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stervrucht · 4 months

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[AO3]

David Bowie plays on the radio and Steve drums his fingers along the steering wheel of his car as he contemplates. He is truly too good for this world. Now he is running errands for Dustin like some common soccer mom. The kid only had to give him one pout – one! – and Steve felt all his resistance crumbling. So, there he is on a Friday evening, seated in his still-running car in a Hawkin’s trailer park.

He stops his car in front of Eddie’s trailer and listens to the music as he gathers the willpower to leave the car.

Laughed at his long black hair, his animal grace, Bowie sings on the radio.

How fitting

Outside, dusk is setting in and the world colors purple. Closing up Family Video had taken longer than he anticipated due to a difficult customer who couldn’t decide between The Thing and The Nightmare on Elm Street and had asked Steve extensive questions to make up his mind.

Steve used to be fine with horror movies, but given recent developments (give or take his life the past few years), he isn’t into horror anymore. Out of the two, The Thing is probably the worst offender. Those crazy fleshy monsters hit a bit too close to home. Although, Freddie Krueger does have some vague Vecna vibes to him.

Steve is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door of the trailer open until Eddie knocks on his window with his knuckle. With a jolt, Steve turns to roll his car window down. Once it is fully open, Eddie leans forward, his arms resting on the car.

“Sup Harrington.” Eddie’s hair falls forward and the low-cut tank top reveals his chest, framed by the silver chain of a guitar-pick necklace.

Shaved, Steve notes. Then, realizing he is staring, he tears his eyes away, coming face to face with Eddie Munson who gives him an amused look.

“Oh uh, right” – Steve coughs nervously – “Dustin asked me to give you this…” he unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to the passenger seat where he grabs the cardboard box of some nerdy game.

“Here–” He hands the box to Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Hell yeah, Talisman. Took Henderson long enough.” Eddie pushes himself away from the car and inspects the box for a moment. When he turns back to Steve, his eyes move towards the car radio.

“I didn’t take you for a Bowie fan.”

“Oh, I’m not really … Robin must have left it in. It’s … alright, I suppose.”

“And what type of music does Steve find more than alright?”

Eddie flashes him a cheeky smile and Steve finds himself somewhat intimidated. Whatever his answer, someone like Eddie will probably find it lame. Steve isn’t all that passionate about music anyway and mostly listens to whatever is on the radio.

“Maybe Queen, The Bee Gees…” he lists in no particular order.

Eddie tuts. “Such a proper boy.”

Although he expects it, Steve still winces.

“I should introduce you to some real music,” Eddie says thoughtfully, then – “Wanna come in?”

Steve takes a moment to think. His parents are out, so it isn’t like he’s expected at home. He has nothing to do tonight except watch some movies (perks of the job). Although the prospect of hanging out with Eddie doesn’t thrill him, it might be the more interesting option.

“Sure,” Steve turns his car off, rolls the window back up and opens the car door. Eddie takes a step back, giving Steve some room to get out.

Eddie’s eyes move to his chest and Steve realizes he is still wearing the stupid Family Video vest. He quickly takes it off, crumples it and unceremoniously throws it in his car before shutting the door again. With a quick turn of his key, the car is locked.

Steve follows Eddie towards the trailer. It is a warm summer’s night and the shadows of the trees grow long under the purple sky. The trailer park is surrounded by ample woods and fields from which the sound of crickets flares up.

“You coming?” Eddie waits for him at the door. Steve doesn’t realize he stopped moving and quickly makes his way to where Eddie is standing.

“After you, King Steve,” Eddie says, holding open the door with a dramatic bow.

Damn, Eddie is kind of annoying, isn’t he? No wonder Dustin gets on so well with him. Two peas in a pod. Steve lets out an unamused scoff.

Once inside, Steve stands in the middle of the…living room? Kitchen? He isn’t sure what to call such multifunctional rooms. He crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he waits for Eddie to put the game away.

The main room is crowded and messy. It is the complete opposite of his parents’ living room, which is kept meticulously clean and organized – with the help of their cleaning lady of course. The coffee table is stained with water circles from mugs and the like. Something unthinkable to Steve. If he ever puts a glass down without a coaster, he will face his mother’s wrath.

“Beer?” Eddie calls from the kitchen. He already turned his back to him to make his way to the under-table fridge.

“Sure.”

Steve is getting sick of standing around and decides to move to the small beige sofa. It is littered with clothes and after a moment of hesitation, he shoves them aside and sits down.

“You’re fucking tense,” Eddie says as he hands Steve a can of beer. He looks down at the pile of clothes and without hesitation grabs them and throws them in a different corner of the room. Then he lets himself fall onto the sofa next to Steve, which objects with a loud creak.

The sofa really is quite small and granted, a bigger one probably wouldn’t fit. The middle of it sagged considerably too, dragging its occupants to the center.

Steve feels the warmth of Eddie’s jeans-clad legs against his own. They are probably sitting a bit too close and Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

The can lets out an audible hiss as Eddie opens it and takes a quick sip from his beer. Then, he puts it down on the table and jumps up again.

“Fuck, I was gonna play you some music.” He hurries past the kitchen into a separate room.

Steve opens his own can – cheap store-brand beer – and takes a nervous gulp as he waits for Eddie to return.

He is starting to reconsider his choices this evening. Perhaps he should just have watched Back to the Future again. Instead, he is in the trailer of some guy he kinda-sorta knows because they have shared custody of some annoying kid (one of Steve’s best friends).

“Oh yes, this will be good.” Eddie re-emerges cradling a few cassettes in his arms like he is holding a baby. He squats in front of the coffee table and releases the collection of plastic cases on top of it. Steve eyes the contents, but he recognises none of it. Then he looks over at Eddie – the flesh of his knee peeks through the hole of his jeans and Steve wonders if Eddie made it himself or if it had naturally torn by use.

Eddie shifts through the cassettes with ring-clad fingers, picking a few up and turning them around to look at the back of the plastic cases.

“Let’s start with Rainbow,” he mumbles to himself, grabbing the cassette (a hand holding a rainbow over mountains on its front). He walks over to a small side table next to the front door where an old-school cassette player stands.

With a loud click, the front of the cassette player opens and Eddie puts the cassette in and closes it again. Immediately, music starts playing.

“Fuck, hold on.”

Eddie rushes over to the kitchen, rummaging through some drawers until he finds what he is looking for.

Victoriously, he holds up a pencil to Steve and clicks his tongue. Steve takes another gulp of his beer as he watches Eddie move through the trailer with a skip in his step. He is actually excited to let Steve hear his music. Steve feels strangely flattered and he lets himself fall back on the sofa.

The music stops and Eddie takes the cassette out. Using the back of the pencil, he rewinds the tape. Steve looks at Eddie’s hands as he works. The rings are kinda cool. Maybe he should let Robin pick out a ring for him too. Although perhaps not with skulls and crosses like Eddie wears. Maybe something more simple, like a signet ring or something.

Steve is pulled from his thoughts when he hears the cassette player click shut again.

“Your player doesn’t rewind?” Steve asks.

“Steve” – Eddie puts the pencil behind his ear and turns to look at him – “I live in a trailer…”

Steve feels heat rise to his cheeks.

Shit, sometimes he forgets his parents are very well off and some things are considered luxuries instead of the default. He made the same mistake with Robin too – multiple times – but it was hard to prevent. He thinks back on his car – not particularly expensive, but also not as beat-up as Jonathan’s. Does Eddie think he is some spoiled rich boy?

“Right, sorry.” Steve takes another mouthful of beer. Eddie turns around again to put the cassette in the cassette player.

A song begins to play, the sound reminds Steve of something alien – not really like music at all. Once the drums kicks in Eddie begins to bob his head on the beat, his hands hitting an invisible drum. He dances across the room, drumming his invisible drumsticks along the wall before falling back onto the sofa, stringing his fingers as if playing a guitar.

“Shit, I should really learn this on the guitar.” He leans forward to grab his can of beer. Condensation forms on the outside and when he picks it up, a wet circle is left on the table.

Eddie kicks his feet up, white sneakers hitting the wood of the coffee table and the cassettes rattle. He takes a deep swig of his beer and audibly sighs.

Steve leans forward, arms resting on his thighs and can between his knees. Once the music actually began, it wasn’t too bad. He didn’t understand the long intros though, and preferred it if music would just start.

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad” – Eddie scoffs – “You, my friend, have not been exposed to nearly enough good music.”

Steve chuckles. “I thought Bowie was pretty acceptable by –” he looks Eddie up and down demonstratively, “ – your kind.”

“My kind, huh?” a smile plays at the corners of Eddie’s lips. “And what would that be, exactly?”

Well, shit. Steve drove himself straight into possible-insult town. Eddie eyes him curiously, one elbow resting on the sofa’s backrest and his hands holding his can in a way Steve could only describe as cool.

“Well, you know…” he trails off.

“I know…?”

“Eh, metalheads, I guess?”

“Ziggy Stardust isn’t metal, you know that right?”

Steve sighs exasperatedly. “I know, ugh. I mean he’s–”

“Weird?” Eddie finishes.

Steve takes another gulp of beer, desperate to compose himself. “Yeah,” he answers lamely.

“I suppose he’s pretty weird, huh?” Eddie eyes the ceiling of the trailer while taking a lazy sip from his beer. “Did you know he used to be gay?”

Steve looks to Eddie, who is still eying the ceiling, head lying back against the sofa’s backrest.

“Used to be?” If Steve is to believe Robin, there is no ‘used to be ’ when it comes to being gay. You either are or you aren’t. Now he thinks about it, Bowie seems somewhat queer with his tight suits and styled hair, but that is what girls dig, isn't it? He has heard countless girls swoon over men just like that.

“You never had a gay phase, Harrington?”

Steve nearly drops his can.

“Gay….phase?”

“You know, live a little, try some shit, see what sticks –”

“I can’t say I have,” Steve mumbles, his eyes now firmly fixed on the can in his hands. He plays nervously with the lip, pulling it in tandem with the music before taking another sip.

“With a pretty face like yours, you might actually get some good ones.”

Steve chokes on his beer. Actually chokes, and he hits his chest with a fist to get himself to breathe again.

“W-what?”

“How can you know what you like when you never tried it?” Eddie sits up straight, pulling one leg to his chest as he turns to Steve. His dark eyes seem like a bottomless lake and Steve feels small under his gaze.

“H-have you?” Steve stutters and it is utterly embarrassing. Why is he so rattled by some stupid revelation?

Wait, did Eddie just call him pretty?

Eddie smirks at him like they are sharing in a secret, and perhaps they are.

“Fuck yes, if someone tells me not to do something you can bet your ass I will do it. Besides, humans are humans, big fucking deal.”

“So – was it a phase? In your case?” Steve asks carefully. He isn’t really sure why he asks. Maybe it is part curiosity. He never seriously considered relationships with men. Some are nice enough to look at, sure, but marriage, a house, children – that is only meant for a man and a woman right? A world in which someone just casually tries homosexuality seems…foreign.

“Hm, I guess so … Wow, don’t look at me like that Harrington. Are you disappointed?”

“W-what, no!” Steve really doesn’t know why he is getting so flustered. He suddenly feels self-conscious under Eddie’s piercing eyes and runs a hand through his hair – a nervous habit.

“Fuck, you are – well, alright, maybe for you I can arrange an encore.”

Before Steve has time to respond, Eddie pushes himself upright and leans one knee on the sofa between Steve’s legs. He feels the cold metal of Eddie’s rings under his chin as he lays a sprawled hand on his throat and tilts his head.

Steve freezes, air caught in his chest as Eddie leans over his face, his breath hot on his lips. Steve’s right hand uselessly holds on to the near-empty can – afraid to spill it – while his left hand digs into the sofa next to his thighs. Then, Eddie leans down, capturing his lips with practiced ease. Steve feels his long hair tickle his cheeks and the scruff of a five-o-clock shadow grace his chin.

Eddie’s lips move over his, slightly chapped and rough in a way that couldn’t possibly be a girl. Without meaning to, Steve feels his own lips move against Eddie’s.

Well, now he couldn't pretend it was just something happening to him. He had graduated to an active participant.

Kissing Eddie Munson. Eddie freaking Munson.

Robin was going to have a field day.

Perhaps the most surprising part is how he doesn’t hate it. He likes the feeling of stubble on his chin, the hard corners of Eddie’s jaw, the way Eddie pushes him back onto the sofa and he wills Steve’s mouth open with a sweep of a thumb and the cold metal of rings on his face. A hot tongue explores his mouth, stroking it against Steve’s in a way that makes him gasp.

Steve has never experienced anything like it. Usually with the girls he dated, he took the lead. Kisses were usually shy and timid. Eddie is completely different. He knows what he wants and he isn’t afraid to get it. Steve feels something stir in him as he presses back.

Eddie bites his bottom lip, taking it between his lips, and breaks away from him. Steve feels breathless and blinks up at Eddie. His hand reaches over to Steve’s right side, gently taking the can from his hand and setting it away on the coffee table. He turns back, eyes dark and Steve wills his mouth close as he regards him.

Was he gay? Shit, he doesn’t really want to think about it now. Humans are humans was what Eddie had said right?

Steve reaches out, sliding his hands behind Eddie’s neck, and pulls him back. Eddie moves himself into a more comfortable position, placing a knee on either side of Steve’s thighs and straddling him. Eddie’s hands reach for Steve’s temples, threading themselves through Steve’s hair – rings catch on the strands but Steve doesn’t mind the painful sting as it pulls. He just wants to get Eddie’s lips back on his – and so he does.

Their lips meet, fiery and hot. Open-mouthed Steve explores every corner of Eddie. He lowers his hands to Eddie’s back, playing on the edge of his tanktop and the hot skin underneath. If it works for girls, surely it works for guys too right?

He runs his hands up the side of Eddie’s chest, a thumb over a nipple, and Eddie gasps into his mouth. Steve feels heat settle in his crotch and he is glad he chose to wear jeans made of thick fabric rather than thin trousers. Steve’s hands move over Eddie’s chest, feeling the smooth muscle of it and the roughness of regrowing chest hair.

Eddie’s fingers reach the hair on the back of Steve’s head and yank it back, exposing Steve’s throat. He lets out a surprised yelp when he feels Eddie’s mouth latch to the delicate bow of his neck and suck.

Steve is learning a lot about himself in the span of less than an hour. The way Eddie tugs his hair, and has his way with him is sending a pleasant jolt straight to his cock. And Steve can’t help but moan under the ministrations of Eddie’s mouth as he sucks and bites.

“Y-you’re gonna leave a mark,” Steve breathes.

“That’s the plan,” Eddie mouths against his neck. Then, he licks his way up into Steve’s mouth again.

Shit, he is kinda into this. Steve isn’t sure how he could ever go back to girls now he knows what it feels like to be touched by calloused fingers and kissed with such force.

Eddie’s hand leaves his hair and travels down to the rim of his jeans, pulling out his shirt in the process. Steve feels the ghost of fingers running along its edge and the muscles in his stomach tense pleasantly in response.

Eddie breaks away from him, his breath ghosting over his lips as he searches Steve’s eyes.

“You wanna take this further?” Eddie asks, his eyes flitting over Steve’s face.

Steve feels drunk, even though half a can of beer isn’t nearly enough to even get him close to being buzzed. He is also turned on. Ridiculously so. But fuck, what does taking it further even mean in this context. Steve feels like a virgin all over again and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his arousal from Eddie.

Not that they are not actively engaged anymore, anxiety hits Steve like a bag of bricks.

“Uhh…” is all Steve manages to utter.

Eddie throws himself off Steve’s lap onto the empty spot next to him on the sofa. He puts his feet on the table again, hands behind his head.

“You’re right, maybe that’s enough for tonight.”

It doesn’t escape Steve that Eddie’s jeans look a little tighter than usual.

They sit in silence for a moment, only the voice of Rainbow’s singer cutting through the tension.

“I thought you said it was a phase,” Steve asks after he finally gets his breathing under control.

“Oh right, I should have clarified” – Eddie grins up at the ceiling – “The gay thing was a phase. I figured I was into both.”

Both? Wasn’t that something only hippies preached with their free love? Somewhere, Steve feels a wave of relief washes over him. He never seriously considered someone could like both. He has some serious soul-searching to do once he gets home.

“Huh,” is all Steve replies. Eddie’s eyebrow quirks in interest as he side-eyes Steve.

“I, uh…probably should get going.” Steve puts his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up. Eddie doesn’t move from his position, but his eyes follow him with interest.

“If you’re ever in the mood for a sequel, you know where to find me.”

Steve nods, because what else can you do in reply to such a comment? He is baffled at the ease with which the words escape Eddie. There is no shame or self-doubt.

As he lays his hand on the door handle, Steve looks back one final time. Eddie’s feet are bouncing in tandem with the beat of the drums and his eyes are closed. He looks so absolutely unshaken by their encounter that Steve feels almost jealous.

Steve is anything but unshaken.

“See you around,” he offers.

“See you, Harrington,” Eddie’s voice is playful, even though he doesn’t move.

When Steve is safe and sound in the driver’s seat of his car, he leans his head against the steering wheel and stays there for a moment.

What the hell just happened?

He turns his mirror to his neck and traces the hickey that Eddie left on his throat with a finger. He would have to ask Robin for some make-up to cover that up.

She is going to love this story.

Steve sighs and pushes the mirror back into its original position. When he starts the car, Bowie continues to sing like nothing happened.

Yes, he was alright, his song went on forever, Bowie sings and Steve groans as he hits the gas.

***

It is Saturday morning when Steve walks up to the Buckley residence. He passes the garden fence and walks around the house to the backdoor.

Hawkins was struck by the beginning of a heatwave and at this point, the temperature was bearable as long as one didn't move too much. The perfect day for a visit to the pool, but too hot for videos.

Which is why Steve is sure today won’t be too busy at Family Video. Fine by him.

The quiet days he works with Robin are always his favorite. Sometimes Henderson comes over – either with his friends or alone – and they mess around with the cardboard cut-outs or watch a movie on the little TV screen hanging from the ceiling. Steve has zero regrets about missing out on college. Everything he loves is right here in Hawkins.

He pulls at the red handkerchief around his neck. It is against company policy to wear scarves (and probably too hot too) but Steve needs something to cover up the damage of his little adventure with Eddie. At least, until he gets his hands on some skin paint stuff – or whatever girls call that type of make-up.

He enters through the backdoor straight into the kitchen, where he finds Robin’s mother clearing the table of breakfast plates. The room smells faintly like toast.

“Morning, Ms. Buckley!” he calls, already moving towards the hallway. Steve hears her respond, but he's halfway up the stairs by then.

“Rob!”

“Just a second!” Her voice is muffled. She opens her door, fixing an earring. Her eyes flick to his scarf before meeting his gaze.

“Geez, you’re early.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve walks straight past her and throws himself on her unmade bed. Robin pays him no mind and she walks over to her dresser again. From his spot on the bed, Steve can see Robin's face reflected in the mirror as she fusses with her hair. When she reaches for a pouch, Steve is suddenly reminded of why he is early to begin with.

“Do you have that face-stuff?” he asks as he sees Robin pull a pencil from the pouch.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than ‘face stuff’.”

“You know, the skin-colored goo.” Steve makes motions over his face as if he’s painting.

“Concealer?” Robin’s mouth is open in concentration as she lines her waterline with black.

“That’s it!” Steve throws himself off the bed and walks over to Robin.

“Sure, I’ve got some,” Robin puts down her pencil and rummages through the pouch again. She pulls out a small beige bottle and holds it up for Steve. He reaches for it, but Robin pulls away.

“Does this have anything to do with your avant-garde fashion statement today?” She looks at his scarf again.

Steve laughs sheepishly and pulls his scarf aside. Robin’s eyes widen at the dark hickey on his neck.

“Jesus, Steve! It’s massive” – she leans in closer – “Was it Rebecca? Never thought she’d be the type...” Robin reaches for his neck but Steve pulls away.

“What? No!” – Steve lets go of the scarf – “I stopped seeing her like five weeks ago. Get with the times, Rob.”

“Well, sorry I can’t keep up with your busy love life.” Robin turns back to the mirror. She definitely isn’t sorry and Steve wouldn’t exactly call the origin of the hickey ‘love’. A lapse of judgment, maybe, or something uniquely in the corner of Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson.

“Can I get the stuff now?”

“Fine,” she says and she pushes the bottle in his hands.

***

Outside the car, the world passes in a flash of yellow fields. The windows are down and the scent of drying grass fills the air. Steve turns the music up to drown out the thundering sound of the wind as it enters the car and drums his fingers on the steering wheel while he uselessly mouths along with the music. He doesn’t know the lyrics, but that can’t stop him. The fact it annoys Robin when he does so makes it even more fun in his opinion.

“You’re in a good mood,” Robin remarks while she digs through her bag.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m working with my best friend,” Steve chirps.

“Uhuh, right,” she replies skeptically. She puts her bag back between her legs on the car floor and fiddles with something in her hands.

Steve’s eyes are focused on the road before him when the music suddenly stops.

“Hey! I was listening to that!”

“I thought you said Bowie was ‘overrated trash’” Robin says while opening the case to another cassette.

“I didn’t,”

“You so did, and you called his pants too tight,”

“Whatever, driver decides,”

Robin sighs and pushes the cassette back in. “When I get my license, it will be Blondie all day every day. You better prepare yourself, dingus!”

Steve hums in satisfaction as the music comes back on. Maybe he found it somewhat grating in the beginning, but it was growing on him now. That, of course, had nothing to do with Eddie Munson.

“Did you know he used to be gay?” Steve suddenly says.

“Bisexual, Steve, and of course I know that. The question is, why do you?” From his periphery, he can see Robin staring at him.

“I just heard it somewhere,”

“Somewhere…” Robin repeated. She leans over to put the other cassette back in her bag.

Steve is relieved when he sees Family Video come into view. It’s not like Robin will forget their conversation, she is far too smart for that. And he really does plan on telling her about what happened yesterday, he just has to find the right moment. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t even be today.

Steve pulls into the parking space and hops out of the car. He locks his door and throws the keys over the car to Robin. She fumbles in her attempt to catch it and Steve is once again reminded that Robin is a band dweeb and not an athlete.

“Let’s open this baby up,” he says as he tosses the store keys into the air and catches them overhand.

“You’re such a show-off” – she walks past Steve into the store and continues without looking back – “For your information, there are no girls around…”

“Yet,” Steve finishes and Robin groans in response.

There wouldn’t be any girls around for most of the day as it turned out.

As Steve expected, it was a slow day. The only people who visited were those who probably wouldn’t be found dead sunbathing, nerds who never stepped outside (except to rent a video, apparently), and old people looking for something nice to watch with their grandkids.

Somewhere between the shelves, Robin is putting returned VHS tapes into their rightful place. Meanwhile, Steve sorts through new arrivals and adds them to the computer system. In the back of the shop, a guy has been staring at some science fiction movies for probably half an hour by now. Category basement nerd, Steve decides.

They had been working in relative solitude. Steve looks up as he hears the bell signal someone’s entrance. He is greeted with a curly head of hair.

“Henderson!” Steve stands up and throws himself over the counter. The secret handshake is a must and cannot be skipped.

Shake, box, Star Wars sword thing, guts.

Dustin smiles wildly at him.

Just as Steve is spilling his guts, the bell chimes again. He looks up, readying himself to apologize to the poor customer he has no doubt scared off with his wild gestures when he comes face to face with dark bottomless eyes.

“Munson,” Steve is probably gawking, at least a little and Eddie looks amused at the scene in front of him.

Dustin, oblivious to it all, immediately starts talking.

“I was just about to grab my bike when I ran into Eddie. He offered me a ride in his van. Mom’s at the pool today, says it’s too hot to stay indoors; she practically kicked me out of the house,”

“Right,” Steve wasn’t even looking at Dustin as he yapped on. He somehow couldn’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s. It was strange seeing him in daylight now. The darkness of dusk had made their whole interaction the night prior seem like a dream. Now, face to face with Eddie, Steve was hit by the reality of what had transpired. He felt profoundly awkward.

“ – You should totally get a van, Steve!” Dustin’s voice pulls Steve from his thoughts and he tears his eyes away.

“Y-yeah, probably not. I like my car,” he composed himself, deciding to focus his attention on Dustin rather than Eddie.

“Hey Dustin” – Robin walks from behind the shelves, carrying a now-empty crate. Her eyes land on Eddie with a hint of surprise – “Hey Eddie,”

“Got anything good yet?” Dustin asks Robin eagerly.

“You’re in luck–” Robin says as she puts the crate away, “We just added The Dark Crystal to our collection,”

“Sweet!” He hears Dustin call when Robin leads him away to one of the shelves in the back.

Steve is left alone with Eddie and doesn’t know how to compose himself. A part of him feels nervous under Eddie’s dark gaze.

Eddie walks over to the counter and leans against it.

“Cool gig,” Eddie says as he looks around the store. “Do you ever get to keep the cardboard cut-outs?” Eddie points his finger at a life-size cut-out of Indiana Jones that stands proudly at the front of the store. Steve’s eyes involuntary drift back to his fingers again and he really ought to stop that. Sooner or later, Eddie will catch him staring.

“I don’t, but Keith does sometimes,”

“Sweet,”

A silence falls between them and Eddie kicks his feet. The guy in the back still hasn’t made up his mind and a little distance away Dustin is eagerly explaining something about the ‘Gelflings’ to Robin.

“Hey, uh, are you doing anything next Friday?” Eddie asks suddenly.

“Nothing yet,” Steve is desperately trying to stop his heart from beating at such an insistent pace and he hopes his voice comes out as nonchalant as he intends it to.

“You wanna…I don’t know…hang out or something?”

‘ Or something’. What does ‘or something’ mean ?

“Yeah, I– …yeah, sure” Steve fumbles a bit, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he doesn’t care. A smile grows on his face.

“Cool,” Eddie says.

He pushes himself away from the counter and walks up to a shelf to inspect some of the movies. He leans forward, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, and hums a song that sounds vaguely familiar. Steve stares at the interlaced fingers behind his back – adorned with silver rings – and shivers at the memory of their coolness against his neck.

“Cool,” Steve echoes.

***

The whole week, Steve had thought of countless excuses to cancel hanging out with Eddie on Friday, but in the end, none of them carried any weight. He couldn’t get Eddie of his freaking mind and the sappy romance movies that played on the television screen at work didn’t help either.

Eddie had visited Family Video again – once – with Dustin to return a movie. Apparently, they regularly hung out when Steve was busy at work and he felt something akin to jealousy. He had always been Dustin’s role model. Heck, the kid even started wearing his hair like him (thank you, Farrah Fawcett). That was until Eddie somehow inserted himself into the equation. Now, Dustin had grown out his hair and was wearing that ridiculous Hellfire shirt religiously; so often, Steve sometimes wondered if it was ever washed at all.

Eddie had corrupted him, and maybe he had corrupted Steve a little bit as well.

“You seem nervous,” Robin remarks as she flips through a folder, biting in the back of a ballpen.

“Well, I’m no–” Before Steve can finish his sentence, Robin continues.

“I haven’t heard you talk about your dates the whole week. Whoever gave you that ridiculous hickey has some serious hold over you –”

Steve feels his shoulders tense. The idea of Eddie having any kind of hold over him was crazy. Steve is cool, Steve is casual. Steve is definitely not nervous about his casual hangout with Eddie tonight.

“ –It’s Friday, aren’t you supposed to be on like three different dates tonight?” she continues.

“Uhm, well–”

“And you’ve been acting weird all week. Things are adding up to a very weird sum. The ‘buying thirty watermelons’ kind of weird sum.”

“You have such a way with words,” Steve rolls his eyes as he finally regains his composure.

“Steve!” Robin throws her pen at his head. He ducks, but the pen hits him anyway.

“Robin!” he mimics her tone.

“It’s someone’s mom, isn’t it? God, Steve–” Robin pulls a face in disgust.

“It’s not someone’s mom! Geez, Rob, what kind of person do you take me for?”

“The kind that acts all mysterious and weird, and suddenly listens to music he hates!”

Maybe going out of his way to buy a Rainbow cassette had been somewhat uncharacteristic. Of course, Robin would pick up on that.

“A guy can expand his tastes…” he trails, hit by the ambiguity of his statement.

Robin sighs, picks up her pen from the floor and gives him an irritated glance.

Steve hears the bell chime just as he closes the door to the vault in which they store cash overnight. It is only a couple of minutes before closing time and Steve grunts audibly as he raises himself into a standing position. Entering a shop this close to closing time is a certified dick move and Steve is not above sending whoever entered away, customer service be damned.

“We’re closed!” he yells as he walks back into the shop from the backroom.

“Eddie’s here for you,” Robin calls without looking back at Steve.

Sure enough, Eddie is standing at the counter. He is wearing a tank top and his hair is pulled up into a messy bun; his skin gleams with sweat from the heat outside and around his neck hangs a wiry set of headphones. Wind from the air conditioner pulls at his hair. When their eyes meet, a smile creeps on his face.

“Sup, Harrington…I’ve brought the van.” He holds the keys up demonstratively, dangling them from his index finger.

"He brought the van!" Robin exclaims looking back at Steve, her eyebrows raised and a sly smile playing on her lips. Steve can almost see the moment of realization dawn upon her as if a lightbulb had been switched on in her mind.

Steve scratches the back of his head. “I promised Robin a ride back–”

“No problem, We’ll drop her off. I’ll bring you back to pick up your car later.”

Steve casts Robin a quick glance and she shrugs in response.

“If Robin’s fine with it…” he trails.

“A van,” Robin whispers as Steve joins her at the counter and elbows him in his arm.

Steve rolls his eyes at her, but still can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth.

***

Twigs crack under Steve’s shoes as he follows Eddie through the forest. The canopy of the trees offers ample shadow and Steve finds the heat more bearable here than when they had been walking alongside the road. Still, his shirt clings to his back and sweat is slicking his hair as Steve runs a hand through it.

When Eddie asked him to hang out, he didn’t expect they would be hiking through the forest behind the trailer park during a freaking heatwave.

He looks over to Eddie. His bangs cling to his forehead and the veins on his arms are thick as his body fights to keep cool. Despite the oppressive heat, there's a glint of excitement in Eddie's eyes.

“There it is.” Eddie stops and looks somewhere in the distance. Steve squints and follows Eddie’s gaze. Between the trees, he can see the shimmer of water, and he realizes Eddie has taken them to Lover’s lake.

When they near the water, Eddie ups his pace, stepping around some of the bigger rocks and boulders near the lake’s edge like he has done it a thousand times before. Steve tries to keep up, but his unfamiliarity with the landscape slows him down.

At last, he is standing on the pebbled lakeside. The sun is already lowering itself into the embrace of dusk and Steve thinks they have maybe two hours of light left before sundown. He looks to his right where he sees Eddie standing above a pile of wood. When he gets closer, Steve realizes it is actually an old stranded fisher’s boat.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Eddie remarks.

Steve looks the boat over. It’s medium sized and some of its wood has rotted away. A good portion of it is covered in graffiti, and half of it sits in the water. It has probably been there for years.

“You bring all your conquests here?” Steve asks as he watches Eddie climb onto the boat. The question is mostly meant to be lighthearted, yet he feels a sense of anticipation as he waits for Eddie to reach the deck.

Eddie squats and looks down on him. “Nah, just you.”

Somehow, those words make Steve’s heart flutter and his cheeks heat up. He quickly looks away, pretending to search for footing to scale the boat.

When Steve reaches the deck, Eddie is sitting cross-legged facing the lake.

“This is a nice place,” Steve says, sitting next to Eddie. He lets his feet dangle from the side and follows Eddie’s gaze. Across the lake, some people linger, cooling down before heading back to their hot homes. Some children are playing in the shallows and their joyful screams carry over the water.

“Your work?” Steve asks as he gestures to some of the writing on the boat. The wood is covered in crude phrases, names, and dates – some of them are carved, but most look to be written with a sharpie.

“Some of it is.” Eddie pulls out a pocket knife from his jeans and hands it to Steve. “You can add to it if you want.”

Steve turns the knife in his hand. It is a classic red Swiss knife and it lays heavy in his hand.

“Here–” Eddie twists around and Steve follows suit. Eddie’s fingers are tracing the wood behind them, running them over the carvings in the wood. “– I think I did this about a year ago.”

Eddie removes his hands and Steve can finally get a good look. It’s nothing crazy, just a simple ‘Eddie was here’ carved in crude scratches – eternalised in some rotting wood in a town no one cares about.

Eddie holds up his hand to Steve and he realizes he is asking for his knife back. Steve hands it over.

Eddie flips out the knife and bends himself over the carving. Steve turns back around, looking over the lake again as the sound of scratching fills his ears.

“All done!” Eddie says after a while.

When Steve turns back, he sees his name freshly carved into the wood, right above Eddie’s original carving.

Steve + Eddie was here

“You wanted to immortalize this?” Steve asks amused.

Eddie flips the knife closed again and shoves it into his pocket. “A year ago, I’d never thought I’d be sitting here with Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington. Guess that’s pretty fucking special.” Eddie casts him a toothy grin.

Steve had to agree though. If someone had told him a year ago he would be hanging out with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson on a Friday evening – rather than spend his night on a date or at a party – he would have declared them crazy.

“I suppose so,” Steve replies.

All is quiet for a moment, save the sound of leaves rustling by a welcome breeze. Steve closes his eyes as the wind kisses his sweaty skin.

“I got you something,” Eddie says, breaking the silence and he stands up. Steve’s gaze follows him and his eyes widen when he sees Eddie move his hands over his head to pull his tank top off.

“But let's take a dip first…it’s hot as balls.” He throws the sweaty tank top at Steve, who slaps it out of the air before it can hit him. The fabric lands heavily on the wooden deck.

“I didn’t bring my trunks,”

“You don’t need those here.” Eddie gives him a knowing smile as he kicks on his shoes.

Eddie is lean and he has a nice back, Steve thinks. Not particularly broad like some of his former teammates on the swimming team, but not bad for a guy who spends his time playing board games. His torso is littered with fading scars from the Upside Down and Steve has a fair amount of those himself.

“Get on with it, Harrington!” Eddie is already stripped to his underwear when Steve tears his eyes away and finally tugs his own shirt over his head.

A dip in the lake was a fantastic idea and Steve felt himself relax now that he was slowly but surely cooling down to more humane temperatures.

Steve tries to keep his eyes away from Eddie as they make their way back to the boat. The fabric of his boxers is clinging to his skin.

Eddie lays himself down on the deck, using his jeans as a pillow while he fiddles with his headphones.

“C’mere Steve.” Eddie pats the space next to him and Steve reluctantly seats himself. Eddie is working the buttons of a walkman.

“Remember when I said I got you something?”

“That was like twenty minutes ago,” Steve feels borderline offended at the implication.

Eddie gestures for Steve to lay down as well and Steve complies begrudgingly, resting his head next to Eddie’s on his crumpled jeans while he stares up at the blue sky. He feels exposed in just his boxers and now Eddie wants them to lay side by side.

“Here.” Eddie hands him one half of the headphones while holding the other side to his own ears. Suddenly it dawns on Steve why they’re lying as they are. Eddie wants to let him listen to music. Steve moves half of the headphones to his ear and sure enough music starts playing.

“I put some things together I thought you might like.” Steve can see Eddie turn his head towards him from his periphery and study his face.

“You made me a mixtape?” Steve asks. The idea of Eddie putting together a mixtape for him was…well, really thoughtful.

“Now you say it out loud it sounds kinda lame,” Eddie laughs.

“No, it– it’s really nice.” Steve offers.

He closes his eyes and listens to the unfamiliar tunes. Eddie did quite a good job at picking music that he might like. It is definitely less intense than Rainbow – the voices are less shrill, the guitar less cutting, and the drums beat at a lower frequency. It’s nice, ridiculously nice, and Steve can’t think of an instance when someone has ever taken the time to put something together for him like this – not even his ex-girlfriends.

They lay there for a while, each holding one end of the headphone. The people on the other side of the lake must have left by now because the only things Steve can hear are birdsong, the sound of rustling leaves, and the music that comes from the walkman. The breeze feels cool against his damp body, and he wonders why he had never done this before – stay at the lake until the sun went down.

Steve can almost feel himself drift asleep when Eddie nudges him.

“Steve.” Eddie shakes him gently by his shoulder.

“Hm, lemme be…” he whines without opening his eyes.

“You’re gonna be mosquito food.” Beside him, he hears Eddie getting up and when Steve finally opens his eyes, Eddie is already wearing his tank top.

Steve hadn’t realized how long they had laid there. Only a small line of sun was visible in the distance and Eddie’s figure was dark against the pastel sky.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna need my pants,” Eddie says as he points at Steve’s head.

“Oh right.” Steve finally sits up, handing Eddie the makeshift pillow of his jeans.

Once they’re both dressed, Eddie leads them back through the forest. The sky is pink and the trees form black outlines against it. Steve walks after Eddie, who points out when to be mindful of a hidden boulder or a sudden dip in the forest floor.

They take Eddie’s van back to Family Video so Steve can get his car. The whole car ride, Steve can’t help the feeling of nervousness that sits in his stomach.

Today kinda felt like a date.

Normally he would be on the other end of it – driving a girl home after a movie or something. And then, once he stops the car in front of her house, the girl would fidget and Steve would place his arm on the back of her car seat, confident and reassuring. He would tell her he had a good time and if she did as well, he would seal the deal with a kiss.

But this was Eddie, and they had been just two guys hanging out.

Two guys that had made out a week ago.

But that didn’t mean anything. It had just been Steve’s one-day gay phase and he got it out of his system now, hadn’t he? Eddie had only offered out of a misunderstanding, or maybe some weird kindness.

Shit, this train of thought was not helping Steve whatsoever. If anything, it had just made the nervous flutter in his stomach worse.

Eddie stops the van and the red neon light of Family Video plays with the curves of his face.

“There we are.” Eddie pushes himself back into his seat with his arms stretched on the steering wheel. Steve makes no movement to get out. They sit in silence for a while.

“About last week–” Steve starts. If he doesn’t acknowledge it now, he feels like he might go crazy. Besides, he doesn’t know when or if they’ll have another moment alone.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone. We can forget about it if you want…” Eddie says without looking at him. His shoulders are tense and his grip on the steering wheels seems to harden.

“No…it’s not–” Steve tries, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Don’t worry Steve, I get it. I know what people say about me –”

“But–”

“ –and it doesn’t have to mean anything. People make out all the time–”

Steve unbuckles his seatbelt. He’s kind of sick of Eddie not letting him finish his sentences and is ready to return the favor.

He leans over, turning Eddie’s head towards him and kisses him. Hard.

Eddie’s mouth is parted, mid-sentence, and Steve feels teeth beneath his lips. By all accounts, it’s a shoddy kiss – not his best work – but it seems to do the trick.

Eddie loses his grip on the steering wheel, hands moving to Steve’s shoulders instead as he eagerly returns the sentiment.

“Fuck, Harrington, aren’t you full of surprises,” Eddie breaths against his lips.

Steve leans back into his chair and runs a hand through his hair.

“You talk too much,” he says as he opens the door of the van.

By the time he hears Eddie get out of his van, Steve is already opening the door to his BMW.

“Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls as he jogs over. When he’s standing in front of Steve, he pulls at Steve’s arm, running his hand down and urging Steve’s palm up. He shoves something square in his hand and closes Steve’s fingers around it.

“Next Friday, same time?” Eddie asks him, searching his eyes.

Steve nods silently. He stares after Eddie as he walks back to his van. He opens the door and turns one last time, giving Steve a two-fingered salute before getting in.

Steve hears the sound of the motor swinging on and looks at his hand. In the dim neon light, he stares down at a small cassette. Steve can hardly read the black letters in the red light, but he realizes Eddie has written something on its white label.

From Freak, to Hair.

[AO3]

#steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie #my fics #ster writes steddie

869 notes · View notes

seafarersdream · 9 days

Text

Last Friday Night | Modern AU! (Cregan Stark x Y/N)

In the realm of scandalous misdeeds, slumbering with your brother’s best friend should be a cardinal sin—dangerous liaison that Y/N Velaryon ought to steer clear of, now nor in any future reincarnation. But, oh, how the rules bend under the weight of temptation. A night of drunken sex with Cregan Stark, Jace’s insanely hot best mate and a towering 6-foot something alpine skier with ice in his veins. What a night it was! Only problem? They were both so tipsy that the details are a hazy blur, and now they awaken in a tangled mess beside each other. Word count: 5,6k

TW // Strong language and profanities, sexual content, mentions of alcohol, smoking.

“Fuck.”

That was the first coherent thought Y/N Velaryon had when she opened her eyes. Her head throbbed like a drum, each pulse a reminder of why tequila shots are the devil’s work. The room was unfamiliar—definitely not hers. The bed was too big, the sheets too expensive, and the body lying beside her too…well, fuck again.

She turned her head slowly, hoping against hope that her suspicions were wrong. Maybe it was some rando, some nameless, faceless guy who she could shove out the door with minimal awkwardness. But when she finally caught a glimpse of the dark, messy hair and the broad, bare back that could only belong to one man, she groaned internally.

Cregan fucking Stark.

Of course, it was him. It couldn’t just be some forgettable one-night stand. It had to be her brother’s best friend, the guy Jace had always been crystal clear was off-limits. And here they were, in bed together, like the setup to some bad rom-com, except this was way more fucked up.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to piece together what the hell happened last night. There were flashes—Jace convincing her to go to some ridiculous party at a mutual friend’s country estate (more like a palace really), the champagne flowing, the ridiculous number of shots, and the way Cregan had looked at her from across the room. Not that she'd paid much attention, or so she thought.

And then…nothing. A blank slate. Well, at least until now, when the reality of waking up next to the man Jace had declared off-limits hit her like a truck.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Y/N muttered under her breath, shifting slightly to get out of bed without waking Cregan. But the sheets rustled, and before she could even swing her legs out, a deep voice rumbled beside her.

“Morning.”

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. She froze, mid-escape, and slowly turned to face him. Cregan was wide awake, propped up on one elbow, smirking at her like the cocky bastard he was.

“Morning,” she croaked, her mouth dry as hell. “This is, um…”

“A fucking disaster?” he suggested, his grin widening.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Cregan chuckled, the sound rich and annoyingly sexy, even through her hangover. He looked far too pleased with himself, considering the circumstances. His dark eyes held hers, and for a second, Y/N was painfully aware of the fact that she was still very much naked under these sheets. So was he.

This was beyond bad.

“I remember bits and pieces,” she admitted, rubbing her temples. “But not…this. Why didn’t you stop me? Or yourself?”

“You think I could have stopped you?” Cregan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were pretty damn determined.”

Y/N groaned, slumping back against the pillows. “Fuck. Jace is going to kill us. You know that, right? He’s literally going to skin you alive.”

“Pretty sure he’s got more important things to worry about than who his sister hooks up with,” Cregan said, stretching lazily. “Not that I’m planning on telling him.”

She shot him a look. “And how exactly do you think we’re going to keep this a secret? He’ll know. Jace always knows when I’m up to something. He’s like a damn oracle.”

Cregan shrugged, like he wasn’t at all fazed by the prospect of Jace’s wrath. Which, Y/N supposed, he wouldn’t be. Cregan Stark was all ice and steel when it came to handling pressure. Professional alpine skier, always on the edge of danger—like he didn’t have enough adrenaline in his life without adding ‘sleeping with his best friend’s little sister’ to the list.

“We just pretend it didn’t happen,” Cregan suggested, as if that was the easiest thing in the world. “Last night was a blur, and this morning’s just a bad dream. We’ll go our separate ways, no one’s the wiser.”

“You really think that’ll work?” Y/N asked skeptically.

“We won’t know unless we try,” he replied, his tone almost teasing.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d just finished uni, started her internship at a nice law firm, and was supposed to be focusing on her career. Instead, she was tangled up in the sheets with Cregan Stark, about to engage in the most complicated cover-up of her life.

“Fine,” she finally said, exhaling sharply. “But if Jace finds out, you’re the one explaining it to him.”

“Deal.” Cregan’s smirk softened into something almost genuine, and for a moment, Y/N’s stomach did a weird flip.

She quickly pushed the feeling down. This was a one-time thing, a mistake—one she couldn’t afford to repeat, no matter how tempting it might be. The last thing she needed was more complications in her life.

“Okay, I need to get out of here,” Y/N said, sitting up and scanning the room for her clothes. They were scattered across the floor, a chaotic mix of her dress, shoes, and underwear. Cregan’s clothes were mingled with hers—of course, he didn’t seem to be in any rush to get up. Typical.

