenderness that makes your heart break open and spill at his feet. His hands are so steady, so sure—like even now, even in this moment, he’d catch you if you fell.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

Because you know he would.

And you don’t know if you’d ever want to stand again.

The silence between you stretches, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. The world outside this moment ceases to exist. It’s just the two of you, standing on the edge of something neither of you can name.

He exhales, long and slow. “You think I’m not afraid?”

You blink at him, startled.

“I am,” he admits, voice steady despite the confession. “I’ve been scared since the day I realized I wanted you more than anything. Because wanting you means risking everything.” His thumb sweeps over your cheek, lingering just beneath your eye. “And losing you would ruin me.”

Something shatters inside you.

He’s scared too.

The weight you’ve been carrying alone, the fear that’s wrapped itself around your ribs like a vice—it’s his too.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “Then why do we keep doing this to ourselves?”

He smiles, but it’s a sad, fragile thing. “Because even when it hurts… you’re still the only thing I want.”

Your breath catches. His words settle into your bones, winding around your heart like a tether pulling you toward him, closer, closer—until there’s barely any space left between you.

It’s terrifying. How easy it would be to give in. To let yourself fall completely.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt, like holding onto him will keep you steady. But the truth is, you’ve never felt more unsteady in your life.

Your heart is pounding so hard you’re afraid he can hear it.

"That's not fair," you whisper. "You make it impossible to leave, even when I know I should."

His hands slide down, fingers curling around yours. His grip is steady, unwavering—like he's making a promise without saying a word.

"You don't have to leave," he murmurs. "Not from me."

Something inside you unravels, thread by thread.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words barely audible, fragile like a confession and a surrender all at once.

A breath shudders out of you. Your heart is beating too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to drown out your fear, your hesitation—every thought in your head that tells you this is too much, too dangerous.

But then his forehead dips to rest against yours, and suddenly, none of it matters.

His hands slide down, gripping yours like he’s anchoring himself, like if he lets go, you might disappear.

And then, after a long, aching beat—

"..."

“…Taesan.”

Your voice is a whisper, but it breaks something in him. You feel it in the way his hands tighten, in the way his breath catches. And when he finally pulls back to look at you, his gaze is raw—wide open in a way you’ve never seen before.

Like he’s been waiting to hear his name fall from your lips like this. Like it’s the only thing that’s ever mattered.

He swallows, his throat bobbing. “Say it again.”

You almost laugh, but it comes out more like a sob.

“Taesan.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate.

His hands cup your face, and then—he’s kissing you.

It’s soft at first. Gentle, hesitant, like he’s scared to break you. But then you’re leaning into him, gripping the front of his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you upright, and whatever restraint he had shatters.

The kiss deepens, slow and consuming, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken word into you. Like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you sigh into him. Like he knows that the moment you pull away, the world will come crashing back in.

But for now—for this moment—it’s just him. Just you.

And nothing else.

previous masterlist next

@coriihanniee 💌

🕊 - I saw all your comments on the last chapter WHAT DID I DO TO MAKE Y'ALL THINK IT'S JAEHYUN HELP HAHAHA???

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @heeheesang @molensworld @wondoras @taesanfav @bbyinni @minfolio @mbella607 @cinnamonshuaa @defnotsanni @amarecerasus @enaile23 @nujeskz @janjoonty @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @pumpkg @cosmicwintr @mimimimiaa @hanniehq @s0shroe @slowlylefttyphoon @s1lkrabbit @missychief1404 @fae-renjun

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sebmindbreak · 2 months ago

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POACHED! John doe x Survivor!you

HEADCANONS TIME!

I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO MORE JOHN DOE

There's not enough of this man..

ANYWAYS YIPPPEE

TITLE: egg hunt

Platonic Headcanons

You were the first survivor who didn’t scream at the sight of him. You just stared.

At first, he didn’t know what to make of you. He tilted his head, ears flopping slightly. “You… aren’t hiding an egg, are you?”

When you offered him a small trinket ,just a button or a shiny pebble he stared at it for so long, you thought he froze. Then he smiled.

He started following you around. Slowly. Quietly. Humming off-key. Sometimes he’d gently tug at your sleeve. “I think… I lost one here.”

You were the only one he talked to like a person, not an egg. But he never really understood the difference.

First Meeting Headcanons

You saw him hopping through a hallway, eggs bouncing in his bandolier, muttering to himself. At first, you thought it was a mascot gone rogue.

Then he looked at you with wide, shimmering eyes, staff twitching, and whispered, “Did you steal it…?”

You didn’t run. You stepped back slowly, and for some reason, that made him stop.

He stared at your hands, as if trying to see if you were carrying something invisible. Then he whispered, “...It’s okay. I can find another one.”

That night, he left one of his glitching pastel eggs in front of the window of the survivor's hideout you hid in. Just left it… and hopped away.

Getting Along Headcanons

He began to recognize your scent. He’d pause in his chase, sniffling faintly, and turn toward wherever you were.

Sometimes, instead of attacking, he’d just sit nearby. Whispering to his eggs. Talking about you like you were one of them.

“they're warm… not cracked at all… maybe if I keep them close, they won’t break…”

You noticed he got more gentle around you. If he had to down you, it was never violent. He’d tap you lightly with the staff and whisper, “Sorry… I just have to… I need it back…”

He brought you things. Buttons, cracked shells, fake grass. “For nesting… eggs need soft things…”

Realizing He Has Feelings

He didn’t understand what he was feeling. The Cataclysmic Egg in his chest hated how slow he got around you, how often he hesitated.

You touched his hand once. The corrupted one. He flinched like it burned but not from pain.

He started watching you from corners, clutching the homemade egg necklace like a rosary.

“they're not just an egg… are they? Not just something to take back…”

When he saw you cry once (injured by another killer), he panicked. His ears drooped. He touched your face, glitching slightly. “Why do you look broken? I didn’t mean to…”

How He Confesses

He left a trail of pastel eggs for you to follow one day. Each one hummed slightly, like they were guiding you.

At the end of the trail, he sat on the floor of an empty room, surrounded by soft grass, cracked egg shells, and small trinkets he’d collected just for you.

You know , like the small Easter basket ? Exactly like that.

He looked at you with trembling hands and stammered, “I… I made a nest. For you. Not to hide you , just to keep you safe.”

He tugged his hat down, embarrassed. “You don’t have to stay, but… I think if I keep you close, maybe… maybe the breaking won’t happen again…”

Romantic Headcanons

He holds your hand like you’ll shatter. Literally. He rubs your fingers between his ones, mumbling, “Still warm… still here…”

You’re the only one allowed to touch the egg necklace. He’ll offer it to you sometimes and say, “You’re my favorite one.”

He likes it when you hum. It calms the Egg. He’ll rest his head in your lap and just… glitch softly.

If you ever kiss his cheek, he goes completely still. Then starts trembling, eyes wide, trying not to cry (in happiness , he's not actually gonna CRY.)

He still believes you’re an egg. But now, he thinks you’re the most special one too precious to ever break, or hide.

Also will sometimes even lick you! And if you lick him back he will blush , and try to loaf himself across the nest (like that one video) and try to get you to kiss or lick him.

Calls you things like "my egg" , "bunny" , "sweet"

I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

I found that skin so cute HAVE YOU SEEN THE EYES

Poor baby looks like he is constantly crying

Come ON it can't be only me who sees it

#forsaken #forsaken roblox #forsaken x reader #forsaken x you #john doe x you #john doe x reader #poached forsaken #poached john doe #headcanons

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postmoe · 6 months ago

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Yandere Feitan - What it Means.

Feitan time cause I never do Hunter x Hunter. More Slice of Lifey for the shortstack wifey.

torture, noncon, slice of life, wax play, tickle torture, humiliation, gn reader

.Feitan has no idea about his feelings when you come into his life. He thinks it's a good idea to swat you like the annoying insect you are.

More often than not you're happy, always excited when you see him and the troupe, none the wiser to the threat they possess. Some of the members joke about how easy it would be to take advantage of you since you'd more than likely do half the work for them.

It's not until his mind starts drifting to you during quiet moments does he even consider you're worth something. Perhaps a new body to try new techniques? With the orders put in place by Chrollo, time hasn't been gracious enough to let him indulge in his artistic side.

He makes up his mind that at the end of the mission he will be taking you with him to play with. You're off limits now, and if they can help it then you also get your life spared for the time being.

The heist goes off without a hitch. It's gory, loud, and you - who had been gracious enough to show them every exit, every room, every security box as part of the tours - now stared at Feitan like he had just betrayed you, even though he never made an effort to befriend you in the first place.

You get an ultimatum, follow him quietly or he knocks you out, and for every minute you stay unconscious is another body added to the pile.

Even though you hid in the security room for most of the attack, you saw everything on camera. Not to mention the horrible death that befell the guards in the room when he came, eyes wide in fear and mouths left often as they tried to breathe through the blood in their lungs. At least one thousand people have died tonight, no one else needs to suffer.

It seems to be funny to the troupe as you shake and cry behind Feitan, following diligently through the wet corpses and broken interior of the building. The blonde man cracks a joke about him finally finding someone to warm his bed, and maybe even his attitude, reaching out to touch your shoulder when Feitan swiftly punches him in the gut. It's all the acknowledgement he gives.

For some reason, you're made to carry stuff as well, mindlessly helping these criminals because you're not sure what else you can do. They're not human.

Eventually it's just you and Feitan, forcing you to walk farther and farther away from civilisation until your feet are aching and your legs are shaking from exhaustion.

You stop in front of an abandoned farm house, windows boarded up and grass taller than yourself. When he starts walking down the flattened path to the front door, it hits you harder that this is the end, this is where you die a horrible, painful death and no one is even going to know.

You're sobbing, you can't stand anymore and collapse to your knees, snot and tears running down your chin as you beg and beg and beg him to let you go.

His eyes and eyebrows, the only expression visible over his cowl, scrunch to a pissed look. He doesn't say anything, only grabbing your wrist with a hold so tight you think the bones inside might break, yanking you and dragging you towards the house.

He doesn't turn on any lights as you're pulled through the dusty interior, eventually coming to a door that leads down to the basement. "Walk or I'll push," he finally says to you after hours of silence.

Your steps are slow but he doesn't comment on it. Once your feet finally touch the cement floor, he walks around you and deeper into the darkness. You have to squint and shield your eyes when the light in the middle of the room is turned on by a yank of the cord attached to it.

The way your head begins to sting and ache from the despair is more annoying than anything now, as beneath the light is a bloody, metal table with a dirty rag, and next to it are tools obviously used to hurt someone.

Perhaps it's the prostration of your mind finally giving in, but you joke over a wavering voice, "You'll at least wash those before you use them on me, right?"

It's silent as he just stares at you, watching the way you hold your arm for comfort, your knees clacking together, your jaw unable to stay still. Then, he merely scoffs, pushing the table away to make room. He goes the the old workbench, reaching under and pulling out an old, dusty blanket. You circle around the room as he steps towards you, hugging the wall. Eventually, he just rolls his yes and throws the blanket at you, smacking you square in the face. You quickly pull it off, just in time to watch him slide down the wall in front of the stares, arms resting on his knees, "Sleep."

Nothing else is said, and any time you try to ask questions he either ignores them or tells you to sleep. You suppose it's comforting, after flicking a good portion of the dirt and dust off the blanket, having it wrapped around your shoulders as you cradle in the adjacent corner, far away from him and still under the light.

Most of the night is you two staring at each other, though you had to wake yourself up a few times as you began to nod off. You're pretty sure you did fall into a sort of sleep multiple times throughout the ordeal.

Suffice to say, this wasn't how Feitan pictured this going at all. He looks at you, he looks to the tools, he looks at you, he looks to the tools. It's an ongoing battle he has for quite a while after kidnapping you.

No doubt your fear and tears fuel him, he just loves having you around whenever he's working, sharing stories and pictures over dinner. Your screams when startles you, your blood and bruises from being clumsy; it's all catering to his taste. So why won't he put you on the table yet?

Once you've moved, you're allowed to roam the house as this main base is more secure. Privacy doesn't really exist with Feitan, unless it's his own. More than once you've come out of the shower to see him sitting casually on the toilet seat or sink, you have figured out he likes making you jump. You'll think you're alone in the kitchen, singing quietly to yourself, and he's come back from a mission days earlier than he says and talks as if he's been there the whole time (he probably has).

The worst he makes you do when it comes to his 'hobbies' or 'work' is making you watch and hand him the tools. You have to take part, you're not allowed deny him or else he'll somehow make it more sadistic.

One day you had been braver than before, shouting how this is wrong and you won't be like him. Feitan had conceded after that, letting you go back upstairs. You had gotten through to him, you really did believe that. Until two days later when you were brought back down to the basement and there were now three hostages.

They sat in a circle, tied with rough rope and stripped to their underwear. Their mouths were gagged but their eyes were clear of any restriction. Momentarily they looked to you, only look back at each other with desperation and grief. He points out and introduces each person, "Grandmother, mother, daughter. Family of Hunters."

The daughter was the one from two days ago. Feitan said a few things, that she was trying to track down the troupe, had gotten information from an unknown source that he was tasked with figuring out. He pulls her gag down, words immediately spilling out, "Please! I told you everything I know, I promise you. Leave them out of this."

Feitan nods, idly holding his hand up and lengthening his nails to a sharpened point, "I know. This, is for them."

All eyes are on you now, accusatory, like it's you that's failed them.

There's no time for words of disgust or questions when Feitan has a goal in mind. He pulls down the other two gags before turning his gaze back to you, "Three people. Six eyes. Choose three eyes to gouge."

"M-Me?!" You step back, their volunteers already flooding your ears, each begging you to only take theirs. You aren't listening, speaking over them to Feitan, "But she just said you have what you want! Why do this?"

