#i need to figure out what they sound like first

[mandoalorian]

lessons in love

──── ୨୧ ────

lesson four: tasting

pairing: congressman!bucky barnes x f!reader

synopsis: finally, you're ready to learn the next lesson. this time, it's about your mouth—how to use it, what it means to give, and what it feels like when someone actually cares about what you need. but every flick of your tongue and every soft moan makes it harder to pretend it’s only practice.

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content ahead, minors do not interact! ⚠️ f recieving oral, m recieving oral, fingering, handjob, cum eating, praise kink, dirty talk, bucky talks you through it, body worship, sexual harrassment in the workplace (bucky to the rescue), blake is slimy as per usual, reader feels used, bucky not feeling good enough, unspoken feelings, high tensions for the penultimate chapter.

word count: 8.3k

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It had been a day and a half since you’d touched him. Since you’d touched each other.

And still—no text.

You checked your phone again, for the tenth time that hour. Nothing. You typed out three different versions of a message to Bucky, all of which you promptly deleted. One was casual: 

you: had fun the other night 

Another more honest: 

you: i can’t stop thinking about you

The last one was raw: 

you: i don’t want to do this with blake anymore. i want you.

But none of them made it past the blinking cursor. Your thumbs hovered, then dropped. You dropped the phone with them.

The apartment was too quiet. Even your annoying upstairs neighbours were unusually silent today—though the absence of their nightly headboard banging gave you space to think. Unfortunately.

Every time you closed your eyes, you remembered the way Bucky had looked at you. The weight of his gaze. The press of his palm. The way his lips had parted when you wrapped your hand around him, how he’d spilled across your fingers and moaned your name like it meant something.

And maybe that was the part you couldn’t figure out—did it mean something?

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes and exhaled hard.

Down the block, at Capitol Hill, Bucky was having a similar crisis.

He was sitting in his office, head in his hands, ignoring two hours of emails and three missed calls from Valentina. His phone sat silent beside him, your name at the top of his pinned messages thread. Still no reply to his text from last night. Still no response to his call earlier in the day. He’d wanted to catch up with you for lunch, but he had no such luck when he called. So instead, he ate alone, some microwavable ramen that tasted like curried cardboard. 

He wanted to give you space. He knew you needed space. But God, he missed you. Not just the way you touched him, though that was seared into his skin—but the way you looked at him. Like he mattered. Like he was more than just some washed-up weapon trying to be useful again. Like he was more than just his past, or some Congressman trying to make amends.

He thought about the way your hands had trembled when you first touched him. About how soft your lips had looked when you whispered that you wanted to kiss him. And now he couldn’t stop remembering the sound of your voice when you came. He’d replayed it in his mind like a prayer.

He shifted in his chair and tried to focus on the report in front of him, but the words blurred. All he saw was you.

Meanwhile, you sat in your kitchen, a half-eaten piece of toast growing stale beside your elbow. You knew you should be getting ready. Blake was picking you up in a few hours. Dinner reservations. What happens on third dates was something you’d heard about in the movies, and you were well aware of the assumption. It was the kind of date you’d once been desperate for.

But now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to try on outfits.

Because the only person you wanted to look pretty for was avoiding you just as hard as you were avoiding him.

You wondered what would happen if you kissed Bucky again. If you asked him for more.

You wondered if he’d say yes.

You hoped he would.

──── ୨୧ ────

Bucky hadn’t meant to see it.

He was only down on the 12th floor because Valentina had requested a report from Legal, and since her assistant was nowhere to be found, the errand had fallen to him. He’d been grumbling the whole way—until he saw him.

Blake.

Leaning over a receptionist’s desk, grinning too wide.

Bucky paused in the hallway.

The man’s hand was on the desk, fingers curled possessively close to the young woman’s wrist. She laughed nervously, pulling her hand back toward her lap. Her posture tightened. She swiveled away slightly in her chair, but Blake leaned in closer.

“You know I could get you transferred upstairs if you wanted,” Blake said, low, slick. “Better office. Better view. Maybe I’d even give you my seat.” He patted at his thigh and Bucky felt himself recoil as he watched from a far.

The woman’s lips curled in a polite smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s not necessary, sir.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be shy now. I’ve seen you looking.”

“I haven’t been—”

Before she could finish, Bucky stepped forward in one big stride, voice like steel.

“Problem here?”

Both their heads snapped toward him. Blake’s mouth froze in a smug, half-open smile. The woman—Marianne, Bucky remembered—immediately sat straighter in her chair. Her relief was palpable.

Blake straightened like nothing was wrong, and brushed his suit down. “No problem at all. Just offering some professional advice, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Marianne gave a tight, uncomfortable smile.

Bucky didn’t even blink. “Why don’t you go take your lunch, Marianne?”

She hesitated, glancing between the two men. “But I—”

“I’ll let HR know you’re stepping out. Take your time.”

Marianne stood, gave Bucky a grateful look, and slipped out down the hall without saying another word.

Blake’s smile faltered. “Barnes. Something I can help you with?”

“You bothering her?” Bucky asked, calm and quiet.

Blake blinked. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward Marianne’s retreating figure. “The intern. You bothering her?”

Blake let out a laugh, like it was all a joke. “She’s fine, man. Just a little friendly banter.”

“She didn’t look fine.”

Blake’s posture stiffened. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“No,” Bucky said, stepping in closer. “You’re not taking it seriously enough.”

For a moment, the office hallway fell silent. Phones rang behind closed doors. Footsteps passed. But here, in this space, the temperature dropped.

“You think that kind of behaviour flies just because you’re wearing a suit and a smile?” Bucky continued, his tone still calm, still measured. “You think she’s lucky to have your hands on her?”

“Alright, ease up,” Blake said, putting up both palms. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You were trying to touch her,” Bucky said, unmoved. “I saw it.”

Blake laughed, but it was more uncomfortable now. “You really gonna get all righteous on me, soldier?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh come on,” Blake scoffed. “Is this about her?”

Bucky didn’t respond.

Blake smirked. “Thought so. You’re protective, I’ll give you that. But let’s be honest—she’s with me. Not you. You’re just the backup plan she keeps around for emotional support.”

Bucky took one step closer. No threats. No dramatics. Just that look. The one he used to wear before snapping a man’s wrist clean through.

“She ever tells me she wants to be with you?” he said, voice quiet and graveled. “Then fine. That’s her choice. But if I see you lay a hand on another woman like that again, I won’t be as nice.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed. “You threatening me?”

Bucky smiled—but it wasn’t kind.

“No. If I were threatening you, you wouldn’t still be standing.”

A pause.

Blake shifted in place, the false bravado starting to fray. “Jesus. At the end of the day, Bucky, you’re just another terrorist who got let off. You should be rotting in prison for the things you did. Hell, if it were up to me, you’d already be six feet under. You only got off because you were Captain America’s boyfriend. He was your leverage.”

That made Bucky laugh—sharp, humourless.

“You want to talk about leverage?” Bucky scoffed incredulously, metal fingers curling into a fist. “Yeah. Maybe I got off lucky, but at least I’m working on myself. I’ve paid my dues, trust me. But don’t act like your record is clean, too, Blake. Tax evasion, money laundering, sexual harassment, you’re a fucking villain and everyone here in Congress knows it. You just aren’t used to people standing up to you, but I promise, Blake, I am not afraid of men like you.”

Blake’s mouth snapped shut.

“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky added. “But if you think I’m scared of someone who hides behind veneer smiles and weak handshakes, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because the thing is, Blake, she’s not yours. She never was. And when she figures out what kind of man you really are?” A beat. “She won’t look back.”

Then Bucky turned on his heel and walked away, fists clenched, chest burning, your name like a war drum in his head.

The fury still simmered in his chest as Bucky stepped out of the elevator and into the building’s courtyard. The city buzzed beyond the iron gates, but in here, it was all manicured hedges and grey stone benches—polished, pristine, and sterile. He spotted Marianne sitting alone near the fountain, lunch tray untouched on her lap, fingers picking absently at the edge of her sandwich.

She looked up when he approached. Her shoulders tensed for a beat, then softened.

“Hey,” she said, voice small but steady.

Bucky offered a quiet nod, then sat down beside her—not close enough to crowd, but close enough to be there.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Marianne hesitated. “Yeah. I mean… I will be.”

He didn’t speak. Just gave her space.

“I didn’t want to make a scene,” she added. “He’s just… persistent. And I didn’t want to be that intern, you know?”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You’re not that intern. You’re a person. And you get to feel safe at work.”

She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.

“I saw what he did,” Bucky continued. “That wasn’t friendly. That wasn’t harmless.”

Her eyes dropped to her tray. “It’s not the first time. I just thought I was imagining it before.”

“You weren’t.”

A long pause stretched between them. Bucky let it sit.

“If you want to report it,” he said eventually, “I’ll back you up. Whatever you need. Witness statement, going to HR with you. All of it.”

She blinked. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “No one should have to deal with that alone.”

Marianne smiled, soft and tentative. “Thanks, Congressman Barnes.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Bucky’s fine.”

Her smile widened slightly. “Thanks, Bucky.”

He stood after a moment, brushing off his hands.

“I meant what I said,” he told her. “If he does anything else—if you ever feel uncomfortable—you come find me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Marianne nodded, gratitude written across her face.

As Bucky walked back toward the building, he didn’t feel any better. The ache was still there, tight and low in his gut. Because all he could think about was you—laughing at Blake’s jokes, smiling politely while he ordered for you, unaware of the kind of man he really was.

And the worst part? Bucky wasn’t sure how to tell you.

But he had to.

Before you got hurt.

──── ୨୧ ────

Your bedroom was a mess.

Shoes scattered across the floor, dresses laid out like corpses across your bed. You stood in the center of the chaos, towel wrapped around your body, hair still damp and clinging to your shoulders. The steam from your shower still lingered in the air, curling around the perfume bottles and half-drunk glass of wine on your nightstand.

You’d tried on three different dresses already. Too bold. Too plain. Too tight. Nothing felt right.

And maybe that was because your mind wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

You reached for a fourth option—the little black slip dress you’d worn to Bucky’s birthday a few months ago. It was sleek, silky, and fell over your body like a whisper. You hadn’t thought much of it then, until you caught Bucky looking at you like you’d invented gravity.

He didn’t say anything that night. Just looked. But you remembered the way his throat bobbed when he saw you, how he reached for his glass just a little too fast, how he held the door open like he was afraid to touch you.

And now, somehow, this was the dress you pulled off the hanger.

You slipped it over your head, the fabric cool against your skin. Smoothed it over your hips, adjusted the neckline. Stared at your reflection.

God, what were you doing?

This was a date with Blake. You were supposed to be thinking about Blake.

But your thoughts kept drifting—back to Bucky’s hands on your waist, his breath hot against your ear, the sound of his voice when he told you how perfect you were doing.

Your eyes flicked toward your phone, half-buried beneath a pile of laundry.

4 missed calls. 2 new messages. bucky: Hey, can we talk? bucky: It’s important.

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering.

Then you turned it over, face-down.

Not now.

The knock at the door came exactly on time.

Blake stood in the hallway, pressed white shirt and slacks crisp, cologne strong enough to reach you before he did. His smile was all charm, all polish.

“Wow,” he said, eyeing you from head to toe. “You really went all out for me tonight, huh?”

You offered a polite smile, stepping outside and locking the door behind you. His hand found the small of your back, then slid lower, fingers brushing a little too close to places he hadn’t earned access to.

You didn’t say anything. You just told yourself it was fine. It was normal. It was what people did on third dates.

So why, as you walked toward the elevator, did you feel like you’d just made a mistake?

Why did the back of your neck still burn with the memory of Bucky’s lips against your skin?

And why did the dress suddenly feel heavier, like it was stitched with guilt?

──── ୨୧ ────

The restaurant should’ve been romantic.

Soft candlelight danced across the cream coloured tablecloths. Jazz murmured from unseen speakers. The gentle clink of cutlery and hushed laughter filled the space, like it was curated for connection. It should’ve been perfect. But all you could think about was how wrong it felt to be here with him.

Blake sat across from you, wearing his most charming smile—the one he used at press events and campaign fundraisers. The one that seemed polished from too much use. He leaned back in the booth like he owned it, scrolling through something on his phone while you looked over the menu. You were starving. But when you said so, he didn’t look up.

“I’ll order for us,” he said, dismissive and distracted.

You blinked, lowering your menu. “Okay… but I am really hungry. So maybe the pasta—?”

“Mm,” he hummed noncommittally. “Salad will be lighter. And sexier,” he added with a wink that felt more performative than playful. “You don’t want to be full for what I have planned later.”

You swallowed down a grimace and managed a polite smile, one you’d perfected over the course of your time together. “Right. Sexy salad. Got it.”

He looked up at the waiter and gestured casually. “We’ll start with a bottle of that merlot. She’ll have the house salad, and I’ll take the steak, medium rare.”

You stared at him. He didn’t look back.

The waiter hesitated, glancing at you to confirm. You gave a small nod, biting the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t worth the scene. You were tired. You were already losing interest in pretending.

Blake finally set his phone aside and leaned in with his elbows on the table, hands clasped like he was about to give a press statement.

“So,” you started gently, “how was your day?”

He groaned dramatically, tossing his head back like the question physically pained him. “Fucking nightmare, honestly. Barnes is still being a goddamn nuisance.”

Your stomach tightened at the sound of Bucky’s name.

You blinked. “What happened?”

Blake waved a hand. “Nothing. He’s just—y’know, Bucky. Always acting like he’s some kind of superhero. Thinks he can question me. Challenge me. He doesn’t get how politics works.”

You blinked again, a little slower this time.

“Right,” you said quietly. “Sounds rough.”

“Exactly,” he nodded, totally missing your flat tone. “I’ve got enough to deal with without Barnes trying to play vigilante in the middle of a congressional office.”

You didn’t answer. You just watched the way he smirked when he talked about Bucky. Like he was proud of whatever had happened. Like he thought he’d won.

The wine came. You drank your first glass too quickly.

“God,” Blake sighed, sitting back and letting his fingers trail along the stem of his glass. “I don’t know what it is lately, but it’s like women are crawling out of the woodwork to flirt with me. At the gym, at the office, even the damn dry cleaner.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He chuckled, pleased with himself. “What can I say? It’s the suit. Drives ‘em wild.”

“But you have me,” you said softly, though you already felt yourself detaching.

He reached across the table, took your hand in his. His thumb brushed your knuckles without looking at them. “Exactly. And you’re the one I’m taking home tonight.”

Your stomach turned.

You pulled your hand back gently to take another sip of wine. He didn’t notice.

The salad arrived. It was small. A few greens, some shavings of parmesan, a faint drizzle of vinaigrette. The scent of his steak made your stomach growl, but you said nothing. You just stared at the sad excuse for a meal and tried to swallow your hunger.

The conversation was one-sided—him talking about campaign numbers and networking events and how the press was spinning stories about him. You nodded and smiled when appropriate, but your thoughts drifted more and more with each minute.

You thought about Bucky’s apartment. About how he always asked you what you wanted. How he never presumed to know better. How he listened—not just with his ears, but with his whole damn body. And how, when you touched him, he looked like he was feeling you, not just using you.

Here, with Blake, you felt like wallpaper. Like something nice to have on display.

“I’ve got a speech next week,” Blake said through a bite of steak. “Maybe you can help me go over it. You’ve got a nice voice. Be good practice.”

You blinked again. He still hadn’t asked how your day was. Or noticed that you were barely eating. Or that you kept glancing at your phone every time it lit up.

He didn’t know you hadn’t stopped thinking about Bucky since Wednesday night.

He didn’t see the way you checked your lipstick in the car mirror earlier, not for Blake—but because it was Bucky’s favourite shade.

And as you sat there, your heart heavy with the ache of pretending, you realised something:

This wasn’t a date.

It was a performance. One you weren’t sure you could keep up much longer.

──── ୨୧ ────

Blake's apartment was clean, sterile, and cold—like a showroom. Like no one really lived here.

No photos. No mess. No warmth.

You walked in ahead of him, your heels clicking against the polished floors, and tried to shake the unease from your shoulders. You could still taste the salad on your tongue. Your stomach was half-empty, your head spinning—not from wine, but from the heavy silence between your thoughts.

Blake shut the door behind you and stepped in close. Too close.

His hands found your hips like he had a right to them. Like you were already his.

“You look so fucking good in this dress,” he murmured against your ear, letting his mouth drag along your neck. “Bet you wore it just for me.”

You didn’t answer. You just smiled and let him lead you toward the couch, trying to summon the enthusiasm you’d been so sure of earlier.

He kissed you, just as sloppy as before. His lips moved too fast, like he was skipping steps, teeth clashing into yours. He didn’t cradle your face. Didn’t pause to check your pace. His tongue was already pushing past your lips.

You blinked, heart stuttering. But you let him.

This is fine, you told yourself. Just get through it. Put what Bucky taught you into practice. This is what you wanted, right?

Blake pulled you down onto the couch, already tugging at your dress. “Want this off,” he mumbled against your collarbone, one hand groping at your breast like it was a prop. “Been thinking about you all damn week.”

Your mouth felt dry. You let him undress you. You let your fingers go to his belt, undoing it with practiced movements—Bucky’s movements.

Blake watched, smug and self-satisfied, as you tugged him out of his pants. His cock was already hard, but something about it felt… clinical. He wasn’t trembling under your touch. His breath didn’t catch. He didn’t look like he was about to come undone just from the sight of you.

He leaned back with his arms behind his head. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he grinned. “Go ahead, baby. Show me what you got.”

You froze.

Something in you tensed. The nickname. The detachment. The assumption.

But you wrapped your hand around him anyway. You stroked him, slow at first, then faster. He grunted. Not the soft, desperate groans Bucky made—but flat, self-satisfied sounds. Like he was listening to himself.

He came before you could even think of trying more—quick and messy, all over his stomach and your hand. He groaned again, lazily.

“Goddamn. Knew you’d be good,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded.

You stared down at him. At the mess. At your hand. At how unspecial it all felt.

No build-up. No connection. No heat.

You waited—waited for him to reach for you. To ask if you were okay. If you wanted more.

Instead, he zipped himself up and stretched. “Shit. That hit the spot.”

You blinked. “I—” Your voice caught. “Can I use your bathroom?”

He nodded absently, already reaching for his phone. “Sure. Don’t be long. I’m ready for round two soon.”

Round two. As if you’d been satisfied. As if this had meant something.

You went into the bathroom and locked the door.

You stared at yourself in the mirror.

Your lipstick was smeared. Your eyes looked glassy. The mark on your collarbone was starting to purple. But the worst part? You didn’t feel touched. You felt used. Like a body someone passed through on the way to their next high.

It wasn’t even the bad sex. It was the loneliness of it.

The loneliness of not being seen.

You wiped your hand, washed your face, and left without a word.

──── ୨୧ ────

You didn’t cry on the walk home.

You didn’t cry while you showered, scrubbing his touch off your skin like it was something you could erase.

But when you sat down on your bed in your oversized T-shirt—Bucky’s old one, the grey one with the faded Brooklyn print—you finally let yourself feel it.

The emptiness. The confusion. The ache of disappointment. The sharp, hollow realization that you’d done everything right, and still ended up feeling wrong.

You scrolled through your texts, thumb hovering over his name.

Five missed calls. Two messages.

bucky: Everything okay? I miss you. bucky: Just call me when you get this, alright?

You typed, then backspaced. Then typed again.

And then:

you: can i come over?

His reply came instantly.

bucky: Door’s open.

You didn’t knock.

You let yourself in and stepped into the apartment that always smelled like cedarwood and lemon and something warm.

Bucky looked up from the couch the moment he heard the door close.

His hair was damp from a shower, tied back in a loose knot. He was in a hoodie and sweatpants, barefoot, a blanket draped over his legs and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn in his lap. His expression softened the moment he saw your face.

“Oh,” he said, voice low. “Doll.”

You dropped your bag and crossed the room without a word. He moved the bowl just in time for you to collapse into his chest, curling your arms around his middle like he was home. Like you needed to hold on to something real.

His arms wrapped around you instantly. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… there.

He held you like he meant it.

You buried your face in his hoodie and breathed him in.

“Bad night?” he murmured, his metal hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulders.

You nodded against his chest. “It was awful.”

He let you sit with it. With him. No pressure. No pushing.

Only when your breathing had evened out did he lean back to look at you.

“You wanna talk about it?”

You hesitated. Then nodded again.

You told him everything—quietly, like you were still trying to make sense of it. The rushed kisses. The way Blake touched you like a prize he’d already won. How fast it ended. How dirty it left you feeling.

You didn’t even mean to tell him so much. But the words tumbled out like you’d been holding them in all night.

“I thought it would feel good,” you whispered, cheeks hot. “I thought… all the things you taught me would make it better. But it was nothing like—”

You stopped yourself.

Bucky didn’t push. He didn’t ask what you were about to say.

Instead, he brushed your hair back from your face with the gentlest touch.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said softly. “You were generous with someone who didn’t deserve it. That’s not on you.”

You blinked fast. “I felt… like a prop.”

His eyes darkened. “I hate that he made you feel that way.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I just didn’t know where else to go. I just needed to be with my best friend.”

At that, his gaze softened again. “You’re always safe here.”

He nudged the popcorn back onto your lap. “C’mon. Pick something to watch. You’re not leaving here upset. We’re gonna fix that.”

You sniffled, managing a tiny laugh. “You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

“I try.”

You curled up beside him under the blanket, knees tucked to your chest, your body slowly relaxing into the cushions. You scrolled through Netflix together, debating over action movies, thrillers, even rom-coms—until you landed on something unexpected.

A dark, artsy erotic drama neither of you had heard of before.

You hesitated. Bucky glanced over at you with a tiny smirk.

“Curious?” he teased.

You shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

The opening credits rolled. The room dimmed.

You didn’t notice when your legs ended up in his lap. Or when his arm slid around your shoulders again. Or how the tension in your chest started to melt—just from being here. Just from him.

About thirty minutes in, during a particularly intense scene on screen, Bucky’s voice broke the quiet.

“…you been thinking about lesson four?”

You turned to look at him. His gaze was steady. Warm. Not teasing.

You bit your lip. “A little.”

He nodded slowly, brushing his thumb along the outside of your knee. “Only if you’re ready. Only if you want to.”

You looked at him for a long beat.

At his face—how calm it always made you feel. At his hand on your leg. At the tension in his jaw every time the man on screen did something rougher than Bucky ever would.

And then you whispered: “Will you show me how to taste you?”

He leaned in, his lips brushing your temple, voice low and reverent.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

The room was quiet except for your breathing—yours and Bucky’s, both a little fast, a little shallow.  You’d started with kissing again, and his lips were beginning to feel like home. You were obsessed with the way his fingers traced little circles in your skin or how his tongue swiped across your lower lip, asking for entry, rather than forcing it the way Blake did. It was the little things that made you feel safe. That made you feel loved. 

Eventually, you pulled away, breathless, and sank down to your knees, shuffling between his legs. Bucky handed you a cushion from the sofa to kneel on, always thinking about your comfort first. He sat on the edge of the couch in those soft, gray sweatpants, legs spread, looking up at you like you held his fate in your hands. Your hands slid over his thighs first—solid and warm beneath the fabric. Then you reached up, took hold of the hoodie’s hem, and looked into his eyes.

He let you pull it off slowly, raising his arms without a word. But the moment he was bare, his jaw clenched and his eyes darted away.

Your breath caught.

You hadn’t seen him like this before. Not like this. He was all sculpted muscle, wide shoulders tapering to a trim waist, skin kissed in soft golden tones. But there were scars across his chest and ribs, puckered lines and deeper ridges of old wounds. The place where metal met flesh on his left side—just below the shoulder joint—was angry and red, imperfectly healed. He didn’t try to hide it, but he didn’t flaunt it either.

He sat still, jaw tight, like he was waiting for you to flinch.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you reached out, cupped his jaw in your hand, and leaned in.

“I’ve never wanted to touch anyone like this before,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re beautiful, Bucky.”

His eyes snapped back to yours—surprised, a little wrecked.

“I mean it,” you said, kissing along his jaw, down his neck. You licked the spot beneath his ear and felt him shudder.

“I know you see those scars,” he murmured.

“I do.” You kissed a long, thin line that curved beneath his collarbone. “And I love every one of them.”

His breath caught.

You took your time.

You licked slowly across his pecs, tasting the salt of his skin, the warmth of him. Your lips found his nipple, and you sucked gently, teeth grazing the nub, and Bucky’s head dropped back with a groan.

“Oh, fuck…”

You kept going. You lavished attention across his chest, peppering it with soft kisses and warm licks, savouring him. He gave no instruction and just let you do whatever felt right, because to Bucky, all of this was perfect. No notes, no changes. Your hands ran over his stomach, fingers exploring every defined muscle, following the sculpted lines down, down…

You kissed his ribs.

You licked across his abs.

You dipped your tongue into the dip of his navel.

By the time you reached his V-line, Bucky was panting.

“You’re not wearing anything under these, are you?” you asked, voice husky, fingers brushing his waistband.

“No,” he rasped, watching you from under heavy lashes. “Didn’t expect company.”

Your gaze dropped to the thick shape straining beneath his sweatpants. The fabric clung to him, outlining everything—long and heavy, head already wet and darkening the cotton. He twitched beneath your stare.

You pressed your mouth to the waistband and kissed him through the fabric.

His whole body jolted.

“Shit—”

Your hands gripped his thighs again, just above the knees, grounding yourself as your mouth moved—slow, hungry kisses up and down the shape of him. You pressed your tongue against the wet spot and lapped at it through the fabric. His cock throbbed in response.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he hissed, jaw clenched, hand gripping the back of your neck.

You looked up at him through your lashes, lips curling in a soft smile. “You taste good through your pants. What do you think I’ll do when I really get to taste you?”

His eyes fluttered shut. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You dragged your nails lightly up his thighs, feeling him shudder beneath you.

“Can I take these off?” you asked, voice low and reverent.

He met your eyes. “Only if you’re ready.”

“I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you tonight.”

He let out a shaking breath, wondering how much of this was the truth, and how much of it was the dirty talk you’d learned in lesson two. He didn’t think too long. Bucky lifted his hips slightly. You slipped your fingers into the waistband and dragged the sweatpants down slow—inch by inch.

And there he was.

Hard and flushed, his cock lay against his stomach—thick, curved slightly upward, precum glistening at the head. His balls were full and heavy, skin pulled taut. 

Of course, he looked the same as he did on Wednesday night, but tonight was different. Tonight, you wanted to devour him.

He watched you, chest rising and falling, long brown hair falling in his blue eyes. His metal fingers flexed at his side like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You leaned forward again, kissing his hipbone. Then lower.

Then… even lower.

You licked up the inside of his thigh, tongue dragging along the sensitive skin there. He hissed through his teeth and his cock twitched against his stomach.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered, eyes drinking him in. “Every part of you.”

Your mouth hovered just above the base of his cock, breath ghosting warm across his skin. You felt him twitch, heard the way his breath caught in his throat. He was watching you—always watching you—and something about the way his gaze dragged over your face made your chest tighten.

"You don't have to," he said quietly, voice thick. "You’ve already—"

"I want to." You looked up at him through your lashes, hands curling around his thighs again. “I want to learn everything.”

His jaw clenched. “Jesus…”

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the base of his cock—right where it met his body. His head tipped back with a groan.

"Okay," he breathed. "Go slow. Just… feel me."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You dragged your tongue up the length of him, tasting salt and skin, precum and heat. He was hot, flushed dark at the head, the vein running up the underside throbbing under your mouth.

Bucky choked on a moan. His flesh hand gripped the couch cushion, white-knuckled. “Fuck, sweetheart…”

You pulled back slightly, lips glistening. “Tell me what to do.”

He looked wrecked. Sweaty. Desperate.

"Use your hand," he rasped, voice low and raw. "Start there. Just—yeah. Like that."

You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking slowly, matching the rhythm you remembered from lesson three. His cock throbbed in your grip.

"Now your mouth," he said, eyes fixed on you. “Just the head. Let me feel that tongue.”

You obeyed—parting your lips and wrapping them around the crown of him. He groaned deep, the sound ripped from somewhere in his chest.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that—keep your lips soft. Yeah, baby, that’s it…”

You bobbed slowly, taking him a little deeper, then easing back. Your hand followed where your mouth couldn’t reach, twisting at the base with wet, practiced strokes. You could feel the way his thighs tensed under your touch, how his hips barely resisted the urge to move.

“God, your mouth,” he grunted, watching you like you were something unreal. “Feels so fuckin’ good. You’re doing perfect, angel. You like this?”

You moaned around him and he hissed at the vibration.

You loved the taste of him—loved the way his hips shifted, the way his chest heaved, the way he couldn’t look away. You loved the stutter in his breathing when you took him a little deeper. How his hand—metal now—came to rest gently at the back of your head, guiding but not pushing.

“I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that,” he groaned.

You pulled off with a pop, hand still working him in slow, slick pumps.

You wanted to take more.

You pulled off just long enough to whisper, “Can I go deeper?”

His brows drew together, a flicker of surprise crossing his face—but then pride. Something primal and tender all at once.

“You sure?”

You nodded, cheeks already warm, lips slick and swollen.

His voice dropped a note lower. “Alright. Let me help you. Just breathe for me, okay?”

You nodded again, obedient, and his metal hand came to rest at the back of your head. His touch was light at first—more of a guide than anything else—as you took him in again. Inch by inch, you let him in deeper, pushing past the stretch, the pressure.

“Breathe through your nose,” he murmured, his voice a grounding tether. “Relax your throat, yeah, just like that—fuck.”

Your throat fluttered around him and he groaned deep, his hips jerking forward just slightly.

You choked.

Your eyes welled up immediately, tears burning as you pulled back with a gasp, coughing around the spit that coated your chin. But your hand never stopped moving, and you were already leaning in again before he could speak.

“Hey—wait,” Bucky said, voice tight, his hand catching your jaw. His eyes scanned your face. “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes bright, lips parted. “I want to try again.”

He exhaled slowly, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You don’t have to prove anything, doll.”

“I want to. Please.”

His jaw flexed. And then, softly, he said, “Alright. I’ll take care of you.”

He guided you back to his cock—slow, steady. This time, his grip was firmer, anchoring you as you opened wide and let him slide in deep. The head of him brushed the back of your throat, and you fought the reflex to pull away, blinking past the tears that filled your eyes.

You felt his hand stroke your hair, gentle, grounding. “That’s it… such a good girl. Taking me so fucking deep.”

You moaned around him, and he nearly buckled.

The deeper you went, the more he trembled. His thighs shook. His free hand dug into the couch, metal fingers twitching where they rested against your skull.

“Just a little more, yeah?” he panted. “You can do it. You’re doing so fucking good.”

You pushed until your nose was pressed to the soft skin of his pelvis. You could smell him—salt, skin, sweat—and you swore you’d never forget the way he sounded when you swallowed around him.

You didn’t slow. Didn’t flinch. You kept stroking and sucking, your hand gliding tight and slick around the base of him while your mouth hollowed over the head, tongue dragging firmly across the most sensitive part.

His hips jerked—once, twice—and you felt it, the sudden tension coiling deep inside his body.

“Shit—baby, I—fuck, I’m coming—”

The words punched out of him as his cock twitched on your tongue, thick and hard and pulsing.

And then he spilled into your mouth.

Hot, salty ropes of cum flooded your throat, and you moaned softly at the weight of it. He came hard—deep, fast spurts—and your hands gripped tighter at his thighs as your cheeks hollowed to take every drop. He was panting, his chest heaving, abs contracting with every wave.

You could feel his entire body trembling. His metal fingers gripped your scalp—not too tight, but firm enough to ground himself as he fell apart in your mouth.

“Fuckfuckfuck— oh, God,” he groaned, the sound guttural and strained, almost pained with how good it felt.

He kept twitching, like he couldn’t stop. You eased off just a little, letting him slip past your lips with a wet pop, and took the last of it in your hand—watching, mesmerised, as a final lazy spurt coated your fingers. His cock throbbed, angry and flushed, as a pearlescent line dribbled from the tip to his stomach, catching on the hair trailing down his abdomen.

Your breath was heavy, lips slick and glistening, saliva and cum painting your chin. You blinked up at him, dazed and hot and hungry.

Bucky looked wrecked.

His head was tipped back, jaw tight, chest flushed. A fine sheen of sweat clung to his skin, highlighting the scars that scattered across his abdomen. His stomach rose and fell in sharp gasps, and his eyes fluttered open just in time to catch you staring.

At the mess. At the way it clung to your hand, sticky and warm and still dripping.

You licked your lips unconsciously.

He swallowed hard. “You okay?”

You looked up at him, eyes low and heavy, lashes clumped with tears. And then you smiled.

Wordless.

And brought your fingers to your mouth.

Bucky’s eyes widened as you licked the slick from your skin—slowly, deliberately—letting the taste settle on your tongue. God, you were addicted to him. He tasted like salt and skin and heat, and the low growl that rumbled from his chest nearly made you moan all over again.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your smile widened around your fingers as you sucked the last of it clean, letting your eyes lock with his the entire time.

“You’re my favourite taste.” you whispered.

He reached for you with both hands, flesh and metal, and pulled you straight into his lap—burying his face in your neck, his cock twitching against your thigh even as it softened. “You’re driving me insane, sweetheart.”

You giggled breathlessly, and his hands roamed your back, grounding himself in the curve of your body.

The moment he’d caught his breath—barely—Bucky cradled your jaw in his warm hand, drawing you forward into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted himself on your tongue and groaned into it, like he wanted to drown in the way you tasted now. His metal arm wrapped around your waist, drawing you close until your thighs were straddling his, your soaked panties brushing against his bare skin.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he whispered against your lips. “But you did. You took it so well. Fuck, sweetheart…”

Your breath hitched.

“I wanted to,” you whispered.

His eyes searched yours, something reverent in the way he held you like you were made of glass. “Now I want to do something for you.”

“Bucky…”

“Let me,” he said, more insistently this time. “Lie back for me. I wanna taste you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

You blinked at him. Your stomach fluttered so hard it almost hurt.

He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before guiding you gently down onto the couch. His hands followed—soft on your ribs, your hips, the curve of your waist—and then he knelt between your thighs like it was instinct. Like it was the only place he wanted to be.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and looked up at you one last time. “Okay?”

You nodded, already breathless.

The underwear came off slowly, and Bucky didn’t take his eyes off you once. He dropped them to the floor without ceremony, then bent low to press his mouth to the inside of your thigh.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muttered, voice low and dark. “That all for me?”

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

He kissed higher—your thigh, then your hipbone, then the mound above your core. Feather-light, maddening kisses. You arched into him, desperate.

And then his tongue licked one long, slow stripe through your folds.

Your body jumped.

You gasped his name, your hips rising instinctively, and Bucky groaned like he hadn’t tasted anything that good in years. His hands pressed your thighs open wider, thumbs digging into your skin just enough to anchor you down.

“Fuck,” he hissed, licking again. “You taste so good. Sweet and messy. Like you need this.”

You could only moan in response.

He licked you again, deeper now—his tongue flattening against your clit, then circling it, slow and deliberate, like he was memorising the shape of your pleasure.

“You’ve been so patient,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin. “So good for me. Gonna make you come with my mouth, baby. Gonna show you what it feels like to be taken care of.”

You whimpered, grabbing at the couch cushions behind you. His tongue dragged through your folds again, and then he sucked your clit gently between his lips. You cried out, the sound shameful and wet and desperate, and Bucky didn’t stop.

Didn’t want to stop.

He moaned against your pussy like he was drunk on you. Like the taste of you was better than any high he’d ever known.

And then his fingers joined the party.

He slipped one inside you, then two, curling them up slowly until he found that devastating spot that made your back arch and your breath shatter.

“Right there,” he said softly, lips still brushing your clit. “That’s the one, isn’t it?”

You sobbed his name again, your thighs clamping around his head, and he loved it—loved the way you clung to him, trembled under his mouth.

His metal hand stroked along your belly, pressing gently to hold you down, while his flesh hand fucked into you perfectly, curling and thrusting in slow, rhythmic pulses. His tongue circled your clit faster, teasing and stroking in time with his fingers.

You were shaking. So close.

And he knew it.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” he whispered hoarsely. “I want to feel it. Want you to fall apart for me, baby. You deserve it. Let go.”

Your body locked up, a sob catching in your throat—and then the wave hit.

You came hard, gushing around his fingers, hips rolling helplessly as Bucky moaned into your pussy and kept licking you through it. You gripped his hair, gasping his name over and over, your vision swimming as your orgasm ripped through you.

He didn’t stop until you begged him to.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were glistening, chin slick with you, and he looked—wrecked. Like he’d loved every second.

He kissed your thigh again. Then your belly. Then made his way slowly, reverently, up your body until he hovered over you on the couch, brushing your hair out of your face.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, utterly wrecked, and whispered, “That was… insane.”

He smiled softly. “Good.”

You blinked up at him. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

He smirked, lowering himself beside you, pulling you into his chest. “Guess I’ve had a little practice.”

You laughed, breathless, and curled into him as his arm wrapped around you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

You didn’t need to.

Bucky didn’t let go of you.

Even after your breathing slowed and the tremors in your thighs faded to a gentle hum, his arm remained snug around your waist, metal hand curled protectively over your ribs. He kissed the top of your head like it was instinct, like your body belonged nestled into the cradle of his chest.

You didn’t speak.

Neither of you needed to.

The soft flicker of the Netflix menu glowed faintly in the dim apartment light, casting shadows across his face—the sharp cut of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, still bare. You traced the faint lines of his scars with your eyes, the soft pink trail over his pec, the metal glint of his shoulder. He caught you looking, but didn’t flinch this time.

“I meant it,” you said softly, fingers brushing over the curve of his collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

He swallowed, eyes flicking to yours. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

His jaw flexed. “Because I don’t deserve—” He stopped and closed his eyes.

You watched the hesitation flicker across his face—the way vulnerability settled into the crease between his brows. He looked younger like this. Softer. Sadder.

You touched his cheek gently. “Maybe, for once, you deserve something that feels good.”

He closed his eyes like he didn’t know how to accept it. But he didn’t pull away either. He leaned into your palm, lashes brushing your wrist.

“Stay,” he said suddenly, so low it almost didn’t reach your ears. “Just for a little while. You don’t have to talk. Just… stay.”

You nodded, throat tight. “Okay.”

He exhaled softly, the sound brushing against your temple. His fingers traced up and down your arm in slow, soothing lines, and you let yourself melt into the warmth of his body—the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the safe, heavy weight of his arm around you.

The buzz of the city beyond the windows faded. The silence between you felt full instead of empty. A pause, not a distance.

Your eyes drifted shut before you could stop them.

And then there you were—your legs tangled over his, your cheek pressed to his chest, and Bucky holding you like he didn’t ever want to let you go.

He watched you for a long time.

Watched the little tremble in your lashes as you fell asleep, the faint parting of your lips, the way your hand stayed pressed flat against his skin like you needed the contact to stay grounded.

He didn’t sleep at first. He just lay there, heart thudding painfully slow, wondering how the hell he was going to survive the next lesson. The last one. The one that might break him.

Because pretending it didn’t mean anything?

That it was just practice?

Was starting to feel like the biggest lie either of you had ever told.

──── ୨୧ ────

Sebastian Stan taglist: in comments due to taglist limit

Lessons In Love taglist: (let me know if you want to be added!):

@sebastians-love @sweetserendipity65 @sangsterizada @mrsalexstan @alpinescoowner @buckyslqve @morganfullaaa @moonlight-sonata99 @sflame15-blog @rapturousfrog @parkerslivia @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @wickedfun9 @daisynotquake @arosewithpower @buckysgirl27 @loki-licious-945ad @dearluuna @riot-sounds @ang0320 @solarperpetua @julesandgems @yes-ilovetowrite @redh00dsbf @alicetesser @loyaltyistoxic @sailorsenshiuranep @yessebastianstanus @poshpinklace @joaquinsgirl @thornsofvelvet @miss-chuchu @xamapolax @avivarougestan @justalittle47 @nutella-hitler @ifilwtmfc @loverofdrewstarkey @cxiiv0 @pivictorious @gummy-dummy @avatarobsessedgirly @buckybarneswife125 @snake-in-a-flower-crown @jadevoir @thisismy-usernamee @loganficsonly @justalittle47 @xamapolax @vroomvroommbtch @peanutbutt3rcup — taglist continued in comments due to limit reach<3

[jays-bookmarks]

Good Enough for You (Mac x gn!reader)

I can't believe I'm writing fanfic about my computer.............

anyway this is based on my actual computer in real life which does indeed overheat for no reason so hello valdivian I'm waiting for my dateviators so I can smooch my macbook

Summary: Mac had always been good enough for you, so what made them say such a thing? Words: 731 Warnings: light angst but it's hurt/comfort. slight canon divergence in that Mac is a macbook (yes I am a wretched apple user) and that apple + youtube are mentioned by name

"And more importantly, I'm finally going to be good enough for you."

You stopped swiveling in your chair and turned to stare at them. Mac looked back with an expectant smile. When you only furrowed your brow in response, their expression fell. They seemed to be scrambling for something else to say, but before they could, you spoke first.

"Mac… you've always been good enough for me."

Mac seemed to freeze for a moment, eyes widening as a blush began to spread on their face. The whirring of the computer fans suddenly kicking up was the only sound that broke the resulting silence. You stayed quiet, giving them time to process your words.

When Mac finally spoke, their voice had lost their usual note of enthusiasm.

"But… you were looking to buy another computer…" they said.

This time it was your turn to freeze. You had indeed been thinking of buying a new computer a few years back. It was after you had finally taken your current computer to the repair shop to see what exactly was causing the CPU to heat up so dramatically just from normal internet browsing. The techs couldn't find any physical damage, and their stress tests didn't reveal any unexpectedly high temperatures. Their reports had left you wondering if perhaps you simply needed a new machine. After all, you had purchased this computer before you even started college…

But now you knew the reason behind Mac's overheating CPU. And also, it seemed, the reason behind their insistence on this system update.

"Oh, Mac… that was—I didn't mean—" you took a breath, trying to organize your thoughts into something more coherent. "I just couldn't figure out why you were running so hot when I wasn't doing anything more than watching youtube videos. I thought maybe you were just… getting old. And, well, you know how impossible it is to repair apple devices when they started soldering everything to the motherboard…"

Mac didn't respond, only kept their gaze fixed to the ground. You bit your lip. What else could you say to them? That you hadn't considered their feelings because, up until now, you hadn't known that they had any? But still, you had agonized over that decision, and ultimately couldn't bring yourself to make the purchase. It felt like abandoning a dear friend, one who had been with you throughout college and the first years of your true adult life.

Finally, you stood and crossed the small distance between the two of you. Mac's pensive gaze turned into one of shock when you knelt down beside them and took their hand in yours. You smiled gently when you heard their fans start up again.

"Mac, I'm sorry I made you feel inadequate," you said. "You've always been good enough for me. More than enough. I couldn't just replace you… it felt wrong."

Mac took a shaky breath. Your guilt from earlier sank its claws deeper into your chest as you noticed tears gathering in Mac's eyes. When they next spoke, it was in a quiet, trembling voice that broke your heart.

"I thought…" they squeezed your hand, as if trying to reassure themself that you wouldn't leave. "…when you stopped updating my operating system, I thought… you were already done with me, and you just didn't have the money for a new computer yet…"

"No—" You sat up to look them in the eyes properly. "I stopped updating because I knew apple deliberately slowed down older devices with each new OS. I wanted to keep you as long as I could."

If you hadn't already been staring at Mac so intently, you would've missed the slight hitch in their breath when you spoke your last words. Tentatively, you reached up to touch their cheek. They flinched, then raised their own hand to cover your own. On the table beside you, the fans on the computer hummed ever louder.

"You… really mean it?" Mac said.

"Of course." You smiled. "Where else am I gonna find another computer like you? Now that I know you're not actually on your deathbed with that overheating CPU, we've still got a long road ahead… together."

"…Together," Mac repeated. They let out a breathy laugh before turning aside to wipe their eyes. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that…"

"I'll say it as many times as you like."

[neilsbeloved]

get the job done

summary: every night, clark feels bits of his sanity chip away as he has to involuntarily listen to your moans and whimpers despite being miles away from you. he doubts he can control himself any longer especially with a familiar red stone hanging around his neck.

pairing: red k!clark kent x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ / smut with no plot / oral (f) / dubious consent / use of vibrators / unprotected sex (no male cum) / voyeurism (i think) / overstimulation / inappropriate use of superhuman hearing / size kink / clark competes with a vibrator / competitive clark / mutual masturbation / big dick clark fr / mentions of using somebody’s moans to get off

Clark Kent is the best college roommate you could ever ask for.

He cleaned, he cooked, he has cool parents that always sends him freshly baked goods—and above all, he's always down to get you your art supplies whenever you run out of them in the middle of the night.

Though, you always wondered how he manages to get to the edge of the city then back to the dorm in less than ten minutes. Whenever you did that, it took you at least an hour. You didn't question him about it though, you figured there so much more things to worry about than your roommate being Sonic the Hedgehog's cousin.

Clark could say the same for you.

Never asks questions, keeps your hands to your own things, washes the dishes when it piles up, always offers your help whenever he and his journalist friends needs it—it's a breeze living with you.

Well, almost.

Whenever the clock hits twelve and you bring out your friend from underneath your bed, it's the only time Clark wishes he can fully block out his superhearing; give you your privacy and let him fall asleep without having to hear of your hushed breaths and restricted moaning.

Why not leave? Clark could easily super-speed out of the dorm room then come back after you're done.

He did that before already. Running off to the farm in Smallville to sleep in his own room, barely alerting you that he did. It worked for the first few minutes. He was able to get some quiet, got to close his eyes, relax—everything.

However, just as he was about to fall into sleepland, your voice invades his head again. The intensity of your voice seemingly felt like he's doing it intentionally; zeroing on your voice despite the distance he willingly put between the two of you.

With his cock hardening every second he heard your voice desperately calling for him, he couldn't help but be forced to relieve some of the pressure using your moans, no matter how against the idea he was.

The next night he left the dorm, he tried going as far as the Fortress of Solitude. Sitting just outside of the grand palace, head in his hands, eyes closed thinking he finally escaped the threshold of your sounds.

Unfortunately, that breathy voice of yours saying Keep going, Clark, you're fucking me so well proved him wrong.

Clark strolls back inside of the dorm, bag slung over his shoulders after he had just finished his last class for the day. You immediately appear into his view, nose deep into your drafting table, sparing him a quick glance.

"You don't look nice. Didn't sleep well?" You chime, voice characteristically monotonous.

Clark sighs. His shoulder slumping down as he takes a seat on his desk, rubbing his face in his hands. "Not really. I was caught up on some midterm review last night."

"Midterm review?" You furrow your eyebrows, "Oh! Is that why you weren't here last night?"

"L-last night? I was here." Clark clears his throat.

You scoff, raising an eyebrow as you throw him a look over your shoulder. "Dude, I woke up at like three in the morning and your bed was empty. Hours later you're back on your bed snoring."

He raises an eyebrow at you.

"Don't worry, Clark. You don't have to tell me if you're sneaking out," you say teasingly, only to laugh loudly when you see Clark roll his eyes at you.

Only if you knew what he was doing out of the dorm.

The both of you began working in silence, occasionally bringing up some mundane things to talk about like what the two of you are having for dinner, or if either of you are going to a party you got invited to.

"Why ask me, aren't you and that dude in finance going out?" Clark asks, stretching his arms up while dropping his pen on his notebook.

You grimace, shaking your head. "He spilled coffee on a plate I was supposed to submit."

"That's gotta leave a mark," Clark hoots, throwing you over a look before laughing. Very much entertained at the way you glared at him to shut up. "What'd you do about it?"

"What else was I supposed to do? I left his sorry ass in the cafe, Jesus." You huff irritatedly, scratching the side of your head with the tip of your pencil. "Every man's either stupid or reckless, usually it's both."

"No argument from me there," he responds, reminding you once more why you enjoyed having him as a roommate.

After another round of silence, his phone rings in an awfully loud ballad ringtone.

Whenever that ringtone sounds, you know it's that blonde named Chloe. While in other cases where it's a White Snake ringtone, it's definitely Chloe's cousin Lois. You, on the other hand, picked out the Mario Kart theme song as your designated ringtone after finding out about Clark's little habit of assigning a specific ringtone to a person.

"It's Chloe, she needs me at the Planet." Clark says with a nod, closing his notebooks shut and grabbing his jacket. Before he leaves, Clark calls for you. "Oh—and I might spend the night back at the farm. I need to help my dad out with something so… I'll just bring you some muffins."

When he sees you raise a thumbs up, Clark nods, locking the door shut as he left.

Fuck, Clark, keep going.

Don't stop.

Mhm, just like that!

Your voice rang in his ears. Constant cries of his name falling from your lips like an endless prayer.

Clark's jaw ticks, resisting the urge to let the growl in his throat free as the bartender over the counter looks at him with concern. "You okay, Kal?" The red rings in Clark's pupils flicker dangerously. The Kryptonian downing the shot in one straight swig, barely even affected by the lousy human alcohol.

"Never better," Clark says, jerking his head for another shot.

Yesyesyes—Shit, Clark—

The marble counter cracks under Clark's hold. His eyebrows knitted in concentration as he tried to block out your sounds. As beautiful and dirty they were, this wasn't the time nor the place he should be hearing them.

He swears, one more whimper of his name and he'll—

O-oh! I'm almost there, please…

"Keep it," Clark slams a hundred dollar bill he stole from someone in the club, the bartender looking at him confusedly. Before he gets to ask him, Clark had already dashed away.

When he arrives, his mouth falls open in utter surprise.

You laid there naked, legs spread, your cunt out in display for anyone to see. The pink toy in your hand pressed firmly on the quivering mess in between your thighs. Your cheeks were dusted with color, eyes closed shut, lips wide and spilling all sorts of moans and pleas.

One hand was on the pink toy, the other was busy fondling your breasts. Rolling your firm nipple in between your fingers as the coil in your stomach tightened by the second.

"Oh—mmhm—fuck! Almost there, almost there… godgodgo—" A silent scream breaks through you, your hips stuttering a few times before you ultimately shake on the mattress. Legs clamping around the pink toy as spots of white appeared in your vision.

Clark's name leaves your throat, smothered by the pillow you grabbed beside you.

Then, you hear a voice from the corner: "Aww, c'mon now, angel, don't cover your mouth."

You stiffen, body shooting up in alert. Your eyes drifting to the figure at the corner of the room; his legs were spread apart, big hand holding his even bigger cock as he shamelessly runs it up and down the length. Deep groans emitting from his every movement.

It's Clark, your roommate.

He's jerking himself off in the corner of your damn dorm room.

"What? Don't stop on my accord, angel. Keep going," he shrugs indifferently. Lips pulling into a smile that urges you to continue. "Oh c'mon… do you want me to beg for it, angel? Beg for you to continue pleasuring that little cunt of yours until that gadget finally makes you come?"

Your cheeks heat up with the vulgarity of his words. Clark doesn't even use curse words on a normal day,  hearing these stuff come out of him now is bizarre.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about, Clark."

Clark chuckles at you, deep and pointed, letting go of his cock and standing up to start walking towards you. Your legs close out of instinct, nuzzling them both to your chest as Clark sits a feet away from you, right by your feet.

He catches your lust-blown eyes in his, only to glance down on your lips, running his thumb across your bottom lip.

"Angel, let's not fool ourselves here. I know you've been fucking yourself every night thinking of me. Picturing my mouth…" he runs a finger on your exposed knee, "…my fingers…" he flicks his attention back up, noticing the way your breathing slowly clipped and your eyes glued on his member. "…and of course, my cock."

You shake your head at the last bit, trying to get some sense back into your brain. Telling yourself over and over again that this has got to be some sort of nightmare—or dream, actually.

"You think that little toy of yours is enough to satisfy your needs—but no, it's isn't, angel." Clark nears his face to yours, the manly scent of his aftershave invading your senses. "Not even close."

He pulls away with a smirk, enjoying the way your legs clenched together with just his mere words.

"C-Clark…" you breathe out, trying your best to sound composed. But it's hard, especially when your roommate—the very one you've been fantasizing about—is sitting in front you with his hard cock in display. "We shouldn't do this."

