#high thoughts with ethan | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solelifauna · 10 months ago

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Yandere Batfam & Neglected Reader Prt. 2

Okay, so I didn't realize how much building I was gonna do around (Y/n's) social life so this chapter is honestly about knowing (y/n). Anyways, the next chapter will be from the batfam's pov and focus more on the yandere bits! Hope you enjoy this chapter tho!

Tag List!: @sitepathos @ferakillia @uknowimdumb @shycreatorreview @niggrrooo @dhanyasri @cantfindmelol @space1crow @earth-to-mee @rosecentury @yuyuzi-ling @simpingfor-wakasa @bat1212 @sheepintherain @person-from-daaaa-voidddd @resident-cryptid @cupids-pretty-boy @danni1323

The change started slowly on a normal evening, an evening like every other. It was a football season game day, the big match between the Gotham City High Bats and the Gotham Prep Knights. For the rich prep kids, this was nothing more than another game, but for your school, this game was everything. This would help your school get the recognition and funding it deserves, and allow some students to be scouted and rewarded for their talent.

Not only that, but Gotham Prep always, every season goes to state, beating out all the other public schools in the city. They haven’t lost a game since the early 80s so there was a lot riding on this game.

Your role, funnily enough, was representing the school as one of the Gotham City High school cheerleaders. Turns out that the gymnastics classes you took before were actually useful for purposes other than trying to impress Dick. You surprisingly took to cheerleading like a fish to water, liking the competitiveness and sense of belonging that came from joining the team.

Anyways, you, the cheer team, and the football team were on a bus headed towards the bigger, better Gotham Prep football field. The bus was loud with music and schoolmates hyping each other up for the big game. Ethan, a friend of yours on the football team was nervously shaking his leg and squeezing his helmet so hard you thought it would crack.

Both you and your friend Arya noticed.

“Ethan, the game hasn’t even started yet and I already see a crack forming on your helmet.” You said jokingly, a gentle arm on his shoulder.

He startled, “Jesus Christ (Y/n) warn a guy next time.” Ethan spoke, offering a nervous smile.

“You need to stop freaking out bro. When you do, it freaks out the others on the team.” Arya gently said.

“I know, I know but— but there’s just a lot riding on this game. For a lot of us, this is our only way to get out of Gotham, and if we screw up the finals, we’ll be stuck here forever.” Ethan said solemnly, looking around at all his teammates.

“Well then good thing you guys aren’t gonna lose. Y’all have spent two years training to make this comeback, to make sure that Gotham City High finally gets this win. I promise you’ve worked harder than those assholes at Gotham Prep, so just go out there and put your training to use. Don’t let your nerves get to you, you have no reason to.” You calmly said.

“Yeah—yeah, we have trained harder, haven't we? Yeah, you’re right! We've just gotta go out there and play like we've practiced.” Ethan exclaimed, as if suddenly realizing why he should have confidence in himself and his team.

“Exactly!” Arya said, matching his enthusiasm and hitting Ethan playfully on the shoulder.

The rest of the bus ride to the stadium was louder than ever, the coach and other teammates taking turns to hype up the more nervous members, to get them confident for the field. Everything was about normal once everyone made it to the stadium. The band was set up, and people were flooding the bleachers. It wasn’t until the last ten minutes before the game when normalcy died.

“Hey (Y/n), isn’t that your family?” A girl, Maya, says.

Lo’ and behold, Bruce Wayne and his entire gaggle of children were sitting on the home side of the bleachers, sporting Gotham Prep t-shirts.

“What—oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. What the hell are they doing here, they don’t even like football like that!?” You shout in frustration.

It was then when you remembered a conversation Dick, Bruce, and Damian had at the dinner table. Something about how it would help Damian out if he started going to school events and games, getting him acclimated to what being a normal teenager was like. That was all fine and dandy, but you didn't think the entire damn family was going to show up. Oh, the gossip columns are gonna have a field day with this. You could already imagine the headlines, “Bruce Wayne openly isolates daughter (Y/n) Wayne” or even, “The Wayne Family once again publicly shows dislike for daughter (Y/n) Wayne.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought, you had bigger things to worry about right now.

“Are you good (Y/n)?” Arya questions softly.

She was one of the only people who you spoke your sorrows to, one of the only people who actually knows of just how lonely you were. Of course everyone knew that Bruce Wayne and his family didn't really like you very much– thank you Vicky vale– but nobody but Arya and Ethan really understood the crux of your situation.

“Yeah, I'm all good bro, don't worry about it. Just focus on the game.” You said dismissively. It didn't bother you anymore, sure it hurt a little bit, but this was expected.

“Alright, its time to shake hands with the other team, everyone line up!” the football Coach, Coach Daniels, all but yelled.

You sighed, moving to the front of the line for the cheerleaders; you were team captain after all. Both the football teams and cheerleaders made their way to the center of the field where they met. You looked back at the rest of your team, you all knew that this was going to be an unpleasant interaction, it always was. The Gotham Prep cheer captain walked up to you, disdain and poorly concealed disgust on her face. You all quickly shook hands, trying to get this exhausting ordeal done and over with, but of course the other captain had to open her mouth.

“You lower end city girls sure have your own sense of style.” Darla, which was basically code for calling you and your team sluts. Wow, how original.

“You should see what’s underneath the jacket.” You replied, giving her a sharp smile.

She floundered, clearly expecting her insult to rile you and your team up.

“Ugh, as expected of Bruce Wayne’s biggest embarrassment. You sad Daddy doesn't like you? Or maybe she’s just glad she gets to mooch off of him before he ends up disowning her.” Another girl pipes up, drawing mind grating giggles from the rest of their team. You recognized her, she was the daughter of some hot-shot CEO.

You just tiredly look back at your team, a few of them getting angry on your behalf while others looked to you in concern.

“What, not going to say anything?” The other captain haughtily questioned.

“I mean, what exactly is the response you’re expecting? Yeah, Bruce Wayne doesn't like me, but at least I didn't have to buy my way into the cheer team or have my daddy pay to make sure I wasn't held back.” You stated boredly.

She was silent in shock, right before the anger came bursting through.

“You whore! I’m going to fuck you up, take you to court and sue you!” She shrieked.

“You’re going to sue me? You mean sue Bruce Wayne?” You snorted, “Like that’ll ever happen. And bitch, you couldn’t fight if your life depended on it, so next time you threaten me remember–I can and will beat the ever-loving shit outta you.”

That must have sparked some fear in her because she just turned around and led her team back to their side of the field. You’re sure others noticed your altercation, obviously having no idea what was being said, but it was clear to both sides of the field that nothing good was said. You’re ready to turn back to your side when you accidentally make eye contact with Tim. The cold, calculating look in his eyes has you shifting in discomfort, you quickly look away as the cheer team and football players head back to their respective sides.

The players took their place onto the field while your team got into formation.

“Aright guys, this’s the big one! Give it all you got, just like we practiced!” You yelled.

Just like that, the whistle blew signaling that the game started.

By the time you reach half time, Gotham Prep is fifteen points ahead of Gotham High. Your school does its low budget halftime performance which pales in comparison to the extravagant Gotham Prep performance. Your side of the stadium grows louder, louder in support of the football team. Before you know it, the boys are lining up for the second half of the game. Thankfully, Gotham High shoots up in points, the score now becoming 34 to 29. The issue is, the game is starting to come to an end with only two minutes on the clock. The crowd is loud, but everyone knows it'll be damn near impossible for Gotham High to win now. The only way to win would be to score a touch-down, which would bring Gotham High to 35 points.

It isn't until the 36 second mark when Ethan sees an opening and makes a run for it with the ball. The crowd is booming, your own voice adding to the mix of cheers and shouts.

“Come on Ethan! Come on!” You yell, voice undoubtedly hoarse.

There's 5 seconds on the clock when Ethan dives over an opposing player and rolls into the other team's touchdown zone. The score board changes, the numbers now showcasing 34 to 35. Gotham City High with 35. Everyone goes crazy. You and Arya are holding each other jumping up and down. Holy shit, yall won! The football team was celebrating on the field, as they’re announced as the winners, a big trophy being handed into Ethan and his team's hands. And by tradition, you, Arya and the coach go grab the large gatorade barrel and proceed to soak the football team with it. There are yelps and laughs but everyone knows what it means, it means “you’ve won”. You and Arya run up to Ethan launching into him, uncaring of the gatorade now soaking your uniforms.

It was a good day, a happy day. Everyone started loading up into the buses, starving for the victory dinner at Taco Bell. You honestly, truly forget that the Bats were even here. Shit hits the fan however, when you're in the middle of messing up a chalupa and Bruce Wayne and the rest of his brood walk in, making awkward eye contact with you. You promptly proceed to choke, Arya hitting your back to get you to stop. You do, but holy shit was that embarrassing. Also, what in the ever-loving fuck were they doing here!?

Before you could voice your utter disbelief, another familiar face barrels into your table. Oh great.

“Hey ladies, how’d you like the game? Betcha I looked good on the field.” The voice of Adrien, a freshman player on the team, made itself known.

He even made it a point to flex his arm muscles, hoping to impress you and Arya. You both just looked at each other before bursting out laughing. This poor freshman has been trying to get with y'all all year, despite you and Arya being sophomores. His god-awful attempts at flirting were absolutely adorable and downright hilarious.

“Guys please don't laugh, I promise I have better pick up lines.” he begs, his demeanor that of a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry man, you're just too adorable, we can't take you seriously.” Arya says amused.

“Why don't you go talk to one of the freshman cheerleaders? I'm sure I heard Hiba and Darla talking about how good you did on the field.” You pipped in.

“No way! Are you serious!? Oh-uh, gotta blast ladies! See ‘ya around!” Adrien stutters, excitedly scrambling off to go find the girls you mentioned.

You and Arya broke off again into a fit of laughter.

“Were you guys teasing Adrien again?” Comes a lighthearted scold from Ethan.

“Not anymore than usual. Plus, I think we finally got him to pursue girls in his own grade.” You responded, a smug smile on your face.

Ethan just chuckled before sitting down with you and Arya. You all talked and laughed some more, your mood only being slightly soured by the Wayne family’s presence at the table across from yours. You did your best to avoid their not-so-casual glances in your direction. Why they were here is a can of worms you had to marinate on later. But for now, you'd just enjoy the rest of your night.

It didn't take long before everyone started getting ready to leave. Some students had their parents come pick them up, probably to go celebrate the school's victory with their families, whilst everyone else was getting ready to load back up into the buses and head to the school where parents would be waiting for their kids. You, however, would be biking back to the manor on your own. Sure both Arya’s and Ethan’s parents had offered you a ride, but you had declined. There was no need for them to go out of their way for you, especially when they should be spending their time celebrating with their children. You’d honestly just ruin the mood with your shitty circumstances.

So as you threw away the last of your trash and started walking to leave the restaurant, you were not expecting to be stopped, let alone stopped by Bruce Wayne. You froze, not knowing what to do. What did he want?

“(Y/n),” He started, voice lacking any tell-tale emotions, “no need to get on the bus, you’ll be riding home with us.”

You noticed immediately how he didn't really give you a choice, just an order meant to be followed. You swallowed nervously, you did not, under any circumstances want to be in a car with any of them.

“There's no need for that Bruce, I–um actually left my bike back at the school and I can't just leave it there so…yeah. I’ll–I'll see you back at the manor.” You said nervously. You weren't used to talking to him and to be quite frank he scared you.

Bruce of course took note of the fact you had not called him “dad” or “father” and had called home, “the manor” instead. This is when Dick decided to chime in.

“What, you're not going to bike all the way back home, are you?” Dick jested sarcastically.

“Uh, yeah? It's how I get back home everyday.” You mention abashed. Did they seriously not even know how you got home? Whatever, you’re too tired for this.

Bruce and Dick glance at each other, their shared look holding a meaning you couldn't understand.

“Well, it doesn't matter. You’ll just ride home with us from now on.” Dick stated, faux cheer in his voice.

“Wha–what? Hold up, I can’t just leave without my bike! It’s gonna get stolen or–”

“We’ll get a new one, now stop fussin' and get a move on,” Jason grumbles, cutting you off.

You just sigh in defeat. Why the hell are they doing this? Why now? In the end, your questions don't matter as you get marched over to the waiting Rolce Royce Limo. That was when Arya and Ethan noticed you walking away from the bus, not even noticing the Waynes in their hurry to catch up to you.

“Hey (Y/n), why are ‘ya–oh.” Arya yells out before going silent after noticing the intimidating figure of Bruce Wayne and the even more intimidating figure of Jason Todd.

“Oh, hey guys. So–uh, I actually have a ride back to the manor now so I'm all good.” You say awkwardly.

“That's–that's great! But, what about your bike bro?” Ethan questions worriedly, the awkward and almost tense energy affecting him.

“I'm just going to pray and hope that it's still there when I come back for it tomorrow.”You answer tiredly.

“Damn, well, get home safe and get some sleep. We’ll see you soon girl.” Arya says, hugging you.

You hug her back.

“You too guys, get home safe. And Ethan, good job on the field bro, we’re all super proud of you.” You voice, a small smile on your face while you give him a hug.

“Thanks (Y/n), couldn't have done it without y’all hyping me up.” He says.

“Alright, alright no more sappy, corny lines. Now get on the bus before Coach Daniels pops another blood vessel.” You joke.

“Shit, I didn't even realize that was him yelling! Ethan, we gotta go! See ya (Y/n).” Arya exclaims, practically dragging Ethan to the bus with her.

You wave at them, your smile slowly disappearing as you realize you're about to have the worst fifteen minutes of your life on this car ride. The staring you were trying to ignore when talking to your friends was more prevalent now, making you anxious as you entered the car, squirming and fiddling uncomfortably in your seat as everyone else piled in.

You internally sighed as you heard the door shut and the car engine start. Perhaps it’d be better if you drank acid and died instead, but alas, it was too late for any of that.

You’d just do your best to stay quiet and avoid the eyes boring into your very being.

#yandere batfam #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #platonic yandere #neglected reader #neglect #yandere Stephanie brown #batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfamily x neglected reader

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lightlysaltedtaters · 2 years ago

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Do different colored aquarium pebbles taste like different flavors? Tune in next week to Mythbusters, where we’ll-

#aquarium pebbles #the forbidden sea nerds #mythbusters #high thoughts with ethan #mmmmm yummy pebbles

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hannieween · 2 months ago

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kiss and tell | wicked games series

Mingyu was hurting, that was the thing. But he missed the way you looked at him, like he was worth sticking around for. Even if he couldn’t see that in himself back then.