His eyebrow raises, judging you as if it's stupid to even ask. "How do you know you don't want to be like me," like the ominous, little creature he is, Feitan slowly steps around the three victims until he's by your side. Gently, a word that has never once been used to describe him, he takes your hand and runs his fingertips along the length of your palm to your own, "If you've never tried?"

It's only when you hear yourself gulp do you realise how quiet it is. Looking over to the other three, it seems you're shaking harder than they are.

A cold object is slid into your hand. You looked down in time to see him closing your fingers around it and holding it up to glint in the light. For the first time you see carefree amusement in his eyes, his voice coming out in a soft laugh, "Pineapple eye peeler."

As it stands, after that night, you stuck with being the assistant and not the surgeon.

"So, how's the pet?" Phinks asks, he and Fei on the top of a city skyscraper as they wait for the target helicopter to land. They're late and the two are running out of conversation topics.

Feitan huffs, unable to look at Phinks because he knows if he sees that dumb smirk he won't be able to hold back, "Cranky. Not rebellious, just... temperamental."

"Ha!" Phinks kicks up a random stone from the ground, grabbing it and throwing it as far as he can, the object disappearing into the night, "Do you fuck them?"

Ah, an interesting question. He didn't notice it at first, whenever Feitan woke up slightly aroused. He is a man, it's not uncommon. Then he kidnaps you and takes care of you and it gets more frequent and harder to wake up without thinking about you and rubbing one out. He takes any opportunity to smell you, touch you, rub against you. He can't tell if you're more uncomfortable with helping with his work or when he rubs up against you to get the right instrument.

It seems his silence speaks volumes, Phinks tilting his head in coolness, "Sometimes you just need to fuck it out. If you're not going to kill 'em, fuck 'em."

The helicopter finally pops up in the distance, 45 minutes after the time it should have appeared. Both boys get ready, excited for the event to come, a certain concupiscent desire filling Feitan's head as he thinks about what to do when he gets home.

Usually when Feitan brings you down to the basement, there's already someone prepped and waiting. Sometimes, he likes to make you help get them ready, depending on how much time he has and the level of distress he wants to induce in you.

Today, the table is empty, clean even. The shelf with the instruments is covered by a sheet so you can't see what is under and in store. Your unease is heightened into fear when he stands before you with a lengthy blindfold and orders, "Turn around."

Oh gods. This is it, he's finally going to end you. You've witnessed and aided his endeavours for over a year, you're aware of what he is capable of, and now he's hiding it to let your mind wander and guess what exactly he's going to torture you with.

He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his annoyance making you shake even worse, "Calm down. Won't hurt... much."

That didn't really help. All it took was one glance to the staircase for him to step heavily towards you, reminding you of no escape. There isn't much you can do aside from allow him to blindfold you and lead you onto the table.

You think you're going to piss yourself with how thorough he is. Bringing your wrists beside your head, the clanking of metal and leather heard as he secures them so you can't move your arms. As if that's not enough, he removes your clothes with ease, tearing the threads and throwing them away before binding your ankles to your thighs and locking you in place on the table. It's humiliating. Absolutely deplorable.

You're quivering in the cold, fear emanating off of you in waves and Feitan is absolutely devouring it. Yes, this is what he wanted, to have you before him in a vulnerable way that makes your tears flood through the blindfold and your whimpers echo off the walls. He takes all the time in the world to examine your body, knowing that every second is like hell to you. You're not even sure he's still there, your small whines of his name seeming to fall into an empty room.

A single finger runs along the base of your foot and you flinch so hard it makes the metal bench rattle. "How does it feel," he begins, doing again and watching intently as your abdomen seizes, your toes curl, your teeth grit and your arse tighten around nothing yet, "To be the one tied down?"

Feitan alternates his fingers, the touch more consistent now, moving around your foot and ankle so you don't get too used to it. And then there's you, laughing, but you're obviously hating it. Your voice is shrill, your body is tensed so tightly that it's beginning to ache. "Please!" You're begging, screaming, crying, laughing, "Please, stop! Stop! Stop it!!!"

He doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life. You can't thrash hard enough to get away, to give yourself some sort of pain from the leather cuffs to take your mind off of it. He doesn't relent until he's satisfied, when you're gasping for breath and your skin has change colour and your screams are beginning to take on the same note. He waits until he's sure you're breathing has levelled enough for you to him, "Ridiculous. Can't even handle that. Wouldn't last a second in the real world."

You never expected Feitan to get sexual during your time here. You couldn't even imagine someone like him having any human needs - you're sure he only eats with you to keep up appearances. He does, though, and it makes your life ten times worse.

Your first experience together is nothing short of traumatising. He doesn't even fuck you, he just plays with you. Testing out toys, feelings your flesh, degrading you over and over again.

"Hate this? Then why so wet?"

"Pathetic. Won't let you come like that."

"Scream louder, or are you enjoying this?"

"Tsk. Fine. Will make sure you don't stop coming, then."

The denial goes on for too long, but then the overstimulation just won't end either. His nails nick you, you're sweating, covered in fluids, throat is raw and your body aches and begs to be released from these confounds but he just won't do it. Not until you're unconscious and muttering nonsense.

After he wipes you down and lays you in bed, he stays and watches you sleep. That isn't uncommon, though in the past he had always been confused, or thoughtful. Now, he feels fulfilled. Like your purpose here finally makes sense.

There's hardly a break. When you don't have a blindfold on, he stays fully clothed. It's more about the embarrassment for you, having to stand before him naked while he barely shows an inch of his skin. Showers are the worst, you tend to have the curtain open now so you don't step out unknowingly to no clothes and no towel. Your wardrobe is cleaned out and you have to make the humiliating walk around the house to find Feitan and ask to be dressed.

He follows you around until he decides to let you find him. Don't go to bed naked, or are you inviting someone to do something to you? He hadn't realised he kidnapped such a slut.

Sometimes he will be with you when you bathe, keeping you company, making you uncomfortable. You had stripped before him when he refused to let either of you leave. Then, suddenly, you're yelping as he's pouring hot wax down your back. You've bent over and grasped the edge of the bath, looking over your shoulder with tears dripping from your eyelashes as you ask him why he would do that.

A stupid question.

He just holds the candle carelessly and blows it out, the room going completely dark. That was the night he bathed with you, sitting behind you and using his sharp nail to chip away at the wax, reveling in the redness of your skin, the little prickles of blood that mixed with sweat and bath water, and the way you jolt and yelp when it gets caught on the finer hairs.

By the time he actually fucks you, it's been months of his new torment and torture. He may not see you in the same light as one of his 'friends', or revere you like he does Chrollo. But, in the only twisted way Feitan knows how, he thinks he does love you.

As you lay beneath him on the bed, one you now share, cheeks wet and lips parted in little gasps of breath, he feels a need to push his mouth to yours. Bruises in the shapes of his hands have already formed on your hips, stomach, and now over your collarbone while he holds your torso down with one hand and cups the back of your head in another. The kiss isn't anything fancy, just hard and dominating as he figures it out, his hips slapping into yours.

You're completely exhausted, just how he likes it, voice beyond repair and body succumbed to only him and gravity. He yearns to hurt you, to make you cry, and to make you need him.

This must be it. This must be what it means to have a darling.

#yandere feitan x reader #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere phantom troupe #yandere x reader #feitan portor #yandere hunter x hunter

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feyascorner · 1 year ago

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9 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are

also praying the tags work this time

“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”

His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.

Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.

“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”

You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”

Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.

“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”

You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.

“I’m going to love watching him scream.”

Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.

“Again.”

Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.

Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.

“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”

Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”

“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”

“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”

“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.

You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”

“There are no warnings in a real battle.”

“We’re not in real battle!”

She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.

You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.

By some miracle, it lands.

She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.

“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”

You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”

“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”

Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”

“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”

You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”

Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”

“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.

“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.

“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”

“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”

She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”

They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.

There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.

You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.

Still…

The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.

It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.

This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.

“Shadowhea-”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

You blink. Twice.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”

You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.

“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”

“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”

“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.

She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”

“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.

“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”

Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.

“Whatever would you do without me?”

You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door. It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…

The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.

Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.

A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.

Petras.

Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.

The floorboard creaks under your weight.

Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.

He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”

Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”

“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow.

“Fine. His blood bank.”

Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.

“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.

He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”

“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”

“You nearly killed my sister as well.”

“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”

“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”

Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”

“What?”

He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”

“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”

“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”

“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”

Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”

You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria��they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”

The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.

“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”

“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”

This makes your throat go dry.

“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”

“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”

You don’t know why you’re defending him.

But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.

With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”

“Still—”

“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”

For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.

You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.

Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.

“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”

You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”

“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”

With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.

Shit.

The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”

And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.

You need a bath. Terribly.

Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.

Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.

You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.

Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.

But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.

You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”

A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”

Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.

You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

“Are you drunk?”

“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”

“I was at the tavern.”

He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”

Curse him.

“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”

He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.

Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.

“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”

While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.

“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.

Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”

You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”

“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.

“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”

His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

You don’t want to imagine it, actually.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.

“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”

You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”

“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.

You can count his eyelashes from this distance.

He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”

“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.

He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”

Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”

“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”

“And let him kill more people in the process?”

Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”

Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.

“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“The night’s only begun, though.”

The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”

Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.

“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”

He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”

His delirious expression says otherwise.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”

Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”

He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”

What in the hells is going on?

First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.

You should leave.

Your legs remain rooted in place.

You should definitely leave.

“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Convince me.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”

Gods, has he lost it?

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”

Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”

“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”

“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”

He hums.

“Three, you’re an asshole.”

“Very convincing, darling.”

“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”

Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”

The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.

“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”

Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”

With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”

Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.

Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.

Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.

Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.

He’s kissing you.

Astarion is kissing you.

And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.

He starts. “Darling, I–”

Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.

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doveofnestmount · 1 month ago

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DOESN'T MIND MY BAD BEHAVIOUR

Jimmy Hopkins x preppy!reader headcannons

You're the definition of polished to perfection. Blazer crisp, expensive lip gloss, a reputation cleaner than Dr. Crabblesnitch's office. You float through the halls of bullworth like royalty, arm-in-arm with your fellow preps.

Jimmy didn't notice you because you're loud - but because you're untouchable. You're one of the few who just ignore and walk past all of the chaos at school.

You notice him the way you'd notice a retired fighting dog getting egged on by a bunch of aggressive pooches. A real 'tough guy.'

You flirt first - on a dare. Or maybe just to feel something. He smirks. "Didn’t think a girl like you played with matches." You tilt your head and grin, "Only the ones that burn real pretty."

You start hanging out with him ironically. Slumming it. That’s what you tell yourself. But the first time he lights your cigarette with one he’s already smoking? You’re done.

Jimmy is obsessed with the way you stand out in his world: your pink pens, your designer notebooks, the way your perfume lingers by your designated desk. He’d never say it out loud, but he likes being your secret.

He calls you "princess" first as a joke. Then it sticks. You call him "baby" like it’s his name.

He buys you candy from the corner store. You buy him cologne "so you stop smelling like motor oil and blood." He wears it.

You’re his pretty party favor - always on his arm, always drawing eyes. But no one dares touch. Not unless they want a broken nose and detention.

You once got caught breaking curfew. Jimmy showed up, said it was his fault. Took detention for you. You kissed him behind the school the next day like it was a ritual.

You cut class together just to lie in the sun and talk about running away to the city. He wants to box. You want to design.

You keep a picture of him in your locket. He has your name carved on his switchblade handle.

You kiss him like he’s your favorite flavor - slow, dramatic, lip gloss all over his mouth. You pull away and go, "Mmm. Cherry." He blushes. Jimmy Hopkins blushes.

Jimmy calls you flawless. Not "cute," not "hot." Flawless. You eat it up. You call him your lifesaver when he throws hands for you. You adore how he doesn’t flinch when you act out.

Jimmy’s the kind of guy who doesn’t talk about feelings - but he acts them out. He fixes your locker when it breaks. Puts his jacket over your shoulders in detention. Fights a guy who looks at you wrong.

You’re a little wild - spending money like water, making scenes when you’re bored, starting drama just to watch it burn. He finds it adorable. "Bad behavior looks good on you, princess."

He doesn’t have much, but what he does - his respect, loyalty, his attention - he gives you completely.

The air was thick with exotic perfume, cheap cologne, and heat.

The screen of the abandoned drive-in flickered a forgotten ‘80s horror film, casting neon light over the rusted speakers and dry grass. But neither of you were watching.

You were in Jimmy’s lap, knees on either side of him in the passenger seat of some junk car you two had broken into. He’d hotwired it earlier- not to drive, just to recline the seats.

"Romantic, right?" you teased, finger tracing his collarbone where his jacket had fallen open. Jimmy gave that slow, smug smirk. "Classiest date I’ve ever been on."

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "That’s because I am class, baby." Then you bit it - lightly. Just enough to hear him hiss through his teeth and to feel his chest pulsate.

He grabbed your waist tighter.

"You're outta control tonight," he muttered, breath hot against your throat. "And you love it," you whispered, licking cherry gloss off your bottom lip. "You love when I’m bad."

He kissed you like he was starving - hands everywhere, greedy, claiming. You kissed back harder, smearing gloss all over him. It's you signature, after all.

You pulled back, just barely, resting your forehead against his.

"I’m your problem, huh?" Jimmy’s hands ran down your thighs, grip bruising. "Nah. You’re my fucking solution."

You smiled, slow and syrupy. "My lovely life saver."

He didn’t answer with words. Just pulled you back into him and kissed you again - messier this time, lips slick with cherry, teeth clashing. You were his favorite bad habit.

The movie crackled on. Neither of you noticed.