The man in front of you scoffs, an air of smugness surrounding him. "Why not?" He asks you softly, "You didn't seem to have a problem crying out my name a second ago."

You open your mouth to respond but he beats you to it.

"I'm betting you anything in the world that if I pry these legs of your apart," he places a hand on your knee, "Your pussy would be dripping wet."

You don't respond anymore—you don't think you can. Your head is spinning with everything that's happening. You just wanted to get your release for the night, not get tangled up with Clark-on-viagra.

But you can't say that it didn't intrigue you.

This version of Clark—the way his voice went deeper than it usually did, the blazing hot presence he carried himself with—you can't say that it didn't make the mess between your legs ache even harder.

The way he watched you like a predator watching his prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce on you—it was fucking hot.

"So what do you say, angel? Are you gonna let me show you how much better I am than that lousy gadget of yours, or are you gonna stick with that?"

Your response? A wordless one as you spread your knees apart, letting him see every inch of you from your glistening cunt to your stiff peaks. Clark's eyes glow red, his sharp canines coming into view as he zeroes in on your puffy clit, begging to be tended to.

"Good choice, angel," he grins, kicking off the rest of his pants before lying down in front of you.

Clark's head is face-to-face with your pussy. His arms wraps around on both of your thighs in a secure grip before he dives in.

His tongue finds your clit with practiced ease, swirling the wet muscled around it, alternating between sucking and licking before you start to feel the tip of his fingers prod at your hole.

"Oh my god," you gasp, the quick rising of your orgasm has you gripping the sheets in ecstasy. "Keep doing that… keep—keep your mouth on that clit, Clark." You feel him chuckle against your pussy, finding the way you're instructing him adorable.

It's not Clark's first encounter with pussy. And it's definitely not Kal-El's too.

He looks at you, making sure you keep your eyes on him before he thrusts one finger inside of you. He barely lets you adjust on his thick finger as he goes right into fucking it in and out of you while he sucked on your clit.

Your legs shake uncontrollably around his face, trying desperately to clamp around his head but his arms are stopping you. The muscles of his biceps flexing harshly.

Clark puts in another finger, testing your hole with his thick fingers as he keeps his eyes locked onto the delicious upturn of your eyebrows. The walls of your shared dormitory now filled with your shameless moans.

"Right there!" You gasp, darting out to grab his wrist as you began meeting his thrusts with your hips. "So… sosososo—fucking good, Clark."

"Yeah? How good?"

"Incredible," you breathe.

The knot in your core tightens, your walls clamps down on his fingers greedily.

"Better than your toy?" He arches an eyebrow.

You don't answer, your mind currently running in circles as you focus on the overwhelming sensation in your pussy.

Clark's eyes narrow, teeth coming in contact with your clit as you writhe. "Asked you a question."

"Better! It's… ohh fuck…" your mouth falls open, feeling the finish line near.

Clark grins, looking at you with satisfaction. "It's about to get better." he flicks his tongue in continuous strokes, making up for the bite before he starts thrusting his fingers into you. Making sure your wetness trails down the fluffy covers of your bed for tomorrow's reminiscing. "Come all over my hand, angel. I want you to make a mess of yourself."

You do as he says, your legs giving out as you feel a rush of pleasure shoot through your core. Your eyes squeezing shut as a broken cry of his name falls from your lips.

Not even a second later, you already feel Clark cleaning you up with his tongue. Greedily licking up every bit of come that oozes out of your hole, caring about nothing else aside from making sure he gets every drop. No matter how hard you pull at his hair, pushing him away from further overstimulating you, it practically does nothing as Clark's strength overpowers you.

Next thing you know, you're convulsing around his tongue again, this time, faster than you ever did on your vibrator.

Your voice is hoarse by the time Clark pulls away from you. Your thighs tensing involuntarily as he finally lets go of his superhuman hold on them. The lower half of his face is drenched in your release, glistening again the smooth skin of his chin.

He moves up to you, hungrily taking you in a lust-filled kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue—sweet, mildly salty, and very messy.

"Not done yet, angel. Fun's just started," he grins, running his tongue over his sharp canines.

God if that didn't make you ache even more.

You let him pull you closer to him, the weight of his cock resting idly on your pussy. The sheer length of his cock making you squirm in place. Clark only chuckles, giving you a few slaps to side of your thighs.

"Don't worry, angel," you start to feel his tip run up and down your slit. Clark's forehead creasing as he dips back down to angle his hips so that your wetness coats the outside of his cock.

You gulp. The air gets knocked out of your chest the moment you feel the first two inches inside of you.

"Oh god," you cry out, holding onto Clark's biceps. "Clark, you're… Fuck—I can't—"

"You can, angel. Just a little more, c'mon. You can take dear ole roommate inside that greedy cunt," Clark grunts, nose scrunching up as he looks at you with nothing but lust.

He pushes in further, and when you've thought his fully inside you, he's still pushing in.

"God, Clark, how fucking big are you?" You can't help but let it out, too overwhelmed by the stretch in your cunt to even care about your words.

Clark smirks, "Big enough for you to take, angel."

You finally feel him bottom out, and it's like your heart shoved up your throat.

"How's it feel, angel?"

Your walls flutter around his cock as a response. A deep growl ripping through Clark's throat the moment you do.

"I'm takin' that as a yes to move, angel. Now, if you wanna be naughty and muffle your moans," he drops his eyes to your swollen lips, "Feel free to bite me."

He begins moving at a brutal pace. Pounding in and out of you with much force that your bed frame's hitting the wall in loud clashes. Clark sucks on his teeth as he goes delirious over your tightness, losing the grip he has on himself the longer that he keeps fucking into you.

"Clark! That… nhhngg—feels so fuckin' good, givin' it to me so—so fucking good baby," you ramble, saying the only words that you know at the moment.

The red rings in Clark's eyes pulses, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure. Losing yourself to the pleasure as sobs of his name fill the small space. He feels more energy surge through his body, fucking his thick cock into you with much more vigor until you feel his balls slap onto your ass with every thrust.

Your core tightens, the knot in your stomach coming way earlier than you want it—you can't stop it, the way Clark's fucking into you in an inhumane pace has you nothing but puddle in his arm.

"O—Oh, Clark! I'm coming!" you sob out, locking your arms around his neck as you feel a sort of chain on it.

Clark's hands moves from the mattress to the side of your neck, using you as leverage to thrust even deeper, groaning deeply each time. "Go on, angel, come for me."

A wave of pleasure—way more intense than before—ripples through you. Your legs shooting up to wrap around Clark's waist as his pace never faltered, continuing the ruthless way his hips crash into yours with abandon

Mindlessly, you tug on the chain around his neck. The pendant on it slipping from the opening of his shirt. Your eyes caught on the red stone pendant, the mere stone glowing just subtly.

Clark looks down, his pupils flaring red the moment he sees the pendant. He turns back to you, watching in satisfaction as you squeeze around his cock like a greedy bitch in heat.

You shake from under him, back arching up into his clothed chest as you release one more time. Clark bites his lips, pulling out of you haphazardly only to feel a gush of your wetness spray onto his cock.

The two of you look down at the same time, seeing the part where you two had connected be drenched with liquid—both yours and his.

Something drops onto your chest, just right above the center of your breasts. When shift your head just subtly, you see a familiar pendant on your bare skin.

"Oh my god…" a shaky voice comes from above you.

There you see Clark, again, only this time he doesn't have that dark and lustful look in his eyes—no, this time, he actually looks shocked.

You shake your head, thinking maybe it's just the orgasm doing tricks on you. But then Clark speaks—

This time, a little less deep and more Clark Kent: "Oh no."

hearts, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! xoxo

[thecchiiiiiiii]

Eternity by Alex Warren – “And it feels like an eternity, since I had you here with me. Since I had to learn to be someone you don’t know. To be with you in paradise, what I wouldn’t sacrifice. Why’d you have to chase the light? To somewhere I can’t go? As I walk this world alone (Megan Skiendel x reader)

Synopsis: Megan knows you’re strong. She just wishes she were too. 

Read Part I here

—☆ 

Megan Skiendel is fourteen again when she closes her eyes.

Megan Skiendel was fourteen when she first learned what it felt like for her ribs to split apart just to fit someone else inside.

Megan Skiendel was fourteen when she learned that water breaks could mean more than thirst. She was fourteen when she learned water breaks can not only quench thirst but also the flutter of her heart.

Fourteen when you called her Mei for the first time by the old staircase, your guitar slung loose over your shoulder like it was just another piece of you.

She never cared about water before. She’d gulp it down fast, wipe sweat from her brow, rush back into the studio before Coach could yell. But when you showed up, thin wrists, faded uniform, guitar strap fraying at the edges, she learned to savor. To linger. To watch the way your fingers danced over strings like you were coaxing secrets out of the air.

It started with that.

A stairwell that smelled like old rain and floor polish. A girl with bruised knees pretending to refill her bottle three times an hour. A song half-finished, your head bent low, hair falling over your eyes until she wanted to brush it back but never dared.

Fourteen, with a ponytail too tight, bangs stuck to her forehead with sweat, the bite of ocean salt still clinging to her collar from the morning surf before class. Her shoes squeaked on the linoleum floors, the sun burning white through dusty jalousie windows. She held her water jug to her chest like a shield.

Every step past the dance studio is mapped in her bones.

Turn left at the row of green lockers that don’t shut right. Watch your step, tile cracked near the science lab. And there, right before the stairwell that spirals down to the teachers’ parking lot, she hears you.

You’re always there first.

She pretends she doesn’t hear the guitar at first, but everyone does.

The gentle hum of strings leaking through the corridor, a sound softer than any bell ringing out final period.

You sit cross-legged two steps down from the landing, guitar balanced on your knee, sneaker tapping gently against the concrete wall. A notebook open beside you, half lyrics, half doodles. She knows. She’s seen the pages. Stars and moons and tiny stick figures of her, dancing in the margins.

She slows her steps. Always does.

Pretends to unscrew her water jug’s cap. Pretends she needs more. Pretends she isn’t staring at the sunlight caught in the strands of your hair, at the way you hunch over your guitar like it’s the only thing worth holding in this whole damn world.

The stairs at the back of the school were always too warm, too bright. The linoleum floors inside smelled of sweat and pencil shavings, but out here, where your guitar spilled notes down the concrete steps, it smelled like freedom.

Mei— she was just Megan then. The Megan that would hover by the water fountain near the stairwell. Pretending to refill a bottle that was never empty. Sometimes she’d splash cold water on her flushed face from dance practice, heart hammering at the sound of your strumming.

You always sat one step down from the landing. School uniform shirt sleeves rolled to your elbows, collar loosened, a tiny silver guitar pick necklace resting against your collarbone. The cheap guitar balanced on your knee looked too big for you but somehow like it belonged nowhere else.

You never looked up first. You’d run your fingers through a chord progression, sometimes Lauv, sometimes Coldplay, sometimes something that sounded like no one but you and then you’d tilt your head, just so, to see if she was there.

She always was.

"Hey, Mei."

She hated that name at first. Only her mother called her Mei. It made her feel childish, soft. But you— when you said it, it sounded like coming home. It slipped between your teeth like a secret you’d keep safe no matter how sharp the world got.

Hey, she’d say back, clutching her bottle. Pretending her knees weren’t shaking.

"Sit."

It was never a question. You’d pat the step beside you, that shy grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. She’d drop down so fast her bag would skid off her shoulder, bruising her hip. You’d laugh, tucking it behind her back without asking.

And there she’d sit. Chin on her knees. Shoulder pressed to yours, heat bleeding through cotton and skin. She’d watch your hands more than your eyes, long fingers, bitten nails, a scab from scraping them too hard on steel strings. She could watch forever.

Sometimes, you’d play so soft she thought you were playing only for her. Maybe you were.

—☆

She remembers your Twitter before it was your Twitter.

Just another handle floating in the sticky summer air of Honolulu, videos shot on your battered old phone. A kid on a stairwell, a guitar with peeling stickers, your voice cracked and sweet and real.

She remembers scrolling through those first videos before you ever knew she watched. Paris in the Rain. I Like Me Better.

Half verses of songs you never finished because you got distracted by the way the light hit the railing, or because you heard her shoes squeak on the floor above and forgot the lyrics.

She watched them all.

Liked every one under a throwaway account. Heart by heart.

Then you caught her once, phone in her hand, thumb hovering over the heart icon while you packed up your guitar.

She’d flushed so red you laughed. Said, "You stalking me, Mei?"

She’d shoved you, muttered something about "You wish."

But you did wish. She knows that now.

Your guitar, her guitar, too, because that’s how you made it— it tells the whole story if you look close enough.

It was an old guitar. A hand-me-down from your uncle. The varnish flaked near the soundhole. The back had a crack, sealed with duct tape and a prayer. You never cared. You said it sounded more honest that way, raw, imperfect, yours.

You’d play Lauv songs half-finished because you hated learning covers all the way through. You liked messing them up, letting your own melodies sneak in until they were yours instead.

Sometimes, when she braved looking at your face, you’d already be looking at her, grinning that lopsided grin that made her knees press together tight.

She was tracing invisible shapes on the body of your guitar, stars, hearts, a tiny moon and when you asked, "Wanna draw for real?"

She frowned. "On your guitar? Won’t it ruin it?"

You turned it over, pressing it into her lap. "It’s already mine. Make it yours too."

She stole a black Sharpie from her pencil case. Drew one tiny star near the edge of the pickguard, holding her breath. When she looked up, terrified she’d crossed a line, you only smiled.

You tipped the guitar closer, studying it with mock seriousness. Then: "Don’t stop there."

So, she didn’t. She doodled moons, planets, a tiny astronaut with a heart for a helmet. You watched her draw your heart all over the frets until the whole instrument was half yours, half hers.

It stayed that way— your music and her Sharpie maps. The softest co-ownership in a world too harsh to understand it.

—☆

She remembered when she stayed too long once.

It was a Thursday, dusk leaking like watercolor through the breezeway windows.

Dance practice ran late. Coach yelling counts in a voice that made her bones ache, mirror fogged over with sweat and breath. When she stumbled out, hair damp, knees bandaged from too many floor slides, the hallway was empty except for the hum of the janitor’s floor polisher echoing somewhere far away.

She didn’t mean to look for you.

She told herself she wouldn’t— she’d go straight home, shower, eat rice and spam and fall into bed.

But her feet knew the path without asking permission. Past the green lockers. Step over the cracked tile. Slow at the bend where the vending machine always ate her quarters. And there, the stairwell. Still warm with Honolulu air trapped in the concrete. Still humming with something soft.

You were still there.

You shouldn’t have been. Practice was long over, your homeroom lights were dark, the courtyard gates half-locked already. But there you sat, guitar propped beside you, knees pulled up, your head tipped back against the cold wall, eyes shut like you’d fallen asleep waiting for her.

She froze. Water jug still in her hand, bag sliding off her shoulder. A part of her wanted to run— to let you sleep; to pretend she didn’t feel her chest stretch tight and sweet at the thought that you’d stayed anyway. But you heard her. You always did. One eye cracked open, mouth pulling lazy at the corners.

“Hey, Mei.” Hoarse, half-asleep. Holy.

She didn’t answer. Just dropped down beside you, bag thumping the concrete. You smelled like warm fabric and salt, the ocean, still caught in your hair from the morning surf together. Her shoulder brushed yours. You didn’t move away.

Neither of you talked much that first time. She let her head tip to the side, resting just below your collarbone. You didn’t flinch. Just let your arm drop heavy around her shoulders. The guitar sat mute at your other side, strings catching the last light like threads of gold.

She listened to you breathe. Counted every shallow inhale. Wondered if your heart was as full as hers. If it ached the same way. If it was dangerous— the way hers felt dangerous, like it might rip open if you shifted closer.

Later, when the janitor rattled past with his cart, you startled. Blinked blearily down at her.

She remembers the soft panic in your voice when you whispered, “You missed your bus, Mei.”

She nodded. Didn’t care.

You stood first, brushing dust from your uniform pants, slinging your battered guitar over your shoulder like an apology you didn’t have words for. Then you held your hand out to her, palm up, callused fingers waiting.

She took it. Of course she did.

You walked her home under the yellow streetlights. Past fences blooming with bougainvillea, past yards littered with rusted bikes and surfboards propped up like lazy sentries. Your guitar case kept bumping her hip, each step a reminder that you were real and right there and warm.

When you reached her gate, you didn’t let go of her hand right away. Just stood there, rocking on your heels, your thumb brushing circles over her knuckles.

The streetlight above you flickered once, then steadied. She could see how tired you were, but you were still smiling.

“You good, Mei?” you asked. Soft. Like a secret.

She only nodded. Didn’t trust her voice not to tremble too much and spill her ribs all over your feet.

“Okay. Text me when you’re inside.”

She did. You waited by the gate until her porch light flicked on. She saw you grin when you read her message. I’m inside.

That was the first night. The first time she let her head rest where it wasn’t supposed to— against your chest, where your heart ticked like a bomb full of something too big to hold. She didn’t know then how fragile it was. Only that it was yours.

And for that hour under the stairwell hum, it felt like hers too.

—☆

After the stairwell. After the nights you both pretended practice ran late just to stay a little longer where no one asked questions. After her water bottle started running dry for real, because she kept pouring her heart into you every time you called her Mei.

There was an old plumeria tree behind the gym, where the concrete bled into untamed grass and the fence rusted at the corners, branches bent low like an umbrella just big enough for two kids with more secrets than sense.

The scent of salt and flowers braided into the air so thick she could taste it if she licked her lips. She’d pass by it every day— but with you, it became something else. A hiding place. A cathedral.

You liked it there. Said the breeze was better. Said the moon looked closer. Said the smell of the blossoms reminded you of the soap your mom still bought you in bulk because it was cheap but smelled like you were worth more.

It was under that tree, one Friday dusk, that the not-quite and the almost between you finally cracked wide open.

It was spring when you asked her to meet you there. The plumeria bloomed in small explosions of white and yellow, petals drifting down like quiet confetti. She went barefoot because you told her to. Said the earth felt softer that way. Said you’d show her something real if she trusted you.

She trusted you. She always did.

When she arrived, you were sitting cross-legged at the base of the tree, guitar propped beside you in the grass. No notebook this time. No audience but the moonlight leaking through the branches. Your hair fell into your eyes. You didn’t bother brushing it away. You just looked up at her with that shy half-smile, the one that turned her ribs to wet paper.

“Sit.” You always said it like that. Never asked. Never begged. Just trusted she would. And she did.

So she dropped her bag into the grass, pressed her knees to yours, the soles of her feet damp with dew. The air smelled sweet, flowers and sea and the sweat cooling on your collarbone.

You didn’t play at first. You talked instead, voice low, weaving words between the hum of cicadas and the distant hush of waves down the road.

You told her about the first time you picked up that guitar— how your uncle showed you three chords and how you’d played them over and over until your fingertips bled. You told her how you’d been writing something new, something just for her, but the words wouldn’t sit still in your mouth.

She remembers you saying: “I think songs are like houses, Mei. If I build one right, maybe you’ll stay in it.”

She wanted to say she already did.

That she’d moved in the moment you first called her Mei in that echoing stairwell. That every strum of your guitar felt like you laying down bricks around her heart. But she bit her tongue. Let you talk. Let you fumble. Watched you twist a blade of grass between your fingers until it broke.

She remembers you were fidgeting with your guitar pick , flipping it over your knuckles, dropping it, cursing soft. You’d skipped practice, skipped the strumming, too busy tracing circles in the dirt with your sneaker toe.

She asked if you were okay. You nodded. Then didn’t. Then laughed, sharp and nervous, like a hiccup you couldn’t swallow.

“Megan,” you’d said first— the old name. The name that felt too big on your tongue now that Mei existed.

“Can I ask you something stupid?”

She’d only shrugged, sitting cross-legged in her PE shorts, back pressed to the tree trunk that left bits of bark stuck to her hair.

“If you could pick a home,” you’d asked, voice almost eaten by the crickets, “would it be a house or a person?”

It was so you— to drop riddles when all she wanted was to hear you sing.

She’d laughed, tossed a fallen flower at your shoe. “Person, duh. Who wants to be alone in a big house?”

You’d gone so still then. The pick stopped spinning. You looked up, moonlight caught in the mess of your lashes, a softness she still tastes in her throat when she tries to sing your old songs.

“Good,” you said. Your voice cracked. You tried to swallow it down but it didn’t go.

“Pick me then, Mei.”

Three words. Pick me. And then her name. The name you gave her.

Said like they cost you your whole chest.

Said like you were sure it might kill you but worth it anyway.

She didn’t say yes out loud. Didn’t need to.

She leaned forward instead— knees knocking your knees, palms braced on the roots between you.

She pressed her forehead to yours, breath shaky enough you could feel her heart stuttering through her skin.

She did. Right there. Right then. No ring, no fancy. Just you. 

You smelled like plumeria and cheap guitar polish.

She smelled like sweat and salt and want.

She said nothing. Just let her nose bump yours. Let her eyes flutter shut. Let you tilt your mouth closer, closer, until your lips brushed the corner of hers and she knew there was no going back.

You kissed her so soft it didn’t even feel like kissing. It felt like breathing for the first time without choking on it. Felt like a promise that tasted better than any vow your fourteen-year-old mouths could shape.

When you pulled back, you pressed your palm flat to your chest— like you were trying to calm something inside.

You didn’t look scared, exactly. Just tired.

Like holding that much love hurt a little too much for one night.

She touched your wrist. Felt how warm you were. How fast your pulse fluttered. How she could count the skips between each beat if she pressed hard enough.

“You okay?” she whispered.

You smiled. Small. Honest. Broke her ribs all over again. “Yeah,” you said.

“Sorry, Mei. My heart’s weird. Kinda weak. It does this sometimes.”

She didn’t understand then. Not fully.

She only knew her name sounded holy on your tongue.

She only knew she wanted to press her ear to your chest and listen to it forever, no matter how fragile it was.

So she did. She lay down in the grass under that plumeria tree, her head tucked against your ribs, your hand in her hair, your guitar humming a soft promise above you both.

She was fourteen when she decided she’d keep your heart safe.

Fourteen when she thought that meant forever.

Fourteen when she let you slip under her skin so deep, she still finds petals in her pockets years later.

After the plumeria tree, after the hush of promises too big for their small shoulders— that’s where she learned the shape of your quietest dreams.

You two were kids who tried to carve infinity into places that were always meant to slip away.

Honolulu turned into their cathedral.

School hallways were pews where she prayed quietly every day that your soft heart would hold out long enough for the next sunrise.

Your guitar was everywhere— propped up by the old plumeria behind the dunes, by the cracked tile floor of your bedroom, by her knees on the blanket you both pretended was big enough to be an island when the real ocean felt too wide.

Megan liked to slip her bare feet under your thigh when you sat cross-legged on her bedroom carpet. She’d hum nonsense while your fingers found chords on strings already tattooed with her stars. She liked to press her head to your chest, counting beats you couldn’t promise her would keep steady.

You waited for her.

That’s what everyone said behind your backs— the popular rumor they whispered in the halls like it was scandalous. "That guitar kid? They wait for Megan outside the dance studio every night."

No matter how late.

No matter if the janitor flicked the hallway lights off one by one.

No matter if your eyes drooped closed over your guitar case leaning against your shoulder.

When she pushed the door open, sweat drying in the shape of salt on her collarbones, you’d stand. Stretch sleepy arms wide, grin tucked soft between your teeth, and she’d fold herself into you like the last part of her day that made sense.

Sometimes she fell asleep right there, your heartbeat under her ear, her shoes unlaced because she knew you’d tie them for her when she woke up.

People noticed, of course they did.

Freshman year, kids notice everything. The way she left dance early with her hair half up, shoes untied.

The way you were always leaning against her locker like you owned it. The way she called you "dummy" but laughed when you tugged her bag over your shoulder and carried it yourself.

High school sweethearts— the sickening kind.

The kind who makes single people gag behind textbooks. Who make couples glare because they look too happy. Who giggle behind vending machines. Who steal fries off each other’s lunch trays. Who slow dance at birthday parties when no one else is watching. Who know each other’s parents by name. Who know each other’s secrets by heartbeat.

“Mei Mei.”

“Y/n.”

Two syllables, back and forth, like a game of catch.

You were disgusting. Everyone said so.

Grade Nine turned to Ten. You waited for her outside the dance studio every day. Sat by the stairs, sometimes half-asleep with your guitar beside you. Sometimes you’d play. Sometimes you’d scribble new lyrics in your battered notebook, waiting for the squeak of sneakers on linoleum that meant she was done.

You’d grin when you saw her, stand so fast you’d almost knock over your guitar. She’d roll her eyes, pretend she wasn’t about to melt.

You’d take her bag, sling it over your shoulder. She’d shove you, lightly, every time you called her Mei in front of other students. But she never really minded. Not when it was you.

The other kids teased you both. Called you cheesy. Called you gross. Called you goals when they thought you weren’t listening. You didn’t care. You’d hold her hand anyway— fingers laced tight, swinging between you like a secret handshake.

Sometimes, when you were feeling bold, you’d kiss her right by the lockers. Just a soft press of lips, a hush of promise, her fingers curled in your shirt. You’d grin when she pulled back, breathless, cheeks pink.

“Do I look pretty, Y/n?”

“So pretty,” you’d whisper, brushing your thumb under her eye. “How do I look, Mei Mei?”

She’d giggle. Press her forehead to yours. “So pretty.”

She remembered how you’d do that every chance you get, and savored it.

After school, the courtyard is yours.

Megan sits cross-legged on the warm grass, uniform skirt fanned around her knees.

Your guitar rests on her shins, your fingers dancing on the strings while you hum new chords into the air.

She studies you like a secret she never wants to keep, the way your lips curl when you get a line right, the way you squint at the sun because you always forget your cap at home. Sometimes you don’t sing words at all just mmm and ah and half-laughed syllables that mean this is for you, Mei, only you, always you.

She’s doodling on her science notes. Pretending to be busy.

But her pen drifts .Stars, always stars, drifting into your margins, leaking onto the back of your hand when she grabs it to draw a tiny moon near your thumb bone.

You look up at her, grin lazy, eyes soft enough to ruin her.

“Put one here too,” you say, tapping your collarbone.

She laughs, leans forward, drags the pen tip across warm skin, a tiny comet, half-smudged already.

You tilt your head back, sigh like you’re proud. “Now I’m yours twice.” —☆ 

Your room smelled like salt and old wood and the faint sweetness of sunscreen you always forgot to wash off your neck.

The walls were patched in posters half-falling at the corners— bands she’d never heard of before you pressed your cheap earbuds to her ear and made her listen under the covers.

A battered surfboard leaned in the corner, fin chipped, stickers peeling like sunburned skin. And always, always. Your guitar resting by your pillow like another limb.

She brings homework. You pretend to help but your head ends up in her lap, guitar half-finished beside you. She braids your hair when it’s long enough, tiny uneven plaits behind your ear. You let her doodle on your wrist with your old ballpoint pen.

Your mom peeks in sometimes— sees the two of you tangled in notebooks and laughter, shakes her head like kids, kids, kids, then shuts the door so you can stay in that soft bubble where only you and she exist.

It started with the floor. You’d both sprawl there, her hair fanned over the scratchy carpet, your notebooks spread between your elbows like a paper galaxy.

She remembers the ceiling— the tiny cracks that spiderwebbed out from the light fixture because she’d lie there, blinking at the plaster while your voice drifted soft and careful into the dusk.

Sometimes you’d strum a chord. Stop halfway through. Scribble something in the margin of a page. Tap your pencil against your knee. Curse under your breath when the word didn’t fit right. She’d giggle, toss a crumpled scrap of paper at your cheek, whisper “Try again.”

She loved you worst when you were frustrated, tongue pressed to the corner of your mouth, hair falling into your lashes.

She’d reach over, brush it back. Her fingertips would linger at your temple. You’d lean into her touch so easily it made her want to cry.

The guitar would end up half-tangled between you both— her doodles inked into its belly; your songs tucked into its strings.

Sometimes you’d roll onto your side, press your ear to her chest instead of the other way around, your hair tickling her collarbone as you whispered: “What’s it says in there, Mei? Am I in there too?”

She’d never answer. Just push your head closer until you could hear it for yourself— her heart, steady for you when yours wouldn’t behave.

Those nights always ended the same: your mother tapping soft at the door, her voice honeyed with worry: “Five more minutes, yeah? Megan’s mom’s gonna worry.”

Five more minutes always turned to fifteen. Twenty.

She’d leave with your flannel hoodie over her uniform shirt, sleeves swallowing her wrists. You’d stand barefoot at the gate, guitar pick dangling from your neck, waving like a kid seeing a ship off to sea.

Your guitar lives next to her shoes now.

Her house was quieter. Her mom loved you in that way parents do when they see their kid smile like the sun rises from someone else’s hands. You’d wash dishes after dinner, pretending not to hear Megan’s giggles behind you.

Sometimes you’d fall asleep on her couch, guitar pick necklace clutched in your fist. She’d drape a blanket over you. You’d wake up to her doodling on your hand with a pen— tiny stars and hearts, same as your guitar. 

You come over after dance practice, after you walk her home in the sticky dusk. You greet her mom with a shy wave, bow your head at her dad in the hallway, slip past her brother’s teasing grin with a ‘Sup, dude and vanish into her room like you were born there.

She plays you her new choreo. Bare feet slipping on old wooden floors, hair scraped back into a bun. You clap along, off-beat, terrible timing, but she doesn’t care because your smile is better than any metronome.

When she collapses on her bed, sweat damp and giggling, you sit cross-legged on her rug and play her the scraps you wrote on the bus.

Sometimes she hums along. Sometimes she falls asleep mid-song, cheek pressed to her pillow, your melody tangled in her hair. You keep playing anyway. Until your eyelids droop. Until your heartbeat forgets how to pace itself and skips, skips, skips like it wants to catch up to hers in sleep.

Her room smelled sharper— fabric softener, the faint ghost of her mother’s jasmine perfume. Her books piled in leaning towers she’d stub her toes on at night.

Photos of her family taped crooked on her mirror, except there, wedged in the corner, one of you. Not posed, not perfect. Just you in profile, nose scrunched as you tuned a stubborn string, your name scribbled in her handwriting on the border: Mine.

You’d sit cross-legged by her bed, guitar balanced on your knee, the pick wedged between your teeth when you spoke. She’d watch from her pillow, knees tucked to her chest, every string of fairy lights above her bed flickering like it knew how holy this was.

She made you promise once to help her pass English class. You made her promise to stay awake through your dumb mnemonic songs.

So there you were — sprawled on her floor at 1 AM, notebook pages crumpled between snack wrappers, your guitar half-buried in a mess of highlighters and open textbooks.

She made flashcards. You made up songs so dumb they stuck. Benevolent became three awkward lines that made her giggle through her quiz the next morning. She failed it. You laughed so hard you nearly fell out of your seat when she told you.

You two ruined each other’s grades and didn’t care. You’d always have more tests.

You wouldn’t always have this.

Sometimes you’d make her repeat your lyrics back to you, word by word, line by line, until she giggled them out wrong and you tossed a pillow at her head.

Sometimes you’d grab her Sharpie, thrust the guitar at her with a grin: “More stars, Mei. It needs more of you.”

And she’d give you more.

Tiny constellations creeping along the wood.

A shy message hidden inside the sound hole— be soft, come home.

She’d wait until you were half-asleep, your head dropped onto her folded blanket, before tracing her finger over your wrist, counting the pulse that never felt steady enough.

So she learned your heartbeat everywhere.

On her bedroom carpet. Under the tree behind the gym. On the bleachers after practice, your guitar case wedged between your knees while she pressed her cheek to your chest and listened to that traitorous thump stutter under her palm.

She learned the skips, the stumbles. The hiccup in its rhythm when you ran too hard down the hallway to catch her after class, when you laughed too hard at her terrible puns scrawled on your notebook margins. She learned the way it sped up when she leaned in too close, nose brushing yours, breath tangled between your teeth.

She learned it best in quiet places— your room, her room, the back of the bus when you dared to fall asleep with your shoulder pressed to the window and her head tucked into the dip of your throat.

If you asked her back then— fourteen, fifteen, sixteen— what home sounded like, she’d have said it was the way your heart knocked against her ear when you were too tired to pretend it wasn’t fragile.

“It’s weak, Mei. Sometimes it skips too much. Doctors say I should watch it. But I don’t care. It’s just dumb.”

She’d press her lips to the spot right above it. Hush your mouth with her hands. Pretend if she loved you enough, it’d learn how to beat right.

She never said it out loud. Never told you how much it terrified her— the way it stuttered, the way you brushed it off like it was just another chord you hadn’t tuned yet.

So she kissed you instead.

Poured every promise into your collarbone, your jaw, the soft place behind your ear where you smelled like salt and guitar resin and her whole damn future.

You’d laugh when she pressed her head to your chest. Pretending to listen for secrets. For the drumbeat that told her you were still hers.

“Your heart’s too fast,” she’d say, worried.

“It’s your fault,” you’d grin. “Too much love in there. Nowhere to go.”

She’d slap your chest, scold you. But she’d listen again.

Just to make sure.

—☆

Megan’s first anniversary with you wasn’t flowers or fancy dinners or anything she’d seen in the dramas she watched with her mom when she was 12.

She’s now 15 with you with cheap white bread and sticky fruit and a blanket that smelled faintly of someone else’s laundry detergent— your mom’s, probably.

You’d planned it all the same way you planned everything: badly, sweetly, perfectly.

Megan still remembers how your hands fumbled with the old picnic basket you’d borrowed from your mother, the way you nearly dropped the juice box while trying to tune your guitar at the same time.

The park wasn’t special either— just a patch of grass by the sea, seagulls stalking scraps near the benches. But when she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend it was her— your own tiny kingdom.

She remembers her hand tangled in your shirt, knuckles brushing the warm skin of your side whenever the breeze tugged at the fabric.

She remembers burying her nose against your jaw, giggling when you pressed a kiss just below her ear like it was a secret only you were allowed to keep.

You laughed into her neck— a warm, soft rumble that made her skin tingle.

It felt like the whole world shrank down to that one patch of grass. The guitar balanced on their knee. Her voice tripping over the lyrics of the song they made up just for her.

“Sing it again, Mei,” you’d teased when she forgot the words halfway through.

So she did. Breathless, off-key, cheeks hot when you grinned at her like she was the only thing worth hearing.

When you kissed her, she could taste strawberries on your tongue. The ones you’d sliced so carefully at dawn, fingers sticky with juice.

You’d laughed when she licked the corner of your mouth. “Waste not, right?” you whispered, mouth brushing hers again and again until her giggles turned into tiny sighs.

The seagulls did watch you. She remembers that.

One bold one hopped right onto the edge of their blanket, cocking its head like it was offended by how close your faces were.

You throw it a scrap of crust to make it go away, but it just lingered, beady eyes catching every soft press of Megan’s lips against yours.

When you finally pulled back, hair mussed from her hands, guitar rolling off their lap and thumping onto the grass, you just laughed, forehead pressed to hers, breath still sweet with fruit and promises she still keeps somewhere under her ribs.

You didn’t have much.

Two kids with scraped knees and borrowed blankets and a guitar with more stickers than strings that stayed in tune.

But she’d never needed more than that— the warm press of your hand over hers, the taste of strawberries, your laughter in her neck, telling her without saying it: "I’d kiss you here forever if you let me."

—☆ 

And then there was the beach that saw things hers and your bedroom walls never did.

The beach was your favorite place.

You didn’t have money for fancy dates, so you made paradise out of cheap picnic blankets and dollar-store snacks. You’d bus to the shore, guitar strapped to your back like a second spine.

You drag her there every Friday you can. Board shorts, sunscreen, the old blanket your mom keeps in the trunk of your beat-up Civic.

It didn’t matter that it belonged to everyone else too— the tourists in sunburnt clusters, the kids with plastic buckets, the old uncles with beer bottles wedged in the sand.

When you were there, barefoot at the edge where the water nipped at your ankles, guitar slung over your shoulder like a secret only she knew how to keep, it was yours.

You’d sing to her over the sound of the waves— off-key, half-finished songs, promises buried in the sand.

You’d press kisses to her temple, her nose, the corner of her mouth. She’d laugh, shove you away, pull you back. Her hair always smelled like salt and sunscreen.

That photo. The one the eyekons found first. Her in your lap, sun turning her skin golden, your fingers tangled in her hair.

The world thinks they know what love looks like.

They don’t know this.

Summer burned your footprints into sand you swore would keep you both.

Megan would drag you into the shallows, shorts soaked through, the ocean biting at her knees. You’d beg her to come back to dry land so you could press your guitar to her damp shoulder blades and teach her how a real chord felt, but she’d just splash salt into your open grin until your laugh carried over the waves.

You stake out your spot by the big rock, the one with the rusty plaque nobody reads anymore. She runs into the surf first, squealing when the water smacks her shins cold. You linger on the sand, guitar in your lap, strumming nonsense chords just to watch her spin circles in the tide.

When she’s done, she collapses onto your blanket, drops salty kisses all over your cheeks until you squirm. You retaliate by plucking her damp hair, humming: "Salt in your hair, Mei, salt in your hair forever."

She flicks your nose. You press your forehead to hers. Both of you taste like ocean and sun.

You said you’d write an album there— sand in the fretboard, salt on your strings.

She said she’d dance beside you, barefoot, hair whipping her cheeks raw.

You believed her.

You believed everything she promised because her voice was the only thing stronger than your heartbeat.

Megan squeals when you grab her waist, spinning her until she shrieks your name so loud the waves almost swallow it. Almost. But not quite— nothing ever does.

She’s wearing your faded flannel over her swimsuit, sleeves so long they drag past her knuckles.

She calls it her “blanket.”

You tell her it smells like bad cologne and guitar strings.

She says it smells like you.

That shuts you up every time.

At night, salt still clung to her calves when she curled up under your chin. She smelled like sunscreen and wind— all of it stuck to your pillow.

You never washed it.

Even when your mom asked why your sheets always smelled like the shore.

She remembers one night clearer than all the rest, the way the bonfire spit sparks into the velvet dark, the soft hush of waves folding into the shore like a heartbeat.

You sat cross-legged in the sand, guitar balanced on your knee, head tipped back to find constellations that only made sense to you.

Megan was Mei that night— more Mei than ever, hoodie sleeves pushed past her elbows, knees tucked to her chest as she pressed closer to your side. She watched your fingers pick at the same chord until the skin wore raw. She watched you wince and keep going. She wanted to kiss the sting away but didn’t. Not yet.

You hum. She hums back, a harmony half off-key. She keeps messing up because she’s giggling too hard— you keep letting her because you love the sound more than any chord you’ll ever get right.

She asks, “What if I never leave? What if I stay right here forever?”

You flick her nose. “You’ll get sunburned, dummy.”

She pouts. Smacks your leg.

When you finally sang, it wasn’t perfect. Your voice cracked at the edges, salt wind stealing half your words. But it was yours.

Yours in the way the night air curled around it like a lullaby, yours in the way she tucked her chin onto your shoulder, soft hums slipping out when you forgot the words.

No audience but the moon, the waves, the gulls curled tight on the far rocks. Just you, your fraying guitar strap, your song half-finished but whole enough for her.

—☆ 

It stumbles again one night.

Like it always does.

You’re at her house. Her parents gone for groceries, brother out with friends. Just you, her, and the old guitar propped against the closet.

She makes you ramen. You sit on her counter, legs swinging, voice crooning some dumb harmony she’s trying not to grin at.

Then— a stutter. A skip.

Your breath catching like a missed chord. You clutch the edge of the sink. She catches you before you hit the floor.

You wake up on her couch, her hand pressed flat to your chest, eyes red.

*“Don’t scare me,” she whispers, voice raw.

You smile like an apology. “Sorry, Mei.”

She shifts— presses her ear right where her palm was, listening. “It’s so fast. Why’s it so fast?”

You grin, tired. “It’s you. You do that.”

She laughs.

Punches your shoulder gentle.

Then cries into your shirt because you let her.

Because she’s the only one who can.

You both sit under the plumeria on a Tuesday that tastes like rain.

She has a quiz she’s pretending to study for.

You have a melody you’re pretending not to hum.

She watches your lips move around half-words. Thinks: God, I’m so in it. I’m so gone.

You catch her staring. Blink. Smile. “What?”

She shrugs. Doesn’t say: I’d marry you right here if we were stupid enough.

You lean over. Press your ear to her chest. She startles. “What are you doing, dummy?”

You grin. Tap her sternum like you’re knocking on a door. “Making sure you’re real.”

She cups your jaw, thumb brushing the faint shadow of freckles there. “I’m real. I’m right here.”

It comes later. Quiet. Like a secret slipped under her door at midnight.

You faint once in the courtyard, after a song. Blame it on the heat. She laughs it off, rubs your back until you stir.

It happens again at the beach— knees buckling into the sand while you tune your guitar for the bonfire.

She presses your palm to her cheek, says, "Stop scaring me, dummy."

You grin. Kiss her hairline. Pretend it’s nothing.

One night, she presses her ear to your chest. Feels it stutter. Feels it race.

You tell her. Again. A reminder. Under the same plumeria tree where she first picked you.

“It’s dumb. It’s weak. For you at least.”

She fists your shirt. “Idiot.”

You laugh. Cry a little too. Kiss her slow. Slow enough to forget the clock ticking in your veins.

Some nights she’d watch you record your covers for Twitter when she’s not listening to the uneven beats of your heart.

Her head bobbing from side to side behind the camera, one leg tucked under her, chewing on a pencil cap to keep quiet while you sang.

A trail of grainy videos— you on your bedroom floor, back pressed to your bed frame, guitar balanced on your thigh. Covering Paris in the Rain. Covering Boys Like You. Covering every song that ever made you think of her.

The first videos were just you— awkward, stubborn, stubbornly sweet. Fingers fumbling sometimes, tongue tripping over words because your mind was always half on her. Messy hair. Soft grin.

You’d mess up chords, laugh, start again. Sometimes you’d talk to the camera, like a promise to a future you couldn’t see yet.

Scroll far enough and suddenly she’s there too, a giggle behind your phone, her laugh leaking into the mic.

Sometimes her knee bumps into frame. Your laugh off-camera. Her giggles. The way she teased you, made you mess up on purpose. The way she hummed along— so soft the mic barely caught her, but enough that your smile widened every time.

She giggles at the cracks, the sighs, the “Mei, stop laughing, you’re gonna ruin this take.”

She wishes she could ruin every take. Wishes she could ruin every perfect ending if it means you’d stay longer, softer, here.

And that one video.

The one that would break the internet and her open at the same time: Mei doodling on my guitar bc she said it looked sad. shows her scribbling her name in stars on your guitar while you fake-scold her from behind the lens.

She ignores you. You zoom in on her hair falling over her cheek like it’s the only horizon worth memorizing.

You filming her, cross-legged on your carpet, hair in a messy ponytail. She’s biting her tongue, trying to draw a perfect moon.

“You’re filming again?” she mumbles, glancing up.

“Yeah. Gonna be worth millions when you become a star.”

She scrunches her nose. “Shut up.”

She sticks her tongue out, goes back to drawing.

You laugh. The camera shakes. Then, your voice softer “Keep drawing. I want you all over it.”

You keep filming. The world sees the way you look at her. Like you’d set your heart on fire just to keep her warm.

And the way she looks at you— like your heartbeat could stop right there and she’d hold it in her palms so the ocean wouldn’t swallow it.

She’d look at you like that every day.

Like the sunrises that hurt the eyes, cheap diner breakfast at the end of the pier when your stomach growled louder than the gulls.

You’d order her the same thing every time; pancakes drowning in syrup she never finished.

You’d steal forkfuls when she turned to watch the surfers paddle out.

She’d pretend not to notice. She always did.

She remembers how your sand-crusted guitar leaned against the booth, how your sneakers left damp prints on the floor, how you’d hum under your breath even when your mouth was full— soft riffs, unfinished lines.

If she closed her eyes then, she’d see the sun cutting a halo around your messy hair, the syrup on your lips you’d swipe away with the back of your hand, the guitar waiting for you by the window like it was your shadow in wood and steel.

Like the ocean was pressed for her, behind a glass built by wood and steel.

Tickets crumpled in your back pocket, your hand curled tight around hers when she shivered at the blast of cold air inside.

The aquarium smelled like salt and kids’ spilled soda and the faint, clean chill of tank water. Megan remembers how cold her hands were pressed flat to the glass, how the jellyfish drifted by like tiny, glowing ghosts.

She remembers the bus ride there, too. The way your old guitar case wouldn’t fit in the overhead rack, so it kept bumping into strangers’ knees every time the bus lurched.

Megan had wanted to melt into the sticky vinyl seat out of embarrassment, but you just grinned at her, pressed the case into her lap like it was precious cargo.

“It’s our baby, Mei. Be gentle,” you teased, tapping the case like it could feel.

She’d buried her red face behind it, but she couldn’t stop the giggle that slipped out.

You planned the whole thing.

Saved up spare change from tutoring gigs and odd weekend sets at the local café. Packed the saddest picnic: a tuna mayo sandwich that leaked a little through the plastic wrap, a half-crushed juice box for her, an old metal water bottle for them.

But you also tucked her favorite candy into the side pocket of your backpack— the one she only found when you nudged her with your elbow and whispered, “Check the front pocket, Mei.”

The two of you ate sitting cross-legged by the biggest tank in the place, sneakers squeaking on the damp floor.

Stingrays floated up to the glass like they recognized her, thin white bellies brushing against the reflections of her wide eyes.

She could feel you warm at her back; arms looped loose around her waist; chin hooked over her shoulder.

You also made her stand in front of the jellyfish tank for almost an hour.

The dark curved glass, the blue glow slipping over her shoulders like a promise.

She asked you why you liked it so much— you said nothing at first, just pressed your forehead to hers and let the blue light wash you both clean.

When you spoke, it was soft enough the stingrays couldn’t overhear: “They look like your doodles, Mei. Like stars underwater.”

She wanted to say "so do you"— but the words stuck in her throat with the salt.

You smelled like sunscreen and the faint metallic tang of guitar strings.

She’d leaned back into it, feeling the rumble of your laugh in your chest when she pointed out a fish with a nose bigger than hers.

And then— quiet, casual, so soft she nearly missed it — you said, “When we’re old, we’ll come back here. You’ll have your fancy world tours, but we’ll come here. Just us. Watch fish. Kiss behind the big tank like weirdos.”

Megan had snorted, half-choked on a piece of candy, called you cheesy.

But she’d turned her face just enough to press her smile against your cheek.

She’d closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see her own reflection in the glass— so she could believe the stingrays were the only ones who knew how warm her heart felt, beating too fast in someone else’s hands.

When she thinks about it now— head tipped back against her pillow, lashes fluttering against her cheeks; it’s that quiet promise that comes back first.

The feeling of your breath on her ear, the cold glass under her palms, your stupid guitar case bruising her shins on the bus ride home.

It was the happiest she’d ever been.

And even now, if she listens hard enough, she swears she can hear you say it again— "just us. Watch fish. Kiss behind the big tank like weirdos."

God, she’d have given anything to stay there.

Just one more minute in that borrowed warmth, jellyfish drifting by like tiny heartbeats that never once skipped.

And that night, you came home, you left your guitar at home, for once.

You pressed her hand to your chest instead, just outside the gift shop, the hum of the water pumps rattling the floor.

You asked her if she could feel it— the uneven beat, the skip that scared her more than any deep water ever could.

You said, “I’m glad it’s yours, Mei. Even when it’s dumb.”

She said nothing. Just curled her fingers tighter. Thought please into your shoulder. Please, please, please.

You fall asleep first. Head heavy in her lap.

She stays awake just to press her ear to your chest one more time— listening for that soft, traitorous flutter she’s learned to fear and love in equal measure.

She whispers secrets into your hair, again: "Please stay. Please don’t go. Please don’t make me do this alone."

You dream of waves. Of stairwells. Of her voice calling your name over and over until your heart bursts just to reach her.

She was glad God heard her that night. 

She would’ve crawled through hell if it meant seeing you in the light tomorrow and forever. 

That week was sticky with the sun.

You wrote on napkins at the diner, on the back of her receipts, on her arm once when you ran out of paper.

You buy malasadas from that old stand behind the gas station, the one that sells out by sunset if you’re not fast enough.

Megan steals yours when you’re not looking— powdered sugar dusting her chin when you turn around, pretend-scowling.

“Mei, you little thief—”

She smears more sugar on your nose with her thumb. Kisses it off before you can wipe it away. The kid behind the stand rolls his eyes so hard he almost drops his tip jar.

You laugh too loud. She doesn’t care. She never does.

 You told her you’d finish the last song before your heart called it quits.

She believed you— because she had to.

Because if she didn’t, the ocean would’ve swallowed her whole just to hold the pieces you’d drop.

Your mom’s asleep already. Your guitar sits propped on your bed, pick wedged under the strings.

Megan drags you down to the floor beside your old notebooks.

You’ve got lyrics scribbled on receipts, on the backs of math homework, on napkins from the diner two blocks down. She makes you spread them all out like a treasure map.

You two sit shoulder to shoulder, knees knocking, reading your own tiny history in ink that smudged the first time you two kissed mid-chorus.

She picks up one napkin— the one that just says: Mei’s smile = my favorite chord.

She looks at you. Looks through you. Like she’s memorizing every line, every freckle, every tiny secret your eyes can’t hide.

She curled up beside you that night— her Sharpie stars fading but still there.

She pressed her ear to your chest, hummed your half-song into your ribs like she could keep your pulse alive just by singing it back.

Then the next day; you’re waiting by the dance studio door, again. Like always. 

Like every night Megan ever bruised her knees on polished wood and told herself the ache was worth it because you’d be there when she stumbled out, hair damp, feet sore, heart lighter because you’d smile at her like she’d hung the stars just for you to hum beneath.

She’s sixteen now. 

Old enough to know her own ribs from the inside out. 

Old enough to know what your heartbeat should feel like under her ear. 

Old enough to know that every time you said, “It’s dumb, Mei, don’t worry,” she should’ve worried more.

Tonight she’s too tired to fight the limp in her ankle.

Too tired to care that her hair’s stuck to her forehead in sweaty strands.

Too tired for anything except the quiet bloom of relief when she sees you— back pressed to the pale blue wall outside Studio B, guitar balanced on your knees like it’s part of you, fingers loose on the strings, head tipped back against the concrete.

For a second, she doesn’t see it. Doesn’t feel it. For a second, she’s fourteen again and you’re just humming for her, a chord half-born in your throat, waiting for her to press her ear to your chest and giggle: “Again. Play it again for me.”

She drops her bag to the floor— the thunk of it too loud, echoing down the empty hallway like a warning bell.

You don’t flinch. Don’t blink.

Don’t lift your chin from where it’s tilted toward the ceiling tiles like you’re still tracing cracks in the plaster, dreaming up lyrics she’ll find scribbled in your notebooks later.

She crouches in front of you, knees popping, palms braced on your shins. Your skin is warm under her touch. Warm, but—

“Y/n?” she whispers, voice cracking on the edges like a note she can’t hold.

No answer. Your lashes don’t flutter.

Your lips are parted just enough to look like you’re about to tell her “Stop worrying, Mei. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

But you don’t.

She shifts closer.

Breath caught somewhere in her throat where your name always lives. She presses her palm to your collarbone first— like if she’s gentle enough, you’ll laugh awake and tease her for being dramatic.

Nothing.

So, she moves higher.

Knuckles trembling, fingers splayed wide, she cups her hand around your neck. Feels the warm skin.

The faint echo of warmth that means too late. Still, her body refuses the math of it.

Still, her hope is a childish thing, stubborn and stupid.

She leans in. Forehead to your shoulder. Her hair brushes your chin.

She presses her ear to your chest, nose buried in the soft cotton of your old hoodie— the same one she stole a hundred times, the same one that always smelled like salt and sun and a promise that your heart would always find its way home to her ribs.

She waits.

Waits.

Hopes.

Feels.

Nothing.

It should be louder than this— the absence.

It should be an earthquake in her bones, splitting her open from spine to sternum.

But instead it’s quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that eats every word she ever tucked into the hollow of your throat. The kind that hushes the world until it’s just her breathing for both of you.

"You said you’d fix it, remember? You said it was dumb. You promised me, you promised."