☾ pairings: jeon wonwoo x female reader ☾ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) ☾ aus: bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, messy love triangle, friends with benefits ☾ word count: 14k

› PREVIOUS CHAPTERS – READ MORE

☾ warnings: smut with plot, hurt/comfort, hard dom wonwoo, brat reader, use of sex toys, masturbation, fingering, squirting, creampie, bdsm: light choking, manhandling, crymaxing, dirty talk, cussing, unprotected p in v sex, after care. reader is chubby. pet names: ma'am, baby (hers)

☾ author's note: helloooooo!! we're back with another chapter and oh my god!! last chapter you guys were amazing with the feedback. y'all really know how to make a girl feel special 🥺 anyways, enjoy this chapter!! love yous

☾ author's note pt2: the sex scene for this chapter is looooooooooooong. like wonu's c—[GUNSHOTS]

no but fr the sex scene is like 5k words 🧍🏻‍♀️ enjoy! ksksks

☾ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and do not to look like a bot 🙂

kiss and tell

Jeon Wonwoo woke up with a start.

He opened his eyes to an apartment that for one second he didn’t recognize. Everything looked different now that the sunlight was pouring from the windows.

He rolled over to reach out for his glasses on your nightstand, letting out a small sigh as the first movements of the morning got him feeling a little bit more awake.

A small jolt of his heart gave him the impulse to sit up. You were nowhere to be seen. But as he focused his senses, he heard the faint noise coming from the shower.

Wonwoo sighed, leaning back on the headboard of your bed. Then, everything came crashing down on him—the memories from last night, what he did. What you and he did together.

If last night had been a random booty call, then now it would be a perfect opportunity for him to grab his shit and walk out of your apartment.

But no, last night was different. No matter how he’d slice it, it was something he couldn’t walk away from. And he didn’t want to.

He looked at the ceiling, thinking of how to approach this situation as though he were organizing the pieces of a very complex puzzle. First, he’d have to talk to you, and then, he’d have to tell Mingyu what happened.

His heart deflated upon that last thought.

Wonwoo would’ve never imagined he’d be in this situation. Sure, he made the very conscious decision to kiss you, and then sleep with you. But everything that happened before that was something he never planned for.

And last night… he got to know how far his impulses could go if he lets his guard down. If he allows to act on his feelings.

He blinked slowly, releasing a long sigh through his nose.

The noise coming from the bathroom ceased. Wonwoo rose from your bed and slowly started gathering his clothes, putting them on one by one almost robotically. He stood before your bed, fully dressed now, thinking.

The bathroom door clicked softly, and then the steam and the smell of your shampoo quickly filled the air of your studio apartment.

The smell made his guts twist. Sweet, citrusy, and addictive. It instantly flashed a memory in his mind of him sinking his nose in your hair while he was buried deep inside your body.

Fuck. This isn’t good, he thought.

Some seconds later, you emerged from the bathroom wrapped up in a bathrobe, your humid hair resting on your shoulder as you dried the ends with a towel.

Wonwoo watched your expression intently, looking for any signs of regret. He took a deep breath, mustering some courage in case you decided to ask him to leave.

But you smiled softly at him. Your eyes were devoid of any emotion, making him think that you probably didn’t rest well.

“Hi,” you sighed, the corners of your eyes lifting slightly.

“Morning,” he replied, then realized how gruff his voice sounded and cleared it awkwardly before adding, “Did you sleep well?”

You were padding slowly towards him until you stood a few steps away. Your heart was racing, and your entire body was rigid with the fear of the unexpected. “I uh, yeah. I slept alright,” you replied, your tone sounding off. “You?”

Wonwoo nodded dryly.

You exchanged a long look. One that was guarded by both the inability to start having the talk and the urge to just keep going. To push it down.

You motioned to the kitchen. “Do-do you—” you stammered, pausing to take a breath. “Do you want some coffee?”

Wonwoo picked up every detail that you tried to hide—how your fingers twisted and twirled your wet hair, but they still trembled in doing so, or the nervous way you swallowed, trying to slow down your breathing.

He knew what you were feeling—and it wasn’t hard to guess because he was also feeling it too. The nervous fluttering inside, one that spread all over your body and tingled beneath your skin.

“Sure,” he muttered, giving you a tiny nod.

You turned to the kitchen before you let the moment linger for too long. You felt like the more you stood around, the more he got to notice just how nervous you actually were.

You vaguely remembered how it was when Mingyu stayed the night for the first time. How it had felt too natural to have him in your space.

You chewed on your lower lip as you poured water into the coffee machine and turned the button on. Discarding those memories, concluding that it would probably feel natural for Wonwoo to be there if he weren’t Mingyu’s best friend.

You liked Wonwoo. And given the turn of events of last night, you wanted him more than you had originally imagined.

But it still felt wrong.

The air between you had permanently changed. It made your chest ache, the feeling so tight you couldn’t get rid of it as you sighed deeply.

Wonwoo watched you from where he stood at the foot of the kitchen. He wanted to get closer to you, to drive your gaze towards his. But your focus was zeroed on the coffee dripping slowly into the pot, trying to hide your face from his scrutiny.

But he had to break the silence. With a rapid heartbeat, he asked: “Are we going to talk about it?”

His voice was gruff, heavy with emotion. The sound of his nervousness made your senses awake, as though your own nervousness had been trying to bury you by force.

You turned around, finding him leaning against the kitchen counter. God, he was glorious, in all his dishevelled form. His hair was messy from the night before, and despite being well-rested, he looked slightly tired. Sleepy.

You didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. There was no going around the subject. You met his eyes, finding the seriousness there that made your stomach flip.

“Yeah. I think we should,” you replied, your tone low. “I’m sorry. About last night.”

Wonwoo’s gaze snapped to yours, reading your face swiftly. Like your words had hit him somewhere tender. “Don’t,” he mumbled. “Don’t apologize.”

Part of you wondered why you always resorted to apologizing—or why you felt like Wonwoo needed you to say sorry. You didn’t want to give him the feeling that you regretted what happened. Because you didn’t.

“Listen. Last night wasn’t planned,” he said gently. “And I don’t expect you to know what to do with it. I don’t even know what to do with it.”

You exhaled, feeling that ache return to your chest. “It wasn’t just what happened last night. It’s everything leading up to it,” you said, wishing you could muster some strength to hold his gaze. But eventually you dropped it to the floor. “I’m still figuring out the things that hurt me.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I know,” he said softly. “And I won’t push you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You looked up, finding his gaze. “I don’t know if I’m ready… for you,” you whispered.

Wonwoo took a step towards you, but he didn’t reach out to touch you. Not yet. “You don’t have to be,” he replied in kind.

Your heart twisted, as though it knew you were making a mistake and just kept digging your grave. “But last night…”

“I know,” he nodded softly. His eyes outlined the features of your face, taking in every detail. “I don’t regret it.”

The way that he was looking at you made your heart ease. There was no pressure, no desperation for you to give in. Only patience.

“What if I mess it up?” you whispered.

Wonwoo shrugged lightly. “Then we mess it up,” he replied, smiling faintly. “But at least we can say that we tried.”

You tried to pay attention to what your heart felt, beating fast, painfully loud. “I don’t want to hurt you, Wonwoo,” you whispered. You bit your lower lip, trying to stop it from quivering.

“Then don’t,” he said gently. “Pull the breaks when you need it,” he smiled, shrugging. “But don’t hold yourself back either.”

Silence fell again, and then you knew why your heart was so stressed. “What about Mingyu?”

His lips parted slightly. There was an answer ready because he didn’t skip a second. “Don’t worry about him,” he said. “Let me worry about him for now.”

You dropped your gaze again, eyes brimming with tears. You missed Mingyu. That was a fact that was still real as everything you felt last night. All the despair, the raw emotion. You were angry at him for breaking your heart, but at the same time, you didn’t know how he’d take this.

But he used you. He broke you and walked away, a dark part of you raged.

“Hey,” Wonwoo whispered, his hand finally finding yours. His fingers slipped onto your palm, pressing it gently.

You raised your eyes, releasing your tears. You sniffled, the sound making you laugh embarrassedly.

Wonwoo showed you a smile, one that made the nose of his bridge wrinkle. He took another step towards you, his knee brushing against yours. “We don’t have to be anything yet. We can go as slow as you need,” he muttered softly, while his thumb brushed the back of your hand. “I’m not in a rush.”

The words rung with a strange familiarity. As they sank in your mind, they rhymed with a distant memory, one that you weren’t ready to revisit yet.

You turned your hand over slightly, finding his fingers to lace them with yours. The gesture was so tiny, yet so gentle that it had your heart melting.

You found his gaze again, giving him a cautious smile. The way his hair looked made your tummy twist, and you subconsciously reached out with your free hand to brush the messy strands of hair back into order.

“Do I look bad?” he asked softly, reading your face.

“Just like you fell out of bed,” you joked, letting out a short giggle.

Wonwoo smiled sheepishly. “Can I…” he motioned to the bathroom door.

“Of course,” you whispered, stepping back to let him go fix his form.

You turned to take out two cups from the cabinet. The coffee machine had stopped brewing, and it was now softly hissing when you took the jar and poured two cups of coffee, leaving out space for cream in case Wonwoo took his coffee with cream.

You don’t know anything about him, the thought invaded you. You don’t know how he takes his coffee. Or what he likes having for breakfast. The overwhelming need to know more about him came about you when you heard the door click softly.

Wonwoo came back, looking more like he did last night. His hair looked more put together and you realized that he had also cleaned his glasses.

“How do you take yours?” you asked, handing him his cup.

“Black is perfect,” he sighed softly, taking a sip. “Thanks,” he muttered with a pleased look.

You sipped slowly from your cup, watching him intently.

It wasn’t a requirement to know everything about a person to harbor feelings for them. You knew this. But why did you feel a responsibility to know more about him?

Wonwoo read your expression, finding the curiosity in it. There was something more, something that made your eyes look sweet, tender.

He lowered his cup to the counter reaching out to grab you by the waist. The feeling of his hand on top of your clothes awoke your entire body, creating a tingling sensation on your skin.

You lowered your cup too, straightening up as he came closer to you. “Come here,” he said, bringing you to a hug. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body to his frame.

He was tall enough to rest his cheek on your head, using his arms around you to rock you gently.

Being in his arms soothed your heart instantly. You didn’t need to know everything about Wonwoo, but you knew why the urge was created. You liked him. You liked being around him. It felt like the pieces of your heart weren’t struggling to mend themselves back together. It felt easier to breathe.

You pressed the side of your face on his chest, sighing out the soreness in your chest. You wanted to cry—but it felt different from last night. It felt as though you had been trying to keep your emotions in a box, but have been fighting against the lid to keep it closed. And now, being safe in Wonwoo’s embrace, you were finally free to feel those emotions.

You sniffled softly against his chest, turning your face to snuggle against his warmth.

Wonwoo heard you. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Cry it out. I’m here for you.”

Hot tears started to spill from your eyes, making you squeeze them shut. The words, I’m sorry formed in your lips, but you were unable to bring them out.

But Wonwoo repeated, “It’s okay,” without knowing that you were about to apologize from crying. It was like he knew.

He didn’t know how you liked your coffee either. But somehow, he knew you.

You let out a sad laugh. “I’m a mess,” you said, your tone made weak by the tears that kept on coming.

Wonwoo pulled back, his hands finding your face, cupping your cheeks. He leaned his head to look into your eyes. “We’re a mess,” he corrected. “But I’m not running away. And I’m not going to push you into anything,” he held your gaze, his softening by the sight of your teary eyes. Then slowly, he uttered the next words: “I want you.”

You raised one hand, pressing your palm to the back of one of his hands and leaning your face against it. You closed your eyes, letting more tears go.

You wanted him too. Deep down, you knew it. But the fears and the heartache made it impossible for you to admit it aloud, even if you gave yourself to him the night before. It was obvious, and you wondered if Wonwoo’s ability to study you had already found that out.

Something told you that he already knew you wanted him too.

A warm feeling settled in your chest. “I’ll try not to freak out,” you whispered, opening your eyes to find him.

He pursed his lips cutely. “I’ll try not to give you reasons to.”

Then he bent over, lips pressing against your forehead. He kissed it slowly, then moved his face to yours.

You held your breath when the tip of his nose bumped onto yours. Then he hesitated, pausing so close to you that you felt the gentle caress of his breath.

You gave in.

Joining your lips with his felt too natural. The pull you felt towards him was so great that you forgot about the worries that clouded your mind. So you kissed him. You kissed him deeply, like you had nothing to fear.

A tiny gasp broke from your chest as you moved your lips with his seamlessly. His hands still cupped your face, only moving you to tilt your head back for him, angling you perfectly for more of his kisses.

He broke the kiss, only to move his lips to one of your cheeks. You let out a short giggle, feeling his lips on your other cheek, realizing that he was kissing your tears.

He pressed his forehead against yours, sighing out in something that felt to you like relief. You tasted the coffee on his lips, mixed with the saltiness from your tears when he pressed his lips against yours one more time.

Wonwoo felt something unexplainable for you. He saw the girl that had been hurt ten times over and still had love to give. He saw the softness in you, the loving nature in you that you were now trying to protect. And he wanted to protect it too.

“I have to go,” he whispered, but he didn’t back away.

“Okay,” you whispered back, afraid to let go and open your eyes.

“If you need me, I’ll be a call away,” he promised.

You nodded shortly, not trusting yourself to speak up.

Wonwoo stopped cupping your face, taking a step back. Reluctantly, he grabbed his jacket, and his phone, turning to the door. As he turned the handle, he looked back at you.

You took two steps to him, grabbing his face to press a goodbye kiss on his lips. He kissed you back instantly, sighing out a smile.

“Text me when you get home?” you mumbled meekly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, kissing you one more time before he stepped out of your apartment.

And as you went back to your silence, you didn’t feel the need to guard yourself against it. It wasn’t the kind of silence that made you sink into it. You were for once, staying afloat.

Mingyu leaned his forearms against the sink, staring into the empty tub of ice. The emptiness inside it, paired with the bustling noise from the kitchen pulled him into his thoughts, making him drift away and somewhere else.

He remembered the echoes of your laughs back in your apartment. The way your eyes brimmed up with years and your voice cracked when you confessed something close to you. And how he said he wouldn’t walk away from you.

He remembered the moment he left you back at the basketball court. The way you sat at the bleachers, crying in heartache.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, sighing into his palm.

“What’s up Mings? You okay?” Wonwoo asked, appearing beside him with a crate full of beers, which he settled on the floor gently.

Mingyu nodded without looking up. “Yeah,” he croaked, resuming to clear out the bar off the clean glasses, putting them where they belonged.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t press. He then turned away, disappearing into the hall to get another crate of beers.

Mingyu gnawed on his bottom lip, losing himself to another memory, torturing himself. This memory was a sweet one. One where he made love to you, holding your hand, telling you to breathe with him. He remembered the look on your eyes, his heart stammering painfully now.

Wonwoo came back, kicking the door open. The look on Mingyu’s face must’ve been telling what he was feeling inside, because Wonwoo just sighed, exasperated. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Mingyu finally broke, shaking his head swiftly. “It’s been over a month,” he said, raising his eyebrows a little.

Wonwoo panned to him. “Since?”

Mingyu’s jaw tightened. “Since I last saw her.”

Wonwoo’s gaze sharpened slightly, parting his mouth to say something.

