#god i love how he knew exactly what he's doing!!!

[diamonddaze01]

Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. ��Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this. 

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining. 

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.” 

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

[cosyvelvetorchid]

@bucktommyfluffebruary Day 8: Surprise

Another of my prompts from last year that fit.

*****

Rated T | 2,430 | tw: homophobic slur

Buck knew that Tommy loved a romcom. He liked lots of genres of movies, and all for different reasons. But romcoms he loved because of the fantasy of them. He’d told Buck once that growing up with a father like his, and then spending the majority of his adult years firmly tucked away in the closet, that he’d wholeheartedly believed that a true love or romance was not in his own future. That living vicariously through two people on screen, even if they were straight, was the closest thing he’d get to a happy ending.

He’d very much changed his mind since he’d met his Evan, but still Buck had been determined to give him all the romantic moments he’d missed out on over his life.

It started with surprising Tommy with a candle lit dinner ready when he came home from work.. Which ended with Buck being bent over the table as dessert. Not quite the emotional response he was going for, but hey who was he to say no to that!

Tommy mentioned once a book he loved as kid and Buck spent three weeks hunting down a first edition. He was certainly blown away by Bucks thoughtfulness and showed him immediately by getting on his knees. Again Buck was happy to oblige—he always was—but it still wasn’t the response he was truly hoping for.

He wanted to sweep Tommy entirely off his feet. Woo him to the point of breathlessness. Make him feel so unbelievably cherished and loved that he forgets out to speak.

And then the idea hit him.

Oddly, while watching Carrie.

“Man, the worst thing that happened at our senior prom was Mikey Jacobs spiking the punch. I still can’t drink Jack Daniels” Buck reminisced.

“Better than pigs blood, babe. Or, you know, the revenge by telekinesis.”

“True. What about you? What was yours like?”

Tommy sighed. “I, uh, didn’t go to mine.”

“Really?” Buck looked at him in surprise. “I mean granted you were secretly gay, but I know the girls would have been killing each other to get the Tommy Kinard to take them to prom.” The idea seemed to bring such joy to his Evans face that Tommy almost didn’t want to admit the reality.

“I appreciate the support, babe, but I wasn’t exactly drowning in dates with girls.” He laughed “I was 6’2” by the time I was 15 but I didn’t know how to build muscle or even eat right for my body’s needs. I went from 5’8” and over weight to 6’2” and skinny, which my dad just loved to point out constantly. I was super insecure and had zero confidence to ask a a girl out.” A look of sadness flickered across his face.

“Did people not go stag at your school?”

Tommy huffed a cold laugh. “Only fags and virgins go stag to a prom, Thomas.” He mimicked his father’s voice. Buck gently rubbed Tommys arm.

“I’m sorry you had to hear shit like that from your dad. You deserved so much better than that.”

“I know that now and mostly because of you.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Bucks lips and smiled.

“Good.” He smiled back, already formulating his next plan to woo the shit out of his boyfriend.

This one took a few weeks of planning but Buck was certain it would knock Tommys socks off.

****

Tommy was surprised that Lucy had suddenly turned up at Harbour on what was supposed to be her day off. Even more surprised when she offered, nay insisted that she take Tommys remaining 24 hours of his 48 hours shift.

In the end their Captain had to practically shove him out of the harbour doors to get him out. He eventually relented and left for home.

Approaching their front door he noticed a note in handwriting so bad it had to be Bucks. God did he love him but the man’s penmanship looked like a doctor’s. A drunk doctor’s. Wearing a plaster cast. Thankfully after almost a year together he’d learned how to decipher Evans scribbles.

“Go straight upstairs.

Shower and get dressed..”

“Huh?”

“Don’t “huh” me, Kinard. Just do it. Then meet me in the dining room.

P.s: love you, Your Evan.”

Tommy chuckled to himself but did as he was asked and walked straight up the stairs to their bedroom. He was surprised, and confused, to see his tux freshly pressed and laid out on their bed.

After showering and dressing he made his way back down found himself knocking on his own dining room door for permission to enter.

“Come in.” Evans voice called from inside.

Tommy opened the door his mouth and eyes opened wide at what he saw.

The table had been pushed to the side wall, with a black cloth draped over the top, atop of which was a punch bowl filled with an orangey pink liquid. Surrounding it was lots of bowls filled with candy and chips and other kids favourite snacks.

A shiny disco ball hung from the ceiling with paper decorations swinging from the Center of the room and up to the corners. Twinkling lights hung all around giving the room a gorgeous warm glow.

And standing in the centre of the dining room, under the disco ball, in a tux that fit him so incredibly perfectly was the most beautiful man Tommy had ever seen.

“What’s.. what’s going on?” Tommy asked not being able to hide his smile.

Evan took a few steps toward him and held out his hand. “Thomas Kinard. Will you go to prom with me?” Every time Tommy thinks he can’t fall in love with Evan any more, he’s proven wrong.

For the next two hours they do nothing but dance like idiots, drink spiked punch (tequila instead of Jack Daniel’s this time - buck would actually like to remember this prom), and snack on junk food.

Tommy couldn’t remember the last time he had let loose like this. Or even smiled this hard. Evan was by far the greatest joy to ever come into his life. He reminded Tommy of what fun was, what joy was and what it felt like to be truly unashamedly himself - something that nobody had ever made him felt safe enough to truly be.

Buck knew he’d achieved his task of sweeping Tommy off his feet tonight already, but there was one more thing he decided, last minute, that he was going to do.

Buck picked up his phone and searched for the perfect song, settling on Songbird by Eva Cassidy because it was on the soundtrack to Tommy’s favourite movie Love, Actually. He didn’t even need to do anything because as soon as the opening bars played through the speaker Tommy instantly knew what it was and pulled Buck into a slow dance.

They swayed slowly and silently for a few moments just breathing in the perfect moment with each other with Tommys arms wrapped around Bucks waist and Bucks arms around his neck.

“So, not that I’m complaining, babe, what with all the romancing lately?” Tommy asked.

“You deserve it.” Was Bucks simply reply. Tommy looked at him with a mixture of adoration with a hint of confusion. “You go out of your way to show me how much you love me and to do all these sweet and romantic things for me, but you deserve them too. You deserve to be shown how much you mean to me also.” Tommy was looking at him with those eyes again - the big bright ones Buck first saw right before he kissed him for the first time - and he had to use every bit of strength to hold back from jumping him, because he needed to say this before his courage disappeared.

“I see how you look at these little moments in the romcoms you love and I hate that you never got to experience them, so I wanted you to have some of them of your own. Our own. Plus, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to tell you just how much I love you. To tell you how unbelievably happy I am that you walked, well, flew into my life. To tell you that I have never in all of my life thought that I deserved to have someone so beautiful and kind and wonderful and just fucking incredible as you. And.. and to ask you to marry me.”

Tommy blinked. Did he hear that correctly?

“Wh-what?”

“I know, it’s- we’ve not even been together a full year yet, and full disclosure I didn’t even know I was going to ask until, like, 10 minutes ago, so I don’t even have a ring, and-“ Tommy grabbed Buck either side of his neck and pressed his lips firmly against his. When Tommy pulled back his cheeks were wet with tears cascading over his beautiful lower lashes. Finally, Buck thought, though he kept that to himself.

“Hold that thought.” He said simply before quickly leaving the room. He took 2 steps at a time as he hurtled upstairs, before running back down seconds later back to Buck still stood in the center of the dining room.

He lifted up his palm on top of which was a dark blue velvet box, opened, with 2 tarnished silver bands of differing sizes, each with a shiny silver strip running around the centre of each of them.

“You bought.. how long have you..” Buck could barely get the words out. His eyes kept flicking between Tommys beautiful face and the rings in his hand.

“About a month. Well, I ordered them custom made about 2 months ago but I’ve had them for a month.”

“Custom?” Was all Buck could get out.

Tommy pointed to the shiny part of the rings. “A couple of years ago I had this rescue and the husband of the woman we were life flighting was telling us about how they met. Anyway, he said that his family had this tradition of putting something sentimental in the band to give to your partner as.. sort of as a piece of you. You know that piece of metal that sits on my desk in the study?”

“Y-yeah. It’s part of the blade from the first chopper you flew when you transferred to harbour.”

“Right. Well, it now has a little chunk missing.” He laughed. “Transferring to the 217 was the first piece of me finally becoming who I always wanted to be. You’re the last piece, Evan.”

Buck had this whole night planned—minus is own spontaneous proposal—and had wanted Tommy to be the feeling pleasantly surprised and loved.. yet here he was himself being loved so fucking beautifully it was taking everything within him to not break apart right there.

“What’s-what’s in your ring?” He asked.

“Well, that was.. a little trickier. And full disclosure on my part— Maddie knows because I had to enlist her help.”

“Okay..”

“It’s difficult to pick something when your boyfriend loves so many things,” he teased “and then Maddie.. she gave me a little silver bracelet that she was given as a kid and-“

Buck inhaled a breath when he realised what bracelet Tommy was referring to. Immediately his whole chin began to quiver and tears filled his eyes.

“The one that Daniel gave to her.”

“Yeah.” Tommy said softly. “She told me how he’d seen it one day when he was with your grandparents when he was 6 or something and insisted he give to her for her birthday.” Buck nodded, not being able to find words. “She said that this would be something that would be special to you because you never got to know him. Is-is that okay?”

Buck looked from the ring back to up Tommy; eyes completely blurred from tears pouring out of him.

“I.. this..” He could always find peace in Tommy eyes but this was all so- it was overwhelming and.. he took a deep breath to try and calm himself.

“Tommy, this whole night was-was supposed to be about you.. a-and showing you just how much to mean to me and then..” he blew out another breath trying to center himself “and then here you are with the most beautiful fucking gesture, I.. I can’t..” The tears flowed once again and this time he threw his arms around Tommys neck and held on tight. Tommy, as he always did, reciprocated and held him tightly back.

“I love you so fucking much.” He cried into Tommys neck. Tommys own tears were flowing too, now.

“God I love you, too, Evan. More than I could ever even show you.”

“I don’t know-“ Buck pulled back with a laugh “I think you hit it out of the ball park with this one.” He gently thumbed Tommys tears from his cheeks. He looked closer at the rings.

“Are there inscriptions?”

“Only on yours.” Tommy replied, sniffing.

“For my Evan. Always.” Buck read out loud. Tommy wiped away Bucks next tears that came. They were the only type of tears he ever wanted to illicit from his Evan.

“I thought you would what to decide what to inscribe on my ring.”

“Can I put it on you now?” Tommy asked.

“Uh, technically I should be putting yours on you because I asked first. Actually, you haven’t actually said yes by the way..”

Tommy reached up an gently fixed a curlon Bucks head and looked at him with those big earnest eyes again.

“Yes.”

Buck took his ring out of the box and slid it onto Tommy finger, then Tommy did the same with Bucks ring.

Buck gripped the lapels of Tommys tux and pulled him into a kiss. They both sighed into it. It wasn’t a kiss that they’d shared before; this one was full of promise, of hope, a future - the rest of their lives as husbands.

Tommy pulled back for a second “By the way, I did promise Maddie that the second we became engaged that we would face time her. Where’s your phone?”

“She can wait a little bit.” Buck replied aiming his lips at Tommys neck.

“You sure? She might be mad.” Buck lifted up and looked Tommy in the eyes.

“Tommy, there’s only one thing I want to do right now and it absolutely does not involve my sister.”

“She can wait a little bit.” Tommy repeated wrapping his arms around his Evans neck and pulling him in for another deep kiss.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"YES?"

We all know Dave is obsessed with boobs. I mean, we all saw THAT scene in the movie, so I wrote a fic about it

Hope you like it!

Dave was trying to concentrate on reading the comic he had in his hands, but the fact that you kept teasing him to pay attention to you wasn't helping at all.

More than once he had looked up from the colorful pages to see the tempting shape of your nipples showing beneath the tight black t-shirt you were wearing. It was no secret that Dave loved boobs, but specifically his girlfriend's, meaning yours.

You knew perfectly well the effect you were having on him. When you woke up that morning, you decided that you wouldn't put on your bra.

After all, Dave had already seen you naked a few times, so you left it stored in the drawer of your nightstand.

You turned your head towards him when you felt him looking at you. He quickly turned his head back to his comic.

“Dave, are you okay?” you asked, he nodded without taking his eyes off the comic.

“Perfectly,” he answered in a squeaky voice, making you smile.

You stopped what you were doing and sat on his lap slowly. He pushed the comic away in the same way to look at you, while a blush spread across his cheeks.

You smiled because despite everything you had shared together, the fact that he still retained that shyness was something that turned you on more than you were willing to admit.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“I'm taking care of my boyfriend,” you smiled, leaving a soft kiss on his lips, before looking into his eyes, his glasses fogging up for a moment. “That's what good girlfriends do, right?”

-I guess so - he murmured, sketching a nervous smile - you know you're my first girlfriend, so I don't have much experience in that

-I know - you smiled -

You saw how his gaze went down to your chest again. You made a gesture with your index finger towards your face.

-My eyes are up here, Dave - you reminded him, he tilted his head before looking at you attentively -

-Yeah… sure… I'm sorry… it's just that… I… - he stammered, you shook your head from side to side -

-You don't have to apologize - you whispered - I know exactly what you need

-Yes?

-Yes - you said reaching the hem of your shirt between your fingers -

You put the garment aside, and your breasts were in front of him. He looked at them for a moment, before looking up at you.

-Shit - he cursed making you smile, he brought his hands closer to them - Can I…? –he asked, you nodded-

-Yes –you said- please touch me –you almost begged-

His deep blue eyes connected with yours, before he caught your breasts in his hands. You gasped at the touch of his cold skin against your warm one.

They felt heavy in his palms as he ran his thumb over your nipples, making goosebumps rise all over your skin. His gaze focused on your face, taking in all the sensations that ran through it.

-Don't stop… -you gasped- please…

Dave leaned forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss, before moving his lips down your neck, until he caught one of your nipples between his teeth, while massaging the other with his hand.

You brought your hands to his curly locks, tugging at it with each little bite and swipe of his tongue.

-God… -you gasped- if I knew you were so good at this, I would have stopped wearing a bra a long time ago

-You don't need them -he said making you smile- for me you can burn them all

A couple of passes with his tongue made you cum like a teenager.

You didn't care in the least, not when you saw the smug smile your boyfriend had on his lips, and the way his blue eyes shone with a special glow.

[nameless-jamie]

Perfectly Blended

A Jamie Tartt x reader Short Story

Masterlist

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem! make-up artist reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scene/language, kissing

A/N: This ff is inspired by the idea/request of @shadowyhologramlady thank you so much! Please give her a follow if you like!

AFC Richmond’s training ground wasn’t exactly the kind of place one expects to see an array of makeup brushes and highlighters laid out like surgical tools. But here she was, Y/N Y/L/N, leaning against a counter in the locker room, organizing her kit while waiting for Keeley to finish her meeting with Rebecca.