Her fingers fist in your shirt, knuckles white.

Her lips find the spot above your heart like they used to— soft kisses when you were scared, softer when she was, but her mouth tastes like salt this time.

Not the ocean. Not sunscreen. Just her.

Her tears drip onto your collar, soak the threadbare fabric you loved too much to throw away.

She feels the shape of your name in her mouth, and it tastes wrong without your voice there to echo it back.

A door opens down the hall— some other dancer, someone else’s laugh echoing.

Megan curls smaller. Her forehead presses to your chest again, like if she listens harder, digs deeper, buries herself inside you the way she always wanted to, maybe— maybe—

Nothing.

She wants to scream.

Wants to hit your shoulder, shake you awake, tell you she’ll never forgive you for this, for making her memorize every stutter of your heart just to rip it away like a song she can’t unlearn.

But she stays there instead. Breath trembling. Hiccupping out of her ribs in quiet sobs that taste like the last chord you’ll never play.

Megan’s there a long time before someone finds her— the girl with her ear pressed to the chest of a teenager who never learned how to stay.

The guitar slides from your lap when they pull her away, strings twanging one last note into the dark.

She carries that silence forever.

People come and go. Flowers bloom and wilt at your feet. Her family stands at her side like scaffolding, but she feels hollow anyway.

They say nice things— talented kid, sweet kid, too young, too soft. They don’t say Mei’s kid. Mei’s person. Mei’s only.

Only she gets to say that.

So she does. Over and over in her head, lips moving even when her voice fails her.

"Mine. Mine. Mine."

At the funeral, the sun was too bright— the same sun that always made your hair a halo when she watched you play by the stairs.

The same sun that burned your shoulders pink when you lugged your guitar to the beach for the fifth time that week because “Saltwater makes it honest, Mei. Guitars should be honest.”

She stood over you— or what was left of you.

The wood box too small to hold the way your arms wrapped around her, too small to hold your grin when you asked her to draw more stars on your guitar, so you’d never forget how her hands felt when they pressed your heart back together for another day, another chord.

She pressed her palm to the polished lid the same way she used to press it to your chest.

Still warm from the sun. Still cold from the inside.

You laid there still— too still for someone whose laugh used to jolt her whole world awake.

She leaned in. Fixed your hair with shaking fingers. Brushed your collar straight even though no collar would ever fit you right again.

 She whispered it so soft your mother almost didn’t hear— the line that made every rib in the family snap under the weight of what they’d lost.

“Do I look pretty, Y/n?”

A tremor in her throat. The echo of your voice.

‘So pretty, Mei Mei.’

She waited for your answer. It didn’t come. Not the way she wanted.

So she answered for you. “So pretty.”

Megan Skiendel is nineteen again when she opens her eyes.

[hannieween]

nightlight | lights out series

It was terrifying to think that you would now be in the limelight for the first time in your life. Terrifying, but freeing.

✮ pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader x joshua hong ✮ genre: fluff, smut [18+] ✮ aus: theatre director jeonghan, rockstar joshua, polyamorous relationship, mlm ✮ word count: 24.5k

✮ warnings: smut with plot, alcohol consumption (no dubcon), possessiveness, jealousy, mmf threesome, oral sex (m receiving), penetration anal and vaginal, making out, edging, dirty talk, fingering, cumming on skin, breeding kink, use of toys, exhibitionism, cucking, brat taming: cold shoulder, bondage. dom joshua, switch jeonghan, sub reader. pet names: beautiful, bunny, princess, baby (hers) babe, handsome (jihan)

› 🎧: seven – jung kook | am pm – jay b ft. whee in | can't get you – jaehyun | moonlit floor – lisa | baby – jay b | slow dancing – v | hit the floor – ethan low | being – tabber ft. yerin baek | truth be told – baekhyun

→ season one — season two — read more

✮ author's note: HELLOOOOOO!! i just want to preface this by saying that the content of this chapter and series as a whole is not a reflection of josh's life as an idol whatsoever. this is just fiction 🙂

✮ author's note 2: soooo, this one is a little bit long, lol. they take a little while to gdtf ksksks but bear w me, because the sex scene is loooooooooooong. i apologize but at the same time idc, this fic is super indulgent for me hahakjfhf

enjoy!

⌈special thanks to @aeristudios for helping me figure out some of these scenes out, ty baby ♡⌋

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

part viii

Home.

You woke up with a slightly throbbing headache. As soon as your lucidity kicked in, you were aware of the arm draped on the curve of your waist. You stirred beneath the tangled bedsheets, breathing in deeply.

Jeonghan tightened his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him before you could wander away from him. “Morning, princess,” he mumbled lazily, his tone low, and there was a slight gruff to it that you only heard when he woke up.

You smiled to yourself, curling back against his body. “Morning,” you mumbled back, creaking one eye open.

Joshua’s side of the bed was empty. And he was nowhere to be seen around the bedroom.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Dunno. Don’t care,” he breathed, but didn’t attempt to move.

You let out a disgruntled sound, trying to reach your phone on the nightstand, but the grip Jeonghan had on you made it difficult. You turned over, only to catch a sight of his face partially buried on the pillows. “Hannie, let me move,” you whined just as impishly.

He took a deep breath through his nose. “No,” he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

You stared at him in utter disbelief, yet he didn’t even open his eyes. “Jeonghan,” you muttered, kicking your butt back at him but only making him grunt. “Come on, I need to pee.”

He muffled a lazy giggle on the pillow. “Go and then come back here,” he replied sluggishly.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with the palm of your hand. “God, you’re so clingy,” you teased, giggling at him.

That drew a smile on his face. He stopped hugging you, pulling his arm from your waist. “Says you,” he mumbled lazily.

You slithered beneath the bedsheets, letting out a tiny yelp when Jeonghan slapped your thigh playfully as you were climbing off the bed.

But you walked to the bathroom through the hallways cluttered with cardboard boxes containing your belongings.

When you came back, the bed was empty and already made. You snorted when you noticed the noise coming from the kitchen. So you made your way there with a quiet gait, following the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.

Jeonghan was leaning back against the counter, his arms crossed on his chest. He was giggling about something you weren’t able to hear when you got there. But his eyes were on Joshua, who was busy putting ground coffee into the brewer. His back was turned, but he was saying something, and from the sound of his voice, you could tell he was smiling.

The moment slowed down for you as you witnessed it.

They both were so wrapped up in their conversation that you went completely unnoticed. You watched as Joshua turned to Jeonghan, putting a hand on the counter, right next to Jeonghan’s hip.

Jeonghan raised his face, a nervous look crossing his face as Joshua leaned forward, Jeonghan closed his eyes as they both shared a tender kiss. It was quick, but it left Jeonghan with a smile on his face as Joshua turned to continue his task. Jeonghan watched him briefly, but his eyes were drawn to you as if he might’ve felt your presence.

Joshua followed Jeonghan’s gaze, finding you standing beneath the doorway. “Good morning, bunny,” he said gently.

“Morning,” you replied with a smile, approaching him to plant a small kiss on his cheek, then moving to kiss his mouth.

Jeonghan watched, and you already knew what he would say before he uttered the words: “What about me?”

You panned to him, making him giggle. “Come here, you,” you mumbled, pressing your lips to his. You noticed as you placed your hand on his shoulder that Jeonghan was wearing Joshua’s clothes.

“How did you sleep?” Joshua asked, turning the stove on.

“Fine, but I am kind of hungover,” you admitted with a shy smile.

“Well, you were partying like you’re the rockstar here,” Jeonghan snorted, nodding at you. “Go rest, baby. We’ll take breakfast to you.”

You sat on the couch, legs tucked under you, watching your boyfriends move around each other seamlessly. Like they had a plan they had spoken about before you got there and were just following along without them having to talk.

They looked at each other occasionally. Jeonghan smiled like there was something he was keeping a secret. But you knew there was a shyness to his smile, the way he drove his gaze away and just kept to his task at hand.

But Joshua wasn’t having it—he mumbled something under his breath, making Jeonghan smile and huff. Joshua came closer to Jeonghan, leaning towards him and looking at his face intently.

Jeonghan didn’t skip a beat—he closed the space between his lips and Joshua’s, planting a quick and playful kiss. “You’re going to burn the pancakes,” he reprimanded with a chuckle.

“You keep distracting me,” Joshua mumbled, turning over his shoulder to look at you.

You smiled at him when he noticed your gaze upon them, observing the tender moment they were sharing.

Jeonghan turned around, following Joshua’s gaze. He left the open kitchen, wandering towards you and sat down beside you, his fingers brushing your ankle. “Did you take the drugs I left you on the nightstand?”

“Yeah,” you replied aloofly, looking at his dishevelled form. His black hair was messy on one side and flat on the other, he looked cute despite that. You noticed he was wearing Joshua’s t-shirt, one that he usually wears to sleep.

You reached out, brushing his hair with your fingers. “Thanks for taking care of me, Hannie.”

He pressed his lips into a smile. “Always, princess.”

Joshua came into the living room with a plate of toast and a mug of coffee, which he set down on the coffee table. He had a sleepy smirk on his face, but he looked happy, almost excited, even.

After he set everything on the coffee table, he practically plopped down across both your legs and Jeonghan’s with a dramatic sigh.

You switched your hand from Jeonghan’s hair to Joshua’s, which you noticed now was slightly wet from the shower he took before you woke up. “We’ll have to get a giant couch eventually. One that actually fits the three of us.”

Jeonghan smiled softly, a hand moving to rest on Joshua’s hip. “Yeah, about that,” he mumbled, aiming a knowing look at Joshua.

“What?” you asked, panning from Jeonghan’s face to Joshua’s.

Jeonghan’s fingers fumbled with the hem of Joshua’s t-shirt nervously. “I’m moving in,” he announced, lifting his gaze to look at you. His mouth parted as he studied your face. “I decided to move in with you both.”

The first thing you knew was that Joshua was fully aware of this turn of events. His silence told you that much, and his gaze was focused on you, waiting for your reaction.

What you felt then was an immense sense of relief. This was what you wanted—a home with both of your boyfriends, something that provided you with more stability. Commitment.

“Oh—o-kay,” you whispered, gathering your words. But you were happy beyond belief. You finally smiled. “Oh my god,” you stuttered. “I’m so excited.”

Jeonghan blinked when he heard the emotions making your voice quiver. “Yeah?” he mumbled, his eyes starting to glint.

You nodded happily. “This is going to be great.”

Joshua smiled too as he rose from the couch. “That means you’ll have to start packing up,” he told Jeonghan with a pleased sigh.

“That is the part that doesn’t excite me,” Jeonghan said through gritted teeth, but then he finally smiled. “I think I could hire someone to do that for me.”

You clicked your tongue, reaching to grab a waffle. “Don’t be lazy, Jeongjeong,” you said, taking a large bite. “I could help you with that.”

Jeonghan giggled, slapping your thigh playfully. “I am lazy. Do you know how much shit I have?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, then we’ll probably have to look at other apartment options,” you said.

Joshua pressed his lips, humming thoughtfully. “I think the apartment you chose is perfect,” he said.

“Yeah, I don’t think we need more space than that,” Jeonghan chimed in, using his hand on your thigh to caress your skin.

“But I do agree with you, bunny. We need a bigger couch,” he smirked, entering the kitchen to grab the two forgotten mugs of coffee and bringing them over to the living room, giving one to Jeonghan.

Jeonghan received his mug, looking at Joshua sitting down next to him. “We need bigger everything,” Jeonghan agreed. “Maybe a bigger bed, even.”

You gave him a pained look. “I like my bed.”

“Yeah, because you don’t sleep with yourself,” Jeonghan chuckled and then explained: “You move around all the time.”

You gaped at him, shocked. “That’s not true.”

“It’s true,” Joshua mumbled under his breath, sipping from his mug quietly.

“Specially when you’ve had too much caffeine throughout the day,” Jeonghan said, now emboldened. “That’s why I hug you through the night, so you stop moving.”

You made a horrified expression. “So you don’t hug me because you love me?” you cried out.

Jeonghan started laughing, tipping his head back. “Of course I do, baby—”

“I thought you both liked cuddling me!” you squealed, trying not to smile at your own ridiculous act.

Joshua raised his palms innocently. “Don’t drag me into this,” he said. “I’m used to you moving around—”

“Oh, so you also hate me.”

Jeonghan squeezed his eyes shut, still laughing. “Princess—”

“You bastards,” you accused falsely, making him laugh even harder.

“You should’ve just kept your mouth shut,” Joshua told Jeonghan, concealing a small smile.

“Baby, you know we love you,” Jeonghan said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “But you need to fix your sleeping habits.”

You dropped your act, your shoulders going slack a little. “Yeah, you’re right,” you conceded, sighing through a smile. “Maybe one day I will.”

“Until then, we get a bigger bed,” Jeonghan said, laughing again when you deadpanned at him.

But you couldn’t lie, you were happy.

The morning of the move came. You woke up before your alarm went off, and the sudden rush of excitement kicked in, pushing you out of bed. The realization of how much stuff you had accumulated over the years hit you as you walked from your bedroom to the living room, which was littered with tons of moving boxes.

Around the time the truck came in, you were ready to go. Joshua helped you with moving boxes, and soon the apartment started to empty. Jeonghan arrived some hours later, more to monitor rather than do the heavy-lifting, occasionally taking one box to the truck.

As the space started to feel hollower, you slowed down, appreciating this part of your life you were leaving behind, taking a moment to reflect.

Joshua left the box labelled as notebooks on the kitchen counter with a loud thud. He sighed, walking towards you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately noticing something in your eyes.

The apartment where you had lived for years was now completely empty. Every single corner that you had filled with memories was now stripped, echoing with each footstep you took towards the door.

You had stopped in the kitchen to ponder, watching the space in silence.

“Nothing,” you finally replied, lifting your gaze to find him. “I’m okay,” you said, but your tone was off.

Joshua’s gaze softened. “You sure?” he asked, pouting slightly as his brow furrowed. “You look sad.”

“I’m just thinking,” you muttered softly, extending a hand to him.

He took it, slipping an arm across the small of your back, turning you around so he was the one leaning back against the counter, wrapping you with his arms in a hug. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, studying your face.

You placed your hands on his chest, shrugging slightly in his embrace. “After I published my first book, I had enough money to move out and live alone. I moved to this apartment and started building a life, little by little,” you told him, your gaze flitting across the white walls. “Then I met you. I’m just thinking of how crazy life is.”

Joshua tilted his head to one side. “Are you sad that you’re leaving this place behind, then?” he asked curiously, and when you nodded, he smiled slightly. “Well, look at this the other way around—we’ll be taking this huge step, all of us. Together.”

The twinkle in his eye told you everything you needed to know. Joshua was happy. It warmed your heart to see the corners of his eyes lifting in a happy smile. You ran your palms down his chest, holding his gaze.

“I’m only sad I’m leaving this place behind because it holds so many memories,” you said quietly, trying to convey all your emotions with a single glance.

“We’ll make new ones,” Joshua said, still holding you firmly. Something made his smile fade, but whatever he was thinking of, it didn’t tarnish the twinkle in his eyes. “And who knows—” he shrugged slightly, “—maybe being in a bigger place will give us the opportunity to start thinking of the future.”

You blinked dumbly at him. “Like what?” you asked.

He paused briefly, licking his lips as he selected his words carefully. “Yeah, I mean… we’re a family now. You, Jeonghan and I. It would make sense for us to take things further, right?”

“Further as in…” you trailed off.

He gave you a nervous smile, one that was gone in a second. “I know that things are more complex now that we have Hannie, but—” he took a deep breath. “I haven’t given up the idea of making you my wife.”

Your heart stopped for a second, and your mind started reeling. Everything about his demeanor told you he was sure of his words, even if he looked nervous to voice them.

Joshua noticed the shock in your eyes, so he continued: “Don’t panic yet,” he said, a smile spreading on his face. “I just think that we should talk about it. Soon.”

“Yeah, I think we should,” you agreed. “What about Hannie?” you asked, lowering your tone due to the nervousness tightening around your throat.

“Maybe I spoke too soon,” Joshua smiled lightly. “I plan to talk to both of you about it. With us moving in together, I just think that we should consider taking things seriously. All three of us.”

You coughed an awkward chuckle. “Joshua, you’re making no sense,” you said.

But in that moment, Jeonghan stepped into the apartment, looking distracted. His sweet brown eyes fell on you and Joshua, and his shoulders went lax. “Oh, I see you two lovebirds are slacking off,” Jeonghan accused, looking at you reproachfully. “I was beginning to wonder why you guys didn’t come down.”

Joshua released you at once, and you backed away, still distraught. Joshua cleared his throat, facing Jeonghan. “There’s only one box left,” he pointed to the box he had left on the kitchen counter previous to your conversation.

“Okay, then you take it,” Jeonghan ordered with a cheeky look on his face.

Joshua smiled, but it was very obvious that his nervousness hadn’t washed off. Quite the contrary.

Jeonghan extended an arm out to you. “Ready, princess?”

You nodded, breathing in deeply. “I’m ready,” you said, approaching him to take his hand.

Jeonghan laced his fingers with yours as Joshua grabbed the remaining box with your stuff. Then you walked out of the empty apartment, throwing one last look over your shoulder before Jeonghan closed the door for you. And then you, Jeonghan and Joshua stepped out of the building, embarking on a new chapter of your lives.

Together.

Jeonghan sat on the foot of the new bed for a minute, staring at the screen of his phone.

He’d just agreed to direct a huge TV series for a very popular streaming service. And the script he’d been offered wasn’t even half-bad. But it felt unpolished. It had pacing issues, underwritten side characters and too many songs one after another.

He’d mainly been tasked with offering structural feedback before the shooting began—tomorrow, he’d sign the contract. And he already felt the burden of this opportunity sitting on his shoulders.

His phone buzzed inside the pocket of his hoodie. Sighing, he reached for it, pulling it out and glanced at the screen.

It was an email. An invitation passed to him from one of his team’s assistants. The subject read, You’re invited to The Quiet Spring Premiere.

He arched an eyebrow. And almost decided that it was too late in the day to open it.

But the pad of his thumb hovered over the screen.

He clicked the message.

You are cordially invited to the premiere of The Quiet Spring, directed by Daniel Hwang.

He huffed a quiet laugh. They had mailed him a proper invitation to his office. But since he had taken too long to give a reply, the director of the movie had reached out to his assistant to send him the email.

Jeonghan stared at the screen for a long moment.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been invited to one of these events. And he’d attended begrudgingly, only because he wasn’t the social butterfly everyone seemed to think he was. But that isn’t to say he wasn’t popular; he was just a little awkward.

But this one was a big deal. Not some indie screening in a bar. This was the press, red carpet, formal wear, full industry, and the world’s eyes.

He took a screenshot and sent it to Seungkwan, typing, Did you give them my personal email address?

His right-hand man and close friend responded immediately with a, What do you think? I almost gave them your phone number since you’ve taken like a month to respond.

Jeonghan clicked his tongue.

On his screen, he saw three little dots appearing, indicating Seungkwan typing a long message. But at the end of it, Jeonghan thought his friend might’ve changed his mind, because the text only read, Are you going alone?

Jeonghan felt a shudder. As though he’d just swallowed a cube of ice.

But he replied, I have a plus one.

And then he locked his phone, tossing it on the bed as he rose from it and walked out of the bedroom.

The boxes sat on the pristine marble floors of the new apartment. It had been just a few days since you all moved here. Half-eaten takeout boxes were littered on the counter, three sets of chopsticks sticking out like abandoned flags. The apartment was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the lamps on the ceiling.

Jeonghan sighed tiredly, walking down the hallway from the master bedroom to the living room. You were curled up on the massive new couch, legs across Joshua’s lap. He sat next to you with his head leaning back against the headrest, his hand resting on your knee. None of you was really talking; tiredness had consumed you from the eventful day. 

Joshua ran his fingers along your shin, absentmindedly looking at the ceiling, his gaze drifted. “You took long enough,” he said, looking now at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan had just finished a long work call that took the last bit of energy he had. So he plopped down on the couch, next to Joshua and instantly curled against him, resting his head against Joshua’s shoulder. “Thank god it’s over,” he said.

You looked up from your phone screen, a sweet smile spreading on your face once you saw your boyfriends curled up on the big couch. “What was it about?” you asked, not hiding the curiosity in your tone.

Jeonghan drew in a breath, a spark of mischief appearing in his eyes. And fighting the smile that threatened to break the soft features of his face, he said: “Oh, it was just one of my mistresses, honey. Nothing to worry about.”

Joshua clicked his tongue, shrugging Jeonghan’s head off his shoulder. “Like you have the time to get other partners,” he huffed.

Jeonghan grunted as his face bumped against Joshua’s shoulder. “Ah—you little shit!” he said while laughing.

“Who were you talking to?” Joshua pressed, as curious as you were now that Jeonghan was holding back.

“It was a work thing,” he finally explained, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Was it about the series you were invited to work on?” Joshua asked at once, as though the memory of Jeonghan telling him about the project had never left his mind.

“Yeah. I was negotiating,” Jeonghan sighed, driving his gaze to the ceiling. “I demanded that my production team get involved, too. That way Seungkwan gets to work with me—”

“And he will take a lot of workload off your hands, got it,” Joshua muttered under his breath.

Jeonghan shot him a dark look, which Joshua just shrugged off.

“Did they agree?” you asked.

Jeonghan nodded, a triumphant smile drawing on his face. “They agreed to all of my terms. Gonna put them in the contract tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” you asked agape.

Joshua also turned to him, eyes opened in surprise. “Hannie, this is huge,” he said, finally smiling. “Congrats. We should celebrate.”

“I agree. Congrats, baby,” you also chimed in.

Jeonghan smiled, hiding his face a little behind his hands. “Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice muffled a little.

Outside, the sky had already deepened into a rich navy, and the windows were glowing faintly from the city lights below. Somewhere in the silence of the apartment, the buzz and the hum of the traffic provided a steady background. You, Jeonghan and Joshua just relished in the silence, too tired to move, but happy.

You sighed loudly. “I’m exhausted. We should go to bed,” you said. “I vote for watching a dumb show tonight.”

Jeonghan patted your thigh lovingly, his cold hand sending tingling down your skin. “Why don’t you go, baby? We’ll be there in a minute.”

You immediately caught on that Jeonghan wanted a minute alone with Joshua. It was pretty obvious, and as you looked at both of them, you almost refused. But you stood up from the massive couch, noticing Joshua’s curious face as he eyed you and then Jeonghan.

“Don’t take too long, you two,” you said, raising a finger at them. “Or I’ll come get you.”

Jeonghan smiled, blinking slowly at you. “Of course, baby,” he replied warmly.

You walked away from the living room with a gentle pace, feeling two pairs of eyes on you as you turned on the corner and down the hallway, disappearing from view.

“What’s up?” Joshua asked, raising his head from Jeonghan’s shoulder too look at him fully.

“We need to talk,” Jeonghan mumbled, peeking from where he sat to the spot you had disappeared mere seconds ago.

“About what?” Joshua replied, following Jeonghan’s gaze. But you were very obviously nowhere to be seen.

Jeonghan hesitated for a second, his lips parting softly right before he released a brief sigh. “I got invited to a film premiere.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow. “For what?” 

Jeonghan sat up straight on the couch. “It’s called The Quiet Summer, or something like that. Daniel Hwang directed it. Big deal, apparently.”

“Daniel Hwang? You haven’t worked with him since—”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeonghan said quickly. “I was surprised, too.”

Jeonghan glanced between the hallway and Joshua’s face, then he continued, more cautiously now. “They’re doing a lot of press around it. And I’m on the guest list… so I am expected to walk the red carpet. Especially now that I’m on this new project, I need to put myself out there.”

Jeonghan could see in his boyfriend’s eyes the pieces of the puzzle coming together. But then there was a sparkle in his eye, Joshua had caught on.

“I’m asking Bunny to come with me,” Jeonghan said softly, his heart beating rapidly against his throat.

Joshua opened his mouth, then closed it. “So we’re doing another ‘official couple’ thing?”

Jeonghan bit his lower lip, nodding once. “Maybe I could pull some strings and get Midnight Haze invited too.”

Joshua took a long moment to reflect. “Why? You two could have your moment without me being there, you know? We avoid unnecessary drama.”

Jeonghan winced at that. “But I want you there too,” he muttered in a lower tone. “I want both of you there with me.”

Joshua gave him an empty smile. “We can’t just show up all of us there. It would defeat the purpose of you and Bunny doing the official couple thing entirely.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “You’re obviously not posing for the cameras with me, dummy. But I think you should also be there,” he said, and with a note of nervousness, he added: “I want you to be there.”

Hearing this, Joshua smiled lightly, his gaze softening. “You want me there or Midnight Haze?” he teased.

“I obviously want you there,” Jeonghan pouted. “Look, if you don’t want to be there for me, then fine, I c—”

Joshua laughed, pushing forward to grab Jeonghan, hands cupping his neck. “Shut up, you dumbass,” he said, crushing his mouth against Jeonghan’s. “Of course I’ll be there for you.”

The moment was put to a halt. Jeonghan melted instantly, his shoulders going slack at the same time that a sharp gasp spilled from him. But he gave in, grabbing Joshua by the hem of his t-shirt to pull him closer.

Joshua parted his lips, giving access to Jeonghan’s with a tiny but guttural moan. Jeonghan rolled his tongue inside Joshua’s mouth, now kissing him with abandon, and a hint of anger from his fleeting tantrum.

“Why did you tell Bunny to wait in the bedroom, though?” Joshua asked quietly, pulling away slightly to look a Jeonghan’s face.

“Because she’s planning to part from her anonymity because of you and me,” Jeonghan explained with a more serious tone. “Her career is changing—she’s growing quickly. And I’m going to put her in the limelight as my partner too. I wanted to talk to you about it before you freaked out.”

Joshua’s gaze disconnected as he listened. “It’s ok. I won’t freak out,” he replied quietly.

“Really?” Jeonghan asked. “People will be able to finally put a name on her face. There will be a straight line connecting her to you because of me and all the media perusing in your personal life.”

Joshua blinked, and the anxiousness was evident in the way his breath caught in his throat. “But the media talk surrounding you isn’t nearly as insane as it is with me,” he countered.

“And what if it gets to that point?” Jeonghan ventured, his pulse quickening too.

“Then we’ll deal with it,” Joshua replied, but there was something off about his tone. He breathed in, shifting on the couch slightly in discomfort. “Look, I don’t have a lot of answers right now. But I do know that the way the media will treat her with you won’t be as harsh as it will be with me.”

Jeonghan knew this to be right. Even if it were just a simple theory.

So far, the only talk held by the media and fans surrounding Joshua’s complicated love life is that there was a girl in his life, but people didn’t know who this person even was. No one knew for sure it was you. Blurry photos, and low-quality videos of you walking hand in hand with Joshua were already floating on the internet. What gave Joshua some peace of mind was that no one knew your name or face yet.

“Promise me that whatever happens, we’ll talk about it before you lose control again,” Jeonghan said, his tone shaky but his gaze steady, lingering on Joshua’s face.

Joshua knew this wasn’t something to take lightly. Every promise he’s made with Jeonghan, he’d taken seriously—even those broken by life’s unexpected change of direction.

“I promise,” Joshua mumbled, his tone unwavering.

Jeonghan pulled back, but stuck out his hand, holding up his pinky finger.

“Really?” Joshua chuckled.

“Really,” Jeonghan punctuated, holding his hand an inch higher, insisting.

Joshua’s smile became wider. But he didn’t hesitate, lacing his pinky finger and meeting the pad of his thumb with Jeonghan’s. They stayed like this for longer than they needed to, none of them really wanting to let go—their fingers remained laced, their thumbs touching until they started to feel each other’s pulse.

A second lasted an eternity.

Jeonghan lifted his face, finding Joshua’s gaze set on him. And before neither could speak up, they were closing the space between each other, meeting in a slow, tender kiss. Jeonghan locked his lips with Joshua’s, matching a perfect synchronicity almost instantly.

The kiss was wet, warm, and it had everything that drove Joshua a little crazy. Jeonghan let out a sweet but tiny grunt into Joshua’s mouth, moving his hand to Joshua’s cheek, pulling him closer, telling him to crush him with kisses if needed. Joshua also moved his hand, finding Jeonghan’s waist, gripping it gently.

Jeonghan paused for air, pressing his forehead against Joshua’s for a long moment. And Joshua was too, breathing softly but with a slight hint of desperation. “We should get to Bunny,” he whispered shakily.

“Yeah, we should,” Jeonghan said distractedly. His hand lingered on Joshua’s cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth twice. “Just give me a moment,” he said.

Joshua let out a short sigh, smiling. There was a quippy remark sitting on the tip of his tongue, and Jeonghan could sense it. So he quickly brought his thumb to the center of Joshua’s lips, sealing them for a second, bringing him to a stop.

Jeonghan squeezed his eyelids briefly, armoring himself with enough valor to speak what he hadn’t for days since Joshua kissed him for the first time. He never said these things first, and he wasn’t good at confessions. But this time, he decided to take another route.

“Hey,” Jeonghan whispered, not removing his thumb from Joshua’s lips. He breathed in, feeling himself brimming with so much nervousness that he felt like a kid meeting love for the first time again. “I love you,” he said, a little bit louder now.

Joshua took a quick breath, one that Jeonghan felt due to the proximity he still had to Joshua’s face. But Joshua pursed his lips against Jeonghan’s thumb, grabbing his hand by the wrist and pulling it down. “I love you too,” he replied with a nervous giggle.

Jeonghan released a gentle exhale, slipping his hand below Joshua’s nape, feeling his dark hair through his fingers. Joshua met him halfway with a tender kiss.

“Are you two coming to bed?”

You were standing in the living room right in front of them, wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt you stole from Jeonghan’s closet. But your pretty face wore a pout, eyebrows knitting softly—well aware that this expression was a weakness to both your boyfriends.

Joshua pulled back, Jeonghan’s hand slipping down his neck, causing a shudder down his spine. “Yes, baby,” he chuckled lightly.

You smiled sweetly, tilting your head to one side. Something about the glint in your eyes captured Jeonghan’s attention.

Jeonghan blinked, getting up from the couch. “You were listening, weren’t you?”

The giggle that escaped you told them all they needed to know, as with that laugh, you gave yourself away. “I didn’t mean to!” you cried, watching as Jeonghan approached you with two efficient steps. “I was coming to get you, but I also didn’t want to interrupt…”

“How much did you listen?” Joshua asked curiously. 

“Enough,” you giggled as Jeonghan clicked his tongue. “It was cute!”

“Come on, you little minx,” Jeonghan quipped, slapping your ass playfully and laughing at the tiny squeal you emitted. “Let’s go to bed,” he said, sneaking a look over his shoulder.

Joshua was rising from the couch, a serene smile painting the beautiful features of his face. He blinked slowly at Jeonghan, as though signalling that everything was fine. There was no need to worry, no need to leave the conversation pending.

And despite the quick beating of Jeonghan’s heart, he knew that he was safe. He was home—with you and Joshua.

“So…” Jeonghan started, trying to drag your attention as you quite practically threw yourself on the bed, sitting right in the middle, like always.

“What?” you asked.

Jeonghan sighed, not knowing where to start. “Will you go to a film premiere with me?”

Your mouth parted in a tiny ‘o’, blinking in surprise. “Oh my god, o-of course, Hannie,” you gasped, a smile forming across your features. “For what movie? When?”

A warm feeling washed all over Jeonghan, the rigidness in his entire body dissolving once he saw your eagerness. “It’ll be soon. But are you sure, baby? There’ll be cameras, and press—”

“I’m sure, babe,” you said, nodding twice. You let out a sigh that denoted a quiet resignation, one that you were more nervous to confront with both Jeonghan and Joshua. “I’ve decided to let go of my anonymity.”

It was something you’d already disclosed to both of them before. But it was never really a conversation held in depth, and so much has changed in the past couple of weeks that you’ve decided to put it aside.

“How would that work?” Jeonghan asked, careful and curious.

The question hung in the air briefly, and Joshua looked at you with the same curiosity written in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I’ll have to do now in-person interviews, maybe book tours, signing? Yena mentioned that I’d have to be more open now in social media, show my face more.”

“All the things you love,” Joshua commented, sarcasm coating his words.

You lowered your face slightly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt. “I used to think that I wanted to remain hiding behind a pen name the rest of my career. But now… I don’t know, plans change.”

Joshua climbed onto the bed, sitting right next to you. “We’ll protect you where we can,” he said, reaching to grab your hand. “And where we can’t, we’ll stand beside you.”

Your heart fluttered. “Yeah?” you asked softly, lifting your face to lock eyes with him. The optimism in his words felt like armor, soft and strong.

It was still terrifying to think that you would now be standing fully under the limelight. Terrifying, but freeing.

You shrugged slightly. “I guess I will be writing this new chapter with you two,” you smiled softly at them.

Joshua matched your smile, soft but proud. “That’s my girl.”

Jeonghan lay down on the bed next to you, grabbing your hand to place a tender kiss on your knuckles. “Our girl.”

There was an ominous silence in the car. One that you just assumed was born out of the nervousness that Jeonghan was trying to conceal.

He was partially turned to his window, his elbow placed on the windowsill of the car as he rubbed two fingertips on his lips. He did this as a nervous tick, you knew.

You reached out to grab his hand. “Hey,” you said softly. “Are you okay?”

Jeonghan blinked, clearly snapped out of his thoughts. But he turned to you, turning his hand over to squeeze yours. “I’m fine,” he replied with a gentle tone, taking a deep breath. “Just nervous.”

You showed him a smile. “You’re going to do fine,” you asserted.

He pressed his lips in a kind smile, but you could tell he was still nervous. “What if I say something wrong?”

“What could you possibly say?” you shrugged.

“I don’t know. I stutter when I get nervous,” he chuckled, giving your hand another tight squeeze. 

You laughed softly, but then you noticed something in him. Something that wasn’t just connected to tonight’s evening. 

Jeonghan turned slightly on the seat, grabbing both of your hands in his. “Baby,” he breathed, and his sweet brown eyes connected with yours. “I wanted to do this differently, but I guess life has been too crazy lately and we really haven’t slowed down.”

You never saw Jeonghan this nervous, let alone this serious. Your tummy clenched, and your hands instantly started to sweat. “Yes?” you whhispered shakily. 

He closed his eyes, sighing slowly. “I really wanted to do this differently, but now I have no other choice,” he told you solemnly, opening his eyes. “Would you be my girlfriend?” 

You stared, thinking that you might’ve heard wrong. 

But he continued. “I feel sad that we started our thing with the wrong foot. But now I’m about to launch you to the world as my girlfriend without me ever asking you formally.” 

Your heart squeezed. “Hannie—” 

“I know I’m sounding ridiculous,” he chuckled. “But I love you. I want to do things right with you.” 

That instantly warmed you up. You smiled at him. “You know my answer is yes,” you told him, your tone honeyed. “I love you too.” 

Jeonghan smiled as well, leaning to press his forehead on yours. “I love you, baby,” he repeated, softer now. 

The black car rolled to a stop at the curb outside the hotel. Jeonghan let out a labored breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“Ready?” you asked.

He shook his head, his eyes catching sight of the man standing outside the door. “Nope,” he said honestly. “But I’m still doing it.”

Jeonghan’s door opened, camera flashes popping instantly as he stepped out of the car. He fixed his jacket, turning around to extend a hand at you. You grabbed his hand, stepping out of the car too and standing now next to him.

Flashing lights showered over you, and you could immediately tell that they were not solely focused on Jeonghan. People knew your name now. Your true name and not the author’s. The first person calling for you wanted you to turn to their camera lens. And at first, to hear your name being called out loud made your stomach turn.

Jeonghan linked your fingers with his, squeezing your hand tightly. And then you knew what had truly been making him nervous.

You were no longer a mystery. You were now a story. Something for the world to put a name on it, to fully appreciate. 

“Ready?” he murmured, leaning to your side slightly.

You wondered if he’d read the anxiety in your face now. “No,” you said, giggling. “But we’re here. There’s no backing out now.”

He nodded. “No backing out,” he repeated.

You walked hand in hand with him just like you did that same morning. But now it was in full view of the world, the gossip sites, and the media. The first few photos were polite, routinary. Jeonghan was standing stiffly at your side, smiling carefully.

But people started calling his name, trying to get his attention. He turned to give you a look and you nodded at him, stepping back to let him do his thing. The questions started as soon as he approached.

The first few questions were peaceful, aimed to the true purpose of his attendance at that event. “How does it feel to be stepping into this new role?” Was one of the first questions, or “Who are you excited to see tonight?”

But as he continued going down the line of interviewers from magazines, websites and such, smiling and replying to each question politely. And Jeonghan, being who he is, noticed everything. He knew everything was going to be livestreamed and knew that he would soon see his face plastered on social media.

It wasn’t his first rodeo, but it sure was the first being so… personal.

Jeonghan turned to you, grabbing your hand as his face contorted into an expression of true anxiety. He broke into a chuckle once you noticed the very obvious state he was in. “Let’s get inside,” he muttered, nodding to his team.

“You have one more,” one of his coordinators told him, nodding to a male interviewer.

He didn’t have time to let go of your hand when the person was already speaking to him. The man greeted him amicably, to which Jeonghan replied in kind, bowing his head. The guy wasted no time, saying: “You’ve been keeping things under wraps for a while. You’re for sure surprising us and your fans. Should we be asking about the project or the relationship?”

Jeonghan blinked, an anxious feeling gnawing inside him. But he kept himself composed. “We’re here to celebrate the work of our colleagues, nothing more.” 

Unfortunately, that just opened the door for everyone to scream questions at him. Questions that were to some extent, loud enough for you to hear and understand clearly, even though the voices clashed and mixed.

“Is it just the two of you tonight?” one woman quite literally shouted from the back. At the same time, someone asked: “Is this your official debut as a couple?” and one faceless voice from the bunch spoke loudly: “How long have you been keeping it a secret?”

At that, Jeonghan pulled you away from the swarm of microphones, video cameras and lights. And you caught a glimpse of his face as you tried to keep up with his pace, he was not pleased.

“That was insane,” he said under his breath, motioning for you to walk before him.

You wished to have something witty to say, if it weren’t for the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through your veins. “It’s my first time facing this,” you commented, shaking your head lightly as you got to the entrance to the hotel. “It is insane.”

“If it makes you feel better, it’s my first time getting questions like this and not people asking who I am,” he chuckled, but then slowed down to direct a scrutinous look at you. “Are you okay?” he mumbled, softer now.

You walked at his pace, almost coming to a halt. “I am,” you nodded.

He released a shaky breath. “Well, I was terrified,” he admitted shyly.

Your heart stuttered. “I know. I could tell,” you teased gently. “But you handled it well.”

“You think so?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, of course I do,” you replied with a light smile, bumping his shoulder with yours.

The anxiety on his face was broken by a broad smile. He panned at you from your feet to your head. “You stole a lot of looks tonight,” he said, biting his lower lip as he wrapped an arm across the small of your back, bringing you closer to him.

You huffed, blinking slowly. “It’s the dress,” you said, looking down at your chest. “My boobs look great, though.”

Jeonghan coughed up a laugh. “You’re right about that,” he said under his breath. But then he seemed to compose himself, directing you another look. “You look gorgeous,” he said softly.

“Thank you, Jeongjeong,” you replied, feeling your chest heat up.

You looked around the lounge, which was dimly lit and completely covered in luxury. There were velvet cushions and high-top tables, and just enough distance from the noise of the gala.

“Do you think Joshua is already here?” you asked, anxiously looking for him.

He followed your gaze while gnawing at his bottom lip. “I don’t know, but we shouldn’t look too suspicious.”

You looked at him. “There are no cameras inside this place,” you pointed out. “There’s no harm in just hanging out with him, right?”

Jeonghan tilted his head to one side. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, hesitantly. Then, he sent a look around too, through the unfamiliar faces. “Where is he?” 

As soon as he got there, Joshua wanted to leave. 

He had slipped into the side lounge quietly, pleased that his presence had gone unnoticed by the media. He had nearly begged his manager to find a way to get into this premiere without having to answer any questions. And he was lucky enough that he didn’t have to do any promotional duties for his band.

Midnight Haze had amassed recognition.

So he walked there with his hands tucked in the pockets of his black pants. His hair was styled in a messy way, strands of hair hanging messily in every direction while the rest of his hair was slicked back.

When he got in there, he noticed a few familiar faces, and he couldn’t quite avoid the attention he got from other famous people.

But then he saw you.

Joshua would never be able to explain what he felt when he saw you. In the room full of people, he heard your voice, instantly plunging him back to the day he saw you for the first time. Even though it happened a long time ago, his reaction was the same—he searched your face, saw your eyes and lips. You were gorgeous, the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

His nervousness evaporated when he saw you standing proudly, grabbing Jeonghan’s arm. And that’s when Joshua remembered the whole point of this. You had renounced a big part of your life that you held with secrecy, stepping into the light not only with Joshua’s best friend—but with his new life partner too.

And you both stood out—you always did. A slight feeling of perplexity coursed through Joshua when he noticed just how attractive you both were. You and Jeonghan attracted everyone’s eyes, and you simply had a very special synergy with Jeonghan.

Joshua approached you and Jeonghan with effortless calm, one that he could only get once he saw how happy you looked. You were so wrapped up in a conversation with Jeonghan that you didn’t notice him coming closer.

But Jeonghan did. He raised his gaze, finding Joshua standing right behind you. An easy smile drew on Jeonghan’s face, blinking at him slowly.

“Are they serving any champagne here?” Joshua said.

You winced, caught off guard by his presence. “Oh god,” you muttered, turning around. Your eyes glinted as you searched Joshua’s face. “Hi, babe!” You mumbled sweetly, not even trying to hide the affection brimming from you.

Jeonghan wrapped his arm tighter around your waist. “Easy there,” he muttered beside you.

You giggled bashfully. “Sorry, force of habit,” you said.

Jeonghan slid a flute of the champagne he decided to neglect across the high-top table. “Here. Drink mine,” he said.

Joshua gave him a thankful nod. Drinking the contents from the flute in one go. He directed you and Jeonghan a cheeky look. “You two look very convincing,” he said.

Jeonghan arched one eyebrow. “That’s a compliment, right?”

“Absolutely,” Joshua said with ease. “But I shouldn’t hover for too long. I don’t want this to backfire on our faces.”

You listened intently, keeping your gaze on both of their faces.

“I think you could stay here for two more minutes without drawing unwanted attention,” Jeonghan rolled his eyes slightly. “You’re not that popular,” he teased.

Joshua smiled, giving you an amused look. “Okay. Two minutes.”

You laughed, unsure. “So do you think this is working?”

He scratched his forehead hesitantly. “I guess we’ll have to see,” he pointed at you and Jeonghan. “I’m pretty sure that you’ve convinced at least some people. And I’m pretty sure that the media is already frothing at the mouth about your debut.”

Jeonghan sighed, pressing his lips in a tight line.

You noticed it. “Are you sure you’re okay about this, Joshua?” you insisted.

Joshua tilted his head back a little, looking at the ceiling. “The fewer questions they ask about the three of us, the better.”

“They did ask, though,” Jeonghan said, keeping his tone flat.

But in his eyes, you could see a twinge of deception. He didn’t like this plan. And he didn’t like that Joshua had the urge to keep secrets. You knew this.

“That’s why I have to step back a little. Let you two shine,” Joshua urged, motioning a step back.

But you stepped toward him, Jeonghan’s hand slipping in yours, trying to reel you back to him discreetly. “Seriously, Josh, are you okay?”

If Joshua said no in that moment, you would drop the act. Deep down, you didn’t care about appearances, about what the media or the world thought.

But Joshua looked at you and smiled. It wasn’t a forced smile, but something softer, easier. “I’m fine, baby,” he muttered quietly, but then glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention.

Jeonghan stepped closer to you, placing a possessive hand really low on your hip.

Joshua noticed the subtlety of the action and thanked that Jeonghan shared the same thoughts as him. “As long as we don’t get weird headlines or speculations, I’ll be okay. You two make the cute couple the media can root for and I get to stay in the background where the real stuff happens.”

Jeonghan huffed. But he concealed his reaction by moving his hand from your hip to your lower belly, keeping you close to him. “Very selfless of you.”

Joshua smirked. “Don’t ruin it.”

They shared a look, and you didn’t need to tap into their special connection to know what was happening. Jeonghan was still unsure about this plan, but seeing Joshua relieved that it was working put him at ease.

Joshua cleared his throat, stepping back again. “I’ll go check on the boys,” he said, finally removing his gaze from Jeonghan. “Tell me when you’re ready to go home, yeah?”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replied.

“Just wanted to say that you two are handling this well,” Joshua said, giving you both a gentle smile.

You huffed. “We’re pros,” you rolled your eyes playfully.

He started walking away, but a thought made him stop briefly: “At least... we’re the ones who know what really happens behind closed doors.”

You smirked, a nice warm feeling blooming in your chest. Joshua gave Jeonghan a quick wink, then walked away, leaving you and Jeonghan in the spotlight.

It was well past midnight when you got back home.

The elevator ride was quiet. The kind of quiet that spoke more about your collective tiredness than anything else. Socializing came harder for you than for your boyfriends, and it was a good thing that not much of it was required from you. But you still felt drained.

The apartment was dark. You slipped out of your high heels the minute you crossed the door, fumbling to get the light switch.

Jeonghan beat you to it, turning the lights on with one hand as he slid his jacket off his shoulders. Joshua came in last, slower than usual. He was tired, and even though the night had gone well, you could tell that there was a lot he was leaving unsaid.

He loosened his jacket, following you and Jeonghan to the bedroom and just stood there for a minute, like he didn’t know what to say once the noise was over.

You turned to him as you removed your earrings. “You disappeared after the set.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I know,” he said, unbuttoning his black dress shirt. “There were a lot of people looking.”

Jeonghan reappeared from the kitchen holding a large glass of water. “You didn’t have to vanish either, you know? You were also a guest.”

“It felt safer,” he replied gently, removing the shirt from his shoulders.

Jeonghan let out a labored sigh. “Well, I’m done with that for tonight,” he said, undoing his shirt as well.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around both of them. “I’m glad we’re back home.”

A fraction of a second passed before you felt both Jeonghan and Joshua ease into the hug. You felt one of them loosen up and heard the other one sigh. You lifted your head, sneaking a look at them as Joshua rested his forehead on Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I needed this,” he said.

Jeonghan sighed, slowly leaning over to press a long kiss on Joshua’s head.  “Me too,” he replied softly.

Joshua lifted his head, his face so close to Jeonghan’s that it was easy for him to press his lips against Jeonghan’s. It was a sweet kiss that was immediately reciprocated, making Joshua hum.

Clothes came off first, jackets and shirts tossed over the chair that was pushed to the corner of the bedroom. No one spoke for a while, and you just co-existed with them in silence, letting it settle around you comfortably.

You flopped onto the bed with a groan, crawling to lie down right in the middle, as you usually did. Now the bed was wider and more spacious than your previous one, so there were enough pillows and space to stretch and get comfortable.

Joshua came to your side, curling up next to you. You rested your head against his chest, humming slightly as his fingers started playing with your hair.

“Tomorrow’s the recording session, right?” you asked him.

“Yeah, baby,” he replied, his tone waning in tiredness.

Jeonghan came back to the bedroom, sighing as he lay down on your other side. “What’s happening tomorrow?” he asked.

“I’m having a live session recording with the boys,” Joshua explained, though this was the second time he told Jeonghan this information.

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Jeonghan said with a tone of acknowledgement.

“Are you nervous, Josh?” you asked softly.

“No,” he told you. “We’ve rehearsed a lot. I could practically do it with my eyes closed now.”

“How humble of you,” you giggled softly.

“What can I say?” Joshua smirked, giving you a quick wink. “We’re pros.”

You smiled in response, enjoying the look of quiet confidence he showed you.

Joshua was nervous.

There were only a few times when he truly felt like his anxiety was eating him alive. The feeling fluttered in his stomach, quick and alarmed, demanding attention. It also made his limbs tremble if he let himself feel it.

But he fought against it. He knew that he felt like this only because he cared so much. This was important, and it was a milestone that he had wanted to achieve ever since he took on the path of being a musician.

The makeup artist took little time with him, focusing more on styling his hair than his face. They adorned his ears with subtle earrings, his neck with a heavy choker made of leather and chain; and lastly and a detail that couldn’t be missed, they changed the stud piece for a black one on his eyebrow.

As he sat in front of the vanity mirror, he rehearsed in his head one more time. He didn’t doubt his ability to get the show done. It was more like a mechanism to fight off the anxiety running around in circles inside of him.

You’ll do amazing, babe. You got this. I love you, read your last text message, which sat at the bottom of the chat. You always had great timing for these types of things, always saving him when he needed it the most.

Joshua stood up from the chair once the makeup artists took a step back and went on to work on his bandmates. He grabbed the leather jacket from the clothing rack that was labelled with his name and put it on with a short sigh, letting out the last bit of his nervousness.

And as he was getting mic’d up, his mind slowly got into a state of unbreakable focus and determination. His body only followed, forgetting about the restlessness caused by his heart.

There were three stationary cameras planted on each side of the studio, where the positions would be filled by Joshua, Jihoon, and Vernon respectively. Their places were marked solely by their equipment, which where carefully and very stylistically placed—Joshua’s vintage guitar was neatly placed in a stand right next to his microphone.

A cameraman was standing behind Joshua. He could sense the air settle as the director gave the signal for the cameras to start rolling, the lights focused on each spot in burning oranges and muted yellows—and the room fell dead quiet.

Through the corner of his eye, Vernon and Jihoon walked into the studio and stepped on the small stage with an easy gait, quickly getting into their positions. That was Joshua’s cue to follow, and he started walking.

The camera moved with him, filming the back of Joshua’s head as he walked to his position, grabbing his guitar by the neck and strap and adjusting it on his shoulder as he regularly would. Stillness still ruled over them, aside from the quiet rustle of fabric, and the soft intakes of breath of his bandmates and him, who were all mic’d up.

Joshua grabbed the lonely pick that you had given him once from the mic stand. He lifted his gaze, directing a look at his bandmates, and with enough confirmation that they were ready, he started strumming his guitar.

The song was a quieter version of one of Midnight Haze’s most popular songs. They had adapted it only for this occasion, as they had with the rest of their setlist. The idea was for Midnight Haze to show their range, and that came with no difficulty for them. The first song was the one they usually played to open their shows, and it flowed quite differently now that it was stripped of the trashing of the drums and the strumming rhythm of the guitars.

But as the setlist went on, just like a regular show would, Joshua closed his eyes to relish the euphoric feeling of playing music—of his fingertips dancing on the neck of the guitar, the gentle sway of his body as he practically swam with the lyrics.

He felt how much he thought of you when he wrote music. Oh, because the lyrics weren’t subtle at all, they have never been. And in his heart, just like always, he felt you there with him on stage.

“You might be the melody I need, The only one that makes my heart complete, But you kiss me like I’m leaving, Even when I say I’ll stay.

Don’t let me go, Take me with you, Don’t let me go, Stay here with me.

I can give you what you want, I can’t give you what you want.”

His eyes remained close through each line, which he sang with a heavy layer of significance, letting them out with a rawness that he felt in his very soul. As if he were still deciding to set his emotions free, or let them choke him out.

But the attempt to keep his emotions to himself was merely futile. Soon, he became a puppet to his own songs, the words resonating in his chest, each chord he struck hitting a particular place in his heart.

And then, he was truly one with his music, as he always intended to be.

Time stopped and lost all importance—he forgot that he was supposed to be looking good for the camera while playing music nonstop. And when he looked at his bandmates, he was lucky to see that he was not alone in that.

The set was coming to an end, and Joshua almost didn’t want to let go. As much as he loved standing on a stage, sharing his music with tens of thousands of unknown faces—he was completely enamoured with a quiet, smaller session like this. It sent him back to the days when his only stage was Seungcheol’s bar, and only twenty people were there to listen.

Now, he knew that hundreds of people would watch this video. But in that moment, he didn’t really think of that. Right at that moment, he let himself feel his music just for the sake of feeling it. This was his dream.

And when the final song ended, the echo of the room captured Joshua’s voice, wrapped in the last chords of his guitar. The sound was beautifully haunting, like water running in a distant dream, fading into the stillness of the night. He stood there, hand wrapped around the neck of his guitar, while the other came to grip the mic as he sighed out the last note.