#Jimmy hopkins #bully scholarship edition #jimmy hopkins x readere #bully scholarship x reader #x reader #jimmy hopkins bully #bully x reader #jimmy hopkins x preppy reader #preppy!reader #doveofnestmount #first Bully post

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maedae-maedae · 1 year ago

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Your Hands All Over My Guilty Conscience

☆ Okkotsu Yuuta x F!Reader

☆ Chapter 1/7

☆ Genre: Fluff & Smut, Mutual Pining

☆ Warnings: NSFW 18+

☆ Contents: Aged-Up Characters, College AU, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Obsession, Loyalty, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Drinking, House Party, Masturbation

☆ Word Count: 10.6k

☆ Summary: Linked at the hip as best friends since birth, you and Yuta have never once not been at eachother's side. Anyone who knew one of you, had to know the other. You made quite the reputation for yourselfs as an inseparable duo, throughout all your school years together. Yuta was committed to keep things this way, despite his secret feelings for you. He was strong-willed, keeping his longing emotions reined in and your relationship stable just the way it is.

But once the two of you graduate and enter university, this proves to be more difficult than Yuta anticipated. He finds himself in a whole other playing field. One that forces him to see and confront his feelings for you head-on. His once clean consciences regarding you, starts becoming more and more tainted. And worse, uni only seems to pull the two of you apart, something neither of you are used to. What is he supposed to do with all these new experiences and deep yearning for you?

☆ A/N: i actually wrote this chapter a while ago but didnt want to share until i had more planned out and written! hopefully next chapter is soon but this first one is probably longer than the ones following will be! think of it like a detailed opening introduction to the story.

warning: this story switches from fluff to smut/perverted a lot. might throw you off at times. also, HEAVY on the obsession tag. youre both obsessed with eachother but i really went over the top to express how crazy yuta is for you. hehe

Read on AO3

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Chapter 1 - Firsts

Yuta has a guilty conscience.

He’s known he was in love with you since high school. And aside from the painfulness that comes with an unreciprocated crush, he actually didn’t mind his feelings. He liked being head over heels for you. It was a privilege, he thought, to get to love you, even just to know you.

The two of you have been glued by the hip since birth practically. Your mom’s were best friends and somehow ended up pregnant at the same time, basically raising you two together. It really shouldn’t be a surprise the way he feels, after having you by his side all this time, how could he ever love someone else as deeply as he does you?

You were popular in high school, and people would only really acknowledge him in the way it related to you. “Y/n’s friend”. “That guy thats always with Y/n.” And, Yutas personal favorite, “Y/n’s boyfriend.” That one was always used in a way to tease you, and you would always refute it and scold whoever said it. But deep down it made him happy to be called that, and maybe that’s why. Maybe that’s why at some point he started doing things in the hallways or the lunchroom to enforce that rumor. Very subtle physical affection that he was known for doing with you at this point. Fingers gently entangling with yours while the two of you talk about something by the window. It’s so gentle that you don’t even notice or mind, but anyone who was looking at you could see that you’re obviously holding hands, albeit weakly. The need to always be touching you in some way when you were together. Shoulders slumped into eachother while sitting together, pinkies wrapped while you sit on the school grass with friends, his hands grazing against yours when you walk side by side. He could never get enough of the little things. And yeah he did it for the rumors, so everyone would know that even if it wasn’t official, you were his. You were claimed already. No one could be this close with you and get away with it. But when you two were alone it was even better.

Yuta's love language was most definitely physical touch. You’ve always known that he likes to be physical, and that was just his way of showing he liked you. Platonically, in your eyes. When you’d hang out at each others house, he was still always connected with you in some way. Head in your lap as the two of you talk about some drama in your class. Arms around you from behind with his head on your shoulder as you finish a level of a game he already died in. Legs entangled in various ways under the kotatsu as you both do homework. It took many forms. It never bothered you luckily, in fact you’d long become accustomed to it. Even as kids Yuta was the same, and your moms used to eat it up and say you two would be married someday, taking a thousand one pictures of you for that reason.

It really was all innocence until sometime in high school when he had developed feelings. His physical affection never changed but the feeling and motive behind it might’ve. And sometimes he quite literally couldn't do some of the stuff he used to do when you were younger, because it would most definitely give him away now.

He’ll never forget the day it really changed for him. Playing video games with his arms around you like normal, but it wasn’t normal this time. His heart was beating, he was nervous. Looking up at you from your shoulder, he couldn’t get over how you look pretty from every angle. How cute were your reactions to every hit of damage you take in the game. Suddenly he’s incredibly aware of where his hands are sitting, how close you are, your warmth, your breathing, how good you smell. Something in his awareness heightens, like the flick of a switch, and he realizes that this is different. Different to what he thought it was. He also realizes how bad that is, and it makes his stomach drop. He went home early that day, but nothing ever changed. Only the way he felt.

After that day Yuta knew he had to be mindful with the way he acted with you, and even in the way he thought of you. He allowed himself to have loving thoughts of you, for they could always be rationalized in someway to be friendly. “You’re so pretty” could be followed by “so I cant believe none of the guys in class have confessed to you yet.” and “You have the most precious laugh” could be backed by “its no wonder why you have so many friends”. Stuff like that. What he wouldn’t allow and actively tried to avoid, were thoughts that could not possibly be platonic in any use of the word. Like sexual thoughts.

It was only natural. After becoming aware of his feelings and with the effects of maturing into a young adult he was bound to have thoughts like this. But he wouldn’t allow it, not even in your absence, in his own privacy. Of course he couldn’t fight sexual urges all together, but he did his very best not to think of you when he was doing something like that. And Yuta was very good at self-discipline, the reason why his test scores are the best in your grade. He was successful in pushing the thoughts away, avoiding seeing you in this new forbidden light. For a long time.

And everything was fine. You never suspected a thing from him, your friendship never changed, and you even ended up enrolling in the same university.

That’s where his trouble started.

College is a totally different experience from high school that he wasn’t quite expecting. And everything has been taking a toll on him lately.

When the two of you first start, everything’s fine. You already know a bunch of freshman from your school, but you’re also easy to make friends with a bunch of other people as well. Yuta mostly stays with your smaller friend group that you two had in highschool. Inumaki and Panda got into the same Uni as well, not to mention the boys ended up living together.

And Yuta has no real issue with you making new friends at all, of course he’s happy for you. You still like to have him with you all the time, even if you don’t have many classes together. So long as he can still have time with you, he’s happy. What starts to bother him is the way the guys around you stare. Men in uni are much different from high school. And most of the guys here have no idea about the rumors of you two, all his years of showing such a thing are now practically worthless. You don’t notice, but he always does. He hated the way they stare, as if undressing you with their disrespectful eyes, grinning and whispering to friends, probably making sly comments he can’t hear when they shouldn’t even have the right to take the slightest glance in your direction.

“Yuta?” You call to him from where you sit next to him in the dining hall. He just now realizes that he’d been staring down these two guys a couple tables away in his peripheral vision.

“Huh? Yeah?” He calls back to you, turning to look at you now.

“Is something wrong?“

“Huh? No, nothing.”

“Oh, okay… well, did you hear what I said?” You ask and his heart sinks a little. He wasn’t listening, he didnt even realize you were talking to him.

“No.. I’m sorry. Tell me again?” He offers, giving you his full attention now. You give him a smile at hearing his usual sweet tone of voice when he speaks to you. You love everything about the way he is with you.

“I was talking about a party I got invited to-“

“You were invited to a party?? But-“

“Yu, let me finish.” You tell him before he can start lecturing you about it being dangerous or something, as you’re positive he was going to. He pouts a little. Cute.

“It’s for freshman. An upperclassman invited me so I think it’s for all years, but I guess it’s more of a welcoming party.” You explain and Yuta only frowns more. Since when did you make friends with an upperclassman? He’s never seen you with one. And the thought of you being at a party with a bunch of drunk guys or just drunk people in general makes him nervous.

His fingers automatically find yours under the table. Without thinking he finds a way to connect with you. It may have been to calm himself down, or maybe to get your attention again so you could see that he’s clearly uncertain about this idea. He couldn’t say. It does get your attention though, and you give him a look of understanding as your fingers intertwine a bit more.

“I know college parties can be kinda crazy and all that, and I wouldn’t want to go alone anyways even if they weren’t. They said I could invite whoever I wanted so.. You guys wanna come?”

“Sure, I’m down.” Inumaki says, and Yuta had almost forgot his friends were there for a second.

“Oh, yeah! Our first college party! I’ll be there.” Panda grins and you smile at their agreement. Your gaze returns to Yuta again, and his to yours.

“I’m.. not really into parties but..” He starts and you look like you’re anticipating his agreement. “If you wanna go, of course I’ll go with you.”

You smile at him, sweet as ever. But you do feel a bit bad about the possibility that you’re forcing him. As much as you want him there, you don’t want him to be miserable going with you.

“You don’t have to, y’know. Just because I’m going. I wont make you.” You remind him and he smiles too now, nodding.

“I know. I want to.” He reassures you and you feel relieved at that. “Plus, I want to make sure you guys are all safe. It’s better to go with a group to stuff like this and have someone to look over everyone.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.” Inumaki tells him. “I can’t drink.”

Right, Inumaki has a chronic condition that makes his throat very sensitive, of course he wouldn’t be allowed alcohol.

“And I have a high tolerance! I’ll be fine.” Panda informs too, and you all look at him like you’re suspicious of how he even knows that. He just smiles.

“Well, still. Being in one place with a ton of drunk people is dangerous on its own.” Yuta says anyways, going back to picking at his food.

You give him a knowing look.

“You can just admit you wanna come and have fun. It’s okay, we wont judge you.” You tease and the other two chuckle a bit.

“Well, maybe.” Yuta gives after a second of embarrassment by your call out. “But I’m mostly going for the other reason.”

You laugh at how cute he is, squeezing his hand before letting it go to hug him. He blushes in concession with both your adorable laugh and your warm embrace. His two friend wiggle their eyebrows at him as your back is to them and Yuta rolls his eyes at them. They are always contempt to tease him in silence. Yuta never even told them about how he feels, but he knows they just know. And he doesn’t mind. As long as it doesn’t get to you.

Agreeing to go to this party with you was probably both the best and worst thing he could’ve done. It would’ve been better if he could’ve talked you out of coming, but he knew from the beginning that wouldn’t be an option, and he wouldn’t want to control you.

When you first get there, the four of you are a bit awkward. Panda offers to take your first ever shot with you and somehow Yuta even agrees to do “just the one”. You take the hit pretty well, but you all burst out laughing when Yuta makes the most disgusted expression you’ve ever seen on him.

It’s sweet, even if embarrassing, the two of you having “first” moments together like this. It’s not long before your two friends are nowhere to be found, and Yuta can assume why they left you two alone. It’s also not long after that you’re convincing him to take another couple of shots with you, even though he hated the first one, he loved having these moments with you. He’d do anything with you. Even follow you to the center of the room to dance when he’s always known he’s not the best dancer.

When you’re dancing, quite a few people come up to you to talk, even just to say hello. You really know a lot of people. But it doesn’t bother him at all because even with everyone that comes by, you never once let go of his hand. And when your attention isn’t on him, he can freely admire you as much as he wants without having to be cautious about the way he looks at you.

He knows the alcohol is catching up to him a little when he starts to get needy. Any kind of connection with you is enough for him on a normal day, but right now he has the urge to be all over you, and it’s taking everything in him to keep it subtle.

You’re still talking to some girl he’s maybe seen a few times— he can’t recall, when he decides he needs your attention again. He pulls your hand towards him, but it doesn’t deter you from the loud conversation you’re having, much more than a quick glance at him. On the inside it feels like he could start whining, begging for you to look at him, be with him in this moment. The music isn’t helping either, some seductive rnb song with vulgar lyrics pumping in his ears. He does something he’s never done before, without much thought to it either. His free hand reaches out and grabs your waist, gripping you tightly and pulling you towards him. You gasp and look at him with surprise. Even more surprised when you see the longing expression on his face. Your friend seemingly understands and leaves you two be, to Yutas relief.

He can’t stand the embarrassment he feels with the way you’re looking at him, but he also can’t bare to be apart from you at all anymore. He pulls you in, his arms wrapping around you, hands resting in a dangerous area. Any lower and this couldn’t be considered platonic at all. He bends over a bit so his head can nuzzle into your neck. He wants to feel you, all of you, even more than this. But he stops here.

“Yu…?” You say in a bit of a confused tone, right in his ear. A chill runs down his spine. Your hands had already come up to wrap around him as well, rubbing his back in a way that made him feel so warm.

“Mmve you.” He mumbles and he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.

“Hm?” You ask for him to clarify, voice smooth like honey, but he doesn’t say anything else. The two of you stay like that, starting to rock to the music when it’s clear that this is not just a hug.

It’s not like you look out of place at all, there are plenty of people around you doing something similar, even straight up making out.

“Yu.. look at me.” You tell him and he can’t help but comply. His head lifts up from your shoulder and he stands up a bit straighter to look at you.

“You okay??” You ask him sweetly and his heart races looking into your eyes. It’s too much for him. This is all too much.

He nods anyways, eyes closing and forehead coming to rest against yours.

He thinks you must be at least a little drunk too by the way your hands start to caress his back and sides. But he doesn’t even think about what you might be thinking about him being so clingy like this. He knows you don’t mind, that you understand, you always understand him. He loves you for it.

“You drunk already? Hmm??” You say and he doesn’t have to be looking at you to hear the smirk in your voice.

“I mean I expected it but you’re really a lightweight, huh?” You say to him and this time he opens his eyes to see you smiling.

“Of course I am.. this is my first time drinking.” Yuta says in basically a whine. Your heart races.

The thing Yuta doesn’t know, is that you’re obviously just as needy for him right now. You don’t think the alcohol has really gotten to you that much, and thank god for that honestly. But you love seeing him like this, it’s making you feel all types of things about him.

There’s a silence as he frowns. You tilt your head as if saying “what?” to him.

“I need to use the bathroom.” He tells you so bluntly that it makes you laugh. But before you know it you’re leading him to the bathroom, guiding him by the hand. Truth is, you don’t know where it is either, you’ve never been here. But you feel a sort of need to take charge for some reason. You find it pretty quickly anyways, and tell him you’ll wait outside.