As she scrambled out of bed, trying to gather her things, she felt Cregan’s eyes on her, and when she looked back, there was something in his gaze that made her pause. It wasn’t just the lazy, post-hookup look she expected. There was something else, something deeper that she couldn’t quite place. But before she could analyze it further, he smirked again, shattering the moment.

“Need any help?” he offered, his tone suggesting anything but.

“I’m good,” she replied quickly, slipping into her dress and trying to maintain whatever dignity she had left. “I’ll just, uh, see myself out.”

“Sure thing, Y/N,” Cregan said, his voice holding a hint of something she couldn’t quite identify—teasing, maybe, or was it something more?

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. She needed to get out of here, get back to her place, and pretend this never happened. As she slipped her shoes on and made a beeline for the door, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time, and it took every ounce of willpower not to look back.

The walk of shame had never been so literal.

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Y/N finally made it back to her flat in South Kensington, pushing through the ache in her head and the overwhelming need for a gallon of water and a hot shower. She fumbled with her keys, silently praying to every god she didn’t believe in that Jace would still be at the photoshoot he’d mentioned yesterday.

But as soon as she swung the door open, she knew her luck had run out.

Jace Velaryon was sprawled out on her couch like he owned the place—legs kicked up on the coffee table, remote in one hand, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in the other. He looked up as she entered, and his face lit up in that way only big brothers get when they know they’re about to cause trouble.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, a grin spreading across his face. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame this morning.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to play it cool. “Shut up, Jace. I just went for a…walk.” Even she cringed at how lame that sounded.

“A walk?” Jace repeated, raising an eyebrow. “In last night’s dress and heels? That’s a new one, even for you.”

“I wasn’t—” she started, but Jace cut her off with a laugh.

“Please, sis. Don’t even try it. I’ve known you too long to fall for that bullshit.” He sat up, clearly enjoying himself. “So, who was the lucky guy? Or girl? I’m open-minded.”

She shot him a glare, trying to ignore the heat creeping up her cheeks. “It’s none of your business, Jace.”

“Oh, come on,” he whined. “You’re my little sister. It’s literally my job to make your love life my business.”

She snorted, moving past him toward the kitchen. “Right, because you’re such an expert on relationships.”

“Hey, I’ve been in plenty of—” he began defensively, but she cut him off.

“One-night stands don’t count, Jace.”

He laughed, unfazed. “Touché. But seriously, you look like death warmed over. Was the party that wild?”

Y/N could still feel the blood rushing to her face, and she kept her back to him, rummaging in the fridge for a bottle of infused water. “Yeah, it was…something.”

“I knew it!” Jace crowed, slapping his knee. “I knew you’d have a good time once you loosened up. See, you should listen to me more often. You’re always so serious with your work stuff, but you gotta live a little, Y/N. You’re too young to be so…responsible.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Because as much as she hated to admit it, Jace had a point. Her life had been all about exams and internships lately, no time for fun or the kind of reckless behavior that usually ended with waking up next to a Stark.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Party more, work less,” she muttered, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a long drink.

Jace leaned forward, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “So, was he hot at least? This guy you left with?”

Y/N almost choked on her water. “What? I didn’t leave with anyone.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out. “That’s why you’re sneaking back in at ten in the morning with bedhead and makeup smudged like a panda. Come on, just tell me who it was. Was it that guy Luke introduced you to last week? What was his name…Liam? Leon?”

She shook her head, exasperated. “Hells, Jace, can you just drop it?”

Jace grinned, leaning back again. “Oh, this must’ve been a really good one if you’re getting this defensive. Come on, Y/N, I’m dying here. Give me something.”

For a second, she considered telling him the truth—just blurting it out and watching the chaos unfold. But then she thought of Cregan’s lazy smile, the way he’d suggested they just forget about it and move on. The way her brother would probably explode into a million pieces if he knew. And she decided against it.

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically. “If you must know, it was some random bloke, okay? No one you know. Just a guy. But yes, he is fit. Satisfied?”

Jace considered this, squinting at her as if trying to detect a lie. Finally, he shrugged. “I guess. But if you don’t want me to know, that just makes me want to know more. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” she replied, moving past him again, hoping he’d drop it.

He watched her go, still grinning like an idiot. “You know, you should bring him to the next party,” he called after her. “Introduce me. I promise I won’t bite…unless he’s into that sort of thing.”

Y/N groaned and flipped him off over her shoulder. “You’re disgusting, Jace.”

“Love you too, sis,” he shot back, laughing. “And don’t think I won’t find out who it is. I always do.”

She shook her head, muttering curses under her breath as she retreated to her room. She needed a shower, a coffee, and about ten years of therapy to figure out how she’d ended up in bed with Cregan Stark of all people. But first, she needed to figure out how to keep Jace in the dark. Because if he ever found out…

Well, that wasn’t even worth thinking about.

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Cregan Stark stood in the middle of his wrecked bedroom, hands on his hips, surveying the chaos. Sheets twisted, pillows on the floor, a lamp somehow knocked over. It looked like a tornado had swept through, and that tornado’s name was Y/N Velaryon.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. He tried to piece together the events of last night, but the details were hazy, like trying to grab smoke with his bare hands. He remembered flashes—the way she looked at him, the heat in her gaze, the sound of her laugh, and the taste of alcohol on her lips.

But everything after that? A blur.

Goddamn shame, too, because if there was anything he wanted to remember clearly, it was Y/N Velaryon in his bed, under him, her nails digging into his back. Fuck, he’d have liked to play that on repeat in his mind forever, but the alcohol had betrayed him, stealing away the details of what was undoubtedly the hottest night of his life.

He started picking up his last night’s clothes scattered across the floor and cursed himself again. How could he forget? He rarely drank that much, being an athlete and all, but last night…last night had been something else. He found his shirt flung over the back of a chair, his pants half-hanging off the edge of the bed. His brief were bunched up in the corner, and then—

Oh.

A small, red scrap of lace was tangled up in the sheets. He picked it up, grinning as he realized it was her G-string. She must’ve been in one hell of a hurry to leave it behind. He turned it over in his hands, feeling the delicate fabric, imagining her wearing it, and smirked.

“One hell of a merchandise,” he muttered with a chuckle, tucking the lace into his pocket. “Score.”

It was stupid, really. A goddamn G-string, and here he was, acting like he’d found a winning lottery ticket. But there was something about Y/N—something that had always pulled him in, even when he’d been trying his hardest to ignore it. Jace’s little sister, forbidden territory. He’d spent years pretending he didn’t notice how fucking gorgeous she’d grown, how smart and sharp-tongued she was. But last night had shattered all of that pretense into a million pieces.

He shoved the rest of the clothes into a messy laundry pile, wondering how long it would take for Jace to find out. Y/N was good at keeping secrets, he’d give her that, but Jace was practically psychic when it came to his sister. Cregan could already hear his best friend’s voice in his head, pissed off and protective, probably ready to bash his skull in.

But for some reason, that didn’t bother him as much as it should. He found himself smiling, still, as he started straightening up the room. Maybe it was because he liked the idea of having something that was just his and hers—something Jace didn’t know, something they could keep between them.

And hell, if it was anything like last night—at least, what he could remember of it—he wouldn’t mind making a habit of it.

As he finished tidying up, he spotted his phone on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with a new message. He picked it up, already knowing who it would be.

Jace:

Yo, brunch? Need to talk to you about something.

Cregan snorted. Of course, Jace wanted to talk. He always did when something was up with Y/N. He hesitated for a second, wondering if Jace had already figured out what had happened. But nah, if Jace knew, the message would’ve been a lot less polite.

He typed back a quick reply.

Sure, mate. Usual spot?

There was a pause before Jace responded.

Jace:

Yeah, see you in 30. And don’t be late, you lazy fuck.

Cregan chuckled, tossing the phone back on the bed. Yeah, this was going to be fun. He grabbed a fresh shirt, slipped it over his head, and, with a final glance around the now semi-clean room, he headed out.

He might not remember every detail of last night, but he’d be damned if he let that stop him from figuring out how to make it happen again.

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Cregan arrived at the little brasserie they always met at, a tiny spot tucked away on a quiet street. The kind of place with faded awnings and mismatched chairs that served strong coffee and even stronger Bloody Marys. Jace was already sitting outside, a cigarette dangling from his lips, dressed in designer shades and a leather jacket that probably cost more than most people’s rent.

“You’re late,” Jace called out as Cregan approached, flicking ash into the street. “I was starting to think you’d bailed.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, mate,” Cregan replied, sliding into the chair across from him. “But, you know, mornings are a bitch.” Especially when you’ve just spent them cleaning up the aftermath of what could’ve been the best mistake of your life, he thought.

Jace smirked, passing him the pack of cigarettes. “Yeah, looks like you had a rough one. Big night?”

Cregan shrugged, playing it cool. “Something like that. But hey, speaking of big nights…” He leaned in conspiratorially, lighting his cigarette. “What’s this I hear about Aegon?”

Jace snorted, taking a drag from his own cigarette. “Oh, mate, you haven’t heard? It’s fucking priceless.” He leaned back, tapping the ash off with a grin that was half-amused, half-disgusted. “My dear cousin managed to land himself in the hospital. For his cock.”

Cregan choked on his first drag, coughing out smoke. “What?” he managed between laughs. “His cock? You’re joking.”

“I swear to god,” Jace said, holding up his hand like he was taking an oath. “Apparently, he was trying to pull off some kind of…threesome, foursome, who the fuck knows, at one of those clubs he’s always getting kicked out of. Anyway, things got out of hand, and next thing you know, he’s screaming in agony and they’re rushing him to A&E.”

Cregan was in stitches, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’re telling me Aegon actually managed to break his dick?”

“That’s the rumor,” Jace replied, chuckling. “Doctors said it was some kind of penile fracture. Can you imagine? Poor bastard was probably halfway to heaven when he got dragged right down to hell.”

“Thoughts and prayers mate, that’s rough,” Cregan said, still laughing. “How the hell does that even happen?”

Jace grinned, leaning in. “Apparently, he got too enthusiastic. Girl was on top, he was thrusting up, and…” He made a snapping motion with his fingers. “Snap.”

Cregan winced, half in sympathy, half in amazement. “Fuck me, that’s got to hurt. How long’s he gonna be out of commission?”

“Couple of months, at least,” Jace replied, blowing out a stream of smoke. “He’s already whining about it all over social media. You know Aegon. Can’t suffer in silence.”

Cregan snorted. “Sounds like him, alright. Bet he’s milking it for all it’s worth, too. Getting the sympathy votes.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jace agreed. “He’s already got half the city sending him flowers and chocolates like he’s some kind of war hero. Even Mum’s getting involved—sending him a care package like he’s gone off to battle instead of just fucking his way into the emergency room.”

They both laughed, loud and unrestrained, the way only friends who’ve known each other too long can. The kind of laughter that turns heads from the neighboring tables, but they didn’t care. They were in their own world, swapping stories, cigarettes, and coffee.

“Honestly, though,” Cregan said after a moment, shaking his head. “Only Aegon could turn a night out into a medical emergency. Guy’s got a talent.”

Jace grinned, flicking his cigarette butt away. “Yeah, but you know what they say about talent and stupidity—it’s a thin line.”

Cregan chuckled, taking another drag. “And Aegon’s crossed it, time and time again.”

“Too right,” Jace replied, nodding. “But it makes for good entertainment. Can’t wait to see how he spins this one. You just know there’s gonna be some kind of dramatic story about how he risked it all for love or some other bullshit.”

“The hero’s journey,” Cregan quipped, smirking. “Except with more broken bones and fewer dragons.”

Jace laughed. “Fewer dragons, more dick injuries. Welcome to the modern world.”

Cregan took a long drag, blowing out smoke slowly, his mind still partially elsewhere, still thinking about the G-string tucked in his pocket. Yeah, this was the kind of gossip he could get behind, but there were other things—better things—on his mind. Like how he was going to see Y/N again without Jace getting suspicious. Because if Jace found out…

Well, he’d just have to make sure Jace never did.

Jace was mid-sip on his coffee when he caught a glimpse of something on Cregan’s neck. He blinked, did a double take, then broke into a wide, shit-eating grin that could have lit up all of London.

“Oh, no fucking way,” he practically howled, slamming his coffee cup down onto the table and leaning forward. “Is that…what I think it is?”

Cregan, who had been in the middle of stubbing out his cigarette, froze. “What the hell are you on about?”

Jace pointed, still grinning like he’d won the lottery. “Your neck, you dumbass. You’ve got hickeys all over it.”

Cregan felt his stomach drop, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he reached up, rubbing his neck as if he is already aware of them. “Oh these?”

Jace let out a loud, triumphant laugh. “Come on, don’t play dumb with me. Whoever you were with last night really went to town.”

Cregan could feel his face heat up, but he kept his expression neutral. He was an expert at this game; he’d been friends with Jace for too long to let him see he was rattled. “Maybe I just ran into a really aggressive mosquito,” he shot back dryly.

“Bullshit,” Jace cackled, smacking Cregan on the arm. “Come on, bro, spill the beans. Who was it? Who’s the lucky lady leaving marks on your neck like you’re a piece of meat?”

Cregan shifted in his seat, trying to keep his cool. He could still feel the faint burn of Y/N’s lips on his skin, and damn if that didn’t send a shiver down his spine, even now. “Just a random girl,” he said casually, waving a hand like it was nothing. “Nothing serious.”

“A random girl, my ass,” Jace scoffed, leaning closer, his grin wider than ever. “Come on, mate. I know you better than that. You don’t let just anyone mark you up like that.”

Cregan rolled his eyes, trying to deflect. “And how would you know what I do or don’t let happen?”

“Because I’ve known you for a decade,” Jace shot back, grabbing another cigarette. “You’re picky. Way pickier than me, and that’s saying something. So, whoever it was…must’ve been special.”

Cregan fought the urge to wince. If only he knew just how “special” the girl had been. He could almost see Jace’s face if he ever found out. Cregan could already imagine the explosion—the yelling, the accusations, and Jace’s unrelenting fury. Yeah, best to keep this under wraps.

He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “You’re reading too much into it, Jace. It was just a fun night. No big deal.”

“Fun enough to leave those,” Jace said, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Seriously, they look fresh. Did you at least get her number?”

Cregan snorted, taking another sip of his coffee. “Nah. It was just one of those things, you know? No strings attached.”

“Huh, strings,” Jace snickered. “Or no strings…left, eh?”

Cregan’s hand twitched towards his pocket, where Y/N’s G-string was still tucked safely away. He felt a momentary thrill of panic, wondering if Jace could somehow read his mind, but his best friend’s smirk told him he was still in the clear…for now.

“Look, mate,” Jace said, putting out his cigarette and leaning in with a mock-serious expression. “All I’m saying is, whoever she was, she clearly had a good time. And you…you’ve got the evidence to prove it. But come on, give me something. I’m dying here.”

Cregan laughed, finally slapping Jace’s arm in return. “Alright, alright, fine. Maybe I’ll tell you…someday.”

“Oh, you will,” Jace replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. “One way or another, Stark, you will.”

As Cregan leaned back, smiling like he hadn’t a care in the world, he knew this was a situation he’d have to play carefully. Because if Jace ever found out the truth, those love bites on his neck would be the least of his worries.

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Monday arrived like a slap in the face, and Y/N was not ready. Not even a little bit. She sat at her desk, her fingers hovering over her laptop keys, but her mind was a million miles away. She was supposed to be working on some due diligence report, but instead, she was spiraling.

Full-on, out-of-control spiraling.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t had her fair share of one-night stands before. She was young, single, and sometimes she just needed to blow off steam. But this? This was different. Because it hadn’t been just anyone. It had been Cregan Stark. Her brother’s best friend. The guy Jace had practically tattooed with the words Do Not Touch where she was concerned.

And it wasn’t like she was worried about Jace finding out, not really. She was a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. She lied for a living, spun stories into gold, and could argue her way out of anything. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Cregan’s face, felt his hands on her, and heard his deep, rumbling laugh in her ear. The memory alone sent her into a panic.

She’d needed to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t Jace. So, of course, she’d turned to her cousin, Baela Targaryen, who was currently perched on the edge of Y/N’s desk.

“You did what?” Baela practically screeched, her voice loud enough to turn a few heads in their direction.

Y/N winced, shooting her a look. “Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,” she hissed.

But Baela was having none of it. She was practically vibrating with excitement, her violet eyes wide. “You slept with Cregan fucking Stark?” she repeated, but at least this time she whispered. “Holy shit, Y/N. This is…this is epic.”

Y/N buried her face in her hands, groaning. “No, it’s not. It’s a disaster. A full-blown, Jace-will-kill-me disaster.”

“Are you kidding?” Baela snorted, leaning in. “Jace doesn’t have to know. And besides, Cregan’s hot as hell. I mean, have you seen him? Those shoulders? That jawline? And he’s an athlete. A pro skier. The man probably has a body like a fucking Greek god. Why are you freaking out?”

“Because it’s Cregan,” Y/N said, exasperated. “It’s Jace’s best friend. And I’m supposed to be focusing on my career, not getting tangled up with guys I shouldn’t be touching.”

Baela rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You’re young, hot, and brilliant. You can focus on your career and still have a little fun on the side. I mean, who hasn’t wanted to sleep with their brother’s best friend at some point?”

Y/N gave her a look. “Most people, Baela.”

“Well, most people are boring,” Baela shot back, grinning. “Look, you’ve always been the responsible one. The one with the plan, the one who does everything by the book. Maybe it’s time you let loose a little. And besides…” She leaned in, her grin widening. “How was it?”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up, and she hated how easily Baela could do that to her. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I mean, it was…good. Really good. But that’s not the point.”

Baela laughed, her bright, melodic sound echoing through the open office space. “Oh, that’s exactly the point. Come on, Y/N, you’re practically glowing. It must’ve been better than good if you’re this messed up over it.”

Y/N shook her head, trying to pull herself together. “It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake. A one-time thing. It can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Baela asked, still smiling like a psychopath. “If it was so good, why can’t it happen again?”

“Because…” Y/N started, fumbling for the words. “Because it just can’t, okay? I can’t deal with the drama. And Jace will find out, and then it’ll be this whole big thing, and—“

Baela waved her off. “Jace doesn’t have to know, alright? You’re smart. You can handle it. And who knows? Maybe Cregan’s just the kind of distraction you need right now. Especially with all these dry, boring cases we’re stuck with.”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, a distraction is the last thing I need right now. What I need is to keep my head down and avoid any more…complications.”

“Oh, Y/N, you can do that,” Baela teased, nudging her with her elbow. “But where’s the fun in that? Life’s too short to be boring. Especially when you’ve got a Stark on your side.”

Y/N shot her a glare, but she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not helping.”

“And you’re overthinking it,” Baela replied. “Look, you had a wild night with a hot guy. Enjoy it. Don’t spiral. Just…see what happens. You might surprise yourself.”

Y/N wanted to argue, wanted to tell Baela she was wrong, but deep down, she knew her cousin had a point. She was spiraling, and it wasn’t getting her anywhere. Maybe Baela was right.

Or maybe she’d end up in even deeper shit. But what’s done is done.

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Cregan slammed the barbell back onto the rack with a grunt, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The gym was quiet on a Monday afternoon, just the rhythmic thud of weights hitting the floor, the hum of the treadmill belts, and the occasional grunt from the other athletes scattered around. It was exactly how he liked it—minimal distractions, just him and the iron.

But today, he couldn’t focus for shit.

He was supposed to be prepping, getting his body in peak condition for the winter season. Autumn was crunch time for a professional skier. Every session counted, every rep, every second shaved off his sprint time mattered. And yet, here he was, barely keeping his head in the game, because all he could think about was Y/N Velaryon.

Fuck, he needed another go.

He dropped down onto the bench, grabbing a towel and rubbing it across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. But it was impossible. His mind kept replaying the brief flashes he remembered from that night—the way she’d looked up at him, her lips parted, her hands pulling him closer, nails digging into his skin like she couldn’t get enough of him.

And the way he couldn’t remember every goddamn detail was driving him insane.

He needed a do-over. A second chance to burn the memory of her into his brain properly this time. The half-forgotten fragments weren’t enough. Not even close. He wanted to remember everything—the way she tasted, the sounds she made, the way she moved against him. He wanted to savor every moment, replay it in his mind during the endless hours of training and competition.

He grabbed a medicine ball, slamming it down against the floor with a force that rattled the nearby weights. He knew he needed to get his shit together. He couldn’t afford distractions, not now, not with the season so close. But the harder he tried to focus, the more his thoughts drifted back to her.

To the way she’d looked that morning, rushing out of his flat, her hair a mess, her dress askew, and the small, scrap of lace she’d left behind like a calling card. He felt a grin tug at his lips just thinking about it. Fuck, she’d been gorgeous. And he’d been too smashed to enjoy it properly.

“Get a grip, Stark,” he muttered to himself, slamming the ball down again, trying to burn off some of the frustration coursing through his veins.

But it was no use. No matter how many reps he did, no matter how much weight he lifted, the image of Y/N wouldn’t leave his mind. He remembered the way she’d smirked at him from across the room at that party, the way her eyes had lingered on him just a little too long, like she’d been daring him to make a move.

And, oh, he’d made a move, alright. He just wished he could remember every damn second of it.

He switched to the rowing machine, gripping the handles tightly, and started pulling with quick, powerful strokes. His muscles burned, sweat dripped down his back, but it still wasn’t enough to push her out of his mind.

The problem was, he wanted her again. He wanted to see her, touch her, hear her laugh that low, teasing laugh she had. But this time, he wanted to be fully aware of every single thing he did to her, every little reaction he could coax out of her. He wanted to watch the way her pupils dilated when he touched her, hear the way her breath hitched, see that flash of challenge in her eyes when she bit her lip.

He wanted to remember. All of it.

He needed to see her again, needed to make that happen. But how? It wasn’t like he could just call her up. She was Jace’s sister, for fuck’s sake, and Jace was already poking around, suspicious as hell. No, he’d have to be careful, play it smart. He needed to find a way to get her alone again, away from her brother, away from prying eyes.

The rowing machine beeped, signaling the end of his set, but he barely heard it. His mind was already spinning with possibilities, ideas forming as he wiped the sweat off his face.

Yeah, he’d find a way. There was no way in hell he was letting this go. Y/N Velaryon was under his skin now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get a chance to do things right this time.

Cregan cracked his neck, a determined smile spreading across his face as he headed toward the free weights. He’d figure it out. And when he did, he was going to make damn sure he remembered every single second of it.

#hotd cregan #cregan fanfiction #cregan x y/n #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x you #cregan x reader #hotd modern au #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader

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softspiderling · 5 months

Text

illicit affairs - part two | r.c

summary:

"Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

OR; Rafe makes an outrageous suggestion and you? You give in.

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mention of drugs, talk about sex (nothing graphic yet) but the later parts will have smut, so 18+ MDNI!

word count: 2k

author's note: pt. two out so soon?? there's gotta be smth fishy going on 🤭we finally get into the PLOT! i hope you enjoy my lovelies, don't forget to leave a comment/like/reblog or share your thoughts with me in the inbox.

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pt. two: "it's born from just one single glance"

A week after the party, it was the first Friday in a while where the four of you didn’t go to a party. After spending a day out of the sea to test out Topper’s new boat, you got picked up some pizza and settled down in Rafe’s living room, where you were still in the same spot several hours later. The empty pizza cartons were stacked on the floor and the four of you strewn out on the couch and various seats.

“You want another drink?”

Rafe was waving his empty glass in front of you, a lonely ice cube clinking in it, an expected eyebrow raised.

You squinted at him, nodding. “Can you get me a coke please?”

“Sure.”

Kelce perked up in his seat at the prospect of another drink. “Hey, can you get me another beer?”

“No,” Rafe answered, without even looking back as he left for the kitchen. “You know where the fridge is.”

“What?” Kelce muttered with a frown, looking over to you as he slumped back down. “You know where the fridge is, why is he getting you a coke?”

You only shrugged with a grin, making yourself comfortable on the couch now that you had more space, while Topper clapped Kelce on the back in consolation.

“Come on man, you know she’s his favorite.”

“Hey!”

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, you shucked it at Topper, making him yelp when it hit him square in the face.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right next to you,” you scowled. “And I’m not Rafe’s favorite.”

“You’re a clown if you actually believe that.”

“Fuck you, you’re a clown.”

Topper tossed the pillow back at you, narrowly missing your head by an inch and the pillow fell to the floor behind the couch, landing just in front of Rafe’s feet as he returned.

“I was gone for five minutes, what are you guys fighting about now?”

“Precious over here thinks she’s not your favorite.”

You glowered at the other two boys, while Rafe settled back on the couch next to you, pressing a can of coke into your hands. He took a sip of his drink, eyeing you briefly and shrugged, pursing his lips in agreement.

“Nah, you’re definitely my favorite.”

You stuck your tongue out at Topper when he gave you a knowing look, instead focusing on opening your coke. “Whatever. It doesn’t mean anything, you two shitheads don’t make it hard for me to be anyone’s favorite.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Kelce grunted with a frown and you raised a brow at him.

“You literally had sex in Rafe’s bed last year,” you said, before turning your attention to Topper. “And you’re still obsessed with Sarah.”

Rafe let out a noise, making clear that he was fully agreeing with you. “What she said.”

Topper, while satisfied he had proven his point, still rolled his eyes and Kelce crossed his arms, annoyed.

“I hate it when they team up like this.”

“Shut up and get your beer.”

The next couple of hours passed easily, just as it always did when the four of you came together to talk shit. While you did enjoy going to parties every now and then, you really appreciated just hanging out with your friends and talking about everything and nothing in the safety of the four walls of Rafe’s home.

Only you and your boys. Just the way you liked it.

“Alright, I think it’s time for me to go,” Topper said, breaking up the group with a yawn, shaking his head to stay awake as he sat up. “I’m beat.”

“Can you give me a ride?” Kelce asked, standing up and Topper nodded, turning to you.

“Do you need me to drop you off too?”

You stretched your arms, legs long draped over Rafe’s lap as you laid lengthwise on the couch. It was nearing one am and you really should make your way home, but you were far too comfortable to move, having spent most of the day in the sun, which was catching up to you now.

“I think I might stay for a while longer, thanks though.”

Topper clicked his tongue, ruffling your hair, messing it up for good measure as he and Kelce said their good byes, their voices getting quieter as they strolled to the front, the door shutting in its hinges. It wasn’t long after until you could heard Topper’s truck start, and then pull off the estate grounds.

Finally, it was quiet enough for you to hear the music, which was drowned out by Kelce’s constant yapping. You loved him but he was such a chatter box when he drank beer.

“Isn’t Sarah coming home tonight?” you asked into the sudden quietness, combing through your hair with your fingers, trying to get rid of the knots that have formed since you’d laid on the couch for the whole night. The estate had been quiet apart from the four of you causing raucous in the living room.

“Please,” Rafe scoffed. “She’s staying with John B more nights than not, I’m this close to kicking her out for real.”

“Oh come on,” you laughed, leaning up to shove his arm a little. “She’s in love. Leave her alone. And don’t act like you don’t enjoy being the man of the house and having it all to yourself.”

Rafe grinned to himself, shrugging his shoulders a bit like you weren’t absolutely right. Like you said, you knew him. “Eh. Maybe. House tends to get a little quiet sometimes... Speaking of, why don’t you stay over tonight? It’s late, and I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

“You’re not gonna drive me?” You asked with a pout and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m too tired, don’t make me. Just stay over.”

“What? And leave in the morning like I’m one of your hook ups? Please.”

“Give me a break,” Rafe huffed. “You know damn well you’re not one of my hook ups. They don’t get to stay till the morning,” he paused, turning his head to look at you inquisitively, and you knew that look all too well. He was about to be nosy. “What about yours, anyways?”

“My what?”

“Your hook ups, precious. Haven’t seen anyone around since Jack.”

You shrugged. “Cuz there wasn’t anyone else since Jack, you know that. And he wasn’t a hook up, he was my boyfriend.”

He was quiet, but you could basically hear the gears in his head turning. “I know you’re not into hook ups and shit, but don’t you need to get off sometimes?”

“And risk hooking up with weirdos like Moany? No thank you. I don’t need anyone else to get off.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I know, jesus. I’m just saying… Sex by yourself isn’t as good as sex with another person. If you know what they like. Not everyone has freaky requests like Monique. And if you’re compatible, you know the sex can be insane.”

You eyed him suspiciously, not sure if you liked which direction this was going. He wasn’t about to suggest the two of you having sex…. Right? Because that would be just crazy.

“… jus’ getting sick of having to get to know a new girl every time, ‘s exhausting.”

“You know you can have sex with a person more than once right?”

Rafe scoffed, leaning his hands behind his head. “Yeah, but then they start getting comfortable. I don’t need that right now.”

You waved your hands around, trying to stop Rafe’s train of thought before it could get any further.

“Rafe, stop beating around the bush. The fuck are you on right now?”

He swirled his drink around, downing the last of it before shoving the glass on the table, looking at you.

“What if… We fucked?”

“What?” you stared at him incredulously, like he had just grown a second head.

“I mean, not relationship wise. Casual. Friends with benefits.”

“Friends with benefits,” you echoed, dryly. “Are you insane?”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head at you, not bothering with a reply. You thought that was the end of it, trying to calm your heart down, as it was nearly jumping out of your throat, when you felt Rafe’s hand splaying across your bare legs. His fingers brushed your inner thigh, making you tense and you glared up at him.

“Seriously Rafe?”

“Seriously Rafe?” Rafe mocked you, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear, the other hand starting to trace circles into the skin of your thigh, like it was the most normal thing for him to do. “We both know that if you didn’t want me touching you, you’d have kicked me half ways across the room already.”

You wanted to protest, but your words died halfway down your tongue, knowing it was no use with the way Rafe was looking at you. Also, he was a 100% right. Turning away, you stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore how his finger tips left your skin tingling, thinking of the most random things to calm yourself down.

There was no use of lying to yourself, a part of you wanted to say yes.

You knew Rafe didn’t do relationships, has never had a girlfriend in all the years you’d been friends. What if being friends with benefits was the closest thing you could be for Rafe? Not only his best friend, but a step further? What if this was all you could get with him?

“This is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Exactly. You’re my best friend, I don’t have to tell you anything because you know exactly what I like and what I don’t.”

“Not when it comes to sex!”

“Okay okay, calm down, I was just making a suggestion.”

Rafe trailed off, dropping the topic, his fucking hand still on your thigh. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could tell that he was biting back a grin, and you hated to think that you were going to give in.

“We’re not telling anyone, you hear me? Not a single soul. Especially not Top and Kelce, they would never let us live this down.”

He turned his head, the corner of his mouth ticking up knowingly. He was your best friend after all, he knew what to say to convince you of his argument. “Those two knuckleheads don’t need to know everything we do,” Rafe said as he leaned in, but you stopped him halfway, your hand on his chest.

“If this affects our friendship in any way, or or…. If it gets awkward or someone… Just, we stop, okay? No lying to get your dick wet.”

“Have I ever lied to you, precious?”

“Uh, yes. Remember when you, Top and Kelce snuck into my gard- oomph.”

Your sentence was cut short when Rafe pressed his lips against you in a soft kiss, his hand cupping the back of the neck. He pulled away, his breath hot on your face. Your lips parted a bit, shock coursing through your veins. You had wondered how it would feel to kiss Rafe for so long, and you had to admit, that the real deal was so much better than anything you could’ve imagined.

“You talk too much,” he mumbled against your lips and you rolled your eyes, brought out of your haze. This was still Rafe. Your best friend.

“Shut up.”

Fisting his shirt, you pulled him closer to you, lips hot as they interlocked. He leaned forward, both of his knees bracketing your waist, one hand moving from the back of your neck to the front, so he could cup your face. Suddenly, you were surrounded by him and if you weren’t so distracted by Rafe’s tongue slipping into your mouth, you’d be freaking out right now. This felt like a fever dream; your hands moving automatically down his torso, sneaking under his shirt, nails grazing his chiseled abs and when Rafe let out a honest to god whimper, you knew you were done for.

There was no going on back.

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author's note: am i sorry about the cliffhanger? ask me later👀

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx #drew starkey

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astraystayyh · 3 months

Text

The prophecy- I.

ꕥ summary: when an angel becomes enthralled by the prospect of emotions, he falls into your world hoping you’d teach him how to be human. little does he know, there's no safety net awaiting him below.

ꕥ pairing: fallen angel!yongbok x fem human!reader.

ꕥ genre: slow burn. heavy themes relating to the complexity of emotions (insecurities, grief, nostalgia, love and sacrifice). angst. comfort. hope and healing. the members are included in the fic as well.

ꕥ warnings: plot installment. mention of alcohol and drinking, description of scars, self-loathing thoughts.

ꕥ word count: 17.8k.

Next. Series Masterlist.

authors note: this fic is my absolute baby. it is heavily inspired by Black Friday by Tom Odell, or rather my interpretation of its lyrics. angel felix is so so special to me, i got the opportunity to be very vulnerable while writing, so i hope you enjoy reading this first part as much as i enjoyed writing it. feedback is highly appreciated <3 this is for @forlix my angel who birthed this fic with me, and for @catboyanon for being my icon 💞 i love you guys 🫶🏻 thank you for reading!!!!!!

the series taglist is open! comment or send me an ask if you wish to be added— @linosssss @agi-ppangx @hwangism143 @httpdwaekki @booksndpoetry @courtnort455 @tonystenk @felixsbakingbud @oyinii @seungzsmin @kayleefriedchicken @freyjhasdesiredreality @babrieeee @nyasstars @lovefool-lix @velvetmoonlght @hash2013 @caticorn61 @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @minhosbitterriver @dorisnumber1fan @goldenmellow @juskz @chanshyunjin @aslou @hhwangsmoon @shinygubbins @msaddictions @abcdefgiwannasendmycodetou @realrintaro @theuntoldlullaby

Act 1. Everything comes with a price.

“So for once in my life, let me get what I want, Lord knows it would be the first time”- Please, please, please, let me get what I want, The Smiths.

Yongbok's existence has been a steady current of nothingness.

He has known no low, yet simultaneously, no high. Has never stood at the edge of the world nor cradled it within his palm. He is a straight line, knowing no bumps on its road, crafted to stretch forward, and then some more, indefinitely.

That is until you were assigned to him— his human to keep safe, to protect.

That is when Yongbok then realized that, all along, he had felt nothing— that there was a void overtaking his being, an absence of something, rather than what he had always known to be the norm.

Yongbok knew the rules, he knew what his existence entailed— that it was one entwined with yours, that once you’d both turn eighteen he’d sense it when you were in danger, each time you were in physical pain. So, he’d protect you, hover above you like a halo, keep you out of harm's way.

He also knew that it would happen unexpectedly. His one friend Seungmin described it as a minor nuisance, a thorn that needs to be plucked out, a bad weed that has overgrown. “You'll help your human and it’ll be back to normal.”

Yet, for Yongbok it wasn't merely a lone thorn, nor a solitary weed, but rather, a myriad of nuisances falling upon him at once— akin to a deluge of rain pouring as soon as the sky’s gates part. A throbbing so intense it made him falter in his strides, made his golden wings envelop him, as if to cage this unfamiliar feeling, to stop it from seeping from his body and soiling the azure skies.

It was the first time you had called out to him, it was the first time he would see you in. He imagined you’d be in agonizing pain, skirting the edges of death on a final dance with the devils. But, you were on your bed, curled around yourself the way his wings enfolded his body. Sobs rippled from you, an undulating cascade of waves that almost drowned you in sorrow.

You weren’t in danger. You weren’t in physical pain. So why was he here?

Why had he felt it when you simply cried?

Yongbok hovered near your door, unsure of what to do. This wasn’t in the rules he had learned— guardian angels do not deal with emotions, they do not feel the woes of the heart. “Humans are always hurt. Their heart bruises more than their body would ever endure. It is something we cannot control, nor can we help them with it”— those were the words of Christopher, the sovereign of all guardian angels, ones tattooed in the back of Yongbok’s mind.

“They do not affect us,” he had asserted, his voice maintaining its customary tranquility.

So why was Yongbok feeling the bruising of your heart?

He pondered for a fleeting moment before making a soft breeze ripple through your hair. You looked up from your bed, eyes cast outside the window, as a sunbeam delicately landed on your face. To his surprise, that seemed to halt your tears.

In that instant, the weight on Yongbok’s heart suddenly dissipated, like a morning fog chased away by the sun.

“So, this isn’t normal?” he asked Seungmin upon his return, who blinked at him once, then twice.

“No. It must be part of your anomaly.”

His anomaly, what explains Seungmin being his only friend. But his loneliness did not bother him, the perk of never feeling.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Yongbok sighed, circling the rim of his glass with his pointer finger. “Should I tell… you know.”

“Keep it to yourself.” Seungmin’s voice was stern, biting, leaving no room for Yongbok to object.

So he did not.

He kept it to himself, for the past five years, a diligent secret he’s gotten better at hiding. You were surprisingly a good human to guard, you never burned yourself, crossed the road while looking at both sides, and did not frequent shady places at 4 a.m.

But your heart weighed so much on your soul.

You cried an average of one hundred and sixty-five times per year, sixty of which being heart-wrenching sobs that almost paralyzed him, made the feathers of his wings wither down and scatter on the ground like sakura petals.

“Is it normal for her to cry this much?” he had asked Seungmin who had simply shrugged.

“I don’t know. I don’t befriend humans.” he sighed before adding. “Why does she cry?”

“Other people hurt her.”

“Then she’s stupid for repeating the same process.”

“Isn’t it fascinating, though? She knows the outcome might be the same, and yet–”

“Do you wish to befriend her?” Seungmin had cut him off, eyes narrowing down slightly. There was a hint of warning in his tone, a danger ringing somewhere near. You know where this path will lead you.

“No,” he replied quickly. He never brought you up again after that.

But his fascination with you did not die. Though, it wasn’t you, per se, that intrigued him. More so what you were feeling, every emotion that ran freely through your being. It was as if he perched on the precipice of your soul, drinking the droplets of emotions that escaped your being. Feeling through you, an extension of your very existence.

It wasn’t only the throbbing when you hurt, it was also a satisfaction when he made you smile again. Through a sunbeam falling perfectly atop you, a rainbow appearing above your head, a star shining more brightly as your eyes found it. Each time your heart bled dry and you begged for a sign, he was there, conjuring up one of you, smiling as you smiled, inching closer to you as the months went by.

What if the sign was him? What if he showed you he was there all along?

Would you smile at him too?

These were dangerous questions swirling in his head, translating into even more harmful actions. Like getting closer to trespassing the line between your world and his, drawn by that fascination, that thirst to know more, to feel more.

To talk to you.

But it was all but wishful thinking, it is all thoughts he buried within himself, his body becoming the graveyard of his life— through which he breathes and through which he dies.

Until tonight.

Yongbok felt that same familiar throbbing overtaking his being, only this one was much more intense, so much so he couldn’t hide the discomfort on his face, twisted in agony at the pain overriding you. He expected to find the telltales of your sadness draped on your being— teary eyes and shaky hands, pouting lips and the scrunch of your eyebrows that he’s come to memorize.

But to his surprise, he finds you perched upon an abandoned rooftop overlooking Han River, the moon casting its shimmering reflection above its surface. You weren’t frowning, nor blinking rapidly to dispel your tears. Instead, you sat there, gazing at the river below, legs dangling over the edge, your face as placid as the water before you. However, the burden on your heart was unmistakable, a weight he recognized because he, too, bore it.

He stops for a second, making a gentle rain graze your skin, light enough to feel like an embrace rather than a nuisance. He knew you loved these light showers as you always chased them, tilting your head to the sky as if thanking it for allowing the rain to visit, even for a fleeting moment.

But this time, you remain unmoving, eyes still fixated on the water, as if you wished it would rise from its place and carry you with it underneath.

You look like an angel, for you feel nothing, numbness seizing your being and trapping it into its hold, just as it does for him.

“Sometimes the human’s enemy is itself. They inflict harm upon their souls the most, sometimes even death.” He remembers the somber sayings of Christopher and then the question Jeongin asked, echoing the concerns that gripped everyone’s thoughts.

“Can we still save them from themselves?”

“Not always. We can be too late.”

You inch closer to the edge of the building, and Yongbok wonders if you had felt too much there was no other emotion your heart could pump out for you anymore, no life for it to breathe in you.

Can humanity disintegrate once it pains you too much? Can you turn it off in a desperate bid for survival? Would it still be a life if you do not feel in it?

“I’m not going to jump if that’s what you’re worried about.” Your cold voice startles him, and he looks around quizzically, wondering who you are talking to. But it is only the both of you atop the roof, and his wings are gone, the golden light that usually contours his being subdued.

The realization dawns upon him – you can see him, and you are speaking to him. Yongbok feels the stirrings of his heart, a singular beat that resounds in his chest for the very first time.

“I’m not worried,” he replies, after painstakingly long seconds. His voice sounds different, deeper as it floods his ears. I can’t worry, he decides against adding. “Besides,” he clears his throat, walking over to you, his hands resting on the railing. “You can’t die from here. You’ll just break your bones. Get paralyzed, at most.”

“What are you? A death connoisseur?” you snort, a small life seeping through your voice again as you finally look at him.

“Something of the sort.”

“This makes you sound like a serial killer,” you sigh, a heavy breath pulled from the depths of his heart. “But you don’t look like one.”

“I don’t?” he questions.

“No. You look kind.”

Kind. Yongbok has been draped in a myriad of adjectives since his creation, ones that hang above him like a somber cloud, imprinted on his skin with ink visible to everyone but himself. ‘Abomination’ was the one that came back the most. But you described him as kind.

What do you see in me? He wants to ask. Tell me so I can look for it when I see myself.

He’s acutely aware that he’s breaking the rules, his wings itching to fledge out and carry him away. But he forcefully keeps them at bay. Not now. Just a little more.

“Are you looking for hope too?” you ask, your voice much quieter than when you last spoke. Yongbok now sees it— the numbness wearing off and leaving place to an agonizing sadness, its essence is poured in your eyes alone, dull under the marvelous city lights.

“Hope?” he echoes, the word tasting foreign in his mouth.

“Mm,” you hum, drawing one knee to your chest while letting the other dangle, straddling an invisible line between your two worlds. “I come here and imagine as if the moon shines only for me.”

“That's not true.”

“I know,” you giggle quietly, your laugh swiftly morphing into a pout. “Most of the time it feels as if it’s shining for everyone but me.”

“I don’t think the moon cares enough to single you out.”

“That's somewhat comforting to hear.”

Running a hand through your hair, you speak again. “I don’t usually talk to strangers,” you confess, lifting the nearly empty soju bottle in your left hand. “I’m just a bit drunk, and really sad,” you whisper, as if entrusting him with a secret, an admission that the universe can be cruel in the fates it deals out. He knows that more than most.

“I don't mind,” he inches closer to you, his curious eyes casting over your gloomy figure. “So, you come here looking for hope?”

“It's a bit silly, right?” you smile sheepishly, and he shakes his head.

“Silly, no. It’s just unrealistic to look for something that is not tangible.”

“Everything that is good in life cannot be grasped with our hands.”

He knows nothing of all these good things you speak of, so he remains silent.

“You know what’s funny? Each time I ask for a sign I find it.”

Each time you call out for him he is there.

“Is that so?”

You take a big gulp from your drink, setting it down as your tone grows melancholic with each word. “Yeah. I think I've seen more butterflies in the past five years than the average person does in a lifetime.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” he asks tentatively, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. What if, all along, in his attempts to pull you up he has only been drowning you further?

“It is. It makes me believe that things will turn out better, in the end,” you share, pausing briefly as if attempting to contain your words. It’s only a moment later that you continue, “I guess I'm just tired of believing things will get better instead of feeling better.”

He was a temporary patch-up, a band-aid made of silk threads destined to wear off with time. Guardian angels cannot help with the woes of the heart. For all their immortality, they fall short before the power of emotions, kneel in surrender at the altar of humanity.

But on your darkest night— your black Friday where the sky resembles an abyss in which every star has fizzled out, he does not want to leave you without hope.

“Maybe you just need better signs,” he whispers, as a hoard of butterflies swivels before your eyes, a kaleidoscope of colorful wings fluttering in the hopes of breathing life into you once again.

“Butterflies don’t show up at night…” you marvel in hushed tones, your eyes darting everywhere to take in the magical scenery.

“Did you do this?” you’re breathless as you turn to ask but no one’s near anymore.

The heaviness in your heart has dissolved, not entirely, but enough for Yongbok to dismiss it as a fleeting nuisance, a stubborn weed, a lone thorn that he deftly plucked away.