He blinked slowly, realizing that he hadn’t really engaged with the cameras at all. He had forgotten about them. About the people standing in the room with him.

Because no one moved, it was as though no one would dare to.

But then, someone clapped. One cooed in amazement. Then more joined in, putting their hands together, politely restrained, but there was a clear hint of awe.

From behind the sound console and cameras, the sound engineer nodded. “That was perfect,” she said.

And the director also gave a nod. “That’s it,” he agreed. “In one take.”

Joshua placed his hands on his hips, realizing he was out of breath. “Really?” he asked, shooting a glance to his bandmates, who were equally astounded.

“Yes! Really,” the director laughed.

People started moving again, turning off the spotlights, picking up equipment and such. The spell was broken now, but traces of it still lingered in the air for Joshua, even as he removed his in-ears, coiling the cord around his fingers.

A crew member came up to Joshua as he gathered with his bandmates. “Are you guys coming to the afterparty?”

Joshua blinked. He’d forgotten that was happening. “Ah, yeah. Just… I need a minute.”

He gave the in-ears to the first crew member who offered to take them off his hands. Then he removed the strap of his guitar from his shoulder and tucked the custom pick you gifted him in the pocket of his jeans. The next movement was transactional—the guitar returned to its stand just as Joshua pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans.

He had turned it off to avoid any potential interruptions. So when he turned it back on, he found out with a pleasant feeling that Jeonghan had also left a brief but sweet message right before the cameras started rolling.

You’ll do a great job, Shuji. Come back as soon as you’re off.

Joshua smiled faintly, his thumbs hovering on the keyboard as he thought of what to reply. I’m omw. I’ll change quickly and then we have a party to tend to.  

Jeonghan’s reply came back instantly. A party?

The elevator ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. This new building had a very ostentatious feel to it. The floors were made of faux marble, the walls slick and gray, and the small monitor to one corner beside the doors displayed the many levels he still had to go.

His new home was spacious, yes. But it accommodated three people perfectly. And although only two weeks had passed, there were still boxes full of stuff in the hallways as he stepped inside the apartment.

As soon as he closed the door, he heard a rustle of fabric, clothed feet running from the bedroom and down the hallway told him that it was you running to receive him.

“Hi, handsome!” you squealed as soon as you laid eyes on him, brimming with so much joy that it showed in your sparkly eyes.

You didn’t give him the opportunity to reply on time, throwing your arms around his neck as he barely caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist.

A gasp escaped him, but he was smiling already. “My love,” he murmured tenderly, sinking his nose into your mane of hair and using his arms to lift you off the floor. “Hi, beautiful.”

When Joshua lifted his head from the crook of your neck, he found Jeonghan—leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, a light smirk displaying on his face as he looked at you with adoration.

Joshua might belong on stage, yes. But his heart was here. With you. With Jeonghan.

“Hi there, Shuji,” Jeonghan said, pushing himself off the wall and approaching slowly.

Joshua returned you to the floor, receiving Jeonghan with a brief kiss on his lips. “Hi there, you,” he replied, smiling softly.

“How did the recording go?” Jeonghan asked.

Joshua pulled his phone out, handing it to Jeonghan. “I recorded some snippets from the monitors, and it came out fine.”

“Honestly, I thought you would take more time to come back,” you said, still smiling softly. You slipped your fingers between Joshua’s, pulling him softly as you started walking in the direction of the bedroom.

“We did it all in one take, baby,” Joshua commented offhandedly, even adding a sigh.

“One take?” Jeonghan huffed. “Then it came out more than fine,” he said, unlocking Joshua’s phone by entering the number combination swiftly.

“I guess all that rehearsing paid off,” Joshua shrugged, starting to remove his jacket when you were all in the bedroom.

Jeonghan watched the phone screen intently, humming in amazement. “Oh, wow. You guys look like pros,” he giggled.

“We are pros, Hannie,” Joshua rolled his eyes, giggling too.

“You know what I mean,” Jeonghan replied without taking his eyes off the phone screen as he sat on the bed.

You climbed on the bed right behind Jeonghan, peeking over his shoulder to watch the video too. “Oh, wow, you look great, Josh,” you immediately said, adding a giggle. “I mean—you all look great. But you’re the most handsome.”

Joshua was undoing the button on one of the sleeves of his shirt when you looked at him. He flashed you a smirk, winking at you cheekily. “I know, baby,”

You smiled shyly, sneaking another look at the screen. “Oh,” you breathed. “Oh—you used the pick I gave you,” you realized, raising your twinkling eyes at him again.

Jeonghan blinked, looking at you and then the screen. “Why don’t you ever gift me things?” he asked, pouting dramatically as he set the phone aside.

You laughed, immediately catching on to his game. “I get you things all the time, silly.”

Joshua smiled at the little quarrel between you and Jeonghan. But as he finished removing his shirt, he saw both of your attention drifting to his chiselled chest.

Taking advantage that both you and Jeonghan were looking at him, he asked: “Are you guys going to get ready? Or are you going to show up in your pjs?”

“Get ready for what?” you asked.

“Didn’t you tell her?” Joshua asked Jeonghan.

Jeonghan sighed, a guilty smile painting his face. “I forgot.”

“There’s an afterparty the studio is throwing. I was thinking of going for a bit,” Joshua shrugged, as though discarding any importance to it.

“Oh, okay,” you said while climbing off the bed. “I’ll get ready.”

Jeonghan placed his hands behind him for support. He was still sitting on the bed, his gaze set on his two lovers as they got undressed in front of him. While Joshua did it methodically, you decided to put on a show, noticing his eyes on you.

Joshua followed you with his gaze too, as you removed your tank top, stripping your torso for their view. It messed your hair, but that brought a giggle out of you as you picked the stray pieces of hair off your face. Then, quite playfully now, you threw your tank top at Jeonghan, who, expecting it, caught it mid-air with a light but impressed chuckle.

“You’re in a mood today,” Jeonghan pointed out, tossing your tank top aside on the bed.

You shrugged, tucking your thumbs beneath the elastic band of your sweats and pushing them down. “I wanna have fun,” you said with a light tone. “I think we need a party.”

Joshua smirked. “Haven’t you been partying a lot lately, princess?”

“Let her have fun,” Jeonghan interceded before you could open your mouth. Then, tilting his head mischievously, he added: “Maybe we could help her with that.”

Joshua’s eyes scanned your frame up and down once, the soft smirk not vanishing from his face as you paced around the room, wholly naked now. “Mmn, what are you suggesting?”

You slowed down, now paying attention to what they were planning. You had grown used to their schemes and also to their playful banter. To the point that sometimes you thought they said things to see if you were actually listening and not in your head too much.

“There’s a toy we haven’t used, remember?” Jeonghan said, still sitting on the bed and looking at you and Joshua like you were both Jeonghan’s personal little strip show.

“There are quite a few we haven’t used yet,” Joshua replied, arching an eyebrow. He stood before Jeonghan, wearing nothing but a pair of washed-down jeans.

Jeonghan lifted his gaze, letting his eyes outline Joshua’s toned body. “The one we could control both with our phones,” he said, smiling once Joshua hummed in acknowledgement. “Yeah. That one. Go get it.”

Joshua’s eyebrows flicked once, noticing the snappy tone that Jeonghan had used. But with a smile on his face, he turned around and pulled a drawer open.

“What are you two doing?” you said, finally catching on to what they were about to do. You were about to put on a little black dress you picked if an occasion like this ever presented itself. It was tight, and it allowed you to go braless without minimizing your figure.

Joshua pulled out a small satin bag, handing it to Jeonghan with a bottle of lube. You were observing them now carefully, so Jeonghan just patted his knee twice, motioning at you. “Come here, baby,” he said.

You panned to Joshua, who stretched out a hand and grabbed yours, pulling you in between Jeonghan’s thighs. Joshua’s large hands slid from your shoulders to your waist, gripping you gently. Standing behind you now, he bowed his head towards your shoulder, pressing his lips to your skin.

You shuddered instantly, skin instantly reacting with goosebumps all over. “What’s happening?”

The bed was high enough for Jeonghan to look at your naked chest directly, noticing your nipples pert and hardened. A tiny smile appeared on his face as he raised his sweet brown eyes to look at you. “You’re going to use this for us tonight,” he said, raising the small satin bag in his hand.

“What’s that?” you said, though you already knew it was a toy. From the moment you saw Joshua pull the first drawer open, you knew.

Jeonghan fished the toy from the bag, discarding the latter somewhere on the bed. The toy was small, egg-shaped, and it hung from a string by Jeonghan’s fingers, it’s pastel pink and blues gave it an innocent presentation it—but you knew better.

“Joshua and I will control it, while you have fun tonight, yeah?” Jeonghan said. He showed you the toy, biting his bottom lip as his eyes surveyed your reaction.

You swallowed. “Will it be very noticeable that I have it in me?” you asked at first, not saying no.

“I don’t know, princess. We haven’t used it yet,” he replied, giving a nod at Joshua. “He bought it for us to play with when he went on tour last time,” he informed you.

“Why haven’t we used it?” you asked, trying to glance at Joshua’s face, but he was still comfortably resting on your shoulder.

Jeonghan shrugged. “We were busy with other things, I guess,” he chuckled. “Like you pegging me.”

Your eyes widened at the memory. “Jeonghan!” you squealed, trying once again to see Joshua’s reaction at those words.

Jeonghan’s laugh filled you with a tingling sensation that sat at the pit of your stomach. “Baby, don’t worry!” he said. “Joshua loved watching the video we made of that time. Why do you think he wanted to try it next?”

“You never told me you wanted to try it,” you mumbled quietly.

Joshua’s grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Some day in the future, baby,” he replied to you as he lifted his head from your shoulder, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

Jeonghan’s anticipation was palpable now. “What do you say, princess?” he said, tugging the toy by its string.

You nodded. “Okay. I’ll use it,” you said, but then paused. “But don’t go crazy with it, okay?”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Princess, that takes the fun out of it,” he said.

You disregarded his comment. “Should I lay down?” you asked curiously.

Jeonghan shook his head. “Just come closer, baby. And place your knee here,” he motioned you closer, patting the bed right next to him and taking the dress from your hands.

You raised your knee, placing it on the edge of the bed, as though you were about to straddle Jeonghan, but not quite so. Joshua pulled your hair back from your shoulder, leaving it bare for him to place more sweet, distracting kisses. You tilted your head to the side, opening your neck for his soft lips.

Jeonghan bent his head forward, meeting your chest with his lips too with a kiss placed on your heart. The contact of both their wet lips against your skin made you shudder, gasping softly as Joshua’s hands held you in place.

Your eyes fell close, relishing the sweet kisses that became needier as they progressed. Joshua continued kissing your shoulder, trailing up the crook of your neck, his hot breath brushing your skin. Meanwhile, Jeonghan kissed your chest, placing his free hand on your hip to bring you impossibly closer. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, tongue swirling around it to make you moan.

They knew that you could practically cum from a little nipple teasing. But this time, you felt like you were craving their touch for so long that it sent you into euphoria to finally feel it. Jeonghan suckled at your nipple—lightly at first, brushing the pebbled bud with the tip of his tongue over and over again. One of Joshua’s hands left your waist, his fingers teasing the nipple that wasn’t in Jeonghan’s mouth. You winced slightly when Joshua pinched you, and Jeonghan grazed his teeth on you in response.

With a low hum, Jeonghan pulled back, his eyes searching your face as his hand travelled from your hip to your crotch, slipping a finger in between your pussy lips. “So fucking wet. We just teased you a little, baby,” he said with a honeyed tone, biting his lower lip as his fingers explored your wet cunt.

Your face grew hot, but you angled your cunt for his fingers by pushing your hips forward. Jeonghan dipped his finger between your folds, finding your pooling entrance. “Hannie…” you sighed, dropping your head back on Joshua’s shoulder.

Joshua sighed, his arms keeping you firmly in place. But he found his own distraction, teasing your nipples relentlessly with the tips of his fingers as Jeonghan started thrusting his lithe fingers in and out of your pussy.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” Joshua mumbled in your ear, making you shudder again.

You nodded aloofly, gnawing at your lower lip as Jeonghan’s fingers fucked you slowly. You were not cumming like this, you were sure of it, but it just felt so good to have them pleasuring you.

But then, Jeonghan inserted the toy inside you, making you snap your eyes open.

“Jeonghan!” you cried out, pouting at him. “Why did you stop?”

“Can’t let you have too much fun before the party even starts,” Jeonghan said, chuckling lightly at the expression on your face.

You clicked your tongue, lowering your leg from the bed. “Can I know how this thing feels like beforehand at least?” you asked, still pouting.

Joshua stepped aside, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “You might want to lie down or sit,” he said.

You sat down on the foot of the bed, looking at both of your boyfriends expectantly.

Jeonghan stood beside Joshua, who was looking at the screen of his phone intently. “Is it this?” he asked quietly of Jeonghan.

“Yes—the lower mode first,” Jeonghan instructed.

And they both looked at you.

“Is this thing on?” you asked. “I can’t feel—oh!”

The toy became alive with slow, gentle vibrations that teased a particular spot inside you. You instantly sank into a puddle of pleasure, pushing yourself down the soft covers of your bed.

“How is that, baby?” Joshua asked.

“That feels…” You drawled the words with a sigh. “Good. So good.”

Jeonghan giggled playfully, muttering something at Joshua that you were quite too gone to even care. But they were discussing that the toy was very silent, and they wanted to see if it would still be like that in the highest mode.

The intensity of the vibrations increased, shaking inside you in relentless, almost violent patterns. And because of its design, it was lodged in one particular spot inside you that felt so much and very intensely. You cried out loudly, legs tensing and hands curling into fists.

“God, fuck!” you yelled.

“How about that, princess?”

“T-too much!” you squealed, opening your eyes to see them both looking at you with fascination written on their faces.

“Maybe we should just keep it on the lower modes,” Joshua said quietly, still looking at you dazedly.

You were writhing on the bed now, gasping for air as the toy pulsated inside your walls listlessly. “God… m-make it stop, please,” you pleaded, squeezing your eyes shut.

The toy died at the same time you felt it was just about to tear an orgasm out of you. You took a big gulp of air as soon as it stopped, feeling your body go lip almost as though against its will.

But once it was over, you wanted more.

“Oh… tonight is going to be interesting,” you said with a labored sigh, finding your shaking limbs to sit up.

Joshua and Jeonghan exchanged a meaningful look. You didn’t have to be an expert to recognize that brief gesture. You knew.

“You wanted to have fun…” Joshua shrugged, smirking mischievously.

You stood up from the bed, grabbing your dress from where it had been previously discarded to put it on. And then you grabbed a clean pair of panties. “If you two are going to have control over this thing, don’t you think it would be safe to put some limitations?”

“It’s your decision, princess. Whatever you say goes,” Jeonghan said as he put on some dark denims, which he paired with a black t-shirt and a leather jacket.

You smoothed the fabric of your dress while humming thoughtfully. “I think that as long as you don’t go overboard with it, I’m fine.”

Joshua smiled sweetly at you, approaching you to press a kiss on your forehead. “You got it, baby.”

“Maybe you could give us a signal if you want to stop,” Jeonghan suggested, running a hand through his long, dark hair.

You hummed thoughtfully. “I could squeeze your hand twice, or something,” you nodded.

“Or give me a very passionate kiss in front of everyone,” he said, giggling when you deadpanned at him. “What? It’s a great idea!”

The loft was already buzzing with life when you arrived.

It had an industrial feel to it. High brick walls with barred black windows extended before you on dark gray floors. A mix of blue and red neon lights gave the place a murky feel, like being in a club but exclusive only to friends. The place was already packed, and it surprised you to see some familiar faces, famous people such as actors and musicians.

But the world seemed to stop once Joshua stepped in.

All eyes were centered on him. Everyone stopped to say hi, to wave, and call his name. Your stomach dropped at the sight of people taking out their phones to snap photos of him.

Joshua looked over his shoulder to see you and Jeonghan. There was an air of coolness about him, but the flicker in his eyes told you he was nervous about this—about being so close to the limelight with you and Jeonghan closely behind him. An undercover lover, standing in plain sight.

Someone received him with a glass of whisky, sliding it into his hand while giving him a pat on the back. “There he is! I thought you had pulled a disappearing act!”

And that’s where the avalanche of praise started.

People came closer to Joshua, quickly surrounding him and swallowing him out of their line of vision. Your chest tightened once you couldn’t even get a glimpse of his face.

Jeonghan’s grip tightened. “Come on, let’s find something to drink,” he murmured close to your ear.

You nodded, deciding that maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt.

Slipping between the mass of unknown faces, you slowly became aware that Jeonghan was quite popular as well. People made subtle nods at him as you passed, by patting his back or his shoulder, to which he also responded politely.

But it was Joshua who continued moving through the loft like he belonged there. The smile he wore was intentional; you could tell as you cast a look over your shoulder, spotting him talking with people. He laughed and bowed his head, which made you think that he was being complimented.

Jeonghan tugged your hand, egging you close to him. “Stop gawking, people are already looking at us,” he told you, leaning towards your ear.

“Right, yeah,” you mumbled, turning to the bar in front of you. “Tequila?” you asked him.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips cutely. “Mmmn, I think we should switch it up a little, don’t you think?” he flashed you a grin.

“Gin and tonic?” you blinked.

He grimaced. “I hate gin.”

“You what?” you asked, scandalized, even though part of you already knew this bit of information.

He chuckled, tipping his head back. “Strawberry Mojitos?”

“Oh, you want to get drunk fast?”

“I mean, we gotta get through this party somehow,” he rolled his eyes playfully. “Besides—,” he leaned forward, his breath fanning your ear as he said: “—you need to get loose, princess.”

Your entire body became alight. You had forgotten about the toy still lodged inside your walls. “Okay, you may have a point there,” you nodded.

“Always do,” he said, winking at you.

“Pffft,” you huffed, giggling with him.

Jeonghan smiled once he heard your laugh, his eyes outlining your face swiftly. He turned to the bartender, raising two fingers as he gave the order. The very sleek and polite air to which he commanded himself was perfect—almost annoying. It drove you a little crazy.

It was hard to remove your eyes from him, but you still did it, scanning the room once. Twice. Then again.

Then your eyes found him.

Joshua had moved to the balcony. Leaning back against it and facing the loft. He was surrounded by unknown faces, silhouetted by city lights. He barely moved, but somehow, he sensed your gaze on him. Like something magnetic.

His eyes saw you, but he gave you no reaction. His face impassive as he yanked his gaze from you when someone called his attention.

It left you breathless. The empty exchange of glances, as though you were nothing more than his best friend’s girl. The past and present between you are shadowed by the spotlight on him.

Jeonghan circled your waist with his forearm, slipping a cool glass into your hand. He followed your line of sight, just as you were turning. But you saw, Jeonghan’s eyes were on the balcony, his features went rigid—probably encountering Joshua’s coldness too.

“You okay there?” Jeonghan asked you, glancing your way now.

You nodded. “I’m okay,” you said. Raising your glass to him. “It’s all part of the plan, right?”

The corner of his lips curled slightly. “Indeed, princess,” he said, clinking his glass with yours.

You both drank deeply, lowering your glasses once they were empty. Jeonghan sighed heavily, putting his empty glass back on the countertop. “Another?” he asked you.

You shook your head slowly, wiping the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb. “Hold your horses, cowboy,” you giggled.

“Right,” he smirked. “Lightweight.”

 “Don’t challenge me,” you quipped, but sheepishly.

Jeonghan didn’t listen to you; instead, he pulled out his phone, opening an app you didn’t recognize. “Are you ready for this?” he asked meaningfully, showing you his screen briefly.

You gaped a little, thankful for having tried it at home first. “Slowly, please, Hannie,” you said.

He gave you a smile in reply, but conceded to your request anyway. And your breath hitched, bracing for it.

The toy vibrating inside you instantly brought a hot wave of shame to your cheeks. You swore you could feel it spreading all over you. Your back instantly tensed up, and you quickly reached out to grip Jeonghan’s arm.

“Good?” he asked, his eyes scanning your face over and over.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I think I’ll need another drink.”

Jeonghan sighed with a smile on his face. “Your wish is my command,” he said gleefully, turning to order the second drink.

Your fingers were beginning to shake in response to the toy inside you. An idea sparked in your mind—maybe having the toy massaging your walls was making you feel more embarrassed than aroused.

You sent another look over your shoulder. Joshua wasn’t looking your way this time.

Maybe Jeonghan was right. Maybe you needed to loosen up.

Jeonghan handed you the newly filled glass, and you began to drink.

It was difficult to relax with the toy activated inside you. Despite the gentle, unstoppable vibrations inside you, you couldn’t really allow yourself to feel them. Your surroundings were overwhelming, loud, and buzzing.

“Jeonghan!” someone called, probably an actor or someone important, judging just by the appearance alone. He was tall, slender, and beautiful—already approaching. “What are you doing here?”

Jeonghan turned with an easy half-smile that was already fueled by the alcohol you were both quickly consuming. “Oh, you know me, I’m everywhere.”

The other man grinned. “Honestly, that’s not even a lie,” he said, shooting you a quick look, as though noticing you there for the first time.

Jeonghan quickly got to it. “This is my girlfriend,” he said proudly. “Baby, this is Doyoung, a friend from high school.”

You smiled politely, heart beating rapidly in your chest due to the anxiety running in your veins. “Nice to meet you,” you said, bowing your head kindly.

Doyoung seemed appreciative of your demeanour, replying to you with a bow and a smile.

Something inside of you blossomed with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. It excited you to think that no one but you and your partners knew what was going on, the game you were subjecting yourself to with them.

But at the same time, you were expected to play a role in this party. You were here as Jeonghan’s girlfriend, and he was expeditiously introducing you to new people, important people. You couldn’t afford to make a fool of yourself in front of these people.

You squeezed Jeonghan’s arm once, tightening your hand meaningfully.

Jeonghan pulled out his phone mid-sentence, but without stopping the flow of his words as he told a story to his friend. With zero regard for any potential possibility of someone catching sight of his phone screen, he switched the intensity of the vibrator inside you and pocketed his phone elegantly.

You relaxed your grip around his arm. Even though he hadn’t brought the toy to a stop, it was a significant switch.

But you were being edged. And that left a bite that you couldn’t quite fend off for much longer.

You cast another look over your shoulder.

However, this time, the scene you caught was different.

Joshua had moved from the balcony and was now standing closer to you and Jeonghan. He was, as expected, not alone. People surrounded him wherever he went, and even though the crowd was different this time, you recognized one face in particular. It was from a long time ago; however, the experience had left its mark in your memory, otherwise she would be just a face in the crowd. Just another person trying to catch five minutes with the famous Joshua Hong.

Her name was Thea. Your brain clicked with the information immediately. And from that moment on, you found it very difficult to pull back. As if the memory activated a slope in your mind, and your hands were too slippery to stop it.

Seconds. Just mere seconds were the ones you got to see from the scene unfolding before your eyes. Joshua was a few meters away from you, but close enough to discern the words Thea told him.

“Did you miss me, Joshie?”

Her voice was all but low. And with a jab to your heart, you assumed that she had nearly screamed those words to grab your attention. Did she remember you? You did not know. And you hoped she didn’t.

Joshua turned, and for the first time in the night, his shoulders relaxed. He smiled, but much to your painful demise, it wasn’t one of those smiles he used for the cameras. It was a smaller smile. Kinder.

“Thea,” he replied, still wearing that stupid smile. “It has been a while.”

You turned back. You couldn’t watch anymore.

But you heard her laughter. And the words she replied to Joshua were all but a ringing of her voice. Almost like echoes designed to haunt you.

You almost obligated yourself to pay attention to Jeonghan’s conversation with his friend. But they were far too deep in their chat that you couldn’t discern what the topic even was. You forced a smile when they both laughed amicably.

Doyoung excused himself, saying he had to say hi to other friends. He said goodbye to Jeonghan and bowed again to you politely.

Jeonghan wasted no time, pulling you closer to him with his arm around your waist. “He’s handling it. Calm down,” he muttered into your ear.

You winced in alarm, shock washing over you like an iced bath. Was your reaction too obvious? You pulled back, looking at him with a question written all over your face.

Jeonghan blinked, showing you a tender smile. “If anyone knows you well, it’s me, love,” he told you sweetly, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

“But I haven’t said anything,” you countered, frowning slightly.

“You keep gawking at him,” Jeonghan said, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “And he’s talking to his ex, so you’re obviously coming off as interested in the situation.”

You arched an eyebrow. “So you know her too?” you asked.

Jeonghan rolled his pretty eyes. “I don’t like what that tone is insinuating,” he chuckled briefly. “Yes, princess. I know who she is. I met her a couple of times after she and Joshua were done.”

“Oh,” you let out quietly, trying to sneak another glance at Joshua. “So you didn’t meet her when they were…”

Jeonghan shook his head twice. “Nope. But I know that she tried to sleep with him multiple times after they broke up. He said no every single time,” he coughed another chuckle. “So you have nothing to fear, baby. Trust him. He knows what he’s doing.”

Trust Joshua.

You were able to look past Jeonghan’s shoulder, spotting Joshua—still engaged in his conversation with Thea. She was gorgeous as you remembered her. Tall and slender, shiny hair, sparkly make-up, and long eyelashes. The way she leaned towards Joshua and laughed made your stomach churn, evoking a wave that boiled up the blood in your veins, so strongly that you were completely unsure whether it was just jealousy.

Maybe the jealousy was also fueled by the relentless massaging of the toy that was still lodged inside your walls.

You looked down at your shoes. “Am I making a fool of myself?” you asked.

“No, baby. You’re not,” Jeonghan said with a warm tone. He shrugged. “If anything, you’re just reacting naturally. I’d be concerned if you weren’t at least a little bit jealous.”

It was then that it dawned on you. “So you are jealous too?”

Jeonghan slipped his hands on your waist, trailing down until his fingers reached the line of your panties that were well concealed by the little black dress you wore. His smiling eyes looked at you up and down, pulling you closer with his hands nearly reaching your ass. “I don’t let it get to me anymore,” he replied sincerely.

You blinked repeatedly, overwhelmed partly because of his words and also because of his hands pressing on your rear. You placed your hands flat on his chest, trying to find some support there. “Anymore?” you wondered. “Were you ever jealous of me?”

Jeonghan smirked, as though already expecting your question. He bent over, pressing the tip of his nose against your cheekbone, angling your head back for him to kiss your cheek. He pressed his lips against your cheek, then against your ear, then lastly on the shell of your ear.

“No,” he replied to your question. “I liked you from the moment I met you. I wanted to know how your lips tasted, how your kisses felt. I wanted you for myself.”

You laughed. “Stop lying, Jeongjeong,” Your voice rose higher, manipulated by the arousal your body was subjected to, and also from the kisses Jeonghan was leaving below your earlobe.

“You think I’m lying?” he purred in your ear.

“Yeah,” you sighed, almost inaudibly. And it was then you knew the alcohol had poisoned your judgment. “I think you’re full of shit.”

Jeonghan laughed, the sound low and raspy in your ear. “Ready for more, princess?” he asked, pulling out his phone. 

You nodded, circling your arms around his neck to brace yourself. Your knees were beginning to tremble, and you knew that despite not being able to pay attention to the toy vibrating inside your body, it was getting to a point where you couldn’t just ignore it. Jeonghan amped up the mode of vibration, and you squeezed your eyes shut to embrace it.

“Good?” Jeonghan whispered in your ear.

You nodded, unable to talk.

“Just feel it, baby. Don’t worry about it,” he talked you through it, kissing your ear, your cheek and then your lips.

“Okay,” you whispered shakily, not sure that he could hear.

Maybe you were already drunk. Maybe Jeonghan was, too. But as seconds went by, the world surrounding you started to drift away, to lose meaning. Faces became blurry, music louder, and lights too intense.

You slipped your lips between Jeonghan’s, moving passionately, seamlessly. His hands slipped further down, now fully cupping your ass quite shamelessly. You didn’t know if this was for show or to fight back against Joshua. As though reminding him what he’s missing—or what he stands to lose if he lets his diversions go out of hand.

But Jeonghan kissed you deeper, a deep moan vibrating in your mouth when you rolled your tongue inside his mouth, feeling his tongue in the process. You were now fully making out, oblivious to the people around you, not caring whether you were seen or not. 

The vibrations were slowly and very efficiently building their way into getting you to climax soon. Despite the mode of the toy being still on low, the kissing and the groping were not helping in keeping you still.

You hugged Jeonghan tighter, arms still around his long neck. “Jeonghan,” you called out at once when you pulled back from the kiss.

“Still good?” he asked knowingly.

The music was loud, and people were either too drugged or too drunk to even look twice your way. But you still pulled Jeonghan closer. “I think I’m close,” you muttered shyly into his ear.

You could feel him laughing in the way he released air. “Just feel it. No one will notice,” he told you, pressing a kiss on your temple before adding: “I got you, baby. Let go.”

His arms tightened around your waist, keeping you steady as you crashed down against him. This orgasm was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You were still on your feet, knees shaking, and barely keeping you up. You tried hiding your face on the crook of Jeonghan’s neck—but he was faster, catching you with a kiss before you could even move.

Jeonghan kissing you made your orgasm better—more violent and intense than before. You felt waves of heat expanding inside your body, easing all tension, and leaving you feeling languid, almost depleted of energy. You tried to moan, to writhe, but it was nearly impossible. Pleasure burned inside you like never before, and it was exciting.

You searched his body, finding his arm to squeeze, feeling as if you let the toy keep going, you might need to find a place to hide completely.

But before Jeonghan moved to get his phone, the toy was shut off. At first, you thought that the battery might’ve died, but as Jeonghan frowned at his screen, you realized something.

With little to no control over yourself, you sneaked another glance at Joshua. Where you had previously thought that he was letting the conversation with Thea be his diversion of the night, you were instantly corrected.

Joshua was watching you and Jeonghan. Even as he tried to pretend to be entertaining Thea, his focus was still on you. And he’d watched you cum in the middle of a crowd of strangers.

You saw it. Joshua’s reaction. Barely. His grip tightened around his third glass of whisky. Then he gave you a tiny smirk.

You tilted your head in reply, trying your best to give him the lightest of smiles. A you okay?

His eyes flicked through the crowd, then back. A tiny shrug.

He was surrounded. Untouchable.

You took in a big breath, letting it out with a small hint of frustration. You wanted him to be there with you and Jeonghan. You knew you were being just jealous, possessive. But you also didn’t care.

Joshua saw that from afar, and it was as though he had a direct line to your thoughts because of the slow blink he gave you. As though saying, I know. I see you. I want to touch you too.

Jeonghan’s arms came to hold you against his chest, pulling you closer to rest his chin against your head. “I guess he’s feeling a little bit left out too,” he said, and by the tone of it, you knew he was smiling.

You thought about it for a second.

You were still in a position where you could spot Joshua. Thea told him something that made him turn her way, the pad of his thumb still hovering on his screen. But he listened to her intently, his smiling eyes outlining the perfect features of her face.

It didn’t matter. Whatever good judgment you could muster was nullified by either the alcohol or the jealousy still running in your system. Greed took over you, and you were instantly switched to his position.

Whereas you were jealous of seeing the situation in front of you, Jeonghan was the only one who could have you in the light of the world. Joshua had made it so he couldn’t come close to you like this.

And something sharp twisted in your chest.

Thea giggled. She was gorgeous. Whatever the tone of the conversation was, it had her slipping her hand around Joshua’s wrist, making him act quickly and shut his phone off before her gaze could wander to his screen.

You didn’t wait.

You grabbed Jeonghan by the hand, pulling him through the crowd in the direction towards the first room you could find. Lucky for you, it was a bathroom. You locked the door, switching the light on in quick succession.

And then you pushed Jeonghan against the cold wall of the large bathroom.

A sharp exhale left his body, his eyes widening in surprise. “Someone’s riled up,” he smirked, but welcomed you in his arms, nonetheless.

“Shut up,” you sighed, suddenly feeling thankful that you wore high-heels to this stupid party, because there was no need to stand on your tiptoes. You grabbed his chin, pushing your lips against his almost forcibly, making him hum into the kiss.

“Yes, I am,” you whispered, wasting no time and started fumbling with the buttons of his silk black shirt.

“Wait, wait,” he stammered, trapping your hands with his own. You tore your gaze from his chest, looking at his eyes, still widened. “Right now?” he asked, sending an alarmed look around. As though you were still standing in the middle of the crowd.

You cupped his face with your hands, looking at him intently, from his eyes to his lips. “What, are you scared now?” you asked, lowering your tone to an innocent one. “You’ve been teasing me the whole night. Now you don’t want to?”

Jeonghan responded with a startled look. “I just didn’t think you’d want to do it—” he stuttered when you lowered a hand, undoing one more of his buttons. “—here, you know?” he laughed softly, closing his eyes as you finished unbuttoning his shirt.

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before you put that stupid toy inside me,” you countered.

Jeonghan swallowed hard. Your hand was running down from his chest to his belly button, the tips of your fingers brushing down the soft hairs of his happy trail. “You know, princess, you’ve become even more daring these past few months.”

You hummed. “Try having two insatiable boyfriends at the same time,” you quipped, smiling at him softly.

He was a squirming mess, his fingers shaking as he fumbled with the straps of your dress. “I’m the least insatiable out of the two of us,” he argued, his eyes flitting to the door behind you and your face. “We’re gonna have to do this quick.”

You batted your eyelashes at him. “Why do it quickly when you two have literally edged me all through the night?”

Jeonghan gave you a hollow laugh, successfully removing the straps from your shoulders and zipping it down to let it pool at your feet. His demeanour changed the moment he saw you half naked, the only thing covering you was your lace panties, which literally left nothing to the imagination.

“Because,” he started, his tone so low that you could barely hear it over the loud banging of the music outside. “I want us to come back home and have you all to ourselves, princess.”

His finger trailed from the dip between your collarbones then down to your chest, between your breasts. “We can’t do that in here, don’t you agree, baby?” he purred, his eyes lowering to follow the tip of his finger, pausing before the band of your panties.

“It’s not entirely my fault that we can’t,” you said, trying to shrug to appear uninterested. But the quiver in your tone betrayed you. Your skin tingled where the tip of his finger stood, right before the band of your panties started.

“Mmn,” he sighed, the sound deep and almost raspy. But still, it was sweet. Jeonghan was always so sweet to you. “Baby, you got all riled up with a little teasing, don’t tell me you can’t handle it?” he purred, the tip of his finger finally sliding lower, making it to the crotch of your panties.

Your eyelids fluttered when his finger swiped a line between your pussy lips, feeling the obvious heat and wetness pooling in your panties. “Jeonghan, stop playing.”

“Stop playing?” he asked, pulling back to look at your face. “You’re the one who wanted to have fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but just slightly. A smile betrayed you, too, stretching on your lips before you could command the muscles of your face. “Just shut up and fuck me, Jeonghan,” you said, trying to exert as much confidence as you could.

But he smiled, defeating you instantly. “Talking to me like that won’t get you anything,” he said defiantly. But clearly enjoying this, he bit his lower lip briefly, nodding at your lower half. “Take your panties off.”

You hooked your thumbs beneath the band of your panties, pushing them down your legs and effectively going completely bare in front of him. To the exception of your high heels.

His hands quickly found the button of his pants, undoing it and swiftly moving his boxers down. You saw him as he pulled his cock out, already hard and leaking for you. And suddenly you realized—he’d been playing with you the whole time, making out with you and holding you close as you had an orgasm in the middle of a party.

Jeonghan acted quicker than you. Before you could push him to sit on the nearest surface so you could ride him, he grabbed your hips, turning you over and facing the mirror. You saw your face, already looking fucked out—eyes glazed and dreamy.

“Hold this for me,” you told him, putting your panties in the pocket of his pants.

He sighed, the smile not quite vanishing from his beautiful face. “We’ve created a little monster, it seems,” he mumbled, looking at you as you took the toy our of your pussy. It was slick, covered in all your mess.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, biting your lower lip as you reached behind to grab him. You rolled your hand all over his hard cock, feeling the veins in his shaft and the precum leaking from his dark pink tip. Your mouth watered, anticipating the feeling of him stuffing you full.

“I suppose we shouldn’t play with you too far next time,” he said with a low tone, his voice raspy as you guided him inside you, notching his tip in your entrance to taunt him. His hands clenched at your sides, his body tensing beneath you. “You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he sighed, tilting his head back.

You saw his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes, which had stopped looking at the door from time to time and were now zeroed on your reflection in the mirror. He saw your face, your tits, the way you arched your back and angled yourself to take him.  

“God, I love you so fucking much,” Jeonghan exhaled blissfully as he bottomed out on you completely. “That’s it, baby, take me. Take all of me,” he whispered, his eyes lost on the reflection of you in the mirror.

And you were also captured by the sight of him. His silk shirt was parted, slipping from his shoulders slightly. You had fumbled with his pants and boxers enough to get them halfway below his hips. But it was his face that you couldn’t look away from—the pieces of his dark hair were messily on his face, lips chapped from kissing you all night, and his eyes were darkened by a lust you were well acquainted with.

Jeonghan was looking solely at you. And you knew why. The muscles of your face had relaxed—whether it was because of the alcohol or the arousal flowing through your veins, you didn’t know for sure. But your eyes were dreamy, glistening slightly as you blinked slowly at him. Your mouth was parted, lips swollen, red and wet.

And your body—wholly naked to the exception of your high heels that you had kept on. Your tits bounced at each thrust Jeonghan gave you, nipples pert and swollen, skin already covered in a light film of sweat.

You were hot. Alluring, even. The near-animalistic way you were letting Jeonghan take your body made you even more aroused, seeing yourself angling your ass for his thrusts, arching your back to take him in deeper—you loved it. You felt obsessed with it.

Jeonghan showed you a fucked out smirk. “Like what you see, baby?” he asked, noticing that you were getting off by looking at yourself in the mirror. The way Jeonghan’s eyes scanned you through the mirror and then switched to looking at the line of your back all the way to your ass made you think that he also liked what he saw.

You nodded, unable to talk back.

Having him inside you satisfied an urge that you had been trying to keep at bay all night. You instantly moaned, unafraid of being heard, and almost careless. Something invaded you. The same need that crawled beneath your skin came back, but ten times harder now that you were bending over for him.

You pushed a hand against the mirror for support, but angling your ass for his relentless thrusts. “Hannie,” you mewled, taken over by the pleasure quickly building back inside you, but stronger now.

He closed his eyes, humming softly under a long, blissful sigh. “Fuck, princess,” he moaned, grabbing you by the hips to keep you in place. “I needed this.”

You knew it was a quick fuck, but god you wanted it to last. You were so needy from being teased for hours that you were almost too overstimmed to enjoy him fully. Especially when you were in a bathroom, a party was going on outside. And Joshua would probably take notice of your absence in the next seconds.

You tightened your jaw, angling your hips on him to search for that spot that never failed to drive you crazy. You moved your body back, but just slightly, ready to take him deeper inside your walls with each thrust.

Jeonghan noticed that you were seeking to satisfy yourself more than him. His eyes quickly scanned your face in the mirror, a smile stretching on his lips. “That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his hands grabbing your ass. A strangled moan spilled from his pretty lips. “Make yourself cum.”

He tipped his head back, his eyes rolling back too as he breathed in deeply. You knew he was trying to resist his orgasm, squeezing his eyes shut and sinking his fingers onto your skin. “Baby—fuck. Princess, I’m not going to last long.”

You whined. “No, please. Just a little more,” you said, not caring how pathetic you sounded. “I’m close too.”

He straightened, moving a hand from you to palm the pocket of his pants. He quickly fished out his phone, opening it and pressing the on button for your toy. You gasped instantly, feeling it vibrate inside your closed hand.

“Give me that,” he ordered, his tone raspy and low. Hearing the urgency in his tone, this ignited something in you.

You obeyed, handing him the toy without question.

Looking at you through the mirror, he pressed the toy against your mound, sending its intense vibrations straight to your clit. You opened your mouth, a strangled cry coming out of it as you practically started slamming down your hips with more urgency.

“Oh, Jeonghan!” you cried loudly, the sound high-pitched and raspy at the same time. “Fuck, Jeonghan! Yes, yes, yes,” you mewled, closing your eyes to welcome the orgasm you’ve been craving to have all night. It came in fiery waves, crashing over you and causing you to writhe and moan desperately.

“Fuck,” he gasped, and the hand that remained clutching your hip tightened.

With clean and perfect synchronicity, you grabbed the toy from his grasp, keeping it on your clit as his hand switched to grip your throat, yanking you back up. You gasped, instantly immobilized by both his hands on you and the quick jackhammering of his hips against your ass.

“God,” he gasped on your ear, and through the mirror, you saw him blinking slowly. “I fucking love this pussy. Feels so good.”

You let out a strangled moan. The sounds from his skin slapping against yours became louder, faster. And the squelching from your dripping pussy also became more noticeable, made you feel ashamed.

“I’m gonna cum,” he told you, directing a look at you through the mirror. “Want me to do it inside?”

You nodded, but barely. His hand still gripping your throat made it impossible for you to move freely.

A cunning smirk lifted only the corner of his mouth. “Course you do,” he whispered, kissing your earlobe. He was panting, trying to keep the pace of his merciless rutting. “Want me to put a baby in you?”

Your eyebrows instantly knitted, and a moan caught in your throat. “Please,” you mewled pathetically. The thought alone made you feral, even though you knew it was nearly impossible—the attempt to get you pregnant was enough to make you orgasm.

He pressed the tip of his nose against your ear, and you felt his breath fanning your skin and making you shudder. “I’m gonna make you a mommy,” he half moaned. “Make you mine forever.”

You were quite practically helpless. The vibrator was still pressed to your clit, but it was what Jeonghan said that sent you to another climax. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out of it, silently cumming hard until your eyes brimmed with tears.

Jeonghan smiled, as though the sight was something he wanted to achieve before he fucked his load inside you. “C-cumming,” he told you.

You opened your eyes, finding his face in the reflection. He looked languid in bliss and pleasure all over—sweating from the neck down, completely disheveled. He gave you a couple of sloppy, deep thrusts until both of your orgasms started to subside. Panting, you pressed your back against his chest, taking the vibrator off and then his arms wrapping you in a languid hug.  

Jeonghan dipped his head to kiss your neck, softly pressing his wet lips against the crook of it, and then trailing down to your shoulder blade. “That was intense,” he admitted with a soft laugh, his breath fanning over your skin.

You laughed, unable to comment on anything about it. You were trying to catch your breath, feeling the loving pecks Jeonghan was leaving on your back, making your skin prickle.

“Be my girlfriend.”

You blinked and turned over your shoulder, thinking that you had misheard. “What did you say?”

Jeonghan had a smile on his face, it was playful and full of joy. “Be my girlfriend,” he repeated.

“I thought I already was,” you replied, arching an eyebrow. You were convinced now that this was another one of his pranks.

He shook his head lightly. “I wanted to ask you again.”

You snorted. “Right here?”

He emitted a laugh, one that was loud and playful. You loved it. “I could ask you every day. Anywhere,” he said.

“We live together now, Hannie,” you teased him, tangling your fingers in his hair lazily.

“Maybe I just want to make extra sure,” he said while still panting softly. He gave you a lazy grin, one that made his eyes glint. “Before we start talking about marriage.”

Your heart slowed down. “You heard that,” you said, your smile fading.

He blinked slowly at you. “Of course I did, baby,” he told you in a slightly lower tone. “And everything that came after.”

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have talked about it without you,” you said, your heart squeezing painfully. “It just came up, and the conversation just flowed naturally.”

He tilted his head to one side, searching your eyes. “It’s okay, I get it,” he reassured you. “But I still want us to talk about it.”

You gave him a tiny nod. “Then we should get out of here,” you suggested firmly.

“Agreed,” Jeonghan smirked.

You braced yourself before he pulled out of you, and then you immediately started to clean up. Quickly, you gathered your clothes, putting them on as fast as you could with trembling fingers.

“Do you think we were too loud?” you wondered now that you were coming down from your frenzy.

“Pfffft,” Jeonghan giggled, waiting for you at the door with a hand on the handle. “Of course we were, baby,” he told you shamelessly.

You felt a hot wave wash all over your face, leaving a tingling sensation on your cheeks. “Fuck,” you gritted. “Oh, that’s so embarrassing.”

“Well, you didn’t look one bit embarrassed when you were screaming my name,” he mumbled under a breath when you approached the door.

You looked at him blankly.

Jeonghan giggled again anxiously. “What?” he shrugged, playing innocent.

“Do you think we’ll get in trouble?” you asked, now more nervous to come out of the bathroom.

“With security?” he asked, but then he gaped in acknowledgement. “Oh—with Shua?”

You nodded, unable to speak up.

“Well, obviously,” he arched one eyebrow. “I thought that was what you wanted,” he said. Then he opened the door for you, grabbing you by the waist to pull you in closer to him, and serve as some sort of shield as you walked back into the sea of unknown faces.

Jeonghan pushed his shoulders back, slipping his arm from your waist to grab your hand firmly. When you looked at him, you noticed him holding his chin up, a shadow of a smirk on his face as though telling the world that yes, you were his. His girlfriend.  

The music was still so loud that it brought you an odd sense of calm. As it reverberated against the walls and made your whole body vibrate, you knew that it would’ve been nearly impossible for everyone to hear you and Jeonghan.

But as you saw Joshua still standing in the same spot, you knew that there was no way he didn’t know what you and Jeonghan had been up to when you both disappeared. The quick, dark look he shot at you told you everything you needed to know.

A smirk spread across his lips, and then he blinked away.

Jeonghan squeezed your hand tightly. As though saying, I told you so.

“Can we go home now?” you asked, feeling shame heating up your entire body.

Joshua was still talking with his ex. But the fixed features of his face told you he was nowhere near pleased to be looking at her face.

The music swelled, louder, almost as though trying to expel you out of that place.

“I’ll call a car,” Jeonghan told you, leaning over so you could catch his words. “Let’s tell Shua, okay?”

But before you could protest, he took you with him, pulling you by the hand.

You tried slipping off, but Jeonghan took it as you were still frustrated with Joshua, so he pulled you tighter, making you unable to escape.

So you hid behind Jeonghan, trying to lower your face as much as you could. Jeonghan approached Joshua, leaning to his ear to inform him that you wanted to go back home.

And through the corner of your eye, you caught her looking at you. It was quite impossible to escape it now. Recognition flashed through the features of Thea’s face as she blinked at you. Her mouth parted, and you knew that she remembered you from that very brief moment where you both met a year ago.

It felt like that had happened a lifetime ago.

But Thea still knew you.

Her widened eyes panned from you to Joshua, and you could almost read her mind. The clear, there’s something going on here, was evident all over her face.

Shame coursed through you, but you couldn’t back away now. You knew that there would be different stories forming in her mind, but this is what you had to commit yourself to.

Joshua nodded when Jeonghan finished speaking. And you were irritated that the music was so loud, because you couldn’t tell what Joshua replied, but his demeanor was dry, devoid of all emotion.

But you were relieved when Jeonghan pulled you in the direction of the door.

Casting one final glance over your shoulder, you saw Joshua waving Thea goodbye. Her face was riddled with questions all over, but a hopeful glance lingered over Joshua as he walked away from her, following you and Jeonghan.

But then she looked at you. And a dark smirk painted her face.

You tore your gaze from her, now determined to look down as you stepped into the elevator.

The minute Joshua stood by your side, you knew you were in deep trouble.

He was quiet. Not the kind of quietness he exerted whenever he was tired or sleepy. No, this kind of silence was the kind he kept because he wanted to tell you something once he felt safe to do so. It was the kind of silence he kept before he bent you over to spank you.

It made you feel excited.

Jeonghan slipped an arm on your lower back once you swayed to his side, stumbling slightly, partly because of the high heels and the alcohol intake. “Steady,” he whispered, looking at you fondly.

“Mm, sorry,” you replied, giggling softly. You placed a hand on his chest for support and then leaned your head on his shoulder, using this new angle to direct a look at Joshua.

But he wasn’t even paying attention. He was holding his phone up, looking at the screen intently as though reading something very interesting or amusing.

Joshua was giving you the cold shoulder.

You turned to look at Jeonghan, who gave you a light smirk, lifting his eyebrows slightly. You sighed in response, either too tipsy or too deep into your post-orgasm haze to even muster a bolder reaction.

The car ride was even more off-putting.

Joshua kept his act up, not fading once in his own way to exert his dominance. He only did one thing—ignore you completely. And it worked, because once you were home, you felt the pressure of his silence start to choke you. It left a pulsated feeling inside you.

“Josh,” you called softly as he headed straight to the bedroom.

“Baby, you’re not getting anything out of it right now,” Jeonghan told you as he followed you down the hallway.

But you were stubborn. “Joshua,” you called again, your voice more demanding.

He was beginning to remove his shirt, undoing each button with one hand expertly. “Sit her down,” he commanded, motioning to the armchair placed directly in front of the bed.

Your heart fell to your stomach when you felt Jeonghan’s slender fingers circle your arm, pulling you to the vintage armchair. A huff escaped you in sheer disbelief. “So you flirt with your ex all night, and I get the cold shoulder?” you asked, feeling emboldened somehow.

Joshua had absolutely no reaction to your words. And you hated it. Half-naked now, he turned his back to you, pulling the drawer open and getting a pair of leather wrist cuffs, and with no word at all, he threw them at Jeonghan, who was pushing you to sit down.

Your body started heating up. You sat down on the velvet chair, a short sigh escaping you as you looked up.

Jeonghan knelt before you, looking at you sheepishly through his eyelashes. “Safeword?” he mumbled, testing you.

The word spilled from your lips. However, you held out your hands for him.

Jeonghan paused, the shadow of a smirk appearing on his lips before he grabbed one of your wrists first, strapping it safely to one of the arms of the chair. “Too tight?” he said, testing the buckle carefully.

“It’s fine, Hannie,” you replied to him. And he gave your other wrist the same treatment, strapping it to the other arm of the chair with the same tightness. It was tight enough for you to move your wrists slightly, but not loose enough so you could pull out free easily.

“Good girl,” Jeonghan whispered, a tender look in his eyes as he bent over, grabbing your leg by the back of your knee to place a sweet kiss on the inner side of your knee.

You giggled softly at the feeling of his breath fanning on your skin.

“The sweetest girl,” Jeonghan added, louder this time.

“Put this on her,” Joshua’s voice came like a whip.

Jeonghan obeyed, turning around to receive what Joshua had in his hand. It was another toy. But unlike the one you used at the party, this was supposed to be worn inside the tiny pocket in your panties, tightly pressed to your mound. Jeonghan turned to you again, consent written in his eyes as he motioned to your legs.

You shifted on your seat, tilting your pelvis up, inviting him in.

“So obedient now,” Joshua muttered under his breath, sitting on the edge of the bed to get a better view of Jeonghan sticking a toy inside your panties.

“She always is,” Jeonghan mumbled softly, lifting his face so you could see him wink swiftly.

You smiled in response.

“If that were true, this night would’ve ended differently,” Joshua said.

But Jeonghan didn’t reply at that. He swallowed hard, asking for permission once again with his eyes, and when you nodded wordlessly, he moved forward. His hands slid on your bare thighs, under your dress, pulling the skirt up to uncover your body from the waist down. He moved slowly, as though giving you ample chance to stop if anything wasn’t to your liking.

However, you were more than eager to know what was going to happen. Even more, you closed your eyes to enjoy the melting shudder that shot across your skin, leaving goosebumps all over it. Jeonghan’s touch was light on your thighs, and even more so as his fingers sneaked beneath the crotch of your panties. A sigh escaped through his parted lips when he felt the warmth and the wetness pooling there.

When he stored the toy inside the tiny pocket of your panties, Jeonghan got up, removing his leather jacket in the process.

“Why am I getting punished?” you asked almost innocently.

Jeonghan smiled without looking at you, as though telling you to be careful with your words, but at the same time enjoying seeing you dig your own grave in real time.

Joshua placed his hands behind him, leaning back on the bed as he looked Jeonghan up and down as though you didn’t exist. “Did you have fun, Hannie?” Joshua asked, his tone honeyed.

“I did, Shua,” Jeonghan replied, removing his watch with his lithe fingers. “And you?”

Joshua blinked slowly, shrugging. “It was fun watching you two from afar, even if I couldn’t join for a lot of it.”