But Mingyu continued, finally raising his gaze to meet Wonwoo. “Do you think she hates me?”

Wonwoo pressed his lips together in an awkward expression. “Why are you asking me?”

Mingyu let out a short laugh. “Right, what am I even saying?” he sighed, setting down the last piece of glassware on the rack.

Wonwoo kept quiet, bending down to put one of the crates on the counter and keeping an eye on Mingyu.

“I’ve been thinking about texting her, calling her,” Mingyu confessed, starting to get the beers out of the crate one by one. He pressed his lips into a tight line for a second before adding. “I almost did a dozen times.”

“Why haven’t you?” the question came out of Wonwoo with a flat tone.

Mingyu sighed. “Because I don’t know if I even deserve to,” he muttered. “I panicked, I really did. And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

Wonwoo set the second crate down on the counter with more force than necessary. “Then why did you do it? Why did you leave?”

Mingyu turned his head, confused by the shift in tone.

“I mean, really,” Wonwoo continued, directing Mingyu a hard gaze. “You said you weren’t all in. You told me that you felt like you were going to mess it up. So what is it now?”

“Well, you said it—I messed up,” Mingyu said bitterly. “I was scared that I would end up hurting her because I’m not fully healed but, I realize now that I could’ve worked through it. I could’ve done more.”

“Done more?” Wonwoo narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean done more?”

Mingyu nodded slowly. “Maybe if I had made the effort to be with her, maybe I could’ve told her to give me a chance while I fix my shitty life—instead of breaking up with her,” he lowered his gaze, adding with a softer tone: “And hurting her.”

Wonwoo remained impassive, letting the silence stretch between him and Mingyu. Waiting.

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair. “Now I don’t even know if she’d talk to me. Or if she should.”

“Maybe it’s not about what you want anymore,” Wonwoo said, quieter this time, his tone coated with something Mingyu couldn’t place.

Mingyu stilled, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You broke up with her,” Wonwoo added. “And whatever reason you had, whatever reason you gave her for walking away, it better still hold up if you’re thinking about looking for her again.”

Mingyu didn’t reply, but he couldn’t hide the hurt showing on his face.

Wonwoo watched him for a second longer, letting the message sink. Then he turned, opening the fridge to start restocking it methodically. He didn’t offer Mingyu advice, nor nudge him toward texting you. And he wouldn’t.

Mingyu didn’t dwell on his best friend’s blunt reply. He picked up a glass, staring at the reflection in it.

“You didn’t come home last night.”

Wonwoo sighed softly, letting the remorse twist inside him. “I’m aware.”

Mingyu was used to Wonwoo’s expressionless manner. But this was different, guarded.

“What happened?” he pressed, not looking at him.

“Something came up,” Wonwoo said, realizing that it was the same thing he texted Mingyu the night before. He added, “A friend had some issues. Needed a hand with something, so I helped.”

“A friend?” Mingyu’s brow furrowed, now turning over his shoulder to look at Wonwoo.

But he remained impassive, putting one bottle after another inside the fridge. “Yeah.”

“You have other friends?” Mingyu joked, laughing lightly. But then his ears perked, his eyelids fluttering dumbly. “Oh,” he uttered, then another joyful giggle bubbled up. “Oh—is this…? Are you—are you seeing someone?”

Wonwoo rolled his eyes. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Come on, don’t be like that,” Mingyu said, dragging his words in a tone that Wonwoo found jarring.

“A gentleman doesn’t share his secrets,” he said, letting himself smile a little.

“A gentleman? You?” Mingyu snickered, letting out a high-pitched wail that resonated across the empty bar. “So that means it is a woman you went off to see! Ah, you have to tell me everything.”

Wonwoo peeked from the door of the fridge, shaking his head. “I won’t tell you anything. Not until you finished setting up.”

Mingyu groaned loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls of the empty bar. “You’re all work no fun, hyung.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo muttered dismissively.

Wonwoo closed the door of the fridge, walking away to get another crate while Mingyu remained behind the bar. He stared at the shelves of liquor, thinking that he’d have to get up there soon and clean them.

Something felt off about Wonwoo. To Mingyu, there was something more than a casual display of seriousness. Wonwoo was usually livelier than his observant manner. Something was off, his gut instinct said. Not that Wonwoo was coming off as cold, nor aggressive. Just careful, and quiet.

Mingyu picked up a rag, wiping down the counter with slow, methodical motions. His thoughts kept circling back to you, just like always. How your voice used to soften when he called you in the middle of the night. How you would wait for him to clock off so you could walk home together, even if it was way past midnight.

He didn’t deserve to miss that. But he did.

Mingyu exhaled softly, checking his phone again. Mechanically, he opened your chat, his fingertip tapping on your profile photo. His gut twisted.

You had changed your profile photo.

It now displayed a very different photo. From the photo where you were standing with a cute smile, a colorful mural behind you, now you showed one with a bleak background of the river. The features of your face looked soft still, but there was a coldness in your eyes.

Your smile was gone. And now all Mingyu saw was the raw, cold emotion in your eyes.

You were beautiful, you always were.

But Mingyu couldn’t help but feel that the image where you were smiling was stolen from him. For days and nights, all he had was your pretty smile to look at.

Now that was over too.

Wonwoo returned to the bar, slipping behind the counter and putting down the crate of beers. He pulled open a drawer, busying himself with receipts and notes. Wonwoo darted a glance back at Mingyu from the corner of his eye.

“So you think it’s a good idea that I leave her alone?” Mingyu asked anxiously.

Wonwoo didn’t look up. “I think that’s not my call.”

“But if it was?” Mingyu chewed on his bottom lip.

That made Wonwoo pause. He put the receipts back on the drawer and turned to meet Mingyu’s gaze. “I think that if you’re going to reach out, be sure that it’s not because you’re hurting—” he said, then cut himself off, shaking his head like he was dismissing a painful remark. “I think that with all you’ve done already, she deserves a real apology.”

“I am going to apologize,” Mingyu said, taken aback. His shoulders slacked. “Hyung, you don’t understand—” he swallowed hard, composing himself. “I want her back.”

Wonwoo’s lips parted, his eyes widening slightly.

But Mingyu didn’t see the change in his best friend’s expression. He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I don’t want to hurt her ever again,” he mumbled, looking down at the lacquered counter.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side. “Then don’t.”

It sounded simple.

But that was the thing. Mingyu was hurting. But he wanted you and missed you for you—not just because of the comfort you gave. He missed the way he felt when he was around you, simply existing. Mingyu missed the way you looked at him like he was worth sticking around for.

Even if he couldn’t see that in himself back then.

Sometimes, he thought of his ex—Gigi. Of how even months after breaking up, she still tried to contact him. His guts twisted one more time. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve already healed in all this time he hasn’t contacted you. Maybe he’s just messing things up more.

And that wasn’t fair for you.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Mingyu sighed, reconsidering again. “What am I even doing?” he muttered, more to himself than to Wonwoo.

Wonwoo sighed heavily. “Look, do what you have to do,” he said, his tone hardening slightly with annoyance. “But please, can you get to work? I’m drowning here and we only have twenty minutes till we open up.”

Mingyu straightened, laughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head to keep you away from his thoughts.

For now.

“You didn’t have to fuck him though,” Mona said, looking at you with a concerned look on her face.

You laughed out loud, letting the red wine fuel your whole body. Your cheeks were flushed with the effects of your third glass of wine.

“I mean—” Mona started, but got caught off. She laughed, finally infected with the sound of your giggles. “—what is it with you and toxic guys? Do you have a magnet for them? Where do I get one?”

You continued laughing, head tilted back. It had been a while since you’ve had a night like this.

You were sitting in a half-empty bar, tucked between two other very loud bars. The place was cozy—totally the opposite to what The Spot was. This was bright, colorful, full of earthy tones and fairy lights that coiled around the warm lights overhead.

Mona watched your smile, and you swore you saw a tint of warmth there. “I’m glad you’re better,” she said, then blinked a couple of times. “Well, not better-better, but like—” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I’m glad you’re not with that asshole anymore. He was truly sucking the life out of you.”

You sighed “I’m trying,” you said softly. “There are some bad days, and some good ones.”

“And today?” she asked, giving you an exaggerated inquisitive look.

You took a sip of wine, feeling pensive. “Today I’m good. Not perfect. But okay.”

Mona reached across the small table to squeeze your hand. “I’m really proud of you.”

You talked about everything and nothing for another hour. About work. Her new co-worker she thought was cute. About the graphic design course you were taking. About the new guy at the gym she was pretending not to notice. Everything and nothing.

And when it was time to step out of the bar, the air had cooled, but your laughter was still warm in your chest. The taste of wine lingering on your tongue.

“God,” Mona exhaled, fixing her jacket. “I’ve missed this.”

You smiled at her. “I’m sorry about dodging your calls.”

She clicked her tongue, using a hand to push your shoulder. “The next time I’ll just come get you out of your apartment. Bust you out of any prison you’ve made for yourself if that’s what’s needed.”

You snickered at the exaggerated roll of her eyes she gave you. “Okay, mom.”

She continued. “I should probably start charging you a therapist fee.”

“Fair,” you said, the smile not wiping off your face.

“No but seriously. You look better. A little tired, but better.”

“I’ve been okay,” you reassured her for the tenth time. You shrugged. “Some days I wake up feeling okay. Other days it’s like I’m drowning.”

Mona nodded quietly. “Yeah. That’s grief for you. And yes, you’re allowed to grieve what you had with Jay—it wasn’t just a simple relationship. You guys were together for ages.”

You pressed your lips into a tight line. “It’s not just him, you know?” you murmured. “It’s everything I thought I was done with. Jay, the breakup, moving to a different part of the city. And then with Mingyu… it’s like he brought it all back.”

Mona bumped her shoulder against yours. “And do you feel safer with the new guy?” she paused. “With Wonwoo?”

You blinked and dropped your gaze to the ground.

It had been three nights since you slept with Jeon Wonwoo. And so far, you had only exchanged a few texts—nothing too personal, nor too serious. But you felt at ease whenever he texted goodnight, or whenever he told you he was doing okay.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, the knot in your throat tightening more. “I’m afraid to let myself care again. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“And if you do, you’ll fix it,” she shrugged, crossing her arms as she walked beside you. “You always do.”

Eventually, you both stopped when you knew your paths diverted into different routes. “Okay,” Mona sighed. “Are you taking the bus?”

“I could use the walk,” you said, tightening your fist around the strap of your bag.

The streets were damp, but the night sky gave no evident warning that it would start to rain again soon.

Mona nodded. “I’ll see you then,” she said, turning around and motioning a hand goodbye. “You better be with the same guy by the next time I see you!”

You laughed out loud, but couldn’t think of anything to reply to her.

You turned around, deciding to take the long way home.

Something about walking helped you think. You were still warm from the red wine and the laughter shared with your best friend. But walking through the park—seeing young couples walking hand in hand, groups of girls laughing gave you perspective.

The cold air stung your cheeks, making your eyes water. You hugged yourself tightly, closing your denim jacket around you.

You were passing by the park when you heard your name, loud and clear. At first, you thought it wasn’t meant for you, so you kept walking. But how many people could have your name in this city?

Then again, this time louder.

You turned around, following the sound of the voice.

Your stomach immediately dropped. It was Jay.

He looked the same. Despite the buzz cut hair he sported and the change in fashion style, he was still your Jay. The same big dark eyes, the same smile that made his eyes turn into half-moons. He was dressed too well for someone who didn’t like to go out at night.

You stopped walking, feeling glad that you were already hugging your body because you felt like fainting.

Jay slowed to a stop in front of you, catching his breath with a crooked smile. “Wow,” he said, breathlessly. “It’s really you.”

You nodded, managing a polite smile. “Hi.”

There was a pause, one where you just stood in front of him while he practically gawked at you.

“I’ve been meaning to reach out,” he said, scratching a fake itch on his nape. “But you know, life,” he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Right,” you replied, nodding stiffly.

He blinked, like he suddenly remembered something. “I’m getting married,” he blurted.

Your smile didn’t falter—and you were thankful for Mona again, and her wonderful way of predicting things. “I heard,” you said. “Congrats.”

He nodded, his gaze flitting across your face like he was searching for something. Sadness? Regret? “Her name is Lana,” he added. “She’s—she’s different. But she’s great.”

You nodded again, about to tell him that you didn’t want to know. “That’s good. I’m glad for you.”

But he didn’t skip a beat.

“It should’ve been you, though,” he said.

The words punched the air out of your lungs. You almost wanted to register if he’d said another thing and you mistook it for being tipsy.

“What?” you breathed, unable to muster a reaction.

Jay stepped closer, and you almost stepped back, but couldn't trust your body. “I mean, come on. We were great. You know we were. We just—we just weren’t ready.”

You stared at him, blinking and gaping at him like you’d misheard.

“Sometimes I wonder if we gave up too soon. Or if I did.”

Anger flared, quiet but sharp. It made you finally step back. “Listen to yourself—” you gasped. “You’re getting married, Jay.”

“I know,” he laughed nervously. “What a stupid thing to say, right?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were starting to see red. Your chest felt hollow, and you almost wanted to yell at him for not letting you have a moment of peace.

But then he reached for your arm. “I’m sorry,” he said, and you could see the honesty in his eyes. “I just… Seeing you again brought so many memories back.”

You pulled your arm back. “Don’t.”

He blinked, almost confused at your reaction. “What?”

“Don’t tell me it should’ve been me when you already chose someone else,” you said, your voice shaking. “You’re forgetting that it was you who wasn’t ready. Not me.”

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked with a quick pace. Running away from Jay aimlessly. You almost forgot your way back home, but you had to get distance from him.

You made it three blocks away from the park when your chest finally caved in. You reached into your bag, pulling out your phone. And before you could think, you pressed the call button.

You weren’t considering that he might be busy at work. You weren’t thinking at all.

It should’ve been you. The words kept echoing. Each time was more painful than the last.

And each echo also fueled your anger more.

His phone only rang once.

“Hello?”

You closed your eyes. Your voice was barely there. “Hey.”

“Are you okay?” his voice cut through.

The world spun around you, blurs of streetlights and passing strangers, when you opened your eyes again. You staggered towards the nearest bench, sitting down on it.

You bit your bottom lip, squeezing your eyes shut. “I saw him,” you blurted out.

“Who?” he asked, and then a second later he said: “Your ex?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Mingyu sent him an inquisitive look, which Wonwoo dismissed by shaking his head.

Then it was the broken way you uttered the next words that made his whole world stop. “He told me it should’ve been me he’s marrying.”

“Shit,” he hissed, lowering his face so it wouldn’t raise more questions.

“I thought it was over, I really did,” you said, your voice shaking and cracking mid-sentence: “I was having such a good night. But then… god I just feel so stupid right now.”

“Don’t,” he replied, sounding firm and gentle at the same time. “You’re not.”

You remembered the look on Jay’s face, the way he practically ogled at you.