Relieving himself proves difficult after having gotten half hard from what just happened. He’s lucky you didnt feel it, or maybe you did and you didn’t say anything. Who knows? Eventually he figures it out and gets back outside.

His heart sinks when he doesn’t see you. Glancing around frantically, he tries to look for any sight of you. Red, you were wearing red, that and any of your features that he’s so familiar with would be impossible to miss. He starts pushing past people, anxiously looking for where you might’ve gone. It’s maybe 20 minutes later when he finally finds you, in the kitchen. After the relief washes over him, he realizes that the anxiety looking for you definitely sobered him up already.

He wasn’t able to see at first, someone blocking his view, but as he moves further into the kitchen, he catches it. A guy talking to you, but not just any guy, the guy from the lunch room the other day.

His dirty mouth probably having said disgusting things about you—that you’re totally unaware of, yapping away at you as you nod at him.

No. He wont have it.

He continues to push past people, small apologizes leaving his mouth all the same even with all the anger running through him right now. You’re surprised when he grabs your wrist, even though he’s still gentle about it, it comes so suddenly.

“Oh! Yuta, you-“

“Where’d you go?” He asks immediately, as if scolding you.

“Huh? Where’d I.. oh! My friend pulled me away I- oh but I told someone waiting in line to tell you where I went did they not tell you?”

“No. No one told me.” He states coldly and you frown.

“Oh. Sorry..” You say but realize that now he’s glaring at the guy you were just talking to. “Oh, yeah, this is-“

“Don’t care.” He mutters and before you can say anything, he’s pulling you back towards the living room from where he came in. His pull isn’t harsh, you could easily refute, but you follow him anyways.

He leads you away until you’re in the corner of the room, away from the speakers where it’s a bit quieter.

“Wha was that? Kinda rude, Yu.” You say, confused, and now significantly more disoriented. Your friends had pulled you away for a drinking game, and Yuta was in the bathroom for a bit.

“You said you would wait outside.” He says, almost like pouting, but his expression is stern and serious.

“Yeah but you were taking foreverrr.” You tease, giving him a silly smile. “What were you even doing in there, huh?”

“That doesn’t matter, you scared me! I told you places like this are dangerous for-“ He starts to lecture you, but cuts himself off to focus on you for a second. It finally starts to click for him that you aren’t in the same state he left you in. Your eyes are lazy, kind of wandering. Your body swaying and unbalanced. And just from knowing how your body language usually is, he knows something is really off.

“Did you drink more while I was in the bathroom?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You tell him honestly, not seeing any reason to hide it.

“How much?”

“Ummmm….”

“You don’t know?!”

“I’m thinking!!”

You put your finger to your lips and start working your brain to remember, counting off the number in your head.

“Y/n, you’re scaring me.” Yuta says as it takes you longer than he thinks it should to answer.

“It was like.. four.. actually, five.”

“Five what?”

“Shots.”

“Of what??”

“Um.. alcohol?”

“You don’t even know what they were giving you?” Yuta stares at you in complete disbelief.

“Well, they didn’t tell me, so..” You mumble a reply, feeling guilty now like you must have made a mistake. “Does it really matter?”

“Y/n!” Yuta says as if scolding you, again.

“What? It was a game, we were all just having fun!!” You retort.

“You can’t just take any drink anyone gives you! I cant believe I have to tell you that.” He says, crossing his arms.

“They’re not just anyone they’re my friends!” You retort again, frowning at him.

“I’m your friend. You hardly know these people!” He argues without hesitation and something in you hurts at those words.

“Yu…”

“And what’s in that, then?” He inquires, pointing down, and— up until now you totally forgot the red cup in your hand. Oh, make that 6(?) drinks you guess.

“It’s mango juice and… vodka.” You tell him warily, knowing you have no clue what kind of alcohol it actually is. But you can’t lie to his face, you know you can’t. “…Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“Yu!! Stop worrying! Look, I’m fine! I’m safe! And I have you here, so iss okay.” You tell him genuinely and Yuta’s heart pangs. Knowing you have so much security and trust in him to know you’ll be safe as long as he’s here, makes him incessantly happy. But he just doesn’t trust the people here, and god forbid he lose you again.

“Y/n, let’s go home.” He tells you as nicely as he can.

“What? No, I’m having fun.” You tell him to his dismay and he frowns. He really doesn’t want to argue with you.

“Please. The alcohol you had probably hasn’t even really caught up with you yet. We should get you home before it does.”

“Yu, I’m not leaving. I came to have a good time.” You tell him again firmly and he basically pouts at this. “Cmon. I wanna have a good time with you too. Let’s go dance again.”

You entice him, your hand finding his for the millionth time, that look in your eyes as you stare up at him. You have to know what you do to him, right?

“…Alright.” He agrees and your smile spreads into a grin, practically jumping in place with excitement and victory at convincing him.

“But!” He interrupts, putting his finger up and making you go still again. “No more drinking for the night.”

“Whattt?” You frown and protest as he takes the cup that was basically empty anyways out of your hands.

“You’ve had a lot already for your first time and I don’t want you to get sick. Let’s just hang out for the rest of the time, okay?”

You pout as he waits for your compliance to his terms. You think about how likely it would be for him to actually carry you out of here if you didn’t.

“Promise me? Please?” He says sweetly, looking into your eyes as if further asking with them. You cant say no to him like this.

“Fine.” You tell him and you adore the way he smiles afterward. “For you.”

After that, the two of you are back in the middle of where everyone else is dancing. This time he isn’t really intoxicated at all and maybe that’s why he’s not so needy. Your other friends come to join with you, even inumaki and panda as well. He sees you having a good time and that’s enough for him to have a good time too. Though he supposes he’s also just having fun dancing and being young with everyone like this.

The night about peaks there.

After dancing a bit, you lean into Yuta’s ear to tell him you’re gonna go get water for the two of you. You’re basically yelling since you guys are dancing pretty close to the speakers this time. When Yuta finally understands you he shoots you a concerned look. You roll your eyes.

“You trust meee, right?” You say again into his ear. He nods without hesitating. Of course he trusts you.

“I’m just getting water, promise.” You tell him again. “I’ll be back.”

Before he can offer to get it instead, you’re gone.

He watches you go, snaking your way through people toward the kitchen. He feels a bit awkward with you gone now, like it’s not as fun in your absence. Still he watches your friends and his dance along together, and he can’t help smiling at them.

After a minute he feels a hand on his arm, and he looks over, thinking it’s you. It’s a girl he’s never seen before. Or at least he thinks he hasn’t. She’s mouthing something at him, probably talking at normal volume, but he can’t hear obviously.

“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you!” He shouts over the music and she beckons him with her hand to come closer. He complies, not really thinking much of it. She must have something to tell him. Maybe it’s about you?

When he does lean in, shes so close he can feel her breathing. It’s weird, being this close to someone else and it almost feels wrong. She just starts a normal conversation with him, asking where he’s from and what year he is. It seems normal and Yuta talks along with her, thinking it a little strange to be having a normal conversation somewhere so inconvenient. But he’s polite about it. She keeps talking, and all Yuta can think about is where you are. Would it take this long to get water? No, but, he trusts you. He doesn’t need to worry.

“Are you okay?” The girl asks and he snaps back to the current moment again.

“H-huh? Oh, yeah.” He yells back, as they’ve been doing for a few minutes.

She says something like he’s very cute, or that’s what he thinks she said. When it’s clear he didn’t properly hear her, she pulls him close, forcefully by his shirt. It’s when she starts saying things in his ear that are obviously flirting now that he finally sees you out of the corner of his eye. You look shocked but, hey, you do have two cups of water with you.

You start talking to the girl, back and forth, the two of you talking quickly about something he’s not quite hearing.

Something something- you. Something something- your boyfriend? Something something- just leave something alone.

Then they start getting louder, and he starts to hear better. This is also where he starts to realize you’re not just talking to her, you’re arguing with her.

“Why do you even care? _____ jealous?” The other girl says, parts of what she’s saying still kind of blank. The two of them are clearly angry now. Even your friends are starting to wonder whats going on.

“Excuse me? Who even are you? You ____ and then ____?!”

From there it all happens so quickly, Yuta barely has time to process it all. He knows how you get when you’re angry, he’s seen you argue with girls and even guys from your school before. Hell, even when you were kids you used to get into fights with other kids who would bully him until they stopped. It’s not that you look for a fight, or that you’re easy to get upset at all, but when you do you’re a hundred percent with it. You don’t waver or back down, as long as you believe you’re in the right. But, what could this girl have possibly done to make you so mad? And what’s gonna happen when how you usually are in an arguement is boosted with the effects of being intoxicated?

He has no time to prevent it at all. Voices get louder, you both get closer. Then he hears the other girl say “Oh, why don’t we test that then, huh?”

She turns to him, calls something out to him, but he just continues to stand there, very confused. Suddenly her hands are reaching up for him, taking his face in her hands and pulling him towards her own. Again, this is all happening too fast for Yuta to process. He only realizes shes about to kiss him when all at once the girl is now drenched in water, some of the splash bouncing off and hitting him as well. She freezes to look down at herself in shock, and Yuta stares with eyes wide. He’s too late to look at you because when he does, you’re already lunging at her, shoving her towards the wall with no remorse.

He’s quick to act this time as you’re about to go after her for more, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back as you actively squirm and yell for him to let you go. It’s to his dismay when he sees the other girl coming towards you now rather than leaving. Your other friends join in to help in holding the both of you back. It’s a bit of a struggle to get you two apart, but before he knows it, Yuta and the other boys have successfully gotten you away. Which happened to be upstairs, since the girls were taking the other girl outside.

Thankfully it didn’t cause too big of a scene. People around had stopped to look and see what was going on, but once the fight was prevented, everything went back to normal.

“What the hell was that?! What happened?!” Panda shouts at you as you’re still panting from all the struggle to get out of the hold of the three boys that now stand around you in some random bedroom. You’re on the bed, and Yuta sits next to you. You don’t even want to look at him.

“What did she say??” Inumaki adds.

“Are you okay?” Yuta also adds, sweetly more concerned about that than anything.

“I’m fine.” You say in a tone that indicates you are infact not.

“Oh, sure, answer Yuta but not us.” Panda says, rolling his eyes. “Can we get an explanation?”

“Guys. Cmon. That was obviously a lot. She needs time to process.” Yuta says in your defense and it’s honestly hard to stay mad at him, though you’re not even quite sure why you are. You’re feeling a lot of things right now.

The three of them go back and forth a bit and you’re not having it, already upset enough.

“Can you guys jush leave me alone!!” You shout and again, you’re not even sure why. You don’t want to be alone.

“…What?” Yuta says, almost like in disbelief, and you turn to see his sad expression. Something on your heart tugs. You don’t think you’ve ever asked Yuta to leave you alone. He was always around to help you even in your lowest times, even when it was the two of you who fought.

You hear a sigh from Inumaki.

“Alright, we get it, we’ll leave you two alone. Lovebirds.” He says, muttering the last part. You blush slightly, they totally read through you just now.

“We expect an explanation later though!” Panda calls on their way out. The two of you stare at the door for a moment after.

When Yuta finally turns back at you, he’s genuinely surprised to see you look so angry. Were you mad at him?

“What’s… going on? What happened back there?” He asks you gently, cautiously.

“Yuta you are so clueless!!” You shout at him suddenly, making him jump.

“H-huh?!”

“You didn’t notice?! She was flirting with you!” You say and push his chest, too gentle to actually be real anger.

“What?? I mean.. well I kind of noticed, eventually…” he says sheepishly, a bit confused. “Why does it matter?”

He watches your face heat up and you quickly look away from him.

“Oh my god,” you say, putting your face in your hands. “You make me feel crazy.”

“Huh?” Yuta mumbles again and then he suddenly remembers that you’re still drunk. He goes to touch your arm but you snap back around at him before he can.

“She was trying to kiss you!!” You shout and he nods in surprise.

“I know!” He confirms and his heart speeds up when he realizes that was clearly not the thing to say. You suddenly look sad instead of mad, and it breaks his heart.

“I-It’s not like I wanted her to. It happened so fast I-“

“Yeah right, when I got there she was all over you! You’ve always been clueless!! It’s like this any time any girl flirts with you! In highschool too.”

…what?

When Yuta looks back on tonight, it was obvious that girl was flirting with him, sure, even if he did notice kind of late. But high school? He never had girls who flirted with him, not that he can think of.

“What.. do you mean? I was never hit on in high school.”

“Yeah, that’s what you think.” You say, poking his chest. “That’s my point.”

This is troubling for him as he starts to really analyze anytime any girl might of flirted with him in the past. No matter how hard he thinks, he can’t even think of one.

Then he realizes something. What… does this have to do with anything? So you were mad that that girl was flirting with him. Got that. But why? There’s really only one answer right? But there’s no way… it has to be in a platonic way, right? Jealousy.

He snaps out of his thoughts suddenly when he hears a familiar sniffle, and his awareness lights up, like an instinct. You’re crying. You’re crying right next to him, and it seems like it’s his fault. His heart aches and he immediately pulls you into an embrace, quietly cooing soft affirming words and apologies, rubbing your back. He remembers AGAIN, the fact that you are very drunk, and of course your actions are not going to completely make sense to him or anyone. People do unreasonable things when they’re drunk right? Things they’d never think of doing sober. So, he decides to just comfort you and assure you rather than argue or try to understand anymore.

You stay like this, gently crying into his chest and gripping his shirt as he holds you, his chin resting on your head. He knows exactly when you need this kind of comforting, and he’s very happy to give it to you. You go quiet after a few minutes, and he doesn’t pull back until you quietly call his name.

“Yuta.” You say, slightly muffled.

“Mm?” He hums as he softly pulls back to look at you.