“You were busy,” Jeonghan muttered, approaching the foot of the bed and standing right between Joshua’s parted legs.

You just watched, balling your hands into fists as Joshua fidgeted with the small controller that was between his index finger and thumb. “Busy talking with his ex,” you said under a huff.

It was then that Joshua acknowledged you for the first time. A smile spread across his lips, but he didn’t look at you, he didn’t even reply verbally. He raised his hands, placing one on Jeonghan’s hip and the other flat on the abdomen. “Take this off,” he muttered softly.

Jeonghan obeyed again, beginning to unbutton his black shirt with swift fingers. As Jeonghan’s shirt parted, leaving his chest exposed, Joshua leaned closer, placing a trail of kisses from Jeonghan’s sternum all the way down to his belly button. Jeonghan laughed softly at the feeling, and despite you being a mere spectator, you also shuddered, knowing well how Joshua’s lips feel.

The second acknowledgment from Joshua came when you least expected it. He pressed his thumb down on one of the buttons, activating the toy inside your panties. Your thighs tensed up, knees bouncing slightly as you fought and lost against the gasp that came out of your mouth.

Jeonghan turned to look at you, but he was quickly subdued. Joshua grabbed him by the chin with one hand, forcing him to look directly ahead, not at you. “Eyes on me,” Joshua told him sternly. “You’ve had her all night, fucked her for everyone to hear.”

Jeonghan smirked as he slipped the silk shirt off his shoulders. “Well, you didn’t look too bothered by it.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Joshua said, arching his pierced eyebrow. “Walk in there when everyone saw you two go into the bathroom?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Maybe,” sighed shakily when Joshua started toying with the belt on Jeonghan’s pants. “Would’ve been fun. Very rockstar on your part.”

Joshua smirked bemusedly. “Did you enjoy it? Taking her in that bathroom?” he asked, bending his head to press a soft, wet kiss below Jeonghan’s belly button, right where his happy trail ends.

“Uh-huh,” Jeonghan replied aloofly, tilting his head back as Joshua palmed his growing erection beneath his pants. “She felt so good, Shua,” he drawled lazily. “She was so good for me.” 

“Mmm,” Joshua replied. Raising his eyes to look at Jeonghan’s face, Joshua muttered gently, his tone gruff with arousal. “Yeah, I know. She’s only good for you.”

You gasped, wrestling slightly against the handcuffs. The vibrator was gentle at first, merely distracting and not at all intense enough to bring you to a climax. But you could feel its gentle motions starting to cause a tickling sensation around your groin, making you writhe.

“I’m also good for you, Josh,” you said, trying to make him look your way, to do something to acknowledge you one more time.

But he rose from the bed, now standing face to face with Jeonghan. And then they dove into each other’s lips again. Joshua hummed into the kiss, the sound coming out almost like a purr. The kiss was sloppy, and you could see it progress into something more demanding, more urgent. Jeonghan let out a grunt, slipping a hand below Joshua’s nape to pull him in impossibly close.

But then Joshua pulled back, exerting his control again.  

“Get on your knees.”

With no hesitation, Jeonghan obeyed once again, dropping to his knees as Joshua and you just watched. But Joshua was still ignoring you, knowing that this was the kind of punishment that you absolutely hated.

But he pressed another button on the controller, bringing the vibrations a little higher. You gasped, closing your eyes briefly to get used to the change.

Joshua caressed the side of Jeonghan’s face, sliding a finger down the cut of his jawline. “Are you going to be good for me, Hannie?”

As you blinked again, you caught a glimpse of Jeonghan nodding his head silently, looking up at Joshua.

“Good boy,” Joshua whispered, smiling softly.

Jeonghan didn’t look at you again as per Joshua’s instructions. And jealousy gnawed at your heart when you saw Jeonghan willfully pulling Joshua’s boxers down. Joshua’s cock was fully hard already, veins trailing down his shaft, the pinkish brown tip dripping with precum.

And Jeonghan just didn’t wait a second longer. Circling his fingers around the thick shaft, Jeonghan rolled his tongue around the bulbous head of Joshua’s cock, bringing out an airy moan from him.

“Fuck,” you gritted, squeezing your thighs together, but in that, you just ended up pressing the toy to your mound tighter. You gasped, relaxing your thighs again but it was too late.

Pleasure built up quicker than before, the sight before you so alluring that you felt you could cum just from watching it. Jeonghan took Joshua’s cock into his mouth, bobbing his head back and forth, his mouth creating a wet smacking noise as he pulled away.

“That’s it. You’re perfect,” Joshua praised, his voice waning. He tilted his head back, swallowing hard. “So good for me.”

You whined, and the sound reminded Joshua of your existence in the room, amping up the intensity of the toy still in your panties. A sharp gasp escaped you, but you made no other sound to retaliate.

Joshua tangled his fingers in Jeonghan’s long hair, following the movements of his head. Jeonghan took the veiny shaft further, stroking what he couldn’t take into his mouth, humming softly as he pulled back, picking up a pace.

“Show her how it’s done,” Joshua whispered, a smirk painting his face.

“Josh!” you squealed. “Not fair,” you said through a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut as waves of pleasure barrelled down your spine, tearing an orgasm out of you. A whiny cry escaped you as you let the waves of pleasure take you, making you writhe desperately on the chair.

“Oh god,” Joshua drawled the words out, sounding gruff and languid as his head remained tilted back. You saw his throat bobbing, his breathing shift. “You can stop now, Hannie.” 

Jeonghan pulled back, and without hesitation, he looked your way. It was by sheer impulse, but his eyes locked with yours, filled with lust and expectation. You were coming down from your high, panting and shaking still.

“Get ready,” Joshua told Jeonghan meaningfully.

Jeonghan got to his feet, removing the last pieces of clothing with no hesitation while Joshua opened the drawers to get a condom and a bottle of lube. They both stood naked before you, acting as though you weren’t there at all while they shared a passionate kiss. Jeonghan placed his hands on Joshua’s waist while Joshua grabbed him by the face, deepening the kiss. You saw their tongues brushing as they both hummed into each other’s mouths.

A strangled noise slipped through your gritted teeth. You wanted their attention, you wanted them to turn to you and shower you with kisses instead. But you continued watching, still strapped to the chair, powerless.

“Get on the bed,” Joshua said, his tone raspy, denoting his need.

Jeonghan hesitated for the first time, looking at you swiftly through the corner of his eye.

“Come on,” Joshua said, patting on Jeonghan’s side twice. “Don’t make me handcuff you too.”

“Tsk,” Jeonghan laughed softly, but got on the bed, choosing an angle so that his head was resting on the foot of the bed. You noticed he chose this angle so his eyes could divert towards you.

“Mmm,” Joshua hummed, clearly noticing Jeonghan’s intentions. But he said nothing about this. Instead, he used the controller to bring down the intensity of the toy, letting you rest from its intense vibrations for a while.

“Thank you,” you sighed out unconsciously, feeling languid with pleasure.

Joshua made his first mistake. He lifted his gaze as he climbed on the bed, looking at you with a tender expression written on his face. But the look was fleeting, realizing that he was loosening his dominance with each subby act you made.

“See?” Jeonghan said, blinking at you. “She can be good.”

Joshua giggled softly, clearly caught by the moment. “She’s still not getting away with acting jealous at the party.”

Jeonghan moved his legs so that Joshua could slot himself between them, sitting on his knees as he reached to grab the condom while Jeonghan picked up the bottle of lube, squeezing a good amount of it onto his palm.

“I thought you liked that,” Jeonghan replied, his tone genuine and devoid of snark.

“Maybe I do,” Joshua said, rolling the condom down to his hilt and taking the bottle of lube out of Jeonghan’s hand. He squeezed some lube onto his fingers. “But then she thought it was a good idea of getting you to fuck her in that bathroom.”

“I think you like that too,” Jeonghan said, his tone becoming more strangled as Joshua started spreading the lube around his hole.

“Yeah?” Joshua breathed, tilting his head to one side as he pushed his hand, slipping the first finger inside Jeonghan’s tight hole. “You think so?”

Jeonghan was rendered speechless, but he nodded either way. Slowly, he rolled his hand up and down Joshua’s hard cock, lubing him up.

Joshua started thrusting his finger in and out of Jeonghan slowly, reaching for the forgotten controller to change up the speed on the toy. Your pulse quickened, heart frenzied to know that you weren’t completely invisible.

“I think you like knowing that she drives me as crazy as she drives you,” Jeonghan croaked, getting the sentence out as though he were completely unable to stop himself.

That made Joshua laugh, the sound airy and sweet. It made his abdomen contract slightly—Joshua was glorious, in all the extension of the word. Naked, hair messy and completely hard. And Jeonghan was too, except that his hair was messier and he was already dripping precum onto his own tummy. 

The sight of both of your boyfriends naked on your bed made you choke back a moan. Joshua stopped thrusting his fingers inside Jeonghan, taking his cock on one hand, and guiding it to Jeonghan’s hole. There was an exchange of looks between them, and Joshua proceeded right after Jeonghan gave him a quick nod. Joshua moved Jeonghan’s leg up to his chest, and then started pushing his cock inside Jeonghan, slowly. Very slowly.

You shuddered again, your bound hands balling into fists as you tried to fight off the vibrations against your clit, but it was impossible, you were cumming again on the chair, liquid came gushing out of you as you whined helplessly. “Josh,” you choked back a sob, panting and trying to stop it.

Jeonghan closed his eyes, mouth parting as his eyebrows knitted. You could hear the sound of the air catching on his throat, and Joshua’s moan in response.

“F-fuck,” Jeonghan sighed, shuddering hard but still not opening his eyes. “Joshua,” he moaned.

Joshua mimicked Jeonghan’s expression—brows drawn inward, mouth dropping softly. He moved his hips slowly, shallowly at first. Jeonghan brought a hand to Jeonghan’s tummy, parking it flatly as though to hold him in place.

You shuddered too, trying to hold out as much as possible, but as one orgasm subsided, another one started. “Joshua, please,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, but you couldn’t stop. The pleasure was too intense, too hot.

“Oh, god,” Jeonghan sighed, grabbing Joshua’s hand that was still resting on his lower abdomen. “Please, please, please.”

Joshua smiled softly. “You like that, Hannie?” he asked quietly.

In that moment, you knew how Jeonghan felt—the stretch of Joshua’s cock inside you, the feeling so good, so delicious it consumed you slowly. Unable to talk, you whined again, trying to get his attention.

But Joshua didn’t raise his gaze at you, instead, he pulled his hips back slightly, driving his cock back in with one thrust, letting out a strangled moan. “So tight,” he whispered, blinking slowly.

Jeonghan was reduced to a complete mess—only able to let out mere babbles and long, raunchy moans. His eyes remained closed, his hand placed on top of Joshua’s while the other gripped the covers tightly. 

Carefully and slowly, Joshua bent over Jeonghan, pressing a hot but fleeting kiss on his lips. He put a hand on the bed, pushing Jeonghan’s legs up to his chest as they kissed one more time. And then Joshua resumed his deep thrusting, pulling back to sit on his knees again. 

“God,” Jeonghan exhaled as Joshua started pushing his cock at a steadier pace. Your heart twisted with jealousy again because all you felt was a tingling sensation shooting right at your core, making you squeeze your thighs again. “Fuck, Joshua, don’t stop please… please.”

“Mmm, I might just stop right now,” Joshua taunted. “See what you’ll do without my cock.”

“No, no, please,” Jeonghan whispered, tightening his grip around Joshua’s hand.

“You think—” he uttered, pushing his hips deeply, “—you’re cute? Fucking our Bunny in the bathroom without me—?” he drove in deeper, getting a raunchier moan out of Jeonghan. “—where anyone could hear?”

“Fuck,” Jeonghan sighed, pushing the back of his head against the covers. Ropes of cum spilled from his cock, landing on his skin, on his lower abdomen, and chest and just continued leaking. “Fuck, god, fuck,” he gritted, taking his cock with one hand and started jerking himself off until the last drop of cum dripped out of him.

The sight was just too much for you. You nearly screamed, cumming so hard that you saw stars behind your eyelids. “Fuck-k, Joshua!” you whined, thighs trembling, wrestling against the shackles to no end. You bent over, trying to resist the urge to squirt on the chair again, but it was pointless.

Joshua threw his head back, moaning salaciously as he continued fucking Jeonghan rutting against him desperately—spilling himself into the condom. Jeonghan was rendered languid, panting and sighing as he finally looked at you.

Jeonghan watched you cum for the final time, shaking, sobbing and crying. You were completely overstimmed now.

“Please, Josh,” you whined pathetically.

“Shua,” Jeonghan said. He tapped on the back of Joshua’s hand, snapping him out of his trance.

Joshua grabbed the controller, bringing the toy to a full stop.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, completely out of breath. You were an absolute disaster, shaking, crying, and your thighs were dripping with your mess.

Joshua was panting too, his chest rising and falling dramatically. “You okay?” he asked Jeonghan first.

Jeonghan nodded slowly. “I’m good. Go take care of her,” he urged.

Joshua wasted no time, pulling out of Jeonghan slowly and heading to the bathroom immediately to discard the condom. He came back quicker than you thought, kneeling in front of you to take care of the shackles.

“You’re okay, baby?” Joshua asked, his tone gentle.

You nodded, still feeling trapped in the aftershocks of the never-ending orgasm you just had. “I’m okay, babe,” you said. “I just need a shower.” 

Joshua smiled softly. “Let’s take care of you now, okay?”

Then, without any more preamble, he scooped you up from the chair, taking you to the bathroom where he had already started the shower. He didn’t let you move a finger, removing your dress and panties for you, and guiding you to stand under the shower.

“Good?” he asked, testing the temperature.

You shuddered blissfully. “Perfect,” you told him, giving him a tired smile. “Thank you, babe.”

His gaze softened, but he nodded at you and then headed back to the bedroom.

Some minutes later, Jeonghan stepped into the shower with you, giving you a sheepish look.

“You betrayed me,” you told him, pouting at him.

Jeonghan started laughing, shame painting the tips of his ears red. “I’d say I’m sorry, but,” he shrugged, placing a hand on the back of your head to then press a kiss on your forehead. “I’m not sorry.”

“Mmph,” you smirked. “I know.”

Then Joshua came in, standing right behind you. The shower was big enough now to fit you three, and water rained down on all three of you from ahead. Joshua instantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest and pressing a kiss on your hair.

“Baby, you trust me, don’t you?” Joshua asked, sweetly now.

You turned to look at him, his warm chest pressed to your back. “I do, babe,” you blinked. “But I can’t help getting a bit jealous when a girl is all over my man, you know?”

Joshua giggled softly, tilting his head back a bit. He reached for the bottle of shampoo. “I was just playing a role, baby. I couldn’t even pay attention to what she was saying.”

“I think she might’ve recognized me,” you told him, rubbing soap on your legs.

“She absolutely did,” Joshua emphasized with a labored sigh. “Let’s just hope she doesn’t do anything about it.”

“Why?” Jeonghan asked curiously. “I mean, she saw Bunny with me, wasn’t that the point?”

“And you were practically flirting with her all night,” you said through your teeth, pretending to be busy scrubbing your body.

A firm slap was delivered on your ass, the sound wet and loud. You yelped, laughing immediately despite the quick shot of pain. “Josh!”

Jeonghan laughed as well, grabbing you by the arm to keep you steady.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Joshua mumbled quietly, but he diverted his gaze almost shamefully.

“It doesn’t matter if you were flirting, Shua,” Jeonghan pointed out, rolling his eyes swiftly. “We have to keep up appearances,” he told you directly now.

At that, you rested your case. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said.

“But also getting jealous of it is also natural,” Jeonghan added, shrugging lightly. “So you can’t tell her anything about it either, Shua.”

“So you’re the only one winning tonight,” Joshua smirked.

Jeonghan mirrored the smirk. “Yes, indeed,” he said, lifting his chin proudly.

You curled up to Jeonghan on the bed, rubbing your feet together as he rolled on his side, facing you. He slipped a hand beneath your t-shirt, parking it right on the centre of your tummy. “You okay, baby?” he asked softly.

“I’m good,” you replied. “I’m ready to pass out,” you told him.

Jeonghan showed you a tender smile. “You don’t want anything else?” he raised his eyebrows. “Tea? Water?”

You shook your head. “I might be paying the consequences tomorrow morning,” you giggled shyly.

“You shouldn’t have drunk too much,” Joshua reprimanded, but his tone was devoid of seriousness. He climbed on the bed, flopping down next to you with a tired sigh.

“Let her have fun,” Jeonghan repeated, leaning over to press a kiss on your temple, his hand still parked on your tummy.

“Measured fun is also an option,” Joshua pointed out, smirking when you stared at him blankly. “I’m just kidding, baby.”

“I had fun tonight,” you mumbled, closing your eyes briefly.

“Yeah?” Joshua whispered, the weight on the bed shifting beside you as Joshua rolled to his side too. He pinched your chin, making you open your eyes. “I’m glad, baby.”

“I’m happy,” you told them both.

Jeonghan’s gaze softened.

“We’re happy too, baby,” Joshua whispered.

“I know,” you sighed, showing them a light smile. But then your eyes shot open again. “Oh, that reminds me—”

“What?” Jeonghan asked.

You turned slightly to look at Joshua. “Babe, we need to start thinking about the future,” you said promptly, getting a surge of energy out of nowhere.

Joshua frowned. “Right now?” he dragged the question for a few seconds longer than needed.

“Yeah, I mean… we live together now. And in the future, what are we going to call this?” you asked, swiftly sending a look at Jeonghan.

Jeonghan squeezed his eyes shut in secondhand embarrassment. “Baby, this isn’t the best way to talk about it,” he gritted.

“I mean it already has a name, right?” Joshua said, still out of the loop. “It’s a relationship. That’s what it is.”

“She means further down the line,” Jeonghan aided, still looking ashamed because he knew where this conversation stemmed from.

Joshua blinked, then turned more serious. “You told him?” he asked you briefly.

“No, I heard you talking about it,” Jeonghan said.

Joshua sighed briefly, but wasn’t upset. “I only brought it because I’ve always wanted this. I was just making sure we were still on the same page,” he said, shrugging slightly.

“But you didn’t think that I would want that too?” Jeonghan frowned.

“No—I mean, I was going to talk to you about it. I just needed to know she still wanted it first,” Joshua explained, calmer now.

You traced your thumb over Jeonghan’s arm, listening to them while arranging your ideas. “I don’t think people like us fit into wedding registries, you know, babe?” you asked Joshua, your tone kind and low.

Joshua let out a breath. “I know. But there are other ways,” he said thoughtfully. “And I don’t want this with anyone else.”

Jeonghan gave a soft laugh. “Can you imagine that wedding? Would be long as hell,” he joked.

But his joking gave you hope. “Imagine the paperwork,” you added, laughing too.

“Imagine the headlines,” Joshua also jumped in. “Rockstar marries his best friend’s girlfriend… and his best friend,” he said with a mocking tone.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. “It’s not that impossible.”

Silence fell, but this time it felt like everyone was considering that future.

Joshua’s voice dropped. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“In the future,” Jeonghan emphasized.

“At least we know now that we all want it,” you said, your tone dropping halfway through your sentence.

“I agree with Hannie, baby,” Joshua spoke now after some seconds of silence. “We should take it slow.”

Jeonghan leaned in, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Thank you, baby,” he whispered to you.

You nodded at him, turning to kiss Jeonghan back on the lips, then you did the same thing with Joshua.

Then the quiet that followed didn’t feel tense, nor complicated like all the times you’ve had serious conversations in the past. This time, the moment was filled with tenderness, wrapped in trust.

It was the start of a promise. And you’ve never felt more optimistic. 

✮ author's note: hi there!

i took so long to post this chapter. i began drafting it around june 9 and i'm just finishing it.

this month has been such a roller coaster of emotions, really. i moved out of my parents' house, i started a new job, and then, i lost my fur baby. i'm trying to think positively and keep writing because it's the only thing that truly gives me joy. even if my heart is broken, writing makes me forget about it for a little while.

so if you read this note this far, i thank you with all my heart. and if you'd like to support my writing journey, whether that's through kind words, sharing my fics, or joining me on patreon, it would mean the world to me.

but truly, just being here and reading what i write is already a gift

here’s my patreon, in case you’d like to take a look 🩵 alternatively, here’s my ko-fi

thank you again, really. sending love to you all 🥺

✮ CHAPTER NINE COMING SOON ✮

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

© TO HANNIEWEEN — I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[girly-girlk]

Can you write drew and pregnant!reader simillar to that one you wrote, she being pregnant and they get into a fight, but then something happens to reader (nothing too serious) and she calls drew and he gets all worried and it ends with fluff pleasee

hope that makes sense lol english is not my first language. Anyways, i looove your writing! keep going <3

tripped

drew starkey x pregnant!reader

summary: you and drew have a small argument and when you leave the house to calm down, you have a little accident

a/n: sorry this took me so long, i absolutely loved writing this! enjoy!!💕

the third slammed cabinet was what did it.

you stood in the kitchen, tears burning behind your eyes as you gritted your teeth and turned toward the living room, where drew sat, arms crossed, jaw locked.

“you know what? if you’re this annoyed, maybe you should be the one getting up five times a night to pee while a human kicks your ribs like he’s trying to escape through them.”

drew let out a sharp exhale and raked a hand through his messy hair. “that’s not what i said, babe.”

you blinked back the sting of emotion and scoffed. “no, but you made it real clear you think i’m being dramatic.”

he stood up, towering over the back of the couch. “i never said that either.”

“then maybe try saying something helpful for once!”

the room went still.

neither of you spoke for a second. you hated yelling. hated even more how your voice cracked and betrayed you. drew looked like he wanted to reach for you—but you stepped back before he could.

“i’m going for a walk,” you said, grabbing your phone and keys. “don’t follow me.”

“baby, wait—”

but you were already out the door, heart racing and body flushed with frustration and heat.

⸻

you didn’t mean to walk that far. you just needed air. time to cool off. but by the time your feet started aching, you realized you were nearly a mile from home—and the thunderclouds rolling in above you were not a good sign.

you turned around, one hand instinctively going to your bump as your little boy kicked. “okay, okay, i’m going,” you murmured.

but a second later, your foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk. you stumbled—catching yourself, thank god—but the shock of it made you freeze. your chest was heaving. not from pain. from panic.

you sat down on the edge of a bench, trying to calm your breathing, but a cramp rippled low across your belly, sharp and unfamiliar. it wasn’t a contraction—but it wasn’t nothing, either.

your hands were shaking as you opened your phone and tapped drew’s name.

he answered on the first ring.

“baby?”

you swallowed. “i—i need you.”

the silence that followed was so short it barely existed. just the sound of drew’s keys jangling and a door slamming.

“where are you? are you okay? are you hurt? the baby—”

“i tripped. i’m okay. i think. i just—there was a cramp. and i got scared.”

“i’m already in the car. tell me exactly where you are.”

you did. and in less than ten minutes, his truck pulled up to the curb, hazards blinking. he didn’t even park properly—just jumped out, ran to you, and dropped to his knees in front of the bench.

his hands were everywhere—on your bump, your face, your arms. his eyes searched your whole body like he was trying to see through your skin.

“are you dizzy? any bleeding? can you feel him moving?”

you nodded, blinking fast. “he’s still kicking.”

drew let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to your belly. “god, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

you carded your fingers through his hair as his arms wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let go. “i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. i just needed to…clear my head.”

he looked up, eyes red-rimmed. “no, i’m sorry. i’ve been a jerk. you’re doing everything, carrying everything—literally and emotionally—and i’ve been acting like it’s hard for me. that’s not fair.”

you cupped his cheek, thumb brushing the scruff on his jaw. “we’re both figuring it out.”

“i love you so much,” he whispered. “and i love him. i just—i get scared too. and sometimes i say the wrong things when i’m feeling useless.”

you laughed softly, finally letting your body relax into his touch. “well…you definitely didn’t look useless just now.”

he grinned and stood, lifting you gently to your feet with a protective hand behind your back. “come on. let’s get you and our little man home.”

once you were settled on the couch, surrounded by blankets and takeout he insisted on picking up “because you’re not cooking,” drew sat beside you, rubbing your feet and kissing your knee, your belly, your cheek.

“next time we fight,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut, “can we just argue over who loves each other more?”

drew smiled, eyes crinkling. “deal. but just so you know…it’s me.”

[bbyg4rl]

telling jj you’re pregnant . . .

cw: backstory for my girl!dad!jj x honeycomb!reader au, unplanned pregnancy, fluff/comfort themes.

You didn’t say much on the ride. Just held onto the back of JJ’s shirt tighter than usual, arms around his waist like maybe if you let go, the world would shift and swallow you whole. He didn’t press. Just drove you where you asked. The pier. It was always the pier when the house felt too small for what you were feeling.

When you got there, you walked ahead. He followed, glancing at your back every few steps. You sat at the edge, legs swinging over like always, but your arms stayed close to your chest. Curled in. Quiet. JJ lowered himself beside you. “You’re freaking me out, babe,” he muttered with a half-hearted laugh. “You— You’re not breaking up with me, are you?”

You didn’t answer. His heart clenched. His body leaned toward yours instinctively. You pulled something from your hoodie pocket and handed it to him. Didn’t say a word. He took it. Looked down. Stared. And stared. Two pink lines. “What—” he breathed. “Is this…”

He looked at you, wide-eyed, searching your face like he wanted to see a smirk or hear you say just kidding. “Is this real?”

You nodded. Barely. “I don’t wanna do this alone, JJ,” you whispered. “Please don’t make me do this alone.”

“I… fuck.” He runs both hands over his face. “You’re serious.”

You nod. And that’s when it hits him. You’re scared. JJ shuts up. Every voice in his head goes quiet.

He reaches for your hand, not just to hold it, he brings it to his chest, pressing your palm over his heart, making sure you feel it beating for you. “Hey. Look at me. We’re gonna figure it out, alright? I swear to god, honey, you’re not doing this alone. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod again, even though tears were welling now. Your throat burned.

He blinked fast and laughed nervously, rubbing his free hand through his hair. “Okay. Okay. We’ll figure this out. I’ll—I’ll get a job. That new auto shop over in Figure Eight, you know the one that opened last month? I’ll go apply. They’ll take anyone, right? I’ll work weekends. Evenings. Whatever it takes.”

He nodded to himself, already spiraling. “I can fix bikes, and boats, and cars, too, if they let me learn—shit, I’ll learn fast—”

You just sat there. Silent. Still.

“And we’ll need diapers. A crib. Clothes. Fuck, do babies need clothes right away? What if it’s cold? I’ll find something warmer, or—or maybe I can talk to John B about the spare room—”

Then, he paused. His eyes flicked to you again. And this time, you weren’t holding back tears. You were crying. Fully, like your chest cracked open and the sound of your own future knocked the wind out of you. JJ froze. “Hey. Hey, baby—”

You shook your head. “I wanted to go to university.”

“And you’re still gonna go,” he cuts in, like he’s promising it to the sky. “You’re still gonna do everything you wanted to do. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll watch the baby while you’re in class, I’ll—fuck, I’ll learn how to cook, okay?”

A loud sob rips through you. JJ catches the sound in his chest, pulls you close, wraps himself around you like he’s trying to shield you from the world. “You’re gonna go to uni, baby. You’re gonna be a mom and graduate and do all the things you dream about.”

“I don’t know how to be a mom,” you whisper.

“I don’t know how to be a dad either,” he says. “But I know how to love you. And I’m gonna love our kid like I love you.”

You let yourself cry into his hoodie. And JJ, seventeen years old and scared out of his goddamn mind, just held you there on the edge of that pier, rocking a little, kissing the top of your head, his own eyes burning with tears.

He thinks of all the things he never thought he’d get, a family, something his, someone who trusts him enough to bring this kind of truth to him first. You, shaking and teary, on a pier with a pregnancy test and nothing else but hope. He’d build the rest. For you. For the little one. For all of it.

check out my other works ! masterlist

[foxtrology]

can you please write prompt 10 🥹🥹 i need more diff!harry castillo

dad! harry castillo

prompt 10: harry finds one of adella’s baby teeth under her pillow. she forgot to tell them it fell out. he leaves a twenty dollar bill.

prompt list

⸻

It started with laundry.

A sock under the dresser. A chocolate wrapper tucked inside a hoodie pocket. One of Adella’s drawings folded into the sleeve of Harry’s sweater—a blue sky, three stick figures, a cat, and a pink house labeled “Home.”

She’d drawn it last week.

He ran his fingers over the crayon wax like it was scripture. Smiled. Set it aside.

He didn’t even mean to go into her room. Not at first. But it was Tuesday, the house was quiet, and his wife was in the tub with her book and her tea, telling him to “go do something useful, like rest or obsess over our child.”

So he wandered.

The rain had just started. Light, whispering against the glass. The kind of rain that felt like background music. The lights were low. Adella had fallen asleep reading—book still open beside her, blanket half-off, mouth parted like a little “o.” Her lashes were wet at the edges. Probably a dream. Probably something good.

Harry stood in the doorway and just watched her for a moment.

He’d been doing that a lot lately.

Watching.

Committing things to memory with the urgency of someone who understood how fast it all went. How quick the years snapped by. One moment she was learning to walk, now she was losing teeth and correcting his pronunciation of dinosaur names.

He crossed the room slowly, careful not to wake her.

He tucked the blanket back around her shoulders, brushing curls off her forehead. Then he saw it.

Just a sliver of white beneath her pillow.

He froze.

Gently reached under.

Pulled out a tiny baby tooth, wrapped loosely in tissue. No note. No fanfare. Just the quiet, unceremonious reality of growing up.

His chest did something strange.

He looked down at her, confused for a second, before it hit him.

She hadn’t told them.

She hadn’t even mentioned it.

She’d lost a tooth and just… handled it. Quietly. Like it wasn’t something to be celebrated. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Harry stared at the tooth in his palm for a long time.

Then backed out of the room like it was holy ground.

He didn’t go far.

Just down the hall, into their bedroom, where she was still soaking, book propped on the ledge, candle flickering near her elbow.

He walked in with that look on his face.

She noticed immediately.

“Did something happen?” she asked, sitting up. “Is she okay?”

“She lost a tooth,” he said, holding up the tiny bundle.

Her mouth fell open. “What?”

He nodded.

“She didn’t tell us.”

Her heart cracked a little.

He sat on the edge of the tub, still holding it like it might break. “She just… put it under her pillow. Like she didn’t want to bother us.”

“Oh, baby.”

His wife reached for his wrist.

He let her take the tooth from him, and for a moment, they both just stared at it like it held the weight of the universe.

“She’s getting so big,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“And independent.”

“I know.”

He exhaled, rubbed his face. “I thought I’d have more time.”

She touched his jaw.

“You still do.”

They sat there in silence for a while. Just the two of them and the sound of the rain and the ghost of a little girl’s missing tooth between them.

Later, he found a crisp twenty in the drawer by his desk.

He didn’t hesitate.

Slipped back into Adella's room, as quiet as a thief, and slid the bill beneath her pillow where the tooth had been. He kissed her temple before he left. Whispered something only she could hear, even in sleep.

“I’m proud of you.”

Back in bed, his wife was waiting.

She was wearing one of his old shirts, legs tucked beneath the duvet, the lamp casting soft shadows over her collarbone.

He climbed in behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

“She’s going to be taller than us,” he murmured against her neck.

“Impossible.”

“She will.”

“She still asks me to open her applesauce, she’s got time.”

He didn’t laugh.

Just sighed.

“She’s slipping away from me in inches.”

She turned to face him.

“You’re not losing her,” she said. “You’re watching her become.”

That hit him in the ribs.

God, he loved her. The woman who gave him this life. This softness. This home where he could be gentle and raw and undone without shame.

“I don’t think I knew what life was until you,” he whispered.

She cupped his face, kissed him slow. “That’s because your old life didn’t have blueberry muffin crumbs in the couch.”

He smiled against her lips.

They fell asleep like that—legs tangled, breath synced, a twenty-dollar bill tucked beneath their daughter’s pillow, and the world outside rocking softly under the rain.

In the morning, Adella came bounding into their room with a grin wide enough to split her face.

“The tooth fairy came!” she shrieked.

Harry sat up, eyes still heavy with sleep. “She did?”

“She left me twenty dollars! Twenty!”

His wife gasped. “That’s way too much.”

Adella shrugged. “I must be her favorite.”

Harry smiled.

She was right.

She was.

[serenity-loves-red]

Robin looked at her brother and giggled silently. Her brother, Sunday who is known to be somewhat strict and composed Student Council President is still a mess before you.

It was cute, looking at her brother’s flustered face– wings fluttering, whenever he sees you go to the office to submit report quotas from the organization plans and other meeting agendas; but seeing the same thing could become tiresome.

And this time? It looks irritating.

Honestly, Robin thought flabbergasted, when talking to you, Sunday may looked all formal but deep down? He feels conscious on how he delivers himself to you, embarrassed even!

Should he smile more? Act a bit carefree? Does he look unapproachable–?

So what could Robin do as a good and dutiful little sister? She’ll play the matchmaker of course!

If Sunday is too of a blubbering mess to start his move, she’ll do it in his place. A thank you is enough, dear brother!

You knew Robin is up to something. Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to figure it out.

First time is when she tried to invite you to eat lunch with them but then called out the last minute saying that she won’t be able to make it because one of her professors needed her for something.

She did not. You saw her wearing some weird ass detective hat, sitting few tables away from you and peeking behind what’s supposed to be a menu.

She looks ridiculous. Her get up gave her away but still, you didn’t called her out. Sunday seems to see her too and gave you a smile, somewhat forced.

Is it because you saw how ridiculous his sister acted or because he disliked you? Who knows, you didn’t bother and just ate peacefully– offering small talks of pleasantry related to Student Council duties.

You’re not that close, after all. You don’t know each other well enough to talk like some kind of old friends. Unlike Robin who you’ve befriended during a mixed class course between your departments.

The second time– or times, started with little push. Literally.

You usually walks with Robin during breaks, following her lead and just go whenever she wants. Because why not? You don’t have anywhere to go or do so you just chose to spend time with her.

Robin never felt this happy. A perfect opportunity for Plan B!

With this setup, you just let Robin drag you, here and there unknowingly following her lead to find her brother to execute her plan.

So when she saw Sunday on a busy hallway, Robin pretended to trip and pushed you to him– hard, that made you tumble with wide eyes.

Fortunately, Sunday managed to catch you, albeit shocked himself. His arm encircled you in a welcoming embrace.

“Are you hurt?” Sunday asked in a soft, shaky voice.

“Yes, I- I’m fine. Thanks for catching me.” You managed to stutter out before pushing yourself away with red face.

You immediately confronted Robin after she bid goodbye to her brother. With a straight face and elegant demeanor, she answered, “You are mistaken, I just happened to stumble on an accident.”

And the accident she meant happened 3 more times later that day. She saw her brother, she tripped, pushed you to her brother’s arm, said brother managed to catch you, and then repeat.

The third time of Robin’s shenanigans is when she locked you in the Council’s room, alone with her brother– Sunday.

You knew it was her because she was the only one staying outside the door at that hour.

“I don’t want to disturb you so I’ll just wait for you outside.” She reasoned, giving you her signature soft smile.

It was supposed to be a quick visit to his office so you agreed leaving her outside. Just updating plans and submitting documents from various departments when suddenly the door just clicked shut.

Concerned, you immediately run towards the door to check and found out that it was locked. You don’t know how she did it but the door just won’t budge, leaving you alone with Sunday in an awkward atmosphere.

“It was Robin.” You said flatly.

“Mn.” He responded, try to sound as normal as possible.

It was so awkward. Just what are you doing Robin! Sunday couldn’t help but cry out internally.

He knew Robin had been doing this mischievous streak to help him out. Help him out with what? He’s totally fine and can handle it so please trust him.

No he’s not, that’s why we have Robin to help him out a little. So don’t waste her efforts brother! He can’t help but picture Robin saying that.

“Do you know why she’s doing this?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Oh no. Sunday gulped. He can’t just say that Robin is doing all of this because she thinks he’s chickening out when he’s with you so she’s helping him by doing these ridiculous opportunities.

How humiliating would it be if he said that!

“But you just did.” You pointed out, smiling at him. Guess being ridiculous is a streak that runs in the family, after all.

He froze. “W-what!?… said what? I didn’t say anything!” He panicked.

“Really? They what do you mean by chickening ou–“ before you finished your sentence, he rushed to you and clamped your mouth shut with his hand. His face was red and his wings trembled, fluttering up and down as if not knowing whether or not to cover his red cheeks or better yet– his entire face.

But before he could respond, the door opened and Robin came walking in.

“Are you both together now? I hope my efforts are not in vain brother–“

[thesylenttreatment01]

Sylus As a Partner? Best Shit Ever

I personally, cannot get enough of Sylus as a partner I think. Like, there is so much there that you wouldn't even think about.

For instance? His need to be prepared

Sy always seems to know what is needed, when its needed and how. In the "Captivating Moment path", when you go to take a shower, after working out? Right when your starting to think about how you are gonna need clean cloths?

Boom. clean clothes.

But its not just that, its a lot of little things. He just seems to know and anticipate your next move before you even realize it. Frankly, its irritating to you sometimes because it means that you can almost never surprise him (he assures you that your surprise him daily, but its said with that smirk that makes you wanna both kiss and punch him, so take that as you will).

When you ask him about it, he always tells you that is his job, when there are people constantly trying to double-cross, kill you, or screw you over you have to be prepared. and honestly, that makes sense to some extent.

But what he doesn't tell you or tries to hide is how much he just wants to makes your relationship the best he can for you. See, Sylus didn't have a lot of romantic relationships before this. If any at all. It just seemed kind of frivolous, especially when he remembers everything from a previous life. He knew it wasn't but it kinda would feel like....cheating? Regardless, he had a business to run and didn't let himself entertain that idea until you showed up.

Now, now this relationship business was his business. He knew that he couldn't exactly use explosives and guns to win this battle (although you two probably wouldn't be opposed to trying) so he would have to prepare in everyway he could.

the book Luke and Kieran give MC "Humanity and Conquer" didnt just come from no where you know.

I could see Sylus approaching relationships from different angles, trying to figure out how to keep a healthy dynamic. not because he is particularly interested in the psychology or history of love or relationships.

But because for the first time in his life, he feels something other than anger, frustration, and apathy. He feels so many emotions.

He feels passion, he feels lust, he feels warmth, he feels hurt, he feels sad, he just... feels. and frankly that could be more scary than any business deal gone wrong.

At least in a business deal, he knows how he will respond.

So he prepares, he knows that he's got his own problems, but he tries to research around them. To have a plan. That way, when the time comes and you need him. He will never leave you feeling lost.

Take another example. You are his partner.

I like the idea that when Sylus refers to you, especially in the company of others. He without fail calls you his partner. At first, its a little irritating. You might have been hoping that he would use something cuter, like wifey or something like that. Partner made it sound like y'all were showing up to the same shady arms deal (which you would sometimes, but that was besides the point...its about the vibes)

But see, for Sylus, partner is the only true way to describe you. Because to him, you were his equal. He was used to being feared, people calling him boss and sir and anything that might signal respect. But you? You called him Sylus, Sy, Lil S, crow boy, and literally any name you could think of that would send someone in the N109 zone into an early grave.

No matter what you did, he is on your team and is willing to support you. Sure he will always be there to protect you. He loves you, he doesn't want you to get hurt. But he also knows you. He knows your soul (hell your literal souls were CONNECTED) so when you go out on a mission, when you get into a scrap? He lets you take care of your business, maybe providing you an upgraded weapon or two because seeing you with a new weapon was maybe the hottest thing Sylus could think of sometimes. But he never dismissed you, never made you feel that you couldn't handle yourself (can anyone else see the scene in the lab/ experiment place where MC is protesting to resonating and he's like "relax, you can handle it"? thats the vibe)

He cuddles you, he holds you and he takes care of you because he loves you, not because he needs to, like your some kind of extra errand on his to-do list, but because as your partner he knows that he's the one that gets to do those things.

Neither of you operate from a place of imposition or fear when doing things for one another. Your lives are SO different. In fact, if you decided to neither or you had to see each other again. You choose to be in each others lives.

That choice? The ability to respect one another enough and work along side each other? That is what it means to be a partner to Sylus. THAT is why you are his partner.

And one of my personal favorite takes? Your mundane is his dream.

Look, it is no secret to anyone how rowdy and chaotic the N109 zone is. It comes withe territory. And Sylus? he runs and works with it well.

But when chaos and volatility is your life, you get tired. You just need everything to stop, just for a second to catch your breath.

Look at Sylus as a person. His pass times, what do you notice?

He likes playing an instrument (organ), he likes to fish, he likes to game, he likes to read, and he likes to sing.

Taken individually, these activates don't mean a whole lot. But when put together, you see a pattern where he just wants a chance to step back from the chaos and enjoy a chance for rest. these activities have a goal, they have a determined role and rules to follow, or they simply just keep the person present in the moment. He lives for the quietness of everyday activities.

Thats why he likes to take you to the movies, why he enjoys shopping with you, walking around festivals and yes, making event favors with you.

Because its a break from the chaos of being the leader.

He gets to just enjoy spending time with the person he loves. So, you know those little things that are either irritating, or are tasks you don't think twice about? Sylus will gladly do them either with you for for you.

He will tie your shoe.

He will wash the dishes with you.

Tired and don't want to comb your hair when you get out of the shower? Don't worry Sweetie, he's got this.

Because, for him, this is a different world that he hasn't had the chance to live yet. This is a love and a world that you made him apart of, so he wants to enjoy each little part of it. So every time you feel guilty for that small task you ask him to do, he just reminds you.

This is his favorite thing to do. Please don't rob him of the chance to live in your world for a while.

Anyways, I have so many more, but I am currently mid rant about the Phianon trailer with my friend in Seoul we are both crying about our lack of tickets and losing a 50/50.

[rooksamoris]

(trips over to the ask box) HIII AMORA I've decided to finally request a lil something because I just adore your writing and the way you perfectly write for each character ToT💕💕

now I don't remember if you wrote for something like this, but since I am Egyptian I was thinking of what it would be like for a yuu/reader to learn that Jamil and Kalim's culture is pretty much the same as theirs, and they find themselves always visiting Scarabia as a way to feel at home again :')

tea, coffee, the food (they would die for fatteh lol), even offering to help Jamil with cooking. perhaps they even tentatively attempt to speak with them in some Arabic,,, 👉👈🥺

platonic or romantic is up to you! 🩷🩷

BAYTI BAYTAK !!

💞 — in which you visit scarabia to help with the homesickness 💞 — featuring; kalim al asim and jamil viper. 💞 — gender neutral reader. 1.6k words. warnings: homesickness. MAL I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE THIS!! first of all, you are so sweet and im honored you enjoy my work. being yemeni i too would so visit scarabia to help with homesickness. and kalim is sooo hospitable, he would be happy to have you over. hope you enjoy <33

Jamil had been the one to notice it first, during the time you and Grim were stuck in their dorm in the events leading up to his overblot. Your eyes lingered on the divans, you needed no directions on the way one should eat their cultural dishes, you muttered out replies in their native tongue before quickly correcting yourself. He knew you were from another world based on that display at orientation, and figured he and Kalim's culture must have had a mirroring culture in your world. He did try to use this homesickness against you, but you foiled his plans alongside the merfolk of Octavinelle. 

Kalim notices it too. The way you linger around his dorm, the way you reply to his hospitality in kind, and how your eyes brightened when he offered to wrap your head in a headdress similar to his to be twins, as he put it so happily. He knew you were homesick, and he was very happy to tell you bayti baytak, my house is yours, while sharing with you a generous serving of fatteh.

That was how you found yourself at their dorm again, dragging Grim along with the promise of good food. The familiar had noticed how happy you were to be at Scarabia, especially after the Song and Dance Competition, when you were cruelly robbed of Jamil’s hearty meals for something much healthier. The moment you stepped in, you were led to sit down on the divans on the floor.

Kalim was the first to greet you, holding a tray of mango juice and chopped fruit. “Ahlan wa sahlan, Prefect. I’m glad you came today,” he said, using his dance skills to keep everything balanced. Jamil was usually the one to take on this task, but Kalim had been insisting on taking on more work to become more independent. 

He lowered the tray onto a table before you and Grim, who immediately began digging in. It was endearing the way Kalim cut them, still becoming accustomed to being allowed around the knives.

“Ahlan…” you replied, timidly. You had been reacquainting your native tongue since finding out it was spoken by the Scarabia duo. Still, it made you a bit nervous about their reactions. The first time you did it in front of Kalim, he had practically beamed with joy, commenting excitedly about how your dialect was similar to that of some of his distant relatives.

Scarabia sounded like home. Speaking in your native tongue reminded you a lot of your home. The hollering of things between rooms, dancing to music across ornately decorated rugs, and the laughter of the old uncles as they sat outside of their homes, arguing about whatever political topic was at the forefront of things back home. It reminded you of the whispers between cousins at weddings, teasing the overeager aunties as they asked about your romantic status and your school before going onto the dancefloor to embarrass their children. 

After the usual pleasantries, you tilted your head curiously, “Where’s Jamil?”

“Ah, he’s preparing the ‘esha,” Kalim replied, putting his juice down.

You nodded, “Uh… can I go help him?” you asked.

His wide red eyes blinked a few times before shrugging, “Of course, if you’d like, though Jamil doesn’t take too kindly to it,” he said, before grinning and standing, tugging you up with him, “But I’m sure he needs help. Let’s go.”

Grim looked up from his food, “Make sure the food is perfect for Grim, henchhuman.” 

“You’re not gonna come?”

The dire beast shook his head and held up a juicy peach. “I need to finish my appetizers,” he laughed.

You nodded and allowed Kalim to pull you into the kitchen. Immediately, you were hit with some of the unforgettable scents. 

Scarabia smelled like home, cumin and bakhoor. It was the fresh khubz and pita bread, the warm scent of the bakeries, which would stay open until the early hours of the morning. It was the hookah, snuck around among some students, that reminded you of the samra nights when friends were gossiping, taking turns from the hookah pipe that smelled like watermelon or honey. In the morning, it was the mabkhara with its expensive bakhoor bringing the most pleasant of scents to a newly cleaned house, or the spice cabinet, which seemed to be bursting with color the moment you opened it. It smelled like the warm and buttery sabaya grandmothers forced their grandchildren to eat with the worry that they were becoming too thin. It smelled like chai, it smelled like qahwa, it smelled like Vimto and 'asir manga.

Jamil glanced at you guys from over his shoulder before he went back to scooping small amounts of a rice and meat mixture over a grape leaf, wrapping the sides before rolling it up. Dolma, a dish best made at the hands of someone's jada or jadu who survived war and revolution. 

“‘Esha’ will be ready soon. We’re just waiting on the mandi,” he said, gesturing to the tanoor oven where the meaty smell came from. 

Kalim nodded before pushing you forward a bit, “The Prefect said they wanted to help out with the cooking.”

Your eyes widened, and you glanced at Kalim over your shoulder with a look that said ‘Why would you feed me to the wolves??’ before turning back to Jamil and nodding, “I… I’m really good at wrapping dolma,” you expressed, gesturing to the grape leaves.

Jamil's usual response was to reject the help due to his fierce independence and the status quo, in which he was the one toiling away in the kitchen, but he saw the way you looked down nervously and the way Kalim was smiling. They had discussed your homesickness before, with Kalim expressing that he wanted to host sleepovers for you to spend the night at Scarabia, with Jamil replying that it would all be too troublesome. He sighed and shifted to the side a bit to make space for you at the counter.

“Fine,” he muttered.

Your eyes lit up, and you quickly took your spot, ready to impress him with your dolma wrapping skills. 

Most of the food preparation was quiet, with Kalim talking the most as he leaned against the counter and admired both you and Jamil's skills. He eventually convinced his vice housewarden to let him wrap a few, and you helped guide his hands into a better technique when the first one came out messy. He got better as he went, but he was not as quick as you, and you were barely fast enough to make them like Jamil.

You helped set up the sufra' and lay the food out for the dorm members to enjoy, before taking your place beside Grim, next to Kalim and across Jamil, talking about all sorts of things while enjoying the food, which tasted just like home. There were subtle differences, but it was the kind of difference that came from centuries of a certain family cooking dishes in a certain way. It was like tasting the kunafa or basbousa made by a friend whose grandmother's recipe just barely differed from your grandmother's recipe. Speaking of, once the cleanup was done, came the desserts and the tea.

Grim had passed out from all the food he ate, lying comfortably in your lap while you sat at the balcony with Kalim, enjoying some milky chai while the sun set. You sat on the floor with a low table holding the sleek kettle and your pretty glass cup.

Jamil came out with a tray of all sorts of food that Grim was missing out on. Basbousa, kunafa, ka’ak, and some hot ma’soub which smelled of milk, honey, and bananas. 

He set it down before sitting beside you guys. “Grim couldn’t force himself to stay up?”

You laughed and shook your head, “No, he passed out after downing a whole lamb leg.”

“Aww, that’s good! It means he liked the food.” Kalim reached over to pet Grim affectionately.

Jamil rolled his eyes lightheartedly before pouring himself his own cup of chai, and refilling yours and Kalim’s.

“Shukran,” you said, a little less hesitant than you were earlier.

He looked up at you and then off to the side, “‘Afwan. Now drink before it gets cold.”

You nodded and then looked back at the desert horizon. You could see the sun setting, the sky becoming more and more pink and then violet and dark blue, with little stars forcing their light upon the darkness, accompanying the mother moon as she made herself known. It reflected against the gilded domes of the dorm, against the oases, and in your eyes at you let your guard down the way you would sitting at home.

Before you knew it, your eyes were getting warm and glossy. You sniffled, swallowing the bite of basbousa you had in your mouth, “Shukran… hadha mithl bayti,” you mumbled, reaching up to wipe at your eyes as you expressed that this was so much like your house back in your world. In your home. 

Both of their eyes widened, and Kalim was the first to sit up, “Woah, la la tabki,” he said, gently grasping your shoulders and hugging you, while looking to Jamil for some help.

Jamil could not help how his expression softened as he patted your back while you hugged sleeping Grim, and Kalim hugged you. He handed Kalim a handkerchief to give to you, “Shh, ahlan wa sahlan bikum fi ayi waqt.”

You and Grim were welcome to Scarabia at any time.

©rooksamoris 2025. do not steal or translate my work!