“Where are you right now?” Wonwoo asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You lifted your head, looking at your surroundings. You told him exactly where you were. But then it dawned on you—Wonwoo was working, and you had pretty much just called him on impulse.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed shakily. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Wonwoo lowered his face more, hiding completely from Mingyu’s furtive glances. “I’m glad you called me,” he said. In the distance, he could hear a regular calling for him. “Listen, I have to go, but I’ll call you later, alright?”

“I didn’t mean to pull you away from work,” you sniffled lightly. “I’m sorry.”

Wonwoo was three hours from closing his shift. He couldn’t get away even if he had the means to. He was in charge of the bar tonight. And the bar was bustling with the usual Ladies’ Night activity, there was no way he could just abort the ship.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll get off in three hours. Do you… do you want to meet?”

You sniffled again. “Yeah,” you said, your voice sounding tiny. “Please.”

“I’ll text you when I’m out. Just—” he cut himself off, trying to think of what to say. But he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. “—get home safe, okay?”

You couldn’t ignore the warmth and the gentleness lacing his tone. It made your heart swell. “I will.”

Wonwoo sighed. “I’ll text you as soon as I’m off.”

“Okay,” you replied, ending the call.

And like a remedy, your heart was a little less frantic.

Three hours.

That’s all you had to wait.

But as you lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t find what to do. You couldn’t even find the tears to cry anymore.

Time passed and you didn’t find the strength to move.

It should’ve been you.

You didn’t know why the words stung, but in a way that it just filled you with an unknown rage. You didn’t care about Jay. What he did or didn’t do with his life wasn’t your problem anymore.

Dodged that bullet, you could hear Mona’s words in your head, like a distant echo guiding you through.

The lights were off, the only thing illuminating your studio apartment was the TV, which was playing music videos at low volume. You were ignoring it, incapable of paying attention to anything else.

Your mind was cluttered with heavy, and dark thoughts. They pulled you away and deeper into the jaws of the monster that was your inner voice at that moment. You felt bad, but not at what happened, but at the thing you were turning into.

You weren’t enough for one man.

Then you were the temporary fix of another.

And now, you were using another man to get by.

No, that isn’t what you were doing, the lighter voice inside you tried to reason.

But no matter how you saw it, you couldn’t get rid of the thing eating at your heart, taking full bites, and chewing on it, leaving you bare and vulnerable.

You felt dirty. Hollow.

You wondered when it would stop. You wondered if there would be a day when you felt like you weren’t scared of the silence and the dark of the night. You wondered if the empty space in your bed wouldn’t matter anymore.

Part of you wanted to rage, to feel angry at Jay for ruining such a good night. Maybe you deserved this, maybe you needed a reminder.

You closed your eyes, trying to come back to the surface, trying to distance yourself from that voice that was luring you into parts you thought you had escaped from.

The fuzzy caress from the effects the red wine gave you had long run off. The impulse to get up and search for the bottles you had forgotten in the kitchen cabinet came about your fingers, like an itch you wanted to scratch.

Eyes completely closed, you felt the gentle ebb and flow of the last minutes of your drunken dizziness leaving your body. You sighed.

You ached to feel something.

In the darkness, you saw him. You didn’t want to, not at first.

You stretched out your arms on your bed, relishing in the gentle caress of your covers against your skin. Turning your face against your pillow, you remembered his hands as he cupped your cheeks, kissing you softly, then deeply.

The night Wonwoo spent in your bed had left an echo in you. You didn’t sport the mark he had left on your neck anymore, but you remembered seeing it every day, wishing he had left more, and all over you.

Then you remembered the little sounds he made when he was inside you—the grunts and gasps he emitted through his soft lips. How he delivered each thrust hard and deep, like he wanted to leave a mark.

You bit your bottom lip, sensing something rousing deep inside you. It was too late to stop now, you were falling. You wondered if he had thought of you again after that night.

A tingling feeling rushed beneath your skin, travelling from your face to the apex between your thighs. In your mind, you were seeing him, feeling him. Feeling his mouth on you, licking your inner thighs, kissing, and giving you soft bites.

You exhaled the nervousness inside you, to no avail. You knew it was too late to stop the feeling from blooming at the pit of your tummy.

Your self-control slipped from your hands at the same time that you pulled your knees up, your hand sneaking beneath the band of your sweatpants.

The first caress of your fingertip against your folds made your whole blood surge. You were so wet that you had already pooled in your panties, making you want to feel embarrassed, but the feeling never came.

You dipped two fingers in your entrance, your mouth parting as you tried to remember the feeling of Wonwoo’s dick slipping inside you. You wondered if the dildo you never used would be up to match the length of his cock.

You opened your eyes, slightly startled by the idea.

You turned over your bed, opening the drawer of your nightstand.

There, beneath the faint glow of the TV screen, you saw the bag where you stored your toys—which you remembered were too embarrassed when you initially got them. You opened it, grabbing the dildo that you have perhaps only used just once. You chewed on your bottom lip, looking at it while debating whether to use it or not.

A part of you felt ridiculous—you were just feeling sorry about yourself and now… you’re going to do this?

You pushed the thoughts away when you pressed the button down, bringing it to life with a loud buzzing noise. You didn’t even bother taking your clothes off—just lowered your sweatpants and panties down enough for you to have the space to slide the toy between your pussy lips.

You were dripping wet, smeared all over as the tip of the dildo slid perfectly inside you. Your mouth dropped open, gasping as you pushed the entire thing inside you, feeling its incessant vibrations ripple inside you.

“God,” you sighed, dropping your head back onto your pillow.

You bit your lower lip again, grabbing the toy to pull it back out slowly. The toy wasn’t as big as Wonwoo, but your imagination was running wild now. You remembered how hard and deep he went when he fucked you, how the tip of his cock reached places you didn’t even know existed.

You ached your back, pushing the toy back inside you, searching for that spot in your walls that Wonwoo had found almost effortlessly.

Sometimes when you were alone and just using your fingers, you would get nothing out of the dildo. So you just resorted to teasing your clit and calling it a night.

But now, you let yourself feel it. You allowed your mind to throw memories from the nights when the pleasure was so much that it overwhelmed you. So you saw him, you saw Mingyu—how he used to fuck you with a light grin on his face, knowing that your orgasm would be his.

You lifted your knees, pushing the toy in and out of you, moaning repeatedly. You desperately pushed the button, speeding up the vibrations. The pleasure brimmed instantly, barreling down your spine—but it wasn’t enough.

Then, your mind spun. You were overcome with memories of Wonwoo—the way he breathed against your neck, fitfully, muffling raw moans against your skin. The way he marked you like you were his, the way he pushed inside you, slowly, deeply.

You slowed down, filling your lungs with air as you slipped the toy inside you, enjoying the vibrations massaging your walls. You pushed it back in, slowly, bottoming out on it. In your mind, you saw Wonwoo, you felt him.

You let out a high-pitched cry—it being instantly cut off by a gasp when the orgasm tore through you, rippling down your body. You arched your back, letting the toy pleasure that spot deep inside you, prolong your orgasm.

You were rendered languid, breathless, and taut on your bed. That was until you felt the urge to pull the toy out of you, which you did, turning it off.

Opening your eyes, you stared at the ceiling, contending now with what you saw in your mind’s eye.

You had pleasured yourself thinking about Wonwoo—and Mingyu.

You sat up slowly, pulling your pants up with shaky hands.

Somewhere on your bed covers your phone buzzed. You reached out for it, unlocking the screen to have your heart jolt at the words, “I’m outside” from Wonwoo.

You rubbed a hand against your face. Shame and guilt spread through your face and neck.

Pushing yourself up, you decided to discard the used vibrator inside your drawers and rushed to grant him access to your building.

You tried fixing your hair, still shaking with the aftermath of what you had done.

And when Wonwoo knocked on your door softly, you knew there was something wrong with you. Because the shame vanished, and was replaced by a joyful excitement to see his face again.

“Hey,” Wonwoo breathed, his eyes outlining your face, your body. “How are you?” he asked.

You were reminded why he asked that, why worry was all over the features of his face. “I’m fine,” you mumbled, swiftly bringing a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Wonwoo gasped nervously, but his hands quickly found your waist. “Wait,” he whispered, but was quickly shut up by another kiss from you.

You pulled him closer, your other hand closing the door behind him. “I was thinking about you,” you confessed abruptly, not caring about how you were coming off.

“You were?” he asked, his tone laced with surprise and amusement. He let out a giggle in your mouth, one that sounded almost boyish. “Hold on—please,” he sighed, his body tensing as you ran your hands down his chest.

You stepped back, reality hitting you hard. “I’m sorry,” you blurted, bringing a hand to cover your mouth.

“No, don’t be,” he mumbled.

Then he paused, assessing you with a quick glance and lowering his backpack on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, putting two fingers beneath your chin to lift your face to him. “You don’t want to talk first?”

The light touch of his fingers against your face made your skin tingle. You blinked at him slowly, a short sigh leaving your body involuntarily.

“No,” you swallowed, shaking your head.

Wonwoo lifted his eyebrows. “We’ll talk later?” he asked, his voice was soft and gentle with you.

You had no other choice but to nod. “Yes,” you said, realizing that you indeed wanted to confide in him again—but your body was like a storm that needed to be sated by his touch.

Wonwoo directed a look at you for one second, content with what he found in your eyes. He dipped his head, meeting your lips with his in a swift kiss that had your lips creating a smacking noise. You smiled softly on his lips before kissing him again, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“What were you thinking?” he asked with a rasp, pressing soft kisses on your lips.

His hand switched from your chin to your waist, gently nudging you back. You understood what he wanted, and you staggered backwards, using your hands around him to bring him with you.

You stumbled upon the round table, gasping softly into his mouth when he broke away from your lips. His hand returned to your nape, his fingers tangling around the strands of your hair, and pulling it to tilt your head back.

“Mmn?” he pressed, his voice a mere murmur in your ear as he kissed your earlobe. “You said you were thinking about me.”

You had to bite your lip down to stop the moan from escaping your mouth. His lips were descending on the curve of your neck, kissing down the spot he had marked three nights ago.

Your hands held onto his shoulders, unable to move or to think. His wet lips were reaching your shoulder, caressing your bare skin with his breath as he breathed in your perfume.

A finger hooked around the strap of your tank top, nudging it aside to press his lips on your skin. He kissed each spot so softly that it left tingles on your skin, making it prickle.

“Baby.” He whispered, his voice barely making out a rasp.

“Yeah,” you swallowed, trying to ignore the effect that word coming from his lips had on you. “I was thinking about the other night, what we did…”

“What we did?” he repeated, sounding amused. He pulled back from your shoulder, letting you see the tiny smile playing on his lips.

You pushed his shoulder playfully. “You know what I mean.”

“We did a lot of things the other night,” he said jokingly, the smile not wiping off his face. “Do you mean how you yelled at me, and berated me for being an asshole to you?”

You clicked your tongue, playing his game. “I didn’t berate you,” you rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo was quick, leaning towards you and capturing your lips in a feathery kiss. “Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he said with a raspy tone, pushing your body against the table with his hands on your waist.

You leaned back, unable to push against his kisses which turned from feathery to demanding. His hand snaked from your waist to your neck, his long fingers circling it gently, without pressing any important parts yet.

He pulled you into a long kiss, one that told you that he’d missed you over the course of days and nights of just sticking to chatting on the phone. He moaned softly as his tongue brushed against yours, the sound driving you a little more insane.

Your hands found his hard chest again, feeling his tight muscles, the light outline of his lean abdomen when you slid your palms down, your fingers reaching the hem of his t-shirt.

Wonwoo pulled back, his hand still circling your neck. His dark eyes found yours, looking at you intently. “Were you thinking of doing this?”

You nodded, biting your lower lip. It was hot and wet from his spit. “Yeah,” you sighed, sounding pathetically sweet.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Were you playing with yourself, baby?” he asked.

A shallow breath left through your nose almost involuntarily. The way he used his words made you inch closer to losing what little self-control you had.

“Yeah,” you parroted, your fingers inching closer to the sliver of skin between his belt and the shirt you were trying to hike up.

He gave you a smirk now, but it was sweet, like he found you cute. Using the hand that was on your neck, he pulled you closer to kiss your lips. “Filthy,” he purred softly, brushing your lips with his.

“Wonwoo,” you yelped when his other hand clutched your waist. It was insane to you that he was making you feel so much with so little.

“Please,” you whispered, swallowing hard. “Take me—stop playing, just…” You let out a whiny sound as he started giggling with amusement, as though he still found you cute in your desperation.

“Just what?” he asked, not quite kissing you, but his lips were still so close to yours.

“Fuck me,” you blurted. “Fuck me hard, I don’t care what you do, just do it,” you pleaded, not caring how pathetic you sounded.

Wonwoo gave you a hard kiss, not pulling away from you as he said: “You have a dirty mouth on you,” he said.

You were finding out just how much you liked hearing him talk to you that way. You practically melted against his touch, kissing him again. His hand was still around your neck, while the other searched for the hem of your tank top.

With a strange boldness, you pulled back, grabbing your tank top and hiking it up your torso. You felt his gaze on you as you stripped the tank top off, revealing your bare chest for him.

His gaze darkened, outlining your body like he’d missed it. He bowed his head, giving you a sweet kiss before his hand clutched your waist, pressing his chest against yours.

You gasped in his mouth, feeling his cold fingers dipping onto your soft skin. “Wonwoo, please,” you whispered, breathing hard against him.

He let out an amused sigh. “If I slip my hand in your panties will I find your pussy wet?” he asked, shocking you with the language he used.

“Yes,” you gasped, nearly angling yourself for him.

Wonwoo laughed, wrinkling his nose. “Dirty girl,” he whispered, leaning to touch your forehead with his. “I was also thinking about you,” he confessed.

Your cheeks grew hot. “What were you thinking about?” you asked, your tone whiny and sweet.

His hand circled from your waist, parking on your tummy. “I want to fuck you in front of a mirror one day,” he drawled softly, nearly purring. The tips of his fingers inched closer to the band of your panties. “I want you to see how pretty you look when I’m inside you.”

You nearly moaned, but he quickly shushed you by pressing his lips against yours. His fingers slipped beneath the band of your panties, brushing against your mound. His lips smacked against yours with each kiss he gave you, sighing softly when you moaned.

He pushed his hand further, finding the mess you made while thinking about him. A raw, deep moan vibrated on his chest. “God, baby, you’re dripping,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you moaned, parting your legs more for him, trying to tell him you wanted his fingers inside you.

But he took his time, gently brushing your entrance with the pads of his middle and ring finger. “I was thinking of how good you felt the other night,” he said, his voice barely audible, a gentle purr. “You don’t even know how good you taste, do you?”

You parted your mouth, choking on your own words. You wanted to say yes, you’ve tasted yourself. But every single word you knew slipped from your mind.