…

Yongbok has not stopped thinking of your conversation, the steadiness in your voice as you spoke of hope, of good things that elude your gaze but infuse your existence with sweetness. He knew that he broke the rules by speaking to you, that there are but severe cases in which an angel is allowed to address their human. Sadness, no matter how profound, was not one of them. And yet, for all the years he spent abiding by the rules, he had not regretted talking to you, not once.

He had memorized the cadence of your voice, the sheer glaze in your eyes as they held his, the way you drowned yourself in alcohol, nose scrunching at its bitter taste. Everything about you, he learned, committing it to his memory that was once a blank canvas, for he had never lived something worth remembering, for he had never strayed from the straight path, drawn out eons ago for him.

Until you.

It is the following Friday and Yongbok hovers near a bar, his eyes absorbing the sight of the drunk humans mingling in there. Some of them are laughing, clinking half-empty glasses as they cheer loudly, Others, too busy pressing their lips against one another to dare dream of forgetting this moment. And then some sitting alone, their gaze fixated on the liquid within their glass, as if it holds the key to all their unanswered prayers. Foolish behavior, but he is drawn to the mundanity of it, for some odd reason.

He draws in a deep breath, before concealing his celestial wings and venturing into the dimly lit bar. He sits by a stool, curiously eyeing the array of alcohol on display. “What can I get you?” the bartender asks and he responds with a nonchalant shrug. “Strongest thing you have.” After all, inebriation is an experience beyond his grasp.

The abrupt sound of glass meeting the counter startles him, and he turns to his left. There, he discovers a young man, roughly his age, signaling the bartender for another pour. Ebony hair pulled into a small ponytail, a furrowed brow shaping his lips into a frown, the man’s gaze remains fixed on the scattered droplets of Whiskey across the counter. In the faint light, Yongbok spots a mole by his jaw, then another one underneath his eye.

“Bad night?” Yongbok inquires, clearing his throat, a thrill coursing through him at the prospect of talking with another human.

“Kinda,” the stranger sighs, turning around to face him. “I’m Hyunjin,” he says, extending his hand with a lopsided smile.

He firmly shakes it, before introducing himself back, “Yongbok.”

“Yongbok, mm… Feelbok,” Hyunjin slurs, “no, no, Hanbok,”— happiness— Hyunjin giggles at his own words punctuating them with a thumbs-up. “Nice name.”

“Thank you,” Yongbok mirrors his smile, although the gesture happens more naturally than he expected. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, as he watches Hyunjin down yet another glass.

“I should be,” he mumbles, before placing his chin atop his palm, gaze lost somewhere far in the depths of his mind.

Yongbok remains silent as Hyunjin blinks slowly, a sad smile imprinted into his mouth. “I opened my art gallery today. It was acclaimed by all the art critics who visited. They said it was moving, woven with emotions that are translated into every choice I made, from the colors to the blending to the lighting.”

Yongbok frowns, a sudden confusion settling over him as he detects the sorrow dripping from Hyunjin’s tone. He realizes that his expression mirrors the same loneliness he witnessed in you countless times before. Humans, it seems, resemble each other at their most vulnerable.

“But…” he continues, prompted by Yongbok’s silence or the strong alcohol, he doesn’t really know. “All these people came but not the one I painted for.”

Ah, Yongbok now understands what drives Hyunjin’s sadness— love. The irony of humans strikes him; for the one feeling they crave ends up hurting them the most.

“Every painting was about her and she wasn’t there to see it,” Hyunjin confesses as anguished tears suddenly well in his eyes. He cannot conjure hope for Hyunjin, for he is not his human to guard, so Yongbok mimics what he witnessed you do countless times to your friends. He places a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly.

“It will pass,” Yongbok reassures, not with a misplaced sense of optimism, but because it is an undeniable truth. Humans forget as much as they remember, grieve as much as they love, heal as much as they hurt. In their short life, everything they go through passes. It is how they survive the hurts of the heart.

“I don’t want it to. If the pain passes then I won’t have anything to remember her by,” Hyunjin smiles sadly, patting Yongbok’s hand above his own.

“Don’t you regret loving her?” he asks, perplexed by the breathing contradiction before him.

“I regret losing her, not loving her. Never loving her.”

As he stood on the same rooftop you were on nights ago, Yongbok is left with Hyunjin’s sleek business card held between his fingers, and a dull longing in his heart, many, many hours later.

Can a straight line stray from its path? Can his void be replaced with love?

At what cost can an angel taste humanity?

“Our kind yongbok.” A calm voice speaks and the wings on Yongbok’s back twitch more intensely than they’ve ever done. The danger Seungmin spoke of was here.

At what cost could he not?

“Christopher,” Yongbok bows in respect, eyes refusing to meet those of his senior.

“You had no problem looking at all these humans, no?” Christopher muses and Yongbok takes one step back. Chris knows, he has always known and yet he allowed it.

Why?

“Fascinating creatures, right? I still fail to understand them. But what I do know for certain is that they are weak,” he pauses, Yongbok’s breath hitches in his throat. “Just like you.”

Yongbok’s nails dig forcefully into his palms, it does not soothe his nerves the way it does to you.

“But see, the difference between you and them is that they were crafted to be weak. Then again… everything about you is abnormal, you agree?” Chris speaks assuredly, his tongue telling facts alone. Yongbok remains silent, anticipating his punishment for trespassing into the human realm, for breaking the sacred rule of interacting with them.

Tales of chained angels, of those stripped of their wings, their bloodied feathers plucked out one by one haunt his thoughts. This is the closest Yongbok has gotten to fear.

In a blink, Chris materializes before him, his hand resting on Yongbok’s shoulder, reminiscent of the comforting gesture he extended to Hyunjin. However, this hold is not reassuring; it bears a weight that spells danger with every squeeze.

“Do you want to feel what humans do? Go, Yongbok, I won’t punish you. Roam with them, talk to them, and feel.”

Yongbok’s wings scatter with the wind, feathers falling like a curtain of white upon their heads. He falls to his knees, hand brought up to his chest as he suddenly senses everything surrounding him— the bitter wind brushing against his skin and the rush of hot blood coursing within his veins, the loud ringing of cars that morph into hands choking him, and worse of all, the loss of his wings that his spine seems to be weeping for.

“But remember, everything comes with a price,” Christopher’s polished shoes come into his view— Yongbok does not recognize the distorted reflection staring back. “Even weakness.”

Act two. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it.

“If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigy” - Neptune, Sleeping At Last.

Delicate snowflakes descend upon the earth, intricate crystals forming a pristine blanket that veils the ground, concealing its flaws to the naked eye. The snow doesn’t discriminate, it falls atop every building in Seoul, from towering skyscrapers adorned with luminous billboards to the humblest abodes, nestled in concealed alleys, all bathed in a bluish glow at the heights of the night.��

And in its fall, the snow does not leave Yongbok’s body behind, draping it in a cloak of icy tendrils, ones that seep through bones he did not know were capable of aching before. It mingles with his golden feathers, scattered all over the rooftop, tinged with his spilled blood. The crimson liquid oozes from his back to the ground, and in his first seconds as a human, Yongbok has already tainted the purity of the soil, he is already a nuisance, in this world too.

He is faintly aware of warm hands cradling his cheeks, attempting to infuse life into his pallid face. A kaleidoscope of blurry hues obscures his vision, and he is no longer sure how much time has passed since Christopher abandoned him on the unforgiven ground. It could have been mere minutes or lengthy hours— he is yet to be acquainted with how time passes on humans.

He also cannot recall you coming into the rooftop, does not remember when you pulled his head onto your lap, nor began combing your fingers soothingly through his golden locks. You are worried, he can still feel the pulsing of your heartbeat ringing in his ears, or maybe it is his own, he still cannot distinguish what is yours and what is his.

He’s in a haze, standing on the edge of a window, assaulted by biting winds that cut through him. He didn’t expect humanity to crash onto him this hard, for it to force oxygen onto his lungs only to set them ablaze.

“You’re awake, you’re okay.” Your reassuring words break through the disorienting daze, your hand firmly clasping his, guiding him away from the window’s edge, ushering him back into safety. In the familiarity of your voice, the winds relent, morphing into gentle zephyrs that cool the burning storm within him. He can feel the softness of your hand, your thumb swirling around his palm as if drawing out a soothing spell with your touch.

“H… hurts,” he stammers, the words escaping between breaths that struggle to find passage. He brings your palm atop his heart, where a myriad of stones seem to have found refuge, crushing his lungs and rendering them a cloud of useless dust, scattered away by the wind.

“It’s okay. You’re having a panic attack. It’s okay,” your voice is calm, though it speaks of frightening things. Would what he felt pass now that you put a name to it? Was it supposed to reassure him to hear that panic, like an uninvited intruder, has seized his being and is attacking it relentlessly? A secret ambush, a Trojan horse infiltrating his body under the guise of humanity.

“Help me,” his plea echoes weakly, an awkward sound that clashes with the very air particles, imprinting itself onto the oxygen you inhale. Is this what Christopher meant? Were his weaknesses only going to surge forth more now?

Is the cost of humanity facing the ugliness within you?

The questions swirl in his head like a relentless tornado, drowning out your voice until it becomes a distant murmur in the backburner of his mind. His body rebels against him, ears amplifying the cacophony of his breaths, shaky hands refusing to be still, lungs constricting to the point of near collapse. He’s back before the window, dangling over its edge with one silky thread, worn out from the countless humans who had clung to it in desperation before.

His hand slips. You seize it before he falls.

“Breathe with me, focus on my voice,” you come to him like a calming tide, pulling him into safe shores. You’re so close your nose almost brushes with his own, your hands enveloping his icy fingers to anchor him back to you. He tries to mimic your slow inhales, tuning out all his tumultuous thoughts to focus solely on you.

Under the starry sky and the unyielding snow, and through the panic that captures his being, his gaze seems to fixate on the most mundane of things— the soft moonlight filtering through the strands of your hair, casting a faint halo around your figure. As you draw in deep breaths, encouraging him to follow suit, the thought crosses his mind – perhaps, you are his guardian angel now.

Time passes in this shared rhythm until, finally, you release his face, falling beside him on the snow. His breaths find a more regular cadence, mirroring yours, yet an ache persists in his chest, as if unseen hands continue to press down on his heart, squeezing it dry of its blood.

You run a hand through your face tiredly, eyes looking up at the expanse before you. “Fuck, I thought you were dying.”

An apology lingers at the tip of his tongue, vocal cords itching to free the three syllables into the chilly air. But Yongbok has never apologized before, he doesn’t know how the words might crystallize in the cold. He isn’t sure he could bear witnessing their form now.

“What happened?” he ventures, his voice small and fragile, his face turning slightly toward you. You appear like a crescent moon, soft and gentle even with only half of your face visible to him.

“I came to the rooftop and I found you on the ground, surrounded by bloodied feathers and shaking from the cold,” you begin to explain only to freeze as if a crucial detail has just resurfaced in your memory. He knows what you’ll ask about before you speak.

“What are these feathers?” your inquiry hangs in the air, your gaze still directed ahead. He remains silent, unsure of how to explain the inexplicable.

“Who are you?” you press, and his reply comes in a single word, uttered vulnerably, “Yongbok.”

Please leave it at that.

Your voice is softer, more resigned when you speak again. “What are you?”

He does not need to voice the truth. He could chuckle and say that he’s human, what else do you expect him to be, and his voice might shake from the unrehearsed lie but you would believe him, and then he’ll make sure your paths would never cross again.

But a small part of him feels as if he does owe the truth to you. Because you cared for his well-being when you did not need to, gave up some of your warmth to infuse his being with it, sacrificed minutes of your time to make sure he’ll have sand left in his hourglass.

So, he sucks in a deep breath, gathering the courage to unravel the truth.

“I’m an angel. Your guardian angel. Or maybe was. I still don’t really know, yet.”

An incredulous laugh escapes your lips, gusts of powdery air materializing before him. “An angel?”

“Yes.”

“This is insane,” you shake your head, your face buried in the same palms that had cradled his cheeks tenderly moments ago— his sail amidst the winds.

“Is that how you managed to make all those butterflies appear that night?” you question, and he nods, shutting his eyes and releasing a strained exhale.

“So you’ve been guarding me all this time?”

“Since you turned eighteen.”

He freezes as he wonders what you’ll say next— maybe you’ll ask him to disappear from your life, not one to wish to mingle with angels and their kindred, maybe you’ll leave him be in the snow, lonely as he has always been.

What he doesn’t expect is for your eyes to find his, compassion swimming in your gleaming irises, your voice dripping with concern as you ask him. “What happened to you, Yongbok?”

There was no way for you to feel what he did, and yet you spoke as if you could— as if you peered into his heart and discovered it butchered and bruised, found thorns entangled around his veins instead of vines.

“I don’t know,” he chokes out a sob, as sudden tears stream down his cheeks, salty as they infiltrate his mouth, drowning him from within. The tears refuse to cease even after he wipes them, one after the other, a futile gesture akin to pouring water into sand, an attempt to nurture something not meant to grow.

“It’s okay,” you smile, your eyes shimmering like a million fireflies in the night. He shakes his head, as more tears escape him in the guise of words. In all of the times he has seen you cry, he never fathomed he would have sobs racking his body, too. That tears would cascade like an unyielding waterfall, an earthquake shaking the planes of his body, rattling his bones with an intensity beyond what he believed humans could endure.

“It’s okay,” you repeat, cradling his face against the warmth of your neck, his tears seeping through your clothing. He is weeping, though he does not know what for. For nothing yet everything. For the loss of his wings and the birth of his heart. For the harshness of the ground and the softness of your hold. For the Yongbok who perished and the one who came to life.

…

A fallen angel comes in various forms, some are entirely disgraced while others retain fragments of their celestial countenance. Yongbok, though deprived of his wings, did not lose his powers. He realized this when he instinctively healed the wounds on his back, the torn skin scarring in fleeting seconds. A small mercy bestowed upon him by Christopher, or so it seemed.

He will understand the reasons behind this act much later.

But for now, in his first breaths of humanity, when the echoes of his sobs have at last withdrawn from his being, leaving behind a lingering weariness, he is dealing with less stellar facets of his existence— the more mundane technicalities of it.

“So, not to rub salt on the wound but I assume you also don’t have a place to stay in,” you ponder, waiting until he regains enough composure to grasp your words, ensuring they wouldn't float beyond his reach.

“No, I didn’t exactly prepare for this,” he winces, his gaze briefly meeting the scattered feathers on the ground. But not for too long, looking at them invited a grand sense of loss into his being, a sentiment too weighty for his fragile state to harbor.

“You can stay at mine, and tomorrow we can start looking for a house for you?” you suggest, stretching out your tired limbs.

“You don’t… You don’t need to help me.”

Yongbok does need your help, you are the only human he knows and he is unfamiliar with how your kind acquire housing. And yet he finds himself at the crossroads between what his heart wants and what his tongue speaks of— ready to vehemently refuse your proposal to not inconvenience you, as if he’s a towering mountain poised to shoulder burdens when in reality, his being has never been this frail.

“You guarded me for five years,” you smile softly, effortlessly dispelling away his concerns like meaningless specks of dust. “It’s the least I could do.”

Stepping into your home was as familiar as walking into his own. He, unwittingly, memorized each nook and cranny of your place, a consequence of all the times he had lingered near— hovering, more accurately, above. So much so that he instinctively slips off his shoes and places them in your rack, mirroring the countless times he observed you perform the same task.

“So you really are my guardian angel,” you shudder quietly and he hums in questioning, turning to look at you, “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you respond, perking up and adorning your lips with a swift smile. “Would you like something to eat?”

“I’m okay,” he whispers, attempting to shrink as much as possible in the confines of your place. He has never felt this much discomfort in his own body, as though the skin draped on his bones belonged to a stranger.

“Well, I’m hungry so you’ll eat with me,” you say with a warm smile, putting your hair up in a quick bun before walking into the kitchen. You move seamlessly as if you are hosting a long-time friend rather than an angel you saved from possible hypothermia.

“Buldak ramen?” you ask, hands resting on the counter.

“Sure,” he nods, settling atop the stool.

He watches in silence as you bring the water to a boil, before pouring two servings of the instant noodles into it. You pause, thinking it over before adding two more.

“How are you so nonchalant about this?” he blurts out, finally freeing the question that had been swirling and growing in his mind- an insatiable weed that needed to be plucked before it infested his brain completely.

“About having an angel in my house who was apparently cast away from the skies and has guarded me for the past five years without me knowing, and who somehow knows where my shoe closet is without me needing to share?” you ramble in one breath, the tightness in your chest palpable. “Yeah, I’m totally cool about that.”

“You’re totally not cool about that.”

“No, I’m not,” you admit sheepishly, settling on the stool before him. “I mean I am. A friend of mine met his guardian angel two years ago when he saved him from a horrible car accident. So, your existence does not freak me out, it’s common knowledge for us humans.”

You bite your lip, averting your gaze from him to the painting adorning the wall above your couch—a bouquet of red roses where the petals seem dripping scarlet, resounding with passion and love, signed by H.

“It’s just… did you do something bad? For you to be left there alone?”

“Not bad,” he mumbles, clearing his throat awkwardly. It suddenly seemed silly to explain to a human that he envied their humanity, the one thing most of them seem to despise. “I broke the rules by talking to you that night, then to another human, and I was punished for it. I think,” he adds hesitantly.

“Oh,” you gasp softly, redirecting your attention to the pot to turn off the heat. It makes breathing easier for him. “You think?” you echo.

“It’s what I wanted,” he whispers, a bit breathless, now frightened by this newfound reality. He kept his powers and yet he lost his wings— he cannot fly back to his home and yet he can conjure anything his mind wishes for. He is with the one human that sparked his fascination and yet he cannot stop thinking of the price Christopher mentioned. Thinking too much about any of these things brings tears back to his throat— his body yearning to produce a liquid it has never known before.

“So, I assume you’ve never watched Howl’s Moving Castle up there,” you abruptly shift the subject, a radiant smile gracing your face as you pour the ramen into two bowls, generously topping them off with cheese.

“No?” His response carries a hint of uncertainty, and a sudden wave of frustration washes over him for feeling so displaced in his own existence. Yet, you appear oblivious to the awkwardness emanating from him as you gasp enthusiastically, seizing the two bowls and making your way to the couch.

“Oh, I think you’ll like it,” you beam, patting the spot next to you before taking the remote and queuing up the movie.

The meal tastes better than anything Yongbok has ever eaten in his life, each bite igniting his taste buds in a symphony of flavors, akin to the spark of a popping candy in his mouth. He finds himself engrossed in the movie, in the stunning visuals, the gentle hues, and the paradoxical characters, uncovering reflections of his own existence within them.

He has never understood the need humans felt for art, dedicating hours upon hours to creating something not for their personal gain, but for others to watch, to reach, to touch. A craft not to appease one’s soul but to soothe the spirits of others. Yet, as the movie’s credits come to an end, a subtle shift occurs within him. Perhaps, he thinks with his widely beating heart, he now understands a little more.

“I feel terrible like there is a weight on my chest,” you repeat one of Howl’s concluding lines, stealing a glance at him, a tender smile gracing your face. The one dialogue that felt like a mirror was brought up to Yongbok's face.

“A heart’s a heavy burden,” he completes Sophie’s response to Howl.

“That’s true. The heart weighs heavily on those who bear it,” you speak softly, as one would do to a child taking tentative steps into the world, learning that their first breath starts with grieving the only place you've known for nine months, followed by happiness, then sadness again, akin to the moon’s gradual phases. And maybe, in a way, he is a child lost in the overwhelming flood of these emotions, ones yet to be untangled in his mind but that already lay upon him like stones.

“Not everyone knows they have a heart, Yongbok. Some end up dying before ever feeling, without ever truly living.”

“I just didn’t imagine it would be this… soul-crushing to bear it,” he admits softly, the words escaping him like a delicate secret. There's a hint of fear that accompanies his confession, an apprehension that Christopher might materialize before him, speaking in that calm, knowing tone—berating him with a simple “I told you so.”

“It’s a little organ facing a big life. It’s normal for it to be overwhelmed, don’t you think?”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement, placing a trembling palm above his heart. Still as heavy.

“You had a long night, get some rest, okay? We can start looking for a house tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he nods, as you rise from your place, only to reach for your wrist before fully thinking it through. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

In the cracks of his heart, one seed of gratitude has been planted, a singular ray of light amid a stretch of darkness.

Finding a house turns out to be a strenuous task, and Yongbok feels remarkably disinterested in the discussions with every real estate agent you encounter. You play the role of his assistant, weaving a tale about an important businessman client who abruptly secured a job transfer to Seoul. However, he couldn't care less for the large windows ushering sunlight or the expansive patio offering picturesque views of Seoul. Instead, he focuses on your reactions to each room—the gasps of delight at spacious storage areas and the vacant rooms you dream of adorning in the future, once you're no longer a broke college student, as you explain.

You envision a room dedicated to your books, with a chair nestled in the middle for the long nights you spend reading, and another room designed as a painting studio. The expansive kitchens you visit are perfect for your baking endeavors, and Yongbok, perplexed by your fascination with fridges sporting two doors, finds amusement in your lively antics. Yet, a void persists within him, unfilled by the prospects of a shiny new home.

“Still not the one?” you ask on your third day of apartment hunting, and he shakes his head.

“It’s okay, we’ll find the perfect one soon,” you reassure, and in that moment, he thinks back to your very first conversation on the rooftop, wonders how you can find hope for everyone surrounding you but yourself.

“I still can’t believe I befriended a nepo angel,” you giggle, before inching closer to him on the couch, peering at him from beneath your eyelashes. “My air fryer is broken by the way, can you replace it?”

He contemplates for a minute before shaking his head, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “No.”

“Aren’t you my guardian angel?”

“Right, a guardian angel. Not a bank.”

“But if my air fryer isn’t replaced soon then I’ll keep using it even though all its electric wires are now exposed and a fire will break out and I’ll end up dying—”

“Fine,” he heaves a resigned sigh, “I’ll replace it.”

“Can you also get me the Le Creuset kitchen set?” you grin, standing in your kitchen a few minutes later, cradling your brand-new air fryer between your arms.

“I'm not your sugar daddy.”

Your gasp is so comical that it coaxes a little giggle from his lips. “So you know about sugar daddies and not Studio Ghibli movies.”

“Gossip travels in our world too,” he shrugs, and you put the air fryer down, leaning closer to his face. From this proximity, he can discern the delicate curve of your eyelashes and the way they frame your glowing eyes—how can your eyes shine so brightly even under the shittiest kitchen lighting he’s ever seen?

"Hello? Did you hear me?" you wave a hand before his face, and he snaps back to reality, your voice flooding his senses again.

“Hm?”

“Never mind,” you shrug your hand dismissively in the air, “should we celebrate your third day of knowing me?”

“That's cause for celebration?” he frowns, and you playfully hit his arm. “I feed you, I clothe you, I put a roof above your head—” Your words are muffled as he clasps a hand over your mouth.

“Can you hear that?” he wonders.

You shake your head no.

“It's quiet, finally.”

His hand, a feeble barrier, does not manage to muffle your offended gasp, and in that moment, Yongbok laughs for the first time in his existence, a sound that ripples from the roots of his being, washing over his sadness and erasing it for a split second.

His eyes are closed as he tips his head back in laughter, and he misses the way your eyes soften, your retort withering at the tip of your tongue.

He’s beautiful when he smiles, you think. You hope for all his powers he cannot hear your thoughts.

…

Yongbok does not know what’s there to celebrate on his third day in this world, for all he had felt so far was excruciating sadness. But he complies with your wishes, rising at dawn to join you on the shore of the nearby ocean. Seated on the sand dampened by morning dewdrops, the remnants of melting snow resemble ink on a page not yet dry.

He watches as the last threads of the night unfold before his eyes, leaving way to a mesmerizing palette of soft pinks and oranges, the sky blushing from a night spent with the moon.

You brought him to witness the sun rising above the ocean, said that it would help calm down the frenzy of his heart. You are quite right, since the rhythmic dance of the waves acts like a spell, unraveling the knot in his tongue and coaxing him to recount everything that has led him up to this moment, to you. You were the main reason for his journey, he did not see it fitting to conceal the truth from you. He did not know yet how to deceive or lie.

“So you wanted to feel?” you conclude softly and Yongbok nods, eyes not peeling away from the sky before him. It looks grander from below, a vast ceiling you never fear might collapse on you.

“That’s why it overwhelmed you a lot, every emotion is heightened because it was the first time, I suppose” you muse.

“Yeah, but does it ever lessen with time? Isn't that why you cry often?” he asks, now free of the bounds that once restricted his curiosity.

“Can you please not bring this up again?” you hide your face, and he tilts his head, a perplexed expression etched on his features.

“Why is that?”

“It's embarrassing that you saw me cry this much,” you mumble, your words nearly drowned out by the crashing waves.

“It's not embarrassing. It's... fascinating,” he asserts. You stare at him incredulously, prompting him to elaborate. “You go down the same path, fully aware of where it leads, and yet, you do it again on the off chance that you'll receive the same kindness you show.”

“I sound stupid,” you giggle, and he mirrors your smile, not to mimic you, but because the corners of his mouth yearn to curve upwards, refusing to leave you alone in your grin.

“No, you sound brave.”

Your eyes soften at his words, the light of the rising sun filtering easily through your irises, causing your pupils to widen with each passing second.

“Thank you.”

A tranquil quiet settles between you, the soothing sound of the waves filling the silence. The sun hovers directly above the water now, perched on the horizon, the sky much bolder in the colors it showcases.

“I come here when my heart feels too heavy to bear. I suppose that looking at the sea calms me,” you murmur, your cheek pressed against your knee.

“Why is that?”

“For these waves to reach the shore, they go through a lot, you know? Storms and tumultuous roads, and rage fills them, anger, sadness too at being away from home for too long. But then, they always reach the shores at last. And they calm down, and they’re at peace.”

You turn to look at him, the hues of the sunrise reflecting off your face, dancing with the shadows that mold your features.

You look beautiful, so much so that he almost misses what you say next.

“So it is comforting to know that no matter how grand my worries are, there will come a time when they too will grow tired and rest.”

“It will pass,” he whispers and you nod cheerfully. “See, you’re already getting the gist of it.”

“No,” he contradicts, “everything I know about humanity is from you.”

The colors of the sky seem to seep through your face at his words, and an unfamiliar warmth spreads through his being at the thought of making you blush.

He licks his lips tentatively, bringing your hand to rest atop his heart, hoping that the pressure will help ease its tension.

It does, ever so slightly.

“It feels like my heart is squeezed between two narrow walls,” he explains and you nod in understanding.

“Like it’s been sucked through a straw that drains you out of life.”

“Yes,” He exhales with contentment at the thought of someone understanding what he means, of what he feels no longer being an anomaly, but the norm for most.

“Will you move in with me?” he suddenly asks, and you startle, your fingers growing limp in his hold.

“What?”

“Your apartment is shitty, you hate your landlord and I’m pretty sure there is mold growing on your walls.”

“Okay, no need to attack me,” you roll your eyes amusedly.

“I’ll buy the apartment you wanted, it technically doesn’t cost me anything and it’s closer to your university too, you no longer have to commute. You can get the library you wanted and the painting space too.”

“But—”

“I’m a fallen angel tasting humanity for the first time, I don’t know what I’m doing or what I’m supposed to do. I haven’t looked in a mirror yet because I don’t know who I’ll find there. And I’m so scared, Y/n, so scared,” he confesses, breathless, his hand still pressing your palm against his erratic heart.

A few seconds of heavy silence pass, Yongbok senses a resolve in you unfold.

“And in return?” you ask tentatively.

“I want to be happy,“ he breathes out, eyes flickering over yours like a swaying candlelight, “Could you show me how it’s done?”

Act 3. What’s an angel to a human?

“I want a better body, I want better skin, I wanna be perfect like all your other friends"- Black Friday, Tom Odell.

“So, happiness.” You stand near a blank whiteboard in the middle of your cramped living room, the one you just asked Yongbok to conjure out of thin air.

You’ve been slightly abusing his ability to make your every wish materialize in a fleeting second, but only for useless things, like a bar of soap that smells specifically of these notes combinations you always thought would pair heavenly together (they did not), or a tube of salted caramel ice cream at 2 a.m. because you were too lazy to walk to the fridge (it was mere two meters away). Or just like now, a huge whiteboard so you’d explain to him, visually, how to achieve happiness.

You told him that you’d only allow him to buy you a new house if he truly felt happy, for the very first time in his life. When he asked you how he’d know, you said he’d simply do, when the time comes. You shook hands on that promise two days ago.

“Was this really necessary?” he questions, cocking an eyebrow at you. In response, you place your palms against your hips, eyes squinting at his dubious figure.

“Do you want to be happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then, shut up.”

“I don’t think violence is the way to go about joy,” he quips and you quickly shut him up with a glare. Yongbok came to find that annoying you brought him a strange sense of satisfaction— he enjoyed seeing you pivot away, trying your best to conceal your amused smirk at his teasing. You always fail, or perhaps his perception of your being is heightened by the bond you share.

“I was saying, happiness is a byproduct of biological reactions.” You draw in a smiley face with utter concentration, and he stifles a giggle at the simplistic representation of the feeling. “There are four main hormones that allow us to feel happiness.” You pause, pointing your pen at him. “Yongbok, do you know which these are?”

“If I did know, why would I be here?”

“True,” you nod vigorously, looking back at the whiteboard before locking eyes with him once more. “Can you please play along? I’ve always wanted to be a teacher,” you smile excitedly, speaking in hushed tones as if it was meant to be a shared secret between you both, far from the reach of the angels and peers that must be looking down at you both right now— you in indifference, him in disdain.

He shudders at the thought.

“Fine. No, I do not Miss,” his smile is small, it grows when your eyes soften at him playing along. “Care to explain?”

“So, in theory, we have dopamine, serotonin, endorphins, and oxytocin.” You flip the board, revealing some intricate drawings of what looks like the human brain, different arrows going out of it, filled with many inscriptions that he assumes are definitions of the hormones you just revealed.

“But all of this is…” you play the drums on the board, leaning forth in suspense. “Useless!” you shout, throwing your marker and eraser in the air. Yongbok claps diligently at your dramatics.

“You know for humans with limited amounts of time on this earth, you sure do love wasting your precious minutes,” he taunts and a fire seems to light in your eyes, flames surging higher each time you poke fun at one another.

“You know for an angel who desperately needs my help, you sure do talk a lot.”

“Touché,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Please grace me with your special knowledge.”

“Fine.” You plop down next to him on the couch, your knee bumping against his. A pang of ache flares in his being before disappearing as quickly as it came. It leaves him no time to decipher its cause.

“Happiness is the hardest thing to get in this life. Sometimes you follow all the instructions on how to be happy and yet fail to achieve it.” You speak with a lingering bitterness in your tone as if you’ve spent the best part of your life following defective manuals.

“Happiness won’t come to you, Yongbok. It doesn’t come knocking on our doors. You’ll have to search for it. Especially on days when everything seems grim and dark, you’ll have to squint your eyes and find it in the small things all around you. And when you do, hold on to them with all your might. Even if your hand bleeds, you hold on just as tightly.”

“What small things?” he asks, turning his entire body towards you. He is almost breathless, waiting for you to spell out the secret to tasting life’s sweetest fruit.

“Things that remain gentle no matter what time does to you. Like looking at flowers, sitting underneath the sun, watching the sea, being kind and helping people, enjoying your favorite hobby… “ you enumerate, your eyes never leaving his. “Do you have a hobby?”

“No?” he replies, though it comes off more as a question. You pick up on his uncertainty, waving a hand quickly through the air.

“It’s okay. I’ll help you find one. I promise.”

His response comes as easily as an autumn breeze.

“Okay. I believe you.”

You beam at him, sunlight seemingly pouring into your pores, brightening your face from within. He finds it strange that he suddenly sees the sun in you, a star he has never taken an interest in. But he quickly brushes the thought aside, mirroring your grin.

“I was also thinking,” you add, “you should work with me at my café.”

“Me?” he points at himself and you giggle, nodding. “Yes, you! Do you want to just sit here all day waiting for me to come home from uni?”

“What? Who said I don’t want to be your trophy wife?”

You snort, bewildered. “A what?”

“I did a deep dive into Urban Dictionary yesterday.”

You blink once. Then twice. “Crazy words to hear from an angel. And it’s a no, to being my trophy wife.”

“Please?” he pushes, tugging at the outskirts of your sleeve.

“No,” you sing-song, standing up and heading to the kitchen. “We needed a new barista anyway. And I’ll teach you how to make coffee. Also, I think you’ll enjoy people-watching.”

“That sounds creepy!” he shouts from the couch.

“Says the guy who told me I cry an average of 160 times per year!”

“It’s 165, actually,” he corrects.

You peek your head out of the kitchen, pointing a threatening finger at him. “Die.”

“What happened to live laugh love?”

“Just how much did you stay on Urban Dictionary?”

“A lot,” he shudders, shaking his head. You burst into uncontainable giggles, and the same satisfaction floods Yongbok’s being. Although this time it is much stronger.

It is a weird thought that suddenly brushes his mind— he thinks that if the sun ever spoke it would be your laugh spilling out of its mouth.

…

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you grin, spreading your arms wide as you open the door to Haven Café. Yongbok follows closely behind, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his black jeans.

“It’s nice,” he says absentmindedly, his eyes sweeping across every surface of the interior.

“Nice? This is my baby. Please be more expressive,” you retort, pointing a finger at him threateningly. He shakes his head, amused.

“This is the most beautiful place my fallen angel eyes have ever seen,” he says with mock reverence.

He isn’t lying, though. Resplendent flower vases adorn every corner, and a warm, inviting atmosphere permeates the space, evident in the comfortable auburn chairs and the books scattered on the sage shelves.

“I was actually wondering… What makes something beautiful?” he suddenly asks. You pause in your tracks, then resume opening the blinds.

“How it makes you feel,” you say simply. “Help me?” you add. Yongbok nods, sidling up to your side to open the remaining windows.

“This place is beautiful to me because it makes me feel at ease. I know that whatever happens, I can always escape here. Between the flower vases, the aroma of coffee, and the large windows, I feel good. At home,” you explain.

“But isn’t home your house?” he asks earnestly, tilting his head to the side. Your smile, warm and comforting, brushes over him like a fleeting sunbeam.

“Home is where you feel most like yourself.”

He does when you’re nearby.

Does that make you my home? He wants to ask, but something inside stops him. He thinks it is too big of a confession to be uttered at the rise of dawn.

“When did you start working here?” he asks, watching you refill the ice.

“Seven years ago.”

“Oh,” he gasps softly, suddenly remembering that he hasn’t known you your entire life. He wasn’t there to guard you through your childhood, to watch you stumble off the steps, or swing high to the sky. He realizes how little he knows about you. He suddenly aches to learn more, to know everything.

“The owner was our old neighbor, so when I was sixteen, he got me my first job here. I’m very attached to this place and its memories so I still come here.”

“Memories,” he repeats to himself slowly, as if tentatively tasting the way the word feels on his tongue.

“What was that?” you ask, as you sweep the counter with a purple rug.

“It’s nice to have memories,” he smiles and you scrunch your nose, shaking your head slightly.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I have no memories. None worth getting attached to anyway because all my life was spent feeling the same way. So, in a way…” he pauses, licking his lips tentatively. “I have never lived anything that shaped me. Except for meeting you.” A few silent beats pass, and you feel as if he has more to say, so you remain quiet.

Yongbok opens his mouth, only to close it again, deciding against speaking. Yet again, too early.

“It’s your first life, in a way,” you finally say, “there are all these unknown feelings that you are experiencing for the first time. It’s unfair to you if you expect yourself to figure it out from the get-go.”

Your palm rests upon his back, swiping gently left and right before you move around the corner to filter the coffee. But Yongbok feels as if the clock orchestrating the universe has halted, the seconds freezing the moment your hand touched his back.

It is a heavy, gruesome knowledge that he bears— knowing that beneath your warm, comforting touch lies a map of butchered skin and scars running down his spine. His powers had fallen short of erasing the remnants of his lost wings, leaving behind clots of skin that starkly highlight all his imperfections in one place.

Yongbok had looked at his back only once, a fleeting glance before he vowed never to set eyes on his abomination again, this grotesque reminder clinging to him like skeletons overflowing from his closet.

He felt ugly, and worthless for carrying such a vivid reminder of who he once was. Who he failed to be. No one should ever see his back.

Especially not you.

“There are twenty minutes left until opening. Shall we discover what your favorite drink is?” you ask, snapping Yongbok out of his haze.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat with an inhuman effort. “That sounds nice.”

Yongbok doesn't like coffee—you could tell from the scrunch of his nose and the squint in his eye after one sip of his iced Americano. “Are you bad at making coffee, or does it always taste like this?” he asks, and you throw a dozen napkins at his head in response.

“People ask for me specifically to make their coffee. Know your place,” you squint threateningly. He raises his hands in surrender, biting his tongue cheekily. Your eyes linger a bit too long on his lips, shaped like a cupid’s bow, their arrow striking straight through your heart.

It sometimes astonishes you how pretty your guardian angel is, and how seemingly unaware he is of the beauty he carries within each one of his features, each worthy of paintings and sculptures to immortalize them for eternity to come.

“This is good,” he grins, sipping his caramel Frappuccino happily.

“Because it’s ninety percent sugar,” you smile just as brightly. He puts down the drink slowly, eyeing you curiously.

“Why do I feel as if this is a secret insult?”

“It’s not a secret insult. I’m doing it to your face,” you smile, and he rolls his eyes so much they almost reach the back of his head. You can’t help but giggle quietly as he grabs the vanilla matcha drink. “Wow I can’t believe the sassy men apocalypse affects angels as well,” you sigh.

“I literally have no idea what half of these words are.”

“What happened to Urban Dictionary?”

“Die.”

“Aww, look at you picking up my slang already,” you coo at him.

It's his turn to fling balled-up napkins at your face. You dodge them perfectly as if in a dance you’ve rehearsed thousands of times before.

“Anyways,” you clap excitedly, “you have five minutes to make me a latte.”

“Me? But I don't know how to.”

You place a recipe book before him, tapping the counter diligently. “I expect the world’s tastiest latte.”

A small smirk draws upon his lips as he shakes his head slightly. The sight of him makes you flustered all of a sudden.

“Anything else, your majesty?”

“No,” you grin. “Have fun!”

You wander through the café, dusting the books on the shelves– your most prized possessions, ones that you bought and others that customers themselves have donated. You return to Yongbok’s side when his voice booms through the place, calling your name.

“Here,” he slings the drink toward you, and your face contorts in shock.

“What the fuck? Since when do you know how to do this?”

“Do what?”

“This intricate latte art?” you point to the foam forming a perfectly drawn white swan.

“Ah, this. One time you were in the kitchen, very frustrated because you couldn’t get this shape right. So, I did it for you.”

“Are all angels as sweet as you?” you grin, taking a sip of the drink and holding his gaze over the rim of the glass. His heart catches in his throat for two reasons—anticipation as he awaits your reaction, and hunger as he aches for you to describe him even more, to dress him in all the adjectives linked to his being so he wouldn’t feel like a stranger, a blank canvas in his own body.

“How is it?” he asks. You remain silent, taking another sip.

“Mm.”

“Mm?” he echoes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s opening time!” you sing-song, walking away, and he follows behind you. “Why won’t you tell me? Is it that bad?”

“I don’t want to!” you speed up walking, and so does he. You end up running, skirting around the chairs, your laughter coating the room like golden honey. “Leave me alone!”

“You have to tell me!” he shouts, chasing after you in an impromptu game of catch. He suddenly manages to grab your arm, spinning you around until your back is against the table, his arms on either side of your body. His eyes are suddenly drawn to the languid rise and fall of your chest, and then to the way your tongue slowly swipes across your lips, wetting them.

A sudden warmth pools in his lower stomach, and he lets out a shuddered breath, his heart caught in a web of unknown feelings.

“Am I interrupting?” an unknown voice breaks in, and Yongbok quickly takes three hurried steps away from you, his cheeks ablaze as if flames are latching onto them—he doesn’t know if it’s from his embarrassment or from the golden specks he could decipher in your eyes.

“Mr. Kang!” you shout excitedly, skipping over to stand by the man’s side. He’s shorter than you, his back slightly hunched from time’s morphing hands, and his smile is warm as it lands on you. He reaches out to ruffle your hair in greeting before his gaze lands on Yongbok.

“Is this your friend?” he asks, the same smile still etched into his lips. You nod, and Yongbok bows deeply before straightening up.

“Can he make nice coffee?” Mr. Kang asks, and Yongbok stares at you expectantly.

“The best,” you finally grin, and a worried breath dissipates from his chest.

“I think we’ll get more clients too. He’s very handsome!”

“I know, you should see his freckles,” you giggle, pointing to a lightbulb that needs fixing on the other side of the café. Yongbok stays rooted in place, trying his best to steady his breathing. He is sure his face has turned the shade of the sky after a crimson sunset.

…

“This is Chris,” you say, standing by Yongbok’s side two hours later as he diligently wipes the counter. Yongbok follows your gaze to a young man nodding his head to the rhythm of his headphones. He looks serious, eyebrows furrowed, and his lips pressed into a thin line. His hair is hidden beneath a black cap, but a few strands escape, swooping like a duck’s tail.

“We take a music theory class together. He’s the nicest guy you’ll ever meet, a true social butterfly. I think the term was coined for him,” you explain. As if summoned by your words, Chris looks up, his eyes finding the two of you. He tilts his head in greeting, clicks a few keys on his laptop, then rises to join you.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he grins, and you roll your eyes. “When are you going to drop the cheesy nicknames?”

“Never,” he smiles, dimples deepening. They remain as his gaze shifts to Yongbok.

Yongbok isn’t used to smiles that don’t falter when they land on him.

“Hey, mate,” Chris says, extending his hand. Yongbok nods, shaking it.

“I’m Chris.”

“Yongbok.”

“Are you new here?”

“No, we just found him outside and forced him to make coffee,” you tease. Chris bumps your shoulder playfully. “Shut up. Good luck having to stand her for so long.”

“As if you aren’t obsessed with me,” you scoff, turning to Yongbok. “He refuses to drink coffee anywhere else.”

“Because you give me free sweets.”

“In this economy?” Mr. Kang appears suddenly, and the two of you burst into laughter at his timing. “Did your daughter teach you that?” you giggle, and he nods, almost desolate as if forced to acquire this knowledge.

“Anyway, we should hang out at one of my parties, Yongbok. Let’s catch up,” Chris grins before winking at you— “My usual, please, baby.”

You send him a playful middle finger. He blows you a kiss as he returns to his seat.

“We’ve known each other for three years now. He’s very annoying,” you smile, shaking your head. “But he’s a good friend.”

Yongbok feels something chip away in his heart, as his eyes land on Chan’s figure yet again. A slow ache swirls in his stomach like thorny vines. Time seems different for humans. He has known his fellow angels for much longer yet he doesn't think anyone would ever speak of him with this fond of a tone.

---

“You did well,” you smile, patting Yongbok’s shoulder at the end of the day, the café as empty as it was at 6 a.m.

“Thank you, it was nice,” he replies with a tired, yet genuine smile. You nod, a slight yawn taking over you.

“Will you help me get some flour from the back? Then we can go home.”

Home. A concept that seems less foreign when you are near.

“Sure.”

“It’s there,” you point to a high shelf in the storage room. “We usually use a staircase, but we broke ours last month. I almost fell on my head— “

“But ended up magically walking away unscathed?” he interrupts. “I know.”

You slam a hand over your mouth, staggering back. “How?”

“Y/n... please don’t be surprised when I tell you this,” Yongbok frowns, placing a hand on his heart.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

“When I told you I was your guardian angel, it meant that I actually guarded you from harm’s way.”

“No,” you shake your head.

“I know,” he nods solemnly. “I’ve saved you from many, many clumsy falls.”

“My savior,” you giggle. “Lift me?” you say, and he nods, squatting down until you climb atop his shoulders before rising again.

“Okay, get a bit closer,” you instruct as you grab a packet of flour. “Shit, okay, this is heavy,” you giggle nervously.

“Why are you shaking? I’m the one carrying you,” Yongbok chuckles.

“When have you ever seen me around the vicinity of a gym?”

“Just hang in there, I’ll squat slowly,” he reassures.

Your feet are almost on the ground when the bag slips from your hands, falling with a resounding bang. Clouds of white envelop you both, shrouding your clothes in powder. You freeze, only to erupt into laughter as Yongbok grabs your waist, pulling you down to him.

