#for the cats that let me cross the road before walking

[grimsonandclover]

Pinball: The Woman Who Rode The 'Stache

It was a dark and stormy night— but, more importantly, it was also @artdcnaldson's birthday.

Twenty-five, what an age to be. It tore Leo apart, knowing he was going to have to let his favorite girlfriend go now. Cat knew this, of course. It was in the legally binding contract she signed when he propositioned her to start dating. "If you turn 25, I, Leonardo DiCaprio, am legally obligated to cease any and all contact." So, needless to say, Cat was prepared. Which is to say, she'd taken out a hefty chunk from his accounts and set herself up for life. He's so rich, though, he didn't even notice. She got away scot free.

When the day finally came, Cat felt a little sad to let him go.

"Aur revoir, mon chat." Leo said, a newly legal girl on his arm already as he ushered Cat out the door. "It was fun while it lasted."

It was. Mostly because he was totally blind to when she'd spend his money buying Sylvanian Family blind boxes and LPS. She was going to miss that the most.

Cat walked the streets of New York City with her many, many bags in tow. As she walked, people silently admired her beauty as they passed. She was so ethereal that several people thought she was actually an angel sent from God in human form, and by simply crossing the street, Cat single-handedly caused 15 psychotic breaks and 7 religious awakenings. She didn't notice, however, too busy wondering where she would live next.

One of the people to notice her was a man named Roger. Roger Pinball, to be exact. No relation, it's pure chance they shared a last name. Seriously, this is completely fine.

He was in the middle of pulling the plunger of a pinball machine (also no relation) when he noticed her. He was lucky the machine was out on the street so he could see her.

"Woah, mama." Roger sighed, his fingers accidentally slipping from the plunger and releasing it. Roger didn't even notice that he got a score so high it broke the machine and set it on fire. It blazed and burned, embers crackling beside him, and all Roger could see was the mama walking down the street. He brushed his mustache nervously as a person ran up beside him and tried to put out the fire. People were screaming, running as the flames grew. The only flames Roger cared about were the burning flames of love.

He ran down the road to catch up with the bombshell beauty, which was quite difficult with how tight his bellbottom jeans were at the thighs while also sporting a massive erection that stretched them even more. "Hey!" He nervously chuckled after he got close enough for Cat to hear. "I could tell by your lost and curious expression that you were looking for a new place to live after being broken up with by an A-List actor from an era decades from now? I've got queen sized mattress and an apartment and a hole in my heart you could fill." Cat looked at the tall, bell-bottomed man. Her eyes caught on his glorious mustache, and Roger could see the intrigued glimmer in her big, brown eyes. "Hmm..." she considered, taking a bite from something vague on the Culver's menu she ordered despite it not being in New York. "Alright, sure. On one condition."

Roger's eyes lit up and he almost whimpered like a puppy. "Anything." He really wanted this gorgeous woman to live with him in his tiny shitty apartment.

Cat paused for dramatic effect. "I'll move in with you if you let me ride your face so hard your mustache falls off."

Roger took a second to consi— just kidding he agreed before she even finished speaking.

Back at his tiny shitty apartment, Roger carried all of Cats numerous bags. Once he set them down, Cat took a look around. "Wow." She nodded, turning to him again. "This place is terrible."

"Yeah," Roger giggled cutely, already naked, wearing nothing but his mustache. She wondered how he undressed that fast, it was seriously impressive.

They got right to it. Roger lay down on the mattress on the floor, giddy and excited. He's always wanted a beautiful woman to sit on his face! And here was the most beautiful of them all, lowering herself right where she was meant to be.

She did exactly as promised and rode his stache like her name was Dodge Mason and his face was a horse at the rodeo.

Somewhere, probably Hollywood...

"Sorry mister DiCaprio, we're letting you go. We're firing you from Hollywood. You're just not good looking enough!"

Leo was distraught and confused. "Wha-What! But but but I'm Leonardo DiCaprio!"

"Yes yes, but what we're looking for is a stachless twink, and I'm sorry but what you've got going on right now is the opposite of that."

"I can shave!"

"But you can't undo the twink death."

The executive had Leo executed wherever washed up actors are executed at, and sighed as he spun his spinny chair to look out the large glass window of his office. "Somewhere out there... surely somewhere is a mustachless twink we can hire for this movie..."

Back at Roger's apartment, the two lovers stand from the bed, breathless. "Oh wow, that was great. I'm totally moving in." Cat announced, putting her clothes back on. Roger was about to as well but she stopped him. "No. You look better this wa—"

"Roger?"

Roger looked down at his love, puzzled by the change of tone. "Wha-what?"

Her eyes dart down from his. Above his lip, below his nose.

"Roger where's your mustache?"

He panics, runs to the bathroom and looks into the mirror. "NOOOOOOOOO!" He falls to his knees in tears, picking up his mustache from the old carpet. It takes Cat months to console him. They hold a funeral for it, flushing it down the toilet like a dear pet goldfish.

The tiny apartment feels like a bitter reminder too The Incident, so the two decide it's time for a change of scenery: Hollywood! Why Hollywood? Neither of them are really sure.

The Pinball's are walking down Hollywood Boulevard, as one or two do, when that same executive looks out his window.

"By God! Can it be!?"

He stands quickly from his desk while ignoring yet another call from Leo. Wasn't he supposed to be executed? The executive calls his underpaid PA. "PA! GET ME THAT TWINK!"

"Sir, what?"

"THAT GUY OVER THERE, HE'S PERFECT!"

"Who are you pointing at, I can't see over the phone..."

"UGH! MUST I DO EVERYTHING MYSELF!?"

The executive barrles out the window, landing perfectly untouched directly before the couple. He takes a moment to collect himself, momentarily started by the upclose beauty of Cat. "You!" He points to the bellbottomed man.

"Me?" Asks Roger dumbly.

"Yes! You! Do you want to be in Hollywood?"

Roger thinks for a moment. "Does it have pinball machines?"

"It can!"

That decides it for him. "Then yes I do."

"You are a dream, a vision. Exactly what I've been looking for for the role in my new movie. I've got this Italian guy directing it and everything."

The executive pauses, taking a closer look at his dream man. "Oh... but, wait."

Cat and Roger look to each other in confusion. In the time since the last incident, Roger grew a new mustache. A luxurious one.

"That needs to go. Only then can I give you the role of a lifetime where you freak it with two hot people. And your girlfriend can be on set and watch the whole thing live."

That motivates Cat. "Roger, please!"

"Okay, anything for my princess."

There was one issue though: Getting rid of the mustache again.

Good thing they were experienced. Cat knew exactly what to do.

The two ran off into the sunset to go freak it on the Hollywood sign. When Challengers came out, the two spent Roger's earnings on buying their own bowling alley and pinball company, and they lived happily ever after.

[kleefkruid]

Guys, I had one of the weirdest 15 minutes of my life yesterday, as if some higher power put me in a jar and shook me around for a very short time and then let me out again.

But before I can tell the story I need to quickly make sure everyone has the context: Kotelet, the stray I took in had 2 bigger kittens and was super pregnant. These are the cutlets 1.0 and 2.0, you’ve mostly seen the second gen as they were born with me. But the two initial kittens went to Danny. They were very wild and we tried to socialize them, but in the process unfortunately one of them got out and was lost forever. This was way back in the beginning of August. The other kitten became Dietzel and recently Danny adopted one of the 2.0 gen to keep him company since we sadly never found the other kitten again… Okay keeping that in mind I can tell my story.

Yesterday around 2 I left my house to go to Danny. While waiting for my tram I was texting someone who is coming to adopt the last kitten. This combined with the nose cold I’ve been having made me a bit inattentive, and I got on the wrong tram. Not too big of a problem, bc this tram also travels close by Danny, I just had to walk one kilometer. A 15 minute walk. What could happen in that time right, I’ve done this route so often.

I get of the tram and I cross a bigger intersection. Open sky above me, as is typical for an intersection. Light goes green, I’m on the crosswalk. Suddenly, and with a loud slap, a pigeon drops dead on the ground in front of me.

I look at the pigeon. I look at the clear sky. I look back at the pigeon. I look back up. I notice the cables of the tram that go over the crosswalk, and realize it must have flown into the cables, and was killed by electrocution. At least it died instantly. Not a bad way to go for a pigeon. One moment it was going “weeeh I’m a bird”, next thing the lights went out.

The crosswalk light had turned red. Normally this would be immediately be followed by irritated honking, but as I make eye contact with the driver perpendicular to me, he also points at the cables and we exchange some “crazy right??” looks while I hurry to the side of the road.

“What’s it called again when people tell fortune by looking at birds?” I think, (it’s Ornithomancy) “the ancients Greeks did it, I remember it from the Odyssey… sure hope it’s not a bad omen!” I imagine a Greek augur predicting a war or whatever when a bird drops straight from the sky and someone going “is that bad?” I chuckle to myself, just a tiny bit nervous, and I continue my walk. Not long to go now.

“Pigeon dropped dead in front of me” I triple text Danny “Crazy. Electrocuted by the tram infrastructure. Super dead in an instance.”

A neighborhood cat cheerfully walks by me. I automatically lean down to pet it, can’t cross a friendly cat without saying hi! It’s a teenage tuxedo.

WAIT.

The cat looks at me. It has a little white moustache. It starts sniffing my boots like crazy.

Could it be…

Squatting on the sidewalk, I go in my pictures folder and frantically search for pictures of the cutlets 1.0 The cat leans against me. I find a picture where the kitten has a distinctive black mark on the back of its otherwise white socks. I stare down.

On the back of its legs it has a distinctive black mark.

“You got to be kidding me” I say. “Sniff sniff” says the cat. He headbutts me again.

I am 350 meters from Danny’s door. Obviously I don’t have anything with me. A car drives close by. I gotta do something, so I pick him up. And he lets me. And I just start walking.

After a 100 meters, he wants to go down again, so holding him in a sitting position, I grasp his hind legs with one hand, like they hold wild birds when ringing them, and my other arm goes across him to squeeze him against my chest and I hold his front paws. He meows a little and bites me so very lightly. He just kinda presses his teeth against my skin to communicate he’s not impressed by my action, but that’s all. He’s still pretty tiny after all.

I ring the doorbell, and Danny buzzes me in. “Bring a carrier!” I yell trough the speaker. “What?? Why??” “Just come down!”

He opens te door and looks confused. “Is that Kotelet??” is his first question, as they look alike. “No, try again” I say. Now Danny’s eyes go wide. “No. It’s not possible…”

It’s been more than 3 months. Danny just starts crying out of shock. I start laughing. Both losing it in different ways about the absurdity of the situation.

We’re in Danny’s living room. The little guy is eating all the wet food he can and promptly passes out. We just stare at him. The other cats are peeking in from the bedroom. I look at its white paws, all grey from the street. He purrs. We sit in silence, kind of forgetting to blink.

“Did you see my text about the pigeon that dropped dead in front of me.”

[swaqcenix]

༻ Stardust of your soul | N. Romanoff ༺

Natasha Romanoff x gn!reader

Summary: Being new to SHIELD and it's agents you'd always kept yourself to yourself & hovered in the background. Yet a new chapter opens up when being invited to the compound for 'team bonding,' and it turns out another star shined just as you did without even knowing. Simply the trust to fall asleep on another's lap really does open up the deepest of souls.

Warnings: None! Just pure fluff & sentiment of how Natasha falls asleep on your lap..

Pairings: Natasha romanoff x gn!reader, sort of black cat x golden retriever (ish?)

Word Count: 3.8K

DC: cafekitsune

AN: I don't know where I got this idea from, but I wanted to get back to writing again, so I figured some soft reading of Natasha falling asleep on the reader's lap by accident would cut it! <3 Might make a P2!

(also if ppl can teach me how to get a sapphic relationship-)

Walking through the halls of the building always seemed daunting when you worked for SHIELD. It wasn't like you feared anyone there, just everyone was so equipped and skilled- they'd been there for a good chunk of time. Many beginning their journey's with SHIELD years before yourself, forming bonds and friendships.

You were merely a baby taking their first steps within the walls of SHIELD headquarters, simply learning the ropes & where to start. Still, you were eager to always take on a challenge and being accepted as a SHIELD agent wasn't something you'd expect to happen, yet changing that decision to take on the role wasn't even a consideration for you.

A simple few weeks at the headquarters was all it took for you to slowly begin to feel more comfortable with the said environment. You'd spoken to Maria Hill the Deputy Director of SHIELD and while she could be intimidating, she and yourself shared views similar making it easy to get on. Fury was a little more on the complex side but some of the other agents you'd definitely enjoyed bonding with.

You'd been called in to a meeting for god knows what, but that was the generalised idea these days. Most agents yourself included never seemed to be informed prior of your missions only simply assigned upon the day. It did albeit stress you out given your organised schedule and how you felt with being thrown into the deepest ends of the pool was stressful.

However, when you dedicated your time and complete energy and effort within SHIELD's walls and work you had to be prepared for anything, without fail. You'd found yourself being so lost in thought with how you'd ended up in this role and position that you'd realised you'd come to a halt.

Seeing the door to Fury's office was a surprise to your eyes, having not realised you'd walked all that way. Slowly bracing yourself, your hand reached for the door handle before it was pulled open and Nick Fury himself stood there in the flesh.

"Come on in," His voice that always sent chills down your spine seemed warmer than usual today.

It did strike you as odd but you hardly had the time to think more of it. Instead you simply merely nodded entering the room at a gentle pace, before your shoes caused a loud squeak of a sudden stop.

Your eyes glanced around the room to see people you hardly ever thought you'd be in the same room with. The Avengers, the actual known hero's themselves sat around a table as their eyes slowly drifted up to study you.

Tony, Steve, Clint, Thor, Natasha, Bruce, Wanda, Rhodey & Sam. All of them were waiting for your arrival.

Natasha let out a soft smile at you nodding an approving look, which didn't surprise you at all. You'd become accustomed to the redhead while at SHIELD given her status and her ability to train new recruits which yourself was in fact one of them.

You'd never quite been able to read her fully, only knowing she had a closed off position about her, including the past everyone was forbidden to know of. All the recruits and fellow agents knew that it was a road nobody dared cross, including interacting with the redhead outside of working hours.

Standing there waiting for Fury or anyone to say something felt like an agonising amount of time & it was making the clock feeling like minutes were passing by. In reality, it was most likely to be mere seconds before Fury coughed and began to fill the silent room with his voice.

"So Y/N.. There's been some form of talk amongst myself and the Avengers," he began and you felt your body froze.

Without the intention of doing so, you glanced over at Natasha with concern and worry glazed over your eyes. Nobody else would recognise the small but clear look she gave to you, it was something you'd come to somewhat understand. She gave you a curt but firm nod and her eyes softened only for a moment but that moment was enough. It was okay.

You felt your shoulders and body language relax a tad as you nodded towards Director Fury to continue his conversation.

"We feel that.. we need a new member to work with the Avengers. Think of it as a new position a higher role. One that we thought you'd fit most well into. More like a team bonding so you'd say."

You gawked at the older man before shaking your head back to reality as it sunk into your brain and your bones. He thought you were the best for the role? You as in just someone from a town that had nothing now working along side the Avengers, more specifically her.

"M-Me? What, there has to be some sort of mistake. Director I don't know if I-" You began stuttering over your words.

While you did admire your strengths and abilities, it was a big step to be working with the earth's mightiest hero's. You certainly didn't want to make a fool out of yourself, however Fury decided to interrupt you.

"All due respect Y/L/N, it wasn't really a request. We need you on the team. The mission that's required is going to need all the assets and best that we've got. It's important," he stated firmly looking around the room at the Avengers before moving his gaze back to you.

"Director I-"

"They'll be trained and ready. I'll make sure of it," you heard her voice echo through the room with determination.

Your eyes drifted around the room landing onto her, staring at Natasha in pure shock and partial annoyance. You knew your own weaknesses and strengths and didn't need anyone speaking for you.

However, she simply stared back at you with a firm all serious look showing she wasn't backing down. Why was she so fixated on having you on the team? Her eyes changed ever so slightly and only for a moment looking at you with something you couldn't quite place. However, in a small blink just a tiny moment the look disappeared and her normal stoic expression was back.

"Thank you Agent Romanoff. Anything anyone else has to add?" He asked looking around the room with sheer authority.

Nobody seemed to speak, Tony flamboyantly flapping his hands up to speak for them. Clearly they weren't against having you on the team, you must be some important asset they required. With nobody speaking, you were all dismissed and the Avengers all fluttered out of the room.

All except one. Natasha stood leaning against the wall, half slouching her gaze fixated onto you. Head tilted in an almost questioning way towards you. Mirroring the action, you stared at the redhead inquisitive facial expressions painted on both of your faces.

Natasha cracked first, shifting off the wall walking towards you with her hands in her pockets, her signifying black leather jacket around her shoulders.

"You know, you should have more belief in yourself Y/N. We both know your abilities, I've witnessed them myself," she added her eyebrow arching.

"I.. You think so?" You managed to get out slowly.

Without a warning she leaned forward, whispering in your ear causing your body to stiffen. With her being this close you could smell her perfume, invading your senses like a warm blanket alluring you and drawing you in. The proximity of her was sending heat to your face and you knew her voice was sending shivers down your body.

"I know so sweetheart, I know so," she hushed out and if the floor was made of lava you'd melt right through it and into the ground beneath you.

Natasha was like a temptress, a woman who knew how to lull people in just with a few simple words. You knew this but still felt yourself floating towards the singing of the siren.

She stepped back smirking at you sending you a wink causing your heart to hammer against your chest. It was like she was looking into the depths of your soul and you were trying not to give her the key to opening your soul.

Just before she opened the door to exit the room she flung her body around to face you at an angle. The tension in the room was intense, dancing around you in a heavy feeling as she spoke.

"Training starts at 7. Don't be late sweetheart. I don't do late."

With that she left the room without allowing yourself to respond and you felt an internal groan bubbling inside of you. She was seeing into your soul now you needed to try and allow Natasha to let you see her own.

Tossing and turning at night in your bed whilst the minutes passed by seemed to be what was happening for you. The clock was ticking yet you were significantly restless especially knowing training started at 7am with Natasha wouldn't settle your mind to rest.

Her words played over and over again in your head, on a constant never ending loop. 'I know so sweetheart.' You couldn't remember the last time you had that much confidence running within your veins, let alone someone else. Yet, her voice ran through your mind, your soul almost touched by her belief.

Turns out you must have been laying there for that long tossing and turning throughout the night you'd managed to not succumb to a single ounce of sleep. That perhaps would come back to be biting you on the ass at some point today. Especially if you have training with Natasha.

As your head spun to view the clock next to the nightstand, elicting a loud groan from your lips. It read the time of 6:15AM. That's always your luck, never helping with the concept of you being the polar opposite of a morning person. If anyone was grouchy in the morning it would always be yourself.

Flinging the covers off yourself, grudgingly, you found your legs dragging themselves to the bathroom to have a shower, the need to freshen and wake up becoming excruciatingly stronger by the minute.

The water cascaded down your body, a soft sigh leaving your lips. It warmed you up within the speed of light, relaxing your current running thoughts, muscles relaxing slightly. Taking a shower has always reassured your senses with its water-hug, warm and cozy.

As you dressed for the training, you slipped out of the room deciding to take a small detour around the compound. The passing of Agents in the corridor, seemingly more professional and adjusted to the surroundings of the compound than yourself.

It almost made you shrink into yourself, wanting to knock your confidence. However, Natasha's words from the previous day replayed in your head on repeat, warning your insides for reasons unexplained.

Almost as if by sheer luck you'd past the main lounge of the compound where a few of the known Avengers seemed to be sitting around. That included, Tony, Steve, Wanda and Clint. As if your presence was like a dark shadow lingering into the room, all of their heads seemed to twist into your direction.

One thing you despised being more than anything is being the centre of all attention, eyes gazing on you like you'd become to be on a stage you weren't supposed to take. It bought bile rising from the depths of your stomach up at the mere concept of it.

Yet, their gazes lingered in a none judgmental way, almost like the comfort of understanding, an overwhelming sense but peaceful. Steve was the first to speak up, nodding at you firmly but not with an intensity of malice.

"If you're after the training room, it's just down the hall. Natasha's waiting for you there. Good luck, just believe in yourself."

With a curt, but gentle nod you headed to the training room giving your best definition of a half smile. Though, it probably looked more like a grimace, unintentionally of course.

As you entered the training room, Natasha was working on her punching exercises. Each one better than the last. The glimmer of sweat trickling down her cheeks and side of her hair, shone like water in the moonlight. For a moment you almost stopped to admire her.

However, you'd clearly being staring too long considering, when you came out of your dazed trance, Natasha stood smirking at you. Her head was now tilted to the side, her crimson hair braided and cascading down her shoulders. Immediately you flushed, a sudden realisation you'd been watching her working out, like some puppy in awe of the smallest of things.

"See something that you like?" Her voice carried huskily, but with a hint of a smirk lingering causing your knees to weaken.

Why she was having this effect on you, you'd never know. Part of yourself wished the feeling would vanish, disappearing like particles of atoms into the air. Dust vanishing away, yet another piece of you thrilled for the unknown drawn, the tranquility you felt. It felt exhilarating, the need for an escape.

As your eyes drifted around the room you realised just how much equipment had been invested within the 4 walls. Several different types of equipment were laid out in different selections, ranging from treadmills to yoga mats, leg presser's, even a shooting target range.

"N-No sorry I-" You stuttered still trying to distract your gaze to anything but at the redhead whose smirk had now grown wider.

The pair of you trained for a while, Natasha teaching you combat, which albeit you weren't as talented as herself. Several times she's managed to knock you down and pin you to the ground. Which, just happened to always end up with you looking up at her both your bodies in an extraordinary comprising position.

Natasha, on the other hand never judged you. Her skills and assets were on a scale of unbelievable, making you feel as tiny as an ant. Yet, the redhead never made you feel smaller than herself. She always seemed to root for the best in you, causing you to admire her as the minutes passed on.

"You've got more talent than you know," her voice whispered during the last training session.

Her voice sent a small shiver through your body shooting down your spine, as though a melody yet to be sang was ready to be heard. A soft nod a content true smile painted your lips setting a thousand suns alight.

"Thank you, Romanoff," your voice responded a little stronger than prior.

"Hey to you, it's Natasha."

A soft giggle passed your lips and she smiled, a rare one you could have sworn in the short time including familiarities of SHIELD, had never seen cross her lips before.

"it's like before when you were training me isn't it?" You asked your mouth speaking before your brain.

She simply nodded with a hum, putting herself once again in a position of combat causing you to follow suit. Her hair was now slick with sweat, but yours was drenched. Almost as if you'd been training the whole day, yet in reality it was a simple couple of hours.

"Exactly like before. Just harder and with stronger combat skills and assets."

Before you knew it, the pair of you were back at it. Training like you'd done the several times previously. Your skills had improved remarkably. How you didn't know, perhaps it was her words and further encouragement. Her sense of purpose that brought tranquility to you an ideology of lack of judgment.

One minute you were slightly stumbling and within the blink of an eye, you had her pinned. It was like the world had stopped, her own eyes had widened in shock, your body freezing as though ice had embedded itself within your veins, shocking every atom inside you.

The Natasha Romanoff, had been pinned down onto the floor with you hovering over her. A huge sense of achievement fell over you, a joyful relief that you had finally believed something within your bones for so long.

She felt it too, winking with no insult or any sort of ruined pride. Natasha merely looked and presented herself in a way that ran through to the pit of your stomach.

You scrambled off her slightly embarrassed as reality began to hit you, considering the positions you were currently in. Helping her up, Natasha stood there hands on her hips for a moment analysing you, but for once no feeling of unease overcame you.

"Told you could do it sweetheart," she said wiping her head with a towel.

If words could make your body melt into a puddle, like snow in the winter. You would have right there. Like an icicle on a tree branch waiting for its calling of life that's how you felt. Glistening but melting into bliss.

Natasha headed towards the door, her black tank top sticking to her in a way that was sheer attractive to practically everyone undeniably. Her abs could practically be seen through the material, causing your eyes to look up towards the ceiling scolding every part of your brain.

"Oh and, same time tomorrow," Natasha stated her voice carrying a tinge of something unplaced that caused you to look up at her. Yet she's disappeared through the door before anything more could be thought of it.

That's how it continued. The form of relationship building between yourselves, training continuing everyday. Your combat becoming stronger, fighting harder each time, not only did your skills improve but also your mindset. It began to light up your moments like a firefly, shining thousands of miles into you lighting up a hope in the sky.

There were times Natasha beat you, earning a playful comment from her lips.

"Gotta be faster than that honey," she'd husk out in that voice of hers.

Yet, you never stopped enjoying your training moments, the building of an established unknown. The way you and Natasha formed was rare, unseen and unbecoming, but there was no regret. No simple doubt that you enjoyed the form of relationship the pair of you had formed.

One morning your alarm clock went off once more, 6:15AM on the dot. Making no time to convince yourself to fall back into a peaceful depth of slumber you headed to the shower. Getting ready fast in the morning had become the new norm for you.

You'd managed to get changed at the speed of light hopping around to get into your gym wear. Just as you were about to leave F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke up warning you.

"Excuse me Y/N, I was informed to let you know most of the Avengers got called out for an emergency mission. You were called to go on it but, Miss Romanoff debated otherwise."

Your heart sank, upset slightly about the lack of training. You'd become quite accustomed to the way of life in the morning, training with Natasha before amusing yourself for the remainder of the day. However, it sank further when she mentioned Natasha stated she didn't want you there.

Were you not qualified enough? Would you ever be? Your mind spiralled around with overwhelming and overthinking thoughts, like a tornado sweeping through miles of countryside. No, you couldn't do this to yourself again.

The entire day became yourself training practically with little to no breaks, until the very darkness of night emerged the atmosphere, clicking your brain into knowledge.

Taking your last shower felt less like a privilege and more like a burden. Something undeserving, especially when you're clearly not welcome on missions. However, you knew you needed it.

Eventually you'd changed into some warmer fuzzier lounge wear, settling on some grey jumpsuit. It allowed you to feel more relaxed. The feeling sent you into a deep slumber, curled into the couch in a content creation.

A form half leaning on your body caused you to almost jolt awake, but you heard a whisper next to you. For a mere few seconds your surroundings became an enemy, training become reality. Yet, as your eyes adjusted to the light around you an awareness grew within you.

The Avengers were sat down around you, watching some random Christmas film you presumed Sam chose considering the choice. Clint was sat a few feet away glancing at you contently.

"You'll wake her," he mumbled his voice lower than usual that caused an unprovoked raised eyebrow from yourself.

Following his gaze, your heart pounded harder, eyes widening in a sudden surprise. Natasha was lying on your shoulder, her body almost slipping towards your lap. She seemed more at ease than Natasha ever had before.

Like the weight of a thousand worlds, a thousand men had been lifted by one single sleep. No, a single person. You. Her hair was now loose, drifting down her shoulders, making her look almost incredibly soft and it melted every aspect of you.

"She seems exhausted," you murmured without thinking.

"She took the most hits. I know what you were thinking. Natasha she.. She didn't want you on that mission, because she didn't want you hurt. Not because she doubts your capabilities. All I could see was her guilt and want to be back training with you."

Clint's confession and confirmation sent a warmth unexplainable feeling through you. Looking deeper at Natasha, you noticed the cuts and bruises. The winces when the redhead shifted in her sleep. A shatter through your heart came hard, one you had no idea was possible as you glanced softly at the older woman.

She cared. Natasha stirred slightly her eyes fluttering glancing up at you. Her eyes met yours and in that moment it unlocked everything and anything possible. It's said eyes are window's to one's soul. The key to unlocking everything about a person there was to be done.

Glancing at her emerald eyes all you saw was stardust, the pain of stars shimmering thousands of light years away trying to find their way back. She smiled weakly, trying to pull away. However, instead you adjusted Natasha to rest her head on your lap.

A frozen form hit your lap, tense in shock before fully relaxing into your hold. A soft hum left her lips and without thinking you began to caress her hair, bringing her to a warmth blanket of safety.

"She's never like that, looks like you're something," Clint mumbled smirking causing you to roll your eyes.

Natasha wasn't just an assassin, nor an Avenger. Sure you had no doubt words would be interestingly mentioned later when she awoke. Yet for now, as you had previously gazed into her eyes, all you saw was the stars of light wanting a home. Stroking her hair was like touching the star's of the soul itself, no matter the distance they'd always have somewhere or someone to go to.

[jamiethebeeart]

“But it’s not gay if he’s dead.” Danny’s head whipped around to stare down the street at two guys walking on the other side. He thought he was free of hearing that phrase ever again. Heart thudding in his ears, he crossed the street to tail these two guys. There was no way? Right? I mean Danny was something like 1,000 miles away from his hometown. There was no way two random guys in the big city of Gotham would’ve ever heard of –

“I don’t know man, it’s never been confirmed whether or not the “big guy” was actually… ya know?”

Danny seethed in frustration at the vague conversation. He stepped around a group of kids as he barely made the end of the crosswalk countdown.

“Nah, Red makes too many uncomfortable jokes about death to not have died.”

Danny sped up, weaving in between people to catch up before he lost the conversation in the din.

“It’s Gotham, we all make jokes about death.”

“Ya, but not like him. He seems to revel in them, like he actually kicked the bucket, permanent-like, not like those people who – I don’t know – cardiac arrest and are technically dead for a couple minutes until the EMTs get to them or whatever.”

A car puttered down the road – releasing a huge plume of exhaust in between Danny and the guys. Danny sighed, fully intending to return to his original path with the reassurance that they weren’t talking about Phantom. Then the next damned sentence came out of one of their mouths.

“Ok sure let’s say you’re right. Is it necrophilia if his body started decaying before coming back?”

‘Fuck it’ Danny thought as he turned back around. He had to see how this conversation ended – definitely not because the answer to that question kept him up night. Absolutely not. Call him a cat because he was just curious and not all at invested in the answer.

“Oh! Dude, shut the fuck up! Why would you – that’s disgusting! Are you kidding me!”

“Answer the question Mr. It’s Not Gay if He’s Dead – necrophiliac: yes or no?”

“No? Have you seen Red’s body? No way a dead guy could have muscles like that – I mean you gotta have working bodily functions right? To build muscles or whatever the fuck? Like have you seen his abs? Or, shit, just his arms - I mean swoon worthy, what I wouldn’t give to have him hold -”

“…….”

“- me…. What are ya looking at me like that for?”

“When, exactly, have you seen his abs.”

“Aaaah - that’s not the point –“

“Sure as hell hope that’s the point.” Red Hood stepped out of an alleyway they were walking past. Even with a helmet on, Danny swore the guy stared straight at him. He was so fucked getting caught listening in to this conversation – could he play it cool? Danny was cool right? Yeah, he could totally pull this off, act totally normal and keep walking. Hunching his shoulders some and turning his body away from the three men, he walked past. Or tried to. Red Hood caught the back of his shirt, stopping him from getting away. Unless Danny was willing to expose his powers to get out this situation, the best he could do was play dumb and hope Hood let him go without too much hassle.

“Boss!”

“Hey Boss – you didn’t happen to only hear the second half of that, did you?”

Red Hood growled, “the part about necrophilia or the part about my abs?”

Danny twisted his head back to see Goon #1 turn pale. “Uuuh – uh- um,” met Red Hood’s question.

A choreographed roll of the eyes, “Better question, why are you talking shit out on the streets and not paying attention to your little stalker,” Hood gestured to Danny.

“I’m not a stalker!” Danny huffed. His eyes widened. All three guys looked over at him. ‘SHIT’ Danny thought. He did not want to catch anyone’s attention more than he had, much less all three.

Goon No. 2 looked at him, as he resumed his squirming in Red Hood’s grasp, “So who are you?”

Danny glanced up to see Red Hood staring down at him. Today just wasn’t his day. “Hood,” Danny blurted out.

Silence. The tips of Danny’s ears turned bright red

“Uhm, I mean, a tourist?” “In Crime Alley, kid?”

"I'm not a kid," Danny muttered.

Hood shook Danny’s shirt hard enough to also shake Danny himself. “Try again. I’ve seen you around often enough to know that’s a lie.”

“It’s true!” Danny lied. “I was visiting the city, my wallet got pickpocketed with most of my money, so now I’m… kind of…. Stuck here? Indefinitely?”

Goon No. 1 laughed at him, “do ya think we’re dumb? You have a cellie right? No way you’re ‘stuck here’.”

“Exactly, so who do you work for? Penguin?” A jab towards Danny’s face. “Riddler?” Another jab and a step towards Danny. “Is it Two Face?” Another, even closer jab. Danny went cross-eyed looking at the finger in front of his nose.

“Back off,” Hood said. Danny breathed a sigh of relief at being given some space. And then the next words came out of Red Hood’s mouth, “Get lost you two – and stop gossiping on the street. And you-“ Hood turned back to Danny, “ – you’re coming with me.” Danny gulped. Today was going down as another shit day in the books for sure.

[megalony]

My Little Girl

This is an Evan Buckley imagine I very suddenly had an idea for. I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff

@jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Summary: Evan is happy to bump into his wife and daughter while out on a call. But things go sideways when they get involved in a sniper shooting and his daughter gets hurt.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Em! What are you doing?" (Y/n) took a sharp breath when her eldest pulled on her arm, almost yanking her arm out of its socket. A jolt ran through her shoulder but she paid it no mind, focusing her attention on Ember instead.

The fifteen year old tightened her arm that was looped through the crook of (Y/n)'s elbow and started speeding up, subsequently dragging her mum along with her.

"That's dad's truck, right?"

Hope fuelled Ember's voice and a smile lit up her face when she pointed towards the fire truck across the road that acted like a beacon drawing her in. For the last four and a bit years since her dad became a fire fighter, Ember lit up whenever she saw a truck or heard that familiar siren. She was always looking out for the trucks, wondering if it was her dad's team passing by. Just like her younger siblings did.

And the few times she saw the right truck it was like she was floating. Ember had spotted her dad driving the truck once on her way to school and she had grinned like the Cheshire Cat when he flicked the siren on as they passed her by.

(Y/n) squinted and leaned forward, looking ahead at the truck but her lips curved into a smile when she noticed the writing on the side.

118.

Oh yes, that was her husband's truck.

"You wanna go see if he's there?" (Y/n) already knew the answer and when her daughter visibly shivered and nodded, they changed their direction.

The pair of them had been out for a doctor's appointment this morning, something Ember wasn't so good with. She couldn't handle needles and this morning the nurse had the joys of trying to take a blood sample from Ember. After three goes of trying to find a suitable vein, Ember fainted and she still looked a bit worse for wear. But seeing her dad's team might be the thing to perk her up before (Y/n) walked her back to school.

The pair of them turned to the left and crossed the road, aiming for the truck parked up on the side of the street. There was an ambulance parked just behind the truck and another truck from a different station a few feet ahead.

If they were busy or right in the middle of a call then the girls would carry on their way and head back. But they knew it was worth searching just to see if they could catch a glimpse of Evan at work.

They spotted him instantly. He was the odd one out in the group of men stood on the pavement beside the truck like they were having a motherly meeting.

Evan had his back to them but from the way his biceps were tensed, he looked to have his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing a tight pair of black jeans and a white button up shirt with faint golden lines sewn into the material. The sleeves were short and looked like they were digging into his biceps that were a little too big to fit properly into the sleeve holes.

"Dad."

Ember glanced at her mum for approval before she slid her arm from (Y/n)'s elbow as Evan spun on his heels.

A bright smile lit up Evan's face and his arms dropped from his chest and opened wide when he saw his girl barrelling towards him. His teeth sank down into his lower lip and his arms bound tight around Ember when she tucked herself into his chest. He felt her arms squeezing around his chest and her nose pressed against his sternum as she burrowed into him.

He kissed the top of her head before pressing his cheek into her hair and he began to sway them from side to side.

"Hey sweetheart." He murmured softly into her hair while his eyes lifted and locked onto his wife.

He watched (Y/n) stand beside Eddie, her arms folded over her chest and a soft grin on her lips.

The team knew all of Evan's family, they had to considering Eddie was his best friend and Chimney was practically an in-law now he was dating Maddie. Each of them knew Ember, the fifteen year old frequented the station often enough. They knew she was the apple of Evan's eye, and everyone knew he would get defensive if people dared to snigger or comment on the fact that he had only been seventeen when he had her.

He always said she was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Ember tilted her head back so she could look up at Evan, her grin never wavering whilst her chin pressed down into his chest just below his collar bone.

"How'd it go this morning?" He took the chance to peck her forehead while his hand glided up and down her back.

Ember darted her eyes down, focusing on one of the buttons on her dad's shirt before she loosened her left arm from around his waist. She reeled her arm back and nudged up her sleeve to let him see her elbow. There were three distinctive red marks on her skin that showed the nurse's failed attempts at drawing blood. And then there was one larger blood wheel where they finally got to take two samples.

She had an under-active thyroid which needed constant monitoring and an iron deficiency. So blood tests were needed every other month so they could try and get her on meds to keep everything under control and try to lower the side effects.

"I passed out, mum caught me though."

"That bad, huh? We'll have to get Chim to do your bloods next time." Evan pecked her temple once again before he unravelled his arms from his girl and looked towards his wife.

(Y/n) rose a brow and dragged her eyes up and down his frame. The first two buttons on his shirt were undone, but apart from that, he didn't look like he was no shift at work. He wasn't out of breath, he wasn't sweating through his clothes or red-faced or using any equipment. He looked like a passer-by rather than one of the team considering the rest of them were in uniform.

"Are you too good for your uniform?" She dropped her folded arms and reached out for Evan's chest when he stood in front of her. He tipped his chin down and looked over his attire, suddenly remembering he still wasn't dressed for work.

He had only just turned up at work after dropping the two younger kids off to school when Eddie said they had a call. There wasn't time for Evan to hop in the locker room and get changed into his uniform so he climbed in the truck and off they went.

"Hm, something like that. You okay?" The smirk on Evan's face had (Y/n) breaking out into a grin and she dragged her nails up and down his chest before peppering kisses up the side of his neck.

"You mean besides practically carrying our fifteen year old out the doctors, yeah I'm good. You can take her next time though."

It was no secret that Ember was a daddy's girl, she was always going to be calmer with him. Although she had done great at staying calm today, even when she fainted she had come round and got back up again perfectly well. But it would have been easier with Evan there. He could have caught her a bit more gracefully than (Y/n) had since she practically fell on top of Ember when she tried to stop her sliding off the chair onto the floor.

It was just a relief that she was fine and moving about now as if nothing had happened this morning.

"I will, baby, don't worry." He nudged his nose against hers, gently tilting (Y/n)'s head back enough to capture a quick but searing kiss from her lips.

A grin broke out on Ember's face and she dragged her hands up and down her arms, arching a brow at Chimney when he pulled a face at seeing her parent's display of affection.

"So, where are you two headed?" Both Chimney's hands fell to his hips and his fingers began to tap along with his foot beating out a rhythm against the pavement.

This call had been surprisingly quick and now all of them could head back to their station. No one would be opposed to (Y/n) and Ember coming back to the station with them for a while. Especially since Hen and Bobby would most likely be on shift by now. They hadn't been as early as Eddie and Evan this morning and Chimney had already been on shift for two hours.

"School." Ember muttered with pursed lips and a quiet sigh. The only good thing about her doctors appointments was the fact that they had to happen within school hours. The GP office was only open between school hours and closed on weekends, and they had to fit Ember's appointments around (Y/n) and Evan's work shifts.

She couldn't go by herself because she was only fifteen and she had a tendency to faint. Someone had to accompany her.

Eddie leaned one elbow against the truck and used the other to give (Y/n) a slight nudge when she and Evan finally parted.