It all started rather fast. Y/N certainly didn't expect to get a call from Keeley Jones at midnight six months ago, tipsy off rosé, begging her to help out with AFC Richmond’s media team because “footballers need good skin too, babe. For their interviews and sponsorships.”

Y/N's actual main job was being a freelance makeup artist, working with models, influencers, and even the occasional musician. But suddenly her best friend Keeley hooked her up with this job. Ever since Keeley convinced Rebecca to let her run the club’s marketing, Y/N’d been roped into working part-time (recently more like full-time) at Richmond, mostly for media days and promotional shoots.

So, Y/N's new daily job was standing in the club’s locker room, arranging her makeup kit on the counter, and waiting for the players to get ready for their touch-ups before interviews.

All while Jamie Tartt—actual Premier League star, occasional pain in the ass, and her best friend’s biggest headache—watched her like she was performing some magic trick.

“Oi, what’s all this then?” Jamie said while touching a beauty blender that was laid out on the table.

Y/N glanced up at Jamie, who was dripping with post-training sweat, hair pushed back with his signature headband. He smelled like overpriced cologne and whatever soap they used in the showers, and despite how ridiculous it was, the combination made her brain short-circuit for half a second.

“It’s called makeup, Jamie,” she teased, holding up a brush. “Surely you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, I know what makeup is. My mum watches Love Island, innit?” He smirked, crossing his arms as he eyed the foundations and powders spread out before them.

"That's... lovely Jamie."

“So, you’re tellin’ me they actually pay you to do this?” Jamie asked, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

Without looking up again, Y/N sighed. “No, Jamie, I break into the training ground every week just for fun.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Wouldn’t be surprised. Bet you love bein’ around me.”

She finally glanced up, raising a brow. “Yeah, Jamie. I keep doing footballers' makeup so I can powder your pretty little nose all day.”

“See? Knew it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the truth was, she had known Jamie for a while now. And they've had this flirty tension ever since they met.

You see, they know each other through Keeley. Y/N and Keeley had been inseparable since their early days in the industry—back when Keeley was a model and Y/N was just starting out as a makeup artist. Their friendship had landed Y/N some of her first big gigs, and eventually, when Keeley transitioned into PR, she had this idea and pulled Y/N along for the ride.

That was how she officially ended up working part-time at AFC Richmond, doing touch-ups for media days, promotional shoots, and the occasional interview. And that was also how she ended up crossing paths with Jamie Tartt.

Jamie, who had been Keeley’s ex. Jamie, who had a reputation for being both unbearably cocky and stupidly attractive. Jamie, who flirted with her in a way that was definitely not friendly, despite Keeley’s constant eye-rolls and smirks whenever she caught them talking. "God, just fuck and get it over with." Keeley's words.

There was something about him—something infuriatingly charming, something Y/N refused to acknowledge as attraction, even though she knew deep down that was exactly what it was.

Jamie liked to push.

And she liked pushing right back.

Which was why it was so easy to smirk at him now and say, “Are you just here to annoy me, or did you actually need something?”

Jamie shrugged. “Bit of both.”

She sighed dramatically, turning back to her kit. “Alright, well, unless you need concealer for those eye bags—”

“Oi! I don’t have eye bags.”

She smirked. “—or maybe some setting powder for that sweaty forehead of yours—”

“Not sweaty, I’m glistening.”

“—then I’m busy.”

Jamie chuckled, stepping closer. “Alright, fine. Maybe I was thinkin’… you ever need a model for that little makeup account of yours, I could do it.”

That actually made her pause. “You? Model for me? On my Instagram?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I reckon I’d look dead fit with a bit of contour.”

She snorted. “You already think you look dead fit, Tartt.”

“Yeah, but now imagine it with highlight. Drop dead gorgeous.”

She eyed him suspiciously, trying to gauge whether or not he was joking. But no—he was giving her that smug, lopsided grin, dimples out in full force, because he knew exactly what he was doing.

And the worst part? It was working.

“…Fine,” she relented, pointing a brush at him. “But if I do this, you have to sit still and actually listen to me.”

Jamie pressed a hand to his chest. “Swear on me mum’s life.”

She rolled her eyes but gestured for him to sit.

He dropped into the chair, looking way too pleased with himself as she stood in between his legs and pumped a little foundation onto the back of her hand.

“You better not make me look like a dickhead, love.”

“No promises,” she muttered, dabbing the sponge onto his face.

The second it touched his cheek, Jamie flinched.

“Jesus Christ, that’s cold!”

She snorted. “Oh, suck it up, you get tackled for a living.”

Jamie huffed but let her continue, even as his skin warmed under her touch. His lashes were stupidly long up close, and he kept watching her with that same smug glint in his eye.

“This your favorite part?” Jamie mused.

She didn’t look up. “What, applying foundation?”

“Nah,” he said, smirking. “Touchin’ my face.”

She paused just long enough for his grin to widen.

“Oh my God,” she muttered. “You are so full of yourself.”

Jamie leaned back slightly, still grinning. “Yeah, but you usually love it.”

She ignored him and grabbed a brow gel, brushing up his eyebrows.

“That shit feels weird.”

“Looks good, though.”

Jamie waggled his brows. “Look at you givin' me compliments now. Told you I’d be a good model.”

"I mean you are a handsome man, don't see why you wouldn't be a good model." She mumbled fully concentrated.

"I mean, I personally think you're fuckin' fit—"

"Shhhh." She shushed him by applying some chapstick before he could say something that would make her go fucking feral for him.

Jamie gave her a knowing smirk, making her laugh. “Am I bein' good so far? Behavin'?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, picking up a soft bronzer. “Okay, now let’s give you some definition.”

His smirk deepened. “Thought you said I already had too much definition.”

“Okay, first of all—” You pointed at him with the brush. “You should not be that smug about having cheekbones.”

“Can’t help it, babe. Genetics, innit?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you dusted bronzer along his jaw. “Second of all, if you interrupt me again, I’m putting glitter on you.”

Jamie gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “You wouldn’t.”

You held up a shimmery highlighter. “Try me.”

He eyed it warily before sitting up straighter. “Right, sorry I’ll be good.”

Once she was done, she stepped back to admire her work.

“There. You look ridiculously good, Jamie.”

Nah, you have to realize he looked good before, but now...fuck.

Jamie turned to the mirror, tilting his head like he was properly analyzing himself. “Not bad,” he admitted, rubbing a thumb along his jaw—before she swatted his hand away.

“Do not mess it up, I still need pictures.”

Jamie sighed dramatically. “Right, right. The things I do for the arts.”

She grabbed her phone, snapping a few shots as he posed like a model—one hand under his chin, then a serious smolder, then holding a football like he was starring in some Vogue athlete feature. She couldn’t stop laughing, especially when he gave her the full Zoolander pose.

Eventually, after the last photo, Jamie leaned back in his chair and gave her a look—one that was softer than before, a little more genuine. She was still standing in between his legs admiring the photos she took of him.

“You’re actually really good at this, y’know.”

She blinked, momentarily thrown. “Thanks, Jamie.”

He tilted his head. “How come you don’t do, like… big celebrities and that, anymore?”

She shrugged. “I do, sometimes. But I like working with people I know. Plus, the football stuff is fun and Keeley keeps me busy and well-paid here.”

Jamie hummed, then suddenly said, “Bet you’d be dead fit with a bit of blush.”

She frowned. “I am wearing blush, Jamie.”

He smirked. “Yeah, but I mean, like… if I put it on you. Let me try.”

Before she could respond, Jamie grabbed the blush brush from her kit, twirling it between his fingers.

“C’mon,” he said, tilting his head. “Fair’s fair.”

She crossed her arms. “Do you even know how to use that?”

Jamie shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

She sighed but let him dust the blush across her cheek. His fingers brushed her skin lightly as he blended it in—careful, gentle. The teasing was still there, but the air between them shifted.

Jamie wasn’t just playing around anymore.

She could feel it in the way he was watching her.

The brush faltered, then slowly dropped.

Y/N shook her head, trying not to heat up too much under his gaze. “Well, thanks for letting me use your face.”

“I'd let you use my face anytime,” he said easily while giving her his signature smirk. Neither of them were moving.

Y/N glanced up. “Oh really?” At this point, she was indulging him.

She could still feel the warmth of his fingertips lingering against her skin. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips—quick, instinctive.

Her breath hitched.

Jamie exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

She wasn’t sure who leaned in first.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it was her.

Maybe it had been a long time coming.

But before she could overthink it, before she could talk herself out of it—Jamie’s lips brushed against hers, sending a spark down her spine.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his training jersey, tugging him closer as he kissed her—soft, but firm, like he’d been waiting for this just as much as she had.

His hand came up to her jaw, the same one that had been holding the brush just moments ago, now tilting her face just right as he deepened the kiss. He tasted faintly of mint gum and something sweet, something him, and it was dizzying how easily she melted into it.

Jamie smirked against her lips. “Told you you’d look good with blush.”

She huffed a laugh. “Shut up.”

And then she kissed him again.

[reignpage]

hello reign *bows down* i had a bit of a horny question heheheheheh what do you think the jjk men say in bed? i saw a prompt like this a while ago and if it’s okay with u i was curious abt how it would be like for the eden jjk men. i offer u this nanami in return 🙏

I will take the Nanami yes thank you

Do you mean like dirty talk? Or pillow talk? Since it’s horny I imagine it’s dirty right?

Okay so,

Gojo: he’s a simp

He whispers and whines about how amazing reader is in every way shape and form. “You’re so beautiful oh my god thank you god thank you thank you,” he groans, skimming his lips down your body, stopping here and there to lick and suck the sweet salt of your skin.

“Oh you taste so good. Like the sweetest candy. God do you have to be perfect in every way, you’re killing me. You’re literally killing me. Wait, actually, can we fuck missionary? Yeah I know it’s basic and vanilla, but god I just really want to see your face. Please? Oh thank you! Baby, I love you so much. Gonna buy you whatever you want later. Yeah I know you can buy it yourself but I just wanna pay. Okay, let’s get to orgasm number 3 with head and then we’re fucking all night old people style.”

It’s literally worship, at every given second. Just praise upon praise upon praise. He always asks too if he’s making her feel good. He wants to be sure he’s giving reader everything she could ever want and more. The type btw to crawl into a ball and cry if he ever EVER came before you.

Geto: instructions and praise

Being a dom, he guides reader through. Talks her through it. “Right there, pretty girl. That’s it. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Does occasionally degrade her, but it’s not really her thing and it doesn’t make him feel good so they just don’t do it most of the time

He’s very keen in knowing she’s feeling comfortable and great at all times so he does ask quite a few questions and encourages her to be vocal about how she’s feeling. “You like it here, sweet girl? Yeah? Use your words or I’ll stop. Hmm, that’s more like it.”

Choso: doesn’t do much talking

He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated 24/7 with his reader. He’s being teased left right and centre and he just CANNOT get his bearings omg. He has no idea if it’s night or day, where left and right is, sometimes he even forgets his name.

“W-what? Ngh oh no! Not there p-please! I-I don’t know! Yes yes whatever you -ha- want! T-take it all! O-oh thank you yes yes yes thank you thank you!!”

Toji: oh man

This guy never shuts up once he gets going. He’s just so cocky ugh it’s disgusting. He never gets fucked out like reader and he’s always in control even when he’s not so he knows exactly what buttons to push. Mix of praise and degradation.

“Oh, come on, baby. You gotta ride me better than that. Doll, you’re gonna have to join me in the gym and build up your stamina because this is poor performance on your behalf. Coach would be so disappointed if he knew my girl could barely get three pumps in before giving up. Alright alright, no need to pout at me like that, you’re gonna make my heart stop. biiiiig stretch there we go, my turn yeah? I’ll take care of ya, put my training to good use. There we go, oh yeah. Much better isn’t it? You like it when I fuck you like this no? Damn, the silent treatment? You’re gonna be cruel to your loving boyfriend when he’s kissing your cervix? Oh, damn you’re blacking out. Christ, you’re making a puddle of drool, god you just want me to lose my mind don’t you? Alright, just gonna have to fuck you back to consciousness. Here. We. Go. Oh hey, ma. Good nap? Fucking missed you.”

Nanami: sweet man

Mostly simpy and worshippy. He’s always a gentleman. When he’s leading he’s kinda more on the quiet side, apart from the occasional grunts and moans and ‘oh fuck’. He just doesn’t like the sound of his own voice, he much prefers to listen to reader fr.

But when reader takes control, wanting to be a brat and tease him, he comes under her mercy and he just has no choice but to be vocal.

“No, s-sweetheart, I’m -ha- sensitive there. Oh goodness, t-that feels good yes, where did you learn that? No, never mind, I-I’d rather not know. Oh no, please! T-that’s -oh- that’s no good, you have to stop, I-I only want to cum inside you. May I, sweetheart? Please? It’d be such a waste otherwise.”

Sukuna: degradation only.

“You’re a goddamn whore. What would they all think if they knew their president likes to be fucked like this? Hmm? Answer me! You’re useless. Always so fucking naggy, bossing me around and snapping your fingers at me. Who the fuck do you think you are? Oh that’s right, you’re my girl aren’t you? Yeah, my girl who likes it rough. Is this good for you and your needy pussy? Harder? Ha! Any harder and I’d kill you, idiot. Think with your head not with your pussy once in a while yeah?”

Only sweet after sex.

“Not too sore? Good. No, don’t complain. It was your idea to do it here. Just needed to be fucked on the Dean’s desk, didn’t you? No, I’m not judging you, babe. I’ll fuck you wherever you want. Just musing how amazing you are at holding grudges. It was a nice touch to make me tie you up with his spare tie. Who the fuck keeps a spare tie in their drawer? What a fucking loser. Well, anyways, you took quite a beating there. My bad. Hungry? Nah, you gotta eat something. Come on, wipe the cum from your thighs and let’s get going I’m starved. No? Always gotta be such a princess don’t you? Alright, get on the desk and spread your legs.”

[probablysimpledreams]

Surprise Valentine (Dabi x reader)

a/n: a little early v-day treat for you cuties<33 I'm still working on a Keigo piece for valentines day so that should be out soon (hopefully) lol I was working on it then went out and when I got home the idea for this fic washed over me so crazily I was like I HAVE to write it ahhh enjoy lovelies <33

wc: 1096

"I don't need a babysitter!" Toga huffed as she skipped down the dimly lit street, refusing to face Dabi who was following close behind. 

"I find that hard to believe," Dabi rolled his eyes. "I'm here for my own reasons, so just shut up and keep walking. We're almost there anyway." Toga stopped in her tracks, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she took in his words. Dabi was joining her to steal Valentine's Day treats and items from the store on his own accord? It could only mean one thing.......

"I knew it! You are in love!" the young girl beamed, completely invading Dabi's personal space as she danced around happily. "Love love love!"

"Ohmygod will you shut up?!" Dabi snapped back, looking down at his feet as he kept walking. He didn't want to admit it but Toga was right, he was in love with you. So much so that he wanted to be the sweet boyfriend who surprises you with cute gifts, despite his claim to dislike this and any other holiday. God love was embarrassing. 