“My god,” you manage to utter between chuckles, staring at the flour scattered all over the ground. Your laughter intensifies as Yongbok stares at you blankly, his face completely covered in white.

“What should I do?” you giggle, clutching your stomach. Yongbok can’t hold in his laughter much longer at the sight of the tears rolling down your cheeks. His giggles stream through your veins like a cup of hot tea, making your entire being warm up from within.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh, your palms settling atop his cheeks, slightly wiping away the powder.

“It’s okay,” he chuckles still, swiping his knuckles across your cheek to remove the flour, as well. Your hands cease their movements as you take in the fully concentrated look on his face.

“Can I ask you something?” you inquire quietly, and he nods.

“You seemed quiet today,” you note. He stiffens slightly before turning your cheek to the left, wiping the other side of your face. “Or was I wrong?”

“I don’t really know how to talk to other people.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m scared they’ll be able to tell there is something abnormal about me.”

“Yongbok...” you speak his name softly as if it was molded after your voice alone. “That’s nonsense. There is nothing abnormal about you.”

He avoids your gaze, so you place your hand atop his, tilting your face to catch his eyes. “Hm?”

“Just because my wings aren’t here doesn’t mean my past is erased.”

“Who said it should be? No one’s asking you to be perfect. No human is, Yongbok.” He remains silent, so you sigh softly, inching closer to him.

“If a straight line goes on with its path...” your fingertip drags a straight line across his chest, the white shirt he’s wearing suddenly igniting from the warmth of your touch. “It will remain undisturbed for the rest of its life. But what good is that? If a line doesn’t go down,” you trace a curve down his shirt, then one up again, “how will it ever know how sweet a high is, right?” you smile, before bopping your fingertip across the tip of his nose.

“You have pretty freckles, by the way,” you smile, and he clears his throat, nodding furiously. “Thank you.”

“You know, the guy who ordered the matcha latte, he spent his entire time here observing you,” you grin knowingly, and he frowns. “Really? I didn’t notice.”

“Yes, and when you gave him the change, he did the... what was it called again?” you muse for a few seconds before clapping. “Ah, yes, the triangle method.”

“What’s that?”

“He looked into your left eye, then your right one,” you demonstrate with your gaze gliding across his like a skilled ice skater grazing the surface of ice. “Then... his gaze flickered to your lips,” your eyes follow your words, and his breath suddenly catches in his throat, an unknown feeling swelling in the pits of his stomach. Tender and aching all at once.

“Did it work? Did I fluster you?” you giggle, leaning to place your ear atop his heart. Yongbok pushes your head away, grateful for the dim lighting that conceals his blushing face. He doesn’t know what emotion will burst into him if your head rests across his chest.

He doesn’t think his heart could handle it.

“No, you didn’t, um—” he’s flustered. He prays with all his might you can’t tell. “Let’s clean this up, I’m hungry.”

“What should we have for dinner?”

“Sushi?”

“No, let’s have kimbap.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

You shrug happily. “I’m giving you the illusion of choice.”

Your words send a chill running down his spine, his hands freezing in place. Is this what Chris has offered him? An illusion of choice. Of a different ending. Of a fate different from what he has always thought would be his.

No, Christopher can’t be that cruel, right? Yongbok shakes his head, cleaning the entire room with an absentminded swipe of his hand.

A fool made to believe he can change a prophecy.

But Yongbok can’t help the small voice growing in his head, feeding off his worries and anxiety, echoing mindlessly within his mind.

But he can.

He can.

He is.

…

Time passes differently on humans than on angels. It now marks Yongbok in different ways, too.

The hours he spends feeling sad are excruciating, stretching long and long till he starts to question whether the sun does rise at the end of the night. Or if it is a cruel lie recounted by humans to make the sadness less harsh, easier to bear.

But those same hours he spends happily pass within the blink of an eye, their fragments stitching into Yongbok’s memory, a tapestry woven with threads of your silky voice and glimmering eyes. It is those happy moments he lived for the past month that he wishes to remember.

Only those.

He's gotten better at latte art, taking pleasure in drawing different shapes, animals, and even faces into the drinks. It’s less the satisfaction of being good at a task, and more so the smile that blooms on the faces of whichever customer gets their drink. Delighted by something he did, for once.

He’s good at making brownies. And apparently, his brownies are the best you’ve ever had. He’s only ever discovered the joys of baking because you were craving some but were feeling too lazy to make them. It was arguably hard to bake in the dark, as if ashamed of what your reaction would be if you found him struggling with pots and browned butter.

But all of his embarrassment dissipated when you tasted them first thing in the morning, your eyes lingering longer on his figure when you found the plate.

Mr. Kang agrees, too, so much that he’s asked him to put up these brownies for sale. Yongbok spends a lot of time with the kitchen staff, where Mrs. Kang, the head chef, teaches him the intricacies of carrot cake and cinnamon rolls. She calls him “son”, Yongbok doesn’t know why an urge to weep overtakes him each time he hears the nickname.

You took him on picnics across the Han River, bowls of steaming hot ramyeon in your hands as you watched the sunset, sometimes the sunrise too. He reads books lying on the grass field, your shoulder brushing against his own. He doesn’t know why he remembers the swipe of your skin against his, or the specific scent of your perfume as it intermingles with that of the salty river.

Sometimes it is bike rides across the river. You chasing the sun and him chasing something else— was it your smile, your happiness, a glimpse of your face each time you turned back to look at him? He doesn’t know the exact answer, but he knows that when your gaze met his across your shoulder, the wind swaying your hair as if spelling out lullabies for his soul, something excruciatingly tender bloomed within his soul.

Sometimes it is day trips to neighboring cities, where you can see the beach once again. Where he swims and floats atop the water. Where he closes his eyes and feels at peace, where the water chases off images of his pain and leaves only images of you.

He also volunteered at your local food kitchen. The people who eat there have called him kind, too. He feels as if you sat the course of how he would be perceived when you described him as such, the very first night you spoke in. He likes being there. He likes talking to people, he’s gotten better at it, too.

He met Chan, and his two friends, Han and Changbin. He doesn’t remember how he ended up singing ad-libs for their newest mixtape. But they complimented his voice, said it’s perfect for harmonizing. You had simply grinned as if you already knew that from the moment you had first heard him speak. You spent the rest of the night eating grilled meat and playing video games over at their dorm. Yongbok doesn't think he laughed as much as that day.

And each time he thinks the heights of his happiness are attained, that this is as joyful as he can get. That sorrow will undoubtedly follow closely, as it lingers just around the corner, waiting for the cup of his happiness to be filled to the brim. You prove him wrong. You make him laugh harder. You broaden his heart for him to receive even more happiness.

As you are doing now, missing every target to win this pink cat plushie in Lotte World.

“This is embarrassing, how can you miss all of them?” he sighs amusedly and you turn around, pointing a finger at his face.

“Because you are staring at me with your…” you stammer, waving your finger in front of his face, “eyes.”

“How am I supposed to look at you then?”

“Just don't. I don’t do well with scrutinizing.”

“Okay, I’m not looking.” he turns around, closing his eyes for a second, waving his hand discreetly through the air. He knows that your delighted scream will follow.

“Did you get it?” he feigns being surprised as you shake his shoulder, turning him around. “I did!”

Your smile is as wide as an ocean, as beautiful as the sunsets you take him to witness. He’s lost in thought as he takes in your grin.

“You look so pretty, Yn,” he says honestly, earnestly, because it is the only way he has ever known to speak to you. “Pretty like the sun.”

“Oh,” your excitement fizzles out, the plushie growing lump in your hold. “Doesn’t the sun burn the more you look at it?” you giggle nervously, tucking strands of your hair behind your ear. They are rebellious, refusing to stay still, so Yongbok steps forward, gently doing it for you.

“Because the sun shines a bit too brightly to make sure everything else in the universe does.” he pauses, running his tongue across the expanse of his lips. “Just like you, with me and everyone else in your life,” he says. My light is a reflection of yours, is what you hear.

“You are very honest,” you smile softly, bringing a hand to your ablaze cheeks, hoping to cool them down.

“Is it a bad thing?” he asks. Nervous. You quickly shake your head, despising the thought of a negative emotion trapping his heart.

“No, no. It’s a good one. Truly.”

“Okay.”

“Should we go to the ferry wheel?” you suddenly ask, hugging the plushie closely to your body.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go,” he grins.

Yongbok’s limbs are slightly achy from all the rides you went on today, but nothing seems to deter the smile on his face, even as the line stretches for meters ahead. Nothing, except for the discomfort slowly growing on your face, your thumb tearing at the skin near your nails.

“What’s wrong?” he questions, trying his best to catch your fleeting gaze.

“There are too— too many people around, I feel a bit suffocated.”

Yongbok doesn’t think, he simply grabs your hand and you are suddenly on the top of the ferry wheel, humans morphing into tiny ants to you from high above.

“Better?” he asks worriedly, tucking a strand of your hair behind the cuff of your ear.

You’re still slightly dazed, but the wind that slams into your body feels like a gulp of cold water.

“Your hands are shaking,” he notices, entwining your fingers with his, naturally, as if it is second nature for you both. “And they are cold. Are you dying?” he asks and you finally burst into giggles, shaking your head.

“No, I… I sometimes get anxious around people; it usually turns into a panic attack but I think you stopped it.”

“I helped you?” he asks, eyes softening and you nod. “Why are you surprised? you always do.”

Yongbok doesn’t know how to face the gentleness of your tone. It is a much harder opponent than the harshness he was subjected to.

“Do they happen often?”

“It depends. They come and go like the seasons. I actually… I learned how to help you from my mom. Do you remember? back on the rooftop?”

“Really?” he asks, bringing your interlocked hands to his mouth and blowing warm air onto them. His lips almost graze your knuckles in the process.

“Yeah. She got them frequently and she taught me how to ground her. And then I used those techniques on myself. Then on you.” you sigh, closing your eyes and tipping your head back.

“Hers happened because of a past accident. She once got stuck in a mob of people and ended up fainting. it was my dad who pulled her up from the ground, it’s how they met, actually,” you grin slightly, before breathing in slowly.

“You know, I read that you can inherit trauma from your parents, but also from generations past. That it changes the genetic structure of your mind. I wonder if that’s what triggers me.”

“That's fascinating to think about. How emotions and experiences can be inherited.”

“I know,” you smile, “I think it passed.” you gesture to your interlocked hands and he lets go promptly, staring ahead at the twinkling city lights, light pink dusting his cheeks. He’s embarrassed because he enjoyed the feel of your palm against his so much, maybe too much, enough to wish for your line palms to meld into one another. Becoming two indiscernible scriptures to the naked eye.

“Wait. Does this mean we didn't need to wait all day for the rides?” you suddenly ask and he nods.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I don't… I don't like using my powers a lot around you.”

“Why is that?”

“I'm scared that the more I use them the more you'll realize that I'm a fallen angel and that you have no business talking to someone like me.”

“You are very silly, you know that right?” you sigh, placing your cheek atop his shoulder. Yongbok’s world stops spinning right there and then. “I don't feel as lonely anymore now that you’re here. Angel,, human, or something else entirely… None of that matters to me.

To me, you’re just Yongbok.”

the question trickles suddenly into his being, tiptoes inside him gently like a droplet finding its way back to a waterfall— what is the grandest thing the universe has to offer?

To him you’re it.

“I think I'm happy right now.”

“You think?”

“I don't know how to describe it… But it feels like I have a little sun in my chest. It glows and it’s warm.”

You tilt your head back to look at him, a wide smile on your face. He finds his answer in the sunset that filtrates through the strands of your hair, the last sun rays of the day coating your face in a warm glow, as if it was made to make your features shine the most, to make the shadows in your face look like a sculpture.

“Yeah,” he says after a few silent beats, “I really am happy.”

“Does this mean we are moving?” you giggle, spreading your arms wide as if taking in the entire universe into your chest.

“Yeah, wherever you want us to.” His words are soft, resolute, draped with a gentle discovery— he followed you down to earth, he’d follow you everywhere in it.

…

“I don't know how I'll explain to people how I suddenly afforded this apartment,” you smile, hands on your hips, as you take in your new surroundings.

Yongbok moves to stand directly behind you, his chest almost brushing against yours. you feel your heart palpitate at his proximity— so close yet so out of reach, simultaneously.

“Just say you moved in with me”

“Mm, I’ll say we are childhood friends and you just moved to the city.”

“Friends? Is that what we are now?” he grins, the light from the tinted windows bathing his features in a kaleidoscope of colors. He’s so beautiful, You you suddenly wish for a change to what you are. you don’t know by what exactly. But something, anything that will allow you to appreciate, venerate his beauty fully.

“Well, we aren’t strangers anymore.”

“I think you are my first real friend,” he says, a bit shyly, pink filling up the spaces between his tan freckles.

Yongbok always speaks what’s in his mind, with this air of innocence tainting his words as if he doesn’t know that thoughts can be kept to himself.

You never mind it. Though it churns your insides, makes you experience this particular attachment to him. You want to orbit around him, hear what he thinks of everything, of the colors it seems he experiences for the first time, the food he tastes, and the humans he speaks to.

And most importantly, you.

You yearn to know everything he thinks of you. You don’t allow yourself to decipher where this need is coming from. You don’t think you’d be able to handle its consequences.

“You’re lucky I'm like… The best human to ever walk on this earth,” you grin, throwing your hair over your shoulder and onto his face. He squints his eye to chase away strands of your hair.

“The humblest too,” he says, his eyes drifting across the living room. You chose an apartment on the smaller side, as opposed to his unlimited budget. But he likes what you did to the place. He doesn’t quite understand the intricacies of home decor, but he likes the plants everywhere, the flickering candles, and the fragrant flowers bathed in dim lightning.

And he loves your painting room the most, with a neat library on the side. It feels like taking a walk straight into your heart.

“Who painted that, by the way?” he suddenly asks, pointing to the painting in the middle of the room, right above the beige couch.

“Hwang Hyunjin. It took me four paychecks to be able to afford it, three years ago. His pieces are now much more expensive.”

“Hyunjin…” he repeats, tasting the name on his tongue, it is familiar, and the memory suddenly hits him once again. “Oh, I talked to him before.”

“Did you?!” you ask excitedly, grabbing his arm and shaking it slightly. “Where, when, how?”

“At a bar, before I became... half human?” he says, unsure a bit of what he is now. “He actually invited me to his upcoming exposition. When was it again?”

“Today!” you nearly yell and he flinches.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I've been following his news. He's really my favorite artist.”

“Should we go?”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. you seem to really like him.”

“Oh my god, I’m meeting Hwang Hyunjin. oh my god, I need a dress,” you grab his hand, pulling him away. “We need a dress!”

“We?”

“Let’s go shopping, we need to buy…”

Your words fizzle out in his brain, his whole focus on your entwined fingers as you push him through the room. Your palm feels like a soft petal brushing against his bruised skin.

If he freezes time, just for a bit more, to enjoy the feel of your hand in his, would anyone blame him?

The earth would understand surely— the desperate need to appreciate softness when all he has known is thorns pricking his skin.

...

“Yongbok!” Hyunjin's boisterous voice echoes through the art gallery, drawing every eye to you and Yongbok as you stride inside. Yongbok barely has a moment to take in the lavish surroundings before Hyunjin walks toward you, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the white marble.

“I knew you’d come!” he grins, grabbing Yongbok’s hand between his two large palms, shaking it warmly.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“Of course I'd remember you,” Hyunjin says, his face darkening for a fleeting second, before his eyes rest on you.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Hyunjin,” he smiles, grabbing your hand and shaking it a bit more softly.

“Yn. I’m a big admirer of your work, truly.”

Yongbok’s eyes soften at your excitement— they don’t leave your figure when he tells Hyunjin that you have a piece of his hanging in the living room.

“Really?” Hyunjin’s face brightens up at the news, “which one?”

“The red roses in the vase. It’s one of my favorites.”

“That was in my beginnings,” Hyunjin muses, a hint of nostalgia tinting his words. “I put a lot of love in it.”

“I can tell, the colors especially scream of passion.”

“Are you one for passionate love?”

“Is love truly love if it is devoid of passion?” you ask, tilting your head. Hyunjin’s eyes linger on Yongbok for a moment before turning back to you.

“Excellent! Please choose whichever artwork you prefer; it will be my gift.”

“Really?” you beam, brighter than Yongbok has ever seen you before. The sun suddenly perishes within him.

“Of course. The prettiest artwork for the prettiest girl,” Hyunjin winks smoothly, before patting Yongbok’s shoulder. “Shall I give you a tour?”

Yongbok’s voice is withered as it floods his ears— “Please.”

…

Yongbok’s eyes are fixated on the red liquid swirling around his glass. He fears that if his gaze deserts the wine he’s drinking then it would inevitably drift to you and Hyunjin, giggling together, like long-time friends. Or is it lovers? The lines blur so easily for humans.

He had feigned an ache in his legs, telling you that he’d sit down while you go on with the tour. You had placed a hand on his arm, a worried crease in your eyebrows. “Okay?” you asked. Comforting, warm. It is the adjectives that always come to his mind when he thinks of you with him.

But you aren’t his to describe. His to be kind with. His.

So, he hummed, a tight smile drawn on his face.

It’s not that he despised Hyunjin’s artwork. On the contrary, Hyunjin is a skilled artist, he can see why he’s reaping the fruits he sowed years ago. And yet, what disturbs him is something silly, stupid, too feeble for an angel, a human even, to care for.

He doesn’t like how your laugh travels around the gallery, how you fell so easily into conversation with Hyunjin, talking about your shared interest in art. He won’t ever have a passion of years to talk to you about. How could he when his existence merely spans over three months?

Yongbok is shrinking more and more, till he becomes a single dot of paint on the painting in the very far end of the gallery. Forgotten, dim before all the others. How can he dream to compare if he doesn’t know who he is? If his memories of life don’t even contain the four seasons, pausing in winter, barely brushing against spring.

When his torn skin doesn’t bear blemishes from falls years ago, while riding the bicycle, while playing with other kids, proof of a childhood well spent. No, his scars are that of one stripped from his roots, cast into an unknown world, punished, ridiculed.

He’s unworthy of being an angel, unworthy of being human, unworthy of being in your company. Why are you wasting time with someone like him, who’d only pull you down, someone who needs instructions to understand how to carry his heart?

The thoughts play out in his head, again and again, on your ride back home. You are happy, radiating even at the thought of a painting delivered by Hyunjin himself, your favorite artist, sitting in your home. His skin ricochets off your happiness, morphs it into anger and bitterness, all directed at himself.

He hates Hyunjin. He doesn't. He hates Hyunjin with you. He wants you to be happy with him alone. Isn’t he horrible for wishing to strip you away from happiness?

Horrible.

Abomination.

“Can you help me take off my necklace?” you knock on his bedroom a few minutes after you arrive, walking in to find him sitting on his bed, deep in thought.

He startles at your presence, backing away even more into the wall. You frown at the tumult you perceive in his eyes.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“I said,” he speaks through gritted teeth. “Please, get out.”

He can’t bear looking at you. He can’t bear you looking at him. What will you see? Someone poisoned by jealousy, whose insides are collapsing on themselves, whose body rejects his bruised soul, over and over again.

Where else is he supposed to flee? If he sheds this skin, which one would finally accept him whole?

“What’s wrong? you’ve been quiet all night, avoiding my gaze. Did something happen that upset you?”

He’s panicking, on the verge of combusting into tears. How would he explain this hatred coursing through his veins at the thought of being perceived? By your kind, beautiful beautiful eyes, nonetheless.

“I really–“ a pause, “ I really don’t want to see you right now.”

You falter, your hand curling tighter against the doorknob.

“Because each time I do, I– I see you with Hyunjin, and I feel as if flames are burning inside my lungs, choking me.”

“What?”

“And I hate- hate how I… look how I exist right now. So please, leave, I don't want you to see me.”

You hesitate for a few seconds, rooted in place.

And then you close the door.

You are inside.

“Talk to me, what is it you’re feeling?” you speak softly, your voice cautious, none of the things he’s used to. It angers him all of the sudden.

“This is exactly what I hate. You are wasting your time helping me decipher my feelings, you are pitying me. Can't you see how burdensome I am?”

You shake your head, taking a step forward.

“I don’t, I like it, I… I love helping you, I love seeing the world through your eyes again. It feels like I'm learning new things every day thanks to you and I—“

“I’m an ABOMINATION,” he yells, the walls seem to shake from the voracity of his voice. “From the moment I was created, I have been nothing but anomalous, I… I don't belong anywhere, who was I kidding by coming here?” he tears at his hair slightly, now pacing back and forth in front of you. “Did I really think that feeling would suddenly fix the void within me? that talking to humans would make me normal–“

“Yongbok!” you cut him off, no longer capable of bearing the sound of his shaky voice. “Please you are not listening to me!”

“No, you are not listening to me! Look! Look at how ugly I am, look!” he turns around, taking off his white shirt, exposing his butchered back to you. “Look at everything that haunts me, please look at it, hate me and leave.”

He pleads, naked and vulnerable before your eyes. He waits for you to deliver the killing blow, to cement the horrible thoughts he bears for his body.

If it is your voice speaking of how worthless he is then he’d believe it more.

A pin-drop silence coats the room. Yongbok believes you somewhat vanished from existence.

And then. Your lips on his back, brushing across the plane of his shoulder in the softest, faintest manner. He almost thinks he’s imagining it, imagining you kissing his scarred skin as if it is a delicate petal, worthy of care. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of love.

“Is this what you hate about yourself?” you whisper, your knuckles grazing his scars. “Why are you so mean to your body, Yongbok?” your voice shakes. Hot tears pool in his eyes at the sound of it. “ Didn’t it scab its best to keep you alive?”

“You are such an idiot,” you breathe out quietly, your warm palms settling atop his waist. “I won't hate you for this. How could I hate you for this?”

Yongbok is dizzy, drunk off your voice and the way your touch makes goosebumps ripple across his skin. “How could I hate you when all I see is resilience?” Your lips brush against his back, the faintest kisses peppered down his spine. “When all I see is what kept you alive?”

Yongbok’s blood has spilled into the first snow of Seoul, what feels like a lifetime ago. But somewhat, it is underneath the caress of your hands that he has felt most exposed.

“So, I am thankful for your scars,” another tender kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. “Otherwise, you would have bled on the snow and I wouldn't have known you. And it’s a horrible horrible thing for me to imagine.”

Your chin nestles across the plane of his shoulder, your hands wrap delicately around his chest. Can you feel his heart beating wildly? Can you hear it spelling out your name?

“Don’t be so harsh on yourself, Yongbok. Haven't you been through enough, already?”

It isn’t the thoughts in Yongbok’s head that finally make him breakdown. It is rather the feeling of your chest pressed to his back, your cheek resting across his shoulder, you hugging him for the very first time in existence, you enclosing him in a cocoon of safety the way his wings used to.

“I’m here. you can cry all you want,” you reassure, soft and comforting. His grief for his wings suddenly seem too far out of reach, the safety of his feathers paling before the safety of you.

Yongbok doesn’t think as he spins around, as he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You respond swiftly, bringing his body even closer to yours, running your hand comfortingly along his spine.

He doesn’t mind your fingers grazing his scars, he doesn’t chase off your touch. On the contrary, he craves it, his cells calling out your name, thanking you for all the love you’re giving him. He wishes he could glue himself to you, crawl inside your veins, build himself a nest between the web of your nerves. He doesnt think he could ever survive mourning you.

“Please— please don’t leave me,” he begs, lost in waves of uncertainty, he thinks that if he holds you tightly you won’t ever disappear from his hands, trickling between his fingers like grains of sand.

“Don't be silly,” tears fall down your eyes too, landing on his back like dripping wax. You attempt to steady your voice but it still shakes like rattling branches. “Where would I go?”

“What if they take you away from me?”

A flash of white clouds Yongbok’s vision, the cold returns to his body tenfold. He blinks repeatedly, and then he finds himself atop an abandoned rooftop. The blood runs cold in his veins, his heart pausing in his chest as he hears heavy footsteps approaching. Did he place a curse atop himself? Did his worst fear come true as soon as he spoke of it?

Are you gone?

Oh God, are you gone?

“Yongbok,” a familiar voice speaks, and life resumes its course inside his feeble body.

“Seungmin,” he speaks the name in relief, a breathtaking smile blooming on his face. He sees the scrunch in Seungmin’s eyebrows relax ever so slightly, before a placid look drapes across his face again.

“Why did you do it?” Seungmin asks and Yongbok’s grin falters.

“Did they send you?” he asks, a hint of apprehension filling his words.

“No, I came to bring you back.”

“What?”

“I will fly you back and you will kneel before them and apologize. And you will vow to never speak to humans again, and it will be forgotten.”

“I don't want to.”

“Why are you— “Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance, “they are humans,” he says the words in disdain, as if looking down at them from atop an unreachable altar.

“I know they are.”

“They are weak. Driven by things they cannot touch or see.”

“And I love them for it.”

Seungmin frowns. “You’re defending them.”

“Seungmin,” he sighs tiredly, “why are you doing this?”

“Because I'm trying to help you. This, emotions, feelings, love. It isn't worth the pain they will end up causing you.”

Yongbok scoffs loudly, angrily. “What do you know about love?”

“You think you are special? You think you’re the first angel to go through this? I loved someone too Yongbok!'' Seungmin yells, taking him completely by surprise. “And they had him get in a car accident to punish me for it. I still hear the screeching tires; I still see his skull fracturing against the ground. I had to beg— beg for them to rewind the seconds and bring him back to life. And all for what?” he scoffs, grabbing Yongbok’s shoulders and shaking them. “You are on cloud nine because this is something new for you, you think that those humans would ever accept you? But you are wrong! Tell me, what’s an angel to a human?”

The shout that leaves Yongbok’s throat is a foreign one to his being. “That doesn't matter to me!” he yells, pushing away his hands. “Look me in the eyes, ask me, what’s a human to an angel? I’ll tell you it’s everything. Everything if it’s her.”

“This will ruin you. They will kill you, Yongbok. She will be your demise.”

“I’d rather die by her hands than live by yours.”

“What if she ends up dying by your hands?” Seungmin speaks calmly, coldly. Yongbok feels the ground give up beneath his feet. “What if in the process of hurting you they end up hurting her, what will you do then?”

“I… they won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I don't love her.”

“Who said anything about love?” Seungmin sighs, shaking his head. He looks almost desolate, somewhat that terrifies Yongbok even more. “You have your answer, I fear they have theirs too.”

Seungmin walks away, pauses, before turning back once more. He hesitates to speak, and in the seconds of silence that ensue, Yongbok discovers how terribly heavy fear is to bear.

“I’m sorry, Yongbok.”

His tongue is heavy as it moves to ask— “what for?”

“For the things yet to come.”

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captainsophiestark · 4 months

Text

A New Man

Colin Bridgerton x Reader

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Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Colin has had feelings for his best friend for some time now, and has decided his new skills in charm and flirting are the perfect way to win her over. He is unfortunately very mistaken.

Word Count: 4,713

Category: Angst, Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"This is by far the best part of these society events," mused Benedict, one of my best friends, as the two of us perused the dessert table. "Sometimes it even makes putting up with all the marauding mamas worth it."

I laughed and picked up a delious looking cupcake.

"The mamas must be truly terrible this season if the food only sometimes makes them worth putting up with."

Benedict sighed. "You have no idea."

I nudged him with my shoulder, smiling as we stepped away from the dessert table together.

"Well, you have no need to worry, Benedict. As long as I am unattached, I am more than happy to act as a shield for you, especially when society dictates you must find a partner and dance."

"Thank you. You are a true friend. I know I can always count on-"

"Colin!" I turned to grin sheepishly at Benedict in the wake of my outburst and found him staring at me with a mocking, raised eyebrow. But I couldn't quite bring myself to care, since I'd just seen my absolute best friend in the world, Colin Bridgerton, standing across the lawn chatting with a group of ladies.

He'd left England this summer for another lengthy international trip, and I'd missed him terribly while he'd been gone. He looked different now, too, a little more sure of himself and wearing a style that had clearly come from somewhere on the continent rather than from here. And if my heart raced a little at the sight of him, well, that could easily be chalked up to excitement at the prospect of seeing a friend. I couldn't keep a smile off my face at the sight of him, even as I turned back to Benedict and found him with crossed arms and doubly raised eyebrows.

"When were you going to tell me that Colin had returned?" I demanded, completely ignoring Benedict's judgey look and barely managing to keep my voice at a socially acceptable level. Benedict just sighed and rolled his eyes.

"It is why I came over here in the first place, but then you distracted me with talks of friendship and cupcakes. And now I see it was all a lie, as you are clearly about to abandon me to the whims of this social event to go rush over and talk to my brother."

"Sorry, Benedict," I said, giving him a grin. "But I saw you throughout the summer. It has been much too long since I last saw Colin, so he takes precedence for the day. But I promise you I will come to your aid if you find yourself cornered by the mamas, or any other dangerous creature roaming the society grounds."

Benedict snorted, but I didn't give him the opportunity for a comeback as I turned back to Colin and walked quickly across the gravel paths, the smile growing on my face the closer I got to him. He didn't notice me as I approached, wrapped up in conversation with the handful of ladies in front of him, and my smile grew even more at the thought of his face when he finally caugh sight of me.

"...will be fighting over you," I heard Colin saying as I walked up to join the group. "I cannot compete."

All the ladies in the circle giggled, giving me perfect cover for my smile as I came to a stop in front of Colin. He turned to face me, a beaming smile on his face, then froze a bit as his eyebrows shot up when he realized who I was.

"Lady Y/L/N!" he said, the shock melting back into his charming smile. "What a pleasure it is to have you join us."

"Mister Bridgerton, what a pleasure it is to have you back in England with us."

Colin dipped his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a roguish smile before he returned his gaze to me.

"Believe me, Lady Y/L/N, the pleasure here is all mine."

Rather than the earnest excitement I'd been expecting, Colin's demeanor and voice dripped with a slick charm I didn't recognize. I'd been expecting his usual earnest, genuine emotion, not... this. I gave Colin a little frown of confusion, but quickly let my expression return to normal as he returned to addressing our entire group. He had an energy about him that I couldn't quite place, but it was much different than the Colin I'd gotten to know so well before he left. Still, we were in public. Neither of us were allowed to be anywhere near as effusive and close as we would've been in a more private setting.

"We were just discussing the season," Colin said, including me seamlessly in the conversation I'd joined between him and the other ladies. "Truly, it is amazing to me that all of your dance cards are not already full of suitors."

All the ladies around me giggled, hiding behind their fans and fluttering their eyelashes at Colin. I just stared at him, letting my brow furrow again as I watched my friend. He met my eyes, a smooth smile on his face and his eyes roaming me with an interest and flirtation they'd never had before. If Colin had looked at me like that when I'd last seen him, my heart would've started doing backflips. But his new demeanor made the gesture seem much less sincere, and much more shallow. I let my frown deepen.

"So..." I started, trying to clear the air of whatever strange energy seemed to be lurking here. "Mister Bridgerton, tell us of your travels. You sent so few letters this time, I have simply been dying to hear about everything you saw and did."

Colin flashed me a brilliant smile that didn't totally reach his eyes.

"This time, my stories from abroad are not suitable for such tender young ladies." Everyone around us giggled into their fans again, but Colin's eyes never left mine. "Were I to tell you even the tiniest adventure, well... I'd be forced to marry you."

He delivered the final few words with dramatic flourish, as if expecting for them to have some groundshaking impact. And with the way he stared at me with a simmering gaze, the words clearly intended to make every lady in earshoot swoon, he accomplished his goal. I couldn't hold back a snort of laughter, which I quickly hid as a cough behind my fan.

Colin looked shocked when I glanced up at him, but I still couldn't keep another laugh from bubbling up. He was being so ridiculous, so arrogant and flirting with everyone in sight like he was God's gift to the women of England, and I truly couldn't take him seriously this way.

I cleared my throat and straightened back up, keeping it together just enough as I faced Colin and the other ladies, giving each of them a shallow curtsey.

"Forgive me. I think... something in the air, it must have gotten to me. Excuse me, please."

With that, I turned on my heel and didn't look back. I walked quickly across the garden, seeking out and immediately finding Benedict among the crowd once again, hovering by some shrubbery in an attempt to hide from the ladies and their mothers. I sped up to reach him, the giggling smile returning to my face as I approached.

Benedict must've heard me coming, because at the sound of laughter in a semi-high pitched register he turned on his heel and started moving in the other direction without looking to see the origin of the sound. I walked faster, until I was close enough to call out to him without drawing undue attention.

"Relax, Benedict, it's just me!"

His shoulders slumped as he stopped and turned to face me, relief written in every line of his face. After a moment, however, his expression changed to one of confusion.

"What are you doing back here so soon?" he asked. "I thought you would spend at least the next hour with Colin, catching up on all his travels and making every eligible lady here incredibly jealous of the two of you."

"Well, I planned to catch up with him, but... Benedict, you will never believe what he said." Benedict raised an eyebrow, so I glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then took a step forward and lowered my voice all the same. Laughing about Colin with his brother was one thing, but I didn't want anyone in the rest of the Ton talking behind his back. "He said he couldn't possibly tell me his stories from abroad, because they weren't 'suitable for tender young ladies'."

Benedict scoffed. "Truly?"

"Truly! Benedict, he's come back from abroad strutting around like some peacock, as though he is God's gift to eligible young women everywhere. You know I love him, as you do, but... I cannot take him seriously with his new attitude. I do not think I could if I tried."

Benedict smiled and shook his head, staring over my shoulder, presumably at Colin. Then he turned back to me.

"Did he seem to be directing his newfound charm at anyone in particular?"

I frowned. "No, not that I noticed. It seemed to be more like buckshot, just aiming with broad strokes at everyone in range. Why? Are you joining the side of the mamas in trying to help your brother find a match?"

"No," Benedict sighed, sounding truly tired. "Simply trying to guague exactly how long I may have left before I am the only eligible Bridgerton son for the mamas to focus on."

I laughed. "Do not worry, Benedict. I think you have some time yet."

Benedict didn't respond, but I thought I heard him mumble something into his drink that sounded like, "we'll see". When I raised an eyebrow at him and prepared a question, however, he quickly changed the subject, and I let him. We spent most of the rest of the afternoon together, hiding out from societal obligations and occasionally laughing about how strange his siblings could be sometimes.

After the garden party, I didn't get much of a chance to speak with Colin again until Lady Danbury's ball. He'd approached me once or twice when we'd seen each other in passing at other events, but we'd always been interrupted by other ladies, and Colin seemed suddenly incapable of interacting with me without his base layer of extreme, over the top charm. I would've felt bad for how little time I'd spent with him since he'd returned home, but every time I'd tried to ask him about his travels or how he was doing, he turned it into a truly ridiculous line of flirting, the likes of which we used to make fun of other suitors for before his most recent summer travels.

As a result, when Lady Danbury's ball rolled around, I didn't seek Colin out the way I would've last season. Instead, I found Eloise, Benedict, and even Francesca for a while when she clearly needed a break from her first season out in society. I danced with a few of the men who were tolerable, and otherwise enjoyed my time at the refreshments table and talking to people I knew. Colin didn't seek me out for the first half of the ball, either, so when I heard a familiar voice trying to get my attention after I'd found a spot along the wall for a bit of a break from the rest of the party, it was more of a surprise than it should've been.

"Y/N."

I turned around with a smile to find Colin standing behind me, a grin on his own face. We were out of earshot of the rest of the party, so we could dispense with some of the titles and formality that had lost all meaning between us long ago.

"Colin, hello! I was beginning to think I might not see you at all during this ball, such your other engagements seemed to be."

"Well, I could never let my other engagements prevent me from conversing with the most beautiful woman at this ball, could I?"

He said it with an easy smile and a charming sincerity, but I'd seen him use the same attitude and similar words on enough other ladies in our few interactions this season that his words didn't work to sway me the way they seemed to sway others. My smile slipped, and I fought to hold back a sigh.

"Yes, well..."

Colin smiled at me for another moment, and when I didn't pick up the conversation, he gave an easy chuckle and fixed me with another roguish grin.

"As delighted as I am for any opportunity to spend time with you, my lady, I did come over here to ask you if you might do me the honor of a dance. I truly cannot think of a partner I would rather have than you."

I fought a grimace, barely managing to turn it into a polite smile. I looked around briefly to make sure we were still out of earshot of any other party-goers or servants, which we were. I turned back to Colin with a sigh.

"Colin... I am going to tell you this because I truly care about you, although that may not seem to be my motivation at first glance."

"...Alright," said Colin, blinking a few times and trying to hide any confusion with another easy smile. I took a deep breath.

"I do not wish to dance with you." The smile dropped off Colin's face and his eyebrows knit together as I continued. "I never thought I would say such a thing, as quite often dancing and laughing with you were the only things that made attending society events bearable. But ever since you've returned home from your trip, Colin... it has been nearly impossible to talk to you.

"The man I thought I knew, my friend, whom I deeply cared about and whom I could talk to about anything, seems to have gone. And in his place I have found a Colin Bridgerton who not only flirts with anything that moves, but who does so in a way that is incredibly condescending and impossible to have a meaningful conversation with. Your letters from your previous travels were wonderful, Colin, and when you returned we were able to discuss them at length. You know I have an interest in learning and the world at large, and yet now, whenever I bring the subject up, I am told I could not possibly handle hearing about the things you saw and did, since I am but a fragile woman. Your sincerety and genuine expression of yourself has become cloaked in an oily layer of false sentiment and charm, directed equally at everyone you speak to, no matter your relation to them or your true feelings. I have no idea what brought about this change in you, Colin, but I am sorry to say I do not enjoy it the way the rest of the ladies here seem to."

Colin just stared at me, blinking and gaping like a fish. I frowned, feeling a big guilty, but lying to him would serve no purpose for either of us. Still, he was my friend, and I did care about him regardless of his recent changes. Choosing to ignore society for a brief moment, I put my hand out and rested it gently on his arm.

"Do not mistake my words as an insult designed to hurt you, Colin. You are my friend, and always will be. I have simply... found it harder to be around the person you have become recently. I am truly happy for you and your newfound confidence, but it seems to have extended a bit beyond confidence and into something more challenging, especially with ladies. Even ones you've known as long as you've known me."

I gave him a tight smile, which he seemed too stunned to return. I gave him a moment, but when he still didn't seem capable of a response, I curtsied and took a few steps backwards.

"Well. I will... take my leave. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball."

Colin just watched me as I took another few steps backwards. Finally, I turned on my heel and walked away. I wasn't sure how I'd been expecting him to take my statement, but complete speechlessness certainly hadn't been my prediction. I could only hope I hadn't wounded him too badly, and that he might come around enough to be the man I remembered as my friend and confidant, who could discuss the world with me as an equal and laugh with me through anything.

Thankfully, no one at the ball seemed to have noticed our exchange. Colin kept his distance from me for the rest of the evening, although I did notive him staring in my direction once or twice.

I debated finding Benedict to ask him his opinion about what I'd said to Colin, and how Colin might be feeling, but eventually decided against it. No matter how true my words had been, or how I'd tried to keep them from sounding harsh or designed to hurt, Colin would likely need his space for a time while he processed. And sending his brother in as my proxy would be the opposite of giving Colin space.

I expected Colin to keep his distance from me for a few days at least, if not for much, much longer. But as I took my seat in the sitting room of my family home the next morning for the start of the calling hours, I turned out to be quite incorrect. Before the clock had finished chiming to mark the start of the first hour, none other than Colin Bridgerton came striding through the door, ahead of the butler who normally would have announced him.

"Lady Y/N," he said, bowing to me and then to my mother sitting on the couch next to me. "I have come to call on you, if you are willing to entertain my company."

He still walked and spoke with confidence, but the layer of charm that had honeyed his words since the first day he'd returned for the season was gone, replaced by a directness and frankness that felt like taking a breath of fresh air. I gave him a small smile.

"I would be more than happy to have your company, Mister Bridgerton."

Colin gave me a small smile in return, and the two of us moved to the other end of the room, still able to be chaperoned but out of immediate earshot. I settled into the couch, Colin sitting right beside me.

"Y/N... thank you for being willing to speak to me. I had to see you, to apologize... and to explain."

My eyebrows shot up. Now that we were sitting closer together, I noticed a few irregularities in Colin's appearance. He had a few shadows under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept well, and his hair wasn't as neatly quaffed as I was used to seeing it. His shirt was rumpled in a few places a maid or a butler or a hovering older sibling might've insisted on fixing if they could've, and although Colin's new confidence appeared to be mostly intact, the charm had been replaced with a nervous energy I'd hardly ever seen from him.

"Colin... are you quite alright?" I asked, leaning a bit closer to him as I studied his face. When I looked up to meet his eyes, I found them instead scanning my face, until he apparenlty snapped out of it and met my gaze. He took a deep breath and sighed.

"Yes. Well, no. Perhaps. I am not sure, I think my wellbeing may depend a bit on the outcome of this conversation."

"Colin, before you begin, if I was too harsh on you the other night then I must apologize-"

"No! No. You were not." He took another fortifying breath, closing his eyes for a moment and dropping his shoulders from where they'd been creeping closer to his ears, before meeting my eyes again. "I have been quite different since I came home. I found myself while I was away from society, in a way I have never felt able to do here. But... I also learned the kind of charm that most of the Ton enjoys. It worked so well from the moment I got back, I did not think much of it. But I should have. And I am sorry if our relationship suffered as a result of my attitude."

Colin paused to take a deep breath, and I took the opening to reach out and rest my hand on his forearm.

"Colin, you do not-"

"Y/N, please. Please allow me to get all the way through this. I need to say it all, and I may not be able to get it out if I have an opportunity to change the subject."

I leaned back a little to stare at Colin, though I didn't remove my hand. His eyebrows were knit together with worry and his eyes never left my face. Slolwy, I nodded. Colin let out a sigh.

"Thank you." He squared his shoulders and sat up straighter, resting his hand on top of my own. "I understand why my approach was... not appreciated when we spoke in the garden and at Lady Danbury's ball. But the sentiment behind what I was saying was genuine. I have been searching for the way to tell you this for years, and I thought the charm and flirtation I learned abroad would be the way to finally do it. Clearly I was wrong. You should have seen the face Benedict made when I talked to him last night..."

Colin trailed off, shaking his head and apparently lost in thought. After a moment, I took a breath to say something else, but the noise must've been enough to jar Colin out of his memories. His stare snapped back to me, eyes slightly wider than usual.

"I love you. I have been in love with you for years, and when I returned home from this trip, I decided to finally do something about it. I thought the charm that worked so well on everyone else would work just as well for you, but... clearly I was mistaken."

I huffed a laugh. That was certainly an understatement.

"I wanted everything to be perfect, to come home changed and sweep you off your feet, but I've already failed at that, and I cannot keep my feelings to myself a moment longer. I love you, and I want to share everything with you. You are my best friend, my confidant, and the only woman I could possibly imagine spending the rest of my life with. Is there even the slightest chance you may feel the same way?"

Colin looked at me with the most open, vulnerable expression I'd ever seen, from anyone. My heart raced in my chest, and all I wanted to do was throw my arms around him and never let go. But I forced myself to take a moment, rather than letting my emotions run wild.

"I need you to answer two questions for me, Colin," I said, trying to keep my voice calm and level. Unfortunately, I didn't totally succeed. Colin nodded quickly.

"Anything."

"First... how were your travels? Where was your favorite place to visit?"

Colin huffed a laugh, relaxing and leaning into me slightly as a faint smile pulled onto his face. My heart raced, but I forced myself to keep a neutral expression.

"I apologize for even making this test necessary, but my travels were... incredible. I may ask you not to share details with the rest of the Ton, but anything you ask, I will be happy to share with you. And my favorite place was Paris. I could not stop thinking about the two of us returning someday to visit together. It is a truly romantic city."

Colin's words removed any hope I had at keeping a smile off my face. I leaned into it, grinning at him and squeezing his hand a little as my heart began to race.

"Well then, I look forward to hearing all about them."

"And I look forward to telling you. Your second question?"

"...Did you truly go to Benedict for help with this last night?"

Colin groaned and threw his head back, which made me laugh. He shook his head as he met my eyes again, but he was smiling all the same.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I know you are close with him, and I noticed you going to speak to him after you abruptly left our conversation at the garden party. I thought he might have some insight, and I was right. It just came at the cost of quite a bit of mocking."

"You truly must be serious to give Benedict such ammunition to use against you for the rest of your lives."

"I am incredibly serious. And I would brave the teasing of every one of my siblings if, at the end, it brought me to you."

"Colin, that may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

"Does that mean... you return my affections?"