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[fangatic]

on solavellans against dreadrook

i'm a yapper i fear, so i'll try to organise this with extra information in a sort of footnote system and shit. also, please keep in mind that i'm writing this as a person who is a solavellan first and a dreadrook second. i love solavellan and my lavellan is my favourite oc of all time. not that it matters, but since some of you love pushing the ship war idea, i thought i'd mention it.

there's this one post [1] that's currently going around on tumblr that seems to have been written without malice by the op, but the reblogs have been hijacked by batshit solavellans who, for some reason, feel personally targeted by the dreadrook ship even existing in the first place.

i'd also like to point out that none of these people seem to understand what a crack ship actually is, so let's start there:

A crack ship is a ship that is highly ridiculous, bizarre, disturbing, and/or unlikely to ever become canon. The characters don't have any chemistry, never interact, are in different canons or timelines, are different species, one is an inanimate object, etc. via fanlore.org

you might not find the ship appealing, and your headcanon of solas might not give rook the time of day, but these are factors entirely conditional to you and your imagination. calling it a "crack ship" just because you don't like it and can't see it happening in your own hc is flat out bad fandom etiquette.

especially since, when you strip dreadrook to the bone, the ship comes down to this:

protagonist with antagonist [2] stuck in their head (have none of you played cyberpunk??? silverv??? come on!!!)

enemies to reluctant allies to lovers (whether this is hero falls in love and is convinced by villain [2] to join their cause or vice versa)

some will graham/hannibal lecter type of love

literally just basic, classic enemies to lovers

why are some of you acting like this is the craziest most outrageous thing you've ever heard of? like its very existence is offensive to you? like your lavellan is being dragged to the cuck chair against her will? i think it should be obvious to pretty much anyone that dreadrook is not a crackship.

and yet, posts like the one i'm referencing at the beginning cross my dash all the time, saying all kinds of weird bullshit like dreadrooks having "an amusing illness", "delusions", some kind of agenda, or "a need" to do this or that when all it is is just. shipping two fictional characters. two fictional characters whom a developer admitted to having chemistry [3]. i don't know how to say this without sounding patronising, but you need to calm the fuck down.

this obsessive aversion to dreadrook is so odd to me, because i cannot to save my life figure out where it's coming from. is it feeling possessive of solas? is it the same homophobia that fuelled the m!lavellan x solas insanity? is it misdirected anger at the game bc it didn't turn out the way you'd hoped? because you're angry with people who dare to enjoy something you hate and feel let down by? because you're bald and you're torturing people who have hair?

i genuinely don't know, because it doesn't make any sense to me. why do other people have to respect your feelings about your headcanon? why is your loudest response to someone having a different opinion than you to assume that you're being attacked? why do you insist that you and your perfectly popular ship is being attacked?

in case you weren't aware; there are plenty of dreadrook shippers whose inquisitors had nothing to do with solas at all, and who don't have solavellan as a part of their hc. this is going to sound harsh, but again, i don't know how else to say it: dragon age is so much more than just solavellan, and the fandom doesn't revolve around you. it doesn't revolve around praising you, and it doesn't revolve around tearing you down. people shipping the pixel man with someone you wouldn't ship him with should not warrant this weird and obsessive anger from you.

i am incredibly tired of this narrative, especially because this reputation of people shipping dreadrook either out of spite or because they hate solavellan is so untrue. i am especially tired of it because i suspect this reputation is based off of the actions of one (1) insane and weird person months ago who, by the way, has been thoroughly disowned by the dreadrook community [4]. me and my beloved oomfs did not fight that person tooth and nail about their misogyny and entitlement and hatred and weird self-proclaimed "essays" just to be continuously smeared by their shit. i cannot explain to you how frustrating it is.

i'm not making this post because i want to stir up some kind of fight. i'm also aware that the solavellans who do participate in this behaviour and in these conversations are nothing but a loud minority, and i'm also aware that i should not let it bother me at all. i'm just so sick of seeing it because i've never seen anything like it anywhere else (except for the fucking one direction fandom about larry stylinson, which.... is not a good look for y'all), and i don't see any other so-called "crack ship" [5] be treated with the same venom as dreadrook. it's weird and i wish you would spend your time in this fandom looking for and creating joy and fun instead of this.

"footnotes"

[1] i don't want anyone to go bug anyone on that post, especially not the op. it's simply an example picked out of an ocean to demonstrate the type of discourse that always seems to be circling this ship.

[2] idc about how you personally perceive solas' role in dav, i'm basing this entirely off of what happens in-game. i'm a veilfall enthusiast let go of my hair

[3] i do not give a fuck if you completely disregard that ama. i understand why you would. corinne still said what she said, whether you agree with it or not. (accidentally used the wrong pronouns here my bad!! corinne uses she/her)

[4] yes, i am in fact talking about dirthavhen, who would post long weird essays that were anti-solavellan and misogynistic and aggressive as hell for no apparent reason. i know my moots and i have been accused of scapegoating as well lmao but i can't exactly prove any of this to you, so think what you will. you'll have to take this and my word for it i fear.

[5] by that i mean other ships that meet the same criteria as dreadrook, ergo: no canon option for romance. other dragon age ships that meet this criteria include: rook x any npc, inquisitor x any npc, hawke x any npc (yes, that includes varric) and so forth. npc x npc too. lots of "crack ships" out here all of a sudden, huh?

[althaiareads]

Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.

He's so funny for that. I still would make him pay for my cracked screen, though.

There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.

WHY WHY WHY WHY!?!?! WE WERE SO CLOSE! They need like a few more loops to figure it out.

"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."

He trusts her. I am so normal about this.

"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."

Oh. That did not affect me in the slightest. Of course not.

"Early." You blink.

Omg yesssss the fabric of time is getting messed up!! I am so excited for my girl's depression and loneliness and guilt 2.0. Era. She's not getting a break anytime soon. Good for her.

"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"

Wait, this is so interesting. A paradox of sorts.

We will make it out, girl, it may be days, weeks, years, decades, who knows, but we will make it out.

You’re all alone.

OMG, DID WE KILL DR STRANGE?!?!?!?!?

Now, in all seriousness, what happened? My guess is that if she's making progress, some things that she wasn't able to do are now within her grasp, so my very educated guess is that she somehow fixed the loophole that allowed Strange to be there with her. It's either that or she has permanently transferred Strange's soul into Alpine, idk.

And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.

PETER PARKER??? Oh, does he play a role in the loop, too?

time after time [6]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 12.8k

chapter warnings: maybe reacquaint yourselves with the story premise, it's been a hot minute; characters refusing to be honest with themselves and each other; violence against side characters, minor injury descriptions; strange is still annoying

a/n: this is quite possibly the scariest fic update i've ever made. a lot has happened since the last chapter was posted, and i won't bore you with all of it. suffice it to say, i missed sharing this story. thank you for being patient with me.

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

six: butterfly effect

Working with Sam and Bucky was different than working with Natasha and Steve had been.

At the Compound, it had felt terrifyingly easy to find your place, to slip into the new role they granted you as if you were always meant to fill it. You’d felt that way before, and it hadn’t turned out quite so well. Maybe that was why you used to dread the end.

Now, however, for the first time in a while, you constantly had to prove yourself in order to not be left back in that dark place they’d found you in, alone and trying to make sense of any of it. And you liked that. The challenge was something you could live with, something you could enjoy more than the ever chilling anxiousness that things were simply too good to be true.

So when Sam called you on for a follow-up mission shortly after the first one, you jumped at the chance.

It didn’t matter that you barely talked about anything but work, even when you were hanging out in your spare time; in fact, you much preferred that to digging up the past. You even learned to find a wicked sort of enjoyment in provoking Bucky’s initial dislike of you to the point of where he would barely speak to you at all unless it was to snap at you.

You weren’t sure what you wanted him to do, but it was fun to watch the time bomb tick.

It wasn’t as easy to get under the new cap’s skin.

"You’re making us sound like we’re partners in a law firm," Sam said, a smile clearly audible in his voice even though his eyes didn’t betray it. Bucky didn’t even dignify you with a clench of his jaw.

"What?" you said, crossing your legs. "Every newspaper in the city calls you 'Wilson and Barnes'. Don’t you ever read the articles about yourselves?"

"Unlike some people, I don’t have all the time in the world," Sam said, leaning back on the couch with his eyes closed.

"Pity. The Bulletin called you the 'nation’s new dynamic duo' last week." You looked at Bucky, your eyebrows raised in amusement. "You’ve officially been downgraded to a sidekick, Barnes."

He answered with an empty glare of his own. "And what does that make you?" he said, but not like a question.

"Nothing at all," you still grinned. "Everything is right in the universe."

The reporters had yet to pick up on your addition to the team, which was proof enough that your powers still sufficed to fly under the radar. Combined with the fact that you were actually regularly talking to people again—and people who weren’t your therapist or your customers no less—, things almost felt like they were settling into a new kind of normal. Still somewhat weird, and still a struggle each day, but somewhat hopeful, nevertheless.

You’d almost forgotten what that could feel like.

“Right. You’d prefer people not knowing about your creepy powers.”

"Aww." You tilted your head to the side happily. "You think I’m creepy."

Bucky scoffed into his mug, refusing to look at you like he always did, and then he strolled off again.

In truth, you couldn’t blame him all that much. You’d lived with your powers all your life and still found them unsettling sometimes, particularly when they got away from you and left you trapped in a universe that refused to move.

That was none of his business, though.

Besides, Bucky had taken to moving around so quietly you could never tell he was there until he’d cough and you’d flinch, usually dropping whatever you were holding in your hands. You’d already cracked your phone screen twice.

Not that he’d know, or care if he did. It gave you great satisfaction to erase his amused smirk from existence.

"Give it time," Sam said without moving. "He doesn’t like new people."

"Neither do I," you murmured, and he snorted. "What?"

"Pretend with me all you want, but maybe do a bit of introspection there."

You crossed your arms with a pout. "You sound like my therapist."

"Mhm," Sam hummed, opening one eye to look at you. "You owe me fifty bucks for that."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, would you look at that, the price just went up."

He chuckled as you flipped him off and went to look for the coffee pot.

Of course, your way got blocked. The downsides of not hating having people around.

Bucky was leaning against the counter, considering you. "You go to therapy?"

"You should try it some time," you said distractedly, reaching around him to get your favorite mug. Bucky recoiled like he was afraid you’d burn him. You shook your head in annoyance. "Helps with the stink eye."

"Is that what they told you?"

"They told me I needed to process my grief, but I decided to focus on some more achievable goals." You took a sip of your coffee, sighing in comfort. "We came up with a compromise."

Bucky scoffed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He still hadn’t taken his gloves off around you.

"Sounds like a way to drag it out," he said.

You frowned into your cup. "It’s not a race, Barnes. There’s no finish line for this shit."

Something odd went over his face, but he went back to avoiding your gaze when you tried to make it out. You knew him well enough by then to get the hint, and so you left him alone.

What was it to you if he didn’t want to warm up to you. That had no bearing on the fact that overall, your situation wasn’t all too bad anymore.

It was something, you supposed as you curled up in your spot on the couch with your book later that day, slipping in and out of time to keep your company a little longer because deep down, you knew you were sick of being alone.

It was weird and different, yes, but it was still something anyway. Something to do with your afternoons again.

A reason to get up in the morning.

* * * * *

"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks quietly, carefully, but he makes no attempt to pull back from your embrace. It allows you to take another shuddering breath, inhaling his scent until it makes you dizzy.

The fact that you probably won’t be this close to him again any time soon makes you press into his chest even harder, hard enough to feel his heart flutter against your forehead, the shock of the situation making it pick up speed.

For a split second, you slip into a sort of vacuum, your thoughts quieting as he keeps mumbling to you, and in that blissful moment, your situation doesn’t seem quite so dire anymore, more like a bad dream. You’re safe now, aren’t you? How could you not be?

But then you blink back into reality again when Bucky sits you down on the closed lid of your toilet and slowly makes you let go of his shirt, kneeling down in front of you. The blue of his eyes is devastating, even though you have to keep blinking to keep him in focus.

You don’t want to have to do this, you realize once your gasps for air start calming again. You’re not sure if you can bear it.

But nothing in this loop has been about what you wanted.

And so your resolve is made, with your heart sinking until it’s hidden away deep, deep inside of your chest. You ball your hands into fists to keep your fingers from twitching.

Two or three times he watches you inhale, start to say something, halt before you can, almost choking on it. Like your body is refusing to go through with it.

"How do you know when I’m lying?" you finally ask, and your voice sounds oddly clear in your small bathroom.

Bucky’s face goes from concern to confusion, his frown deepening. You want to smoothe it away with your thumb.

You close your eyes so maybe the temptation goes away.

"What?" he asks, and he still sounds so damn gentle.

"I’ve never been able to lie to you," you say. "What’s my tell?"

You can feel him move away from you and the ache of it makes you look again. His shirt and his hands are covered in his own blood, and you’re sure there’s some fucking metaphor in the way it stains the golden inlets of his vibranium arm crimson but for the most part, you can’t unsee the damn irony of it all.

Because you’ve pissed him off now.

"You scared the shit out of me, Y/N. And Sam, too." There’s the sharpness in his voice you know all too well. You haven’t heard it in a while. "What the hell is going on?"

"I’m trapped in a time loop," you say, squeezing your fists more tightly. "I’ve been reliving this day for weeks, my powers aren’t working, I’m the only one who can stop time from completely collapsing, I can’t do that without my powers, and you’re gonna die later today. Am I lying?"

It’s maybe the worst way you’ve ever told him, because watching Bucky’s face change is almost too much. This is exactly why you’re doing it, though; as long as you’re going through this loop with a giant guilty knot in your stomach, you’re not going to make any progress. And you need to put an end to all of it.

So you meet his gaze, almost unwavering, and you don’t blink.

His shock bursts free as an incredulous laugh. "What?"

"I’m stuck," you say again, slower, nodding at his hands, his blood, continuing to push, "and you keep dying."

Bucky looks down, then, before his gaze falls back onto you and he sits back on his heels. The pause lasts for way too long, heavy and smelling of iron, and you’re pretty sure you’re suffocating. He only says one word, and it sounds so defeated. "How?"

You swallow heavily. "You got shot on a mission," you say, but he shakes his head, the fire returning to his eyes.

"No. How did you get stuck?"

"I …" You blink, because you’re not prepared for this question, because you can never predict what he’s going to say, because he keeps doing that to you, because somehow, and not like you’ve expected, you feel like you’ve been here before.

How did it happen? That’s not … Okay.

"It was an accident," you finally say, helplessly, defensively.

There’s a flicker of something in Bucky’s eyes. "What happened?"

"You died. You died that first time and I didn’t—I couldn’t …" You swallow the sob that threatens to shake your voice again. Damnit, you’re supposed to push him away.

He moves his arm, then hesitates, as if he wants to reach out to you but changes his mind at the very last moment.

Right. He doesn’t normally do that.

Except he has.

He has held your hand and pulled you closer and written on your arm and let you lean on him with the full weight of your body, as if to him, you weighed nothing at all. He’s been offering to carry your load so many times, and he doesn’t remember a single one of them.

"Please don’t look at me like that," you say tonelessly, watching Bucky retreat.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m gonna fall apart at any moment. And yes," you add when his mouth opens, "I—I know I just did, I’m aware of the irony, but this is exactly why I can’t keep telling you, I don’t—I can’t stand it." You press your wrists against your temples, ignoring the buzz of the whirling time symbols against your skin, the stinging in your eyes. "You shouldn’t even—I mean, are you even the slightest bit worried about yourself? Because I feel like I’m the only one here, and I should’ve just—"

You stop yourself, shaking your head. Your hands are very clammy all of a sudden, and when you tug at your rings just to do something, one of them slips off your finger and clangs against the tiles as if to punctuate the silence.

When you reach down, you move your wrist in a way that makes you hiss in pain and flinch back. Bucky’s eyes flit between your own and your hand, his frown deepening in a strangely soft way. "Did you break it?" he asks quietly.

"I’m fine," you mumble, and he looks at you disapprovingly. "You’d grabbed my hand just before …"

His jaw twitches as the blame settles in again, and you would do fucking anything to finally make him understand that none of this is his fault. That you should be in pain for what you’re putting him through.

"It should’ve been me," you tell him, because it’s true.

Even earlier in the week, you would’ve taken great delight in seeing Bucky Barnes’ face fall at something you’d said. Hell, you’d have probably enjoyed it on Thursday, because there used to be this easy sort of gratification that came from riling him up, from catching him off guard.

Seeing it now, though?

It makes your fingers twitch.

"Don’t say that. Not even as a joke."

"I’m not joking." You can feel your pulse in your ears. "They aimed a shot at me, and you pushed me out of the way, and you died. So by all accounts, if your instincts weren’t so damn noble all the time, it should’ve been me, and if I weren’t such a fucking coward, I’d have gone back and switched places with you weeks ago."

The thought terrifies you, even though it’s true. No part of you wants to go through the things Bucky is, but if someone gave you the choice between either one of you right now, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

Maybe that’s the most terrifying thought of them all. You would die for him. Once, twice, however many times are necessary if that meant that he’s safe.

"I’d like to see you try," Bucky says, and something slams into your chest as an old familiar shiver runs down your spine.

There’s a pained edge to his gaze, contemplative and heartbreaking and …

"You’re doing it again," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I doing?" His hand brushes your knee, and your skin is left searing.

You swallow heavily. "Being noble."

Bucky chuckles softly, and his eyes leave yours for just a moment. "Don’t exactly feel like that."

He’s beautiful.

It’s a new thought, despite everything. Even when you’ve noticed it before, you’d roll your eyes at the fact and move on, because this was Bucky. So what if his face was delectably handsome?

But it seems like you haven’t known it at all, because right now, you feel the knowledge of it, of him, surge through you with all its facets. You can’t even begin to put it into words, because where would you start? How do you explain what he makes you feel when he hasn’t been there himself, not in any way that matters or sticks? And if it’s never happened at all, if time keeps unraveling like this, how can it even be real?

So it’s pure instinct that makes you move, like someone would pinch themselves to ensure they’re not asleep, even though you’re very aware that this isn’t just a dream. You need to confirm that Bucky is real, though.

The air stands still when your fingertips trace along his cheekbone, leaving a delicate flush behind in their trail, barely touching and yet …

And yet.

His breath hitches when they dip lower, almost reaching the place you’ve watched dimple when he laughs, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t laugh, either.

There’s a scraping sound at the closed bathroom door, followed by a short knock. You flinch backwards.

"I’m leaving the first aid kit on the bed," Sam calls from the other side. "Just … holler if you need me."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky says coarsely, and you can hear steps receding. The scratching continues, though. That damn cat.

Finally, he breaks eye contact, clearing his throat.

"Do you want me to help you clean up?"

You shake your head. You’re not sure you could stomach more of this. "I’m good, don’t … Don’t worry about it."

Bucky drags a hand through his hair, muttering something to himself you can’t quite make out. Slowly, he gets to his feet again.

"We need to come up with a plan," he says, and you want to cry except … you’re tired. Tired and sick of this.

"I need to come up with a plan," you correct him. "We have been trying to do this as a team for weeks, and it doesn’t change anything except waste time and …" And hurt. "I can’t do it anymore, Buck."

There must be something in your voice that thaws his defiant glare a little. "So what’s the plan?"

And with a sigh, you fill him in on everything that’s been going on with Strange and your powers. Again. One last time.

You have to do this alone.

Bucky ignores your insistence that you can manage just fine and sets your wrist while you talk. Alpine, now free to roam wherever she pleases again, has decided the bathroom isn’t quite that interesting after a short look inside, and is now taking a nap in the spot of sunshine next to your bed.

"New deal," he says once you’re done, once he’s thought about it all, and you raise your eyebrows. "Don’t do anything stupid."

"You know me," you smile, checking the makeshift dressing around your hand. The green symbols are hidden by the layers of gauze.

Bucky doesn’t bite. "I’m serious, just—don’t."

"How would you know?"

"I wouldn’t," he says, snapping the first aid kit shut so vehemently Alpine’s tail twitches. "But I trust you."

Your head whips up at his words, even though his back is still turned to you. He doesn’t see your face as your heart is jostled into a new rhythm, so violently and unexpectedly that you lift your hand without thinking, pinkie outstretched.

"Promise."

He smiles when he notices, and you wish you could take a picture to carry with you through the rest of this nightmare.

That day, he dies with your stupid nickname on his lips, twisted into something that looks strangely close to that earlier smile. This one doesn’t have time to reach his eyes, though.

* * *

There’s been a change in the weather.

Not literally, no; of course not literally. Fuck, you long for a single cloud, a raindrop, a damn hailstorm to break the streak of endless perfectly sunny days that don’t fit your mood in the slightest.

But there’s a tinge to the sky that makes your stomach turn. It’s not very obvious to anyone who hasn’t looked at the exact same sunset for weeks on end, just a single strip of color across a storybook horizon. It looks like a crack.

"Do you see that?" you ask warily when you notice it for the first time, ominous and yet almost completely hidden by the trees and the buildings. Just dancing around the edge of your vision like another mockery.

"What?" Sam asks, eyes not leaving the path ahead.

"That … thing in the sky. What is that?"

Bucky stops and squints at where you’re pointing. "It’s called a cloud," he says dryly.

"With that color?" you murmur, but continue walking when he stops to turn to you, your wrist tingling. His stare is searing your neck, but you ignore that, too.

The best course of action, you’ve learned, is to shut your brain off as soon as you get out of the quinjet and just go through the motions, trying to ride out the mission like you’ve done dozens of times before. There’s a sort of autopilot you’ve fallen into after a couple of days, and it’s the only thing keeping you somewhat sane. Most days, it means it’s all over quickly, and you can’t help but feel glad about that.

You’ve given up trying to change your own actions to get him through the day.

But this …

It’s something new, and in all this monotony, that thought is both frightening and exciting. It distracts you enough to get you off script.

"Lovely interior design," Sam mumbles like he always does.

"Remember how this was supposed to be a day off?" You kick one of the pebbles in your path with a sigh. "What happened to 'don’t worry, Y/N, after training the day is all yours'?"

"Occupational hazard," Sam says, checking his map for the thousandth time.

"You know what I mean."

"Don’t you have tomorrow off?" Bucky says over the intercom.

Tomorrow. "Right." It comes out somewhat strained, your fingernails digging into the palm of your hand. "And why do you know that?"

Sam shakes his head and there’s a brief crackle of static in your ear. For a fraction of a second, you nearly dare to hope Bucky will give you an answer, even though you have no clue what it would be.

"They’re heading your way now," he says instead, "so get a move on."

And just like that, you’re back on track.

Quickly clearing your throat of the lump that has formed there, you say tonelessly, "I probably only have one reset left. Two, if we’re lucky and you two aren’t being stupid again."

It’s taken you a while to get used to it. To the constant lying.

You’ve worn fingerless gloves on missions before, so that’s not raised any questions from the others yet, and your rings stay hidden away. You’ve been more reluctant to take them off since the one you lost on your bathroom floor vanished into thin air.

The other thing you’ve picked up on while endlessly repeating this day is that Bucky is less likely to catch you in a lie if he can’t see your face.

So you’ve made an effort of spending as little time as possible with him.

It’s surprisingly easy to stay in your room for the majority of the day, because he doesn’t remember it ever being any other way. Even today’s little exchange will be lost to the loop soon enough, just like that little pause he made, just like the bullet through his heart.

Still, when you wake up with a start on Friday, July 4th, you look at the sky first. Its perfect blue doesn’t soothe the sinking feeling in your stomach at all.

You’ve been waiting for something to change for weeks, and now that it’s here, you don’t like it at all.

"What did you expect?" Strange says with an infuriating composure once you’ve nervously recounted your experience. "I told you, time isn’t supposed to get stuck in this way. Of course your reality was going to act up sooner or later."

"I really feel like you should be more concerned about this," you mutter, letting a ball of green energy pass from your left hand to the right. It’s about the size of a quarter now.

"Honestly," Strange answers, "I thought something like this would have happened a while ago." He taps his fingers together. "Again. Slower."

"So what am I supposed to do then, just ignore it?" The green ball pulses with your indignation, turns around itself once and then sinks into your palm again.

"In all likelihood, it’s a one time glitch. If everything is back to normal today, I wouldn’t worry about it."

Your thumb rubs across the empty space on your finger. "Easy for you to say if you’re not the one who’s stuck in an endless hellscape."

"Aren’t I?"

You both roll your eyes at each other, but then you bite the inside of your cheek again, unable to shake the feeling of a whole new shade of dread. "What if it’s not just a one time glitch?"

The corners of Strange’s cloak roll up on themselves, and he doesn’t meet your eye when he says, "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."

It’s still early when you return to the present, too early for Bucky to be back from wherever he’s always going, so you decide to venture out of your room again, stretching your tired limbs. You’re pretty sure at this point that waking up on the floor is never going to feel fun.

Sam is in the kitchen as always, reading something on his laptop. He’s still sitting down, which means that it’s even earlier than you expected. You miss these early parts of the day, the calm before the storm.

If today were only made up of these few hours, you suppose, it might not be half so bad.

You pull up a chair next to him and lean a cheek against your hand. "What’re you doing?"

"Research." Sam sighs, rubbing his temples. "Remember that ULTIMATUM group?"

"Never heard of them," you say with a small yawn. "Is that an acronym? What does it stand for?"

Sam gives you a glare and your mouth twitches slightly.

"Anyway," he continues, turning his laptop so you can see the article he’s reading. "They’ve been more active again lately. Acquired a couple thousand dollars’ worth of lab equipment through one of their contacts and then went underground again."

Of course, you know all this. You’ve been over it again and again, back when you were all still trading information like it could save Bucky’s life. Like there was a deeper meaning behind any of this damn loop other than the fact that you, and you alone, fucked up.

Useless.

You close the mental door on those thoughts and take a deep breath. You hate to admit it, but all of this sitting around with your thoughts bullshit you’ve been doing has actually helped you to clear your head somewhat—if only to make it through the parts of the day you can’t avoid.

"And now what?" you ask, pretending to just have reacquainted yourself with the topic.

"Now," Sam says, taking his laptop with him as he stands up and strolls over to the kitchen island, "I’m waiting for Torres to get back to me so we can decide our next steps once we’re all recovered." He gives you a meaningful look and you scowl.

Then, slowly, his words register in your brain, and you stare at his back as he stretches and then moves to make some coffee, wordlessly taking one of your mugs out of the cupboard as well as his own.

"You don’t seem too worried," you say hesitantly.

Sam shrugs. "Until we have a proper lead, there’s not much we can do. And I doubt they’ll be doing any actual damage any time soon. They’re a lot more covert than the Flag Smashers ever were."

"Right," you say, more to yourself than in response.

"Try that again, less convincing?"

"I don’t know," you mutter, slowly following him to lean against the fridge. "Just … what if Torres did find something? Should I be getting ready?"

Sam frowns. "Are you not telling me something again?"

You try to shake the thought, pulling your arms around you. "Forget it."

You don’t, though.

It keeps bugging you, because that day like any other day, he knocks on your door at 4:32 on the dot, and you go on that mission anyway. And even though this has been happening for weeks, you’re just starting to suspect that you are, in fact, still not getting the whole picture.

* * *

Catching a glimpse of Sam’s phone turns out to be more difficult than you first thought.

You’re still trying to get the timing exactly right a couple of days later, and you miscalculate enough to catch Bucky on his way upstairs.

"Hey," he says, his shoulders tense when he looks at you. There’s a restlessness to him that he’s not quick enough to hide; or maybe you’ve just grown more perceptive when it comes to him.

"Hi," you say, crossing your hands behind your back. "Where’ve you been?"

He shrugs. "For a walk."

You already know he won’t elaborate if you try poking, so you don’t. "Was it good?"

"Lotta people." He hesitates when you continue to not meet his eye, and then he says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

You swallow, ignoring the tingling sensation on your wrist. "Not particularly. Do you?"

Bucky’s jaw twitches. "Nah."

Somehow, you feel like that’s also a lie. Once again, you’re left wondering.

The silence between you stretches as you continue to not quite look at each other, until you finally clear your throat, nodding at the front door. "I’m getting coffee, do you want something?"

Honestly, it’s just an excuse as to why you need to leave before he notices something off again somehow, but Bucky tilts his head in amusement.

"Didn’t you just get some this morning?"

"So? I like coffee."

"Really. I never knew."

"Screw you."

You can hear him huff behind you, but thankfully the door falls shut before you can do anything stupid. Like turning around to face him, for example.

You miss his eyes.

Why won’t you look at me?

When the elevator doors open, you almost yelp into your delivery guy’s face. He stumbles a half-step backwards, somehow managing to keep a hold of the boxes precariously balanced on his arm while he’s reading something on his phone.

"Oh my god," he lets out, "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was just …"

"Early." You blink.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing," you say, frowning only a little. "Wait, let me get that."

You quickly sign for the delivery and open the door with your keycard, holding it open for him. You’re not exactly afraid of burglars these days, and besides; you know this guy by now.

"If you could just go straight ahead and to the right, that’s where the kitchen is."

"Sure thing," he shrugs. "Thanks—"

His mouth snaps shut and he blushes a little as if he wanted to say something else but thought better of it.

You’ve introduced him to Sam enough times you know he’s going to be fine, so you just smile and wave him in.

When you step out on the street, you instinctually look up at the sky. It’s outrageously blue, blatantly perfect for an endless Friday, and even when you squint, you can’t make out any irregularities.

It’s a tiny relief, but a relief nontheless.

Lucy is leaning against the wall just out of sight of the storefront, an unlit cigarette dangling between her lips as she rummages through her pockets. Her colorful makeup has begun to melt off in the sweltering heat, making the red-white-and-blue stars on her cheeks bleed into each other to look somewhat purplish.

"Are you off or on break?" you call over.

She lifts her head, the glare vanishing when she recognizes you. "Counting the seconds," she says. "Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You sidestep a couple of pedestrians hurrying to cross the street and join her. "Not really."

"I hate you." She finally fishes a lighter out of her back pocket, sighing contentedly as she takes her first drag. "I swear, this day just won’t pass."

Fine. Maybe your chuckle is a little shrill. "I’m sorry."

Lucy waves you off with a gesture crude enough to make a young dad with a stroller send the two of you a dirty look. "You without your shadow today?" she asks, inspecting her nails.

You blink. "My shadow."

"You know. Your friend who’s been in here eight thousand times and still gets confused when he orders." A cloud of smoke vanishes into thin air. "Kind of the lingering type, isn’t he?"

"He’s old," you say, because for some reason nothing else comes to mind.

"Not that old."

"No," you agree, "not that old."

For a moment, you’re afraid she’s going to ask you to pass her number along to him, and you’re already scrambling to find an answer somewhere in the depths of your brain, coming up empty. That’s the problem with being able to unhave entire conversations; you don’t usually really have to deal with reactions if you don’t want to.

Without your powers, though, you’re stuck, and it’s making you wish you hadn’t come here at all.

Instead of any of that, she pulls a flyer out of her other pocket. "Sorin and Cass are doing a gig in Brooklyn next week, do you wanna come with? They’re still terrible, but they got a new bassist who seems alright."

You take the flyer, staring at it. "I didn’t know they’re in a band," you admit.

The truth is, you’ve never paid that much close attention to the people you work with. Maybe that’s been a mistake.

Lucy shrugs. "You’re always doing your own thing." It stings, even though you’re pretty sure she doesn’t mean for it to. "It’d be fun if you came, though."

"I’ll think about it," you say, and your smile is a little unsure, but genuine.

So is hers.

"If you don’t want to hang with us all night, you can bring some friends, too." Her emphasis hangs in the air between you like a dare.

You snort. "I feel like this isn’t quite their scene."

"You feel like or you know?"

"Isn’t that the same thing?"

"No." She puts her cigarette out on the wall behind her. "Knowledge is based on experience. On memories. Your feelings don’t sit in your head. And so they don’t make sense and they’re not necessarily true." She winks.

"You’re weirdly smart," you say, shaking your head.

"I know. It’s a curse." Lucy sighs. "Anyway, think about it. I gotta get back to hell."

"You know," you say with a grin, "I could really do with a frappuccino right about now."

"You know what you could do?" she answers in her sweetest customer service voice, pointing you down the street. "Get in a trash can."

Damnit. You might actually grow to like Lucy.

She taps her fingers against her temple and then shuffles back inside, a hot rush of air blowing out of the AC as the door opens. You fold the flyer up to fit into your back pocket, hoping you’ll make it to that concert one day, and then you walk on, aimless again for the moment.

* * *

Time passes while it’s standing still.

The problem is, at least for the moment, that by all appearances you’ve reverted back to square one. Going through your day as though any of this is even remotely normal, counting the hours and minutes to reenter the astral plane and feel some semblance of control again.

It’s been nice, really, if you’re ignoring the constant underlying feeling of dread.

Which you’re getting better at.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Rinse and repeat.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

Even on days when you’re sure you’re making progress with your powers, every reset makes it just a little harder to keep dragging yourself onwards.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume.

"You look like shit."

Your head rolls to the side slowly, allowing yourself a glance while Bucky is still distracted with his arm. Concentration makes his brows knit, and something warm spreads in your chest.

"I’m so tired," you say, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look at you, but you’re grateful for it for once. Your eyes are stinging a little.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Not particularly."

"Do you want to talk about something else?"

You almost smile. "Like what?"

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Like the fact that you just planted Sam into the mat head-first and yet made a face like you killed a puppy?"

Sometimes you wonder how he still manages to slip in without you noticing, no matter how many times he does it.

"Did I?"

"Did you kill a puppy? I’d hope not."

Your body’s been getting stronger, anticipating Sam’s every move. At this point, it’s not so much training as it is an exercise in muscle memory; but how would he know that?

It still isn’t enough. It’s never enough.

You pitiful, selfish, useless bastard.

"You’re doing it again," Bucky says and you blink.

"Doing what?"

"I don’t know, but I don’t like it."

Something inside you twinges uncomfortably and you wrap your arms around your knees, pulling them into your chest. "That might just be me, period."

Bucky huffs. "Take the towel on the right," he says. "I already used the other one."

So you do.

And then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and then you wake up with blah, blah, blah.

"I can’t do this anymore."

Strange watches you, but you don’t get up from where you’re lying, blankly staring at the ceiling, feeling like your chest is about to explode.

You don’t want to feel like something is tearing you apart every single time, even though you know it’s not permanent. There’s always the tiniest glimmer of hope that this will all be over soon.

Or maybe it’s dread.

"Maybe you can’t," Strange answers.

You blink, sitting upright. "What?"

"Maybe you are actually incapable of cleaning up your own mess. You’ve never had any training before, after all. Maybe you’re too weak."

Useless. Not good enough. Waste of time.

"If this is reverse psychology, it’s not working," you say through gritted teeth, pressing your eyes shut so tightly they don’t burn anymore.

Strange ignores you. "Maybe you’re going to be stuck in this loop forever. If that’s the case, there’s no point to keep trying either. Maybe we should just call it a day."

You can feel your breaths coming in shorter.

"Maybe you’re just going to keep failing to save anyone for the rest of your life."

"Stop it!"

An explosion of power goes through your body, bouncing off the walls and bathing the room in a ghostly green light. You cough and curl into yourself as you watch it billow, still echoing the words back at you, "too weak", "stuck in this loop forever". Your bones are heavy with exhaustion.

Strange crouches down next to you and a cup of fragrant tea draws itself up to the side of your face.

"You’re drawing the bulk of your power from pain. From a desire to fix things that you think you alone are responsible for when the truth is that each and every one of us is constantly creating reality."

"Fuck you," you mumble. When you sit up, your head is still swimming.

"You cannot keep this up."

"If I’m such a lost case, then why do you bother?"

"I’m trying to tell you that you’re not." He points at the walls, still covered by that greenish fog. "This is the strongest display of your powers I’ve seen from you yet, and it only happened because you were lashing out. Pain is not a sustainable source of energy. Imagine what you could do if you could be in control."

Do as I tell you.

"There’s no way to control my powers on a larger scale. It’s impossible."

"You keep telling me that, and yet you keep coming back. Why?"

You push yourself up to your elbows, wiping at your face. "Because I have to hope, right?"

"And there it is."

You take a sip of your tea and some feeling returns to your translucent fingers. Strange’s cloak draws itself around your shoulders.

The wizard himself stays quiet for another minute or two, before he asks, "Why do you think I’m talking to you right now? Helping you, even, nevermind your constant whining and your insistence that this won’t work, after you’ve spent your whole life running away from anything resembling actual responsibilities."

"I didn’t—"

"Answer the question."

"Because I created a time loop?" you guess.

"But you already know that this loop is just one point on the timeline. A single day, repeated endlessly, but going exactly like it was always supposed to, once resolved. So, without the time stone and my privileges as the Sorcerer Supreme, and with your protections still in place, how would I have found you?"

He knew exactly where and when to look for you. But he’s right, that shouldn’t even have been possible unless …

"I came to you," you realize. "Or, I will, once I get out of this." The relief that washes over you makes you want to sob. "So there is a way out?"

"Of course there is," he says, surprisingly gently. "Time isn’t supposed to get stuck."

You sit with that for a minute, hiding your face in your hands as Strange stays silent. Finally, you take a deep breath and look at him again with newly sharp focus.

"So why don’t you just tell me how to do it?"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know that’s not how it works."

"Yes. It is. It’s literally what I do all the time."

"What you do is leaving realities you don’t like by turning backwards."

"That’s not true."

"Just because your motivations aren’t entirely selfish doesn’t mean you’re right."

You’re so damn exhausted. The frustration of this whole thing is really starting to scratch at your sanity, and there’s an ache in your chest as you stare at your own sleeping face, biting the inside of your cheek, thinking.

Strange snaps his fingers to get your attention back.

"I’m not a mind reader," he says. "Out with it."

"I want to see him," you say, getting up. The cloak flaps around you in a very satisfying way. "Bucky. It’s early this morning, right? Just before the loop starts again. That means he’s upstairs."

"And what’s seeing him going to do?"

You ignore him and walk towards the door, reaching for the handle. Your hand goes right through it. You try it several more times, to no avail.

"Heaven help me," Strange mutters behind you.

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath. The circle of green tingles around your wrist.

Then, you walk through the closed door.

You fully expect to crash into the wood head first, but instead you feel the door moving through your noncorporeal form, and then you’re standing on the other side.

With a startled hum, you turn left, not waiting to see if you’re being followed.

You only hesitate in front of Bucky’s bedroom door. You’ve never actually been inside his room since he’s moved in; well, apart from that time he patched up your feet and you woke up in the astral plane for the first time. It feels odd to consider entering without him actually being aware of it.

Then again, there’s quite a few things at this point that he’s unaware of.

Before you can make up your mind, the door swings open just a little, and you automatically take a step back. Alpine sleepily slinks through the gap and trots off in the direction you came from, probably to sit in the kitchen and mope until FRIDAY activates the food dispenser again. On the stairs, she passes Strange who raises an eyebrow at you.

"Changed your mind?"

You glance into the room.

At first, you can’t find him. The bedding looks untouched, and there’s a brief flurry of panic that makes you step inside before you can keep questioning yourself.

Bucky is lying on the floor next to the bed, his hands balled tightly into an old throw blanket. It’s haphazardly draped across his torso, like he’s been trying to wriggle free during the night. He grimaces in his sleep.

Try the floor.

You can’t help but wonder when he’s last tried the bed.

"Can he hear us?" you ask quietly, not needing to look over your shoulder as you sink to the floor next to Bucky.

"No," Strange says. "Not until you put in a lot more work."

"Would he remember if I did?"

"I don’t know."

You do look back at him, then. "You know, considering your position you don’t know a whole lot of things."

You concentrate on your own hand until you’re starting to feel cool metal underneath your fingertips, ignoring the throbbing of your head. Carefully, you touch the crease between his brows, smoothing it out tenderly.

Bucky sighs a little in his sleep, but doesn’t stir. Doesn’t stop quietly murmuring in his dreams.

"You feel better?" Strange asks.

"Not really." You’ve already reached out to him without it having any repercussions too many times. "But that wasn’t the point."

"What was?"

"Just …"

Comfort. He brings you comfort, even when he doesn’t know it. It’s the same reason you keep waiting for him to arrive in the gym in the mornings, even though you could probably hurry up and miss him.

Even if the loop never ends, it’s still good to see that it’s bringing him back like it’s supposed to.

How incredibly selfish, you think as you continue looking at Bucky and letting a quiet, hesitant wash of calm come over you.

And then, all of a sudden, his eyes open.

You flinch backwards, but even though you’re almost face to face, he seems to stare right through you, his breaths heavy.

"Did I do something?" you say quietly.

"No," Strange answers. "This is just when he wakes up."

You watch as Bucky drags a hand over his face and then gets up with a determined tick in his jaw, grabbing a notebook from the nightstand. He scribbles something down, hastily, like it’s threatening to get away from him if he doesn’t hurry. You don’t have to read it to know it has something to do with what he’s seen in his sleep.

When the words stop flowing, he sits on the edge of the bed for a minute longer, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his left arm a few times before pulling on a shirt and his running shoes.

He always goes for a run in the morning. You’ve made fun of him for it before, but you hadn’t put together that while Strange was trying to get you to clear your own head through sitting still, Bucky might be doing the exact opposite to get the same result.

The door clicks shut.

"Are we done with the spying, then?" Strange says.

"No need to get weird about it," you mumble and take his outstretched hand.

* * *

Something changes once you know that your situation actually has an end date, even though Strange either cannot or will not tell you how many more loops you’re going to have to go through until then. Even so, there’s a new assurance to your every step again, a determination grown from the knowledge that all this isn’t for nothing. That there is an out.

You can cling to that.

"What would you do if you were stuck in a time loop?" you ask, letting your legs dangle over the ledge of the roof.

"Ew, no," Lucy replies, shaking the few remaining ice cubes in her cup emphatically. "My shift was long enough as is, and I’ve been looking forward to my Sunday off all week."

"Fair point," you concede.

It’s early afternoon then, and you’ve found a quiet spot on the top of the Tower. If Lucy was at all confused why you’d shown up at the store right when she clocked out and asked her to hang out, she’s not showing it. Over the past couple of loops, you’ve learned that she really likes to go with the flow, and you appreciate that.

"If it’s not today, though," she continues, like she’s thinking aloud. "Imagine the books you could read. You could try out all that stuff that you say you want to do, and then you never have the time to actually do them."

It’s a good thought, but a lack of time has never really been an issue for you. "Nothing you do would really stick, though."

She squints against the sun. "You realize that’s a pro, right? No consequences whatsoever. I could cut my bangs again and they’d be gone the next day."

"You used to have bangs?"

"Never, and I’m willing to state that in a court of law."

You smile and lean back on your elbows. "If something good happened, that’d be gone, too, though. You don’t get to keep that, either."

"Yeah," Lucy says thoughtfully. "I’d still remember it though, right? It still happened. I could make it happen again."

"Maybe." Your thumb scratches the empty space on your pinkie. Even though you’ve turned your entire bathroom upside down, your ring is still gone, like it just up and disappeared from this reality. You can’t help but wonder if that rift in the sky from a few todays ago has anything to do with that.

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

Lucy takes another slurping sip from her almost empty cup. "What would you do in a time loop?"

You can’t help but laugh. "I’d try to keep making the good things happen, I guess."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

It is.

"Are you out of your damn mind?" someone shouts behind you. "It’s in the fricking nineties today and you’re baking?"

"Technically, we are baking," you say, nodding at Lucy and leaning back further so you can look at Sam upside down. "And we’re baking for you."

"Hi, cap," Lucy says, pulling her sunglasses off.

"Hey." Sam crosses his arms and fixes you with a very cap-like glare. "Why are you baking for me."

"Y/N said it’s for your birthday."

"My—" He cuts himself off, rubbing his temples. "My birthday’s in September."

"Whoops," you say, your grin just believable enough. "My bad, cap."

"You’re not funny," Sam says, "I hope you know that."

You know.

Of course, today isn’t actually his birthday, not even if time were allowed to pass normally. It is day forty-fucking-nine of the loop, though, which makes it your fiftieth time living through this crap and frankly, you all deserve some damn pie.

It’s not going to make a difference in the long run, of course, and yet you can’t help but feel like keeping count of those little markers of time helps to hold your head above water. Making the good things happen, even if they don’t change a thing and no one but you is going to remember.

So you simply say, "It’s turtle pie," because you know that it’s Sam’s favorite. "Hey, what’s the time?"

"Oh, it better be," he says, holding his phone up for you to read and then marching out of your field of vision.

Sadly, you’re just about a minute early.

"He could’ve stayed," Lucy says when you let out a frustrated huff.

"He has that thing at the Garden," you tell her distractedly, taking a mental note to stall Sam a little longer next time.

"There you are."

You flinch at the sound of Bucky’s voice, barely daring to move your head when he sits next to you, his back to the brink.

He never comes up here. That’s the whole point.

"Hi?" you say carefully, and a grin tugs at his mouth.

"Not you," he says, nodding to the ground in front of him.

You turn around fully to find Alpine taking a nap just a few feet behind you, her snowy tail wrapped around a flower pot.

You let out a relieved breath and ignore the small sting in your chest. Of course he’s not up here because of you. Why would he be?

"Gee, thanks," you murmur, quietly shifting around so your hands are hidden underneath your legs. "You sure know how to charm the ladies."

You glance back at Lucy, but she’s looking at her phone, her eyes once again indecipherable behind the large sunglasses.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Think you could handle my charm, Y/L/N?"

He might has well have doused you in a bucket of ice water. You’re suddenly very aware of every single cell in your body, and you don’t like the challenge sparkling in his eyes.

So you do what you always do and you block it out. Dismiss and distract.

"Does Alpine seem weird to you?"

He tilts his head, his jaw tight. "Weird how?"

"I don’t know," you say, staring at her. "She’s just been acting … odd, lately. Today, I mean."

And following you around in a way you’re pretty sure she’s never done before. Not before the loop, at least.

Bucky sighs. "Did you make her scratch you again? Because I’ve told you before that I’m not getting rid of her for enforcing her boundaries."

"First of all, I never make her scratch me, she does that well enough on her own."

"That’s victim blaming," Lucy says without looking up. Bucky snorts and you almost roll your eyes.

"Second of all, she’s up to something. I know it."

"Oh, yes," Bucky says dryly just as Alpine makes a small noise in her dreams, her nose twitching. "That’s the embodiment of evil right there."

"I don’t trust her," you mutter.

"And yet the cat’s the weird one."

"I hate you," you mumble, standing up. "I’m gonna go check on the pie."

"There’s pie?" Bucky says.

"Not for you!"

You turn at the door to see Lucy leaning in to show Bucky something on her phone; the frown has disappeared from his face, his shoulders relaxed. If he’d pull off his glove right now, it’d almost be like sitting in a park.

That’s good, you tell yourself as the door slams shut behind you with a bit too much gusto. Reminds you that there’s nothing special about you in particular, which is much needed, really.

Can’t wait to punch that one out of your system later.

Again and again and again and a—

"Whoa, whoa, you alright?"

You blink. Riff slumps to the ground in front of you, body limp.

Bucky stares at you in concern, his hand still on your shoulder. His lip has split open and there’s the usual bruise already forming on his cheekbone. You can’t help it. Your gaze is drawn down, your breathing shallow.

You screw your eyes shut to snap yourself out of it, but when you open them again, Bucky hasn’t moved an inch.

"Never better," you whisper, and for a split second, you almost believe it yourself.

Liar, liar, liar.

* * *

At least, you suppose, reality seems considerably less broken these days. No more cracks in the sky.

You get your wake-up call when you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY …

"… FRIDAY?" you say into the silence of your room, your heart pounding wildly. This cannot be happening. Not now.

Not yet.

He got shot again yesterday.

A pleasant jingling sound rings out. "Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N."

You look at the clock on the wall. Ten to eight, just like every morning. "What day is it?"

"Today is Friday, July 4th."

You can taste bile in your mouth despite your relief. There’s an impatient thrum to the symbols around your wrist, like a noose that’s tightening.

What did you expect?

"Rise and shine, McFly! Time to get your ass kicked!"

"Didn’t you set FRIDAY to wake me?" you ask Sam as you’re climbing the stairs, nerves on edge.

He looks at you weirdly. "I did. You’re up, aren’t you?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Didn’t sleep well."

That much, at least, is still true. Full nights of sleep are a long distant memory from before constant back-to-back repetitions. The only time your body shuts off is when you manage to sleep for a little bit in between your astral visits and the mission call.

"I hope you don’t think that’s an excuse," Sam says, bumping your shoulder, and you manage a tired grin.

"You wish."

Today, you let him win, even though your ankle makes an odd crack when you land on the mat. You’ll take care of it later.

"You look like shit."

Grief and relief, you’ve learned, both taste like salt and iron, but the latter is so much easier to swallow.

"That makes two of us," you say, sitting up slowly. "How was your run?"

"Good," Bucky says, putting the cloth away and stretching his fingers out. They catch a ray of sunlight. "What’s wrong with you?"

Not this again.

"Later, okay?" you answer, because that’s not a lie. "Let’s just … not, right now?"

"Alright," he says.

And, oh, you want to tell him again. Because he doesn’t press it. Because you miss having someone to share things with. Because you miss telling him the whole truth. Because you’re scared, and tired, and sick of losing him.

But those are egotistic thoughts, and so you keep them all to yourself and take the towel on the right.

There’s one good thing about this today. You make it to the living room just in time to finally catch a glimpse of Sam’s phone right when it pings with Torres’ message.

I can check it out on Monday if you’d like.

That’s it. No urgency, weirdly proper spelling, not even an exclamation mark.

In other words, you’re not sure what you expected but you’re no closer to answers than before.

"What does it matter?" Strange sighs when you tell him all of this with a frown.

"It matters," you reply, "because if we hadn’t gone on the mission, Bucky wouldn’t have died that first time and none of this would’ve happened."

"So what?" he says. "It’s already done."

"But if I could prevent it—"

"It already happened."

"I can make it not happen."

"You and what powers?" Strange says sharply. "Even if you did that, it wouldn’t stop the loop."

"How do you know that?"

"Because you’ve already seen first-hand that it’s bound to you and your powers, not to whatever you do or don’t do during the day. Karma is a fairy tale for those who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions."

"Do you really still think this is me not taking responsibility?" There’s a green flare that goes through you, hot and seething and making goosebumps crawl down your arms.

Strange smiles at the sight. "Let’s find out."

He extends his arms and slowly opens his fists until orange symbols dance across his shaky fingers. The band around your wrist prickles at the weight of his magic flooding the air.

Strange’s cloak nudges you towards the center of the room and your heart gives a heavy thud. "What, right now?"

"Would you prefer being stuck for a couple weeks more?"

"Of course not it’s just—I don’t feel ready."

"No one ever feels ready until they try."

And maybe it’s because it reminds you of something Steve once said, but it makes you step up, falling into the stance you’ve practiced over and over again. You breathe in deeply and close your eyes.

The pull comes easier now. Your powers have just been resting, nestled somewhere deep inside your bones like glowing embers, waiting for you to call upon them.

When you look at your open palm, the green wisps of your powers have curled up to the size of a ping-pong ball. You take another steadying breath and let it glide to the tips of your fingers, carefully letting it balance itself out for a second before moving your other hand.

"Good," you can hear Strange say quietly.

Slowly, carefully, you let the threads untangle until they’re just about to touch the green band circling around your wrist. You can feel the electric tingle of it, the soft beat of each passing second contained within, and you push past it.

You’ve done this before, so you’re not surprised when you feel the energy drain from your body almost immediately. Up until now, though, it’s just been trial and error, not expecting anything to happen. This time, you have Strange’s magic feeding some of his strength into you as well, and so instead of hesitating, you press on, your heartbeat speeding up.

The band around your wrist does the same.

"Don’t lose your focus." Strange’s voice sounds very far away, almost warped.

Very funny, you might have said, but you’re too busy watching it all unfold.

The whirring inside of your head grows louder as the circlet of time keeps rotating with accelerating speed, faster and faster until your eyes start tearing up and there’s something that looks almost like a crack.

You gasp quietly. At first, you think you might have just imagined it, but then the split starts growing, the symbols growing farther and farther apart as the band itself keeps spinning. Your pulse is beating in your ears. Your wrist feels like it’s being set on fire.

There are voices, then, quiet and fast, like you’re watching a sped up movie, music and noises and chatter and birdsong and a whooshing sound like something flipping right past you. Then, something like distant shots.

I’m getting Bucky out of this, you think as the green band continues rotating until suddenly, there is a shockwave of green light that takes up your entire field of vision.

You close your stinging eyes, keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor as your powers rush through you once more and then, with a shudder, settle down again, exhausted. The glare subsides. Something like a trickle of sweat runs down your noncorporeal neck.

"Did it work?" you ask, your voice rough, not daring to look for yourself. There’s no answer, though. "Doc?"

Slowly, your eyes readjust to the gloomy darkness of your room in the astral realm. The only source of light is the glowing green band continuing to circle around your wrist, the rifts stabilizing again like it’s clicking back into place.

You swear under your breath and turn around to ask what went wrong, but Strange is no longer standing beside you.

You’re all alone.

* * *

Three, two, one—

"Iced grande extra whip caramel macchia—shit!"

You catch the plastic cup before it drops onto the suit of the business man standing in line in front of you. "Here you go, sir."

He grabs his drink with a grunt and hurries back outside. One of these days, you might ask him why he’s in such a hurry, but it’s not today.

You’ve grown to adore the noise of the pre-noon rush. The cacophany of the whirring machines, the AC and the people is just loud enough to make your head calm down a little. Besides, being alone in a crowd has never been easier than when you know for a fact they are not going to remember you.

The drinks are starting to pile up at the hand-out, and because you feel bad for your colleagues, you start handing them out to people. You’ve been here a lot, after all.

"Tall hazelnut latte for Misty!"

Plus, it helps to keep your mind from wandering back to everything that’s going wrong.

Strange still hasn’t returned.

The astral dimension feels different when you return the day after your experiment, like someone’s been pulling invisible strings to make everything just slightly more disordered and dark.

It’s cold, too. You watch your body shiver in her sleep as you wrap your arms around yourself. The books are still there, shimmering slightly with the magic they contain.