"You didn't deny it," Toga teased, dodging the small flame he threw her way. Dabi just groaned in response, silently begging she'd leave him alone so he could grab what he needed and get out. 

After a few more steps and teasing remarks by Toga, the pair finally made it to the closed shop. Dabi swiftly cuts out any security cameras and locks, allowing the two to enter the shop. The isles were filled with a massive assortment of heart shaped candies, plushies, flowers, and other everyday items in pink or red to make buyers want to grab it. 

Though he wouldn't admit it aloud, Dabi was overwhelmed as he browsed the store. Everything felt so flashy, so forward, so lovey dovey. But none of it felt like him. If he was going to do something for you, he was going to make sure you could see the thought and love behind it. He may not be the most romantic man or the best with words, but he always made sure his actions told you exactly how he felt. Exactly how much he loved you. It had to be perfect. He needed to be the best boyfriend. He needed your love. He needed you to never leave him. He needed- 

"You're overthinking this dummy," Toga's voice snaps Dabi back to reality as she approaches him, hands full of heart shaped chocolates and little plushies. "I know you know what ______ likes, so just pick something and stick with the decision." 

Though it annoyed him, Toga's reassurance eased his thoughts. He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes before looking at the isles again with a new, refreshed mindset. This time a black cat plushie with a gold heart collar caught his eye. He chuckled as he remembered the countless times you'd say he reminded you of a cat or he had "black cat energy," whatever the hell that meant. As he went to grab it, his eyes began trailing upward and landed on a plushie that happened to be your favorite animal and color. A small smile tugs at his lips as he examines the item, noting it slightly resembled you as well. He decided to grab both plushies, snatching a pack of your favorite snacks before heading out with Toga. 

Once back at the hideout, Toga immediately began showing off her "shopping" haul to the rest of the League. This allowed Dabi to go unnoticed as he snuck out, headed straight to your apartment. He wakes you up by knocking on your window, blue eyes shining as he stares through the glass. 

"I'm begging you to use the front door," you sigh as you open the window, allowing him to climb into your room. You were still trying to catch your breath after he scared you wide awake by arriving here at 2 am without any prior warning.

"Mmm no can do sweetheart, gotta keep you on your toes," he grinned. 

"Why are you even here?" you yawned, urging him to join you on the bed. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, just isn't like you to show up without some kind of heads up. Everything okay?" His heart swelled at your concern. The way you loved him so gently, so purely made his head spin. That feeling only intensified as he remembered why he even came over in the first place. 

"I-uh-I have something for you." His eyebrows furrowed as he mentally scolded himself for sounding so nervous. Your eyes widen with excitement at his words. 

"For me?" you smile, looking at him. You could tell he was nervous which only made you smile grow. God he's so cute.

"Just take it," he grumbles. While it came off coldly, you knew he was just nervous. Everything about his relationship with you was new to him, and that scared him. Because of this you were always patient, and knew his actions showed his true emotions. That's why your jaw almost dropped when he handed you the plushies and snacks. 

"Stopppp is this us as plushies?" you happily asked as you examined the plushies. You already knew the answer though, smiling ear to ear as you hugged the soft and fuzzy items. 

"Thought you'd be into some corny shit like that," he chuckles, nerves slowly dissolving seeing you so happy. He hid his still trembling hands from your line of vision as he pulled you into his side, kissing the top of your head. "Happy Valentine's Day baby." 

"AHHH I love you!! I love you!!!" you cheered, pulling him to lay down on the bed with you. You moved to lay on top of him, covering his face with kisses before nuzzling into his neck. His arms tightened around you as you cuddled against him, smile still painted on your face. "Thank you for my gift." 

He hummed, small smile tugging at his lips as he rubbed your back gently. "Glad you liked it." 

"I have something for you too but," you yawned, "I'll give you it before I head to work in a few hours." Your eyes start falling shut as the warmth from Dabi's body lures you back to sleep. "Mmmmm good night, I love you."

"I love you too baby." Dabi leans down to kiss your lips before adjusting the way you're laying on him so you both could fall asleep comfortably. His arms tighten around you once again, reminding you he's not going anywhere as you both drift off to sleep.

[dawngyu]

I’m late, I’m sorry, Serene… but I promised I’d be here for any CC, and here I am! First of all, I absolutely loved the playlist. And the title… :(((

Beomgyu catches your inner struggle, the already present smirk on his lips stretching wider. “So why are you?” He lets his head fall to the side, the question echoing down the vacant hallway. You knew why, yet you had hoped he wouldn’t ask. But of course, Beomgyu saw right through you, and he’d always known exactly where to push in order for you to finally crack.

The way you write him is doing things to me… SO INSANELY ATTRACTIVE. GOD, your writing.

The following paragraphs just highlight how deeply Beomgyu understands her—or, well, knew her. (She’s in denial, but still. I love her. I am her. Thank you.)

I still remember how haunted I felt when I first read this last tape—the note, the doubt, the endless question of what could’ve made her run. I kept imagining all the possibilities since it hadn’t been revealed yet why Beomgyu let her go. (The angst. Omg.)

His grip tightens before it eases, and with a quiet hum his knuckles caress your cheek, the action makes you shudder. “I am many things, dollface”, he murmurs as he lets you go, his hand slipping back through the small window as he takes a step back, the darkness of his cell immediately consuming half his face. — “But I am not that.”

No matter how many times I read this, it still hits just as hard. (This will always get to me, I fear.)

Soobin’s scene was absolutely adorable—he feels so much like home here. Another green flag man and I’m really excited to see where you take his character, or honestly, any of the characters you have!

OH, AND YES—how could I forget the moment she saw Beomgyu with another woman… She’s stronger than me, for real. And for the nth time, I absolutely love her inner monologues. Obsessed.

“If I was available right now?” He holds out the cigarette for you to take. Eyeing it with disdain for a moment, you decline by shaking your head, “I don’t smoke.” — Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, “You’d be the first to decline.” He studies you for a moment, the corner of his lip twitching into a faint smirk. “But you’re the first of many things, dollface”, he says as he brings the cigarette to his lips.

OK, I forgive him (conveniently ignoring the glaring red flags, but honestly… your writing is so vivid, I can smell the smoke).

His urgent and almost feverish demeanor confused you. He could go weeks without as much as asking to see you, but when he did it was like he’d been starved of you for years. It didn’t make sense.

OH MY GOD, I WANNA CRY. You are truly the best at writing angsty smut—how am I getting sad while reading smut??

This was such a fun (and painfully heartbreaking) read. Now that we’ve completed all the existing tapes, I just know I’m going to die when you publish the next one.

Serene, wow. Can't wait for the next tape!! ><

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 TAPE 04

𝓓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝓔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 ⸝⸝ Moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. Though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder. ⸝⸝

𝓹airings criminal!beomgyu x detective!reader 𝔀arnings drinking, kissing, vaginal fingering, public sex, creampie, biting? (lol how tf do I tag that), tiny bit of hair pulling (beomgyu receiving), smoking, references to blood but nothing detailed !

📼 THE TAPE RECORDINGS

𝓣𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝓢𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 contains dark themes portraying unhealthy and toxic relationships and substance abuse. reader discretion is advised ! — this story is partly told in flashbacks, beware of timestamps as past/present are mixed throughout the story.

#serene adds ✎.. SQUEE GUYS!! all of the tapes have officially been re-released! from here forward it will only be entirely new tapes !! I hope you guys are as excited as I am for this :3

[ ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။| TAPE 04 ] — I Don't Smoke — recording length; 6.1k + PLAYLIST

📼 — PRESENT TIME ; February 20th 2024

You could not sleep that night. No matter how hard you tossed and turned, you couldn’t pull the images of him from your mind. Your conversation rings in your head, replaying itself over and over until every last word was engraved in your heart. The warmth of his breath against your face hovers above you, a ghost-like memory, an almost lucid one. 

With a tired groan you roll over on your stomach, burying your face in the pillow as you prepare to go through the evening’s events once more. 

“Yet you’re here.” — “But you shouldn’t be.” 

No. You shouldn’t be here. Seeing detained suspects outside of office hours, with no surveillance, it was most prohibited. Your mere presence here could quite frankly cost you your job, the one you had worked so hard for. But this was different. This wasn’t about now, it was about then. You weren’t a detective tonight, and he wasn’t a suspect. You were you and he was him. Just like it had been ten months ago. 

Beomgyu catches your inner struggle, the already present smirk on his lips stretching wider. “So why are you?” He lets his head fall to the side, the question echoing down the vacant hallway. You knew why, yet you had hoped he wouldn’t ask. But of course, Beomgyu saw right through you, and he’d always known exactly where to push in order for you to finally crack. 

Patience was not something he lacked and so he waited patiently when you fiddled with the back of your earring, twiddled with the hem of your sleeve, glanced down the corridor and then back up. Without the files in your hand, without his hands chained in front of him, and without the large metal table parting you, he somehow felt closer. This was far more intimate than any of your previous encounters since his arrival yesterday night. And you hate it. 

“I need answers.” Your voice is thick, laced with a hint of worry, constantly aware of the dangers of your situation. You were gambling with both your heart and your position here. — Beomgyu huffs, the sound coming out as a quiet chuckle when he shakes his head. 

“I thought that was what our sessions were for, no? He quirks a brow, but you know better than to fall for it. He knew that it wasn’t why you had come. — You shake your head firmly, “It’s not the kind of answers I want.”

His lip twitches, his smirk not faltering one bit. 

“Something you can’t share with that colleague of yours?” 

You frown, hands balling into fists by your sides. “Something that doesn’t concern him”, you state as you press your lips into a thin line. Your heart is beating loudly against your chest, its persistent thump playing in your ears akin to a heavy drum; a constant reminder of the power he still holds over you, even as he sits inside a small cell. 

Beomgyu hums, his fingers trailing the outline of the small window. You find your gaze lingering by the metal rings adorning them as they glint in the soft light coming from behind him. “Well go on then”, he pauses, dark eyes flickering from the dust on his finger and over to yours as they narrow, “You’ve never been one to shy away from asking questions, dollface.” 

You swallow. 

For the past ten months you had wondered what it would be like to come face to face with him once more. What would you tell him? Part of you wanted to blatantly ignore him, to act as if he had never even existed in your life. That was a satisfactory thought, one you allowed yourself to imagine in order to feel better. 

You knew that you wouldn’t be able to refrain from indulging as soon as your eyes landed on him though. There were at least a thousand questions soaring through your mind, questions you had longed to ask for what felt like forever. — But as you stand before him, with your heart beating out of your chest and sweat pooling on your forehead, you suddenly find yourself at loss for words. 

“That night”, you slowly begin, drawing your speech out as you try your hardest to gauge his reaction. He isn’t interrupting you, instead he waits patiently as ever for you to finish. “You did not come after me.” His eyes narrow. — “Why didn’t you?” 

He remains silent. And for a moment you worry that he might not give you an answer at all, it wouldn’t be the first he did. His brow twitches, and for a moment he looks almost confused. But that quickly fades and is soon replaced by his ever stoic expression. “Did you want me to?” He returns your question with one of his own. 

Did you want him to? Back then you had feared that he would.. But when he hadn’t.. When you had been left all alone with your own thoughts, the ones that had been chained under his presence, you suddenly found yourself lost. — “It doesn’t matter if I wanted you to or not.” You fold your arms across your chest, “Why didn’t you?” 

He exhales, the smirk on his face falling as his features twist into something gloomy. “I read your note.” The following silence is deafening, despite his words coming out a mere breath. You feel your blood go cold. — The note. You remember the small and wrinkly piece of paper all too well, the blurry lines you had so quickly scribbled down, the ink ruined by your own tears. You didn’t think that he had actually read it. It had merely existed to dull the ache of your own wounds, never had you imagined him actually… 

Suddenly the memories all come crashing down on you in picture perfect quality, the memories you had longed to forget. The blood, the blood on his hands. There had been so much blood. The red crimson had mixed with the rain, heavy and hard as it poured over you. Goosebumps rise on your skin and you pull your gaze from his. 

It had been a bad idea to come here. You should have stayed away. 

The cold metal of his rings startle you when Beomgyu’s hand suddenly reaches for your chin. You hadn’t realized just how close you were standing to the door. Close enough for his hand to reach through the small window, for his fingers to lock your head in place as they grasped your jaw. 

“Leaving so soon, dollface? — I thought you wanted answers.” His voice is low as he studies your frightened expression with a taunting one. Your wide eyes dart down the hallway before returning back to him. “Let me go”, you seethe as you try to shrug him off. 

His grip tightens before it eases, and with a quiet hum his knuckles caress your cheek, the action makes you shudder. “I am many things, dollface”, he murmurs as he lets you go, his hand slipping back through the small window as he takes a step back, the darkness of his cell immediately consuming half his face. — “But I am not that.” 

Then he turns away from you, and you can just about make out his figure in the dark as he heads for the small bed provided. He sits down on it, his elbows on his knees as he turns the rings on his fingers. — Everything is quiet, even the beating of your own heart has dulled into faint background noise. 

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding in. You knew that you weren’t going to get another word out of him, and with a defeated sigh you reached for the hatch on the window. But as your fingers grasp the small lock, he suddenly speaks up. — “You haven’t told them what you saw.” The statement sends a chill down your spine, because you knew exactly what he was referring to. You knew all too well. 

Beomgyu lifts his head, the dark strands of his long hair falling from his face. He turns your way, his dark eyes finding yours in an instant. “If you did, I wouldn’t be here right now.” The truth is harsh and bitter, it makes you feel guilty, ashamed even. But Beomgyu smirks, a small chuckle passing his lips. “Perhaps I was wrong about you, dollface.” 

His gaze zeroes on your hand, hesitating by the window hatch. — “Just how deep does your loyalty still run?” 

⸝⸝

📼 — April 29th 2022

“Oh please”, Kayla pleads, her voice sounds near desperate on the other line. You push your phone to your ear, balancing it on your shoulder as you continue to wipe down the table you had just cleared. “I don’t know, there’s just so much coursework and then I’m working again tomorrow afternoon.” 

You tried to swiftly avoid a blunt ‘no’ as you worked around your answer. Kayla had been pestering you to go out with her for days since it ‘had been so long’ since last. You knew better, it was just another excuse since she and her so-called ‘boyfriend’ were on yet another break and your friend longed to rebound with the first suitable candidate. 

Though you would admit that you had been neglecting your duties as her friend. From the dismissed texts to the unreturned calls. Suppose you felt guilty for going behind her back like this, you knew that Beomgyu was the last person she’d want to see you acquainted with, and you were doing just that. So you had distanced yourself. 

The right thing would be to go out with her, but tonight… It wasn’t like your excuses weren’t valid. You were busy, still, a small part of you wanted to keep your calendar clear, just in case Beomgyu would text. It was pathetic really, seeing as you hadn’t heard from him in nearly two weeks. — You bit your lip as you thought about what could possibly be keeping him from you. Work? You had no clue of what he did for a living for Beomgyu was very vague about his private life. He didn’t tell you much, then again, you never asked. 