I smiled. "Yes, Colin. It does. You are my best friend, and I cannot think of anyone I would rather spend my time with than you."

Colin absolutely beamed at me. He began to lean forward, then thought better of himself even as his eyes still strayed to my lips.

"I cannot begin to tell you how desperately I wish we were alone in this moment," he said, voice low and husky. My heart did a backflip as I felt myself flush.

"Hopefully we will not have to wait long," I replied. We stayed there together, the tension and heat growing between us, until my mother cleared her throat from across the room and we were both brought back to reality. We leaned slightly further apart, although we didn't let go of each others' hands, and shared a grin.

"So... does that mean you will marry me?"

I laughed. "Colin, you cannot be serious! You began courting me a handful of minutes ago!"

I met Colin's eyes, expecting to share the joke, but instead I found him staring at me with a burning sincerity to go with his words.

"I am happy to wait as long as you need me to," he said, voice lowered slightly. "But I would also happily announce our engagement today."

I smiled and shook my head, my heart pounding in my chest so hard I thought Colin might actually be able to hear it.

"I may ask you to wait at least long enough for us to spend an evening or two together while courting, to see what it may be like to have a different relationship, rather than to spend time together as friends. But... I do not predict you will need to wait long."

The grin that spread across Colin's face was blinding, rivaling the happiest looks I'd ever seen from anyone in my life.

"That is good to hear. There are quite a few things I can hardly wait for, all of which come with engagement and marriage."

"Hm. Thank goodness we are both of positions and family that allow us to disappear for months on a honeymoon, finally sharing some travels around the world together. Among other things."

Colin squeezed my hand, and I could see him fighting back a handful of inappropriate responses and actions. I just grinned back at him, the two of us settling into our usual ease on the couch togehter after a moment so I could finally get Colin to tell me about the things he'd done on his travels. Hopefully, no one else would show up during the calling hours, and Colin and I could spend every moment of the day together just like this.

I'd meant what I'd said about wanting to wait, at least a short while, before announcing an engagement, and I did think it was a good idea. But I also couldn't imagine anything coming between Colin and I again after this. My best friend was back, and we were in love. What more could I possibly ask for in a match than that? Even if Benedict would be insufferable, claiming to be the one who'd set us up. It would be worth it, especially because we would weather the storm of his siblings together. Just like we'd do everything else that came for the rest of our lives.

****************

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742 notes · View notes

seiwas · 4 months

Text

₊˚⊹｡ big gym energy (is this my fantasy?) | fushiguro toji

wc: 2.0k

summary: who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday?

contains: gn!reader, non-curse au, college au, appearance of itafushikugi (mostly nobara), reader has a huge and lowkey delusional crush on toji, age gap

a/n: the gym toji fic! tone in this is a bit different from what i write, and it's lowkey a crack fic but i hope it's still enjoyable! listened to: big energy - latto & area codes - kaliii

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: going to the gym for yourself (and totally not for that cute guy who sometimes says hi)

“You’re going to the gym?” Nobara halts smack in the middle of the busy hallway. Groans huff behind her, the rest of your class filing out of the lecture hall. You bow your head apologetically as you pull her to the side.

“Yes.”

She squints, skeptical, “You.”

You nod.

“The gym.” she says it slower this time, tilting her head down.

You nod again.

Nobara blinks, shifting her weight as she reaches one hand inside the pocket of her overalls. There’s a long pause, rushed footsteps amplifying the suspense, then—

“Okay, what’s the bet? How much did Maki put out? I want in.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you loop your arm around hers and continue walking.

There’s good reason for her to doubt you; she knows you best after all. In your little quad, you are the least likely to be found doing any physical activity or sport whatsoever—and that’s saying a lot, considering the other fourth of your group is Megumi. But at least he walks his dogs regularly.

“Rude,” you scoff jokingly, “there’s no bet, just testing it out because they have a free trial promo.”

It shouldn’t hurt to check it out, you think. One of your resolutions this year is to finally get started on your fitness journey, whatever form it may be.

“You should come.”

Nobara snorts, “Wrong person,” you both turn at a corner, “ask Itadori.”

The gym is just a few blocks away from your campus, a good 18-minute walk if you’re counting—which is also part of what makes it so appealing. The ad you’d seen for the free trial is an early bird promo to attract new customers for the gym’s new branch launch.

And it does make the most sense to ask him; he is the sports science major after all—

“No way,” you step out on the sidewalk, “telling him is practically committing to a membership.”

—but Yuuji is a bit too eager when it comes to things like this. No doubt he’ll be at your heel, wagging his figurative golden retriever tail at the prospect of being your certified gym buddy. It’s endearing and you know he means well, but that’s way too much pressure for someone who’s just starting out.

She laughs, readjusting her bag, “He’d know how to use the machines though.”

“I watched some videos…” you mumble, because Nobara has a point, but if you’re being honest, you feel just a teensy bit embarrassed at the idea of anyone else knowing about your attempts at fitness this early on, lest it fail in the end. “I can probably ask someone there…”

“Try the most jacked up person in the gym.”

You shove her jokingly, her laughter echoing down the road.

The first person you meet at the gym is the lady at the front desk. Her ponytail sways as she greets you, a chirpy smile welcoming you in as she holds an iPad to her chest while touring you around—at the center, the main floor plan is decked out with machines; towards the back sit the squat racks, and to your sides are the private cycling rooms and multifunctional spaces. According to her, they also offer yoga classes every 6:00 p.m. on Wednesdays.

You’d expected a lot more people to be in here at 7:00 p.m., but you suppose it makes sense others would prefer to spend their Friday nights elsewhere.

Looking around, you spot a middle-aged lady you swear is Megumi’s English professor; on the treadmills, a couple your age share a laugh as they try to match pace. There are some machines you’ve never even seen in your life, Youtube videos included.

You take a deep breath. You can ask for help.

After all, the crowd feels friendly enough, not too intimidating—

—until your eyes land on him, on the benches; an absolute tank of a man doing chest presses with what you think are probably the heaviest dumbbells on the rack.

You try not to stare, catching only a glimpse of the way his biceps flex against the tight sleeves of his black compression shirt.

Don’t be a creep, you tell yourself, walking towards the leg press machine. You may be new here, but you’ve learned that gym etiquette isn’t so far off from acting like a civilized human being.

Thank god you never take Nobara seriously, because you can’t even imagine the stuttering mess you’d be if you had to ask him how to work any of these god forsaken machines.

It’s a good thing, then, that help comes to you without you having to say a word.

This is number four out of five sessions in your free trial promo, and you have no idea how to get the goddamn plates out of the barbell. You pull some out from the other side and the whole barbell comes along with it. When you attempt the other side, it does the same. Then when you finally do manage to get off the plates on one side, the whole barbell drops, clanging loudly against the metal foot of the squat rack set-up.

(Now that you think about it, maybe it isn’t such a good thing that you’ve been offered help instead of you asking. There must be a reason someone thinks you could need it.)

Someone, who is also the last person you could ever possibly want to embarrass yourself in front of.

Someone, who just so happens to be the jacked up tank of a man you’ve admittedly glanced at a few times in your past few visits here.

“To make it easier,” he crouches beside you, laying down a smaller plate and rolling the larger ones on the barbell over it.

He unloads them like they weigh nothing—and with his physique, it isn’t hard to believe that they probably do. His biceps look to be the size of your head, chest popping out in ways you’ve only seen on those Tiktok thirst edits; his one hand is larger than a 2.5 kilogram plate, and his forearms look like they could ch—

Mind out of the gutter, you blink away, focusing instead on the metal bar in front of you.

God, you don’t even know this man’s name.

“T-thanks.” you stutter, embarrassed.

He gives you a half-smile, lips turned on one side, “Sure.” then he walks away, the tightness of his black compression shirt hugging the ridges of his back muscles.

You gulp.

So begins your year-long gym membership.

(And maybe, just maybe, the kind-of-meet-cute of a lifetime. Who knows, really?)

“Who would have thought the rippest DILF in all of Japan would get you to go to the gym everyday,” she snorts, fingers grazing over the curved edges of the heart-shaped watermelons in the fruit aisle.

You hush her, scanning the area around you for anyone who might have overhead.

It’s 11:00 p.m. on a Thursday, so you doubt it, but you can never be too sure.

“He’s nice, you know.” you pout.

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nobara gives you a look.

You glare, touché.

Maybe you don’t know his name. Yet.

But he’s always offered to stack on the heavy plates for you, and will oftentimes help in unloading them too. There are times when you aren’t quite sure how to work the machines and he swoops in like the gym buff version of prince charming, teaching you proper form just so you don’t get injured. He’ll wipe down a mat for you to use some days, because—

“Stretching is important,” he never fails to mention.

He’s nice.

And you have an insanely delusional crush on him, but you don’t care, because why else would he be giving you this much attention if he wasn’t interested in you too?

You find out many things about your gym crush, most of them completely unexpected.

One: his hair is unusually soft for someone who looks so rough. Or, well, you think it looks soft, you can’t tell for sure; you haven’t actually touched it to be able to tell. The black mop on his head falls flat over his eyes on the few days you assume are right before his next scheduled haircut. It surprises you even more when he walks in the gym with a small hair tie holding his bangs up.

Two: he does a considerable amount of bodyweight exercises for someone his size—Calisthenics, specifically.

You watch him pull himself up the bar, biceps and back straining against the movement. The muscles ripple across the fabric of his tee, and it’s impressive how smoothly he’s able to go up and down; as if he isn’t exerting any effort at all. Then, the push-ups and dips. He can do them all, in every variation you never even thought existed, and it’s always done with so much ease.

It gives you reason to believe that he could be gentle, controlled. In what? Well. You know.

Three: he likes fruity things. You expected his go-to to be straight black, maybe a chocolate protein shake on other days too. But he shows up one day with a smoothie in the shade of vibrant magenta. Dragonfruit, you assume, from all the black specks floating in it.

This also happens to be the first time you initiate the conversation with him.

“Your smoothie looks good,” you mumble, a little hesitant.

God, so awkward.

He looks up from adjusting the plate stoppers on your bar.

A hum rumbles from his throat before he flashes you the same half-smile he always does, “Strawberry, banana, and dragonfruit.”

You don’t really know what to say after that other than, “Cool.”

And you mentally facepalm yourself.

In your fourth month at the gym, you learn a few more unexpected things that change everything.

You’ve just finished freshening up and you’re on the way out when you bump into—

“Megumi?”

He looks up from his phone, dark strands hitting the tips of his eyelashes as he pushes back one side of his headphones. He raises an eyebrow, confused and surprised.

“You gym?”

“What’re you doing here?”

Pink dusts his cheeks as he ducks his head, motioning for you to go first.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, adjusting the strap of your duffel bag, “I started going here a few months ago. You?”

He looks a little surprised by it, probably more so at the fact that you’ve kept it a secret from him for so long, but he nods, “That’s good. You did mention wanting to work on your fitness more this year.” then, he shifts, adjusting his weight before hanging his headphones by his neck.

“I’m waiting for my dad.”

In the past few years you’ve known Megumi, he’s never mentioned his dad. You never bothered to ask because you suspected there was a good reason he never talked about him in the first place.

And so comes number four, and maybe the last unexpected thing you find out about your gym crush—

“Megumi!”

You both turn around to the voice of none other than Nobara’s proclaimed rippest DILF in Japan; the most jacked up tank of a man who also happens to be the man you’ve crushed hard on for the past four months.

Everything is snapping into place, information forming bridges you would rather not cross right now.

He walks up to Megumi, duffel bag slung across his chest as he reaches for your friend.

Megumi looks like he wants to wither away, embarrassed at you seeing him tucked under his dad’s arm. But all your brain can really comprehend is that Megumi, your good friend, is currently squished between the bicep and chest you’ve been staring at since your first day at the gym.

You hold your breath, the realization creeping to the forefront of your mind. There had been signs that your gym crush was a dad; apart from being built like one, he’d offhandedly mention ‘son’ a few times. You didn’t think it would be—

“Oh, you two know each other?” your gym crush tilts his head, turning to you, “you didn’t tell me your friend signed up for this gym, Megumi.”

“I didn’t know,” Megumi grumbles, and the look on his face can rival yours, for sure. Tough competition on ‘who looks like they want to die the most right now?’.

But he can’t win.

Because when Megumi begrudgingly introduces your gym crush to you as his dad, you’re pretty sure you’ve buried yourself twelve feet underground.

(It doesn’t ease the embarrassment when you learn unexpected thing number five: he’s been a trainer at the gym this entire time.)

thank you notes: to @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for encouraging me all the way!! ily ari

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #fushiguro itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x yn #toji fluff #toji x y/n #toji x you #fushiguro toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #jjk #toji #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

Text

You know what I want to see, I want to see more of Steve, Eddie, and Robin being 1980s small town kids from Indiana, by which I mean;

Robin is The Source of Gay Knowledge purely because her parents host Hippie Christmas and she managed to sneak away to find a neat bookstore in Indiana once.

Her knowledge is not in depth. It's patchy, woven together through rumors, stories she heard or things she picked up from her parents' old pictures. She's got a handful of zines, one book, and some movies she managed to order for Family Video behind Keith's back.

She acts like she's Queen of the Queers because in Hawkins she pretty much is.

(Max and El ask her what a lavender marriage is once, something they overheard snooping around.

Robin confidentially answers that it's code for when one woman dresses up as a man, fooling officials into wedding two woman.

She does not live this down two years later when they find out what it actually means.)

Eddie doesn't spend every weekend in Indianapolis.

Gas is expensive, his busiest days of his "job" is Friday and Saturday, and he has no fucking clue what the hanky code is.

He's wearing that bandana because Metallica front singer James Hetfield has one on all their tour posters.

Eddie does make it down to a gay bar though, by accident. Rick needed some back up for a shady deal. Promised Eddie a boatload of free drugs to sell if he agreed to just stand there and look mean.

He was warned the bar they were meeting in was 'weird' and to not 'freak out' --which Eddie thought was hilarious given his nickname and general appearance, but whatever.

He doesn't understand when they get there, because it's just a bunch of hot men with hanky's in their back pockets everywhere.

Then he sees two women kissing and it clicks.

He can't out himself in front of Rick, but one of the bartenders playfully dresses him down for his own hanky, letting him know all about the code and teasing him through his embarrassment.

He's got an offer to come back and learn what color and which pocket his hanky should actually be in, a prospect Eddie was salivating at until Chrissy Cunningham up and died on his ceiling.

(He still wore the hanky, because the feeling of that bartender tugging it out and stuffing it back in might be the closest thing he's ever had to sex and he absolutely wants a repeat.

He's young and horny, sue him.)

Steve Harrington may not be academically smart but he's not dumb.

He figured out a while back that the basketball team as a unit probably crossed the queer line more than once--or at least it did before Hargrove came in.

( Brad Handly for example, went around slamming kids into lockers and screaming slurs like a fucking movie villain one Monday because the varsity team got dead drunk at Laura's party on Sunday and hey, look, there weren't that many girls there, okay?

They all had fucking hands and mouths. Everybody but Tommy was single and hot to trot. Nothing gay about it.

Its not even like they were kissing or treating each other like chicks. It was just Brad's first time and they got to tease him later for overthinking it.

Dude graduated soon enough after and given Steve was on the team as a sophomore, he hadn't thought about the guy and why he might be freaking out so bad in years.)

Robin's entire panic attack at Starcourt, and a few more after had Steve replaying that whole incident. Reframed it a bit, and, yeah.

In retrospect that had been extremely gay, actually.

It sat with him a lot easier than he'd thought it would. Partially because of Robin, but mostly because that's just who he was.

Stranger things had happened to Steve and this one didn't want to kill, maim or otherwise eat him, so it got filed under 'interesting facts he should never tell his parents if he wanted to keep his trust fund' and then he went about his day.

(Or he tried too, anyways.

It caught up to him when Eddie and Robin somehow figured out the other was queer and dragged him along to some bar Eddie had a standing invitation at, with demands for Steve to do what he did best.

Babysit.

Their magical trip was utterly destroyed when Brad Handly happened to be the very same bartender who had given Eddie the invite.

Considering Brad's immediate bark of laughter followed by a hug and introducing himself as "Steve's gay awakening", Steve ended up having to speedrun through Eddie and Robin both having a crisis for him.

It didn't help that Steve had politely, and laughingly, corrected Brad with a casual;

"Pretty sure that was Tommy man, but if it helps I think that tongue of yours gave Matt Burdon a crisis."

--which ended up with him answering a lot more gay sex questions with Brad than he cared too.

At least he, through Brad, was able to help Robin connect to some local lesbians and--after a second crisis from Eddie regarding how Steve managed to have more sex than "the resident town freak and guy who actually knew he was gay, Steve!"-- even helped Eddie out by catching the metalheads tongue with his mouth later that evening.

The last one landed him a boyfriend, trust fund be damned.)

#this started as thought and ended as a mini fic #filing this under shit I'm not expanding on #steddie #platonic stobin #its the “Eddie and Robin drag Steve to a Gay Bar” trope but with a twist #the twist is that Steve skipped his gay crisis entirely #and also that basketball team is not straight #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #I just want to re-invoke that pre internet feeling of "No one has an easy way to google whether or not their friend is right #so it comes down to who sounds right LOL #or whose known for what

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beardedjoel · 1 year

Text

pretty little wife | morning glory

joel x f!reader one shot collection

part two of pretty little wife — can be read independently series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 summary: 4.3k words — saturday mornings in the miller household are for a few things only, and most of them include joel making his wife come as many times as he damn well pleases. | no apocalypse au, no use of y/n warnings: 18+ MDNI! pre-established relationship/dynamic, unprotected piv, rough sex, free use kink, sub/dom relationship, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation, dirty talk, pet names for reader, cute husband joel, generally extremely submissive reader so if you're into that this is for you! a/n: i'm literally so blown away by the attention the first part of this got like WOW i'm so glad you all loved reading it as much as i did writing it! here's another snippet in their domestic bliss, and stay tuned for some ~interesting~ developments in the next part

i've decided to start a kofi in case anyone wants to consider a small donation to support my work! ♡

As much as you love Friday nights, the day Joel comes home pent up from a week of work and fucks it all out onto you, you love Saturday mornings even more.

Saturdays are for you Joel always says, and he starts this particular Saturday by waking you with kisses on the forehead and a fresh, steaming cup of coffee on your nightstand, one you can smell before you can even see it. He insists that after a long week of making meals, keeping the house spotless, your book club, nurturing your friendships, and keeping up with his insatiable need for you, you deserve one morning that’s completely for you, where Joel is happy to service you in multitudes.

You grumble and squeeze your eyes shut tighter as you feel his lips press onto your cheek again, and Joel laughs at your insolence.

“Know y’don’t like to sleep past eight, honey,” Joel comments as you continue to resist his attempts to wake you up.

“I knoooow,” you whine. “Mostly your fault I was up so late,” you add on, grumbling and recalling the way Joel had kept you up, insisting he keep filling you over and over. From the moment he got home until late in the night, somehow he’d managed to come three times, torturously edging you then making you come between them. Some days you truly wonder where the hell he gets the stamina from, how a man of his age can act like he’s twenty years old some nights. Anytime you ask, he just says that you make him absolutely fucking crazy, nothing more to it. It’s a miracle the two of you found each other, someone that can keep up with him just as well as he can with you.

“You’d like it better if I didn’t fuck you when I want then, hm? Get you all fucked out like last night?” he asks, his voice with a grating edge that’s between a threat and teasing. You make it a point to peek your eyes open at him finally, letting him see the fear in them at that prospect.

“N-no,” you shake your head wildly, eyes going wider as you fully wake up. “Of course not.”

“Thought so,” he says before leaning forward to kiss you, a sly smile dancing on his lips as you look over at him, perched on the bed next to you. He’s laying on his side, propped up on one elbow as he takes you in, his eyes full of mischief as they tend to be in the mornings.

“You know I have to give you a hard time when you act like you did last night,” you tell him, and Joel considers your words with a grin.

“I know ya do. Wasn’t too much last night, right?“ he asks. You always appreciate that Joel checks in like this, especially when he knows he’s gone further than the average day. And last night… he’d shown you just how long his week had felt, and how much he needed to make up for the lost time he’d had working late a few nights.

You shake your head sternly in reply. “Not at all,” you say sweetly, and Joel’s face relaxes before he leans in for another kiss that you gladly return.

“That’s my good girl. Your coffee’s over there,” he says, head gesturing towards the mug, despite every Saturday being the same with your coffee always on the nightstand when you wake up.

“Thank you, baby.” A flash of a grateful smile from you is all your husband needs, and you can see him melt a little bit at it.

You sit yourself up against the headboard, the sheet falling you reveal the top of your silky camisole trimmed in lace, a beautiful mauve color. Joel’s eyes catch on the skimpy fabric, one strap slipping down your shoulder, and he smiles, his eyes shading darker, watching as you reach for your coffee and start to sip on it. It’s perfect, a splash of your favorite creamer just to give it a little sweetness, and you send a grateful thought into the universe that Joel knows you so perfectly well.

“I see that look you’re giving me,” you say, giving him a close lipped smile over the top of your mug, eyes flashing at him with intrigue.

“How’s it different from any other Saturday? Y’know it’s all about you today,” he says matter-of-factly.

You chuckle and shake your head playfully. “Can’t a girl enjoy her coffee for a few minutes?” you tease him, and Joel makes a quiet, nearly growling sound in his throat before sitting up and moving to straddle your legs.

“Y’can certainly try, but you ain’t gonna be able to hang onto that mug for long, or do much of anything but come for me,” Joel says, and you find yourself losing your breath slightly at his words despite hearing much more filthy things coming from his mouth in the time you’ve been together.

“How many times this morning, then?” you ask tauntingly, taking another long sip from your mug before setting it back safely on the nightstand.

Joel’s eyebrows raise a bit before he slides himself further down on your legs, taking the sheet with him. You shiver a little at your skin being exposed to the air, the only thing covering you being your thin camisole and shorts set. Joel takes you in with hungry eyes, the way your body responds to being exposed with a smattering of goosebumps.

“As many times as I want, doll, y’know that,” he says. His fingers find their way to the silky hem of your shorts, passing the material through his fingers and inspecting it for a few seconds.

“Don’t know why y’even bothered to put this on after I was finished with you last night,” Joel muses, eyes traveling up the fabric until he reaches your chest, where your hardened nipples are starting to poke through the silk. “Just gonna take it right off this mornin’. Maybe rip it…” His head tilts cockily as his other hand slides up your smooth thigh slowly, tortuously. You arch your back slightly, lips parted with an oncoming whimper, showing him how much you want it.

“Am I not supposed to wear all the pretty things you buy me?” you retort back, low and still husky with sleep. “And rip this one? It’s my new favorite,” you say with a frown, trying to sound whiny and desperate enough to convince him to spare this pajama set.

Joel has quite an affinity for coming home with new lingerie and sexy sleepwear for you, strolling into the house after work with a boutique store bag, the contents inside shrouded with pretty paper. He’s given you countless slips, bras, thongs, garters, or any style of lingerie he finds that he wants to see you in. You tear them open with equal delight each time, something to replace the things that are ruined in one of Joel’s many other affinities - tearing your lingerie off of you. Whenever you gripe about it he promises to replace it with something even better. So far, he hasn’t failed, always spoiling you with something gorgeous each and every time.

Joel’s head leans forward, burying into your chest, settling between your breasts and inhaling deeply. “I know… you love this one…” he says, breath hot on the dip of skin between your tits, sending your already hardened nipples straining further through the fabric.

“Maybe I can get the same one, should still be for sale.” He begins kissing the soft skin there, goosebumps spreading across your body as his warm lips clash with the curve of your breast. You can feel his hands start to grip the bottom edge of the fabric, pulling it tight, desperate to rip it off of you.

“Better be. And a new set of panties to match it,” you bargain with him, and Joel glances up with a wide smirk, loving when you show him your more feisty side. His head dips back down, tongue finding your silken covered nipple and flicking it a few times before sucking it into his mouth. You arch into him, moans of his name spilling from your lips. He sucks until you can feel the surrounding fabric getting soaked, and you’re writhing wildly under his large frame, begging him.

“Please, baby… I need it,” you whine out, and Joel pulls his head off of your chest, a string of his saliva still connecting him to your shirt for a few moments. His eyes are lustful now, darkened a few shades by your body’s response to him.

“Need what, little doll?” he asks bitingly, almost condescendingly.

“Touch me, Joel.” Please, please, please. You beg in your head, nearly having to stop yourself from reaching between your legs and touching your clit yourself.

“Be a patient girl for me now,” he counters, and you feel your cunt clench around nothing at his commanding words, desperate for him to ravage you in any way he sees fit.

Joel places his hands on either side of your waist, his lips moving to start work on your other nipple, sucking and biting on it through the fabric. When both are thoroughly abused, swollen and aching from his mouth, you’re sure that you’ve soaked right through your panties to your shorts. You can feel your cunt pulsing, aching, the feeling spreading deep within you as you breathlessly pant, your hips twitching in desperation.

“Fine, fine,” Joel says, breathing out an amused laugh. “Let’s see what you’ve got on under here.”

His hands hook around your pajama shorts and yank them down, exposing the cotton thong you’d put on. Maybe Joel had been right, you should have just stayed naked last night - you’d likely be halfway to an orgasm by now if he hadn’t gotten distracted with all your clothing.

“Almost like you didn’t want me to make you come this morning, all this damn clothing in the way,” he tuts, snapping the waistband of your thong hard into your hip. You wince at the sensation but it only serves to make you even more wet for him.

“P-please -“ you beg, barely able to get any other word out but that same one over and over.

“Baby… jus’ fuckin’ soaked….” Joel muses with an amazed sound to his voice. “Even after last night, just a little suckin’ on your pretty tits get you like this? Fuckin’ drippin’ through your panties, little doll.”

You writhe as his fingers toy with your nipple while he talks, the other hand swiping across the front of your underwear to take in just how badly you’re wanting him.

“Yes - y-yes it does,” you answer dutifully, and Joel smiles ear to ear.

“Wet f’me all the time, ain’t you? Ready whenever I need this tight little pussy,” Joel grits out, giving your sopping cunt a swift slap and repositioning himself between your legs, letting his head dip down. You nod wildly in response, murmuring more begs of “please” as he nears torturously close to your warm heat.

“Need a taste of this, bet you’re so fuckin’ sweet right now,” Joel says, his mouth now inches from your cunt. You nearly cry at the anticipation, hips pushing towards him, your throbbing clit begging your body for any kind of relief.

Joel’s surprises you by dipping his mouth to you, but he licks a strip up the outside of your underwear, dulling the sensation for you. You still moan loudly, so desperate to feel any part of him touching you in between your legs. He continues to lick along the fabric, pushing his tongue down hard to reach your slit through your panties before he starts sucking on your clit.

“Wh- my underwear, Joel… please….” you moan out, mostly incoherent now, feeling a dull pleasure starting to build deep inside of you.

“And let all this go to waste?” Joel replies, sucking the fabric into his mouth just to taste what you’d already spilled out for him. “Don’t think so, darlin’.”

You flutter your eyes when his tongue pokes into your entrance, the fabric adding an extra layer of texture to all the sensations that’s driving you absolutely wild. It’s pulling you closer and closer to the precipice, to the edge where you now sit teetering as Joel’s tongue makes contact with your clit again, rubbing your panties against it as he flicks there.

He groans out loudly at the taste of you in his mouth, the way your panties keep getting more soaked between his own saliva and all the arousal you’re gathering there from the way his tongue is moving on you.

“I’m- oh, Joel, fuck, don’t stop,” you whine, hips starting to stutter into him. You arch your back slightly, chasing your high with just a few small jerks of your hip. “I’m so close…” you say breathlessly, frustration boiling in your blood that you’re not quite there yet. You start squirming needily and Joel moves quickly, throwing your legs over his shoulders and pushing back on your thighs so that your legs are pressed close to your body. You can feel even more how much you’re soaked, absolutely dripping as it slides down onto your ass, the sheets below you.

“Come for me, baby, y’can do it, so fuckin’ pretty and wet for me. Be my good little wife and come for me,” Joel praises quickly into your cunt before sucking hard, pulling your clit into his mouth and pressing a finger against your entrance, pushing your panties into it and pumping shallowly in and out a few times.

You snap at his praising words, desperate to do good for him, to follow anything he wants from you and you finally feel the tension in your belly coil so tightly that it breaks, sending you careening into your high.

“F-fuck, oh, Joel, baby,” you whine out with long, low moans, shaking as your body goes taut and vision goes white. You shudder and writhe into his mouth as he keeps a steady pressure on your clit and moves his fingers rapidly on your hole.

“Good girl, fuck, such a good girl, let’s do another,” Joel says as soon as he feels you coming down, and moves quickly, his tongue darting around the edge of your panties and sliding underneath, one finger pulling the fabric aside.

You nearly scream his name, the overstimulation coupled with his now direct contact with your most sensitive parts has you absolutely reeling. You pant heavily, trying to scoot your body away, but Joel’s hold on your legs is tight, his own tension starting to build underneath his sweatpants.

His tongue buries in you, lewdly lapping and slurping at every last drop of your come that he can as he groans in pure pleasure at the taste. He’s getting more aggressive, his need for you climbing as you rush towards another high.

“Fuck, gimme this tight little pussy,” Joel murmurs, his heaving breaths against your skin. He quickly starts to tear your panties, and through your haze you hear the ripping of fabric and seams, laying with your legs still pressed up against your body, held up for Joel to see between your legs clear as day. You feel like complete jelly, nothing reaching your mind but Joel Joel Joel and the pleasure he’s giving you.

He dives back in after you feel the torn panties laying open and limp against your thighs, his teeth nipping at your clit here and there, sending your hips twitching and little yelps flying out for your mouth.

“Need something’ in here, don’t you? Can feel you desperate, squeezin’, want my big fingers in there,” he says, more of a statement than a question, but you find yourself nodding dumbly, figuring that Joel seems to have known best up until this point, so no use in questioning it now.

He takes the liberty of pushing three fingers inside of you, giving you no chance to adjust, pumping them in and out a few times and then immediately hooking them to find the spongy part of your walls. Your breath catches, and you find it hard to get air into your lungs now between his mouth and fingers ruining you in tandem, making you fall to pieces.

You can’t speak, can’t think, can only chase what he’s giving you and let out pathetic moans and mewls and he fucks you with his fingers and presses on your g-spot. You feel tears brimming in your eyes, sliding down your cheeks but you don’t care, not when every bit of you is on fire in the best way, screaming out in pleasure.

“Hold your legs up f’me, need to fuck my fist to this, all these pretty little noises my wife makes,” Joel commands, and you do your best to keep your legs where he’s pushed them to, finding the muscles starting to tremble with the exertion and your quickly approaching climax.

“C’can’t hold on,” you whimper as you feel Joel shimmying on the bed to sit up and pull his cock out with one free hand, the other continuing to pump in and out of you. You peek down through half lidded eyes to see his cock, so hard and raging with need that it sends a pulse of desire straight through you to your aching hole. You need him inside of you, but most Saturday mornings he’s insistent on just eating you out like this until you’re a limp, sweating, crying mess, not wanting to detract from your pleasure by using your pussy for his own.

“Let go, baby, come again f’me,” Joel coos before his tongue circles your clit again and you melt into the pleasure, letting it wrack your body once again. You hear the slap of his flesh against his cock as he pumps it, fucking his fist earnestly as he hears your cries for him while you come around his fingers, squeezing him to keep pressing on the spot that’s absolutely devastating you.

“So fuckin’ addicted to this, gimme another, little doll, help me finish,” Joel says, sounding nearly manic as he pumps on his cock. “S-so good f’me, Christ,” he murmurs as he whimpers a little at the sight of you coming down from your climax and the feel of his own hand wrapped around his cock.

“Wanna feel you, wanna come on your cock, please… p-please…” you whine, completely dazed now.

“Y’know…” Joel struggles to get the words out, “It’s your turn, n-not about me,” he says with a grunt, tugging hard on his cock.

“It’ll make me come, I p-promise, just fill me up,” you tell him, holding your shaking, spent legs open wider, inviting him in. You writhe at the thought of Joel being inside of you, knowing your fully displayed cunt is fluttering and squeezing at nothing right now, and Joel can see every bit of it.

“Please…” you utter quietly, and that last insistence is what sets Joel over the edge. He’s on top of you in a second, wrists grabbed into his hands and pinned next to your head as he uses his body to keep your legs held up and steady before slamming into you. You yell out in complete bliss as he fills you to the hilt without stopping in one thrust, his cock stretching you mercilessly.

“That what you needed, pretty wife? This big cock inside ya? Get it every fuckin’ day, can’t get enough though, ain’t that right?” he says, unable to stop himself from immediately thrusting into you over and over, chasing after his orgasm. You’ve noticed that Joel can have incredible self control with most things until he’s buried balls deep in you, only then does it all go out the window. You love that power you hold over him, despite giving him every ounce of power to take it whenever he wants.

“Yes, yes, Joel, fuck me,” you cry, “harder.”

“Harder? Want me t’ruin this tight little pussy, it’s all mine, all mine,” he rambles on. “Fuck, c’mere and let me fuck you like I own it.”

He grunts as he pulls out of you with a wet pop, scrambling to flip you onto your belly and slamming back in as quickly as possible, cock hitting you so deep your eyes roll back as he presses your cervix.

You can only make wild, completely feral groaning sounds into the mattress as he fucks into you, devastating you as you see your vision spotting with white from the combination of pleasure and pain that he’s doling out. Your entire being feels supple right now, completely given over to Joel as he uses you to reach towards his own pleasure.

You whimper as your hips grind against the mattress, your sore and overstimulated clit getting even more friction than you can handle, and sure enough, you crash into another climax, your body shaking violently as Joel presses down on your back, fucking you even harder as you squeeze around his length and pull a rough, staggered grunt from him while he pumps one last time before spilling everything. Joel comes hard, pressing himself as flush as he can with your body, and you can hear his ragged breaths coming from behind you while he starts to come down.

You both stay exactly as you are, his half hard cock still twitching inside of your cum soaked cunt, both of you struggling to get a grip back on reality. You only now realize just how tear stained your face is, several stray tears still rolling down your cheek and onto the sheets below you.

Joel gingerly pulls out of you, but you stay prone, even as he crawls up next to you, just laying flat and letting his spill drip out of you, loving the feeling of being so used, so messy for him.

You flutter your eyes open to try to look at him, and you know it must be a sight to behold. Joel thumbs one of the tears on your cheek and then pinches it gently, rubbing his thumb along the soft skin there.

“So cockdrunk, look at ya,” he says with a disbelieving shake of his head.

“Mmmm,” you manage to get out, not even sure what you’d say if you could speak right now.

“I’m gonna run you a bath, pretty girl, then we’ll get you fed.” You can only nod in return, still trying to get yourself back to the present moment as you feel the bed move when Joel slips away. You doze as you hear the water running from the adjacent bathroom, and curl up slightly just before hearing Joel pad back into the room and gently shake your shoulder.

“Let’s go, gotta take care of yourself, doll,” he insists, and you mumble as you open your eyes and start to sit up. Joel peels your sticky, sweaty camisole off, tossing it on the bedroom floor and then leading you to the bathroom. The sight and smell in here is heavenly, and you wonder why you’d even thought about resisting getting out of bed for something this incredible. Fresh lavender scents the bath along with a clean, linen scent from the candle Joel lit on the bathroom counter. Inviting steam drifts off the top of the bath and you can hardly wait to dip your foot in and soak down into it.

“Thank you, baby,” you say sweetly, turning to Joel and tilting your head up to plant a kiss on Joel’s lips. He grasps at the back of your head, pulling your head in even closer for a few long, lingering kisses. He licks into your mouth and you moan quietly, your still freshly fucked cunt unsure if it should ask for more right now, or if it even can.

“You’d let me fuck y’again right here, wouldn’t ya? Cum runnin’ down your leg still and everything,” Joel asks you, and you nod bashfully, avoiding his eyeline, knowing it’s the embarrassing truth of just how desperate he makes you.

“Christ, how’d I get this lucky, huh?” Joel answers with a crooked smile. “Get in that bath, sweetheart, y’need to rest now.” He spins you towards the tub and gives you ass a light smack, urging you forward. You chuckle and decide not to resist, knowing he’s right - your body needs a break from the wonderful man that is your husband.

“Breakfast in thirty, mkay? I’ll make your favorite,” Joel tells you, a final kiss landing on your bare shoulder before you step over the rim of the tub and you turn to see him leave the room.

You hiss a little at the immediate heat of the water, but quickly find yourself sliding down into it, a relieved sigh escaping your lips as the lavender reaches your nose and you lose yourself into the bliss your husband set up for you so lovingly.

After soaking until you’re feeling refreshed and bordering on pruny, you step out and see the outfit Joel set out for you in the bedroom, indicating that he’d had a particular preference for what he wants to see you in today. You smile as you hold up a rather non classically sexy outfit compared to your closet full of lingerie and pretty dresses - one of Joel’s old t-shirts and tiny lounge shorts that barely cover your ass. You throw Joel’s choice and relish in the scent of him surrounding you through his clothing, hugging the fabric tightly to yourself. You bound down the stairs eagerly to the smell of breakfast cooking - chocolate chip pancakes by the smell of it - and think dreamily about what another perfect Saturday morning it had been in the Miller household.

joel taglist: @bbyanarchist

#it's official i'm absolutely losing it over husband joel here #fic: pretty little wife #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #x reader

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luvz-me · 3 months

Text

being at the last year of your sports medicine university course abroad in america was like a dream come true. but in all honesty you just wanted it to be over and quick. the prospect of having to intern at a random clinic for three months wasn't appealing at all. you made sure to send your cv to different physiotherapy clinics, gyms, sports clubs but still no answer.

watching all your colleagues start earlier than you was discouraging until one afternoon, after watching 2 boring movies a guy at a club told you to watch last night you got a call.

someone with a very poised voice starts talking almost immediately, "good afternoon, i'm speaking on behalf of the sports clinic and i was wondering if you'd be available for an interview tomorrow morning regarding your internship application?"

you almost envied the way there wasn't any hint of nervousness in their voice. it was almost immediate the way you accepted the offer, in all honesty you just wanted to get it over with.

you started your internship there after almost a week until one day, by the evening you witnessed something you never thought you would. tashi fucking duncan walking in the clinic right as you were about to leave. you felt your stomach turn, not in the bad way, but in the - what the fuck, did i hit my head somewhere and wake up in an alternate universe? - way. your anxiety making you want to throw up seeing one of the people you wrote countless essays about stand before you.

"i'm looking to book a sports physician. medium term for art donaldson, need them to be able to come in-house monday through friday." you heard her say to the receptionist, blunt yet always polite. one of your idols standing just a few meters away from you made you weak at the knees. you were aware the clinic was well frequented but you never thought she'd be in your sight ever.

you looked at your nails, pondering if you should start biting them, regaining a bad habit just because you found yourself in a situation you couldn't control sounds very much like you but tashi probably would think that's gross so you stop.

a client you had been assigned to arrives and you curse yourself out for not being able to keep listening to the conversation anymore. the day never ended. each glance you took at the clock just seemed like you were stopped in time. sighing while helping the elder woman stretch her upper body and muttering some words of praise, explaining to her that she'd have to keep coming for at least one more week so the pain could dissipate. you flashed her a smile as she got up and said goodbye, thanking you endlessly for helping her ease the pain.

your supervisor had been watching you. giving some criticism on this session with the client. as you were about to leave she pulled you aside and informed you that starting tomorrow you'd be going to tashi duncans house.

everything inside was pristine, you were even scared to even lean against the furniture in fear you'd somehow break it. tashi had given you a quick house tour, her heels clacking on the hardwood floors as she warmed you up to her, occasionally telling jokes about herself and saying you reminded her of herself. when she was in college. you didn't really know what that meant but you decided to take it as a compliment, nervously fidgeting your fingers. art was nowhere to be seen up until you reached the gym area.

standing there, broad shoulders scrolling through his phone, distracted and flashing a smile towards his wife once she clears her throat and wraps an arm around his shoulder. introducing you to each other and leaving promptly, saying she had a meeting with her pr team and that she'd be back at 8 pm.

you swallow dry. standing there awkwardly with your backpack on your shoulders.

"so.. umm were gonna start with wall angels maybe. tashi told me thats your problem area right now" you blurted out, trying to sound as professional as possible "just. place your arms against the wall in a 90 degree angle and slowly straighten them"

art follows suit, standing against the wall awkwardly moving his arms up and down before asking "how old are you?" breaking the silence

"i'm 21" you mutter in surprise analysing his form and his toned shoulders, and arms.. and muscles. eyes narrowing trying to remind yourself that this is not one of your hookups, this is art fucking donaldson and you're here for an internship. at his house. in his fancy home gym. hes not yours to admire. "why?"

"ah.. just wanted to know" art shrugs, looking at you intently. he gets up suddenly, yet his movements are deliberate. you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, your pulse quicken as i looked at the man before me. "can you show me how to do it properly?" his voice drops to a lower tone and all you can do for a few seconds is flutter your lashes at him

"but this is pretty easy already, i don't know how to ex-"

"i said, i want you to show me" art cuts you off, his gaze literally burning through your skull

art mirrors your movements, his eyes never leaving yours. you hope he doesn't notice the slight tremble in your hands.

"like this?" he asks, his voice even softer now, almost a whisper.

you nod, your breath hitching. "yes, just like that. make sure to keep your back flat against the wall."

he follows your instructions, his body inching closer. you can feel the heat emanating from him, a stark contrast to the cool, clinical setting of the gym. there's a tension in the air, a charged silence that makes your heart race.

"you're good at this," he murmurs, his eyes darkening with an emotion you can't quite place

your cheeks flush, the compliment catching you off guard. "i appreciate that, mr. donaldson."

he moves closer, his body now just inches from yours. you can feel the magnetism between you, a pull that's impossible to ignore. his hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. the gesture is tender, almost too intimate for your professional setting. "it's art, yeah? call me art, i don't want to feel like an old fart" he grins

"i should… i should check your shoulder alignment," you stammer, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. "you're a bit tight here," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "let me help you."

you guide him through a series of stretches, your hands lingering a bit longer than necessary on his shoulders, his back. the room feels smaller, the air thicker with each passing moment.

the session was over. finally. you gathered your things and slid your backpack over your shoulders. art's gaze is still on you and it's impossible not to feel it "are you in a hurry to leave?"

"umm, no i just. no im not in a hurry" you smile "just don't want to bother you anymore" your breath catches in your throat

"i was hoping we could talk a bit more. get to know each other better." he smirks. what the fuck "tashi told me some things about you but i think one on one conversation is far better" grabbing your hand and guiding you to a small resting area at the gym engaging in some superficial conversation about you while tracing circles in the back of your hand. you can't help but sigh. his hands becoming more and more pervasive, touching your thighs, reaching up up up until he's close to your crotch. a slight whine escapes your mouth. you're not focusing on the conversation at all.

"art, this is not-"

"tashi doesn't have to know" he replies knowing tashi knows damn well. hell, she even planned this for him. it wasn't her intention to scout a pretty little physiotherapist like you at first. but you were at the right place, at the right time. the moment she took a glance at you she knew she had to have you. it was a plus art needed help with his shoulders. his hands roaming on the waistband of your tight leggings, your mouth parting with a sigh. sigh that he takes as opportunity to crash his lips against yours. your eyes narrow at first and for a second you try to pull back but you don't really want to.

his fingers edging closer to your panties, the tightness of the leggings increasing the skin on skin contact. "aw you look so pretty with your lips parted. you wanna take my fingers in you don't you huh?" now hovering over you, caressing you over your top "fucking corrupt that little head of yours"

you can't help but let out a moan that sends him over the edge. sliding your leggings down caressing you over your panties. before pushing two fingers inside your mouth for you to suck. "you want this don't you baby?"

"mhm" you nod trying your hardest not to bite him when he uses his opposite hand to caress your sensitive nub. furrowing your eyebrows trying your hardest not to grab his arm. his calloused fingers leaving your plump mouth suddenly and making a 'pop' sound "but tashi might" cut off by the pads of his fingers circling your clit

"tashi doesn't mind" his voice hungry "im just helping you out yeah? we're just getting acquainted" one of his fingers teases your entrance slowly entering earning a sharp wince from you. the unfamiliar feeling slowly turning into pleasure as he slid it in and out "open your eyes f'me, let me see those pretty eyes"

you bite your lip staring at his face as he does such a lewd thing to you, and you let him. knowing he has a wife. somehow this made it even more arousing. whats wrong with you? "gonna add one more finger, fuck you're so tight around me, so good. i bet that clit would feel so good around my tongue" small tears cornering around your eyes. the soft noises leaving your lips only encouraging him to keep going.