"I bet you've got time for a coffee." He grinned, flashing his pearly whites when (Y/n) nodded and Ember's smile brightened. She didn't have to go back to school right this minute. They had time for a trip in the fire truck and a coffee at the station before (Y/n) got her back to school.

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and glanced over at her daughter. She was stood back on the pavement, swaying from one side to the next as she retold one of Evan's embarrassing stories to Chimney. Her grin broadened every time Evan shook his head or sighed. He was stood near the back of the truck with the Captain from the 227 beside him as they had been at this scene for backup.

She twisted to look back at Eddie with a soft grin. They had time, it would perk Ember up to be around the team for a while and it would let (Y/n) be with Evan for a bit too. And they needed to arrange plans with Eddie since Chris was dying to come over for a sleepover, and he wouldn't stop hassling Buck until they sorted it out.

"Yeah, I think-"

Whatever (Y/n) was about to say faded out into silence in comparison with the gunshots that rang out through the air.

Evan froze.

His muscles contracted, his head tilted back and his arms froze in mid-air when blood splattered up his shirt and across his face like someone had drove past him and hit a puddle. He couldn't help but flinch, feeling his upper lip curl and a disgruntled noise swallowed at the back of his throat.

For a second, when the blood hit, his eyes closed. But the moment they opened, it was as if his whole world had fallen apart.

His daughter fell.

Her body twitched and turned to the side as if she was searching for him and it cut violently at his heart strings. She didn't quite seem to recognise that the blood covering Evan was her own because something horrid and frightened dwelled in her eyes when she looked at him.

It made her look like a little girl again.

Like the little two year old that stopped Evan from completing his training for the Marines. The little heartstopper he couldn't get out of his head while they were trying to train him to lose all emotion. Or the eight year old who loved it when Evan worked in that bar in California because he would always take her to the beach on his days off.

Then she stumbled. Her feet slipped, her upper body tilted backwards and she went down to the floor as blood soaked into her school shirt, changing it from crystal white to rose red. It blossomed on her shirt like petals being scattered over her body. And the way it trickled out the exit wound in her back, creating a darkened puddle on the floor beneath her.

Static buzzed in Evan's ears as his tense, taut body suddenly jolted when the Captain launched himself at him. He grabbed the back of Evan's neck and his arm and tackled him to get him down to the floor as close to the truck as they could manage to be hidden from the line of fire. No one could hear, think or understand where the shots had come from and at least two more hit the engine of the truck and bounced off into the street.

Evan didn't realise he was making a noise until the ringing in his ears slowly faded and gave way to the petrified scream that took all the air from his lungs. When he dragged in another breath, he went right back to screaming until he was red in the face and the vein was popping up the side of his neck.

His nails clawed at the tarmac road until blood started to scrape along the pad of his fingers.

"Ember!" His daughter's name morphed into a scream but when he tried to scoot closer to her, The Captain laid over his back and pinned him down, still holding the back of his head to keep him looking down.

"Shots fired! Repeat, we're being shot at! Civilian down, back up needed now. Send help!" Chimney screamed into the radio clipped to his shoulder while he cowered down, using the truck as cover next to Evan and the other Captain.

(Y/n) couldn't see.

Spots flooded her vision and a terrible ringing like constant bells were going off in her ears, blocking out the rest of the noises around her.

She felt frozen to the spot, right until Eddie's hands clamped down on her arms and he was pulling her away. He was trying to take her away from her daughter. She needed to get to Ember. She had to get to her little girl. She was hurt, she was in agony, she needed protecting.

(Y/n)'s arms started to bash from side to side and horrid, burning screams left her lips that she could hardly hear. She couldn't hear Eddie's rough, calloused voice telling her to get down. Telling her he would get to Ember, but they needed cover first, they needed to hide. They had no idea where the sniper was or why he was shooting at them.

She didn't care. (Y/n) just wanted her daughter. her knees scraped against the floor and the back of her head collided with the truck when Eddie yanked her back into his chest. He rolled onto his back, sliding off the pavement and onto the rough tarmac road with (Y/n) against his chest. He bound his arms around her waist, preventing her from moving.

Eddie would never forgive himself if he didn't protect (Y/n) in time and let her get shot. They had all failed already, Ember had gotten hurt, Eddie couldn't let anyone else get shot. He couldn't let another one of Evan's family get shot down after his teenage daughter.

"Em! Ember-"

"We'll get her. We will, just stay down, please." Eddie could feel tears welling up in his eyes when (Y/n) started to sob.

He had known them for over four years. He knew Ember since she was ten, she had grown up with Chris, the two of them were like siblings and seeing her get hurt in turn hurt Eddie too. He would help her if he could, but he had to keep (Y/n) down here where she was covered and protected by the truck.

Eddie was used to batlefields, he knew how to navigate them and he knew this was the best option for her.

Evan wasn't sure how he heard it over the raised, screaming voices, the shots and the sirens wailing from the trucks, but he heard it. Evan heard his name. Or maybe he just saw the way Ember's lips moved to try and form his name but either way, he knew his little girl was calling out for him. And he had to get to her.

He thrust his elbow into the Captain, he screamed and roared until he managed to roll under the truck. He was getting his daughter back in his arms, he had to get to her and she was going to be taken to the hospital whether the shooter liked it or not.

Evan army crawled beneath the truck, scraping his chin against the floor to stop from bashing his head up against the metal.

"Ember! Sweetheart I- I'm here!" He poked his head out from under the engine and took a quick look round for the shooter but he couldn't see anything. His vision was blurred and hazy and his eyes were moving too rapidly to take anything in. All he could see was Ember.

Blood was forming a river beneath her chest and her white shirt was turning crimson from the rouge blood dribbling down it. She had been shot in the chest, but she was still conscious. Her head slowly lolled to the right to look at her dad and he saw the manic fear and the pain dwelling in her eyes as his name bubbled past her lips.

"D-dad-"

"I've got you baby."

He didn't know where to grab her. Where could he hold her without inflicting agony on her? Where would be the best place to grab her so he could drag her across the road to get her beneath the truck with him? He wasn't sure and he didn't have time to debate it, he had to be quick.

His fingers dug into her shirt just near the collar and his nails scratched through the thin material until he was scraping her skin beneath his short nails. His right hand pressed into the floor to steady himself when he started to pull. A violent scream tore from Evan's lips as he shuffled back and dragged his daughter with him.

"Come on!" His words mingled with Ember's tormented cry when he pulled her sharply and the pain ignited in her chest. Tears blurred down her face and her wet lips parted to let out another tepid, meek cry when the tarmac scraped against her back that felt like it was on fire.

The clouds in the sky looked like cotton candy swirling above her head and Ember could see stars shining above her in the middle of the day. The pain became too overwhelming to continue staring at the sky so she snapped her eyes closed as tightly possible. Emitting a feeble howl when her dad yanked her by the scruff of her shirt with an unknown force that had her sliding beneath the fire truck.

Once they were both safely hidden beneath the engine of the truck, Evan let his head slump down against his forearm and he tried to catch his breath back. He could feel his body shaking, his muscles tightening from straining to drag his daughter with only one hand. But he couldn't stay here. He couldn't stop, he had to keep moving. He had to get her to the hospital. Evan couldn't let his daughter bleed out on the road; he couldn't lose her.

"I got you, sweetheart."

Evan could feel his elbows and knees scraping against the floor causing bloodwheels and grazes to cut into his skin, but he didn't care. He latched both hands beneath his daughter's arms and shuffled backwards, beneath the truck to the other side where his wife and team were.

"We need assistance-"

"Get in the truck! We have to move her. Now!" Evan's hoarse, scraping voice cut over Chimney's through the radio and he pointed at the truck as venom and spit passed his lips. He wasn't waiting here like a sitting duck and letting his daughter die in the street.

Tears streaked down (Y/n)'s face and her hands scraped against the gravel to shuffle closer to her daughter.

Why her?

Why Ember? Had she been an intended target? Surely not, no shooter would know that (Y/n) and Ember would cross the street to talk to the firemen. They had to be innocent bystanders, but if they weren't the target, who was? Which one of the team was supposed to be hit? Was it Eddie, who had been closer to (Y/n)? Was Evan supposed to have been hit? Why were they being targeted?

Why had their daughter been shot?

She could feel Eddie's hands on her shoulders and his body hovering behind her, trying to shield her just in case the shooter was going to target her too. He would rather keep (Y/n) and Ember safe than faff trying to protect himself right now.

A round of trembling shook Ember's body back and forth against the pavement but she could barely feel it. She couldn't feel anything but the hole in her chest just beneath her right shoulder. It felt like her skin was splitting apart at the seams. She was a tappestry being unravelled. Cotton fibres pulling apart, ready to be littered across the floor like a crumpled mess.

"Baby, eyes on me, okay?"

Ember tried to keep her eyes focused on her dad when he leaned over her and his hands cupped her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks and he tilted her head back so she was looking at him but a guttural cry left her lips when Chimney leaned over her and tried to assess her chest. Even the slightest touch of his fingertips felt like he was burning her skin.

"Everyone in the truck."

(Y/n) didn't know if she held the willpower to get up or not but she did her best to clamber onto shaking legs. Her hands shook as they plastered to the side of the truck. She tried to keep herself hunkered down so she wasn't going to be a target. Her knees scraped against the metal steps and once she was inside the truck, (Y/n) flopped onto her knees and cowered down.

She watched Chimney hop up after her and keep as low as possible when another round of bullets pummeled into the side of the truck and sent them shaking back and forth.

A number of words were on the tip of Ember's tongue but she couldn't find anything to say when a bullet hit close and her body shuddered. She wasn't sure why it scared her when she had already been hit once, another bullet might send her unconscious and stop the pain or finish her off quickly.

She watched her dad hover over her, leaning closer as if to shield her from anymore bullets.

Ember wanted to smile, she wanted to feel relieved and bask in the safety she always felt when her dad went to pick her up. But all she could do was scream when he lifted her up.

It hurt so much. He hooked her right arm around the back of his neck and it caused her skin to tear and her blood to bubble and she felt all her blood soaking into her shirt as if she was showering in blood. The feeling of her chest pressing into Evan's shoulder made Ember cry out feebly and she went limp against his chest with her head flagging against his upper back.

He kept hold of her arm and his other hand gripped her thigh to keep her as still and steady as possible so he could move. He felt Eddie's hand on his lower back, his friend hovering close behind him as Evan spun and scrambled up the steps into the truck.

Spit dribbled past Ember's lips and onto Evan's shirt and tears dropped off the end of her nose and left a trail across the floor behind them. She wanted to clutch at him, to cling and hit and kick her legs to get her dad to somehow make the pain go away, but she couldn't move at all.

"D-dad…" The broken tone of her voice made Evan shiver and had tears pouring down his face.

"Sorry baby," He cried along with a grumble as he carefully lowered Ember down across the row of seats. He was glad to see (Y/n) curled up in the corner seat, trying to keep herself as small a target as possible. But when Evan lowered their girl down, (Y/n)'s arms instantly opened up.

She shuffled closer so Ember's head rested on her lap, just like she would when she was little and she felt sick or when she couldn't sleep. The thought sent (Y/n)'s mind reeling and tears soaked her face as her trembling hands smoothed up and down Ember's arms.

"Mum,"

"It's okay, honey. W-we're here, you're gonna be okay." Tears poured down (Y/n)'s face and she rolled her lips together to supress a broken cry.

She didn't want to breakdown yet. Not when Ember was trying to stare up at her through blurry eyes and floods of tears. Her daughter needed her to be strong and (Y/n) would do her best.

Eddie took a quick leap and bolted across towards the truck and climbed in the drivers seat. He slouched down low to avoid being shot and hurriedly turned the engine on so the truck rumbled to life. Relief overtook Chimney when he noticed the medic bag was still sat on the backseat, unused and ready for action.

Evan leaned forward on his heels with the soles of his boots pressed into the bottom of the seats, his large frame didn't cramp well in the footwell of the truck like this. His hand rested on the back of the seats to keep himself hovering over Ember while his other hand planted down on (Y/n)'s thigh, gripping as tight as possible until he was almost cutting her leg in two.

They left the truck door swinging open as Eddie took a sharp turn and jolted the truck to life, juttering down the street to get away from the scene.

"Let me see, sweetheart." Evan's voice dropped an octave and shuddered along with the truck when they turned another sharp corner.

He leaned against the seat and grimaced as he pulled at her shirt until the buttons split and came undone to let him see the wound. This was the last thing Evan wanted to be doing, but he had to stop the bleeding and check where the bullet had gone. He had no idea if it had hit her lung or not and if he was close enough to her lung, it could cause her chest to collapse.

The gunshot wound was two inches below her collar bone on the right side and it was pouring blood like a tap. Blood coated all her chest, trickled down her abdomen and started to pool beneath her on the seats. It was lathered all over Evan and he didn't like it. Not one bit.

A feeble cry left Ember's lips when Evan snatched the wad of gauze from Chimney and pressed it down against the wound so deeply it felt like he was trying to apply CPR to her chest. Her chest shuddered and pushed up from the seats and her nails scratched into the back of Evan's arm as she screamed. Spit bubbled past her lips and her blurring eyes locked on her dad.

He leaned over her and pressed a shaking, bloodied hand against the side of her face. His thumb smoothed over her cheek and his fingers fluttered against her jaw. Evan tried to smile but he couldn't manage it.

"Hurts, dad."

"I know baby, just focus on breathing for me, okay? We've got you," He swiped his sleeve beneath his nose and rubbed at his reddened eyes before his hand reached out to brace on the seat when Eddie took a sharp swerve to the right.

His other hand stayed pressed down on Ember's chest and he managed some sort of morphed smile when her trembling hand reached up to clamp down around his wrist. Her grip was weak but her touch was what they both needed. It showed Evan she was still conscious and focusing on him and it reassured her that both her parents were there and neither of them were going to leave her.

"I… I wh-" She couldn't seem to find the right words and Evan wasn't sure what she was trying to tell him.

Her eyes tried to open wider but they kept going round in circles, unable to focus on anything in particular.

"Eyes on me, baby. Hey Em, Ember look at me." Evan watched her eyes roll towards the back of her head but when he patted her cheek and nudged her head from left to right, she tried to focus again. Her fingers twitched against his wrist and she managed a feeble groan while (Y/n) tried to rub her hands up and down her daughter's arms to stimulate her. And she leaned down to kiss the top of Ember's head.

But (Y/n) looked up at her husband with fright written across her face when Ember started to cough. Evan sobbed. His wet lips parted and a groaning, bubbling cry left his lips when his girl coughed up blood that dribbled down her chin and spotted across her lips.

"We're here!" Eddie jumped down from the truck and slammed his hands against the side of the truck before he pulled the door wider and waved Chimney down.

"Let's get you to a doctor, just stay with us baby, please?"

"You're gonna be alright honey, it's all okay. Me and dad are here, okay?" (Y/n) kissed her temple and moved her hands to hold the sides of Ember's neck to keep her head steady while Evan crouched down beside them both.

He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other under her back, making sure not to touch the wound. He couldn't inflict anymore pain onto his daughter.

Once he was up on his feet, (Y/n) carefully nudged Ember's head against his shoulder so her neck didn't hurt or strain. Her hand stayed on Ember's arm while her other hand scrunched up into Evan's shirt and she climbed down out of the truck behind him. She glued herself up against her husband, trying to stay as close as possible.

They barely got onto the pavement before three doctors rushed to meet them with a stretcher aiming their way.

He felt (Y/n) lean round him to help set Ember down on the stretcher as carefully as they could and a doctor was quick to clip a beck brace around her throat.

"Keep breathing for me Em, y-you're doing so good." Evan snatched the oxygen mask from the doctor and placed it over her mouth and nose while his other hand held her wrist when Ember's fingers deadlocked in his shirt.

He could briefly see the boys running after them out the corner of his eye and he felt (Y/n) hurrying at his side, both of them trying to stay as close to their daughter as possible. It was hard to run at an odd angle with the stretcher, but neither of them cared. They had to go with her. They didn't think or consider where they were going or what was going to happen. Not until they reached the theatre ward and a nurse suddenly held onto (Y/n)'s upper arms and started to pull her back.

"No- no please." (Y/n) did her best to shrug the nurse off her so she could run her shaking fingers through Ember's hair. "Baby we'll stay r-right here, okay? You hold on for us."

When hands tried to pull Evan away from the stretcher, shivers coursed up and down his body and he couldn't find the ability to breathe.

"No! She's our daughter we have to go with her!"

"Mum… daddy,"

Sobs ransacked Evan's body and his body jolted back and forth like he was being electrocuted. He could feel his heart trying to errupt from his chest and follow their daughter when she was snatched from their sights. He wanted to go with her. He wanted to keep her within his line of sight so he could reassure himself she was still alive and fighting to stay with them. They couldn't take her from him.

She was fifteen. She was still a child. Children didn't get shot, they shouldn't get hurt like that.

Why didn't the sniper hit Evan? Why did they hit his little girl?

Evan twisted to the left and the moment he opened his quivering arms, (Y/n) burrowed herself into his chest. Her face smashed into his sternum, her nose crushed against his skin and she choked when she realised the strong iron smell was the blood soaked into his shirt and lathering his hands and face.

Her nails clawed up and down his back as the pair of them began to shake. She could feel Evan sobbing into her hair, not even bothering to hide his tears anymore and she knew he could feel her cries vibrating through his ribcage and into his heart.

"Cap?" Eddie clenched his hand around his hip and took a few steps back so he was out of earshot. But he could still see the couple stood ahead of him with Chimney at their side, ready to reach out for them if they needed him. "We have a situation,"

"What kind of situation?"

"There- we were finishing up a job a-and a sniper fired at us and civilians. We're at the hospital."

"Is anyone hurt?"

"Ember was there; she's been shot."

***

"I'm here for Ember Buckley. Where is she? She's my niece." Maddie planted both hands down on the reception desk and tried to take deep breaths, but she resorted to gasping when it didn't work.

She had never had such a panicked phone call from Chimney before. She could barely make out what he had been trying to say and when she realised she could hear her little brother and sister in law sobbing in the background, her world shattered.

This wasn't the kind of phone call Maddie was used to. The only call she could reference to this kind of panic was when Ember had been four. Evan had only been twenty-one at the time and he called Maddie when Ember started to have breathing trouble and she was going lathargic. They all spent five days in the hospital with her after finding out she had developed sepsis from an infection.

That was the only time Ember had needed hospitalisation and it was the only time any of them ever worried they might just lose her.

Maddie didn't need the receptionist to reply when she tilted her head to the left and locked eyes on her partner in the next corridor. Her hands left the counter and her knees started to shake as she stumbled down the corridor, her eyes now locked on her little brother.

He was sat on the floor.

Evan was sat leaning up against a wall, his thighs spread wide to let his wife sit between his legs. (Y/n)'s head was burrowed into his chest and her hands were deadlocked around his bicep as Evan had one arm bound around her waist and the other strapped across her chest. With his head tilted down, his lips meshed into her hair and his eyes closed, silently streaming tears down his face.

"Buck…"

Blood lathered his arms, dried beneath his fingernails and across the palms of his hands and droplets were splattered across his face. He had been in too much shock to even think about going to the toilet and cleaning himself up. All he could do was sit down and rock back and forth with his wife in his arms. Muttering Ember's name over and over like a mantra to stop himself from going mad.

"Buck, are you okay? What happened?"

Maddie dropped her bag near Chimney's feet before she scuffed down on her knees in front of the couple. Her hands shakily reached out for Evan but when she tried to touch his thigh, she seemed to send him into shock. His body shuddered back against the wall and his head snapped up to look at her.

"What happened?" Maddie looked up at Chimney who had his hands entwined together behind his head like he had done for the last hour. She could see she wasn't going to get much of an answer from her brother or (Y/n) right now.

"They were coming back from the doctors, and we were about to leave the scene when they came over. Shots got fired, we couldn't even see where they were coming from. We couldn't do anything," None of them had even seen anyone in a building or close by with a gun. They couldn't see anything until the bullets were shot into Ember and bounced off the truck. It was like they had been ambushed but they didn't even know why.

"Em got hit, the bullet tore clean through her chest below her shoulder. She went straight to surgery, they'll come get us when it's over." All Eddie wanted to do was lean down and wrap Evan up in a hug. He wanted to comfort and console his best friend and tell him that his daughter would be alright. His girl took after him, she was a fighter, she wouldn't be taken away from them this easily. But Evan wouldn't listen.

Tears trickled down the bridge of Maddie's nose as she pressed her hand over her mouth to swallow down any cries threatening to come out. She rested her free hand on (Y/n)'s knee and started rubbing up and down to give her some sort of comfort.

This wasn't right. Maddie's eldest niece. The little girl who lightened up her life and made her feel alive. The girl she had helped to raise, the girl who stayed with her every weekend who was more like a granddaughter than a niece. Not their Ember.

"Why don't we go get you cleaned up." Her hand left her mouth and moved to wipe away the tears.

It wouldn't do them any good to sit here caked in dried blood. Their daughter's blood. Maddie could help, she could get Evan cleaned up and try to get them both calmed down and a bit more cooperative. They needed to be calm and ready to talk to the doctor once Ember's surgery was over.

But Evan shook his head and let fresh tears trace through the blood staining his face. He didn't want to move, he wanted to stay here holding his wife until they were allowed to be with their daughter.

"It's her blood,"

"I know,"

"Why wasn't it me? S-she was right there, I should have- I should have protected her. I couldn't- my little girl." A flood of tears streamed down Evan's face as he started to gasp and sniff through each breath.

He tucked his face into (Y/n)'s hair and held her tighter until he couldn't feel his chest anymore and he felt (Y/n)'s nails scratch into his arm.

Evan had been stood right in front of Ember. If she had moved a few feet towards him, if they had only been in each other's place then it would have been Evan who took the bullet. If he had been in front of her, the bullet might have gone straight through him and still hit Ember or one of the team, but he would of taken the brunt force and most of the damage.

If only the sniper hit him, everything would have been okay. They had three kids together, (Y/n) and Evan, and he would take a bullet for each of them any day of the week. He would die for them. But Evan never thought about what would happen if he lost Ember or Marcus or Lily. He never thought he would see any of them get hurt, let alone get taken down by a sniper.

Of all the bad things in the world, Evan had never thought about any of his children getting hit by a bullet.

He couldn't even catch her when she fell.

How were they meant to sit here and wait? How could they sit and do nothing when their daughter was in peril? What if she didn't make it? What if she died and they weren't there with her?

What were they going to do if they lost her?

***

Evan's head jerked forward from where he had been leant back against the wall and his hand clenched around (Y/n)'s at the sound of their name.

His legs started to jitter up and down, the heels of his shoes clicking against the floor which caused (Y/n) to jutter against his lap.

She lifted her head from where she had been laid over Evan's lap and she untangled her hand from where it had gone dead interlinked with Evan's fingers for what felt like an eternity. (Y/n) rubbed her hands up and down her face to liven herself up a bit and her knees trembled when she stumbled up to her feet.

Both hands reached out and clung to Evan's arm as the pair of them hurried ahead to meet the doctor halfway.

She could see Maddie out the corner of her eye perk up in her seat and clutch Chimney's hand to her chest. And she knew Bobby was still clutching his rosary beads which he had been praying to for the last few hours since he arrived.

It had taken a while, but Maddie had eventually managed to get Evan to his feet and guide him to the toilets to clean him up.

She found that telling him Ember would not want to wake up seeing her dad covered head to toe in blood seemed to click something into place in Evan's mind. He agreed. He would only frighten Ember if he walked into her room with blood splattered across his face and up to his shoulders.

He couldn't do much about his white shirt that was now crisp with dried blood. It would need to go in the bin when they went home, but he couldn't go home yet. He couldn't change or shower or think about stepping one foot out this hospital until he had seen his daughter. His baby girl.

Since then, Bobby had been silently praying, Eddie had been pacing the hall enough to complete two marathons. Hen had come down and was sat with Chimney and Maddie to try and calm them both down and give moral support. For the last hour, they had all been in silence in their own methods of praying, panicking and worrying.

But now the doctor was here, and Evan didn't know if he wanted to hear the outcome or not.

(Y/n) didn't want to know if this was going to be bad news. Her heart wouldn't be able to take it. She had barely managed to thank Hen who had asked Karen to pick Marcus and Lily up from school and watch them until they knew what was going on with Ember.

How could (Y/n) go home to her other two kids if they got bad news? How could she face them and tell them what had happened? How could she carry on if this was going to be the worst day of their lives?

(Y/n) could still remember everything from her pregnancy with Ember. She remembered seeing the light sparkle in Evan's eyes when she told him. She remembered how happy Maddie had been and that Maddie had been with them at the hospital when she gave birth. (Y/n) remembered all the scans and Ember's first steps, her first words, her tantrums and her cheeky grin and when she would sing with them in the car on a long journey.

All of that couldn't stop now. This couldn't be the end. This morning (Y/n) had been worried about Ember getting bloods taken at the GP, and this afternoon she was worried about her daughter surviving surgery. This wasn't where she thought she would be when she woke up this morning.

"Is- is she okay? Please tell me she's okay." Evan latched his right hand around (Y/n)'s hip since she was clinging to his arm, almost pulling him down with her. And his left hand started to scratch along the back of his neck creating deep indents that were drawing blood beneath his nails.

Tears were already freely streaming down his face again despite not knowing any news yet. His heart was threatening to give out. If she was okay, his heart was going to slip into cardiac arrest with relief and love. If she wasn't, Evan's heart would die of heartbreak.

"A vein burst during the repair and she haemorrhaged a lot, but we managed to stop the bleed. The bullet missed her lung and didn't catch any ribs, it was a clean shot. No nerve or bone damage and surgery went well, we've put her in the ICU for recovery."

Evan could feel his knees threatening to give way and he choked on his breath as his nails punctured into his neck. He felt (Y/n) gasping into his arm and she couldn't help but lean her weight into him like relief had swamped her and knocked her off her feet.

Tears started to flush (Y/n)'s face again even though she felt like she had cried enough to flood the ocean by now. But the relief came with such an adrenaline burst that (Y/n) was sure this is what it felt like to have a heart attack.

"C-can we see her now?"

"Of course."

Evan glanced over his shoulder but he could see by the tears of relief streaming down Maddie's face that she had caught wind of the conversation. She knew Ember was going to be okay. He didn't have to go over to them and explain. They could go straight in to see her and then the rest of the team could see how she was.

And Evan was going to have to thank them all for staying here at the hospital with them and waiting for news. They didn't have to stay and all of them didn't have to come down here, but they had. They had stuck with him and (Y/n) because they were all one big family, and they all cared about Ember.

(Y/n) could feel more tears streaming down her face before they were even in the room.

But once the door opened, a shiver crawled down her spine towards her toes and she pressed herself into Evan's side, unsure how to take a proper breath.

There was their daughter. Hair askew around her head, an IV taped into the back of her hand, wires stuck to her chest. An oxygen tube taped beneath her nose which they both knew she wasn't going to keep there for very long. Her right arm was in a sling pinned to her chest, presumably because the bullet had been close to her shoulder and they didn't want her moving the joint yet and causing any damage or distress.

Her eyes looked drowsy and out of focus when both parents hurried over to the bed to be as close as possible.

(Y/n) perched down on the edge of the bed beside Ember's hip and immediately reached down for her left hand that was twitching against the covers like she was reaching for something. She brought Ember's hand up to her lips and gently peppered kisses over her knuckles.

"Hey baby," She grinned through tears when she felt Ember's hand give hers a light squeeze and her fingers began to tap against the back of her hand.

"Mum…" Ember's eyes rolled around the room like they were following a beam of light and she huffed through each breath, trying to wake herself up a little more. She wanted to sit forward but she couldn't. Moving in any direction felt too tiresome and used too much energy when she didn't have any left to begin with.

Her other arm jerked but the motion caused her to wince and groan when she realised her arm was bound to her chest. She let her eyes do another sweep around the room that was slowly fading from blended colours into proper shapes and forms. And her lips curled into a docile smile when she realised who was hovering over her.

"Dad,"

She let her eyes fall closed and settled into their warmth and love when she felt her dad's hand cup the side of her neck and his lips pressed a few wet kisses to her warm temple.

"We're here, sweetheart. Don't worry, we're not going anywhere, and neither are you."

[justice4billiam]

I had this little thought.

Billy always calls you pet names and that’s just the norm because he’s a flirt and then there’s you who never calls him a single cute pet name ever. But one particular day you were like talking to the cat or dog or something and call it a cute nickname only to look up at Billy and see him red in the face because he thought you were talking to him for a second. So you go in for the kill with it and it practically does kill him. So now you only call him that nickname when you truly want to see him squirm

Billy Hargrove x Fem!reader

Word count: 4,152

Warnings: Nothing too bad. Just Billy being Billy. Maybe even a little less of himself actually.

Author’s Note: OMG. I am SO sorry about how long it took me to get this out. I'm such a perfectionist, and for some reason, even as I post this, it doesn't feel all that great, but I hope you like it all the same.

Oh Baby

Billy Hargrove made a splash from the start.

He came cruising into the small town straight from the sunny shores of California, his cocky attitude and smirking face challenging anyone who crossed his path.

Everyone knew he was too big for a town like this, attracting stares and whispers as naturally as he breathed.

Billy had quickly become known for his flirty nature with the women of Hawkins, his inventory of pet names given with devilish grins and gazes that lingered just a second too long.

Handing them out like candy on Halloween with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

But you?

You were the exception.

You were the challenge he couldn’t quite figure out.

Oh, how he wanted to.

The one girl who didn’t fall, the mystery that kept his mind racing.

You had always kept Billy at a distance, a boundary he seemed determined to cross. His invitations to hang out were met with polite declines, his attempts at conversation answered with noncommittal hums.

It wasn’t that you disliked him, in fact you were very aware of just how attractive he was; you just weren’t interested in being another name on his list.

But Billy was nothing if not persistent, acting like he didn’t even hear you most of the time, taking your rejections as a challenge.

It was on a day when the sky was a clear blue that opportunity knocked on Billy’s door—or rather, your car broke down.

Your car gave up on your way home from work right when you needed it the most, leaving you stranded with the hood open, staring at the engine.

As spring neared its end, the heat had become unbearable already causing sweat to drip down your face as you stood on the side of the road.

And what a coincidence that Billy would drive by, his Camaro growling like a hungry beast.

His car slowed to a stop in the lane, right beside you. Leaning over, he rolls down the passenger window, and peers out with raised brows.

“Need some help, sweetheart?” he enthusiastically calls out, his voice laced with amusement, clearly savoring the unexpected opportunity before him.

The urge to decline was immediate, yet you found yourself hesitating.

Accepting his help meant opening a door you’d fought to keep closed, and you weren’t sure you could take the consequences of letting him in.

But the sun was unforgiving, and your knowledge on cars was practically nonexistent.

That left you with two other choices: a long, lonely ten mile walk home or risk waiting for a stranger’s help, which, given the obvious, seemed like a stupid option.

Billy’s offer, which seemed honest enough, suddenly felt like the lesser evil here.

You gave an exasperated sigh and nodded your head.

“Alright, fine.” You grumbled under your breath.

The sight of Billy's smug grin made you instantly regret your decision as he pulled over a little distance up, and as usual, he looked like a model; his blonde curls blew in the wind as he got out of his car.

He kept his gaze on you, the same cocky look on his face as he boldly adjusted the front of his jeans before approaching.

"Hi." He greets cutely, stopping right in front of you, a little too close for your comfort.

Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you meet his gaze with an even look.

“Billy,” you acknowledge, your tone flat.

You could already tell he was going to be insufferable.

Billy’s grin was all charm as he leaned in.

“Having a bit of a day, are we?” he teased, casually flicking away a strand of hair that clung to your sweaty forehead.

The eye roll was involuntary this time, and without a second thought, you swatted his hand away.

“Are you going to help or are you just going to stand there?” you challenged, taking a step back.

Normally, you wouldn’t let anyone get to you so easily, but he was right—you were indeed having a rough day, and Billy had a knack for being an infuriatingly good pest.

He matched your retreat with a step forward, maintaining the intimate distance.

His gaze was unwavering, a hint of amusement revealing his enjoyment of your obvious annoyance.

Billy inched closer, the trace of a grin on his lips.

“Easy there, sugar,” he hummed, his words a soft whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

As he moved past you, his body grazed yours just enough to leave a faint but unmistakable scent of his cologne—a secret tingle that you tucked away, never to be spoken of.

It was a sensation that you'd have never felt before, one you’d vehemently deny if ever questioned.

“I’ll take a look,” he stated simply, his attention already on the engine.

You paused, taking a deep breath to brace yourself against Billy’s bullshit. You knew he thrived on getting reactions, and you were determined not to give him the satisfaction. Ever.

With a measured step, you leaned in, your gaze fixed over his shoulder. You tried to follow along with his movements but they were a mystery to you.

However, the concern that suddenly showed on Billy’s face was clear.

A sharp breath caught in his throat, his hand freezing mid-motion. It was clear from his expression—whatever he saw, it wasn’t encouraging.

Billy stepped back from the car, and you reached into the backseat, rummaging through the clutter until your fingers found the familiar fabric of an old T-shirt.

“Here,” you offered, holding it out to him. He took it with a nod, wiping the oil from his hands.

“The bad news?” Billy’s started. “Your car’s distributor cap is cracked, and the timing belt’s snapped,” he stated plainly. “It’s not going to start without some work.”

You let out a weary groan, hands instinctively covering your eyes.

Why was the day just getting worse and worse?

This is what you get for leaving work early when they clearly needed you.

Karma really was a bitch.

Billys fingers tried to gently pry yours from your face, but you pulled away, fixing him with a dull glare.

His chuckle was barely there, and the boyish smile that followed was a detail that, despite your better judgment, you found quite charming—even if he was a heartbreaking jerk.

“Look at it this way,” Billy began, a hint of mischief in his voice as he shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m pretty good with my hands. We’ll take my ride to the closest phone, call for a tow, and get your car sorted out quick.”

Taking a step toward Billy, your suspicion was clear.

“But why?” you asked, eyes narrowed as you frowned in his direction.

You know what he was like.

He’s in your gym class, usually tough on people, and he doesn’t do special favors. Billy isn’t the type to help out without an angle, and you guessed he might be trying to get on your good side.

But you have never been the type to fall for his bullshit and he knew that.

Billy’s irritation was evident.

He exhaled a deep sigh, his eyes briefly darting to the side before locking onto you with a fiery intensity.

 “Do I need a reason?” he challenged, his tone sharp. “You need the help or not? Because I’m not sticking around if you don’t want it.”

With that, he pulled out a cigarette, lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter, and quickly pocketed it again.

You rolled your eyes, a combination of frustration and nerves as you clasped your hands together tightly.

 “Uhm—no—I mean, yes!” The words tumbled out in a hurried stutter.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be rude. Yes, thank you, I could really use the help,” you said, the genuine gratitude finally surfacing despite the awkward exchange.

The hardness in Billy’s eyes seemed to dissolve, replaced by a hint of warmth as he gazed at you. He took a drag from his cigarette, the tension visibly leaving his shoulders.

“Alright,” he sniffed, a trace of his usual flirtatiousness returning. “I’ll get your car fixed. And who knows? Maybe you’ll owe me a drink after this.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Keep dreaming,” you said, the doubt in your voice barely hidden.

He nonchalantly shrugged, the cigarette dangling from his lips as he pushed the hood down with a clunk.

Frowning, you watched him—it was clear that this was his plan all along. It was almost funny how obvious his intentions were.

But you felt like denying his help was a bad choice.

The thought of walking for miles was not at all appealing, and you were actually thankful for his offer to fix the car, knowing it would save you a significant amount on mechanic fees.

You offered a slight nod to Billy’s when his eyes found yours again.

You then walked over to your car, locking it with a deliberate push that made a sharp clicking sound. After ensuring everything was secure, you turned and hesitantly began to walk towards his car.

Billy strides were confident and unhurried, reaching the passenger door of his Camaro before you.

He opened it with a casual flick, the gesture almost too practiced.

You eyed him, the suspicion in your gaze clear as day, but you held your tongue to avoid sparking another tiff.

Instead, you communicated your question with a simple arch of your eyebrow as you took your seat.

As you settled into the passenger seat, Billy’s voice broke the slightly awkward silence, his tone laced with playful arrogance.

“You know, dreams are just plans waiting to happen,” he quipped, the cigarette bobbing with his words.

He flashed a quick, roguish grin as he shut the door, the sound punctuating his words.

You rolled your eyes so far back, you half-expected them to get stuck.

"You're aware of how annoying you are, right?" You couldn't help but remark as you watched him slide into the driver's seat, your eyes unintentionally diverting to his crotch as he adjusted himself.

Billy’s voice was low, a teasing edge to it. “Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he muttered, and you quickly lifted your gaze to his face, feeling your cheeks warm when you’re greeted by that infuriating smirk of his.

"And sure, I might be annoying," he conceded, smirking as he cupped himself through his jeans.

"But deep down, you're into it," he declared with certainty.

You gasped as the heat in your cheeks grew.

Quickly, you averted your gaze to the windshield, the outside world suddenly way more interesting.

He added, "even if you're not willing to admit that yet," his laugh was a low rumble as he capped off his comment by starting the car, the engine rumbling to life assertively.

He was infuriating, no doubt about it. Each smirk, each nonchalant shrug sent waves of annoyance crashing through you. Yet, there was something else, a whisper of a feeling you refused to examine too closely.

But deep down, you were pretty sure it was all a game to him. He didn’t actually like you; he was just chasing a thrill.

And even if you entertained the idea for a second, it would end as soon as you let him in—literally.

The moment he got what he wanted, the momentary excitement would fizzle out, leaving nothing but the echo of your own doubt and a raw, exposed part of you that you really didn’t want to deal with.

Choosing to ignore his advances was the safest bet, even if there was a small, secret part of you that wanted to knock him down a peg.

_______

Billy had kept his word.

The search for a payphone ended at the nearest gas station.

He stepped up to the phone, dialed the tow service, and with a casual strut, he said, “Yeah, I need a tow for my girl’s car. It’s over at Fifth and Lexington.”

You scoffed, your eyes wide with disbelief. His girl’s car? 

The words striking you bizarrely. 

Since when did you become ‘his girl’?

The thought was foolish, and yet, it unsettled you in a way you—again—didn’t want to explore.

But the fact that he knew your address without asking was even more disconcerting. How does he know where you live? 

That question nagged at you, adding to the mystery that was Billy.

He continued to speak into the phone, giving directions with a knowledge that bordered on intimate.

It was strange, yet there was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel a flicker of… something.

At the auto shop, Billy handled the costs with a casual ease, and you were left with a blend of emotions—surprise, a touch of gratitude, and a stubborn refusal to fully acknowledge either.

“It’s all taken care of,” he said, brushing off your attempts to pay him back.

So, as the tow truck pulled up at your house, you were ready this time.

You caught Billy’s eye, giving him a dull glare that said you knew exactly what he was about to do—and you weren’t having it.

With a swift motion, you handed the cash to the driver before Billy could even reach for his wallet.

His attempt to pay was unsuccessful, and the slight raise of your eyebrow made it clear you were the one calling the shots this time.

As the driver and Billy maneuvered the car into your garage, your gaze softened just a fraction, acknowledging his willingness to help, even if his insistence was irritating.

When the tow truck faded into the distance, you spun around to face Billy.

“I told you I could have helped you push it into the garage,” you said, exasperation seeping your words.

Your brows knitted together in a frown, a clear challenge in your eyes.

Billy’s response was a dismissive shrug, his smile unfazed.

“It’s fine,” he said as he shrugged out of his jean jacket and placed it in his front seat, his grin took on a teasing quality.