“Fine”, you groan as you set the cloth aside to move over to the next table. Kayla squeals on the phone as she promises that the two of you are going to have a blast. Though your amusement didn’t quite reach her levels, you still agreed as you settled on details. — When the call ends you shove your phone back into your pocket to resume working. 

You’re about halfway done clearing the table, with plates stacked on both your arms as you maneuver around the chairs, when a voice from behind startles you. “Here, let me help you with these”, Soobin says as he takes a handful of plates from you. — “O-Oh! Thank you.” You give him a sheepish smile as you allow him to walk you back toward the kitchen doors. 

Soobin’s parents ran the restaurant you were working at, and despite him being a couple years your senior, the two of you got along well as he often stopped by to help his mom and dad out. — “How have you been?” He asks when holding the door open for you. Giving him a thankful nod, you shrug, “Tired, overworked and exhausted? – I’m just glad this semester is coming to an end in a month or so.” 

Soobin nods as he follows you over to the countertop, setting the plates down on it. “Fairs, you work hard.” He grins, “But it’s paying off well! Just imagine when you get your degree.” You hum as you pick up a plate and run it under the faucet, “You’re right.” One thing about Soobin was that he always seemed to get your mind off of things, whether it be school or work, or even Beomgyu.. His abilities to see things on the bright side seemed to lighten your own mood tenfold. 

He leans against the countertop, his arms folded across his chest as he watches you clean the dirty plates. “Got any plans for summer?” He asks and you purse your lips as you pick up a sponge and drench it in dish soap. “Dunno… I’ll probably pick up a few extra shifts around here, so don’t think you’ll see less of me.” You send him a small smile before your attention returns to the dishes in front of you. 

Soobin chuckles as he runs a hand through his dark hair. “I wouldn’t want it any other way”, he mumbles. “My parents love you”, he then adds, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at the sudden compliment. “I’m sure they’re more than thrilled to have you here all summer.. Just don’t forget to take some time for yourself as well”, he then adds. 

You raise a brow as you shoot him a side glance. “Are you trying to rid yourself of me?” you tease, expecting nothing more but a laugh in return. Soobin however, shakes his head. “Certainly not”, he says as he takes the now clean plate from your hands in order to dry it. — “On the contrary”, he clears his throat, “I was going to ask if you could somehow fit me somewhere in your hectic calendar.” 

Your hand misses the glass you were aiming for and instead your fingers fumble against the bubbles that had formed due to the soap as you blink up at him. Sure you and Soobin spent a great deal of time together, and you considered him a good friend, but that was all thanks to your job at his parent’s restaurant. You never saw each other outside, yet here he was openly asking for such a fact to change? 

He’s quick to note your hesitation and hurriedly adds, “Only if you’re up for it of course!” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Me and a couple of friends are renting this place not far from the city, I would love for you to join us..” — You watch as he fiddles with the cloth in his hands, anxiously awaiting his response. 

You hadn’t thought of Soobin much that way, but as you regard the soft tint to his cheeks, the way his gaze flickers between the floor and you nervously, you can’t help but find him cute. “I would like that a lot”, you send him an equally shy smile and Soobin’s face immediately lights up. 

He looks like he’s about to say something else but before he gets the chance to, a hoarse voice breaks the silence. “Young man!” You immediately recognize it as none other than your own boss. Soobin cowers behind you as the elderly lady approaches the two of you with rapid steps. Though his attempts at seeking refuge prove futile as she grabs ahold of his ear, yanking down on it hard. 

“What do you think you’re doing? Waltzing in here and distracting my best employee from her duties!” Her harsh tone makes your eyes widen and you almost drop the plate still in your grasp. Soobin winces as he puts his hands up in surrender, “Mom, please! We were just..” — “Just what?” She retorts as she gives his ear another pull. 

Baffled, you bite back a smile, “It’s no trouble Mrs Choi. He’s been helping me out with the dishes.” Your attempt at soothing her fragile nerves seemed successful as the old woman let go of her son and straightened her back, even then, she just barely reached your chest. 

“Hmpf, as long as he makes use of himself I suppose..” She mutters as she sends Soobin a glare, one he returns with a frown as he cradles his ear. — “But I don’t even work her-” He cuts himself short with a small cough when his mom raises a threatening fist his way, “Alright! Alright!” 

Mrs Choi turns her attention to you as she flattens out the apron over her legs. “Very well. Are you staying for dinner, dear?” She asks, her once bitter expression replaced with a warm one. You quickly nod before politely accepting her offer, “I would be delighted to.” 

Your throat burns as you down your third shot of the night. Upon setting the empty glass down, you lean against the bar top as your eyes wander across the crowded dance floor. People were pushed up against one another, their bodies moving uncoordinatedly yet somehow beautifully. — “You wanna dance?” Kayla asks as she sets her own empty shot glass down. 

True to her word, she had stuck by you the entire night, the main reason being the fact that she had yet to scour out a worthy candidate to accompany her home. Still, you couldn’t deny the sense of comfort her chaotic presence brought your tense nerves. “Sure”, you grin as you allow her to take your hand in hers.

The floor moves in rhythm with the beat, your knees feel wobbly but you manage to remain standing through it all. Even as Kayla twirls you in her arms, just barely catching you again as she giggles. Some songs are familiar, others aren't, that didn’t matter much. You found yourself having a lot more fun than you had originally anticipated. And as the night went on the guilt you had been carrying seemed to lessen. 

Perhaps this had been just what you needed, an escape from your otherwise mundane reality. The one where you waited on someone to call, like a lost puppy astray without its owner. Only that someone hardly seemed to care for your longing touch. 

Beomgyu was always on your mind, so much so that sometimes you thought you saw him in other people. In class, at work, even on your way home, you thought you could catch a glimpse of him through the corner of your eye. But as you turned around, you found yourself disappointed yet again. 

So when you’d seen his dark shadow moving across the outskirts of the dancefloor you had brushed it off as another trick of your mind, nothing but the alcohol and your insatiable need for him speaking. But then as Kayla twirls you around once more and your gaze falls on his figure, leaning against the wall, you knew that this wasn’t another of your hallucinations. 

It was undeniably him. Dressed in all black, he nearly blended with the dark wall behind him. The moment is over before you can as much as blink and then you’re back in Kayla’s arms. But for that short second you could’ve sworn that your eyes had met. Your heart nearly stopped. — He quickly disappears from your line of sight as the crowd around you presses closer and you helplessly search from you, completely forgetting about Kayla who was watching you with a frown. 

Fate was cruel. It seemed to know exactly when you craved him the most. Then it would taunt you by flaunting him before your very eyes, close enough to just barely send your mind spiraling, but far enough to remain out of reach for your desperate hands. 

Then, your eyes fall on her. She looks no different from the women he’d been surrounded by that night, the night when you had first met. Her smile is deceiving, her nails sharp as they trail his chest. He leans closer, an arm snaking around her waist, dark hair tickling her face when goes to whisper something in her ear. You can’t hear her laugh but you can see it. And it fucking hurts. 

The rings on his fingers glint under the flashing lights as they brush against her naked thigh, inching closer to where her short skirt ends. He was… You turn your head away in disgust, swallowing the lump in your throat when your gaze meets Kayla’s. 

Your hand is sweaty as you grab hers, and before you know it you’re pulling her along as you push your way through the crowded dance floor. Her protests go over your head, and your grip only grows harsher when she tries to break free. It felt as though you were walking through quicksand. You were sinking faster than you were running. 

It’s not until the cold night air hits your scorching hot face that you finally let her go. The back door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing off the vacant alleway. “What’s gotten into you?” Kayla shrieks as she jerks her hand back, cradling her wrist to her chest with a deep frown on her face. — You don’t answer her as you allow your body to slump against the rough brick wall. 

You breathe in through your nose, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you trap it there. When you exhale through parted lips you let your eyes flutter closed. “Just needed some air”, you murmur. 

Kayla huffs, sounding deflated as she, too, leans against the side of the building. “You okay?” She whispers, this time her voice is laced with concern. You can feel her gaze on you as she studies your absent expression. “Yes”, you nod. — She pauses, “Do you want to get out of here?” 

You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine.” You’d be damned to let something as simple as this ruin your night out. Except, Beomgyu was anything but simple. The thought of leaving was tempting, but you told yourself that you had run away for the last time. This wouldn’t change anything. 

“Go on back inside, I’ll join you in a few.” Cracking an eye open, you give your find a reassuring smile. And though she seems far from convinced she nods. “Text me if you change your mind”, Kayla says as he places a quick kiss to your cheek. 

You wait until the door closes behind her before resting your head against the hard brick. Taking the quiet moment to glance around the desolate alley, you find nothing but overcrowded trash cans and empty beer bottles littering the streets. You were all alone, at last. — With a content exhale you close your eyes, basking in the comforting silence that had enveloped you. 

Perhaps it had been rather childish to make such a dramatic exit, but in that very moment, it had been your only escape. You hadn’t seen him like that since.. Since you first met. And after almost two weeks of not seeing one another once, he seemed to be doing just fine, acting as though the whole world laid at his feet. — All the while you struggled to even go a day without him, desperately waiting on a single text in his name. God, when did you allow yourself to stoop to such a level. 

Why was it so easy for him? It was all games and fun in his world. Why could you not share his carefree ways? Why did you have to be the only one suffering from a seemingly pleasure filled agreement? It was unfair. 

Was he not as addicted to you as you were to him? 

Fine. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore. He was off doing god knows what with that chick and you were… here. No, not anymore. You inhale, preparing to put on the strongest of fronts and go back inside. — But before you’re able to let said breath go, the door next to you opens. 

You remain still, completely unmoving as you wait for whoever has come to pass again. They never do. And soon you feel another warm body join you as they, too, lean against the cold brick wall. Everything is quiet, everything is still, time is frozen. 

Carefully you listen as they shuffle about, likely rummaging through their pockets in search of something. Then a click, the one a lighter makes. The smell of thick black smoke hits you not long after and you nearly turn your nose up in disgust. — Next to you, the person exhales, a long and heavy breath. 

“Not even a hello?” 

Beomgyu’s relaxed voice sends a chill down your spine and your eyes snap open. You had known that it was him from the moment he’d stepped outside. Still, you had allowed yourself to blissfully ignore his presence until he decided to make it known. — You keep your eyes on the messy graffiti covering the brick wall opposite you. Following the scribbly lines, you draw in a short breath. “I didn’t think it would be appropriate to.” 

Through the corner of your eye you could see him bring a cigarette to his lips. The end lights up when he inhales slowly, his hand returning to his side once more. He exhales the thick smoke, almost as poisonous as himself. “No?” He hums and even though you refuse to turn his way you can still feel his piercing gaze on you. 

“No.” You firmly agree as you fold your arms across your chest. “You looked… Busy.” With the subtle clearing of your throat you avoid directly targeting the fact that he’d had both eyes and hands on another woman just moments prior. 

But your vague answers didn’t discourage him in the slightest as Beomgyu scoffs. “Does that matter to you?” He asks the question as if you were the one in the wrong, making you out to be a fool for thinking otherwise. You bite your lip, your arms pulling tighter around yourself as you keep your gaze set ahead. 

“Why wouldn’t it?” 

You were being truthful, as honest as you could be. It took everything in you to lay your insecurities bare, and even then you were unable to hide the jealous sting in your voice. The thought of that woman, of all the others.. It made your face twist into a scowl without you even registering it, making your chest contract and your stomach hurt. 

And while Beomgyu had made it clear that what you had was purely sexual, you couldn’t help but find yourself doubting his actions. Things just didn’t add up. He treated you so differently, yet like nothing at all. — Why did it bother you so much that he could so easily venture off with another woman whilst you struggled to even think of a man that wasn’t him. 

Beomgyu hums, the sound low and eerily calm as he takes another drag of his cigarette. “And if I wasn’t busy?” He asks as he twirls the cigarette between his fingers. His questions leaves you unprepared, catching you completely off guard and you purse your lips as your gaze drops to the pavement in front of you. 

Would you have approached him if he was by himself? Would you have asked him to dance, would you have let his hands wander in front of everyone? Perhaps you would’ve asked him to take you somewhere private, maybe you wouldn’t have had to ask at all. 

“I don’t know.” You finally state as you turn your head in his direction, getting your first proper look at him that night. His head is tilted down, causing his dark hair to shield his expression from your curious eyes. Though you could tell that his attention was fixed to the cigarette between his fingers. His lips were slightly parted, his tongue swiping across his bottom one absentmindedly. 

“It’s hard to know when you’re available..” You quietly add and Beomgyu’s eyes flicker toward you. Feeling yourself tense up under his gaze, you shift against the wall as you avoid making direct eye contact. 

“If I was available right now?” He holds out the cigarette for you to take. Eyeing it with disdain for a moment, you decline by shaking your head, “I don’t smoke.” — Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, “You’d be the first to decline.” He studies you for a moment, the corner of his lip twitching into a faint smirk. “But you’re the first of many things, dollface”, he says as he brings the cigarette to his lips. 

You regard his relaxed posture with a frown. First of what? Sometimes it felt as though you and Beomgyu were playing an endless maze-like game, where every twist and turn led you into further confusion, forging new paths that didn’t make half as much sense as the previous one had. He, on the other hand, seemed to be holding all the cards, and you just aimlessly wandered. 

The brief conversation only served to frustrate you further and with a small sigh you push yourself off the wall as you make a move to go around him and back inside. But as your fingers brush the cool handle of the door, his hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, effectively freezing you in place. 

Confused, you try to pull away from his harsh grip. “Don’t you have someone waiting for you in there?” You retort, unable to hide the snappy tone you used. — Beomgyu drops the cigarette, crushing it under the sole of his shoe before shoving you back against the brick wall, easily pinning you against it. 

“No.” He simply states as his dark eyes rake over your stunned expression and down to your skimpily dressed figure. “Told you I was available right now, didn’t I?” He drawls, his hot breath mere inches from your already heated face. 

“But what if I’m not available?” You counter, only to watch the once faint smirk on his lips widen tenfold. “You wouldn’t have ran out here if you were.” Fuck, so he did see you. You’re certain that he can feel the warmth on your face when his thumb brushes over your cheek, threatening to ruin your neat makeup. 

“Fuck, do you always look this dolled up? Even when it’s not for me?” He murmurs, a small almost unnoticeable frown tugging on his brows. His gaze drops to your lips, coated in a shiny gloss. — His mouth is on yours before you can even think, much less form a coherent response. He wastes no time as his rough hands cup your face, pulling you impossibly close only to push his tongue inside your waiting mouth. 

You gasp against his lips, eyes wide as your hands frantically push at his chest. “Wait! Not here- What if someone sees?” 

Beomgyu chuckles, a low and raspy laugh that vibrates on your tongue. His hands leave your face, eagerly descending down your chest, brushing over your already hardened nipples, concealed only by the thin fabric of your dress. — You let out a startled yelp when the cold metal of his rings make contact with the back of your thighs as Beomgyu hikes your legs around his waist; his lips moving down your jaw as he presses hungry kisses to your skin. 