You look up at him, eyes wet and face tinted pink, an absolute painting of purity underneath him.

“We should kiss.” You tell him, completely genuine.

“h-hUH?!” He squeaks and the crack in his voice does not help his face that immediately turned red at your words.

“You don’t want to?” You say sadly and this feels like some kind of test.

“No, I!- I mean… why… do you say that?” His words leave his mouth in a pathetic way that he hates, as if betraying him.

“It’s just…” You start sheepishly, and now you have to look away, embarrassed. “We’ve been together since we were kids.. we’ve done everything together. All the firsts. So…”

He watches as you breathe in and turn to look at him again, hanging on to every word you’re saying.

“Doesn’t it make sense that we should be eachothers first kiss too? It’d be weird to give it to anyone else… and you almost had someone take your first kiss tonight… that can happen too, so…”

You’re drunk. You’re drunk. You’re drunk. You’re drunk. You’re drunk. You’re drunk.

He has to hammer that into his head to not lose himself here. But even repeating it to himself over and over, he’s leaning in, and you’re leaning in. You’re so close, something he’s always wanted deep down is right in front of him, teasing, taunting him.

It takes everything in him to pull back again.

“I can’t…” He says, his eyes clenched shut.

“Why?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“And?”

“And… it would be wrong…” he continues, really trying his best to keep composure here, and somewhat failing. His eyes shoot open when he feels you climb over him, coming to sit in his lap where your legs stratal him. Now this is something you two have never done. Your body is so warm on top of his, and your hands too when they come to rest against his chest. One hand comes up to brush a hair out of his eyes, then falling down to caress his cheek. He swallows hard.

What are you doing?

“This is about me?” You ask him curiously. Your sober self would be shocked by how easily you’re about to do something you’ve always dreamed of doing to Yuta specifically. You want to kiss him, of course, but you also want to tease him. You love to do so on a normal day, but you’ve been given quite the special opportunity with the current situation and your rise in confidence thanks to the drinks earlier.

“Yes.. b-but this is-“

“If it’s about me, then let’s just do it. I’m practically sober.” You lie to him, which you never do. You really want this.

“You’re not. You’re drunk, I can tell.” He calls your bluff even in his flustered state. You’re caught. You can’t really argue with him on that. Instead you bring your head down to lay on his shoulder, resting there for a moment. He sighs quietly in relief, thinking you’d given in, his arms coming in to hold you again. There’s a moment of peace.

A loud gasp leave his lips suddenly when you start pressing your lips to his neck. Softly, you place one by one, moving around to make sure to give him plenty. You feel like you’re on fire when you hear him start to moan at this. You knew he’d be the type to moan and whine, you know him. You want to hear more. You cant stop yourself.

“Ah.. Y/n..” he breathes as you kiss up to the nape of his ear and along his collar bone. You even come up to give his cheek a couple of pecks the way you think you must’ve when you were really little. My how times change, and yet not at all. All he can think about is how soft your lips are, trying to fight against is own pleasure.

“Y/n..” he says, strained, like he’s pleading you. “Really, we can’t do this… Please, stop.”

At his specific request for you to stop, you do. You pull back and look at him. His face is flushed like crazy and he looks so lusted. Yet he said no, and his hands stay put on your back. In fact, he’s not moved a muscle at all since you climbed onto him.

“You really don’t want to?” You ask, almost sadly.

“I already told you..” he trails off weakly, not able to look at you in the eyes. His face is really burning up. Honestly even he’s impressed with how much he’s able to hold back right now. Literally any other circumstance. Anywhere, anytime, he would give into you. But he would hate himself if tomorrow you said this was a mistake, or god forbid got angry at him for letting you do something in a state where your minds not right like this. You trusted him to keep you safe, and that includes from himself. He is a man after all, childhood best friend or otherwise. He’s doing this for you essentially, even though it’s ironically the opposite of what you want in the moment.

“If you’d rather have your first time with someone else, you can just say that.” You say, stubborn, frowning at him. What first are you talking about here?

“You know it’s not that-“

“Say you don’t want to and I’ll drop it.” You say sternly, giving him the hard choice. You don’t know how you got stuck on this, or even if your reasoning or actions were making sense. All you know is you want to kiss your best friend, and you want him to want it too.

He groans, almost a whine and you feel him squeeze your sides. You get excited for a moment, thinking he’ll give in.

“Fine... I… I don’t want to.” He says finally, and looking you in the eyes when he does so you know that he’s serious this time. He can’t even believe it himself, he knows that’s a huge lie. But it’s the only way to get you to stop apparently, and it’s for your own good. Plus, this is something he hasn’t even allowed himself to fantasize about, and now it’s happening right in front of him. He’s a little scared of what this might do to him, and more importantly, your relationship. He’s also unsure if he has the self control to stop after kissing you once. Cross that first line and there’s no telling where this will end up. Maybe that’s the real reason he knows he has to hold back for your sake. One kiss wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

You go from looking hurt, and then back to angry. You push yourself up off him, coming to stand.

“Fine. Then, maybe I should go get that girl. Since I obviously ruined what you two had going on.” You shoot at him, turning towards the door. Apparently being drunk really amplifies your jealousy, which is new to you. Usually you’re very good at hiding or completely ignoring it.

“Y/n, that’s crazy. Why would I want to kiss some girl I hardly know?”

“Well you clearly weren’t against it!” You say, turning to him again with your arms crossed.

“I didn’t notice! I don’t want to kiss her!” He insists.

“Whatever!” You head for the door again, hand taking the knob. You feel him grab your other hand.

“Y/n-“

“Let go!” You shout and try to pull your arms from his grasp to no avail.

“Please. Just stop. Listen to me.” He pleads, ignoring your squirming to pull you back to him. You finally look up at him, annoyed.

“You’re my best friend. I’ve had you for as long as I can remember, and you’re right. We’ve done everything together. It would be weird to have my first with anyone else, so… I actually think, what you said.. I think it’s a good idea. I want to do it.” He tells you quickly so that you’ll hear him out. You look at him a little surprised.

“Wha..? But you just-“

“I’ll tell you what…” He stops you before you can retaliate. “If you wake up tomorrow, when you’re sober, and you still want that first kiss.. I’ll do it.”

He tells you this and you immediately believe him. You know he will, he never goes back on his word. Still, your stubborn expression doesn’t waver much.

“I promise.” He says, squeezing your hand and giving you a genuine look. That does it. You let out a sigh.

Truth is, ever since standing up, you’ve felt kind of dizzy and gross. It’s been hard to even stay focused on what you were mad about.

You lean forward, dropping into Yuta’s chest, surprising him a little.

“I don’t feel good.” You say weakly and he chuckles.

“Let’s leave, yeah?” He suggests and you nod, following as he finally opens the door and leads you down the hall. He only stops in front of the stairs when you stop, pulling his arm by staying in place. He looks back at you, confused, but understands almost immediately after seeing you. He realizes now that he must’ve underestimated just how “not good” you felt.

He takes you back towards the bathroom, gently, but with urgency. You make it there and luckily there’s no line either. He guides you in with a hand on your back, shutting and locking the door after you.

Honestly you don’t know why but you’re embarrassed by what he’s about to see. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in terrible states before, sick, or sobbing, or depressed. But this is just, humiliating for some reason, especially after what just happened. Though it could be worse.

He of course pulls your hair back as you let it out into the toilet. He hates hearing your sounds of pain and he’s pretty sure he hears you crying as well. He wishes he could help more, but once he thinks you’re done he just gently rubs your back for a while.

“Sorry..” you mumble to him without moving and he shakes his head immediately.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He reassures you.

I love you. I would do this for you everytime. Is what he wishes he could say. And he so badly wants to think about everything that just happened in that bedroom, to replay it in his mind and ask questions. But he knows to save it for later. Your condition is more important right now.

Eventually people outside need to use the restroom, and it seems like you’re not going to throw up anymore, so Yuta helps you up and outside. But even then, you feel too weak to stand and you decide to sit against the hallway wall. He takes a seat next to you without question. He sits with you for a while, even after your head falls onto his shoulder and he can tell that you’re asleep.

Panda and Inumaki find you and suggest leaving, so Yuta knows he has to wake you. He shakes you slightly by the shoulder.

“Hey..” he says softly when you groan and blink your eyes a couple times hazily.

“Think you can stand?” He asks you.

You groan and nuzzle further into his shoulder.

“Mdont wantto.” You mumble into him and he smiles.

“Alright, I’m gonna carry you then, okay?” He tells you and you just hum in response.

Eventually you’re on Yuta’s back, walking outside around your school campus to get to his apartment. Most of its a blur as you fall in and out of sleep through the whole walk.

Yuta tells the two very eager-to-know boys about what he thinks happened with you and that girl, but not much about what came after with him. They say the same things his brain was trying to tell him and he kept ignoring. They say it’s obvious. That theres no such thing as “platonic jealousy” like that. But he’s still in denial.

“I’m sure it was only a platonic thing.” He says, trying to convince more than his friends, looking over and checking on you every few seconds to make sure you’re still out. “We’ve never been romantic with anyone so shes probably just nervous about what would happen. I would be too.”

They don’t believe him, and he’s not sure if he does either. But he has to. Because if tonight meant anything else, then what does that mean for you two?

Yuta decided a long time ago that he would never confess, not unless he was 100% sure of your feelings. For fear of losing this privilege to know you, to get to have you around, even if just platonically. He couldn’t bear it. Things had to stay the same.

When you get back to his apartment, he brings you straight to his bed, ready to let you sleep there and find his own place on the couch.

“Do you want to shower first? I can lend you some clean clothes.” He suggests softly as you both sit in the quiet of the room. He brushes your hair gently behind your ear so that it’s out of your face.

“You’re just saying that cus you don’t want me to get all my sweat and stuff on your sheets.” You accuse, but he can tell it’s not hostile at all. You’re not mad anymore.

“I don’t care about that, I can just do laundry tomorrow. But I think it’d feel better for you that way.” He tells you honestly and you sigh. He knows you don’t want to.

“I just wanted to remind you that you can, you don’t have to. But you know what’s mine is yours here, right? If you need anything just go ahead.” He says sweetly and you hum, finally moving to lay down, resting your head on his pillow. It smells like Yuta. You nuzzle into it further.

“Okay.. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.” He tells you with a chuckle.

“Wait.” You say before he can get to the door. He turns to you.

“Mwhere are you goin?” You mumble sleepily. His heart melts.

“Just to the living room. I’ll sleep on the couch so don’t worry, okay?”

“Come here.” You tell him bluntly and he does. When he gets to the bed you pat the spot next to you. His face flushes.

“What? You want me to sleep here??”

“Mhm.”

“With you?”

“Just lay down, Yu.. I wanna sleep.” You groan, too exhausted to be explaining or convincing. You just want him next to you.

And then he’s laying next to you.

This shouldn’t be awkward, you guys have napped together before. But that was a long time ago, and things feel different now. He’s so unsure of where to put his hands or how to position himself until you decide for him. You reach out and pull yourself into him, arms wrapping around him and legs tangling. He naturally just curls around you all the same, feeling your breath on his chest as you easily lull into sleep like this. It’s a bit hard to think about anything but how soft and warm you are for a little while, hot and flustered from how intimate this feels and scared to mess it up. But, he does feel more comfortable after. How could he not? The way you sleep so peacefully in his arms sends him off to sleep not long after you.

The morning after that night is the start of his guilty conscience.

When he wakes up sporting a full hard-on, he’s incredibly glad you’re not in a position to have noticed it. He had the craziest dream about you, and waking up face to face to you afterwards could not make him feel anymore mortified and embarrassed. How could he? Have a wet dream about you when you’re sleeping RIGHT next to him.

And the thoughts he’s having about you right now as he watches you so innocently sleep, blissfully unaware to his thoughts.

It’s horrible.

It’s exciting. No, it’s perverted.

Even with all his self control in previous years, you can’t really control what you dream about, can you? Sure, he’s had dreams like these about you before. But he’s read on the internet that people have wet dreams about random people too, people they’ve never even considered like that! So he doesn’t count it.

But it’s when he’s sliding out of bed to take care of things in the bathroom, trying to relieve himself to anything but the thought of you. He just can’t think of anything else good enough. He wants to think about you so bad. The way you were all over him last night, so many opportunities where he could’ve told you how he feels. He could’ve told you want he wanted from you so badly instead of denying it.

When he was tipsy, body pressed against you and music pumping in his ears. His face tucked into your neck, breathing in your scent clearer than anything and feeling your hands stretched around his back. He even could’ve told you then, that he loved you. How badly he wanted you in that moment too, his desires bubbling up so bad that he could practically beg for you. And maybe you would’ve at least humored him, giggled at his drunken daze and been so gracious as to grant him more of you.

Or what would’ve happened if he had let you do what you wanted? In that bedroom, alone just the two of you, with you in his lap. Would you really have stopped after one kiss?

And then snippets from his dream start to cross his mind. You in the same dress last night that he tried so incredibly hard not to think about too much, how it hugged every curve of your body and made your breasts look so nice. And in that dream, the dirty things you said to him between kisses on his neck while you stroked his length.

“Does that feel good, Yu? You wanna cum for me?”

“Yes.. ffucyes..” He mumbles to himself as his pace gets faster. Somehow it ended up like this, not sure when he even started to touch himself, but far past the headspace to care. He feels his climax already, the thought of you making him so unbelievably excited.

In his mind you’re on top of him, bouncing on his cock in all your glory in that beautiful dress that you love. And he could admire anything else right now but all he wants to see is the look on your face. He wants to see how good he can make you feel, not holding back anything at all.

“Fuck, Yu… That feels so good.. I love you..” You’d whine for him and he can feel his pleasure spilling over.