Because Wonwoo decided to push his fingers inside you. No warning, no more teasing. He pushed his fingers until you could feel the palm of his hand against your pussy lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, twisting your fingers around the fabric of his t-shirt. “Fuck,” you breathed.

“Were you doing it like this?” he asked, barely pulling his fingers out of you to then push them back in.

“No,” you mumbled.

“No?” he pulled his fingers out, sliding them on your clit as you parted your legs more for him.

You leaned back against the table, pressing your palms on it to support yourself. You shook your head, unable to talk.

“Words,” he reminded you pointedly.

“I used a toy,” you blurted, shame tingling beneath your skin.

His fingers swirled around your clit. “Did it make you cum?”

“Yes,” you breathed, loving the sound of those words coming out of him.

“You think a toy can do it better than me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, heart beating fast at your own boldness.

You were clearly challenging him. You omitted the fact that you had to pretend it was him fucking you instead of a toy. And also, how you were comparing sizes, and that your toy wasn’t enough.

But Wonwoo took the bait.

He grabbed you by the arm, effortlessly moving you to your bed. He pushed you with near carelessness, your back hitting the mattress.

You gasped in surprise, looking at him with an alarming need now. You needed him. You were more than ready for him.

“Take your clothes off,” you said.

Wonwoo tilted his head to one side, arching one eyebrow. “Take them off me,” he bit back.

You sat up, hurriedly taking each item of his clothing. Your fingers fumbled with his belt, distracted by the huge bulge beneath his jeans. And when he was finally undressed, you dared to explore his bare skin with your hands.

He was ready for you. Completely hard and leaking precum for you. You raised your gaze to his face. “I—” you gulped.

He smiled knowingly, pinching your chin.

He moved to the bed, hooking his fingers around the band of your sweats and panties, pulling them down. “Lean back, baby,” he muttered, grabbing you by the hips and helping you part your legs for him.

He wasted no time, pushing his tongue between your pussy lips, giving you a generous stroke with his tongue.

“God, Wonwoo, yes,” you sighed, raking your fingers through his messy hair.

He moaned against your pussy, pushing his fingers inside you again, curving them against your walls.

“Fuck,” you groaned, looking at his face as he pushed it against your cunt.

Wonwoo teased your clit with thorough, open-mouthed kisses. His fingers massaging your walls, dragging his knuckles slowly in and out.

“More,” you blurted with a lewd tone.

He dragged his tongue flat on your clit right before wrapping his lips around it, sucking it lightly. He started plunging his fingers in and out of you, curving them against your walls, against that spot you were itching to find.

“God, Wonwoo,” you gasped, bringing a hand to the back of his head as he ate you out just like the other night.

But he was on a mission now. He was thrusting his fingers in and out of you like he was trying to make you reach your high quickly. And that was easy, you were already shaking, your breathing ragged as you inched closer and closer.

“Oh, fuck, Wonwoo—” you gasped, aware of the lewd sounds coming out from the rapid thrusting of his fingers. But there was another issue—and you knew you were closer to your orgasm, but it felt different. Urgent, and so wet. “Fuck, fuck, stop.”

He detached his mouth from your pussy, pulling out his fingers and looking up at you.

“Wait,” you said, panting embarrassingly loudly. You smiled despite yourself.

Wonwoo sighed amusedly. “Too much?”

You nodded, still breathless. “Please, fuck me,” you sobbed, not caring how pathetic you sounded. “I need you.”

Before he gave you what you wanted, he took his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean off your arousal. You followed him with your gaze as he hovered on top of your body, arms on each side of your head to give you a kiss. You muffled a moan in his mouth, feeling his tongue brushing yours, making you taste yourself.

The act was so lewd that you felt a rush tingling down your spine.

Then got to his knees, positioning his hips between your legs in an upright position. “Where is it?” he asked.

You blinked at him dumbly, but understood after a second. “In my drawer,” you replied, and then you added: “Why?”

He shrugged slightly, reaching to open your drawer. “You said this thing can fuck you better than I can,” he said with ease, examining the dildo you had used, still slick with your mess.

But he pulled out another toy—one you used more frequently because you deemed it to be more effective than the dildo. It was a rose toy. He glanced your way, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You were about to take the toy from his grasp, but he was faster—trapping your wrists with one of his, pinning them above your head.

“Keep them there,” he mumbled, leaning back on his upright position.

Then something happened inside you. You forgot about misbehaving, about taunting him. The darkened look on his face was all you needed to know that you were about to get what you wanted.

He grabbed his cock with one hand, rolling it a few times to smear the precum all over its head. Then, his gaze fell on your body, on your pussy all dripping with your arousal and pink with overstimulation.

He bit down his bottom lip, guiding the tip of his cock down your folds, playing with you. “Wonwoo,” you called with an annoyingly sweet tone. “Stop teasing me and just fuck me already.”

“Grab the railings,” he motioned with the tip of his nose at your headboard. You did what he asked, just as you felt his bulbous cockhead notching at your entrance.

And with no more teasing, no warning at all, he pushed inside you. All in one go, he bottomed out with a pleased sigh.

You let out a mewling sound, closing your eyes tightly to enjoy the sting his cock gave you as it stretched your walls. “Fuck, Wonwoo,” you gasped, trying to urge him to start moving.

But then, he turned the toy on, guiding the centre of it to your swollen clit. The relentless vibrations overwhelmed you instantly. You cried out, feeling another orgasm surge inside you, consuming you quicker than all the other orgasms you’ve had.

Wonwoo started moving his cock inside you with slow, deep thrusts. Still biting his lip, his hair dishevelled, looking at you like he still had something to prove. Maybe because he did—and it was entirely your fault that he’d taken on this challenge.

You moved one hand to take the toy from his grasp, but he slapped it away. “Hands where I left them,” he said.

“It’s too much,” you whined, attempting to reach for his hand once more. “Wonwoo, I just need you.”

“Mmn?” he raised his gaze to your face. “What was that, baby?” he asked with a gentler tone.

“I just need you,” you repeated breathlessly, squeezing your eyes shut to let your tears go. “No toys. Just your cock, just—just…”

You arched your back, writhing on your bed as another orgasm rippled through you, taking over your ability to think and speak. You came so hard that you weren’t able to contain yourself, crying and panting pathetically.

“Oh, baby, look at yourself,” Wonwoo sighed, sounding amused. “You’re wetting the bed.”

“Please, please, please,” you gasped, ignoring the shame boiling in your blood. You pressed the side of your face on your pillow, realizing that it was wet with tears.

“Please, what?”

“Just you,” you mumbled dazedly, blinking at him. “I just need you.”

Wonwoo turned the vibrator off, tossing it aside and grabbing your hips with his hands. He plunged into you, hard and deep, like he was holding himself back earlier. His thrusts were so full, so calculated that they made you forget about the overstimulation you got from the toy.

“God, fuck,” you writhed, grabbing onto the railings again, holding onto them as pleasure brimmed inside you.

“Good girl,” Wonwoo drawled lazily, moving inside you with the same deep and thorough thrusts you tried to emulate with your toy.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him buried inside you—massaging your walls, reaching so deep you felt like cumming again soon. “God, that feels good,” you mewled.

Wonwoo sighed, and you opened your eyes to see his light smile. It did something to you—to see him smiling as he fucked you hard and deep. He looked so hot, his hair was dishevelled, and his glasses were slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah? Better than that toy?” he sighed with a mocking smile, pushing his cock inside your tight cunt.

You nodded dumbly. “So much better,” you admitted. And it was true—nothing could compare to the feeling of having him inside you. Raw, hard, and deep.

Wonwoo gave you a lazy smile, moving his hand to grip your neck lightly. He didn’t press hard, just circled his fingers around your bare neck, as though he just wanted to see how you looked with his hand around you.

And you wondered what you would look like. Wholly naked, legs spread for him, his cock disappearing inside you, tits bouncing gently each time he pushed his hips against you.

He slipped his hand from your neck slightly, brushing his thumb against your lips. “Open up,” he whispered.

You obeyed, parting your lips to suck on his thumb. You rolled your tongue around his thumb, simulating what you wanted to do to his cock, looking straight into his eyes.

“Fuck,” he blinked, swallowing back a moan. He pulled his thumb from your mouth, guiding it between your legs, where he started rubbing slow circles against your swollen and very sensitive clit.

You flinched, overstimulated. “Wonwoo,” you mewled, closing your eyes. “Yes, please, please. Don’t stop.”

And he complied, like his pleasure was not important. He kept his thrusts deep, steady, flicking your clit expertly. You moaned lewdly, enjoying the sweet waves building inside you—readying for another orgasm.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you whined.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbled with a raspy tone. “Cum for me. Give me one more.”

“Wonwoo, fuck,” you sighed, your body tightened, your sanity slipping away. “Please, babe, don’t stop… don’t stop.”

Your jaw went slack, breath catching on your throat with a high-pitch cry as sweet pleasure bloomed inside your body, stretching to every limb, dancing beneath your skin.

Wonwoo moaned, the sound raw and raspy coming from his chest. But you found that he had liked the sound of your voice calling him babe, his light smile told you that much.

He tilted his head back, sighing out in pleasure. “Baby, I’m close,” he purred, swallowing hard.

You nodded to him. “Cum inside me,” you told him.

Wonwoo didn’t remove his gaze from yours, his eyes peering into your soul as he moved his body against yours. A deep moan came out of him, his chapped lips parting softly as he spilled himself inside you.

You were both panting, looking at each other like there was something left unsaid. It was obvious, though, and neither of you needed to speak out.

There was something flowing in the air between you. Electrifying, alluring. You knew Wonwoo knew it too.

You liked Wonwoo. More than you were allowing yourself to admit.

“Hey,” he sighed, his chest still rising and falling steadily.

“Hey,” you replied softly.

“Okay?” He arched his eyebrows.

You nodded. “Amazing,” you replied with a lazy smile.

He returned the smile. “You were so good, babygirl,” he hummed, squeezing your hip gently.

“Hmm,” you hummed sweetly, palming his hand on your hip. “Take a shower with me, yeah?”

He nodded, looking at your hand on top of his. “Yeah,” he said. “And then we talk?”

“We talk,” you agreed.

“What do you usually do to feel better?” Wonwoo asked after stepping out of the shower, using the towel you’d lent him to dry his hair, messily rubbing it against his head.

He was wearing only his boxers, his messy hair dripping wet. He looked like a dream, making it hard for you to concentrate.

You took a long moment to think. “I don’t know,” you admitted with a shrug. “I could say a bunch of different things, but right now I just want to relax. Maybe talking about it will help.”

You opened your drawer, aware that Wonwoo was watching you intently as you spoke.

You pulled out a couple of face masks and two bandanas—one with cat ears, the other with bear ears—and handed him one without a word.

Wonwoo smiled softly, taking the bandana. He looked at it for a long moment before putting it on.

You laughed, reaching out to adjust the cat ears on his head. “There,” you whispered, your eyes drifting back to his face.

“So this is what we’re doing?” he asked, picking up one of the face masks. “Skincare and talking?”

“Yep,” you replied, nodding primly. “And maybe we’ll cuddle later, if I start crying.” You laughed at yourself.

“That sounds like a good plan,” he said.

“Crying sounds good to you?”

Wonwoo opened the package with his long fingers, unfolding the mask carefully. “I mean, it releases toxins, cleans and lubricates the eyes—at least it does for me. Plus, you get a kick of endorphins afterward. Overall, it’s good. Regulates—”

“Wonwoo.” You deadpanned.

“What?” he asked, lifting his face. “Am I talking too much?”

You smiled, your stomach flipping. “You’re cute,” you sighed.

Wonwoo smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” you giggled.

“But seriously, I think it’s better to cry it out.”

“It makes my face puffy,” you said, unfolding your mask.

“So what? You’re still pretty,” he murmured, still struggling with his.

Something fluttered in your chest. “Here, let me,” you said, taking the mask from him and unfolding it, then placing it gently over his face.

His eyes stayed on you. He rested a hand on your hip—almost unconsciously, like he couldn’t keep from touching you. As though he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

“What?” you asked, sensing his gaze.

“I can’t see,” he laughed. “I need my glasses.”

“Oh,” you chuckled. “You could wear them over the mask.”

He pushed his glasses into place, grinning faintly.

You turned to your bed, stopping before it. “Oh,” you uttered, seeing the wet spot on the side of the bed you always used.

“We’ll have to lay on the other side,” Wonwoo said with an ease that made you think this was almost inconsequential to him.

“I could change the covers,” you said, shrugging lightly.

Wonwoo palmed your butt lightly over your clothes. “Or we could rest, baby,” he said gently.

“Yeah…” you sighed, realizing that you were too tired to change the covers.

You lay back against the pillows, reaching for him as he followed you onto the bed.

Wonwoo sighed, wrapping an arm around you. “You okay?” he asked.

You blinked. “I feel like a mess,” you whispered. “Like I’m free-falling.”

“You’re allowed to feel like that,” he said, calm and steady. “You’re someone who got hurt. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Why are you so nice to me?”

He shrugged. “Because you deserve it.”

You didn’t doubt the sincerity in his voice, but part of you couldn’t fully believe it.

“I know I said I was okay earlier,” you murmured. “But I wasn’t. I’m still not.”

“You don’t have to be,” he said softly, reaching for the hand resting on his stomach.

You watched as his fingers played with yours, slow and careful. “I really thought I was doing okay,” you said, voice cracking. “But I realize now that I’m not.”

“You’re still healing,” he murmured. Then, after a beat: “And your ex was an asshole. No one could’ve predicted he’d say something like that.”

You closed your eyes. “He is an asshole,” you agreed. “It’s a good thing I broke up with him. Dodged a bullet.”

Wonwoo hummed, amusement blooming in his chest.

You lay in the peaceful moment for a while, listening to the faint sounds coming from the streets outside. His hand was still holding yours, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered.

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“Do you wish things had happened differently? Between us.”

You felt him turn slightly so he could look at you. And when you moved your head on his chest, you found his gaze on you. Steady, thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he conceded. “But I don’t know if we would’ve ended up here if they hadn’t happened this way.”

You nodded, your gaze falling to his chest. “I just keep thinking… how things started, everything leading up to here…” you said faintly. “I don’t want to mess this up more because of how we started this.”

His thumb brushed gently against your knuckles. “You’re overthinking it, baby,” he whispered. “Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out.”

The gentleness in his voice made your throat tighten. He was giving you the assurance that your soul craved to hear.

You wanted to say something, anything to match the certainty in his voice. But you couldn’t find the words.

You rested your head on his chest again, letting the quiet pulses of his heartbeat reach your ears, filling the silence.

For a while, neither of you spoke. And you continued to search for words to say.

From the beginning, Wonwoo had shown you that he wanted this. That he was choosing you for you. Not because of the things you had to offer, not for your body, or your pain.

You felt seen.

“You make things sound easy,” you mumbled finally, your voice sounding tiny.

Wonwoo let out a soft breath, and you could picture the smile that came with the sound. “I know it’s not easy. I’m just trying to meet you where you are.”

“And where is that, exactly?”