His urgent and almost feverish demeanor confused you. He could go weeks without as much as asking to see you, but when he did it was like he’d been starved of you for years. It didn’t make sense. However you find yourself both unable and unwilling to question his strange behaviour further when his hands suddenly push your already short dress up above your hips. 

“Beomgyu I’m serious!” You whine, yet you find yourself pulling him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders. No matter how hesitant the public display made you feel, you were unable to hold back from satiating the craving you’d been trying to feed for so long.

He scoffs when he sees you throw an anxious glance down the empty alley, your gaze lingering by the door he’d emerged from not long ago. “C’mon dollface, don’t go shy on me now”, he taunts against your neck before pulling your skin between his teeth, making you cry out. 

Fuck it. At least he was here with you and not the woman he’d been feeling up not even an hour prior. You were all that mattered to him. Right? That’s why he’d gone after you, only you. It’s what you tell yourself, it’s the only truth you’re willing to swallow, the only thing that would make you feel better about this. Knowing that you were special. 

Your eager hands move along his shoulders, past his neck and through his dark hair as you yank his face back up to yours, reconnecting your lips in a feverish kiss. You can feel his smirk, stretching wide across his lips when you push your tongue inside his mouth, not bothering to care for the taste of smoke that still lingered there. Pleasantly surprised by your demanding ministrations, Beomgyu lets you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, groaning when you bite down. 

His expression is smug when you pull back for air, his fingers slipping beneath your panties to drag across your throbbing cunt. — Your cunt that had craved him almost as much as your restless mind. 

“Why haven’t you texted me?” Your voice is unstable and threatens to betray you when he pushes two fingers inside of you, almost immediately curling them as he makes your back arch off the wall. Beomgyu’s lips return to your neck as he kisses his way to the shell of your ears. “Don’t be greedy, dollface”, he murmurs as he sucks your lobe into his mouth, rolling the silver of your earring against his tongue. “You already have so much.” 

But it wasn’t enough. 

You frown, wanting to object but quickly losing all your composure when the tip of his cock prods against your aching cunt. Your head hits the brick behind you as Beomgyu eases himself inside of you, a muffled groan passing his lips. — With an anxious gulp you glance toward the door, eyeing it nervously. 

Setting a quick and rough pace, Beomgyu’s fingers clasp around your face, digging into your cheeks as he shifts your attention back to him. “If they see, they see”, he grunts as his hips snap against yours. Meekly nodding, your hands fall back onto his shoulders as your moans fill the empty alleway. Even if no one saw you, they were bound to hear you. For some reason that thought thrilled you more than you ever imagined it would. 

The thought of everyone knowing what he was doing to you. That he was doing it to you and no one else. Only you. 

You knew that your attachment to him was becoming increasingly worrying. You should have probably distanced yourself a long time ago. Because you knew that this wasn’t just about the sex for you. Everything about Beomgyu drew you in. He was intoxicating, almost like a drug. That’s what made him so difficult to leave. Once you tried him, everything else seemed bland. Most of all, you could never seem to get enough of him, for he always left you craving more. 

And you would do anything to get him. 

Even now, as you smell the perfume of that woman all over him, you still crave him. All you can think about is him, all you can breathe is him and all you need is him. 

“Have you fucked her?” The question slips before you can stop it. Your nails claw at his shoulders, pulling a strained groan from him. You didn’t care if he had, not anymore. All that mattered was the fact that he was here with you right now. You desperately told yourself that his answer wouldn’t matter, that you could take it. 

“No.” 

Wait, he didn’t? Your jaw falls open, completely ignorant of the fact that his cock was still buried deep inside of you as your mind spiraled. A smug feeling bloomed within your chest, and it should have been a worrying one, but you could only relish in the fact that he had chosen you over her. He’d chosen you over all of them. You were special, right? 

When he finishes inside of you is when you’re certain that you are. You moan at the feeling of being filled to the brim with everything that was Beomgyu; letting him shove his fingers inside your sore cunt as he pushes his cum back inside, mixing it with your own orgasm before he brings his drenched fingers to your face. 

Your lips part as he smears the mess all over them, glancing up at him with a dazed and almost blissful expression. — “You really are a doll, aren’t you?” He murmurs as he watches your tongue dart out ti swipe across your wet lips, a small groan being pulled from his throat. 

If spending almost two weeks desperately longing for him was what it would take for something like this to happen, you would do it all over again, for as many times as you would have to. Because that’s what addiction was like. And oh how you were addicted to Choi Beomgyu.

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[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Valentine’s Day Fic - First Preview

Have a sneak peak! Warning for minor sexting 😉

Ring ring ring

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you walked along the streets of Hell. Pulling it out, you saw Lucifer's adorable rubber duck icon pop up on the screen. You smiled and hit the answer button.

"Hey Luci, what's going on?" you answered cheerfully.

"Oh, you know, just waiting for my darling to return home to me," he sighed dramatically on the other side of the phone.

"Hon, it's only been an hour!" you scolded playfully. "I had to pick out something special for tomorrow, you know."

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day; one of Lucifer's favorite mortal holidays. The chocolates, the flowers, the romantic setting, everything about it excited the little devil! And of course he always treated you to a special candlelit dinner, complete with dessert and champaign. But you knew Lucifer always looked forward to the end of the night; that time he gets to worship you as the goddess he sees you as.

This year, however, you decided you wanted to spice things up a bit. Which is why you made it a point to visit the Entertainment District which housed the best collection of sex apparel in the pride ring. Lucifer insisted on giving you anything you wanted, but new lingerie wasn't all that you were looking for; some new toys were definitely needed. It took a while to convince him since you knew he didn't like being left alone for too long, but you promised him that you would be as quick as you could. Nevertheless, that didn't seem to stop him from calling you up after only a short amount of time.

"I knoooowwwww," Lucifer groaned on the other end. "But is there any way I can convince you to come home sooner?"

His proposition intrigued you, so you decided to play along. "And how would you do that, I wonder."

You swear you could almost hear him smile. "Well, my dear, since you got to go out and look for a special outfit, I thought I would try my hand at creating one just for me! Gotta say, I'm pretty happy with it! Tight in all the right places!" You heard the static-filled snap of the fabric hit his skin as he spoke.

"Wait," you paused, moving yourself up against a building. "Are you wearing it right now?" He was doing this on purpose, you knew he was. He knew how to tempt you. And picturing Lucifer in something less than decent did nothing to help keep your composure out in public. You could already feel the heat in your face begin to rise.

Lucifer chuckled lightly. "Would you like a sneak peak, love?" Before you could answer, there was a buzzing on your phone. He already had a picture queued up just to tease you. You opened the message with a gasp, fumbling your phone in your hands. The picture showed of his exposed stomach with the rest of his body covered in a lovely black. It looked as though he shot this photo from the waist up because you could make out his forked tongue that was sticking out through his sharpened teeth, smiling wickedly at the camera.

Quickly, you closed the picture hoping know one else had seen what was on your screen. "You ass, I almost dropped my phone!"

"Hey, you're the one who opened it!" he shot back. "But I can tell you like it, isn't that right?"

He was right, of course he was! How could you not! But he was getting too cocky for his own good. If he wanted to be a brat today, you had no trouble giving him exactly what he wanted. Even if it meant cutting your outing a little bit short. You were going to surprise him with his favorite chocolate candies, but perhaps you could get them after you taught him a lesson.

"I'll be home in 15 minutes," you responded in a hushed tone, trying your best not to draw the attention of others. "If you aren't handcuffed to that bed by the time I'm back, you're gonna be in for it."

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Lucifer murmured, sending shivers down your spine. What a fucking tease, but God, did you love him.

“You have 14 minutes now,” was all you said before hanging up the phone as you pushed yourself away from the wall and began to walk back towards the Morningstar mansion, paying no attention to the onlookers who noticed your brisk pace as you passed them. There was someone who needed to be put in his place.

[writingdevil]

Ok this is kind of a weird prompt but it would be interesting to write something relating to the Narrator, since I’ve noticed he doesn’t have much stuff of his own despite being one of the three important characters that makes the construct

It would be interesting to see how you write him

(Oh, that's an interesting one! The Narrator is one of the most important characters and he's very intriguing to me. Still, he's not a character that I write or think about a lot, but I'll try my best and I hope you like it-enjoy!)

"You're on a path in the woods..."

This was going to work. This was going to work. It had to. He may be an Echo, but he can still do something to get the paradise he deserves. He's come this far, and he can't exactly back out now.

"...and at the end of that path, is a cabin..."

He created this construct and this script, just to make sure that his plan succeeded. Nothing could go wrong, because if it did, then he wouldn't be able to be at peace anymore. He can't risk that. He won't allow that reality to come to fruition.

"...and in the basement of that cabin, is a princess."

This was the right thing to do. Maybe in another life, another echo of himself, he would be ashamed of himself for taking the very two concepts that shaped the universe, giving them consciousness and godhood, only to trap them in this vicious act-but he wasn't. She has to die, so that he can get the happiness he deserves.

"You're here to slay her."

The figure that he was narrating to, flinched and froze at his words, but it didn't matter. He couldn't stop this, stop what needed to be done. The Echo couldn't bare to live in a world where she dictated how the universe worked.

No, the concept of change was a terrifying thing, and the Echo was determined to have the Long Quiet erase it from existence, for there was only so much that the Echo himself could do. Change was something that the world didn't need. Forcing all the good and love that he once knew to disappear, just for something different and wrong to take its place, leaving him with no handle on how to keep going.

People can't just disappear like that. People can't just force him to live on, knowing that all that made him happy would one day rot and die. He can't live in a world like that anymore. He did, once upon a time, but he would rid the world of that suffering for good now, so that nobody would have to feel what he once endured.

Everything would be perfect, so long as the reality that the Echo wants, is made without the concept of change, without the possibility of death and grief and loss. He refused to feel like that again, and there's nothing that these two little gods can do to thwart his plans.

"If you don't, it will be the end of the world."

[daddyissuesbecauseofhotch]

Daddy issues || #6

{masterlist}

Let’s talk about a hypothetical boyfriend, who you’ll refer to as X. When you’re ridiculously in love with him, when you feel like he’s the one, the love of your life, there will be a life before and after X. You’re a true romantic at heart, you know how it goes in those movies and novels.

But to you, it’s different. There is no wall that separates your life before and after Aaron so drastically. There has been a shift in your everyday life and that’s it. On the weekdays, if he’s not God knows where for work, you go over to his apartment to spend the evening with him and Jack. On the weekends, you go to Jack’s soccer matches in the morning, but in the evening you go out with your friends.

Aaron doesn’t stop you; he never even tries. He knows you like to party, and he doesn’t want you to leave that behind just for him. You have a feeling he thinks you will change over time, but he doesn’t want to rush you, he doesn’t want to make you feel like he was trying to force you to change. Either way, you appreciate his patience and that big heart of his.

Tonight it’s just the two of you, because Jack is on a sleepover at a friend’s house, so your precious boyfriend decided to take this chance to do something out of the ordinary. Well, he wasn’t about to go to a club with you, you knew that, but he seemed pretty confident that you would like what he had in mind.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” you ask, your eyes covered with a sleeping mask by the time Aaron starts the engine of his car.

“No.”

“Can I guess?”

“Sure.”

“Are we going to a hotel?”

There’s a beat of silence that tells you exactly what look he must have on his face right now, and you wish you could see it. “Why would we go to a hotel when we have the apartment all to ourselves?” he asks, sounding utterly confused.

It’s a valid question, you’re not surprised he doesn’t understand. “I don’t know, maybe you wanna roleplay. You know, a high-class escort seeing one of her top clients–”

At this, Aaron starts to laugh, a sound you found equally annoying and adorable. “What is possibly wrong with you, sweetheart? Where are these ideas even coming from?” You shrug. “Or that’s what you want to do?”

“No, no, I want to know what you planned for us,” you’re quick to say.

Maybe a little too quick.

Because once the car is in motion, he reaches out and puts a hand on your thigh, his long, thick fingers gripping it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Could it be that he liked the idea? It was a wild guess, a lighthearted joke, but now that it’s a possibility for the future, you can’t help but think about how fun this could be.

Neither of you talks for the rest of the ride, the silence that settled between you is too comfortable for that. It’s been a while on the road, but you couldn’t guess how much time passed without help. When he finally stops the car and turns off the engine, you hear him undo his seatbelt, which is followed by another light click as he moves on to yours.

As he leans over to your seat to guide the seatbelt to its place, he places a soft kiss on your bare shoulder. “You’re so beautiful tonight,” he whispers against your skin. “They’ll love you.”

They? Who is he talking about? Your confusion must be obvious, because he finally reaches out to take off the mask, then presses his lips to yours in a tentative kiss. You gulp, then bite into your lower lip before looking out the window. It’s a house. A really big one. But it’s a quiet neighborhood, it must be someone’s home.

“It’s Dave’s house. The whole team is here with their significant others if they have one, and I’d like you to meet them. They’re my second family in a way, so I want to show them the woman I love so much,” he says with a boyish smile.

The woman he loves? That’s… new. He has never said anything like this, and neither have you. Tonight’s the night when your relationship can take a much more serious turn if you agree to meet his colleagues. Until now, you thought it was just a casual thing between you two, but now you’re sure he wants more.

And so do you.

“Okay, let’s meet them,” you say with a smile.

[storiesbyrhi]

Part Six: That sometimes, if love proves real

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 2584 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Late, 29 October, 1995

You recognised the caller as Hopper because he used your real name. He sounded afraid and out of breath. You both knew he should not have your number, both knew it could put you in danger, but you felt some sense of homesickness and relief hearing his voice.

“Listen, I can’t be on the line long,”

“Hop, what’s-”

“No, no, just listen. They’re gone. They’re dead. T-Bird and his kid. Tin Tin too.”

It took a moment for you to catch up. You’d only ever used their real names. They didn’t get to hide behind gang bullshit. Neil Hargrove. Billy. Andy.

You didn’t understand why he was calling with such urgency. People like them were bound to meet untimely ends. They’d probably accidentally blown themselves up.

“I can’t explain it… I don’t know… I don’t know what he is…”

“Hopper, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Eddie… He’s back. He’s killing them all… I, I didn’t know if you should know. I… Jesus, kid. He’s… He’s different…”

You had stopped listening after Eddie’s name.

Time stood still.

It wouldn’t move forward again.

You hung up the phone, found your keys, and got in your car. If the road were okay and you only stopped for petrol, you could be back in the city that killed you in just over thirty hours.

Morning, 30 October, 1995

While Grange visited Eddie’s grave, finding the ground open and the casket empty, Susan Mayfield was in the kitchen of her apartment.

The television was on. “This is the 7:00 am edition of Action News. For over a decade, the night before Halloween has had a darker and deadlier nickname in the inner city, ‘Devil’s Night.’ The name given to what has become an annual plague of arson. Last year, 200 individual blazes were reported, and eleven people lost their lives-”

Max was woken by the smell of eggs. She sat up, still on the couch. She’d fallen asleep there, hugging a Corroded Coffin vinyl to her body.