“Honestly, we’d still be out there on the side of the road if I waited for your help,” he joked, his voice light but edged with a playful tone.

Your gasp was reflexive, but the giggle that followed was more girlish than you expected, a sound that surprised you as much as the gentle smack you landed on his arm.

“I could’ve managed just fine on my own,” you countered, the roll of your eyes softening into something that felt dangerously close to affection.

He gave you a look that said he didn’t believe a word, but his nod was indulgent.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, his smile broadening in a way that made your heart do an unexpected somersault.

Billy carried his tools from his trunk, his smirk sarcastic.

“Gonna watch me work, cutie?” he quipped, the playful edge in his voice clear. “I sure don’t mind an audience.”

You rolled your eyes, a response that had become all too common throughout the day and trailed after him into the garage.

“You’re insufferable, honestly, Hargrove,” you grumbled, though the annoyance was starting to wear thin.

He tossed a look back, his grin unwavering.

“But you wouldn’t have it any other way,” he teased, setting down his tools with a positive thud that resonated in the quiet garage.

Dragging a crate from the cluttered corner of the garage, you made yourself a makeshift seat. From this new vantage point, slightly off to the side, you watched Billy work.

The day was turning out to be pretty different.

Billy’s usual flirty jokes had a new feel to them, like he was actually trying to connect with you.

And seeing him with his hands in the car’s engine, he seemed to fit right in. It was strange to see him as more than just the guy who’s always either making a rude comment or trying too hard to charm you. Now, he was actually being helpful and knew his stuff. It was nice to see him like this, more real and down-to-earth.

As you kept an eye on him, you felt your annoyance start to slip away, and you began to see him in a fresh way.

It wasn’t a dramatic change, but it was real.

Billy was still Billy, but the good parts were starting to stand out more.

You just hoped that this nicer side of him wasn’t just an act.

With a dramatic sigh, you shoved your thoughts aside and stood up.

Despite your best efforts to avoid it all day, you found yourself heading straight into the very thing you had been trying to dodge.

“You want a drink?” The words came out softer than you intended, as you walked toward the door in the garage that led to the house.

Billy’s grunt drifted up from under the hood, his hands surely doing something important. Timing belt, maybe you mused, though your knowledge of car parts was very much limited to where the gas goes.

Heading into the kitchen, you actually felt thankful for your mom’s hospital shift this time.

It saved you from having to explain the boy in the garage.

The house was quiet, just the way you liked it. You weren’t lonely; you enjoyed your own company.

Sure, you hung out with school friends occasionally, but the calm of being on your own was something you cherished, even with your mom’s frequent work hours.

You took two Cokes from the fridge, their cans chilling your fingers.

As you returned to the garage, you paused to watch Billy.

Without his usual guarded demeanor, he seemed more genuine, almost endearing. 

He’s actually pretty decent like this, you thought, a quiet hum escaped your lips as you turned on the radio, filling the space with soft rock melodies.

Billy’s look caught you off guard, and warmth flooded your cheeks.

“What?” you asked, turning just enough to keep your blush from view.

His smile was soft, uncharacteristic.

“Nothing. You just have a nice voice, doll,” he said, his tone carrying a note of authenticity as he turned back to his work.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, placing his Coke by his tools, and sat down on your crate.

A small smile lingered on your face, enjoying the surprisingly comfortable presence between Billy and you.

You just sat there for a bit, humming along with the radio.

You tried not to make it obvious that you were watching Billy work, but he’s probably caught you staring. 

Every now and then, you’d catch him looking your way too. You didn’t say anything about it, though.

It was kind of nice, just being there together without needing to fill the space with chatter.

Your gaze drifted to the street when you felt a gentle pressure against your leg.

Startled at first, you quickly relaxed when you saw it was Pepper, your cat. The door must not have closed all the way behind you.

She rubbed against your leg once more, seeking attention.

“Come here, my baaaby,” you drawled, the word stretching out affectionately.

You picked her up and she immediately began to purr, content in your arms.

Billy’s movements paused, and he looked up, the late afternoon sun highlighting the surprise in his eyes.

The nickname had clearly caught him off guard, and a blush—a deep, rich shade you’d never seen—bloomed across his cheeks.

THE Billy Hargrove, always so sure of himself, now blushing and speechless.

He must have thought you were talking to him.

You couldn’t help but savor the moment, seeing the unshakeable Billy at a rare loss for words, all because of you.

With Pepper cradled in your arms, you rose to your feet, a newfound confidence lifting your stance.

You took a step toward Billy, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper.

“What’s wrong, Baby? Never had a girl talk sweet to you before?”

The nickname now felt like a playful taunt, a subtle shift in power as you watched him grapple with the unexpected role reversal.

Billy’s answer was a fumble, his words tripping over each other in a way you’d never heard before.

“I—uh, that’s not… I mean…” he faltered, his cheeks a deeper shade of red.

Witnessing Billy, always so sure and smug, searching for words was a delight you didn’t know you needed.

The smirk that spread across your face was instinctive, almost predatory.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you cooed, your head nodding slowly in feigned understanding. “I think I get it now.” The words hung in the air, heavy with implication and sweet victory.

Billy shook his head, his smile genuine and a bit surprised.

“Now that’s just not fair, doll,” he finally said, the words tinged with a hint of admiration.

He turned back to the car, his hands resuming their work under the hood.

You leaned in, a playful edge to your voice.

“Now you know how it feels for the rest of the female population.”

The sound of his laughter was unexpected, something you don’t think you’ve ever actually heard before, but you liked the sound of it.

A lot.

Billy’s voice was muffled by the engine.

“Wow, you’re actually fun,” he said, a note of surprise in his tone.

That drew a scoff from you.

“What made you think I wasn’t?” you retorted, setting Pepper inside and ensuring the door was firmly shut this time.

He looked up, giving you a look that was both accusing and playful.

“Well, it’s not like you talk to me, sweetheart. You usually act like I don’t exist,” he shrugged.

He had a point.

“Well—yeah…” you conceded, feeling a bit awkward as you rubbed your arm.

“I’m sorry for that. I just thought you were being nice because… well…” You trailed off, your eyes darting away as you felt your face heat up.

Billy exhaled, a note of understanding in his voice. “That’s fair.”

The casual admission made your eyebrows shoot up.

He continued, wiping his hands on a rag, “But I actually wanted to get to know you. Still do.” His words, simple and unexpected.

You took a moment to process his words. Could he be serious? After today, you found yourself hoping so.

This side of Billy was… different, likable even.

Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, you ventured, “I think I might want that too.”

Then, hastily, you added, “But I’m not sleeping with you!” just to set the record straight.

Billy’s smirk was anything but innocent as he nodded.

You shoved your hands into your back pockets, and for a moment, you both just stood there, silently assessing each other.

Then, his smile grew.

“I’m done here. Wanna try starting it up?” he asked, gesturing to the car.

“Oh! Yeah,” you said, a bit startled by the sudden change of topic.

You fished out your keys and climbed into the driver’s seat.

The key turned, the engine purred to life, and a rush of happiness bubbled up inside you.

You hopped out and, without thinking, wrapped Billy in a spontaneous hug.

“Woo, thank you, baby!” you shouted, the excitement making you bold.

Billy froze for a split second, the nickname catching him off guard, but then he relaxed and returned the hug, a chuckle escaping him.

Your own reaction caught up with you, and you pulled back, a blush coloring your cheeks.

“Oh—Billy—I meant Billy,” you corrected, but the moment had already passed.

Billy’s hands lingered on your waist, his smile soft but playful.

“I don’t know. I think I like ‘baby’ better,” he teased, his eyebrows lifting in a challenge and his eyes twinkling as they swept across your face.

You lowered your head, hiding from his intense stare.

“Oh, whatever,” you muttered, stepping back until his arms fell away.

You sighed, eyeing him again.

“But really, thank you,” you said with a nod. “I was this close to attacking the engine with a bat before you showed up.”

Billy chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ah, it’s no big deal, princess,” he said, trying to act nonchalant. “Plus, I got to spend the day with the prettiest girl around. So, yeah, worth it.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you saw his smile turn a shade more devilish at the sight of your blush.

Billy lingered there for a moment before he picked up his toolbox.

“Well, I should go,” he said, a note of hesitation in his voice.

You nodded, a quiet “Bye” escaping your lips, but as he neared his Camaro, a thought struck you.

“Wait, Billy!” you called out hastily.

He turned, a question in his eyes.

“What about that drink, baby?” you added, the last word emphasized with a mix of challenge and playfulness.

He paused, the blush on his cheeks visible even from a distance, but his smirk was undiminished.

“Eight it is, baby,” he replied, his voice carrying back to you with a hint of laughter.

As he got into his car and drove off, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face.

Maybe Billy wasn’t so bad after all.

[fruittt-punchhh]

what about a toji fic where the reader dominates him? She ties him up and teases the hell out of him and he’s pisseddddd, he wants to escape that rope so bad but he can’t, and when he DOES he goes feral. i feel like that’d be scrumptious 🤌🏻

everyone please let anon cook.

MDNI!! incredible smut ahead, this is your final warning.

WC: 4.8k

CW: Toji x reader. Breeding. Name calling. Teasing. Little bit of free use. Toji is a whiny begging mess?!?!? Smut smut smut.

“Hey babe?” You call from the kitchen of your shared apartment. There’s a few creaks in the ceiling above you as you hear who you assume to be Toji shuffling to his feet.

“Whaddya’ want?” Toji yells from the top of the stairs, not wanting to make the full commitment of coming down just yet.

“Could you come down here? I wanna talk to you,” you yell back before he’s hesitantly taking the first step down. He was nervous since your birthday was in a few days. He wanted to play the nonchalant type and then surprise you this weekend with a party full of friends, drinks, and music. He already had plenty of presents picked out, buying one for each day of the month.

You were nervous, too. Your birthday was in three days and while you’ve mentioned it on and off to your boyfriend, you were still scared he’d forget. He worked at odd hours of the night and you didn’t even know if he had to work on your birthday. Birthdays weren’t usually a big deal for you, but you at least wanted him to acknowledge the day somehow.

“Hey, y/n, what’s up?” He says, heavy feet dragging the floor before he hugs you from behind.

You turn to face him, finding it a little difficult to escape his strong grasp.

“Remember that special day coming up soon?”

Oh god. Here you go. He wanted to act as if he had no idea, hoping to not spoil the surprise in case you asked if he made plans. But seeing that poor look in your eyes was enough for him to drop the façade.

“Of course baby doll, it’s your birthday. Why?”

Oh. So he did remember! Why has he led on like he didn’t?

“Well, it’s sort of embarrassing but I wanted to ask you somethin’. Figured you’d say no if it wasn’t my special day,” you admit, crossing all of your fingers and toes that Toji doesn’t laugh at your request and walk the other way.

“Shoot. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about, hun,” he says, putting a hand on his hip and the other on the counter, leaning into it while he studies your expression. You looked hopeful but scared, like a stray pup on the side of the road that just met their new owner.

“So ya’know how you like to tie me up sometimes when we…do it?”

How elementary.

“You mean when we fuck? Yeah, I like it quite a lot. Love seein’ you tied up on your back for me, ready to take me. If that’s all you want for your birthday don’t worry, I was plannin’ on doin’ that already, love,” he responds earnestly. You two didn’t use the ropes that often as Toji preferred using his own hands and arms as your restraints. But he always saw the way your face lit up when he tightened the rope around your wrists, corded nylon digging into your soft skin hard enough to leave marks for a few days.

“Well I was thinkin’ maybe we could do it like that but the other way around…?”

Jesus, if you weren’t blushing already, you sure were now. Toji always gets excited when you talk to him about anything remotely sexual. It seems as if a switch was flipped when you mentioned the ropes as he was now towering over you, green eyes peering into yours as he drinks in every word that leaves your lips.

“So tie you up and fuck you in doggy? We’ve done that before, ya’ just gotta’ ask, sweetheart. Use your words and be clear with me, you know how I feel about trying to read through your lil’ mind games you like to play,” he says with a smirk on his pretty face.

He grabs your hand in his, fingers interlocking as he rubs his thumb over yours as if you two were being purely romantic and thinking no kind of sinful thoughts.

You huff when he grabs your hand. You thought he’d catch on by now. You were never one to really take initiative in the bedroom. Toji always had to ask what you wanted and make you speak up if you mumbled too lowly. You were too embarrassed to voice your needs to him although it was something he could never get enough of.

“No, I-I don’t mean like that. I was thinking I could tie you up…?” You ask, nearly closing your eyes for fear of him laughing in your face.

He grips your hand tightly.

His other hand flies to your waist, large thumb pressing into your ribcage, hard.

His eyelids are lower, and his eyes quickly dart between your lips and your eyes.

Was he… mad? You couldn’t tell. When he got angry, he looked awfully similar to how he looked when you two were in bed together. A part of you found yourself slightly excited whenever he did get mad, losing yourself in his aggressive body language and taut figure.

“Oh. You wanna’ tie me up?” He removes his hand from yours, bringing the back of it up to your cheek as he brushes the hair out of your face.

“That’s what you’re all embarrassed about? You’re too cute. What’s gotcha’ wantin’ to take charge all of a sudden?”

Fuck it, you think. If there was a time to be honest, it was now.

“Well… I was watchin’ this video the other day. She had him tied up.. and it looked like he really liked it. Jus’ wanna make you feel good,” you admit, knowing the video you saw was much more explicit than your words let on.

“Make me feel good? On your birthday?” He asks.

He was trying to keep his cool as he pictures you finally taking control. He loved having the say-so in bed and he was more than happy to keep it that way. He liked to push your buttons and make you squirm, making you speak clearly when you asked him if he could eat you out or kiss your neck. But something about this scenario has him feeling red hot.

“I mean we d-don’t have to, I just thought it’d be fun to try… I even looked up knots I could do and stuff,” you beam, overly excited that he hadn’t shut you down the moment the words left your lips.

You were so precious. Doing research on a project you hadn’t even gotten approval for yet, overzealous at the slight chance he might say yes.

“Aw hun, look at you hittin’ the books. You think you could find some rope I can’t break out of?”

This conundrum had occurred to you, and you’d taken it upon yourself to run to the hardware store a few weeks ago to find some rope that was somewhat Toji-Grade.

“Maybe? I went to the store a while ago and found some I think might be good,” you respond as you watch the smirk leave his face.

He steps impossibly closer to you, now covering you completely in his shadow.

“If you’re extra good for me and you let me fuck you whenever I want, however I want for the next week, you have yourself a deal,” he says, quite excited to have you ready to use at his disposal as he pleases.

Holy shit. He actually said yes? All you had to agree to was a shit ton of sex for the next week? This was going to be your best birthday yet.

“O-Of course, baby,” you coo.

He picks you up by your thighs and puts you on the counter, attacking your neck with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

“How ‘bout we get started on that free use now then, huh doll?”

The day was finally here. You’d all eaten your cake, opened way too many presents, and the drinks were flowing. Most of your friends had left, only leaving a few stragglers that were currently looking for their belongings before their ride arrived.

You were starting to get very nervous. You had practiced a few of the knots that morning while Toji was out getting your cake, and you were sure you had the basic ones down. You had never practiced on a live model before, but you were hoping the glass of liquid courage you just finished would boost your confidence.

You wave the last of your friends goodbye, thanking them for coming. Toji had thrown one hell of a party. You twist the deadbolt to the left after you make sure your friends make it to their cars safely. You turn around to see Toji going upstairs.

“Where are you runnin’ off to?” You ask, hoping he hadn’t forgot about his promise.

Always so nosy.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t forget. Gotta shower first, get yourself ready baby,” he says, not even turning around as he reaches the top of the stairs.

You rush upstairs as soon as you hear the shower faucet running. You grabbed one of your kitchen chairs, trudging upstairs, trying not to hit the walls on either side of you.

You steady your breath as you place the chair on the hardwood. You grabbed the rope from your closet and took your party dress off to reveal your black lingerie underneath. You sit in the chair, tapping your foot wildly while you wait for your best present yet.

You hear the doorknob turn and you hop up, grabbing the rope tightly as you try to calm your nerves. You knew this wouldn’t be good for either of you if you half-assed it — the whole reason Toji made you fall apart when you two had sex was because of his confidence with his words and actions. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that the more into it you were, the better it would be for your man.

He saunters into the office, droplets of water still beading off of his musculature while clouds of steam rise from his figure. All he had on his lower half was a short white towel, leaving next to nothing to the imagination. He lets out a whistle as he sees you dressed in your not-quite birthday suit.

He walks towards you, reaching his hands out to grab your waist and pull you in for a heated kiss.

Or so he thought.

You poke your finger against his burly chest, trying with all your might to push him back, though all you do is stop him in his tracks.

“Uh-uh sir, no touching. Sit down.”

He laughs at you, apologizing as soon as he saw the hurt look on your face.

“S-Sorry baby, didn’t think you’d be ready to start quite yet. This is gonna be hard for me ya’know, but I’ll try my best to act like how you do when we fuck, okay?” His reassuring words ease your worries, as you grab his hand and lead him to the chair.

You walk to the back of the chair, placing one hand on his buff shoulder, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “don’t call me baby. it’s ma’am and nothin’ else, yeah?” You ask, trying your best to channel whatever dominant nature you possessed.

Fuck. He told himself he wouldn’t like this. He needed to regain his composure before you got any bright ideas about dominating him more often. He mumbles back a low ‘yes ma’am’ as he watches a small tent form underneath his towel.

You start to unravel the rope, grabbing his large wrists and bringing them behind the chair before you’re wrapping the thick cord around them.

“What was that? Gonna’ have to speak up f’me,” you said, coining one of Toji’s phrases for your own.

Jesus. You were really laying it on thick.

“I said yes ma’am,” he growls, ashamed at how excited he was that the roles were reversed this time.

“Good boy,” you coo in his ears, noticing how his cock twitches as the sound of your voice.

You’ve wrapped the rope up and around his arms and the back of the chair, and while the first knot you tied around his wrists was shotty work at best, the rest were definitely suitable. You move your way to his front now, wrapping the rope underneath his broad pecs extra tight, loving how the rope accentuated his voluptuous figure. With each taut pull of the rope, his dick would spring up a few inches further.

“Won’t be needing’ this anymore, huh?” You ask as you snake your cold hands under the towel, pulling it off of him slowly as he raises his butt up to let you grab the rest of the fabric.

He huffs as he feels the cool air hit his member, a bead of precum at the tip revealing his love for the scenario he was in all too soon.

“Looks like somebody’s enjoying themselves,” you add, noticing just how excited he’s gotten since you two have started.

“Let me take care of you tonight, baby. I know you’re so stressed from work and you always take such good care of me. Wanna’ make you feel so good, yeah?” You say as you tie the last bit of rope around his ankles.

You were surprised he was being so silent about this. No protests, no sly remarks, no jokes at your expense. He was always so quick and cunning both in and out of the bedroom.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“No, just ready to get this shit over with s’all,” he scoffs, hoping you didn’t catch onto his bluff.

“No what?”

You were pushing him to his limits. He liked this, but his pride was being wounded with every word that left your pretty lips.

“No ma’am. Let’s hurry it up though, yeah? Been waitin’ for you to put that pussy on me all night,” and you can’t help but blush at his words. He took all the dominant energy you were feeling and turned it into submissiveness just with a sentence. You take a deep breath as you drop to your knees in front of him, ready to get the show on the road.

You glare up at him as you run your hands on top of his thighs, fingers splaying over the ropes holding him tightly. He smiles down at you, looking past his cock at your soft lips, aching for them to be wrapped around his leaking tip.

You finally reach the area Toji wanted your hands to be most, running your nail up the bottom of his long dick. He grunts at the contact, not anticipating just how much you wanted to tease him through this.

“So pretty f’me baby, you look so good all tied up when you’re not runnin’ that mouth,” you say, running your thumb on the underside of his tip before he bites his bottom lip.

You wanted to tease him plenty, sure, but you also had needs of your own that needed to be fulfilled, soon. You finally wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, and he was so thick you couldn’t even join your thumb to the rest of your fingers.

He drops his head back behind him, not realizing just how desperate he was for your touch. He’s cursing as you run your hand up his length, stopping to gather all the precum at the tip before you use it as lubrication.

You’re now teasing just the tip, rubbing your hand over and over it, overstimulating his most sensitive area just like he loved to do to your clit when he ate you out. The whiny moans he was emitting made your cunt ache with want. You reach your other hand down to play with your throbbing clit, moaning at how erotic this whole situation was.

“You like i-it too, bab — sorry, f-fuck,” he says before he’s even realizing he said it. He didn’t want to hear you chastise him for not calling him ma’am, but he couldn’t help but speak up when he saw your tiny hand rush down to your sweet pussy.

“What’d I tell you, huh? Am I gonna have to punish you?

He shakes his head with a fervor, responding with a firm “no ma’am”. He was so fucking whipped for you and if Shiu ever found out about this he would have to kill him. Absolutely nothing personal, just business.

You tell him he’s a good boy, wanting to reward him for being so quick to correct himself for you. You reach your head down before you lick his weeping tip so teasingly. He grunts, looking down at your pretty face as you take the full tip inside your wet heat.

“God, jus’ like that,” he whines, needing you to take more of him now.

You suck his tip harshly, pulling off with a loud pop!

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you command. You were all too eager as you cover your fingers in your lust, using it as lubrication to enter yourself (although you wish it was Toji’s fingers instead).

You take in more of him, hollowing your cheeks, using your free hand to stroke the rest of his massive length. You were hardly ever able to take him all the way down your throat, but the liquor helped you loosen up just a little bit more. You shove your head down until he reaches your throat, taking a deep breath before you remove your hand and push yourself almost all the way down. You swallow around him in your throat, trying your best to breath through your nose. Toji is squirming in the chair, so frustrated that he can’t grab a fistful of your hair and fuck your throat like you deserved.

“F-Fuck, takin’ all of me so well, doll,” he says, too lost in the warm wet walls of your throat to notice his mistake. He tries his hardest to buck his hips, making you gag around him before you’re pulling off of him much too quickly. He worries he pushed in too far before you’re sitting in his lap, so ready to scold him for slipping up one too many times.

You put one hand on his chin, running your finger over his bottom lip like he always did to you. You knew you looked far from intimidating right now, but you tried your best to keep up the act.

“That’s three times now baby. Guess I’ll have to punish you after all,” and boy did you have the perfect punishment in mind. You knew how difficult it was for him to keep his hands off of you the entire time, especially when you were reaching a hand down to continue touching yourself.

He tracks your every movement, panting while he watches you push two of your tiny fingers into yourself. He wouldn’t be able to last much longer like this. He knew your knot tying skills weren’t as practiced as his, and the ones you tied at his hands were loose from the start. He starts pulling on the rope more than he already was, hoping he can loosen the hold it had on his wrists to finally take you like he so desperately needed.

“You’re torturing me,” he says, making extra sure not to throw in a nickname like he usually would, “please just touch me, I’ll do anything,” he adds, really hoping you’d give in sometime soon.

You moan on top of him, leaning down to kiss his poor, over-bitten lips. He whines into the kiss, trying his best to be aggressive when all he could do is pull against the tight ropes and hope you take it easy on him.

“Anything, huh? Would you beg for it? I love when you get all needy for me. Beg and I’ll think about it, boy,” you tell him. You loved when he asked anything of you, just knowing that he wanted you had you absolutely melting for him.

He was passed the point of caring at this point. He was painfully hard, his red swollen tip leaking an obscene amount of precum. Watching you attempt to please yourself while he knew that he’d be able to make you cum in a minute with just his fingers was sending him.

“I’d do anything I swear. You don’t know how bad I need you. You look so fuckin’ good and I’m about to cum just watchin’ you. I know you want it, too, you still look so desperate f’me even though you’ve got this whole tough guy thing goin’ on,” he rambles, hoping what he said was enough to break you.

“Me? D-Desperate? I could just cum right here and be done with you, slut. You look like you’re about to explode j-just waitin’ for me,” you add, knowing he was about to fucking lose it.

The knot was so close to coming undone, but he didn’t want to let on as to was he was doing. He had to stop in his tracks once you reach a hand down to tug at his puffy nipple, cursing under his breath. You knew that was one of his most sensitive spots and you were too quick to use it to your advantage.

“I am, I promise I am. I’ll be such a good boy for you, I swear. Please just fuck me. Please I swear I’ll be good I don’t know what else to say just please fucking put it —“ he says as all the breath is ripped from his lungs. You had stood up at this point, turning around as you line up his cock with your puffy folds.

You sit down on him, wasting no time before bottoming out entirely. The stretch was so extreme, but you were much too desperate for him to fill you up. You hear Toji let out a desperate whine, not expecting you to take all of him so quickly. He was so pent up from all the teasing and all he wanted to do was to fuck into your sweet cunt with reckless abandon.

“G-God, yeesss, you’re so good for me, ma’am,” he says as obediently as he could.

You slowly draw your hips up before you slam back down, giggling at how cute Toji sounded when he was this pussydrunk. One taste of your cunt and he was already whimpering for you and obeying your every command.

“That’s it, you’re a quick learner, aren’t ya, daddy?” You ask. You knew Toji loved when you called him that, which is why you saved using it for special occasions such as these. You continue to fuck back into him, grinding on his lap as you moan so sinfully for him. All that can be heard is the lewd plap! plap! plap! of your skin meeting his as he whimpers underneath you.

Toji could tell your legs were getting tired as your pace became more sloppy.

“F-Fuck, baby, so so close,” you whine out, trying to fuck yourself through your high before your legs give out.

This would be the perfect opportunity to escape. With one final tug of the ropes around his wrist, he feels his hand set free. He bucks his hips into you, quickly removing the other hand from its confines.

“Yeah, is my baby gonna cum all over my cock like the cockslut she is? Huh? I asked you a question, bitch,” he spits out.

Did you hear him correctly? Did he forget how this game was supposed to go? You were debating pulling off of him entirely until you feel —

A hand?

Toji grabs a fistful of your hair before he yanks you back into him, wrapping the other around your waist before he is pounding into your sopping cunt at lightning speed. The ropes you bound were only held together by the knot at his wrist and two at his feet, so the rest of the ropes fell off of him with ease. You had no clue how he escaped and quite frankly, you didn’t care.

“Gotta get better at tyin’ those ropes, doll. Coulda’ got out a while ago, but I like watchin’ you struggle to cum,” he says casually, like he’s not brutally fucking you through your long awaited orgasm.

“That’s it, take this fuckin’ dick, doll. Lemme feel that pussy suck me in like she does so well,” he says, fully talking you through it as you release all you have onto him.

Before you can even come down from your high, Toji is literally spinning you around on his dick before he’s standing the both of you up. His legs are still bound to the chair, so it takes him a minute to find his balance. But once he does, he is absolutely abusing your filthy cunt as he fucks you in the air. Two big hands glued to your ass cheeks as he moves your whole body on top of him, not leaving any inch of his cock uncovered with your slick.

“Been teasin’ me so fuckin’ much, brat, gonna make me cum too soon.”

Your arms are tight around Toji’s neck as he absolutely ruins you, nothing but choked moans leaving your lips.

“Not my f-fault you can’t last old m-man,” you stutter, all power behind your words lost as soon as that knot came undone.

All he can say is a loud, “fuck you,” before he’s bullying into your precious cunt with a ferocity you’ve never seen before. You warn him that you’re so close to tipping over the edge.

“Nah, babydoll. Little brats don’t get to finish. Yer’ gonna’ take this fuckin’ load like the cumslut you are and you’re gonna fuckin’ like it,” he says as he’s fucking into you with a harsh final thrust before he empties his thick load into your tight, wet heat. His cum shoots out so fast, he’s moaning into your neck with each rope that comes out.

He’s all but collapsing back into the chair with you still on top of him, earning a low moan from you as the position pushes his seed even further into your womb. You start to pull off of him to go get a towel before he’s grabbing a wad of your hair and slamming you back down onto his cock for the nth time that night.

“No ma’am. We’re jus’ gettin’ started, hah.”

@theobsidianempress @scorpiosugar @voloslobotomyservice @lostsoul526 @shhreya @placxdbaby @iminurwallsgege @slvttyplum @tojiluhbit @leeisyourmom

[cherrylibby]

Beneath the Mask

You were crouched on the floor, setting down a bowl of food for your cat, Golden, when the faint rustle of movement caught your attention. Turning toward your bedroom, you froze for a moment, watching Peter Parker stir awake. He blinked groggily, his gaze darting around the room as if trying to piece together where he was.

“Well, look who’s awake,” you said, your voice breaking the silence.

Peter jolted upright, startled, his movements stiff. His eyes snapped to you, wide and questioning.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, confusion lacing every word. He glanced down at himself, noting the torn remains of his Spider-Man suit clinging to him. “Wait—”

“Relax,” you interrupted with a calming wave of your hand, kneeling to finish placing the bowl of food in front of Golden. “Your mask’s in my closet. No one saw you, so you can stop freaking out.”

His shoulders sagged slightly in relief, though the tension didn’t fully leave his body. “Why am I here?” he asked, his voice cautious as he lowered himself onto the edge of your bed.

You straightened up, brushing your hands on your sweatpants. “You were unconscious in the middle of the road, Peter. I almost hit you with my car. What was I supposed to do—just leave you there?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. “Oh…”

Walking to your closet, you pulled his mask from the top shelf and tossed it to him. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the bathroom counter. You look like you could use it.”

“Y/N—” he started, his voice softer now, but he hesitated. His gaze dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable. Finally, he looked back at you. “Thank you. Really.”

You shrugged, feigning indifference though the warmth in his voice made your chest tighten. “It’s no big deal. Just go clean up. I grabbed some of my brother’s old clothes for you to change into.”

Peter hesitated for a moment longer before nodding and heading into the bathroom. As the door clicked shut, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

It had been weeks since you and Peter had spoken—maybe longer. Ever since you noticed him pulling away, keeping secrets, and dodging your questions, things between you had become strained. You’d always known there was more to him than he let on, but the distance he created was cutting deeper than you cared to admit.

Golden rubbed against your leg, her soft purr grounding you. You crouched to scratch behind her ears, then began tidying up the room. The blanket and pillows you’d used to make a makeshift bed for Peter were folded and tucked away in the closet. Sunlight spilled into the room as you opened the blinds, the golden hue of spring casting everything in a warm glow.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open pulled your attention. You turned to see Peter standing there, his damp hair curling slightly from the steam. He was wearing an old Blink-182 concert T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that were a little loose on him. Despite the fresh clothes, his posture was still tense, and there was a faint grimace on his face.

“Feeling better?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly, but the way he shifted his weight told you otherwise.

“Peter,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “You’re limping. Sit down.”

He opened his mouth to protest but closed it again at your pointed look. With a defeated sigh, he lowered himself back onto the bed.

Grabbing the med kit from your desk drawer, you knelt in front of him. “Let me see,” you said, your voice softer now.

Peter hesitated before lifting his shirt, revealing a deep, jagged gash along his side. The sight made your stomach twist, but you kept your expression neutral.

“This looks bad,” you murmured, carefully dabbing at the wound with a damp cloth. Peter winced but didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

You paused, glancing up at him. “Of course I did. You scared the hell out of me, Peter. I couldn’t just leave you there.”

“I mean...” He hesitated, his voice faltering. “After everything. After how I’ve been—how I’ve treated you.”

His words made you pause, your hand hovering over the wound. “Yeah,” you said softly, the weight of unspoken hurt pressing against your chest. “You’ve been distant. You shut me out, Peter. And I didn’t understand why.”

He looked down, guilt shadowing his features. “I thought I was protecting you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Protecting me from what?” you asked, frustration seeping into your tone. “From you? From the truth?”

Peter’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “From the danger that comes with knowing the truth,” he said finally, his voice raw. “I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you reached for the bandages. “Peter... you hurt me by shutting me out. By not trusting me. You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, and for a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t know what else to do. But I see now—I see that I was wrong.”

“Peter,” you said, your tone softening further. You set down the cloth and placed a gentle hand on his knee. “You don’t have to apologize. I care about you. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. “I don’t deserve you, Y/N,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.  His eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled, your heart pounding as you leaned in closer. “Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to find out.”

Before either of you could second-guess yourselves, Peter reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek as he closed the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration, but it quickly deepened as the emotions you’d both been holding back spilled over.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your heart pounding in your chest. “We’ll figure this out,” you whispered. “Together.”

Peter nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Together,” he echoed.

As you sat back, the weight of the unspoken tension between you seemed to lift, replaced by something lighter, something warmer. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone.

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Epilogue

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The sky arched over the earth in an impressive display of colors. Cinderpaw was situated outside of the Mother in a way where the massive legs kept her from seeing the horizons on either side of the world, but the sun’s glow was fighting hard to retain its gold and red, while on the other end stars crawled into the sky higher and higher in the deep blues and purples of night.

Cinderpaw’s eyes drifted between the stars she could see, connecting them with invisible lines and forming inexact silhouettes. She wondered if the stars ever made the shape of a cat or some other animal. Maybe that would make StarClan a little self-centered, to actually make a cat out of cats, but what else was a feline, really? At least, that was what Yellowfang had always said.

“Oh!”

She looked back down. Several cats were approaching, two of them crossing the road together. The smallest of them, a pair of patched cats, were coming around the corner of the Mother’s left leg. The older one, grey-and-white, was the one who had spoken.

“I did not expect you to be here so early,” he said in his soft, slightly creaky voice. “Apologies for making you wait.”

“Hi, Fognose.” Cinderpaw waved her tail and stood up. “I actually got here yesterday. Firestar had his ceremony and we thought I should stay here to save myself a trip.”

“Good idea,” said WindClan’s seer, a handsome dark brown tom named Buzzardface. He looked just as impassive as the rest of his Clan, but his words were kind. “Sorry about your mentor. Heard after the Gathering.”

“Yeah…” Cinderpaw sighed. “Thanks. I’m just glad the stars let me help name Firestar.”

“They know you’re not a fool.” Mudcloud said, another patched tom (this time dark brown) from RiverClan. His pleasantly round face squished in a bit with amusement. “If Yellowfang herself didn’t come down to swat you, I’m sure you did it right.”

Fognose and his apprentice, Littlepaw, both chuffed.

“She didn’t, luckily,” Cinderpaw said with a purr.

Fognose reached Cinderpaw. She saw a dim grief in his eyes. “I do hope she watches over us tonight. Her best apprentice ought to receive her name with her mentor present.” Before a heavy pause could rest between the seers, Fognose cleared his throat. “Now, I am to give you your name, and I know we have more than one option for you. You could be a -belly, and you could change your name entirely to honor your leg. I remember that you talked about that, once…”

“Well, actually—” Cinderpaw lifted a paw. “I have a different name I’d like, if I’m allowed.”

The toms all fell silent, looking at each other curiously. Fognose tilted his head.

“I know it’s a weird request, but I’d like to be given -pelt.” At the slightly confused squint from Buzzardface, Cinderpaw hastened to add, “Yellowfang’s old name was Murkpelt when she was in ShadowClan. I want something to honor her with for the rest of my life, and I think having part of her name with me is the best I can do.”

Mudcloud blinked. “You want your name to not be your own?”

“I do,” Cinderpaw said with a firm nod. She added to Fognose, “Please.”

Littlepaw looked up at his mentor, gauging his reaction. Hesitantly, he offered, “I think it would honor your mentor, sir.”

“It would,” Fognose murmured. His eyes warmed as he regarded the taller Cinderpaw. “Very well, then. At your request.”

“Best get started.” Buzzardface started off for the mouth of the Mother, the other seers following him.

The walk inside those tunnels, with the absolute lack of sensory input, alarmed many apprentices and warriors. Cinderpaw herself strolled along with confidence, having a faint impression of being gently held in the belly of a queen, even if it was absolutely freezing in here.

The party reached the cave of the Moon Stone in what seemed like no time at all. Fognose turned and stood with his back to the Mother’s heart, while the other seers sat to the side and Cinderpaw stood across from him.

I know my lines, she thought. I know them. I do. I just wish they weren’t so long. Warriors don’t have to deal with this…

“Mirra, the Three, and StarClan,” Fognose began, startling her. “I ask that you bear witness to our ceremony tonight, and bring blessings to this young seer.” He looked at Cinderpaw. “Why have you come to our Mother’s heart?”

Cinderpaw straightened up. “I ask for my name promised to me in the light of the moon and stars.”

She got that part right; Fognose looked pleased. “What have you done to earn your name?”

“I have been taught to read the mysteries of leaf, feather, and light, in the stones of my soul,” Cinderpaw replied. “I have learned the law of our mothers’ mothers. With everything I see in the light of the stars, I shall earn my name.”

“How will you use your name?” Fognose asked.

Cinderpaw felt a warm glow in her chest. “I will guide my cats in the path of starlight. I will speak what I see. With this, I shall use my name.”

Fognose leaned a little forward. “Who do you ask to honor your name?”

Here came the big one. Cinderpaw took in a deep breath. “I ask the Endless Watcher for the courage to bear my name well in the light of the sun. I ask the Pathcarver for the discretion to bear my name well in the light of the moon.” The glowing warmth intensified. “I ask the Twilight for the voice to bear my name well in the path of starlight.”

Fognose turned his head to look at the other seers, who were all watching intently. “Do we agree to bestow this apprentice with the name of a seer, and all it entails?”

“I agree,” said Buzzardface.

“As do I,” Mudcloud said.

Littlepaw simply nodded. Apprentices didn’t have a voice in the ceremony, but he had an eager look on his face when he watched Cinderpaw, like he was imagining his own naming.

Fognose turned back to Cinderpaw, his big eyes crinkled. “Blessed apprentice of the stars, that which you ask for will be given. In the heart of the Mother, under the eye of the lady Suriin, in the light of our lord Rokhar, I call you by your name.” He bowed his head. “Welcome, Cinderpelt. May StarClan light your path.”

The chant had less voices in it, but they echoed in this cavern enough to drown out a warrior’s cheer. “Cinderpelt! Cinderpelt!”

The warmth flared into heat, just for a moment, before softening and fading entirely. Cinderpelt bowed her head to Fognose in turn as the other seers gathered closer.

“Blessings and congratulations,” Littlepaw said to her. “ThunderClan will be proud of you when you come home.”

Cinderpelt ruffled his head-fur. “And I’ll be proud of you when it’s your turn.”

“With that,” Mudcloud said, “we ought to dream now.”

Cinderpelt went up with the others and touched her nose to the Moon Stone—she’d never get over the blast of ice flowing through her body as soon as she made contact. She backed up and sat down, facing the stone, while the other seers laid down around her and shut their eyes.

As Yellowfang had instructed her so long ago, she shut her own, but didn’t go to sleep. Instead, she breathed in and out slowly, the world around her seeping into her body. Every hair on her pelt was touched by something different: a swallow taking flight from the Barn’s entrance, a doe raising her head from the grass and watching a distant bush suspiciously rustle, the wind carrying the scents of far-distant lands down the moor and into the forest. She followed that wind, racing without moving a whisker, and entered the forest, listening and seeing from the darkness of the Mother.

---

It’s just not fair.

She walks aimlessly, her path indiscriminate, stepping one direction and turning in another. Pain and hunger and ennui cling to her essence, dragging her down by her long, blue fur until she’s fighting with everything she has (and it isn’t much) just to keep from sinking to the ground and lying there until she fades.

She’s a failure. She devastated her Clan, forced them to struggle amongst themselves without a leader. She had sworn so long ago that she would never wrong them again, that the kits were gone, that she wouldn’t even look at Oakclaw. She had done so well for so long, and then…

And then this—this form of hers now. Skeletal, her fur greasy and matted, her eyesight agonizingly dull. She can hardly make out a bush in front of her.

How could she have let this happen? What is wrong with her?