“Somewhere between healing and trying to feel something again,” he answered with a softer tone.

That made you smile. “Sounds about right,” you replied.

Wonwoo shifted slightly, lifting his phone to glance at the screen. “How long are we supposed to have this?” he asked.

Your mind was so clouded that you'd forgotten about the mask completely. “Fifteen minutes.”

“It’s been twenty minutes already,” he said with a light laugh.

“I guess we should take them off,” you replied in kind.

You both sat up slowly, facing him as you peeled the mask from your faces. Wonwoo did the same, his fingers removing his glasses first.

You looked at him, your heart squeezing so hard it tore a giggle from you. “Hold on. You have a little piece stuck to your chin.”

He blinked. “Where?” he asked, lifting his fingers to his face.

“Here,” you whispered, reaching out. Your fingers brushed his skin as you carefully plucked the piece of paper off.

You didn’t pull your hand away, letting it linger. Your eyes met his, and the feeling consuming your heart just intensified, making it beat louder.

You blinked dumbly, moving away from him. In the bathroom again, you threw the facemasks in the bin, ignoring the mirror. You knew what you’d find in your reflection, because you could feel it—the tingling heat on your cheeks, the breathless, dreamy feeling.

When you came back to your bed, Wonwoo was still sitting there, now wearing his glasses. He raised his face, pressing his lips into a smile.

“Wanna cuddle?” you asked, the words flying out of your mouth.

He blinked slowly, the smile stretching on his full lips. “Sure,” he mumbled, laying back on the pillows. You leaned back into him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. Wonwoo wrapped an arm around you again.

The silence came again. But this time you weren’t scared of it, you didn’t feel like running away. You closed your eyes, snuggling closer to his chest.

Wonwoo brought a hand to your head, his fingers going through the strands of your hair with gentle motions. It felt as though he were putting your concerns to rest, calming the thoughts running in circles in your mind.

You’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you did this soundly, nestling in Wonwoo’s safe embrace.

The sound of rain tapping lightly against your windows woke you up. You realized after a beat that you had woken up before your alarm went off.

The soft weight of Wonwoo’s arm around your waist made you keep still. He was still snuggled close to you, his chest pressed to your back. You opened your eyes slowly, blinking away the bleak light filling the room.

You must’ve woken him up, because he stirred behind you. He let out a soft hum, his nose brushing against your hair. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice still heavy with sleep.

“Good morning,” you hummed.

You turned over in his embrace, facing his chest now. You snuggled against his bare skin, using a hand to feel the warmth coming from him.

“Why are you awake?” you whispered.

“I’m hungry,” he mumbled. “Was thinking about where to go to grab breakfast,” he mumbled happily.

You giggled against his chest, circling an arm to hug him too. “What are your options?”

“I don’t have many,” he admitted with a lazy tone, as though he were falling back asleep. “But I know a place I think you’ll like.”

You lifted your head slightly, finding his face. He had his eyes closed, half of his face buried on the pillow. He peeled one open, a smile stretching on his lips when he saw you.

“You drooled in your sleep,” he said as though he’d just remembered it, smiling softly at the memory.

“Stop. No I didn’t,” you sighed, bringing a hand to search your face.

“Yes, you did,” he teased. “Gross,” he said.

“Shut up, Jeon Wonwoo,” you pushed his chest.

But he didn’t even budge. He let out a louder laugh at your feeble attempt. “Make me,” he said.

You planted a hard kiss on his lips. “That’ll do it,” you sighed.

Wonwoo paused, processing what you’d done. He clicked his tongue, grabbing your head. “Come here, you,” he muttered, pressing his lips against yours again, giving you a fuller kiss.

You giggled into his mouth, melting into him completely. He slipped his hand from your cheek to your neck, pressing his lips against yours sweetly. “Let’s go grab breakfast?” he whispered.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Wonwoo?” you teased, your eyes fluttering close as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Yes. I am,” he replied without letting another second pass.

Your heart fluttered, robbing your ability to speak. “Okay,” you breathed. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” he replied in kind, and you realized then, he’d gotten nervous.

You couldn’t help but smile. It was the second time you’d woken up with Wonwoo in your bed. And yet, he was nervous about asking you out.

“You’re too cute,” you whispered.

He smiled, notching the tip of his nose against yours. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” you said.

And Wonwoo was more than happy to oblige.

Mingyu parked a block away from your apartment, letting out a big sigh as he turned the engine off. The entire ride over, he had rehearsed in his mind everything he wanted to tell you. He did this, while knowing that by the time he got to look at your face, he would forget his words.

He remembered the last night he spent at your apartment. His guts twisted when he remembered that look on your face when you opened the door for him. You looked so happy to see him.

Will you look at him the same way?

The nerves were truly eating him alive. But beneath all that, there was something else brewing—something pulling him back. Heavier than guilt and more painful than pride. It was regret, telling him to turn back around.

But he couldn’t live a day longer missing you.

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, exhaling as his fingers raked his long hair back.

“Just do it, Mingyu,” he told himself aloud, sitting alone in Wonwoo’s car. “All you gotta do is ring the buzzer. Talk to her.”

And with that, he climbed out of the car, crossing the street with a pounding heart that could be heard throughout the whole block.

The sky had cleared for once. The rain had stopped about an hour ago, leaving a cold air that felt crisp on his face. He hissed, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he approached your building.

But then he stopped.

You were there. Just outside your apartment building, standing under the awning of the entrance.

But you weren’t alone.

There was a man beside you—taller than you, leaning too close for Mingyu’s liking. His hand brushed your back as you laughed at something he said, your face tilting upward.

Mingyu’s stomach dropped.

Everything happened too fast.

The proximity wasn’t enough for him to discern who the guy was. He was covered, wearing the cap of his hoodie over his head. But that didn’t matter. All he could see was how you looked at the guy.

Mingyu subconsciously took a couple of steps forward, staggering almost. But then he stopped cold, watching the scene happening before him like an outsider.

It was your smile, the distant sound of your laughter, that had stunned him, causing a deep blow to his chest. You didn’t look like the last time he saw you, crying at the bleachers. You looked like someone who had already moved on.

Mingyu couldn’t move. He couldn’t call your name. Just watched as you and the other guy walked slowly down the sidewalk, disappearing down the next corner. Together.

His chest felt hollow.

The words he had memorized were rendered useless, forgotten in the back of his mind. Without thinking, he turned around and walked back to the car.

He was too late.

But despite that, something gnawed at his soul. Something sticky, ugly. It took over him quickly, like fire burning down an entire forest. She’s mine, no one else’s. He thought, aware how crazy his inner voice sounded. But he didn’t care. He was beginning to see red.

She’s mine.

Mine.

☾ author's note: hello, hello! ᨐฅ

this fic journey has ben craaaaaazy!! i was astounded by the amount of you guys that left comments and came to my ask box to share your opinions!! it really warmed up my heart 🥺🩵

it is the first time that one of my series is received like this, i mean that it has a lot of you sharing their opinions and theorizing in the comments section. some of you even had theories that are very close to where the story is going in the future and i was like 👁️👄👁️ truly amazing. wow. thank you!!

you know the drill, if you have something to say, comment it, reblog, give it a like, and my ask box is always open!! 🩵🩵🩵

toodles

☆ READ PART VII! ☆ | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME COFFEE? ♡

#mingyu smut #jeon wonwoo smut #wonwoo smut #mingyu x reader #svthub #ksmutsociety #k vanity #thediamondlifenetwork #seventeen smut #hannieween #ff:wicked games #svt smut #seventeen x reader #kim mingyu x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt x you #mingyu fic

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thesvnandthemooon · 2 months ago

Text

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

a/n: published this on wattpad a while ago. someone said i should upload it here as well so here it is :)

summary: natasha romanoff x married!reader; nat and you used to be in love. now, years later, you're married to a wealthy man and have a daughter with him. will running into natasha change everything? (not the best description but you get the point)

warnings: none (i think)

word count: 4.9k

part 1, part 2, part 3…

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

— THE ART GALLERY —

Nude-colored stilettos hit the concrete, the ground underneath still slightly wet from the rain earlier. Two little feet, clad in white ballet flats, follow. You feel a warm hand slip into yours, tugging lightly.

Nina stares at you, her eyes wide and her hand clutching the little stuffed bear she carries everywhere. Despite being used to this kind of extravagance, she's overwhelmed — and you definitely can't blame her.

A long red carpet stretches out in front of you, leading up to the entrance of the art gallery. People with cameras everywhere, the frenzy of flashing lights and clicking noises enough to irritate you. Sleek entrance doors that are open wide, allowing the chatter of the people inside to waft all the way over to where you're standing.

The large windows of the gallery glow warmly, casting a golden light onto the lush grass surrounding it. It's a modern building, long and almost box-like. Not what you would've picked, but it's not like anyone's asking you anyway.

This is Ethan's dream. It's an investment he made. It's — just like you and the girl holding your hand — more of a status symbol than anything else. Theres not much passion behind this, as its main purpose is to project sophistication and attract alliances among elite circles.

Circles you never wanted to be a part of.

What are you even doing here?

You thank your driver before closing the door of the black sedan, then you crouch down in front of Nina. You smooth her hair down with practiced elegance, catching the look in her eyes.

"It's loud", she states, pulling the teddy to her chest. "Where's daddy?"

"He's inside, honey." You straighten back up, adjusting your silk slip dress. An emerald color, matching the deep forest green of Nina's velvet attire. "You ready?"

"Yes!" She grabs your hand again, suddenly seeming more like the usual, confident child she is. At least someone isn't completely dreading the upcoming few hours, which surely will be spent making pointless smalltalk and eating food you can't even pronounce.

You smile at her, then you take a deep breath. Silently steeling yourself for the evening, you finally make your way up to the entrance.

A few staff members in chic evening attire linger by the door, greeting arriving guests and bowing ever so slightly as they recognize you. You smile, hoping they can't sense how nervous you are. Nina stays close by your side, the soft padding of her feet the only thing that's keeping you grounded in reality right now.

Honestly, part of you doesn't know what you're doing here. You're supporting your husband, sure — but, again, this is his project. You weren't involved in this in the slightest. Hell, you didn't even know about it up until two months ago, when he suddenly confessed to buying this building in the heart of Tribeca.

You were confused, as you couldn't believe he'd keep this a secret for so long. It's a big investment, after all, and you thought he'd include you in something like this.

As always, his response was defensive; it was the usual shtick of "it's my money and I'm allowed to do what I want with it and you don't care about my work anyway" — something you've heard too many times. You eventually decided to drop it, finding that an argument at 6 in the morning would be pointless and only lead to more issues.

What you're seeing now is the outcome of his idea to invest in something that's even more extravagant than his luxury condos in Manhattan.

White walls and high ceilings, a clean and polished interior. Spotlights highlight the artwork — large-scale abstract paintings, photographs of New York landmarks taken at unique angles, vibrant pop art pieces.

Nina's eyes are even wider than yours. She starts bouncing on the spot, her hand squeezing yours.

"Mommy, mommy! A bear!"

Of course. That damned bear painting, displayed right at the beginning of the main wall. It's there because of Nina, because he desperately wanted to tell everyone how he kept his daughter's favorite emotional support toy in mind for this. It's both cute and infuriating, because you're well aware that your child would rather see her dad than some abstract piece of art that vaguely reminded him of that stuffed animal.

"Looks like Bearie, hm?", you reply, gently coaxing her further into the room. You're trying to get away from all the prying eyes. You're sure you've been recognized by now.

"Yes! But it's pink. Why is it pink? Bearie isn't pink."

"No, he isn't." You shake some older woman's hand, offering her a polite smile.

Nina keeps chattering happily, taking in all the sensations around her. Classical music floating from hidden speakers, the guests — a predictable assortment of New York's elite — all dressed in tailored suits and couture dresses. The laugher is quiet but rich, as expected; you don't hear a single genuine sound apart from your daughter's little voice.

"Mommy, look! It's shiny", she whispers with a small gasp, pointing at a twisting metal piece that's catching the light just right. She's enchanted by the sculpture. At least someone here is genuinely interested in art.

"Good observation, bug", you whisper back, gently nudging her further into the room.

Unbeknownst to you, a familiar redhead stands at the far edge of the gallery, her back to the crowd and her eyes scanning over the art displayed in front of her.

. . .

Ethan places his hand on your lower back, a gesture that feels like it's rather about keeping you at a distance than having you close. Nina reaches for his sleeve, pulling at it.

"Daddy? Can we-"

"Honey, I'm talking", he says firmly, briefly touching her hair before straightening up again. In front of you is a man who's (apparently) quite important. Richard Harrington, a renowned art collector and critic, balding and in his late 60s. "Mr. Harrington, I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Y/N, and our daughter Nina."

"Pleasure to meet you", you say dutifully, shaking his hand. Nina just stares at him, slowly beginning to hide behind your leg.

"Likewise." Harrington glances at your child, who's clearly not fond of him. He clears his throat, plastering a small smile on his face. "I trust Ethan has been keeping you well acquainted with the art world?"

"Of course", you say politely, giving a short nod. You glance at Nina as her hand twitches in your grasp, her patience clearly waning. She's a child — environments like this one, forced and restricted, are the furthest from what fits her spirit. "Just a moment, sweetheart."

Nina huffs, giving the man another last, scrutinizing glare. Her hand slips out of yours during a short moment of carelessness — you're too focused on appearing both friendly and charming, trying to make this Harrington-guy think you're some picture-perfect family.

Then you realize that the warmth of your daughter's hand has gone missing from yours. Starting to panic, your eyes immediately sweep across the room. It's not that big of a building, but it's dark outside, and you really don't want to lose her in this flock of people. Thankfully, you manage to catch a peek of her velvet dress as it disappears behind a corner.

"Sorry, she- she loves art a little too much for her own good", you apologize, stepping away from your husband and the art mogul. Ethan clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

"Kids, you know", he says, smiling stiffly, as you've already started to go and catch up to your daughter.

Nina has always been a little artist. She carries crayons and small notepads wherever she can, drawing random stuff while sitting in the back of the car or while waiting for her food in restaurants. She'll stop whenever she sees a sculptures, asking increasingly specific questions until you're on the verge of despair. Her drawers are filled with 'art supplies' — leaves, buttons, washi tape — and the walls of her bedroom are full of her drawings. Her love for everything creative is the only reason why you appreciate your husband's decision to invest in this gallery.

Her eyes get stuck on the painting that a woman with red hair is looking at. Nina chews on her lip as she sees the info panel underneath, the amount of letters too overwhelming for her not even four year old brain to string together into words yet. She swiftly grabs the hand of the woman next to her, deep green eyes meeting her own.

For a moment, Natasha feels like she's looking at someone she met in what feels like another life. The same features, the same eyes, the same little frown on her face. So sweet, so familiar, digging up memories that she buried years ago.

Beneath the soft spotlights, Natasha's face is framed in surprise. Something vulnerable flickers through her eyes as she studies the child. She masks her surprise fairly quickly, but she still feels taken aback.