“Y/n… godfuck.. I love you, I love you.” He chants to himself as quietly as he can manage as his hips start to jerk up and stutter. His climax hits and normally he’d be ready to catch his load in his hands, but it rips through him so urgently and suddenly that it manages to catch him offguard.

He stares at the scene in front of him, the mess he made. His breathing is shaky and uneven. His heartbeat doesn’t slow as he starts to realize what he just did. He just jerked off thinking about you, shamelessly, while you’re literally a room away. How could he? What would you think of him if you found out about this? You’d probably think he’s a huge pervert and never talk to him again, right?

You always understood him, but this is unforgivable.

The guilt eats him alive, even after he’s cleaned up and started making breakfast. Trying to distract himself with tasks and chores, he can’t even bring himself to go back to his room and face you as he keeps thinking about the awful thoughts his mind willingly conjured about you. There’s no excuse now. And even in his guilt, he can’t stop thinking about how good that felt. He’s never felt that good thinking or looking at anything else when pleasuring himself. This is bad. He could get addicted to this. He wants to do it again right now, actually. Is that horrible?

“Yu?” Your voice startles him so bad that he jumps, almost throwing the frying pan in his hold. He turns to see your still fogged-with-sleep self standing before him. You’re still in that dress.

“H-hey. You’re up! I’m… making breakfast. Are you hungry?” He says, nervous for some reason. Like you’d be able to tell immediately just by looking at him what he’s done, smell the pervertedness and deceit on him.

“Mm.. That sounds nice.” You just smile and then let out a small yawn. You’re so adorable. What has he done? “I’m gonna shower first, is that okay?”

Another wave of anxiety rushes through him as he starts to overthink whether or not he cleaned up enough in there. Which is dumb, because he literally scrubbed any evidence possible off the floor with diligence. But maybe you’d find something anyways.

“Oh.. um.. yeah, go ahead. You know I don’t mind.” He says after maybe a little too long of a pause.

He waits for you to come out again with breakfast laid out on the coffee table in front of him. He mindlessly scrolls on his phone to keep his thoughts busy with something, anything else.

When you step out again, you’re wearing one of his t-shirts he almost never wears and seemingly his boxers as well, though he can’t see them very well from how far the shirt falls. He has to act like he’s reading something very interesting on his phone to avoid looking at you, his face blushing. This should be just a regular morning for you two and yet why does it feel like like you just-

“Fuck, I needed that shower! I feel so much better” You tell him as you take a seat by his side.

He smiles, putting his phone down now.

“I’m glad.” He watches you sip down some of the water in front of you, eyes shamefully trained on your lips. “And.. how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine! Don’t worry. I think I probably puked up all the alcohol in my system last night. If anything I’m just hungry. And thirsty.” You tell him as you poke your fork into a piece of pancake on your plate, and then catching yourself. “Oh. Sorry, that’s kinda gross to say right before we eat. Thank you for the food by the way.”

You look at him and smile so sweetly that it makes Yuta forget about all the thoughts plaguing him for a moment. He laughs at your words.

“You’re welcome. But you should eat as much as you can before the other two get out here and devour it all.” He jokes and starts eating as well. You let out a small laugh and nod in agreement.

“You’re right, I forgot they live here.”You say and you’re only half kidding. “That’s why you made so much, huh? I got worried you were expecting me to finish this, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Yuta laughs and shakes his head, taking another forkful of eggs. After that the conversation kinda dies as the two of you just enjoy your delicious breakfast.

A few minutes of silence go by before he decides to speak up.

“So.. do you remember much about last night?” He asks you and you turn to him with a curious look. “I know that sometimes if you drink too much it can affect your memory.. so I was just wondering.”

He knows he’s probably blushing a bit now. There’s a real reason why he’s asking you, right?

“Oh. Well, yeah I’m pretty sure I remember most of it. Some of it is maybe a little foggy.” You tell him after thinking for a moment. When you look at him again, he’s staring at you. You laugh a little.

“If you’re wondering if I remember the almost-fight and all that, I definitely do. Though I kinda wish I didn’t.” You joke, but not really kidding. Deep down you are a little mortified about what you did. Moreso with Yuta than with that girl, but still even then you only caused that scene because of your jealousy over Yuta. Does he know you like him that way now? Did you give yourself away?

“Ah.. I see.” He says awkwardly and your guilt pangs in you.

“Yuta.. I’m really sorry about last night.” You say finally and he looks at you kinda surprised. “I mean I did a lot of embarrassing things that weren’t too bad, could just be written off as those funny things I did at my first party, yknow? But..”

You play with the food on your plate a little, not quite able to look at him.

“But I did something really not okay with you. I.. I was forcing myself on you and you were clearly uncomfortable, right? I don’t even know what I was thinking.. I would never..” You start to apologize, but kind of struggle with how to put it. How can you even explain yourself for something like that? Isn’t it obvious?

“Hey, it’s okay.” He says gently, putting your nerves to rest with just one phrase as he puts his warm hand on yours. You look over at him to see him smiling fondly. How can he forgive you so easily?

“It wasn’t like that. I know you weren’t in the right headspace. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t.. do something you’d regret, yknow?” He explains like youre sure he said to you similarly last night. You ended up being regretful anyways, but you suppose this is best case scenario. You cant imagine if you had kept forcing yourself on him then, probably ruining your relationship forever. You’re thankful that your best friend is as sweet and forgiving as he is.

“Thank you.. I still think it was wrong though. I’ll make it up to you.” You promise him and go back to eating.

You don’t bring up the kiss at all. Even though you remember exactly what he told you last night.

“If you wake up tomorrow, when you’re sober, and you still want that first kiss.. I’ll do it.”

You believe him. You know he would, and it scares you. It scares you because you know you might not be able to control yourself if you open that door. Anything could happen after. You’re scared.

Yuta doesn’t bring it up for the same reason. And he doesn’t ask you about your reasonings or motives for why you did what you did that night either. Like why seeing some other girl almost kiss him made you so angry that you offered to take his first instead. No, even though his mind yearned for answers, he was also too scared to look for them. Afraid of what he might find or what trap he might set off.

So, neither of you bring it up. You act like it was all meaningless. Just drunk nonsense with no actual motive behind it.

But even so, that night ends up changing your relationship forever.

#okkotsu yuuta #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta okkotsu x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk fluff #fluff #smut #mutual pining #friends to lovers #childhood friends #college au

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ak-vintage · 3 months ago

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From the Ground Up - Chapter 2

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x OFC ("Reader" Format/Second Person POV)

Series Summary: After getting laid off from your job, you are forced to move back in with your parents until you can get back on your feet. You can't help but feel like you have started your life over again at square one, but when your dad's best friend offers his help in the form of a job at his burgeoning construction business, you learn that maybe there is more than one path to the life of your dreams.

Chapter Summary: The Millers host their annual end-of-summer cookout, and you find yourself confiding in someone unexpected.

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Mild sexual innuendo. Mild angst. Complicated family dynamics. Alcohol consumption. (Still 18+ like the rest of my blog.)

Word Count: 7.6K

Read on AO3 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Let’s hustle, babygirl. Don’t wanna be late.”

You cast an incredulous look over your shoulder at your father, who had been pacing back and forth across the kitchen floor for the last several minutes, practically breathing down your neck as you worked. Spread across the counter in front of you were three generously-sized fruit pies, each of them sporting a slightly different design sculpted into the golden-brown crust.

“I can literally see the party from here, Dad,” you huffed, gesturing out the kitchen widow in the direction of the Millers’ back yard. Half a dozen tiki torches had been planted in the rear of the house, grill smoke could be seen rising from the direction of the patio, and the heads of several early guests poked up just high enough to be able to glimpse over the top of the wooden privacy fence. “I think we’re going to make it.”

With careful fingers, you pressed and tapped along the side of each pie dish, testing their temperature. The last of the three pies you had baked for the Millers’ end-of-summer cookout had only barely finished cooling, the glass still holding some residual heat, but you knew you were fast approaching the limit of your father’s patience. If you didn’t get your creations ready to go in the next few minutes…

“How do I look?”

You glanced up from your work to catch sight of your mother fluttering into the room, dressed head-to-toe in matching cream linen, artfully draped in a way that conveyed casual sophistication. Her question was directed at your father, but he barely raised his gaze from his watch before replying, “You know you always look beautiful to me, sweet pea.”

Both you and your mom groaned, you under your breath, her quite loudly and dramatically, before she turned to you instead.

“Kathryn? Does this work?” she demanded, barely concealed irritation coloring her tone.

You put down the plastic pie carrier you had been fussing with and turned around to look her, taking a moment to assess her perfectly coiffed hair, her tasteful jewelry, her espadrille wedges that added at least two inches to her petite frame.

“You look really pretty, Mom,” you replied sincerely. “I’d maybe pull your hair up? You’ll be hot with it touching your neck all night. And wear a flat shoe? This is a Miller party – it’s going to be laidback.”

A miniscule frown appeared between her eyebrows, somewhere between thoughtful and defensive. After a moment’s consideration, she mused, “Hm. There’s no way I’m wearing flats with this outfit, I’ll drown in the fabric. But I’ll put a claw clip in my bag.”

Snorting a laugh, you turned back to your task. “Sure.” If she wanted to sweat and wobble around on the uneven grass of Joel’s backyard all night in the name of fashion, that was fine with you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched her pull a tube of lipstick and a compact mirror out of her handbag. “By the way, have you heard from Mia recently?” she asked as she dabbed a bit more color onto the center of her lower lip.

“I have, actually.” You packed as you talked, blowing a strand of hair out of your face as you started snapping lids on the pie carriers and stacking them together. “We texted for a bit this morning.”

The heavy, put-upon sigh that met your reply was something you ought to have predicted.

“Well, I’m glad she’s at least telling somebody in this family what she’s up to,” your mother snarked. She punctuated her statement with a loud snap of her compact, and you mentally patted yourself on the back for not startling at the sound.

“She’s 21,” you reminded her gently, refusing to play into the bid for gossip. Your younger sister had always been a free spirit, and her years away at college had only emboldened her fierce sense of independence. “She’s just enjoying what’s left of her summer break. It’s good for her to be on her own, don’t you think? It’s healthy.”

No matter how mild your tone, your mom was clearly uninterested in any opinions that weren’t her own in that moment.

“Yes, but what college student doesn’t come home for their summer break? What even is there to do when she doesn’t have any classes?”

You whirled around to face her, unable to school your expression into something less confrontational as you exclaimed, “What’s there to do? In New York City?”

Your mother had the audacity to look affronted. “Well, how should I know? The last time I was there was the day we moved her in.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” you scoffed. Your sister would be starting the third year of her program in a mere handful of weeks, and still the only member of your family who had traveled to visit her in that time was you.

Drawing back as though stricken, your mother’s facial expression went from shocked to cold in the span of a heartbeat. “I don’t appreciate the tone, Kathryn.”

“Ladies!” Your father’s voice, forever the loudest thing in any room, was the only thing that prevented you from snapping back. “Can we please get this show on the road?”

You took a deep breath and nodded, willing your raised hackles to soothe as you scooped the stack of pies into your arms. If your father was the heat, your mother the storm, and you the eye at the center, your sister had always been path of destruction in the hurricane of your family. An easy target with her bone-deep contrarian streak and punk sensibilities, she chafed against your father’s need to always have the last word, your mother’s nitpicking and criticisms. Often, her only ally in your family home had been you.

When it came to Mia, even now that you were both well into adulthood, it did not take much to activate your protective nature.

“Yeah. I’m done now,” you said stoically. “Let’s go.”

You used the short journey over to Joel and Sarah’s to collect yourself, tucking the loose strands of hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ears and smoothing down the front of your sundress that had been wrinkled by your apron. Really, you knew the fussing was probably unnecessary; it wasn’t as though there would be anyone here you needed to impress, and once you had spent more than a handful of minutes outside, the heat of the late summer afternoon would be enough to have you sweating unglamorously anyway. If you were honest, your little rituals of straightening and tidying yourself were more for your mental state than anything aesthetic.

Since you had returned home about a month ago, you had lost count of the number of times you had found yourself defending Mia’s decision to stay in New York for the summer. Your parents weren’t alone in wishing that she had chosen to spend at least some of her break in Austin. It had been one of the few things you had been looking forward to when the possibility of needing to move home had become more and more real. At least your sister would be there with you, you had thought. However, when she broke the news to you that she wouldn’t be booking a flight this time, you could hardly blame her.

The moment you had been granted the freedom of your own home, your own life, you hadn’t been eager to step back into the chaos, either.

The double-wide gate in the wooden privacy fence that surrounded Joel’s back yard had been propped wide open, and from within, the sound of the local classic rock station accompanied by laughter and the chatter of many voices could be heard spilling across the lawn. Now that you were outside, you recognized that the smoke you had spotted earlier carried with it the scent of cooking meats, and as you approached, you caught sight of Joel’s dark brown curls and wide shoulders as he manned the grill. You couldn’t stop yourself from taking in his silhouette - heather-gray T-shirt stained with sweat, a slim ring of darkened fabric wrapping around his neck and a patch of the same nestled into the small of his back.

“Hey, guys!”

You startled, drawing back instinctually and snapping your gaze away from Joel’s broad, well-muscled back as the source of the bright, energetic greeting approached.

“Hey there, Sarah! Beautiful day for a cookout, eh?” your father replied, all traces of his impatient, short-tempered frustration dissolving now that you had arrived. He was back to being his typical self – magnanimous and charismatic.

“Yeah, we lucked out!” the teenager replied affably. Casting her gaze over her shoulder, she called out, “Dad! The Walkers are here!”

Joel paused, dropping his oversized pair of tongs onto the small table he had set up next to the grill with all his supplies. He turned and waved, and without any further prompting, your parents split off from you and crossed the patio to greet him.

You didn’t have long to contemplate the slight, however, because in the next instant, Sarah was offering you a warm, one-armed hug and a wide, white smile.