Here is the end of her legacy: a shriveled-up bag of bones that left her charges with no one to protect them, no one to lead them.

It took her days to come to her senses; she thought she was still alive, just sleeping, when she opened her eyes and realized her body wasn’t there anymore. She wandered into camp, and only the young and old remained. The warriors were gone. Were they fighting each other for the leader’s spot? Where were they?

And then she saw them walking back into the forest, auras dark and haunted and exhausted. They said nothing to each other as she watched them. She didn’t follow. She was afraid to.

The weights tighten their grip on her soul and yank her towards the earth. She’s forgotten what it was to feel pride and joy at this point. What is there but regret, shame, failure? She used to be someone, and she died as no one. No, worse - as a disappointment.

Maybe… maybe lying down wouldn’t feel so bad for a bit. For forever.

Then heat rests on her shoulders. She blinks, her despair momentarily forgotten, and looks around in confusion. The heat grows, and with it the forest brightens as a form of sunlight steps past ThunderClan’s border.

She stands straight, bristling her matted fur… but, as she squints and strains her eyes, she realizes she needn’t bother.

The form is smaller than usual, quiet and serene, ginger fur smooth and soft. She recognizes the wiry build, the verdant eyes, the gentle, loving aura radiating off of him. He walks calmly, his head high and tail higher, determination setting his face into something nearing majestic.

She knows that light.

“They chose you,” she near-whispers. “You’re… you’re…”

“Firestar now.”

She looks up. On the edge of the forest, standing in the grass of the neutral grounds, is a familiar form: a handsome, tall, warm brown tabby with merriment in his starry eyes. She stares at him. Her paws move without her instruction.

“Sorry to interrupt your descent into wraithhood,” he says as she steps closer. “You were taking a while to get to us.”

“Oakclaw,” she breathes. With that single word, and with every step, the weights begin dropping off of her, one by one.

“Bluestar,” he says, casual and amused, but with that underlying tenderness she remembers from so long ago. “I’m glad I got to you in time.”

The former leader of ThunderClan feels her posture straighten, her knots untangle. “I was worried about my Clan. I couldn’t leave without knowing that they’d be okay.”

“They’ll be okay.” Oakclaw brushes his muzzle against hers, purring. “They made the right choice, and he’ll take care of them just as well as you did. Maybe even better.” He pulls back to look at his beloved with fondness. “You’d be amazed at what they’ve gotten up to since you’ve been gone. I can tell you all about it, if you come with me.”

Bluestar hesitates, just for a heartbeat… but the pull of the material world is gone. She glances back, noticing her form filling out again and fur glowing, just to watch the firelight fade into the woods, before turning back to Oakclaw and saying, “Happily.”

Oakclaw presses his forehead on her neck, their spirit-energy flowing into each other with the simple contact, and starts walking with her, heading for a rising path of starlight coming from the Gatheringplace’s center. Bluestar’s steps are stronger, more deliberate, more regal, like she remembers, like others remember her. She doesn’t look back again as they head for StarClan, tails twined together. She doesn’t need to.

They’re going to be just fine.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Stray Kids Reaction || They're Protective Over You [Mafia Edition]

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - September 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

CHAN:

Ever since Chan's driver had almost hit you with a car all those years ago there was someone with you, always. It didn't matter what you were doing, he was just with you constantly. It never really bothered you, if your husband wanted to make sure that you were protected then you were happy to take part in that, as long as it wasn't going too far.

"You know, she doesn't need a babysitter while I'm around," Kat said snarkily to the bald man who was walking beside you, holding his hand out in front of your body to prevent you from crossing the road. You looked at Kat and smirked a little, you knew Chan was just trying to look out for you but Kat saw it as him trying to dictate your every move and she was worried you were too blind to see it.

"Relax babes, it's just Chan's way of watching out for me." You whispered as the man you'd come to know as - Pike - gave you the all-clear to cross the road. Kat slipped her arm into yours and you began crossing together, you could tell this was playing on her mind a lot and you wanted her to express herself with you.

"Doesn't it make you feel like a child though? Having someone tell you when you can and can't cross the road?" Kat looked at you suspiciously and you smiled a little, you didn't like that he was there but you didn't hate it either. God, you'd tried to fight Chan on it but he was adamant that you needed Pike around to look out for you.

"Not a child. Besides, I'd gotten Chan down to only giving me one man instead of the five he originally wanted me to have," You laughed, looking at Pike who kept his eyes in front of him and not getting involved in your conversations.

"Five?! What would you need five men for!?" Kat laughed a little and Pike let out a low chuckle,

"To surround her in a circle and protect her from oncoming traffic." He teased, winking at you both before you both giggled and headed inside the store you'd come to.

MINHO:

Over the years you'd gotten used to Minho's little quirks, you knew your husband was a protective man and was always looking out for the best of you.

"All I'm saying is, I don't need an armed escort to the cat sanctuary every day," You told Minho at breakfast, the two of you were discussing what you could do to lessen the number of men that stood outside of your work place every day. If it was down to Minho you wouldn't be working there anymore but he wasn't going to stop you from doing something that you loved doing.

"What if someone comes in and tries to take you? Or one of the cats?" You stared at him and sighed, you knew that he was right but ten guards was a bit much.

"Okay, then how about we compromise." You suggested, lifting a strawberry to your lips and taking a bite out of it.

"Three guards," You suggested, trying to make this as an easy business deal for him to agree to but Minho looked at you and put a strawberry in his mouth.

"Five," He suggested, shrugging his shoulders at you.

"Three."  You smiled warmly but he just shook his head at you. There was no way he was going to put you at risk by leaving you alone. You knew he was a powerful man but you still didn't want the ten guards outside of your shop scaring everyone away.

"Nine." You stared at him as he told you his suggestion and you blinked completely stunned by him,

"This isn't how that's supposed to work, you're supposed to lower." You pouted at you and Minho resisted the urge to smirk at how cute it was to see you like this.

"Five. Final offer." Sighing you nodded your head, agreeing to it and shaking his hand as if this was a real business deal you'd done together.

"Fine."

CHANGBIN:

Changbin had never been clingy before in his life but there was just something about you, something that bought out that side of him and he rather enjoyed it. Ever since the two of you ha gotten married last month, it seemed he'd gotten clingier. 

"You know, I could walk in the garden alone." You giggled a little as Changbin walked by your side through the gardens of your home. The two of you lived in a huge mansion which meant the gardens were just as - if not more - as big and you could get lost.

"What if you fall and no one is there to watch out for you?"

"Binnie." You giggled, he despised anyone else using that nickname for him but hearing it come from your lips made his whole world shine brighter,

"I know I get a little protective but with good reason. Anything could happen out here," He gestured around you both and you arched an eyebrow at him. When the two of you first started dating one another he wouldn't let you out of his sight, he would walk you to and from the club every night and then a few months into dating you were living together. Not that you minded, you enjoyed having this side coming from him but you didn't want this to become tiring for him.

"I don't want anything to ever happen to you," He told you as you both stopped in front of the rose bushes that lined the property, you smiled and reached up running your hand across his cheek,

"Nothing will, I promise you." You whispered, kissing him quickly before pulling away. As soon as you were apart a twig snapped and you were suddenly on the ground with Changbin above you,

"Binnie..I think it was a rabbit, not a spy or anything." You told him when you saw the panicked expression on his face, he nodded a little.

"I'm getting you a guard," He mumbled before standing you both up and you agreed, knowing you could never change his mind.

HYUNJIN:

"What do you think you're doing?" Hyunjin quizzed as you walked into the living room attempting to put your earrings through your ear and looking out of the window.

"I'm running late for girls' night," You'd told him a million times what tonight was but it seemed he'd forgotten once again,

"I know that, but what are you wearing?" You looked down at your outfit and frowned, there was nothing wrong with what you were wearing. It covered your body and it wasn't anything extremely revealing - unlike what you used to wear on nights out.

"A dress?"

"Says who?" He quizzed and you resisted the urge to quote a film and sighed,

"Hyunjin, it covers everything." You told him as he shook his head at you it wasn't that he didn't trust you because he did, it was everyone else he didn't trust.

"But it's so tight, everyone will be watching you...Looking at you, looking at what belongs to me." He let out a low growl at the thought of it and you stared at him,

"No one will. They all know I'm yours and if they value living they'll keep their eyes on something else," He smirked a little as you told him that but it didn't put his mind at ease.

"I'll send someone and if anyone so much as looks at you for longer than ten seconds I'll take names and faces," He told you sternly and you nodded, you knew you weren't going to go out completely alone without someone there to watch over you.

"Sure, I'm going now." You turned away from him but you were quickly spun into his embrace and kissed roughly.

"Now you can go," He winks, making you giggle as you walk for the front door.

JISUNG:

Whenever it was storming outside Jisung cancelled everything he had going on, even if he was in the middle of a meeting, he would cancel and walk out without speaking to another soul about what he was doing.

"You can't keep doing this," You giggled as you watched your husband kick off his shoes and crawl into the bed with you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

"I can, I'm the boss." He reminded you, laughing as you cuddled closer to him. You weren't even THAT scared of thunderstorms but ever since your first meeting with your husband he'd been there for every single storm. It didn't matter what he was doing, if there was a storm he was racing home to you to make sure you were okay. It might have seemed silly to anyone from the outside looking in but this was Jisung's way of being protective over you, watching out for you to make sure you were cared for.

"You are, but you know a boss has responsibilities," You teased before you let out a loud yelp when the sudden crash of thunder made you jump. Your hands clutched onto his shirt and you hid your face in his neck, suddenly very thankful for him being right there with you calming you down with his breathing and small kisses on your skin.

FELIX:

"You're being ridiculous." You told Felix as you stood in the kitchen together, your new chef standing and cooking for you both as you glared at your husband. You couldn't believe he'd done this after you told him not to, it was a simple accident.

"I could have done that at any point, it was an accident. You didn't need to get a chef," You mumbled, smiling weakly at the chef who tipped his head at you. 

"You hurt yourself. So now, it won't happen again because I took you out of the kitchen," You rolled your eyes at him, you could hardly believe that he'd resorted to this,

"But you love my cooking." You reminded him and it was true, Felix adored everything you ever made him but if it came at the cost of you hurting yourself he was never going to let you in a kitchen again,

"I love you more." He whined making you roll your eyes, it was one tiny cut that you'd done it wasn't as though he knew about all of the other times you'd hurt yourself by accident.

"Felix, I won't seriously hurt myself. It was one tiny little cut-"

"And a burn, Don't think the maids haven't told me about the accidents that have happened when I'm not even here," You shot a look at the two maids who were quick to make themselves look busy and avoid your gaze.

"One day I'll get back in that kitchen," You warned him before he kissed your cheek, walking you into the living room where you could watch a movie while waiting for your food.

SEUNGMIN:

It wasn't that he was too protective but Seungmin wanted you to have privacy and if that meant emptying out a whole store just like his men had done the day he met you then he would gladly do that for you. But this was a bit far with his protectiveness, you never would have expected this.

"Seungmin, baby, don't you think this is going a step too far?" You quizzed as you stared around at the completely deserted mall and then over at your husband,

"No." He mumbled, running his hand over the small of your back, he'd planned this weeks ago when you mentioned wanting to go dress shopping for a charity event. The last thing he wanted was for someone else to see you in a jaw-dropping gown, instead, he wanted it to be a surprise.

"Seungmin, other people need to shop as well." You mumbled at him, there was no one around besides the workers in each of the shops and you could hardly believe that he'd done this.

"This is insane," You laughed listening to the way your voice echoed inside of the mall. It felt like something from a horror movie and Seungmin was enjoying the smile on your face,

"Let's go wherever you want, no one can disturb us." He told you as he took your hand in his and began to walk through the deserted mall together.

JEONGIN: 

As soon as news spread that there was a shooter inside of your hotel Jeongin wasted no time in getting to you. You'd tried to text him but were taken hostage by the crazy man wielding a gun around and you were starting to regret not taking Jeongin up on his offer for a security guard.

"I suggest you release my wife before you lose a hand," Jeongin said as he stared at you, tears were springing in your eyes as the metal of the gun was pressed harder against your temple.

"You better get out of my way if you want her to be alive," The man stuttered out, It was clear he was nervous about this and you knew Jeongin was going to play on that.

"If you were going to kill her you would have by now." Jeongin stared at you, studying your face to make sure you were truly okay and you smiled weakly at him, letting him know he hadn't hurt you yet. 

"GET AWAY!" The man screamed as Jeongin tried to step closer to you and he yanked you backwards, everything happened within a matter of seconds. One moment you were in the man's arms and the next you were on the floor with something warm over your face.

"What-"

"Thank you, boys," Jeongin said to two men who were standing above you, you recognised them as some of the new bell boys you'd hired a few months ago.

"How do you know them?" You stared at him and a smirk began to take over your husband's lips.

"Baby, they're your private security."

"You got me security," You grumbled as you let out a laugh, you should have known.

"Did you really think I would let the love of my life walk around without protection?" He scoffed, laughing a little as you hit against his chest watching as the two men began to clean up and you straightened yourself out.

"I need to comfort the guests, you can help." You told Jeongin sternly as you both got up.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @acciocriativity @scarletemeterio @halesandy @aerastus @laylasbunbunny @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop @meowmeowisdaname @imafivestarkpopstan @lost-leopard-beanie @djeniryuu @backintomykpopphaseagain @choisoorin

[viceroywrites]

deja vu - part seven (stan route)

planning out your road trip through the pacific northwest, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to the town of gravity falls.

little did you know that this town held more memories than you could have possibly imagined.

too bad you didn't remember any of them.

stan x fem!reader / ford x fem!reader

choose your own adventure / contains fluff and angst (w/ happy ending)

part six | part eight

interested in the ford route? click here for masterlist.

tag list: @awitchersbard | @theilluminatidragonqueen | @jazzypop-op | @jonndoe | @chaimshelii | @starship606 | @swimmingrascalbatdragon | @stanfordsbaby | @gxstiess | @skrunkle11 | @valinbean | @funkyenby | @therealgoofygoober69 | @theblueraven | @adrian920155 | @im-kinda-bored | @miarabanana | @leo4242564 | @soupieoopieisloopie | @marvelous-maniac | @opossumclown | @m4x-3dw | @nothingbutcloud | @reivelmin | @grimometry | @walmartjim | @reiofsuns2001 | @bunni-teeth81 | @satorisgirl | @pen900 | @creat0r-cat | @lackingoriginalthoughts | @fries11 | @sunniskyies | @policedeer | @sadslasher13 | @kittenlover614 | @margibees | @lunnybunny12 | @the-hufflebird-girl | @sawendel l | @shamrockfish | @atseoks | @luckybatbones | @ryuyukawa | @mekkori | @bigbodycity | @kawaii1369 | @333brat333 | @styxxcrossing

The ambient sounds of the Mystery Shack on a weekend were quite serene.

The sound of Abuelita’s telenovelas playing in the background, the creaking of the worn wood floors each time the younger set of Pines twins walked across their room, the top popping off a can of Pitt Cola before Stan takes a loud sip. 

Thankfully, the layers of dirt and concrete muffled the sounds of bickering that echoed through the basement that would quickly unravel the calm atmosphere upstairs. The raised voices barely audible through the vending machine that sits in the gift shop.

You were on your fourth day of watching back your memories with Ford. To say it was a rollercoaster each day was an understatement. It was a 50/50 toss up on how the day would end. Half the days you and Ford would end up not talking to each other until the next day. The other half, you felt yourself getting closer to him, gracious for his presence and adding more clarity to the scenes that played before you. 

Today was an example of the former, your arms crossed over your chest after asking Ford to pause the tape after a particularly nasty fight the two of you had just played.

“Y/N, your interpretation of what I said was completely off-base.” Ford snaps, getting a bit defensive despite his promise that he would not try to defend his actions this time around. He couldn’t help himself, his mind defaulting to the logic that made the most sense to him. 

Old habits tend to die hard, it seems, when it comes to your dynamic with Ford.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know there were multiple ways to interpret you telling me that I was clueless. Please enlighten me.” You say with a sardonic tone, your expression sour. These past few days, it has started to dawn on you that Ford’s knowledge was somewhat limited in the emotional department. 

Ford pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Listen, if you just give me a chance to explain myself, what I meant to say was that you were clueless in the sense that you didn’t understand what I was up against at the time. I wasn’t commenting on your intelligence.” Ford attempts to assuage the impact of his words.

“Stanford, how is that any better?” You throw your hands up in frustration, “I knew you felt like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders, but that doesn’t excuse you taking it out on others, the very people trying to help you!”

“I didn’t ask for you to help me! It was your choice to give up your dream job back then! I didn’t need you!” A flurry of biting words leave Ford’s mouth before he can think about the consequences and if he truly even meant what he was saying. 

‘Fine, I don’t need your help!’

‘I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone!’

Those phrases echoed over and over in your head the past few days, sending you right back to the foggy memory of what you had surmised to be your last interaction with Ford. 

“Then what’s the point of me being here, Ford? If you didn’t need me then, you clearly don’t need me now.” You ask, about to turn your heel to head back upstairs.

Your own ego would not allow you to just stand there taking Ford’s harsh words, and you had learned over the last few days that sometimes you had to choose your battles with the stubborn intellectual.  

Ford freezes at your response, the weight of your words hitting him like a bucket of cold water washing over him. 

The words you uttered were eerily similar to the exact words you had uttered when you left him thirty years ago.

‘Then what’s the point of me being here, Ford? Let me just get out of your way then.’ 

His hand reaches out, just like it did all those years ago, grasping your wrist firmly. You turn to look back at Ford, about to snatch your hand away, but the familiarity of this scene stops you.

You’ve been here before, haven’t you?

Old habits do die hard.

“I-I’m sorry.” Ford says, “I didn’t mean what I said..”

“Then why say it?” You ask, hurt evident in your tone. “Why ask me to come with you all those years ago to Oregon if you didn’t need me?”

“Because… I did need you. It’s just my pride got in the way, I wanted to do it on my own. The concept of asking for help was hard enough and I didn’t want to feel useless to you… in the past, I had to be pushed to a breaking point to ask. Even then… I had a hard time accepting help, believing that I had all the answers.” Ford rambled out in the best words he could find at the moment to explain himself.

You needed a moment to digest his explanation, still needing time to work through the pain his words had caused in the first place.

“Mind if we call it for today? I know we only got through four hours of memories but I just need some time to think it over, Ford.” You ask, hastily pulling your hand away from Ford’s grasp.

Despite being in such a rush to get your memories back a few days prior, you were at your limit already for today. 

Ford’s hand falls limp at his side, admitting defeat. Despite his stubbornness, he knew it was not optimal timing to be insisting you push onward especially when he was on thin ice in regards to how you felt about him at the moment, “Very well, let me know if you change your mind.”

After making your way up the staircase, you push against the vending machine door, closing it behind you. The gift shop is empty, Melody and Soos closing down the Shack for the day to visit her family up in Portland. 

There was also a part of you that was putting off the inevitable. You know you were getting dangerously close to your final fight based on the loose timeline Ford had explained to you and the amount of dreams you had checked off in your journal. You had to admit that you were terrified about how you would feel about Ford at the end of this all, especially after forming bonds with the people who were dearest to him. 

The thoughts were getting a bit too overwhelming, and you decided to head outside to get some fresh air. Descending down the front steps of the Mystery Shack, you decide to take a walk around the perimeter of the house, not having wandered around the surrounding forest much since you first arrived. The extent of your exploration of the Shack had been mostly contained indoors, wanting to familiarize yourself with all the settings of your dreams.

Your hand runs over the old wood as you walk along the side of the Shack, tracing over the patches of sheet metal and newer wood that covered up the holes that had been created during Weirdmageddon. It suddenly hits you that just a few days ago, this was just a silly little tourist attraction on your way up north. Little did you know that day, you actually were walking around the house that held so many lost memories, a ghost of your past just outside. 

The hum of the ice machine grows louder with each step you take towards the back of the Mystery Shack. Rounding the corner, you are greeted to the sight of Stan, lounging on an old beat up couch on the back porch of Shack, nursing a cold Pitt Cola in his left hand. The gold medallion that rests on his exposed gray chest hairs, courtesy of the top two buttons of his red Hawaiian shirt undone, twinkles in the sunlight. In his right hand, he holds a broom, causing you to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Busy sweeping the back porch?” Your voice calls out, startling him as he suddenly raises the broom in defense though quickly dropping it at the sight of you.

 “Jesus, you can’t sneak up on me like that, toots! At my age, I might have a heart attack right here!” Stan groans, dropping the broom to the side before glancing out into the field, “Caught some gnomes trying to rummage through the garbage and had to chase ‘em off. One of them is still obsessed with Mabel and always tries to get something of hers out of the trash.”

You grimace at the thought of these small bearded man still pining after the fourteen year old, walking up the porch steps, “Man, they’re tenacious, aren’t they?” You mutter, standing in front of Stan, “Mind if I join you?”

Stan wordlessly pats the seat next to him in response, taking a sip from his Pitt Cola. You take the seat graciously, sinking into the worn out cushions. 

“So I take it that today's memory session was a bust, considering you’re out here.” Stan commented, his arm dangling against the back of the couch as he looked out into the forest. His eyes narrow, giving the gnome that pops its head out a warning glare before it disappears back into the bush. 

You wished these couch cushions would sink you further into its depths after hearing Stan’s comment, “A bit of an understatement.” You trail off, not wanting to go into too much on account of Stan potentially defending Ford. You wouldn’t even blame him if he did. After all, you were a stranger just a week ago.

Stan could sense your hesitation to elaborate and decides to break the ice himself, “You don’t have to tiptoe around me, ya know. I know my brother can be a pain in the ass sometimes, I’ve probably thought whatever you’re thinking at some point, especially last summer.”

Sometimes you forget that only just this year had the Pines twins repaired their fractured relationship after decades of being apart. Despite the occasional banter and arguments that are typical with any sibling dynamic, it was apparent to any onlooker that Stan and Ford had each others’ backs. 

There’s a sharp inhale through your nostrils, mustering up the courage to blurt out and get off your chest the first thought that comes to mind to summarize your feelings towards Ford at the moment, “You know your brother can be a stubborn asshole sometimes. I know he means well but he just always needs to defend his actions, there’s always some logical and seemingly justifiable reason as to why he did what he did.”

Stan balks out a deep laugh, glancing over at you, “You’re preaching to the choir, I think Poindexter got so used to being right growing up in the eyes of our old man that whenever we’d get into arguments, he’d just find a way to logic out how he wasn’t in the wrong. Though I can’t say I’m any better, I think it runs in the Pines genes to be a little bit stubborn.” He admits with a shrug.

You let out a soft laugh yourself, seeing first hand recently how their strong personalities clash at times. You shake your head, “If you’re both so stubborn then, how’d you two make up after not speaking for decades?” You pause, asking the question that you ask yourself often, “How do you forgive him when he’s hurt you so much?”

Stan takes a long sip from his can of Pitt. He’s not sure how to quite answer your question. There weren't some magical words or things that Ford said or did to get him to forgive him and vice-versa. He wished it was that simple, but giving forgiveness was similar to gambling. There was always the potential that the more you gave, the more it could bite you in the ass. Forgiving Ford meant accepting that he could get hurt again some day, but it felt worth the gamble for the opportunity to have his brother as a part of his life again.

Was it wrong of him to give his perspective even though you were asking him?

Was he meddling with his brother building a relationship with you again, romantic or not?

Would he ruin it just like he had ruined Ford’s chances of getting into his dream school?

Stan takes a look into your eyes that are confused and desperate for answers. It’s scary how he can see bits of himself just this past summer in you, and it dawns on him that only he of all people could truly understand the pain you were experiencing. He lets out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck out of vexation, trying to find the right words to say. 

“Look, I wish there were some groundbreaking explanation that I could give you that would lay out how I was able to forgive Ford after all those years step by step…” Stan mutters, toying with the pop top of the soda. “During Weirdmageddon, Bill put the kids in danger, and Ford and I had to put aside our grudge to rescue them. After that, I lost my memory, and I spent this past year getting my memories back. Ford helped me along the way and in a way, that started to make up for everything that happened in the past.” 

The mention of Bill makes your blood run cold. You knew that Dipper and Mabel were in the know about the strange happenings of Gravity Falls and actively helped Fiddleford regain his memories, but it was terrifying to think that they were involved to the point of Bill seeing them as a threat and putting their lives in danger. However, it made perfect sense that it brought the two brothers to set aside their past grudges and come together - you’ve seen first hand how much they adore the younger twins.

Stan continues, “Besides, you gotta remember Ford’s my twin brother. We’ve been together since birth. Sure, he can be a stubborn know-it-all, but at the end of the day, I’d do anything for the guy. Also it’d be a hell of a waste of all those years I invested into trying to get him back if I didn’t forgive him.” 

“So you ever get a return on that investment?” You ask with a grin, causing Stan to let out a hearty chuckle. “I’d say spending the last year helping me get my memories back while also being stuck with me on a boat exploring the world was a good return. Though I’m still waiting for him to admit I’m the better looking twin.”

“Anyways, back to my point. I know my brother’s a stubborn one, the guy will debate with you for hours on a topic he thinks he knows everything about. He gets tunnel visioned so when he gets like that, focus less on the why of what happened and more on how he’ll make up for it.” Stan explains, “Trust me, he does want to make things right by you. I know he has a lot of regrets about how his actions affected you and Fiddleford.”

Stan’s perspective helped a lot as it made you realize that you spent a lot of time with Ford arguing about your memories. In wanting Ford’s perspective, it had created a scenario where Ford felt he was the expert in this situation and needed to defend his logic. 

“Maybe I should try watching the memories without Ford, and talking to him about it once I’ve processed everything.” You say, “I think it’s better to ask for an apology rather than an explanation. No matter what he says, the logic behind it doesn’t take away the sting.” 

“Honestly, that’s probably a good idea, doll.” Stan hums, “I know I had to take a sec to cool off before Ford and I could talk things out. Hell, there were some times that it took a day or two for me to come around.” Stan stands up suddenly, crushing the empty Pitt can in his hand and tossing it into the trash can. He glances back at you, “Since you’re free for the rest of the day, you wanna join me in taking Mabel and her friends to go mini-golfing? You’ve been down in that basement pretty much every single day, maybe getting out of the Shack will help.”

The offer is tempting, those countless hours in the cold, dark basement of the Mystery Shack may have been tolerable for Ford, but it was starting to drive you a little stir crazy. 

“Sure, why not?”

90% Compatibility - For real soulmates. Start planning the wedding, now.

Mabel stares at the text before her, her purple glitter pen dropping to the floor dramatically almost in slow motion. She’s grateful that Dipper was out for the day, deciding to keep Pacifica company during her shift at Greasy’s and work on his journal as she squeezes her cheeks together in disbelief, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

Hearing a loud knock on the wooden door startles Mabel out of her dazed state, and she quickly stuffs the magazine underneath her pillow when Stan sticks his head through the gap. “You good, pumpkin?” Stan asks, hearing her through the door. “I’m totally fine, Grunkle Stan! In fact I’m spectacular!” Mabel says, her voice slightly shaky. Stan raises a skeptical eyebrow but decides it’s best not to ask, “Well, we’re ready for ya downstairs to head to the mini-golf course.”

“We? Is Great Uncle Ford joining us?” Mabel asks, slipping off the bed to slide on her shoes. Stan rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, “Actually, Y/N’s gonna be joining us. She wanted to take a break today, and I figured I’d invite her to join.” 

The bubbly brunette sees this as the perfect opportunity to see you and Stan’s dynamic in action, wanting to see the chemistry between the two of you first hand. “Fine by me, anything to get you out of our hair, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel says with a grin. Stan rolls his eyes, ruffling Mabel’s hair when she walks up to him despite her playful protest, “Yeah, yeah, I know you pre-teens need your space.”

“I’ll be down in a sec, Grunkle Stan. I need to grab the sweater I borrowed from Grenda.” Mabel says. The moment Stan disappears behind the door and she hears his footsteps creaking down the old staircase, she rushes to take a photo of her magazine, texting her friends.

‘Ladies, I might have a match making opportunity and I need your help!’

-

You can feel three pairs of eyes staring at the back of your head with intensity during the entire car ride to the Putt Hutt. Part of you wonders if there’s something off about your appearance, the other part wonders if you somehow did something that personally offended the three pre-teens that sit in the back of the El Diablo despite your introductions to Candy and Grenda being pleasant.

You lean over the console, eyebrow raising as you hear three sets of breaths hitch at your sudden movement, before whispering in Stan’s ear, “Do I have something on my face?”

Stan glances over as he’s sat at a red light, assessing your features carefully before shaking his head, “Nah, you look good like you always do.” He says nonchalantly though pauses after realizing he just complimented you, “I mean… you’re decent, ya know?” He attempts to brush it off, chuckling awkwardly.

You can’t help but laugh at his awkwardness, “Glad to know I’m decent by Stan Pines’ standard.” You tease, causing Stan to relax before he begins to press his foot on the gas the moment the light turns green.

You hear murmurs soon after but choose to brush it off, more focused on how your cheeks heated up after Stan’s casual compliment. 

After parking the car, the girls rush out of the car, making a bee-line for the rental booth with you and Stan trailing behind. “Are they usually like that?” You ask Stan who shrugs, “Usually they’re yapping with each other the whole ride but I wouldn’t pay it any mind. You’re better off trying to understand quantum mechanics than the minds of pre-teens.”

Once you and Stan catch up, the two of you find yourselves whipping out your wallets at the same time. “I got this one, Stan. You’ve already been so generous with letting me stay at the Shack.” You insist, shoving the bills through the clear window which Stan promptly tries to snatch away, holding over your head, “Nuh-uh, it’s my grand-niece and her friends.” The bored, underpaid teenager worker behind the booth blows a bubble with her gum, chin propped up on her hand, as the two of you squabble. 

“Grunkle Stan never insists on paying for anything. He usually tries to get out of paying.” Mabel whispers over to Candy and Grenda who watch on, their eyes flitting back and forth as if they were watching a rally during a tennis match. She watches, hearing her Grunkle’s deep chuckle resonate through the air as you try in vain to pull his arm down before faking him out, slamming your card down and pushing it towards the worker who promptly swipes it.

“Alright, you win this round, toots.” Stan huffs, taking the clubs from the worker and passing them to the girls before you all make your way onto the course. The moment you step onto the course, you quickly realize how skilled Mabel is at the sport, easily sinking hole in ones when it takes her friends a few tries. 

As for you and Stan, you watch in amusement as Stan stomps around each course with a grimace, using way too much power and usually knocking the ball way out of bounds. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the girls waiting, glancing over at the next course. “Why don’t you girls go on ahead? We’ll meet up with you at the end, I think your Grunkle is going to be a while.” You say, hearing Stan yell ‘Oh come on’ in the distance.

The girls nod eagerly, running off in excitement though you were unaware it was not about mini-golf in the slightest but the opportunity to observe you and Stan from a distance and perhaps nudge the two of you together. “Let’s go straight to hole 20, I have a plan.” Mabel says with a grin, rubbing her hands together.

Once the girls disappear from your sight, you walk back over to Stan who putts the ball to the other end of the course once again narrowly missing the hole after hitting it in frustration a bit too hard. “Son of a gun!” Stan curses which has you shaking your head with a chuckle, “You know the kids are gone. You can curse for real now.” Stan looks around, seeing Mabel and her friends are gone before grinning with glee as he lets out, “Son of a bitch!”

You laugh at his antics, coming up behind him. “You know if you use a little less power, you might make it in the hole. You’ve got a good aim, you just keep narrowly missing it.” You point out. Stan folds his arms, and you almost expect a sense of defensiveness, but Stan takes it as a challenge of sorts. “Oh? Didn’t realize you were a mini-golf pro, care to make a wager then?” He says with a grin, twirling his club in his hand.

“What kind of wager are we thinking, Pines?” You ask, amused at the prospect. “Person who gets the ball in with the least amount of tries wins. Loser has to cook breakfast for the rest of the family tomorrow.” Stan offers, mostly to get out of having to make breakfast for once. Ford has tried to offer but it resulted in the Pines family scrubbing the walls to clean up the pancake batter that was flung all across the kitchen. He sticks out his hand, hoping to seal the deal.

You glance between him and his hand before wrapping your hand around his, shaking it firmly. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” 

The two of you move from course to course, using the scorecard provided for once to tally up how many tries it takes each of you to sink the ball into the hole. You are quite surprised to see Stan actually take your feedback to heart, adjusting his force and getting a few hole in ones in there. 

It’s pretty much neck and neck, the two of you bantering and trying to distract one another during each other’s putts. Amidst her scheming, Mabel peaks her head through the bushes every now and then, watching on in curiosity. The chemistry between you and Stan seems so effortless, his presence pulling a beaming smile and laughter that she had yet to see around her Grunkle Ford. “I can’t believe it… they actually fit really well together.” Mabel says in awe. 

“They’re coming this way!” Grenda calls out in a hushed tone, causing Mabel to stick her head back into the bush. She watches carefully as the two of you approach, waiting for the right moment. The golf ball rolls right past the bush, and you make your way to go hit it once more, Stan trailing right behind you. Mabel takes this opportunity to simply stick out her leg, your ankle snagging on it. You begin to fall forward, your hands extending outward to brace yourself for the fall but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel Stan’s upper arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his fingertips sinking into the fabric of your shirt to make sure he has a grip on you. “Whoa there, watch where you’re stepping. Could’ve landed flat on your face there!” Stan chuckles, gazing down with an amused grin at what he perceived was your clumsiness. He quickly tugs you up, but the force that he uses causes you two to end up chest to chest. 

Time seems to stand still, the two of you staring into each other’s eyes. Being this up close to you, Stan notices features that he hadn’t before. The subtle wrinkles that frame your eyes, most likely from how your eyes crinkle when you smile, how your eyes seem to shine in the sunlight. How soft your lips look… have they always looked that kissable?

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Um, Stan…” Your voice cuts through his thoughts as you wonder why he has yet to let go of you.

Stan quickly pulls away, clearing his throat. He turns away from you, trying to hide the flush across his cheeks. “L-Let’s wrap up this hole, I’m sure the kids are waiting for us.” He quickly tries to change the subject, hoping you don’t question why he was holding onto you for so long.

“Sure…” You say with a nod, walking back over to putt the ball in the hole but you end up missing again, cursing under your breath as your mind is stuck on the events that just unraveled.

Stan ends up winning your bet at the end, narrowly by one point, the one point you could have made had it not been for your brain turning to mush at reminder of the feeling of Stan’s strong arm wrapped around your middle, the scent of his woodsy, most likely cheap cologne, and his brown eyes staring back at you.

-

After finishing up at the golf course, Stan drove you and the girls to a nearby taco joint to grab dinner. The tension from earlier still lingered in the air, but the two of you tried to brush it off as best as you could since the kids were around.

Once you order the food, the girls spy a claw machine in the corner, and after laying the puppy dog eyes on thick, Mabel was able to get some change that Stan was able to scrounge up and made a beeline over to hopefully win a pig plush that looked like Waddles. That left you and Stan alone for the first time since the golf course, the two of you staring anywhere but each other.

“So do you and Ford have any plans of where you’ll go next once Mabel and Dipper leave for the summer?” You decide to break the ice, asking the first question that comes to mind as you toy with the gemstone on your necklace. Stan finally glanced up at you, watching you fiddle with the gemstone. He had picked up on your anxious habit of messing with it after a few of your fights with Ford, pacing around the hallways of the Mystery Shack with it in your fingers.

“Not a clue. Usually we just go wherever the sails take us though Ford is pulled to places where all sorts of weird stuff happens like a magnet.” Stan comments with a shrug. You tilt your head, “Is there anywhere you’d like to visit specifically?” Stan blinks, not really having thought about it. Truthfully, this past year, anywhere was fine with Stan as long as it was with Ford.

“I dunno, I think a lot of places in Europe are too hoity-toity for me. Especially France, ugh.” Stan shudders at the thought, “I’m more of a tropical kinda guy. Beaches and babes, ya know?” Stan lets out a hearty chuckle.

You smile in amusement, “Babes, huh? Any luck finding a lady during your travels?” Stan’s chest deflates almost comically, fiddling with his thumbs, “Well, you see…” The elaborate tale he was about to tell gets stuck in his throat as the food arrives, being dumped in front of the two of you. 

“You were saying?” You say, eyebrow quirking as you grab a taco.

Stan puts his hands up in defeat, “Alright, the closest I got was a siren that Ford had to drag me away from before she took my soul.” You let out a laugh of disbelief, taking a bite from your food, “So Stan Pines is not the suave playboy I thought he was?” Stan shakes his head, “Afraid not, sweetheart. Sorry to disappoint.”

The pet name rolls off his tongue and he doesn’t even realize it, but you do. Your cheeks feel warm, and you can’t believe the butterflies that seem to erupt in your stomach. You almost choke on your taco, but swallow it down. 

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

“Y/N, look at the plushies we got!” Mabel runs up to the table, her arms full of plushies as Grenda and Candy follow behind her. Just when you hope that Mabel’s presence will save you from the weird, fuzzy feelings you should not be feeling towards your ex’s twin brother, it ends up making it worse. 

“Grunkle Stan, could you move over to the other side of the booth so Grenda, Candy and I can sit next to each other? It’ll be easier to share the nachos that way.” Mabel asks. An innocent request, Stan obliges, slipping out of the booth and sliding next to you. The three girls pile into the opposite side of the booth, and Mabel proceeds to show off each stuffed animal along with their name and a brief backstory.

Stan and you are too enthralled by Mabel’s show and tell to notice her high fiving her friends briefly underneath the table for a mission accomplished today.

-

The sun had finally set by the time you arrived back at the Mystery Shack, a bag of food in your hand to bring to Ford as an olive branch. You descend down the stairs of the basement, but Ford is nowhere to be found. Instead, you find a note next to a plate of cookies.

‘My apologies again for today - I will uphold my promise next time to not justify my actions and only provide additional detail when asked.

I will be spending some time with Fiddleford for the rest of the day. 

P.S - The baked goods were not made by me so they are safe to consume.’

You chuckle, shaking your head. 

Looks like Ford had the same idea to offer an olive branch.

You write a note, letting Ford know about the food before taking the plate of cookies up the stairs with you, heading straight to the kitchen to put away the food. Stan catches you on the way there, glancing at the bag of food still in your hand, “Where’s Poindexter?”

“He’s visiting Fiddleford, he left an apology note and gave me these cookies.” You explain, placing the food inside the fridge. Stan sucks in air through his teeth, eyeing the cookies, “I wouldn’t eat those sweetheart if you care about your safety.”

There’s that damn pet name again.

“It’s fine, Ford didn’t make them. He made that very clear.” You chuckle, putting down the plate before grabbing a cookie yourself.

“Hey, uh, since the kids are busy, I was wondering if you’d wanna watch a movie with me in the living room. If you don’t have plans to watch more of your memories or nothing for the evening.” Stan asks, scratching his chin.

It was a clear choice between trying to watch another heart-wrenching memory to watching a movie. 

Stan decided to show you the Duchess Approves after you had mentioned you had never heard of it. There wasn’t enough room on the arm chair so you sat on the floor next to Stan, and spent the rest of the evening listening to his animated reactions and grinning as he passionately presented his ideas for a sequel.

The two of you turn in for the evening once the movie finishes, but not before you give Stan a sudden hug, thanking him again for helping you take your mind off things for a day. Stan awkwardly pats your back, stiff against your arms while his heart is beating through his chest so hard he’s worried he may have a heart attack right there.

As you lay on the air mattress, staring at the ceiling, you can’t help but hope that things work out for the best. 

That Ford will make amends for the pain he caused and show he has changed. 

That you can find a way to forgive Ford. 

That you both can heal from the past, having at least an amicable relationship. 