"Miss? Can you read this for me?" Then, sounding hopeful, the girl adds: "Please?"

Natasha nods, crouching down next to the child without thinking twice. This is surely a coincidence, she thinks, glancing over her shoulder. Then her eyes skim over the short text printed on the info panel, her hand still holding the girl's absentmindedly.

"It's called 'Whispers of the Wind'", she reads aloud, her usual detached tone softened. "Painted by an artist named Ciara Han. It's supposed to remind you of the sound trees make when the wind moves through them."

Nina smiles at her and Natasha feels herself falter once more. She knows that smile.

No, correction: knew. She knew that smile.

"Thank you!", Nina whispers like she's sharing a secret, still refusing to let go of the woman's hand. She has no clue who she is, but she was nice enough to read the info panel to her, and to her toddler-brain that automatically means she's a friend.

"You're welcome. But you shouldn't go walking around talking to strangers", Natasha says gently, her eyes filled with concern. "Where's your-"

"There you are!" You hurry over, breathless and apologetic, and put your hands on Nina's shoulders. The little girl looks up at you, only now letting go of the woman's hand. "You can't just wander off like that", you chide softly.

Ready to apologize to the woman next to your daughter, you look up from the child's face.

Nothing could have prepared either of you for this moment.

The eye contact sucks you back into a past you believed to be long buried, one you'd rather forget. Your breath hitches, her mask crumbles. Raw emotions, brief as the flicker of a candle, both of you too stunned to say something at first.

"Natasha", you finally say, still looking like you've just seen a ghost.

"It's been a while", she replies simply, straightening up. Navy blazer and a matching skirt, high heels that accentuate her calves. Red lips, red hair. Effortlessly stunning, as always.

You clear your throat, looking at Nina to distract yourself. "This, uhm- this is my daughter."

Nina looks back at Natasha, whose name she now knows. "Are you and my mommy friends?"

"Something like that."

You shoot her a small, bittersweet smile, gently tugging Nina to your side. "Didn't think you'd be into art, if I'm being honest."

Natasha smiles slightly, glancing at the row of paintings next to you. Han's 'Whispers of the Wind', Kozlova's 'Boundless Skies', Monroe's 'In the Absence of Time'.

No, she isn't into art. Never really has been, if she's being honest — she enjoys literature much more. A good book, maybe. That's her thing. She can't tell you why she's actually here, though.

"Didn't think you'd be, either", Natasha says, loosely clasping her hands together.

"I'm not", you admit, causing Nina to give you an offended look. "This art gallery? It's my husband's, actually. I'm just here to...support him, you know."

All of a sudden, it's like someone turned on a light switch in Natasha's head. A look of realization crosses her face. Y/N Bailey, wife of investment banker Ethan Bailey — she'd skipped that part carelessly, not deeming it of any significance. The name had been familiar, but the surname was enough to make her forget about it.

Now, she feels stupid for not checking.

"Right", she says slowly, looking at Nina again. Her eyes soften. "She seems to like it quite a bit, though."

"I know." You glance at your daughter, remembering how you found her; next to a crouching Natasha, listening to her as she read the info panel to her. "By the way, did you say thank you?"

"I said thank you." Nina nods earnestly. Natasha and you smile simultaneously, your eyes locking. Then, short lived lightheartedness of the moment vanishes like smoke.

You chastise yourself for even beginning to think that it's nice to see her again.

"Well, I'm not going to hold you up any longer. Enjoy your evening."

"You too", you say quietly, making your daughter look at you with a puzzled expression.

. . .

— BEHIND CLOSED DOORS —

Your days have been the same ever since Nina was born. More or less, anyways.

Coffee and checking the news while your daughter's asleep. Time that feels hollow, spent alone since Ethan leaves an hour before you wake up. You've convinced yourself that you're used to it, that it'll change eventually. He loves you, you love him — one day, you won't feel as lost as you do right now. All you've got to do is push through and fight for this.

Next on the agenda: showering. Waking Nina up and getting her ready for the day. Breakfast together, then driving her to preschool.

You miss her as soon as you're back in the car, her seat now empty. She'll be gone for the next few hours, which means that the hardest part of your day is about to start.

You'll do anything to kill time — go grocery shopping, do the laundry, make sure the house is nice and clean. You never envisioned yourself as a stay-at-home wife (and sometimes, you can't believe that this term is very much accurate now, whether you want to admit it or not), but here you are. Cleaning, picking up things for Ethan, doing stuff around the house.

You feel pathetic for despising a life you willingly chose. Guilt is a constant visitor, dwelling in your mind like an annoying little fly you can't shoo out of the house. Worst of all: you feel like Nina deserves better. You try your hardest to be the mom she deserves, but you can't help but feel like you're failing her in ways you can't quite put into words.

Frustrated, you buckle up and start the car. There's a sense of silent camaraderie as all the parents (mostly moms, of course) finally start to empty the parking lot in front of the preschool. Some of them are going to work, others are spending the day like you.

Despite the fact that you're not that different all, you still feel like a complete outsider.

You turn up the music as you continue driving without a specific location in mind. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel anxiously, betraying your quiet humming. Self-soothing never really worked for you.

Without your consent, your mind starts conjuring up images from last night. One thing they all have in common is Natasha.

You haven't seen her in so long. Six years, maybe even seven, have passed since your breakup. You spent all that time forgetting what you had, tucking it away so it's safe and sound, trying to get over her.

You are over her, aren't you?

You love Ethan, after all. You married him — the ring on your left hand is proof of that — and even had a child with him. He's everything you could desire in a person, but he's also nothing you ever wanted.

Sometimes, you have the feeling that you fell in love with an idea rather than the man himself. He's hard-working, ambitious, with a keen eye for prestige and profit. You secretly believe he thinks of his marriage to you as yet another achievement, something that looks good on paper. And while he does love Nina, it's also obvious that he just doesn't enjoy being a father the way you hoped he would.

Wealth, luxury, status — a family, held together by money and responsibility. Just thinking about it makes your skin crawl, especially when you remember how different it was with Natasha.

Natasha wasn't easy, and neither were you, but it was real. It was genuine affection, quiet understanding, raw love — soft and sweet and haunting.

There's a reason why it took you so many years to forget — and all it took was running into her for you to remember it all.

You look up, realizing where you've been driving. You slow down, your heart hammering, your eyebrows knitting in confusion.

The Avengers Tower looks different. The logo is gone, replaced by the words Stark Industries — glowing in neon lights, of course — and the building in general has changed. The logo, the sleek design, the parking lot where you once saw the Quinjet come and go.

Your stomach drops. You can't resist the temptation to pull over, so you do just that. Your fingers shake as you unbuckle, then you hesitantly get out of the car to confirm what you just saw.

The Avengers are gone. They've moved, moved on, moved to god knows where, a location you can't even begin to guess. You didn't keep in touch, you let the distance grow, and now there's no way for you to find Natasha.

Stop. You blink a few times, shaking your head and mentally slamming your foot down on the brakes. Your thoughts have taken an unwelcome turn, a dangerous one at that. You shouldn't mourn something that slipped from your fingertips years ago, not when you've finally settled into your own life.

Natasha isn't your reality anymore. She's your past — which is something no one will ever be able to take from you —, but nothing more.

The leather of the driver's seat is still warm when you sit down, but the hollow feeling in your chest won't leave.

. . .

"Look, mommy."

Nina is standing in front of you, holding out yet another drawing. You put the folded jeans aside before gently taking it from her, making sure not to accidentally crease the paper. The last time that happened, it ended with her throwing a tantrum.

"Wow, that's amazing", you praise her, still inspecting the drawing. It's your parental duty to commend every piece of art she hands you, but you're also genuinely impressed. The castle she drew is surprisingly realistic, at least if you consider the fact that she's not even four years old. "You even added a princess!"

"That's Rapunzel", she explains, her finger lightly poking at the blonde-haired figure. She even remembered to add that signature long braid. "Can I show daddy?"

You hesitate, passing the drawing back to her. "Daddy's working, honey."

"Please?", she begs, pouting. "I be quick."

"You'll be quick, huh?" You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. You feel bad for her — Ethan came home early, but immediately disappeared into his office. He did hug the girl right after arriving, but even that seemed hurried. "Alright, fine. Come here."

You get off the couch and scoop her up, carrying her out of the living room. You walk up the two steps that lead to the small landing, then you turn to access the main part of the staircase. Clean, minimalistic hallways that feel almost sterile, a stark contrast to the homey feel of the living area downstairs. Maybe that's the reason why your husband spends most of his time up here.

You open the door to his office, just barely catching a glimpse of him shutting down his computer rapidly. He swivels around in his desk chair, trying to appear unfazed.

"You didn't knock."

You frown, setting Nina down on the floor. She pads over to him, waving the drawing in front of his face. He glances at it, making a halfhearted sound of approval.

"I need to knock?", you finally ask, slightly disbelieving. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm working", Ethan promptly replies, patting Nina's head before nudging her back in your direction. She huffs quietly, reaching out her arms for you. You set her on your hip, your jaw clenching as Ethan continues. "You can't just burst in like that. What if I had been in a Zoom meeting?"

"Were you?", you probe, shifting your hold on your daughter.

"Does it matter?!"

"Yes, it-" You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. No fighting in front of the kid, you remind yourself — begrudgingly. "You know what? It doesn't matter, Ethan. It really doesn't."

He watches you, his lips set in a thin line. He contemplates what to say now, how to end this short argument without riling you up further.

You raise your eyebrows, still waiting. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and ruffling up his hair.

"I'll be downstairs in ten. Maybe we can watch a movie together?"

Nina's eyes widen when she hears that, oblivious to the fact that it's just a strategy to appease you. She quickly taps your shoulder. "Oh, Tangled! Mommy, please Tangled?"

You look at her and smile, your eyes softening. You feel bad that you're even thinking this, but you can't help yourself: thank god she didn't turn out to be like him.

"Sure, honey." You turn around and leave, your voice slowly turning muffled as you go downstairs. "Help me with the popcorn?"

. . .

— IN PLAIN SIGHT —

Natasha adjusts her earrings, her eyes locking on the silver jewelry through the mirror. She reaches for some lipstick — a more natural shade, one that doesn't stand out as much — and slides on a pair of glasses.

Her bag is just full enough to not raise suspicion. A taser, miniature bugs, a parabolic microphone, USB sticks and a multi-tool lock pick set. A compact mirror and smoke pellets, a customized phone — voice modulator and spoofing app included — and a cable launcher.

Does she feel bad? Only mildly.

Only because of your connection to all of this.

Still, she can't let old feelings and sentimentality stand in the way of this. People are getting hurt, whether he wants to admit it to himself or not. He's not the one who's pulling the strings, but he's financing it.

Natasha steps out of the car, inspecting the sleek office building in front of her. High-end, in the middle of Manhattan's financial district.

Her high heels clack on the polished floors of the lobby, her manicured hands keep a tight grasp on the clipboard in front of her chest. The elderly receptionist is too distracted to pay her much attention, so she swiftly dips into the elevator, joining a group of middle-aged men.

Natasha faces the doors of the elevator, her ears picking apart every detail of the men's quiet conversation. Nothing about an Ethan or Mr. Bailey, nothing that could be of use.

The elevator dings when it arrives on the floor where Bailey's office is located. She steps out, moving through the hallways with a confident elegance that makes it seem like she belongs here. Just another coworker that's on her way to start a day filled with issuing stocks and bonding shares, making rich companies even more money.

A name tag tells her that she's found what she's looking for. She hides behind a corner, pulls out her phone and matches her phone number to the lobby desk. Finally, she dials Ethan's number.

He picks up, his voice slightly irritated after he saw who's calling. "Bailey here. What is it?"

"Mr. Bailey", Natasha says, her professional tone mimicking the receptionist's perfectly. "There's a delivery for you in the lobby. The courier insists on handing it over personally."

"Is that really necessary? I'm busy."

Natasha rolls her eyes. "It won't take long. They said it's important. Something about a painting?"

"Right, right. I'll be there in a minute."

She can hear him jump up, the door to his office suddenly opening as the phone call ends. Footsteps make their way down the hall, turning quieter until they entirely stop. The elevator doors slide open with a soft 'whoosh', confirming his current absence.

Natasha puts the phone away, then she makes a beeline for his office. Door's open — how careless.

She slips inside, her eyes immediately scanning the office. It looks like straight out of a catalogue. Extremely clean, apart from his desk which is littered with files and documents. A single, lonely plant in the corner, one family picture right next to his computer. Nina's much smaller in it, maybe a year old, but you're the same.

Aside from that, nothing personal. Nothing Nina made in preschool, no drawings, no souvenirs or trinkets. It's cold, but that's not surprising.

She turns away, discreetly planting a listening device under the desk. A micro camera is hidden between the leaves of the plant, placed strategically so he won't find it even when watering it.

Natasha doesn't have much time. Getting to the lobby, asking for the courier, and then getting back in the elevator will take approximately three minutes. She quickly plugs a portable hacking device into his computer. It bypasses the encryption and starts downloading files as she simultaneously takes pictures of the documents on his desk.

Financial ledgers, contracts, and a suspicious invoice from a shipping company. She wants to take a better look at it, but the device has finished downloading data, so she unplugs it and starts cleaning up. She leaves the office, waits for Ethan to return, and then makes her way into the lobby again.

The elevator doors shut at the exact moment you close the car door.

One hand holding Nina's and the other carrying a white paper bag, you make your way into the lobby. Natasha spots you and quickly hides behind a corner, watching you through her compact mirror. The last thing she needs now is for you to spot her and blow her cover.

"Hey, Erica. Can you watch her for a moment?"

The receptionist nods, smiling at Nina. This is a regular occurrence by now — you'll come by to bring Ethan something, and Nina will stay in the lobby to avoid getting too distracted by her father. If she sees him, you know it'll be hard to leave.

"Be good for Miss Erica, okay? Mommy won't take long", you promise her, letting her sit down on the chair next to Erica's. Nina holds onto her bear tightly, her eyes immediately zeroing in on a sticky note that's barely clinging to the frame of the computer.

You go into the elevator, pressing the button to Ethan's office. Natasha makes sure the doors have closed, then she steps out of her hiding spot. She weaves through the lobby unnoticed — until a little voice cuts through the air.

"Hey! Hey, mommy's friend!"

Natasha freezes.

Fuck. She didn't think about your daughter, or that she would recognize her. She especially didn't think she'd bother enough to come over and greet her with a wide smile on her face.

Slowly, she turns around. Nina has already padded over, her eyes wide and her excitement impossible to miss. One hand clutches her stuffed bear, the other tugs at Natasha's arm.

"Hey, kiddo", she says, briefly glancing up as Erica approaches them.

"Do you know her, sweetheart?", the receptionist asks, studying Natasha carefully. She hasn't seen this woman before, so Nina's ecstatic reaction makes her feel on guard.

"She's Natasha. She's my mommy's friend!"