“Hey, Katie!” She pulled back after a beat, seemingly noticing the stack of containers in your arms for the first time. “Ooo, what did you bring?”

“Just a few pies. I hope that’s okay – your dad mentioned something to my dad about needing a dessert for today, so I figured…”

Sarah was quick to wave off your uncertainty. “That’s perfect! Here, I’ll show you where you can put them.” Gesturing for you to follow her, she wrapped around the rear of the house, revealing two long, folding tables covered in cobalt blue plastic tablecloths that had been set up along the red brick exterior. They were almost entirely covered in food – opened bags of burger and sausage buns, an overfilled bowl of potato salad, a tray of macaroni and cheese, a plate of raw, chopped vegetables, open containers of dip, and a platter piled high with bright red sliced watermelon that had started to drip onto the table around it. Just at the end of the second table, a narrow space had been left available, marked by a well-worn kitchen hand towel that someone had clearly spread out to reserve the spot. As you approached, Sarah whisked it away, tossing it over her shoulder like a seasoned chef.

“Here ya go!” she quipped. “Oh, by the way! I want you to meet my friend Ellie.”

You glanced up at your host, noticing that she had linked arms with another young girl who looked to be about her age that had been leaning casually against the back of the house. Shorter than Sarah by a few inches, she had dark eyes and a headful of dark brown, wavy hair that she had swept back into a haphazard ponytail, and her knobby knees, exposed by her cutoff denim shorts, sported scrapes and bruises like what you might expect to see on a much younger child after a trip to the playground. She offered you a small, close-lipped smile, pleasant but a bit uncertain.

“Ellie, this is Katie, she lives next door,” Sarah continued. “Ellie moved here at the end of the school year with her aunt, the one I told you about the other day?”

“Yeah, I remember. It’s nice to meet you, Ellie.” Offering her your hand to shake, you returned the girl’s smile with one of your own. “Welcome to Austin.”

Ellie’s handshake was firm, more confident than the tightness around her eyes would have led you to expect. “Thanks.”

“Where are you from originally?” You began unpacking the pies as you chatted, snapping off the plastic lids and settling each one in a line in the narrow space open on the table.

“Boston,” Ellie replied, and you felt your eyebrows raise.

“Oh, wow. That’s quite a distance.”

She let out a scoffing laugh and nodded. “You’re telling me.”

“I’m trying to convince Ellie to try out for the soccer team with me,” Sarah said, waggling her eyebrows. “Practices start soon.”

“Oh yeah, I guess they would, huh?”

To Ellie, Sarah explained, “Katie’s sister Mia played soccer, too.”

“Is, uh, she coming today?” the other girl asked, a little puzzled, and you shook your head with a laugh.

“No, not this time. She’s spending her summer with friends in New York.” Stacking the now-empty pie containers together, you tucked them neatly under the table, and they disappeared discretely behind the blue plastic tablecloth. “She’s a student at NYU.”

Ellie was visibly impressed at that, her eyes widening as she processed your words. “No shit.”

The phrase startled a chuckle out of you. You could hardly imagine how your parents would have reacted had you sworn in front of an adult stranger at her age, and you decided immediately that you liked this girl. She was gusty, bold in spite of her unease, and you couldn’t help but respect it. Truthfully, it reminded you of your sister.

“I know, right? She is definitely the cooler of the two of us,” you said wryly.

At that, Ellie just shrugged. “I don’t know. Seems like you make some pretty bitchin’ pies.”

Your chuckle transformed into a full-throated laugh then. “Suppose that’s true.”

“There’s soda and water in the blue cooler and beers and seltzers in the red one,” Sarah interjected. She gestured to the far side of the patio where two large cooler chests sat propped open, piled high with ice and staining the concrete patio with condensation. “And, uh, if you’re looking for something stronger, I’m pretty sure Uncle Tommy brought tequila? It would be in the kitchen if we have any.”

Of course, he did. That sounded like what you knew of Tommy Miller.

“Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The two teens bid you to enjoy the party and promised they would be back to try a piece of one of your pies later, and you waved them off with a smile. However, as they dissolved into the growing crowd of guests, you found that the crush of people did nothing to ease the feeling of loneliness that settled over your shoulders. Among the Millers’ friends and family, you recognized countless faces. The Adlers and the Ortegas, both of whom also lived on your street. Builders who worked for Joel and Tommy’s construction company, their spouses and children in tow. A few mutual friends of your father’s, like his favorite golf buddy Doug and a woman you knew to be his third wife. The elderly Mrs. Perez, who was known for her lush, vibrant flowerbeds and her nosy, meddling personality.

There was a time when the number of familiar people would have been a comfort. There were plenty of them to talk to, many of whom you hadn’t seen in years who would be happy to spend the afternoon catching up with you. However, given the circumstances, that comfort had been replaced with an unsettling, stomach-turning sense of anxiety. How many of these people would want to know why you were back in town? Or, worse yet, how many already knew and had opinions about it?

The weight of your discomfort settled in your gut, and not for the first time, you wished Jacob had been able to come down to visit this weekend like you planned. Something for work had come up at the last minute, forcing him to stay back in Dallas, and though you understood how important his career was to him, that did not stop you from mourning his absence. He, at least, would have been a safe harbor in this sea of unmet expectations.

Suddenly heartsick and more than a little lonely, you pulled your phone out of the pocket of your sundress and fired off a quick message to him, hoping he might see it quickly and send words of comfort across the miles that separated you.

there’s a million people here and nobody i want to talk to. can i go home yet?

You allowed yourself to keep your phone in your palm for a minute, to stare longingly at the history of your texts as though your eyes on the conversation might manifest a response, but none came. It was not lost on you the way your communication with your boyfriend had started to deteriorate since your move. He seemed to be struggling to adjust to the extra effort required to stay connected to each other when it wasn’t feasible to see each other every other day. Perhaps that was something you should bring up with him the next time you managed to get him on a video call…

“Hey, I remember you!”

The low, warm drawl of a Texas accent drew you out of your thoughts, pulling your gaze up and away from your phone. Before you stood a tall, broad man with long limbs and thick, black curls he wore swept back away from his face. A thick mustache and scruffy goatee framed his smiling mouth, and a familiar pair of dark brown eyes flashed at you with good humor.

“You’re Mac’s kid, right?” he continued, gesturing at you with the sweating bottle of beer he held in his right hand.

You offered the man a small, friendly smile. “That’s me,” you confirmed. “And you’re…Tommy? Joel’s brother?”

“Yes, ma’am, the one and only.” You were certain that if he had been wearing a hat, he would have tipped it at you. “Nice to see you again! Hear you’re back in town for a spell.”

You and Tommy had met once before, years ago now, at a party similar to this one not long after Joel and Sarah had moved to the neighborhood. You had still been in college then, home with your parents over summer break, and they had guilted you into coming along, but you remembered that Tommy had been kind to you, had snuck you a couple drinks to cheer you up when you made it clear that you did not want to be there. Back then, his hair had been shorter and his face clean-shaven, but you would recognize that impish smile anywhere.

“I am,” you said with a nod.

“Well, I’m glad to know the old bastard’s got another lady in the house to keep him in line.”

You laughed at that. Little did Tommy Miller know just how true that was. “I’m certainly trying.”

Your reply had the man grinning, but before he could open his mouth to continue the conversation, another voice interrupted him.

“Hey there, darlin’,” said Joel, approaching the two of you from the direction of the smoking grill. “This guy botherin’ you?”

Tommy hit his older brother with a playful shove, knocking him back a step or two.

“Nah, I’m good,” you replied. “He seems harmless enough so far.”

Both men laughed, but it was Joel’s eye-crinkling, cheek-dimpling smile that had a flush of heat rising in your chest. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I can…I don’t know, send him to the gas station for some more ice or something, get him out of your hair.”

You nodded seriously, as though deeply considering his words. “Promise I’ll keep you posted.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” you were quick to protest. “I can grab one myself.”

But Joel wouldn’t hear it. “Please, I insist. What are you in the mood for?”

Suddenly flustered, all of the drink options Sarah had mentioned earlier fled your brain under the dark, warm gaze of your dad’s closest friend. “A…beer?”

Both Joel and Tommy chuckled, and the former quipped, “Is that a question or an answer?”

That heat in your chest rose to your cheeks. “An answer.”

“All right, then. One beer comin’ up. Tommy, can you keep an eye on the grill for me?”

“Sure thing.” Giving Joel a mock salute as he wandered away, the younger brother nodded once at you and said, “Good to see you again. Don’t get into too much trouble, ‘kay?”

Joel was gone for longer than you expected given the proximity of the coolers Sarah had pointed out, but when he finally did return to your side, it wasn’t difficult to notice why. In addition to fetching you a drink, the longneck bottle frosty and dripping, he had also popped off the cap for you and shoved a thick, juicy wedge of lime into its open mouth.

“Here y’are.” He passed the bottle to you, swiping his damp palm against the fabric of his well-worn jeans. “I, uh. I took the liberty of adding a bit of lime. Hope you don’t mind.” There was a softness, a strange vulnerability to his smile at the confession, and you felt some tight, guarded thing in your chest ease at the warmth of it.

“Not at all, it’s perfect, actually. Thank you.” Gripping the tip of the wedge between your thumb and forefinger, you tugged it out of the bottle and squeezed it firmly. Fragrant juice sprayed in all directions, but most of it you successfully managed to direct back into the bottle, letting it mingle with the pale golden beer inside. “Pretty sure Corona without a lime is a sin.”

The older man cocked his head at you approvingly. “Couldn’t agree more. Now, was it you I saw adding those pies to the buffet earlier?”

“Oh, yeah,” you confirmed. “There’s a blueberry lemon, a strawberry rhubarb, and a cherry.”

You watched as his brows shot up to his hairline, carving deep wrinkles into his tanned skin. “Damn, darlin’. That’s a hell of a lot of work. You didn’t have to do all that.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he brought a broad-palmed hand up to rub self-consciously at the back of his neck. “When I told your dad I still needed a dessert, I figured he’d just…swing by the grocery store and pick up a couple boxes of cupcakes or something.”

The wave of embarrassment that flooded your body at his words was staggering, enough to have your palms suddenly sweating and your heart jumping to your throat. “O-Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had something else in mind.” God, you ought to have known that the pies would be too much. And three of them? If you had disrupted Joel’s plans –

It was as though the older man could sense the direction of your thoughts. Heavy brow furrowed, dark eyes shining with sincerity, he was quick to reassure you. “No, don’t apologize. I didn’t specify – I shouldn’t have just assumed. ‘Specially not with you in the house now – you don’t do anything halfway, do ya, darlin’?”

You let out an uneasy breath of a laugh and shook your head. You had to admit, he had you there. “I guess not. Though if I’m honest, it was kind of nice to have something constructive to do for once.”

The frankness of your words surprised you, and again you felt a bit flushed, a bit self-conscious. Perhaps that was too much honesty for a man you hardly knew, a man with whom you had never had anything even resembling a personal conversation. There was just something so…disarming about Joel, a sense of ease with him that you struggled to articulate. You never felt the need to perform when you were around him, and something told you that if you tried, he would see through it in a heartbeat.

It was almost unsettling how easy it was just to be yourself in his presence. How many other people in your life could claim that?

The thought had a bolt of anxiety crackling down your nerves, and suddenly you knew you needed to pull away, to put some distance between the two of you before you forgot how to pick your heart up off your sleeve and stuff it back behind your ribs where it belonged.

“Well. Don’t let me keep you from the rest of your guests,” you said, taking a half step backward, drawing yourself back out of his space. When had you drifted so close to him? “Thank you for the drink. And for having me. I’ll let you get back at it.”

If Joel was surprised by your sudden, if polite, dismissal, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply nodded, a soft, friendly smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“‘Course. I’m happy you could make it,” he said earnestly. “Burgers and hot dogs should be done any minute now. Help yourself to some food, all right? We’ve got plenty to go around.”

“For sure. Thank you, again.”

When his buddy Mac had told him that his oldest daughter would be moving back to Austin, Joel admittedly hadn’t thought much of it.

Beyond a vague sympathy for your situation, knowing that the return to your childhood home hadn’t been exactly voluntary, the prevailing emotion he had felt at the news had been one of happiness for your father. Mac had never said so explicitly, but after almost 10 years of friendship, Joel felt like he knew the older man well enough to know that he missed his daughters, that he wished they hadn’t moved so far away in their pursuit of independence. Joel could empathize; the time was fast approaching when Sarah would be considering college options, and just the thought of his only child flying the nest was enough for his eyes to start misting over, for his throat to close up. He had thought it would be good for your father to have you close by, and that was where his consideration had stopped.

But then, one sunny, summer Sunday morning, he had rung his neighbor’s doorbell, and rather than being greeted with a booming laugh and a slap on the shoulder, it had been you on the other side.

Fresh from your bed, hair wild around your shoulders, a delicate crease in the softness of your cheek, stamped there by your pillowcase and a sound sleep.

An oversized t-shirt draped across your shoulders, skimming your hips, kissing your bare thighs, the faintest hint of the hem of a pair of shorts peeking out from beneath it.

Feet bare, little toes painted a pale pink, eyes squinting into the sun as its rays came spilling through the open door.

Soft. Warm. Painfully domestic.

…and beautiful.

Had you always been this beautiful?

The thought had darted across his mind like a hummingbird, like a butterfly, like some delicate, ephemeral thing that came and went so quickly that he hardly had the opportunity to acknowledge it. And so he didn’t – acknowledge it, that was. How could he, when the thought had been directed at the daughter of his closest friend?

Now, however, weeks after you had settled back into your parents’ home and several transient encounters later, Joel was finding it harder and harder to suppress the way he…noticed you.

It wasn’t as though he went looking for you intentionally; he did not seek you out. But if you were there, if you occupied the same space, he couldn’t seem to ignore that prickle of awareness, that unconscious pull that told his gaze where to find you. It was as though something inside him had tuned itself in to your frequency the moment you opened that door, and now, he was forever doomed to feel your presence like a physical thing.