That you get to keep the people you have met through him in your life.

Your eyes slowly become heavy, finally closing as you slip into a deep sleep.

-

A sudden knock at the door startles you from your sleep, eyeing the door cautiously.

Not knowing who may be outside the door, you grab a baseball bat that you had kept by your bedside and approach the door.

“Who’s there?” You call out but there is no answer.

Instead, a letter is pushed through the door crack and you can barely make out the sound of footsteps retreating.

Putting down the bat, you grab the envelope, quickly opening it to read its contents. 

‘Hey Stan,

I hope you’re hanging in there, I know from your last letter you were on the move again, but hopefully things work out in New Mexico!

Sorry that it took so long to write you back, it’s truthfully been a really tough month. Ford’s pretty much buried in his work, our friend who’s been helping Ford with his research has been pretty anxious nowadays. Hopefully the sooner Ford wraps up his project, everyone will be less on edge.

But I saw your latest commercial on TV the other night, I really hope this new product takes off!

I really hope one day you can make it out to Oregon, and you and Ford can catch up and mend things. I know you aren’t ready to talk to him yet, but I honestly think he could use you. He’s pretty wound up, and nothing I really say or do is helping…

Anyways, I know you really don’t like it, but I sent some money and a few of those scratch cards I know you like. Just a little something to keep you steady until you get back on your feet.

Wishing you the best with your latest business venture!

Sincerely,

Y/N.’

Stan shoots up in bed, a cold sweat coating his body, running his hand through his gray hair. 

“Holy shit.”

[saythenametotheworld]

Wonderland | l.yy (18+)

A carefree spring break, a charming stranger, and unforgettable moments that felt like they’d last forever. You and Yangyang both knew it wouldn't, but boy, it was hands down the best spring break ever.

Campus Confessions masterlist

Genre: vacation romance, smut Pairing: Liu Yangyang x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, alcohol, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 20k words. Part 2 of the Campus Confessions series, but it can be read as a standalone fic. Listening to Wonderland by Taylor Swift. Genuinely, let me know what you guys think of this. I am very open-minded to constructive criticism. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally and do not claim they would ever behave like they were portrayed in this story.

Playlist: Highway to Heaven by NCT 127, Love Talk by WAYV, Untouchable by Taylor Swift, Wonderland by Taylor Swift

“Didn’t you calm my fears with a Cheshire cat smile?”

Aruba was bursting with color—yellows, blues, pastel pink, and shades of orange. The buildings were vivid with these colors, almost as if they were smiling at you as brightly as the locals did. Even the road to the villa felt like a postcard—trees with twisted trunks that you’d never seen before were bent permanently toward the west, adorning a desert landscape. The ocean shimmered to your left, gleaming blue and inviting, sending reflections of sunlight dancing through the air.

Despite the beauty of it all, you couldn't wait to get to your Airbnb and take a cold shower. The long flight was straining, and the taxi ride felt like a sauna. Your friends weren’t much better—Giselle had asked the driver several times if you were there yet, while Ningning passed out beside you, half-asleep with the windows open.

By the time you arrived at the villa, your brains were too fried to think and picked your rooms at random. The villa was booked by two groups—yours and some strangers. You’d hoped it wouldn’t be awkward, but right now, you couldn’t care less and it seemed like the other group wasn’t there yet. You slipped into the first door you saw, dropping your bag unceremoniously onto the floor. Then you kicked off your shoes and stripped out of your travel clothes with your eyes fixed on the bathroom door ahead. Standing in just your underwear, you pulled your hair into a messy bun, already daydreaming about the cold shower that would bring you back to life.

And then, out of nowhere, you heard the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat.

You froze, hands still gripping your hair, and slowly turned toward the source of the sound. A man was leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze shamelessly roaming from your bare legs up to your wide eyes. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” he said, his voice warm and amused, “but usually, I’d buy a girl dinner first.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat as your brain scrambled to catch up. The embarrassment hit you fast. You grabbed the dress off the floor, flinging it over yourself with an urgency that only made the situation more awkward. “What the hell?” you managed, your voice coming out sharper than you intended. “Who are you?”

His grin widened, one brow arching as though he found your indignation charming. “Yangyang,” he said simply, like the name alone explained everything. “And you’re clearly not one of my friends, which makes this even more interesting. You must be with the other group.”

Right! This was a shared villa! “Yeah, well, if I’d known someone else was in here, I would’ve knocked,” you shot back, crossing your arms defensively, even though it didn’t help much—given the fact that you were still standing there half-naked.

“Ah, I see. It was my fault. I should've locked the door.” Yangyang’s eyes flickered with amusement, clearly enjoying your reaction. He stepped off the bed and walked toward you with slow, deliberate steps, but there was no real threat in his movements—just an unspoken confidence that radiated from him.

“Sorry,” he apologized, though his tone was far from sorry. “But next time, maybe try the door before you barge in and… unpack. I can’t be expected to play the gentleman if you don’t give me the chance to act shocked, you know?” 

You didn't say anything, conscious about the way he was looking at you now that he was closer. Only then were you able to get a good look at him—dark, neatly parted hair that framed his face, a downturned nose that balanced his delicate features, dark eyes with a glint of mischief in them, and lips curved in a soft, effortless smile.

He's cute, you caught yourself thinking. “Aren't you leaving?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Yangyang flashed you a toothy grin, one that reminded you of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. “Not without thanking you for the entertainment. I must say, it was a bold first impression.”

“I wasn’t trying to impress anyone,” you retorted, tightening the dress around your body. “Could you please just get out of my room?”

Yangyang shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze still scanning you with that unhurried intensity. “It’s not your room, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a little lower, more playful now. “I called dibs on it first. If you’re going to claim it, you’ll have to be more convincing.”

You huffed, looking away and hoping he’d just walk out of the door like he was intending to. Yangyang turned the doorknob but didn’t open the door yet.

“You know what, it’s all yours,” he said, making you glance at him. He was shamelessly ogling at your body, again. “You are making it a little hard to say ‘no’,” he added with a wink.

You gasped, a flush rising on your cheeks again, but before you could respond, he gave a lazy wave and stepped out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you flustered with a memory you wouldn’t soon forget.

Later that evening, you woke up feeling rested but starving. The soft glow of sunset was pouring into the room from the floor-to-ceiling window, and the view from where you sat on the bed was majestic. You didn’t pass up the chance to grab your phone and snap a photo. After that, you rose and stepped out of the bedroom.

The faint sound of music and laughter drifted up from downstairs. You followed it, wondering if it was your friends while your stomach was growling with every step. Sure enough, in the kitchen, Giselle and Ningning were perched at the counter, drinks in hand and plates of food in front of them. They waved you over immediately.

“Finally! Thought we’d have to drag you out,” Giselle said with a grin, pushing a plate toward you. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, grabbing a fork and digging in without hesitation.

“Did you sleep well?” Ningning asked, eyes glimmering beautifully—like they always have.

“Totally. I was so tired. I took a shower and just passed out immediately,” you replied, sighing dramatically. Then the memory of meeting Yangyang in the bedroom suddenly flashed in your mind. “Wait. We’re sharing this villa with other people, right?”

Giselle nodded. “Yeah. It’s really big. It has eight bedrooms. You haven’t explored it yet, have you?”

As you shook your head, Ningning said, “Our housemates just left a few minutes ago, actually. Said they’re going out to sight-see.”

“You’ve met them?” you asked.

“Yes,” Giselle replied, placing a finger on her chin, thinking. “Let’s see, there’s Hendery, Xiaojun, and Yangyang. They’re tourists from China.”

“Did they say anything?” you pried, wondering if Yangyang told them what happened earlier.

“We just introduced ourselves. You know how it goes,” Giselle answered. “Why? Did something happen?”

“Nothing,” you lied, looking away. “Just… wondering what they’re like.”

“They’re pretty chill, from what I can tell. Didn’t really hang out much, though,” Ningning chimed in.

“Yeah, they didn’t stick around long enough to make an impression,” Giselle added. “But they’ll probably be back later. Speaking of impressions, you should hurry and get ready. We’re going out tonight.”

The nightlife in Aruba’s Palm Beach Area was everything you’d imagined and more.

As soon as you stepped into the vibrant strip of bars and clubs, the energy hit you like a wave. The streets were alive with music blaring out from every corner, and the air was filled with the chatter and laughter of tourists and locals alike. Neon lights glowed in every direction, illuminating clusters of people moving from one bar to the next, drinks in hand, their faces flushed with excitement.

The first bar was packed, with music thumping loudly and bodies pressed together on the dance floor. The drinks were just as colorful and varied as the crowd—fruity cocktails with little umbrellas, classic mojitos, daiquiris, frosty beer bottles dripping with condensation. They came fast—colorful and sweet, and the three of you hit the dance floor almost immediately. Giselle and Ningning moved like they owned the place, and before long, you found yourself swept up in the rhythm too.

Ningning didn’t waste time—by the time you’d finished your first drink, a tall guy with a cheeky grin was already glued to her side, following her every move. She seemed to enjoy the attention but kept him at arm’s length, toying with him like a cat with a mouse.

You and Giselle, meanwhile, owned the dance floor. The music vibrated through your chest, your limbs moving in sync with the rhythm as you lost yourself to the beat. The drinks flowed, cooling your throat and warming your veins, adding a carefree edge to your movements.

Men naturally began approaching you and your friends. It was a strange but refreshing difference from back home. In Aruba, every guy seemed more confident and considerate, striking up conversations or asking you to dance without hesitation. When turned down, they didn’t linger or sulk—they simply moved on to the next opportunity, unfazed.

By the time you hit the second bar, Ningning’s admirer was still trailing your group, determined to win her over despite her aloof attitude. You and Giselle exchanged amused glances as you ordered another round of drinks.

“It’s like a buffet,” she whispered to you, her eyes scanning the room as she sipped her martini. Her sharp gaze flickered over the men who glanced her way, assessing each one.

“Too tall,” she muttered after one man caught her eye. “Too short,” she said about another. 

While dancing, a third guy approached her, but he was gone within a minute. Giselle rejoined you with a wrinkled nose. “His perfume was making me dizzy.”

You both giggled, shoulders bumping.

“What about him?” you teased, gesturing toward a handsome guy by the bar. “You danced with him, right?”

She shook her head with a dramatic sigh. “Thick accent. Totally not it.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as she dismissed each contender, whispering her sharp remarks to you before turning back to the dance floor. Giselle wasn’t just selective—she was a queen surveying her court, unbothered by anyone who didn’t meet her standards.

Meanwhile, you were simply enjoying the music and the atmosphere, dancing until your feet ached and declining the occasional offers to buy you drinks or join you on the floor.

Ningning found you and linked her arms with yours. You grinned, “Where’s your shadow?”

Ningning rolled her eyes. “Told him to leave me alone. I couldn’t stand him anymore.”

“Why? I think he was cute.”

“He is but—” she sighed— “his English is worse than my Spanish.”

You winced. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work.”

“Absolutely not.”

By the time you reached your fifth bar, the night was catching up to you. You slumped onto one of the stools of the tiki bar, grateful for the chance to sit after hours of dancing and wandering. Your friends were nowhere in sight, but you weren’t worried—they’d either found their own fun or were still tearing it up on the dance floor. For now, you just needed a moment to recharge.

“What can I get you, Miss?” asked the bartender, flashing a pretty smile at you. You smiled back, finding her bold red pixie cut and honey skin tone immensely attractive.

“I’m not sure,” you replied, unable to take your eyes away from her face. “What do you suggest?”

“Have you tried our signature cocktail?”

“Not yet, but you’re gorgeous so I’m gonna trust you. I’ll have one please.”

She chuckled lightly and her smile just made her even more alluring. “Your judgment is a little questionable, but alright.”

You scrunch your nose cutely, the alcohol making you less shy about acting cute in front of a stranger. As the bartender was making your drink, you took pictures and videos of the party around you, determined to collect as many remembrances of your first spring break trip as you could.

“It’s called Aruba Ariba,” the bartender said, placing the glass on the counter and pushing it gently toward you. “I’m surprised the previous bars didn’t give you one.”

“Well, this is the first time I asked for a recommendation. I like sticking to the drinks I’m already familiar with, so,” you replied, shrugging. “Thanks.”

You took a sip and let the flavors as well as the spice dance on your tongue before letting out a satisfied hum. “This is good.”

“Thank you,” the bartender replied, bringing a hand on her forehead as if she was tipping a hat in appreciation. She then moved to another customer who had just approached the other side of the bar. Meanwhile, you were happily enjoying your drink while scrolling through your phone.

“Mind if I join you?” A man had slid onto the stool next to you, flashing a grin that was meant to be charming but came off a little too practiced. Before you could answer, he flagged down the bartender and ordered himself a drink, then turned back to you.

“You look like you could use some company,” he said smoothly.

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, keeping your tone polite but firm.

You expected him to leave, but he didn’t. “Aw, come on. It’s gonna be fun.”

“No, thank you.” You forced a small smile, hoping he’d move on, but he leaned in closer. He tried cracking jokes, tossing compliments your way, and making small talk that you weren’t interested in entertaining. When it became clear that your polite disinterest wasn’t working, you finally said, “I’m actually here with my boyfriend.”

“Oh yeah? Where is he?”

“He’s around,” you lied, looking toward the entrance as though expecting someone to walk through any second.

The guy smirked, clearly unconvinced. “You don’t have to lie. I can tell you’re not really with anyone.”

Before you could respond, the bartender stepped in. “Excuse me, sir, she said no. Leave her alone.”

But even that didn’t deter him. “Relax,” the guy said dismissively, waving off the bartender. “She’s just playing hard to get.”

You sighed, your patience running out, when suddenly an arm slid around your waist.

“There you are, honey,” a familiar voice drawled, soft but unmistakably amused.

Yangyang.

You turned your head just in time to see him leaning in, his free hand casually resting on the small of your back. “Sorry I took so long,” he said, before turning to the man beside you, the amusement in his eyes quickly cooling into something sharper. “Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?”

The man blinked, caught off guard. “Are you with her?”

Yangyang tilted his head, giving a lopsided grin. “Of course, she’s my wife. We’re newlyweds, you know. Honeymoon and all that.”

The guy scoffed, still skeptical. “She’s been sitting here alone for a while. I thought she was lying about having company.”

Your patience snapped. “Shouldn’t you leave someone alone when they ask you to?”

The man waved you off, his tone growing defensive. “Women say ‘no’ all the time. You like being chased. You say no because you want to see if we’ll try harder.” He turned to Yangyang, as if expecting backup. “You know how they are, right?”

“Ah, why is a grown man barking like a dog?” Yangyang asked, looking bored, digging his ear with his pinky like he was trying to unblock it. “Even a dog’s bark is more pleasant than this.”

The man’s expression twisted. “What did you just say?”

Yangyang tilted his head slightly, his hand still resting casually on your waist. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud?” He smiled, the kind that could either charm or infuriate someone depending on the context. “I meant to say, why is a grown man yapping like a toy poodle? All bark, no bite—you know what I mean?”

You snickered before you could stop yourself, then covered your mouth and looked away. The harasser didn’t share your amusement. His face reddened, his ego clearly stung. “You’ve got a big mouth,” he spat, standing from his stool and squaring his shoulders.

Yangyang raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “And you’ve got a small brain. It makes sense though, seeing how you can’t seem to take a hint.”

The man’s hand curled into a fist, his body tensing as he lunged toward Yangyang. You gasped, but before he could get close, two figures appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Hendery’s voice cut through the tension. He stepped between the two, holding up his hands as if refereeing. “What do you think you’re doing, buddy?”

Xiaojun flanked him, his expression calm but his stance solid as he placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You don’t wanna do that,” he said evenly, his tone low but firm. “Not in here,” he added, nodding at the muscular, almost gigantic bouncers at the entrance of the bar.

The man glanced between them, his bravado faltering as he sized up the newcomers. Hendery’s casual grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Xiaojun’s calm demeanor carried an unspoken warning.

The man clenched his jaw, glaring at all three of them before finally backing down with a muttered curse. He grabbed his drink and stormed off, his pride clearly bruised.

“Was that really necessary?” Xiaojun asked, turning to Yangyang with a slight shake of his head.

Yangyang shrugged, a sly grin on his face. “He started it.”

Hendery clapped him on the back, chuckling. “You’ve got a real gift for getting under people’s skin.”

“Come on, now. If you ruffle my feathers like that, my head might get bigger,” Yangyang quipped, shooting them a playful wink before turning back to you. “You okay, honey?”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still pounding from the confrontation. “Yeah but—” you took a deep breath— “Honeymoon? Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Yangyang shrugged, his grin returning. “Seemed like the easiest way to get rid of him. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You guess?” he teased, leaning just a little closer. “Wow, tough crowd.”

Shaking your head, you turned to Hendery and Xiaojun. “Thanks to you guys too.”

“Anytime,” Hendery smiled.

Xiaojun crossed his arms over his chest, studying your face. “We’ve been here for a day and Yangyang’s already married. Aruba really is something.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that.

At some point after the encounter with the creep, you were introduced to Hendery and Xiaojun, Yangyang’s friends. They stuck around at the bar, chatting over drinks and swapping stories. You learned that they were also on vacation from China and, like you, were incoming sophomores. Their easygoing vibe made it surprisingly easy to relax, even after the earlier drama.

“By the way,” Xiaojun said, eyeing you. “How do you guys know each other? We didn’t see you at the villa earlier.”

The memory of your mortifying first meeting with Yangyang made you roll your eyes. “You don’t wanna know.”

Hendery snickered, leaning on the bar. “It’s Yangyang, so he probably did something dumb and left a stupid impression.”

You exchanged glances with Yangyang, who gave you a knowing grin. Then he told his friends, “Let’s not talk about it, guys. Trust me—you really don’t want to know.”

Before you could respond, Giselle and Ningning appeared, weaving through the crowd with flushed faces and wide smiles. Giselle spotted you first and threw her arms in the air. “There you are! We’ve been looking for you!”

“Yeah!” Ningning added, her voice slightly breathless. “We found a place upstairs with amazing views. Where’d you disappear to?”

“She was busy fighting off creeps and getting married,” Hendery said before you could explain.

“Wait, what?” Giselle blinked, clearly taken aback. “Married?”

You rolled your eyes, heat rising to your cheeks. “This guy wouldn’t leave me alone, so Yangyang told him we were on a honeymoon to get rid of him.”

Giselle and Ningning exchanged amused glances before turning to Yangyang, grins tugging at their lips. “That’s kinda cute,” Ningning mused, her eyes sparkling. “Fake or not.”

“I see you’ve met our housemates,” Giselle said, nodding toward the guys with a warm smile.

The five of you chatted for a while before Giselle and Ningning eventually made their way back to the dance floor. Yangyang’s friends joined them.

“I’m not moving,” you declared, leaning back against the bar. “I’ve been walking and dancing all night. My legs are officially done.”

“Oh, come on,” Yangyang said, leaning closer with a mischievous grin. “I saved you. Doesn’t that earn me at least one dance?”

“Wow, so you’re holding that over my head now?”

“Absolutely,” he replied without missing a beat.

Yangyang headed for the dance floor, dragging you along. You opened your mouth to protest, but his grip was firm. Your legs felt like jelly, and the idea of moving even a little more was downright cruel. But Yangyang’s grin was so smug that resisting him suddenly felt like losing a challenge you hadn’t even agreed to. Against your better judgment, you let him lead you into the crowd.

Giselle and Ningning were pulling off ridiculous, exaggerated moves, laughing at themselves without a care in the world. Hendery, ever the show-off, attempted a wild spin that almost sent him crashing into a stranger, while Xiaojun kept it smooth and controlled, his steps simple but effortlessly cool.

Then there was Yangyang. He didn’t just dance—he owned the floor, his movements confident and effortlessly in sync with the beat. You hated to admit it, but he was good—like, really good.

At one point, he turned to you, holding out a hand. “Come on, Mrs. Liu Yangyang. Show me what you’ve got.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you into the fray. He spun you lightly, his grip steady but playful. Your initial reluctance faded with every step, and before you knew it, you were grinning and giggling.

Maybe it was the music, or maybe it was the way Yangyang’s friends treated you like you’d always been part of the group. Whatever it was, the tension you’d carried earlier had melted away, leaving behind only laughter and the steady rhythm of the night.

You woke up to the sharp rays of sunlight streaming through the window. Groaning, you rolled over—only to realize you weren’t even in bed. The floor was as unforgiving as it was unfamiliar, with a crumpled pillow under your head and a blanket twisted awkwardly around your legs like a makeshift cocoon.

Foggy memories of the night before flashed in your mind—the taxi ride, Giselle belting out the wrong lyrics to Dancing Queen, Ningning laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, and your voice joining the chaos with something equally off-key.

Dragging yourself to your feet, you grabbed a towel and stumbled into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. Fifteen minutes later, feeling somewhat human, you headed downstairs on a hunt for food.

In the kitchen, Xiaojun stood at the stove, flipping a ladle like it was a microphone as he hummed a tune you didn’t recognize. “Morning,” he said without turning around.

“Morning,” you mumbled, sliding onto a stool by the counter. “That smell is fantastic. What is it?”

“Hangover cure,” he replied, grabbing a bowl and pouring soup in it. “Chinese-style. Trust me, you’ll thank me later,” he added, sliding the bowl toward you.

“Later?” you chuckled, accepting the spoon he handed you. “I’m thanking you right now. Thank you very much.”

“You’re very welcome,” Xiaojun said with a smile.

Not long after, Giselle and Ningning shuffled in, both looking like they’d been hit by a truck. Giselle flopped onto a chair with a groan. “Remind me why we thought mixing tequila and rum was a good idea.”

“Because we’re dumb,” Ningning replied, reaching for a glass of water. “Morning, guys.”

“Eat first, complain later,” Xiaojun said, sliding bowls of steaming soup across the counter.

Hendery appeared from the patio. “That smells fantastic!” he cheered, hurrying over to Xiaojun’s side and peering into the pot. “Is there more?”

“There’s enough for everybody,” replied Xiaojun, handing the ladle to Hendery so he could help himself.

The kitchen island was quiet for the first few minutes, with only the sound of the spoon against china and satisfied hums from everybody filling the silence. Xiaojun’s soup was phenomenal, and you couldn’t decide whether it was because you were hungry and hungover, or because he was simply an amazing cook.

After last night, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding between your group and the boys. For some reason—probably last night’s shenanigans—neither group seemed awkward with the other. It felt like you’d known each other for a long time despite only meeting yesterday. And it also felt like you were one big friend group on a vacation rather than two separate groups sharing the same villa. You liked it better this way.

You were halfway through your portion when Yangyang appeared, looking way too refreshed for someone who had been just as wild the night before. He plopped into the chair next to you, his grin as bright as the sun you wished would dim.

“So,” he began casually, resting his chin in his hand. “Have you made your decision?”

You blinked at him, not saying anything but giving him an inquiring look. He smirked. “You know, the thing we talked about last night.”

It took a moment for the fog in your brain to clear, but then it hit you—his ridiculous offer to ‘show you a good time’ while you were in Aruba, whatever that meant. You shook your head, suppressing a laugh.

“Pass.”

Yangyang feigned a look of heartbreak. “Ouch. Can’t you at least pretend to think about it?”

You shook your head again. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”

Across the table, Giselle and Ningning exchanged confused glances, but Yangyang only winked at them. “Inside joke,” he said smoothly, leaving it at that.

The rest of the day was a blur of sunshine and downtime. Everyone had their own thing going on. Some were catching up on sleep, the others were watching TV, while the rest were just enjoying the down time after last night’s activities. Yangyang, however, was relentless.

You’d found a quiet spot on the patio with a book in hand, ready to soak up the calm. But you were barely a chapter in when Yangyang appeared, sitting onto the bean bag next to you with a loud sigh.

“Perfect day to say yes, don’t you think?” he asked, his voice filled with exaggerated optimism.

“Say yes to what?” you said without looking up, feigning ignorance.

“Come on, honey,” he replied, taking a magazine from under the table. “You know what I’m talking about.”

You turned a page, ignoring him. Undaunted, he leaned closer. “You’re missing out, you know. I’m offering you the ultimate spring break experience. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I don’t know,” you said, finally glancing at him while he flipped through the pages of the magazine lazily. “Maybe you’ll turn out to be very terrible at it?”

He paused, meeting your gaze. “Oh, ho ho ho,” he chimed, mischief evident not just in his grin but in his tone. “The only way to find out is for you to try it for yourself.”

“Pass.”

What was so crazy about Yangyang’s offer? Nothing, to be honest. If anything, a hookup was basically part of a trip like this one. When you were planning the trip with Giselle and Ningning, you talked excitedly about beaches, island adventure, bar-hopping, and cute foreign boys. You might not have been as excited as they were to find a good-looking tourist who’d sweep you off your feet, but you half-expected to get cozy with one.

But it was different with Yangyang. Your first meeting was unconventional, and the way he casually asked you to be his ‘travel wifey’ was far from the whirlwind spring break romance you were imagining. So, it’s an absolute ‘no’.

You didn’t tell him any of this though, so he kept at it. Later, while you were swimming alone, enjoying the cool water against the heat of the afternoon sun, Yangyang showed up again. He stood at the edge of the pool, hands on his hips like some kind of self-proclaimed lifeguard.

“Still thinking it over?” he called out.

You swam to the edge, wiping water from your face as you looked up at him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“What else could be better than trying to win over a pretty girl’s heart?” he admitted with a grin. 

“Wow, you’re persistent.”

He shrugged, “I’ve been told my persistence is part of my charm.”

You splashed water at him, but he dodged it with a laugh. “Keep playing hard to get, Mrs. Liu Yangyang. You’ll give in eventually.”

“Go away,” you shot back, though you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips.

That evening, after the sun dipped below the horizon, the group gathered in the living room for a round of card games. You had just beaten Hendery in a particularly competitive game when Yangyang slid into the seat next to you, carrying two glasses of some fruity cocktail. He handed one to you with a grin.

“Bribery,” he said.

“For what?” you asked, accepting the drink but eyeing him warily.

“For you-know-what. I figured I’d at least sweeten the deal,” he quipped.

Before you could reply, Giselle leaned over from across the table. “What deal?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, shooting a glare at Yangyang.

“Inside joke,” Yangyang said again with a wink, taking a sip of his drink.

He didn’t stop there, though. While you were distracted helping Ningning figure out the rules of the next game, he whispered, “I’ll even let you win at cards if you say yes.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the amused smirk that crept onto your face. “You haven’t even won one against me yet.”

He pointed finger guns at you. “That’s me letting you win,” he said, winking.

“You’re unbelievable,” you scoffed.

“And yet,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, “you can’t seem to ignore me.”

Yangyang was getting on your nerves. You could have shut him down for good, told him to leave you alone—but you didn’t. Maybe it was his ridiculous persistence, or the way his grin seemed to disarm you every time. Or maybe it was the infuriating fact that he wasn’t wrong—you couldn’t seem to ignore him. And somehow, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

“You are not barhopping again,” Karina groaned in envy while you were on FaceTime the next morning.

“No, we’re not,” Giselle replied, checking herself out in the mirror while you were helping her tie her bikini top.

“Not right now, anyway,” you added teasingly, grinning at Karina’s expense. She had wanted so badly to come with you, but she couldn’t because she had to go back to her hometown.

Ningning was in front of the vanity, putting on some makeup. “You really should have come. Aruba is a dream.”

You could hear Karina sigh dramatically on the other end of the phone. “Ugh, I swear, it’s like you guys are living in paradise without me. I really should’ve come.”

“Well, you were too busy being all responsible and going back home,” you chimed, joining Ningning by the vanity to look at yourself. “You’d have loved it. The beach, the sun... we loved it.”

Karina’s voice was laced with playful sarcasm. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in. I’ll be here, in my hometown, living my best life... not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at her dramatics, then turned to Giselle, who was now fiddling with the straps of her bikini top in front of the mirror. “You sure you don’t want to just rush over here last minute? We could all have the best time together.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Karina replied, but you could tell she was still slightly regretful. “Someone has to look out for you girls from here. I’ll just live vicariously through your snaps and photos.”

Ningning smirked. “We’ll make sure to flood your inbox with those so you really feel like you’re here.”

“Please don’t,” Karina said with a mock exasperated tone. “I’m already getting jealous just hearing about all the fun.”

Giselle adjusted her sunglasses, clearly amused. “You should have come, Karina. Aruba is everything you said it would be... plus a little extra.”

You caught her eye in the mirror, raising an eyebrow in her direction. Karina asked, “A little extra? What exactly does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Giselle said quickly, turning away with a grin. “Just, you know, the whole vacation vibe...”

“My girl is not still moping out there, is she?” Karina asked, feigning strictness. “She’s not still thinking about some nerd called Huang Renjun, is she?”

You gasped. “Excuse me? Say it to my face.” You pouted at Karina. “I’m having a really great time. Thank you very much.”

“That’s good then.”

You grabbed your sheer layer top and pulled it over your head. “Also, don’t make it sound so upsetting. Renjun and I are still friends.”

Giselle scoffed. “Girl, Renjun and you weren’t anything else but friends.”

You rolled your eyes, mocking her. “Whatever. It’s all in the past.”

“Pretty sure it was just three weeks ago,” Karina teased.

You sighed. “Are we gonna hit the beach or should we just sit here and talk about my failed romances?”

Fortunately, they stopped teasing you and finished getting ready. You bade Karina goodbye with a promise to show her pictures and have fun. After grabbing everything you needed, the three of you hurried downstairs.

Giselle flicked her hair over her shoulder and wore her sunglasses. “Alright, let’s go make some waves, ladies.”

As you walked toward the beach, the guys were already lounging on the sun beds lining up the shore. Hendery was sprawled across one, his legs dangling in the sun, while Xiaojun and Ningning had already gone off to the water’s edge. Yangyang, of course, was right where you expected him to be—leaning casually against the sun bed, watching you approach with an almost predatory glint in his eyes.

His voice reached you first, as always. “What took you so long?” he asked, a smirk forming on his lips. “Did you take your sweet time dolling up for me?”

You didn’t even flinch. “Do I know you?” 

Yangyang laughed, his grin widening. “Give me one chance and you will.”

You raised an eyebrow as you placed your towel on the bed next to his. “I guess since I’m in paradise, I can tolerate this much of a nuisance.”

He sat up and leaned forward to you, his eyes never leaving you. “We may be in paradise right now, but I know I could take it up a notch. Make it feel more like paradise,” he said, his tone far too smooth for your liking.

You crossed your arms, trying to keep the irritation from your voice. “Didn’t you almost get into a fist fight with someone who couldn’t take a hint?”

Yangyang shrugged, leaning back on the sun bed. “I still haven’t heard the one definitive answer, so, yeah. I’ll keep trying until you say it.”

“Say what, exactly?” you asked, genuinely puzzled because you were sure you’d been discouraging his advances. If that wasn’t enough for a hint, then what exactly does he need?

“You haven’t really said no yet,” he said, closing his eyes with a smug grin. “All you’ve done so far is evade and dodge.”

You scoffed but didn’t say anything.

“It’s a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’, my dear wife,” he added, humming. “If you can’t give it, that means you’re not done thinking about it yet. I could still make you give in to my charm.”

“You’re very optimistic, did you know that?”

“Yes. I’m very appreciative too,” he chuckled, glancing sideways at you. “I’ll show you just how much I can appreciate everything about you if you say ‘yes’ to me.”

You held his gaze, unwavering with a glint of mischief. You wanted to say ‘no’, it was the most logical answer. But you couldn’t utter the word.

“Suit yourself,” you huffed. With a playful roll of your eyes, you rose to your feet and headed to the water. You could hear him laughing as you walked away, but you weren’t going to let him get to you that easily. Still, the way his gaze followed you made your pulse quicken just a little. The beach was warm, the water cool and refreshing, these were things you could always count on in this paradise—along with Yangyang’s relentless pursuit.

You and your friends frolicked by the beach—swimming, taking pictures, enjoying citrusy drinks from the nearby tiki, and letting the salt and sun get soaked up by your skin. The boys were off in their own world, swimming ang fighting on the sand like school boys. At one point, Hendery roped you into a game of beach volleyball, sparking an intense competition between the girls and the boys.

You were winning the match, with your easy teamwork and general proficiency with the game itself. You won the first set and it looked like the second set was yours too, leading with a score of 22 against their 19.

The sand was warm under your feet as you and Ningning jogged into position, Giselle was already hyping up the team from the backline. Across the net, the boys were plotting their strategy with the seriousness of a championship game. Yangyang stood in the middle of their huddle, pointing and gesturing animatedly, while Hendery crouched low, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Are they actually strategizing?” Ningning asked, tying her hair into a high ponytail.

You shrugged, hiding your smirk. “Let them think they have a chance.”

Giselle clapped to get your attention. “Focus, ladies. They’ve got height, but we’ve got heart.”

“And skill,” Ningning added.

“Mostly skill,” you corrected with a grin.

The first serve was Yangyang’s, and he started with a smug grin as he launched the ball over the net. It was fast, but Giselle intercepted it with a smooth dig. You set it up for Ningning, who spiked it perfectly, narrowly avoiding Hendery’s desperate lunge.

“Point for the queens!” Ningning yelled, pumping her fist.

The boys groaned, and Hendery rolled dramatically in the sand. “I need a sub!” he cried.

“You are the sub,” Yangyang shot back, flicking sand at him.

The game continued with fierce determination on both sides. Hendery proved to be a surprisingly agile blocker, while Yangyang was quick on his feet, diving for saves and trash-talking at every opportunity.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he called out after Giselle narrowly missed a serve.

“Keep talking, Yangyang,” she shot back, adjusting her sunglasses. “It’ll make our victory even sweeter.”

Ningning served again, and the ball sailed high over the net. Yangyang jumped to spike it, but you were ready, blocking it with a well-timed jump.

“Boom!” you shouted as the ball hit the sand on their side.

Yangyang stared at you, mouth agape. “Where did that come from?”

“From the talent I was born with, where else?” you said with a wink.

As the match wore on, the stakes grew higher. The boys managed a few lucky points, but the girls maintained a narrow lead. The final play was an intense rally, with the ball going back and forth across the net.

“Come on!” Hendery shouted, diving to save a near-miss.

“Mine!” Ningning yelled, running to the backline.

Yangyang jumped for a spike, but you leapt just in time, blocking it again. The ball tipped off the edge of the net and landed on their side. Then you girls erupted in cheers, jumping and hugging each other as the boys slumped to the sand in defeat.

“Unbelievable,” Yangyang muttered, shaking his head.

“Victory tastes so sweet,” Ningning said, doing another celebratory spin.

Hendery flopped onto his back, covering his face with his arms. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”

“Correct,” Giselle said, grinning. “Now, about that bet…”

Yangyang sighed, waving his hand lazily in the air. “Fine. Full-course barbecue it is.”

“Yes and we get to pick what we’re putting on the barbecue,” Giselle added.

Yangyang rose to his feet and jogged toward the sun bed where his bag was. When he came back, he was waving the card in the air. “Knock yourselves out. Just don’t max it out, yeah?”

“Fair enough,” Ningning said, snatching his card. “Let’s go shopping, Giselle. I’m craving scallops.”

Xiaojun offered to join them, saying he’d make sure they got everything needed for the barbecue party.

As the others drifted away, you stayed behind, enjoying the quiet hush of the waves and the cooling breeze. Yangyang plopped down onto the sand beside you, stretching out with an exaggerated sigh.

“Great game,” he said, his tone light. “Even if it was rigged.”

“Rigged?” you laughed, raising an eyebrow. “You lost fair and square.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “But I bet you all practiced in secret. No way Hendery and I could lose.”

“I didn’t think you’d be such a sore loser,” you teased, shaking your head.

“And yet, here I am, still hanging out with the enemy.” He grinned, his hair ruffling in the breeze.

The tiki bar server approached with two drinks, setting them on the low table nearby. Yangyang reached for one and handed it to you, his smirk still firmly in place.

“To the victors,” he said, raising his glass.

You clinked yours against his, laughing. “And to the losers who get to do all the work.”

Yangyang chuckled, leaning back and taking a sip. “How long are you guys here for by the way?”

“Two weeks,” you replied, savoring the sweetness on your tongue.

“Really? We’re here for two weeks too.”

You scoffed. “Wow, we’re so unlucky.”

The conversation flowed from playful teasing to lighter topics—the best dishes you’d tried on the island, the funniest moments from the trip so far, and the weird tan line you pointed out on his shoulder.

Yangyang stretched his legs out in the sand, inspecting his shoulder. “You know, this tan line is going to be a conversation starter. ‘Hey Yangyang, what’s that weird patch on your arm?’ Oh, you know, just me being the MVP of a beach volleyball game. No big deal.”

You snorted. “MVP? You lost.”

“They don’t need those details,” he said, waving it off with a grin. “But seriously, I’m loving this trip so far. I just know I’m gonna miss this place once we go back to uni.”

“Are you a freshman?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

You shrugged. “I just assumed we were the same age, so…”

“You’re a freshman too?” he asked, glad to find something you had in common. “So, what are you studying? Something artsy, right?”

“Do I look like I’m studying something artsy?”

Yangyang leaned against the sun bed. “You don’t seem like the ‘numbers and spreadsheets’ kind of person. Figured you’d be one of those artsy types.”

“Well, I guess it counts since it’s Liberal Arts.”

“Which liberal art is it?”

“English,” you admitted, flattening your lips together, sheepish. “I know. Very basic.”

“Basic?” Yangyang tilted his head curiously. “I didn’t say that. I think it’s cool. English is interesting—grammar rules, stories, all that stuff.”

“Thanks, I think?” You took a sip from your glass. “I only picked it because I didn't really know what I wanted to do.”

Yangyang’s grin softened, his tone unusually thoughtful. “That’s fair. Not everyone knows right away. Sometimes, it’s better to explore than to lock yourself into something you’re not even sure about.”

You tilted your head, surprised by his response. “I guess so. But don’t you think it’s a bit lame? Everyone else seems to have a clear path, and I’m just figuring things out.”

He shook his head, his gaze shifting to the horizon. “I don’t think it’s lame. Most of the time, people stick to their clear paths because they’re scared of the unknown, not because it’s what they actually want.”

His words lingered in the air, carried by the gentle sea breeze. For a moment, you forgot the mischief in his smile and the teasing remarks. Yangyang, it seemed, could be more than just the guy who cracked jokes and flirted needlessly.

“Well, it happens,” you said, your voice quieter now. “You’re not so bad, you know,” you said, smiling at him.

“Only ‘not so bad’?” he asked, feigning offense.

“Don’t push your luck,” you quipped, but your tone was warm.

The space between you grew smaller as the conversation went on. You talked about anything and everything. During that, Yangyang’s shoulder brushed yours, his closeness oddly comforting. His laughter was contagious, and his gaze—bright and mischievous yet sincere—had a way of making you forget your initial impression of him.

“Are you laughing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh,” he said, clearing his throat. “I just didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

“What? Spend every passing day in the library just to see my crush?” you asked, making Yangyang chuckle.

“Yeah. I almost thought you were talking about someone else,” he laughed, his toothy Cheshire cat grin making you grin too. “That guy is lucky. He’s got you stalking him daily while I’m this close to getting on my knees just for an hour alone with you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s nothing like you. You’re okay, but he’s on an entirely different wavelength. Now that I’ve thought about it, I realized we weren’t even compatible at all. He’s smart and knows exactly what he wants.”

“His loss,” Yangyang shrugged. “You’re probably too pretty for him anyway.”

“No,” you said briskly, shaking your hands. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him. He’s way prettier. You have no idea,” you added, pressing your hands against your cheeks at the memory of Renjun’s beautiful smile.