“Hi,” Susan greeted nervously. “Do you like them up or over? I can’t remember,”

“What are you doing? I don’t like eggs,”

“What? Wait, no, you loved egg,”

“Yeah, when I was five,” Max said, crossing their small apartment to the kitchen.

“So, what do you want now? Black coffee and cigarettes?”

Max looked at Susan. “What… What happened? Since when were you mother of the year?”

A dark look crossed Susan’s face. She shook her head a little. “Someone kind of… woke me up, I guess,”

“You’re acting weird. Did you win the lottery or something, Susan?”

“Forget it! I was never too good at this mom shit anyway,” and she moved to tip the frying pan of eggs in the bin.

“No!” Max jumped to stop her. “Over easy… I like them over easy…” They looked at each other. “Did you… Did you see him too?” Max asked.

Eddie had followed Susan that morning. He’d scared her, of course, how could he – like that – not? But he told her she had a shot. No Hargrove thumbs to be kept under. “Mother is the name of God on the lips and hearts of all children,” he’d told her. Susan didn't know the quote, but she understood the meaning of a second chance.

“I didn’t know… I swear I didn’t know it was them,” Susan began to cry. She hadn’t known it was Neil, Billy, and their gang who’d murdered you and Eddie. If any part of her had connected the dots, it had been suffocated under the weight of fear.

Susan hadn’t exactly liked Eddie, never bothered to get to know him beyond the metalhead exterior, but she’d appreciated the way you and he had taken Max in. She’d always wished she could have been more like the two of you.

With pulp free orange juice and over easy eggs, Max learnt about Andy, Billy, and Neil. Her mother shook like a leaf in a hurricane as she told her that something, someone had come for them. That he’d come for her too, but armed not with weapons but words.

“I’m glad they’re dead,” Max said. Susan did not doubt it.

“You know what Devil’s Night morning is for?” Hopper asked Annie. She rolled her eyes at him, refusing to say it. “That’s right! Coffee and contemplation,”

“HOPPER!”

Hopper groaned, looking over to where the D.A. stood at the boundary of the bullpen.

In an interview room, photographs of Neil fused to his car were spread across the table. Hopper looked at them and shrugged.

“This is the third in less than twenty-four hours. We’re gonna have to identify him through his teeth,”

“That’s T-Bird,” Hopper said. “Well, it’s T-Bird’s car. Wouldn’t let anyone else drive it. His specialty was arson… Looks like he zigged when he should have zagged. Case closed.” He pushed the photographs away.

The D.A. looked incredulous. “Bull-fucking-shit. You’re holding out on me. I got a goddamn vigilante killer knocking off scumbags left and right, and you are covering up for somebody… Who’s the cartoon character with the painted face?”

“I don’t know,”

“You don’t know? Gideon’s blows to hell, and you’re having a chitchat with some weirdo who winds up in T-Bird’s car when it zigs instead of zags? Then I hear you’re looking through old case files? Making calls to unlisted numbers? It’s dead now, you know. Whoever you called last night – the line is gone. And you’re saying this was just an automobile accident?! Come on!”

Hopper nodded. “That was… That was a good speech. Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt it. Did you write it down before or-”

“Alright smartass, well, here’s something written down for you. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your suspension,”

“Suspension? For what?” Hopper looked at the piece of paper handed to him, signed by the chief of police.

“Misconduct.” It was a stupid catch-all reason.

Hopper left his mug of coffee on his desk. Let that spoil and smell while everyone is busy with Devil’s Night.

Eddie was in the apartment going through anything that was left, when he heard the creak of the stairs. He hid.

“Eddie?” Max called, letting herself in. “I thought you were dead.” She saw smouldering remnants in the fireplace. She knew what the loft should look like. She’d been going there for a year. “I knew it was you. Even with the makeup.”

Eddie listened.

“I remembered your song… You said, ‘Can’t rain all the time.’ That is from your song, right?” She walked through the apartment. “Come on, Eddie. I know you’re here.”

The crow, Max looked up at it. The Night Watchman.

“I miss you guys. I get… lonely by myself.”

Nothing. Silence.

“Fine. Whatever. I thought you cared,” Max said, holding back tears. She grabbed her board.

“Max…”

Brenner and Grange watched Chance as he tried to tell a cohesive narrative. When Brenner slid a photo across the table, one of Corroded Coffin, Chance almost choked on his own insanity.

“YEAH! That’s him! That’s him! But he was painted up like some kind of fucking clown! T-Bird sent me in for some road beers. Then he took him away. And I tried to chase them down, but I don’t have a car, and he fucking flash fried T-Bird to his car. T-BIRD, here’s to you, buddy!”

“Maybe we ought to just videotape this, play it back in slow motion,” Brenner said to Grange.

Chance took a swig of whatever foul concoction he was drinking. “Fire it up! Fire it up!”

“You see the grave?” Brenner asked Grange.

“Empty,”

“Fire it- Grave? What about my fucking grave?!” Chance asked, getting too close to Brenner, and earning a hard shove from Grange.

“Three out of four. He’s working his way back to this speed freak right here,” Grange guessed.

“It’s not fair. It’s Funboy’s fault. He was out of control. Then T-Bird came in. He says to waste them both. Now this ghost is gonna kill my ass next!”

Brenner stood, bored of Chance’s breakdown. He lashed out, pistol whipping him hard. “There are no ghosts in my city.”

Hopper stopped at the hotdog stand. Max was already sitting there, not touching her food. Steve and Robin gave him a worrying look. They started to make his order.

“When someone’s dead, they can’t come back can they?”

“Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

“You’ll just think I’m nuts.”

Steve looked at Robin, mumbling, “I think she’s nuts.” Robin whipped him with drying towel.

Hopper said, “Yeah, well, then maybe they’ll have us both locked up,”

“You’ve seen him too?”

“I saw somebody… Maybe it was your fairy godmother,”

“Eddie didn’t come back for me… He can’t be my friend anymore because I’m… I’m alive…”

“Okay, but what does that mean, Max?” Steve asked.

Hopper looked from him to Max, gave her a look to which she returned a shrug.

“She tells us everything,” Robin said happily.

“Not everything,” Max mumbled.

“Most things. Told us about not-dead-Ed,”

“Can it, Harrington,” Max replied, throwing a piece of onion at him.

“Well, great. We can fill out the whole ward,” Hopper groaned, still finding it within himself to judge Robin’s mustard allocation. “Just let me-”

“Seriously though. Let’s say you both aren’t losing it. Say it really is this guy. Are you sure he actually died?” Steve questioned.

“Yeah. You don’t survive sev-” Hopper cut himself off. Max had looked over at him. She didn’t need to know the precise details. “I was there. And I was at the funeral,”

“They were closed caskets,” Max recalled.

Hopper nodded. “Yeah… But, Eddie… He died,”

“And now the same person is back? Not just someone that looks like him?” from Robin.

“Nah. Definitely him,” Max confirmed. It was the way he spoke to her, the words he chose. There was no mistaking anyone else for Eddie Munson.

“It’s like what you were telling us about the other day. The one about unfair deaths,”

“The raven,” Steve nodded solemnly.

“The crow,” Max corrected. The Night Watchman, she thought. Had she willed the lore into existence? Had her graveside story been a spell cast true?

“A crow?” Hopper asked.

Max told him the story of restless souls and wrongs made right. When she finished, all four friends grew silent. It was uncanny, how the myth fit the man.

“What happens when he’s done? Getting revenge, I mean?”

“He’s not getting revenge,” Max was quick to answer Steve. “He’s… he’s balancing the scales,”

“Think that depends on whose scales of justice you’re using there, kid,” Hopper grunted.

“As long as he sticks to those scumbags, the dude’s alright in my eyes,”

“Well as long as he’s alright in your eyes, Steve,” Robin scoffed.

“Steve’s right though,”

“I am?”

“No, I mean, not right, but about asking what happens next,” Max clarified. “How many are left? Just one, right?” she asked Hopper.

“Look, I don’t even know how you know-”

“Everyone heard when the Hargroves got got,” Steve whispered, as if saying their name could summon them from the dead too.

“Good riddance,” Max declared.

“Jesus… You didn’t hear it from me but… Yeah, just the one…” It would have been the right time to tell Max about you. He knew, in part, what happened after Eddie found Chance. He would look for you. He hadn’t really considered the mechanics of it all. What allowed Eddie to come back? What would it allow once the wrongs were righted? Would he die a second time, before he found you? If Neil and co. were acting on Brenner’s instruction, then would justice not include him?

“What is it?” Max asked him.

“Huh?” Hopper replied, shoving as much hotdog in his mouth as he could, stalling any further conversation.

Max used to figure all the things that went unsaid with Hopper were irrelevant to her. She was growing unsure of that. “When did you see him?”

“Crime scene,” Hopper got out, crumbs falling from his mouth.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Just the usual, you know… Freeze. Don’t move. Why do you look like a clown?” Hopper joked half-heartedly.

It was the joking that tipped Max off. She raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, look. He just… kick started the memory. Implied there would be more… Vengeance… or whatever, and then disappeared.”

Max seemed to accept his statement; she turned her attention back to her food. Steve changed the subject to Ace Ventura and the night rolled on.

Evening, 30 October, 1995

While the crow scoured the city looking for Chance, Eddie played the guitar. It’s what he had always done when he didn’t know what else to do.

Above the club where Corroded Coffin had once played, above the mezzanine, in that cold room, Chance was shoved into a seat. Brenner started, “Gentlemen… It seems our friend T-Bird won’t be making it tonight, on account of a slight case of death…”

Eddie followed the crow, perched just outside the window of the meeting. The room was bustling with men. Guns, money, and plans were on the table. The shittiest D&D campaign table Eddie had ever witnessed.

“Well, Devil’s Night is upon us again. I thought we’d throw a party, start a bunch of fires, make a little profit. Problem is, its all been done before. You see what I’m saying?”

“That’s no reason to quit,” one of the men said.

“Wrong. Best reason to quit. Only reason to quit.” Brenner stood, and began a loop around the table. The gang leaders and thugs watched him walk. “A man has an idea… The idea attracts other like-minded individuals. The idea expands. The idea becomes an institution… What was the idea? See, that’s what’s been bothering me, boys. And I’ll tell you. When I used to think about the idea itself, it put a big old smile on my face. But… You see, gentlemen, greed is for amateurs.” Brenner returned to the head of the table. He looked at the men. “Disorder. Chaos. Anarchy. Now, that’s fun,”

“What about Devil’s Night?”

“What about it? I started the first fires in this goddamn city. Before I knew it, every charlatan was imitating me. Do you know what they have now? Devil’s Night greeting cards! Isn’t that precious,” Brenner said facetiously. “The idea has become the institution. Time to move on,”

“You don’t want us to do light-my-fire time for the whole city?”

“No… No, I want you to set a fire so goddamn big that the Gods will notice us again.”

The room cheered; Brenner was as close to a god as those men would ever get.

He continued, “I want all of you boys to be able to look me straight in the eye one more time and say, ‘Are we having fun or what?!’”

The men continued to cheer.

“And you? What’s your name again? Skank? Don’t you feel that?” Brenner asked.

“I f-f-feel like a little worm on a giant fucking hook,” Chance stuttered out. The men laughed at him.

“A little worm on a hook? Well, boy, your mama must be damn proud of you!”

The laughter and celebratory whoops died immediately upon the cawing of the crow, who landed on the table without a quiver of a feather.

Chance almost vomited. Most of the men looked confused. Grange stepped in front of Brenner while he himself took in the sight of this delivery of undead with both trepidation and glee.

End Note: Six down, two to go. I love ya'll. xo Rhi

Fic Taglist (open): @mrsjellymunson @princesssunderworld @qweencrimson @b-irock @writinginthetwilight @bornslippys @ali-r3n @lexr86 @eddiesgirl1944

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[coffeevacation]

OH. MY. GOD.

Okay so i finally had time to read it! And i loooove it, you write him so wel, so cheeky. Obv i read a lil bit before👀, but this exceeded every expectation i had.

"Water break," Marcus's voice was warm through the speaker. eeeee, that smooth voice would've had me folded immediately.

Marcus didn't even try to hide how his eyes traveled up from those Louboutins when Maria showed him in. She caught his muttered "good damn" before he switched to that media-ready smile.

Cheeky cheeky cheeky

"Looking forward to your decision." That smile again, the one that probably got him everything he wanted. "Boss."

That smile could get him my pu-

Shanice was thinking about exactly what else those thighs could do.

same girl

"Damn, if I knew Inter's management looked like this, I might've signed with them instead." Khephren's grin earned him a solid smack to the chest from Marcus.

Omg Khephren @irishmanwhore is that your nonchalant frenchie?

"Far from that, Shanice." He straightened up, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. The move was sexy as hell but she kept her face neutral. "You're one of the smartest women I know." - "So make a call?" His voice was low, just for her ears.

Had to look away and gather my thoughts at this.

Marcus: Come on, boss. Let me take you to lunch. Professional lunch. Very proper. Very appropriate.

We both know you lying boy, but i dont mind itttttt😋 Lets make it very unprofessional, very inappropriate and very freaky bae

10/10, i love it Quain, sorry i'm just very excited!!

THURAM'S NO. 1 ANGEL (chapter 1) ────iamquaintrelle

# pairing: marcus thuram x black oc (☔️✨💕)

# wc: 4.5k

# tags: @irishmanwhore @sucredreamer @coffeevacation @hopefulromantic1 @jessnotwiththemess

# summary: shanice carter-ricci didn't expect to become part-owner of inter milan at forty, but here she is - fresh off a divorce from her italian ex and ready to shake up serie a. she's got plans to bring some much-needed diversity and fresh energy to those stuffy executive boxes. what she doesn't plan on? getting tangled up with marcus thuram, the team's star striker who's fourteen years younger and infamous for his rotation of gorgeous girlfriends known as "thuram's angels." soon shanice is finding out that age ain't nothing but a number… and maybe it's time for this angel investor to shake up thuram's roster. masterlist.

# a/n: this will be a mini fic series with thirteen parts unless there's no engagement.

Shanice pulled her Hermes scarf tighter as she walked through the VIP entrance of San Siro. Even after six months, it still felt weird being part owner of Inter Milan. Like, how did her ex-husband's obsession become her fresh start at forty? The divorce from Alessandro had at least given her this, along with keeping her sanity intact.

The players' tunnel was empty and quiet since practice ended hours ago. As the new VP of Community Relations, she told herself she needed to know every inch of her investment. But honestly? She just loved how the place felt when no one was around.

That's when she heard it - deep laughter and rapid French echoing off the walls. Before she could place where it was coming from, she literally walked right into what felt like a wall of muscle in Inter training gear.