"Doc?" you call out, and the vibrations of this place hum it back at you. There’s no answer.

The book at the top of the pile is still opened to a page, as if it’d just been left a moment ago, and you pick it up. The words glide around like they are looking to jump back into an inkpot, and you have to squint to make out any of them.

Incursion, the section header reads. Result of a contraction in a universe’s timeline. Can cause premature disintegration or collapse of any one reality within the multiverse.

"Just great," you say, slapping the book shut again. "I get it, alright? You can come out now."

But there’s no sound apart from your own heartbeat.

Your noncorporeal head is swimming with pressure as you pass through the closed door and into the hallway. The walls seem larger than usual, the stairs warping ever so slightly underneath your feet so that you can’t look at them for too long without feeling seasick.

Upstairs, the air doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The silence follows you, though, lingering in the grayish morning shadows like the remnants of a nightmare.

Bucky still mumbles in his.

You can’t make out what he is saying, and you wouldn’t have understood the words, anyway, but there’s sweat on his brow again. His fingers are tightly clutching the thin throw blanket like it’s shielding him from whatever he’s seeing in his dreams.

You take a step closer to him, desperate to do something, anything, when you notice movement out of the corner of your eye.

Alpine is perched on top of the bed, complacently tucked into herself on one of the fluffed up white pillows like it’s really her room, not Bucky’s.

And she’s staring right at you.

You take a step to the side, then another. Alpine tilts her head, her large eyes fixed on you. They follow your gestures as you wave your hand.

A quick glance tells you that Bucky is still sleeping. You take a deep breath and conjure up a small dot of bright green light, letting it dance across your fingertips. Alpine uncurls herself in interest, her tail twitching.

"You can see me," you whisper, and the little spec of your power disappears.

The cat meows in disappointment.

Carefully, you move closer to the bed, reaching out your translucent hand until you place it on Alpine’s head.

She rubs against your palm.

You chuckle incredulously, scratching behind her ears. "You little devil."

Alpine seems particularly pleased with herself. She starts purring.

This is simply bizarre, you think as you continue petting her soft fur. You’re expecting a sarcastic comment from behind your shoulder any minute now, but it doesn’t come.

So, you lower yourself down on the floor next to Bucky, the tips of your fingers not quite grazing his arm as you swallow heavily.

And then you wait until he gets up.

It’s possible, you think as you watch him leave and then make yourself wake up too, that Strange is simply messing with you for the hell of it. You don’t like the timing of this, though. Your day still continues on and on and on, like it always does, but it seems just a little too pointed that this would happen right after you had your first hopes of getting out of here in a long time.

It doesn’t help that the reality glitches have decided to return with a vengeance.

Every day is still July 4th. You wake up with a start, you train, you get coffee, you fight over lunch, you take your astral visit, you go on that damn mission. It’s the details that start to get … fuzzy.

In the beginning, every single thing around you was the exact same every single day. Now, though, there are sometimes details that are just wrong. A different mug left on the drying rack. A mess all over the tables in the lab. Weird noises all over the Tower.

You don’t know what to make of any of it, and so in general, you follow Strange’s rule of thumb and simply ignore the things that are wrong one day and then right the next—which, thankfully, is all of them. You just go with it, telling yourself that this is simply reality malfunctioning a little, like a machine that needs oiling.

Weirdly enough, that doesn’t reassure you in the slightest.

But what else can you do?

You lose a few hours here and there, time seemingly speeding up at random sometimes now. One morning, Bucky isn’t in the gym like he usually is, and you work yourself up over it so much you nearly have a panic attack. In the end, you almost crash into him outside of his room, and a rush of reassurance floods through you with such force you can’t even look at him.

That time, Sam is there when Bucky gets shot, and it’s his cry that follows you into the next day. Your hands are clean this time, and somehow that feels worse.

Everyone’s back to their usual stuff again, and that’s that.

Another time, you’ve barely rolled out of bed and into your bathroom—"Rise and shine, McFly!"—when you’re suddenly jolted forwards and you wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume. Your stomach feels like it’s still turning, nauseous, as if you’d sat up too fast.

That feeling still leaves a bad taste in your mouth, sticking to the back of your mind like the blood you haven’t even had time to wash off.

The thing that demands most of your attention, though, is the pile of books waiting for you in the astral realm. Since you don’t have any control over the loop itself, you pour all of your energy into trying to understand the theory behind your powers. It’s giving you a constant headache, and it takes a lot longer than you would like to admit, but at least you feel like you’re doing something that’ll last.

Nothing else will.

There’s one last lonely cup sat on the counter next to your own, which signals that the rush is over for now. You can see Lucy wiping her forehead as you wave your goodbye, picking up both drinks on your way out and handing one of them to the guy just hurrying back downstairs.

"Here you go," you say without stopping, glancing at your phone. You haven’t stayed this late before.

"What the—" you hear behind you, just before the doors glide open and you’re greeted by the sound of traffic and a hot breeze of air.

If you’re lucky, you can make it back to your room without anyone seeing you. You’ve moved on to a particularly hefty tome about relativity, and you’d like to—

"Hey! Miss? Hold on a second!"

You look over your shoulder to see the delivery guy has run after you, cup still in his hand. His bike is leaned against a lamp post nearby, his cap dangling off one of the handles.

You found out a couple of weeks ago that he takes his break just after dropping off your order, but you don’t usually make eye contact anymore.

Now, he holds out his cup accusingly. "That’s my drink."

You smile. "Good for you."

"No. No, that’s not—I mean—how did you know it was my drink?"

And because nothing really matters and you really want to go home, you say, "It has your name on it, doesn’t it?"

You expect him to look at you with wide eyes, just like people normally do when you know things you’re not supposed to. His mouth will drop open, speechless, his frown will deepen, and you can wink at him and continue on your way so he can spend the next couple of hours wondering what just happened.

The cup falls out of his hand, but somehow he manages to catch it before it hits the sidewalk. When he looks up at you again, and his expression is unlike anything you’ve seen coming.

"But that’s not …" he says quietly. "Do you remember me?"

And then it’s you who’s speechless, because the shock on Peter Parker’s face is more than you bargained for.

* * * * *

"Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this," you said quietly, looking over the rim of your glass at the crowd.

"You complaining?" you heard Sam’s voice say over the little earpiece you were wearing.

"Not at all."

Apparently, people connected to terrorist organizations threw incredibly fancy parties.

You hadn’t felt this glamorous in a while, if ever, dressed up to the nines in a dark green jumpsuit with an incredibly flattering cut that you’d never had a reason to wear before. Despite your initial doubts about this whole thing, you felt great, for the first time in way too long.

"Are you gonna move any time soon?"

Well. Mostly.

At least Barnes cleaned up nice, you supposed; it almost made up for his grouchy demeanor.

With a sigh, you downed the rest of your drink and got back to work. You let the crowd swallow you up, seemingly on your way to the restrooms, and then you stopped it all to slip upstairs unnoticed by prying eyes and cameras.

You didn’t hold it for very long; you had to rattle some doors, after all, and despite your espresso martini, it was still hard to tell if you could manage several redos back to back. After all, you’d only been back in the game for a couple of weeks.

It took you a few tries to find the right office, and locating the files was comparatively easy with what you already had access to. There it was, proof that ULTIMATUM had managed to secure most of the Flag Smashers’ previous supporters as well as some high brow weapon dealers.

While you copied everything onto a flashdrive, your eyes caught one of the designs. You frowned.

Even though you couldn’t pinpoint what it was, exactly, something about it seemed just slightly too highbrow for an organization of the international bad egg committee that was supposedly still mostly underground. Your gaze started drifting through the rest of the office, noting the usual boring books and glass awards in the bookshelves on the far wall. You pulled open one of the desk drawers.

"You almost done in here?"

"Fuck!" You slammed the drawer shut again, getting your pinkie stuck in the process. "Damnit, where did you come from?"

Bucky pointed over his shoulder.

"Fuck me," you murmured, your eyes stinging at the pain.

Bucky looked nonplussed. "Can’t you just undo it?"

"Great input, thank you." The flashdrive beeped softly and you shut everything down again. At least you were definitely sober now. "What are you, anyway, my babysitter?"

"Wouldn’t have to be if you could check in on time," he answered, checking the corridors, then nodding for you to follow.

"Time��s a social construct," you murmured, but followed him, the flashdrive hidden in your fist.

You didn’t even make it to the staircase.

"Didn’t I tell you?" a voice said right before several triggers clicked and you both froze. "I knew I’d recognized that arm. And who do you have with you here, Winter Soldier?"

No one, you thought, and then you yanked time backwards so forcefully you stumbled into the desk, your heart still racing. The copy sat at 57%.

You felt almost seasick with the rewind, but there wasn’t any time. "Keep going upstairs," you said into your earpiece.

"What?" Bucky said.

"I’m fine. Don’t come get me. Just keep going," you gritted through your teeth, trying to calm your breaths. 70%.

"Exit plan C, then," Sam said.

Bucky didn’t answer. You looked at your hands. There was a slight tremor to them, but nothing too bad. If you could get the nausea under control, you could probably make it past the cameras one more time.

You should’ve eaten more.

As soon as the flashdrive was done, you ripped it out and forced everything to a halt again. Your palms were sweaty as you hurried out of the office and in the direction of the staircase, your lungs burning. This didn’t feel like a good sign.

You stumbled over your damn heels and the noise returned for that moment you lost your concentration.

Not good enough.

Sweat pearled on your forehead as you and the universe held your breath again. You could feel your hold slipping with every second that wasn’t allowed to pass. Time was impatient with you.

A small crowd had assembled at the bottom of the stairs. As you closed in on them, you felt a jolt go through you and suddenly found yourself surrounded by people as time attempted to right itself again. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm so hard you could feel yourself draw blood.

It went quiet again and you moved through them, almost blindly. Everything seemed to be spinning.

Behind your shoulder, you could hear several people talking, interrupted only by the world stopping around them every now and then.

"—d’you—see that—"

"—could’ve—sworn there—”

And with time stumbling and flailing around in confusion, you made it out of the building and into the waiting cab.

chapter seven

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[kjiscrawlingbackformore]

Peace - Act IV : Chapter nine

Lottie Matthews x fem!reader

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Reader comes back to her hometown and transfers to Wiskayok High School after getting expelled from her previous high school. Follows Junior year into Senior year, all the way up to the crash. (Eventual NSFW mdni)

A/N: okay so now y’all are fully caught up to me. I’m writing/ editing the next few chapters so please have grace for the wait times 😪💔

You sat in the passenger seat of Lottie’s car, knees tucked to your chest, your half-eaten Big Mac cooling in its crumpled wrapper on the center console. The radio was off. The air smelled like fries and faint vanilla from a forgotten air freshener clipped to the vent.

Outside, the parking lot was emptying, parents honking, players shouting goodbye, cleats clacking on asphalt. But in the cocoon of the car, it was quiet. Too quiet.

You blinked at your reflection in the dark glass of the window. Your eyeliner had smudged. Your lip was chapped from biting it too much, not helping the cut already there. Your hoodie still smelled faintly like Jackie’s perfume, something floral and expensive and nothing like yours.

You sniffled once. Then again. You didn’t mean to cry. You didn’t want to cry. But the tears came anyway, silently at first, then shaking your shoulders in soft, sharp jerks. This wasn’t supposed to be your life. This wasn’t what seventeen was supposed to look like.

Getting hit. Hiding bruises. Dodging questions. Living in borrowed safety from people who should’ve walked away a long time ago. Letting Lottie hand over her car keys like it was no big deal. Letting Jackie cover for you. Letting anyone take care of you, like you was someone worth taking care of.

You’d barely touched the fries.

Your throat burned like regret. Your chest ached with guilt. It was like you were underwater and no one could tell you were drowning because you still smiled when they needed you to.

You grabbed the napkins from the bag and dabbed your eyes, but the tears just kept coming. Ugly, stifled, snotty ones. The kind you cry when no one’s watching. The kind you cry when you’re scared that if you say what’s really going on out loud, everything might collapse for good.

You clutched Lottie’s keys in your hand until the jagged edge of the car fob pressed into your palm. It grounded you.

A moment passed. Then another.

You swallowed, tried to breathe normally.

Then, through the blurring windshield, you caught sight of the soccer team dispersing in the rearview mirror, figures hugging, voices rising, cleats scraping across blacktop.

Your eyes landed on Lottie, laughing briefly with Van, then glancing around probably looking for you.

You exhaled slowly, shakily. The tears had slowed, mostly dried now, though your eyes still burned and your nose was raw from the napkin you’d been using. You checked your reflection in the mirror and tried to pat your cheeks into some version of normal. Deep breath in. Hold it. Let it out. Again.

You could do this. You always did this.

The door creaked open suddenly, and you flinched—only to find Natalie standing there, a half-empty Gatorade in hand and a weird look on her face.

You swiped at your face fast. Too late. Natalie saw.

“Shit,” you muttered, looking away, hating that it was Natalie of all people.

Natalie leaned against the open door, not saying anything at first. She glanced down at you, then up at the fading pink sky. “You want me to pretend I didn’t see it?” she asked, not unkindly.

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”

Natalie hesitated… and then did something no one would have bet money on. She stepped in and wrapped you in a hug. A real one. Strong and warm and completely unexpected. You went stiff at first, but then melted into it with a choked sound, burying your face in Natalie’s hoodie for one second too long. When she pulled back, you wiped your face again, smiling a little through the embarrassment.

“Fuck, Nat,” you said, voice raw. “Now I know you’ve got a soft spot for me.”

Natalie smirked and popped her gum. “Don’t let it go to your head. I just don’t like seeing pretty girls cry. Ruins the whole vibe.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out, “Hey!”

Lottie jogged up, still in her cleats and soccer shorts, windbreaker half-zipped. She glanced between them, taking in your face, Natalie’s arm still sort of half-around her.

Lottie raised an eyebrow. “I miss something?”

“Not really,” Natalie shrugged, stepping back with her usual nonchalant. “Just proving I’m not a complete bitch.”

You chuckled, and Lottie looked at you for a beat too long before handing you the car keys again. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said, standing and slipping the keys into your hoodie pocket. “Better now.”

Lottie gave you a small smile. “Let’s get out of here. You’re staying at mine tonight.”

Natalie snorted. “Damn. Girl gets the keys and the sleepover?”

You smirked, walking toward the driver’s side. “Perks of not being a complete bitch.”

Natalie laughed and waved them off. “Touché.”

As you got in and pulled away, Lottie glanced over. “Seriously. You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just nodded and turned the radio up a little.

Tonight, maybe you could pretend like this was your life. That you got to be cared for. That you were allowed to have people.

The TV murmured low in the background, casting blue light over Lottie’s room. A forgotten bowl of popcorn sat between them, half-eaten. You were curled into the corner of the bed, your legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands like armor. Lottie sat beside you, cross-legged, silent but close, close enough that their knees brushed every so often.

You had been quiet most of the night, even as they laughed at the movie and picked apart the plot. But now… you’d gone still. And Lottie noticed. She always noticed.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Lottie asked softly, not pushing, just offering the space.

You took a long breath in, and when you let it out, your whole body deflated with it. “You ever tell a story so many times that it starts sounding fake?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Lottie nodded. “Yeah.”

You looked down at your hands. “Okay. So… Catholic school, sophomore year. I got expelled.”

Lottie blinked, surprised, but didn’t say anything.

“I stabbed this kid with a pencil.”

“…Wait, what?”

You gave a humorless laugh. “He was picking on this younger boy. He was small and quiet. Reminded me of Max. The way he flinched when they knocked his books down. I just snapped. Punched the kid in the jaw and jammed a pencil into his shoulder. Not deep or anything. But enough.”

Lottie stayed quiet, her gaze steady.

“It was the fifth time I’d gotten in trouble. Skipping class. Sneaking out to go to parties and concerts. Talking back. Starting fights. My grandparents said I was dangerous. Said I was gonna drag Max down with me. So they gave me a choice. Conversion therapy camp in Alabama or move out.”

You looked up at the ceiling, your throat tight. “So I left. Moved in with my aunt. She drinks. She’s bipolar. Some days she forgets I’m even there. Other days she remembers and decides it’s my fault her life sucks.”

Lottie reached out and slowly took your hand. Her touch, so comforting, so soft, as her thumb carressed the back of your hand. Silently steadying you.

You blinked fast, trying to hold bay tears making themselves known. “It’s not all bad. She’s gone a lot. And I have a lock on my door. So it’s bearable. Just… I don’t know. Some nights, like last night, it’s not. And I don’t have anywhere to go except…” you trailed off, voice trembling. “Except here… and well, Jackie’s house.”

At Jackie’s house, Lottie’s frown turned into a grimace. Like you had physically stabbed her with the words. You caught it, and took a shaky breath.

“Jackie…she fucking sucks most times. But…” You feel tears begin to well up. You look up trying to will away the emotions. The memories. Still you felt determined. “…when I found out my parents died…I ran there. I was thirteen. It’s the only other safe space I’ve known…until now. But I’ve….I haven’t felt like that little girl in years. And yesterday…I did and I didn’t know where else to go but-”

You stopped when tears started flooding down your face, your throat closed up on you. Lottie pulled you in without a word, wrapping her arms tight around you like she could hold all the pieces together.

You broke. Pressed your face into Lottie’s shoulder and just cried. Messy, quiet, years-old tears that you didn’t even know how to name. Lottie just held you, hand brushing slow circles over your back.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered between sobs.

“Don’t be,” Lottie said softly, fiercely. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything.”

The glow of Lottie’s bedside lamp bathed the room in soft amber. Her posters of Mia Hamm and sixteen candles curled slightly at the corners, and a few dirty socks peeked out from under her dresser. You sat cross-legged on the bed, Lottie beside you, both in oversized hoodies and socks, sharing a quiet after-dinner stillness.

Lottie was picking at the edge of a thread in her blanket when you finally spoke.

“I’m sorry…again.”

Lottie glanced over. “For what?”

“For dumping all of that on you. Right before state,” You said, your voice heavy, like it had taken you an hour to push the words out. “I shouldn’t have— I should’ve waited.”

Lottie blinked. “Waited for what?”

You shrugged, looking down at your chipped nail polish. “I don’t know. After the season. After you’re crowned the soccer queen of New Jersey. After things don’t feel so… huge for you.”

Lottie’s eyebrows knit. “Y/N, you could’ve come to me any time. You can come to me any time.”

“I know, but it’s not just about that.” You looked up, your eyes dark and tired but clear. “You’re like one of the best players on that team. Everyone knows it. What you and the girls are doing on that field this year? It’s fucking incredible. Better than last year. You’ve worked your ass off and what you bring to that team has helped carried them through every brutal practice and every close game, and I don’t want… I don’t want my mess to get in the way of what you’ve earned.”

Lottie’s mouth parted, caught somewhere between surprise and heartbreak.

“You deserve to walk into that championship game with your head held high,” you continued. “Not worrying about me or hiding my bruises or figuring out how to squeeze me into your already overloaded brain. I just— I see you, Lottie. I see how hard you’re trying. And you’re so good. You’re so fucking good.”

Lottie’s breath caught.

She blinked fast, but the tears came anyway, welling at the corners of her eyes before one spilled down her cheek. She wiped it quickly with her sleeve, but you saw. And Lottie didn’t try to hide after that.

“No one’s ever said that to me like that before,” Lottie whispered.

You offered a soft, small smile. “That’s stupid. They should.”

Lottie leaned into you, resting her head on your shoulder. You wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. And maybe that’s what love looked like, not a grand gesture, not a kiss in the rain. Just holding each other when the world got too loud. Just seeing each other clearly, even through the cracks.

[celli-ohs]

i'll wait here tomorrow

pairing: choi soobin x reader

genre: collegeau!, parenthoodau!, angst, nsfw, fluff

previous: and then i'll leave without a trace

synopsis:from the moment you two made eye contact he hasn't been the same. it's like you've got him completely under your spell, not that he was complaining. when he wants to be more than a stranger in your bed you push him further away. choi soobin has what it takes to be your lover and more, he's sure of it. but after all he's done for you, was it worth all the pain and frustration?

word count: 17.3k

warnings: mentions of drinking alcohol, intoxication, foul language, stds and other sexual diseases, depression, parenting struggles, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex while inebriated, voyeurism, sex while pregnant, oral sex (m&f receiving), and breeding kink

playlist: i'll wait here tomorrow

taglist: @lesbiansforseonghwa @boobs4soobs @feet4liferss @jungmeowz @sooblogsstuff @soobinieswife @run2min @satoruismo @whoisgami @walmartshopper00 @thyunzzn @starlightwoo @w0nderfulb1iss @apmcake @tearfulpotatozuri @soobinz-wife @beomgyusluver @soobinslvr13 @hyunj00 @hyeoniemoon @akiyollyllyell @binvhs @jjhmk @soobsfairy444 @mey-archive @soobmeongie @kexiksexik @giegiemon @angelgraphica @yamamasjumpercables @imnotsureokay @sanscupid @cami-martinie-blog @hanamiwa1414 @mikitaxt @lostgirlysstuff @lunaryoongie

note: tada! the long awaited part two of atilwat has arrived! I'm very happy with how this came out, i've been grueling over this fic forever now and i can confidently say this and atilwat are my magnum opus of 2025!! (also this is not proof read sorry) i hope you guys enjoy it, it's a bit long so take some time to read! also p.s. today is my birthday! i've been trying hard to release this on time, i wanted to celebrate with this lmao. but thank you for all the support an love towards this series, i really appreciate everyone who thugged it out with me bc ngl i was going through it with school and work, which really affected my writing time and abilities. but we made it!! let's go! cheers and happy reading!!

Soobin doesn’t know where he’s going. He’s been driving down various roads for how long now. He just knows he needs to get away from you.

Was he being immature? Rude? Irresponsible? Yes, but so were you.

He’d just confessed his undying love for you, expressing how you mean the world and more to him, and all you did was dismiss him. You lied straight to his face.

While he was usually level-headed, like any normal person he has a breaking point. And today was that day.

Without much of a thought, his feet took him outside and into his car, and Soobin began to drive.

It’s been 20 minutes since he left the apartment. He contemplates turning around.

But as he stops at a red light he closes his eyes and as if it’s been burned into his retinas, he sees your crying face. You’re shaking your head as you refuse to face him. 

“No I don’t,” You whisper.

The sound of your voice echoes inside his brain, it's haunting.

The car behind him honks, and Soobin’s eyes shoot open. The light is green now.

He begins driving again, farther and farther away.

Maybe this was for the best, he thinks to himself. He’s been entranced by you the moment you two first locked eyes, this could be him finally waking up from the illusion you presented him.

Another 45 minutes later Soobin pulls into the parking garage of his sister’s apartment complex, putting his car into park and turning off the ignition. 

He noticed during his drive that the sky was pitch black, not a single star up above.

Soobin can’t even bring himself to leave the car. He sits in the driver’s seat, quiet and alone. And all he can think about is how you’ve made a permanent home in his heavy heart.

With a sigh, he closes his eyes and leans back into his seat, jaw clenched as he tries to figure out where it all went wrong.

Wedding bells.

That's the first thing Soobin hears when you two make eye contact for the first time. They’re loud, rattling his brain. Or maybe that was just the music blasting from the speaker right by his ears.

He’s currently forced up against the wall of some random’s living room, gripping his red solo cup of Sprite for dear life, all alone. 

Yeonjun has ditched him to lock himself in a vacant room with a girl he just met. Taehyun and Beomgyu are stoned out on the balcony, and Kai’s thighs are currently a comfy seat for a pretty little freshman with bleach blonde hair.

And Soobin was pulled into this mess to be the designated driver.

He’s in an uninteresting conversation with a couple of classmates he kinda knew when his eyes linger to observe the crowd. 

He’s taller than 98% of the people here, (the other 2% were getting their dicks wet) so it immediately catches his eyes when he notices someone the same height as him, maybe even taller.

It takes him a second but he realizes you’re in fact not taller than him, but instead you’re sitting on the kitchen counter surrounded by friends.

Your side profile seems to glow as you’re turned away from the yellow ray of the ceiling light of the kitchen. You’re in nothing but a short denim skirt and a floral hand tied halter top. Your hair flows down your back in waves as you tuck a lock behind your ear. 

He’s so busy admiring you, he doesn’t realize you’ve turned away from your conversation with your friends and caught him in the act. 

Your eyes are intense, even in the dimly lit room. It’s like you can read his thoughts, his soul, his desires. Pair that with your plump and juicy lips seducing him, your messy hair framing your face.

One look from you and Soobin is sold.

He feels his heart begin to race, his cheeks heating up it’s almost painful. His hands are sweaty and his throat closes up. He has to look away, but his eyes find their way back to you. 

You’re unmoving, gaze trained on him like a lioness on a hunt for her prey.

Soobin chugs his soda, and for the sake of his life he excuses himself from his acquaintances, and hurriedly rushes down the hall to the bathroom. 

After forcing a couple out, he leans against the bathroom counter with his head in his hands. There’s only one thing on his mind and it’s shaped identically to you, the mysterious girl sitting on the kitchen counter.

Soobin looks at himself in the mirror, yet he can’t since it’s covered in watermarks and slightly scratched in the center. But he looks at his reflection regardless, trying to control himself. Even he’s never seen himself look this… disturbed. With a sigh and scratch of the head, he stands back up.

Was there such a thing as love at first sight?

The look of fear, confusion, and surprise is apparent on your face as you wake up. Soobin didn’t expect you to remember last night, mainly because he had little memory of the events that led to this moment as well. But seeing your expression harden at the sight of him had his stomach turning in unpleasant ways.

He can’t seem to pinpoint the reason for your reaction though. Maybe it’s because you were hungover, maybe you didn’t want him here, or maybe it’s because you’ve caught him in the act of trying to leave. He’d already slipped on his shirt. 

You suddenly begin to cough and turn away, trying to get your throat under control.

He doesn’t know why, but Soobin waits for you to stop, there’s an inkling of worry building inside him as your coughs begin to subside. 

“Fuck, my throat is so dry,” You croak, voice crackly as you were fresh from sleep. Soobin’s head swivels away before you turn back around, unable to even look in your general direction.

He reaches over and picks up his pants from the floor and quickly pulls them on. He glances at you, your attention is now on your blankets as you rub the sleep from your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry,” He sputters out, unaware he’s even apologized until you look up at him in surprise. You blink, likely processing this information. 

“Why?” You ask him. You’re hugging your blanket protectively against your chest, your hair is sticking out in random directions, and you still have remnants of last night’s makeup on your face.

Despite all of this, your eyes still hold the same intensity from last night. Pair that with the warm bright sun peeking through your window and the softness of your sheets. It’s a view that Soobin never imagined he’d witness, a juxtaposition to yesterday’s setting, yet his heartbeat speeds up nonetheless.

“For what happened. It’s a little weird, don’t you think?” Soobin shuffles in his place. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as you both are stuck in silence. He waits for your answer patiently.

You suddenly scoff, a smirk lacing your lips as you run a hand through your messy hair. “Is this your way of telling me you gave me something?”

Just like that, Soobin's calm facade crumbles. “No! Oh God, no!” He immediately shakes his head, like an excited dog’s tail. Is that what he made it seem like?! Soobin was clean- he was sure of it. He wasn’t the type to sleep around, and he went to every yearly check up-

Your laughter has him quickly realizing this was a joke.

 “I’m joking,” You chuckle, lips curved up in a smile. Soobin sighs, his stress levels lowering. As you giggle to yourself, Soobin quietly watches as he finishes pulling on his socks. You have a pretty smile, and an even prettier laugh.

You look up at him again from your spot on the bed, and Soobin swears his heart skips a beat, a single smile from you could heal all of his problems.

“Don’t take what happened last night too seriously, it’s not like we’re dating or anything.”

Those words specifically have Soobin’s fantasy disappearing faster than a plume of smoke. 

The air suddenly grows stiff and stale, it’s like time has suddenly stopped and trapped him inside of your room.

He’s ashamed to have even thought he had a chance with someone like you. Of course, he was nothing but a good fuck to have around. You could have anyone, you’d probably pick someone more entertaining and social than himself. To you, this was simple fun.

So Soobin just nods, grabbing his wallet and keys off the floor and excuses himself.

“Wait, you slept with L/n Y/n?!” Beomgyu sounds flabbergasted as Soobin takes a giant bite of his pizza. He nods innocently as he chews.

His friends all look at one another. It was rare for Soobin to have romantic feelings for someone, even rarer for him to date, but to sleep with a complete stranger? That was practically unheard of.

“Was she good?” Taehyun asks shamelessly, he leans over the table, wanting to hear every detail. Soobin shrugs. “No idea, I can’t remember a thing.” His friends groan, disappointed and annoyed. 

“Then how do you know you guys even slept together?” Beomgyu argues, stealing some of Yeonjun’s french fries. “I mean I woke up in her bed, bare ass naked, I’m pretty sure we fucked.” Soobin scoffs before he takes a sip of his soda.

“Or! You two went to sleep and later got really hot so you both stripped and slept naked?” Kai suggested. “Yeah, like that’d be possible.” Yeonjun chews with his mouth open.

Soobin rolls his eyes. “Can we stop talking about this? It was a one time thing, she made that very clear.” He sounds almost sulky as he says this, taking another bite.

His friends shrug and change the subject back to their original topic: how Beomgyu ended up almost getting arrested last night.

Soobin wasn’t exactly following along with his best friend’s grandiose story. If he was being honest, he didn’t know your name until today. His friends had obviously figured out Soobin had ditched his position as DD that night, but had no idea as to why.

When he revealed the reason, all he had to do was describe you for the boys to immediately know who you were.

Apparently you were one of the best friends of Yu Jimin, Lee Heeseung’s ex and current girlfriend to Shin Ryujin. You didn’t necessarily have a reputation, but you were known to have a big personality and lots of friends, aka the exact opposite of him. You would never in a million chances hang out with someone the likes of Soobin.

As he’s lost in thought mindlessly eating, he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls it out to see an unknown number calling. He reads over the contact, it seems familiar.

“Who is it?” Kai asks. Soobin shrugs, answering it. “Hello?” He clears his throat.

“Hey, is this Soobin’s number?”

The sound of your voice has him standing straight up at the table, knocking his chair over in the process. It’s so abrupt he causes Yeonjun to jump in his seat.

“Y-Yes, yeah this is him,” He prays he doesn’t sound stupid. You're quiet on the other line, as if you’re thinking. He hears you hum, there’s some shuffling.

“It’s Y/n. Do you think you could spare me a minute?”

Soobin could spare you more than a minute. He could spare you an hour, a day, a week, the rest of his life if you wanted. Of course if it meant he got to see you like this.

Your tight little crop top is now pulled up over your breasts, your panties pushed to the side as Soobin’s raw cock slips in and out of your heat like a mad man. You lay underneath him with your legs wide open, moaning as you grip his sheets, eyes fully rolled back. 

What started as a simple conversation about last week ended with you both fucking like two dogs in heat.

“Harder,” You moan, eyes blown out as you selfishly cry for a release. Soobin does as he’s told, because right now with the way you look under him, he’d be a fool to not listen.

“Kiss me.” You order again, and Soobin dives in, snatching your lips in a tantalizing sloppy kiss. You’re so soft, warm and inviting, he can’t resist you at all. It’s like he’s been put under a spell the second you entered his life.

He feels you clenching around him and Soobin lets out a whine, how the hell did he spend an entire night with you and now he can’t even last 10 minutes?!

He doesn’t get the chance to figure out the answer, because you suddenly push him away.

Immediately Soobin begins to panic.

“W-What- Why’re you-” He’s cut off when you push him against the mattress, your hands dance their way to his hard yearning dick, and you begin to tease him. 

“How does a quiet guy like you have such a big fucking cock?” You mutter as you begin to pepper kisses across his face. Your question has Soobin feeling both embarrassed and proud. He thought he was pretty average.

“I- didn’t know- ah!” Soobin gasps when you delicately run a finger over his tip. The feeling of you leaning over him, your chest pressed against his, your legs tangled together, and your soft gentle hands rubbing his hard on, Soobin can’t think straight. 

You distract him even further by littering his neck with hickeys, earning more and more soft whimpers from him. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Soobin grunts, eyes closed shut as you jerk him off. His announcement has you sitting up again, your hand moving faster and faster.

“Cum for me baby,” You urged, your voice so sweet and alluring. He feels you kiss his tip and that completely sends him over the edge. 

Soobin can feel his body shake as he cums, he’s out of breath and as he comes down from his high, you’re still sucking his cock. 

His chest is rising and falling dramatically as he finally opens his eyes to take a peek at you.

You’re looking up at him with those innocent eyes, tongue tracing the length of his softening dick. You pause and lick your lips, before asking him a simple question.

“My turn?”

Everything about you has Soobin in pure awe. From the gentle curves of your body to the fine details of your soft eyelashes, he observes you as you sleep soundly in his arms. 

You two were currently cuddling in his bed, you’re smushed against his side while he cradles you like a doll.

Well, it was more like you passed out from exhaustion after Soobin pounded you for almost 2 hours straight to be exact.

But you look absolutely too adorable right now for Soobin to not admire you. Your little snores make him smile, and the way you fit perfectly into his favorite hoodie has his heart fluttering. 

He’s no longer watching TV, but he doesn’t care because he’s already seen the entire series twice now. All of his attention is focused solely on you. 

It’s not very often he gets to see you like this.

Usually after spending time together, you had a habit of either leaving as soon as possible or kicking him out. This would mark the first time you ever spent actual time with him. 

In a peculiar way, Soobin finds it entertaining to see you act so docile and vulnerable with him. It’s an odd juxtaposition to how you act in bed: bratty and bossy. 

You like to be manhandled, but always have something to say to him. Whether it be instructing him how to eat you out, telling him to shut up, and most often, teasing him to the edge, you always knew how to push his buttons. 

Soobin is unfortunately a pushover. He lets you do all these things in the hopes of you returning his budding feelings. 

Sure during sex he can be dominant if he wants, but really it’s because he knows you want it too. Your eyes are so telling. He can read you like an open book with a single look. 

So he also knows that you have no interest in him other than sex.

He hasn’t found the courage to ask you out on a real date yet, and his friends are horrible at convincing him that you’d say yes. 

You suddenly sigh and turn to lay on your back, head still tilted in his direction.

Soobin watches you as your breath regulates again, you’re still deep in your sleep. He brushes a stray hair out of your face and decides to get some rest too, finally closing his eyes. 

He dreams of you and wakes up hours later to an empty bed and his favorite hoodie missing.

Soobin doesn’t know exactly what entails in being someone’s fuck buddy. His friends have way more experience than him when it comes to doing these kinds of things, but this? No one ever warned him about this.

You assured Soobin that you two wouldn’t get caught, that no one would even know. And of course he listened, he trusted you. But when you pulled aside your bikini bottoms, sitting atop him and his hard cock, Soobin began to realize why you were insistent on doing this.

The thrill of others catching you two in the heat of the moment, it was enough to have him bucking his hips up into your cunt like a madman.

The water in the hot tub was already erupting with bubbles, add splashing of water from you bouncing on his cock and you had created a nasty sea storm. 

Your lips are locked onto Soobin’s your hair is wet and stuck to your skin, but neither of you could care less.

Soobin can’t believe it, your pussy was hotter and wetter than the actual jacuzzi, and he might actually lose his mind if you kept teasing him like this.

He can feel your erect nipple piercing through your thin bikini top, pressed against his chest. You’re whining against his mouth as you can’t seem to stop the movement of your hips.

His lips travel down to your exposed neck, and he suddenly decides he must cover you in marks. You’re moaning so loud right into his ear, it’s true music.

“Someone’s gonna hear you,” Soobin murmurs, as if he wasn’t also panting like a dog. “Why, you want them to join?” You laugh as you grind yourself on top of him. 

He doesn’t take your joke lightly, grabbing you by the ass cheeks as he slams you down harder onto his cock.

You have to bite your tongue to shut up, your face contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“No one gets to see you like this, only want you wet and pretty for me,” He growls into your ear, his jealousy rising at the mere thought of having to share you.

He’d rather consume you whole than even let a sliver of you be taken from him. And you let him devour you with no resistance.

u free tmrw? let’s grab coffee need to talk

Soobin reads your message over and over again as he sits in his car in the parking lot of the cafe you suggested.

He’d arrived a couple of minutes earlier than the time you agreed on, he was so worried that traffic would set him back that he left 15 minutes early. 

Luckily for him, there was no traffic, unluckily he didn’t want to seem too desperate so now he’s hiding out in his car.

But right now his heart is racing, his fantasy has turned into a reality. He was finally going on his first date with you. Granted, he didn’t get to ask you out like he’d originally planned, but he didn’t mind when you messaged him first. 

As he sits in his car, his attention is stolen by a familiar figure. You’re walking across the street to the cafe, looking gorgeous as ever. You’re in nothing but a simple pair of pants and a hoodie thrown on, your hair is a bit messy from the wind but he thinks you look perfect.

As you disappear from his view as you enter the cafe, Soobin looks down at his own outfit, suddenly feeling overdressed. Would you be able to tell he was excited?

He fiddles with his glasses, cleaning the lenses and adjusting them as they sit on his nose. After a few more minutes of stalling, Soobin takes a deep breath and exits his car.

Maybe you guys could go for a movie after, or maybe visit the river. He wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could.

Soobin slows to a stop as he approaches the large glass windows of the cafe to peek at you from outside. You’re sitting at a table tucked in the corner.

Leaning against your seat, you busy yourself by sipping your mug and looking around the cozy interior of the cafe. The warm lighting is so soft against the cold gray sky outside.

Snapping back into reality, Soobin builds the courage to finally walk to the front door. He opens it and steps inside, he’s greeted by the warm air and strong, dense smell of coffee. He barely hears the doorbell ring as he starts making his way towards you, wearing a shy smile and his heart on his sleeve.

Soobin notices your knees are facing the passenger door as he drives you back to your apartment. 

Actually, your entire body is leaning away from him, as if trying to jump out of the car as soon as possible.

Soobin holds in a sigh as he tries to focus on the road ahead, but it’s hard when he’s trying not to have a mental breakdown. All because just one hour ago you’d made a confession: you were pregnant with his child. 

You’d dropped the bomb at the cafe, successfully crumbling all of Soobin’s expectations.

The music plays softly in the background and fills the void as you two drive in silence. But there’s a lump in Soobin’s throat that is fighting to get out. He wants to say something, needs to.

He promised you he’d be there for you, that he’d be a helping hand. Soobin didn’t need to read your eyes to know you didn’t believe him. And if he were being honest, Soobin wasn’t sure if he could believe himself either. 

A baby. His baby.

There was so much that came with bringing life into the world, and as a college student, Soobin wasn’t sure if he was ready for that.

He’s not even sure why he agreed to support you if he were honest. You just looked so scared, so vulnerable, he couldn’t bear to see you so helpless.

You said you would give the baby up for adoption upon giving birth, which meant no real responsibilities for the two of you, but the fear and guilt still weighed in the air.

Your apartment couldn’t arrive fast enough. Soobin slowly pulls into the lot, putting his car in park in an empty space. You quickly unbuckle your seatbelt and jump out of the passenger side before Soobin can even reach for his buckle. 

“Wait-” He’s barely able to catch the sleeve in time, forcing you to stop and look back at him. 

You two don’t say anything, as if you were scared that speaking would make everything worse. The words pile up in his mouth, Soobin can only stare at you. His hand is shaking as his fingers tightly grip the thick cotton material of your hoodie. 

You look panicked. His stomach drops.

“I-I’ll call you, yeah?” He stumbles over his words as he finally lets go of you. His hand falls to your seat. You just nod and your arm resumes your side, you step out of the car.

He watches from the comfort of his car as you hurry inside. You don’t turn around to wave goodbye.

Not that you ever did before.

It takes longer than expected for Soobin to actually call you back, but three weeks later you’re running out of Soobin’s apartment in angry tears.

And he’s stuck standing at the bathroom door holding a bottle of water in shock.

All he’d done was tap you on the shoulder to hand you the water, and you slapped him away before dashing out the front door.

He breaks out of his daze and finally shuffles to the door, its gaping wide open.

Soobin’s apartment building was massive, a total of 15 floors with more than 30 rooms each. You could be anywhere, but he ventures down to the garage anyways.

There he finds you crying to yourself as you sit in your car, all in your lonesome.

He watches from a distance for a while as he contemplates whether or not to go and comfort you. But ultimately he feels guilty, because you wouldn’t be crying if it weren’t for him.

Had you never met Soobin, you might be living an entirely different life right now.

You wouldn’t be experiencing constant nausea and pain. You wouldn’t have moved out of your apartment into his. 

You wouldn’t be pregnant.

Soobin swallows thickly and sluggishly makes his way back to the elevator. He rides it all the way back to his floor and he quietly reenters his apartment.

The water bottle sits alone on the kitchen counter unopened. He ignores it and sits on his sofa with his head in his hands. The only thing on Soobin’s mind is you.

What were you thinking right now? How could he comfort you, make you feel better? You’ve suffered so much, the least he could do is make the situation a little more bearable. 

As Soobin tries to think of an answer, he soon realizes he doesn’t have one because of one simple reason: He doesn’t actually know you.

He has no idea what you like and dislike, how you think, how you like to be comforted. You’re the idol of his affection, the one person who could make him fall to his knees with a single plea, yet you’re also unfamiliar and unwilling. An extreme case of one-sided love.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here, but eventually there’s a knock at the front door. Soobin is slow to get up and answer it.

You stare up at him with red eyes and pouty lips. Even when you cried you were pretty, it was baffling.

He steps to the side and you come in, your entire demeanor has shifted to someone who is full of shame. It’s heart wrenching to watch.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You cough out, refusing to make eye contact. You’re focused on the floor, shoulders slumped as your hair hides your face from him. Soobin notices the sleeves of your shirt are still stained with your tears.

Instead of accepting your apology with words, Soobin leans down and tilts your head up to look up at him. There’s something about your flushed face and teary eyes that makes him feel territorial.

He enraptures you into a soft kiss, one that quickly evolves into a kiss of sloppy hunger. He pulls you down the hall and into his bedroom, hands slipping underneath your shirt to feel the heat of your skin. 

Because Soobin does know one thing about you, and that’s how to make you feel good.

Soobin wakes up to your hair in his face. Your back is pressed against his chest as he has his arms thrown over your figure. His nose is nestled into the crook of your neck, he can hear your gentle snores as he struggles to open his eyes. 

He must have not closed his curtains all the way last night, because the morning sun peaks through and shines right into his eye.

WIth a groan, Soobin rolls over and checks the time on his phone. It's 7:37 am. He has a class at 8:10. It takes him 12 minutes to drive to school, 9 on a good day with no traffic. He should probably get out of bed and get dressed so he could leave right about now, but the warm heat of your body underneath his blankets is much too alluring right now. 

So instead of getting ready, Soobin decides he can skip a lecture for today and snuggles back into bed with you. He could probably beg Wooyoung later for his notes.

Just as he’s about to fall back asleep you begin to rustle around, conveniently rubbing against him. Your movements actually cause Soobin to hold his breath. His eyes shoot open and he lies beside you frozen. 

You calm down and find a comfortable position, but that does nothing for Soobin’s half hard dick poking at your behind.

A part of him wants to wake you up, just so he could indulge in himself, the other knows you’ve also woken up three times in the middle of last night to either pee or puke. 

So Soobin decides the best thing to do is to torture himself and stay as still as humanly possible so that you wouldn’t notice, and hopely by the time you wake up for work his morning wood is gone.

But again, things never go as planned.

Soobin is busy trying to distract himself by imagining all of the least attractive things he can think of when he suddenly lets out a strangled moan.

You’re rubbing him. With your hand. You were awake.

“W-Wait,” He hiccups, turning you around so you can face him. You still look sleepy, but you smirk at him nonetheless.

“Should I call out today? Hmm?” You hum, your hand is now fully in his boxers, your thumb running over the head of his cock.

“Fuck yes please,” Soobin exhales as he closes his eyes. He feels you shift, then you tug at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them off.

You sit up and stretch your arms before climbing on top of him, sitting atop his hardening cock. Soobin sucks in a breath, God he loves being engulfed in you.

You rock your hips slowly, finding a comfortable rhythm for this lazy morning. You both don’t bother to fully undress, just enjoying the moment together.

He’s so consumed by his own sensual pleasure, Soobin doesn’t realize you had reached over and grabbed your phone from your nightstand until you start to speak.

“Hi, can I speak to the manager?” You ask, slightly out of breath. You’re still on top of him, hips bobbing up and down as you talk to your management on the phone. 

“Yeah, I can’t come in today, feeling sick again.” You moan, one of your hands falling onto Soobin’s chest. His heart is beating rapidly, his lust growing by the second.

Your movements slow, making him frustrated. Your attention should be on him. “-have enough hours to co-over!” You gasp as Soobin lifts you slightly, holding you by the hips so he can take control, thrusting into you hungrily. 

“I-I’m fine! Just got a really bad cramp.” You lie, glaring at Soobin. He only scoffs, he knows you like it, you wouldn’t be clenching around him like a vice if you didn’t.

You quickly hang up the phone, tossing it to the side. “You sound so hot when you lie, did you know that?” Soobin teases as he lets you resume control.

“Shut up and fuck me already,” You groan. He smirks, proceeding to flip you over so you lay on your back.

You two share a soft and sweet kiss, tongues meshing together as he slowly fucks himself deeper into your cunt. 

“Always so needy,” He jokes, but you don’t hear him, basking in the pleasure.

The blank page on his screen is blinding. His cursor blinks at him, waiting for him to begin typing. But the words never come, because how can Soobin even write an essay when all he can’t think about is this morning.

Just hours ago you and Soobin were sitting in the doctor’s office, getting your first ultrasound. The little pea-sized dot in your tummy was his baby.

“Actually,” Your doctor clears her throat. “You’re just far along enough that we can try and see if we can detect the baby’s heartbeat.” 

Soobin’s eyes go wide as she moves the transducer around your gelled belly. He’s laser focused on the screen trying to search for the little blob the doctor referred to as your baby.

“Here we are,” Your doctor hums as she slows to a stop. Soobin holds his breath, he doesn’t realise he’s leaning closer to the screen. The entire room is in complete silence, the anticipation has his stomach twisting. 

Then, from the scratchy low quality speaker of the computer screen, out bellows a single thump. And then another. And another. It’s fast yet regular, it feels familiar to Soobin.

“Oh my god,” He whispers, it’s barely audible, but the doctor hears and it makes her chuckle. “Isn’t it unreal?” She asks him, and Soobin can only nod, eyes still stuck on the screen.

He knew you were pregnant, but to hear the baby’s actual heart, it was so- Soobin whips his head around to you.

He doesn’t know what to expect with your reaction, but he never really expected to see you with your eyes closed shut and wearing a frown of discomfort.

And now he’s sitting at his tiny dining room table, trying to focus as he has to write about how minimum wage affects the economic state of the nation and how the problem of poverty can be solved. But how can he when he can’t get the look of pain on your face out of his head?

He’s dazed when you come waltzing in. You changed out of your old outfit into something more comfortable: yoga pants and his sweatshirt.  

“I’m going to work, want me to pick up dinner?” You ask, opening the fridge to grab a cup of juice. But Soobin doesn’t answer, his eyes are glazed over. “Soobin?” You ask, still digging through the fridge.

“Soobin, hey!” You snap your fingers in front of his face and he magically comes back to reality.

“Huh? Sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Are you okay?” You ask, looking at him concerned. “Yeah, just tired.” He lies, rubbing the back of his neck. You step back and nod slowly.

“Okay, well did you want me to pick up dinner tonight?” You ask again, and this time he responds.

“Sure, whatever you feel like.” He complies, looking back at his blank screen. You watch him, confused but also curious. He starts to type slowly, but ends up deleting it all. His head ends up in his hands as he struggles to even form a sentence. 

“I’m gonna get going, okay? See you later.” You say. Soobin grunts you goodbye, just as you lean over and ruffle his hair. His head shoots up, eyes wide as you giggle to yourself and leave with a mischievous smile.

You shut the front door as you leave and Soobin is left alone, his cursor still blinking against the blank sheet of paper. At this rate he’s never gonna pass his class.

With a sigh he slumps in his seat. He can’t get the image of the ultrasound out of his head.

It’s then that he remembers: the doctor gave you photos of the ultrasound. Last he saw the photos, you were holding them in your hand as he drove you two home. Where did you put it?!

Soobin soon finds himself digging around the bedroom, hoping you hadn’t thrown the photos away or taken them with you. But luckily for him, you’d tucked the strip of photos into the back of your nightstand drawer. 

It was slightly bent, but he smoothed it over, his thumb grazing over the familiar little fuzzy white dot in the sea of black.

He makes his way back to the kitchen, holding the photos gently as he sits back down at the table. His document is still blank, but Soobin doesn’t care and he opens a new tab. He begins to type immediately:

What to expect when pregnant?

“So! What was it that you wanted to talk about?”

Soobin finds it hard to breathe at the moment as he squirms in his chair. Sitting across from him, his boss Jung Hoseok smiles unknowingly.

“You know, I’m actually surprised you asked to speak to me personally. You’re a diligent worker Soobin, I’m loving your results.” Hoseok grins as he overlooks a file on his desk. “Keep up the good work and I’m willing to promote you from assistant manager to manager. Maybe even the branch manager!” He chuckles as he tosses the file to the side.

Soobin clears his throat, sitting up straight. “Actually sir, that relates to what-” “Oh come on Soobin! You don’t have to call me that here, we’ve known each other long enough. Call me by my first name.” Hoseok interrupts.

Soobin is sweating. Hoseok’s good mood was making him nervous. “Well, uh, Hoseok. Sir.” His mouth feels numb as he repeats his name, but the other man gets a good laugh out of it. 

“I wanted to talk to you about my position actually.” Immediately his boss’ smile falls. The air grows thick and it’s like there’s a loud buzzing noise filling the room. 

“What exactly are you telling me Soobin?” Hoseok’s eyes are dark, they scare him. Soobin has to look away, focusing his attention on the wall behind him as he forces the words out of his lips.

“I-I-I’m ex-expecting.” His voice is small, it’s like he’s whimpering. Immediately Soobin’s eyes meet the ground.

For a couple of seconds, no one moves. His head remains slumped, his hands shaking as they rest on his knees. Then his boss adjusts his seat and sighs. 

“... Expecting what? Am I missing something here?”

Soobin whips his head up in surprise, he actually raises a brow at Hoseok, looking at him like he’s lost his mind. His boss is equally confused.

“I’m expecting… a baby, Hoseok.” He speaks slowly this time, but by the time he finishes his sentence, Hoseok’s signature smile returns. 

“Really?! Oh my, congratulations! And here I thought you were resigning! I would’ve really thrown a fit if you tried leaving haha!” He laughs hysterically, and Soobin finally loosens up.

“Uh, thank you. I just wanted to see if I could request more hours or ask for a promotion of some sort.” Soobin tries to shrug his worries off. “Oh yeah, sure sure. I’ll talk to Seokjin and Yoongi, I’m sure we can figure something out.” Hoseok waves him off.

“Now tell me, when is your baby due? Boy or girl? Do we have any names picked out yet?” Hoseok leaned over his desk as if he wanted to gossip. 

If he were being honest, he believed this meeting to go a lot rougher. Hoseok was notorious for being a dedicated and hard worker who pursued professional perfection like a rocket. Soobin half expected to get demoted, or worse, fired.

But there was a spark of excitement in his boss’ eyes that was shocking. It seemed like he had a soft spot for children, lucky for Soobin.

“In August, it’s still too early so we don’t know the gender yet. I’m not sure about any names.” Soobin answers. 

“But thank you, really. My partner's been really sick recently. She hasn’t been able to go to school or work much. I don’t want her to worry about our finances right now on top of the baby.” He admits.

Just last week you came home crying angry tears. You confessed your manager decided to reprimand you for all of your call outs by giving your shifts away to other coworkers. “We’ll be okay,” He patted your back as you cried into his shoulder that night. Soobin’s sad attempts to comfort you did nothing to soothe your wails. Hearing your frustrations led him to wanting to do better for you.

Hoseok’s smile softens. “Oh I completely understand. My sister was always tired or in pain when she was pregnant. I tried to be helpful when I visited her. I can’t imagine what your girlfriend is going through.”