"feels good huh baby?" he coos, his face edging closer and closer to your clit as your hips rise, only to stop once you're about to cum. abruptly sliding your panties back up along with your leggings.

this earns him a well deserved mewl. edging you like this. stopping when you were just so so close was just so mean of him. looking up at him just to see him lick your juices off his fingers, feeding them to you. "suck" he commands "don't be mad, i just need to make sure you come back for more sessions" fixing your hair and picking up your backpack from where you left it on the gym floor

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slytherinslut0 · 11 months

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eleven-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Sexual Aggression, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Slytherin!Boys, Weaponizing!EnzoBerkshire.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Friday morning arrived, but you found yourself ensnared by an unwelcome visitor: illness. Your usual vibrant energy was replaced by a lethargic heaviness, your throat scratchy, and your head pounding with each heartbeat. Emily's concerned eyes followed your every move at the breakfast table, her worried whispers barely audible above the hum of the Great Hall.

Thursday had been a disaster. Despite the guild meeting's anticipation, you couldn't summon an ounce of excitement. The prospect of seeing Tom, once a source of thrill and exciting opportunities, now felt like a daunting challenge. As you walked past him, you avoided his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor and not daring to converse with him outside of a few small shared words during the meeting. Ignoring him was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.

Every fiber of your being wanted to be excited, but the illness, accompanied by the haunting words from Mattheo, had drained you of joy and left only a hollow emptiness. The guild meeting, once a highlight of your week, felt like a distant obligation. Your world had shifted, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and discomfort, the very essence of your existence shaken by the turmoil within.

"Are you okay?" Emily's voice sliced through the quiet, laced with concern. "You look like you're about to faint."

"I'm just not feeling well," you replied, your voice barely audible above the buzz of the Great Hall.

The words that left your lips were somewhat true, but they were a mask over your real problems. A torrent of conflicting emotions churned within you, the chaos of Mattheo's unpredictable behavior warring with the complexities of your situation with Tom. Each thought pulled you in a different direction, leaving you in a state of internal turmoil that threatened to consume you whole. Despite your efforts to hide it, the storm inside your mind was evident in your eyes, a silent plea for understanding that you were desperate to keep hidden.

Emily's concerned expression softened into one of understanding, her eyes reflecting the depth of her friendship with you. She didn't press further, sensing the boundaries you had set. Instead, she offered you a gentle, reassuring smile.

"You've been working so hard," she said, softly. "You should cancel your tutoring tonight. You need a bloody night off--you're working yourself sick."

Internally, your turmoil grew. If only Emily knew the real reason behind your illness, the tangled web of secrets and emotions that threatened to suffocate you. The rule-breaking involvement with Mattheo weighed heavily on your conscience, a constant reminder of the dangerous path you were treading, one that was bound to explode at some point, one that was certain to bring your entire world crashing down with it when it did.

Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to confide in Emily, to burden her with the knowledge of your own reckless choices. The fear of judgment and the complexities of your feelings kept you silent, trapped in a cycle of self-imposed secrecy.

"I appreciate your concern, Emily," you replied, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I honestly think I might just do that...I'm going to tell him now."

Emily's face fell, her eyes widening with a mix of worry and disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words died on her lips. Before she could voice her concerns or attempt to hold you back, you were already rising from your seat, your determination etched on your face like a battle flag. With every step toward the Slytherin table, your gaze bored into Mattheo's disheveled appearance like a laser, an unspoken challenge burning in your eyes.

Your feet carried you forward with purpose, each step echoing your heartbeat which relentlessly thundered in your ears, drowning out the ambient sounds of the bustling Great Hall. The world around you blurred, the faces of your fellow students becoming mere smudges of colour as you zeroed in on Mattheo. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, urging you forward even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you drew closer, you realized the gravity of your decision, the precariousness of the situation you were about to confront, but in that moment, you knew you were already in too deep, you knew that there was no turning back.

"Riddle."

You uttered, your voice slicing through the air like a dagger. However, it was as if your words were swallowed by an invisible void; no one at the table even remotely acknowledging your presence.

"Riddle."

You repeated, your tone sharper this time. This caught Draco Malfoy's attention, his sharp, silver eyes locking onto yours with predatory amusement. His smirk, a cruel curve etched on his lips, seemed to mock your efforts. You shot him an eye roll, dismissing his silent taunts, but it only fueled his amusement, his head tilting slightly in enjoyment. Frustration simmered beneath your skin, a restless energy seeking an outlet. Exasperation surged through you, a tempest of emotions threatening to burst from within.

"Mattheo!"

You finally exclaimed, the name carrying the weight of your frustration and determination. The word hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing everyone at the Slytherin table in their tracks. The effect was immediate and profound. It was as if you had tossed a live wire onto the table, sending shockwaves through the once-buzzing atmosphere.

A sudden, eerie silence descended upon the Slytherin table. The lively chatter ceased abruptly, and every single pair of eyes turned toward you with an intensity that bordered on disbelief. Berkshire, Zabini, Nott, Black, Malfoy, and Riddle, as well as a few unfamiliar faces, locked their gazes onto yours, each expression mirroring a different shade of astonishment--ranging in various raised eyebrows to widened, shocked eyes.

Before you had a chance to compose yourself, Berkshire, seated directly in front of you, sported a wide, contemptuous grin, his eyes gleaming with disdain.

"Well, well, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Enzo sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "Did you finally tire of your precious textbooks, sweetheart? Or are you just here to make a fool of yourself?"

Mattheo's eyes widened in mild astonishment, his usual mask of indifference momentarily slipping as he watched the scene unfold. His lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, but he remained silent, keenly observing the confrontation.

You straightened your back, your gaze unwavering as you met Enzo's sneer head-on. "I'm not here to entertain you, Enzo," you replied, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "But if you have nothing else to do besides insult people, maybe you should consider finding a hobby that doesn't involve being an insufferable prat."

The table fell into a stunned silence, the previous atmosphere of mockery dissipating like smoke in the wind. Enzo's sneer faltered, his expression contorting into a mixture of surprise and indignation.

Zabini raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Looks like this raven has some fuckin' claws...watch out boys..."

Nott stifled a laugh behind his hand, clearly entertained by the unexpected turn of events. Black shot you an approving nod, wordlessly acknowledging your verbal victory, and even Malfoy, though still aloof, seemed intrigued by your bold response.

Mattheo's eyes, however, bore into yours with an unreadable intensity, a hint of something flickering beneath the surface--mixture of surprise, pride, and a touch of something more complicated. Enzo's face flushed with anger, his eyes narrowing into slits as he prepared a retort. However, before he could unleash his reply, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tension like a dagger.

"What do you want, Raven?" His tone was calm, collected, almost entirely unfazed.

Inhaling deeply, you mustered your courage and looked directly into Mattheo's eyes. "I won't be able to make it for potions tonight," you stated firmly, your voice unwavering despite the charged atmosphere. "Feeling a bit under the weather."

Mattheo's lips curled into a subtle smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Under the weather, huh?" he said, his tone laced with feigned concern. "Such a shame. I suppose I'll have to find another way to occupy my evening."

There was a playful challenge in his words, hinting at an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Around the table, the boys exchanged raised eyebrow glances, their expressions laced with sadistic curiosity. Their eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, absorbing the interaction with keen interest, as if trying to unravel the depth of the connection between the two of you. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, each of them leaning in slightly, eager to catch any nuances in your conversation, their curiosity piqued by the intriguing dynamic at play.

"I suppose you will," you said, your voice laced with venom. "Enjoy your evening, Riddle."

Just as you attempted to leave, a cold, harsh grip closed around your wrist, making you gasp in surprise. Glancing down, you found Berkshire's twisted face leering up at you, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips.

"If you ever need help getting that stick out of your uptight ass, I'd consider lending a hand," his eyes glinted with malicious intent as he taunted, "of course, for the right price...I'm not as generous as Mattheo."

Your eyes narrowed, fury burning in your veins like wildfire. "Mattheo, generous?" you scoffed, disbelief lacing your words. "That's the last word I'd associate him with."

Berkshire's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with sadistic satisfaction. "Oh, trust me, little bird," he sneered, leaning in closer, "generosity might not be his best feature--but sometimes, when you're dealing with snakes, it's better to know which one bites less."

His grip tightened briefly before he released you, leaving you seething with anger and frustration. Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his fingers curling into fists at Berkshire's audacious words. His eyes narrowed, a storm of anger brewing beneath the surface, but he maintained his composure.

"Watch your tongue, Berkshire." With a chilling calmness, he spoke, his voice laced with a warning tone. "And what did I tell you about fucking touching her?"

His words hung heavy in the air, a subtle threat underlying the calm facade. The atmosphere grew tenser, and even Berkshire seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Mattheo's gaze. The unspoken tension between the two boys crackled, leaving an electric charge in the room.

But then, Berkshire's lips curled into a sinister smile, as if he'd just come to some sudden realization, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.

"My apologies, Riddle," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, glancing around at all of the other boys at the table. "I didn't realize she was off-limits...but, I have to say, it's quite intriguing, isn't it? The way you guard her so fiercely. Makes one wonder just how close you two really are."

Your irritation swelled, the annoyance becoming almost tangible. How had you thought Mattheo's snark was bad? This guy was in an entire fucking league of his own.

"What truly intrigues me is how someone as insufferable as you manages to function on a daily basis," you hissed, each word dripping with venom, spat out through gritted teeth. "I didn't think it was possible to be more arrogant than Mattheo, but I suppose congratulations are in order. At least you win at something, unlike Quiddit-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Berkshire erupted from his seat, his face contorted with rage, poised to confront you, stalling your lungs in your chest. The rest of the boys swiftly intervened, seizing him and forcefully yanking him back down into his seat, averting a potential escalation of yet another confrontation, each of them exchanging uneasy glances.

Mattheo's demeanor was a storm of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and blazing with intensity. Despite his efforts to remain composed, the anger seeping from him was palpable, casting a shadow over the entire table.

You shot a scathing look at Berkshire, his gaze avoiding yours as he muttered bitter words under his breath, unwilling to engage in anymore direct confrontation.

Despite the tension, your voice dripped with disdain as you whispered, "bloody pathetic."

The words hung in the air, heavy with disgust, lingering like a ghostly mist--and before anyone had a chance to say anything else, you turned on your heel and left the hall. Each step echoed the frustration and anger that churned within you, the atmosphere thick with the lingering tension of the encounter. As you stormed down the corridor, your footsteps reverberating off the stone walls, you couldn't shake off the seething anger that clung to you like a second skin.

The distant echoes of the Great Hall's chaos faded into the background as you retreated into the quiet corridor, seeking solace from the storm you had unleashed. Just as you began to regain a semblance of composure, Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, his frustration palpable in the way he growled your name. You turned to face him, meeting his intense gaze, where anger and concern danced in his eyes like a tempest.

"The hell was that, Raven? What were you fucking thinking?" he demanded, his footsteps closing in with purposeful strides. His voice, though edged with annoyance, held an undercurrent of worry. "Starting a fight with Berkshire in the middle of the Great Hall? Are you trying to draw unnecessary attention to us?"

"You think I fucking started that?" Your eyes flashed with defiance, refusing to back down despite the intensity of Mattheo's gaze.

"I won't stand there and let him disrespect me, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice cutting through the silence with sharp precision. The weight of his annoyance only fueled your determination. "I'm already your doormat, I won't be his too."

There was a challenging edge to your words, a fire that refused to be extinguished, even in the face of Mattheo's frustration. It was a declaration of your unwillingness to be treated as less than you were worth, a resolve that echoed in the defiant set of your shoulders and the unwavering determination in your eyes. Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a menacing intensity. He closed the distance between you in a few more swift strides, his presence overwhelming.

"You're not my doormat, Raven," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you keep pushing...if you keep running your mouth like that, you might just find out what it feels like to be truly under someone's heel...I can't keep defending you without drawing suspicion."

"Oh, look at you...big tough guy, huh?" Your defiance blazed in your eyes, undeterred by Mattheo's threats. You stepped forward, kinking your neck back to catch his eyes. "What are you going to do about it, hm? Get out the belt again? We both know I can handle more than that, Riddle..."

"You're playing with fire, princess..." Mattheo warned, his tone dripping with dark amusement as it dropped to a low whisper. "And we both know how that usually ends, don't we?"

His smirk, etched with wicked allure, deepened into a predatory grin. His eyes, like shards of obsidian, glittered with a potent mixture of dominance and danger. Leaning in, he invaded your personal space, his head tilting slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. Despite the adrenaline surging through your veins, you met his eyes with unwavering courage, a silent declaration that you would not be easily swayed by his aura of power and intrigue.

"Seems like that's all I do these days," you whispered back, allowing your defiance to blow away with the wind as you remembered why you even ventured to his table in the first place. "I can't do this anymore, Mattheo...I can't keep doing this...whatever the fuck this even is in the first place..."

Mattheo's eyes softened, his usual facade cracking for a moment as he reached out, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw.

"Raven," he murmured, his voice filled with a complexity of emotions, "we're in too deep now...you and I both know there's no turning back..."

The dim light of the corridor cast deep shadows across Mattheo's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, normally ablaze with confidence, were now clouded with uncertainty, a storm of conflicting emotions. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, adding to the enigmatic aura that surrounded him. As he leaned in, the scent of his cologne wrapped around you, intoxicating and alluring.

"No, Mattheo..." you breathed, turning your head to avoid his lips. "You said no strings but there seems to be a lot of fucking strings...it’s all too much…”

Your inner turmoil churned like a tempest within, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions tearing at the very core of your existence. There was an ache nestled deep in your chest, a painful acknowledgment that you were bound to Mattheo in ways that defied logic and reason. The desire for something genuine, something profound and real, clashed violently with the brutal truth that it could never be.

It was a cruel paradox: Mattheo's possessiveness, his insistence on claiming you, even in the shadowy realms of secrecy, left you feeling both wanted and yet painfully isolated. The longing for an authentic connection battled relentlessly with the reality that this clandestine affair could never transform into something meaningful. You found yourself ensnared in a complex web, a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame, unable to resist its allure despite the inevitable burn.

His games and possessive gestures were merely agonizing reminders of the insurmountable boundaries. Yet, the magnetic pull of his presence, the way he ignited a fire within you, kept you entangled in this perilous dance. Your feelings for him were perplexing, a tumultuous mix of intense desire and seething resentment. He made you experience emotions you had never felt before, confusing you with the sheer intensity of your reactions.

You hated him, despised the way he treated you, yet he had an inexplicable power over you, making you feel both alive and trapped simultaneously. The dichotomy between the pleasure he brought and the pain he inflicted left you utterly confounded, adrift in a sea of emotions, desperately searching for an anchor that seemed forever out of reach.

Mattheo's eyes softened even further as he blinked, catching the flicker of turmoil in your gaze. He stepped back, the intensity of the moment breaking as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture of frustration and resignation.

"You're just not feeling well..." he said, his voice void of emotion, as though your turmoil was inconsequential, as though your current health state somehow made any fucking difference. "Get some rest, Raven. See you Wednesday."

His words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, a reminder of the futility of your situation. With a final, detached glance, he turned away and spun down the dimly lit hall, his figure gradually fading into the shadows. The weight of his indifference settled on your shoulders, a heavy burden that mirrored the ache in your heart. As he disappeared from view, you stood there, alone in the corridor, feeling both abandoned and entangled, like a moth caught in a web of its own making.

—————-

Chapter twelve->

826 notes · View notes

trentsgirl · 8 months

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— 🤍 ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

⟡ summary: just a lovely morning with your boyfriend.

⟡ content: very fluffy, clingy jude, established relationship, short, around three hundred words.

⟡ notes: had this in my drafts for a while, so thought i should post this because i have too many. requests are open:))

⟡ streaming: tip toe by hybs.

⟡ masterlist.

mornings with jude were usually hectic and far from peaceful. you would quickly get ready for your respective commitments and barely have any time for each other before rushing out the door.

but today was different. it was friday, and jude had been granted a few days off due to a shoulder injury. despite the unfortunate circumstances, jude was excited about the prospect of spending the entire day with you.

his plan was to stay in bed all morning, cuddling and making up for lost time, if you know what i mean. however, you had other plans in mind.

you were accustomed to waking up early and being productive. so as you attempted to free yourself from jude’s firm hold, he unconsciously grunted, his body pressing against yours.

nevertheless, you paid no attention to his murmurs and left the bed, causing jude to grumble even more.

“come back to bed,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. you couldn’t help but find it endearing how much he longed for you. “i’m tired,” he added, lightly tapping your pillow.

deciding to tease him, you donned an exaggerated pout and adopted a whiny tone, as if speaking to a child. “oh, you’re tired? i’m so sorry baby, it must be so difficult for you.”

jude expressed his annoyance, stating, “actually, scratch that. when i said i was tired, what i really meant was that i’m tired of you being a sarcastic little shit.”

you chuckled, returning to the bed with a gentle smile. “well, i’m your sarcastic little shit.” you playfully remarked, giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

jude seized the chance to embrace you, shifting his position so that he loomed over you with his much larger frame, making you nearly invisible beneath him.

“jude!” you gasped for breath, “do need to remind you that you’re six feet tall? you’re not exactly on the small side!”

he seemed unfazed by the fact that his weight was completely crushing you, and retorted mockingly, “i’m actually six foot one, baby.”

rolling your eyes, you chose not to respond and surrendered to jude’s agenda for the day.

to be fair, it wasn’t too bad at first. however, once his snoring started again, all you desired was to kick him from the bed.

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aperrywilliams · 5 months

Text

Douchebag Falls Short in This Case (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

------------------

Author Masterlist

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Part 1: If Anything I Find it Educative

Part 2: It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer and Reader can’t have their scheduled lunch, but they keep talking by phone and texts. After Spencer returns from a case, they can see each other again. If Spencer hadn’t been mesmerized with Reader, now he is, and maybe is more than that.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Some strong words. Description of Road Rage Disorder. Talking about bad experiences at high school (nothing explicit). Emily is the best older sister to Spencer.

A/N: The prospect of them having a date was too tempting not to do it. This one is part 3 of “If Anything I Find It Educative” (Part 2 of “It Was Horrible Until It Wasn’t”). Let me know your thoughts!!! I’m here to read you guys.

-----

Spencer's POV

-----

Me: Are you free on Saturday at midday? We could go to lunch. Let me know. Good night. S.R.

Heimlich Master: Yeah. Lunch sounds great. Let's talk about the details later. Good night :)

My face hurts from the big smile I sport right now. Smile that doesn't fade once I get to my apartment.

How did I manage to text her right away? I would never know, but I thank that moment of confidence.

Now I can't wait to see her again on Saturday.

---

I should have known making plans wouldn't work for me. It's Friday afternoon, and I'm on the jet about to take off for a case in Los Angeles.

There goes my lunch with (Y/N).

I grab my phone to type a text to let her know.

Between last night and today, we have been texting back and forth about what time on Saturday works for us and whether I had a place in mind. I did, but I told her it was a surprise.

Now I must cancel, and I can't stress enough my disappointment.

Me: Hey. I'm so sorry, but I'm leaving for a case in L.A. Can we reschedule our lunch? Please don't hate me.

Heimlich Master: Oh, it's okay. Don't worry; of course, we can reschedule.

Heimlich Master: Let me know when you come back. And don't be silly; I don't hate you.

Heimlich Master: Can I ask you for something, though?

Me: Sure. Anything.

Heimlich Master: Can you prevent Morgan from kick-down doors this time? The bureau budget would appreciate it.

I can't contain the snort that leaves my lips, gaining Emily's attention. Bad luck of mine; she is in a seat just in front of me.

Me: I'll do my best. Promise.

Heimlich Master: Thank you. Have a safe flight :)

Me: Thanks :)

Look at me! Even using emojis.

Penelope would be proud of me.

I set my phone on the table to exchange it for the book I chose for this flight. Emily's voice stops me before I can do that.

"So, are you going to tell me why you are so smiling?"

And here we go.

"Me?" I lift my eyes to Emily, who has a smirk on her face. I hate that she already knows what's happening, not even knowing what's happening.

"Sure, genius. I don't see anyone else here so amused and focused on his texts. Not to mention the grin that could illuminate the whole D.C."

"No, I'm not!" I defend—a poor attempt to keep the transparency of my face at bay. Emily scoffs, and that's all it takes to know she doesn't believe me.

"I understand you don't like to talk about your personal life. I get it. And I won't bug you as Morgan would, yet knowing it is related to your love life. But don't try to fool me. It's insulting," she says, the last part faking hurt. That makes me chuckle.

"That being said, I just want you to know I'm here if you need to talk. It's not always good to keep things to yourself."

Not waiting for my response, she picks up the folder with the current case details to read.

I have known Emily for a few years now, and even if we didn't start on the right foot - entirely my fault - she's proven very supportive. Gosh, once she endured a whole beating from an unsub only to keep me safe.

Beyond that, she knows how to talk to me without treating me like a kid. Sometimes, I can't say the same about the rest. Of course, I don't blame them; they've always seen me as the team's baby, but I appreciate Emily doesn't.

"That's the thing. This," I point my gaze where my phone is. "I don't know what it is," I sigh. Emily's eyes are back to me. She sees how confused I am.

"What do you think it is then?"

I don't want to betray (Y/N) 's trust by spilling details about her life, so the specifics of our talks are out of the table.

"I can't deny there is a connection between us. We only met twice—both by chance. But they led us to talk for hours. And I ask myself, am I reading this wrong, and she only sees me like a, I don't know, potential friend?"

"Why would she? She told you she was only looking for a friend?" Emily asks, her hands resting lightly over the folder on her lap.

"No, she didn't. It's a deduction of mine, though. I mean, she recently ended a relationship —a very serious one."

Just remembering the reason that led to that breakup makes me sick.

"Okay. That could be a thing, but not necessarily. Maybe things ended precisely because she wanted something different. That's not bad," Emily hypothesizes. I shake my head.

"I'm not so sure. Let's say she wouldn't have ended the relationship until something big happened. Big enough for her to realize the guy was a total -"I trail off. What would be the right word?

"A douchebag?" Emily offers.

"I think douchebag falls short in this case," I point out. Emily's eyes widen.

"That bad, uh?" I nod.

"She is vulnerable right now, and I don't want to take advantage of that. But at the same time, I want a chance with her. Am I a bad person?"

"What? No! Spencer, don't say that," Emily rushes to stop my spiral. "Far from that. You are considerate enough to see she's in a complicated situation. Most of the men don't even care about that. Cut her some slack, though. She is a grown-up woman, and if she wants to get to know you, why not let her? If she hasn't already, I bet she will see the great man you are. And not only as a friend."

My eyebrows furrow.

"Do you think so?"

"Sure. And for how you describe her, I don't think she is the type to play with people's feelings. Although, I strongly recommend being honest with her. That will prevent false expectations."

I take in Emily's words, and they make perfect sense.

"Thank you, Emily. I didn't think about it like that," I

muse. "Can you do me a favor, though?"

She nods, anticipating what I'm going to say.

"I know. Not a word to anyone. Got it," Emily confirms with a reassuring smile.

---

The heat in Los Angeles for the last three days has been overpowering. Just as catching this unsub has become extremely frustrating.

I'm in the meeting room they lent us to work in, reviewing the details of the case over and over again. The rest of the team is outside the precinct following our latest leads.

My head started to hurt, and I had to close my eyes for a moment.

As I focus on breathing, my phone pings. I open my eyes and see a text from (Y/N).

Heimlich Master: How are you? I read that L.A. has a heat wave; I hope it's not hitting you too hard.

I can't help the smile that pushes the corners of my lips upward.

Me: I'd like to say it's not affecting me, but I don't want to lie. I will survive, though. Please tell me how nice the weather is in D.C., and I'll aim to finish this case as soon as possible.

Heimlich Master: I thought our lunch was enough incentive for you to do that. Now I feel bad.

Oh, fuck. What did I do? Of course, it's an incentive for me. It is THE incentive, actually. I have been thinking about that since Friday when I came here. Now she's assuming I don't care.

How can you be such an idiot, Spencer?

I must fix this immediately, so I hit the call button—a confused (Y/N) answers on the other end.

"Spencer?"

"Hey. I - uh. I decided to call because I needed to explain myself. Please, don't feel bad. Of course, I want our lunch to happen. I wasn't saying it like if I don't. I mean, the heat is fucking insane here, but it's not-"

"Spencer, hey, don't-" she tries to make me stop. Still, I am so determined to say everything necessary to explain myself that I continue my rant.

"What I'm trying to say is-"

"Spencer, wait!" (Y/N)’s firmer voice halts me in my failed attempt at an apology. It's sufficient enough for me to shut up.

"Sorry. What were you about to say?"

"I'm sorry for stopping you, but it sounded like you would run out of air and pass out. Now I feel awful because the last thing I wrote was only to mess with you. I didn't want you to feel like I was accusing you of something, much less that you owed me an apology."

"Oh," I mumble, now making sense of the whole exchange. My cheeks heat up realizing I went from 0 to 100 in seconds. (Y/N)'s voice sounds anxious now.

"Please, forgive me if I worried you that way. That's why I hate texts; I can't control my teasing tone as I do when I talk to someone."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. I don't want (Y/N) to think she did anything wrong, though.

"No, don't say that. I'm not good at - literally - reading social cues. I should have noticed. I just need some practice," I chuckle. I can hear a chuckle on the other end, too.

"Well, since we already cleared up our first miscommunication problem. How are you?"

That sentence shouldn't make my heart skip a beat, but it does.

Get your shit together, Spencer.

"With the heat and the lack of progress in the case, it is a bit frustrating. But we'll make it. How about you?"

"Good, actually. Not the load of paperwork I had last week, and my boss just asked me to prepare a lecture for the trainees in forensic accounting."

"Wow, that's amazing!" I chirp, excited.

"I'm a bit nervous, though. But I'll live," (Y/N) sighs.

"You'll do it great. I didn't know you were into teaching," I muse, remembering our prior conversations.

"I didn't, either. But I've had some previous experiences, and they have been okay. So, the case? That bad, uh?"

That brings me back to L.A. and the case. I was very comfy with my mind in (Y/N).

"He's taunting us. I mean, the police force. But we have a strong profile. One more piece, and we have him," I assure, trying to be convincing enough.

"You guys know what you're doing. You'll catch him, Spencer." (Y/N) sounds like she has no doubt. It fills my heart with warmth because although she doesn't have to put that amount of trust in me, she does it anyway.

"Reid?" I turn to see Morgan and J.J. walking into the room. She hears it, too.

"They need you. You have to return to work," (Y/N) concludes. I let out a sigh.

"Yeah. I have to go," I mumble apologeticly.

"Of course, you're working. It’s okay," she affirms with understanding.

"I'll let you know when I'm done here. Take care, okay?" I whisper into the receiver.

"I will. You too, be safe. Bye."

I can see Morgan's smirk and JJ’s curious look when I hang up.

I know they're dying to ask me questions, but now is not the time, and I don't want to either. So before any words come from their mouths, I hasten to speak.

"Did you find anything? I was examining what we have so far, and I think we are missing something. Look at this," I tell them, pointing to the scattered photos on the table. They look at each other and hesitate to interrupt me or play along. Thank goodness they opt for the latter.

---

Me: Did you know L.A. has an abandoned underground tunnel network? If they are put together, it will stretch out 17 kilometers. They exist due to the Prohibition. When alcohol was banned in L.A. in early 1920, 35,000 gallons of wine were poured into its sewers. But, far from eradicating booze, prohibition pushed its use underground, literally.

Heimlich Master: Wow. I didn't know that. But I'm afraid to ask why are you telling me this. Are you trapped in one of those tunnels, and this is a call for help? [see attached photo]

Me: Ha Ha Ha. Let's say I've been studying those tunnels all day. Good thing we have Morgan and Prentiss to do the dirty job, though.

It's my fifth night in Los Angeles, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry. The only things that have kept me at least in a decent mood are the texts and short calls I have shared with (Y/N). I've never been very fond of using technology, including my cell phone, but thanks to (Y/N), I haven't even questioned it.

We've been sharing fun facts and memes. If you had asked me a week ago what a meme was, I wouldn't have known what to answer. The word was familiar to me thanks to Garcia, who often mentions them, but now I can say that I know more about them than I would have expected to. (Y/N) is a regular, and I can understand more of her sense of humor because of that. She especially loves the ones with a philosopher dinosaur and those where a woman yells at a cat.

Heimlich Master: How is the case going?

I'm about to reply when hard knocks shake my hotel room door. I hear Morgan's voice on the other side. "Reid! There is a break in the case! Move your ass right now!" Before leaving the room, I texted (Y/N).

Me: Hoping to wrap it up tonight.

Two hours later, we have the unsub in custody, not before running into a frantic chase for L.A. streets. Now, completely wasted, we are packing our things to return home. Usually, when we wrap cases at this hour, we stay until the next morning and then take off. But everyone is so drained that Hotch called to the tarmac saying we’re flying back tonight.

Being already on the jet, I feel like writing to (Y/N), but it doesn't seem appropriate, considering it's 2 in the morning. I refrain and try to catch some sleep, knowing exactly what I want to do first when we touch down in Virginia.

---

It’s the first time I've put foot on the third floor of the Quantico Headquarters. It doesn’t look too different from the others I do know. A bunch of people walking in and out, agents perched at their desks, deep in folders or computers. Phones are ringing, and the sound of copy machines is unmistakable.

But none of that matters right now. I have a mission to accomplish.

After navigating between several desks, I find the one I’m looking for.

“Good morning, agent (Y/L/N).”

At the sound of my voice, (Y/N)’s head whips up.

“Hey! When did you come back?” she asks, seeming confused. The last time we spoke was last night before the unsub takedown, so for her, I still could be in LA.

I check my watch. “One hour and fifteen minutes ago.”

“I hope you slept on the jet.”

“I did. A bit.”

I won’t tell her how I barely closed my eyes, excited about returning to Virginia.

“So, to what do I owe the honor of having you here, Dr. Reid?”

“A crucial matter that can’t wait.”

“Is that so?”

“Uh-hu. I have an announcement and a question for you.”

“Oh yeah? Okay, shoot.”

“Morgan didn't kick down any doors during this case.”

(Y/N) snort a laugh. What a beautiful view it is to see her laugh.

“It's what I needed to start my day with the right foot.”

“You're welcome.”

“Okay, that was the announcement. And the question?”

“Yeah, about that. What do you say if we switch our failed lunch last Saturday for having dinner tonight?”

(Y/N)’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Tonight? Are you sure? You just came back.”

She’s inspecting my face, looking for certainty. I nod solemnly.

“Yeah, tonight. Unless you already have plans. If that’s the case, it’s okay. We can do something another day.”

After pondering my offer for a second, a smile creeps in (Y/N)’s face.

“You’re a lucky guy. Did you know that?”

Is it too much to say I’m feeling a lucky guy since I met her?

“I’m realizing now. Pick you up at seven, then. Is that okay?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you my full address.”

After saying our goodbyes, I take the elevator back to BAU. As the doors open at the sixth, I go face-to-face with Garcia.

“Oh, there you are! Everyone was looking for you to start the debriefing. Where were you anyways?” Penelope says, worried about my whereabouts.

Shit. I forgot Hotch wanted to do that quickly so we could finally get over this case.

“Uh. I had to use the bathroom.” I try to sound normal to avoid making a big deal.

“On another floor?” She asks, visibly confused.

Sometimes, my IQ gets lost in my odd way of doing synapses.

What the fuck I was thinking when I said that?

“Did you know the men’s bathroom paper toilet in the seventh is better quality than here?”

Oh, Spencer Reid, please stop.

“Really? I always knew they had more privileges than us. But the paper toilet? It’s infuriating,” Garcia huffs. And I know doing this is not very kind of me, but I promise to explain to her. Not now, though.

“Uh. I’m going to the conference room now. The others are waiting,” I announce, and Garcia nods, ushering me there.

“Yes. Go, go!”

Aside from the looks of 'Where the hell were you?' no one commented on me being late. Once we debrief, Hotch officially closes the case, instructing us to finish the paperwork and head home at lunchtime, which is perfect for my plans. It gives me enough time to prepare for dinner with (Y/N).

I know I look like a teenager, but I don't care.

Around three in the afternoon, I am already in my apartment and have made a restaurant reservation.

I decided to take a quick nap, although I didn't know how much sleep I would get given my nerves. It's not that being with (Y/N) makes me anxious per se; It's the anticipation of being with her.

Maybe I'm expecting too much from this date.

Shit. 'This date' Is this actually a date?

I feel like it is, but for (Y/N), will it be the same?

I invited her to dinner but never told her it was a date. Derek would tell me it is, but I don't want to assume.

Now is when Emily's words ring in my ears: 'Be honest with her to avoid false expectations.'

With her words in mind and the tiredness from the last days catching up with me, slumber finds me after a while.

---

It’s seven pm sharp, and I’m knocking on (Y/N)’s door. I can hear some rustling from inside before the doors open, revealing her frame greeting me with a smile.

“Hey! Just in time!”

“H- hi,” I say, almost breathless after taking in her appearance.

It's true that the first time I saw (Y/N), she was dressed to the nines. It's also true that when I saw her on the terrace that night, I couldn't help but think how beautiful and captivating she was.

The next time was at Quantico. She wore a classic and elegant office outfit, with black formal trousers, a white silk blouse, and a fitted maroon jacket. The image of all the confidence and resolve I bet she has at the job.

But now? My jaw shamelessly drops.

She's wearing a sleek, form-fitting black dress that accentuates her curves and black heels that elongate her legs. A beautiful cardigan wraps elegantly in her upper half. Her hair is styled in loose waves cascading over her shoulders, and she's accessorized with long silver earrings and the same necklace with the compass I saw on her the first time. She looks sophisticated, alluring, and just perfect.

“Let me get my purse, and we can go, okay?” (Y/N) says, jutting her thumb to the inside.

“Su- yeah, sure.”

Great. I’m a stuttering mess.

The drive to the restaurant is filled with light conversation. I talked about the last heatwave in Los Angeles, and she annoyed me by telling me about the rain in Virginia last week.

Now I ask (Y/N) if she has a car. It happens that she owns a car but doesn't like to drive.

“I just discovered years ago I don't like it. But I kept the car only for emergencies, which is stupid if I think of it,” she prefaces.

“Why?” I ask, stealing a glance at her.

“Because now all emergencies I can think of entail myself incapable of driving.”

Her laugh fills the car now, and I can’t help but join her.

“Okay, okay. But really, why you don’t like it?” I ask when our laughing fades. (Y/N) clears her throat.

“Uh - are you familiar with the term road rage?”

I nod, not peeling my gaze from the streets ahead.

“Yes, I do. Colloquially known as ‘angry driver disorder,’ it is aggressive or angry behavior exhibited by motorists. These behaviors include rude and verbal insults, yelling, physical threats, or dangerous driving methods targeted at other drivers, pedestrians, or cyclists to intimidate or release frustration.”

A sigh escapes (Y/N)’s lips. “Yeah. That.”

Using the chance a red light gives me, I look at her with an eyebrow furrowed.

“So, do you have RRD?”

She averts my gaze, focusing on the windshield instead.

“I thought I had it. At first, I didn’t give it any importance. I said it was just me trying to adjust to the jungle. Who hasn’t yelled as driving? But there were times when I freaked out of myself and feared doing something more than screeching or honking like crazy. So, I stopped driving for a while. I did my research and learned techniques to get it under control. But since then, I never enjoyed it again.”

A nervous giggle escapes from (Y/N)’s lips.

“Jesus, you are going to think I’m a society threat.”

I shake my head without a second thought.

“Of course, you are not. Furthermore, I find it admirable that you realized it was unhealthy and took action before living a worse experience.”

I see a blush creeping (Y/N)’s cheeks from the corner of my eye.

Not five minutes later, we are at the restaurant parking lot.

Descending from the vehicle, I hurry to (Y/N)’s door and open it for her. Once she is out of the car, I offer my arm so she can lace hers with it.

The hostess greets us at the entrance, and once he checks our reservation, he leads us to our table.

It's the first time I’m here. I chose it because Rossi once said it was perfect for a date.

Again. A date. Something I still don't know if apply here.

A waitress approaches us as soon as we sit, handing us two menus.

“Miss, sir. I’m Emma, and I’ll be at your service this evening. Can I offer something to drink?”

After Emma leaves us with our orders, (Y/N) turns to me.

“Spencer, this place is amazing.”

And she is right. The soft lighting from the small lamps creates a warm atmosphere. The decor includes cozy tables spaced apart for privacy, with comfortable seating and plush cushions. Soft and muted deep reds and browns fill the interior, with classy artwork on the walls. It's really nice.

But above all, the company makes it even better.

Our conversation flows as easily as in the car. It's so comfortable as we have known each other for a long time. And we just met less than two weeks ago.

“Okay, let me get this straight. So you are from Vegas and couldn't bear the L.A. heatwave?”

“I have lived in DC for almost eight years, so I adapted better to this climate.” I shrug and (Y/N) hums.

“You don't get to go there that much? I mean, do you have family there?”

“Just my mom. And no, I don’t see her very often,” I confess—a tint of guilt in my voice.

I see (Y/N)’s face, and I know she wants to ask, but she is respectful enough not to. Not everyone is.

“I’m an only child. And my dad left us when after my tenth birthday. With no siblings, it is only my mom and me. But even if I don't see her often, I write her letter daily.”

I look at her again, expecting the same face everyone gives me when I talk about my family, the one that screams pity. But no, if (Y/N)’s face screams anything, it’s understanding.

“Old school, uh? I’m sure your mom loves your letters,” she says, sipping her glass of wine. I nod,

telling (Y/N) more about my letters to my mom and how detailed she likes me to write them.

“And I think it helped us not to break the bond.” I shrug, taking a bit from the fork. “What about you? Did you say you are not from DC?”

“No. I’m not. I’m from Minneapolis. My parents settled there at a very young age. They were born in the South. I have two siblings: an older sister and a younger brother. My parents are still in Minneapolis, and my brother is, but he lives with his boyfriend now. My sister left for Chicago when she married her fiancee years ago.”

“Do you see them often?”

(Y/N) shakes her head.

“Not quite. Just in holidays or major events. But we call each other often. I always know what happens there, and they know what happens to me here.”

(Y/N) tells me she is not that close with her sister, though. Since she started dating his current husband, they distanced. And that only worsened when (Y/N) moved to DC.

“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.” I don’t know what having a sibling is, but I see in her eyes that she is not okay with how things turned between them.

“Yeah. But neither of us has done something about it. And here is where I need to clarify that stubbornness runs in my family,” she chuckles.

I pull a face, faking surprise. “Yeah, that’s so you can realize who you're dealing with,” she says, pointing her fork at me.

Our conversation bounces from topic to topic until we land on the school phase.

I tell her about what it's like to be a child prodigy in a public school in Las Vegas. The bad things and the not-so-bad ones, because believe it or not, I can see something positive from that time at this point in my life.

“Clearly, I didn't have it as difficult as you, but I am sure we all felt out of place at some point during that time,” she muses, cutting a piece of her dessert with the spoon.

“Did you?”

She lets out a chuckle. “Let's say I haven't been very ‘typical’ in my life, especially in high school. I mean, if following a stereotype was required, mine was quite different from the other girls my age.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “How is so?”

“Well, while my friends dreamed about having a Mr. Darcy-Elizabeth kind of love, I found Heathcliff and Kathy's relationship more appealing,” she stops from her explanation with a snort escaping her lips. “Ha! I should have known it would be a problem later.”

Why do I think other people would know what she is talking about while I don't?

Of course, she sees the confusion written all over my face.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” I pull a face, shaking my head.

“At risk of being disrespectful, uh, no. I don't.”

“Don’t worry. You don't have to, I guess. But if you read Wuthering Heights someday, you will know.”

I will—first thing in the morning.

“But the main idea is that I never expected life would be something close to a fairy tale, you know? I just didn't believe it, and my friends hated that of me.”

Jerks.

It's fair to say that we are so caught up in chatting that we don’t realize we are the only ones left in the restaurant. We do when Emma approaches to ask if we need anything.

After paying the check, we left the restaurant and headed to my car. The ride is mainly silent this time. I don’t want this night to end, and I think (Y/N) doesn't either because of how she bites her lower lip with her eyes trained on the road ahead.

We begin a light conversation for a few minutes after arriving at her building. With the car in parking, I reach her side of the vehicle to open the door for her. I offer her my hand, and she takes it, giving me a warm smile.

“I'll walk you to the door.” She nods softly, “Okay.”

The three floors to her apartment are pure agony in my head. I want to be honest with her, but I also don't want to scare her into thinking I'm a creep or whatever. If she notices my internal dilemma, she doesn't mention it. We reach her door, and (Y/N) takes her keys from her purse. I don't trust my hands and keep them in my pockets as she opens the door. She turns to face me now.

“Thank you, Spencer. I had a great time tonight.”

I see it in her eyes. She is genuine. And my heart skips a bit.

“Me too. Thanks for accepting my invitation.”

My hands feel clammy, so I take them out of my pocket and dry them discreetly on my clothes.

“Of course.”

We remain silent without taking our eyes off each other. Emily's words reverberate, and I know what I must do.

Okay. Here we go.

“Can I - can I ask you something?”

I wish I could speak without stumbling over my words.

“Sure.”

“Would you say that tonight, that is, our dinner - would you say it was a date? I mean, would you classify this as a date?”

(Y/N)’s eyes are trained on me as if trying to follow my train of thought.

“A date? Why wouldn’t I?”

She is still careful but curious about where I’m going with all of this.

“It's just that I never said it was a date when I talked about dinner.”

“So, you didn’t want it as a date?” (Y/N) asks for clarification, and I feel like the stupidest human being on earth.

“No! I did. I do. It's just - I thought you maybe thought of it like something different?”

She narrows her eyes at me. This is not working. I take a deep breath before starting over.

“The thing is, I don’t know if I’m reading this wrong. From the times we have seen each other and what we have talked about in these two weeks, I feel that there is something that feels so good between us, and I wonder if maybe you don't feel it or if you see it as something similar to a friendship. I know things in that part of your life have been messy lately, and I would understand if you wouldn't want anything to do with me, but I can't stop thinking-“

My rant is halted when I notice (Y/N)’s palm caressing my cheek. There is a glimmer in her eyes that makes my heart stop.

“Spencer. You are not reading this wrong. I feel the same way you described it as ‘right,’ even if I’m unsure what it is exactly.”

I let out a dramatic sigh I didn't know I was holding. That makes (Y/N) giggle. I join her with a chuckle myself.

As the giggle subsides, I hold her hand and place it over my chest near my heart. My other hand softly tilts her chin so I can look into her eyes.

“You are amazing; did you know that?” I whisper, and her breath hitched. I flick my gaze between her eyes and her lips. She does the same. And that's what I needed to get the courage and lean in. Slowly, the distance between us gets short, and I swear my heart is going to burst out of my chest. I can feel her breath fanning my face as her eyes flutter close.

And then, our lips met for the first time.

It's slow, and I can taste the sweetness of her lips.

I've never felt something like this kissing someone before, but now that I know what it's like, I never want to stop feeling it.

Her hands go up my shoulders, seeking a grip on the hair at the back of my neck. My hands fly to her hips to pull her closer to me as our kiss deepens. I sweep my tongue over her lower lip, and she parts them to grant me access. One of my hands leaves her hip to cup her face to get a better angle for continuing our kiss. Her arms tighten around my neck, pulling me impossibly closer.

I don’t want it to end, but the need for air is too much. After breaking the kiss, we are both panting with our faces flushed and lips swollen.

“Wow.”

“Jesus.”

We breathe out at the same time, followed by a fit of giggles.

Her laugh is definitely my new favorite sound on Earth.

I cup her cheeks and lean again to steal a quick kiss from her lips, and when I’m about to part again, she tightens her grip on my suit jacket lapels and brings me to her lips again.

After two or three more kisses, we lose the hold of our hands off each other, with a wide grin spread on our faces.

“I think we already give my neighbors enough of a show for tonight,” (Y/N) points out, biting her lower lip and peeking at both sides of the hall behind me.

“Yeah,” I mumble as I stroke her cheek, gaze focused on her eyes. “I should get going.” (Y/N) nods. “Text me when you are home?”

“I will.”

After another quick kiss, I muster the will to say goodbye. Wishing me goodnight, (Y/N) enters the apartment and closes the door. I linger there for a few seconds, excited like a child after the best day of his life.