"Shit, I'm sorry!" Marcus Thuram's face broke into that infamous grin of his as his hands steadied her shoulders. Behind him, three gorgeous women watched the scene unfold, all gorgeous in that Instagram-ready way. So these were the famous "Angels" everyone gossiped about.

"Mrs. Ricci," he said, recognition lighting his eyes. "I didn't expect to meet our new owner like this." His English was good, touched with just enough French to be straight up dangerous.

"Just Shanice now," she corrected him. "The divorce was finalized in June." Why the hell did she share that? There was just something about his open, playful expression that made you want to spill your whole life story.

"Ah, fresh starts," he nodded sagely, though his eyes danced with mischief. "I'm somewhat of an expert in those. New club, new city…" He gestured at the women behind him. "New friends."

One of the Angels - this tall drink of water with honey-blonde weave - cleared her throat like she was tired of waiting.

"Speaking of friends," Marcus said with an apologetic grin, "we have dinner reservations. But maybe we could discuss community outreach programs sometime? I have some ideas."

Shanice found herself nodding before she could stop herself. This man's charm should be illegal for real. "My office is always open to players."

"Good!" He was already backing away, the Angels falling into formation around him like they'd rehearsed it. "Though fair warning - I might try to convince you to sponsor a sneaker design competition for local kids."

She watched him disappear down the corridor, her daughters' voices already playing in her head. Thirteen-year-old Dream would absolutely lose it if she knew mom had just met her favorite player. And nine-year-old Heaven would've been all over his shoes, trying to figure out if they were some limited drop.

Pulling out her phone, Shanice added "look into sneaker comps?" to her notes. She tried to ignore how her skin was still buzzing where his hands had been.

She had way too much on her plate to be thinking about a fine as hell 27-year-old footballer with a rotating cast of girlfriends. Even if his smile could probably power all of Milan.

Shaking her head, Shanice continued down the tunnel, her heels clicking against the concrete. Football had always been Alessandro's thing, not hers. Every weekend for years, he'd take Dream and Heaven to the matches while she built her empire hosting events and securing those luxury brand deals. Not that she minded - somebody had to be the practical one, the hustler making things happen while he played football owner with his rich friends.

But now? Now she owned a piece of one of the biggest clubs in Europe. The irony wasn't lost on her. She might not know every player's stats like Dream did, or care about formation tactics like Alessandro had, but she knew business. She knew how to make things grow. And honestly? Serie A could use some diversity in the owner's boxes - not just on the pitch.

"Time to make some noise," she muttered to herself, running her hand along the tunnel wall. Dream had screamed for ten minutes straight when Shanice told her about the divorce settlement. Not because of the divorce - they'd all seen that coming - but because her mom now owned part of her favorite team. Heaven had just rolled her eyes in that way only a nine-year-old could and asked if this meant she could players’ shoe collections.

Back in her modeling days, Shanice never imagined she'd end up here. But that hustle had never left her blood, even after she'd transitioned from walking runways to running events. Her network was crazy - fashion houses, celebrities, influencers, business moguls - all on speed dial because they knew she could make magic happen. Alessandro might've laughed at her "little parties" at first, but he shut up real quick when her connections started bringing serious money and clout to his business ventures.

She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through her contacts. Maybe it was time to bring that same energy to Inter. These stuffy old Italian football clubs needed to wake up and realize the game was changing. Social media, fashion collabs, global branding - that's where the real money was. And with her connections? She could open doors these men in their expensive suits hadn't even thought to look for.

The image of Marcus Thuram's smile flashed through her mind again. She had to admit - at least the view at work was going to be nice. Real nice. Even if he was young enough to make her feel like a whole cougar for even thinking about it.

Her phone lit up with a message from Dream: "MOMMM did you see any players today? 👀"

Shanice grinned, deciding to torture her daughter a little. "Maybe. Just walked around the tunnel a bit."

"OMG WHO???"

"Nobody special. Just some tall guy. French, I think? Had a few girlfriends with him..."

"MARCUS?!?! YOU MET MARCUS THURAM AND YOU'RE JUST NOW TELLING ME?! I'm literally dying. Did he do the smile? You know the one. Heaven says you better have checked his shoes!"

Shanice laughed out loud in the empty tunnel. Trust her kids to have their priorities straight - Dream thirsting over that smile and Heaven focused on the sneaker game. Like mother, like daughters - she hadn't missed those Jordan 1s he was wearing either.

"You're supposed to be doing homework," she texted back. "And yes, he smiled. No, I didn't catalog his shoe collection. I was kind of busy being professional."

The string of crying emojis that followed made her shake her head. She'd created a monster when she agreed to let Alessandro take Dream to that Inter Milan match three years ago. Now her daughter's room looked like a shrine to them - posters, jerseys, the works. Heaven wasn't much better, except her wall was covered in pictures of players' rare sneaker collections that she'd printed out.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was her assistant reminding her about tomorrow's marketing meeting. Right. Back to reality. She had actual work to do, strategies to plan, a whole department to run. She couldn't be out here acting like her teenage daughter, getting flustered over a pretty smile and some designer kicks.

Even if that smile did make her forget she was supposed to be a whole grown woman with responsibilities.

"At least tell me if the Angels were as pretty in person as they look on Instagram!" Dream's next text popped up.

Shanice rolled her eyes. "Goodbye, Dream. Do your homework."

But as she headed toward her office, she couldn't help but wonder exactly how one got an invitation to join Thuram's Angels. Not that she was interested. At all.

She was way too old for that drama.

Probably.

*********************************************

Shanice's office was her sanctuary in the chaos of training days. Up here in the executive level, she could see the players running drills on the practice field below. Not that watching was doing her any good right now - she'd been staring at the same sponsorship proposal for twenty minutes straight.

Her phone buzzed. Dream again, probably spamming her with more TikToks of Marcus's training highlights. Her teenager had been insufferable since finding out mom was technically her idol's boss. Heaven was slightly more chill about it, but only because she was more interested in his sneaker collection than his football skills.

But it wasn't Dream. It was an Inter Milan internal number.

Marcus? Why is he calling her?

"Shouldn't you be training right now?" Shanice answered, trying to keep her voice professional despite the smile tugging at her lips.

"Water break," Marcus's voice was warm through the speaker. "And I hear you have an excellent coffee machine in your office. Much better than the one in players' lounge."

"Are you really trying to schmooze the boss for better coffee when you should be hydrating?"

"I would never," he gasped in mock offense. "I'm trying to schmooze the boss for both better coffee AND funding for my sneaker competition. I'm an excellent multitasker."

She shouldn't find that as funny as she did. "Fine. After training tomorrow? And yes, the coffee is excellent."

"Perfect. I'll bring my presentation. You bring your coffee machine's A-game."

"Get back to practice," she said, but she was grinning like a fool.

"Yes, boss," he chuckled before hanging up.

Shanice leaned back in her chair, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach. This was business. Just business. Even if his voice did things to her that should be classified as a cardiac event.

Her phone buzzed again - Dream for real this time. "Mom mom mom did you see Marcus's new training pics? His fit is actually insane!"

Shanice glanced down at the practice field, where she could just make out number 9 jogging back to rejoin his teammates.

Just. Business.

The rest of her day was a blur of meetings and calls - sponsorship negotiations, community program reviews, endless emails about jersey designs. She was good at this part. Numbers, strategies, making shit happen - that's what got her here, not knowing the difference between a free kick and a corner kick.

On her way out, she nearly ran into Simone Inzaghi, Inter's manager. He'd been trying to get her to actually watch a match from the owner's box instead of just handling the business side.

"Shanice! This Saturday, yes? You'll come?" His English was getting better, but his hopeful expression did most of the talking.

She adjusted her Birkin on her shoulder. "Still not a football fan, coach."

"I will change this," he declared, shaking his head with a laugh. "I will beg if needed."

"We'll see," she smiled, already knowing she wouldn't. She had enough football talk from her daughters - she didn't need to add live matches to the mix.

The drive home to her Lake Como villa was usually her decompression time. Twenty minutes of pure luxury car silence, winding along the lakeside, watching the sun set behind the mountains. But today, that peace was shattered by the sight of a familiar Maserati in her driveway.

"What the fuck, Alex?" she muttered, pulling her Porsche in beside it. They had a custody arrangement for a reason. Wednesday wasn't his day.

Sure enough, when she walked in, Alessandro was in her kitchen like he still owned the place, stirring something that smelled suspiciously good while Heaven played sous chef. Dream was sprawled on the kitchen island bench, scrolling through her phone like this was just another regular Wednesday night.

"Ooh! Mama's home!" Heaven squealed, abandoning her post to launch herself at Shanice.

She caught her baby girl, hugging and kissing her while pinning her ex with a look that could freeze the whole lake. "Alex, a moment please."

Alessandro had the nerve to look completely unbothered as he handed Heaven the wooden spoon. "Keep stirring the sauce, tesoro."

Shanice led him to her home office, shutting the door with maybe a little more force than necessary. The room was her space - all clean lines and modern art, not a single piece of football memorabilia in sight. Unlike the rest of the house, which had slowly been taken over by Dream's Inter Milan shrine.

"What are you doing here, Alex? It's not your day."

He leaned against her desk like he used to do when this was their house, not just hers. Still fine as hell in that tailored suit, still wearing that Rolex she'd given him for their tenth anniversary. Still irritating as fuck.

"The girls called. Said they missed my cooking." His accent got thicker when he was trying to charm his way out of trouble. "You know how Heaven loves my pasta alla vodka."

"They have phones. You have a phone. A heads up would've been nice."

"Ah, but then you might have said no." He flashed that smile that used to make her weak in the knees. Now it just made her want to throw something at him. "Besides, I heard through the grapevine that you met our new striker today. Thought you might want to... compare notes."

Shanice's eyes narrowed. "You're here because of Marcus Thuram?"

"I'm here because of pasta," he corrected, but his eyes were laughing at her. "But since you brought him up..."

"Don't start, Alex." She moved behind her desk, putting some space between them. "I had one conversation with him about community programs. That's it."

"Mhmm. And tomorrow you have coffee." He examined his nails like this was casual conversation. "In your office. Alone."

"How do you even-" She stopped herself. Of course he knew. Half the board was probably still loyal to him. "It's a business meeting."

"With the guy Dream has plastered all over her walls?" His smile turned knowing. "The one with the harem of models?"

"The Angels," she corrected automatically, then wanted to kick herself.

"Ah, so you know about that." He pushed off the desk, moving closer. "Listen, tesoro-"

"Don't 'tesoro' me. We're not married anymore."

"Fine. Listen, Shanice." He held up his hands in surrender, but his eyes were still dancing with amusement. "I just want you to be careful. Marcus is... how do you Americans say it? A player. On and off the field."

She felt her temper rising. "Are you seriously in my house, uninvited, trying to warn me about a man like I'm some teenage girl? I'm forty, Alex. I own half your shares in Inter. I think I can handle a meeting with a footballer."

"Of course you can," he said smoothly. "You can handle everything. Always could. Just..." He paused at the door. "Maybe wear something less..." He gestured vaguely at her outfit.

"Get the fuck out of my office."

"Mama!" Heaven's voice saved Alex from whatever Shanice was about to throw at him. "The sauce is bubbling!"

"We're not done," Shanice warned him as she brushed past.

His low chuckle followed her down the hall. "We never are, bella. We never are."

In the kitchen, Dream had finally looked up from her phone. "Did you really talk to Marcus again today?" Of course, that's what got her attention.

"She did," Alex answered before Shanice could, stirring the sauce Heaven had abandoned. "And she's having coffee with him tomorrow."

The shriek Dream let out could probably be heard all the way in Milan. "OH MY GOD MOM! You have to tell me everything! What was he wearing? Did you see his sneakers? Was he nice? Were the Angels there? Is he even hotter in person? Can you get me his autograph? Or better yet, can you–"

"Dream." Shanice cut off the stream of questions. "Homework. Now."

"But Mom-"

"Now."

Heaven giggled at her sister's dramatic sigh. "I just want to know if his shoes were limited edition."

"Both of you, homework. Alex-" She turned to her ex, who was now plating pasta like he belonged there. "Next time, call first."

"Of course," he said with that infuriating smile. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any... business meetings."

Shanice decided right then that she was absolutely wearing her tightest dress tomorrow. And those Louboutins that made her legs look like they went on for days.

Purely for business reasons, of course.

Shanice stood in front of her closet the next morning, eyeing her options like she was planning a battle strategy. And maybe she was. That Roland Mouret dress had been collecting dust since Milan Fashion Week - the black one that hugged every curve like it was painted on, with that strategic slit that made her legs look endless. Perfect for making a point to her ex-husband about exactly what she could and couldn't handle.

"That's the one," she muttered, pulling it out. The fabric alone probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, but that's what you got for twenty years of fashion industry connections. She paired it with those red-bottom stilettos that had their own insurance policy - six inches of "fuck you" to anyone who thought forty meant invisible.

Her reflection in the full-length mirror had her feeling satisfied. The dress did everything it was supposed to do - snatched her waist, highlighted those gym sessions she'd been religious about since the divorce, and made her ass look like it was advertising something exclusive. Her hair were swept up in a French roll showing off the diamond earrings Alex had gotten her for their fifteenth anniversary. Petty? Maybe. But she wore divorce well.

"Damn, Mom!" Dream's voice made her turn. Her daughter was standing in the doorway, already in her school uniform. "Is this what you're wearing to meet Marcus?"

"This is what I'm wearing to work," Shanice corrected, but she couldn't help smiling at Dream's knowing look. "Don't you have a bus to catch?"

"Can't you just admit you're trying to get his attention? I mean, I've seen the Angels, but they don't have anything on you in that dress."

"Everything’s packed?"

Dream rolled her eyes. "Yes, but-"

"Bus. Now."

But as she walked into Inter's offices two hours later, the click of her Louboutins echoing off marble floors, Shanice had to admit her daughter might have had a point. This wasn't just a work outfit. This was a statement.

She just wasn't sure who she was making it to.

Maria's eyes went wide when she walked in. "Ms. Carter, the coffee machine is ready and-" she paused, taking in the outfit "-Mr. Thuram called to confirm he'll be here after morning training."

"Perfect." Shanice tried to ignore the little flutter in her stomach at his name. "Any other messages?"

"Mr. Ricci called." Maria's expression was carefully neutral. "Twice."

Of course he did. "Any actual emergencies?"

"He said something about wanting to make sure you got his advice about appropriate business attire."

Shanice's laugh was sharp. "I bet he did." She strode into her office, the dress moving exactly like it was designed to. "Hold my calls unless it's about the sponsorship deal. Or Mr. Thuram," she added, because Maria would assume anyway.

Her office was ready - coffee machine prepped with those specialty beans, a view of the practice field below (not that she was looking), and enough actual work on her desk to remind herself why she was really here.

But when she caught her reflection in the window, all dangerous curves and boss energy, she had to smile. Alex always did hate it when she dressed like this for business meetings. Said it was distracting.

That was kind of the point.

The sound of cleats on marble made her pause in reviewing contracts. He was early. She could hear Maria's professional greeting, followed by that deep laugh that somehow managed to sound like trouble even through walls.