Yangyang nudged your shoulder, making you glance up at him. “I don’t need to see him to know you’re prettier.”

The compliment caught you off guard, but before you could respond, you found yourself lost in his eyes. They crinkled slightly at the corners as he smiled, and there was something disarming about the way he looked at you—like he genuinely couldn’t see anything or anyone but you.

Yangyang winked and then looked away to break the silence. “You’ll find this hard to believe, but I used to spend a lot of time in the library too. Especially when it’s—”

“Yes.” The word slipped out before you could stop it, hanging between you like the weight of the moment.

Yangyang blinked, tilting his head. “Yes?”

You bit your lip, heat rising to your cheeks. “Yes,” you repeated softly.

His smile returned, slower and more genuine. “Finally,” he murmured, leaning in.

The world seemed to fade away as Yangyang’s lips met yours. The kiss was warm and light at first, but it quickly deepened, making your stomach flutter with butterflies you didn’t think you’d get from Yangyang. His hand found the back of your head, kissing you deeper as if he’d been waiting for it all this time.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his grin as mischievous as always.

“See?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Told you I’d win you over.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he teased, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he pulled you into another kiss.

Ten minutes. That was how long you sat there making out with Yangyang by the beach. Maybe it was even longer than that, you weren’t sure, you just knew it was long long. You were both laughing and giggling over nonsense, and he wouldn’t stop teasing you about giving in to him after pushing him away several times. 

If it wasn’t for Giselle calling your phone and asking why you weren’t back in the villa yet, Yangyang would probably still have you locked in his arms on that sun bed.

“Scallops, wow,” you exclaimed, peering over Xiaojun’s shoulder while he was working the grill. “Beef too? How much did you guys spend?”

“Enough,” said Giselle, chuckling darkly at Yangyang who was standing next to you with his hands on his waist.

“Oh man, you didn’t just let them splurge, did you?” Yangyang asked Xiaojun who just shrugged.

“You did tell them to knock themselves out,” Xiaojun replied, grinning.

“Babe, come try this,” Ningning called out to you, waving a spoon in your direction.

You jogged toward the table, curious, but Yangyang followed closely behind.

“Did she just call you Babe?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached for the drink Ningning was mixing.

Ningning shot him a look. “Listen here, Mr. Liu. I know you’re into my baby, but I’m the only one allowed to call her that. Let’s get that straight.”

You laughed, your cheeks warming. “Ning Yizhou, please. Stop it.”

But Ningning and Giselle exchanged glances, their mischief practically glowing.

“Oh, they’ve definitely hooked up,” Ningning said.

“Totally,” Giselle added, nodding with mock seriousness.

“What? No, we didn’t!” you protested, your voice an octave higher as you glanced at Yangyang.

Yangyang shrugged, looking entirely too smug. “Not yet. But we’ll get there.”

“Go away!” you huffed, shoving him playfully toward the grill.

The barbecue dinner continued with hearty laughter and the smoky scent of grilled food filling the air. Plates piled high with scallops, beef, and seafood skewers were passed around, everyone digging in and teasing each other between bites. Xiaojun manned the grill with expert ease, the sizzle of the food mixing with the sounds of playful banter from the group.

“Xiaojun,” Ningning said dramatically, pointing her fork at him. “If you don’t become a chef, the world will suffer.”

Xiaojun chuckled, flipping a skewer with a confident flick of his wrist. “Thanks for the pressure, but I think the world will survive without my scallops.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Giselle added, her voice mock-threatening.

Hendery, leaning back in his chair with a piece of grilled beef in hand, scoffed. “You’re all hyping him up too much. Watch him get cocky.”

Xiaojun rolled his eyes but grinned. “Just tell them you’re jealous.”

You found yourself laughing along with them, the whole evening filled with warmth and good company. The laughter seemed endless as you all shared stories, your plates refilled again and again, everyone thoroughly enjoying the meal and each other’s company. The tropical air was still, the night stretching comfortably ahead, like the perfect kind of pause before the whirlwind of activities you all had planned for the coming days.

As the evening wore on, the boys headed out to the bar as planned. Yangyang, as usual, did his best to persuade you to join them. “Come on, you really have to come. It won’t be the same without you.”

But you weren’t convinced. “You guys go ahead. We have plans tonight.”

Yangyang dramatically threw his head back, sighing as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Are you seriously just gonna let me mope out there by myself?” he complained, but the teasing glint in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t really upset.

You shook your head, laughing. “I think you’ll survive without me for one night,” you said, nudging him lightly. “Go have your fun.”

Once they were gone, you and the girls settled into the cozy confines of the villa for a quieter night. You poured yourselves some wine, the gentle music from Giselle’s playlist filling the space. It was a calm, slow evening, the perfect contrast to the hustle and bustle of the days ahead. The three of you sank into the couch, chatting and laughing, catching up on things you hadn’t had the chance to talk about during the day.

“This is exactly what I needed,” you sighed contentedly, sinking into the couch.

Ningning raised her glass, eyes twinkling. “Babe, you gotta give that guy a chance,” she said, her voice half teasing, half serious. “He’s so whipped. It’s pathetic at this point.”

You snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Pathetic? More like smug and overconfident,” you shot back.

“Exactly,” Ningning agreed, taking a sip of wine. “He’s trying to play it cool, but if you take that smug grin off his face, he’s just a massive simp worshipping your feet.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “You make him sound like some love-struck puppy.”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” Ningning teased, her lips curling into a sly grin.

Giselle rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to her expression. “You seem closer now, though? What happened back at the beach?” she asked, her gaze flickering between you and Ningning, clearly curious.

“We uh,” you paused, biting your lip at the memory of kissing Yangyang. “Nothing really. I gave him a chance. I mean, what do I have to lose? We’re in Aruba and Yangyang seemed like a really fun guy.”

“He is,” Giselle added with a nod, her eyes sparkling. “But not for me. I like it better when my options are open.”

Ningning raised an eyebrow at you. “That’s ‘cause you’re a slut,” she teased, giving Giselle a wicked grin.

Giselle blinked in surprise, then smirked. “Oh, I’m a slut? Which one of us was toying with some guy the other night only to send him back looking depressed and defeated? I’m a slut?”

Ningning’s eyes lit up, and she struck a playful pose, one hand on her hip, batting her eyelashes. “You and me both, Gigi. Let’s let this boring vanilla baby have her fun with her guy. We’re rocking this island,” she said, winking.

You laughed, feigning disgust, even though you were thoroughly entertained. “You guys are promiscuous,” you said, giving them a mock disapproving look.

Ningning tilted her head and flashed a confident grin. “You mean hot and fun?” she said, clearly proud of her carefree approach.

“Hot and fun,” you agreed, rolling your eyes but smiling. “And promiscuous.”

The conversation drifted from small talk to more meaningful topics, laughter occasionally erupting as the wine worked its magic. You all took turns talking about the things you were looking forward to most on this trip—the beaches, the hiking, the sightseeing, the endless opportunities to explore. Despite the excitement for the days ahead, there was something so refreshing about the peacefulness of tonight.

“I can’t believe we’re actually here,” Ningning said, looking around the villa, her wine glass cradled between both hands.

“I know, right?” Giselle added, swirling the wine in her glass. “It’s nice, though. We’ve got a packed schedule starting tomorrow, but I love this little downtime.”

You nodded, leaning back into the cushions, letting the peace of the moment sink in. “Exactly. I’m so excited for this trip.”

“We should probably get to bed soon,” Giselle said, glancing at her phone to check the time. The hike tomorrow would be an early one, and you wanted to be well-rested for it. “We’ve got an early morning.”

“You’re right,” Ningning replied with a sigh, stretching out her legs. “But this feels so nice, I don’t want it to end just yet.”

“I get that,” Giselle said, glancing at you two. “But I’m not about to regret a single minute of this trip by staying up too late.”

Eventually, the night wound down, and you all went to your separate rooms. You lay on your bed, your phone in hand, scrolling through your phone until you stumbled upon Xiaojun’s Instagram stories. His latest post showed him and Yangyang at the bar, Hendery beside them, clearly enjoying themselves. The music was loud in the background, the neon lights making everything look vibrant and alive.

You couldn’t help but smile, tapping through more clips. Yangyang, of course, looked like he was having the time of his life, though you remembered how much he’d pleaded with you to come. You thought it was sweet how much he’d wanted to hang out with you, though you knew he just wanted to bone.

“This guy is promiscuous too,” you muttered under your breath, grinning to yourself.

As you continued scrolling, the soft knocks on your door interrupted your thoughts. You froze for a second, unsure of what you’d heard. Then came the knock again, a little louder this time. You moved across the room in your barefoot, reaching for the doorknob. When you opened it, Yangyang stood there, his hair slightly tousled, his grin as effortless as ever.

“Did you miss me?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice low and teasing.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re back so soon? I thought you’d be out until at least two.”

He shrugged, stepping a little closer. “Yeah, well, Giselle said we have to wake up early if we want to join the hike,” he replied, his tone light. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated for just a moment before stepping aside. “Don’t make yourself too comfortable,” you quipped.

Yangyang slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him. His gaze fixed on you, and before you could say another word, he pulled you into a loose hug, his arms wrapping around your waist. His nose brushed against your neck, and you felt his warm breath against your skin.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice muffled.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just horny.”

Yangyang straightened up with an exaggerated look of shock and indignation on his face. “Wha—no, I’m—” He stopped mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open like he couldn’t believe you’d called him out so easily.

Crossing your arms, you raised an eyebrow at him. “What? I know I’m right,” you said, your tone light but smug.

For a moment, he just stared at you, then threw his head back in laughter, the sound rich and unrestrained. “You’re so cute,” he said, stepping closer again, his grin turning wicked. His eyes sparkled with that familiar mischievous glint, and you just knew he was up to something.

“Go away,” you said, turning your back to him with mock exasperation, though you didn’t really mean it.

“Aw. Don’t I get a kiss?” he asked, trailing behind you like an eager puppy as you headed back to your bed.

You stopped, spinning around to face him. “Just a kiss?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you perched on the edge of the bed.

Yangyang tilted his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I was hoping we could do more than just kiss.”

“Goodnight,” you said with exaggerated finality, slipping under the sheets and yanking them over your head. “Lock the door on your way out.”

“Come on, honey,” he whined, tugging playfully at the edge of your blanket. “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

Peeking out from the covers, you shot him a skeptical look. “We’ve known each other for three days.”

His grin only widened as if you’d just confirmed something he already knew. Without missing a beat, he climbed onto the bed and slid under the covers, settling beside you. His arm snaked beneath your head, pulling you closer until his warmth enveloped you completely.

“I’ll just sleep here then,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Is that okay?”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. The weight of his arm, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the way his presence seemed to fill the room all felt… unexpectedly comforting. Like slipping into a cozy jacket on a cold winter night, his warmth wrapped around you, lulling you to sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyes fluttered shut. “It’s okay.”

You woke slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of someone’s chest behind you. A weight rested lightly around your waist, warm and solid—Yangyang’s arm.

Oh. Right.

Your eyes fluttered open as memories of the night before came into focus—his teasing grin, the way he’d wriggled under your covers, and how his arms felt annoyingly comforting as you both drifted off. It was nice. Waking up with his warmth beside you was just as nice.

What you didn’t expect was the firm, unmistakable pressure against your lower back.

You froze, your half-asleep mind trying to convince you it was not what it felt like. But the more you became aware of it, the harder it was to deny.

Oh my God. That’s… definitely his...

Your face burned as you tried to wriggle away without waking him, but the movement only made you graze it. Yangyang stirred, letting out a soft, sleepy groan. Then his arm tightened, pulling you back against him—and the problem.

“Don’t move,” he rasped into your ear, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yangyang—”

“Shh. Please,” he mumbled, his arm tightening around your waist. “Just give me a second to, uh… recalibrate.”

You bit your lip, both mortified and fighting the urge to laugh. But then his grip on your waist loosened, his fingers brushing against the thin fabric of your shirt. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure you wanted to pull away anymore.

“Sorry about that,” he said, chuckling lightly. “Happens all the time.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the hint of vulnerability in his sleepy, lopsided smile. It was disarming, even in a moment like this. Or maybe especially in a moment like this.

“Must be hard for you,” you quipped, smirking because you were low-key proud of the pun.

His grin widened. “Very hard. Do you like it?”

“You wish.”

His hand on your waist slid up—testing, gauging your reaction. You didn’t pull away—instead, your fingers instinctively curled into the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His touch grew bolder, tracing the curve of your hip and slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his breath warm against your neck.

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was ridiculous. Insane. And yet, every nerve in your body screamed at you to lean into it, to see where this would go. You’d spent the past few days brushing off his advances, telling yourself he was nothing more than a fun distraction. But at this moment, with the morning light casting soft shadows across the room, it felt like the only thing you wanted was him.

A long pause stretched between you, your eyes locked in a quiet conversation as you let the tension envelope the air around you. And then, biting your lip shyly—

“…Yes,” you whispered.

That was all the invitation he needed. Yangyang shifted, turning you on your back so he could hover over you. His eyes met yours, searching for any hesitation, but all he found was curiosity and anticipation. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, exploratory kiss.

The kiss started slow, tentative, as if he were testing the waters. But when your hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, all restraint fell away. He kissed you deeply, passionately, and every nerve in your body lit up like a firework.

Your mind was a blur, a tangle of disbelief and desire. How had you gone from playfully bickering with him to this? His touch, his warmth, the way he seemed to savor every second—it was almost too much, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

“You sure about this?” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” you said, breathless. “Yes.”

Yangyang chuckled softly, his tone both teasing and serious. “Just checking. I won’t be able to stop once I start, so no take-backs halfway.”

“Oh my god, Yangyang,” you huffed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re ruining the mood. Just—come here.”

He pressed his hips against yours, and you gasped softly at the hard evidence of his desire. The sound seemed to spur him on and just as his hand trailed down the waistband of your pajamas, a loud knock echoed through the room, startling you both.

“Wake up, babe! Gigi said we’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” Ningning’s voice called out from the other side of the door.

Your heart raced for a different reason now as Yangyang groaned, burying his face in your shoulder.

“Seriously?” he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your cheeks flushing as you gently pushed him back. “We should probably get up now.”

Yangyang shook his head, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone. “Nope. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another knock followed, more insistent this time. “Babe! Are you still sleeping?”

“No! I’ll be out in a bit!” you called back, your voice a little too high-pitched.

“Okay! Breakfast is ready!” Ningning replied before her footsteps faded away.

Yangyang sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back. “Fifteen minutes? Think we can use five minutes and—”

“And ruin our first time?” you smirked, shaking your head. “I don’t think so.”

You rose to your feet, heading toward the bathroom, but Yangyang caught your waist mid-step, pulling you back on the bed and the sudden tug made you yelp.

“What do you mean our first time?” he asked, trailing kisses on your jaw down to your neck. “Are you looking forward to this?”

You rolled your eyes, exasperated. “Gosh, I hate feeding your ego so much.”

“Come on, wifey. Honesty is the foundation of every marriage,” he quipped, flashing his signature grin.

“We’re not married,” you shot back, pushing him off with a laugh. “Now go get ready. I don’t think they know you’re here, and it’s better that way. My friends are way too interested in my affairs right now.”

Yangyang gave a mock pout. “You’re kicking me out now? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Yangyang, I swear—”

“Okay, okay!” He held his hands up in mock surrender, slipping out of bed and wrapping you in one last hug. “I’ll see you at breakfast, honey.”

“Just go.”

As he left, you caught your reflection in the mirror, your flushed cheeks and wide smile revealing just how much his presence affected you. With a deep breath, you headed to the bathroom, already bracing yourself for the days to come.

The Aruba sun was relentless, its heat bouncing off every surface and making even the thought of hiking unbearable. You and your friends gathered in front of a small station offering ATV rentals, a fortunate backup plan Giselle had arranged in case of unexpected situations like weather extremes.

“I thought we were going on a hike?” Hendery asked, squinting at the information board.

“It’s too hot for a hike right now,” Xiaojun replied, fanning himself with a brochure. “So we’re going there on ATVs instead. Same view, less sweat.”

You stood beside Yangyang, his arm draped loosely around your waist as he scanned the crowd of tourists. The weight of his hand was comforting, familiar, and yet it still sent tiny sparks through you.

Glancing up, you noticed the tan line on his shoulder. “Did you put on sunscreen?” you asked, nudging him lightly.

Yangyang glanced down, momentarily caught off guard by the question. “Hmm? Yeah. I think I did.”

“You think?” you teased, chuckling. “Did you even bring one?”

“No. I did. My mom made sure I packed it before we left. She’s very thorough about this stuff.”

“Your mom did?” you repeated, your grin widening. “She’s very thoughtful.”

He chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “She nagged me a lot before the trip, though. She packed this entire bag of skincare, some fancy oil thing, and bug bite ointment. You should see it. The bag’s probably bigger than your pouch of skin stuff.”

You laughed, imagining it. “That explains why your skin’s so nice. She really knew what she was doing.”

“Do I have nice skin?” he asked, genuinely surprised. He touched his cheek as if testing the claim. “Huh. I didn’t realize.”

His lips suddenly quirked into a grin, and he leaned a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Have you been checking me out?”

Heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, pretending to check on your friends. “Don’t get cocky. I was just being polite.”

“Sure, sure,” he teased, his hand squeezing your waist lightly. “I’m flattered either way.”

After securing your ATV tickets, the rental staff organized everyone into pairs. The sun blazed overhead, but the excitement in the air was enough to make you forget about the heat for a while. Your friends paired up immediately, and it came almost naturally for you to get paired with Yangyang.

It wasn’t even a discussion—he had claimed you before anyone could suggest otherwise.

While the group waited for instructions, Xiaojun laughed as he wiped sweat off his brow. “You girls really saved us on this trip,” he said, glancing at Giselle. “If it were just us, we’d probably be bar hopping every night and getting tanned all day.”

“And endlessly complaining about how there’s nothing to do too,” Hendery added with a grin.

Yangyang smirked, sliding his arm casually around your waist. “Speak for yourself. I was fully prepared to wing it.”

“You? Please,” Xiaojun shot back. “If you were in charge, we’d all be passed out on the beach right now.”

“Well, good thing you’ve got us,” Giselle chimed in. “I told you my itinerary wouldn’t let you down.”

“It’s a blessing in disguise,” Yangyang admitted, his fingers tracing small circles on your hip as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed under his touch, though you tried to act unfazed. “So, what you’re saying is, without us, you’d have no idea what you’re doing?”

Yangyang grinned down at you. “Exactly. What would I have done without you, my darling wife?”

You elbowed him lightly, trying not to laugh. “Don’t push it.”

As the staff explained the rules and safety precautions, Yangyang didn’t bother hiding how drawn he was to you. His hand shifted from your waist to your shoulder, and occasionally he leaned in close to comment on something random, like the mismatched helmets or a particularly enthusiastic tourist who was already revving their ATV.

Your friends noticed, of course. Ningning raised her eyebrows at you, a sly smile tugging at her lips, while Giselle gave you a look that screamed I’ll ask you about this later. But to your relief, they didn’t tease you outright. Instead, they exchanged knowing glances and carried on as if everything was perfectly normal.

The staff finally directed everyone to their vehicles, and Yangyang beckoned you over so he could put the helmet on you. “I’m driving so you better hold on tight.”

“Oh, so I don’t even get a say?” you teased, watching him focus on the buckle of the helmet.

“Do you want to drive?” he asked just as he finished with his task.

“No,” you replied without missing a beat. “But I still would’ve preferred it if you asked for my opinion.”

Yangyang chuckled. “You’re adorable. Alright, next time, I’ll ask you first,” he said, getting onto the ATV. You followed after him.

“Can I trust you?”

“Absolutely. Just make sure to hold on tight,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as you wrapped your arms around his waist. 

“Okay. Don’t get us killed.”

“Trust me,” he said, revving the engine. “I got you.”

The ATV lurched forward, and you tighten your grip instinctively, your laughter getting carried away by the warm breeze. You could feel Yangyang’s chest shaking with his own laughter as he expertly navigated the bumpy trail.

The ride to Conchi—Aruba’s famed natural pool—was as exhilarating as it was nerve-wracking. Yangyang seemed to live for the bumpy, uneven trails, pushing the ATV to its limits as you clung to him for dear life. Every sharp turn or sudden drop earned a loud squeal from you, and each time, he’d throw his head back and laugh like it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“You okay back there, honey?” he called over the roar of the engine, glancing over his shoulder.

 “If I fall off, I’m haunting you!” you shouted back, tightening your grip around his waist. “Keep your eyes forward! Oh my god!”

“Sorry. I’ll drive slower,” he teased, though he didn’t ease up on the speed at all.

By the time you reached Conchi, your legs were shaky from gripping the ATV, but the sight in front of you quickly made you forget the rough ride. The natural pool sparkled under the sun, its turquoise waters framed by black volcanic rocks. Tourists crowded the area, snapping photos and dipping into the clear, refreshing water. It was a postcard-perfect scene, breathtaking enough to make you forget the heat and the crowd.

“Wow,” you breathed, hopping off the ATV.

Yangyang joined you, his hand instinctively finding the small of your back. “Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad?” You glanced at him, a grin spreading across your face. “It’s incredible.”

He leaned in closer, his lips just brushing your ear. “Told you I’d take you somewhere cool.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, you planned this whole thing,” you deadpanned, only playfully.

“Am I the best tour guide ever?” he asked, his grin shamelessly cocky.

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

The group split up as everyone wandered toward the water. Yangyang stayed glued to your side, his hand occasionally brushing yours as the two of you navigated the rocky path. When you slipped on a particularly uneven surface, he caught you immediately, his arm circling your waist.

“Careful,” he said, his tone softer now. “These rocks are sharp. Can’t have you getting hurt.”

You steadied yourself, his proximity making your heart do a weird little flip. “Thanks. Didn’t realize I brought my personal lifeguard.”

“Full service,” he quipped, winking at you. “Wait till you see my swimming skills.”

Down by the pool, Yangyang took off his shirt, revealing his toned, sun-kissed torso. You tried not to stare—tried really hard—but he caught you anyway, smirking like he’d just won something against you.

“See something you like?” he teased, tossing his shirt onto a rock.

You scoffed, though your cheeks burned. “Not at all,” you said, looking away.

“Uh-huh.” He stepped closer, leaning in as if to whisper a secret. “Don’t worry, honey. You can look all you want. It’s all yours.”

Before you could respond, he dove into the water, his laughter echoing behind him. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you slipped off your sandals and joined him.

The water was cool and refreshing, a perfect escape from the blazing sun. Yangyang was everywhere—helping you find footing on the slippery rocks, playfully splashing water at you, and floating close enough that his arm would occasionally brush yours.

At one point, he swam up behind you, his hands gently resting on your hips as you stood by a shallow edge. “Having fun?”

You turned to face him, water dripping from his hair and running down his face. “Would be a lot more fun if you weren’t here,” you replied, but you didn’t mean any word.

“Aw, I know you don’t mean that, honey. Your cheeks will soon ache because you’re smiling too much,” he teased, poking your cheek.

You rolled your eyes, pushing a hand against his chest to create some space. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But Yangyang didn’t budge. Instead, he caught your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours under the water. His expression softened, his playful smirk giving way to something more genuine.

“Thanks for letting us come,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I like being here with you.”

You scoffed, masking the flutter in your heart with an aloof attitude. “As you should.”

The moment lingered, charged and electric. His fingers brushed yours again, sending a shiver up your spine. His eyes flicked down to your lips, and before you could stop yourself, you were leaning closer. The sounds of the pool faded, and all that existed was the warmth of his gaze and the soft rush of the water around you.

Just as your lips were about to meet, Giselle’s voice cut through the moment.

“Yangyang! Quit hogging my girlfriend and come take a picture!”

Yangyang groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “I swear, they’re like children.”

You laughed, tugging him toward the group. “Come on.”

As you two joined the others, cracking jokes and striking ridiculous poses for the camera, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of anticipation. Yangyang was unpredictable and a little reckless, but he made you feel like the center of his world.

And, for now, you were perfectly okay with that.

The rest of your Aruba trip unfolded like a colorful dream, a whirlwind of laughter, sun-soaked adventures, and moments that made your heart skip.

You zipped across rocky trails and sandy paths on the ATVs, the wind whipping through your hair as Yangyang stayed close behind, calling out dramatic warnings like, “Don’t fall off, honey—I’m not carrying you!” 

His teasing only earned him a shower of sand as you sped ahead, his laughter echoing in the semi-desert terrain.

At the Butterfly Farm, he pretended to be afraid of the delicate creatures, flinching exaggeratedly every time one landed on him. “What if it’s poisonous?” he whispered, eyes wide with mock horror. You laughed so hard you nearly scared off the butterflies, but you couldn’t help snapping a picture of him with one perched on his shoulder.

Everyone was having a blast, until the first week passed and Yangyang realized that Giselle’s itinerary left no room for boredom—or rest. Mornings started early, with breakfast by the pool where he would dramatically yawn and stretch, groaning about how Giselle was running the group like a boot camp.

“Can’t we just have one lazy day?” he complained, his head resting on your shoulder as you sipped your coffee.

“Nope,” you replied, amused. “We’re on Giselle’s schedule now. Resistance is futile.” 

He sighed, but the glint in his eye told you he wasn’t really upset. “Do we really need to see everything Aruba has to offer?” he asked, mock-serious. “Maybe I just want to lie on the beach and gaze into your eyes.”

“Okay, lover boy,” Giselle teased, standing up. “Get up and get ready to leave.”

“Come on, Yangyang. Think of it as building stamina,” Hendery said, patting Yangyang on the back.

“For what?” he asked, grinning wickedly.

“For you-know-what?” Hendery grinned, standing up after wiggling his eyebrows knowingly.

Yangyang, still grinning, glanced at you with expectant eyes. You rolled your eyes and said, “Bye.” Then walked away before he could say anything.

Each day blended into the next, packed with scenic drives, swimming and visits to historical landmarks. Through it all, Yangyang was a constant presence—sometimes exasperated by the pace, but always finding ways to make you laugh. Whether it was by stealing bites of your food, pointing out oddly shaped rocks and giving them names, or spinning you around on the sand just to hear you squeal, he managed to make every moment unforgettable.

It was chaotic, exhausting, and utterly perfect in its own way. And even as Yangyang grumbled about Giselle’s tight itinerary, you could tell he was enjoying every second—especially the ones he spent with you.

The evenings in Giselle’s schedule were reserved for beach bonfires, sunset sails, or dancing under the stars at local beach bars. That particular night, the group had taken over a corner of a lively beachfront bar, its warm glow spilling out onto the sand where tiki torches lined the perimeter.

Yangyang stayed glued to your side as usual, his hand casually resting on the small of your back or tangling with yours as you both sipped on fruity cocktails. His presence was magnetic, and no matter how crowded the bar became, you found yourself instinctively gravitating toward him.

The live band struck up a slow, sultry tune, and without hesitation, Yangyang set his drink down, pulling you gently toward the sand where couples were swaying under the open sky.

“What are you doing?” you asked, laughing as he spun you once before pulling you in close.

“Making my move,” he said with a grin, his hands settling comfortably on your waist. “Can’t let this song go to waste.”

You rolled your eyes but let him guide you, your arms loosely wrapping around his shoulders. The music was soft, and Yangyang hummed along, his head dipping slightly to meet your gaze. For a while, you just danced, his thumbs brushing against your hips in lazy circles. His face was so close, his eyes locked on yours like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. You tried to ignore the warmth spreading through your chest, the way your heart skipped a beat every time he moved closer.

Then he leaned in for a kiss—a soft one, long, unmoving, but it left a lingering warmth after he pulled away.

“When do I get you all to myself?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

The heat that rushed to your face wasn’t entirely from the tropical air. “You’re with me now, aren’t you?” you teased, trying to keep your voice light.

“Yeah,” he said, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he pulled you closer, your bodies barely a breath apart. “But not like this. I want real alone time.”

“You’re just horny,” you replied, masking the flutter in your chest with a laugh. 

As special as he made you feel, you couldn’t let yourself forget why you were here with him in the first place. You didn’t want to blur the line between a romantic connection and what this really was—a spring break fling. He was just a travel perk, a handsome one but still temporary. You didn’t do relationships in a place where everything was temporary, and everyone was just passing through.

“You’ll survive,” you added.

Yangyang groaned dramatically, his head dropping back in mock defeat. “You’re ruthless, you know that?”

“Oh, I do,” you shot back, grabbing his hand to lead him toward the others who were gathered by the bonfire, roasting marshmallows and laughing at Hendery’s attempts to play guitar.

As you both rejoined the group, Yangyang kept his hand intertwined with yours. Despite the banter, the tension from your moment on the dance floor lingered, charging the air between you. You focused on the laughter with your friends, on the drinks being passed around, and the warmth of company and friendship. It was easier than thinking about how you and Yangyang could have something deeper.

“Who’s that?” you asked Giselle, pointing at the guy sitting next to Ningning across from you.

“Ningning met him at the kayak yesterday. I’m not sure if they agreed to meet here or if it was a coincidence,” Giselle explained, leaning closer to you. “They look cute together though, right?”

“That’s what I was thinking! He’s so cute. Ningning has been smiling from ear to ear all night,” you giggled, genuinely giddy for your friend, but it was easier to focus on them than the thoughts tugging at the back of your mind.

It was easier to smile and laugh about Ningning’s new interest than think about Yangyang. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you felt that same giddy feeling whenever Yangyang smiled at you, or when he touched you in ways that felt a little too intentional.

The night went on, stretching until late. A few hours later, as the fire crackled and someone started an impromptu sing-along, Yangyang leaned over, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“For the record,” he said, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, “I’ll survive, but don’t think I’m giving up that easily.”

You shook your head, laughing softly, but his words stayed with you, lingering in the air. “Didn’t think you would.”

The morning started with high energy, the group gathering at the dock for your scheduled snorkeling trip. Giselle confidently led the way, tablet in hand. You’d been teasing her about her ‘vacation CEO’ vibes all week, but you secretly admired how smoothly everything had gone—until now.

“Name on the reservation?” the staff member asked, not even glancing up as they scrolled through their tablet.

“Giselle Uchinaga,” she replied with her usual crisp efficiency.

A frown crept onto the staff member’s face. “Hmm, I don’t see a Giselle Uchinaga here.”

Giselle’s expression faltered, but she recovered quickly. “Oh, I booked this weeks ago. Check again, please.”

You exchanged looks with Ningning, while Yangyang leaned lazily against the booth, clearly more entertained than concerned. After a tense back-and-forth, it turned out there’d been a mix-up—the tour company had double-booked, and there were no more spots available for the day.

The mix-up left Giselle fuming, her carefully planned itinerary crumbling right before her eyes. As she argued with the dock staff about overbooking policies, Yangyang stood off to the side, a lazy grin plastered on his face like he’d been waiting for this moment all week.

“This is a disaster,” Giselle groaned, throwing her hands up. “They don’t even have a backup option for us.”

“It’s okay. We can just go to the beach or something,” you said, offering an alternative.

“This was supposed to be the highlight of the trip!” Giselle shot back, shrugging off his hand.

You patted her back. “I know. We were excited for it too, but maybe we can try again tomorrow?”

“What about today?” Ningning asked and you shrugged.

Yangyang strode over to your side, still grinning. “How about this—we ditch the whole plan and do something way cooler?”

“Like what?” you asked, arms crossed but already sensing he was about to suggest something outrageous.

He didn’t answer, instead, he turned to Xiaojun and Hendery. “Bros, I think it’s time to do what we came here to do.”

Hendery’s face lit up. “Oh, you mean… that?” he asked, bouncing on his feet with excitement.

Xiaojun, on the other hand, appeared to be deep in thought, shaking his head. “No. I don’t think the girls would like that.”

“What is it?” Giselle prompted, looking a little impatient.

“Is it better than snorkeling?” Ningning asked.

Yangyang grinned wider. “Way better. Trust me, you’re gonna love it. And if you don’t, well… I’m used to being unappreciated.” He turned to the group, clapping his hands together. “Alright, troops, let’s roll. I know just the thing to turn this day around.”

“Is it dangerous?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Only if you’re boring,” he shot back, winking at you.

That should’ve been your first clue.

Twenty minutes later, you stood on a pristine stretch of beach, the waves glittering under the midday sun. Kite-surfers were on the water, their colorful kites soaring against the bright blue sky as they glided across the surface. One of them caught a gust of wind and launched into the air, soaring for a brief moment before landing gracefully back on the waves.

“This is your plan?” you asked, incredulous.

“Yup.” Yangyang looked impossibly pleased with himself, his hands on his hips like he’d just unveiled the eighth wonder of the world.

“Kite-surfing?” Giselle asked, her voice tight. “There’s a reason we didn’t put that in the itinerary.”

“Because you’re scared,” Yangyang teased. “I get it. Kites are terrifying. I cried the first time I saw one too.”

“I’m serious,” Giselle sighed.

“I know. Look, we’ve been following your schedule all week,” Yangyang told her, pausing to raise a palm. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fun schedule, you totally nailed it! But a little chaos never killed anyone—well, maybe a few people, but we’re smart, right?”

“You could’ve at least warned us,” Giselle said, her tone teetering between exasperation and resignation.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hendery chimed in, clearly in on the plan. He and Xiaojun were already chatting with the rental staff, signing waivers like this was just another day.

“This is insane,” Ningning muttered, her eyes wide with both fear and excitement. “We have to do this.”

You, however, weren’t so sure. Your eyes kept drifting to the surfers, the way the kites pulled them with such force. The idea of being at the mercy of the unpredictable wind, with the water rushing beneath you, felt more terrifying than exhilarating.

“I don’t think I can do this,” you muttered under your breath.

Yangyang turned to you, his expression softening. “Hey, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I think you definitely should.”

The crash course was a whirlwind of instructions and laughter. Hendery and Ningning were naturals, picking up the basics quickly and cheering each other on as they stumbled through their first attempts. Giselle grumbled her way through the setup but eventually got the hang of it, her competitive streak kicking in as she chased after the others.

Meanwhile, you struggled. The kite seemed to have a mind of its own, jerking wildly in the wind as you gripped the control bar with desperation. And Yangyang, naturally, picked it up like he’d been born to do it, showing off with spins and whoops that made you want to strangle him.

“Relax!” Yangyang called out from his board, effortlessly gliding past you. “You’re overthinking it!”

“Easy for you to say!” you shouted back, the kite yanking you forward before dumping you unceremoniously into the water.

Yangyang paddled over on his board, laughing so hard he nearly fell off. “You good, honey?”

“I hate you,” you muttered, pushing wet hair out of your face.

“No, you don’t,” he said, his grin infuriatingly charming. “Come on, let’s try again.”

The next attempt was better. The kite tugged gently, and instead of fighting it, you let yourself lean into the motion, trusting the wind to guide you. Your board skimmed across the water, the salty breeze whipping against your face as exhilaration replaced fear.

“I’m doing it!” you shouted, laughing uncontrollably as Yangyang cheered from nearby. Your other friends saw you doing it and started cheering for you too.

The thrill was addictive. With each pass, you grew more confident, your movements smoother and more deliberate. The water sparkled under the sun, and for a moment, you felt completely weightless, like you could conquer anything.

Back on the beach, you collapsed onto the sand, your legs shaky but your heart soaring. Yangyang dropped down beside you, his hair dripping and his grin smug as ever.

“See? You’re a natural,” he said, nudging your shoulder.

“Natural?” you scoffed. “I fell, like, ten times!”

“Yeah and everyone saw that,” he teased. “It’s okay, I still like you.”

The rest of the group gathered around, swapping stories of near-misses and minor victories, their laughter echoing across the beach. As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, you realized this chaotic, unplanned day had turned out to be the highlight of the trip after all. You couldn’t help but glance at Yangyang. Despite his chaotic energy, there was something comforting about having him there, cheering you on and pushing you out of your comfort zone.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, nudging his arm.

He turned to you, surprised. “For what?”

“For, you know,” you said, gesturing to the ocean. “For making me try this.”

He smiled, a rare, genuine softness in his expression. “Aw. You’re welcome, honey. What would you have done without me?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes but didn't argue. You were sure you would've been fine without him, that you didn't need him to turn the day around. But now that it has come to this, you knew you wouldn't have it any other way.

As the sun began to descend, the sky glowed pink and orange, taking your breaths away with its magnificence. You didn’t pass up the chance to take pictures—lots of it. Everybody gathered by the beach, still in your rashguards, to commemorate the day.

Yangyang was an enthusiastic photographer, directing your poses and finding you the best spots by the shoreline. He complimented you the whole time to make you feel more confident. But after a while, the attention became a little embarrassing, especially when tourists walked by, giving you curious looks.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me,” Yangyang called out one more time, kneeling on the sand with one leg stretched out as he held your phone up. 

“That’s enough!” you whined, walking toward him and grabbing your phone. You scrolled through the pictures, skimming through them just to see the angle. 

“The lighting is really good,” Yangyang said, peering over your shoulder. “You look like a model, you know?”

“Thanks, although, you probably say that to everyone,” you teased, shaking your head.

“Nope, only the truly photogenic,” he said, smirking as he put on his sunglasses. “Which, clearly, you are.”

You laughed, stepping closer to him. “Well then, thank you. Come on. Let’s take one together.” You wrapped a hand around his arm, and he immediately grinned, his eyes lighting up.

“You sure about that?” he teased. “You don’t want me stealing the spotlight?”

“I think we both know you’re already doing that,” you shot back, your voice playful. “Now smile.”

Yangyang struck a dramatic pose, his chin tilted up and his sunglasses crooked in the most ridiculous way. “How’s this?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Perfect,” you said, snapping the picture.

Yangyang leaned in, peeking at the photo. “You’re lucky I look good in every shot. Makes you look better too.”

“Uh-huh, sure, Yangyang. Keep telling yourself that,” you teased, nudging his side.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just speaking facts.”

After getting dressed, the boys rounded everyone up with mischievous grins and promises of an unforgettable evening. Hendery called it, “Phase two of Operation Best Day Ever.”

“Phase two?” Giselle raised an eyebrow, grinning playfully. “Let me guess—something equally chaotic?”

“Not at all,” Yangyang replied, feigning offense. “This is the sophisticated portion of the day.”

You smirked. “Define ‘sophisticated.’”

Yangyang just waved for everyone to follow, refusing to spoil the surprise. The walk along the beach led to a dock where yachts of all sizes bobbed gently on the water. Their sleek hulls gleamed in the soft evening light, and your eyes widened at the sight.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you said, stopping in your tracks.

“You guys booked a yacht?” Ningning gasped, squeezing your arm tighter.

Yangyang turned around, his grin as wide as the horizon. “Not just any yacht. This baby is our ride for the night.” He pointed toward a mid-sized vessel docked at the far end. It wasn’t the most extravagant yacht in the lineup, but it was undeniably impressive—its polished deck and elegant design exuded understated luxury.

“If you don’t know it yet, Liu Yangyang is rich,” Hendery quipped, slinging an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “See? Just casually throwing around yacht reservations like it’s nothing.”

Yangyang laughed, shaking him off. “If I were rich, we’d be on that one.” He gestured to a towering superyacht nearby, complete with a helipad. “But hey, this one’s cozy. We’ll call it charmingly attainable.”

“Charming,” Xiaojun echoed.

Onboard, you were greeted by the soft strains of instrumental jazz playing through the yacht’s speakers and a crew who ushered you to the deck, where a long table was set up for dinner. White linens and flickering candles added an air of elegance, and the faint scent of sea breeze mingled with hints of garlic and rosemary wafting from the kitchen.

“I have to admit,” Giselle said as she took her seat, “this is actually impressive.”