I feel like it is.

Right now? I'm beyond grateful to Hotch for making me attend that stupid gala.

------------------

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @levi-of-starz @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #amanda perry williams #aperrywilliams #doctor spencer reid

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cimmanonrowl · 3 months

Text

Don’t Blame Me pt.1

Part Two | Masterlist

The moment you laid eyes on SSA Aaron Hotchner, you just know that man will be yours one way or another— no matter what it takes. And if Penelope Garcia was on your trail trying to track you down, no one would blame you for crossing all the lines just to get a split second of Aaron Hotchner’s undivided attention.

Pairing: aaron hotchner x stalker!reader

Theme: spicy hotshot

Contents: age gap, implied female masturbation, unsolicited nudes & sexual videos, powerplay: boss/subordinate relationship, stalking, obsessive behaviour.

He didn’t even look at you.

Not with a polite glance, not even a quick peek.

Aaron Hotchner just didn’t fucking care.

When you woke up this morning, you had such high hopes for your first official internship day at the BAU Headquarters. You woke up early to prepare everything. You put on your best outfit: a soft pink blouse paired with a tailored pencil skirt; a calculated attempt to catch Aaron’s eye. You even did your make-up prettily and sprayed your best perfume from Paris— all in the hopes of getting his attention.

Nothing.

And hell be damned if that doesn’t make you furious.

Earlier, as Aaron stepped inside the elevator just when it was about to close, you caught almost instantly how his presence commanded the small space. The two other agents standing behind you greeted him politely, which he only acknowledged with a quick nod.

You watched him in keen interest through his reflection on the elevator wall. Aaron looked so fucking good in his dark suit; the sharp lines of his coat emphasizing his broad shoulders. In the early morning hours, his eyebrows are already tugged to a frown. And you thought to yourself, if only you could kiss that frown away, you’d be on your knees to make sure he stays in a good mood the entire day.

You quietly leaned to one side, moving a bit in an attempt to get him to look your way. Your sleek pencil skirt was fairly fitting, hugging your figure tightly. You even fuss with the collar of your blouse, tossing your hair and showing the faint outline of the delicate necklace you have on. But Aaron Hotchner never once acknowledged your presence, not even a simple glance at where you are standing.

His attention was absorbed completely by his phone conversation, his deep voice a quiet mumble while the elevator purred gently in the background.

“Yes, Reid. We need to have those reports by Friday,” He said, his tone firm but patient. “No, no exceptions. I expect a fair amount of paperwork from each one of you.”

“Of course I know you’ve been taking in some of their loads,” He continued. “They can handle it, Reid. Just take the day off.”

You felt a tug of frustration at the pit of your stomach. How could he not notice you? You cleared your throat softly, a rather desperate shot to get him to look at you, hoping to divert his attention to something else other than his sick colleague on the phone.

But Aaron’s focus didn’t waver.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow. Get well soon, Reid,” he said softly, ending the call with a quick press of his thumb.

The silence in the elevator was deafening. You could feel the wild beating of your heart against your chest, a bitter mix of anticipation and frustration. Aaron’s presence was too overwhelming; all you wanted to do was be as close to him as possible and get his attention as fast as you could.

From the very start, you knew that he was a very busy man. You suspected that when you started doing research about him... but what you didn’t expect was to become another blurry figure seen in the periphery of his busy life.

After being checked in as a new intern by the office security, you were directed to a conference room where several other interns and new recruits were already gathered. The room thrummed with nervous energy, everyone chattering amongst themselves about the prospects of finally working with the Bureau.

“Hi, everyone. Good morning,” A tall, blonde woman with gentle features and a clipboard stepped to the front of the room. “I’m Agent Seavers. Welcome to the Behavioral Analysis Unit Headquarters. Today, we’ll be covering the rules and expectations for your time here.”

As Agent Seavers led the orientation, outlined the protocols, discussed confidentiality agreements, and the importance of teamwork, you found your thoughts drifting to Aaron. Your eyes occasionally flickered to the glass door, expecting him to walk in at any moment, to give a welcome speech or even to take a look at the new interns.

He never appeared.

Hours crawled excruciatingly slow as several agents took turns addressing the group. They discussed the history of the BAU, the structure of the team, and the critical nature of their work— as if everyone was stupid not to do their own research. You had envisioned today differently; a chance to catch Aaron’s attention, to impress and charm him on your very first day.

You couldn’t shake your bitterness because none of it happened.

When lunchtime came, the orientation showed no signs of ending. The agents gathered in small groups to discuss case studies and get to know each other a little. All the while, you kept glancing at the clock and the cafeteria door, hoping to catch a glimpse of SSA Aaron Hotchner.

Still nothing.

And it wasn’t until late afternoon that Agent Seavers answered a question from another intern that jolted you out of your raging thoughts.

“I know most of you are expecting to meet SSA Hotchner’s team but unfortunately they were called out this morning for an urgent case out of town,” She explained with a friendly smile. “They’ll be gone for a few days, but don’t worry, your work here is needed for our ongoing cases.”

This brought a swell of anger and resentment to your body. Aaron had left without a word— not that he’s obliged to inform you… yet. He hadn’t even spared you a glance today or given the impression that he knows you exist at all!

Fucking hell, you feel angry and bitter. You waited patiently for this internship for months and crafted your plan for so long. The man of your desires had been so close today, yet he never felt so distant as he did before.

Four days had passed in a blur of reports, briefings, and training sessions. You threw yourself into your initial tasks, trying to prove your skills and take your mind off your growing frustration with Aaron Hotchner. Each day you’d expect to see him in his office, but the BAU team had not yet returned from their out-of-town case. And truthfully, your impatience was mounting.

What’s the point of going through all the troubles to get into the Bureau if Aaron Hotchner won’t be around, right?

Right.

It was Friday when you finally received a message to report to his office. Your heart was hammering against your ribs as you made your way down the hall, rehearsing everything you might say to him. You spent a good fifteen minutes in the ladies’ room earlier, reapplying your make-up, brushing your hair, and making sure the first button of your blouse was undone and that you subtly pushed your boobs to be available just for him.

Finally.

You knocked on the door with eagerness. And after a few seconds, you heard his deep, authoritative voice call from inside his office.

“Yes, come in.”

You stifled a giggle as you felt a tingly sensation at your core. You spent countless nights fantasizing about hearing that voice in bed- breathless and hoarse as he rammed his big cock in and out of your tight cunt.

“Good morning, sir. You asked for me?” You said, feigning confusion and innocence as you pushed the door open.

Aaron stood behind his desk with his dark eyes focused intently on a stack of files. He looked up as you entered, his expression turning polite, but didn’t carry any hint of recognition whatsoever.

You kindly offered a handshake after introducing yourself. “Lovely to see you again, Agent Hotchner.”

“Are you by chance related to Chancellor Valdez?” He asked curiously, shaking your hand with a firm grip.

“Yes, sir. He’s my stepfather,” You smiled through gritted teeth. How can he remember your stepdad but not recognize your face? “I attended your two-day seminar at our University last year. I was in the front row.”

“Hmm…” He nodded simply with a smile, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

You sat down obediently, trying to calm the thrill rushing through your veins. The room was silent for a moment as he continued to look through a file. After a few moments, he set the folder aside and met your gaze.

“I understand that you’ve been here for a week now,” Aaron began, his tone professional and too cold for your liking. “I hope your orientation has been thorough.”

“Yes, sir,” You replied without hesitation, very eager to please him in every way. “I’ve been looking forward to working with you… and the team since your seminar.”

Aaron nodded, leaning back in his chair. “That’s actually what I wanted to discuss with you today. You will be transferred to Anderson’s team effective immediately after a change in the staffing plan.”

Wait. What?

What?

You blinked as you absorbed his news, feeling as though you’d been slapped in the face. “I’m sorry, sir?”

“I understand that you wanted to work with our team, but this decision is final. Agent Anderson’s team needs additional support, mainly analytical, and your skills will be valuable there.”

“But I wanted to be under Miss Garcia’s guidance,” You argued quickly. “I- I admire her work as an analyst. I want to know- I mean, learn- what exactly she’s doing. I want to be part of your team.”

Aaron’s expression remained calm, nodding in understanding. “I understand that was the initial staffing plan, but the analyst on Agent Anderson’s team will be transferred to a different organization. You will be trained by him on his 30 days of rendering.”

“But Aar— Agent, sir,” You corrected yourself quickly, stumbling over your own words. You even leaned forward to his desk as panic rose in your system. “I can contribute here. I know I can, sir. Just give me a chance to prove myself.”

“This isn’t about your abilities, trust me...” He sighed, rubbing his temples briefly before responding. “It’s about the needs of the unit. Anderson’s team is handling several critical cases that require immediate attention. Analysts are vital members for us.”

With how desperate you are to convince him, you almost missed the way his curious eyes flickered down the unbuttoned part of your shirt and the red, lacy strap of your bra.

“But there are other interns you can transfer to their team...” You clenched your fists, your mind racing nonstop.

You’ve spent days and weeks trying to convince your parents to let you join the Bureau. They weren’t happy with your whim but they gave in eventually. You polished your plan by building new connections and using the ones your parents already have. You begged your mother and stepfather to pull some strings, use your family connections, to make sure you would be assigned to Aaron Hotchner’s team, yet this still happens. What are the odds of that?

All you want to be is as close to him as possible and it’s slipping away right in front of you. “I don’t understand...”

Aaron’s gaze softened slightly, but his tone remained firm. “This is for the Bureau’s sake. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to grow and learn with Anderson’s team. Besides, you can always turn to Miss Garcia if you need help.”

“I don’t want to be with Anderson’s team. I want to be here. With you.” You stood up, anger and disappointment lidded your expression.

Aaron remained in his position, leaning on his swivel chair with a slight frown, his eyes locked onto yours. For a moment, something unreadable passed over his face. Then, he sighed deeply.

“I’m sorry, but the decision is made. Report to Agent Anderson first thing on Monday.”

“Agent Hotchn—”

“That’s all for now. Close the door on your way out.”

“Sir, is there a chance we can talk about th—”

“As I said, this decision is final. Thank you.”

Feeling defeated and absolutely furious, you turned without saying a word and left his office in silence. The door closed behind you with a soft thud, and you stood in the empty hallway, trying to process what had just happened.

You had been so sure that this was your chance to get him, and now it felt like everything was falling apart.

You spent one year and three months preparing everything and getting to where you are now. You made a backup for a backup plan for a backup plan you made. But all those plans were to ensure you make him like you one way or another. You had so much self-assurance that you didn’t bother thinking about what would happen if you were re-assigned to another team that isn’t Aaron’s.

But in your defense, it shouldn’t be your problem. Your stepfather promised he’d make sure you will be sent to Aaron’s team. It was an obvious fucking mistake to trust him.

The dining room was filled with the heavy smell of roasted chicken and vegetables, the clinking of silverware, and the distant hum of a French song in the background. As she often did, your mother had gone all out for this monthly family dinner. The table was set with the finest china and a bouquet of fresh flowers displayed at the center.

You sat across from your parents, poking at your food with a distant look on your face. Silently, you listened to both of them engaging in a conversation, knowing that they were subtly watching you from their seats.

Your mother smiled warmly at you as she caught your eyes.

“How’s your first month with Anderson’s team going, dear?” she asked, her voice full of interest and concern.

You just shrugged, your fork pausing mid-air. “It’s fine,” you replied blandly, not wanting to delve into the details. “It was my trainer’s last day of rendering today, I’m officially on my own on Monday.”

“I heard Anderson’s team is handling some critical cases. Must be exciting,” your stepfather smiled.

“Yeah, right.”

Both of your parents exchanged confused glances.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

“Exciting, Dad? Is that what you call it?” You dropped your fork with a soft clatter, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “It’s not where I’m supposed to be. I told you a million times I want to be on Aaron’s team. That’s where I belong- with him.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed in concern, taken aback by your sudden outburst. “Sweetheart, we know how much you wanted that, but Anderson’s team is a great opportunity, too.”

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, Mother, it’s not. You know what I want and now I’m stuck with Anderson’s team because of some stupid staffing decision. You told me you’d handle it!”

Your stepfather set down his glass, his expression serious.

“These things happen in the field, dear. It doesn’t mean you won’t have your chance with Aaron’s team later on.”

“Later on?” You snapped, your voice rising. “I wanted my chance now. And you two—” You darted your eyes accusingly at them, your anger directed outward— “You’re both so well-connected. You have common friends with Aaron, for God’s sake. Why didn’t you make sure I stay on his team?”

Your stepfather’s eyes widened in shock. Your voice was hoarse in desperation and anger. They know how much you wanted to join the Bureau, albeit out of nowhere, but you begged and begged until they had to let you go. They had no idea where this obsession with Aaron’s team came from.

“We didn’t think it was necessary to interfere, sweetheart. We believed in your abilities and thought you’d succeed on your own terms.”

“But we did talk to some of our friends inside, dear.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Well, whatever you did didn’t do me any good, did it? All those connections and it’s still useless. Aaron’s the only one who matters to me, and now I’m not even on his radar!”

“Sweetheart,” Your stepfather cut you off gently, “Aaron’s a professional man. I’m sure these decisions aren’t personal.”

“Not personal? Are you hearing yourself, Dad?” You echoed incredulously. “Because this feels pretty damn personal to me. I’ve been working my ass off, trying to prove myself and make him change his mind, and I'm still in Anderson’s team! And mind you, he didn’t even notice me in the elevator on my first day!”

Your mother reached out to touch your hand, her eyes filled with concern. “Honey, what’s happening to you?”

“Since I got transferred, it’s like I don’t exist to him...” You mumbled to yourself, blinking the unshed tears pooling in the corner of your eyes.

“We’re sorry you’re feeling this way, dear. But you need to focus on doing your best where you are now. Aaron will see your dedication eventually.”

You pulled your hand away, shaking your head. “No, no, mom. I don’t want to wait for ‘eventually.’ I want him to see me now. I want to be closer, and now it’s all slipping away because you didn’t do anything to help!”

The dining room fell silent, the tension thick and palpable. Warm tears continued prickling at the corner of your eyes. Your mother and stepfather exchanged worried and confused glances, unsure of how to respond to your outburst.

“Maybe,” Your stepfather said carefully, “You should talk to Aaron directly, dear. Express your feelings and let him know how much this means to you.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “And what good would that do? He made his decision! If he wants to play hard to get then that’s exactly how we’re doing this.”

Your mother sighed, looking at you in defeat. “I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart. Maybe we should have a conversation with Aaron soon.”

It took all the courage not to roll your eyes at your mother. Of course, they’ll wait for a whole damn month before they even think of helping you out! Yet instead of lashing out, you shook your head again, standing up and tossing your napkin on the table.

“It’s too late for that now. I’ll figure it out on my own. As I always do.”

With that, you stormed out of the dining room, leaving your mother and stepfather in stunned silence.

You stormed upstairs with your heavy steps echoing through the hallways of your home. The sound of your parents’ voices faded as you distanced yourself, and the heavy thud of your bedroom door closing punctuated your frustration and your parents’ confusion about your emotional outburst.

The anger and frustration lingered just beneath your skin as you paced back and forth in your room, biting on your nail.

In the corner of the room was a large corkboard filled with pictures and news articles about Aaron Hotchner. Each photo was meticulously placed, collating the events and his achievements in the Bureau. Some were candid shots from past social parties, others were professional images you found online, and a few were even slightly blurry from your initial attempts to photograph him from a distance.

You walked over to the board, your fingers tracing the edges of a photo where Aaron was smiling— a rare, genuine smile that makes your heart race every time you see it. It was taken from the University seminar they did last year— the very first time you saw him and the same day you promised it wouldn’t be the last.

As far as you can recall, it all started with a simple admiration. He looked so handsome as he stood on the auditorium stage, his voice deep and soothing. You’ve never seen a man as authoritative yet as kind as him. On the first day, he smiled back at you on his way out of the building. On the second day, he praised your question and suggested that you work with the Bureau in the future.

If that’s not a sign that he’s interested, then what is?

On your study desk was a small journal filled with notes about Aaron. It contained details of your interactions from the very first time, his likes and dislikes, and even the dirty dreams you had about him. Now that you work with the Bureau, you’ve gotten to know his schedule, his favorite coffee shop, his lunch order, and even the route he takes to work— all thanks to the ever-kind and gullible Penelope Garcia.

She didn’t know that all the time you spent hanging out in her office, pretending to be upset and pressured as an intern analyst, was your way of gathering information about Aaron. You couldn’t do it yourself given the situation but that won’t stop you from getting Aaron Hotchner no matter what it takes.

“He doesn’t understand...” You muttered to yourself as you stared at a photo where Aaron looked particularly serious and focused. “He doesn’t see how perfect we are for each other. And all these people trying to keep us apart…”

The sound of your burner phone buzzing pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced at the screen— another notification from a spy tracking alert you had set up to track Aaron’s location. He had been seen leaving the Bureau a few hours ago, likely heading home after a long day in the office.

You bit back a smile as you checked your inbox.

3 unread messages.

You were giggling as you typed in your reply. Not even a second passed and your phone vibrated with several new notifications.

A high-pitched squeal slipped from your lips when you read his reply, blushing hard at the vulgar message. You perfectly know he’s trying to trap you and have you punished for doing something “against the law.”

Still, that didn’t stop you from sending another video with your fingers buried deep in your wet cunt and wishing to God it was Aaron’s big cock ruining your innocence instead.

Because, well, it should be his in the first place.

This is Part 1/2. Next one is pure smut.

My Achilles heel is writing short stuff and I can’t write smut without an established background so see you all in part 2! I’ll make sure to write it as filthy and as nasty as I can as a gift to anyone who enjoys part 1. 😅

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds smut #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x female!reader #aaron hotchner fic #hotch smut #ssa aaron hotchner

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guess-my-next-obsession · 4 months

Text

Guilty as Sin? — Chapter Eight

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, professor/student dynamic, minor angst (javi is not the cause), unprotected piv, the professor kink gets a moment to shine, also maybe an anti-breeding kink?? vasectomy kink?? idk, these two are rudely interrupted by a special guest

word count: 5.2k

series masterlist

“Professor.”

You greeted Javi with an air of indifference as you stopped at his desk on the way out of his Friday night lab, though your eyes told a completely different story when you caught a glimpse of the mark you’d left on him a few nights ago when he stayed over at your place.

Javi seemed to already know what you were thinking as he watched your eyes widen with a mixture of alarm and satisfaction, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yes?” he replied, forcing himself to sound as cold as he normally did when speaking to a student. “Can I help you with something?”

You shook your head, fighting back a smile. “Just saying goodnight.”

“Mm,” he hummed, ticking his jaw to the side as gave you a purposeful once over. You rolled your eyes in order to hide the fluster his gaze brought on before turning to leave the lecture hall. He called your last name, forcing you to freeze in place, watching as the last few undergrads filed out of the room. “Would you mind staying back to discuss today’s lab?”

You slowly spun towards him on your heel, your eyebrow raised in question. With the room now empty, you were free to speak normally with him. “Is this an actual meeting or your attempt at roleplay?”

“A little bit of both,” he replied, pushing off his desk to saunter across the room, his eyes never leaving yours once in the process. “Just wanted to thank you for helping out today.”

“Well, it is kind of my job to help,” you joked, stepping close enough to smell the cinnamon on his breath. “Is that all you wanted to say? Or is there something else you need from me?”

“There’s a world of things I need from you,” he husked, settling his hands on your hips before sliding them up to the small of your back. “A kiss will do for now, though.”

“Just one?”

Javier grinned, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “For now.”

“I thought we said no fooling around on campus,” you breathed, the words a reminder not only to him but also to yourself.

“That was overly optimistic, I think,” he said, tipping your jaw up as he placed a soft, almost taunting kiss on your lips. “But maybe you’re right.”

“Uh-uh,” you replied, tugging him back into you as he playful tried to back away with his hands held up in surrender.

You kissed him, deeper this time. Javier groaned, walking you backwards until your thighs hit the edge of a desk. You gasped as he hoisted you onto the surface, your thighs bracketed around his waist.

“We really should stop,” he panted, kissing his way down your neck. “Anybody could walk in.”

“Then take me somewhere private,” you said, tossing your head back as he pressed his hips into yours.

“It’s late, aren’t you tired?” he asked, though his wandering hands did little to persuade you against letting him fuck you right here on this desk.

“Not when it comes to you,” you replied, popping one of the buttons of his shirt open to trace over the fresh hickey you’d given him last night when he showed up to your place unannounced but more than welcome.

“Fuck,” he squeezed your hips, dragging you closer. “Spend the weekend with me. We can hole up and eat like shit and fuck and build Legos.”

You smiled at the prospect, dragging your lips up to his jaw. “I’ll meet you in the parking garage.”

“Okay,” he nodded, giving you a lingering peck that turned into another one of his signature, mind melting, knock-you-on-your-ass kisses that had you panting when he finally pulled away. “I won’t be long, just have to pack my things up.”

“No rush,” you said, giving him a smitten look. Javier let out a soft groan, holding your face as he leaned in for one more.

Always just one more.

You had some time to kill as you waited for Javi to pack his things and shut everything down in the lecture hall, so you wandered into the campus cafe beside the parking structure reserved for faculty, desperate to get out of this mid-October chill.

The doorbell jingled as you stepped in, the scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds flooding your nostrils. Stepping into the small line leading up to the counter, you glanced around the room without purpose—a nervous tick you had. As your eyes locked onto a couple in a corner booth practically swallowing each other’s tongues, you quickly wished you hadn’t.

There, sitting on the same side of a booth, hands and lips all over each other, was none other than Nina and Derrick.

What the fuck?

You quickly averted your eyes, just in time to step up the the counter.

“Hi, can I get a hot chai latte and a drip coffee?” you asked, keeping your voice relatively hushed out of fear that Nina or Derrick would recognize it.

“How would you like the coffee?” the barista asked.

“Black, please,” you replied, recalling Javi’s signature order that still perplexed you even after a month of being together.

After giving her your name, you waited on the other side of the room by the shelves of tumblers and mugs, pretending to shop around while you hid out from your ex-roommates.

Unfortunately, all that hard work went down the drain the moment she called your name at the pick up counter—the one right next to their booth.

“Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath as you gathered the courage to go over and grab your drinks.

You tried not to look their way, but god, the sight of them together really got under your skin. You gave a careful glance in their direction, locking eyes with Derrick as he whispered something in Nina’s ear, causing her to turn towards you.

Taking a deep breath and plastering on a smile, you turned to them as they slid out of the booth.

“Hey,” you offered, mostly to Nina. Derrick let out a scoff and breezed past you to head outside while Nina grabbed her purse. She didn’t acknowledge you in the slightest, but too curious to back out now, you persisted. “Nina, it’s…me. You know…your friend for the last four years.”

“Oh,” she said, her tone bored as she gave you a forced smile. “Hey.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the two of them as an actual couple.

“So you guys are, like, together?” you asked, nudging your chin toward Derrick as he waited outside.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s just surprising, is all,” you said. “You know I didn’t lie about what happened, right? Like he really tried—“

“Well, he isn’t like that with me,” she snapped, raising a brow at you. “So maybe it was just you. Or maybe you created the whole thing in your head. Either way, it doesn’t affect me.”

You scoffed, a look of disbelief washing over your face. “We were friends before we ever met him. We went through everything together for four years, you and I, side by side. Doesn’t that affect you?”

“You made your choice, and honestly I’m glad,” she crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’d never abandoned us, D and I would’ve never connected that way. I had to pull him out of a very dark place after you left, and if you think I’m going to choose you—someone who’s always been half-out the door—over that good man? Well, I’m gonna have to disappoint you.”

“But he’s not a good man, Nina,” you argued, your disbelief turning into rage quicker than your face could keep up with. Tears still brimmed in your eyes, but that wardrum beat banging in your chest urged you to stand up for yourself. For what you knew was the truth. “He’s manipulative and narcissistic. He’ll probably marry you before the year ends, but once he puts that ring on your finger, you’ll be signing your freedom away. He doesn’t want a lawyer for a wife, he wants someone to have his kids and look after his pretty house and wear on his arm like a trophy. And you are the trophy, here, but not for the reasons he thinks.”

She let her face sour, but there was no mistaking the look of knowing in her eyes. She knew you were right, but unfortunately for her, it was easier just to ignore it.

“Have a nice night alone,” she said, looking you up and down before turning to leave the cafe.

You fought back tears, grabbing your drinks and heading out the door as soon as they left. Telling yourself it was the cold wind that forced a few tears to stream down your cheeks, you entered the parking garage and made it to Javier’s black BMW without running into anyone else. Javier was already seated in the driver’s seat, scrolling through his phone to find an album for the commute from campus to his apartment, when you opened the passenger door and climbed in.

“Thank you, baby,” he said, accepting the coffee you handed over without looking his way. “Ready to go?”

“Mmhm,” you said, turning to look out of the passenger window so that you could subtly wipe your tears away.

Javier pulled out the garage, his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel as you sat uncomfortably silent, causing him to glance over at you.

“You okay?” he asked. You turned to him, fresh tears streaming down your cheek. “Hey, what happened? What’s wrong?”

“It's stupid. I just...I ran into Nina and Derrick at the cafe,” you said, your voice throaty from your tears. “Guess they’re dating now. But that’s not…I’m not even upset about that. It’s just the way she treated me when I tried to say hello to her. She was so fucking cold and mean, like…just an entirely different person than the one I knew.”

He frowned, reaching one hand over to stroke his thumb over your cheek, catching a tear as it fell.

“Also, just…” You shook your head, unable to locate the proper words to describe the feeling of losing someone that had been your best friend for so much of your adult life. “It just sucks, you know? Knowing that she picked him over me. She said believes him and told me to fuck off, basically.”

Javier let his hand rest on your thigh, taking careful glances between you and the road. “One day she’ll realize the mistake she made, cariño. She’ll be an unhappy housewife trying to reach out to you to make amends, but you’re going to be too busy with your career and me to give a single shit about her. You’re the winner in this situation, and she’ll realize that eventually.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him as he included himself in your future. A subtle, easy to miss declaration of his intent for this relationship, but one that did its job, pulling you back into the light again. You laid your hand on top of his, lacing your fingers together. “You’re gonna stick around that long, huh?”

He smiled, giving your fingers a squeeze. “If you decide to keep me around.”

“Keep saying shit like that and I will,” you said, lifting his palm up to your lips. “Thank you for listening to my rant.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Oh, I thought it was just for the hot sex.” Javier let go of your hand to pinch your thigh.

“Smart ass.”

After a quickie that was followed by you and Javi splitting an entire pizza between yourselves, the two of you got to work building Javi’s Death Star. You remained interested for an hour or so, then chose to take a much needed shower while he kept on building. When you returned, he was still at it, tinkering away while you got to work on some assignments a few feet from him on the sofa.

But the hours kept passing, your eyes growing tired just from watching him work. When the clock neared three in the morning, you decided it was time to pull out the big guns. You excused yourself to the bathroom, stripping out of the clothes you’d been in all day, and gave yourself a once over in the mirror, pleased at what you saw.

You tiptoed out of his bedroom, coming to stand behind him as he sat on the sofa.

“You’ve been at it for a while,” you crooned, draping your arms over his shoulders and chest before settling your chin on his shoulder. Javi lifted a hand to your arm, giving it a gentle rub as he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah,” he sighed, turning his head to kiss your cheek. “But I’m in a good groove.”

“You could be in something else,” you purred. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked you to,” you said, letting him go in favor of rounding the corner of the sofa. Javi obeyed your demand, keeping his eyes closed as you stepped over one of his knees to stand between his legs. “Okay, you can open.”

Javi slowly opened his eyes, finding you completely bare in front of him, offered up like a midnight snack.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, taking you in. “You’re right. I do need a break.”

You laughed, straddling his lap. “What you need is for me to fuck you good enough to put you to sleep. It’s three in the morning.”

“I know,” he sighed, running his hands up your thighs. “I can just go to bed, if that’s—“

“Uh-uh,” you tutted your tongue at him. “I told you what I wanted—to fuck you so good I put you to sleep.”

Javi let out a soft groan, gliding his hands up to cup your breasts. “What heaven did you sneak out of?”

“It was hell, actually.” Javi laughed, placing a kiss on your sternum.

“God, I love you,” he murmured against your skin, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. Your eyes went wide, not from fear but from amusement as Javi lifted his own pair of wide eyes to meet yours. “I didn’t…that wasn’t…I—“

“Javi,” you laughed, cupping his face in your hand. Your face softened as you took him in. “You love me?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, swallowing thickly. “I do.”

You grinned, kissing him through it. “That’s good because I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a look of relief washing over his face. “It’s not too soon?”

“I’m surprised either of us waited this long,” you laughed. “We’ve known each other for three months. Just because we’ve only been together a month doesn’t mean anything. At least not to me.”

“Not to me, either,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you down with him as he shifted to lay on his back across the sofa. He slid his hand between your thighs, his jaw going slack as he smeared your arousal over your clit with a sinful groan. “All this for me, hermosa?”

You nodded, reaching to tug his flannel pajama bottoms down just enough to free his dick, laughing as it sprang free with a lewd slap against his stomach. You dragged a single finger down the underside of his cock, licking your lips as you watched it twitch with interest. “Such a pretty dick.”

“Only fitting for the prettiest fucking pussy I’ve ever seen,” he replied, bringing his soaked fingers up to his lips to suck them clean. “And so fucking sweet, too.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” you moaned, leaning down to kiss the taste of yourself off his lips. Javier groaned as you lined him up at your entrance.

“Fuck, wait,” he said. “Condom.”

“Or we could…not,” you suggested bashfully, biting your lip as you watched him react. “I just mean that I’m clean. I got tested the week before school started and I haven’t been with anyone but you since. And I’m on birth control, so no worries on that front either.”

Javi nodded. “I’m clean too, and I got a vasectomy a few years back, so we’re completely good on that front.”

You lifted your brows in delighted surprise, causing him to laugh. “What, bebita?”

“I just…I’m so glad I get to fuck you raw now and never have to worry about an accidental pregnancy,” you said, laughing at your own response. “It’s hot.”

“Then go on and show me how hot it is, baby,” he urged, trailing his fingertips down your spine. “Sit on my dick, hermosa.”

You let out a soft breath at his command, looking down between your bodies as you lined him up with your entrance and slowly took him in. Javi’s lips parted as he watched himself disappear into your wetness, his brows knitted together.

“Fuck, you feel so good like this,” he husked, bringing his thumb to swirl over your clit as you swallowed him down to his base. “So fucking wet.”

Your face scrunched a bit in pleasure as you lifted yourself up just to slide back down while Javi continued working your swollen bud with one hand, the other gripping your hip. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me come quick tonight, cariño.”

“Yeah?” you purred, rocking your hips a bit. Feeling extra bold tonight, you fought a smirk as you added, “Are you gonna come inside me, Professor?”

Javi’s jaw went slack again, a mixture of incredulity and arousal washing over his face. “Fuck, that shouldn’t turn me on as much as it does. Keep talking, cariño. I love the shit that comes out of your mouth when I’m fucking you.”

You moaned at his confession, speeding up your hips to bounce on him.

“Fuck, it feels so good. I can feel you in my stomach every time I take you in like this—” You sank down on him and swirled your hips in a circle to grind him in deep. Javier growled, holding your hips in place as he thrusted up into your cunt, filling the living room with the lewdest of sounds.

“Am I fucking you good, cariño?” he asked, a playful taunt. You cried out, one arm gripping the back of the couch while the other rested on his chest. “Is your professor fucking you how you want? Hm?”

“It’s so good, Javi,” you cried, your hips chasing his thrusts.

“Uh-uh. Not Javi,” he tutted. “Who am I, baby?”

You opened your eyes to meet his, the sight alone almost enough to bring you to the edge. “You’re my professor.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, a smug smirk growing on his lips as he gave your ass a slap. “Good fucking girl.”

“Shit,” you whined, moving to rest your palms flat against his chest as you rolled your hips on top of him. His hands guided your hips, forcing you as close as possible. Your clit dragged deliciously against the coarse hair on his lower stomach, causing your thighs to shake with every rock forward. “Fuck, I’m close. I’m so fucking close.”

“That’s it,” he rasped, his voice warm with desire. “Good girl, baby. Ride your professor's dick just like that.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, your head dropping between your shoulders as you inched closer to heaven with every grind against his cock. “Javi—“

The sound of a fist knocking on Javi’s door caused you to jolt, your eyes widening as you sat frozen in place on top of him.

“Who the fuck…” Javi groaned, a sound of pure frustration. “Whoever it is, fuck off!”

A muffled southern accent sounded in response. “It’s Steve, dumbass. Tell your guest I take precedence and let me in.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Javi’s eyes shut, a sigh slipping from his lips. “I have to let that fucking idiot in.”

“Why?” you asked, that tension in your belly still begging to be unraveled.

“He’s my best friend, unfortunately. An out-of-state best friend who I hoped I wouldn’t have to see a million times a year, an yet...here he is,” he sighed, sitting up to kiss you. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I was so close,” you groaned, laying your head on his shoulder. “Now I have to finish myself off alone.”

Javier pulled back to give you a look of pure offense.

“Don’t give me that look,” you chuckled, smoothing the crease in his brow with your thumb. “It was your decision to let him come in.”

“Well, now I’m rethinking that stupid decision,” he said, but the moment had already passed—especially knowing that there was someone waiting on the other side of the front door for you to finish.

“No, go let him in, I’ll just be waiting for you in bed,” you said, climbing off of him with a soft hiss. “And tell your friend he owes me for this. A no-expenses-spared steak dinner or something.”

“Will do, baby,” he said, planting a soft kiss in your lips as he stood up to join you, tucking his half-hard dick away. “I’ll be in there soon, don’t get started without me.”

“I’ll think about it,” you snarked, earning a gentle pat to your ass.

As you let Javi’s bedroom door shut behind you, you grabbed Javi’s robe from his en-suite and tugged it on as you lingered by the door to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“You fucking dick,” Javi said, earning a hearty laugh from Steve. “You couldn’t have called to tell me you were coming to town?”

“You know I can’t stand all that calling and texting bullshit,” he drawled. “Jesus, Javi. On the couch? That’s where I’m supposed t’be sleepin’ this weekend, you fucker.”

“If I knew you were coming, fucker, I would’ve cleaned up, but—“

“Is that the fuckin’ Death Star?”

You let out a soft laugh at the sheer disbelief in Steve’s voice.

“Javi Peña buildin’ Legos,” he whistled. “What’s the world comin’ to?”

“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here?” Javi asked.

“Are you gonna introduce me to your friend?” Steve replied. Your eyes went wide as heavy footsteps on hardwood got closer and closer to the bedroom door. “Hello, Javi’s friend. I’m Javi’s other friend. Glad there’s finally two of us.”

You chuckled, hesitating for a moment before deciding to open the door up. Javi stood in the living room with his hand on one hip, unamused by Steve’s behavior. You turned your eyes to the man standing a few feet away from the door. He was blonde with blue eyes, and much like Javi, could somehow pull off the mustache look and make it look good.

“Hey,” you chuckled, giving him your name. “I gotta say, Steve, I haven’t heard much about you. Is Javi hiding you away?”

“He just likes to play hard to get, is all,” Steve smirked. “What about you? You Javi’s girlfriend, or is he hidin’ you away too?”

You turned to Javi with an expectant, but amused look. He’d never officially given you the title, nor you him, but it certainly felt like you were his girlfriend.

“Yes, she’s my girlfriend,” he sighed, not at you but at Steve. “Now can you stop bothering her and let her go to bed, dip shit?”

You laughed, turning back to Steve. “It was nice meeting you, Steve. Don’t keep him up long, he and I were in the middle of something.”

Steve laughed, looking towards his best friend.

“I like her.”

Twenty minutes went by before Javi slipped into the bedroom, carefully clicking the door shut as you laid with your back facing him, pretending to be asleep. There was a quiet rustling before you heard him tiptoeing across the room to crawl into bed behind you. He let out a soft, adoring sigh as his hand ghosted up your bare arm, his lips trailing across your shoulder to your neck.

“You asleep, hermosa?” he rasped, kissing the shell of your ear. You smirked, rolling over just enough to look at him.

“How am I supposed to sleep like this?” You lowered his hand across your stomach, down beneath the comforter to slip between your thighs. You guided his fingers to stroke up and down your soaked seam before sinking them inside.

“Fuck,” Javi’s lips parted, a strangled, quieted groan slipping free as he curled his fingers against that spot you loved so much, his palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. “You want me to make you come, baby?”

You bit your lip and nodded, reaching between your bodies to stroke him through his pajamas only to find he’d taken them off when he came into the room. You licked a broad stripe across your palm before taking him in your hand, stroking him while he pumped his fingers in and out of you with a lewd squelch.

“How do you want it, cariño?” he asked, bucking his hips into your fist to meet every stroke.

“From the back,” you said, letting him go in favor of rolling onto your stomach to arch your back for him. Javi growled, coming to sit on his knees behind you as you wiggled your hips at him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his hands gripping the globes of your ass in each palm. “I’m not gonna last long, baby. You look too fucking good like this.”

You keened at his praise, pushing back towards him as he notched himself at your entrance. You both let out sighs of relief as he pressed inside, going slow as he let your greedy cunt suck him in deep. “Your pussy’s so fucking good, baby.”

You let out a soft whine, burying your face in the pillows to muffle your moans as he snapped his hips into you, steady building up to a brutal pace that had you gripping the sheets. You turned your head, looking over your shoulder as Javi fucked you, finding him with bared teeth, his hair messy across his forehead, his stomach flexing with each sharp thrust into your cunt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, tugging you back by your arms until your spine was bowed against his chest. He kept your arms pinned between your bodies with one hand, the other gently wrapping around your throat. “Fucking love this pussy…fucking love you.”

You whined, the sound loud enough to make Javi slide his hand up to cover your mouth. He brought his lips to your ear and whispered. “Those sounds are just for me, aren’t they, bebita?”

You nodded against him, reaching back to hold his head in place as he nipped at your jawline. Sliding a hand down your stomach, Javi rubbed perfect circles against your clit in time with each one of those ruinously deep thrusts against the velvet soft roof of your cunt.

“I’m gonna come, cariño,” he whined, his hips losing a bit of their rhythm. “Come for me. Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up, baby.”

You were thankful for his hand over your mouth as you cried out, a wave of pleasure washing over you, turning you into putty in his arms as he fucked you through it. “That’s it, baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight. You’re gonna make me come.”

“Please,” you moaned as Javi dropped his hand from your mouth to hold both of your hips in place as he chased his release. “Come inside my pussy.”

He groaned as he pressed in as deep as he could go, the sound choked and strangled as he tried to keep quiet. You stroked your hand up and down the arm he’d moved to wrap around your middle as his cock throbbed inside of you.

“Fuck me,” he panted, slipping out of you with a hiss before guiding you back against the mattress. He climbed out of bed to retrieve a washcloth, returning with it perfectly warmed by the sink. You watched him clean you up with a smitten look, his dimple making an appearance.

“What’s got you so smiley?” you asked, rolling onto your side to watch as he cleaned himself off before tossing the cloth into the laundry bin.

“Besides the mind-blowing orgasm I just had?” he replied, shooting you a smile from over his shoulder as he opened his dresser drawer, pulling out a pair of briefs. “Just happy.”

“Yeah?” you asked, twisting your smile to keep it from growing into a cheesy grin as you admired the sight of him in his briefs as he walked over to climb into bed beside you.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, coaxing you to lay your head on his chest. “I haven’t been this happy in a long, long time, cariño.”

“Me too,” You placed a kiss over his racing heartbeat, smoothing your hand across his stomach. “It’s a little scary, no?”

“Very fucking scary,” he said, placing a kiss on your forehead. “But it’s not gonna stop me.”

You smiled to yourself, drawing hearts on his skin. “Is everything okay with Steve?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Him and Connie, his wife, got into it over him continuing his contract with the DEA, I guess. So he’s staying with me until things cool off, which will hopefully be by tomorrow morning because I can’t have him being our third wheel.”

“Why not?” you laughed, lifting your head to look at him.

“Because I want you all to myself like the selfish asshole I am,” Javi said, smiling. “Also Steve’s really amused by the fact that I have a girlfriend, which means he’s going to try and embarrass me as much as he can in front of you.”

“Well, he can certainly try but my mind is pretty made up,” you said, pinching his chin. “I love you, Javier, and no amount of embarrassing stories from Steve is going to change that.”

“He’s also a hillbilly, which comes with its own warnings,” he said, lifting your fingertips to his lips to place soft kisses on them one by one.

“How about we see how it goes in the morning, and if either one of us gets tired of the questions or whatever, I can just go home and give you some time alone together,” you suggested.

“Okay,” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy with sleep. You leaned up, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Goodnight, Javi,” you said, turning to get comfortable on your side. Javi spooned you, draping his arm over your middle and pulling you close.

“Goodnight, cariño,” he murmured. “I love you.”

You smiled, hugging his arm tight to your chest. Those three words would never fail to make your heart clench.

“I love you too, Javi.”

#guilty as sin?#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier peña x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javier pena x reader #javi peña #javier peña #javier pena fluff

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silentcryracha · 3 months

Text

❍ ‗ Spotlight (lee know) ‗ ❍

Pairing : Lee Know x f reader

Summary : An upcoming work event stresses you out of your mind. But someone's there to help you relieve some of that stress, and who would've thought that it would be that one annoying co-worker?

Genre/ Warnings : it's a light co-workers enemies to lovers thing, talk about stage fright, mention of anxiety and bad breakup, talk of being chated on, some insecurity (brief and not specific mention), smut with plot (ONLY 18+), protected sex (UNBELIEVABLE?), soft dom minho of you squint, the whole this is a bit angsty, ending is open (is it tho?)

Word count : 10k (oh brother)

A/n : Has it ever happened to you to be SOO pent up and stressed that you could punch a wall and cry at the same time? Yeah, exactly. How about we fuck instead! Lmao, enjoy

ps: There could be grammar errors. Do NOT repost on other socials. Leave feedback if you feel like it, otherwise enjoy! ♡︎

masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It all started with that damned research plan. 'Why the fuck did I even agree to that?', that's pretty much the same question that's been going through your mind for the past week.

Your boss held a meeting some time ago and asked your unit to bring up some ideas for an upcoming convention that will be held a few hours from your city. Several major companies in your field would be presenting their own projects to some big names in the industry plus some extremely wealthy people, that actually put their money into good causes.

So you did what you had to, took a couple of days to research and came up with an idea. You knew it was a good concept, and that you were good at your job. You were pretty confident. However, you were part of a team. A small one, but still, you were not in charge of anything in reality.

Which is why you nearly had a heart attack when during the meeting your boss actually decided on the spot to create a whole concept based on your idea. With you in charge.

Panic flooded your mind as you tried to reason with him, going from 'I can't do it' to 'We're a team', literally anything to try and make him change his mind. Even downplaying yourself, for how much it hurt your ego. Just because you have great ideas doesn't mean you want to have the literal spotlight in a livestreamed work convention!

"This unit has been doing a good job for the past months, while still being experimental. I think you deserve it. But I need you to prove yourselves this time, too. So what do you say, y/n?"

And with that, he got you. Why lie. Not only because you desperately wanted to get ahead in the company, but also because you knew for a fact that the rest of the team wanted it as bad as you did.

Were you really going to be the villain and turn down such an occasion for everyone, just because of your own overthinking? So, in the end, as unsure as you were, you still accepted.

And you couldn't lie, the prospect of getting recognition and a better working position fueled your motivation. You would've still been sick 10 minutes before the event, you were sure. 'But that will come later', you tried to convince yourself.

Fast forward to two weeks later, that's how you found yourself stuck to the office computer at 8 pm. On a Friday night. In your twenties. All the documents, research, presentation, audio, script…literally everything was ready and finalized.

You were pretty sure that if you asked your co-workers to check it one more time...you would've had the whole computer thrown at you. So you did it yourself, of course. Again and again.

You were the one who would have had to go up on a stage and explain it all, weren't you? You were so worried that your stage fright would make you somehow forget it all and even managed to fuck up reading from the script.

The fourth, or maybe fifth, coffee of the day being the only thing keeping you going. Aside, maybe, from the adrenaline. You were tired, yes. You should be going home, checking that your suitcase was properly packed and your tickets ready for your morning flight. Yet your anxious and perfectionist mind just wouldn't let you relax.

"Aren't you going home?" a voice interrupted your flow of thoughts, making you roll your eyes. You didn't even have to look to recognize that voice.

"No. But you should." you responded, with annoyance in your voice.