Natasha directs a slightly helpless look at the receptionist before crouching down in front of Nina. She tries to calm the girl down, not wanting to attract more attention than necessary. She should be annoyed that the child decided to just run up to her and make everyone aware of her presence, but she can't help but be softened by the smile on the girl's face.

"Yes, I'm your mommy's friend", she says, trying to politely disengage. "But I have to leave, honey. I have an appointment. You know what an appointment is?"

"I do." Nina nods, still holding on to her sleeve. Natasha takes a fleeting look at the elevator again, ensuring you're still upstairs.

"Good, you're smart." Natasha smiles, not hearing the elevator doors slide open. "I have an appointment soon, so I have to hurry. Be nice and wait for your mommy, okay?"

You step into the lobby without Natasha noticing, a frown forming on your face as you realize Nina isn't in her spot by the reception desk anymore. Your eyes sweep across the room — and then you see her. It gives you a sense of deja vu, seeing a crouching Natasha next to your daughter.

First the art gallery, now this. What is going on?

You hurry over without dwelling on the thought too much, a wary look on your face. Her eyes zero in on your boots, slowly trailing up your body until her gaze meets yours.

"Natasha?"

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #x reader #fanfic #wlw #marvel #fluff #light angst #moon’s fics

323 notes · View notes

pucking-rowdy · 2 months ago

Text

[2.9k]

blowing smoke (1/?)

pairing: luke hughes x childhood best friend!reader, ethan edwards x fem!reader summary: things have never changed since knowing luke. a quiet shift in your dynamic has you falling into the arms of his teammate, much to luke's dismay. now you have to decide which one you want more. ethan or luke?

warnings: underage drinking, drunk dry humping notes: this part is pretty ethan heavy, but trust luke will get some love soon!! luke hughes stop being a dummy ur in love with ur best friend

part two | part three

unedited

the smell of the lake house never changed. in your nearly twelve years of being invited up during the warm, michigan summers, the smell never changed. the smell of sunscreen lingering from ellen hughes' attempts to save you from the pains of sun exposure. the smell of hotdogs singeing on the grill as jim got distracted by whatever game was playing on the tv. the smell of jack's overwhelming cologne that he swore "got the ladies going," whatever that means.

of course, now, at nearly twenty, there was no ellen chasing you and the boys around with a can of spf 50, quinn was the culprit of burnt hotdogs, and jack's cologne offended your nostrils more than ever. nevertheless, nothing changed.

luke hughes had been your best friend since the first grade. he was a quiet kid, smaller than most of the other boys in your grade, and he generally had trouble making friends. that was until you, as rambunctious and loud as a seven-year-old could be, found him crying under the playground slide, nursing a scraped knee. you had walked him to the nurse's office, hushing his fears with solemn swears to never leave his side, your pinky wrapped around his in oath. of course, you held true to your promise, arguing with the nurse as she attempted to send you back to class because you were nothing if not a pinky promise keeper.

after that day, luke remained glued to your side. he followed wherever you'd lead.

middle school was no different. you'd spend your evenings and weekends at the hughes' house, teaming up against jack and quinn for a game of mini sticks in the basement, or at the rink, tucked under a blanket with ellen hughes as you watched the boys play.

things didn't change. even now, enrolled at umich, you spent your evenings and weekends at the hockey house, teaming up against adam and mark for a game of beer pong, or at the rink, tucked under a blanket with some of your girls as you watched the guys on the ice.

of course, luke was a bit different now. he'd hit a growth spurt in high school, sending him heads above you. he was a bit thicker now, gaining muscle from all his time spent prepping for hockey season. he was still quiet, but he didn't struggle to make friends. people seemed to flock to him, whether it be for his nhl star brothers or that quiet charm he seemed to possess.

the lake house is alive with energy as everyone scatters about. so many friends had tagged along this year that you were starting to lose track. quinn had opted to bring some of his buddies from vancouver, jack, as always, invited trevor, cole, and alex along, and you and luke invited some of the umich boys, as well as your good friend, emma.

you're snapped out of your thoughts as the backdoor slams and ethan edwards dramatically drops the cooler he'd been carrying onto the deck. he wipes a bead of sweat from his face, panting.

ethan was one of your closest friends. you'd met through luke, of course, and hit it off almost immediately. if you weren't with luke, there was a good chance you'd be with ethan.

"man, if only i had someone to help me carry this down to the dock," he gives an exaggerated sigh, glancing over at you. you bite back a grin, staying quiet. he continues, "you know, someone really kind and helpful, and lowkey kinda hot-"

you laugh, cutting him off, "alright, alright. i get it. you get that side, i'll get this one."

as you grab the handle, ethan lets out a dramatic sigh of relief, "god, you're the best. i could kiss you on the mouth."

you snort, huffing as you pick up the cooler, "don't."

ethan grins and nods, "yes ma'am."

you make it halfway to the docks before a hand lands on your back, snatching your side of the cooler. you let out a breath, wringing out your hand from the ache of the heavy cooler.

"i got it," luke grins down at you, an easy smile that has you matching it immediately, your stomach turning in unfamiliar knots.

you huff in faux exasperation, but the grin on your face gives you away, "i had that."

luke nods, "i know, but now i've got it."

he eyes your hoodie and shorts, a soft frown pulling at his lips. "you know quinn said if we weren't ready by ten, he was leaving us on the dock."

you shoot him a look, "no, he said if you weren't ready. quinn wouldn't leave me, i'm his favorite." luke huffs, hip bumping you. ethan sighs, struggling to keep hold of the cooler.

"yeah, yeah. we get it. you're the golden child. now, if we don't get this cooler down to the dock, my arm is gonna fall off."

﹌

the boat is crowded. even with a few of the boys staying back at the house, you can't find anywhere to sit that doesn't make you feel smushed between two hockey players. finally, getting tired of watching you roam, jack pulls you down between him and luke right as quinn starts up the engine. you huff, your thighs sticky as they're trapped between the brothers'. jack's cologne floods your senses, and you make a mental note to buy him something more tolerable for christmas this year.

eventually, the boat lulls at mid-lake and the boys filter out, doing flips and tricks off the sides and into the cool water. you strip your shirt off, moving to the back of the boat to lay out across the seats for a bit.

you're half-conscious, the sun beating down on your back as you listen to the boys mess around in the water. you jump at the feeling of water droplets hitting your back and huff as you're casted in shadow.

as you glance up, you're greeting by ethan's wide grin. his hair, soaked with lake water, drips onto your back. "you're blocking my sun."

ethan just laughs, "why aren't you in the water? we're gonna play chicken."

you hum, letting your eyes flutter shut. "just wanna lay here."

ethan's quiet. he nods, moving to cram in next to you. you huff, scooting over, "what're you doing?"

he waves off some of the guys who are asking if he's playing before turning back to you. "laying with you," he says it as if it's the most casual thing in the world, as if your ass isn't pressed right up against him in the tight squeeze of the boat seats.

you give him a look, "i thought you were playing chicken?" ethan shrugs and the movement of his shoulders causes your arms to move as well. "i don't have a partner."

you laugh, nodding over to the boy perched on the side of the boat, "trevor could've been your partner."

ethan laughs, "zegras is cool, but i don't think i want his legs around my head."

you bark out a laugh and ethan does too. "around your head? i don't think you're playing chicken right."

"hey, do you wanna-" luke stops, his eyes flickering between you and ethan. his eyebrows draw together as he analyzes the way you're pressed together in tight boat seats. "oh, uh, nevermind. you look...busy."

you sit up a bit, straightening your top, "what's up, lukey?"

he grimaces a bit. "i was gonna ask you to be my partner, but it's all good. i'll ask emma." you ignore the way your chest grows tight at the thought of your friend perched on luke's shoulders, his strong hands wrapped around her thighs and her hands tangled into his curls as she fights for balance. you swallow thickly, nodding. "oh, yeah, okay."

he heads off, a bit quicker than needed, and you lay back down with ethan. he frowns, noting your odd expression, "you good?"

you nod, turning to face ethan as you attempt to drown out emma's squeals and luke's loud laughter.

﹌

the rest of your time at the lake house seems to be spent similarly. it seems that every time you go looking for luke, he's wrapped up in emma. he saves her a seat on the boat, your seat. he helps her practice her swing at the golf course. hell, he even helps her to bed one night after she's had too much to drink.

to make matters worse, emma comes to you, giggling and gossiping about how nice luke is, how much she likes him.

to soothe the ache in your heart that comes with missing your best friend, you latch onto ethan, spending most of your days in his company. it's not like he minds, the contrary, in fact. he eats up the attention. just like luke, he's saving you a seat on the boat, helping you practice your swing, and refilling your drink when it's empty.

the summer comes to an end all too soon. quinn and his friends return to vancouver, jack returns to jersey, and you and your friends return to umich for a brand new semester.

it's a welcome return, and you're optimistic that being back in ann arbour will heal whatever awkwardness is festering between you and luke.

the hockey house is different than the lake house. it's loud and rowdy, whereas the lake house aways emits a sense of peace and comfort. it's a mess and frat-like. you don't dare slip your shoes off until you're in the comfort of someone's bedroom.

nevertheless, it's become a second home, an escape from the cramped dorm-life you've grown to resent. you've never felt unwelcome there, often heading over to hang out whether luke was home or not.

this time, rather than being perched in luke's bed, watching him study plays or notes, you find yourself tucked away in ethan's. there's a respectful amount of distance between you as ethan scrolls through movies on the tv. despite being attached at the hip, you'd kept everything relatively platonic. ethan didn't make any moves, which you couldn't tell if you were grateful for or not.

ethan speaks up, breaking the quiet, "you're coming to the party on friday, yeah?"

"i didn't know you guys were throwing this weekend."

ethan finally glances over at you, bewildered. "luke didn't tell you?"

you wince.

"we haven't really..." you trail off, avoiding his gaze. ethan nods slowly, letting out a soft "oh." he doesn't push the subject, which you mentally thank him for.

"well, yeah. you should come. won't be much of a party without you."

you snort. "what? so i can keep the corner company?"

ethan sends you a light glare, "hey, you're our best mixologist. don't make me put mark on drinks duty." you giggle, cringing at the thought of whatever concoction mark would come up with.

"seriously. you should come. for the good of the community. "

you sigh, hesitating. the pleading look in his eyes makes the decision for you. "yeah, okay. i'll get here early and help set up."

ethan grins, slinging an arm over your shoulder and tugging you into his side, pressing play on the cheesy romcom he's picked, "you're a dream."

he doesn't let you go, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head as you engross yourselves in the movie.

﹌

you push your way through the crowd of bodies, letting out a breath of relief as you make it to the kitchen. the music booms and blares from the large speakers dylan had rented earlier that day. you pour yourself another drink, lighting up as ethan wanders into the kitchen.

"eddy!" you cheer, slinging your arms around him. your drink sloshes and spills a little down his back. he grimaces, but doesn't say anything, grinning down at you.

"oh, you're drunk."

you nod, handing him a drink, "and you need to catch up."

it's not long before you're both plastered, grinding to the music that's blaring through the living room. ethan's hands are snug on your waist as your ass pushes back against him. across the room, luke watches, an ache in his chest. his arm is wrapped tight around emma's shoulders. the rest of the guys around him laugh and jest. "eddy finally got her, huh?" mark grins, watching the two of you dance. luke stiffens, his expression unreadable as he gives a jerky nod.

luke knew of ethan's crush on you. it'd been obvious since the day he introduced you, and ethan had never made any move to deny it. but watching you reciprocate his wander touches made his stomach churn.

ethan's voice is low as he mumbles in your ear, "upstairs?"

you eagerly nod, letting him pull you through the crowds of people and up to his room. ethan tugs you inside, shutting the door and locking it. you quickly push him to sit at the edge of his bed, straddling his lap.

ethan's head tilts back as you straddle him and he lets out a breathy groan. "god," he mumbles, "wanted this for so long."

you giggle, your hands tangling in his brown hair as you tug his lips down to meet yours in a messy, drunk kiss. ethan groans into your lips, his hands finding your hips. his tongue slips into your mouth, fighting with yours.

you shift, accidentally grinding against his lap. ethan freezes, letting out a strained moan. "fuck, you can't just-" his words are cut off by another groan as you rock your hips again, testing the waters.

you both pull back, eyeing each other as you pant. you lightly tug the hem of his shirt, a questioning look in your eyes. ethan nods, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it away. it's your turn to groan, your nails raking down his defined chest. it's not an unfamiliar sight, but it's one you've never seen in this sort of context.

his hands guide your hips again and you let out a soft moan as the fabric of his jeans catches just right beneath your skirt. you hold your arms up, letting ethan slide your top off. he swears under his breath, his eyes glued to mounds peaking out of your black, lacy bra.

he mumbles, sliding you along his lap, "fuck, you're so gorgeous."

you whine, your hands finding the button of his jeans, "ethan, please."

he nods shakily, unbuttoning his pants and lifting his hips as you tug them down his legs. his boxers are tight, and you can see a damp spot forming right at the front. you groan, sliding your skirt off and tossing it to join the rest of your outfit on the floor.

your hands find ethan's shoulders, pushing him to lay back. he complies, laying on his back against the mattress. you align yourself over his clothed bulge, moving back and forth. ethan groans, his hands so tight on your hips, you're sure to have bruises tomorrow.

you gasp sharply as he bucks up, rutting against your clit. your voice is whiny and breathless, "fuck, eddy, like that."

his hands snake around to your bra clasp. he looks up at you with pleading eyes. "can i?" you nod, and he undoes the clasp, freeing your tits.

you continue rocking on him as he leans up, capturing your nipple in his mouth. he groans, sucking and swirling his tongue as his eyes flutter shut. your head tilts back, hands tugging in his dark hair. you can feel the familiar knot forming in your belly.

"eddy, 'm close."

he pulls away from your tit to kiss and nip at your neck, leaving behind blotchy marks. "me too," he groans, guiding your hips. it doesn't take much for your orgasm to wash over you. your hands clutch into ethan's hair, crying his name as your legs tremble. he follows suit, releasing thick ropes into his boxers with a strained whine.

you both pant, coming down. ethan grimaces at the sticky feeling beneath his boxers. he gently pulls away, kissing your head. "stay right here." you nod, laying back into his pillows, too exhausted to move much.

a few minutes later, ethan returns in a pair of fresh boxers. he hands you a pair of sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a warm washcloth. you snort out a laugh as ethan rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

"sorry, i would do it, i just didn't know if that was like, a line that you didn't wanna-" you hush his rambles with a warm kiss.

"relax, eddy. it's fine."

he nods, letting his shoulders relax a bit as you head to the bathroom to clean up.

when you return, he's curled up in bed, another cheesy romcom playing low on his tv. he holds his arms out, inviting you in. he looks so warm, so cozy, that you couldn't possibly say no.

you fall asleep like that, curled into ethan with some shitty movie playing as background noise. you decide you're content like that. who cares about luke or emma when you get to be wrapped up in ethan?

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