Shanice stood, smoothing down her dress.

Game time.

Marcus didn't even try to hide how his eyes traveled up from those Louboutins when Maria showed him in. She caught his muttered "good damn" before he switched to that media-ready smile.

"What was that?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing," he recovered smoothly, but his eyes were still taking in the dress like he was memorizing it. "Thanks for making time for me."

"Coffee?" She gestured to the machine, using the moment of turning away to hide her smile. That reaction had been worth every euro of this dress.

"Please." He settled into one of her visitor chairs like he owned it, all long legs and easy confidence.

"Should we be expecting any other visitors today?"

The question was casual, but he caught the underlying meaning. She'd seen the Angels in their usual spot during morning training.

"Just us," he replied, grabbing the cup from her.

"Your... friends are otherwise occupied?"

His chuckle was low and knowing. "They're... back at home." The way he said it made it clear 'home' was a loose concept.

Shanice pushed away thoughts about how weird it must be to just be cool with being one of many in a rotation. Not her business. Not her place to judge anybody's sex life, especially not when she had actual business to discuss.

"So," she sat behind her desk, crossing those Louboutin-clad legs deliberately. "Tell me about this sneaker competition for local kids."

Marcus set down his coffee and pulled out an iPad. But instead of launching into some formal presentation, he leaned forward with that infectious enthusiasm she was starting to realize wasn't just for show.

"Look, these kids in the local neighborhoods, they've got crazy talent. Not just for football - for design, for art. But nobody's giving them a platform." His French accent got thicker when he was excited, she noticed. "I want to do something that combines both. Get them designing custom football boots, have them pitch their ideas like it's Shark Tank or something."

"And the winners?"

"We produce their design. Limited edition. Split the profits with them and their schools." He grinned. "Plus they get to see a professional wear their creation in a match."

She had to admit, it was good. Combine Inter's community outreach with actual entrepreneurship opportunities, get some good PR, maybe even discover the next big thing in design...

"My daughter Heaven would lose her mind over this," she said without thinking.

His eyes lit up. "The sneakerhead? Dream mentioned her yesterday."

Shanice blinked. "When did you talk to Dream?"

"Instagram. She slid in my DMs like 'my mom's gonna be your boss now so we're basically family.'" He laughed at Shanice's mortified expression. "Don't worry, I kept it professional. Told her to focus on school and that her mom seems cool."

"Seems?"

"Well," he stood, and somehow the office felt smaller with him up. "That was before I saw you in this dress. Now I'm thinking 'cool' might be an understatement."

He was at the door before she could process that. "Think about the proposal? The kids would really appreciate it."

Shanice managed a nod, proud that her voice stayed steady. "I'll review the numbers."

"Looking forward to your decision." That smile again, the one that probably got him everything he wanted. "Boss."

The door clicked shut behind him. Shanice let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

So much for keeping it professional.

Saturday came too fast. Shanice had successfully avoided matches for months, but Dream and Heaven had formed an unholy alliance. Their combined powers of teenage begging and nine-year-old puppy eyes were apparently her kryptonite.

"You're an owner, Mom," Dream had argued. "You have to at least pretend to care about the actual games."

So here she was, in the owner's box, wearing weekend casual. Heaven was pressed against the glass, documenting every player's footwear choices in her little notebook. Dream was... well.

"OH MY GOD HE WAVED AT ME!"

Marcus had paused his warm-up routine to wave at Dream, who was now literally squealing and clutching Shanice's arm. Her daughter - usually so cool, so above it all - reduced to a giggling teenager. Which, fair enough, she was.

Shanice's eyes scanned the stands automatically. No Angels in sight. Interesting, since the gossip blogs always said they never missed a match, always in their usual section, always dressed like they were at fashion week instead of a football game-

Nope. She wasn't going to go there. That was the least of her worries. Besides, she wasn't about to become some cougar chasing after a 27-year-old footballer. What could he possibly do for her? He probably couldn't even satisfy a woman properly, especially not a woman like her who knew what she wanted and-

Marcus dropped into a stretch on the field below, and Shanice's brain short-circuited. Those thighs. That ass. The way his kit stretched across-

Well. Maybe he could do a little somethin' somethin'.

"Mom!" Heaven's voice snapped her out of it. "Are those the new Nike Zoom Mercurial Superfly 9 Elites he's wearing?"

"I have no idea what any of those words mean, baby."

But she knew exactly what those thighs meant, and it was trouble. Pure trouble.

The match kicked off, and Shanice tried to look interested in whatever was happening on the field. Heaven was still cataloging shoes, but now she was comparing them to some spreadsheet on her tablet. Dream was providing commentary that might as well have been in Chinese for all Shanice understood.

"Did you see that run? The way he just- Mom, are you even watching?"

She was watching something alright. Just maybe not the same thing Dream was excited about. Marcus moved like water on the field, all power and grace. The way his muscles flexed when he sprinted, the focus in his expression when he had the ball...

"Signora Ricci." A smooth voice interrupted her definitely-not-thirsting. One of the other board members - some old money type whose name she should probably remember. "So nice to finally see you at a match."

"Couldn't disappoint my girls," she smiled diplomatically. These men still weren't used to her being here, being part owner. Still called her Ricci even though she'd gone back to her maiden name.

"You've met our new striker, yes? Quite the acquisition."

Oh, she'd met him alright. Met those chocolate eyes and that devastating smile and that ass that should be illegal in those shorts-

"We had a meeting about his community outreach proposals," she said smoothly. "Very impressive."

"His proposals or his-" Dream's comment was cut off by Shanice's warning look.

The crowd suddenly roared. Shanice turned just in time to see Marcus breaking free, the ball at his feet. The defender didn't stand a chance. One move, two, and then-

GOAL.

The stadium erupted. Dream was screaming. Heaven had abandoned her shoe documentation to jump up and down. And Marcus... Marcus was running toward their end of the field, sliding on his knees in celebration.

He looked up at the owner's box. Straight at her.

And winked.

"Did you see that?" Dream squealed. "He winked at us!"

Sure, baby. At "us."

Shanice took a long sip of her champagne. She was going to need something stronger than this to survive the rest of this match.

Shanice was on her second glass of champagne when Marcus scored again. This time his celebration was all swagger - that signature dance that had Dream and her friends making TikToks for weeks. The stadium was going crazy, and even Heaven had abandoned her sneaker documentation to cheer.

"He's so good," Dream sighed dreamily. "Like, is there anything he can't do?"

Keep his shirt on, apparently. The heat had several players stripping down to their undershirts, and Marcus's clung to him like it was painted on. Those training sessions were clearly paying off because what the actual f-

"Mamma mia, he's really showing off today."

Shanice didn't need to turn around to know that voice. "Don't you have your own box, Alex?"

"Can't a father watch with his daughters?" Alessandro dropped into the seat next to her, looking irritatingly handsome in his weekend casual Brunello Cucinelli. "Though I see you're watching... something else."

"The match," she said firmly. "I'm watching the match."

"Of course." His knowing smile made her want to dump her champagne on his designer sweater. "That's why you haven't blinked since Thuram took his shirt off."

Before she could respond, the final whistle blew. Inter 3, Juventus 1.

"Can we go down?" Dream was already gathering her things. "Please? Dad always takes us to meet the players after home games."

"I don't think-" Shanice started.

"Excellent idea," Alex cut in smoothly. "The owner should congratulate the team on their victory. Especially the man of the match."

Heaven's eyes lit up. "We can see the boots up close!"

Shanice was outnumbered. Again. "Fine. But ten minutes max."

The tunnel to the locker room was crowded with families and staff, the air thick with victory excitement and expensive perfume. Dream was practically vibrating with anticipation. Heaven had her notebook ready.

And then Marcus emerged, still glowing from the win, that undershirt still clinging to every muscle like it was doing the Lord's work. His eyes found their group immediately.

"The Carter-Ricci family!" His smile could power half of Milan. "Did you enjoy the show?"

"You were amazing!" Dream gushed. "Those goals were insane!"

"Can I see your boots?" Heaven was already crouching down with her notebook.

Alessandro's hand found the small of Shanice's back - a move that used to be possessive but now just felt like him marking his territory. "Incredible performance today. You must have been... inspired."

Marcus's eyes flicked to Alex's hand, then to Shanice's face. Something flashed in them - too quick to read. "Very inspired," he said, but he was looking straight at her. "Sometimes you just want to impress the right people, you know?"

Heaven was rattling off questions about his cleats. Dream was trying to casually get a selfie. Alex was doing that alpha male thing Italian men loved.

And Shanice?

Shanice was thinking about exactly what else those thighs could do.

"Yo! Big bro!"

A younger version of Marcus strode up, already changed into Juventus casual wear. The family resemblance was strong - same height, same build, same dangerous smile but instead of a cropped fade, he wore his hair in dreads.

"Little bro!" Marcus pulled him into one of those complicated handshakes that looked rehearsed. "Tough luck today."

"Whatever, you were showing off." Khephren's eyes landed on Shanice. "Who's this?"

"My new boss," Marcus said, and something in his tone made Shanice's skin tingle. "Shanice Carter, meet my brother Khephren."

"Damn, if I knew Inter's management looked like this, I might've signed with them instead." Khephren's grin earned him a solid smack to the chest from Marcus.

"My apologies," Marcus said to Shanice, but his eyes were laughing. "My little brother hasn't learned manners yet."

Alex cleared his throat loudly. "Girls, come on. Time to go."

Dream and Heaven reluctantly said their goodbyes, leaving Shanice standing there like an idiot, trying not to stare at Marcus's abs through that sweat-soaked shirt that was doing entirely too much.

"I should go too," she said, snapping out of it. This wasn't right. She needed to put up a wall between them right now. She was his boss, for fuck's sake.

She pivoted on her heel, but his hand caught her wrist. Warm. Strong. Trouble.

"The proposal - did you read it?"

"Yes."

"Great. Can we talk about it more? Go over the plan of action?"

"Sure, schedule with Maria for an appointment."

His face changed, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't want too many ears in this situation." He tilted his head toward where the board members and her ex were speaking in low voices. "Maybe dinner?"

"That's not–"

"My treat."

"Marcus. That would be inappropriate."

"Then a business lunch," he countered, "still my treat."

Shanice pulled her wrist from his grasp, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't miss how his eyes followed the movement, lingering just a beat too long.

"Do you think I'm dumb or something?"

"Far from that, Shanice." He straightened up, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. The move was sexy as hell but she kept her face neutral. "You're one of the smartest women I know."

"You don't know me."

"Yet," he added, and they stared at each other for what felt like forever.

"Whatever you think you're playing at, I'm not one of your little friends... or Angels for that matter. Like I said, schedule an appointment with Maria." She turned to leave again.

"So make a call?" His voice was low, just for her ears. Thank goodness no one else heard that.

She paused, glancing back. That smug look on his handsome ass face should've been illegal.

"I'll call you then. To set up the lunch," he said with absolute confidence.

Shanice just scoffed and continued down the tunnel, feeling his eyes on her the whole way.

That man was going to be the death of her career. Or just the death of her, period.

"Mom! Wait up!" Dream's voice echoed down the tunnel. "Why'd you leave so fast?"

Because your favorite player was looking at me like I was dessert, baby girl.

"Time to go home," Shanice said instead, fishing her car keys from her Bottega purse. "Where's your sister?"

"Still with Dad. He's taking us for gelato." Dream studied her face. "You should come."

"Pass." The last thing she needed was to sit across from Alex while he made smug comments about her "meeting" with Marcus.

"Is it because of Marcus?" Dream's voice dropped to a whisper. "Because I saw how he was looking at you. And how you were looking at his-"

"Dream. Don't."

"I'm just saying, Mom. The Angels are pretty and all, but you're like... you're you. And he definitely noticed."

Shanice stopped walking. "Listen to me carefully. There is nothing between me and Marcus Thuram except a business relationship. He's your age, for God's sake."

"He's twenty-seven, Mom. That's not my age." Dream rolled her eyes. "And anyway, age is just a-"

"If you finish that sentence, you're grounded."

Dream threw up her hands. "Fine! But for the record? I wouldn't mind. It'd be kind of cool actually. Like, my mom and my favorite player? That's some Wattpad level plot twist."

"Go get your gelato," Shanice laughed, pulling her daughter in for a hug. "Love you."

"Love you too. Even if you're in denial."

Shanice watched Dream skip back to where Alex and Heaven were waiting, then headed for her car. Her phone buzzed before she even reached it.

Unknown number: Lunch tomorrow? For the proposal.

Her heart definitely didn't skip. Nope. Not at all.

Another buzz: This is Marcus, by the way. Your daughter gave me your number.

She was going to kill Dream.

Third buzz: For business purposes only, of course. 😏

That damn smirking emoji. She could see his face when he typed it, all cocky confidence and knowing looks.

Shanice: Schedule it with Maria.

Marcus: Come on, boss. Let me take you to lunch. Professional lunch. Very proper. Very appropriate.

Those three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

Marcus: Unless you're scared...

Oh, this little boy thought he could play with her?

Shanice: Fine. One lunch. Professional. And you're not getting my coffee ever again.

Marcus: We'll see 😈

She dropped her phone in her bag like it was burning her fingers. What the hell was she doing? This was beyond stupid. Beyond reckless.

But as she slid into her Porsche, all she could think about was that damn smirk and those abs and the way he'd said "yet."

She was so screwed.

........................tbd

[neitherofusideal]

If you think about it, Will didn't actually have to doll himself up while honeytrapping Hannibal. Man, he could be in his sweaty t-shirts and boxers and be all scruffy while killing and cannibalizing with Hannibal and Hannibal wouldn't mind. We all know he's already down bad anyway and what matters to him the most is to see Will finally accept his 'becoming'.

But no. Will decided to. He wanted to. Made himself pretty. Made himself an attractive lure and added that extra barb in the hook to secure the catch. Because honestly, why not? 😏

[sl33py-tttt]

Genuinely can’t stop thinking about age swap Swansuke. Dai is this dumbass boss, who’s charismatic and kind to everyone(Sugar daddy as well) And Swan is this too smart for his own good intern, who is way too closed off.

Dai keeps pushing him to talk, buys him gifts and takes Swan out whenever there is time. And Swan has zero idea how to react because he has never received this attention and affection in his life!

[kindred-spirit-93]

how would a fandom treat you lol

unrelated, but my 3 moods:

@wordsofwizdumb, @ghostkingdiangelo429 and open for all! >:D

shout out to dr. delicate touch, my bean and favourite ninja turtle:

i too feel nothing XD

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Obviously a lot of season 2 focuses on Jinx's compassion and love and kindness, what with Sevika's new arm, getting her family back, and everything with Isha. But one scene that really struck me is when Ekko tries to talk her off that roof. She pulls the trigger again and again before he can even speak cause she knows he'll change her mind. But what struck out at me was that, when he complains about being blown up, she opts instead to throw herself from the roof. She had it all planned out but would choose to improvise rather than harm someone who considers her a loved one.