It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. But he hadn’t figured out how to turn it off.

Somehow always busy in spite of your unemployment, he noticed the way you flitted from place to place, task to task – always thinking, always planning, always moving. He would catch glimpses of you through the window of your parents’ home, or he would stop by to chat with Mac, and he would see you puttering around the house with your hair piled on top of your head and headphones over your ears, vacuuming or dusting or cooking – always, always cooking. Occasionally, he would spot you sitting in a lounge chair on the back patio, a sleek, black laptop resting on your thighs as you frowned at the screen. It was the most stationary he ever saw you, and yet he could sense your whirring thoughts even from the next lawn over.

He wondered if you ever slowed down, if you ever took a moment to yourself just to breathe. He wondered if this had been typical for you back in Dallas, if this was how you had lived your life even when on your own, or if something about being back in your parents’ house had infused you with a sort of nervous energy you couldn’t seem to burn away.

Joel had hoped, when your father had confirmed that you would be coming to the party today, that it might be the respite you needed. Perhaps it would give you the opportunity to take the break you deserved - have a few drinks, enjoy some good food that you didn’t have to prepare for yourself for once, relax in the late summer sunshine. He would have liked to have given that to you.

Instead, you had shown up with a tight, anxious look in your eyes, and that look had eased only marginally in the hours since your arrival.

The sun was nearly set now, long shadows darkening the lawn held at bay only by the sporadic glow of tiki torches, and most of his guests had taken their leave for the night. Your parents, however, were still deep in a beer-soaked conversation with Doug and his wife, the four of them huddled around a picnic table prattling on about timeshares in Florida and trips to the Caribbean. Topics too rich for Joel’s blood, but precisely the sorts of grandiose things Mac and Angela loved to talk about when they had had one too many in an evening.

While your parents busied themselves with their friends, however, you had taken up at the rear of the yard, folding yourself into one of the many camping chairs that surrounded the small firepit Joel had lit a couple hours ago. There had been others with you earlier; he had spotted you chatting with a number of different people throughout the night, including Sarah and her friend Ellie on a few occasions. Now, however, you sat alone, an empty Corona bottle dangling from your fingers, your legs tucked up beside you as you rested your chin in your palm. The light of the fire danced across your skin, casting you in a soft, golden light, and though the effect was charming, Joel could not help but notice how your eyes seemed to hold none of that warmth. Instead, they appeared far away, as though your melancholy had transported you somewhere else entirely.

Without another thought, Joel crossed the length of the yard and came to hover at the edge of the circle of firelight. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Mind if I join you?”

You startled at the sound, but your wide-eyed surprise softened into recognition the moment your gaze met his. Sitting up a bit straighter, you gestured toward one of the other chairs near the firepit. “Please,” you replied easily.

Joel chose the chair immediately to your right, letting out a heavy, groaning sigh as he sank into it. He looked forward to this event every year, as did Sarah, but he had to admit – being on his feet for that many hours took its toll.

“Great party,” you said, an earnest but tired smile quirking one corner of your mouth. “Food was delicious. You really know what you’re doing with that grill.”

The unexpected compliment had him matching your smile, but he shook his head. “It’s hard to go wrong with meat and fire.”

Silence fell between you for a moment, the ambient sounds of the crackling fire and the revelry from the remaining party-goers taking up the space of your conversation. In the distance, he could barely make out the low drone of the radio that had been playing all evening. It sounded like something by Guns N’ Roses, but even Slash’s sweeping guitar riffs weren’t quite enough to dispel the vague awkwardness that had taken up residence around the firepit. Joel realized then that he hadn’t put much, or really any, thought into what he might say to you when he sat down. He had been struck with the urge to keep you company, to break your silent fireside vigil, but now that he had done so, he found himself floundering.

Thankfully, before it could become too uncomfortable, your voice cut through the silence, a question tossed like a lifesaver in the dark. “How’s the pie?”

Joel glanced down at the paper plate in his hands, the half-eaten slice of homemade heaven he had forgotten he was still holding staring back at him. “Incredible. This is my third piece, y’know. Keep having to go back and try the other flavors.” He shifted in his seat, pulling a plastic fork from his back pocket and digging in once again. Around a mouthful of flaky, buttery crust and sticky-sweet filling, he continued, “Think I got the last of the cherry, and it’s a damn shame. If there was any left, I’d be hiding it away in the fridge and keeping the rest for myself.”

The little half-smile you had been wearing since his arrival blossomed then, your eyes narrowing with delight. “I’ll make you one of your own sometime, if you want,” you offered. Your eyebrows waggled at him teasingly. “That way you don’t have to share.”

The thought was immediately tempting. “Careful, darlin’. You’re gonna spoil me.”

At that, you merely shrugged. “It��s nice to be spoiled sometimes.”

Your words were innocent, perfectly within the context of the conversation, and yet, he was thankful for the dimness of the firelight, hopeful that you would not spot the redness in his skin as a wave of heat rose up the back of his neck. He was quick to shovel another bite of pie into his mouth, quick to tear his gaze away from yours to find something – anything – else to focus on.

To say you were off-limits would be the understatement of the century. There was absolutely no earthly reason why he should be going hot under the collar at the idea of being spoiled by you. Or being the one to spoil you.

You struck him as the type of girl who hadn’t been spoiled nearly enough in her life. Would you like that, he wondered? Would the girl who spent her every waking moment caring for others want to be doted on?

Fuck.

Joel fidgeted in his chair. He needed to change the subject. Immediately.

“So, uh. How you been doin’? All right?” It was the most thoughtless, unoriginal thing he could have said, but if you detected any of the strangeness he felt at the question, you did not show it. Instead, you frowned lightly.

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” He gestured vaguely at the other empty chairs circling the fire. “Can’t help but notice you been over here by yourself for a while. I know most everybody’s left by now, but… I don’t know. Just look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

Something like surprise sparked in your gaze at his observations, but it did not stay long. Instead, it was overcome by shame, and Joel watched in real time as the openness of your expression shuttered, as all of your walls started to rise back up around you.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I don’t mean to be rude – ” you began, but before you could continue, he was already shaking his head.

“No, don’t apologize. That’s not why I said something.” He wouldn’t have you feeling guilty for letting your guard down. Not here, not in his house, not if he could help it. “Honest, I just…wanted to make sure you were doin’ okay.”

You let his question hang in the air for a breath, seemingly weighing how honest you wanted to be in your response. Your eyes bounced back and forth between his, assessing, measuring. You must have seen something there that calmed your defenses, though, as you turned to face the fire once again and confessed, “It’s really nothing, I just… I just lost count of the number of times tonight I had to explain to somebody why I’m back in Austin.”

Joel’s brows rose, wrinkling his forehead. “Ah.”

“It started to get to me, I guess.” A small, self-deprecating smile twisted your lips, a weak attempt at injecting some levity into your own discomfort.

“Y’know, what you’re going through, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You got laid off,” he said with a shrug. “It happens. Too often these days.”

“Logically, I know you’re right. But I just feel like…” You trailed off with a shake of your head, your arms coming up to cross protectively over your abdomen. “Never mind.”

“Tell me.” The words came out quiet and tentative, wanting to pry further but unsure he should.

But your response was lighthearted, your eyes flicking back over to meet his. Your mouth, soft and glistening in the firelight, quirked into a wry smile. “You don’t want to listen to me whine all night.”

At that, Joel scoffed a laugh and shoveled another bite of cherry pie into his mouth. “I came and sat with you, remember? Now c’mon, darlin’. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

Another silence fell between you, though this one felt a bit easier, a bit friendlier than the ones prior. Your walls were coming back down again, softening you at the edges, and when you finally replied, your voice had taken on a wistful tone that made Joel’s heart ache behind his ribs.

“Have you ever sat back and looked at your life and…wondered how you got there?” you asked. “Like the life you’ve found yourself living isn’t the one you planned for at all?”

The question hit the older man like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, he was no longer sitting by a firepit in his back yard. Instead, he was 16 years old, watching his dad’s casket getting lowered into the ground while his mother cried into his shoulder and his baby brother clung to his arm with sweaty hands. He was 24, dragging that baby brother out of a frat party he was far too young to be attending, the teenager reeking of booze and sporting a fresh shiner that would surely be a deep, angry purple by the next morning. He was 28, head over heels for the pretty young bartender at his favorite local watering hole, spending his precious weekends tangled up in her bed, burning every dollar to his name to fill her tip jar, to fix her shitty car, to take her out to nice dinners just because she deserved it.

He was 29, staring down at a little pink plus sign, hands shaking and heart racing, knowing everything was about to change.

He was 30, a baby girl with her mother’s hair and her father’s nose cradled close to his chest as he begged and pleaded with the woman he thought was the love of his life to slow down, to stop packing for a second and just talk to him, to think about the baby, their daughter. To think about him.

Joel drew a deep breath, banishing the ghosts of his past for the time being, and instead simply nodded. “Yeah, I have.”

You looked at him with wide, soft eyes, a deep sense of recognition shining there. There was empathy in the little furrow between your brows, the slight pucker of your full lower lip. Voice low, almost a whisper, as though you were afraid of being overheard, you admitted, “I don’t think I like where I’ve ended up.”

The man felt his heart clench, and he released a deep sigh as he nodded in understanding. He knew precisely how you felt. “Well, I think the nice thing is that if we find ourselves someplace we don’t want to be, we can always…course correct. Make a different choice. Take a different path.”

“Ah, it’s hard to take a different path if the road is blocked, though,” you said, something uncomfortably close to cynicism creeping into your tone. Something about the bitterness of that sentiment grated coming from you; it felt so out of place, so wrong when paired with the kindness of your face and the warmth of your voice.

And yet…were you wrong? Had you not been pursuing every alternate path for months, only to find yourself on your parents’ doorstep, still jobless?

“That’s true enough, I suppose.”

His agreement must have been unexpected, because the moment his words left his lips, you were blinking rapidly and fidgeting in your chair as though coming back to yourself. Unfolding your legs, bringing your feet back down to the ground, you sat up a bit straighter in contrition.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to be a downer on your evening,” you said, painfully sincere. “This was a nice party – you outdid yourself, really.”

“Anybody ever told you you apologize too much?”

The question surprised a chuckle out of you, and you glanced down at your hands, still wrapped around that empty Corona bottle, suddenly shy. “Once or twice, yeah.”

“Well, add one more to the list,” Joel said with a faint smile. “Can I get you another drink, darlin’?”

“No, I’d better call it here,” you replied, shaking your head. “There’s too much that needs to get done tomorrow for there to be three hungover adults in the house.” You nodded in the direction of your parents, and Joel peeked over his shoulder to find your red-faced dad laughing uproariously with your mom clinging onto his arm, her eyes glassy and wide in the darkness.

You, on the other hand, appeared entirely sober, and it occurred to him then that the bottle you were clinging to might very well have been the one he had given you hours ago.

You were, what, maybe 30? Not even, probably. You had no children to look after, no job to get to early the next morning. And still, you had cut yourself off after a single beer at his party so the housework – in your parents’ home – wouldn’t get neglected tomorrow.

Swallowing the unexpected lump that had formed in his throat at this revelation, Joel nodded once. “Fair enough.”

You offered him a soft, resigned smile, and fuck, there was that awareness again, that prickle at the back of his neck, that heat in his chest as he took in the brightness of your eyes, the delicate tendrils of your hair that had escaped your ponytail, the soft, feminine smoothness of your skin all on display in your little sundress. You were so goddamn pretty.

What the hell was wrong with him?

In the distance, your dad laughed again, the sound resonant and unmistakable.

It was time for Joel to walk away. He needed to leave you alone.

Getting to his feet with a groan, Joel tossed his paper plate, now thoroughly cleaned of the remaining cherry pie, into the firepit.

“Keep your chin up, okay, darlin’?”

You looked for a moment as though you might respond aloud, but instead, you merely nodded.

“Things’ll turn around,” he continued, and in a moment of sheer madness, he reached down and chucked you under the chin, skimming the soft skin of your jaw with the side of his index finger. The touch was fleeting, but he couldn’t ignore the way your warmth against his hand had his heartrate accelerating. “You’ll see.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, the flesh puckering in the low light, and you nodded again wordlessly.

If he had looked down, he might have noticed your breath hitch in your chest at his touch, but as it was, he could not make himself walk away fast enough.

It was after midnight before Joel’s back yard stood empty once again. Grill cleaned and covered, coolers drained, tables folded, tiki torches and bonfire snuffed. Sarah had gone to bed well over an hour ago, and the dark green backpack and beat-up Converse abandoned by his front door told him that her friend had stayed the night. The only other remaining guest was Tommy, now stretched out across Joel’s old leather couch, dark eyes half-closed as he watched baseball highlights at low volume.

Catching sight of Joel hovering in the doorway, Tommy shot him a sleepy smile and a wave. “Great party, man,” he slurred. “Gets better every year.”

The elder Miller smirked. “How drunk are you?” he asked, coming to hover near the end of the couch.

The younger man shrugged, running his fingers through his thick, black curls. “Eh. Less than you’d think, but probably a bad idea for me to drive. You mind if I crash here tonight?”

Joel shook his head. “Wasn’t gonna let you leave anyway.” Tommy might not have been feeling terribly inebriated at the moment, but he had no business driving himself home after the number of beers Joel had watched him put away throughout the night. “Now sit up for a sec, I gotta talk to you about something.”

Tommy’s brows rose, the bleary look in his eyes clearing slightly at the serious edge in his brother’s voice. He drew himself up to sitting and dropped his feet to the floor. “Yeah? What’s goin’ on?”

Lowering himself onto the now-free end of the couch, Joel let out a deep sigh and leveled him a sober look. “I got an idea I need to run by you. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but just…hear me out.”

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