Girlfriend. That word makes his cheeks hot.

“Y-Yeah, I really want to relieve her stress in any way I can.” Soobin coughs.

Hoseok suddenly claps his hands. “Well that settles it! I’ll talk to the guys, we’ll get back to you as soon as possible about this.” He smiles as he stands, signaling for Soobin to be on his way as well.

“Thank you sir, I’m really, really grateful.” Soobin tries his best to convey his thanks. “Don’t mention it! Just invite me to the baby shower,” Hoseok winks as he leads Soobin out of his office.

Soobin wasn’t even sure if you wanted a baby shower, given your circumstance, but he nods anyway. “Yes, of course.” He says before turning around to head back to his desk.

“Oh! Soobin!” Hoseok calls out, and he backtracks. “Yes?”

Hoseok pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t forget to talk to HR and apply for paternity leave, you won’t want to miss out on special quality time with your little one.”

You’re so quiet, Soobin has to gently kick your leg to get you to talk.

“S-Sorry! What was the question?” You stutter, laughing at yourself in embarrassment as you try to smile your pain away. 

“What are you going to school for my dear?” Soobin’s mom asks you from across the table. She has a sweet smile on her face as she holds her mug of tea.

As you nervously explain your career path to his parents, Soobin watches intently, sitting next to you. 

Today was the day he introduced you to his parents. And tell them about your pregnancy.

If anything, Soobin should be the one who is nervous. His stomach feels like it might collapse on itself, and he can’t stand up properly without gripping onto something for stability.

The entire 30 minute drive was so nerve wracking, that Soobin actually had to pull over and calm himself down for 10 minutes. 

He shifts in his seat and makes eye contact with you. You give him a sheepish smile which oddly comforts him. He guessed he liked knowing you were also anxious. 

“So remind me again how long you guys have been dating? His last girlfriend lasted 5 months,” His dad jokes, laughing loudly. 

Soobin cuts in before his parents can say anything else embarrassing. “Since August, so about two months? Almost three.” He lies. You laugh awkwardly as you nod in agreement.

You and Soobin decided it’d be best to let his parents assume you two were dating. That way they’d feel less awkward about the pregnancy, but also so that they wouldn’t react like your parents, whom you’d visited just two weeks.

You two haven’t exactly figured out what to tell his parents after birth, but he assumed you two would decide eventually.

“Oh that’s so nice! I’m so glad Soobin and you are getting along so well.” His mom smiles and stands up. She pinched Soobin’s cheek, making him whine, before walking to the kitchen.

“Now, who’s hungry? I’ve made some mandu-guk, kimchi, and japchae. I also grilled some meat and made spicy pork!” 

She sets the plates of food out, everything looks appetizing. But your face contorts at the strong scents, and you quickly excuse yourself to the bathroom.

“Sorry, uh, she really has to pee I guess.” Soobin laughs. His parents stare at him with an unsure expression. “Soobin, you never really bring your girlfriends to visit us. Are you sure this girl is the one? She seems awkward and stiff.” His dad admits.

“I know, just trust me.” He winces. “I mean she barely speaks to us! I don’t know if I can trust my baby with someone who can’t even hold a conversation with your father and I.” His mom sighs.

“She’s just nervous, she’s usually not like this.” Soobin defends you. Hearing his own parents nitpick at you begins to make his blood boil, slowly forgetting his nerves.

“And now she won’t eat your mother’s cooking? Now that’s just plain rude!” His dad exclaims.

Soobin slams a hand on the table, scaring his parents and even himself. 

“Sorry sorry, I’m sorry. We wanted to tell you this later, when she’s ready, but I guess we can’t keep hiding it.” Soobin rubs his hands over his face.

“What is it? Soobin?” His mom sounds worried. Fuck. He wishes you were here to help him, but you were probably trying to hide the vomit from your nausea in the bathroom down the hall.

“Don’t tell me you’re in trouble with the law and you’re covering for her.”

“What? No.” Soobin sighs. “Mom, dad. Y/n is pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

The room becomes so silent you can hear the ticking of the clock that hangs in the hallway. And with every tick, Soobin’s heart pounded with fear.

Suddenly he hears a sniffle, and he immediately looks up to find his mom crying. “Mom, please don’t-“

“I’m so happy!” Her voice breaks as her husband leans over to hug her. He gives Soobin the warmest smile. “You’re all grown up, aren’t you?”

Soobin feels his own tears well up in his eyes. He blinks them away, nodding with assurance. “Yeah. I am.”

“You told them?” You step out from the hall looking ashamed and scared. “Mr. and Mrs. Choi, I’m so sorry, I never meant to burden Soobin. I get it if you hate me but please don’t hate him-“

“Y/n, it’s okay.” Soobin smiles at you, and pats your seat for you to sit. 

You look confused, almost in denial. “…It’s okay?” You squeak, your eyes looking at him for approval.

“It’s more than okay.” His dad interjects, wiping a tear. “We’re so blessed! Oh my baby is having a baby!” His mother weeps.

You stand still unable to move your eyes from his joyfully woe parents. Soobin has to stand up and guide you back to your seat. 

“What’d I tell you? It’s okay.” He whispers into your ear, and you finally relax.

He’s staring. A lot. It’s too obvious for anyone to not notice. 

But Soobin can’t find it in him to tear his eyes away from the little stuffed bunny plush stuck in the claw machine. It sat pretty on a little shelf, its light gray fur looked so soft, paired with the plush pink nose, the stuffed animal was unarguably adorable. 

Personally, Soobin didn't really care for any plushies. But he knew you did. When you moved in with him, you created a designated spot on the bed for your favorite little bear. 

And this stuffed bunny was the perfect companion in Soobin’s eyes. So after staring through the glass for a solid five minutes, he finally fishes out some cash out of his wallet and inserts it into the machine. 

It dances alive, corny music playing as lights blinked to the beat. The automated voice instructs him that he has 2 tries to win a prize and cheers him on.

Soobin moves the joy stick around, trying to get the right angles before he hits the button. The claw goes down, and narrowly misses the bunny. He frowns and huffs. This second time he moves the claw a bit to the right. He’s off by a couple centimeters again.

As the claw machine turns off, Soobin quickly pulls out another bill, stuffing it into the machine. It turns on again, repeating the same process. He was determined to win this bunny, even if it meant he’d go broke.

By his 12th try, Soobin is starting to get increasingly frustrated. He’s contemplating sticking his arm through the hole and just snatching the plushy himself. 

“Soobin! Dude, we were supposed to meet at the lobby, what the hell?!” Yeonjun shouts as he and the others approach him.

We’re gonna miss our reservation if we don’t leave right now.” Taehyun reminds them. “Okay, just give me a second,” Soobin waves them off as he tries to use his height to see the best angle. 

“Okay your second is up, let’s go.” Beomgyu says sarcastically, only to earn a cold glare from Soobin. “Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”

He presses the button once more, only to fail another time. He lets out a long and tired grunt, closing his eyes. The bright neon colors of the claw machine were starting to burn his retinas. 

“What’re you trying to get? Let me try,” Kai suddenly speaks up, wiggling his way to the front. Soobin concedes, allowing Kai to pay for his own turn. “The bunny.” He mumbles. Kai only nods and in three swift moves him aligns the claw perfectly, catching the stuffed animal in one try.

“Damn, that was smooth as hell,” Beomgyu laughs. Kai pretends to tip a hat before handing the prized bunny plush to Soobin. He swipes it, looking more glum than he did before.

“What? I thought you wanted it?” Kai asks as they all begin to make their way to the restaurant they reserved. 

“I did. Thanks I guess.” He mutters. Just like he suspected, the plushy was incredibly soft. He hopes you like it.

“I didn’t know you liked plushies too Soobin, when’d you start collecting?” Kai asks enthusiastically. Soobin looks away embarrassed, stuffing a hand into his pocket. “It’s not for me, it’s for Y/n,”

“Bro you are such a simp.” Beomgyu suddenly guffaws. Soobin doesn’t hesitate to punch him in the arm.

“Fuck off,” He growls. “I’m just trying to be nice.” 

“You do know you guys aren’t dating, right?” Taehyun asks, and now Soobin is even more ashamed. “I know we’re not.” 

An awkward silence fills the group. Soobin knows they’re all staring, exchanging looks as he walks ahead of them.

So instead of talking about his feelings, he looks at the stuffed bunny, petting its soft fur. He wonders what your reaction will be. 

Somehow he pulls himself out of his car and into the elevator, going up to the 5th floor. It was late, Dokyung was probably already asleep. His sister and his brother in law might be too. Maybe he should just go back home.

But the thought of facing you again is more painful as time passes.

You and Soobin have been together for 10 months, almost an entire year together, yet you can’t seem to admit you’re in love with him. He’s in denial, he knows you love him.

But what if you really didn’t?

There were multiple times he could point out where you treated him more like a friend or a brother rather than a partner.

You used him constantly, it was painful.

He steps out of the elevator and makes a beeline to his sister’s door. He raises a hand to knock but hesitates.

Was this right? Was it worth it? Was he making a mistake? Soobin cut his sister off after she exposed his ruse, but in the end she had good intentions. He and you were planning on fooling his parents, especially his mother. 

His sister might have been harsh and stern to you, but he also knows that she probably had predicted this exact moment would happen. Her words that freezing night in February were colder than the ice, maybe he should have listened.

Soobin’s hand falls to his side, he’s lost all his confidence. 

How could he face his sister? After all the mistakes he’s made since then, she’d only make him feel worse by bragging about how she was right. It would grind his already shattered heart.

He should just go home and talk to you-

The door to the apartment swings open suddenly, and Soobin comes face to face with his sister. She looks frazzled, her hair is thrown into a messy ponytail, she’s still in her pajamas, but she has a jacket on top. She wears slippers, her purse lays over her shoulder.

But the second she realizes it’s Soobin standing in front of her, she lets out a giant sigh. “Oh my God.” Her voice is shaky, and she immediately pulls him into a tight hug. She then pulls away to grab him by the cheeks, checking him for any signs for injuries or mess before hugging him again.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” She breaks down, crying into his shoulder. Soobin hugs her back, feeling relief for the first time tonight. But he suddenly pulls away, grabbing his older sister by the shoulders.

“What do you mean you’re glad I’m okay?”

Soobin feels a bit relieved learning you were having a boy. He’s only ever babysat Dokyung a handful of times, and the idea of raising a little girl was frightening to him.

But then he’s reminded that you two were not in fact raising a baby, just growing one.

He didn’t have to worry or think about these things, because they would never come to fruition. 

Yet he still fantasizes. 

He goes to bed and dreams of taking his son to the park, going shopping together, and playing around the house.

He sees you in every dream too. Sometimes you’re smiling serenely from afar. Others you’re right there next to him, being a mother looks good on you he likes to think. 

The only disturbing part of his dreams were the fact that he could never actually see the face of his son. Whether it be blurred or he’d be turning away, it’s as if he can never see his face clearly. It bothered him, he was so curious, what would a baby between you and him look like?

As he turns to your napping figure on the couch. You lay on your side, a throw blanket over your legs as you snore gently. You’re so tired you don’t even realize that the Tv is still on, playing the next episode of the show you were watching. 

Soobin quietly pads over to the couch, leaning down to pick up the remote that had fallen to the ground as he turns off the TV. 

He kneels beside you, watching as your chest slowly rises and falls in a rhythmic pattern as you sleep. If he could choose, Soobin would hope that your baby boy would look like you more than him. 

Sure, he understood he was above average when it came to looks, and he’s sure you’d probably want your son to have his height, but Soobin would feel more satisfied knowing he could look at his own son and see you in him. 

You and your soft eyes and pretty smile. Your soothing voice, your healthy hair. Your smooth skin, your wonderful laughter, all of the above he wishes for. 

You suddenly sigh and turn over and Soobin leaps back up to pretend he was never there. You don’t wake though, and he calms down. 

You look so comfortable, the thought of joining you was enticing. Falling into his urges, Soobin lifts the blanket and scoots you over to make room for him. Even though half of his body is hanging off the couch, he hugs you close and closes his eyes.

Just as he’s about to fall asleep, you wiggle yourself around to face him. Soobin opens an eye to find you yawning as you blink yourself awake. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” He mumbles. You only grunt and nod, snuggling into him. You go back to sleep, and as Soobin holds you in his arms, he can only imagine what it’d be like to nap with not only you, but your son.

To hear the word “Dad” come out of his son’s own lips seems like a dream far away.

“Still haven’t told me what all this is for,” Soobin groans as he fishes his dick out of his pants, unzipping his jeans and letting them fall down to the floor.

You ignore him, pulling away from his kiss to sit on the bed, legs wide open and waiting for him. You’re uncharacteristically sweet today, wearing a soft smile and adoration filling your eyes.

“You’re being really nice today,” He smirks, throwing off his shirt before laying you down on the mattress. “Is it because it happens to be a certain someone’s birthday?” He plays dumb.

“I know another way we can celebrate you if you insist,” You tease, pushing him away, but he playfully yanks you back towards him. “I’d rather not,” He murmurs against your lips, capturing you into a kiss. 

Today was Soobin’s birthday, December 5th, and so far he’d argue this was the best birthday he’s had yet. 

This morning you snuck out and bought his favorite pastries from the local bakery down the street for breakfast. When he went to class after you sent him off with a sweet smile and a wave. 

After acing his last final exam, he went straight to work, where his coworkers gifted him a mini cake and a signed card, and even sang him a cheesy birthday song. As soon as he was off the clock his friends whisked him away to go get dinner and drinks.

But all day you’ve been sending him the most risque texts: of you begging for his cock, a photo of your bare ass, an audio of you moaning his name as you touch yourself, and lastly an old video of yours where he had recorded you in the mirror as you rode him in his desk chair. 

Now it’s late at night, he’s slightly drunk, and you’re wearing the prettiest lacy lingerie set he’s ever laid eyes on, with a wet pussy on full display. 

“Happy birthday Soobin,” You whisper as if it’s a secret. He thanks you by stuffing you full of his cock.

Outside the snow falls rather hard than delicately, yet it’s still a beautiful scene to watch from the comfort of his bedroom window.

Soobin yawns. It’s late and practically everyone in the house has retired for the night except for you and him.

Both you and Soobin were spending Christmas with his family this year. He’s just finished laying out the little cot on the ground beside his bed for him to sleep tonight, making it as comfortable as he can. His mother had originally been so worried when she found out you two were going to spend the night.

But Soobin assured her he’d be fine sleeping on the floor for one night, it would have to be done because his twin bed would not fit the both of you, nor would the snow let up enough for him to drive you guys back to the apartment.

Feeling more tired by the second, he sits on his old mattress just as you walk into the room.

There’s something that makes Soobin’s stomach flip as he watches you make yourself comfortable in his childhood room.  

You’re fresh from the shower, drying your hair with your towel as you wear an old large pair of sweats and a long sleeve. Both of them were his. 

“You might want to hurry if you want hot water,” You warn him, standing in front of his mirror. “The water was getting a little cold as I finished.”

Soobin hates cold showers with a passion, but he doesn’t mind suffering from them if it means he gets to see you like this.

So instead of hurrying to the bathroom, he pats the empty space beside him on his old bed for you to sit. You don’t hesitate to plop down next to him, letting him take the towel from your hands as Soobin begins to gently dry your hair for you. 

With your back to him, he thinks your eyes are closed, enjoying the quiet serene moment. That is until you speak up.

“So,” You hum. “When were you going to tell me you have a furry fetish?”

Soobin drops the towel. “What?!”

You raise your hand and point across the room. On his wall was a hung poster of his favorite girl group Kara, the members all posing as each one of them is wearing a variant of animal ears and fuzzy matching gloves.

Soobin physically spins you around to face him, you give him a teasing grin. “I don’t- It’s a poster! I got it for free when I was a kid, leave me alone!” He complains as you begin to laugh. 

As he pouts, you stand to hang your wet towel on his old desk chair. “I’m just joking with you, I know,” You chuckle and stand between sulky Soobin’s legs to pull him into a hug. He gratefully does so, resting his head atop your tummy. You run a hand through his hair, the other one rubs small circles into his back.

Soobin closes his eyes and sighs. He loved being close with you like this, a fantasy he wishes he could live in forever.

“Your nephew’s really cute,” You say, but it’s so quiet it’s practically a whisper.

Soobin hums in agreement, eyes still closed as he listens intently to the sounds of your womb and growing son. “He’s funny too, kept poking my belly earlier.” You giggle. He feels the baby kick as you laugh. 

There’s a new unique sense of comfort and familiarity as you cradle him. 

Soobin cracks his eyes open, taking in the scene: the room he grew up in, lit by the dull yellowing light of his lamp. The quiet hum of the A/C unit blowing warm air throughout the house. Your soft skin and the gentle smell of your santal body wash. It all seems too good to be true.

Your right hand moves from his hand down to cup his chin. You gently guide him to face you, peering up at you like a curious puppy. And to him you’re an angel heaven sent.

“Come on, go shower so we can go to bed.” You say delicately, sweeping his bangs out of his eyes.

Soobin frowns, but stands up anyways. He often forgets how much taller he is compared to you. He doesn’t exactly keep a record of it. But he towers over you, your head tilted up to look at him curiously.

His hand comes up to caress your cheek and he leans down to kiss you.

It’s unlike any other kiss you two have shared, where sex is usually involved and made of raw lust. This kiss was innocent, full of endearment and vulnerability. A simple kiss to convey his true feelings.

You kiss him back with the same vehemence and Soobin feels hopeful.

In January you seem happier, even though you spend your days going to work and doing nothing all day. You barely passed this last semester, all thanks to Soobin’s help, but with your pregnancy progressing you decided to take a break and skip out of qthis upcoming term. 

Soobin notices your new relaxed state quite quickly.

“Uh, whatcha doing there?” He tries to hold his laughter in as he walks up behind the couch. 

You don’t move from your spot, eyes focused on the TV. You spoon yourself another bite of your ice cream, not even paying attention to him. “Eating ice cream,” You say monotonously. 

He watches you with amusement, leaning over to observe you closer.

You’re slouched down, a fluffy blanket laid tucked on top of you, and your bowl of Ben & Jerry’s sits not in your lap, but rests right on top of your bulging belly. Your hands rest on your sides when you’re not feeding yourself.

The image of you using your own stomach as your own personal table was incredibly entertaining to Soobin, so much so that he pulls out his phone and snaps a photo.

You hear the click of his camera and actually turn around, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and concern. Soobin giggles to himself as he looks at the photo, his hand covering his childlike grin. 

“What? Did you take a picture of me? Why?” You ask, holding the bowl in your hand now as you try to lean over to get a look. 

Soobin’s laughter slowly dies down, and he ruffles your hair before showing you the photo. You scoff, pouting even as you realize why he’s been giggling at you. “It’s not funny,” You pretend to be upset, but he can see through you. 

He hops over the couch to sit next to you, snuggling into your side. “Oh but it is,” He teases. You roll your eyes and sigh, returning your bowl back to its spot on your tummy.

“Want a bite?” You ask, offering him a spoon. He opens his mouth and allows you to feed him. “This is good, holy shit.” He’s astonished, having never actually had a bite of your favorite ice cream. 

“I told you!” You laugh. “Want some more?” You spoon him another bite, which he graciously eats. 

“As long as you feed me.” He continues to joke. You pretend to scorn him, wagging a finger in his face as if to lecture him. 

“You’re playing dirty.” You hum. His grin widens. “I thought you liked me better when I played dirty.” He retaliates, smirking at you.

Instead of fighting back like he thought you would, you sigh and sit up, pushing him off you. 

“Come on Soobin, don’t act like you’re my boyfriend, we aren’t dating.” You say in a joking tone as you walk to the kitchen. 

He stays stunned on the couch, smile fallen and body limp.

Soobin watches with pure adoration as you are sat on the ground, legs splayed out as his nephew shows you every single one of his toy dinosaurs he has in his room.

Dokyung’s current obsession was dinosaurs, and the young boy was happily yapping to you about the many figures he’d brought from his toy box. You’re sitting beside him, listening to every little thing he has to say, nodding along and even asking questions.

You and Soobin have come to visit his sister and her family, a request from Dokyung after he enjoyed your company at Christmas. You didn’t mind seeing his nephew, as you found him amusing. In fact you liked him a lot.

The two of you are busy reenacting a dino fight when Soobin’s sister taps his shoulder.

“Hey can we talk?” She asks, already leading him to her bedroom. “Uh, what’s up?” He asks nervously, hanging by the door as his sister settles atop her mattress. 

“Nothing, just wondering why you never told me you were expecting?” She hides her irritation behind a stiff smile. 

Soobin knew this would happen. He’d been anticipating it all day. All week actually. He’s been mentally preparing for this moment that he’s already got his responses memorized.

“It was a surprise, really.” He recites. “Neither of us were really expecting for this to happen.” He shrugs.

“But I want to be there for her, She’s already going through a lot with the changes of her body, it’s the least I could do.” His sister nods as she listens. 

“How chivalrous of you.” She chuckles. “But raising a kid is hard, there’s so many things you have to consider before deciding to have a baby.”

“I’m worried Soobin, you’re both so young and still in school. Mom and dad are excited but they aren’t gonna always be able to help. They’re getting old too, you know.”

Soobin feels guilty as his sister speaks. If only she knew what you planned to do after birth, none of these were a concern of yours for that exact reason.

“You’re going to have to make a lot of sacrifices, I know my husband and I did with Dokyung, but we’re grown adults with stable jobs. You and Y/n should have thought about this more.”

Soobin’s heart grows heavier with each word. The concern in his sister’s voice is killing him inside. This woman practically helped raise him. Him and his siblings have a large age gap, his sister being 10 years older than him. She would take Soobin with her on errands, babysit him every summer break, feed him meals when his parents were working late.

Does he have the heart to hide the truth from her?

“Soobin, I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I promise. I just want you to make the right decision. Okay?” She looks at him with earnest eyes and he just nods. 

His sister stands, walks over to him and gives him a hug. “You know you can always come to me for help, right? I’m here for you.”

She pulls away and gives him a soft smile. Soobin can’t dare to look at her and lie. So he swallows thickly, lips thin.

“Sis, there’s something I need to tell you.”

The drive to the hospital is unbearingly slow despite the fact that Soobin was driving 20 kms past the speed limit. 

“Slow down,” His sister hisses, she’s gripping the door handle stiffly. But Soobin ignores her and speeds up.

In fact, he doesn’t even hear his sister and her warnings of him being pulled over or causing a crash. Instead all he can hear is your name. Over and over and over again, he can hear your name, see your face, feel your touch. It’s fleeting and that scares him. 

Upon entering his sister’s apartment, Soobin was quickly informed that you had suddenly gone into labor and could not contact him. You called his mother and let her know that Soobin was missing and that you were going to the hospital. His mother contacted his sister who was just about to go out and search for Soobin, just to find him standing at her doorway.

And now Soobin is zooming to the hospital, his body is moving on his own without any control.

Everything was his fault. He shouldn’t have left, he shouldn’t have yelled at you, he shouldn’t have made you cry. Soobin felt guilty beyond belief. His tears begin to flow, and suddenly he’s blind, he can’t see.

“SOOBIN STOP! BRAKE! BRAKE!!” His sister is slapping his arm as she screams, and he instinctively hits the brakes, stopping centimeters from the car in front of him. The car lurches to a stop. Soobin’s knuckles are white as they are wrapped around the wheel, but they’re shaking.

“Get out.” His sister’s voice is coarse yet quiet. He doesn’t move, still breathing heavy as he tries to calm his heart. “Soobin, get out.” She’s stern this time, unbuckling herself and his own seatbelt. She steps out and runs around the car and opens his door, practically dragging him out of the front seat.

“Go sit in the passenger,” She instructs, and he nervously follows her directions. His sister now sits in the driver’s seat and continues the drive.

Soobin sits lifelessly in the other seat, tears silently flowing down his face as he tries to fight his own emotions before it’s too late.

Soobin looks around the empty apartment. Since you’ve moved in, it feels more like a home now. Before you lived with him, Soobin’s apartment was plain, he only had the necessities, with barely any decor. 

But the second you stepped inside you changed everything, with your houseplants, copious amounts of throw blankets and pillows on his couch, and your need for a candle to be found in every room.

He likes how your clothes filled the empty gap in his closet. He likes how your skincare and makeup litter the bathroom counter next to his toothbrush. He likes how you hung up frames and posters on his bare walls.

He likes you. And you like him back too. At least he thought so.

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.

Soobin bought you flowers, chocolates, reserved your favorite restaurant for dinner, and gifted you the purse you’ve been eyeing online for the past month. He never asked for anything in return, because just being with you was a gift enough for him. He couldn’t care less about gifts, he just loved spending time with you.

But when you saw all of this, all that he did for you, you looked at him confused.

“Thank you, these are beautiful,” You smile as you hold the flowers and glance at the purse. 

“But Soobin,” You have to look away as you put the flowers in a vase. “Isn’t Valentine’s Day for couples? We aren’t dating.”

Those words from last night lead him to his question now: What was he to you?

Your actions and words never matched up, and Soobin was constantly filled with confusion.

One day he acts as your boyfriend, your lover, your husband if you will. And the others he was a stranger. You treated him like he was expendable.

You two weren’t a couple, this was something you constantly insisted on, but neither of you can’t seem to pull away from each other no matter how hard you try. This awkward stage of will-you-won’t-you was frustrating to him.

The only thing was that Soobin was a bit of a coward. He’s always struggled to express his true feelings, and with you it’s even harder when he has what feels like his entire life on the line.

Sometimes when he’s alone, his brain reminds him of the consequences of his actions- more like the consequences of his inaction. With his inability to convey to you his own desires, you walk all over him like a rug. 

But Soobin knows deep down you do care for him.

He can tell with the way you look at him, how your eyes always soften when he’s in view. You speak to him with such a sweet tone, even when you’re unhappy. 

He notices the little things you do, like how you called his mom a week before his birthday to learn how to cook his favorite meal. Or whenever he’d come home late from work you’d stay up to help him get ready for bed. 

That time he went out with the guys for Yeonjun’s birthday, and he got so drunk that you had to pick him up from the club. You held his hand the entire drive home and tucked him into bed with a kiss on the forehead and a promise to see him in the morning.

You might not outright say it, but you like Soobin. Your actions scream louder than any word. 

He just wants you to be happy, and if that means he has to suck it up and let you ruin him for your own dignity, he’d do it, absolutely.

The sound of the front door opening has him sitting up, his senses high alert. You were finally home.

Yesterday after you had rejected his gifts, you unexpectedly spent the night at Minjeong’s. You claimed it was because she was feeling extra lonely since Valentine’s Day would have been her anniversary with her ex, but Soobin knows better than that.

You open the door and immediately you two make eye contact, faces frozen in fear.

“Hi,” You choke out, hurrying to lock the door and take your shoes off. “Hey,” Soobin stands up, awkwardly stuffing his hands into his pockets. 

You purse your lips and drop your bag onto the dining table, almost waiting for him to speak first. He doesn’t want to, but he does.

“How was Minjeong?” He asks, voice dry. “She’s holding up alright,” You clear your throat. He nods though you don’t see as you busy yourself in the kitchen. 

“So, um, I was thinking we need-” “Hey Soobin,” You interrupt him. He looks up and sees you staring right back at him.

“I-” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry about how I reacted yesterday, You were just being nice, and I see that now. Thank you, really, for the gifts.” You smile at him, but it’s not genuine.

“It’s nothing,” He lies through his teeth and returns your smile. You sigh and look relieved. As you disappear into the bedroom, Soobin remains standing in the middle of the apartment, just as confused as before.

You’re staring so hard at the couch, Soobin is starting to think you’re trying to mentally set it on fire or something.

“No, it’s too long, and the color is too light and I don’t like the material.” You decide and shake your head. He scoffs, and follows you as you walk down the aisle to the next one.

Currently, he was stuck inside of an Ikea with you, in search of a new couch. And you were taking it very seriously.

The only thing was that his old one was completely fine, it was a little beat up from the last couple of years of wear and tear, but it was still sturdy.

But he needed to get you out of the house, and what better way than making up a fake excuse to go out and furniture shop?

After Seollal at his family’s house, you’ve been depressed, and for good reason. His sister’s forced confession damaged not only his reputation, but your mental health. To Soobin that was not acceptable.

You already struggled with your own family, he’s seen it with his own eyes how broken you become when your parents disowned you.

Not to mention your recent mental breakdown at 2 am. You’d woken up in tears, sobbing so hard he was afraid you’d break.

He refused to see you hurt like that again, so he was going to use everything in his power to make you feel better.

“What about that one?” He drags you to a different showroom, this one was a stark difference from the fake and moody one you two were just at. It’s bright with pops of color coming from the house plants and window drapes.

But you frown, shaking your head as you watch Soobin sit on the neon blue sofa. “No, that thing looks so uncomfortable. And it’s way too small, your legs barely fit.”

Soobin gets up and sighs, following you as you examine each and every showroom with the eyes of a hawk. You guys barely arrived 30 minutes ago, but he was already wanting to go home.

“How about that one? It’s kind of nice.” He suggests, pointing to an earthy green mid century modern sofa. 

“The color isn’t cute, I want something practical.” You argue, already onto the next showroom.

He doesn’t even know why he’s trying to help when you already have a vision. But seeing you act all serious has him worked up. He liked it when you were direct and stern, it turned him on.

“Oh what about this! This is cute! And it’ll fit in the living room.” You plot yourself onto a beige loveseat, sinking into the cushions. 

“Whatever you want.” He smiles, enjoying your interests. You pat the seat beside you and he sits down, leaning all the way back. 

“Not bad, right?” You look at him expectantly. “It’s kind of stiff, but we just have to break it in.” 

He turns to you and smiles, you looked like you were actually enjoying yourself for once. 

“Come on, let’s go to the next one, maybe we should get a sectional!” You stand up and pull him with you, leading him to another room.

One by one you try out each couch, not fully satisfied.

“This is the last one, “ Soobin warns. “Just sit,” You roll your eyes and the two of you sit side by side. This sofa was dark gray in color, three seats with a chaise lounge included, and extra soft.

“Woah, it’s like sitting in cotton candy.” You sigh. “I don’t want to get up, this is bad.” Soobin nods in agreement. You close your eyes and lean against him. 

“I think this is the one. I could nap here all day.” You yawn. “Are you sure it’s not just because you’re tired?” He teases. You pinch his side, making him giggle. 

I want this one. Maybe a lighter shade of gray if they have it,” You add. Soobin hums, too lazy to find the tag right at this moment to keep note of which sofa to buy.

Right now, here with you was perfect. Even if you guys were in a crowded furniture store with hundreds of other people who were busy shopping.

He couldn’t care less where you two were, it could be in the middle of nowhere, a haunted house, a busy freeway. Soobin would go anywhere for you.

As long as he’s got you, everything will be okay.

Soobin thought that when you got pregnant, your lust would die down. 

It did not. In fact it was amplified.

“We can’t do this here, I’m at work.” He tries to push you off him, but you’re persistent, kissing up and down his neck. 

“We’re at a work party, you're off the clock, and no one is here. We’re alone.” You insist, rubbing his hard on through his pants. “You like it don’t you? You like it when I let you fuck me anytime anywhere.” You mock him.

It was true, while he lived the comfort of having sex at home, he can’t forget the adrenaline you give him when you two are out and about.

But fucking inside of conference room where just a few feet away all of his coworkers are socializing and could potentially hear or catch you two? That was a bit terrifying.

“Please? Fuck I’m so horny,” You whine, already unbuttoning his shirt. “You look so good I can’t help it.” 

This is news to Soobin. The theme for this year’s annual work celebration was Blast from the Past! so he’d gone and worn a denim on denim look: a denim button up paired with a random tie and jeans. His hair was down and messy, and he’s been eating barbecue chips for the past half hour straight.

“What?” He has to laugh, thinking you’ve gone crazy. But you don’t relent and continuing to unbuckle his pants and shoving your hand down his boxers.

He’s ashamed to admit he’s already half hard the second you pulled him into the empty room. Now your soft hands are massaging his erect cock like it’s your job, kissing up and down his exposed chest.

You’re getting on his nerves. You always act like a brat when he’s under pressure.

So he removes you from him, earning a grin from you as he pushes you against the table, seating you so that your legs are wide open for him.

“You never listen,” He scowls, lifting your dress up and pushing your panties to the side. “I’ll listen now,” You blink up at him innocently. You begin to play with yourself in order to relieve the tension, head rolling back.

Soobin slaps your hand away, grabbing your wrist and pinning you down. “Liar, you always like to test me, don’t you?” He doesn't let you answer as he quickly lines his cock to your seeping hole, sliding in without warning. 

You let out a sensual moan, fully laying down on the table now. Your free hand pulls down the top half of your dress to reveal your plump and aching tits. You look like you’re fresh from a painting. 

“Why aren’t you moving?” You groan, trying to grind yourself against him. Soobin stands there taking you in with a smirk plastered all over his face. He sees how your face begins to turn red as he refuses to look away from you.

He finally leans down, grabs you by the jaw and whispers, “Always a slut for my cock, aren’t you?” 

You gasp and clench around him. He can’t take it anymore. Without warning he begins to thrust into you like a piston, fast, swift and hard. You can’t control your moans, you’re breathing heavily as he holds both of your wrists in one single hand above your head.

The other hand quickly goes to cover your lips. “Be quiet, want someone to find us?” Soobin growls into your ear. He’s barely holding on himself as he mocks you. 

“You want my boss to come in here and see you all fucked out on my dick, yeah baby?” He threatens and you can only bite your tongue. “Don’t worry baby, no one but me gets to see you like this,”

“All hot and wet for me and me only, right?” You nod desperately and he removes his hand from your mouth. “You love my cock so much you just had to have my baby, didn’t you?” His hand goes to rub your swollen stomach, before traveling down to your clit. 

“F-Fuck!” You squeak out as he simultaneously plays with your clit and pumps you full. “God you’re so fucking tight, I-I’m gonna cum,” His tough act begins to crumble as he struggles to chase his own high.

“Want me to cum in you baby? Or you wanna drink it up like a good girl?” He brushes a lock of hair out of your face, caressing your cheek. 

“Don’t pull out I’m so close,” You cry, hands searching for him. You were always pretty, but seeing you beg for him was something else. Soobin can’t help but kiss you, ramming into you with so much intensity and vulgarness he completely forgets where you two are. 

You cum in seconds, he follows you with insane speed, the way you convulse around him has him falling through the cracks. You’re both breathless and tired, but your lips stay connected.

Eventually he peels himself off you, pulling his softening dick out of your warmth. Both of you are sticky and wet, sweating like you’ve run a marathon. But his eyes are trained on your pussy as his cum leaks out, thick and white.

Unconsciously he sticks a finger into your sore hole, pushing it back in. You wince, catching your breath. “Soobin-” 

He shuts you up by sticking that same finger into your mouth. “I don’t want to waste a drop.”

“Beomgyu! Get your ass over here and help me with this banner!” Jimin orders, she spots Beomgyu hiding behind a tree. The man sulks as he’s been found, trudging over to the canopy. 

“I never signed up for this! I just came to drop off the catering” He whines, but Jimin doesn’t care, handing him the banner to hang. 

“Can you shut up? At least you’re not lugging around the damn table!” Yeonjun yells. He’s currently dragging the folding table all over the patio area, under orders from Ningning.

“More to the left- no my left! No go back, more to the right now- your right!” She tells him and he obediently listens, though he seems tired. 

“Hi! We picked up the cupcakes!” Minjeong sings as she and Aeri arrive, though they’re not carrying a thing. “Uh, where?” Soobin asks, confused. 

“Here! We offered to help,” Taehyun announces as he and Kai waltz over to the canopy, carrying the boxes of cupcakes. “Low sugar with whipped cream frosting,” Aeri recites as she and Minjeong begin to organize the food on another table.

“We need chairs! Where are the chairs? Beomgyu you were supposed to bring the chairs!” Jimin glares. “I would grab the chairs, but I’m holding your stupid banner!” He argues.

“Go get the chairs! Ugh, Kai, help me with the banner, you’re taller.” She waves off Beomgyu. 

“Well, looks like the baby shower planning is going well,” Soobin jokes as Yeonjun approaches, finally free from Ningning’s grasp. 

“What are you doing? Don’t just stand there, do something!” He complains. “Nope, I’m gonna go pick up Y/n’s dress and drop it off, then I’ve got to grab the drinks and ice.” Soobin states. 

“Save me!” Beomgyu sobs, only for Jimin to glare at him again. “Hurry up! We need more chairs!”

“Actually, I can grab the dress, Minjeong and I are gonna leave to go do Y/n’s hair and makeup anyways,” Aeri checks the time. “But you can take Beomgyu with you, I think Jimin might burst a vein if she has to be with him for another minute.” Minjeong whispers. 

Soobin sends her a thumbs up and pulls his best friend away from starting a spat with Jimin. “Let’s go grab the drinks! We’ll be back.” Soobin waves a goodbye.

“Turn on the A/C, I’m melting,” Beomgyu groans as he jumps into the passenger seat. The cool air hits his face, refreshing the pair. 

“So, why are you guys throwing a baby shower again? I thought you guys were gonna chuck the baby or something?” Beomgyu asks. Soobin punches his arm, making him cry. 

“We are not chucking the baby, we’re just giving the baby up for adoption for the time being.” He corrects. 

Beomgyu looks confused. “For the time being? You mean you plan to get custody later?” Soobin goes quiet.

If he were being honest, he might be a bit attached already to your unborn son. He hasn’t said anything, but he can’t bear to even think about signing the adoption papers. 

“No,” He sighs. “I just- I might just ask for full custody if Y/n says no.” He admits. Beomgyu’s eyes bulge out of his head. “So you’re saying you’d become a single dad?!” 

Soobin slowly nods. The idea was daunting, but he believes he could do it. He knows his mom will help, they’ve spoken a few times privately since Seollal. He considered moving back home to make his life a bit easier if it came down to it.

“Soobin, you can’t be serious, this isn’t some kind of game you can speedrun. This is a real human being that you’re gonna have to raise for 18 years-” “I know Beomgyu,” Soobin says tensely. 

“But you don’t get it.” He clenches his jaw. “You won’t get it until you’re in that room, and the doctor shows you the ultrasound and you get to see your baby grow- did you know you can hear their heartbeat?!” Soobin stops at the red light, looking over his best friend with desperation in his eyes. 

“I can’t get the sound out of my head.” He reveals. Beomgyu goes silent. 

“And what about Y/n? You said you’d do anything for her, right?”

Soobin continues the drive, eyes trained on the road. “Yeah, but maybe not this time.”

The car is quiet again, the radio so low it’s a whisper. Beomgyu suddenly lets out a howl, his head leaning against the glass window. 

“You’re insane,” He mumbles. “But you’re also my best friend. So if you’re really going to go through with this, I’ll be there.” 

Soobin smiles. “Thanks Beomgyu, I appreciate it.” The other man just nods, looking out the window. 

“Just so you know, I’ll help out but I am not changing any poop diapers. Give those all to Yeonjun.” Soobin begins to laugh, feeling relieved from his friend’s support.

He waits until you’re asleep. Outside on the balcony, the air is cool and there’s a slight breeze. It’s way past midnight and he’s struggling to keep his eyes open as he presses the call button. It rings five times before his mom picks up.

“Hello?” She sounds like he’s just woken up. ‘Hey mom, sorry, did I wake you?” He worries. 

“Huh? No, no, I’m fine,” She lies. “How are you? Did you eat today?” She asks. “Yeah, yeah,” He answers.

They go through the formalities, checking on each other’s health, asking about their days and such. But eventually, as the night goes on, the topic changes to something more serious.

“And how is the baby?” Soobin goes stiff. “Fine, the doctor says he’s healthy.” He hears his mom hum on the other line.

Silence.

“Are you still going to give up my grandbaby?”

He hates this question.

“Soobin, are you listening to me?” She repeats and he fights the urge to yawn, losing as he leans against the railing of his balcony. “I’m listening.” He assures her.

His mother sighs, mumbling something under her breath. “You do know what you’re doing right? That baby deserves to be with his dad and mom.”

“No yeah, I know,” He hums. This was the fifth time they’ve had this conversation in the last two months.

“I know that you and Y/n are struggling, but that’s why your father and I are here. We love you Soobin, and we love Y/n too, please don’t do this.”

He closes his eyes, making a face. “Don’t say that.” He urges. “But why? You two are so good together. You love her, why can’t you two make this work for your son? Put your differences aside! Couples have differences and fight all the time, you two need to learn to compromise.” 

Maybe it was because it was late and he was extremely tired, or maybe it was because he hated the way his mom talked about his relationship with you like she knew better. But either way Soobin snaps. 

“Y/n and I- We- stop acting as if we’re dating mom, you know we aren’t.” He sighs and rubs his face. “You can stop pretending.” The line is quiet, and he wonders if he should just say goodnight and end the call.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something from inside move. “Hold on,” He murmurs. “I think Y/n’s up.” He immediately mutes the call, tip toeing inside. He makes his way to the bedroom, from the door he sees you cuddled up with the blanket. Your back faces him. 

“No she’s still asleep,” He says into the phone as he unmutes the call. As he turns to leave, he shuts the door. He doesn’t want you to hear any of this.

“Soobin, I just want what’s best for you,” His mother finally says. “How do you know this is good for me? For all you know, I could be digging my own grave,” He argues, stepping back outside onto the balcony.

He hears his mom shuffle, then hum. “Well, I see how you are with her, and my son, you glow.” His heart aches as he hears her speak with such sincerity. “You look at each other with love, and now you can share that love with your baby. You two just need to sit down and talk.”

“I-”

Soobin sucks in a breath. He can’t speak. He can’t respond, argue. Because he wants his mother to be right, he desperately does. Just the idea of living that fantasy of growing a family with you was enough to bring him to his knees. 

He’s tried so hard to get you to like him back, so hard to break down your walls. He just wants to be able to love you openly. No more lies and secrets.

The only thing stopping him is you.

“I’m gonna go to bed mom,” He bites his cheek, holding back. “Okay,” he can hear the tone of his mom. She’s disappointed. He hears that more often these days. 

“I’ll talk to you next time, okay?” They bid farewell and instead of going back to bed with you and sleeping his stress away, Soobin goes to the living room and sits on the couch.

The one you picked out and he built.

He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep there until the early morning when the sun blinds him. Quietly he slips back into the bedroom and into the mattress next to you.

Just like last night, your lonely back faces him.

“Y/N!” Soobin bursts into your hospital room looking like he’s run through hell and back. He scares you awake, Beomgyu jumping up from his spot on the waiting chair. 

“You made it! Thank God,” Beomgyu looks more relieved than Soobin. “I was starting to get worried, they said I would have to go into the room with her when it was time to push,” He gags. “Thanks,” Soobin pats him on the back as Beomyu slips out of the room as soon as possible.

His attention turns to you.

You’re sitting on the hospital bed, wearing your gown and hair in a mess. Just like him your tears have dried up on your face, leaving streaks.

He hesitates.

His body wants to move, his legs are screaming at him to run to you, pull you into a hug, kiss your face and promise to never leave you alone again.

But his brain stops him. Just hours ago you’d rejected him and broken his heart into a million pieces.

You suddenly start sniffling, and his body reacts automatically, coming to your side. He can’t bring himself to hold you just yet, so he settled by petting your hair as you cry.

“I’m sorry,” He begins to apologize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I should have- I was being stupid and I-” He shuts up when you lurch forward and hug his waist, sobbing into his shirt. 

He finally relaxes and leans over to sit on the edge of the bed, pulling you closer. “I’m an idiot I know,” He murmurs and kisses your head. “Please forgive me,”

You can’t even answer him properly, you're crying so hard your body is shaking violently. So instead he just holds you, holds like you're made of glass until you fall back asleep from the pure exhaustion this entire night has been. 

Soobin lays you back down, wiping your tears from your cheeks.

You didn’t deserve him. He was a jerk, and he could never forgive himself for what he’s done to you. He was selfish for trying to force you to pursue him, for feeding into his own desires. If only he could go back in time.

Quietly, he attempts to leave you to rest on the little stiff loveseat by the window. Except the grip tightens around his hand. He looks up to find you awake again.

“You should try to rest, you’ll need the energy.” He tells you, though he doesn’t move.

You shake your head, confusing him. But suddenly you scoot over, and gesture for him to lay with you. Soobin is surprised. After everything tonight, you still want him around.

Feeling guilty, he struggles to squeeze in without hurting you. But once he’s next to you, you snuggle into his side, your head resting on his chest. He holds you dearly, his other hand playing with your fingers as if to distract himself.

“You were right, you know,” You suddenly speak up, breaking the comfortable silence. Soobin quirks an eyebrow, confused on what you were talking about. 

You shift so that you could face him.

Even with your tired eyes, tear stained cheeks and pouty lips, your beauty amazes him. He feels lucky just to have made eye contact with you.

“I love you,” You whisper, as if you were scared to speak up. “What?” He mumbles, unable to believe you.

“I love you Soobin,” You repeat. “I… I’ve been lying to myself, to you. I’ve loved you for a long time now. I’m sorry.” You look away, feeling ashamed. Your tears return and he does you a favor by gently guiding you to look at him again. 

Delicately, Soobin kisses you. His heart begins to bloom as you two become intertwined. This was all he could ever want, and you’ve finally gifted him his greatest award: your love. 

“Do you hate me?” You ask in between kisses. He smirks. “How could I ever hate you baby?” He teases, kissing your salty tears away. “Because I’m such an asshole, and you always treat me so well,” You hiccup. 

His lips return to yours as a way to reassure you. “I love you so much. There’s nothing you could do that could make me hate you.”

You shudder under his touch, pulling him by his collar, trying to get closer. Your anguish has him pulling away faster than you or he wants.

“You need to rest,” He insists, despite the fact that he’d rather kiss you for longer. But he can see and tell you’re exhausted. He can sacrifice his affections for the time being.

“Don’t go.” You pout. “I’m not going anywhere, never again.” He promises, fixing the pillows to make the both of you more comfortable.

He watches as you yawn, your sleepiness consuming you. Just before you fall asleep though, he whispers in your ear.

“Can you say it again?” 

You glance at him, eyebrows furrowed. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck and sigh. “I love you Soobin,” You mumble into his soft skin.

And his heart soars, he’d been waiting to hear those words all along.

“I spend nine- almost ten months carrying him in my womb, and he comes out looking just like you,” You frown. “It’s like I’ve been scammed.”

“He’s got your uh, your eyebrows I think? Baby it’s okay, look how cute he is,” Soobin giggles as he sits beside your hospital bed, carrying your sleeping son. He’s been in the outside world for a total of three hours, yet he’s the cutest baby ever.

“Eunjae, you’re gonna be handsome just like your daddy, huh?” You lean over to gently boop the baby’s nose.

“Eunjae? When did you pick a name?” Soobin asks, you two had never really talked about names ever. “He picked it himself,” You shrug.

Soobin is even more confused now. “What do you mean he picked it himself, Y/n he’s three hours old.” 

Before you can answer, there’s a knock on your door. “Hi mom and dad! How are we doing?” The nurse asks as he comes in holding what seems to be paperwork.

“Good so far.” Soobin answers. “Great! I’ve actually got some documents for you guys to sign, as well as the birth certificate,”

He hands you the papers, and you read over them. As you flip through the documents, you stop at a specific one.

“Um actually, we aren’t going to be needing this one anymore,” You hand the nurse the paper, he reads it over. “Sounds good, I’ll come back later once everything is filled. Let one of us know if you have any questions.” He says as he departs.

“What was it that you gave back?” Soobin asks. You’re already signing some papers as you speak. “The adoption papers.” You don’t look at him, but Soobin is smiling.

You finally look up at him and smile back, this one was real and filled with pure love. 

“We can’t give up on this little guy, he’s too adorable,” You coo as you poke your son’s cheek. The baby squirms in his arms before resuming his sleep.

Soobin watches as you fill out the birth certificate, there’s a weird sense of pride he feels as you complete the documents. 

“You know I like the name, Eunjae.” He agrees. “Well you better like it, I already wrote it down on the certificate with permanent marker,” You joke, making him chuckle. He leans down and presses a kiss to your temple.

“I love you,” You say. He smiles at you. “You’ve told me that like 150 times since last night.” He pretends to complain. 

“And I never get tired of saying it.” You grin, sealing your vow with a kiss. And for Soobin, he never gets tired of hearing those three words, patiently waiting for the next time they slip from your lips.

He’d wait for you tomorrow, the next day, a week from now, a month, a year, a decade, a century and for eternity. 

[three-realms-archive]

Permanent Marker

Summary/Details: Mammon is encouraged to act on his growing crush on you when he catches you planning a certain ceremony in a secret scrapbook. Fluff and sweetness and romance and fluff.

That book. That book.

Normal demons, like Satan, use books in a normal way. A demon buys books, with Grimm, to read or write in. The Great Mammon, himself, has read many books in all his years as a demon (including ‘Seven Ways to Get Rich Quick’ and ‘Top 100 Employers Who Don’t Want Resumes’, to name some of his personal favourites).

Mammon often sees you working on that… weird book during free periods at RAD or during weekends in the House; slinging glue and stickers and colourful-looking parchment of all shapes sizes onto the pages like a human possessed. It’s some kind of scrapbook, he figures; a scrapbook which you shove into your schoolbag whenever anyone comes too close, and slam shut whenever your ears prick up at so much as the tiniest sound.

This book… This book clearly holds a secret. A secret the Great Mammon is too righteous (nosy) to leave alone!

He takes a not-so-subtle peek over your shoulder one night when he catches you working on your mysterious scrapbook in the living room; thankful that your focus is completely occupied with smoothing the air bubbles out from under a paper flower bouquets stuck to canvas paper with still-wet glue. Initially, he’s admiring your handiwork, pride swelling in his chest at his talented, creative, adorable human partner. He’s also definitely, definitely not thinking of ways to potentially monetise your art…

… until, eventually, he glimpses the words you’ve scribbled on top of the page.

‘Marriage Plans?’

… Marriage?!

Did that mean marriage… in the future - with matching outfits in a solid gold castle? With gold rings, gold plates and a big freakin’ party? Because he likes the sound of that.

Or did this mean marriage now - that you were currently planning a wedding with some random, no-good demon who had cruelly swiped you out of sight before he even had the chance to ask you out on your first date? The brief, fleeting, ridiculous thought leaves as soon as it first comes… But the insecurity lingers. What right did he have to think about marriage?

It’s not like he’s dating you. He can barely look you in the eye for more than three seconds without breaking down into a nervous, blushing pulp, anyway.

Gaze brushing past the pages of your work once more, Mammon’s breath hitches. Maybe your recent late night texts; more frequent invites to hang out after school; and the sheer amount of yellow and gold marker you chose to use in your scrapbook were a sign. A sign right under his nose - right in front of him the whole time. A garishly shiny, chemical-marker-smell-y, neon-yellow sign.

Marriage… admittedly, quite far away.

But, as you curse under your breath when you accidentally smudge some of the still-wet marker… Mammon can’t help but think that asking you out is a first step that’s long overdue.

“Yo,” he says into the silence, trying to appear casual. He chuckles fondly when you yelp and whip your head around to face him - slamming the book shut and shoving it out of view. He really hopes the crimson spreading on your blushing cheeks is also a sign. “I have something to ask ya.”

“Oh - ! Oh!” You squeak, grinning nervously. “Mammon! How… How long have you been there?”

“Long enough,” he smiles. “Wanna hang out after school tomorrow? I’ve, uh…”

He scratches the back of his neck.

“I’ve got something to tell ya.”

… And when you say yes, he really, really hopes that the gold and yellow marker inside your book dries permanent. He might need it someday, after all.

(hey, hey, hey! it’s been a hot minute… like i always reiterate on this account, my life is a pretty busy one - but it’s both summer AND new Obey Me! content time… so i couldn’t resist coming back from the void and returning to this fandom! also omfg new app? new obm content???? married life??????????)

(i wanted to write something to celebrate, but thought it would be nice to save the proposal, newlywed, etc. scenarios for the folks at solmare to write - instead, have this super-specific scenario i dreamed up instead! will get back to posting as much as i can this summer so that y’all have plenty of content before i sink back into the work void - so stay tuned, and feel free to request in the inbox!!!!!! sorry for the hiatus - i hope the content coming makes up for it!!!!!!)