Yangyang shot her a triumphant look. “Told you. Sophisticated.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

The first course arrived—a delicate seafood bisque served with freshly baked rolls. Hendery immediately dipped his bread into the soup, groaning with exaggerated delight. “This is what I imagine heaven tastes like.”

“Can you not sound like you’ve never had good food before?” Ningning teased, delicately spooning her bisque.

Hendery shrugged. “What can I say? I’m easily impressed.”

The banter flowed as smoothly as the wine being poured, laughter and stories filling the gaps between courses. You found yourself leaning back in your chair, soaking in the moment. The soft glow of the candlelight reflected off the water, and the gentle rocking of the yacht made everything feel dreamlike.

By the time the main course arrived—a perfectly grilled steak for some, fresh seared tuna for others—the group had reached peak comfort. Even Xiaojun, normally reserved around you girls, launched into a surprisingly hilarious story about his disastrous first attempt at surfing.

“So there I was,” he said, gesturing wildly, “upside down, tangled in the leash, and the instructor is just yelling, ‘You’re doing great!’ with his thumbs up.”

Everyone burst out laughing, Hendery nearly choking on his drink.

As dessert was served, the crew dimmed the lights on the deck, allowing you to enjoy the starry night. The sky was a vast expanse of shimmering constellations, the kind you never saw from the city.

“This really is the best day ever,” Ningning said softly, leaning against the railing.

Yangyang grinned at her. “You heard that, guys? Best day ever!” he called to the others, who cheered in response.

You wandered to the edge of the deck, letting the gentle night breeze brush against your skin. Yangyang joined you a moment later, holding two glasses of wine.

“For you,” he said, handing one over with a wink.

“Thanks.” You took a sip, glancing at him. “Okay, I have to admit—today was pretty incredible.”

He leaned against the railing beside you, his smile softening as he looked out over the water. “Glad you think so. But, uh, it’s not over yet.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What’s next?”

Yangyang’s grin widened. “Fireworks,” he said, pointing toward the open water with an exaggerated flourish.

You held your breath, anticipation winning over your skepticism. But after two or three minutes of nothing, you couldn’t help but glare at him. “You were lying.”

Yangyang burst out laughing, throwing his head back and stepping away as if to dodge your fist. He caught your hand instead, gently unfolding your fist and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes warm and sincere. “This was last minute, so I couldn’t arrange the fireworks.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “No, don’t be sorry. Today was amazing. I was only a tiny bit disappointed because I thought there really were fireworks. Doesn’t mean you didn’t do well today.”

Yangyang chuckled and leaned closer. “Well, I might not have fireworks, but I can promise the rest of the night will be just as memorable.”

You shot him a teasing look. “Oh, really? What else do you have up your sleeve?”

“Nothing really. But I’m hoping for a miracle that would let me have my most-awaited alone time with you,” he replied, not even trying to hide his intentions.

You chuckled, but before you could say anything, Ningning gasped loudly, making everyone turn to her. She froze for a second, hand over her mouth as she looked at each of you.

“Why, what happened?” Giselle asked, looking concerned.

Ningning moved her hand from her mouth to her chest and revealed an excited grin. “Who’s up for a yacht party?”

Andre, the guy Ningning met when you went kayaking a few days ago, happened to be at the same pier as your group were. He had invited Ningning to his yacht party and told her to bring her friends. You’d met him several times, even hung out with him when he would join your group at the bars. You didn’t think he’d have his own yacht though, or that he’d invite you out there for his party.

“I mean, who could say no to a yacht party?” Xiaojun grinned, nudging the others.

“Right?” Ningning said, bouncing on her heels. “So, who’s in?”

The group erupted into enthusiastic chatter, all of them agreeing to go. You, however, found yourself suddenly feeling very tired, the events of the day catching up to you.

“Guys,” you said with a soft yawn. “I think I’m just gonna head back first. I’m a bit exhausted from all the kite-surfing earlier.”

“What? No,” Ningning said, shaking her head. “We can’t just leave you alone.”

“It’s okay. I’m passing up on this one too,” Yangyang said, casually putting a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll stay with her.”

Everyone exchanged knowing glances and smirks.

“Of course, Yangyang,” Giselle teased. “You stay with the tired one while the rest of us live it up on the yacht.” She raised an eyebrow playfully. “How romantic.”

The rest followed up with hoots and whistles.

Yangyang waved them off. “Alright, guys, don’t make it weird. We’re just keeping things chill for the night.”

“Oh sure,” Ningning added with a mischievous grin. “Just you two and a night full of... conversations, right?”

“Conversations!” Hendery affirmed, while Xiaojun was nodding beside him.

You laughed, feeling the teasing warmth of your friends, but the idea of a quiet night with Yangyang wasn’t bad at all. It felt surprisingly nice to have some space to just relax after an eventful day.

“Alright, alright,” Giselle said, finally getting the group moving. “We’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. Get some rest and have fun!”

You and Yangyang exchanged a glance, both of you shaking your heads with amused smiles as the others filed off the yacht to join Andre at the pier.

Once they were gone, Yangyang settled next to you again, his smile soft and content. “I guess it’s just us now.”

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a wave of comfort. “Just us.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back against the railing. “I can think of worse ways to spend the night.”

And with that, the two of you simply enjoyed the peace of the night, the quiet after the excitement, and the company of one another.

With your friends gone, the yacht was suddenly quiet, the sounds of the water lapping against the hull and the occasional creak of the boat being the only background noise. The dim lights above cast a soft glow on the deck, creating a tranquil, almost intimate ambiance.

You and Yangyang stood there, side by side, the space between you two comfortable. You were scrolling through your phone’s gallery, examining the pictures you took all day, deleting the ones you didn’t like and saving the rest.

Yangyang took a slow sip from his glass of wine, his eyes glinting mischievously as he studied you. “How many photos did you end up taking today? I lost count,” he said, his lips curling up into a teasing smile.

You raised an eyebrow at him, playing along. “Being pretty in a beautiful place like Aruba comes with a responsibility, Mr. Liu Yangyang. I’ve got to take the pictures. If I don’t I’d be letting everyone down.”

Yangyang chuckled, stepping closer to you, his gaze flicking over your face as if he was taking mental snapshots of his own. “Yeah, well, you’re too gorgeous. One would think I’m just part of the background in your photos,” he teased, glancing down at his own clothes as if evaluating his outfit.

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’re honored. You’re welcome,” you chimed, eyes back on your phone. “Do you wanna take a picture right now?”

“Why?”

You glanced at him, shrugging. “Just because. Memories.”

Yangyang paused for a second, his eyes darkening as if he was considering something else entirely before he reached out, gently taking your phone from your hand. His touch lingered for a moment, a spark that you both seemed to feel, but he quickly turned back to the view, lifting the phone as if it were nothing more than a prop.

“Fine, but you better not blame me if you end up swooning at how good we look together,” he said, his voice light as he pulled you by the waist so you’re pressed side by side.

You rolled your eyes again, but it was clear you were enjoying this. “You’re so full of yourself,” you teased, leaning against his chest and smiling at the camera. Yangyang pressed the button, capturing a shot of you two with the ocean in the background.

“Here,” he said, handing the phone back to you. “Don’t fall in love with me. I know your camera roll is full of pictures of me and you.”

You checked the picture, sighing. “I would have loved taking pictures at the yacht party with my girls too.”

“Didn’t you say you were tired?”

You sighed, locking your screen and facing him. “Yes. Kitesurfing was such an exercise. I just want to lie down right now. When are we going back to the villa?”

Yangyang tilted his head. “Oh, I… uh. I was actually gonna ask if you want to stay the night. You see, I booked this thing until tomorrow morning because I thought everyone would be hanging out here until late.”

“Seriously?” you asked, looking around the wide and empty deck. “We can’t let it go to waste then.”

Yangyang’s gaze dropped briefly, shamelessly checking you out. “You know, we can make the most of it... if you’re up for it.”

You looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Seriously, don’t you get tired of it?”

He groaned, stomping his feet as he buried his face on your neck. “This is the first time I’m alone with you in days. Honey, please.”

You chuckled, feeling his warmth against your skin. “Wow, desperation looks good on you,” you teased.

Yangyang lifted his head. “Desperate? Yes, I’m very desperate.” His eyes flickered down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “It’s really hard to be patient when you’re always so beautiful and sexy.”

You felt a rush of heat spread through you, but you forced yourself to stay casual. “You say that to all the girls?”

He wrapped her arms around your waist, tugging you closer. “Not all of them,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your ear. “Only you.”

You swallowed. “You really think I’m gonna fall for that?”

Yangyang’s expression softened as he reached out, gently cupping your face with one hand. “I figured you won’t. You never fall for any of my tricks.”

You stared at him, completely aware of his intentions but you did not share his eagerness. “Yangyang, shouldn’t you set the mood first if you really want this?”

“Of course. It’s not that hard. Here, let me show you.” Before you could process anything, his lips were on yours—slow and deep, tasting like wine and something more, something raw. 

The kiss deepened, and the warmth of his lips on yours ignited something in you, a heat that you were very familiar with. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing your bodies together. You responded eagerly, your hands finding his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as you kissed him back, the pressure building with every second. His kiss was insistent, hungry, and you could feel the tension between you both heightening, like a spark just waiting to catch.

When he finally pulled away, his breath was ragged, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling that same pull you had all day, but now stronger, undeniable. “Then show me,” you challenged.

He didn’t need any more instructions. His hands moved to your back, gently urging you toward the cabin door as his lips found yours again. The playful mood from earlier had given way to something much more intense, the teasing now replaced by need.

The yacht swayed gently, setting a calm rhythm, but inside the cabin, everything was on the verge of unraveling. The lights were dim and warm, casting a yellowish glow on the walls as you stood by the bed. Yangyang took his time watching you, his lips curling into a slow, almost predatory smile when you finally met his eyes.

“Do you always stare this much?” you teased, your voice low.

“Only when I know what I want,” he replied, stepping closer.

Yangyang’s hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer so he could rub your hip against his aching manhood. You tried not to gasp or show just how much your skin was tingling to be touched by him. You curled your hand on his shirt, tugging it twice, urging him to take it off. He took it off just as quickly, before wrapping his arms around your smaller frame and crashing his lips into yours.

Your hands wandered, taking your time to explore his body with featherlight touches. He shuddered under your fingers when you skimmed over the muscles of his abdomen until you reached the hardness between his thighs. The slight hitch in his breath ignited something wicked inside you, something that made you smirk.

“You’re not playing fair,” he murmured, his lips curving against your neck before trailing lower.

You didn’t get the chance to respond because his hands quickly slipped under your dress, fingers tracing the bare skin of your thighs with a touch that was both reverent and infuriatingly slow. Your knees threatened to buckle when his hands found your sex, sending warmth all over your body.

When his fingers pressed and moved, your head fell back, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He kissed his way down your collarbone, lingering on the sensitive spot between your shoulder and neck. Your fingers dug into his back when he sucked a mark in your skin, and the moan that you let out only spurred him on.

Yangyang hooked his finger on the strap of your dress, letting it slip off of your shoulders. Then he buried his face between them, taking a long sniff while tightening his embrace. He tilted his head back releasing a satisfied sigh before looking into your eyes.

“My dear wife,” he began, tugging on the other strap of your dress and letting it fall. “I won’t be able to stop. So if you think you’re gonna regret this, we can end it here and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I won’t,” you breathed, running your fingers on his neck down to his chest. “I just know that I won’t regret it.”

“Are you sure?” he asked softly, his voice low and filled with meaning.

You answered with a kiss—hungry, unrelenting. It wasn’t soft or tentative; it was a claim, and Yangyang surrendered without hesitation.

He responded fiercely, competing with your hunger, as if the mere act of touching you wasn’t enough. You moved together, falling onto the bed, and the soft sheets were cool against your heated skin. When he pulled away from you, you panicked for a second, only to scoff when you saw him pull out a condom from his pocket.

“You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” you asked, rolling your eyes playfully as he tore the packet open. Your eyes followed his every move, and the view before you made you bite your lip in anticipation.

Yangyang chuckled seeing your reaction. “I didn’t. But I’ve been carrying one every day since the day you said yes to me.”

“Oh, so you’re always prepared?”

He shrugged, sporting a smug grin as he lowered himself, one hand reaching down to spread the slick that had gathered in your cunt. “You never know when the opportunity might arise.”

He kissed you again, a feeble attempt to distract you from what was happening down below. But it was no use, a guttural moan tore out of your lips as soon as he pushed himself inside, your back arching. Yangyang planted soft kisses on your neck and jaw, shushing you gently.

“You’ve got it. I know you do,” he whispered against your skin.

You got used to the stretch soon enough, and Yangyang watched your face carefully as he rocked inside you in a steady rhythm. Whenever he thrust deeper, your body would arch instinctively, and you’d let out a whimper, the sensation blurring your mind and blooming like fire through your veins.  It wasn’t just the physicality of his touch—it was the way it seemed to unravel you, as though he knew every nerve, every secret, and was intent on exploring them all.

He swallowed your moans with a kiss that only made you more feral. You responded in kind, legs wrapping around his waist, and hands threading through his hair and pulling just enough to make him groan against your mouth. Every thrust of his hips and every movement of lips evoked sensations that left you gasping and clinging to him.

The world outside faded—there was no yacht, no ocean, no stars. Only the two of you, lost in the raw intensity of each other. The bed rocked beneath you, a rhythm that seemed to echo your movements, slow and steady at first, then building, relentless and unstoppable. You were wild with need, and Yangyang was almost animalistic with the desire to unravel you, to watch you lose your mind in pleasure.

“Yangyang,” you whined, knees on your chest as he stretched you out some more.

Your movements grew more erratic and urgent. Each touch, each kiss, each whispered name built upon the last, until you were both trembling on the edge of something immense and unstoppable.

And when you finally collapsed together, your bodies tangled and your breaths ragged, the tension in the room slowly dissolved into something quieter, softer. When your eyes met, you didn’t say anything and just breathed in sync. Then after a few moments, you two burst out laughing, seemingly at a loss for words.

“You are… incredible,” Yangyang exhaled, reaching for your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“I know,” you quipped, giggling.

You rested your head against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat soothing the wild rhythm of yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the gentle lull of the yacht carry you back to reality.

“I could stay like this forever,” you murmured, your voice soft, almost drowsy.

Yangyang chuckled slowly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’d make me a very happy man.”

Your smile was small but genuine, and you closed your eyes. There was no way this would last forever, but there was no point in dwelling on it. All you could do, and all you wanted to do, was to enjoy it while you still can.

The next few days unfolded like a whirlwind of adventure and adrenaline. By day, the group embraced the thrill of risky adventures. Cliff diving back in Conchi left your heart pounding, your squeals of hesitation turning into triumphant laughter when you finally took the plunge. Dune buggy rides through golden sands turned into wild competitions, Yangyang and Hendery competing to see who could kick up the biggest trail of dust, their boisterous energy infecting the rest of you.

Evenings were just as lively. Barbecue dinners became the highlight of the villa, the scent of grilled meat and vegetables wafting through the air as everyone pitched in. Hendery, the self-proclaimed grill master, charred the skewers more often than not, while Yangyang kept spirits high with his antics, attempting acrobatic flips with the food—earning him laughter and scoldings at the same time.

When the drinks came out, the nights grew rowdier. Card games devolved into noisy competitions, while Truth or Dare exposed embarrassing stories and hidden crushes. Laughter echoed through the villa as the group let loose, cherishing the carefree charm of this trip. But amid the chaos, there were moments when you and Yangyang slipped away, unnoticed—or perhaps ignored—by the others.

It didn’t take much—a glance, a whisper, or the casual brush of his hand against yours. Upstairs, the bedroom became your retreat from your chaotic friends. The air in those stolen moments were heavier, hotter, more intense. Yangyang’s teasing confidence would melt into something more fervent and more passionate as he shut the door behind you and closed the space between you.

The way he’d kiss you—slow, deep, and unhurried—never failed to make your head spiral. His hands would find your waist, tugging you closer as if you weren’t already pressed against each other’s bodies. The laughter you shared downstairs would transform into soft whispers, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as you tilted your head back, letting him take his time.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful,” he would murmur, his voice low and thick with affection. His words would hang in the air between kisses, and though his tone carried his usual cheekiness, there was a softness there that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected.

You didn’t always make it to the bed right away. There were nights when the edge of the dresser became your perch, your legs wrapping around his waist as his fingers dug into your skin. Your gasps would be hushed, and your need would be urgent, and Yangyang’s eyes would be boring into you, observing your reactions and memorizing your cues.

During the day, the intimacy didn’t vanish entirely, though it was more playful than physical. You were always attached to the hip, and would sometimes wander off by yourselves. On one lazy day when your group decided to skip going out and just lounge around the villa, you and Yangyang stayed by the poolside, enjoying the sun and the quiet.

You were reading a book on the sunbed, occasionally flipping pages, while Yangyang played a game on his phone. It didn’t last long—he soon got tired of it and squeezed himself next to you, tugging your arm until he could rest his head there. He curled up beside you, his arms loosely wrapped around your torso.

You put your book down and rested your hand on his head, absently running your fingers through his hair. “Are you bored?” you asked, smiling as he groaned and nodded his head dramatically.

“Are you a puppy? Why are you acting like one?”

Yangyang laughed softly, his shoulders rocking, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he tightened his hold on you, his face pressed into your side. You continued running your fingers through his hair—dark, messy, and had a faint minty smell. Your eyes fell on a faint scar on his elbow, curiosity sparking again.

“What happened to this?” you asked, your thumb gently brushing the scar.

“Hmm?” He glanced lazily at his arm. “Oh, it’s a surgery scar. Got it when I was a teenager after a basketball injury.”

“You played basketball?”

“Yes. I loved basketball.”

“Did you dream of becoming a pro?”

Yangyang shook his head, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “No. I dreamed of becoming a racer. Cars fascinated me more than courts.”

“So what happened?”

“Life had other plans,” he said with a shrug, his fingers drawing absentminded circles on your side. “My mom thinks racing equals instant death. Basketball? My knee begged me to stop. And now, here I am, working toward a business degree like a good boy.”

“Would you change anything?” you asked, cringing internally at how cliché the question sounded. But you wanted to know.

“Not really,” he said after a pause, his lips quirking up. “My grandma always said, ‘If something’s yours, it’ll come back around. Even if it falls out of your hand and rolls under the couch.’ So I just let life take its course. It’s a trip, and I’m just cruising.”

“Wow,” you said, your grin matching his. “That’s surprisingly wise.”

Yangyang smirked. “Well, my gran was very wise. She’s old now though and always asks if I’m on drugs or something.”

“Are you?” you asked, your voice light and teasing.

He grimaced. “She’s the one on drugs with all those maintenance pills she keeps popping every day.”

“You sound like a really fun guy,” you chuckled, pressing your cheek on his head. “I mean, I knew you were fun. I’m just surprised you could get more fun than you already are.”

“You’re so good at getting to know people.” Yangyang lifted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your shoulder as his gaze met yours. “Wanna go upstairs and get to know me better?” he murmured, his voice low and playful.

You flicked his forehead lightly, laughing. “That’s a hard no.”

“Wow, do you hate it that much?” he asked indignantly, and you just giggled.

There was something about the way he fit into your space—or maybe how you fit into his—that felt natural, like you’d been orbiting each other longer than just a few days. Your connection had deepened, unwittingly so, in the stolen silences and the shared laughter, in the way your walls had crumbled without you even noticing.

And yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but feel the faintest hint of unease—like a reminder that this was a story with an ending. But you brushed it all off. For now, the sun was warm, the breeze carried the faint scent of the sea, and Yangyang was nestled against you, warm and snug.

The last three days passed in a blur. The energy had softened—fewer high-energy activities, more slow hours and gathering in the living room. Time seemed to slow down as the vacation drew to a close. The laughter was still there, of course, but it held some kind of weight, like everyone was trying to make each second count before the inevitable goodbye.

Yangyang and the boys still found ways to keep things lively. During the day, he joked around more than ever, teasing everyone relentlessly, especially you. Yet at night, when the group dispersed to their corners, it was just the two of you again—by the pool, on the patio, or simply sitting together in the dim glow of the villa’s lanterns.

That night, you found him leaning against the patio railing, his silhouette outlined by the faint light of the moon. He didn’t turn when you joined him, but his arm instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you closer.

“It’s going to be weird going back to normal,” you murmured, the thought slipping out before you could stop it.

Yangyang didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed somewhere distant. “Yeah. No sun, no ocean... no crazy adventures,” he said lightly, his grip on you tightening a little. “No you.”

You smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I know I’m unforgettable, but you’ll survive, right?”

He chuckled lightly, and he finally looked at you. “Come on, be honest. You’re gonna miss me way more than I’ll miss you, won’t you?”

You feigned offense, placing a hand dramatically on your chest. “Excuse me? I’ve been the highlight of your Aruba experience. You be honest.”

“Highlight?” He arched a brow, his smirk widening. “I don’t know. The kite-surfing was pretty epic. The barbecue nights? Top-tier.”

“Okay, but who made those barbecue nights top-tier? Me. I’m the one who kept you from burning the villa down.”

“Fair point,” he admitted with a laugh, his shoulders shaking. “But you still owe me for losing that paddleboarding race.”

You gave him a look. “Liu Yangyang, we’ve been over this. You cheated. I was literally halfway to victory when you—”

“—skillfully redirected the board. Totally fair game,” he interrupted, grinning like the devil himself.

“Cheater,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“In my dictionary, it’s called, strategy.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. Then, like an unwelcome guest, a sudden thought struck you: what’s gonna happen in the morning?

Yangyang shifted, turning to rest his chin on your shoulder. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?”

“Just conserving energy,” you replied lightly, nudging him with your elbow.

He hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. Instead, he started recounting some ridiculous story about the time he got stuck in a hammock and somehow managed to flip himself into a kiddie pool. His voice was animated, his gestures over the top, and you laughed until your stomach hurt, taking your mind off of things for a while.

That night, you shared the bed with him again, curled close like it was the only place you were meant to be. When you weren’t kissing, you talked about everything and nothing—the kind of conversation that stretched lazily through the hours. Neither of you dared to bring up what came next, but it hung in the air, unspoken yet understood. You could feel it in the way his hand lingered a little longer in your hair, in how tightly he held you when you finally gave in to sleep.

Morning came too soon.

The villa felt different, quieter, like it was holding its breath. Bags lined the hallway, and everyone moved with some kind of heaviness. Your friends hovered in the kitchen, trying to keep the mood light with jokes, but the laughter didn’t carry the same carefree weight it had days before. They talked about how Aruba was beautiful and that they wish to come back soon, how they were gonna miss the time you’d all spent together, and how everyone should keep in touch.

Yangyang, for once, was quiet, fiddling with his camera as he sat on the couch.

When you found a moment alone with him, the easy chit-chat that had carried you through the week felt harder to summon. Still, he gave you that signature smirk. “So? Did I or did I not keep my promise?”

“What promise?”

“That I’d show you a great time and make Aruba more memorable for you.”

“Barely,” you teased, though your voice wavered just enough to give you away.

He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Guess I’ll have to step it up next time,” he said, his tone light, even if his eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long.

You managed to smile, but the ache in your chest only deepened. There was no next time—not one you could count on, anyway. And as the villa was filled with the echoes of your friends’ chatter and laughter, you sat there and stared at Yangyang, memorizing the details of his face, his voice, and the way he made you feel.

The goodbye would come, as they always did. But for now, you let the moment stretch, hoping it might last just a little longer.

The first day back in uni was always vibrant and energetic, with students darting across the quad, groups reuniting after the break, and the faint hum of music playing from someone’s portable speaker. You spotted flyers littering every wall, announcing everything from club fairs to house parties, the vibrance was nearly overwhelming after the lazy warmth of Aruba.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, glancing over at Giselle, who seemed unusually quiet as the two of you navigated through the crowd. “Thinking about Ningning?” you asked knowingly.

She sighed, kicking a stray leaf across the path. “Yeah. Feels weird without her. I wish she didn’t have to move.”

“She’ll visit,” you said, more confident than you felt. “And you can always crash at her place. It’s not like she’s on the other side of the world.”

“I guess,” Giselle muttered, but the corners of her mouth lifted slightly at the thought.

The two of you walked into the cafe and spotted Karina and Jaemin at a table by the window, their cups of iced coffees already halfway gone. Karina waved so enthusiastically it was a wonder she didn’t topple over, while Jaemin sat beside her, his arms crossed and a lazy grin on his face.

“Finally!” Karina exclaimed, throwing her arms around you and Giselle as if it had been months instead of weeks since you’d last seen each other. “Tell me everything! I want the drama, the chaos, the juicy stuff.”

“Relax, we just got here,” you laughed, patting her on the back.

Jaemin smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Wow, and here I thought you’d squeezed everything out of them over FaceTime?”

“Quiet, Jaemin,” Karina shot back, but her grin didn’t falter. “Did Aruba live up to the hype? Don’t leave anything out.”

You hesitated, your mind wandering back to late nights on the patio, the sound of Yangyang’s laughter, the weight of his arm slung comfortably over your shoulder. 

“It was incredible,” Giselle exclaimed before you could say anything.

The four of you talked about Aruba, the breathtaking beaches, the chaos of group outings, and Giselle’s over-the-top retelling of Ningning’s escapades. You also caught up on the little things—new professors, gossip about campus life, and the inevitable groans about upcoming assignments. It was like nothing had changed at all, like your time in Aruba was a fever dream and you were getting pulled back into the real world right now. Giselle’s accounts of everything you did and experienced on that beautiful island was proof that it happened though, as well as the pictures you took every day while you were there.

“Wow. Ningning is so pretty,” Karina commented while you were showing them pictures on your phone. “I can’t believe she left.”

Giselle sighed dramatically. “Ugh, I wish she didn’t have to move. Our group’s so scattered now.”

As Karina nodded in agreement, Jaemin swiped to the next photo. “Wait, who’s that?” he asked, pointing at the screen.

Your heart jumped—Yangyang’s grin stared back at you, sunlit and easy. Before anyone could look closer, you snatched your phone.

“No one,” you deadpanned, hiding your screen and sticking your tongue out playfully.

Jaemin chimed teasingly. “Did you get a boyfriend in Aruba?”

Giselle chuckled knowingly. “Oh, she got more than just a boyfriend. She got a husband in Aruba.”

“A husband?” Jaemin exclaimed.

You giggled. “Sorry you couldn’t come to the wedding,” you teased. “It was super exclusive.”

Giselle threw her head back laughing. “More like, sorry you couldn’t come to Aruba. It was for fun people only,” she added, shrugging playfully.

“Hey. Aruba was last minute. If you’d planned it ahead of time, I wouldn’t have agreed to go with my family to Korea!”

While your friends bickered, you glanced outside and saw the campus moving on around you like it always did. Yet, something felt different—like you’d stepped into a new chapter, leaving a part of yourself behind on a sandy beach far away.

“What are you doing?” Karina prompted, peering into your screen.

“Sending an entry to Campus Confessions,” you said, holding your screen just out of reach.

She blinked. “You follow that page?”

“No. I just submit entries,” you replied, showing her after you hit send.

To: LYY We found wonderland. You and I got lost in it, and we pretended it could last forever. -xx

Karina tilted her head. “Wait, does he even know what Campus Confessions is?”

You shrugged, slipping your phone into your pocket. “He doesn’t need to.”

You put your phone away, focusing back on your friends, their chatter pulling you into the rhythm of the moment. There was plenty to say about Aruba, but some memories? Those were yours to keep.

[fin]

[justporo]

Astarion doesn't know how to cook, but wants to make Tav a romantic dinner. He enlists the help of Gale and regrets it near instantly. Do with this what you like :3

My dear mushy, this is a wonderful prompt, so thank you so much for that. (I loved that it had me write another one of the companions!)

It is in fact so wonderful that it will turn into a short little two-part thingy (because it makes sense in my head and also I can split up the parts, so I can go to bed now, hihi)

So, have: Gale and Astarion pissing each other off in this part and find out if Tav actually does get her romantic dinner in the second part of:

A Night of... Shattered Glass and the Smell of Burning?

“Dinner? Oh Astarion, all these months on the road and all this time since we’ve come to Baldur’s Gate. And you only ask me now?”

“Not with you, you idiot, with Tav!”

Astarion was standing in the wizard’s study – in the place Gale had obtained after your joint adventure to stay a while longer in the city. The wizard was sitting behind his massive desk, Tara on his lap who purred excessively because of all the head scratches she received. And in front of the desk stood Astarion, arms crossed over his chest and an displeased expression on his face. His body was halfway turned towards the door as if he wanted to be ready to leave the room and this place – forever – whenever the need arose.

Gale grinned at the vampire’s uneasiness but didn’t say anything to soothe his former companion – he was relishing the moment way too much for that. So he opted to just stare at the elf and make him suffer a little while longer.

Astarion sighed in defeat and pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger before he let them stretch out, pressing into his closed eyes. “Gale, don’t make me regret I’ve come here, please”, Astarion pressed out from behind gritted teeth.

Tara stretched out on Gale’s lap, yawned deeply and jumped off her owner’s lap to saunter around the desk. Gale let her, keeping his gaze on the vampire: “No really, you have to give me at least this one moment in return, Astarion, just one teeny tiny moment of you coming to me for help. You’ve actually grown so much over just such a short span…”

Astarion zoned out while the wizard rambled on trying to have his superior moment of being sarcastic and sassy – Gods, it had been a horrible idea to come here. He felt the wizard’s cat stroke around his legs then, rubbing her head against his shins and looking up at him expectantly.

So, he bowed down to lift her up and started to pet her to which Tara responded with arching her back into the vampire’s careful touch and starting to purr loudly. At that a smile crept onto Astarion’s face. He’d always liked cats – fierce and beautiful creatures.

“…and I feel so honoured that you would ask me out of all people, Astarion – really!”, ended the wizard his sarcastic speech and was finally silent. Astarion rolled his eyes: “Now go and write it all into your journal and draw pink glittery hearts around it while kicking your little feet. Are you done now?” Gale lifted one finger and narrowed his eyes with raised eyebrows: “Allow me one more question.” Astarion groaned. “Does Tav know?”, the wizard asked.

“No”, hissed the vampire in response and stared angrily at Gale “and if you’re going to tell her, I am going to rip your godsdamned throat out.” Gale reacted with lifting his hands defensively: “Alright okay, I’m done. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Some of the tension left Astarion’s body. “So will you help me or not?”, he asked while focusing on the cat in his arms instead of the person he was asking something off – openly committing to wanting help, talking about a weakness – and may it be something as inconsequential as this – was not something he had learned awfully well to accept; perhaps he never really would.

Gale’s gaze softened a little and he stood up from behind the desk to walk around it and leaning against it in a relaxed pose. He crossed his arms over his chest: “So… come again, what exactly is it exactly that you’re planning?”

Finally, Astarion lifted his gaze to look at the wizard. His eyes was full of suspicion after Gale had at first opted to tease him about a genuine demand. And it had already cost him an enormous amount of pride to swallow to actually come over and voice his request for help. The wizard sighed: “Okay listen, I’m sorry, I was a dick about this – it’s just… I wouldn’t have expected this from you, is all…”

Astarion didn’t say anything in response, his reluctancy had not yet left him. And so an awkward kind of silence stretched between the two men – unable or unwilling to be more open and sincere; at least for the time being.

“Listen”, Gale started again “I’ll help you, I promise. But you have to tell me what you want to do or else I don’t know how.”

Astarion looked down again at the purring cat in his arms. After a few heartbeats he sighed and said: “In a few weeks, it will be six months since… Tav and I are official. And I thought after all the peril she, I mean we all, but she especially has been put through and after everything she’s done for me…” The vampire’s words trailed off and he threw Gale a glance. There were no more words needed in this instance, Gale had been there beside him and Tav when they had walked into Cazador Szarr’s lair.

The wizard felt his throat close up at the memory – as much in dread, as he remembered, as in compassion for his… friend.

“So”, Gale coughed and readjusted his position against his giant wooden desk, before he went on in a more animated manner, “you thought a nice romantic dinner would be a nice opportunity to show her a little bit of your gratefulness and also celebrate your love.” “I see we are finally on the same page, my wizard partner in crime”, Astarion replied then cheerfully – thankful for the change in mood.

“And the problem is that it’s been a while, naturally, since you had the pleasure in the kitchen”, Gale went on. Astarion cleared his throat: “To be honest, even before… let’s just say food had just always come on a plate.”

“Hah, and now it always comes from a neck, right?”, Gale tried to crack a joke and failed miserably. The vampire looked ready to leave once more: “Please leave the jokes to me, Gale. Else I’m leaving – and taking the cat.”

Gale let his head fall back until he was facing the ceiling. “This won’t be easy”, he whispered under his breath. Then he lifted his hands as he let himself look at the vampire once more that had started cooing at Tara in his arms – making little kissy faces at the cat that was stretching out one of his paws as if in a gentle caress of the elf’s face.

“Let’s just get to the point. What did you have in mind then?”, said the wizard and made a few steps towards Astarion how was now stroking Tara’s face with a single finger as if she was a baby. Only when Gale was almost in front of him did he notice that the wizard had asked him another question.

The vampire gave another sigh and then shortly bent down to set down the animal which protested softly but then just kept stroking around his legs. “I thought you could teach me some stuff. Show me to make some dishes so I can prepare the dinner for Tav myself…” “Yes okay, but what does she like – I mean, back on the road we all made do with what we could get our hands on, but if you want to surprise her with something shouldn’t it be something to impress her?”, Gale interrupted, immediately getting into planning mode. His head was already turning on how to get organised and starting. “Well, Gale, from what I’ve heard the last time you wanted to impress a woman it didn’t go all too well, didn’t it? Maybe tone it down a little”, the vampire bit out. But a sparkle had entered his red eyes, nonetheless, at the thought of actually pulling this surprise off.

Gale though was back at looking at the ceiling, cursing whatever had put this flatulated vampire in his path. “Alright”, Gale sighed, “first thing we have to settle is that we can’t go for each other’s throats all the time – VERBALLY, verbally”, he exclaimed with raised eyebrows and pointed a finger at Astarion when the vampire had started smirking at him in a kind of way.

“I didn’t start – at least this time”, the vampire shot back. “Astarion”, Gale drawled annoyedly in a tone that might’ve been used many a time towards his cat – which did actually look up at her owner and cocked her head at him.

“Fine”, Astarion agreed in the same tone. “So, let’s figure out the desired menu first, shall we?”, Gale said to put them back on track. “What’s Tav’s favourite food, what dishes does she like – sweet, savoury?”

Do that Astarion put a hand to his chin and started to think. His brows furrowed and his gaze was suddenly miles away: “Her favourite thing are strawberries by far, but that does only work for dessert. Maybe with something chocolate-y, she really does have a knack for sweet stuff.” At that point Gale opened his mouth to crack another joke but shut it immediately when he realised how genuine Astarion had become all of a sudden.”

“She likes hearty foods – nothing needlessly complicated or pretentious. And she always goes on about how she’d love to have more fish but that it’s so complicated to prepare sometimes, hmm.” Astarion was still lost in his thoughts and kept rambling on about every last detail he could remember about what might work and what they had to avoid.

Gale’s face split into a huge, warm grin, bewildered by Astarion and how much he knew about these small little details about his soulmate and how much genuine care and love shone in his eyes as he kept talking about her.

Gale put out his hand to lay on Astarion’s shoulder who was still somewhere else, still talking. At the light gesture the elf flinched and shock filled his eyes for a short moment before he realised is was only the wizard. “Second rule, don’t just touch me”, he hissed at the man who was still smiling warmly at his friend behaving like a feral street cat.

“Agreed. Let’s just get to work, Astarion. I’ll make a chef out of you in no time. Let’s go.” And with these final words Gale went off towards his kitchen.

Astarion expressed his doubts in the wizard’s self-impression but followed closely behind.

[ganondoodle]

actively fighting a full blown panic attack born out of sadness and anger after having to drive by yet another victim on the side of the road

it makes me livid how accepted it is to just let cats suffer and die disgustingly horrid deaths and live awful short lives just so what, for what?? so you dont have to play with them for an hour a day??? when i was little it was just kinda normal that they disappeared at some point, i didnt understand what it actually meant until our outdoor cat i loved dearly was found in the bushes near our house in a condition so horrible my dad has never told me and i have never dared to ask, she only made it to 6 and had horrible scars and infections before that i allowed my family to convince me to let my first own cat outside, we only had her for a year, she died at only 2 years old, i am still suffering from the guilt, it has never let me go, she went missing for a week and i walked the entire vilage up and down every day, yelling her name, wandering into the forest alone, talking to every stranger i met until one morning my mom told me that our neighbour who works for the city asked if we had a white cat with a very specific collar she had- he found her on a busy road crossing in the next bigger city, i never even got to bury her, its haunting me, the thought of her wandering lost and scared in the city for a week until meeting an awful end gives me headaches, the fact that i was the last one to see her alive, that i put her outside bc we were late for school and had to leave quickly, that she had come home with oil in her fur from crawling through maschines and cars before, that i was worried but still didnt act, that it is my fault, any time i am up to late its coming back, it will never let me go, if i had stood my ground and not allow her outside unless on a leash or similar shed still be alive today, any time i read a description at our local shelter it comes back, they still advocate for outside cats, all of them, even if they have only been an indoor one before, its madness my older sister had a cat, i dont even know how old he got but it wasnt long either, he got hit by a car in front of their house, she has two now again and the only reason she hasnt let them outside is because they havent shown much interest in it, i tried to warn her before and she didnt listen and shes still resistent, even after losing one too

i have seen so many on the side of the road, anywhere i drive i see them, i cannot forget a single one, we are surrounded by farm land and all its giant maschinery, its still common to poison rodents, why do people value them so little, you wouldnt let your dog just live outside in the woods and streets for half the day or more, you wouldnt just throw your guniea pigs on the road and tell them have fun, you wouldnt just let your bird roam outside, there probably assholes that do that too but you cannot tell me its as common as outside cats

i dont understand it, i dont, i wont, i never will, i will never forgive myself this poor little animal that was my responsibility having to pay the price of my ignorance, or my own weakness letting my family convince me despite the awful way we lost one before, it makes me want to explode it hurts my brain in grief and anger i can barely contain

cats deserve to live a safe and long life, i get only having them inside may feel like you are locking them up, but do you think that not doing so is worth having them die a painful death? being poisonend? on purpose even by disgusting people that hate them? abused and chased by other animals and dogs? hurt and lost? cutting their lifespan in half? if they even make it that far? the amount of wildlife that they kill unnecessarily so when all of that is already in a steep decline everywhere? and if they eat what they hunt get infected with diseases or again, poison? die somewhere in agony? if cared for they dont care about going outside, plenty can be leash trained or given a secure way to roam like those cat proof aviary like things, if you dont want to put effort into caring for a cat DONT GET ONE, ALL pets require adequate care, and if you think cats are the easiest bc you only have to feed them every now and then IF they come home? you suck, you are an asshole, i hate you and you do not care about them, if you just want to occasionalyl feed and pet an animal go to the petting zoo

(this is about pet cats of people who can absolutely afford to keep them healthily inside, i know feral cats and those in poor neighbourhoods are a thing, even if not here where i live, and thats a whole other but still similar problem and not the point of this post)

[johannestevans]

A Bite of Rope: Part I

Kink fiction. An ex-soldier who can’t sleep one night follows a coworker to somewhere unexpected. 

Rated E. Cis M/M. Set in 1950s London. 

An ex-soldier, Arthur “Kuhn” Conrad, now a debt collector of sorts for a corrupt company, can’t sleep one night, and as he’s walking the streets, sees a coworker — on a whim, he follows, and ends up in an underground club. The older man, Ignatius Kasovitz, likes to tie people up, it seems, and Kuhn finds he wants to try being tied up, if it’s Kasovitz doing the tying. 