Lee Minho. Your 'second in command', as per your boss words. You have never quite spoken, before the past two weeks. Which sounds incredibly unrealistic, being in the same small work unit and all, but it was true.

Your team was an efficient one, but definitely not a tight one. All seven of you were literally picked out from different bigger divisions in the company, some even from other office buildings.

Straight away you were told that your team was going to be an experiment. This was roughly ten months ago, which wasn't much, but for a bunch of people who were essentially stuck in a limbo, uncertain of where they'll end up the followung year, was more than enough.

Being honest, you weren't particularly eager to get close to any of them. Whether it was an off-vibe or just you being kinda closed off and shy, you weren't sure. Regardless, you kept work life and personal life well separated.

Lee Minho, for example, was someone who you could never quite read. You may not have been very social, but you were observant. You knew that he was good at his job, often getting extra meetings and praise from higher ups. He was also quite standoffish, kinda like you. You did see him a few times talking with some other people at the company's cafe. But you didn't know them.

Then, suddenly this presentation thing happened, and just like a bunch of new class mates, the team was forced to collaborate. And boy, did you learn to know him quickly.

Your guess that he was good at his job was correct, but he was also extremely cocky while doing it. Your boss put you in charge, and yet it seemed that his life mission was to contradict and question you in almost everything. And the most infuriating thing was that he had a point, each time.

You lowkey hated him, because he would just add fuel to the fire. More details on a topic, some script corrections, visual corrections to pictures and illustrations. He seemed to be wanting to do stuff his way. But so were you, so it was kind of a silent war between you two. During one of the earlier briefs, you even mentioned it to your boss, and he just said to compromise. Easier said than done for two stubborn, competitive, people.

"The janitor will come soon to kick you out." he insisted, as he took his long suede coat from the hanger.

"Then I'll tell him to give me a few more minutes." you replied, squeezing your eyes for a moment, desperately trying to moisten them a little after spending so many hours in front of the computer screen.

"You said that forty minutes ago. Everyone else has already left like, two hours ago." his voice didn't have any particular feeling to it, but the fact that he was so insistent made you snap.

"Listen, Minho" you started, turning your head back towards him, "Whatever this is, quit it. I don't need an assistant, nor someone to remind me of the office's rules and I certainly don't need your concern."

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, an annoyed smirk on his sharp features as he crossed his arms and leaned back on the wall.

"And I'm not claiming to be any of those. Are you forgetting that you're the head of the team and it's your job to make a decent presentation for all of us, right" he responded, the scolding tone suddenly making you feel uncomfortably small. He was right, of course you knew it.

You stood up, the desk chair rolling slightly behind you.

"Of course I fucking know-" your venomous response was suddenly interrupted by a knock on the big glass window of the office.

You and Minho both turned your heads and saw the two janitors staring at you. The older man who knocked looked quite annoyed and like he didn't give a single fuck about intruding, but the younger one behind him had his eyebrows raised and looked to be hiding an amused smile, clearly enjoying the show.

"I'm sorry miss y/l/n, we can't wait any longer to close up the floor. It's the company rules." he said, absolutely not meaning the 'sorry' in the slightest. And you couldn't blame him, really. You wouldn't either.

So you took a deep breath, faked a polite smile and nodded.

"Yes, I understand. I'll just pack my stuff and be out in a couple of minutes. Promise." he just grumbled a 'sure' while the younger one behind him gave you a tight lipped smile in embarrassment, then walked off.

You side eyed Minho as you turned back to your station to pack up your stuff and turn off the computer. Making sure to send yourself a copy of the slide presentation and the speech script. Well, another copy of the previous five files, anyway. Can never be sure enough!

'Don't you dare say anything.' you warn.

'Wasn't going to.' he replied, 'That was embarrassing enough already' you picked up on the humor in his voice, but it didn't make you smile in the slightest. You just wanted to get rid of him and go home to stress yourself until tomorrow, in peace. Maybe with a drink or two.

You noticed him waiting for you, for some reason, but you decided to ignore him and walk out of the office without sparing him a glance. He quietly followed ad you approached the elevator, and then pushed the button for the first floor before you could.

You stood there in silence, annoyingly aware of his presence not even a meter behind you.

"Why do you hate me?" Minho spoke with a curious, yet careful tone. His question took you by surprise, and also embarrassed you a bit. Did you actually even hate him? That seemed like a strong word for whatever you had going on.

"I don't 'hate' you." you answered, making the word, "You're just extremely annoying." he snorted a laugh.

"Well, at least you're honest." the irony in voice didn't escape you, and you instantly felt... quite bad? Qauite honestly you didn't know how to reply, so you shut up instead.

The elevator doors finally opened at the first floor, which was already eerily quiet and dark. Except for two security people that waved both of you off as you exited the building.

"Well, y/n, get home safely. I'll see-" he started to talk while taking a step back, but you stopped him, gesturing with your hand.

"Wait, Minho" he stopped in his tracks, clearly surprised. Your eyes wandered on the street, watching the cars pass by, as you rubbed your clothed shoulder, both from the cold and the nervousness.

"I'm sorry. I don't actually have a personal problem with you. And even if I did, my behaviour was unprofessional and rude. So I apologize." you created a small puff of hot air as you talked.

"Y/n-" you interrupted him yet again, not on purpose, but you kept going, in hopes of finishing off that awkward interaction.

"Also, I'm not your boss or anything, but I wanted to tell you that you did a good job. And, while it does cost a small piece of my ego to admit it, you gave some very good inputs. So, thank you." you cleared your throat a bit, still not looking back at him, even though you could feel his gaze on you.

Minho bit back a smile, and was about to answer, thinking you were finished, but suddenly the mood shifted and your voice started to tremble. His smile dropping fast and a confused expression taking place as he listened.

"I'm not usually like this, I-I...' you bit your lip, trying to regain composure, 'It's been a shitty period lately and this was kind of the last straw you know? I fucking hate speaking in public, goddamn it." a bitter and shaky laugh left your lips, your eyes becoming shiny.

You must've been out of your mind, you thought. How did you go from being a bitch then opening up and crying in the span of ten minutes? With Lee Minho of all people?

You were just about to wrap the conversation up and start trying to catch a taxi, but the cherry colored- hair man suddenly started to walk closer. You finally looked up, mainly in confusion, and saw just the shadow of a smile and kind eyes.

"'It's fine, y/n." he paused, "How are you getting home?'

You sniffled, blinking a few times, "I'm gonna catch the first cab that passes from here, I don't live that far but I can't be bothered to walk in the dark right now." he nodded in acknowledgement.

"My car is parked about two minutes from here" he pointed behind you, "If you allow me I'd like to offer you a ride." you stood there for a second, trying to rationalize the fact that your co-worker with whom you had beef until five minutes ago was offering you a ride. So you relied on humor, to lighten up the situations.

"I don't know, are you going to kill me?" he widened his eyes for a second, genuinely looking panicked for a second. He started to wave his hands around awkwardly.

"No, woah-" he spoke, "If you don't feel safe-" your small laugh instantly relaxed him, as he lowered his arms back down and giving you a side eye in the process.

"I'm sorry. But you can't honestly blame me, with everything going on in the world." you justified yourself, starting to walk to the spot he pointed out, "Just so you know, my mom and best friend have my location. Just in case."

"Ah, ah, ah." he faked a laugh as he followed behind you. The light of a grey, seemingly spotless and quite expensive looking, car blinked a couple of times.

Minho opened the passenger seat for you, then circled the car back to the driver's side.

The car ride was pretty much silent, and a light but definitely present layer of awkwardness filled the air. He asked for your address, put it on the navigator, then didn't speak again.

You joked about his car looking expensive and he snorted a laugh, nodding. "It did take a couple of years and a promotion to pay off, yes."

Then silence..again.

Thankfully the car ride was quite short, as you anticipated. Only made a couple of minutes longer by the traffic of the people getting off work. Late, like you two, you imagined.

He pulled up in front of your building, parking the car to let you get off.

You truly had no idea what came over you, but nonetheless you blurted out "Do you wanna come up for a drink?"

Minho's mouth went slighly agape, as he was so obviously trying to suppress a smile. His cocky aura making it actually hard to understand if he was about to mock you or seemed pleased.

"Oh?" and that made it so much worse, making you scramble for a response.

"I mean- it's not even nine pm, and tomorrow it's gonna be the end of a jurney of hard work." you justified, "I'm still gonna celebrate by myself, by the way. I was just offering." the last sentence being almost muffled, which actually made it funnier for him. You looked kinda cute.

"You know what, boss number two," your head snapped at those words, along with him turning off the car engine, "I think I may use a drink. I wouldn't have any at my place, anyway." he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile as well. You both got out of the car, and walked to the building's entrance as he locked it witht he distance key.

"And what do you have waiting at home, if not a glass of wine at the end of the day?" you joked as you entered the building. You started to walk up a set of stairs, so he just followed, a few steps behind.

"Three cats?" the humor in his voice actually made you turn your head to read his expression.

"Really?" you smiled. He nodded prudly, still following behind you.

"Oh yes. My pride and joy, if you will." you laughed, finally stopping on the second floor, in front of a white door.

"Wouldn't have made you out to be a cat's man" You unlocked it, turning on the light as you invited the redhead inside. He politely took off his shoes by the entrance, following your example, and bowed his head.

"Well, you don't really know me, if we're being honest."

"True." you nodded, a bit embarassed, "Please, give me your coat. It's warm here, I promise." you smiled. He thanked you, handing you the item.

He looked around while you went in another room. The apartment was definitely a nice one, even if not the largest. It looked cozy and quite artsy, but tastefully so. Lots of CDs, a couple of paintings, a nice tv, a leather couch. The living room had a balcony with a city view, and was connected to an open space kitchen.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. On the couch, at the table. Wherever you want." you came back with a pair of black light tracksuit pants, a nice loose shirt with some graphic design on it, and your hair down.

Minho couldn't help but, casually, notice how good those pants made your ass look. But he cleared his throath and opted for a seat at the table, before his gaze lingered too long.

"Thanks", he sat down comfortably, curiously looking at the kitchen furniture, "You have a really nice place"

You smiled politely, giving him a nod.

"Thank you, Minho. I actually didn't move here too long ago. About five months-ish?", you explained, "Alright, let's get back to business. I have a few things." he tilted his head to listen.

"I have two types of my personal favorite, red wine. Then some whiskey that wasn't even gifted to me to begin with," your tone was slightly off as you said it, but he didn't ask.

"Then I have some tequila, gin and... champagne. Yeah, that's it." he chuckled.

"Well, comparing to mine's, that's a small but respectable collection." he joked, "I'll just have some of that italian wine, thanks" he smiled, amused. You laughed a bit.

"It's all small bottles. I only really drink wine. I also use it for cooking. The rest is for nights with girlfriends. Don't picture me as an alcholic, please" you both laughed at you scrambling to justify yourself.

"If you say so, yn" he teased.

"Oh, c'mon!"

You didn't really remeber exactly how you ended up from sharing a glass of wine and cheering to your incoming job presentation, to eating leftovers, then moving to the couch. But you got there.

The difference is that after getting a bit too giggly and a little lightheaded, you both agreed to switch to water. Yeah, that's probably when you also decided to put something in your stomachs.

After all, he would've had to drive back home. And both of you couldn't afford a hangover when you had such an important day ahead and a flight at eight am.

It was now around eleven pm as you sobered up, just hanging out on your cream colored couch.

"So that's how my friend from sixth floor found out boss is cheating. Big time." he concluded, making you rolle your eyes dramatically as you took a sip of water.

"Of course he's fucking cheating on his wife. Of course" he raised a finger, leaning a bit forward.

"It's not only that he's cheating. He's cheating with the chief editor and a bunch of other emplyees too. Lost fucking cause" your mouth opened in shock, gasping.

"Nasty man! I just hope it's a bunch of immoral people and nothing more serious it's going on, at this point." you shook your head as he nodded in agreement.

"I know right? Of course it's mainly hushed office rumors, but at least a couple of those have to be true. My friend's girlfriends says there's eye witnesses." you smirked slightly, humored.

"Scandal" he snorted a laugh at your comment as he ate a piece of cake. A strawberry and whippe cream cake your best friends got you when you got the job.

"What about you," his eyes moved back to you, "Do you have anyone? Aside from your three fur babies, of course." he smirked a bit as he chewed on his bite, taking a couple of seconds to try and read your expression.

"No, no one." he answered, "I was actually married for about a year. Then the stupidity wore off." your eyes actually widened in surprise at his words.

"You were married? For a year? What happened?" your questions were quick and probably quite nosy, so you backtracked, "I'm sorry. If- I mean, if you feel like sharing. Of course."

"It's fine", he shook his head lightly, he moved a bit on the couch to get comfortable, "It sounds crazy but it was years ago. We were eighteen, and stupid. We were together for like, six months, and since she was having trouble with her parents and needed a place to live, I guess that my stupid-in-love mind decided that getting married and renting an apartment was the right call." he explained, not with any particular intonation. Maybe some humor, actually.

"It was an extremely quick decision too. Proposed, one day later we were legally married. But then we quickly understood that marriage wouldn't solve her problems, so while I just questioned myself over and over and scrambled to find work, she went out and cheated."

"Oh my gosh!" you exclaimed, covering your mouth with your hand. He nodded, with an ironic expression.

"Yeah. I actually never found out how long that went on. Hopefully less than our marriage. That'd be embarassing." you instinctively reached out, placing your hand on his knee. You regretted it immediately as soon as your eyes met though, so you retracted it, brushing it off.

"I'm really sorry. That's shitty. I know how it feels." the bitterness in your voice finally made Minho place the small pieces you had intentionally scattered in the conversation that eventing, making him put it together.

"You got cheated on too?" you cleared your throat, sighing slightly.

"Not that I would've imagined the conversation going there tonight but, yes. That's- well that's why I'm living by myself now. You know how it is, messy breakup, lots of tears, and then you move on."

"I'm sorry.", his voice was soft and sincere, "How have you been holding up? You're certainly killing it on the job, though." he smiled at you.

"Even if it makes you nervous." he added. You gave him a small grateful smile, but couldn't help to get a bit sad.

"Thanks. You know, I do love being by myself. The relationship had become stale for a while. I kind of saw it coming. But of course, after two years, it stung." you admitted, "Wasn't particularly kind to my self esteem. Leaving him with my half of rent to pay while being jobless was kind of paybay, not gonna lie." you raised an eyebrow, making him laugh.

"Deserved, honestly." you laughed instinctively a bit too, but your mood was definitevely affected a t least a little now. Minho wanted to comfort you, telling you that he didn't see anything that you should be insecure about. But he stopped himself, feeling like he would've overstepped some boundaries.

"I'm sure you're doing great. Parties with girlfriends, a whole place by yourself, killing it at work. It's gonna be okay." that was the most he allowed himself to say, but judging from the grateful look in your eyes, that was probably enough.

You blinked a couple of times, awkwardly catching yourself getting voulnerable for the second time that evening with a man that until a few hours prior was just a bit less than a stranger.

As you thought that, you actually remembered to take a look at the clock on your wall and saw that it was half past midnight. You got up instantly, slightly startling Minho.

"Shit, look at the hour. I will probably not sleep for a good while, but it may be late for you. With the drive and all. I'm sorry I kept you blabbering for hours." you released a small, nervous laugh as you picked up both of your leftover cake plates.

He nodded slightly, mostly at himself, getting up.

"I don't have very regular sleeping schedules. My cats tell me when it's bed time." he joked, making you smile. "But I think you're right. I definitely sobered up now, don't worry."

You nodded, eyes struggling to stray from his brown, shiny ones. You cleared your throat, catching yourself before you could make things more awkward.

"I'll get your coat, wait a sec" he silently followed your figure as you disappeared again, then, just as you did, he tried to get a grip and walked towards the entrance where he had left his shoes.

He slipped them on, slapping himself slightly on the cheek to get some composure back. Just after that you came back, smoothing out his coat.

"Let me help you" you spoke softly, without really asking. He turned his back to you without speaking, offering you one arm, then the other. He then shrugged his shoulders a bit to fit the coat properly on.

"Thanks" you nodded, acknowledging him silently. You proceeded to open the door, and turn on the stairs light on for him. He turned back to look at you, now just a few steps outside of the apartment.

"Your cheeks turned red.", he teased, "Did you warm up well?"

"Yes" your tone was a bit more serious than his, wondering if his question hid a deeper meaning behind it. Maybe what he was really asking was if you warmed up to him, after all.

He looked down, nodding. He then smiled warmly, looking up back at you.

"Good. Thanks for the drink, it was fun", he stated sincerely, "Make sure to rest well, goodnight yn"

But, as he was about to leave, he felt your hand reaching for his sleeve. He stopped, turning back to look at your hand, then fixing his gaze on you. Your eyes were looking at him so intensely, almost burning into his. He didn't speak. He waited.

"Would it be extremely unprofessional if I asked my co-worker to stay over?" your words were teasing, but your tone as well as your gaze didn't match them. That's what made him hesitate at first.

"Are you sure?"

You retracted your hand, letting go of his sleeve. A hint of insecurity hitting you. But not towards your desire, more towards yourself. Imagine if he said no and rejcted you.

"You can say no" he fully turned to face you, walking closer.

"I didn't say 'no'. I asked if you are sure. Are you?" his tone wasn't harsh at all, but it was serious. It's true, he didn't say no. And you also weren't really sure why, but you were sure you wanted him. So, just in case...

"Yes, I am. We're both free, consenting adults. Doesn't have to mean anything. Letting go some stress, you know." you shrugged, leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms. Acting way more cocky than you were actually feeling. Truth be told, you were so horny you would've probably crawled if he asked you to.

Minho squinted his eyes a bit, studying your expression. But he saw right though you. He didn't know the extent of your confidence at that moment, but he could see that you wanted him like he wanted you.

"Right" he finally spoke, slowly walking closer and closer, instinctively making you backtrack inside, your eyes fixiated in his as if you were hypnotised.

"Just de-stressing a bit, I guess" he pushed the door shut lightly with his foot before reaching for your cheek with one hand and your waist with the other. Taking the hint, you crashed your lips with his.

The kiss didn't start slow, it was right away a messy, passionate one. Minho shrugged out of his coat, never leaving your lips for as much as he could.

"Wait- the coat-" you panted softly, but he shut you up quickly, pulling your even closer by grabbing at your lower back.

"Fuck the coat" he managed to answer, making you laugh faintly. Your lips separated as you stepped back enough to lead him to the bedroom. During the small walk, there was a pause, and neither of you talked.

You reached the bedroom, and slowly as you stood at the edge of the king size bed, you started to undress each other.

Starting from his tie, which was alrady loosened, then his shirt buttons coming undone one by one, then his belt. Minho didn't really move, nor rush you. He just held you by the waist, following closely your hands.

Being so lost in admiring his perfectly soft but muscular body, you kind of forgot that you were still completely covered. Not that you were exactly looking forward to getting naked and vulnerable at that moment in your life, but it was kind of require, as they say.

You stopped just before getting to the zipper of his elegant pants, his boner already forming a tent. You looked up at him, kind of questioning his stillness. But he was already looking at you, eyes lusty but comforting at the same time.

"Do whatever you want." he stated, taking one of your hands and encouraging it towards his pants, "Consider it a personal congratulations gift. Guide me." he continued, then squinted his eyes a bit, getting closer with his face to yours with a small smile.

"Unless you'd like me to?" that one sentence did so much damage to the least bit of self respect you were clinging to...so might as well.

You nodded slowly, you chest going up and down heavily, trembling a bit from the mix of excitement and, well, a bit of shame. The kind that will bring you pleasure though.

And he saw it. Again he saw right through you. Not that in the horny state you were at that moment you would've had much to hide anyway.

Minho chuckled, leaning in right next to your ear, whispering "Good girl", his lips starting to kiss your neck seductively, "Take my pants off for me, mmh?"

A moan escaped your mouth as your hands worked shakily with his zipper, then pushing the fabric down, revealing the expensive brand boxers he was wearing. And the hard on. Couldn't forget about that.

"So good for me. I'm going to undress you too, now. That's okay, right, honey?" his hands toyed with the hem of your t-shirt, waiting for consent, which arrived very quickly after.

"Yes, please" he cooed at that, proceeding to lift up your shirt and get it off you, leaving you in your simple, cotton bra. You didn't exactly dress up expecting this, but well.

"'Please'? You're so cute" he praised, continuing his works by pushing down your tracksuit pants. At that point, as drunk on lust and praise as you were, your insecurity couldn't help but hit as you were becoming aware of Minho's gaze.

That's why when he felt your hands squeeze his sidez a bit and get tense, he stopped, leaning back to check on you.

"What's wrong?" you gulped, throat suddenly feeling a bit dry.

"Nothing, it's- ...Don't stare too much. I don't know if I can handle it." your words were just above a whisper, but it made him a bit sad. He wasn't pitying you, he just felt sorry that your head wasn't allowing you to be as free as you wanted.

He understood. Of course he did. Everyone at least once, at some point, felt insecure about themselves. And while he truly think you shouldn't be, he wouldn't push it. He'd just make sure to make you feel good in the moment, like you deserved.

He brushed it off, shifting the mood to a lighter one. He nodded as he went back to touch your body up and down, his lips back to your neck.

"Alright, but- " he paused, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, squeezing them, eliciting a sigh from you. "On the condition that you'll let me suck on these later" he smirked, winking at you. You blushed even more, huffing out a laugh. Your head was clear again, so you decided to have fun with it.

"But now-" you gave him a little push, making him land on the bed, then straddling him. "There are a few things I want." he smirked, amused.

"Seems like it's gonna be a little of a game after all." he teased making you smile seductively.

"We'll see. Now stay still like a good boy." Minho's hand on got even harder, if possible. at your words. He wasn't used to be a sub at all, but that 'good boy' kinda...intrigued him.

At that point you got off of him, kneeling down beside him. You pinched the hems of his tight boxers and pulled them down, letting his cock sprung free, standing up mid-air from his abs. You pushed the fabric down enough for Minho to discard it, which he did.

He was half up, standing on his elbows, to not miss the view. And what a view.

You had started to stroke his cock slowly, with both hands, doing a sort of up and down gesture mixed with some twisting, that was sending him directly to heaven. But he was way too turned on already, he was afraid that at the minimum touch he would cum, so he regrettably stopped you, and instead switched positions, dragging you under him as he hovered above you.

"I'm sorry, princess, I'm not gonna last if I let you play too much" he explained with a sigh.

"You though...let's see if my sweet girl is ready for me" he continued, with mischief in his voice. His hands invited you gently to part your legs, and you complied easily. Your need to be touched almost unbearable now.

Minho shimmied down on his stomach, directly face level with your, still clothed, pussy. He raised his index, teasing your mound then your slit, which was clearly indicated by the wet patch on the grey cotton panties. You hissed and squirmed, desperate for him to touch you properly.

"Oh wow, look at my sweet girl, looking so wet already." he cooed as he started to kiss the inner of your thigh. "Should we check properly, mh?" all he needed was a desperate yes from you, to quickly act and slip down your legs the panties, discarding them somewhere.

"Oh my godness...look at this sweet, shiny, pussy. So cute. Is it all for me?" he asked cutely. You moaned instinctively and nodded quickly.

"Yes, all for you. Please Minho, I need it" you whined, trying to rub your thighs together for some relief, but his hands promptly kept them open.

"Tsk, tsk, kitten. Now be good for me. I promise I'll give you what you want." and with that he started out giving a fat, tongue flat, lick from your ass, then your pussy, and reaching the clit. The deep moan that exited from you would've almost been embarassing, if only Minho's actions with his tongue didn't distract you again right away.

He had started to kiss right where your whole was messily, occasionally trying to poke in the tip of tongue to try and gather as much of your arousal as possible. You were a whining, moaning mess, but you knew exactly that as soon as he'd actually start giving attention to your clit, you were done for.

Which is exactly what happened a few minutes later. When he was satisfied enough that you were absolutely drenched all over, his mouth and chin included, he moved a bit north, starting right away to skillfully suck and toy with your clit.

The sensation was so intense and you were already so sensitive that the contact made you prop yourself up a bit, but Minho promptly placed one of his strong, veiny hands on your stomach and pushed you back down, which you allowed yourself to go right away. But his hand was still there, so you took the opportunity to intertwine your fingers with his.

"Fuck, oh my God- Minho, please...please" you were incoherent, but he knew very well what you wanted and he was determined to give it to you good. That's when you felt first his index, then index and pointer fingers enter you swiftly. No resistance at all. You were so wet that you barely felt them, until he started to move them just right, stimulating your walls.

The gradually added movements and speed of both his fingers in your cunt and his mouth on your clit had your stomach tightening so quickly, and then you came. You came for like a whole minute, and then some. It was actually crazy how intense and how prolonged minho had managed to make your orgasm. No doubt the best head you've ever recieved.

He gradually slowed down, until only his fingers remained to play with your slick as you came down from your crazy high. Minho had leaned his cheek against your warm, kids shaky, thigh while he watched you with a satisfied smirk.

"Are you okay, kitten? You have no idea how cute you sounded as you came on my mouth and fingers, purring and whining like a sweet kitten." you looked back at him with hazy eyes, as you made grabby hands. He chuckled and removed his fingers from your pussy, placing them immediately on his own cock, starting to stroke himself up and down.

You pulled him close, over you, pushing down on his shoulders with your arms. Your legs closing around his hips, immediately trying to grind on something.

He moaned in the kiss, "Such a horny baby that doesn't even need a minute after she just came" he teased you but you didn't cared, you whined and pulled him closer to keep the sloppy kiss going.

"Need you, mh- please, get- get 'nside 'o me" your words slurred but he understood you anyway. He parted from your lips, panting.

"Baby girl, w-", he swallowed trying to speak coherently, "You have protection?"

You nodded, pointing to the drawer of the nightstand. He moved a bit to reach into the drawer, fishing out a condom. But not before taking a peek at your cute, little, clit sucker toy.

He bit back a smile as he sat back on the heels of his feet to unwrap the condom and slide it carefully on his painfully hard dick.

"Usually it's rabbit toys" he teased, making you laugh faintly.

"I can't come with penetration only" you shrugged, which made your tits jiggle in your bra. Suddenly hypnotizing Minho, which had a promise to respect, he remebered.

He smirked, then properly got back between your legs, and just as you were about to pull him in for a kiss, he retracted with an eyebrow raised.

"First, this is gonna come off" his hands slid down the strips of the bra down your shoulders, then he reached behind your back to untie it completely. He sighed when finally he could throw the piece of fabric away, and enjoy the heavenly sight of your tits. Which, with his outmost disappointment, you rushed to cover with your hands.

"Hey, you promised!" he scolded you, "Plus, I already ate you out, what damage are a pair of tits gonna do now? None." he answered his own question, at which point you gave up and moved your hands back on his strong shoulders. He gasped, in awe.

"Ah, here they are..." he bent down, immediately attaching his mouth to one of the nipples, making you moan.

"So soft, round, so sweet..." he cooed as he grabbed them, squeezed them, kissed, licked and soft-bit them. Your hands were now intertwined in his cherry red hair.

"Minho, baby-" you both noticed how you slipped with the petname, but you brushed it off "Please, I need you. Need you inside me so bad, please.." he heard your plea and nodded, giving a break to your breasts just enough to position himself with your entrance, and then slowly but steadily he entered you.

It felt like one long stroke, until he filled you to the brim, his tip hitting the back of your walls, making you both moan. He stayed still for a couple of seconds, propping himself up with his forearms by the side of your head.

"Oh- hng, fuck. You feel s-so good. C-can I-?" you nodded frantically, moving your hips to meet his, making him hiss.

With that, he started moving, back and forth, at a normal speed, without ever exiting completely, instead focusing on stroking your g spot each and every time, driving you absolutely insane.

"Ah, fuck M-min...please go faster, please, please" he whispered praises and reassurance in your ear as he complied, his hips starting to go faster and faster. He kept going until he started to feel you tense up, and you croaked out "M close..s-so close, please"

At that point he moved his dominant hand from your side and slipped it between your bodies, circling your clit with two fingers to help you get there.

You gasped at his action, tightening the grip your thighs had on his hips a bit and arching your back, feeling your orgasm so, so close.

And it only took a couple more strokes for you to cum.

"Ah! Fuck, I'm- I'm coming, Minho", while your orgasm was happening, he felt your walls tighten around him, which made him frown in fatigue. "I- I know, sweet, come for me" he managed to say as he was still punding into you, but his pace was faltering.

This time it was your turn to help him get there, so you grinded on him, helping movement and friction, while also tugging a bit at his hair, which you noticed he seemed to like. And as expected, he groaned, then moaned, finally stilling as he came inside the condom.

His arms were trembling a bit, and he looked absolutely fucked, so you just pulled him to lay on your chest and rest. His head on your breasts. Both trying to calm down your breaths.

You were in silence for a little while, but then Minho pulled himself up and carefully got up from the bed, going straight to the private bathroom in the bedroom.

It kind of hit you at that moment, that this was not normality. This was a one night stand with a co-worker. So you also got up, quickly picking up your discarded clothes. Putting Minho's on the edge of the bed, while you exited the bedroom to go wash up in the other bathroom.

It didn't take long, as you decided that you would've taken a full proper shower tomorrow before leaving. Right. The flight. The speech. It all came back hitting you with a force, hitting you back with reality.

But reality was still in your bedroom, too. So you dressed back up, freshened up and quickly went back.

Minho was in his boxers, busy buttoning up his work shirt. His gaze landed on you as you appread on the doorstep. He gave a quick smile, then looked back down. And your heart kind of broke at that.

Was he also embarassed, or did he regret it already? And what were you feeling?

Everything was contradicting in your head right now, so you recomposed yourself enough to think clearly. It was now two am in the morning.

"Please, spend the night here. Then you can drive home tomorrow morning. It's so late now, I'm sure you're tired." it sounded so fake, so foreign to go back to being polite while just ten minutes prior you were tangled up in bed horny like animals.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be on the couch." he said as he also slipped his pants back on. You looked at him confused.

"The couch? But, the bed is big enough-" he interrupted you, picking up his tie.

"The couch will be fine. I just-", he sighed, "I need this, okay?" he pleaded silently. So you just nodded, keeping your head down.

"Please take anything you need. Good night, Minho" you spoke softly. He just breathed a "yeah" then closed behind him the door to your bedroom.

That night you didn't hear a single sound coming from the living room. It was just you, your overthinking, and the uncomfortable knowledge that a person that you have very quickly come to care about is sleeping seprately from you. On the couch.

You got him. You were confused too. But it still heavied on your heart. Until finally, you fell asleep from exhaustion without realizing it.

The morning after you woke up startled by your alarm. You checked the hour: six thirty am. Yeah, you definitely needed to get up. Those five more minutes will have to wait another time.

Then it hit you. You remebered what happened the night before. You remebered it all, perfectly.

The way you asked Minho not to go. The way he made you feel so good, both physically and mentally, for the first time in a while. Then you remembered how cold things ended up, too.

You got out of bed quickly, praying that he was still here, to at least make sure that everything was okay with you two.

But as you opened your bedroom door and walked out of the corridor, into the open space living room, no one was there.

The only thing out of place was the, usually discarded carelessly, now neatly folded blanket on the couch.

For some reason you felt like crying. What was wrong with you!

It was you, after all, that asked him to have sex and reassured that it wouldn't have meant anything. "Just stress relief", you said. He agreed. You both consented. You didn't regret it. So why did your stomach hurt?

At seven thirty pm sharp you were already on a taxi on your way to the airport.

You showered, got presentable enough, checked to have all your files, then picked up your small suitcase and you were ready to go. You would've had all the time to get 'professionally' ready when you got to the hotel. Which was also the place where the convention was gonna be held at, so even less stress.

When you arrived at the pre-established entrance number of the airport, you saw the team standing outside, chatting and some smoking.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to act like everything was normal. But nothing was normal about you getting on a stage to talk live in front of million dollar companies. And nothing has been normal for you after the night before.

As soon as the team saw you walking over, they started to cheer and shout out embarassing stuff to tease you. You laughed, but gestured for them to shut up.

Everyone picked up their cases to fo inside, and that's when you noticed Minho. Of course he was there. It was his job, too. But while you were instantly named 'leader', mainly because of a joke and the other's laziness, he remained at the back, minding his business. So you did the same, for now.

Once you got through all documents, tickets and baggage checks, you entered the waiting area at your assigned gate and could relax for a while before they started calling in passengers. You and the team did not go first, but almost.

Your boss had been gracious enough to put you seven in business class, so you would be the second type of passengers to board the plane.

And with a rather quickly queue, that's exactly what you did. In less than an hour you were ready to take off. You had almost secretly hoped that your seatmate would be Minho, but of course it wasn't. It was an older co-worker, around his fifties. You made some small talk at first, but then you put on your headphones and focused on reharsing your speech and the slides.

The flight was on time, two hours later, you were back on land. You were kind of disappointed with youself, because at some point, Henry saying it was about half an hour in, you fell asleep.

But at the same time, you did have a very short and shit sleep last night so, better rest now than be sleepy later.

When you walked out at arrivals you saw a man in suit and tie holding up a sign with your company's name of it, so you approached him.

"Good morning, miss. Are you the seven people I have to take to this address?" he asked, showing you the paper. You nodded.

"Yep, it's us." you turned and gestured with your hand to follow you.

With some surprise, you found a mini van waiting outside, with nine seats including the driver's. Minho went on first, as far back as possible, and you went on last, next to the driver's seat.

The hotel wasn't that far, only fifteen minutes, so you got there pretty quickly. When you entered the reception, it was a bit crowded, of course with the amount of hosts that were there for the convention.

Yet again, you waited in line, then provided documents and the staff gave each of you a card key to your rooms. For organization purposes you were put all on the same floor, with rooms near to each other.

You just nodded in understanding and politely declined the invitation to have lunch out that some co-workers offere, opting to remain in your room, practice and maybe rest some more.

You didn't need distractions in that moment. But not everyone was on board with the plan, so you and another two people, oneof which was Lee Minho, went straight to the elevators.

You were grateful for Amanda, the senior of the team, that made small talk abou the appearence of the hotel. She was talking mostly to herself, even though she thought she was talking to you and Minho.

Thankfully in a couple of minutes, everyone went their separate ways and rooms. You sighed, relieved when you were finally alone again. This 'ignoring' situation was ridiculus, you were adults for fuck's sake. And yet neither of you approached the one for now, so you were both fools.

'This is getting fixed, tonight', you thought. The gala would've started at about seven pm, so hopefully by ten pm you were gonna be done. No matter what, you promised to yourself that you would've had a grown, mature conversation. But later.

Now you just preoccupied yourself with ordering lunch and, once again, going over your files. For the last time, thank god.

Five fifty pm. You were ready. Kind of.

Make up, done. Hair, done. Clothes, done. Papers, done. Purse? Ready. Your brain? Not ready.

You were honestly just trying not to sweat literal cold now and not cause yourself a stomach ache. Your only salvation at that point would've been distraction.

You remembered how fucking nervous you were at every single graduation in your life. High school, degree. Hell, even middle school. Being on the spotlight for anything always made you so extremely uncomfortable and sick.

It was only as you grew older that you understood that really, the only secret to get through this type of stuff is just fakin' it til you make it. No other way around it. If you deluded yourself into thinking that you had your shit together, so would others.

So that's when you decided to just go downstairs, a bit early just to hang out. Maybe have a drink or two. You weren't the only one who would've had to speak publicly that evening, so who knows, maybe you'd find your trauma twin.

You picked up your phone, purse, papers, then you were out of the door. Just as you almost made your way down the corridor, nearing the elevators, one of your heels got stuck on a bump in the moquette.

You gasped, saving yourself by planting your hands on the wall at your left for support. But that meant that now your papers and purse were on the ground. Messy. Great. Always better than a twisted ankle, you thought.

You bent down, trying to pick up the scattered papers in order, when you suddenly heard a voice.

"Everything okay?"

"Shit!", you clutched the paper to the chest, scared. You looked behind you, but aside from the scare, you recognized the voice immediately. Of course you did.

"Yes, just tripped. Thank you." Your tone was cool as you addressed Minho, going right back to stacking your stuff in your hands.

"Wait, let me help" without thinking, he joined you, starting to pick up the files as well. In perfect order, too. Of course your second in command would know the presentation by memory as well.

"I got it." You so much spared him a glance as you got back on your feet, snatching back the paper. He stood back up, too. Hands in his elegant pants pockets. Awkward.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice so casual and polite it actually made you mad. You crossed your arms, a little awkwardly as your hands were busy.

"Oh, so now you're talking to me?" Minho frowned. Mirroring your pose, closing off.

"What? You think it would've been appropriate to air out personal business while sitting in a car with five other people? Co-workers?" he snapped back.

"No one said anything about drinking and hooking up, a normal "good morning" would've been enough" you rolled your eyes.

"Well it's not like you attempted it either, yn"

"Ah, yes because I surely felt welcomed with open arms after you-"

"Hey guys! Wait for me!" You and Minho both turned your heads toward the young woman speeding up her walk. She was the youngest in the team. Niece of the boss, nonetheless.

You both took a step back from each other instinctively. You offered a fake smile and wave as the red haired man pushed the button for the elevators.

"Ah, thank you! It's a bit late, but at least I won't be showing up alone" she laughed. You widened your eyes, scrambling to fish the phone out of your purse.

"What do you mean 'it's late' !?" The clock showed six pm and five minutes. You frowned, but before you could speak, Minho did it for you.

"It's not late, stop panicking her. They opened the conference room at six. They're gonna start at six thirty. It's fine." the young girl seemed a bit intimidated by the stern tone used by the man, but the just shrugged.

"Oh well, I may have read the invitation wrong. Same thing." you took a deep sigh, taking a moment to calm not and not choke her on the spot.

"Better this way." you offered the same brief fake smile.

Finally the damn elevator doors opened, so you stepped inside and once again Minho pushed the first floor button. It could've been a silent couple of minutes, but of course they younger girl just could not resist.

"Did you learn everything well?" Oh wow.

"I have spent weeks researching and editing this stuff, I didn't only 'learn' it like a school poem." the annoyance in your voice really couldn't be hidden anymore, so good thing the elevator doors opened back up.

This time Minho took it upon himself to lighting place his hand on your back to lead you outside.

"Everything is ready, see you inside" he exclaimed back. So much for not acting suspicious, you thought.

You stopped a few meters away, stepping to the side away from his hand.

"Is everyone trying to get on my nerves specifically tonight, or" your voice dripped sarcasm, making the man roll his eyes.

"Yeah, right. You got enough on your plate right now, I know. That's why I tried to be civil" he didn't let you have the chance to bite back, as he kept going " In any case, I'm gonna leave you alone now. Go get a drink. A light one. Relax, you'll do great. Later, we can talk. In private."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Let me actually distract myself now, or I'll end up starting to argue at the stand instead of explaining my speech." with that, you forced yourself to walk away.

At exactly six thirty the conference started. You were seated with your team, of course. Everyone around this large, round table.

So cute, like king Arthur and his knights. And you were king Arthur in that moment. And hell, you would've better extracted that sword perfectly at first try.

Your turn didn't came until about an hour and a half later, after the welcoming speech, a couple of virtual messages from rich people who were too busy to be there in person, and a bunch of other companies' expositors.

"Please, give a round of applause for the next representative." the announcer spoke into the mic as he read from a folder, listing your company's name, the CEO, a few words of introduction, then finally your name.

The public applauded politely as you walked on stage with a smile, as carefully as you could. Couldn't have attempted twisted ankle number two at that moment.

"Thank you. Good evening. Tonight I am here to represent our," you extended your arms toward your team's table, " - company's project. I was honored with the duty of exposing the project to you. Hopefully it was the right call!" the crowd laughed and smiled.

You focused on explaining the idea, from the first draft, to research, then one by one describing and arguing the slides. Finally citing sources and closing your speech with some polite greetings.

The crowd once again clapped as you gracefully made your way down the stage. The presenter moved on, and a big sigh of relief left your mouth.

Your team looked at you with smiles, congratulating you as you went back to the table.

The whole official thing actually wrapped up around eight, not nine pm as you expected. Dinner was served and then a more casual after party was held. Not an actual party, more like a jazz music ambience with drinks, made for conversation.

And you did engage in some conversation, mainly with strangers and people from other companies. Some more job related topics, some about the event itself, others just very small talk.

By ten pm you were absolutely ready to ditch the whole thing and go to bed. You did it, it's over, it went well and the world didn't fell. So yeah, you called it a day. With everyone else, at least. But you still had some unfinished business with a person in particular.

Minho not so secretly followed you with his gaze all evening. He was so glad that the presentation went smoothly and it was over. He was also very proud of you. While your... relationship had been very short by then, he worked with you enough to know that you put your whole efforts into this project, and it paid off.

He was keeping his eye on you, but you were keeping yours on him as well. And both of you noticed. To be honest, the intention wasn't even to hide it.

You never interacted once. He just congratulated you along with everyone else, then that was it.

As he had been doing all night, he followed you with his eyes as you made your way out of the conference room. He waited a couple of seconds, then nonchalantly ditched his half consumed drink and followed you. As he expected, he found you waiting for him.

"Fancy seeing you here" he teased. He may have not acted like it, but he was actually quite nervous.

"Yeah, right" you replied with the slightest hint of humor, " I know there is a pool outside. It's closed now but you can still access it through the garden."

The man nodded in acknowledgedment, silently following at a moderately short distance, behind you.

Neither spoke a word until you were outside, the pool sides and the small garden dimly lit with warm lights. You sat on the sunbeds, next to each other. It was actually pretty cold, but you didn't seem to care at that point. At least there was no one else there, as you hoped.

"So..." he started, mostly to break the ice. And like that, as if you were waiting for a clue, you blurted out "Do you regret it?"

Minho stared at you for a second, slightly confused.

"What makes you think that?"

"Just answer. And be honest. I can take it, you know." your rubber your shoulder, both from the cold as well as the nervousness.

"I know you can." , he stated, serious "No. I didn't. Did you? Is that why you're asking?"

Your gaze finally found his again, the annoyance giving you some courage.

"No, I didn't. It was my idea, remember?", you paused, " I'm asking because you were cold last night. You know, after." just like that, eye contact was out of the window again.

"What? If anything it was you who disappeared without saying a word." he retorted. You raised an eyebrow.

"I went to clean up. You went to the bathroom so I thought you wanted some space."

"I was going to help you clean up. Not even the time to come back with a towel that you already left. At that point I thought, 'ah nice, the stress relief is over, better go back home' ", he air quoted with his fingers, "What was I supposed to think? Those were your intentions after all."

You couldn't really debate that. That's exactly what you said. It was crazy, you didn't even really know each other. If you weren't co-workers you wouldn't have seen each other again, ever. And that was probably the biggest mistake.

You knew the risk of getting personal life involved with the workplace. But then again you only wanted a night of meaningless sex. Why even make this fuss? Yet, there must be something. Otherwise you wouldn't bother having this conversation.

"Might be. All I know is that I literally asked you to stay, I offered you a place in my bed. Without any second meaning." you specified, "And instead you shut me down and went to sleep on the fucking couch. Left without a note or anything." you tilted your head to the side.

"I have already explained my reasons.", he replied, "Honestly what I get from this is that we're both pretty bad at communication." you stared at each other for a moment, and then, out of the blue, stifled laughs.

"Why are we arguing like an actual couple?" you asked, genuinely confused and weirdly amused by the situation. He shook his head, as clueless as you were.

"I have no idea."

Silence fell between you two for some time. Until you leaned back, propping yourself up with your hands on the sunbed.

"So what now?"

"What now?" he repeated.

"Do we pretend like this never happened?" yours was a genuine question, no second meaning or pressure behind it. He shrugged.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you?" he rolled his eyes, a light smirk on his face. You were just parroting each other at this point.

"I mean, I enjoyed myself. Don't know about the future, but that's a quite nice memory to keep, at the very least." he replied honestly, sneaking you a look, "Did you enjoy it?"

The question and the eye contact combined making you you blush. You nodded, acting more nonchalant than you were actually feeling. But you couldn't hide the but of mischief in your eyes at the thought.

Minho licked his lips, biting back a smile. Then nodded to himself.

"Right. Well, I say we see what happens. One thing we can agree on, though, is whatever, - if- anything happens, it stays out of the office" he waited for your response.

"Okay", you said, "Let's see what happens on Monday, then." you exchanged a smile.

Yeah, who knows, what will happen on Monday?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Y'all are gonna hate me for that finale🤣 but I warned you!!

That's it from me, hope you enjoyed and if you did, feel free to leave a feedback :')

Bye<3

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