CWs for continuous references to World War II and the Shoah — Kuhn is a veteran, Kasovitz is Jewish; various homophobic & transphobic language, particularly from Kuhn; trauma; violence. This one will be kink-focused over sex itself, with Kuhn being somewhere on the ace spectrum. 

This won't be a long serial, only two or three parts. Please remember to comment and let me know what you think!

Read on Patreon / / Read on Medium / / Read on Ao3.

---

It’s a dry, hot night, and Kuhn can’t sleep. It’s past ten at night and there’s no work for him to be getting on with, and being as it’s a Friday, most of the quieter pubs around him are not so quiet tonight, so he walks. No one fucking bothers him – he’s recognised here and there, by the sort of scum who’d recognise like for like, but it’s mostly not recognition that keeps people from coming near him.

He's told he has a dangerous air, no matter that he’s on the small side. He’s not scrawny, after all, not anymore – he’s square, and he’s got hard angles, but at the shoulders and the jaw, not at the elbows or the show of bone – and he has a fierce, rapid pace when he moves.

Doctor Lark, who heads up the office, says that any man who knows dogs can often see from afar the sort of dog that will bite at the drop of a hat, the sort of dog that won’t stop short at a nick but will savage you deeply. Kuhn doesn’t know anything about dogs at all – he likes cats, personally – but Lark says you can see a dog that will rip your guts out based on how its eyes cast about, how it draws back its lips and shows its teeth, how it lunges, how it ducks or lifts its head as it runs toward you.

“You look like a feral fucking dog, Kuhn,” Lark had said, and patted him very hard on the back, sending a percussive thump through his ribcage. Kuhn doesn’t like to be touched much, but the way Lark does it has never bothered him, short and abortive as it is, and always very hard instead of feigning softness. “You look fucking rabid, from afar, and worse, up close. Too much white in your eyes.”

Kuhn turns a corner and stares straight forward, knowing his eyes look dead even before a few young women on a night out blanch at facing him and hurriedly cross the road. That fills him with no especial pleasure, but a pleased hum settles low in his gut when a minute later a big man in a duffle coat, drunk and a little unstable on his feet, does the exact same thing, albeit more subtly.

He's not walking anywhere in particular. He’s just walking – stalking, but stalking the way a man does it, moving forward all angry, not like an animal does it. He’s not hunting for anything…

Until he is.

Kuhn recognises Ignatius Kasovitz from damn near two streets away, even though he’s nothing more than a tall blur in the distance. Kuhn recognises his gait as much as he does his height, the smooth and long-legged stride that sets Kasovitz well-aside from all the girls in the secretarial pool, and all the other men, too.

He doesn’t like Kasovitz, but that’s what makes him an easy target to tail, Kuhn thinks. He’s not following the old man because he’s really interested in where he lives, because he wants to sit and talk with him, or even because he wants to use any information against him, blackmail him with where he’s been at night, or where he’s going.

It’s none of that. He just follows Kasovitz because he recognises him, and he’s someone that doesn’t matter.

He follows Kasovitz out of Soho proper, and he wonders at first if Kasovitz is going to go as far as one of the popular cottages, one of the greens where inverts like him pay a shilling or two to the ex-soldiers selling themselves as gigolos, but instead, Kasovitz trails down one street and then another, then descends a set of steps behind an iron railing.

Kuhn comes to the edge of the railing and looks down the steps, then trails in pursuit. Down here, out of the view of the main street, he can see people milling about – more queers like Kasowitz, queers and sapphics and that sort, different people done up for a night out, smoking cigarettes, laughing with each other. It’s just a bit too crowded for enough people to notice Kuhn and part around him, and he’s glad he’s wearing his hat – he blends in well enough with the shorter faggots and the littler dykes.

All these fucking freaks lined up in their dresses and suits and jewellery, trading cigarettes and compacts of coke – is this what they fought a fucking war for?

He can’t hear the music from inside whatever club this is from out here in this draughty corridor underneath the eaves of the shops upstairs, but the noise around him is still digging under his skin like splinters, like gritted sand in a hard wind, like sparks off the fire. Three mincing cunts done up like girls – two of them are in wigs, the other one, that might be his own fucking curls – are giggling and laughing with each other; he can hear the wet, messy sound of two women necking even though they’re in a shadow and he can’t actually see them; two men are playing a game of slapsies, and whenever one of them gets a hit in, the other one grabs at his arse or his thigh.

He’s irritable from not having slept yet, but at the same time, it’s the irritability that’s not letting him sleep. There’s a burn and prickle under his skin – it’s the dry heat of the night, he thinks, and how it’s making him sweat, how it feels uncomfortably light whilst still being nasty in its temperature. His skin, slicked with sweat, doesn’t feel as though it fits him. It hasn’t felt as if it fits him for a long, long time.

“You alright, love?” asks a skinny homo who must be eighty or ninety, walking past Kuhn with a stick. He’s wearing a silk scarf around his neck. “You want to get some water down you – you do look a bit peaked, if I do say so myself.”

“Yessir,” Kuhn mutters, because no matter that the man is decades too old to be hobbling out to some degenerate club like this, he had it beaten into him very young to respect his elders, and he can’t spit out any insult that comes to mind.

Kuhn is a criminal himself, no matter that he has a fucking office and a desk and a lot of bullshit paperwork to get on with in the course of the day. Doctor Lark is bent; the office is bent; all his coworkers are bent, and when Kuhn isn’t doing paperwork and bribes and occasionally being impressed at the new ways their engineers come up with to smuggle guns or blow or cash, he’s roughing up whoever doesn’t pay them.

He's not this sort of criminal, no, but—

Still.

Kuhn follows after the old man, trying to look around him into the club – the big door is closed, and a hulking bulldyke stands in front of it, her arms crossed over her big, square chest that her suit barely fucking contains. When she draws back a slightly hairy upper lip in a snarl, Kuhn doesn’t have it in him not to draw his own teeth back.

Bad dogs, both of them.

“Christine,” says Kasovitz suddenly a second later – the door is open, the old man is hobbling through where Kasovitz is holding the door open for him, and Kasovitz is standing at the big lesbian’s shoulder. She’s holding Kuhn half a foot off the fucking ground, pinned up against the wall, but at Kasovitz’ gentle scolding, she sets him down again. “Let him through, dear. I’ll vouch for him.”

“Behave,” Christine growls down at him, and Kuhn scoffs at her – she raises her hand as if to smack him one, but before she can land the blow, Kasovitz has tugged Kuhn forward by one of the open bits of his looser coat pockets, moved him whilst making barely any contact with him at all.

Kasovitz used to be a clown.

Kuhn doesn’t know how long he’d been a clerk at Croft & Co. before they merged with Werner & Associates, but he knows he was never a fucking soldier, not in the Great War or the one after, no matter that he’s fifty-six or something like it. The fuck sort of exemption is that, being a fucking clown? The fuck was he doing, when men like Kuhn were getting shot at, raked over wire, bombed to smithereens – juggling? Dancing on a wire, jumping off the trapeze, riding fucking elephants?

It’s an open secret, what he is, that he’s a pansy, an invert, at work. It’s illegal, sure, but that doesn’t mean anything at WC – and Hell, isn’t it fucking right, that a homo like him should work at a company now named after a fucking lavatory? – and that it’s disgusting doesn’t mean much more. It grates on Kuhn, that people at work joke about it and that the old prick takes it in his stride, laughs along, even makes his own jokes about being a Wilde type.

He’s not in one of the pastel suits he wears to work, with old-fashioned tailoring and uncomfortably modern cloth, and not in his circus get-up either – there’s pictures of him on his desk at work, of him with his family in the circus – but in a set of trousers, a jumper, a tie. He looks naked, in a way, dressed down. As big a man as he is, heavy in the chest and shoulders with long, loping legs, it feels to Kuhn for a moment that a jumper almost shouldn’t fit him.

As Kuhn follows after Kasovitz, he steels himself for the coming touch, for Kasovitz to touch him properly this time – his shoulder, the back of his neck, his waist, get ready to lunge back at him, no matter that he’s a big, heavy prick. The touch doesn’t come.

Coiled energy prickles under Kuhn’s skin, built up with nowhere to go, awaiting the provocation of Kasovitz perving on him.

“Gonna ask me to buy you a drink, are you, pansy?” Kuhn asks in a sharp undertone, provoking the provocation so that he doesn’t have to have it swinging over his head.

“I don’t drink,” Kasovitz says. “But cheers for the offer.”

Kuhn blinks, and he realises in the moment that he isn’t talking the way he does at the office, that he sounds a lot less like Kuhn himself, all of a sudden – he doesn’t sound like a Londoner at all, but a Manc, a Scouser, maybe.

Before Kuhn can snap that it wasn’t an offer, he doesn’t swing that way and even if he did, he’s pretty sure he could get a younger, prettier model than a fucking has-been cunt in his fifties – respect for one’s elders does not extend to clowns – Kasovitz has picked up a length of coiled rope from a nearby table and stepped away from him.

This speakeasy used to be a public bomb shelter, Kuhn thinks – it’s a sort of tunnel, long and windowless, with rounded walls, but it makes a more than decent basement establishment. There’s a long bar, tables and booths about, small stages throughout. The music travels well here inside the place, but there’s no live band – it’s just a battered old gramophone in the corner, some antique thing instead of a newer record player.

Kuhn suddenly finds himself rooted to the spot as if he’s stepped in tar, his shoes sticking to the word boards beneath him as he follows Kasovitz with his eyes up onto the small stage, and his breath gets stuck somewhere inside him too. Ascending two steps up onto the platform, Kasovitz has gone from uncoiling the rope to trussing up a pretty girl.

No.

No, not a girl – she’s Kuhn’s age or a bit younger, forty, at the eldest. She’s got her eyes closed and her lips are faintly smiling, and she’s stripped down to just a slip and her stockings, her dress and cardigan folded on the edge of the stage, as she leans forward and into Kasovitz’ hands. His long fingers make the rope move fast, make it look alive, serpentine, as it coils around her body. She’s the same height as Kuhn, maybe even taller than he is in her little kitten heels, and Kasovitz is like a giant in front of her, leaning forward to press the rope between her little tits.

Kuhn still isn’t breathing. His chest is aching a bit, distantly, from his lungs not inflating or letting out – he’s held his breath in the bath before, tempted himself with oblivion, but this pain isn’t quite like that. It has softer edges, somehow, and a sweeter taste.

“Lean back,” Kasovitz instructs.

Kuhn was hypnotised once, before the war, before anything. He was fourteen and at a birthday party – Haverford Grey’s, he’s dead, now, was gutted and left hanging from a tree by a grey and dismal battlefield, and Kuhn can still hear the wind whistling and the branch creaking as he swings one way and the other – was a hypnotist.

Harmless stuff.

Keep an eye on the watch, watch it swing, watch the pendulum go one way and then the other, and then he was sweet and easy and standing on a cloud, and all his friends were laughing because apparently he’d done a good ballerina’s twirl, and he’d laughed too, because he’d just felt so relaxed. He hasn’t thought of that birthday party since he saw Have’s corpse swinging and thought of the pendulum swing of the hypnotist’s watch – he hasn’t thought of the calm and the sweet buzz and ease he’d felt for much, much longer. He feels a ghost of that calm down, his head tipping back slightly. Kuhn’s chin raises, his centre of gravity easing a few degrees backwards in response to an order that isn’t meant for him – he’s starting to feel the slightest bit dizzy, but luckily, Kasovitz tells his girl, “Breathe in,” and Kuhn does at the same time she does, feels blessed relief.

He stares, mystified, in a waking dream, as Kasovitz supports his trussed-up girl under her belly and lifts her up like he might his fucking briefcase, tied up like a handbag, her arms and legs behind her, above her, and she’s swinging too. She looks so… peaceful.

She laughs softly as Kasovitz pulls the rope through another one of the rings of a sort of hangman’s frame over the stage, one Kuhn hadn’t noticed a moment ago, and Kuhn watches as she’s eased out of his hold – and fucking Hell, he was holding her in one hand, balancing her in one hand – and made to purely suspend from the frame. Her legs are back, ankles and wrists together, but she’s not hanging from the coiled rope around those.

Kasovitz has made a sort of harness for her, around her chest, her waist and belly, and her weight rests in the cradle of it, and Kuhn wonders when the last time was that he ever, ever felt as strangely relaxed as he does right now, watching this woman tied up in a degenerate hub like this one – he’s tipping slightly forward on his feet, rocking in rhythm with her swinging in the suspension.

Kuhn realises, all at once, that it’s happening all around him.

A fat man with a balding head is leaning back in a chair and two girls – and these are girls, if they’re not boys in dresses, might be at the end of their teens if not their early twenties – are tying him tighter and tighter. Between binding him to the legs and arms of the chair, they’re laughing at him, pinching his cheeks, slapping parts of his flesh, kissing him on the cheeks and the top of his head. Another woman is in suspension at the far end of the hall, hanging from the frame with her legs down and her arms straight out, a mirror of Christ. An older woman has a younger one over her knee and is smacking her across her arse, making the pale cheeks of her flat arse wobble with each blow, and they’re aglow with the heat and redness of it.

“You can have fifteen minutes,” Kasovitz says, checking his pocket watch and gently touching the young woman’s cheek. “And then I’ll bring you down.”

“Can it be twenty?” she asks, her voice husky, but it doesn’t sound seductive, not that Kuhn’s any real judge or expert – it just sounds sleepy to him.

“Seventeen.”

“Eighteen.”

“Seventeen and a half,” says Kasovitz, with a stern movement of one index finger, and when the woman laughs, she gently sways in her bonds, and Kuhn follows after Kasovitz as he goes toward the bar. “Two barley waters, please,” he says, and Kuhn stands there, his hands at his sides, as he watches the young man behind the bar pour from a jug.

He's incredibly grateful, all of a sudden, to hear the clink of ice against the glass – it’s warm outside, and it’s even hotter here inside, and more humid, too. When the glass is pushed toward him, he drinks from it greedily.

“You live in Battersea, don’t you?” Kasovitz asks. “Did you walk all the way here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” says Kuhn. “Never been one for counting sheep. Came here to count fairies instead.”

Kasovitz’ lips twitch, and he takes a sip from his own drink, gesturing for the man behind the bar to replenish Kuhn’s glass, which he does. It occurs to him to complain, to ask why the fuck he’s drinking barley water instead of beer or ale, whether Kasovitz drinks or not, but he doesn’t want to drink anyway, not tonight. Kuhn hops up onto the stool – Kasovitz doesn’t have to do that, just leans back into the one beside him, and Kuhn slowly scans the hall up and down, at the play these people are all having with each other.

“There once was a queer from Khartoum…” says Kasovitz in an undertone, narrating the view for him, and Kuhn’s lips twitch despite himself, and he looks up at the older man’s face. He has round features – big, round eyes with heavy lids, a crescent to his lips, an oval-shaped face. He has thick, dark hair, and he usually has it pomaded at work – he has it washed of pomade, neatly parted, and now they’re not flattened down, the usual waves are made up of bouncing curls instead.

“I saw you walking,” says Kuhn. He doesn’t know why he says it, doesn’t know why it occurs to him to share it – why the fuck should he? But he does. He still feels a bit tense under his clothes, but Kasovitz isn’t touching him, isn’t reaching for him, and Kuhn isn’t entirely relaxed – he doesn’t know if he’s been entirely relaxed in the last twenty fucking years – but he trusts, somehow, that Kasovitz isn’t going to reach and touch him. “I’ve been walking around for an hour or two, and I saw you, recognised you. Thought you’d be out on one of the greens or playing house at this time of night, not coming into a fucking place like this.”

“Playing house?” Kasovitz repeats, raising his thick eyebrows. “What were you hoping, young man, that you’d find me in a cottage waiting for you?”

“Not my thing,” Kuhn mutters.

The old man, the one that spoke to him on the way in, has another older man on his knee – he’s plump, has a sort of prettiness despite his age and his weight, has long eyelashes and very pink lips. The one with the cane is slowly winding ribbon around him with quavering, frail fingers, tying bows about his neck, around his belly, making a sort of harness of the violet silk, laying it down flat against Lippett’s smooth, hairless skin.  

“Mr Salford, he’s a haberdasher,” Kasovitz supplies. “Always brings his own ribbons, has more of a care for those than rope. Mr Lippett was a painter’s model as a young man – he still enjoys to be made into something fancy, into something pretty.”

“They’re both so fucking old,” Kuhn says.

“Yes, well,” Kasovitz murmurs, taking another little sip of his drink, “We’re all getting fucking old, at the end of the day.”

Kuhn watches as Salford ties little bows through the rings piercing Lippett’s plump tits – they’re bigger than the ones on the woman Kasovitz has set to dangle, look plush and soft. They wobble a bit when Salford tickles Lippett’s side, making him laugh.

“I didn’t know you were a Scouser,” Kuhn says. “Why’d you do that accent at work?”

“You know what you Londoners are like,” Kasovitz retorts, shrugging his shoulders. “People are liable to think I can’t read and write at all, realising I learned my English in Liverpool. I do the posher accent in the office, and it keeps people on task. Don’t think I don’t know you don’t go a little Cockney now and then, when you think it will have more of an impact.”

“Learned your English?” Kuhn repeats. “Thought you might be a Kraut, with a name like Kasovitz.”

“My family left our troupe to join another when attitudes toward Jews in Germany, in the rest of Europe, became more dangerous, and then we came to England to perform here. Circuses are made for outcasts – Gypsies, Jews, cripples, dwarves, freaks and untouchables of all kinds.” Kasovitz’ voice is quiet and even – he has a nice voice, and Kuhn finds he actually finds his Scouser’s lilt more appealing than the more neutral, posher voice he’s heard here and there from him. “That’s always been true, and always will be. But it was harder here in England, as an invert, a homosexual – and apart from that, the magic was lost for me, I think. I stayed in Liverpool as the circus moved on, enrolled in a secretarial course – I’d learned to do our books, had managed our travelling papers, different ownership papers, contracts. People are always accusing circuses of thievery, so one learns to keep these things in good order.”

“So you’re not actually a Scouser, then,” is what Kuhn takes from this.

“I was born outside of Szeged, actually.”

“Where’s that?”

“Hungary.”

“And you all just… travelled around? The circus you were in, it was all Jews?”

“Not all, no, but a few of us.”

“You all survived?”

Kasovitz’ expression doesn’t change, but he gazes at Kuhn’s face, looks across at him unblinkingly for a few moments. “Most of us,” he says quietly. “My family, for the most part, except for an aunt and uncle I had who were entertainers in Berlin – they were brought to a camp. My uncle died there – my aunt was kept alive, made to perform for the guards, you see. She was a broken woman, after. My mother went to look after her for a little while, but she died not long after the end of the war – typhoid fever. There was another Jewish family with us, half of them went to America, the other half evaded capture for a while, and then two of them, fellow clowns…” He trails off, slowly shaking his head, and exhales. “The rest did survive, they’re in Israel now. All told, those in my closest circle were far luckier than most Jews. Traveling life gave us means of egress, ways to hide, that others didn’t have – and in the circus, we look after our own. We weren’t disposable or undesirable for our Jewishness, as we were and would be elsewhere.”

“I didn’t really know many Jews, before the war,” Kuhn says. He doesn’t know why he says this, either. He doesn’t talk to anybody, really – he has pints with the lads after a job sometimes, but mostly he doesn’t talk, just listens, laughs at a good joke, though there’s never many of those. “My family had some refugees as servants, and then we were deployed, I did meet some Jews – in Stalags, mostly. Some Poles helped us out, once, Polish Jews, that was in France.”

“What are your family, Catholic?”

“C of E.”

“You’re not religious?”

“No, never.”

“Nor am I.”

“You use to be?”

“Before the Shoah? No, not really. I used to think as a young man I’d have time and interest in religion when I was old, that I’d get more interested in spending time with God. And then He let that happen. And I thought… fuck Him. Let Him burn for all I care.”

“One of our priests was the touchy-feely type,” Kuhn says. “He slid his hand down my back once when I was in the church library, and I ripped his dog collar off, knocked my head into his nose. Didn’t break it, just bloodied his lip.”

Kasovitz looks at him with what seems to Kuhn to be a very keen interest, resting his rounded chin on the palm of one of his big, strong, long-fingered hands. In deliberate tones, he asks – sort of snidely – “And a priest stroking your back, young man, you think that’s roughly equivalent to my seeing millions of my people slaughtered?”

“No,” says Kuhn plainly. “But I headbutted a priest. Thought you’d like the point against God. ‘Scuse me for breathing.”

Kasovitz laughs. It seems to take him by surprise – he covers his mouth with his hand, his eyes very wide and almost watering, and it’s a good laugh, very loud. It’s not like the politer, snider thing he keeps in the office, all superior and quiet – this is a clown’s laugh, Kuhn thinks. He likes it.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, a bit breathlessly, when the laugh passes. “Thank you for that, Mr Conrad. I appreciate the effort.”

“Kuhn,” says Kuhn.

Kasovitz blinks his big brown eyes. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s what they called me, the POWs. They said Conrad was too grand for a little fella like me, and when I told them my name was Arthur, they said that was too English. So, Kuhn.”

Kasovitz sips from his drink, and then asks, “Is that what you did in the war, liberate camps? Doctor Lark, he mentioned to me once that you weren’t in the trenches, seemed to imply that was why you were so…”

“Fucked up?”

“Brittle.”

“Brittle,” Kuhn repeats, and he laughs a bit, although it comes out kind of staccato and scattershot, like gunfire, and his ribs feel like they’re rattling, his chest aching. There’s a kind of acrid taste in the back of his throat, the threat of vomiting – he gets that threat a lot, but he doesn’t actually throw up much these days. It’s composure, except that composure’s not all it is.

Better out than in, his nanny used to say. You’re meant to vomit when you’re ill. It’s getting the poison out, throwing it up. The poison that’s in him now is in too deep to throw it up. Vomiting doesn’t make any difference.

“I didn’t really liberate anything,” Kuhn says. “I was little, and fast, and nasty. I just went and killed a lot of people – Krauts, mostly, officers and soldiers. Like a fox or a weasel, I went into the coop sometimes alone, more times with the squad I was with, never more than six of us. Poisoned beer, or food. Slit throats. Sometimes it wasn’t them, sometimes it was collaborators – never liked that word. Too much choice in it.”

“Not much choice in that war, was there?”

“No.”

Kasovitz is looking at him. Kuhn can feel it before he looks up and observes it, feels the way that Kasovitz’ gaze is flickering over Kuhn’s face, down the length of his nose, into the shadows of his eye sockets, down his jaw, up to his ears, to his hair, then down his neck, down to his chest, the clothes he’s wearing – just a vest under a battered, very light summer jersey.

“What?” Kuhn asks, finally.

“The other men in that squad you mentioned,” Kasovitz murmurs. “Were they— men like you?”

“Men like me?”

“Men born so close to Clapham Common. Or Battersea, for that matter.”

“Not really,” Kuhn mutters. “Doctor Lark made the same guess you did. A lot of them were burglars, criminals. A few intelligence officers, sometimes, but we weren’t intelligence, we weren’t spies.”

They were attack dogs. Hunting dogs, a pack of them, sniffing out whatever, whoever they could find, tearing them to shreds. He’s never told anybody he knows at work any of this. Doctor Lark knows, of course, but he knows everything, Doctor Lark. He doesn’t know why he’s telling Kasovitz now.

“Friends of yours, the MI6 men?”

It grates on him, that question, but why? Because Kasovitz isn’t doing his fake accent any longer, because it makes Kuhn seem like he’s posher than he is – makes it seem like he’s posher than Kasovitz?

Because Kasovitz thinks his accent roughs up because he’s putting it on, and not just him picking up the rhythm of other Londoners he’s with, other Londoners he’s been with all his life, no matter what school he went to, whose parties he was invited to?

Because Kasovitz might think Kuhn thinks he’s better than him?

“I’m not that posh, you know. I was friends with some of the posher lads, but it was because my dad was a doctor at the maternity hospital in Clapham, and my mother was a nurse. He was the first person in my family to go to university, my dad. Got a special grant for his board.”

He used to think he was better than him, maybe. Half an hour ago. Not knowing he was a clown. Not knowing he was a Scouser. Not knowing that Kasovitz could sit across from a man like Kuhn at a bar like this, feed him barley water and read everything he was from his face and his posture and make him talk without asking barely anything at all?

He itches to go on, but the words won’t come. He stares down at his hands, at his fingernails which have dirt and rust and a bit of blood underneath where he didn’t go hard enough with the nailbrush once he was home earlier. There are some bruises on the backs of his knuckles.

“Did you like him?”

“Who?”

“Your father.”

This is a very strange conversation. A lot of conversations feel strange to Kuhn – he’s not a natural talker – but there doesn’t seem to be a point to this conversation, doesn’t seem to be a clear direction. It makes him feel strange, unsteady, but at the same time, strangely calm, not able to guess where Kasovitz is taking it yet.

“My dad?” Kuhn asks.

“Your father, yes,” Kasovitz says. “Did you like him?”

No one’s ever asked him if he likes his father before. Not even Doctor Lark. “No,” Kuhn says.

“Fair enough,” says Kasovitz, instead of asking why. Kuhn feels faintly dizzy, and when Kasovitz gets up, he automatically moves in his chest, but Kasovitz raises his palms and gestures for him to stay put, and Kuhn automatically obeys without knowing why. “Excuse me, I have to go let Leigh down. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Kuhn sinks back down onto the stool and watches Kasovitz walk away, feeling powerless, and he watches him move across the room, watches his hands on the woman’s ropes as he carefully eases her down. He drinks his barley water, and feels a kind of burning heat under his skin, suddenly embarrassed for reasons he can’t quite put together, feels looked at, even though no one in this place is looking at him.

He gets to his feet, nudging back the stool and pushing the glass toward the bar, now empty but for the two bits of ice clinking in it.

“Nice to meet you, dear! Do drop in again!” says Mr Salford as Kuhn slips past – he waves one of his trembling, liver-spotted hands in farewell. His voice is just slightly muffled by the cushion of Mr Lippett’s full tits, which are perked up by the ribbon harnessing them. Mr Lippett waves at him too, and Kuhn’s hand twitches at his side, but he doesn’t actually wave back.

Christine blocks his path when he tries to leave, and Kuhn automatically tries to grab at her arm to shove it off him, but she twists free and then pushes them so hard against the wall it knocks the wind out of his lungs.

“Just wanted to say you should come back, if it feels like the place for you,” she spits at him. “It’s safe here.”

“You keep it safe, do you?”

Christine has more teeth in her head than a wolf, and her eyes are wide and too white. They stare at one another, dog to dog, and then she lowers her arm from where it’s blocking off the entrance to the club, and he stands there for a second.

He gives her a silent nod before he steps out into the drainway, and then ascends the stairs to street level again. His feet hurt from walking, but when he waves down a late-night cab, the driver slows down, gets a good look at his face, and then speeds away instead of risking a stop.

Kuhn can hardly blame him. He’s only carrying his knives, and doesn’t have the fare on him anyway.

* * *

That Monday, Kuhn is sitting on the desk in his office and throwing knives at the dartboard in his office. He hates this fucking office. He hates how fancy-dancy the building is, hates how central it is, hates all the fucking windows and how much light comes in.

It’s one thing for the rest of the business, especially now they’re a bigger company, another thing for the other men who move papers about and more than that, actually move stock, do imports and exports and accountancy, and whatever else makes legitimate businesses go around.

Kuhn’s “office” used to be a fucking stockroom at the back of a warehouse, cold and dank and with sawdust on the floor, and the butcher’s hooks still hanging from the ceiling so that he could string people up, when he needed.

The fuck is he meant to do with this fucking room, with its four fucking windows, up here in the fucking sky? The sort of people he goes shaking down for money aren’t exactly going to show up to a fucking appointment. He does the basic bollocks they pass over his desk to make his salary stand up if someone in authority asks what exactly his role is in this fucking company, and then he sits here on top of his desk and throws his knives at his dartboard, and he waits for five o’clock.

Kasovitz snatches the last of his knives right out of the air, as quick as blinking, and Kuhn looks at him impassively from where he sits on his desk, his feet swinging idly underneath him.

“Your problem, it seems to me,” Kasovitz says pleasantly, holding the knife by the very tip of its blade and by the end of its handle, balancing it between his index fingers, “is that emotion rather gets the best of you.”

Kuhn doesn’t say anything.

“Why seven?” Kasovitz asks as he turns away and begins to pluck the blades from the board, holding them all in the cradle of one big palm like a steel bouquet.

“Seven sisters,” says Kuhn.

“What, the Pleiades?”

“Or the Hyades,” says Kuhn. “Doesn’t matter, really. I just like the sibilance. Can you juggle them?”

“Of course,” says Kasovitz, and then with nothing else but a quick glance toward the ceiling, estimating the height of it, he does. Kuhn stares, taken aback, as Kasovitz just starts flicking the blades up and into the air like it’s nothing, each of them rotating, turning over and over in motion – one, two, three, four, and then he’s catching those and tossing them up again, one, two, three, four, five, tossing them other one another, passing them between his hands, each of them performing perfect arcs, one, two, three, four, five, six, the arcs crossing over one another but the knives not touching, one, two, three, four, five, six, se—

“Oop,” says Kasovitz, stepping back, and after letting the fallen blade dig into the carpet, he catches each of the others, one, two, three, four, five, six. “Sorry about that.” He tugs up the last by the loop – Kuhn can slip his fingers through those loops, can swing and twirl the blades around his fingers. Even Kasovitz’ pinky wouldn’t fit.

“You have to tell Doctor Lark it was you did that to the carpet,” says Kuhn.

“Of course,” Kasovitz agrees immediately. “Where did you go last night?”

“Home.”

“Too much for you, was it?”

“You’re old enough to be my father,” says Kuhn, and Kasovitz laughs.

“If I started at fifteen, maybe,” he says, seeming surprised as he lays Kuhn’s blades on the desk beside him, and Kuhn waits for the touch, but it doesn’t come. Kasovitz keeps his big hands to himself. “I didn’t, I’m afraid – the first man I took a tumble with, I was nearly thirty, in a Berlin club. You might guess why England was so difficult for me, the sort of man I am, when Berlin was my contrast.”

“Not really,” says Kuhn.

“You don’t consider yourself a queer, I take it.”

Kuhn shrugs.

“Do you think of yourself as the obverse?”

“Obverse?”

“The opposite.”

“I know what it means.”

Kasovitz is standing very close to him. Closer than Christine was stood to him the other night – he’s standing right in front of Kuhn, so close that he’s almost slightly between Kuhn’s knees, which are spread to let him keep his balance on the edge of the desk. Kasovitz still isn’t touching him.

“Are you going to touch me?” Kuhn asks.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Kasovitz asks.

Kuhn’s tongue feels like it’s caged behind his teeth, like there’s a spike stuck through it.

“Tell me about it,” he manages to say through a mouth of sand. “That place. Those people.”

“The rope?”

“You tied her up. That woman – she a dyke as well?”

“I believe Leigh likes anybody in a suit, really,” Kasovitz says. “The equipment is less important to her than the clothes and a sufficiently short haircut, I think. In any case, it’s not really about that, for her. She likes the feeling of being suspended, likes the swing – likes to feel weightless, as though she’s on air.”

“And Mr Lippett likes to feel pretty.”

“Yes.”

“And Mr Salford?”

“Likes to advertise his product,” says Kasovitz. When Kuhn doesn’t laugh, he says, more gently, “He likes to dote on a man. Make him pretty, yes. Put complementary fabrics or ribbons or buttons against his skin, his hair, assist the tailor in his work, but more than that, to treat him. Feed him fine food and drink, comb his hair, touch him sweetly, gently, kiss him from top to tail.”

“And the spankings. There were— I saw canes, whips. A hard paddle. One of the trannies had a glove with spikes on it…”

“Mary, her name is,” Kasovitz says. “She makes them herself, uses thumb tacks.”

Kuhn doesn’t know what to say to this. “There were a lot of spikes on it, that glove.”

“Yes.”

“They hard to make?”

“Complicated, certainly, and time consuming. Why, do you think you’d like one?”

Kuhn shakes his head.

“And rope?”

Kuhn is quiet.

He’d been irritated, earlier, frustrated, feeling like a dog in a too-small garden, trapped in a pen – wen Kasovitz had crossed the threshold, that energy had dissipated somewhat. He doesn’t feel relaxed, no, but he doesn’t feel like he’s pacing any longer, inside his own head.

“What’s it like?” he asks.

“Being tied up?”

“Yeah.”

“You were never tied up during the war? Never got captured?”

“No,” Kuhn says. He doesn’t mean to say it the way he does, like it’s a stupid fucking question, like it’s a question he should be indignant that Kasovitz asked, but that’s how it comes out, and Kasovitz softly laughs, but it’s a nice laugh. It’s not his big clown’s laugh, but it’s not the snide, superior office laugh, either – he’s using his own accent, here in Kuhn’s office, and not the one he uses in the rest of the building.

“I personally don’t particularly enjoy it,” Kasovitz says. “I don’t hate it, by any means – I stand in and offer myself up as someone to be practised on, when someone’s interested in learning, teach them as they go, but I don’t particularly relish the sensation of it. I feel neutral about rope, as a man to be bound. Some people like the bite of it, the rope on their skin, or the smoothness of ribbon, the tension, the coil, the sense of being contained, the pressure. Some like it to hurt, or to strain – others, like Leigh, they like it to support them, to let them swing or suspend. Some like the process of it, find it meditative, hypnotising, the knots, the patterns. Others just like to be in another’s control. Like that if they’re tied up, it means they can’t be held accountable for what happens – means they have to trust whoever’s bound them, let them make the decisions.”

Kuhn nods his head.

“Yes,” he says.

“Yes?” Kasovitz repeats.

“I want it.”

“Next Friday, if you come back, I’ll—”

“No, not there,” says Kuhn. “Just you. Only you.”

Kasovitz looks down at him with his big, round face, his big, round eyes. Kuhn waits for him to say no, to say that even a man who likes tying men up doesn’t go about trying to collar dogs that like to bite.

(He doesn’t know what he’ll do, if Kasovitz touches him. He’ll try not to bite.)

“Alright,” says Kasovitz, and taking up a notepad from Kuhn’s desk, he writes down an address.

[venusflytrapm]

Summer Wine - Dabi x Fem!Reader

a/n: I listened to ‘Summer Wine’ By Nancy Sinatra and it just spoke to me on another level. This is my first time posting my writing on here/even writing smut so enjoy eek. 

Warnings: PiV, one nightstand, alcohol consumption (just a drink of whiskey), Touya still has burns in this. Slight mention/alluding to abusive past (touya daddy issues), reader steals from dabi???? Sleeping with someone to steal from them??? Let me know if I'm missing anything.

MDNI 18+ 

W/C: 1.1k

Dabi (Touya) x Fem!Reader 

The wind takes Touya away, once a month. Usually after a raid.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen his family, let alone ate a full meal. When the breeze chills extra heavy, he thinks about where it’ll take him next.

Now he’s just finished a raid, Tomura doesn’t ask where he’s going when the jingle of Touya’s spurs grows more distant. Tomura’s just learned not to ask; the sound is inevitable. And Touya–Dabi, to Tomura–is like an outdoor cat, he’ll always come home. Wherever that may be.

The winds take Touya to a saloon a few towns over, the smell of liquor is heavy as he walks through the doors. He takes a seat at the bar, ignoring the shocked whispers from the bar-goers. He’s grown used to the stares and sounds from others, especially with his charred skin. 

He orders a glass of whiskey and searches his pockets for some cash. He takes a quarter, a dime, and a dollar out before placing the quarter on the bar counter.

He doesn’t say anything when the glass slides down to him, just grabs it and takes a swig. It seems the attention on him has died down, although the sound of whispers doesn’t stop. 

The doors to the saloon swung open again, just like they had before when Touya walked through. 

You were standing there smiling too brightly for the late hour it was. You took a few strides and sat on the stool beside Touya, giving him a grin. 

He raised a brow and went back to brooding in his glass. He couldn’t deny, that you did look awfully pretty in your tight dress with your hair all done up. And by the way the others were looking at you, it was clear you weren’t a regular either. 

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” You tell the bartender, taking out a quarter from your coin purse. 

Touya huffs a laugh from his nose. “You sure it won’t be too bitter for you, doll?” He looks over at you.

You’re already looking at him, with low-lidded eyes. “I’m sure, Mr…” You trail.

You don’t care what his name is, though. Not really. You’re more interested in those silver spurs, shining bright like promises of something more for yourself. You lean a little closer, brushing your arm against his, making sure he feels the heat between you.

“Jus’ call me Dabi, doll.” He says before taking his final gulp of whiskey. “What gave you the balls to come and sit next to a scary thing like me? Didn’t your daddy ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” 

You smile, an amused look in your eyes. You simply cross your legs and take your glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching in the low light of the bar. “Well, most strangers don’t have spurs like yours.” You chide, taking a slow sip from your glass. 

Touya watches your lips kiss the glass for a long moment before looking down at his boots. The Spurs in question, he’s had since he was just a kid. An expensive pair, pure silver, his father had gotten him. He wonders why he still had them, especially since he’s left part of him in the past. 

“You look like you haven’t seen someone like me in a long time,” You hum. 

He smiles, his burnt skin stretching at the corners of his mouth. “And what might that mean?” 

You brush a stray hair from your shoulder and smile, something sly and knowing. “You just seemed lonely, and there’s a motel down the road.” You slide your hand down the bar and to his arm.

Touya can’t blush, his skin is too charred. But if he could, his cheeks would be red just from your touch alone. He lets out a small shaky breath and puts his hand over yours. “Lead the way, doll.”

And you do.

Maybe it was the liquid courage that made you both so reckless, stumbling into a vacant room at the motel after stealing a room key. Or maybe it was because Touya hadn’t felt the touch of a pretty thing in god knows how long. 

It didn’t matter now. no not when his hands were undoing your lowcut dress, letting it fall to the floor. In no time was he kicking off his boots with the same spurs you had complimented before. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread as you leaned back on your elbows. “Come, let me give you my summer wine.” You whispered. 

Touya’s just a man after all. His pants hit the floor and he stepped forward, taking you in a deep kiss. The taste of the bitter whiskey on both your tongues as they danced. 

The sounds he was making spurred you on even more, especially when his hands gripped your hips. You smiled against his lips and laid on your back. He tugged you closer by your hips, grinning down at your soft form. His hands spread your legs further if it was even possible, and he presses his cock against your wet slit. 

He revels in the way your eyes bulge when he pushes into your tight heat with no prep. And the moan he lets out is almost guttural. 

It isn’t long before the cheap motel bed is shaking, Touya’s sounds filling the room. It’s almost agonizing how your nails dig into his back, clawing for mercy as he thrusts into your core. 

He takes a handful of your tit, molding and squeezing the mound in his hold. You writhe beneath him, arching your back to every pound he gives between your legs. 

Touya’s head starts to feel hazy after he reaches his orgasm, his hips stutter and he doesn’t even ask if you’ve reached that same bliss. He feels a few movements from your end and then he’s off to sleep. 

The next morning, the sun is gleaming through the motel window, hitting Touya’s face. He let out a groan and clenched his head in his hands. The bed he was lying in felt emptier than it had the night before, not that he could remember much, and he reached over to feel the empty space.

Scents of strawberries lingered in the sheets, the smell flooded his mind with the memories from the night before. He knew you weren’t coming back. 

He grabs his shirt, pulls it over his head, and then reaches for his pants. His dollar and dime are missing but that doesn’t bother him.

He then tugs on his boots. And notices his silver spurs, the ones he thought got him so lucky in the first place, are gone. 

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